ITS HANGES BDAYYYYYYY
ITS HANGES BDAYYYYYYY
More Posts from Whorefornoodles and Others
Stop for a while. do not cross . My name is Amna from Gaza. We lost everything, home, dreams, and everything that gives life. My children are living in bad conditions. I ask you to help me for the sake of my children, for the sake of humanity. Those who cannot donate can share the post and link
@occupationsurfer @northgazaupdates @nabulsi @elierlick @evelyn-art-05 @soon-palestine @fairuzfan @bibyebae @riding-with-the-wild-hunt
“do you ever think about getting married?”
“um,” atsumu looks at you over his phone screen. “no? we’re babies, dude.”
“we’re twenty,” you sigh, and he watches as you kick your legs up and settle them over his, hooking a hand around your ankle and rubbing his thumb in circles over the nub of bone. “i want to get married.”
“you don’t even have a boyfriend,” he scoffs. “who’re ya gonna marry?”
“i dunno,” your eyes are heavy-lidded, hazy. talking for the sake of talking. he’s listening for the sake of you. “i want… a frat wedding?”
“a what?” he puts his phone down, dropping all semblance of disinterest.
“like, when the american universities have everyone get really drunk and do a pretend wedding for fun. i just want to put streamers everywhere and have a tacky balloon arch and pretend to get married. i want to wear a veil and a miniskirt.”
“okay,” atsumu says hazily, suddenly very aware of the shortness of your shorts and the bareness of the leg he’s touching. miniskirt… “let’s have a frat wedding.”
suddenly, you let out a big huff of air and tip your head back.
“what’s up?” he asks.
“i remembered i don’t have anyone to marry,” you explain. “so no fake wedding.”
you look so dejected, and the corners of your lips are turned down in a pout, and atsumu’s honestly still dedicating about 60% of his brainspace to miniskirt.
“i’ll marry ya,” he says, a little too quickly.
“really?” you say hopefully. “you know that means you’re gonna have to kiss me, right? in front of all of our friends.”
“sounds high-pressure,” atsumu says, lifting your legs out of his lap and setting them aside so he can leverage himself over your prone form. “we’d better start practicin’ now so i don’t embarrass myself.”
HEY who’s following me …
sending so much love to everyone who feels like they’re never chosen as the best friend, as the partner, as the favorite. sending love to all of you who have been treated and felt like second best. sending love to all of you who have felt rejected and unwanted. to all of you who have had to try really hard to fit in because you felt like you never will.
you are so loved. you will be seen and heard by the right people. you can trust that you are valuable and not defined by other people’s perceptions of you. if someone doesn’t see your worth, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
unicorns and pomegranates
summary: Suna x F!Reader. "Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."
"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him.
word count: 1.4k
cw: angst to fluff, friends to lovers, mild objectification, suna has strange inclinations, intoxication, one or two references to sex, …hand mention
a/n: i almost titled this "stop picking fights with knights and come wear tunics with the eunuchs"
You can't believe you were actually looking forward to this team dinner. It's the stupid fancy gala EJP Raijin puts on annually, in a stupid beautiful venue covered in white marble and stupid crystal chandeliers. You'd been so excited when Suna said, offhandedly, I get a plus-one, you wanna come with?
You should've known it would end up like this, feeling self-conscious in your expensive clothes while Suna stands far away and doesn't pay attention to you at all. He's not your date, you're his plus-one, gifted a glimpse into the world of professional athletes for one night only. He expects you to mingle with his friends, maybe even get yourself a real date to the next team event. It's such a stupid, cruel joke of the stars that he's the only one of these talented, handsome men that you want.
You take a sip of champagne and try not to think about it. He'd come to pick you up in his ridiculous fancy red car and stared at you with his inscrutable features and said I don't know, I'm sure it's fine, when you asked what he thought. Glowing praise, you thought, sitting among models and Olympians.
Across the room, Suna is trying to pretend that he is a eunuch. Eunuchs don't throw their best friends over their shoulder and carry them home and make sweet, sweet love to them all night long.
"There's something wrong with your face," Atsumu says.
"Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."
"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him, "but yeah, I get the feeling."
They lapse into silence for a moment. One of the guys who came stag walks up to you and jumps into conversation. Suna imagines spiking a ball into his face several times.
"Are you feeling like that because of—" Atsumu starts, but Suna cuts him off with a violent slashing motion across the throat.
"If you say the words out loud, they become true," Suna says. "Shut your fat mouth."
"She does look good," Atsumu muses. "Nice necklace."
"Don't look at her," Suna says. "I actually don't even know who you're talking about. She's wearing a necklace?"
He glances back. You aren't, which soothes his concern that he'd been so distracted by the generous amount of décolletage revealed by your top he'd missed major details of your appearance, which he planned to burn into his memory and then never speak about until he died. His last words were probably going to be "the top button was undone."
"Maybe you would be failing less miserably if you actually talked to your date," Atsumu says. "How did you ask her to be your date without actually dating her?"
"It takes a lot of skill to put yourself this deeply in the friendzone," Suna says. "Someday you'll understand."
"I hope not," Atsumu says with feeling. "Hey, look, they're doing shots."
The rando who’s talking to you is clinking his glass against yours, making unnecessarily intense eye contact. Suna frowns; staring at you like a weirdo is his job. You glance away from your drinking partner for a second, your gazes connecting, and that’s all the invitation Suna needs to cross the room in the space of a split second. He snatches your shot from you with two long fingers and tosses it back, grinning widely at the other man when he’s swallowed.
“That was mine,” you say without vitriol.
“That was vodka,” he says, feeling the warm buzz of it in his belly. “You’re allergic.”
“Not allergic,” you roll your eyes, “just a lightweight.”
It’s true. Vodka gets you way too drunk, way too fast. Why hadn’t you said anything to this other guy? You only ever drink such hard liquor when you’re upset.
Are you upset?
“I’ll buy you another drink,” he promises. He’s glad he took the drink from you. It’s having a strange, dizzying effect the longer he looks at you, your darkened eyes, your parted lips. He reaches up and sweeps the back of his hand just over the curve of your neck, a light touch. He’s pleased when it leaves goosebumps in its wake, a short-lived mark he can leave on you.
“It’s an open bar, dummy,” you roll your eyes. The guy you were talking to has faded into the distance, though you don’t even notice.
He’d meant to stay away from you tonight. He’d meant to be a respectful friend, one who didn’t steal glances at you that he shouldn’t, one who didn’t want to punch out anyone else who looked at you with lust on their face. Every time he steps away, though, you seem to be tossing back another drink, giggling and leaning on a new shoulder, and he’s back at your side, plucking your hand away and glaring at whoever tries to talk to you.
Finally, he follows you down the hall to the bathroom, where you spin and lean heavy on the wall, facing him. Your eyes are bright and teary, all the gloss rubbed off your downturned lips, but he still wants to kiss them, for some reason (because he’s a creep, he scolds himself).
“What are you doing,” you sigh, and he blinks, taken aback.
“Just watching out for you, I guess,” he says. You pout.
“You don’t even care,” you say, voice catching. “You’re hovering like a jealous boyfriend and I don’t even know why.”
“I’m not,” he protests lamely.
“I know!” You explode, pushing away from the wall and wobbling dangerously. He clamps a hand down on your arm and supports your body with his; you are a bamboo shoot and he’s the stake. “I know. You think I’m ugly, you’ll never like me. I get it.”
“What?” Your skin is warm to the touch, and you smell a touch sweet, a touch spicy. He wants to lick the skin behind your ears, where your perfume is spritzed strongest. You couldn’t be more wrong if you declared that Atsumu was going to win a prize for scientific achievement.
“This is stupid,” you say, and oh, oh, no, there are tears welling up and streaking down your face. He pulls you in firmly, playing with the short hairs on the back of your neck. You cry into his chest, even though he’s the reason. “I want to go home. I just wanted to have fun.”
“I know,” he says, voice low, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “I’ll take you home.” For some reason this encourages a fresh bout of sobbing. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”
“I just wanted you to think I was pretty,” you hiccup on the last word, and his heart stops.
“I think you’re so pretty,” Suna says. “I think you’re gorgeous. You don’t think you’re pretty?”
“I know I’m pretty,” you say, and he keeps trying to step back, walk away, pull himself out of a situation he has to be misunderstanding. “I thought you did, too, enough to invite me to this stupid thing, enough that I was so excited to pretend we were together or maybe that we would be together for real someday. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not,” he begs you to believe him.
“I thought just because you’re beautiful and you look at me—sometimes—like you want me or something and you touch me all the time, it might mean something. I am an idiot. And a bad friend. I even like your hands, Suna, you’ve made me so crazy I can’t even look at your hands without thinking about your fingers—”
Suna grabs you before you can finish a sentence that will surely land you pressed up against the wall with one of the hands in question in your pants. He says your name, serious, voice grating against all his instincts.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” you insist, looking like you’re going to start crying again. “I—fuck. I love you, Rintarō.”
It’s the final nail in the coffin.
“I’m going to enter noble and valorous combat to prove my worthiness,” he says instantaneously. You peer up at him, expression simultaneously baffled and cutting.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Suna says hurriedly. “Let’s go home. You should lie down, and tomorrow I need to clear some things up, repeatedly. Possibly for the rest of our lives.”
theyre heading out!
osamu + “we’re fake dating! why did you tell them we were engaged?!” for @amarinthe thanks for requesting this! it's probably one of my favourite prompts
the moment you open your front door, you kind of regret it.
because while your totally hot neighbour is standing in your doorway in his dark jeans and fitted black t-shirt glory, you’re rocking shorts and an unreasonably large sweatshirt.
“osamu,” you blink, tugging the hem of your shirt down a little. “hey.”
“hey,” he replies with a smile that makes your knees weak, holding up a takeout bag. “i brought some onigiri home. wanna share?”
thinking about the instant ramen currently boiling on your stovetop, you couldn’t possibly refuse his offer (especially if it’s from miya osamu, whose very successful restaurant is quite literally across the street).
so you open your door wider, letting him step inside and slip his shoes off while you move into the kitchen, placing two plates on the counter.
“so, how was your day?” he asks, unpacking the setting two onigiri on each plate. “anything interesting happen?”
you slide into the stool next to him, swinging your legs lightly as you munch on happily on the food. “not particularly, you?”
“actually, yeah,” he starts, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair (you think it’s unfair, how good it still looks, even after spending all day smushed under a baseball cap). “my ma called today.”
“your ma?” you hum through a mouthful of salmon and rice. “what’d she say?”
he picks disinterestedly at the seaweed on his onigiri. “she, uh, asked that i visit home for dinner tomorrow night.”
“that’s sounds fun,” you start, pausing when he visibly grimaces. “unless it’s...not?”
“my brother’s bringin’ his girl again,” he shrugs. “and i know that means ma’s gonna be on my ass about why i’m not datin’.”
“yeah, i’ve had that conversation with my parents before,” you shudder, patting his shoulder in understanding. “the future, grandchildren, the passive-aggressive judgement from siblings. you should just call and say you’re sick.”
“can’t,” he sighs heavily. “i already cancelled twice. she may disown me if i skip a third time, or worse, show up at my place.”
it’d probably be funny, you think, seeing mama and brother miya across the hall, bugging osamu. “then maybe you should bring someone,” you suggest off-handedly. “just to keep them off your back a little. when was the last time you went on a date?”
when he doesn’t answer, your happy chewing slows, and you glance over at him. “jeez, that long ago? i thought you had more game than that, miya.”
a slow grin spread across his face when he meets your gaze. “last time i went out with someone was...four months ago, actually.”
“four months ago? that was around when we—” your eyes widen slightly, heat spreading to your cheeks. “oh. that...was not a date. that was a slightly intoxicated but very satisfying sexual exchange between friends.”
osamu chuckles, ducking his head a little and making those eyes at you (the ones that’d lured you into fucking him on your living room floor at two in the morning). “maybe don’t bring that up when ya meet my mom.”
“excuse me?” you laugh. “you cannot bring me home to meet your family.”
“why not?” he questions, looking genuinely confused. “you’re the one who suggested it. it’s just for one night anyway.”
“i just can’t!” you insist, looking at him incredulously. “i’d be nervous even if we were dating. what if they ask questions about--”
“i’ll give you free onigiri for a month.”
_____
“so, how did the two of you meet?” osamu’s mother asks as she pours you a generous glass of wine.
you freeze, blinking a few times. when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.
(it’s funny how, on the hour-long drive to hyogo, the two of you hadn’t discussed any basic information about your relationship. instead, you’d spent your time debating the best taylor swift album and making fun of the other tenants in your building.)
you almost flinch when someone places a hand on the small of your back, but relax when osamu’s faint cologne meets your senses. “actually it was the day after she moved in next door,” he says. “i brought some onigiri over because she’d asked me that morning where the closest grocery store was so i figured…”
you smile fondly, recalling the day you’d run into him at the mailboxes, and he’d shown up a few hours later with food. he’d claimed they were just leftovers even though it was mid-afternoon.
“i can’t believe you remember that,” you murmur.
he hums quietly, gaze flicking over your face briefly. “i guess it’s just when i knew.”
you’re sure that your heart stutters in your chest. surely he’d stolen that from some cheesy romance flick?
“how long have you two been together?” his mother follows up with, glancing between the two of you expectantly, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“eight months,” you say.
“almost a year,” osamu answers at the same time.
across from you, atsumu hides a smile behind his glass of water.
“i mean, who’s counting?” you laugh, quick to recover, reaching over to your ‘boyfriend’ blindly, meaning to pat his shoulder but instead catching him on the cheek. “time flies when you’re in love.”
you turn to stare at osamu when you feel him clasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, lips curling against them.
your stomach flutters a little at the gesture.
“‘tsumu,” he continues, redirecting the conversation. he rests your clasped hands on the table, thumb brushing the back of yours gently. “i thought you were bringing your girlfriend.”
“oh, she’s at her place doin’ some packing,” he answers easily. “she’s movin’ in next week.”
“that’s great news!” their mother beams, osamu’s hand tightening around yours as he blurts,
“yeah, well, we’re engaged!”
this time, you choke on your bite of chicken, almost hacking up a lung as you whip your head towards your neighbour/friend/fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé.
he shoots you a pleading gaze as he rubs firm circles on your back, and when you finally dislodge that traitorous piece of meat, you draw a slow breath and sigh. “babe, i thought we were going to wait until you made it official.” you lift your left hand, pointing at your empty ring finger before turning back to his mother and brother. “do you mind if we step away for a second?”
they both wave you off, and you snatch osamu’s wrist, dragging him out the back door, making sure it’s shut tight before you whisper-shout,
“we are fake dating! why would you tell them that we were engaged?”
he rubs his hands down his face, groaning. “i’m sorry, i panicked! it’s just that when atsumu mentioned moving in i got weirdly competitive because we’re twins—”
“so naturally you told your mother we were getting married? what’s next, atsumu mentions a joint bank account and you tell them that i’m pregnant?”
osamu lowers his hands to peek at you. “can i actually do that?”
“no! this is so not worth the free onigiri!” you growl, smacking him on the shoulder a few times, osamu yelling in protest.
(inside, atsumu and their mother peek out the kitchen window to watch the both of you, the latter murmuring, ‘definitely engaged.’)
_____
“you cannot tell that story in your toast,” you laugh, three years later with a very real engagement ring on your finger.
“why not?” osamu whines, completely invading your side of the bed to wrap his arms around you. “it’s how we got together, isn’t it?”
“by lying to your family.”
“soon to be your family,” he reminds you happily. “and i didn’t have to tell them you were pregnant.”
Kuroo
Fluffy socks
Hopefully I did this right LMFAO
You did dw 😗
“Is that my sock?”
“…. No?”
It’s one of your favourite pairs. Pink, fluffy, perfect for winter, covered in tiny white hearts. Its twin is missing, the other clutched in your husbands large hand. And peeking out of the sock is a tiny, black, fluffy head, complete with tiny ears and a tiny pink nose.
Your husband put your kitten in your sock.
She wears an expression like his, a blank stare, and then she squeaks, blinking her pretty amber eyes at you.
“Care to explain why you put her in my sock?”
He sighs. “I may have seen a video online. But look,” he says, holding up the cute, fuzzy bundle in his palm with a grin. The bundle yawns, her little teeth on display as she blinks sleepily, clearly warm and comfortable. “She likes it.”
