Idk What Im Doing

“trans people are defying gods will” “trans people are rejecting biology” “trans people are upending the natural order” “transgenders are ruining the economy” keep going you’re making us sound so so so so so so so so sexy

i broke into ur brain just to call u out in this quiz (but in a soft way). how does it feel to be loved by u?

Impending, part 1

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~1.1k

Tags & warnings: a bit of drinking, eventual smut (in the next part)

Note: Oops, this was supposed to be 500 words of porn without plot but now it’s going to be a multi-part porn with feelings. I’m the only one who didn’t see that coming. Here you go mica :* @princesskazuya

“Thought I’d find you down here. Mom and dad want you to make an appearance before grandma has to leave.”

Hiro grunts, eyes glued to the television where Princess Peach is gaining on Wario.

“Oh. Hey Issei.”

Unlike Hiro, he greets you in response, sidelong glance lingering for just a moment before returning to the tv.

You make your way down the rest of the basement stairs to flop onto the ratty old couch behind them, beer swishing at the movement. The boys lay side-by-side, splayed out on their stomachs on the carpeted floor. They’re both so tall now that they barely fit between the couch and the tv all stretched out like this. It makes it hard not to think about the last time you saw them together. They used to be the same height as you and so scrawny, bony limbs poking out of baggy t-shirts and gym shorts. You could’ve taken them both in a fight, easy — and more than once you did.

But if you thought Hiro’s grown … Somehow Issei got even taller than your brother. Bigger too.

In the lead now, Princess Peach rounds the bend for the last lap. Wario is slowly closing in after an unlucky shell shot sent him tumbling off a cliff.

You tuck one leg under the other and sip your beer. Their bottles sit forgotten on the table as they jostle for the lead. What’s happening on screen is not much different from what’s in front of you as they try to knock the controller out of the other’s hands, shit-talking and shoving each other aggressively.

By the time they’ve reached the last quarter of the track, they’re just full-on wrestling. You hurriedly pull your other leg up out of harm’s way and snatch up their beers so they don’t get knocked off the table. The other racers pass by as they grapple in earnest — Hiro’s laid out on top trying to put Issei in a headlock but Issei hunches over, arms bulging as he grabs Hiro’s thigh and flips him onto his back with a thud.

You just roll your eyes.

They’ve always been like this — rowdy and obnoxious. You’d think more boys would make things more chaotic, but their other friends somehow kept them in line when they all hung out together. When it was just the two of them, they were a way bigger pain in the ass.

“Takahiro, get up here!” A muffled yell comes from upstairs.

“Dad’s calling for you.”

When they don’t stop fighting, you kick Hiro hard in the ass. “Hey!”

“Ow! What the fuck?” Hiro kicks back, missing you by a mile.

“Dad’s calling for you,” you repeat.

“Ugh,” he grumbles and pushes himself up off the floor, still catching his breath. He grabs his half-finished beer out of your hand and flips you off before heading upstairs. “Don’t touch my game.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to win for you,” you call after him.

“I said don’t touch it!”

“No promises!”

When you turn back, Issei is already holding up Hiro’s controller, one thick eyebrow raised and a wicked grin on his face. You mirror his grin.

A whiff of something clean and citrusy tickles your nose when you lean forward. It freezes you in place for a split second before your brain kicks back into gear, trading his beer for the controller and settling back comfortably cross-legged.

“Ready to get wrecked?”

It used to be so easy to rile them up. Issei just chuckles at your taunt now. Sitting up, he pulls down the shirt that’s ridden up his stomach in the tussle, covering the churn of muscle underneath. His shoulder brushes against your knee as he leans back against the couch. His hair has gotten longer, resting in easy waves atop his head. From this angle, the light catches the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck where a few curls lay plastered against his nape. This close, you can smell the salty tang of sweat sneaking through the cologne.

“You remember how to play?” The bass of his voice rumbles through you. That’s new too.

You startle when he twists around to look up at you through hooded eyes.

It’s cool down in the basement, perfect for escaping the heat of the afternoon, but you’re out of the frying pan and into the fire it seems because he’s practically laying his sweaty torso in your lap, one elbow draped over your thigh, his heavy bicep propped on you…

“Yeah, I remember.” Your voice comes out like a purr instead of a sting and he smirks.

You straighten up, shoving his arm off you. “Just hurry up.”

His eyes dart down to your chest with a hum and he scrutinizes you one last time before turning around. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else before he starts the race.

Hiro clomps back downstairs just as you cross the finish line. You’d eked out a win, barely. Mostly because you got lucky with the items. Without a word, Hiro plucks the controller out of your hands and resumes his earlier position on his stomach. Issei makes no move to join him. Instead, he plants a palm on your knee to push himself up off the floor and sinks down next to you on the couch.

You keep your eyes trained on the tv, not on him, and not on his hands. Not on his long fingers or the size of his palms.

Your senses become distinctly attuned to his proximity and the itch of his leg hair against your skin with every slight shift. You swipe through your phone wondering if it’s a distraction for him too.

“Anything catch your interest?”

A breathy murmur against your neck makes you jolt. The last race has already ended and they’re waiting for the next to start. When you turn, he’s only a hair’s breadth away, expression hesitant but goading.

Hiro yawns and you’re suddenly reminded of where you are.

You push Issei off and spring to your feet.

“I’m going to grab another beer.”

Matsukawa lets out a low groan as you scurry toward the stairs.

“What?” Makki twists around to look at him, then follows Mattsun’s line of sight up the steps until his eyeline hits the back of your thighs. “Gross, dude. Stop that.”

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

🚨 We Need Your Kindness to Survive 🚨

Hello, My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with my family. Life here has become harder than I ever imagined, and I’m writing this with hope in my heart that you might hear our story.

The ongoing war has devastated my family. We’ve lost 25 family members—each one a beloved part of our lives, taken too soon. I miss them deeply—their laughter, their presence, their love. Every day is a reminder of this unimaginable loss.

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We are now facing daily challenges to survive—things that most people take for granted, like food, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. The harsh realities of life here have replaced our dreams with the constant fight for survival.

Our Current Situation:

💔 Lost Stability: The war has left us without work or a stable source of income. 🍞 Basic Needs: Food and water are becoming harder to afford with rising prices and scarce resources. 📚 Dreams on Hold: Like so many here, my family’s dreams have been replaced by the need to simply survive. 😢 Unimaginable Loss: Losing 25 loved ones has left a void that can never be filled.

How You Can Help:

I’m sharing our story with the hope that someone out there might care. Even $5 can make a big difference for us, and if you’re unable to donate, just reblogging this post can help spread the word.

Your kindness, no matter how small, is something we’ll never forget.

What This Means to Us:

Your support is not about changing our entire situation—it’s about giving us a little relief, a little hope, and a way to keep going. We are not asking for much, and we understand if you can’t donate. Sharing our story is just as valuable to us as a donation.

Thank you for reading this far. It means the world to us to know that someone is listening. Your kindness gives us strength and helps us believe in a better tomorrow.

With all our gratitude, Mosab Elderawi and Family ❤️

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miya atsumu x reader, 4.3k

A tale of Atsumu's descent into madness when he realises you're hot.

a/n: hello ! is this a repost because of tags and my mistakes? yes T_T anyway — this is still dedicated to @augustinewrites because she is a smart, educated queen and im very proud of her. like i said before, i sacrificed so much to write this because putting myself into the mind of a libra man…. yikes. i felt insane at one point. but i hope you enjoy! <3

Atsumu is sitting in your room half drunk, half sober. The room is still spinning, and he’s not sure whether he wants to projectile vomit on your carpeted floor or pass out from exhaustion.

“Tsumu!” you say, pushing your phone against his face. “Do you think I look hot in this?”

“No.” he answers without thinking. You pout aggressively, plopping down onto the couch beside him. He doesn’t deserve to be harassed about some scandalous picture of yours right now for two reasons:

One, it’s like half past one in the morning and that’s the time of night when he should be tucked into bed, snoring to his heart’s content.

Two, because it’s you and he’d rather die than call you hot to your face.

“You didn’t even look!” you wave your phone, and Atsumu turns his face to the side hoping you will simply disappear if he pretends you’re not there.

It doesn’t work. All it does is give you the opportunity to poke at his sides and pester him even more. He closes his eyes, “Why do you need my opinion? You literally do the same peace sign in each photo you take. And according to you, you always look good.”

“I do,” you reply, relentlessly poking at his shoulder, “but I need an expert’s opinion.”

Well. Atsumu would know something about looking good.

He sighs loudly, turning to face you once again. Prior experience says it’s better to give in now, because he was going to give up later anyway. “Alright, show me.”

You move to rest your cheek on his shoulder and hand him your phone.

Atsumu rests his head on a pillow behind him and squints at the screen, trying to see the picture better. When he does, the shock of what he’s seeing causes his fingers to go slack and the phone smacks him in the face.

“Idiot.” you laugh, reaching out to pat his nose. It doesn’t soothe the humiliation he feels nor does it alleviate the sudden racing of his heart. What the fuck?

“So? Do you think I look hot in it?” you ask again.

Atsumu swallows, as he looks at it again. It’s a photo of you at the gym, hair tied back neatly. It’s a simple photo really. You’re wearing simple black leggings and a sports bra he’s seen you wear before of all things.

And yet, the universe still feels unbalanced.

With horror, it dawns on him that it’s because you do look good in the photo.

Okay, it’s not like he thought you were ugly or plain looking before, but you looked good, in a cute kind of way usually. Not like, good good. Not, uh, hot.

When the hell did you start looking hot?

You grab the phone back, analyzing the picture again. “You’re speechless. That means I look amazing. I’m going to share it with the others so they can either sleep well tonight or wake up tomorrow to a good start.”

Atsumu lightly smacks your shoulder, because he was not speechless. “Shut up, I was just shocked. Is that supposed to be a thirst trap?”

You sniff. “I don’t do thirst traps like you.”

“My fans love them,” Atsumu argues. “Are you saying my thousands of followers are wrong? Are you saying they have bad taste?”

You copy him, and he simply shoves you to the other side of the couch, throwing him a look of betrayal. “You don’t look hot in the photo,” he says, “you didn’t even get the right angle.”

You frown, looking like that one very sad emoji, and it tugs at his heart. Ugh. He backtracks, “I mean, that angle is still fine! It’s about the vibe, okay? And you do look good. It’s a nice picture, Y/N.”

“But I want to look hot.” you lament.

Atsumu looks you dead in the eye, and smiles, like a liar, “Take better pictures next time then.”

You stand up, picking up the cushions on the floor. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Feel free to leave soon, because I won’t be here to entertain you any longer.” you announce, still frowning, and Atsumu pulls you back until the force of it has you sitting back down.

“Should I teach you how to look hot?” He asks, teasingly poking at your cheeks. “You should have asked me from the very start.”

You grumble, but let him give you a few pointers. Although at the end, you complain, “That only works because you’re a guy!”

“Try it first.” he says, pushing you to stand up again. You say a lot of things, but you listen well in the end.

When you disappear into the bathroom, he decides to leave and head back to his own dorm a few floors down, calling out a goodbye. When he finally gets settled into his own bed, he plays ten levels to candy crush to dissociate himself from the possibility of gaining further realizations.

Just as he’s about to complete his last level, he gets a notification from the Inarizaki group chat.

Suna: Holy shit, is that Y/N?

It’s a screenshot from Instagram of the selfie you showed him, with the caption, sweet dreams [kissy face].

He looks at it for a good five minutes, feeling unspeakable things, before saving it onto his own camera roll.

.

.

.

Sleeping it off did not help. Atsumu decides he needs to be lobotomized.

Ever since you had shown him that gym selfie, he couldn’t stop seeing it.

(The idea that you were hot, not the selfie, he wants to emphasize. Although, he was also seeing your picture all the time, because well… it was saved onto his phone, so every time he took his own pictures, he would see it. And well… if you look at something enough times, it becomes imprinted in your eyeballs, and you see it even when you close your eyes. Or something like that. Don’t judge him.)

You meet him in a cafe nearby for breakfast and greet him a sleepy good morning, and Atsumu’s brain immediately goes, hot.

You sigh in frustration at the library while you’re trying to study for an exam. Atsumu asks if you want to take a break, but you get this fiery dead set look in your eyes and say, no let’s keep going. Also hot.

You’re eating at a korean barbeque place for dinner and take the grilling tongs from him when he gets smoke in his eyes to flip the meat for him. Really, really hot. It’s alarming because it’s not the first time you’ve done that for him, but it is the first time Atsumu’s found it hot.

Once is a farce, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and more than that? It’s a fact.

Atsumu finds you really hot. Cue [throwing up emoji].

But that’s not even the worst thing about it. Atsumu’s clearly not the only one.

He brings it up to Osamu first, wanting the company of someone who has been friends with you for the same amount of time to back him up on the ‘you are not hot’ agenda (fuck off, he can’t think of a clever name right now). He rocks up to his twin who’s on his way to the next class.

He offers him an onigiri he bought from the 7/11 down the street, and casually says, “Did you see Y/N’s picture in the group chat?”

“Huh?” he asks, a little absent-mindedly. Osamu doesn’t even take the onigiri he was being offered. “Y/N’s picture?”

“Yeah, did you see it?”

“The one Suna sent into the groupchat?” Osamu asks. “Yeah I saw, what about it?”

There’s no way to ask the question easily, but to just be blunt about it. Atsumu blurts out, “Do you think she looks hot in it?”

Osamu looks at him for the first time, just a quick little side eye, before he continues walking, “Is this another one of your weird competitions? If so, tell me now so I can mute my phone before you guys start blowing up my phone with messages.”

Atsumu is offended and tells him, “I cannot believe you think that I would participate in such a, such a—” he couldn’t say the word.

“Childish game?” Osamu smirks. “This is why you need to read more books by the way; your vocabulary is failing. Also, you guys literally sent a poll into the main Inarizaki group chat the other day asking who had the best outfit of the day. Even Kita-san saw it.”

Atsumu huffs, “I can’t believe he voted for Y/N.”

Osamu stops as he reaches the front door of his next class, leaning against the wall to properly look at his twin. Osamu smiles, “She did look good. Y/N’s getting prettier these days.”

“Pretty isn’t hot.”

“Hot is subjective.” Osamu says solemnly, “But to answer your question, yeah, she did look hot. Why?”

Atsumu smacks him, “You’re supposed to say she doesn’t look hot!”

Osamu hits him back, “You want me to lie? I’m only saying what anyone with eyes can see.”

“You’re biased. This is because you guys are close.” Atsumu reasons.

“Actually,” Osamu corrects, because he hates Atsumu with all his guts, “Since we’re close I’m more inclined to say she doesn’t look hot. But it doesn’t bother me, because it’s just another fact of life, you know?”

No, Atsumu doesn’t know. Also, “What the hell do you mean anyone with eyes can see? I just found out yesterday—”

“Oh,”, Osamu realises, “Is that why you’re acting like this? Because you finally found her hot? You’re literally the last one.”

The situation just keeps getting worse. What do you mean Atsumu is late to the discovery? What do you mean people have been looking at you like a hot piece of ass all this time? It simply can’t be true. Atsumu’s powers of observation was like, Avenger-level.

But when he asks Suna, the guy doesn’t even think anything of the question and answers, “Of course she’s hot. This is old news.”

Atsumu feels like he’s just been shot in the foot.

And when he goes to ask Aran, he finds that he doesn’t even need to ask at all. Because when he finds him, he’s sitting across from you in the library taking a break while watching you write notes. He’s drinking water, but his eyes are focused on you and all Atsumu can see is appreciation in it.

He feels like he’s been shot again. This time in the back. Which is kind of dramatic, he knows, but how else is he supposed to express the feeling burning in his body. Everyone has betrayed him.

How could nobody tell him? More importantly, how did he not know? He feels woozy.

He goes to make ramen for himself. Comforts himself by looking at his own selfies. He’s mid-slurp when he’s scrolling through the gallery and it brings him back to the cursed picture.

The noodles go down the wrong way, and he manages to close his phone just in time. Just so on the off chance he dies because of your selfie, his dignity will remain intact. The headlines will say, Legend taken too soon.

Unfortunately, he survives the ordeal and will now have to deal with the fact that you’re hot for the rest of his life.

.

.

.

It is now day fifty post ‘Y/N is hot’ realization and maybe there’s still hope for him.

He’s alive. Adapting. On some days, he could even say he’s thriving.

First things first, he deleted your picture from his phone. Second of all—

Well, he hasn’t found a number two yet. It’s alright. He’s always number one for a reason. He doesn’t need a number two. He’s not making any fucking sense.

But here’s something that makes sense: in order to get used to you being hot now, he’s decided that he should just look at you more. The more he looks, the more his eyes get used to the sight, you know?

A pretty sound theory, if you ask him. Except, everyone else keeps catching on and now Suna has enough ammunition to use against him for at least a year.

Like, the last time the Inarizaki group met up and had dinner together, he had become hypnotized by how soft your lips looked and completely ignored everyone else’s conversations. You were too busy complaining about one of your classes to notice.

Or that one time you went to his dorm for a movie night, and he realised how good you smelled as he sat next to you on his bed, and you were too preoccupied by the actual movie to see him subtly leaning closer and closer.

Or even that one time it was his birthday and you had baked him a cake (Osamu got a store bought one heh), and he forgot all about blowing the candles when he was too distracted watching you sing happy birthday to him.

All Atsumu has to say is that, thank god you’re an idiot.

He posts a couple of hot selfies to his instagram that day for an ego boost and calls it a day.

He chuckles to himself. He’s healing.

.

.

.

Atsumu’s feeling more at peace these days.

He’s moved on to the next step of his self-healing process which is… revenge.

Quite frankly, it’s not right that he’s paying this much attention to you, while you just happily skip through life as if everything’s okay. It’s kinda fucked up, if you ask him. You’re out here thinking about silly things like what you should have for lunch (curry, obviously), when you should be out here thinking about him.

So now you’ve forced him to take matters into his own hands and right this wrong. Seeking justice for innocent victims such as himself, if you will.

He spots you from across the room, giggling at something on your phone. It better be his newly posted selfie you’re giggling over. If not, it’s a declaration of war; it took him like, two hours to get the right angle and lighting.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to you. Very cool. “What are you up to?”

You hum happily next to him, “Talking to my friend. Kenji sent me a funny meme.”

Earth-shattering. Atsumu almost regrets choosing to take a drink of water then because he almost spits it out. “You’re texting Kenji?”

You smile, “Yep.”

“But he’s your ex!” Atsumu doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, but he’s also my friend.” You explain, unbothered. “I’m friends with a lot of my exes actually.”

“What?” Atsumu is dumbfounded. He’s here suffering because of you, while you’re happily reconnecting with trash?

This is one of the most insane things he’s heard all year. You beckon him closer and show him a group photo of you and at least three of your exes or friends or whatever the fuck they are, with arms slung around each other.

Anyway. “Cute.” Atsumu comments, “do you guys also get together and trade dating stories?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, you’re one to talk when your friends from the team are so…”

“So what?” he challenges. Slutty, his own mind supplies, but it would be funny to hear you say it.

“Listen,” you say as you put your phone down and look at him intently. “I’m just saying, my friends are nice; like sheep. Your friends, who I’ve known since high school and hang out with constantly, are like lions. They could eat me.”

Atsumu stares at your cute little face and thinks, I could eat you. “Is that your rationale for why you’re friends with all of your exes? Aren’t you afraid it'll get weird because you know, you’ve done stuff with them?”

Atsumu doesn’t know why he can’t let it go. Or why he says that, because now he’s just thinking of you doing those kinds of things with your exes. It’s not jealousy that’s bubbling up in his chest. Definitely not.

“It’s not weird,” you defend, “it actually makes it easier when I see them at parties.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes, “Makes it easier to do what?”

You blush, much to his discontent. “Don’t ask me what, Tsumu! I don’t ask you what you do every time you disappear to the bathroom before games and come out destressed.”

“What are you insinuating?” he asks, jabbing at your side. You yelp, trying to move away, “I literally go there to play candy crush in peace where nobody can bother me.”

“Yeah right.” you go to kick him at the same time he leans down and hit him straight in the face.

Atsumu is so stunned by it, he freezes, hands clutching at his nose. You look at him horrified, starting to panic, “Oh my god, did I break it? Is it bleeding? Oh fuck I’m sorry! Tsumu say something! Are you mad at me? Tsumuuu—”

Atsumu stands up, doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have it in him and goes to the bathroom to inspect his nose. He should have gotten his nose insured or something, because dammit it’s one of his best features. And now, it might be gone forever.

He’s pretty horrified to find that his nose is okay. In fact, it looks more perfect than ever. But if he didn’t lose his nose, then why the hell does he still feel like he’s lost something.

.

.

.

Atsumu is spiralling, but only on the inside. He watched Frozen for the first time the other day and now he keeps repeating conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them show out loud as a coping mechanism. He’s grateful that it’s nearly Christmas time so he has an excuse every time somebody looks at him weird.

But the discovery that he likes you makes him pissy.

Not because he doesn’t want to like you like that. It’s a comforting realization actually. He was having a crisis about his sexuality and thought that maybe he was fruity. His homophobic grandfather was probably rolling around in his grave at the mere idea of it.

But alas, he is as straight as a pencil. And how he came to that conclusion you ask? You wore a top that showed a bit of cleavage one day and he immediately had to run to the bathroom and take three deep breaths.

He thought he had long forgone his puberty years but you were just a different breed. He was so disappointed in himself.

The reason he’s pissy is because he can’t believe he missed all the signs pointing towards his feelings for you. How long has he even liked you? When he looks back, all he sees is a long chain of happy memories, each one linked together with fondness and affection.

Maybe all he needs to do is accept the fact that you’re attractive, and attractive people like you, well, they never stay single for long.

Despite him not realizing his own feelings, his brain has been signalling this fact to him, encouraging him to get a move on, before some other hot guy swoops in. Or worse, one of your exes swoops in.

(Cough, Kenji, cough.)

He needs to secure your ass. The longer he waits, the more chances he gives other men. That’s why he’s so mad actually, while he was out here thinking about how toned Kita-san’s body had gotten recently, other men were ogling his woman. Other men are making you laugh, taking care of you.

Sue Atsumu’s competitive ass, but he doesn’t want to be second to anyone in your heart. He’s number one or nothing.

So he decided to confess immediately, because he’s already wasted enough time.

The problem is, the moment he decides this is the same moment you decide that you want him to die of annoyance first. And then suddenly, it doesn’t feel so urgent for Atsumu to confess his feelings.

It’s important to teach you a lesson first.

It culminates at Inarizaki’s Christmas dinner get together, held at Osamu’s studio which actually has a big enough kitchen to feed everyone. You try his patience on today of all days; teasing him about his roots that have grown out too long, poking at his shoulder before running away, throwing peanuts at him every so often.

Atsumu sees who he’s sitting next to at the table, and already knows that it’s only downhill from there. He can’t even get a cup of coke without you pretending to pour him some before taking it away.

And then, there was the whole stressful debate on mint chocolate ice cream over the table while he was trying to enjoy his meal. You didn’t even understand the question, too fixated on your dislike of anything mint flavoured, raging with a fork in your hand as you screamed at Suna over the table. (How did he ever fall for someone so insane?)

Atsumu loves mint chocolate but as soon as you say you wouldn’t date anyone who likes mint chocolate, his mind is made. Mint chocolate be damned because it could never give him the same happiness that being with you would. Besides, no other person is allowed to feed you ice cream, if it's not him alright? Case fucking closed.

After that whole thing, Osamu pulls his chair away as he goes to sit down and he falls backwards, like an idiot.

There’s so many other misfortunate things that happen, and on days like this, when shit keeps happening, you begin to resign yourself to the fact that anything may as well happen.

Which is the moment Atsumu lets his guard down.

He doesn’t know what the fuck Suna put in the juice, but it doesn’t matter. Once the music started playing, what always happens, happened. Atsumu loses his mind.

His body literally moves on its own. One minute he’s talking to Kita vibing, and the next he’s doing the jerk while Osamu and Suna hype him up and take a video. (He’ll regret it in the morning, but not now).

The worst part of it all? He’s blowing you kisses every five seconds. It doesn’t register in his mind that it might look weird, because he’s too busy having fun and trying to keep you quiet, nothing more.

And then later, he finds himself on the floor, out of breath after he puts on the performance of a lifetime: as Elsa from Frozen.

Everyone else is kind of concerned. Well, some of them. He thinks he hears Kita asking “Is Elsa okay?”

No, Kita-san, he wants to say, Elsa is going through it right now.

He can feel eyes on him, so he turns his head, and sure enough you’re sitting there watching him with a fond smile on your face.

Elsa is completely fucked.

.

.

.

A few hours later, when Atsumu’s soul has returned back to his body and shame from earlier has sunk in, he decides it’s time to go home. He is not staying here and allowing Samu to bully him into cleaning the mess when he has better things to do.

He walks you to your dorm, like the gentleman he is, and goes to leave when you suddenly invite him in. Not a single cell in his body wants to say no so he happily goes inside and makes himself comfortable on the couch.

“You looked like you had a good time today.” you tease, sitting beside him.

He feels his cheeks heat up, pushing away every memory of tonight before it can occupy too much space in his brain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember all the kisses you sent me?”

“Shut up!” he groans before assaulting you with tickles to shut you up.

You squeal in delight, pushing his hands away as he climbs on top of you and laughs, sounding deranged. In a way, he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Stop!” After a few more digs as revenge for driving him crazy, he finally decides to take pity on you and stops, letting you catch your breath.

“You drive me crazy, Y/N.” he says, sounding sappy as he closes his eyes and leans his head back, missing how you turn to face him.

“If it helps, you drive me crazy too.”

It’s music to Atsumu’s ears.

He opens his eyes and turns to face you too. “I do?”

You roll your eyes, which would be irritating if you weren’t so pretty. “All the time. You’re so annoying, always teasing me that I thought I was gonna lose my mind. I was like, why does this stupid boy always target me? Does he not realize how much I like him—”

Now it was Atsumu’s turn to roll his eyes but it was getting harder and harder to fight the smile bursting onto his face, “Come on, you’ve always been the annoying one—”

“Actually, you start it most of the time,” you snort, cutting him off. “But honestly Tsumu, if you wanted my attention there’s better ways of getting it.”

Atsumu doesn’t know whether to continue his prior assault or kiss you.

Instead, he decides to take the challenge in your last words. “Is that so?” he says, breathy, his hands starting to roam all over your body, starting with the curve of your hips, until it rests on your waist. “Are you going to show me?”

You whimper and he laughs, feeling both adoration and vindication in his chest. You’re flushing red in embarrassment, an emotion he didn’t even think you were capable of feeling. “You’re so infuriating—”

Atsumu cups your cheek, “You’re so hot when you’re trying to be angry at me,” and then kisses you so eagerly that neither of you have any brain cells left to say anything afterwards.

Well, you do say one more thing. “So you did think I looked hot in that selfie—”

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

YALL BASED ON THIS VIDEO HERE IM SCREAMING-

-

It’s been hours since you’ve smiled at Rintaro.

Not since this morning when you left. He was home today, all day, left to watch your three year old, and be home to see your nine year old. You’d kissed the side of his nose, reminded him of some chores, and everything was fine for you to go out and do your own set of errands.

But to come home to a trash bag sitting outside of the door and not in the barrel that got emptied today?

Oh. Screw smiling.

There may have been a small argument that broke out once you told him, about how he assumed you’d take the trash out since you were leaving the house- of which you snapped that it’s not your responsibility to automatically take out the trash when you leave.

Your son, Akito, was only left to watch the chaos, setting up the console he and his father were about to play on.

“I forgot, okay!” He snaps, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take it out later, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” You yell back. “The trash was already taken! It’s worthless at this point to do it!”

He looks like he’s about to say something back, but you see him bite his tongue. “Good choice,” you snarl. Leaving him and Akito, you make your way upstairs and into your bedroom where you get changed into something that doesn’t emit outside-world feeling. You take a quick shower, wash your face, and when you step out still angry, you’re quick to make a new game plan.

Once you’re done with your small dose of self care, you stomp into the kitchen for something to eat, hoping that it’ll help curb any further anger coming from you both.

Crackers and cheese, some little slices of fruit which you intend to pair with they jelly you got on your last visit to the city.

You grab the jar and with a deep, frustrated exhale, you grip the cover and try to twist.

When it doesn’t budge, you feel your eye twitch.

You try again, to no avail. You grab the nearest towel in an attempt to get a better grip. No dice.

You sigh, tossing the rag to the side before stalking your way into the living room, grimace etched on your face.

“Can you open this?” You ask, and just as Rintaro pauses the game and tosses his controller aside to reach for the jar, you slip right past him and pass it to Akito, who takes it in his hands to pop open the lid.

With a small grunt he manages to open the lid, passing you the jar with a small smile, “here, ma.”

“Thank you, handsome man,” you hum, blowing him a kiss and blowing a raspberry at Rintaro when you make your way back to the kitchen. There’s a pause of silence, a question you don’t quite catch from your son, and suddenly, you hear your husband jump up from the couch. You smirk. It doesn’t take long before feet quickly pound their way into the kitchen, and a disgruntled Rintaro stands, pouting, in the doorway.

“What. Was that about?”

You shrug softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he says, brows furrowed in frustration. “You’re seriously going to use my own creation against me?”

“Your creation?” You scoff in disbelief. “First off, I don’t remember you carrying our two children around for nine damn months. Second of all, our children are not creations. They’re children.”

“Point one,” he begins, quickly walking over to you. “You were hot as fuck carrying around our spawn. Secondly? Last time I checked, our baby machines only worked when together.”

“Feral!” You snap, giving him a grossed out look before turning towards the snacks you’d been making. “Get the hell out of my kitchen, I don’t want you here- HEY!”

Before you can think, Rintaro reaches past you and grabs the jar of jam, quickly raising his arm above his head to get it out of your reach. You would’ve tickled him for it, but the jam was from a small business three cities over. And the fuckhead knew that, and you hate him for it.

“You’re such a pain!” You growl, making a jump for it. You barely come close. Your fingers wrap around his shoulder in an attempt to yank his arm down, but he tightens it up completely to make it immobile. You’re rendered completely helpless to your husbands cruelty.

“Akito!” You call your son in hopes for assistance, snarling up at your husband. Instantly, socked feet slip along the floor, and at the sight of his figure in the doorframe, Rintaro bears his teeth.

“Don’t help your mother, she has to learn a lesson!” He snaps.

You growl back, “don’t listen to your father, you and your sister’s snacks depend on it!” Akito’s green, confused eyes flick back and forth between you both, and if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d think about how absolutely hilarious this is.

Rintaro, in all his 185 cm glory, holding a damned jar of jam above his head, so much so a sliver of his side pokes out from his shirt, and you, crossing your arms childishly after making extreme reaches for the jar.

It’s ridiculous, it’s childish, and it’s perfect for your marriage.

Akito gnaws his lip, “I mean… Ma is the boss, dad-“

“If you scram, I’ll double your allowance this week.”

“Bye mom!”

With the last bit of hope you have, you watch as he skates his way back into the living room, eye twitching in annoyance. “Kaiya wouldn’t betray me like that!”

“She’s three, mom!”

“She’d still help!”

Left to your own pity, you once again make a reach for the jar, only for him to reel his arm back a little bit more. “Give me a break, I have snacks to make,” you say, voice pitched in annoyance and defeat.

“Tell me you won’t go to our son for husband jobs.”

“Tell me you’ll take out the trash when I tell you to!”

“I thought you were throwing it out!”

“Why would you not check!”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on your waking daughter,” Akito calls annoyed from the living room, the only thing breaking up your argument.

With a deep, exhausted breath, Rintaro slowly lowers his arm, though still keeping a slight distance between you. “Cant we both say we’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong,” you snip.

“I know, but for the sake of waking our three year old up, please just cave with me. Please, baby. I’m-“

He’s cut off by your quick lunge for the jar. He yanks it out of the way, and you’re left chasing it like a dog with a treat. You do, however, hear your husband laugh, but it’s not the laughter of victory from a few moments ago.

It’s laughter of adoration.

“I will leave you.”

“Gotta get the jar first.”

You, once again, for the nth time in a row, make a reach for it, but this time, Rintaro’s free arm quickly wraps around your waist to encase you in a hug, and he leans you back into the most ridiculous dip you’ve ever been apart of. You can’t begin to fight your own laughter that bubbles past your lips, fingers instinctively gripping his collar for stability.

Once your titters are finished ringing in the air, he straightens you both up, relaxing as you thunk your head against his chest. The jar gets put down on the counter, and he kisses the crown of your head sweetly as his arms tug you close.

“You’re annoying,” you purr.

He chuckles, “I know.” He closes his eyes and gently breathes in your scent, “and I’m sorry about the trash my love. Even if I thought you took it out, I really should’ve just. Checked.” Long fingers gently smooth up your neck to gently massage the nape, and he hums as you melt like putty against him.

“Now it’s gonna sit,” you pout. “In the trash outside. And it’s gonna smell. And we’re gonna be the house with smelly ass trash.”

“I know,” he repeats, trying not to laugh at your concerns. “I’ll take care of it princess- and worst case scenario, I’ll write letters apologizing to the neighbors for our rotten trash.”

You snort softly against his collarbone as you continue to nuzzle closer, “I’m sorry I went to Akito to open my jar,” you confess, angling your head up at him. He smirks and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks lovingly.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks against your lips.

You hum in intrigue.

“I’m pissed because I tightened them all when you were in the shower, so you’d have to talk to me.”

“SERIOUSLY?”

gojo gets so lost in your deep, slow kisses that he doesn’t even realise he’s stopped thrusting into you until you’re knocking at his chest and grumbling about how you were so close a second ago until he stopped

this is how i imagine each of them sleeps

hi!! for the scenarios, kuroo+baby’s first word? <33

the second kuroo bursts into your bedroom with your one-year-old son in his arms, you know you've won.

"you cheated!" he accuses with a pointed finger.

you place the last of your laundry into your shared closet and close the door. picking up the empty basket, you give him a pointed look as you walk past him. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"cheater!" he cries, following you to the laundry area.

"still no clue," you say, setting down the basket and turning.

kuroo trails you all this while, all 189 cm irately bobbing around your house. "you taught him to say mama."

you try not to laugh, and attempt to school your expression as you sit down on your couch, looking up at him. "i did not."

tetsurō peers at your face with squinting eyes, and you can’t help the way the corner of your mouth twitches. he explodes. "you're smiling! i knew it!"

your son blinks, looking from his father to you, and he smiles. extending his arms, he reaches for you. "mama!"

"see?!" your husband wails, and you stand up briefly to take your son before sitting back down. "that's against the rules!"

"what rules?" you say with a roll of your eyes, unable to help your smile any longer, allowing your son to play with your hair. "english wasn't off the table when we had our bet about what word he'd say first."

"it was either okaa-san or otō-san and you know it!" kuroo snaps, cutely stomping to the armchair and sitting down, crossing his arms and pouting. 

you supress a laugh at his touchiness, but nudge your son. “baby, where’s papa?”

his eyes blink up at you, then he points at your husband. tetsurō kuroo glares at the chubby little hand of his traitorous son.

“go give papa a hug,” you say, setting him down. he takes wide steps before giving up and speed crawling to his father. 

despite kuroo’s pout, he bends over to pick up his son. 

“you can always try again with baby number two,” you remind him.

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, leaning back so your son can settle on his chest. “you’re lucky i love you."

you chuckle. “hey, baby,” you call to your son, and the boy looks back at you, his hands on the collar of your husband’s shirt. you see the affection that opens up on tetsurō’s face when he looks at his child, and it makes your heart twinge. “say papa.”

your son doesn’t falter, offering you a smile. “mama!”