I Think It Also Means He's Really Into It When You Do A Lot Of Cute, Domestic Things. Gets Butterflies

nanami mhm mhm yeah yes mhm mhm

After Shibuya, he thinks to himself. After Shibuya, he’ll call it. No more fighting, no more soldiering. He’ll call up Mei Mei, ask her about property interest rates in Malaysia, surprise you with something lovely that you can both make a home from. He’ll bring home mangosteen and passionfruit, and you’ll bike to the beach and read on the sand, until you tug him onto his feet and make him dance with you in the water, just like how the tide tugs the earth wherever it pleases, and how the earth is utterly, irresistibly drawn in.

After Shibuya, he thinks, his chest warm and full with dreams of you in a cozy little cottage by the sea, laughing in sunshine, and always, always happy. After this nonsense is settled.

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

kirishima is not a homebody and also he makes you sit in his lap everywhere you guys go. you literally never have your own seat bc kirishima will manhandle you into his lap if he has to

the cakes turn out gorgeous: for the team, an airy almond chiffon cake with blackberry-lime curd and a dreamy raspberry swiss meringue buttercream and for the training staff, a nutty sesame olive oil with a blackberry-shiso jam, and salty swiss meringue buttercream. for the female-led and hired social media team, a lush devil's food cake with raspberry coulis and and an espresso buttercream, and finished with fresh flowers for a touch of style. the cakes are set up on display for everyone to ooh and ahh after, and for the last time, you check over the exact headcount of guests before the cakes are rolled back into the make shift assembly space to be portioned out and served.

the staff members protest when you insist on helping them serve the cake, saying that they couldn't ask you to do even more than everything you've already done, but you wave them away with a smile.

"i really love seeing people eat my cake," you beam a little harder than you really need to. "you can't imagine the joy i feel whenever i get to see it."

the second you step into the dining area where everyone is sitting after the banquet dinner, your eyes start scanning across the room for the guy. that one, beefy, surly looking guy.

and there he is, at the mixed staff table, sitting between an older bearded man and a man with wildly spiky hair. you paste a cheerful smile on your face, and roll your cart right over, setting down slices of cake for each person.

when you come around to him, his eyes are wary. good. the prick recognizes you.

"h-hello," you force a timid tremor in your voice and smile as nervously as you can. his brows furrows. "w-would you like a s-slice of sesame oil c-cake, or a different cake?"

"sesame," he says tersely, and you make a show of flinching and forcing a tight smile.

"of course, r-right away!"

"i know iwa-san's face can be a little scary," the spiky haired man sitting next to him pipes up with an easy going smile. "but there's no need to be intimidated by him. he's a nice guy."

you push out a high little laugh. "ah, yeah, i'm - i'm sure he can be. i ran into him in the hallway, and he, uh. he can really raise his voice."

the social media girls sitting at the end of the table look up from their conversation, while the bearded man frowns. the spiky haired man raises a brow.

"oh?"

"oh, but it was an extenuating circumstance, i would never blame him!" you exclaim. "he was handling two guys who weren't feeling well, so I'm sure he was just caught up in the heat of the moment."

"that's-!" iwa sputters indignantly. "you were-!"

"ah, wrangling those boys gets the better of us all at some point, iwazumi-kun," the bearded man claps his shoulder sympathetically. "you should take care to rest well, especially now that the year is over. have some cake."

"she-" he sputters, feeling utterly accused. you blink at him, innocent as a lamb, and set down his slice.

"i hope y-you like it, iwaizumi-san," you simper. his eyes narrow at you, gripping his fork and stabbing the cake with more force than necessary.

"is it good?" you ask, eyes gleaming with hope. the bearded man smiles at him encouragingly, and the spiky haired man sits back, watching with some measure of amusement.

"it is," he swallowed, forcing a smile that looks like someone is pointing a gun at his head. "it's very good."

"well, i'm glad," you smile. "i love it when people enjoy eating my cakes."

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait 5."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

i’ve been doing my homework on how to break into a writing career and honestly. there’s a Lot that i didn’t know about thats critical to a writing career in this day and age, and on the one hand, its understandable because we’re experiencing a massive cultural shift, but on the other hand, writers who do not have formal training in school or don’t have the connections to learn more via social osmosis end up extremely out of loop and working at a disadvantage. 

i heard a/b/o dynamics and i was summoned

alpha!Atsumu, who has dated plenty of pretty omegas. Who's spent heats with girlfriends, hook-ups, and etc. Who loves walking into the room and tasting his partner's arousal in the air already, heady and dizzying. Who loves hunching over his omega partners, dripping with sweat, and watching them whine and sob for his knot, legs opening shamelessly and hips bucking eagerly.

Who has never met an omega quite as sweet as you before. Who smells you before he sees you and nearly chokes on his own tongue, his dick half-hard by the time he manages to actually get a glimpse of you, as you're walking down the street with your work bag slung over your shoulder.

Who immediately asks you to coffee near the MSBY gym, proceeds to fall deliriously in love with you. Who finds himself helplessly endeared by your blushing, your laugher, your big Bambi eyes, and your soft little cry-baby heart. Who listens patiently when you tell him that you'd like to wait until your heat to have sex with him for the first time, his heart squeezing with such affection as you duck your head down and look up at him through your lashes and murmur "I think it'll just be so cute and romantic".

Who thinks he's got this in the bag, when you let him know the week you start to feel a little warmer than usual. Who starts preparing a special go-bag full of your favorite snacks, some of his sweaty tee-shirts, and plenty of gatorade for the both of you to guzzle down between romps. Who knows not to jerk off for a few days leading up to your heat, so he plenty of cum for you. Who imagines how it'll feel when you're crying and cumming beneath him, soft and desperate, begging for your big alpha on top. Who has to squeeze the base of his dick punishingly when he thinks about how wet and creamy your pussy will be, sucking him in all hungry and naughty. Who already has calculated how the next few days will go: you'll probably want to spend the first day necking and kissing, before getting to the main event.

Who realizes that he's COMPLETELY out of his depth when he arrives with some onigiris, his go-bag, and a kiss, only for him to be shoved and roughly man-handled into your best and thoroughly ravished. Who can only gasp and stammer in shock when you tear his pants down and immediately start choking yourself on his dick, like you're going to die if you don't. Who's stammering "d-don't you wanna take it slo—ughnnnnn" when you roll your underwear to the side and promptly sit right down on his dick, your hips rolling so naughty and sinister that Atsumu can literally feel his balls swell up. Who can only moan helplessly, convulsing like you'd milked his entire spirit out of his body, as his eyes roll up to the back of his head when you start cumming on him, growling and purring happily. Who whimpers at the phantom tingle in his dick when you squirm down and coo happily around his knot.

Who can only laugh breathlessly and cover his eyes when you come back to your senses, blush, and apologize profusely for how rough you were. "I know Alphas don't really like rough Omegas," you stammer out, looking very embarrassed, "I'm usually much better about these things—"

Atsumu just wraps his arm around you and kiss you, before laughing again, marveling at how such a sweet thing like you has such a wild animal all up inside of her.

"We've got the next few days for me to do all the driving," Atsumu just grins up at you. "I don't mind it if you wanna take the wheel for a bit."

In the end, he does have to tie you up just so he can hydrate and get something to eat, while you sob and wail and howl like an animal against the headboard, and he's not really sure if his dick will ever recover after that one round where he had your legs twisted up over your head and he started babbling frantically about pups while rutting up inside of you and you started squirting on him, but from the happy and sleepily satisfied smile you give him, Atsumu is sure that he'll figure something out.

i -

offers to put lotion/baby oil/whatever on your legs for you after you shave because he just wants an excuse to feel you up:

iwaizumi, OIKAWA, yaku, fukunaga, ATSUMU, suna, aran, SAEKO, sugawara, futakuchi, KOMORI, tendou, semi, and KONOHA.

omg but supportive!Iwa who loves that you love pole, but puts his foot down when he thinks that you're over-training. Your health and safety are paramount to this man, so when he welcomes you home with a hug and you wince, experimentally rolling your shoulder in large circles and grimacing, he goes from boyfriend to Team Japan's Olympic Trainer Doctor of Sports Medicine. Immediately bans you from any sort of pole or conditioning, glaring you into submission while he wields ice packs wrapped in old rags and all but funneling BCAAs and collagen peptides down your throat.

Gives you a thorough nightly rub down, thumbs digging into your muscles firmly, but gingerly probing at your knees, hips, and shoulders in case of injury. He has to admit, he really respects how you can take a lot more pressure and pain than most of the pro-athletes he works with as he rubs out knots in your hamstring and lats. Starts doing his own research on pole-related injuries and when he watches your videos, so he's prepared for any ache or strain you feel. He just loves you so much, how could he ever live with knowing that you were hurting and he could help?

Sobbing. I want supportive boyfriend Iwa. Iwa who starts going through the muscle groups you’re working too and figuring out ways for you to condition them even when you’re not at class. Who regularly draws warms bubble baths for the two of you. Who jokingly asks when you’re going to return the favour of rubbing the kinks out of his body but always waves you off whenever you offer 🥺🥺🥺

mhm