an au where you've been shouto's best friend for a million years and have learned to weaponize the Shouto Effect for your own gains, taking advantage where his unearthly good looks net him privileges few others have. you're forever sending him up to coffee shop counters to get your drink with the knowledge that the barista is absolutely going to give it to him for free, or shoving him up to the hostess stand at a packed restaurant you don't have reservations for, knowing they are going to Seat Him Anyway.
then one evening, drunk at a party, you mention the Shouto Effect in front of him. you realize it's the first time you've said it out loud when he looks at you, handsome and bemused, and you patiently explain to him that he's the most beautiful man on earth and no one else gets treated quite the way he does. that most people don't get tongue tied that often, or flush beet red that often, or fall all over themselves to give others things in the hope that they might like them. that he's special.
shouto looks contemplative as you explain, eyes growing just slightly wider, before something passes over his face—a look of intense interest. you wonder if he's just learning the true way of the world, and coming to terms with the idea that he might be prettier than he realized, and having A Time Of It.
and he is. but that's not entirely it. because he's just learned that you think he's the most beautiful man on earth. and now he wants to find out if the Shouto Effect might work on a best friend he's been in love with for a million years...
ᗰISS ᗰE || kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader, pure fluff, haikyuu drabbles, 540 word count ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡
boyfriend!kuroo who is the giddiest person in the world whenever you walk in during one of his volleyball practices. it's not often when your schedules align, but when they do—he's ecstatic. the boy is already jogging in your direction, huge dopey grin on his face whilst everyone gags at the cheesy reunion.
boyfriend!kuroo who wastes no time in ruffling your hair, teasingly theorizing how you obviously missed him so much that you decided to pay him a visit. his smirk only widening once you don't deny it, simply rolling your eyes in response as he takes your bag, already ushering you to the best seat in the gym.
boyfriend!kuroo who decides to take his break earlier than usual just to sit beside you. he's chatting away about today's events, resting his head against your lap as he groans about you apparently not loving him anymore—just because you didn't run your fingers through his hair like usual.
boyfriend!kuroo who hums with content once you finally oblige, fingers slowly dragging along his scalp as he gazes up at you like you lifted the sun itself. he's all smiles as he asks about your day, wanting to hear the sound of your pretty voice after a painful two hours without any contact.
boyfriend!kuroo who is a surprisingly good listener, demeanor softening ever so slightly as you mention feeling lost in one of your classes. he's immediately lifting his hand up to cup your face, your words wavering as he gives your cheek a little tug, reprimanding you with a coy smirk and reassuring words.
boyfriend!kuroo who reminds you that one bad test grade isn't the end of the world, but he does suggest a study date at your favorite cafe to make you feel better. he can feel his heart beating a little faster at your shy smile, practically on cloud nine when he senses the increasing warmth beneath your skin.
boyfriend!kuroo who feels his eye twitch when the rest of the team calls out to him, making dramatic kissing noises to get on their captain's nerves. he's scoffing and already sitting back up, shouting back light hearted threats as his hand secretly finds yours, giving you a small squeeze in the process.
boyfriend!kuroo who places a quick kiss on your temple before rushing back on the court, sending you a cocky wink as he brags about you to everyone else, labelling them as lonely idiots while he gloats. he's obviously trying to get under their skin, not even trying to hide it behind his obnoxious grin.
boyfriend!kuroo who is suddenly on fire today, showing off his moves to get this match over and done with. he's eager to make this quick, wanting nothing more than to get back and treat you to a pastry. the boy is determined to uplift your spirits, especially when he hears you cheering in the background.
boyfriend!kuroo who wastes no time in leading you out when practice ends in victory, snickering at the others groans. he's carrying both of your bags, walking hand-in-hand with you outside campus, feeling content with the bright smile on your face—one that he intends to cherish for the rest of the day.
inspired by a post i saw that said “gen z’s aversion to being problematic is going to stop them from ever finding true love” and a comment that said “my dad told my mom to break up with her boyfriend and date him instead and it worked”
“i’m sorry,” you say, resting your cheek between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades, your arms loosely circling him from behind, “i didn’t mean to make you upset. let’s just enjoy today, okay?”
“huh?” says the guy, decidedly not in your boyfriend’s voice.
you jump back, nearly slipping on your heel in your haste. the man who you’d just felt up in the middle of the museum turns; from the front, he looks nothing like masahiro, with startlingly intense eyes and bone structure that looked like it had been cut by the gods. how many men with spiky black hair and puffer jackets were just hanging around, trying to trick you?
now that you see it, though, you see the differences—this guy has broad shoulders where masahiro’s clothes hang off him like they would a model and his jeans are distressed all the way down the front. your boyfriend has a distinct distaste for styles like that. he thinks they look trashy.
“oh,” you stutter around your dumbfounded tongue, heartbeat still rabbit-fast from alarm. “i’m so sorry. you looked like—i thought you were someone else from behind. i’m so, so sorry.”
“don’t worry about it,” the guy grins. the smile softens the features of his face, making him look miles less scary. “pretty girl like you, i don’t mind at all. i thought you were one of my friends at first, you’re lucky i didn’t suplex you.”
you bluescreen. suplex me! the stupid, disloyal braincells running around inside your skull shriek.
“i have a boyfriend,” you say instead, sensibly.
“sucks,” the guy shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets and kind of turning back to the art piece in front of him, his body still just angled toward you so you can see those olive-orchard eyes flickering between the oil paintings and your face. “you didn’t sound very happy with him. you should break up and date me instead.”
no! you should shout and go find masahiro, probably lurking around somewhere trying to think of new and creative ways to get mad at you.
“you’re forward,” you breathe instead, which probably totally gives this stranger the wrong impression.
“i know what i want,” he says. it’s annoying how casual he is about it. “my name’s hajime, by the way. you live around here?”
“the east part of the city, near the cultural center.” you clearly don’t have any caution at all.
“oh, cool! so do i,” he says. “they opened an ethiopian restaurant a couple blocks from the train station recently. we could walk around by the river afterwards if you decide you like me.”
“i have a boyfriend,” you say again, weaker this time.
“sure, for now,” hajime says. “if that changes, here.” he tears off a piece of his program and procures one of the tiny pencils museums provide to scribble some digits on it. “my number. i live with roommates, so if it sounds like a girl picking up, it’s my friend oikawa trying to scare you away.”
“i’m not easily scared off,” you say as you tuck the paper into your pocket. you’ll definitely throw it out right away.
“good,” he turns the full force of that smile back on you again, boyish despite his manly frame and strong personality. “we’ll get along great.”
you snort.
“no, you’re definitely forward. you don’t need to remember it,” you lean a little closer to him, noting the way his face flushes a bit under his deep tan. “because i have a boyfriend, but my name is y/n.”
—
after walking in circles for a bit, you locate masahiro at the museum cafe, flirting with a girl in an apron.
“there you are,” you say cautiously.
“and another thing—” he starts right away without any preamble. you groan out loud by accident. “do you have a problem?”
—
predictably, you leave the museum shortly afterwards. you wander around the city a little by yourself, hands shoved deep in your pockets, hyperaware of a tiny piece of paper against your fingertips.
it’s so crinkled up you have to squint to read the numbers when you get home. the phone rings a few times before anyone picks up—
“—hello?” crackles a high voice over the line. “i’m not pregnant yet, but what are you wearing?”
“hi, oikawa-san,” you say, hoping you’re remembering the name correctly. “can i talk to hajime, please?”
“oh, you’re real?” the voice is suddenly octaves lower, the melodic voice of a young man. “wow, i didn’t know he had it in him. please don’t break his heart, i’ll have you know i have a very strong serving arm—”
there’s a brief interlude of thunking and screaming. a now-familiar voice picks up the phone.
“hey, pretty,” hajime says. “let me guess: you have a boyfriend.”
“not at all,” you say steadily. “are you going to be like this forever?”
“that’s what my mother says,” he answers. “are you up for ethiopian tonight? my weekend is pretty open, too.”
“i’m already dressed,” you tease, “it’d be a waste of a good outfit not to go out tonight.”
“i can’t wait to see it,” he says, and a little frisson of warmth runs through you, like you can see those eyes burning through you again.
“i was thinking, though,” you start, nervously winding the cord of the phone around your finger. “it’s a little cold to walk by the river this time of year. if we like each other, i think we should just go back to my apartment.”
“that sounds,” his voice cracks. “i mean, that sounds great. but i think you should know, um, i’m not really a casual kind of guy.”
“i could tell you that from the way you said dump your boyfriend and go out with me,” you roll your eyes. “look, hajime. i just broke up with my boyfriend for you. we better fucking get married.”
there’s a pause where you worry that you’ve said too much, come on too strong to this strange, direct man.
“like i said,” you can hear the broad smile in his voice. “we’re gonna get along great.”
Watching shounen jump try to reverse engineer a new Big Three and knowing from the get go they will not find it in these titles,,,, First of all they need a series with a big ensemble cast, an easily digestible premise, and everyone to be stuck inside for an indeterminate amount of time again
There's a lot of ways to predict (maybe incorrectly) what's going to be a Big Hit, but when I think of Demon Slayer, My Hero Academia, and Jujutsu Kaisen, there is an overarching similarity to them -- their protagonists. These series are about very kind people facing a very unkind world, and I think that was their key to success.
when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’
(fluff / established relationship / domestic)
│ he never makes a show of it, but somehow he always turns the smallest things into love.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
the mornings on the farm always start the same.
the world is still quiet, soft with fog, the air sweet with dew and hay. somewhere, the hens are already chattering, and the faint smell of soil drifts through the porch.
kita’s been up for hours, of course—he always is—but he’s careful not to wake you until the light’s turned gold. when he finally does, it’s with a gentle knock on the doorframe and a calm, “coffee’s ready.”
you shuffle out to the porch in one of his shirts, hair messy, face still warm from sleep. two chairs sit side by side overlooking the fields, your mugs already steaming on the small wooden table between them.
“morning,” you mumble, stretching.
“morning,” he says softly, handing you your mug.
this part of the day is yours—the quiet before the work, when the farm hums low and steady and the world hasn’t yet asked for anything.
you take a slow sip and sigh, sinking into your chair. “perfect, as always.”
he hums in agreement, glancing out toward the rows of crops. “they’re coming in good this season.”
you nod absently, already half lost in the quiet rhythm of it all. your gaze drifts to the small bowl on the table.
“pistachios?” you ask, brightening.
“mmhm.”
you lean forward, surprised. “wait… these are unshelled?”
he nods. “figured you might like them better.”
you pluck one from the bowl and pop it into your mouth. it’s perfect—fresh, salty, the way you always said unshelled pistachios never quite were.
“oh my god,” you grin, “you actually found an un-shelled brand that tastes right! where did you even—”
“not important,” he says simply, lips tugging into a small smile.
you don’t think too hard about it. you just eat another, and another, and soon the bowl’s half-empty.
the two of you sit like that for a while, legs brushing, coffee cooling, the sound of the breeze in the trees filling the silence. there’s nothing rushed about it. just the steady pulse of a life you built together—simple, gentle, whole.
when your cup is empty and his watch beeps faintly with the hour, he stands, brushing the dust from his jeans.
“break’s over,” he murmurs. “gotta check on the hens.”
you smile up at him. “thank you for the coffee, and the pistachios.”
he leans down, kisses your forehead. “anytime.”
later, when he’s gone and you’re tidying up, you carry the empty bowls back to the kitchen. the house still smells faintly of roasted nuts and coffee grounds.
you hum as you start rinsing dishes, until something catches your eye.
when you open the trash can to toss a paper towel inside, you freeze.
sitting right on top of the garbage is a mountain of pistachio shells—pale, split cleanly down the middle, stacked in quiet little layers.
you stare for a long moment, your throat tightening in that way it does when something small hits too deep.
you can picture it perfectly: him sitting at the counter before dawn, cracking open each one with careful fingers, probably humming to himself while the coffee brewed.
no fanfare. no mention. just quiet love, in its purest form.
you close the lid slowly, smiling so hard it hurts a little.
he never says much about love. he just does it—folded into small gestures, invisible to everyone but you.
you stand there for a moment, hand over your heart, before turning back to the sink. the dishes clink softly under the running water, sunlight spilling through the window, and your chest feels full enough to burst.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
i love kita so much he's my husband the love of my life, this is inspired by my love of pistachios
✿ 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐘𝐀— x f!reader. dad touya. pregnant reader. angst/no comfort. 2.2k+
touya dabi isn't as smooth as he thinks he is.
the first time you catch him, you're in the parking lot, halfway from your car to the long, concrete flight of stairs outside the apartment building. whenever he would come before, when you could sit on the steps and wait for him to arrive—his lone figure would always manifest across the street.
near a convenience store, one that's been closed for years and yet still remains, on the outside of your little gated community. where exactly he was coming from, you never knew, but he would give a half-ass jog across the road and hop the fence and stand before you on the steps, arms out like he was coming home after a long stint away.
you suppose he was. at least that's how it felt to you.
it's not a coincidence that you spot him there now, leaning against the wall as the sun starts to set. hiding in the growing shadows well enough, but still visible where he stands, where he's always stood. it's only been a few weeks since you've seen him and you wish he was closer so that you could read between his lines, find the truth in them. despite everything, you ache for him, for this; it must be tearing him to bits, even if he won't admit it.
today was your first appointment. it's early, but things are as fine as they're supposed to be, you assume. nothing major to report. healthy. fast heartbeat. a little grape-sized thing.
touya dabi doesn't want you to see him, but you raise a thumbs-up high in the air anyway.
money appears under your mat a week or so after that, fat stacks of ¥5,000 bills.
it makes you angry at first; touya dabi made it very clear that he will have no part in this. with it. that didn't surprise you in the slightest, which is maybe why you avoided him once you found out. locked the doors and the windows and didn't answer any numbers that read unknown caller. at least that way it was your choice not to see him, and not because he was jumping ship.
the whole exchange was ugly. the kind of fight that makes your stomach sour, has you wanting to go back just so you could argue against whatever points he thought he was making. has your eyes watering, stinging with the memory of it all.
but this is unexpected. it. not that you don't have a support system and some savings in the bank, but being a single mother wasn't exactly predicted in your forecast and it's his damn kid, after all. if he wants to fork over all his earnings—however he gets them—to try and mitigate some of his own guilt, well, then, that's his choice.
meanwhile, you're gonna buy a bitchin' crib, one that attaches to the side of your mattress.
you start showing a little after three months, and touya dabi starts creeping closer.
he doesn't wait near the store anymore and instead moves inside the gate. he must watch you when you have your back turned because you don't see him until you're inside, moving to the window as slowly as you can so as not to alert him with your shadow.
not ever in the same spot. all you get is the flash of his coat, trailing his ghost as he turns and high-tails it, or the edge of his boot that he doesn't realize is sticking out so much. sometimes it's just the sound of a clicking lighter, the low burn of a cigarette end. a white-haired figure in the distance, gone with the low breeze.
one night, when you're feeling sick and lonely and the reality starts to bite at your edges, you open the blinds and take your time with mindless things; cleaning the glass in a tight tank-top, shuffling through mail in the clear view, poking at your belly button, trying to imagine what the little thing will look like.
you don't see him that time, but his hurt echoes inside you.
touya dabi can't stand it after the baby shower.
a friend helps lug all your gifts up the stairs, helps to stack them neatly in the office that was emptied when you found out. it's a lot of big things, like some animal-shaped-diaper creature and tons of wipes and a high-chair and an overload of stuffed animals. you go half-way down to thank them, bid them goodnight, and when you return to the room, he's sitting there.
on the floor with his legs out in front of him, facing the presents like they're his next battle. touya dabi is even wearing a pink party hat, one of the paper horns tucked between his lips like a cigarette.
you look at him and he looks at you and he blows it and the silly sound would make you laugh, if your heart wasn't beating so fast in your chest. you're stuck between a lot of emotions, but you've been picturing this moment every night for months, and the one thing you want to make clear to him is:
"if you don't want her—"
"i never said that."
it's the first words he's spoken to you in a long time, and they come out just as angry as the last ones did. a snap, furious, suddenly. in turn, it makes you just as mad.
your face screws up, and so does his. "okay, well you heavily implied it, then, when you insisted she wasn't yours."
touya dabi throws his hands in the air and shakes his head at you, like you're dumb. "how does that make any fucking sense? even if it's not mine, i didn't say—"
"she is yours, asshole—"
"don't start with the names, baby," he's quick to shoot off the floor, even quicker to yank the hat off his head. "you don't wanna fucking go there with me."
you're stuck between a lot of emotions, but the strongest is heartbreak, and to see him yell at you and be so fucking angry is harder than you imagined it would be. you thought you'd be strong enough by now to stand your ground; instead your voice comes out as a whispered plea. "get out."
touya dabi runs a harsh hand over his face, pinpricks of blood tearing into his skin before he crushes the hat in his fist and tosses it to the floor. he opens his mouth like there's something he wants to say, but he doesn't.
he just leaves. just like last time. just like always.
it becomes routine.
the quiet creak of the floorboards is him in the middle of the night, the soft click of the door latch when he closes it as he steps into the office. sometimes he pokes around in the things you begin to unpack, sometimes he leaves his own stuff; the clean stack of bills, a princess doll you've seen advertised on tv, a gel thing you put in the freezer for her to gnaw on and—surprisingly—medical stuff.
kid's cough medicine, a thermometer, pedialyte, diaper rash cream and other skin lotions, that sucky bulb thing for snot.
"i was early."
this is the second conversation you have with him, when you're nearing six months. he doesn't turn around to look at you, just watches the mobile your mom bought as it spins, splashing little fishies onto the wall.
"and small and—sick all the time." touya dabi lets out a bitter little laugh, and the rasp of it makes your heart throb. "probably the shittiest baby ever, so—" his teeth click together hard. "good luck with that."
you shrug, even though he doesn't see it. "we'll figure it out."
"we?" like a cat, his back curls, all his hair standing on end. you never see the flame, but smoke swirls his palm. he still doesn't look at you. "we who? don't tell me you mean that fuck that's over here all the time."
the admission should maybe surprise you, but touya dabi has always been—particular about you. about sharing. you can only imagine how he feels for the baby in your tummy. probably will go nuclear if she ever calls someone else 'dad'.
you can't help but to roll your eyes. "no, we as in her and i." it only relaxes him a little bit and you shuffle on your feet, clearing your throat to make way for all the words you wanted to say to him last time. "you can't—" already, your voice breaks and your eyes sting and his back curls all over again. "you can't just pop into her life every other month because you feel bad, dabi. so, you're either in or—you're out."
that has him peeking over his shoulder at you, eyes shining in the moonlight filtering through the windows. glowing, you could say. "now you're gonna keep me from seeing my kid?"
it's—beyond the most infuriating thing you've ever heard and so you have to laugh, just once, as you wipe your eyes. "oh, so she is yours now?"
he sighs, goes back to watching the mobile, and is quiet for a long time. almost like he's considering it—but you know better. "well, she ain't here yet, so i got time before i have to scram."
and you swore you wouldn't do this, wouldn't beg for him, but the tears won't stop—even though he mutters out a quiet "i can't—just—don't cry, i can't—"—and something swells in your throat and your chest aches and—
"you don't have to be out, touya." you hate how pathetic it sounds, but you wouldn't care if it meant he would stay. "we can figure it out, together. as a—"
"this is my mom's number." touya dabi talks so loud over you, he's practically yelling. eyes on the floor as he holds out a piece of scrap paper, a name scrawled across in his neat handwriting. "if you wanna tell her, then—she'll probably wanna know, or whatever. my sister too, she'll—"
he never finishes and he never looks at you, just shakes his head at the carpet.
dabi visits one last time before she arrives.
you find him where he always is, where he was the first time he accepted what was to come; sitting on the floor of your daughter's room, smiling, almost, at the neon stars plastered to the ceiling. in his hands is a set of photos from one of your ultrasounds—nothing new, just somewhere in the middle of your pregnancy—and he holds it with the very tips of his fingers, like he's afraid of touching it anymore than he has to.
you sit beside him, heavy with a baby and standing on sore, swollen ankles. "you can have it, if you want. i have plenty."
and you'll take plenty more, in the future; he just shrugs, attempting to look indifferent and yet looking anything but. you expect him to to deny you, like he's resisted all things, but his bottom lip pouts out more than he probably means for it to, and he just fingers one edge carefully.
"hope you got a name picked out."
"i do," you lean into him and he lets you, even accepts the tiny kiss you press into his warm shoulder. "do you want to know what it is?"
"no," he sighs and makes a face, though you can't be sure if the annoyance that flashes over him is meant for you, or himself. "best not to."
a set of tears stings your eyes that you know will show in your voice, so you just nod, letting your head fall to his shoulder. it draws out another heavy breath from him, a shaky one that he holds too long, before he finally rests his mouth against your hair. you can feel the flare of his nostrils, the grind of his jaw; if he could cry, you think he would be. he would have, since the beginning.
very quietly, you tell him, "she won't be anything like you," and when he nods and grits his teeth and clears his throat, you capitalize, take advantage of all the affection he'll show by taking one of his hands in your own. "she'll know love and patience and kindness, and i promise i won't ever try to make her into something else."
she won't know fear, not until she has to, not until you can help it. she won't ever have to know what it's like to grow up without a roof over her head, or food in her little belly. you won't let her be a tool, a stand-in, something you throw away in place of someone else.
all that he had to go through. all that's made touya dabi.
she'll never know that hurt.
"yeah," he whispers. "good."
when he moves his head, you move yours, propping your chin up to see him better. touya headbutts you lightly, squeezes your hand in his own, pinches at each of your fingers.
"is there anything...you want her to know about you?"
he doesn't bother to hide his frown now, though he shakes his head at the floor and looks away. it pulls on what little holds him together, tugs on him in ways that shouldn't, that you wish wouldn't, and he stares at the set of photos in his hands and tells you, "i never said that i didn't want her."
I’m seeing a lot of people saying this post changed their brain chemistry, and as a neuroscientist I wanted to say yes!!! Yes it does!
Wanting something requires dopamine signaling, but liking something doesn’t.
If you have a mental illness/disorder that affects dopamine, you might feel that you don’t want to do the things that you like. You do still like them. You will appreciate having done them.
Let your likes guide you.
(If you want to read more, here’s one experimental paper about it. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC5171207/ This theory called the incentive-sensitization theory was originally created to explain behaviors in addiction but can be applied elsewhere as well)
Rewards are both ‘liked’ and ‘wanted’, and those two words seem almost interchangeable. However, the brain circuitry that mediates the psych
I tried to read the paper linked above but there's a lot of technical language/jargon. Here's what I think I understand from it (hopefully someone can correct if I've misunderstood).
Definitions/findings:
"wanting" in this context is the desire to do something
"liking" in this context is enjoying something when you do it
wanting is dopamine based but liking isn't
they tested this by artificially decreasing dopamine in rats. the rats showed no interest in sugary treats, but when they had them they still made faces of enjoyment.
similarly when dopamine was artificially increased in rats, the rats showed a much increased desire to eat the treats but no apparent increase in enjoyment when they ate them
these original studies were from about 25 years ago and a lot of human behavioural studies have been done since that back them up
Addiction/high dopamine:
addiction is an increase in want without necessarily a corresponding increase in like
they've specifically studied this with drug addicts: "suppressing dopamine neurotransmission in people did not reduce their pleasure ratings of drug rewards, such as cocaine or amphetamine, even when it reduced their desire to consume more drug" (emphasis mine)
wanting is also heightened by "brain states that heighten dopamine reactivity" eg stress, emotional excitement, relevant appetites or intoxication (so stress eating is way more about the desire/wanting than actually about the enjoyment of the food - that makes sense)
this also means, sadly, that the first hit makes you much more vulnerable to further hits. probably also why doomscrolling is so addictive - after you've started, you get stressed, which increases the "wanting" regardless of the fact you're already doing it and not getting any "liking". it even says that even happy life stresses like winning the lottery can promote vulnerability to relapse.
this also explains why so many addicts who genuinely want (normal definition) to stop end up relapsing - although they want (cognitive - unrelated to dopamine) to stop, they have an intense "want" (desire - dopamine linked) for the drugs which is very difficult to resist (near compulsive in some cases) even if they don't expect the drugs to be pleasurable and they are not experiencing withdrawal
Executive dysfunction/low dopamine
this isn't specifically addressed in the article but it follows if you are low dopamine (eg you have adhd) you may have very little desire to do something but you will still (perhaps to your surprise) enjoy it just as much when you're doing it (the classic "not wanting to take a shower but enjoying it when you're in there" springs to mind)
the only practical tip I can currently envision from this is the one given in the op - try to cognitively remember that you will enjoy (or not enjoy, if you're struggling with impulsivity) something, rather than thinking about whether you have a desire to do it
this seems hard; practical suggestions for other ways to utilise your brain chemistry to your advantage are very welcome
📎: slight insecurity?, probably ooc, i said shibal once, not proofread
"Liking smart boys is so scary" your friend tells you as you struggle with the chicken in your lunch box.
Putting your fork down, you decide to indulge her, "Why do you say so?"
"Are you kidding? It's so intimidating! I don't want people thinking I'm stupid because the guy I'm dating decides he wants to be the next Einstein or something. Honestly, it's so hard for women to just be ordinary now." She huffs, and before you can respond, she stands up, "I'm gonna go get yogurt from the vending machine, be right back!"
wow. An amazing conversationalist.
You understand her point, even if you are a pretty academically capable person yourself. It just that being in love with someone who thinks as good as they look is conflicting; especially when that someone is also incredibly athletic, and a good leader-- especially when that someone is Kuroo Tetsuro.
It just happened, really. He was just a guy in your class who ended up being your group mate for a project, but somewhere along the cheesy jokes during meetings or the way he carried himself after every presentation, something shifted. And you hate it.
You hate him for doing this to you. You hate how he has no idea how exactly he makes you feel whenever he waves to you every morning. Things can't go on like this. Now that the project is almost finished, you swear these feelings would go away, and you could go back to being just classmates who barely talk or make jokes or look at each other or-
"Hey! Are you gonna finish that?" An unfortunately familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
"... my lunch?" you ask back, bewilderedly.
"Erm, yeah... you've been staring into space for a bit." Kuroo spoke out, shamelessly eyeing your chicken katsu.
"Are you asking to eat the rest of my chicken...?"
"I mean only if you're not hungry anymore!" he backtracks slightly.
"Do you normally ask classmates for their food?" you press further, but not bothering to stand up from your seat because you know how badly your knees are betraying your facade right now.
"Only the really interesting ones." He answers, sounding a little too serious for your racing heart's liking.
You look down at your lunch box and hand it to him while smiling in amusement; failing to see how he mirrors it as he looks down at you.
He takes the seat next to you and starts eating while making small talk. Small talk? like he didn't just make you so lightheaded a few seconds ago??
As you two sit there you start betraying the promise you made a few minutes ago and find yourself so disgustingly captivated at how articulate this 6-footer volleyball captain is. Where is your best friend? What kind of stupid vending machine is taking her this long to come back? Shibal.
He finishes your food and hands the lunch box to you, an awkward silence enveloping you before the bell rings and he starts to get up first.
You still have two more periods with him. calm down. you don't have to ask him right now. wait for a better time.
"Hey, what did you mean a while ago. When you- when you said you only asked for food from your really interesting classmates?"
He looks at you wide-eyed, and chuckles slightly at how you said it. "I meant I only talk to the people I find really interesting."
What is he talking about? You give him a confused look.
He seems to catch on your confusion, and before turning towards the halls, he looks directly at you.
"It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, cutie."
📎: slight insecurity?, probably ooc, i said shibal once, not proofread
"Liking smart boys is so scary" your friend tells you as you struggle with the chicken in your lunch box.
Putting your fork down, you decide to indulge her, "Why do you say so?"
"Are you kidding? It's so intimidating! I don't want people thinking I'm stupid because the guy I'm dating decides he wants to be the next Einstein or something. Honestly, it's so hard for women to just be ordinary now." She huffs, and before you can respond, she stands up, "I'm gonna go get yogurt from the vending machine, be right back!"
wow. An amazing conversationalist.
You understand her point, even if you are a pretty academically capable person yourself. It just that being in love with someone who thinks as good as they look is conflicting; especially when that someone is also incredibly athletic, and a good leader-- especially when that someone is Kuroo Tetsuro.
It just happened, really. He was just a guy in your class who ended up being your group mate for a project, but somewhere along the cheesy jokes during meetings or the way he carried himself after every presentation, something shifted. And you hate it.
You hate him for doing this to you. You hate how he has no idea how exactly he makes you feel whenever he waves to you every morning. Things can't go on like this. Now that the project is almost finished, you swear these feelings would go away, and you could go back to being just classmates who barely talk or make jokes or look at each other or-
"Hey! Are you gonna finish that?" An unfortunately familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
"... my lunch?" you ask back, bewilderedly.
"Erm, yeah... you've been staring into space for a bit." Kuroo spoke out, shamelessly eyeing your chicken katsu.
"Are you asking to eat the rest of my chicken...?"
"I mean only if you're not hungry anymore!" he backtracks slightly.
"Do you normally ask classmates for their food?" you press further, but not bothering to stand up from your seat because you know how badly your knees are betraying your facade right now.
"Only the really interesting ones." He answers, sounding a little too serious for your racing heart's liking.
You look down at your lunch box and hand it to him while smiling in amusement; failing to see how he mirrors it as he looks down at you.
He takes the seat next to you and starts eating while making small talk. Small talk? like he didn't just make you so lightheaded a few seconds ago??
As you two sit there you start betraying the promise you made a few minutes ago and find yourself so disgustingly captivated at how articulate this 6-footer volleyball captain is. Where is your best friend? What kind of stupid vending machine is taking her this long to come back? Shibal.
He finishes your food and hands the lunch box to you, an awkward silence enveloping you before the bell rings and he starts to get up first.
You still have two more periods with him. calm down. you don't have to ask him right now. wait for a better time.
"Hey, what did you mean a while ago. When you- when you said you only asked for food from your really interesting classmates?"
He looks at you wide-eyed, and chuckles slightly at how you said it. "I meant I only talk to the people I find really interesting."
What is he talking about? You give him a confused look.
He seems to catch on your confusion, and before turning towards the halls, he looks directly at you.
"It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, cutie."
ive said it before but i'll say it again: i love how haikyuu presents these very scary antagonists to us only to very thoroughly defang them, so that by the time their lil team arc wraps up, we remember that at the end of the day theyre all just teenagers playing a sport that they love.
oh, grand king oikawa? gets dunked on by his teammates incredibly regularly, and whines about it. iron wall aone? very earnestly wants to be friends with hinata. stz cannon ushiwaka? volleyball idiot. daishou suguru the snake? extremely grateful his gf wants to give him a second chance. scary miya twins, bendy middle blocker suna, and top 5 ace aran? need their captain on court to calm down again lol.
it's so refreshing to pick up a shounen manga about teenagers and have the reminder that they are also just teenagers. instead of getting overinflated with stakes like so much shounen manga, sports or otherwise, haikyuu is such a real take on real life stakes. it feels bigger than life, and it is bigger than life--for some of those kids, volleyball becomes their life. but there's always more to them than just the game, and there's no true bad guy, and it always reminds us in the end that it's about the love of the sport, and the role sports can play in learning about how to take care of yourself, and building community. it's nice. :')
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