Hi! I Was Wondering If You Could Do A Headcannon Of Aizawa Finding Out He's Dating One Of His Students

Sleeping with the Villains

Request: My request idea that popped in my head was I haven’t seen a story of shigaraki’s or dabi’s impression of them sleeping nude/naked with their S/O. I was wondering what their thoughts would be? I wouldn’t mind it if it was both sfw and nsfw:)🤸‍♀️

It can either be headcanoan or a fic. you can choose which one suits best for you to compose. 💕 💕 💕

Word Count: 1.5K each

A/N: I went for a more sfw vibe(‾◡◝)

-

Dabi:

His skin is rough, calloused and burned, and even if he is clean, the scent of ash overtakes that of milk and honey. Dabi is scarred, his body in deep purple patches that are pieced together with staples and on a good day, he can ignore the the pain, can push past it and focus on how soft your hand is compared to his, he can focus on you, rather than the way that that his clothes catches over his skin and pulls on the grooves and the burns. On the harder days, he has to push himself out of bed before you can wake. He has to bite down on the pain that screams for him to collapse, and he’ll swallow pain medication and drink the pain away before you can wake. He is a man ready to explode at any given minute, and he will refuse to do that in front of you.

He wears a loose fitting shirt and sweats that makes it unbearably hot and when he walks into the bedroom that he shares with you, you’re undressed. He grins at you and even if his skin does ache, he can’t deny you, and he can’t deny himself. If you want him now, he’ll give himself to you in a painful and horrible way to keep you by his side.

“I didn’t realize we were going to fuck tonight,” he says, a thin smile on his lips as he sits beside you on the bed. “You should have told me, I would've dolled myself up.” He teases, but he’s serious. He wants to be made pretty for you, to have you look at him and ignore the scars that decorate his face and his body. When you roll your eyes and shake your head, your hand curved over his untarnished skin, he deflates.

“It’s not that,” you tell him with a laugh. You mov to sit fully on the bed, your legs crossed and he’s unable to keep his eyes off of you.

He raises his brows, and his eyes are focused on the swell of your stomach, soft and full, and he hates that he wants to touch you. To simply let his body drape over you and keep you under him. “It’s not?” He asks, his throat already beginning to close and when he catches your eyes, he flashes a smile- awkward and tense. “Then what is it?”

Your hand moves slowly away from him, and even though he is warm, the fire inside of him unending and all consuming, he is cold without you. He watches as your hand falls to cup over your calves. “I just want to sleep naked with you.” He must have given you a bewildered look because when you laugh, you go to hold his hands. “You heard me,” you lilt, something so sweet on your tongue that it makes him ache.

“Why?” He’s done it before with you. Sticky skin against sticky skin, your chest rising and falling, his body shaking in the afterglow of sex as you kiss his chest. But it was always that, always after sex when you both slept naked together. Why now? Why without clothing? And even when he’s dressed, he feels so bare.

“Dabi,” you call his name and it’s like sin that slips past your lips. Your hand rises slowly to cup the side of his face and he hates how you can read him like an open book. He hates how vulnerable he’s become when he’s around you. “I just want to sleep with you. Nothing more and nothing less, honey.”

Honey. What a sweet thing to call him. A nickname that is given and told with love and admiration, and he knows who he is. Thirty people is how many he’s killed. His skin is purple and falling apart on him. He is ash and smoke, and at any second, he will fall apart. No matter where you touch, he is scarred; your touch is something so delicate and painful against his neck that he leans into it, desperate for the pain, but desperate for the touch that you are so willing to give him.

“Me too?” He asks, his clothing pulling taut against his scars and when you nod, a soft, inaudible plea on your lips, he can’t deny you. He can’t rid himself of his clothes quick enough, and yet, he takes them off softly as if he were taking off a bandaid.

Your hands replace his and when you lean over him, your chest is in his face and if it were any other time, if he were less broken than he is now, he’s sure he would have joked and teased. He’s sure that he would have used sex to distract you from seeing him. You’ve seen him before and yet, it is never enough. It’s never his skin, it’s never him, it’s a ghost of who he should be- coy and charming. Yet, here he is, having you helping him remove his clothing because if he were to do it, he'd never be bare in front of you. He’d rather burn once more than to ever have you truly see how he appears.

He is a man of many faults and when you kiss his lips, his scarred and rough bottom lip pressed against yours, he pushes you down to the bed and hovers above you. Your hands hold him tenderly, keeping him together, and you smile at him. There are tears in your eyes and he wonders if he’d match you in another lifetime. The fear. The adoration. The way that despite being above you, he’s unable to breathe properly. He can’t stand it. It’s all so horrific in a way he never thought could be real. He lays on the bed, his body vulnerable to you and your ridicule and when he looks at you, he gives you sad eyes, expecting for your face to twist once you realize who you’ve allowed to touch you.

The air is cold, and his staples are warm, and he is bare. Fear has taken over, and it’s chosen to stay, to his his eyes follow as you look at him, and when you raise your hand, letting it hover over his scarred skin, he can feel it and it’s excruciatingly painful and something that he has craved for far too long.

“Honey,” you call him, your hand curving over the crown of his head and running past his hair. You say it so dolefully that he has to shake his head and even then, your smile is one that lacks it’s usual shine.

“It’s nothing,” your name is a whisper against his lips and it’s a sin for him to say something like that. “Just-” he pauses, he doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he also doesn’t want you to look at him. He swallows and wraps his hand around your wrist. “Do you mind just laying beside me?”

It’s pitiful. Pathetic and everything bad that he’s ever been told. He can’t stand you looking at him when he can’t feel. When he isn’t supposed to feel a thing. And yet, your lips press against his and he can taste the mint on your tongue, and he lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly as you rest carefully beside him.

“Dabi,” you call him and it sends a shiver down his spine when the thin blanket is placed over the both of you. He hums in response, unable to trust his voice at the very moment. “For what it’s worth,” your breath is cool against his shoulder, “I think you’re beautiful.” He can’t help the ugly and snarky laugh that slips past his throat in some cruel joke. You ignore the mean sound and continue, your hand soft on his body. “I wouldn’t dream of ever leaving you. I think I’m too attached to ever believe that I could find someone else. You’re the best that I’ll ever come across, and I hope that when you look at me, you know that I’ll never grow tired of you.”

When you’re asleep, your name having left his lips in a mantra, he lets out a shaky breath. His face burns and he’s glad that he can’t cry. He’s glad he rid himself of that emotion. He’d never forgive himself if he cried because of you. He’d never forgive himself for being so attached to you. He holds you close and the ceiling is blurry. You’re warm in the ways that remind him of something once lost and found. You are something that he will never forget and will never forgive himself for invading your life. Sleeping bare with you was much more than nude, it was vulnerability to let you touch him and see him as him. He turns his head and kisses your forehead. “I hope that when you look at me, you know that I’m sorry.” His voice is weak and he can’t breathe, but he’s by your side and when he wakes up, he wants you to still be there.

Shigaraki Tomura:

His reflection is whole- the mirror before him clean and free of anything that would distort him. With an exposed chest, his shirt is on the sink counter, and he stands in front of the mirror shirtless, observing his body as if he had never seen it before. Tomura raises a careful hand, letting it ghost over his stomach where scars of all shapes and sizes are etched upon his body. The scars are soft, stretched skin that feels almost false under his own, the edges ragged and tickling against the tips of his fingers. He’s never had the luxury of taking a moment to stop and watch his own body, to trace over the imperfections and feel them. It’s so foreign that it makes his anxious, worry bubbling in his stomach that when you call his name, he pulls his hand away from himself, taking a step away from the mirror, recoiling as if his reflection would reach out and trap him there.

He’s never been one to be ashamed of himself, to let the words of others affect him. Time and time again, he’s been told of how awful he looks, reminded of how he’d look better if just a few things were changed about him, and in the end, he’s never cared about any of those comments. He never put his worth on his physical appearance, and that was fine for him. Still, when he sees himself he can find his own flaws, the remarks that people make, and when he sees you, he can’t find any of those. The shirt is grabbed, held tightly in his hands that he has to lift a finger, because old habits die hard.

The door closes behind him and he sees you sitting on the bed, the blanket pulled up towards the chest, gripped in your fists as you hold it close, giving him a tentative smile. Your shoulders are bare, your collarbones exposed, and with his own torso exposed, he clears his head and turns towards the door, almost hoping for an interruption but so scared that someone other than you would see him like this- scars and all.

“You’re not wearing anything,” he presumes, turning back to you, a soft shade of pink blooming on his chest and slowly creeping upwards. “I uh-” he clears his throat even if there is nothing there- “should I do the same?”

You laugh and it’s so sweet, so light and airy, that it reminds him of the first time he shared cotton candy with you. It’s a memory that he pushes away when you drop the blanket and even if he’s seen you in much more passionate ways, he still averts his eyes.

“Only if you want,” you tell him and it makes something inside of him switch, to follow the implication of a command and shed his clothing.

His shirt falls into a puddle of fabric and he steps over it, his steps quick as he goes to the bed that he shares with you. The edge of the bed presses against his thighs and he can’t seem to rid himself of his sweats quick enough, sliding them off until they pool around his ankles. He’s breathless, looking down at himself, his hands hooked over the waistband of his briefs and when he blinks, your hands are over his.

“Usually sex is a lot more fun than this,” he jokes, lifting his head and giving you a ghost of smile that quickly disappears.

“It is,” your voice airy. “But-” your knuckles are now pressed his hips and you lower them slightly, your hands cool against his warm skin- “it’s not about sex tonight.” His boxers join the pool of fabric that is around his ankles and he quickly removes his socks, climbing into bed as you back away to make space for him.

“No?” He whispers, leaning towards you, his hands on either side of your thighs as you sit on your legs. “What a shame,” he says, leaning his head onto your chest, his ear pressed against your beating heart. Your hands curve over the top of his head and he pushes himself further into you when you click your tongue.

It’s quiet for a moment and he can’t bring himself to ruin the silence, to move away from you, even if his arms are starting to tire from holding himself up. Your hand is over him, parting through his silver hair and his ears burn with every touch.

“Tomura?” He hums in response, pushing himself further into you. He doesn’t want for the moment to be ruined. He wants to stay here, uncomfortable and sore, and safe and held. He wants to be in your arms. “How about we lie down, okay?” Your hand leaves the crown of his head and when you pull away, he’s left chasing after you, trying to follow your warmth and reclaim it.

The blanket is pulled, held open for you and him, and in it, is warmth. In it, is you that looks at him so tenderly, the corners of your eyes crinkled and the little fat in your cheeks pushing upwards as you smile at him. He’s clumsy and quick, and he doesn’t care if he seems desperate to get under the covers with you, but it’s all that he wants. He just wants to be beside you.

His hand aches, and his arms are sore, and he’s beside you, his face against your chest as he holds you close to him. It truly is just lying beside you, it’s nothing more, simply being bare in front of you with the distraction of sex to occupy you or him, and it’s horrific. Your hand starts from his neck, past scars trembling under your touch that leads him to hold his breath, taking in one last breath that fills his lungs with the sweet aroma of your body wash and cream. Your hand lowers, tracing over the scars that are wrapped around his arms, coiled and pressed and whispers your name. It stops you for a moment, but when he says nothing else, devoid of breath, his lungs burning and throat tight, your hand continues to press and massage over the scars, each gentle nudge bringing forward the reminder of who he is and when his hands clamps around your arms, free of the mangled scars that are his, he lets out a mix of a whine and cry. He doesn’t know what it is that you are doing, but it hurts and he’s so desperate for the comfort that he fails to register as your hand glides down and flutters over his side, where a scar is large against him, wrapping around his side and fading once it reaches towards his stomach. It’s an odd sensation, different from his. Yours feels as if it really is a ghost that is pressing against him, something so light and foreign that it’s as if you had never touched him before.

“Does it ever hurt?” You ask, and he can feel the press of your thigh against his.

“Yes,” he breathes, unable to lie to you. What is it about you that ruins him, that makes him so weak and willing to tell you whatever it is that you want to hear. He’d bow before you, plead at the mercy of you for just a simple smile.

“Am I hurting you?” You ask and when you press down, the small shift of weight making his gasp out, he hisses out his answer.

“Yes,” he confesses. Your hand starts to lift away from him and he holds it down, his own scarred hand holds yours. “Please, don’t stop,” he asks of you and when he pulls away his eyes burn and yours look so sad and he can’t have that. He can’t have you look at him, and he can’t bear to see you so sad.

Tomura presses his lips against yours, the kiss wet and shaky and it’s more of him needing you than it is of him just wanting to kiss you. He pulls you close, his nails dragging against your soft skin and there’s this aching part of him that doesn’t want to let up for breath, he’d be happy to die there with you, his lips on yours, and yours on his. His heart echoes in his ears and beats against his ribcage like a bird with too big of wings trapped in a cage. Your hands curve around his neck, and it’s different. It isn’t a gnawing sense of pain and itch, it’s not muddled clarity that makes his stomach twist; it is simply you and your touch that keeps him grounded. He’s gasping and when he finally pulls away, gasping for breath and looking at you through half lidded eyes, he sees you smiling back at him, your chest rising and dipping and he is still with you.

“I’m still here,” you say as if you could have heard his worries. Your hand cups his chest and moves to tangle into his hair. “Whatever you want of me, I’ll give it to you.” It’s something that he will hold you to and when you press your lips against his in a fleeting kiss, he’s left wanting more.

this but with bnha 👀

izuku as letting you fall asleep on his shoulder during field trips and when you're on the bus together. he'll let you have whichever seat you want — whether it be the window seat or the aisle, he's more than happy to let you have the one you want. if he sees you're tired, he'll let you know you can sleep, and offer his shoulder as a pillow with flaming red cheeks. when you get to your destination though, he doesn't have the heart to wake you up since you look way too peaceful.

denki as being way too overdramatic when it's cold, and saying “god, i wish someone would give me their jacket” while looking over at you expectantly, being way too obvious with his hints, that he wants you to give him your jacket. if you do give it to him he'll give it back the next day, while thanking you with a bright smile. when you wear it later on, you'll find a hastily folded paper that just has a messily drawn happy face inside in one of the pockets.

shoto as trying out new things with you — even if it turns out that both of you suck at it. you could say you want to try learning how to cook, and he'd try it out with you (as it turns out, he's very bad at it, but he tried). it isn't limited to just small things, he'd come with you even if you say you want to learn an entirely new thing that takes months to learn; something that's time consuming. if you tell him he doesn't have to come with you if he doesn't want to, he's shaking his head and is already searching for classes for whatever it is.

bakugou as reaching for your hand when he feels like you're having a bad day. he doesn't say anything, just squeezes your hand to reassure you since he knows he's not the best at comforting people, or just words in general. if you look at him and smile, genuinely, he knows you're alright, but if you look at him and smile, one he knows is fake, his mission for the day is to cheer you up, whether it be with passive aggressiveness or a try at actually comforting you with words, he just wants you happy again.

kirishima as always being there whenever you need him and knowing when something's wrong. if you have anything on your mind, he's one step ahead of you because right as you're about to send him a text, you recieve one from him saying 'what's wrong?' he doesn't pressure you to talk either, he just reassures you that he's there for you if you need to talk about it. he'll offer to come over to your house, even if it's 4am and his parents will give him hell about it in the morning.

hanta as making you playlists of the songs that remind him of you. he just randomly sends you a link to a spotify playlist he'd made, and ask you to tell him what you think about it. he'd be overjoyed if you say it's good and that you like it. he never really specifies that he made it especially for you, unless you ask him why he send it to you. he'd then say those are songs that remind him of you, and when you thank him, he's totally red behind his phone screen, although he'll never admit that.

tokyo rev ver. | thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are appreciated!

domestic things they do | genshin men

masterlist

characters: diluc, kaeya, itto, albedo, gorou, childe, xiao, and thoma.

a/n: i laid in bed and wrote this after school so yeah. i love domesticity, wanted to write fluff after writing so much angst for thin ice. :)

diluc always has to leave late for night watch, but there’s one thing he’ll do without fail: he kisses you softly on the forehead before he leaves. diluc doesn’t know how to aptly show affection when you’re awake, but pecking you on the forehead before you leave is a step in the right direction to him.

kaeya will always give you his coat when you’re cold. he doesn’t even need for you to say anything; that thick, fluffy, leather jacket gets draped around your shoulders without fail. when you look at him with surprise, he only winks and shrugs his shoulders.

on days where you come home after he does, zhongli always has a cup of tea prepared for you. most days, it’s oolong tea. but the more and more time you spend together, he sorts through your preferences. zhongli won’t skip out on details either; he knows exactly when to stop pouring in the creamer, how many sugar cubes is just right, and how long to set it over the stove so that it’s warm when you come home to him.

albedo will always ask how your day is before you can even say “welcome home!”. he wants to know everything always, and that includes discovering what makes his love happy and sad. he’ll be quiet in listening, staring at you with enamored eyes.

no matter the weather, sick or in good health, itto is always willing to cuddle you. he likes hold your hand while doing so and stuff his head into your neck too. no words need to be exchanged—everything is already expressed in the steady rhythm of his heart.

gorou is always willing to run out and get you whatever you need. if it’s the middle of the night and you want some miso soup? he’s already halfway out the door. sometimes, he’ll even come home with whatever you were thinking about needing. he’ll joyously laugh in delight, chuckling that you both are telepathic.

childe always brings home gifts. whether or not he’s been gone for a few hours or a few months, he’ll return to you with trinkets. when you ask him why he bought it, he’ll bashfully reply that it reminded him of you.

to everyone else, xiao couldn’t care less about reminding them of their well-being. but before you ever go anywhere, xiao will clippedly scold you for not wearing warmer clothes, or forgetting to bring an umbrella. when you tell him thank you, he’s reduced to a flustered, blushing mess.

thoma, somehow, is always one step ahead of you when it comes to chores. when you leave the dinner table to go get your phone? he’s already wiped down the table, put away the leftovers, and is in the middle of washing dishes when you return. when you come home, your room is spotless, the closet is organized, and taroumaru is well-fed. if you try to tell him that you can do some of the work, he’ll laugh and tell you it’s no big deal.

Tokyo Revengers: Flashing Scenes #1

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────── Loss (Shinichiro Sano x Fem. Reader)

─────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────

The sea was brimming with the shades smudged up on it by the dull sun hanging over the sad New Year sky.

It had been two years. Two years since the last time Mikey saw this very sun rose up from the east with his people. His people. It was a precious collection of faces that could burn up his soul even when this life had turn it into ashes.

Time... it was beautiful with them.

"Are you missing them too, Taiyaki-san?" mumbled Mikey to his beloved fish-shaped cookie. "Are they missing me too...? I wonder whether Kenchin is doing good or not these days. Because... last night, Emma requested me to check up on him. But you know, I just could not..."

"...why so?"

Came a voice and Mikey frowned.

"You can speak Taiyaki-san?" he said. For a second he thought, with extreme bewilderment, that it was his beloved cookie who asked the question out of his sentence.

However, when Mikey heard the same voice giggle at his foolish words, it became clear to him that it wasn't the case as he pronounced.

For when he turned his head slightly to his left, he found a female leaning against the wharf on which he was sitting beside the ocean port.

She turned her face towards him and Mikey watched the cruel January winds ruffling its fingers past through her (h/c) tresses.

"Such a beautiful morning, isn't it, Mikey?" said the female, smiling a warm smile. "Such a beautiful season to miss your loved ones."

"Who are you?" Mikey asked with the frown settled on his lips deepening.

Exactly.

Who was she?

Coming out of nowhere.

Calling him by his name.

But it seemed, as though she was not in the mood to answer his question as she parted her lips to speak again.

"Shinichiro always used to say that one must always sway away from meddling with the evil. Because it's consuming. The evil. It's treacherous. It came in the night to creep up your chest. To cut through your fibres. To make home inside your heart."

'Huh? Is she delusional?' Mikey thought and said, "what do you mean by this?"

"You know very well already, Mikey."

No he don't.

And how dare she call his name in the same manner his late brother used to say.

"He won't be happy to see you like this, Mikey. All this blood and violence, he never approved of this style and I don't think so that he ever wanted his little brother to engage himself with such things too."

She tilted her head. Her (e/c) orbs took to gaze into his own black ones and Mikey felt them peering deep inside his tattered soul.

"It's been so long..." she mumbled and tore her irises away to look up at the hazy winter sky.

"Let all those who left you live through your sufferings, Mikey. But don't let the void their absence created being filled with anything but sweet memories you made with them... okay?"

The female leaned away from the wharf and took to rummage her hand inside her bag. From inside it, she pulled out a pack of Dorayaki and placed it before him.

"Happy New Year, young Sano. May this year bring you back to warmth."

And, she raised her hand. Brought it closer towards his face so her fingers could grace his cold skin.

The touch...

It was like she just dusted off all of his bad corners.

How could someone who you only met could feel so much like home?

"Who are you?" Mikey asked. This time hoping that she would reply. But all he got in return was her sweet smile.

"Ask your brother," the (h/c) haired female said. "He will tell you about me." And with this, she turned to leave.

But in the process, Mikey caught a hold of a glinting necklace that stayed hanging to her neck.

He knew this necklace...

In his memories. He had seen it in them.

And, he felt, images pouring before his eyes. He felt them carrying him away.

Away... to that day.

"Woah! This is so beautiful, big bro! Can I have it?" Emma chimed. Her eyes shining with admiration as she sat, looking down at a quiet simple floral necklace.

"What are you talking about?" Shinichiro said, looking over his shoulder.

He jumped, the moment he noticed what Emma was referring. Jogging to her, he tried to take the necklace but she hid it behind her back.

"Uh! Emma! Give it back to big bro— from where you found it?"

"It just fell from your pocket," said Emma. "Now, can I have it, please? It's so pretty." She requested. Batting her lashes innocently but Shinichiro shook his head. With a soft face he said, "I will buy you another, Emma. One more prettier than this, okay?"

"No! I want this one!"

"Understand it, Emma," Shinichiro panicked, watching Emma being ready to unleash her stubborn side.

"Pwease, big bro—"

"—Emma, I said I'll buy you another—"

"And as you can see, this is the live footage of two Sanos fighting over a cheap necklace. Behaving like irrational donkeys like always—"

"MIKEY!!"

Now he could see it...

She was there...

There behind Shinichiro's panicky face. There behind his "I might be late for lunch todays."

She was there. That day. She was the one yelling at him for getting into the meaningless fights over the telephone line.

She was his...

"Who's Gourmet Cream, Shinichiro?"

I remember asking him. I remember him choking over his soup. I remember him snatching his phone and blushing for straight one hour.

"Come inside, (f/n)," said Wakasa with tears strolling down his face. "Shin needs you to put his soul to rest..."

She was there.

There outside the church.

Playing hide-and-seek with the shadows. Mourning with the tunes played by her cracking heart.

Her knuckles... they were all white.

Because she was clutching onto that floral necklace so hard. It was as if... as if it was whispering something to her.

As if it was the only thread stringing life into her.

I remember her.

She was big bro's twenty-first proposal and his only yes.

Heh!

And she was his Gourmet Cream.

So, Shinichiro, does that mean that she is broken from the same place as I am?

Does she have this same wound.

The wound which I call....

loss?

[ TO LOVE ] SCARAMOUCHE.

to love is to betray—at least that’s how scaramouche has always seen it.

and then he meets you.

“this is my bath,” you tease him lightly, and even despite the shooing motion of your hand, even despite the soft glare sent your way, you still make room for him to settle between your legs.

“well, it’s also mine now too,” he huffs.

he leans his back against your chest, let’s his body melt in against yours, let’s the soft trace of your hands fill the empty cracks with something he’s lacked for long time.

scaramouche is almost certain you realize he’s in love with you before he comes close to knowing himself. and it’s funny—even though you fall first, he falls harder.

maybe it’s just the world being cruel once again, just as it always has been with him. it’s cruel, downright evil, really, that something about you makes him forget so easily who he is, who he’s supposed to be. love has always written itself as betrayal—but you make it seem so promising, luring out the softest parts of him, the naive ones that hope and hope…just to crumble in the end, like always.

but then you wash his hair, lathering shampoo into your hands and working through his hair softly, slowly, delicately like he’s fragile.

“admit it. you just like it when i wash your hair, huh?” and you’re still teasing, still using that slightly amused tone when you speak to him. he should be insulted, he thinks, but there’s a smile on his face.

for a moment, he notes that he’s lucky his back is facing you and the smile stretched across his lips is hidden—otherwise you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’re right. because he does love when you wash his hair, he loves the closeness and the safety and the feeling of being wanted. of being cherished. of being something to someone without having to earn it first.

but he can’t bring himself to admit it, so instead, he scoffs, leaning more weight onto you as he quirks a brow.

“well, why wash it myself if you’re around?”

it’s his way of giving himself the upper hand—his way of convincing himself that love is not the reason why he so desperately chases the tenderness of your fingers against his scalp. no, instead, he convinces himself that mortals such as you were made to serve him like this. to treat him like he’s holy and divine, like he’s the god you’re meant to worship as you kiss his shoulder with a giggle.

“that’s true,” you hum, “why would you do it when i can take care of you?”

but you’re different—and it scares him a little. you don’t worship him like he’s a deity, like he’s all mighty and the answer to your prayers. instead, you simply love him, like it’s a choice, like it’s something you want.

you cover his eyes as you rinse out the suds. love. you cup his cheek and admire him. love. you lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, teasingly grazing over his lips before pulling away. love.

everything about you is completely in love—but to love is to betray, and he knows the inevitable will be soon to come.

so he denies the urge to pull you back in, ignores the almost painful need to feel your lips press against his, turns away every part of him that screams to let i love you spill from his lips.

because every time he loves, every time he so graciously gives every piece of himself—like the heart he doesn’t have, even offering the parts that don’t exist and giving them up anyway—love always tastes like a bitter sip of betrayal.

i love you, he wants to say. but he knows as soon as the words slip, so will you from his fingers. just like the last time—just like the first.

“you don’t need to take care of me,” he grunts, “i’m fine on my own.”

“on your own,” you hum in thought, as if you’re carefully taking in his words. “isn’t that lonely?” you ask softly. by now, your hand has resigned to rubbing slow circles into his chest, pulling him in closer, almost as if proving a point.

i’m right here. you’re not alone.

“no,” he says stubbornly, “i’m above needing—”

“cause sometimes i’m lonely,” you admit, cutting him off. there’s no shame in your voice, not even a trace of hurt or sadness or even hatred. instead, you smile, pressing another kiss to his shoulder, and then the crook of his neck as you murmur, “but i guess not so much when i’m with you.”

“me?”

“yeah,” you nod, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheek pressed against his, “you. cause i love you, you know?”

and once again, scaramouche realizes he’s in love. he’s been so painfully in love for so long—and he thinks you’ve known it for even longer.

and to love is to betray, he thinks—but you’re still here, still holding him tight in your arms as you smile into his skin. so he finds a little hope, a little relief, as he closes his eyes and listens to your heartbeat against his back.

after a moment, with a tight grip on your thigh and wobbly lips, he quietly whispers, “i think i love you too.”

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

BNHA Masterlist

Bakugou Katsuki

A Night Off - You go out for some food and your roommate, Bakugou, gets worried when you don't return quickly and aren't responding. (Basically a crack fic) /nonromantic Sleepy Mornings - You know Bakugou is prone to nightmares, that's usually why he's missing from bed in the mornings. /dating Night Walks - You weren't a big part of Bakugou's friend group. You somehow managed to become closer to him after a nightmare. /friends > dating Forgive, Don't Forget - (Prologue) - (Part One) - (Part Two) - (Part Three) - (Part Four) - When Izuku broke up wit you, you expected to cry in bed for at least a week. Since when was public slander a part of heartbreak. This realization was also downplayed by the fact that BAKUGOU was on your side?!?! /friends > dating > married (Ongoing) Pickpocket!Bakugou Headcanons - I only added a little bit to this, but any Bakugou fan would like this. The Regent - (Part One) - Your family always expected too much from you for people who have neglected you. However, you never expected to be shoved into a marriage you didn't even have a hand in, much less know of. (Ongoing) /married

Izuku Midoriya

November Prompt - Crisp Air - Izuku finds you on the balcony of your apartment in his favorite shirt. /dating Immortal Izuku Headcanon - Basically a headcanon that Izuku is just a little wanderer who collects information which also includes Bakugou and Shouto.

Shouto Todoroki

The Days We Lost - You always had a crush on Shouto, but then Momo came around and you shoved your feelings to the back burner. (Maybe Ongoing) /angsty, friends Shouto Headcanons - Head empty, only Todoroki fulfilling all his annoying little brother tendencies with Bakugou.

How they like to be called - Character x gn! Reader

Characters: Diluc, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Warnings: Nicknames, terms of endearment(?)

Diluc: Darling, Love

All you have to do is look at this man and call him by an affectionate nickname and he would get flustered.

But that doesn’t happen for every nickname you call him by. But there are specific ones…

“Do you want to take a break, Diluc? Come lay on my lap, Darling.”

OHO he gonna drop his pen on the ground and look at you with widened eyes

Gosh darn he’s so adorable I can’t even

“D- don’t call me that. What if the maids-”

“Love, I don’t care about the maids.”

You broke him.

-

Childe: Babe, Sweetheart

Oh he’s such a tease. He would call you such embarrassing names in public.

Pumpkin pie, for example.

Yeah you hated that. So you began to plot your revenge.

But you decided to forget about it.

“Babe, can you hand me the fork?”

OH YOU GOT HIM RIGHT WHERE YOU WANTED HIM

He’s so flustered he would just stammer his way out of the situation

“Oh the fatui wanted a pep talk for a-!? for a p- project they’re working on-”

That was quite the show.

-

Kaeya: My love, Angel

This man literally does not get flustered.

Do what you want, you’re not breaking him.

That is until…

“Did you like the lunch I made today my love?”

Oh my god his face

His one eye was blown so wide-

He tries to play it off cool, but you KNOW something's up.

“I don’t e- eat lunch, darling.”

He… doesn’t eat… lunch?

You managed to fluster Kaeya, you deserve an award.

-

Zhongli: Dear, Honey

Oh Zhongli is super dense. He is SO dense.

He has you unintentionally flustered every time you’re with him, but you almost never fluster him.

Oh haha hold on, I said almost.

Call him by a classic nickname in front of his colleagues.

“I’m going to take my leave honey, be back home soon okay?”

Oh HELL YES

His face, his precious face is so… SO red.

He just looks at you with puzzled eyes and tries to distract himself-

“Y- Y/N?…”

This is probably the pinnacle of your existence, you made Zhongli blush.

Taglist: (send an ask to be added!)

@tiredsleep @cxlrose @yuezhong @art3m-screams @myluvkeiji @simp-lyzity @queen-of-wires @luuvlei @purmpkle-heart @reminiscenttwilight @chillipadi @mikachu2x @raincxtter @manager-of-the-pudding-bank

GENSHIN MEN & DOING CUTE AUTUMN THINGS .

characters. zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette alhaitham kaveh x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. happy almost october. which means happy almost christmas | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

zhongli

autumn, with zhongli, is sitting around a bonfire together. his hands are tightly wrapped around you, with you leaning against his shoulder – liyue never had seasons like these, so experiences like these came far and few. it was lovely all the same, sitting nestled in the leaves with you.

diluc

autumn, with diluc, is helping him with the autumn harvest. carts of grapes, pumpkins, cantaloupes, tomatoes, and more were filled to the brim, with two satisfied smiles on your faces after as he pushed the cart back to the manor. a sweet tradition, always ending with a glass of the harvest's finest wine at the end of the day.

kaeya

autumn, with kaeya, is always filled with baking and your household smelling like the grand mixture of cinnamon, butter and nutmeg. pumpkin pie, apple pie, cinnamon rolls, pecan bars, apple crisps and so many more left no more room for actual eating at the kitchen counters – time to host another soirée!

childe

autumn, with childe, is always competing to gather the biggest pile of leaves outside to jump into, within the coziness of your backyard. some years, the children eagerly watched the you go against each other, only for childe to tackle you into your pile of leaves. you always forgive him, though – you can't stay mad at your favourite ginger.

neuvillette

autumn, with neuvillette, is taking a stroll through the cold gardens of fontaine. the air seems to whisper and flitter about, and the melusines skip around as happily as ever. neuvillette forgets about all his worries the moment his hand slips in yours so perfectly – it seems as if your hand was made exactly for his.

alhaitham

autumn, with alhaitham, is booking an isolated cabin in the woods – and spending your most favourite two weeks of the year there. the air is sweetened with the scent of cinnamon biscuits and browned butter. you and alhaitham finally get to take a breath away from the bustle of sumeru city, and curl up within each other to read and live.

kaveh

autumn, with kaveh, is booking every single haunted house and maze you can find on the sumeru websites. you laugh as you watch your boyfriend's face turn from pleasantness to a horror-filled shock, the most high-pitched squealing and shrieking you've ever heard extract out of his body when the jumpscares start. he may have grabbed your hand too tightly, and now there's a red mark.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx @vennnnn-diagram @ryuryuryuyurboat @yuminako (send ask to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-)

Levi is the type to;

Cover you with a blanket when you fall asleep on the couch

Lay his hand on your leg

Embrace you from behind

Make sure you have the comfiest seat in the car/kitchen/living room/etc

Put your phone on charge when you fall asleep

Rub your back when it hurts

Wash your laundry and dirty dishes

Buy you that something you wanted

Ruffle your hair

Kiss you when you're fast asleep and whisper that he loves you

Spider-Man!Atsumu who has a crush on the neighbor across the hall — you. He tries to keep you at arm’s length at first, tries to keep you as just a friend and nothing more; his late-night, anonymous superhero gig doesn’t afford him the luxury of functional relationships. But one too many evenings spent watching you smile and listening to you talk leaves affection swirling in his chest instead. Great, he thinks. Just great.

Spider-Man!Atsumu who doesn’t realize he’s collapsing onto the floor of your apartment until he’s already hunched against the wall, mask halfway off and exposing his mouth. His breath is labored, ribs screaming in pain, but the sound of a shocked gasp draws his eyes up to meet yours. Oh shit.

Spider-Man!Atsumu who doesn’t know you’ve been just as enamored with him as he’s been with you, who doesn’t know that you’ve spent all this time memorizing the sound of his voice and the curve of his cupid’s bow. You’d know that teasing smile anywhere, so before he can tug the mask down and explain the situation away with all the charm he can muster, you’re letting out a breathless, questioning call of his name. He deflates at the sound of your voice, yanking his mask off to reveal cuts and bruises littering his skin. You all but drag him off to the bathroom then, insisting that you can finally put your first aid kit to good use.

Spider-Man!Atsumu who allows himself to relax, to sink onto the lip of your tub, and be taken care of. He decides, with your fingers delicately dabbing hydrogen peroxide into his skin, that maybe his inner circle could stand to open just a little bit; that maybe he could make room for you in his secret world.