How R U Mutuals With Everyone:/

hii love sooo may i have a moodboard? <333

WORDSOFELIE ☼

everything yellow ⸝⸝⸝ blues & stars ⸝⸝⸝ sparkles ⸝⸝⸝ the night time ⸝⸝⸝ polar opposites ⸝⸝⸝ the day time

۫ ꣑ৎ sunlight and nighttime ۫ ꣑ৎ

saw a great tweet earlier and had to redraw

https://x.com/kamsspice/status/1782135475622265270?s=46&t=ROWnmMctY73xk0hPbwGs8g

chappell roan’s real name is kayleigh rose LMAO

catch me making out with everyone (including mak and suna.) NO ONE IS SAVE AROUND ME

5 people id take to coachella with me:

@dearru for obvious reasons

-suna (weed.)

-hinata (vibes.)

-aran (responsible.)

-atsumu (vibes.)

toji starts buying two of everything without realizing. two drinks, two sets of tableware, two seats on the plane. when you point it out, he simply shrugs. “it makes sense, since you’re always around.”

and it does. you are. somewhere along the way, yours and his stopped being two separate categories. things blended. bled. one toothbrush became two. one key became a spare. he didn’t assign you a drawer, but your clothes take up more space than his do.

now he’s sitting by the kitchen counter, lights dimmed, papers spread out in an unruly mess that makes sense only to him. his hair’s grayer at the temples and there’s a softness to his face that wasn’t there before — age, maybe. peace, possibly. or both.

you laugh and pad over barefoot, press a kiss to the faded scar on his mouth. his hand finds your waist like muscle memory, and you slide into his lap without thinking twice (pun intended).

he lets out a quiet “hnn” but doesn’t complain.

you sip your wine, let your head rest against his shoulder. “so,” you fix his glasses, perched on his nose like he’s fighting the idea of needing them.

“when do you plan on finally asking me out?”

he’s getting pudgy in the middle — not fat, just soft in the way you get when you find your person.

toji doesn’t look up. “it’s been twenty years.”

“and?”

“I do your taxes.”

there’s a candle burning, the cinnamon one you buy every fall. you don’t remember lighting it today. he often does it on his own these days, anyway.

you smile. “quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

“you want a title now or something?” he asks. grumbles, really. “after all this time?”

you fix his shirt. “I just think it’s funny. we’ve got a mortgage, joint bank account, and last week we agreed on baby names if it ends up looking like you.”

he grunts. “poor kid.”

“she’ll be cute. dumb, probably. but cute.”

“he.” “she.”

he chuckles, traces your ring finger between his thumbs. “you’re not getting a promposal, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

you lean in, nosing his cheek in the way that makes his knees weak. “there goes my big dream.”

you set your glass on the table beside his calculator. he’s warm, and he smells like soap and laundry and that one cologne he pretends not to like.

“you don’t even ask me for my logins anymore.”

he rolls his eyes. “don’t need to. you keep your passwords stupid.”

“they’re not stupid. they’re nostalgic.”

“TojiFan69 is not nostalgic.”

you squish his face between your hands, laughing when he scrunches it up in faux protest. “made that in high school before I even met you.”

“then it was prophetic. still fuckin’ stupid.”

now he’s muttering, something about deductions and charitable donations, and you slot yourself between his knees, hands resting on his shoulders. he doesn’t flinch. nor does he pause. only adjusts so you fit better against him, pecking you on the forehead in the way that makes your nose scrunch. revenge.

the calculator’s still blinking beside you, some half-finished total waiting for his attention, yet neither of you move. he glances down at you - now asleep - then back at the receipts, the gears turning.

in his mind, he’s already adding a third drink, a third set of tableware, and a third seat on the plane.

NEW THEME ON @pomeloblush YAYAY

Devon Aoki in 2000⋆ ˚｡⋆♡˚ₓₒ

— atsumu miya ⋮ 03 / 13 / 25. ❝ 𝓜𝑰𝑺𝑺 𝓨𝑶𝑼 ❞

content warnings ⨾ msby!atsumu. profanity. pet names - baby. atsumu calls his mother ma. “that’s what she said” joke. surprises. word count ⨾ n/a.

Richard Avedon - Jean Shrimpton Wearing a Dress from Bonwit Teller (Vogue 1968)

behind every writer who rarely posts is a writer who used to post daily