The only thing I can think of about the new Pokemon starters is how they’re so Kuroo and Bokuto.
(Give me the Pokemon AU)

shark vs the universe
dirt enthusiast
YOU ARE THE REASON

roma★

blake kathryn
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
we're not kids anymore.
Stranger Things
h
Three Goblin Art

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

No title available
Cosmic Funnies
Jules of Nature

Product Placement

oozey mess
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
$LAYYYTER
ojovivo

seen from Malaysia

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@msby819
The only thing I can think of about the new Pokemon starters is how they’re so Kuroo and Bokuto.
(Give me the Pokemon AU)
how the rain speaks | miya atsumu
synopsis: like the slow taps of raindrops telling you that it’s okay to find good in the midst of even the messiest storms. atsumu, with a past love that’s now gone. and you, feeling like like the peak of your life will always be in the middle of something that tells you you’ll only be more if you become greater.
how even at your worst, the most tender sort of love can still bloom.
characters: miya atsumu, you
genre: fluff, slow burn realizations that ow this is love | wc: 2500+
a/n: this is commed by anonymous! ;w;
commissions | ko-fi
For him, through storms.
It’s always been standing in the midst of either zero or a hundred. Within the swirl of what rages the most, or within the eye that has even the leaves hold still. He’s got love one day, then the next it’s lost. He’s a man, then he’s a sinner.
Miya Atsumu had the world, then next, he’s left only with himself.
“I love you,” to “I’m letting this go.”
He’s never blamed the world. Blood never stained his hands, but the remnants of sin colored every other piece of him and the things that are still with him. In the tangible pieces he still carries, remembered is the love that once was.
Text messages left on read, three phone numbers that he called and were never answered, and 387 photographs, archived, instead of deleted. Because at the start, while the ‘what-ifs’ lingered like the fucking stains they were, Atsumu prolonged rooting himself in the storm as long as he could.
In everything, he saw her.
In the sun, against daylight, he knows how he’d say “I love you.” In the dark, against the moon, whether there be stars or clouds, he knows how he should have traced the side of her face and loved her in the way that could have kept her. Kept love, kept forever.
Only, he’s still in the storm.
Keep reading
Cute Atsumu commission for @/wyndon_girl on Twitter 💕
[2:12 PM]— MIYA ATSUMU
Atsumu hates admitting that his feelings are hurt.
He feels an odd sense of responsibility to hide his deeper emotions, to keep them locked away from people. Maybe it’s because he’s prideful, or maybe, it’s simply because he isn’t used to someone caring all that deeply about his feelings besides his brother.
Whatever the cause is, the guilt eats you alive as you watch your obviously distressed boyfriend trying his best to remain unbothered and cocky.
“Tsumu—”
“Are ya hungry, baby? I can go get us somethin’ ta eat and—” he’s interrupted by his name once more. But this time, the tone makes him shut his mouth, staring dejectedly at his lap.
“Atsumu.” You’re firm, but laced with a softness he finds he craves.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, pulling on a loose thread of his joggers, avoiding your gaze by all means necessary. You sigh, making his heart ache a little.
He figures it was a matter of time you got tired of his antics. But you never cease to surprise him, it seems.
“Baby, can you look at me? Please?” And Atsumu, prideful and incessantly cocky, looks helplessly small, and you can just make out the tremble of his lips when he meets your eyes.
They’re hurt. They’re so hurt, and so lost, that you’re almost overwhelmed with guilt, almost filled to the brim with self-hatred for making him feel this way.
Him. Atsumu, a closeted softie, your sweet boyfriend whose only flaw was that sometimes he was rather an idiot, but he was a cute one at least. He peppered wet kisses that made you laugh, he whistled at you obnoxiously and made your face burn, he flopped his body on yours and crushed you under his heavy yet loving embrace, and he, under every circumstance possible, accommodated to you.
Atsumu’s heart beat at your command, and you’d felt like you’d crushed it in your palm.
“Okay,” he mumbles, voice quiet. “‘M lookin’.” Your hands cup his cheeks, carefully cradling his face in them, kissing his nose delicately as he stares at your chin, fighting the tears he tries so hard to keep at bay.
“I’m sorry, baby. I really am, Tsumie. I was wrong, okay? And I didn’t mean it. I love you,” you whisper, and he tries to offer you a cocky smirk, and it’s a comical attempt, really, with the tears running down his face, but you can’t find it in you to laugh. Not when his eyes have dimmed like that. The usual saccharine honey is now glazed with a much duller hue.
“‘M okay, angel, ya don’t gotta worry about lil ol’ me.”
“I always worry about you,” you whisper. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about you, baby.” He looks down once more.
“Oh,” he replies quietly. Sniffling, Atsumu leans in, almost hesitantly, as if he’s testing the waters, as though he’s expecting you to withdraw. But your arms open widely, letting him fall against them, letting him seek refuge in the juncture of your neck and the security of your touch, tightly wrapping around him and pulling him close.
“Come here, Tsum,” you speak so delicately, Atsumu all but breaks. He exhales shakily when your hands push back the hair from his forehead, threading through the locks as you kiss his temple.
For the first time, he lets himself admit his true feelings to someone else.
“Ya hurt ma feelin’s, ya know,” he croaks. And though your heart breaks because of the sentence, it soars because of the confession.
“I know,” you admit quietly. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you like that again,” you promise, rubbing the expanse of his back, gliding your palm over the slopes of his taut muscles. He slowly relaxes under your touch.
“Tell me ya love me,” he pleads, and a gentle smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, making him slowly feel as though maybe things will work out in the end for him. Your thumb swipes at a stray tear as you kiss his forehead.
“I love you, Tsumu. I promise.” And in an instant, Atsumu’s heart is repaired and then some, beating rapidly against his chest, making him grin into your neck as he buries his face once more. And with another kiss to his temple, you bring him a bit closer, smiling into his hair as he gives yet another piece of himself to you.
reblogs are really appreciated <3
red peony, part three
suna rintarou is used to getting what he wants, whether it’s from women, his business dealings, or his rival clans. when he sees you, he knows he has to have you—so why aren’t you giving yourself to him?
part one || part two || part three || black petunia || white lily
pairing: mafia boss suna rintarou x medical student afab!reader, nsfw pwp, 9.9k, part three of three, final (minors dni)
warnings: (soft) yandere (and pushy, possessive) suna, light stalking, graphic depictions of violence, depictions of human/sex trafficking, mentions of drugs, mentions of death, creampie, oral (m and f!receiving), slight breeding kink, the birth control is implied okay lmao
notes: written in the same universe as black petunia, the first installment featuring mob boss sakusa.
also written for @hqintheclub’s june dark content collab—masterpost to be posted later this month!
thanks: this wouldn’t have been possible without the help of @vanille–kiss, @vivianvampyric, @karasunowo, and @anime-nymph <3 <3 <3 they honestly helped me so much with plot holes and betaing and i owe my life to them ;;;
banner by the amazing @vanille–kiss — please go check out her works!! she is amazing!
tagging: @hqintheclub, @1sillylittlething, @iiyoomi, @amjustagirl ,@erinoikawa
Two weeks.
Two fucking weeks.
That’s how long you go without contacting him. That’s how long you make him suffer. That’s how long he trails you, hiding behind trees at your university, lamp posts outside your house, and patrons at the cafe next to CoCo Ichibanya, all to get a glimpse of you and make sure you’re doing alright. Well, better than he is at least.
Suna Rintarou feels like you came and stabbed him yourself, twisting the knife deeper into his gut the longer you go without contacting him. His eyes are sunken, face scruffy from his lack of shaving, eyes bloodshot from the black russians he continues to drink to forget about you. But it doesn’t work—the pain on your face haunts him day and night, making it hard to concentrate for some stupid fucking reason, to the point where Ushijima of all people scolded him for not paying attention during their meeting a few days ago.
You look just as shitty as he does. There are no more smiles on your face as you work and you flip through your books absent-mindedly, eyes vacant as you stare forward. He should go talk to you. Make you listen to him, force you to hear him out so you can both end this useless suffering. If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, you could both be together again—isn’t that what you want?
Dupe
A/N: in celebration of me getting kazuha in genshin let’s write some suna lmao
Pairing: Suna Rintarou x reader
Word count: 1318
Prev.
Suna Rintarou was a believer in ‘sharing is caring’ and he cared a lot about you, so it was important to him that you were in the loop of everything that managed to amuse him. Pictures of an ugly cat he saw on his way to school, the newest gossip of who broke up with who to get with who, random compilations of videos that made no sense but were just funny. If there was something that could make him laugh then obviously you would find it entertaining too.
And so he was always here in front of your table without fail during the first break of the day, telling you exactly all the things that he found interesting enough to tell you.
“So, the twins came into the gym this morning already fighting…”
The seat in front of you was not his (much to his dismay) but it didn’t stop him from slumping onto the chair that wasn’t his, his chest pressing against the back of the chair as he rested his chin on the wood, his legs spread like he owned the place as he toyed with your fingers. He was always wearing his sweater no matter what weather it was and the slender digits poked out from under the long sleeves as he mindlessly ran them between each of your fingers, occasionally caressing your knuckles before going back to the tips again. A small smile hung on his face as he stared at your head, looking up to see your reaction when he chuckled to himself when he got humored thinking recalling the events in his head.
You’d have to be very honest, sometimes you couldn’t quite grasp what and why something could make him laugh like it was the funniest thing. But when he looked up at you through his lashes, his slender eyes tilting into two crescents with gleeful expectations, you just couldn’t help but go with him just to see the grin on his face when he thought he had found something that makes you laugh too.
“Osamu said Atsumu ate his breakfast sandwich, and Atsumu said he wouldn’t know it’s Osamu’s because Osamu never eats bread for breakfast.”
Suna tended to speak faster and jumpier when he thought what he was going to tell you was more interesting, slower and smoother when it was just another regular day. He sounded decently chirpy today while he played with your palm, pressing his thumb along where the head line and life line met, so he must have some sort of highlight he was waiting to reveal later.
The corner of his lips curled up slightly. “But apparently, that sandwich place is new and took a whole hour just to get to the front of the line, so Osamu was well pissed,” he sniggered, holding your hand now, “not pissed enough for them to bounce meters away from each other like nothing happened when Kita san came in though.”
Then there it was again, that sudden flick of his eyes that still made your knees week even though he was here holding your hand during the first break of every day.
“I managed to get him to tell me where that sandwich place is before he sulked away, turns out it isn’t too far from here,” he rubbed your hand between his palms, the hem of his sweater tickling your wrist, “we can go together after school?”
It was the twinkle in his eye and his voice going up when he asked that made it so hard for you to ever say no to him, but today, you still had to send him an apologetic smile.
“Ah, see,” you said, looking away from him, “I’m not walking home from school with you today.”
‘But we always walk together’ was what he had truly wanted to say but as clingy as he truly was, Suna would hate to sound clingy or worse, needy.
So Suna blinked, before slowly retracting his hands away from yours and sat his back straighter. “Oh,” he pretended to be as indifferent as he usually was, “why?”
You shrugged, pulling yourself back from him as the awkwardly wide smile remained on yourself. “I have plans?”
“Is it with someone?” he yanked the sleeves of his sweater lower, his voice staying calm and smooth as he asked.
The vein at the side of his forehead pulsed at what came out of your mouth.
“With your sister…?”
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Annoying
Sakuatsu beach day! 🦊🖤😷
Summer Tsum-tsum! 🦊🌞
The official art gods have been kind to us 🛐
7:38 pm.
“you know there’s a new research study out,” you murmur, circling your thumb around the other.
“oh yeah?” atsumu’s eyes fixate on his fork pushing into a potato before flitting up to meet yours. “what’s it say?”
you scrunch your nose disinterestedly. “it says dating can lead to marriage.”
his lips curve up in amusement. “oh yeah?” he repeats. this time, he holds your eyes as he reaches for his drink. “what else does it say?”
your eyes shift side to side as you assume an air of drama, like you’re an aunty who can’t be bothered keeping anyone’s business a secret. you lean towards him, voice dropping to a whisper. “you might be in love with me if you think this is a date.”
he laughs and his eyes crinkle into crescents. you smile as you watch, chest tightening as you reach for your cup.
“i’m serious,” you say convincingly, giggling against the rim of your cup. “the researchers might be onto something there, you know?”
“you want me to sign up as a subject so we can find out?”
“maybe for the follow-up study. i think this is just the pilot study, after all. it couldn’t hurt, right?”
he leans in towards you, chest pressing against the edge of the dinner table. when he looks at you for a quiet, still moment, you stick your neck out expectantly.
“what?” you whisper.
“you’re such a nerd,” he whispers back as you mirror him, setting both of your hands on the table and pressing your chest against them to bring yourself towards him. “and you suck for this because you’ve ruined whatever i was going to say.”
you’re only half paying attention to what he’s saying as you childishly try and reach your nose to his when your jaw drops. “what’s that supposed to me - ”
“will you marry me?”
your jaw snaps shut and your heart thuds against your ribcage - so painfully you think your ribs might break. when you look at him, search him for any sign of a joke, you can see the lowlight of your kitchen reflected in his eyes as he tilts his head.
he isn’t joking.
his hand reaches for yours. “what’dya say?” he asks quietly - tentatively.
are you still breathing?
he laces his fingers with yours and lets your clasped hand fall to the table. “hm?”
your mind is rattling. maybe you’ve actually forgotten how to breathe. or maybe you’re thinking too much to breathe - like, your mind isn’t able to do everything all at once, right?
you inhale sharply and feel your fingers tighten against his. your lips stretch into the widest smile you can manage without your eyes starting to burn.
“so … you’re saying you don’t wanna be a subject in the follow up study? i think being married actually disqualifies you.”
a sentence for him
pairing: atsumu x reader
genre: fluff
warnings: none
a/n: a few days ago, i asked people to send me - on ask - an adjective. if i didn’t use the adjective you sent me - i’m really sorry. hopefully, i can use them for another fic! (inspired by ‘one word prompts’).
a fierce setter on the court. you watch with wide eyes, smiling at he ferocity. atsumu is called a monster when he plays. but when he smiles at you from the court - you think monster is a slight exaggeration.
atsumu is present - always existing, always current. even when he travels far, far away for tournaments, you feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. a reminder: he is always by your side.
his hair is soft. you’re running your fingers through his hair, atsumu eyes are drooping close. when you thinks he’s asleep, you remove your hand from his head. but he quickly grabs your hand, placing it back into his hair.
his love is passionate. atsumu loves you, gives you so much love - his love can fill the ocean, fill the sky. and it’s never overwhelming - you will never become tired of his love.
he’s mysterious at first. always at a distance, it’s like his heart is afraid to let you in. but when he finally unlocks his heart, and allows you to enter - he gives the key to his heart, to you. (you still have the key, kept safe and sound)
even in adversity, atsumu is still persevering. he does not give up, tries to find a silver-lining. it’s truly admirable - and when you tell him this, he replies: “ you’re my strength. as long as i have you, i’ll always be fine.”
the wooden shelf has become detached from the wall. atsumu brings out the power drill and tries to attach it to the wall again. he fails miserably. you look at him, annoyed - there’s a long crack on the wall.
it’s late in the evening. the streets are quiet, you and atsumu are walking home, from a date. hand in hand - it’s just you, him and the moon above. you’re so happy, it’s like you’re walking on clouds. it feels liberating to be in love.
he’s had an argument with his brother. he huffs under his breath, pouting. atsumu’s aggressive when he bites into the onigiri. you place your hand on his arm. atsumu looks at you, and starts to chews softly, remembering to breathe.
devoted would be an understatement. atsumu will run to hell and back for you, will swim across oceans for you, will climb the highest mountains - just for you. his devotion puts every love story, to shame.
the weather is rueful. there is a storm - you can hear the rain, wind, thunder and lightening. you’re both lying on the sofa, he holds onto you close. atsumu’s heart is beating against your ear, and you feel safe in his arms.
it’s captivating watching atsumu play with a cat. he’s all sweet and sugar, as he coos at it. it makes you wonder about the future - instead of the cat, it will be a baby - yours and his. you smile.
the sound of his voice is mellifluous. his voice is like the sound of birds singing at dawn, like the wind whistling in the summer wind. his voice is a lullaby, keeping your dreams at peace.
in the sun, his eyes are iridescent. different shades of brown, at every angle. and when he looks at you like that - like it’s only just him and you, existing. you think the phrase - eyes are the window to the soul - is true.
it’s selfish when you hold onto him at six-thirty in the morning. the bed is warm, and so is he - but atsumu is a busy man. he kisses your head, cheeks and lips, and raises himself off the bed. you let go of him, knowing he’ll be back.
dating atsumu is having him run out to buy you pads and he purposely buys you like the thickest, maximum absorbing power, level 6 pads for (in his words) “you n your super soaker” so in retaliation you buy small condoms and put it in his gym bag with a note saying “for tonight x hope it’s not too roomy, couldn’t find the xsmall :(“ because you know he always yanks shit out of his bag in a hurry and without fail, the box of condoms with the note falls out in front of all his teammates and rather than be embarrassed, he thinks you’re actually his soulmate
hq shoes + friends ✨
thinking about making these into keychain charms!
24 hours
now playing: shawn mendes - 24 hours
miya atsumu x reader
668
everyone says atsumu rushes into things.
and maybe they’re right, but that’s just who atsumu is. his whole life is kind of a giant rush. he is a pro volleyball player after all.
he’s not going to lie, he loves his lifestyle. it’s like it was made for him. the fame, the sponsorships, the money. miya atsumu is living in the fast lane, and he doesn’t plan on stopping.
but he’ll pause for you.
as much as he enjoys the crowds cheering his name or fans recognizing him on the street, the only attention atsumu really craves is yours. in a world where everything is fast-paced and glamorous, you make him slow down and appreciate the little things in life.
and ever since he met you he thinks having you in his life is more than enough. maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel like he needs all the fame and fortune. maybe he doesn’t need to overwork himself, or need to go to every single event his team is invited to.
and maybe that’s why he’d much rather be here in his bed with you now, than attending some benefit dinner with the jackals tonight.
“i gotta go,” you tell him as you reluctantly pull away from his embrace.
you don’t even have time to miss his warmth before he’s pulling you back into his arms. “come on ‘tsumu,“ you whine, “it’s late, i have to go home.”
“stay the night.” his chin rests on top of your head and he tightens his hold around you as you try to wriggle out of his grip.
you let out a small sigh, surrendering to snuggle into his chest for just a bit longer. “i want to, but i can’t exactly go to work tomorrow in sweatpants.”
“just keep your work clothes here,” he suggests.
your arms reach around to hold him closer, burying yourself deeper into his chest.
“where would i even keep them? you have a lot of stuff, i don’t wanna take up your space,” you retort, the last part coming out quieter than you intended.
“i’ll make room for ya. and it wouldn’t be taking up my space… not if this becomes our space.”
he feels you freeze against him, your hand no longer rubbing circles on his back.
you push yourself away a bit and your neck cranes up to look at him. you’re met with his infamous lazy smirk and the most carefree look on his face, like he didn’t just suddenly ask to take your relationship to the next level.
“‘tsumu… what are you saying?”
he furrows his eyebrows at you.
“i’m saying, move in with me.”
“ar-are you sure?” you squeak out.
his expression softens when he sees the hesitation on your face. this wasn’t the response he was expecting but he did kind of spring this on you. atsumu can already hear his brother’s voice nagging him.
it’s too soon. you’re moving too fast. you’re going to scare them away.
and he wouldn’t be completely wrong, you’ve only been dating a couple of months.
but everything feels so right with you.
is he sure if you two are meant to last forever? well, no, but is anyone really?
what he’s sure of is that driving you back to your apartment is his least favorite thing to do. he’s sure that he hates hearing you say goodbye to him every night, and that every time he walks you to your doorstep, he wishes he didn’t have to drive back home alone. that instead of coming home to an empty apartment, he’d come home to you.
he gives you a reassuring smile, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the doubt on your face beginning to fade. and when you return his smile, he’s sure he’d go to the ends of the earth to keep you smiling at him.
“yeah,” he whispers, bringing you closer to him once again, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead.
“i’m sure.”
I want to be someone’s first choice. Not just an option until they find someone better
scintilla
sakusa x reader
warnings: alcohol consumption & subsequent drunkenness, very brief & implied nsfw (not explicit); past atsumu x reader
wc: 5k
a love story—from summer, to spring.
you and your salt-soaked pillows, it becomes a nightly ritual.
you can't exactly explain why it weighs on your heart so, not when you've known since the beginning what you and atsumu were. and maybe you were naive, your faint hopes of blossoming romance dwindling with each empty bed, each silent car ride, each one worded response. bombastic and fantastic, what follows is the equivalent of an empty candy shell, blown glass the shape of midnight makeouts and splotchy wisteria, forget-me-not shaped bruises on the pulse of your throat.
he is fickle-hearted towards the things he does not love. he only has room for so much, after all, for volleyball and his brother and his future and all the things you are not—all the things you cannot be.
miya atsumu isn't yours. he can't be, not when you have never been his.