#soft and fluffy

[iwaoiness]

he really, truly doesn’t want to stop kissing tooru. is his fav activity in the entire world. he loves the way tooru cradles his face in those long-fingered hands, the way his thumbs hook along his jaw trying to control the pace like the obsessive man he's.

it feels so good to have his weight on his lap again, even if they’re at the top of the emergency stairs, the ones they half-stumbled up between breathless laughter because neither of them could keep their hands to themselves, like they were eighteen again.

and he loves, loves, loves the softness of oikawa’s lips on his. the way they slowly mold and stick together as they were made with honey. the way tooru’s tongue sometimes peeks out just to lick at his lower lip, teasing, and how his perfectly aligned teeth sink into it with the gentlest bite.

it drives him absolutely insane. especially when tooru murmurs “hajime” between kisses, all sweet and flirty, followed by a “besas tan rico” in his stupidly perfect spanish, and then that soft, genuine laugh sneaks through as their noses brush.

damn, he could spend his whole life kissing him (scratch that, he will spend his life kissing him), but they really need to stop. now.

this good luck kiss is getting out of hand, and his smartwatch won’t stop vibrating (not because of his heart rate alert, he disabled that after the first incredibly embarrassing time, thank you very much).

“tooru” he says, voice rough and low, pulling back from the kiss, trying very hard not to react to the pathetic little whimper the idiot lets out

(he does react.)

“now what” tooru grumbles, half-lidded eyes revealing gold gems that gleam like medals.

“the match starts in half an hour. i have to go. and so do you.” one hand is still planted firmly on tooru’s waist, the other resting on his thick right thigh, thumb tucked under the hem of his shorts, caressing.

“no” tooru protests, of course he does, like a child.

“hey—”

“this is a good luck kiss, iwa-chan, and i haven’t finished giving you luck, so less talking, more kissing” but just as oikawa leans in again, iwa lifts his head a little and gives his nose a light bite. “OUCH, HAJIME,” tooru squeaks, immediately sitting up and clutching at his nose with both hands. “HURTS.”

“we’re leaving” hajime says firmly, raising a brow in that way that means he’s not taking another no for an answer.

tooru lets his hands drop and puts on his best pout, leaning in again, this time to rest his cheek against hajime’s shoulder, curling into him.

“can’t believe you’d rather go play some dumb quarterfinal match than spend time with your handsome, athletic, amazing, strong, talented, funny, sweet boyfriend” he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. hajime just rolls his eyes and smiles warmly, running his hand all the way down tooru’s lovely back. “tonight i want an apology kiss, a victory kiss and a 'i love oikawa-san more than the olympics’ kiss. and i play tomorrow, so i want a /triple/ session of good luck kisses too” then he demands, and hajime can’t help but laugh, his chest rumbling as he hugs tooru tighter.

“you’re unbelievable” he tries to make it sound like an insult, but it ends up drenched in love, and tooru’s smile blooms like sunflowers in the sun.

hajime’s smartwatch is still buzzing with messages and calls from the jnt, probably panicking and trying to find him. tooru’s teammates are probably looking for him too. but hajime thinks that maybe it’s okay if they stay like this just a little bit longer.

in calm. in love.

...

i wanna be one of them sooooo bad

for day 1 of iwaoi week on bluesky and twitter 💙

u can find me on my ao3, my carrd, bluesky and here my strawpage 🍉

[earth2rin]

thinking about…

satoru as a husband ᡣ𐭩

words: 1.3k

lazily, he slots himself on the couch, laying across the long piece of furniture, his feet dangling off the edge. he thought about how you would get upset that he dirtied the couch, but he would brush it off by telling you he’d buy you a whole new set.

just a minute.

he swore he closed his eyes for one second, only for 45 minutes to have passed by. when he had finally opened his eyes he remained on the couch, except you had weaseled your way to move his heavy head onto your lap, running your fingers through his snow-like hair.

“hi handsome” you smile down at him. he blinks and yawns. “i thought i heard the door open and when i finally came down to investigate here you are asleep” you giggle and slightly pinch his nose.

he crinkles it slightly and sends you a small smile. “ ‘m sorry baby, i could’ve sworn i closed my eyes for one second. but there’s nothing better than to wake up and see your pretty face” he reaches for the hand that's in his hair and lays gentle kisses from your wrist to your palm. internally you frowned, he looked exhausted and your heart ached a little when he winced from adjustung his head so he could look at you better. he worked so hard to provide, he worked so hard for you.

you smile brightly and place a kiss on his forehead, “you’re so sappy” and he chuckles, bringing your hand to cup his cheek.

“why don't we get you cleaned up, yeah?” he stares into your eyes, tender and warm but fatigue laced in his icy blue orbs, your gaze lingering on each other for just a second too long. he sighs and reluctantly gets up, leaving you and your warmth to make his way to the bathroom.

the tension in his muscles melts away when he feels the pelt of hot water grace his supple skin. he sighs, his head turned down with eyes close. he feels the ache in his body fade away until it resides as a slight ebb. it made him even more sleepy. after shampooing and lathering his body in soap, he turns the shower off, and steps in front of the steamy mirror.

he notices the growing dark under eye circles and slight stubble he's been neglecting recently. he notices the slight wrinkles that are growing prominent from the frequency of his frowning lately. he grimaces, turning around to flip off the light and closes the door.

his eyes are met with dim candle lights and incense burning, you're sitting prettily on your knees with a silky pink gown. “what's all this for pretty?” he feels his heart tightening, making his way towards you, his knees touching the edge of your bed.

“i wanted to do some skin care on you, you never take care of yourself toru” you look into his azure eyes as you pout.

how did he ever end up finding you.

he brings his hand to your face, gently thumbing your cheek, “i don’t focus on such frivolous things, i have to keep my girl safe and happy. you didn’t have to do all this for me baby.”

you stand up from the bed, grabbing both of satoru’s hands and speak to him, “i want to take care of you toru, you’re so good to me i need to return the gesture, it’s what my husband deserves.” he chuckles and brings his forehead to yours, “you don’t need to do anything for me. you don’t owe me anything either, everything i do for you is purely because i want to do it. all i do for you is the bare minimum, i should be doing more in fact!”

you pout again upset at how he discredits his actions. as if making you quit your job so you can stay at home stress free and spoiling you with love and thousand dollar shopping sprees is bare minimum. not to mention all the traveling you guys do when he spontaneously mentions that he’s taking you on vacation. “you do so much more than that and you know it. all i’m asking you for is to lay in bed and relax!” you shove his shoulder.

he finally flops on the bed with his hands behind his head, waiting for you to move. he wiggles his eyebrows at you which makes your eyes roll but makes you smile nonetheless.

“i like where this is going” he whistles at you as you straddle his lap, you lightly slap his arm. “get your mind out of the gutter. nothing is happening tonight just so we’re clear” he rolls his eyes and mumbles a ‘yeah yeah’.

you place a headband to hold his hair back and softly say, “okay close your eyes.” he complies, his white eyelashes fluttering shut. you carefully place 2 cool cucumbers on his eyes and he sighs. he feels like a puddle, your soft touch and home-like scent invading his senses sending him into a plane of euphoria. next you grab a clay mask and a brush, gently painting his face with the gray liquid.

“how’s it feel lovey?” he hums and sighs, leaning further into the fluffy feather filled pillows beneath his head. “feels wonderful baby” you giggle and continue putting on the mask. “okay toru, gonna leave that on for 15 minutes kay?” he nods but then his eyebrows furrow.

“what am i supposed to do?” he had never been able to take a moment and put everything on pause before, the thought of having to lay still and do nothing made him a bit antsy. after placing the container that held the liquid mask in, you turn to him, “just relax baby, would you like some water kind sir?” he hears the clink of glassware and the swish of water grow closer and he smiles.

gojo satoru had never ever been pampered. spoiled rotten maybe, but no one had ever taken care of him the way you are now. sure he was praised in the highest degree in the clan, and sure he was fawned over by a broad sea of girls, both young and old. but no one had ever cared about him so deeply that his well being was always a priority. he was amazed by the thought of you caring about him so much that you would go out of your way to take care of him in a way no one else had ever done. all he could think of at the moment was how incredibly kind your heart is and how he was so fortunate enough to have ever stumbled upon your life. he was so grateful that you let him into your life. he was so grateful for you.

“i would love some m’lady” you bring the straw to his puckered lips and he smiles.

after doing 2 face masks, eye patches, your own night time routine and plucking his eyebrows, satoru finally snuggled up to you, his face buried in your chest with his arms wrapped around your torso.

“thank you for taking care of me baby, you’re the best wife a man could have ever asked for” you giggle as he peppers kisses on your chest. “of course, i love loving you. it's so easy, like breathing.”

“i love being your husband. i love loving you.” you can hear the tiredness in his voice grow with each word he says. a couple seconds later his soft snores could be heard throughout the silence of your home.

[kingstarkingslay]

Remus : ( quietly) Sirius…………

Sirius : ( looking up from his book ) Yes my darling wolf

Remus : ( fiddling with his hands ) um…

Remus : if you were an otter and I was an otter and we were sleeping

Remus : would you hold my paw so we wouldn’t drift away from each other?

Sirius : ( melts on the spot )

Sirius : yes I would my darling

[anderii]

I love getting my nails done ❤️.

[wiltedveins]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 "𝐈 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬..𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟!"

Grell Sutcliff x trans male reader (Black Butler) Romance/fluff

words 1,686

Contents : Possesive Grell, slight gender dysphoria, love

Note: I am so bad at doing reader x cannon characters, due to my overuse of names. I also must admit, I am rusty to this anime, so bare with me. It's been..a while  😭 So, without further ado, do enjoy. Disclaimer: Grell is a TRANS woman. Black Butler takes place in the past, before bottom surgery was a thing. So, even though Grell and reader do not have the bodies that align with their gender (not that body parts are mentioned, but some refuse to call Grell a she). They are still man/woman. Trans women are women, and trans men are men. Trans rights are human rights.

.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁

Nobles are always hiding something under their ruffled collars. It's something people have come to learn.

And here he was, to oversee the nobles at a masquerade ball hosted by a shady Viscount suspected of human trafficking. He's charming, quiet, observant; the perfect wallflower who sees everything.

Grell was there on a separate-or more overlapping-assignment from the Reapers. Souls had been vanishing unnaturally from high society, as though whisked away before their time, before proper paperwork could be filed. A nuisance. A mystery. Delicious and in her alley of mischievousness.

Paths cross and shiver away until nothing more than dirt, but maybe tonight, a new path shall form.

He stood against the marble pillar like a carved statue, unmoving, carved from ivory and shadows. The soft white of his shirt glowed faintly in the chandelier light, every fold pressed to perfection, every thread carefully placed. A deep red cravat, like the first bloom of blood from a paper cut, peeked out beneath the dark lapels of a tailored coat. His vest was the same red-- crimson and gold embroidery catching the light like filigree on fine china, and gloves as black as the night sky. And beneath it all, Grell saw it. Or rather, sensed it.

The careful posture. The tension just beneath his ribs. A corset, no doubt. How dashing of the man.

She swept into the ballroom like a storm dressed in velvet. Her gown trailed behind her like spilled wine, clinging to her frame in every place it ought to. Burgundy silk bloomed from her hips in cascading ruffles, each one catching hints of black lace underneath. Her bodice hugged her ribcage like a lover, the lace sleeves feathering into her long crimson gloves. And her hair-oh, her hair-was twisted up high, ornate pins glinting like tiny scythes, a few loose strands curling just right to frame her face.

And then there were her eyes.

They found him instantly.

He wasn’t laughing like the other men. He wasn’t leering. He was watching.

Her favorite kind of man.

When he began moving through the room, it’s with practiced poise. Not arrogance, but the quiet strength of someone who watches more than he speaks. But that red? That red catches Grell’s eye like a moth to flame.

He’s at the edge of the ballroom, watching the crowd like a hawk, despite moving towards the drink and food bar. The chandeliers above reflect off his cravat, off the gold thread in his vest. Then Grell quickens her pace-- a splash of crimson against ivory marble. She catches him in her sights, and the crowd fades. Music swells.

Their reds practically mirror each other. Her gown, loud and lush, his vest, precise and guarded. Two kinds of fire; and she wants to be burned.

"Who is that?"

Grell purred to Madam Red, nearly dropping her fan. She had made rushed movements to gossip about her eye candy to the other red woman, her gloved finger pointing across the room to the almost..stiff man.

The lighting hits him just right-- sharp suit, gloves, leaning by a pillar as he watches the room with a calculating gaze. Grell starts narrating a fantasy wedding before even learning his name.

"We're not too sure on his name. It appears he might work with the likes of people such as Sebastian. Or, entirely the Phantomhive Household."

Madam Red had pulled herself away from another conversation, giving her attention to the other lady in red.

Grell made a noise; somewhere between uncomfortable and happy.

"He works with Bassy? I might be able to get my hands on him well enough.."

Her fan had opened once more, to fan across the rising heat in her pale face, before dramatically flailing herself against Madam Red, receiving a grunt.

"That is the man I shall marry, even if I must eliminate every rival on this wretched dance floor!"

Something-an emotion so thick it threatened to drown her-filled Grell. Was it anger? Or jealousy? Neither were quite sure, but Grell's chest felt coarse, her bodice feeling all too tight in the moment, causing her to stand upright and away from the other woman. She wasn't even able to finish a mere thought before a trio-three wretched women-surrounded him. Asking questions, giggling, leaning way too close. Her man.

"My goodness, you poor darling,"

Grell loudly cooed as she practically teleported to his side.

"Ladies, ladies-- do show some decorum. You’re embarrassing yourselves in front of a gentleman."

Her smile was forced, her sharp teeth exposed to the now startled woman, and oh-- one of the ladies dresses have been torn. However could such unfortunate events happen so soon? The party had only begun less than an hour ago.

As the woman scattered, some muttering their disdain towards the new woman, the other worrying about her broken threads, Grell took it upon herself to hear his voice. His name.

"My my, such elegance. Tell me, what is your name?"

He was still holding himself firm, despite the previous, and now current lady(s).

Oh, he was hers.

"I don't believe my name is a necessary thing to know."

His voice spoke to her like dove swans, flooding her ears with his sweet nectar. Like the fluttering of wings.

The moment she spotted him, it was curtains up. She didn't just fall, she had plummeted into obsession. He’s everything she adores in a man: serious, mysterious, handsome, and somehow immune to all the simpering ladies throwing themselves at him.

"Oh, but it is the most important detail. Such a lavished gentleman as yourself being all alone just doesn't sit right with me. Might I stay for company?"

Grell had felt the unease radiating from him. His posture was careful as to not expose his corset too much, his eyes holding a gentle danger that filled the red woman with adrenaline like no other.

She knew what he was.

"And if I expose my name, will you tell me yours?"

It was careful, guarded. Oh, she liked this. Like a game of cat and mouse-- But the cat fears the mouse instead.

"It's Grell darling."

Her movement shifted closer. She was still awaiting a response. He had muttered his own name; she had heard it well enough to not ask another time.

"I suppose I do not mind company."

His careful hands shifted to grab two glasses from the moving butler, and offering the glass. How delightfully charming of him.

.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁

As the night continued, Grell had managed to get him to speak a little more. His voice was soft-- a pitch too high for his own liking.

“A lady must always be ready for a dance or a duel,”

She purred in reply to his remark of her own loose clothes, running her finger along the rim of her champagne glass. Though her eyes were locked entirely on him. He was a being unlike her- entirely human, entirely what she craved.

Though, ironic, because she wasn't fond of humans.

Grell seemed to have him cornered by the balcony. The stars were out, and she’s less dramatic now-- but it's still very her.

"Your eyes- they're sharp. And my, how you do not drool like the other men."

She complimented his sharp eyes, how he doesn’t drool like the other men, how he's different. Her voice brings forth something repressed. She touches his lapel gently and murmurs,

"You don’t have to hide what you are from me, darling. I’ve always adored men with a little danger under their cuffs."

He shifted under her gaze, that corset tightening with every breath he didn't want to take. The night air was cooler out here, quieter, but the pressure of being seen-truly seen-was louder than anything.

“I am..not sure I know of what you mean,”

He tried again, his voice quieter this time.

But Grell didn’t flinch, didn’t tease him this time. Instead, she reached out, slow and patient, and gently fixed the collar of his coat-- hands lingering, reverent.

"Darling,"

She started, voice like warm silk,

“I’ve worn more masks than this masquerade could ever dream of. But the best ones are the ones we peel off for the right people.”

He blinked at her, unsure whether to speak or flee. But then she added, softer still,

“I know what it feels like to ache in your own skin. And I know what it means to choose who you are. I see you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them like ribbon. The stars above blinked faintly, as if holding their breath, awaiting their silent confessions.

Then-tentatively, just a brush of fingers-he took her hand.

“You really don’t drool,”

She added with a grin, that signature mischief glinting in her eyes.

“No.”

He began, a small smile tugging at his lips. Something uncanny to his typical hidden nature.

“But I think I’m starting to swoon.”

That earned a delighted gasp from Grell, and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, as if he were royalty.

To her, he might as well be.

“Oh, my dear...What a deliciously dangerous man you are.”

She hovered there a moment longer; long enough to give him the choice. To step away, or forward.

But he moved closer.

Their lips met under the starlight, soft and curious at first-- no performance, no dramatics. Just two people trying to taste something true for once. His gloved hand brushed her cheek, and she melted into it like dusk into night.

It was not a kiss to claim. It was one that understood.

And later, when the masks had all been set aside and the ballroom emptied of its lies, two silhouettes remained on the balcony.

Laughing quietly. Planning escapes. Sharing names like secrets of children behind playground trees in a schoolyard.

[ksbbb]

You Will Forever be My Always

Summary:

What do you mean you lost the cake?" Liam asks, already stressed by the chaos that has been happening from the moment he woke up today.

I didn't lose it. I just forgot to pick it up." Corey admits, glancing over at Mason.

We can always change the day?" Mason suggests, concerned and not waiting for Liam's reaction.

"Uh, this has been a nightmare. Somebody's getting married today." Stiles says, aggravated.

Or Liam and Theo finally tie the knot, but everything that could go wrong does.

In other words, a very thiam wedding

Rated Teen and Up

Moodboard and art by @osirismind

@officialthiamlibrary

[disastrousduckss]

The night they finished the first floor of the bunker, they all slept in the center of the "living room" and only shared one blanket.

[iwaoiness]

When Iwaizumi-senpai is having a shitty day, he’s genuinely terrifying. And today is one of those days. During the morning practice, there’s tension in his broad shoulders and a clouded expression on his face. He doesn’t say much, sticking to monosyllabic responses. Kindaichi suspects something is wrong but doesn’t confirm it until he notices Oikawa-san being unusually calm around him. There are no annoying comments, he’s not flitting around Iwaizumi-senpai like a hummingbird, no teasing, no tossing balls at his back and hiding behind Mattsun, no jumping on him and hanging off him like a koala. Oikawa-san is just there, calm and collected, keeping the practice running smoothly without drawing any attention to Iwaizumi-senpai, giving him space.

This actually takes Kindaichi by surprise. But he says nothing, not that he had much time to anyway, since the bell rings just as he’s finishing changing, and he has to dash out like a bat out of hell, shoes in hand, his uniform shirt untucked, and his pants unbuttoned, racing to make it to his math class on time with the strict sensei.

It isn’t until the practice after classes that he thinks about it again, noticing how much worse Iwaizumi's mood has become.

If earlier his expression was clouded, now it’s completely dark. He doesn’t speak to anyone, and the only sounds that leave his lips are hoarse apologies. And it gets worse during the practice set they’re playing. Iwaizumi is an exceptional player, but today, all his hits and serves are, at best, terrible. His receives are mediocre, barely managing to save the balls deflected by the blockers, and his blocks are far below his usual level.

And Iwaizumi knows it, which only seems to frustrate him more, turning him into a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

Kindaichi tries to cheer him up with encouraging words, but they barely reach Hajime. He seems to be in his own world. He doesn’t even hear Irihata-san’s instructions.

It’s only when one of his intense spikes goes completely off course with a dull thud, plunging the gym into a heavy silence, that he finally snaps.

“To hell with this fucking shit!” he yells angrily, hands clutching his hair, pulling it in frustration and startling everyone. “Dammit! Fucking dammit! Fuck it!” He squats down, head bowed, huffing in an attempt to control his rage.

Yutaro blinks in near fear, clutching Kunimi’s shoulder tightly, who is too shocked to even protest. No one says a word yet.

Until, of course, Oikawa-san steps in.

“Okay!” He claps to get everyone’s attention, wearing an easy smile. “I think it’s a good time for a switch! Group C, you ready?” He turns to the bench where the first and some second years are sitting; they nod, still a little shaken. “Great, then come on in for us,” he encourages them, getting the coach’s approval.

“Finally, a break!”

“I thought my hands would fall off from all the blocking.”

Kindaichi barely registers Matsukawa-san’s and Hanamaki-san’s words, still watching Iwaizumi. His breathing is still a little heavy, and he soon stands up as the two third-years gently pat his back. He keeps his head down as he heads to the opposite bench from everyone else, shoulders tense and fists clenched.

Kindaichi twists his lips into a frown, letting Kunimi drag him to the bench. They drink water and towel off while the practice set resumes. The young boy tries to focus on his teammates, but his eyes keep drifting back to where Iwaizumi-san is sitting, leaning against the wall, one leg bouncing frantically, arms crossed, and a towel covering his head and face.

He’s alone, but not for long. Yutaro’s eyes widen in slight surprise when he sees Oikawa-san approach and sit down so close to Iwaizumi-san that their legs and arms are touching. For the moment, he doesn’t say anything, taking a long sip from his bottle before closing it and placing it on the floor.

And then, he casually places his leg over Iwaizumi’s, completely stopping his frantic movements. That’s when Iwaizumi rests his head on Oikawa’s shoulder, and the storm seems to calm. Kindaichi can’t help but blush in embarrassment, quickly averting his gaze, feeling like he’s intruding on an incredibly intimate moment.

But his curiosity gets the better of him, and he sneaks another glance at them. Oikawa is playing with Iwaizumi’s hand on his thigh, stretching his fingers, gently caressing them, intertwining them with his own. He’s moving his lips, speaking to him, and from the way they’re softly curled up, he’s either telling something funny or teasing him. Iwaizumi looks more relaxed by the second, and moments later, he pulls the towel off his head with his free hand, tossing it to the floor.

He still doesn’t say anything, just listening, staring at their intertwined hands. But his expression softens; he’s no longer frowning, and there’s a small tug at his lips before he finally speaks. Kindaichi can’t make out what they’re saying, but he feels a little better seeing that Iwaizumi-san is okay, so he turns his attention back to the game, enjoying it.

Though, a little later, amidst the shouts and the squeaking of sneakers, he hears Iwaizumi-san’s laughter. Yutaro blinks in surprise when he looks at them again because it’s one of the very few times he hears that laugh from him—so clean, loud, and genuine (though the one to coax it out of him is always Oikawa). He finds them in practically the same position, with his captain looking at him amusedly and his vice-captain still laughing, head now lifted to look at Oikawa with squinted eyes.

Oikawa’s leg is still over Iwaizumi’s. Their hands are still intertwined. Their arms still touch.

Kindaichi once again feels like he’s intruding on an incredibly intimate moment and looks away.

Then, he thinks.

Oh, so this is what real love looks like.

...

i miss my laptop but i miss iwaoi much more

u can find me on my ao3 🍉

[kinardsevan]

30 day fluff challenge: day fourteen

"taking care of eachother while sick"

little tight on time (thanks to The Devil Doesn't Bargain editing), so this one is a little shorter, but I could have so much fun expanding this one into a lengthier sickfic <3

Evan wakes up later in the night, shivering violently as a cough wracks out of him. 

“I got you another blanket baby,” Tommy murmurs as he shakes it out over Evan. The blonde whimpers as it comes down on him but does nothing to make him feel any warmer. Tommy shifts back around the bed and gets in on his side, pulling the blankets back to climb in. 

“Still co-old,” Evan stammers, trembling. Tommy scoots closer and pulls him in wraps his arms around Evan. 

“Better,” he asks as he rubs his hands up and down his back. 

“A little,” Evan rasps. He snuggles tighter against Tommy, still shivering. 

Tommy lets out a long breath, continuing to move his hands up and down on Evan. His skin is hot to the touch and his fever is climbing, which Tommy supposes isn’t that surprising, given that it only started a few hours ago. Still, the rate at which he’s spiking is concerning. 

“Eddie picked up some provisions,” he murmurs. Evan doesn’t reply. 

Evan falls back out fairly quickly, but Tommy stays beside him. He’s sure they’re just getting started with whatever virus is setting in on him, and the last thing he wants to do is leave him unattended. Even so, he eventually nods off himself. 

His eyes shoot open sometime later to the sound of retching. Evan is coughing so hard that the coughs are shifting to dry heaves, curled over on the side of the bed facing away from Tommy. 

He leaps from the bed and circles it quickly, finding the waste bin he’d grabbed for Evan earlier in the evening and lifting it for him as the blonde continues to cough, strained whines coming out of him at the pain it’s inducing when he finally manages to get a breath. 

Tommy frowns as he perches next to him, running a hand down the back of Evan’s head. Evan looks up at him wearily, eyes glassy from the strain of coughing. 

“Baby,” he lilts, stroking his thumb along the back of Evan’s head. He’s still so warm. 

Evan blinks a few times as he sits there, clearly still struggling to be awake. 

“Can I get you anything,” Tommy asks, sliding his hand around Evan’s head to feel his forehead. Evan shakes his head, but then grabs the wastebin suddenly, his eyes going wide as he starts getting sick. Tommy shakes his head, rubbing a hand up and down his back. Evan is loath to stop it, buckling forward with each new wave that comes. He manages a whimper in between a round of waves, only for his stomach to recoil again a few seconds later. 

“Let it out,” Tommy murmurs to him, alternating between rubbing his back and stroking the sweat off his forehead. It takes almost a full minute, but eventually, Evan is able to let up. Tommy sets the bin aside briefly to grab Evan’s water so that he can rinse his mouth out. He lifts the bin once more for Evan to spit into before helping him lay back down. 

“I’m gonna go rinse this,” he tells him, running a hand along Evan’s forehead again. “Think you’ll be okay for a minute?” 

Evan nods, tugging the blankets higher around him. 

“Usually comes in rounds,” he murmurs as he reaches for a tissue on the nightstand. “Should be fine for a while.” 

Tommy stands then and heads to the bathroom, dumping the contents in the bin before rinsing it and returning to their bedroom as promised. He places the bin beside Evan again and then picks up the thermometer, turning it on and pressing it to Evan’s temple. 

“Eddie pick up chloraseptic spray,” he rasps wearily. 

Tommy glances up at the pharmacy on his side of the bed. “I think so. I’ll look in a minute.” 

The thermometer beeps a few seconds later and Tommy lifts it, shakes his head. 

“Over a hundred and three now,” he tells Evan as he places it back on the nightstand. He rounds the bed once more and starts shuffling around the supplies he’d left out from Eddie’s delivery. Sure enough, he finds the spray. He starts pulling at the wrapping on it. “Think you can tolerate this without getting sick again?” 

Evan nods, managing to lean up on an elbow when Tommy passes him the spray. Once he’s gotten it in, he passes the bottle back to Tommy before laying back down, letting out a soft sigh as the analgesic starts to kick in. 

Tommy settles back in bed with him then, letting Evan curl up against him once more. 

“I feel like someone shoved me in Oscar’s trash can and then threw me down a flight of stairs,” he murmurs nasally. 

Tommy chuckles. “Too much Sesame Street with Jee, I think.” 

“Shut up,” he replies. 

Tommy leans down, kisses his forehead. “Go back to sleep, grouch.” He pauses for a moment. “I love you.” 

Evan sighs, tries to snuggle even closer. “Love you.” 

[equusmaniac]

Might as well post this here too, because yes, I think it came out pretty. (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[obsessiveagony2point0]

Working on a fluffy soft Dead Boy Detectives

EDIT 5/12/2024: Finished Work

[anderii]

True friends are like stars. Even if you can't see them, you know they are there. ✨️

[plabini-art]

heres a ref sheet of my fursona pab!!

[runkrookrun]

Golden American Finch fluffing up for Colorado winter

[reikaniichan]

i like to make things fluffy... feat. ghost beans (fun bonus?)

[iwaoiness]

if iwaizumi could give oikawa the whole world, he would. and if he could pull saturn out of the sky just to hand him all of its rings, he’d do that too. because no one understands him like tooru does. no one reads him with the same care and reverence.

hajime’s silences, lies, the way his hands fidget or his jaw tenses, those things usually go unnoticed, slip past most people. but tooru isn’t just anyone. he doesn’t push hajime when he knows he shouldn’t. he gives him space when he needs it, and fills it gently when he needs that more.

of course, it works both ways. because iwaizumi is proud to be the only person who reads tooru with that same care. he turns his pages slowly, one by one, reads between the lines, he understands the things written in invisible ink.

everyone knows how in sync they are. they’re inseparable, cut from the same cloth. but for hajime, it goes deeper than that. they’re not one soul in one body. they’re two souls intertwined like tangled yarn. two hearts beating in rhythm, sharing veins, arteries, the very same aorta.

that’s why the word 'love' feels so small, so useless, too limited. has only four letters when hajime needs a word with enough letters to fill the entire universe just to even begin describing what he feels for tooru.

“soy or almond milk, iwa-chan?”

hajime, hunched over the handle of the shopping cart, glances up from his phone to see tooru walking over, both cartons in hand, eyes half-distracted by the almond one.

“remember last week when you tried soy milk for the first time and nearly gagged?”

“ugh, right.” he scrunches up his nose, ditching the oat milk and tossing the almond one into the cart, between a bag of cat litter and a sack of flour. “okay, sweet aisle time!” tooru beams, grabbing the edge of the cart like an overexcited toddler instead of the fully 45-year-old functional adult he's.

hajime rolls his eyes with a grin, threatening to run him over with the cart if he doesn’t let go as they make their way to the next aisle.

it’s a friday in july, an hour before the store closes because tooru insists that the last minute is when the best offers are found, and while tooru’s caught up in front of the shelf, hajime pulls out his phone again.

the smile returns onto his face, soft, warm, and heavy with the kind of love that’s been growing ever since tooru first crawled into his crib for their first nap together. on his screen, a photo makki had sent just half an hour ago. one he hasn’t, and won’t, stop looking at.

it’s from last week, during their silver wedding anniversary. and even though hajime loves the professional shots from their photoshoot, makki’s photo is his favorite.

hajime’s standing there, hair messy and soft smile, with his back pressed gently against the table. tooru’s sitting on the same table, behind him, legs on either side of iwa's hips, one arm lazily looped around his shoulders. their left hands are raised together, showing off their rings.

makki caught tooru mid-laugh, and even then, damn it, he looks so good, so handsome, so ethereal. hajime's so in love. those white teeth, the tip of his tongue peeking out beneath them, nose scrunched up tenderly, eyes squinting into half-moons, and that tiny shadow of a dimple on his cheek.

hajime sets it as his lockscreen, cropping it just enough to bring tooru closer, and then locks his phone and slips it back into the pocket of his sweatpants.

when he glances at the cart again, he raises an eyebrow at the sudden spike in chocolate, pastries, cookies, chips, mochi, and random candy.

“tooru?”

“mmh?”

“you know being a retired athlete doesn’t mean your entire diet can be sugar, right?”

“i’m being balanced, excuse you!” tooru protests from where he’s crouched, trying to decide between a new cake roll flavor or his usual.

they end up lingering way too long in the sweets aisle, arguing as hajime tries to sneak half the snacks back onto the shelves while tooru pulls out his stupid pretty deer eyes like he always does.

of course, they work.

(but hajime does manage to return one mochi pack and two bags of chips.)

they speed-run the last aisle, with hajime grabbing veggies and tooru picking fruit, before finally hitting the registers. hajime pays while tooru’s busy packing everything into their reusable bags, and grabs the heaviest ones before tooru can stop him.

they walk out of the supermarket together, and once they reach the car, tooru looks up at the night sky, scattered with stars glowing like pearls, a shy moon peeking between harmless clouds. he smiles, soft and lovely.

“look at the sky, hajime.”

and he does, while opening the trunk, lifting his gaze to the same sky that watched them grow up, the same stars that pursued them along on every train ride and car trip home, the same moon that hajime would bring down to earth if tooru asked him to.

“you know they shine like that for you” he finds himself saying, eyes falling back to tooru, who blinks up at him, cheeks flushed. “because you’re finally here.”

hajime needs a word that has so many letters that fills the entire universe, and also wants as many years as the universe lasts to be with tooru.

...

next step: 6k one day in the life of 45 y/o married iwaoi fic

u can find me on my ao3, bluesky, carrd and strawpage 🍉