WE R OURPLE

“our my”

i so badly wanna write the preliminary meeting that i mentioned in the yandere suguru thing…………. i just think it’ll be funnnn teehee ^^

i’m getting my nips pierced tmmrw. i am so scared. so nervy.

now playing…

baby, my phone!! by yameii online

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

college student! tenko shimura x popular! reader

my first ever smau aaaaa!!! this is a quirk-free college au teehee (for my sanity pls note each of these conversations take place like days/weeks apart. pls.)

pt 2!!

cw’s!!: one or two kys/die jokes, dry texter tenko (i luv him), gn! reader, and the fastest burn you’ve ever seen (i have no patience)

Okay. Breathe, Satoru. You can do this. It's just a sleepover. Just your girlfriend. Just the person you're absolutely, irrevocably obsessed with. Who you're trying really, really hard not to scare off.

Standing in your apartment, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from touching everything. You’re flitting around, casual, relaxed, while he’s trying to memorize the shape of your furniture, the smell of your space, the way you hum when you walk into the kitchen.

Satoru's baby-blues locking onto the bathroom door. “I’ll, uh... shower first, if that’s okay?” like it’s the most neutral, chill request ever. It’s not. He’s sweating. His ears are pink. You nod like it’s no big deal - of course it’s no big deal - but to him? It’s a very big deal.

He gently closes the bathroom door behind him. Worries if he makes too much of a sound, he will be banned from your fine establishment. Your things are everywhere. Shampoo bottles, conditioner, your razor, a little candle half-burned on the sink, your loofah hanging from the shower knob, the loofah. He stares at it for too long.

Are we at the loofah-sharing stage? Satoru wonders, frozen in place. It’s pink. Fluffy. It looks soft, and it’s yours, and he’s fighting every stupid urge in his body. “Don’t be weird,” muttering aloud, as if he can command himself into normalcy. Still, his fingers twitch. He holds it. Briefly. Gently. Just for a second. Just to say he did.

Then comes the body wash. He squirts out the tiniest amount and rubs it between his hands like it’s precious perfume. The scent hits him and he nearly slides down the wall. You smell like this. You smell like this all the time. How is he supposed to survive? Because now he smells like you.

Pressing his face into the steam and pretends it’s your neck. He’s sick. Maybe a little pathetic. He knows it. But he’s also just so in love. What can a guy do?

When he steps out, face flushed and hair damp, he feels like a teenage boy at his crush’s house for the first time - which, in his mind, he kinda is. You’re waiting for him in pajamas, makeup wiped off, looking soft and sleepy and so perfectly you. He thinks he might pass out.

And then… brushing teeth together. Should be simple. Should be normal. But nothing is normal around you. He’s beside you at the sink, trying to play it cool while your shoulder brushes his. You hum to yourself while brushing, glancing at him through the mirror, and he nearly foams at the mouth. Or maybe that’s the toothpaste. He’s not sure.

Then he sees it.

A little blob of foam at the corner of your lips.

Something happens to him. Something dark and unspeakable. He wants to kiss it away. He wants to lick it off your mouth like a psychopath. He stares. Blinks. Shakes his head like a wet dog. Absolutely not. No. Stop it.

What’s wrong with you, scolding himself. She’s just brushing her teeth. Like a person. A very pretty, perfect person.

He spits. Rinses. Avoids eye contact. Looks at the drain. Looks at your spit down the drain. Another weird thought. One that must be suppressed.

And then it’s time. Bedtime. Final boss.

Your bed is small. Cozy. Absolutely infested with plushies. He pretends to be annoyed but he secretly loves them. Even if they are plotting to kick him off the edge of the mattress. He climbs in carefully, unsure which plush is your favorite. Unsure what you'd do if he accidentally knocked one little guy off the floor. The blanket smells like your laundry. Like home. Like the future he wants with you.

You’re already under the covers, blinking at him sleepily, smile soft and content. Wearing his shirt and not much else. The fabric rides up your thighs and he has to look away before his brain fully melts. He deserves a prize for not making a move. Deciding to lay on his back, stiff, hands folded like he’s in a coffin. He doesn’t touch you. Not even a pinky. Be good, chanting to himself. Be good. You like her. You love her. You’re not a perv, you’re not a perv.

You shift closer.

A leg brushes his. A sigh escapes your lips. Your hand settles gently on his stomach like it belongs there.

He almost cries, something between a half whimper and a wheeze leaves his throat.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his arm around your waist. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away. You lean into him.

He swears he hears wedding bells.

You fall asleep just like that, face nestled against his shoulder, breath even and slow. And he lies there, heart racing, brain fried, blinking up at the ceiling, Satoru would be getting no sleep tonight.

His thoughts are a mess: She’s so pretty. Is she really mine? What if I kissed her forehead? No, too soon. Maybe not. God, her skin is soft. I should move in. Tomorrow. Today. Right now. No, bad. Calm down. Be cool. Be a good boyfriend. Don’t get a boner. You’re cuddling. It’s fine. Just breathe. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

He wants to. Touch you, that is. Just your waist. Just a hand on your back. Just to pull you closer and feel your heartbeat against his chest. But he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still. He doesn’t want to push anything. You haven’t done that yet, and he’d rather die than make you uncomfortable.

Except nothing’s okay. Because he’s so in love it physically hurts. Because you’re sleeping peacefully and trusting him with this little moment, and all he wants is to stay like this forever.

How are you sleeping so peacefully while he’s over here thinking about nothing but how perfect yoh are?

he takes it like a good girl fs

These days I have been working on other drawings and finishing the ones I had pending, this is one of them, which joins the collection I already have 🤣

I’m nosey so feel free to share your answer in the tags 🌚

hi guys it’s not hard to make ur x reader fics racially ambiguous :3 hi guys it’s not hard to make ur x reader fics racially ambiguous :33 hi guys it’s not- *gunshot*

hey soooo ik i got popular on this blog for jjk but like….. what if i offered some shigaraki fluff…….. what then……… (i’ll post later tn if i’m able to finish it up :p)

i feel like suguru never broke the habit of eating candy/drinking soda after eating curses.

like even as an adult with all the cult leader stuff, he still always carried around small candies or lollipops to stave off the nasty taste after eating a curse. especially after you came into his life.

it felt strange to eat a curse only to kiss you with those same lips without something to cleanse his palette. he didn’t want to associate the bitter taste of a curse with your lips, he’d much rather associate them with something sickly sweet.

the sound of crinkling wrappers and soft crunching had become customary, a sort of white noise after suguru had ingested a curse. he always, always leaned in for a kiss after, slipping his dyed tongue into your mouth as you hummed at the sweet flavor laving over your tastebuds, even playfully trying to guess the flavor from the remnants of the sugary treat.

that’s why you watched him expectantly as he finished the remnants of his lollipop, his tongue mindlessly fiddling with the stick for a moment before throwing it away. he raised an eyebrow when he noticed your stare, a smirk gracing his lips.

“is there something on my face?” he sounded too smug to be clueless. you only shook your head in response, that same wide eyed, expectant gaze fixed on his face.

he broke sooner than he would’ve liked, clicking his tongue with a small “c’mere.” he fought back a smile when you came closer, cupping your face in his hands before pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. you pulled him closer, a small gasp leaving him when you sucked on his tongue softly before pulling away completely with a thoughtful hum.

“is it peach?”

he gave you an incredulous look, a small laugh leaving him at your words. god, you were going to be the death of him.

(you were right.)

someone needs to arrest mist. matching someone's freak this well can't be legal