[tsumune]

masterlist

all works are x reader unless specified

haikyuu!!

miya atsumu — are you sure?: atsumu has a bad day and just wants to be alone.

— haikyuu boys get glasses

— the better twin?: atsumu overhears part of your conversation.

— irreplaceable: frenemy!atsumu runs into you after your friends blow you off.

suna rintarou

— more than enough: suna tries a dramatic gesture he normally doesn’t.

miya osamu

— haikyuu boys get glasses

sakusa kiyoomi

— 12:32AM: clingy omi drabble.

— how it works: sakusa doesn’t want to tell you he doesn’t like the peas in his fried rice.

— not as he seems: fluff drabble, bit of a mini character study.

kuroo tetsurou

― on time: fluff drabble.

multi

— after a fight: ft miya atsumu, hanamaki takahiro, kageyama tobio, terushima yuuji

attack on titan

eren yeager

— Match MVP: boyfriend!eren helps you when your teammates are mean to you in a video game.

[heich0e]

tobio is not very good at comforting you.

it's not that he doesn't try—it just doesn't quite come naturally to him. he wants to comfort you. wants to be helpful. but his tenderness is ungraceful; awkward, like wobbling steps on unpracticed legs.

"what would make you feel better?" he asks you with absolute sincerity. it's not a demand. it's not frustrated or churlish. it's earnest and gentle and guileless. that alone is enough.

you're tired. and still upset. but meeting tobio's gaze when he's looking at you so attentively already makes you feel a bit better than you had only moments before. you hum like you're mulling over his question (though he's already answered it himself.)

"i think i need..." you purse your lips in thought and tobio perks up, listening intently. "to kiss you a lot."

tobio blushes a little in the wake of your statement but nods, dipping in and pressing a kiss to your mouth. a peck. sweet and soft and brief. he pulls back, his eyes scanning your face, and his voice is quiet when he asks, "like that?"

you nod, craning into his space again like a tide is pulled to shore. you press another kiss to his cheek. "and like that—" you say, and then move to the other cheek "—and that—" each eyelid, his forehead, his nose, his jaw, his temples. on and on you go, pressing your lips to any bit of him that you can reach—stopping every so often to press another kiss to his lips for good measure.

somewhere in the fray, you're pulled up into tobio's lap and your hands cradle his cheeks between them to keep you steady. by the time you come up for air, both of you are breathless and a little dizzy, and though tobio's gaze is a little more heavy-lidded, the heartfelt concern is still warm behind his stare.

"do you feel better now?" he asks, his words a little rougher than before but still sweetened with his sincerity. still just as tender.

you laugh a little, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. "yeah, tobio. all thanks to you."

[haebai-png]

tsumiya

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

x reader should be (and, generally speaking, often is) the most accepting fanfiction space because its consistently, and almost exclusively an expression or fantasy of being desired or wanted or wanting—or in an even more basic sense, considered. even if you dont explicitly self-insert, even if there’s a an oc thats just you but better or a faceless insert u make - it starts with the same premise. which is wanting to be seen or desired by some extension of who you are. or wanting to fantasize explicitly about a life that isn’t yours, any life but yours. its admitting more openly than other mediums—i want someone to want some part of me. to take interest in me sexually or romantically or platonically. i want this element of myself to be considered or thought of. sometimes that is accomplished through writing, and sometimes that is accomplished through reading and seeking to bits of yourself in other peoples. the other half is having space to want and yearn for something else. how liberating it is to admit that you’d like to be somewhere else.

and it is hardly a flawless medium and im really, really simplifying it but i do think that there is something uniquely enjoyable and freeing about it. i want agency in the stories i love. i want my presence to haunt this fiction like a ghost. i want to be loved, i want to be interesting. i want to experience hundreds of lives that aren’t mine. i want i want i want. this a story of you. this is a story of me.

[saetoru]

tee do you ever think about how telling rich boy gojo you’re proud of him makes him caught off guard a bit? everyone just brushes off his achievements because they’re to be expected so the first time he hears it from you it makes him do a double take :(

[ PROUD ] GOJO SATORU.

you say it off handedly the first time, just a casual statement as gojo playfully boasts about acing a quiz he didn’t even study for. his head’s on your lap and you’re scrolling through your phone with one hand while absentmindedly playing with his hair with the other, and it catches him by surprise.

“guess how much of a genius your boyfriend is,” he grins, “i got an A on that quiz i forgot to study for. pure genius, huh?”

because that’s gojo, praising his own accomplishments for himself so no one has to—filling the void alone because no one will. you chuckle quietly as your nails rake over his scalp, moving your hand to gently pinch his cheek as you nod.

“very genius,” you agree, and he grins gleefully—because that’s enough. it’s a small acknowledgment, but he doesn’t dare hope for more. and then your next words make him pause, make him wonder if he heard you correctly. “i’m proud of you, toru.”

proud.

and in all honesty, it’s a casual statement. it’s almost like you said it without even fully thinking about it, but it sounds so sincere—so painfully sincere—that his breath hitches in his throat. it’s the way the words are so easy to slip from your tongue, gliding off like they don’t need a second thought, like being proud of him is normal, like it’s as involuntary as the beat of your heart.

you seem to notice his reaction too—because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t soften your face like that, or cup his cheeks like this right now, leaning down to press gentle kiss after the other across his face. it’s like you’re making up for years worth of moments that have been brushed aside, like you’re making up for the hurt parts of him that yearn for just one time that someone really looks at him. you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, across his forehead, along the angle of his cheekbone until one final press of your lips meets his own.

“‘m very proud of you,” you hum, rubbing a thumb over the soft flesh of his cheek, “always am. even if it was just luck this time,” you add teasingly, pinching his nose.

he grins, let’s the feeling bubble up his chest and spread until they reach his fingertips, let’s the warmth tuck itself under his skin and knit into his muscles as he relaxes against your hold. because here, when it’s just you, when the world’s not looking for gojo and he gets to just be satoru, you appreciate the small things no matter how trivial they seem to be.

even just doing well on a quiz.

“hey,” he defends, “it was a hard quiz.”

“it was over the first chapter. the easiest one, satoru.”

“but you’re still proud,” he winks, but you know it’s just to hear you say again, just to grant him one more opportunity to listen to the foreign words so he can really engrave them in his brain.

and maybe he thinks it’s the last time he’ll hear them, that it was just an accident and you’ll never repeat them again—because why would you be proud of him? why be proud of things that are expected?

but it doesn’t stop you from whispering them against his forehead once more. “yes, i’m very proud,” you murmur before pecking the skin.

“lots to be proud of when you’re dating me, sweetheart,” he says smugly—but if his voice is a bit strained and his lips are a little wobbly, you don’t mention it, and he’s grateful. “i’m a real catch, huh?”

“oh yes, i’ve won the lottery,” you nod, playfully flicking his forehead. and then your eyes turn tender, and your smile is sweeter, and the way you hold his face is as delicate as the love on your expression. “i love you, toru.”

“love you too, you sap,” he teases, but the look on his face is content, hopeful even, that maybe he has something to be proud of besides himself for once.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

your honor i luv him :( he’s my baby :(

[sashimiyas]

Message in a bottle

Summary: Suna says “I love you” again for the first time

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: ex-husband Suna and ex-wife reader; angst to fluff; Suna calls you a poop

Your first thought is: Suna.

Footsteps patter as you circle around your living room in a flourish of high knees and twirls. You end one phone call for another, squealing in your hand from the excitement. He answers you devotedly, expectedly.

“I got the job!”

“You got the job!”

“I got the job!”

“I knew you would!”

He matches your energy, triples the high, and makes all your insecurities disappear. This was a big promotion that skipped several rungs of the corporate ladder, far beyond your reach, but Suna vouched for you when you couldn’t.

It’s weird to be reminded of your value by an ex-husband. Your friends like to point it out whenever you mention him, as if ex-husband is an addendum to his name, but as the seasons cycled one over the other, so has your relationship.

You’ve done one full rotation from friends to lovers to strangers and to finally friends once more. By all means the transition wasn’t seamless and came with a learning curve quite steep, but the two of you are better off than even your first round of friendship.

“Let’s celebrate,” you offer without a second thought. “We should go out tonight. Fancy. I know we usually don’t do fancy but this deserves fancy!”

Where you expect immediate consent, Suna stutters instead. That cracked, almost yes shatters something in your chest. It could be your heart but maybe it’s a rib because it feels like you’ve lost your breath. You stop circling your living room to lean against a wall.

“Oh, are you busy?” 

He hesitates, a single inhale answering you instead of words and now you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration. The descent from your high is slow, agonizingly so, as you bend at the knee to slide down to the floor before hitting rock bottom.

“You could have—” just the sound of your morose tone makes you choke. The disappointment should be familiar. After signing the divorce papers, you made a new promise to yourself which was to stop expecting anything from him. Yet here you are, committed only to the same mistakes of relying on someone you shouldn’t.

Falling into Rintaro is obsessive, a swallow into the deep. He makes it easy when the candid words people keep like secrets slip smoothly through his lips.

Maybe if you’d loved him a little older, when you’d learned falling in love is an ideal but being in love is the process, maybe then it wouldn’t have taken a couple of mistakes to whittle away from the foundation of your relationship. Disappointments were tallied like grudges and eventually, you two separated not even a year into marriage.

It took years of estranged meetings, secluded conversations when somehow the two of you were left alone in a room, and a couple of awkward phone calls when neither of you knew of anyone else to be vulnerable to to be where you are now and find that balance again.

Here you are once more, with the scales tipped away from your favor.

“You could have just said that.”

“The accounting manager invited me to this company event. I didn’t plan on going, but she asked and—”

“Ayame?”

He pauses, “yeah.”

“You could have said her name. I’ve met Ayame.” She never worried you but the fact that Suna decided to hide that detail does now even when it shouldn’t.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re going with her?”

“Is that okay?”

The instinctual answer falls flat behind gritted teeth. You want to say of course as if you even have a right. Maybe your friends should suffix your name as a reminder too with ‘ex-wife.’

“Why are you asking me? You know it doesn’t matter what I say.”

He hums a displeased sound. It makes you wince because you’re not quite sure you have enough restraint in you if he decides to push any further.

Gratefully, he simply changes the subject. “I still want to celebrate with you. You should have your day. Let me take you out to that one place we always talk about but never go.”

“No, I’m—”

“You said you deserve it,” Suna reminds, “and I agree.”

“No, it’s okay. I—“

“Quit being weird. Say, ‘Rin?’” he over exaggerates in pitch to imitate you, possibly clutching imaginary pearls. “‘Did you just agree with me? Who is on the phone right now because you’re not my ex-husband.’ And then I’ll tell you I ate him like Kirby. Then you ask me who’s Kirby—“

“I know who Kirby is.”

Suna disagrees almost a little too quickly, “nah, you don’t know who Kirby is. You know who Kirby is?”

“Yes! I know who Kirby is.”

“Well I’ll tell you about him anyways and educate you on 1990s Nintendo lore for the next fifteen minutes.”

You force a chuckle for his sake only. It convinces him because one more time, he says, “let me take you out.”

Relenting is the only option because Suna knows how to pick and choose his battles.

You can finally hear the smile in his voice, another surge of ache filling your chest when he asks, “next week?”

Next week comes but you’ve already made the necessary steps to isolate yourself from a repeated mistake. The gaps between texts gradually grow longer until you’re confident to leave him on read. Sometimes you’d call him after work just to update him about your day, but instead you change out that piece of your routine for a compelling new podcast.

He allows you to let go in grace, a clean rip versus the tattered remains of your past marriage and it’s rewarding to witness the growth.

Suna doesn’t even argue when your response to him asking what time he should set the reservations is think i have a fever. can’t make it

You think you’ve outdone yourself, unexpectedly content on your quiet weekend. The floor feels smooth as you glide your toes along it, swept and polished from earlier. Your new candle is burning and your blanket’s delicately soft and warm from the dryer.

These are the hobbies of an ex-spouse, independently involved from their ex-lover. Suna is only a passing thought when you imagine his face when he receives your message but you carefully tuck him away. Somewhere special. Somewhere far.

Unfortunately, your phone, though, is in your palm. It rings with a call from Suna. His name erupts a mess in your chest that you thought you’d cleaned. You throw your phone to the side, shove it into the cracks of your sofa so that it may muffle the sound. He calls again, followed by a flurry of texts, and then another phone call. Then eventually, silence.

You exhale a breath of relief. It’s clear now, that you have to move on. It’s a peace you’ve come to terms with.

Peace that is shattered by someone banging on your door. It’s only ominous for a second, heart racing, until it is accompanied by your phone ringing once more.

Apprehension tremors into your fingers as they clumsily reach for the device.

“Thanks for answering the phone,” Suna grits, “now the door.”

“I’m sick!” you throw in a dry cough for good measure.

“August 16, 2015. We used that same excuse to bail on Atsumu when we woke up too late from a nap.” He pauses for your reply but you don’t even know what to say. “January 3, 2016 we did the same thing to Komori. We told him you had a fever, sent him a picture of you with a rag over your head–”

“You did not tell me that!”

“–and everything. And then you actually got sick two days later and you said you’d never do it again because of karma. I sent you the pics if you actually read my text messages. I’ve got the receipts. That’s our excuse so tell me why you are trying to use it on me.”

“I’m not using anything on you!” You sniffle exaggeratedly over the phone, “I’m sick. Stop yelling at a sick person.”

“Prove it.”

Your face twists at the incredulous request, “how am I supposed to do that? Do you want me to slide my used tissue under the door?”

Suna chuckles. He sounds less mad, “no. Send me a picture of your outfit.”

“What?”

“You have a sick fit.”

“A sick fit?” There’s deliberate pauses between each word, enunciating them so Suna can hear exactly how ridiculous he sounds.

“You wear that dumb hoodie you got from a souvenir shop in Harajuku because they have the thumb holes on the sleeve and always a pair of fuzzy socks.”

It’s impossible not to huff, “you don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” he whispers, “you’re my ex-wife, you poop. So open the door for your ex-husband.”

“Poopy ex-husband,” you say, finally softening.

Suna laughs, “sure. Poopy ex-husband.”

Breathing feels easier now, as if without your even knowing, Suna’s resolved everything. There’s comfort in the fear, companionship maybe. So you take steps back towards him and open the door.

His typical, sharp eyes dart up to you when you do, analyzing your expression with a rigid jaw then dropping to check your attire. He smirks slightly while pushing his way in.

“Called it,” he says, celebratory. “I knew you weren’t sick.”

You can’t help but point out the bag of takeout in his hands, “is that soup?”

He’s nonchalant when he says, “contingency planning. What if you were actually sick? I’d be a dick if I barged in here and I was wrong.”

“You’re a dick anyways.”

“Maybe,” Suna sets the food down on your small dining table. You take a step forward, planning to continue the banter but there’s an intensity when he turns around that stills you where you stand. You shift your weight to the heels of your feet to escape the brunt of his stare.

“But you’re a liar.” He articulates the final word with accusation but cracks at the end. If he weren’t your ex-husband, if you didn’t know what he looked like at the altar and in front of a notary public, then you would have overlooked it. He’s hurt, clear in the crumbled edges near his lips, and you’re the reason why.

His pain swallows you to him. You pull him into an embrace that crashes the both of you onto the ground. He knocks his head against your chair but he ignores it to pull you in. His palm presses to the back of your head, pushing you into his chest.

“You should have just told me,” Suna rushes to speak, as if this moment could be swept from him at any moment. “I would have never gone with Ayame if it bothered you.”

You shake your head. Doing so, you dip deeper into his neck, “that’s not it.”

“Then what was it?” Honesty ladens his statement. Accompanied by the rocking motion he’s got the both of you in, it seems like he really wants to know.

“I got scared.”

“Scared?”

“We haven’t been acting very divorcey lately and I guess it scared me.”

He hums as he sways you for a little while longer. You situate yourself against him by tucking your legs to your chest. He presses you closer.

“I can send you divorce memes in the morning,” Suna offers. “We can threeway a phone call with our lawyer for the hell of it.”

You giggle, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Good,” he says. Suna leans down to press against the top of your head. It feels too close to a kiss, a whisper of it. “I like what we have now.”

You concur with a nod into his chest, burrowing your face closer to him.

“I get to love you in a way I’ve never loved you,” your heart suspends in both anticipation and dread because he loves you. They’re words that you’d both thrown away into the ocean long before you even divorced and not even this slow kindling of your relationship, whatever this may be, has ever given either of you the confidence to say it again. He just has and the sound of it makes you tingle between your shoulders. There’s excitement but also fear because just as he’s said, it’s not the same.

You yearn for more, unsatisfied with the faded edges of affection. It’s easier now to admit to yourself that you love him too. Though you’re not sure you’re the same as him. You love him.  You love him the way you promised you always would.

“What,” you shuffle against his hold and perch your chin against his collar bone. Your nose lands near his pulse. He smells of memories – of Monday mornings and midday meltdowns. He smells of everything in the in between that you can’t quite wrap around where he begins and ends. You swallow before finishing your words carefully, “do you mean?”

Suna tilts his head toward you. Bangs frame sharp lines in front of his eyes but aren’t enough to mask the intensity in his gaze.

He looks at you like an altar, vowing, “like how I’m supposed to.”

[kdjamlabel]

Tendencies

Pairing: Hawks x GN!Y/N

Summary: Hawks with bird tendencies, but he’s faking it because he thinks you’ll like him more.

Hawks fluff for the soul~

~~~~~~

Everyone assumes because of his animal quirk, Hawks should have animal tendencies. It would make sense since people with animal type quirks often share habits with their animal counterparts. These “bird hero headcanons” stem from the various theories his [rabid] fans have of what the hero is like behind his cocky, charming exterior. Unfortunately for them, the most bird-like qualities he has are his wings, which is why he gets a little confused when some fans ask him to coo when he signs things for them.

Keep reading

[emmyrosee]

Kiyoomi hates sleeping on couches, and would rather not sleep at all if it comes down to it.

He’s knows it’s selfish, okay, it’s just this absolute rejection his body has to the lumpiness of the cushions to settle down, it’s like he can’t.

There’s so much… ick on couches, because people are just so nasty; he’s not even so big on germs, but couches are uncharted territory. One time in college, his roommate was getting busy, and when he asked a buddy to crash on the apartment couch, there was a block of instant noodles jammed in the cushions. He never asked about it, but Kiyoomi still has no idea why.

Sometimes, if practice runs far too late, he’ll crash at Bokuto’s, who’s couch is clean enough but absolutely reeks of lemon basil air freshener, and it sends Kiyoomi into an asthmatic fit.

When Atsumu’s sick, he’s has a tendency to just leave snot-filled tissues around, and all it took was one tissue to fall from the blankets on top of the backrest to keep Kiyoomi from ever even sitting on the furniture again.

(“It was an honest mistake! I get it cleaned every time I get sick-“

“Don’t care,” Kiyoomi snaps. “Never. It’s not just about how disgusting that is. You’re feral.”)

And above all, beds are just more comfortable than a couch- some floors are too, he’s convinced, but that’s not the point. There’s an emotional comfort in a bed, curled up in the sheets and warmth where negative thoughts cannot tred. He came to that conclusion during a particularly rough anxiety spell, and he never got the chance to learn any of the healthy coping skills his therapist tried to teach him.

That’s why you’re now sleeping on the couch.

It was a slip of his tongue when his blood was still boiling, he told you to go away after he’d already locked the door of your bedroom to keep you away. In his mind, he’d called ‘dibs’ on the bedroom to keep himself from getting banished to the couch, despite you never doing that to him regardless of how intense of a fight- you always let him curl on his side of the bed, facing away from you.

He knows it’s because you can’t sleep without him, but Kiyoomi is now coming to the conclusion that he can’t sleep without you, either.

Onyx eyes blink helplessly at the wall, wracking his mind for answers and clarity on how to fix this. He hears you sniffling just down the hallway, he’s such an asshole for doing this to you. The argument ended two hours ago, it’s three in the morning, yet his words stung plenty enough to still have you sobbing.

He tries, fuck, he tries so hard to force his eyes shut to get any semblance of sleep, but the cracking of your voice as you wail keeps him from even trying. The lump in his throat catches with every forced swallow he allows down, and his fingers fist his pillow to keep himself composed.

He fucked up. God, he fucked up bad.

He knows you’re probably cold, you’re more than likely sore from the cushions, your head is probably pounding from your hour long sobs. He knows you’re probably trying to keep it down too, and that only makes him feel more guilty. He’d happily be struck by lightning if it meant you two could swap places, or at least have you back in your shared bed.

Because Sakusa Kiyoomi hates sleeping on couches.

But he hates you doing it even more.

[kweenkatsuki]

Bakugou x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, arguments, Katsu’s insecurities

The first time you and Bakugou have an argument, I mean a full on screaming match, he thinks you’ll leave him.

Think about it, a man known for being absolutely insufferable for most of his life, hell even the journalists and gossip mags have put bets on how long you’ll be able to tolerate him before you realize how shitty he is. So when you two argue—about the future, about your relationship, about kids—he thinks, “Well this is it. Was fun while it lasted. Knew it would come to this.”

He always thought you were too good for him, didn’t believe you 100% when you said you wanted to be with him. But he thought, might as well enjoy the ride. Besides, you’re everything he could ever want. He got super lucky and even if it does end now, no one he dates or sleeps with in the future could ever come close to being as good for him as you.

Bakugou is in love with you so deep it’s coated on his bones, into his very well being. So the second there’s a hint of your unhappiness because of him, he thinks you’ll leave.

So he’s so shocked when he walks in the house after work and sees you standing in the kitchen, angrily chopping vegetables—noticeably enough for a serving of two—that he throws his bag down and rushes over to you. He doesn’t remove his bracers, doesn’t remove his mask, doesn’t wipe his lips off from the sweat and grime of the day when he pulls you into his arms.

He still smells of fire and soot and he’s covered in plaster and pieces of drywall but he doesn’t care that he’s tracked filth into the house. You drop the knife in shock, ready to turn and give him the stink eye because yeah you’re still pissed with him. But you notice he’s hugging you tighter than he ever has, his eyes are squeezed shut, he’s trembling slightly and your anger melts away instantly. Like an ice cube put into a boiling pot of water.

“Katsuki?”

“I…I thought I’d come back home and ya wouldn’t be here.”

You blink up at him your arms still hanging limply at your sides. It’s ok to him though. You don’t have to hug him back. All that matters is that you’re here.

“Do…do you want me to leave?” You ask in a small scared voice.

“No!” He barks, and tries to lower his voice when he sees you wince. “I just..I thought cuz we argued and I yelled at ya that…”he cant even finish the sentence.

“Well I yelled at you too. And you still came home so….” You say softly, now gently pushing away from his chest to gaze into his eyes. He relents and let’s you pull away but his arms are still tightly wrapped around your waist.

He can still see the ghosts of the frown lines on your face, though they’re smoothed out as you peer curiously up at him. “One argument doesn’t mean the end of a relationship Katsu. You’re here with me and I’m here with you until neither of us wanna be with each other anymore, remember?”

He nods and you smirk, “Even when we piss each other off,” you tack on.

Katsuki moves closer to you, he doesn’t know that he can think about why he was angry in the first place right now and somehow he thinks you feel the same. So he puts a gloved hand against your cheek and like always, you sigh and lean into his touch. He puts a finger under your chin and lifts it, pausing only to give you a look that says “Can I?” to which you nod slowly.

He kisses you, tenderly reveling in the soft familiarity of your lips. And when he pulls away you whisper against his lips.

“I love you you annoying dummy.”

[natashawritesstuff]

Your relationship with Tsukishima goes through cycles like the phases of the moon. You spend weeks in a honeymoon phase where he’s doting, attentive, and sometimes, even kind only for your love for him to wane. For it to slowly shrink like how the moon does in the sky towards the end of the month. You start to hate him and the love you have all but dying, becoming so tiny it’s almost nothing. You feel nothing. So when the new moon comes again it’s a blank slate, strangers. Strangers, to lovers to enemies, and back again. Your love cycles like the phases of the moon.

It’s late, and you’re sharing his mattress in his new apartment, the one he never asked you to move into, the one you would have said no if he had. He pulls you closer and you hum. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. A phrase he rarely speaks, he feels like if he says it too much, it’ll lose its meaning so when he says it, you know he means it. 

“Love you, too.”

Waxing. 

“How is it possible for you to be such a dick!”

“Oh, and you’re perfect?”

“No, no, I’m just not an asshole!”

“I’m so sorry, I guess I’m not allowed to make mistakes,” he screams, sarcastically. 

“Oh, so you do know how to apologize.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m not better at loving you! I want to be better, I just- this is hard.”

“Yeah,” you agree, breathless, “loving you is hard too.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Sure.”

“Y/N, I just can’t go all in like you want me to. I have to protect-”

“Yourself, that’s what you’re gonna say, right? Cause, you know, if it’s my heart or yours, you win every time. Glad to know you pick yourself too.” Waning.

The same night, he pulls you closer lying in the apartment he didn’t ask you to move into, you would have said no if he did. You lay your arm on top of the one he has around your waist. Instead of sinking into his touch, you break it. You remove his arm from around you and as he rolls over with a grunt you sneak out of bed. And as you stand staring at the spot in the bed that’s supposed to be yours, you feel-

Nothing. 

Waxing, waning, nothing, and back again, right?

Back again. 

Back again. 

You want it to go back again. 

Waxing. 

Waxing 

You still love him. 

You do. 

You swear. 

Back again.

Back again.

Waxing.

Waxing.

Nothing. 

You start hastily packing your things. Stuffing clothes into the overnight bag you carry every time you come over.

He’ll wake up as you exit the bedroom and grab your arm. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes darting around frantically, as he tries to take in the scene before him.

“I gotta- I gotta go,” you stutter, tears streaming. 

“What are you talking about? Go where?”

“Home.”

“This is your-”

“No, it’s not. We both know it’s not.”

“Y/N.”

“Kei, I can’t.”

“You wha-” he asks, but he knows. 

“I can’t keep waiting on the moon to make me love you again. I don’t like leaving my fate up to the stars, I can’t… I can’t-”

He pulls you into his chest and sob, legs growing wobbly but he holds you steady. 

“I know,” he sniffles, “I know.”

Your love for Tsukishima cycles like the phases of the moon. Except for the night the two of you break up, and your love for him wanes until it’s nothing, the moon has never been brighter in the sky.

Karasuno Masterlist

Return to main masterlist

based on: In the Kitchen by Renee Rapp, Hard Place by H.E.R, and Babies by KYLE, Kehlani

[noosayog]

[Cold Feet] in which Atsumu gets cold feet before he even gets engaged

wc: 1.8K

warnings/content: angst to fluff, exes(?) to lovers?

noos's notes: This was originally intended to be pure angst, but I love a happy ending :')

Miya Atsumu wonders if you’re doing the same thing he is, staring at the ceiling, wishing you were in bed with him. He also wonders how things ended up like this. He only knows a couple of things with certainty in his life and those things are volleyball and that he loves you. He now regrets why he ever doubted that second thing. 

-

Two nights ago

Atsumu was nervous. After five years of dating you, he had bought an engagement ring that’s been tucked in the highest corner of your shared closet for a week now. It was an impulsive decision, really. Of course, he had vaguely envisioned getting married to you someday, but it was not something he had foreseen happening so soon. He’s still not sure what he had been thinking when he bought it. You two had never truly talked about taking your relationship to the next level. Was this just the next expected step in your relationship, now that you’ve been together for so long? Was this what you expected from him? He could think of nothing but the anxiety growing in his chest, the small piece of jewelry sitting at the crux of his worries and rendering him unable to focus on anything else. 

He kept this bottled up and to himself. No one knew. Not his teammates, not his brother, not you. For the first time ever, he found himself unable to completely immerse himself in the match that day. He knew that you knew something was wrong, but this was a problem he had to handle on his own, so he decided to go to a Black Jackals celebration that night instead of going straight home to you. And perhaps against his better judgment, he got drunk. 

At the end of the night, he’s almost incoherent and Meian had to call you to take him home. Upon your arrival, you gently took hold of his arm and threw it over your shoulder to take him to the car. Why were you so good to him now? Did you not know the havoc you’ve been wreaking on him for the past week? He felt a surge of irrational annoyance and pushed away from you. “Why are ya here? I can do things on my own.” 

You don’t understand the double meaning behind his words. 

You had laughed, thinking it’s drunken antics “Okay, ‘Tsumu. But I already came all the way out here, so won’t you please let me take care of my silly boyfriend?” 

The annoyance grew. It felt like a hot flash in his sternum. “No. Don’t need yer help. Can ya leave me alone?” 

You were taken aback. In a quiet voice, you responded. “Okay. Fine, but can you at least tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been weird all week and I don’t want to do this in front of your team, but you can’t speak to me that way.” 

“We should break up.” 

At the resurgence of that memory, Atsumu turns to lay on his side, curling up and clutching at his chest. He almost wants to pass out, both in pain and to avoid remembering what comes next. 

“What?” 

“I’m done with us, with us being together.” 

You stumbled back, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, but continue as calmly as you can. “Atsumu, can we talk in the morning? I’ll take you home or to Osamu’s if you don’t want to be with me right now. But I want us to talk this out so I can understand where this is coming from.” 

He didn’t understand how you could be so calm, so composed while he’s over here going crazy thinking about issues that center around you. Something in him snapped.

“No! Can ya just back off? I wanna be done with this, so we’re done.”

You’re crying now, but you persisted. You closed the distance between the two of you and cupped his face in your hands. Your hands were cool to the touch and the way you had tenderly taken his warm cheeks into your palms overwhelmed him. You tried one last time. 

“‘Tsumu, can we please talk about this later? Let me take you home now.” 

“No. I don’t wanna be with ya anymore. I’m going back with Bokuto.”

After that night, he had been wasting away on Bokuto’s couch for the past 2 days. After having all his teammates witness the scene that night, they pried the truth out of Atsumu. It felt liberating to let out his repressed feelings and there was a stark realization that you had been the unfortunate outlet of his immaturity. After a good scolding from Sakusa, Meian assured him that it’s natural to feel anxious at the thought of spending forever with one person. Marriage was a big deal, after all. 

At that, he bristled. He never once imagined being without you. It wasn't the thought of being with you forever at which he balked. It was then that he realized that he had been so caught up in putting an official title on your relationship, that he completely overlooked the very simple fact that he loves you and wants to be with you forever. He can’t imagine being with someone else and worse yet, the thought of you being with someone else was potent enough to kill. 

So Atsumu returns to your shared apartment, where he should have gone that night, with you. He knocks on the door, like he's giving you a warning that he would be intruding in your space by coming home. The feeling is foreign and he hates it. After a couple seconds of silence, he unlocks the door. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. 

The apartment feels too spacious, almost empty. The windows are closed and the air is stale. You always slept with the windows open. He calls your name, louder each time. Every room he checks is empty. The last place he looks is your shared bedroom, where he finds half the closet empty. The bathroom is devoid of your toothbrush and your little bottles of skincare. It isn't hard to understand that you had left. Just like what he had asked for. 

Atsumu sits on the mattress, bed made and pillows fluffed like it’s from a furniture store showroom. He calls and they go to voicemail. He texts but they don’t send. None of your friends pick up. 

As he lays in bed alone, he thinks of all his regrets. How could it be that less than a week ago, you were laying next to him, safe in his arms, his and only his. Now, he doesn’t know where to start looking for you. If he even has the right to. You had tried so hard that night to talk things out with him so why didn’t he just talk to you? Why didn’t he cherish every second he got to spend with you? Why is it only now that he realizes how unbearable it is to not be with you? What was he doing, wallowing in his regrets at Bokuto’s house all weekend? He could have come home immediately and maybe stopped you from leaving. For what seems like the longest night, Atsumu agonizes over his thoughts before finally giving in to a restless sleep close to dawn. 

– 

In the morning, he calls Osamu. Osamu does know where you are. He gives his idiotic brother a piece of his mind but offers up the address to your friend’s house. 

You open the door when Atsumu knocks and you do your best to school your expression to one of indifference. During the couple of days in absence of Atsumu, you’ve done some thinking on your own. You still love Atsumu, but he has made it clear he no longer wants you in his life. And while you could respect that even if it hurts, it was wrong for him to embarrass you in front of all his teammates and dismiss your pleas to talk. 

His eyes flick down to your body and you realize you’re wearing one of his old hoodies. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Atsumu.” 

“Hi. Can we please talk?”

“I think it would be best if we didn’t. If I left anything at your place, I can come pick it up another time.” You pick at the hoodie. “I’ll return this after washing it,” 

Atsumu reels back at this and closes his eyes at that. “No, I don’t- Baby, I-” 

“Please don’t call me that. You said you wanted us to be done and I am respecting that.” 

Atsumu takes a deep breath and presses on. “Ya said ya wanted to talk that night when I’m sober. I want to do that.” 

You wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “That’s not fair,” you whisper. “This isn’t fair of you. You know what you did was not okay. You can’t just say things like that and come back and expect me to do what you want to do, when you want to do it.” 

He hates that he's the one causing you all this pain. He wants nothing more than to promise he’ll never do it again, apologize until you understand that you’re worth the world. 

“I love ya. I’ve been thinking about marrying ya. But I’m an idiot and got scared about it all by myself. So I spun myself in circles thinking about marrying ya and let out all my anxieties and frustrations out on ya that night. But I know for absolute certain that I want to be with ya forever. And longer, if you’ll let me. I know I should have dealt with this better and I promise I’ll always talk to ya about my thoughts, instead of keeping it all to myself. I guess I felt ashamed that I even had second thoughts about marrying ya. I know I don’t deserve yer forgiveness and I’m being crazy selfish, but I’ll always have regrets if I don’t do everything I can to win ya back. I’ll do whatever it takes because I know I’ll never leave ya again. Won’t ya give me one last chance to show ya?”

You know you shouldn’t forgive him. You know he doesn’t deserve it no matter how he apologizes and promises you worlds. But the fact remains that you’re still in love with Atsumu. And it is the truth that he’s filled you with so much happiness in the five years you’ve shared with him. And it stands that these past few days were relentlessly miserable without him. 

“You-” you choke on a sob. “You really won’t get any chances after this, okay?” 

Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, your tears soaking his shirt and his lips desperately pressed to your hair. “I won’t need any others.”

[arquitecturadelanada-deactivate]

in love with their best friend...

warnings: some are a teeny tiny bit angsty but not really wc: ~.4k ft: Tetsurō Kuroo | Wakatoshi Ushijima | Atsumu Miya | Satori Tendō | Hajime Iwaizumi | Kei Tsukishima | Osamu Miya | Rintarō Suna

✶˖· bff!kuroo who is constantly out of town for work but still calls you regularly so you know you're always on his mind; he dreads hanging up so you have to do it. "no, you hang up," he tells you and his heart sinks when you mindlessly reply "ok," and end the call. 

✶˖· bff!ushijima who is always busy training but still finds time to check on you every. single. day. he gives you unsolicited advice often but you don't mind because you know this is his way of trying to protect you (even when he's not there by your side). 

✶˖· bff!atsumu who knows your mother's birthday by heart and never fails to send her flowers. he swells with pride when she gushes about how much nicer (and good-looking) he is compared to your ex; he can't help but interpret her comments as an unspoken blessing.

✶˖· bff!tendō who never throws away anything you give to him! even the cheap, disposable "gifts" find their way to the box marked with your name that's hidden on top of his bookshelf. when he is feeling down he goes through its contents and that cheers him up.

✶˖· bff!iwaizumi who hates it when you ask for him to rub your tired back; it takes all his strength not to dote on your soft skin. iwa clearly craves more contact and he dreams about placing a chaste kiss on your sore shoulder blade to make the pain go away.

✶˖· bff!tsukishima who is proud of his detached nature but can't help to feel your pain and struggles on a deeply personal level. for this, he pushes to be your voice of reason and he puts all his critical thinking into anticipating (and solving) whatever problems might arise in your life.

✶˖· bff!osamu who is quick to ghost his dates after minor disagreements yet he can't bring himself to go to sleep mad at you. after a big fight, you can always expect him knocking at your door, takeout food in one hand, and fully ready to talk things through.

✶˖· bff!suna who keeps his worries to himself in fear of coming off as needy or clingy. he'd rather die than ask for help... unless it is from you; then he'd become the most transparent and vulnerable man. your gentle touch is more than enough to placate his anxiety.

[pluviophile-imagines]

6’7 gojo is canon to me bc if he’s tall he should be so tall it’s an active hindrance

[pluviophile-imagines]

Too much of anything, really, can be a curse.

Satoru knows of the aching, all-encompassing agony of being too much all too well. His power is unfathomable, untouchable, all but inhuman. He is the strongest, towering up too high, heavens brushed by his fingertips merely by reaching. Despite this he is human, finite, ending.

Yet even in his humanity he looms too large.

It’s felt in ducking beneath doorframes and in waking too fast for others to keep up. It’s felt in expensive, enormous mattresses and in pants with custom inseams. It’s felt in how others must always look up to meet his blindfolded eye. There are advantages, surely, yet it is undeniable—he is big to the point of hindrance, all too massive to even play at normalcy. A pity. A funny little trick from the universe. A punishment, perhaps.

(Worst of all, he thinks, it separates him from you. Worst of all it holds him too far from your sweet kisses. Worst of all he stands head and shoulders above you, when he wishes for nothing more than to be at your feet)

[saetoru]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋 ⋮ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

gojo satoru—the man who happens to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of his time—feels his knees shake a little from fear. he watches the twist of the doorknob, glances slowly around the kitchen and the mess he’s made, and gulps before sending a little prayer to whoever’s listening. 

it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s in for an earful once you see this mess, but this also means that he might just sleep on the couch. and then that means no cuddles. and then that means he doesn’t sleep well. and then that means he’s sulky. and then that means megumi will make a snide comment at his expense. and overall, he’s not really looking forward to subjecting himself to getting his feelings hurt like this. 

so, in ever so gojo-satoru-fashion, he puts a grin on his face and a pep in his step as he clambers up to you, pressing two wet kisses to your cheeks while he greets you (a bit over-enthusiastically, if you might add.)

“sweetheart! you’re home,” he grins, pressing more kisses along your jaw, “i missed you so much! i was starting to think you were never gonna show up—you’d never run away, right?” 

you raise a brow at his pout, rolling your eyes before letting the smile you’ve been fighting off spread across your lips. with a shake of your head as you snort, you press a soft kiss to his lips—and gojo’s knees are a little wobbly again, but this time for completely different reasons. 

“satoru, i’ve been plotting to run away since the first day we moved in together,” you tease, poking his lips as he pouts again. 

“well, i love me a good chase,” he winks, “i’ll even give you a head start—not that it’ll help, anyway. you’re too slow—ow, that hurt,” he whines dramatically as you swat at his shoulder. 

“no it didn’t,” you chuckle, forehead leaning against his as you smile. it’s soft, a little lopsided from pure glee, a little extra in love today than it was yesterday.

and gojo’s almost forgotten about the mess in the kitchen, almost forgotten about the egg yolk on the ceiling and the salt he’s spilled all over the floor. something about the way you trace over the back of his neck with one hand and cup the apple of his cheek with the other as you pull him in for a sweet, slow kiss makes the thought fly out of his head. 

but then you pull away and turn around. right for the kitchen. right where the mess is. 

“wait! sweetheart, why don’t you go freshen up,” he tries to yank you by the arm, “i’ll order us something, don’t want my baby to have to cook right after a long, exhausting, gruesomely draining mission, now do i—”

“satoru what happened to my kitchen?” you cut him off and ask sharply, making him stiffen. 

gojo satoru is sure that if there is one thing in this world he’s most scared of, it’s your wrath. and right now, something tells him he is about to feel a whole lot of your wrath. 

“i…i was attacked.”

“in the kitchen?” you raise a brow, arms crossing. your hips do a little slant as you glare at him, and if he wasn’t so woeful that this might just mean a one way trip to the couch tonight, he might just grin at how adorable you look. 

“yes,” he nods seriously, “i was just minding my business—as one does in their kitchen—and suddenly, i was attacked! baby, i defended our kitchen with all i had.”

“oh, i see,” you nod slowly, making him gulp as you narrow your eyes. “and the strongest sorcerer was not only snuck up on in our kitchen, but he had to give it his ‘all’ to keep safe.” you look him dead in the eye, and he’s sure if looks alone could kill, his whole lineage would have died three times over by now. “some sorcerer,” you say dryly. 

“now that’s just mean,” he whines, wrapping his arms around you as he buries his nose into the crook of your neck. and even though you want nothing more than to desperately wrap your own arms around him, you stand painfully still—you can’t let him win everything with a sickeningly cute pout and sweet words all the time. “i was blinded by the pain of missing you so bad. it threw me off my game.”

you can’t help but cave, can’t help but let the small grin on your face turn into a large beam, can’t help what starts as a giggle bubbling up your throat turn into soft laughter that rings through your home. and sometimes, when gojo remembers growing up with bare walls and a lonely room and silent dinners, he thinks this is all he needs. pictures hung on every inch of the walls and your clothes strewn his side of the bed and dinners with your laughter in between every bite. 

and when your arms snake around his waist and bring him just a little closer against your body, when your lips find the side of his head and plant a small kiss through a smile, when the sound of your voice meets his ear in a soft hum, the old memories fade just a little more with every new moment you gift him. 

so he hugs you tighter, grins when your hand threads through his hair as he presses a little kiss to your neck. because the kitchen is messy and you’re tired and he’s not got dinner started yet, but your heart is full and his arms are safe and the apartment isn’t cold. 

and that’s enough. 

“you better clean my kitchen as valiantly as you defended it,” you warn, poking his shoulder. he huffs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck deeper. he can smell the faint smell of your soap, and it’s the same scent he’s used to, it never changes and he hopes it never does.

“don’t you wanna help?” he pokes your hip, “i was all alone when i fought for our kitchen.”

“nope,” you grin, “i’ll let you take care of it. and while you’re at it, go ahead and order out like you said—you’re paying.” and after a kiss to his temple, you pull away with a cheeky little grin and leave him there in the hallway. and he smiles, stares at the pictures on the walls and the shoes at the doorway, and sighs happily at the way the apartment is never lonely. not with you. 

“looks like i’m not sleeping on the couch,” he mumbles to himself in victory. 

“i wouldn’t be so sure,” you call from the bedroom, and almost like you know he’s pouting once more, the sound of your giggle rings through your home.

for my “after you’ve read angst” collab with @sanoinc !! here is the link to the masterlist to check out the other works <3

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[shoulmate]

"Hated it."

"Really?" Suna challenges in disbelief as you leave the theater. "You hated it?"

"Yupp. Least favorite Marvel movie so far." You shrug, Suna's EJP jacket rustling on your shoulders. "It's like they were chasing horror movie vibes but failed, miserably."

Suna smirks. "So your criticism isn't about the storyline itself?"

"About the multiverse theory? No." Your eyes sweep the city as the two of you stroll the sidewalk. "There are definitely other universes. There have to be."

"Yeah? You ever wanna go to one of them?"

You shake your head without hesitation and pull Suna's jacket tighter around you without thinking. "Nah."

"What if things could be better?" he asks, absent mindedly kicking a pebble.

"What if they could be worse?" you retort meeting his eye. When he just shrugs in reply you ask "would you want to visit another universe?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"What if there's a universe where we aren't best friends?"

He catches the note of insecurity in your voice. "Seriously? We've been best friends for how long and you still question it?" He flicks your forehead.

"Ow, Rin." You slap his hand away with a smile that doesn't touch your eyes. "And that's not what I meant."

"What'd you mean, then?"

"I don't know. I was just wondering what you're looking for in another universe." You fiddle with the sleeves that drape past your hands.

"Hm. Not anything different than this one really, I guess."

"You're just tired of this universe because it's the one you know?" You tease "looking for something new and different?"

Suna snickers. "You sure we're still talking about universes?"

"I don't know, are we?" you chuckle with him.

"But seriously." He slows to a stop with an odd seriousness. "There's nothing you'd want to change about this universe?"

You turn to face him shaking your head. "No. You?"

"I don't know."

You expect him to smirk but he doesn't. Your throat gets tight. "Rin?"

He hesitates. "What if...what if there was a universe where we weren't...best friends..."

"What do you mean?" you ask, mirroring his hesitation.

"Well...what if..." He takes a step closer and tips your chin up. "What if we were..."

"What?" you whisper in the intensity.

He holds your gaze, dark eyes churning. "Siblings?"

Errrwrrraappp

Record screech. Full stop.

"What." You pull back in disgust and now he smirks. "Ugh. Rin!"

You jab his stupidly firm stomach and he laughs as you storm off. He says "come on, you know there's no universe where we aren't best friends."

You can't help the strange downcast feeling in your chest; if Rin notices it, he doesn't say anything. The two of you resume your normal post-marvel-movie banter after you reply

"Yeah, I know."

[finalgrrrl]

donate to an abortion fund rn <33

[finalgrrrl]

USA

a list of state-specific funds

national network of abortion funds

indigenous women rising; abortion fund

national abortion federation 

women’s reproductive rights assistance project 

INTERNATIONAL

international planned parenthood federation

partners for reproductive justice (africa, asia, the americas)

fondo de aborto para la justicia social (mexico)

mabia (ghana)

bangladesh women’s health coalition

abortion without borders (poland, uk, the netherlands, germany)

women help women (based in the netherlands, buts works internationally in europe)

abortion dream team (poland)

[finalgrrrl]

bringing this back :////

[tsumune]

Match MVP

Pairing: Eren Yeager x gn!reader

Summary: Your teammates are mean to you in a video game, so your boyfriend Eren steps in for you.

Tags: fluff, degrading/mean comments (not from Eren), baby as a pet name

“What the hell are you shooting at?” You wince at your teammate’s harsh voice in your headphones.

You just wanted to play some games and relax a bit, but sometimes you forget how mean the random players you get matched with can be. It doesn’t help that today was clearly not your day –  you were missing all your shots and had a grand total of 2 kills halfway through the game.

“Do everyone a favour and just delete the game,” another laughed and you feel the anger and shame boil inside your gut. You wish you had something snarky to say back, but in times like this your mind always seems to go blank. What’s wrong with liking a game and wanting to play it even if you’re not that good at it?

You want to disappear (or show them the greatest comeback they’ve ever seen and become Match MVP, but that hardly ever happens).

You begin muting your teammates, unaware that your boyfriend was now behind you, watching.

“Did they say something?” Eren looks at you in concern.

“No,” you try to laugh it off, and the crease between Eren’s eyebrows grows deeper, but he doesn’t push it and settles for standing behind you, arms wrapped around your upper body and head leaning on your shoulders.

A few more rounds go by with you doing more or less the same, and you hope that they don’t notice you’re not playing by their strategy because you’ve muted them. To be honest, you don’t even want to play anymore, but you’re not about to risk your account getting banned for leaving the match early. Eventually, to your horror, they begin to spam the chatbox.

“can u hit a single shot?”

“bruh i said go A”

“how are u this bad lmfao”

You silently pray that Eren isn’t paying attention, but you feel his head turn towards you, breath on your cheeks.

“These bastards…”

“Eren calm down, it’s fine,” you try to say, but the quivering of your voice doesn’t even fool yourself.

Eren tries to calm himself down at your state, wanting to be reliable for you.

“Want me to take over?”

You meekly nod and hand him your headphones.

Before you know it, the game ends in your victory and Eren (aka “you”) being Match MVP.

Eren quickly unmutes your teammates and tells them off, making it halfway through his rant before the game’s load screen ends.

“Aww, I wasn’t done! They can’t talk to you like that!” He pouts. You can’t help but laugh at his expression.

“I know, they shouldn’t talk to anyone like that. But let’s not focus on them anymore, yeah? They’re not worth the energy.” You cup Eren’s face in your hands and stare into his eyes. “Thank you.”

He blushes, heat crawling up his face at your sincerity. “Of course.” He returns your look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mm, I’m still a little shaken, but it felt so good that you beat them all,” you smile. “I wish people weren’t so negative and judgmental all the time.”

Eren smiles at you. “If everyone was like my baby the world would be a better place.” He envelopes you in a bear hug. “Let’s get some takeout and relax, yeah?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face as you melt into his touch. “Yeah, let’s.”

quick lil rant piece bc ppl being mean in games makes me so sad u don’t have to be a master at something to just enjoy it or try it (the game in the fic is valorant btw bc i’m projecting : D)