I Can’t Get Over How Much They Made Chilchuck Look Like A Sausage In The Anime

Hikaru’s smile appreciation post

has this been done?

-Listen! I’m finally better. Looks like the medicine you gave me worked. Thanks. -What a fool… No, we’re the fools.

“Gojo.”

You peer at him out of the corner of your eye, watching the tip of his finger creep closer and closer to the plush apple of your cheek.

“Gojo.”

The lilt in his voice is childish, teasing; the smirk on his lips rising when he promises, “I’m not touching you!”

“Satoru, I can feel it.” 

There’s a bite to the way you finally say his first name that drags the corner of his mouth further up. It stokes the fire burning between his ribs, the very flames that spur him to poke and prob and tease and annoy — all for the sake of your attention. All Gojo wants, all he’s ever wanted, is to have your eyes on him, to have your full, undivided attention; and with the way you huff, your arms crossing over your chest, he knows it’s well within his reach.

His head tilts to one side like a curious puppy, brows furrowing in feigned innocence. His finger doesn’t move. “Feel what?”

Infinity, you think bitterly. The weight of his power presses against your skin with the surging energy that two identical poles of a magnet have when they repel one another – doomed to never meet no matter how hard you push. And with the distance his finger stays from your face, Gojo’s Infinity almost tickles.

Gojo’s finger inches closer and the pulse of it, the sight of it in your periphery, has you seeing red. Your eyes shoot to meet his as you fully turn to face him, brows furrowed. Seething, you tell him, “You know what.”

There you are.

He knows, deep down, that it’s childish to go to such lengths for a glimpse at your eyes or the soft curves of your lips, but he can’t help it. Gojo’s at his weakest around you, after all. “I don’t think I do, angel.” He leans in, finger still hovering oh so close to your face. “Care to clue me in?”

Your eyes roll, but you make no move to look away. “You’re insufferable.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sigh, long and heavy, as you allow your eyes to slip closed, and Gojo can tell you’re trying not to pinch the bridge of your nose, a cute little habit you only seem to indulge in when he’s around. He smirks and tilts his head to peer at you over his sunglasses. The tone in his voice is goading. “Well, go on.”

“You- you-” You flounder, mind rendered a blank slate as frustration floods your senses. Air escapes your nose, an exhale laced with incredulity, as a smile crosses your lips in a blink before it’s gone. You hide your face behind a warm palm. “You-”

“Mhm.” Gojo leans closer, sunglasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose. He drinks you in, eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips and back again. “What? C’mon, cat got your tongue, angel?”

“Your Infinity, Gojo. I can feel it,” you tell him, the words finally ripped from your throat by the gentle, but teasing coo of his voice. “It tickles.”

“Aww, that’s what all this fuss was about? You should’ve just said so.”

And as if a switch has been flipped, Infinity is gone and suddenly Gojo’s finger is surging forward to tap the tip of your nose. It’s a brief flash, a tiny bump of skin against skin before his hand retreats again, returning to its place by the sorcerer’s side as if it had never moved at all. Gojo smiles at you then, all pearly whites and unrestrained pride. The cat that got the cream. 

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed, ya know that?”

NATSUME YUUJINCHOU SEASON 7 ANNOUNCED!!! animation production: shuka

Aizawa: Oh god, how am I gonna explain my injuries to Eri?? Aizawa: I can't say I lost my eye & leg to my job, she'll never trust me to fight again!!! Mic: YOOO, TELL HER YOU GOT HIT BY A TRUCK!!!! Aizawa:

if Volo was in a mermaid/merman AU his tail would be based on a shiny Milotic

ok this sounded so so interesting to me that i wanted to give it a try to see what it could look like... ... ...i love him

Your evil mother was killed by a demonic entity that took her form. It planned to torture you by revealing itself when you grew up, and feast on your terror and fear. When the day came, however, you felt no fear or despair. Instead, you thanked the demon for being the best mother ever.

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Satoru has never gotten into your bed gently; has never sunk into the mattress without a bounce, without jostling the plush surface with an audible oof and pulling you from the depths of sleep. Never. Not once.

And tonight is no different.

It’s an impossible task for him, it seems. Like trying to breathe underwater or pick something to watch on TV. And the worst part of it all is that you know he’s doing it on purpose. No matter how hard you may try to will yourself to sleep through it or how much you may complain when he finally settles beside you, the man is unrelenting. A pain in the ass, even at one in the morning. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn annoying.

“Satoru,” you warn, though it’s not as threatening as you hope it would be. You blink over at him with heavy lids, tone dripping with exhaustion. “Must you do that every time you get into bed late?”

He has the audacity to think about it. “Mm, well I suppose I don’t have to,” he coos, voice low like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t wake up my little sweetheart to give them a goodnight kiss when I got home?”

“A better one?”

Your eyes slip closed as if shutting them will make him disappear (or shut up). It doesn’t. Instead, it only serves to spur the sorcerer on. Now, Satoru crowds your space, wrapping you into a tight bundle and pulling you so close your nose squishes against his cheek.

He’s entirely scandalized by your rebuttal, gasping in your ear as if you’ve just told him the most offensive insult imaginable. “I can’t believe you’d say that about your dashing boyfriend.” As if to prove his point, Satoru pulls you away only to drag you back in to plant multiple exaggerated pecks against your cheek, a sappy muah sound accompanying each one.

They leave wet lip prints in their wake that you’re too tired to rub away. Eyes still closed, you furrow your brows, accepting your fate as you cuddle into the curve of his throat – right beneath his chin.

“My dashing boyfriend who can’t do anything quietly to save his life.”

“Hey,” he whines into your hair. “I can be quiet!”

“Oh yeah? Then let’s play the quiet game.”

You can feel him hum somewhere deep in his chest as he thinks it over. “What do I get if I win?”

Your limbs feel heavy as you rest your arm across his stomach, curling your hand around the hem of his shirt. You can only muster enough energy to mumble, “Winner gets breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

“Ooo, okay,” Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Be prepared to make me a huge stack of pancakes tomorrow, baby.”

“Mhm, fine. 

“With extra chocolate chips.”

“’kay.”

“And,” A hand ruffles your hair. “A lil extra love, maybe?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Without opening your eyes, you can tell there’s a retort brewing in Satoru’s, and you stop it before it has the chance to fill the air. “Quiet game starts now.”

The room immediately falls into silence, only broken by the soft sound of your combined breathing. Satoru’s warmth and the steady movement of his chest as he breathes — up, down, up, down — bring you right back to sleep’s door, as if Satoru hadn’t woken you up at all. Maybe the quiet game had been the answer this whole time. You kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

You nuzzle closer, nose brushing against his collar bone as you feel yourself drift off, but right before you completely fall into the clutches of exhaustion, you hear a tiny voice mumble, “Love you.”

It’s punctuated with another kiss to the crown of your head and a warm palm gliding up and down your back, and you can only bring yourself to tighten your hold on his shirt before you fall asleep.

The next morning, you awake to an empty bed and the sweet smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.