Percy Likes Walking Around Naked In His Cabin After Sex.

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ it’s your softness that drives ichigo insane.

your frilly skirts, the way you hum little songs when you fold laundry, how you say “good morning” like it actually means something. how you always ask if he’s eaten, if his hair’s getting too long, if he wants to sit on the bed while you paint your nails so he doesn’t feel lonely.

you’re all sugar. all soft lips and shiny eyes and pastel hearts. and it makes ichigo’s teeth ache.

because the shit he wants to do to you isn’t soft.

and you don’t even realize.

you’ll be standing there at the sink, humming to yourself, sleeves rolled up while you wash dishes, and he’ll walk behind you, hands in his pockets, voice low like it slipped out by accident:

“could bend you over the counter right now.”

you glance over your shoulder, blinking wide and doe-eyed, suds still clinging to your wrist.

“what’d you say, ichi?”

he’s already leaning on the doorframe, casual as hell, one brow up like you’re imagining things.

“huh? nothing. i said we’re outta milk.”

“oh.” you smile again, all sweet and warm. “i’ll add it to the list!”

he smirks—barely. but the heat behind his eyes lingers, eating you alive from ten feet away.

it gets worse when you dress up. little skirts. glossy lip balm. the socks with frilly lace at the edges. he sits on the couch, watching you spin in front of the mirror.

“you look cute,” he mumbles.

you beam. “you think so?”

he shrugs, arms crossed behind his head.

“yeah. real cute. can’t wait to take it off with my teeth.”

you freeze. “what?”

he blinks up at you like he just asked you about the weather. “hmm? said the pink looks nice.”

“…oh. thanks.”

you turn away, but he sees the heat creeping up your neck.

later, he’ll lean against your door, hands in his hoodie pocket, voice low and quiet as you curl up on your bed reading.

“bet if i sucked on your tits just right you’d make the prettiest noises.”

you don’t even process it for a full second. then you look up, mouth parted.

“…what?”

“huh?” he tilts his head. “i said i like your voice.”

“i—ichigo!”

“what?” he says, grinning like he didn’t just drop a nuclear line.

you toss your pillow at him.

but he lives for it. for the way you fluster. for the way your fingers tighten in your skirt, your knees knock together, your face burns.

you’re all soft curves and sweetness and kindness, and he says the most filthy, devastating things under his breath just to watch you melt.

and the best part?

he never admits it.

“y-you said something nasty just now.”

“me?” he says, leaning in, all wide innocent eyes and smug under the surface. “no way, baby girl. i think you’re hearing things again.”

“liar…”

he kisses your forehead.

“better get your ears checked.”

How I’d imagine dating Yuji Itadori…

🛹

thinking about how bakugo absolutely admires the way you to steal his lingo & personality. you’re a mini version of him. you don’t do it purposely, but after dating & hanging out for so long it begins to grows on you.

bakugo who would proudly watch you cuss out some random guy for criticizing his attitude and how violent he is as a pro hero. he doesn’t need you to stick up for him but watching you do it makes his heart flutter. he watches you stomp your way back to him with a pout, he swears to himself that he saw steam come out of your ears.

he wraps his muscular arms around your waist and tilts his head down to your ear,

“that’s my girl.”

Crédits @jing

grover clocked percy i fear

Back to projecting on midoriya-sensei

SUNA RINTARŌ, akaashi keiji, jing yuan, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, xiao, diluc, caelus, DAN HENG, sugawara kōshi, KITA SHINSUKE, MIYA OSAMU, IWAIZUMI HAJIME, blade, SEMI EITA, cyno, KENMA KOZUME

04162025 — PARADISE h. iwaizumi x reader

word count 924 warnings this will give you cavities and probably diabetes from how sweet it is

THE MORNING SUN’S RAYS slowly filtered through the sheer fabric of their curtains; warm golden hues touched everything they could reach, painting the room in a soft, sleepy light. The light danced across their sheets, casting soft shadows on skin still warm from sleep.

For a moment, their world was quiet—a bubble of serenity, just the sound of slow breathing and the rustle of linen as one of them stirred, reluctant to let the morning break their spell.

Outside, the city was already pulsing with life—the muffled sounds of cars engines in the distance, a stray dog barking once, twice, before disappearing into the hum of the morning. But none of it mattered here. Not yet.

The clock on the bedside table read 10:32 AM in big, bold letters—late enough to stir, early enough to stay. But here, in the cocoon of their shared stillness, time moved differently. Slower, more gently.

He shifted under the sheets, reaching out with sleep-heavy hands to find her, drawn by instinct more than thought. Skin met skin, bodies molded into each other, a quiet exhale and a small smile before any words. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, her strawberry-scented hair the only barrier between him and the warmth of her skin.

As she leaned into his touched, he couldn’t help but wonder how mornings ever felt complete before her—before the quiet, the warmth, the way she fit so perfectly against him.

He kissed the top of her shoulder, slow and lingering, murmuring a soft ‘it’s ten’ against the fabric of her shirt, an old college shirt that formerly belonged to him. His voice was low, deep, thick with sleep, and rough around the edges—her favorite part of shared mornings with him.

“We should get up.”

She didn’t stir at first, just nestled deeper into the warmth of the bed, her fingers curling against the crumpled sheets.

“Five more minutes.” She whispered.

He huffed a small laugh, the sound low in his throat.

“Pancakes.” He offered, voice a little more awake, yet still rough around the edges. “With those ridiculous chocolate chips you like. And strawberries. I’ll even make the syrup warm and put whipped cream on the side for you.”

The promise hung thick in the air, sweet and sticky like syrup itself but she didn’t move—didn’t even open her eyes. All it did was earn him the slightest twitch of her lips, barely a hint of a lazy smile.

“You say that like you’re actually gonna get up,” she whispered, her voice soft, brushed with amusement and sleep. He smirked lazily, but made no effort to shift. His arm still slung around her like it found its place and it didn’t intend to leave.

“I had full intentions. Was practically halfway out the bed in my head.”

“Well, you can woo me from the kitchen.” She yawned, grabbing at thin quilt on top of her and tugging it up past her nose. Her words were muffled, barely audible over the rustling of the sheets. Yet, she still leaned into him, body seeking the warmth he offered.

He smiled into her hair, pressing a slow kiss to the crown of her head, fingers tracing lazy circles onto the skin of her arms, almost absentminded.

“Well, how’m I supposed to woo you from all the way over there?” He whispered, voice low and fond. “Can’t exactly spoon pancakes into your mouth from the kitchen, now can I?”

She made a soft, sleepy noise that may have been a laugh—or maybe just agreement. Her cold toes brushed against his leg, but he didn’t flinch. Just tucked the quilt tighter around her and adjusted slightly, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“You’re very clingy for someone who just promised pancakes, Haji,” she teased, turning her head to peek at him through half-lidded eyes.

He just rolled his eyes back, but the smile spreading across his face betrayed him. The sheets shifted slightly as he pulled her closer—if that was at all possible—limbs fitting together like puzzle pieces worn in by use. Her hand found his, warm and familiar, and she laced their fingers together under the covers.

“I was really going to make them,” he said again, quieter now.

“I know.”

They fell quiet again. Not because there was nothing to say, but because nothing needed saying. The kind of silence that was full, not empty—the hum of breath, the shift of fabric, the quiet intimacy of two people so used to sharing space that even their stillness fit together.

“Come back t’sleep with me.” Her smile was sleepy and small, eyes fluttering shut. And he knew they were lost again—back in the in-between space where dreams linger and the morning moves like honey.

“Okay.”

The clock blinked 10:58 AM now. The sunlight continued to filter through their curtains, pooling on their floor. Their apartment still remained quiet, and the world outside continued on with the day. It was still late enough to stir. Still early enough to stay. And Hajime Iwaizumi just laid there, arms around her, the familiar weight of her against him, her heartbeat a soft echo beneath his hand.

This was his favorite part of the day. The stillness. The warmth. The way her fingers felt around his. It was his own small slice of paradise, tucked between worn sheets, the weight of love resting quietly in his arms.

And as he fell back to sleep to the noise of her quiet breath falls, he decided the pancakes could wait.

it’s 3am i’m tired. “diya writing fluff in our year old the lord 2025?” <- @mayyhaps’ reaction while beta reading. thank u may for beta reading #iappreciateuverymany (paradise rewrite for u @sahrberrii i hope u enjoy)

𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓