You Don’t Win Alone. That’s Just How It Is.

been a min since i drew rin

YALL BASED ON THIS VIDEO HERE IM SCREAMING-

-

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

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

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

Oh. Screw smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What. Was that about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye mom!”

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

“She’s three, mom!”

“She’d still help!”

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

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

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

“I thought you were throwing it out!”

“Why would you not check!”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

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

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

“I’m never wrong,” you snip.

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

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

It’s laughter of adoration.

“I will leave you.”

“Gotta get the jar first.”

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

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

“You’re annoying,” you purr.

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

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

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

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

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

You hum in intrigue.

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

“SERIOUSLY?”

i’ve been on this app since i was 16.

suna's a horny high guy btw if you even care

so everyone understands the concept of having a type as in ‘type of person im attacted to’ but whats your type as in ‘type of person attracted to me’

mines trainwrecks and repressed nerds

I do believe in the power of sitting in your car just a little longer before heading inside, lying upside down on the couch, cloud gazing well into adulthood, taking the time to learn something new, humility, recollecting your dreams, pressing something warm against your belly, small talk w strangers, odes to romance, a lit candle on your countertop while you cook, having a sense of humor about life

what it’s like kissing nagi, reo and barou !

kissing nagi always starts off a little lazy, slowly pressing his lips against yours. he always takes his time with it — exploring your mouth, learning your reactions, relishing in the small noises you let out. he kisses like time means nothing to him, not when he’s got you in his arms. each languid movement from his lips feels like ocean waves lapping against your skin. the kind that tries to lull you into deeper waters. he mumbles your name against your lips and like a sirens call, you follow it. leaving you securely wrapped up in his arms as he continues to dive into you for as long as he wants.

reo on the other hand, kisses you like the world is on fire. and yet that doesn’t stop him from taking all the air out of your lungs. consistently leaving you both breathless, the passion driving the two of you in a downward spiral. one that has you chasing his lips everytime he pulls away to catch his breath, wasting no time in putting his mouth back on yours. because the choice between breathing and kissing you was never difficult, and he’d choose you over everything and anything in this burning world.

but then there’s kissing barou. who never does anything without purpose. he’ll leave with you swollen lips every time — nipping at them to draw you closer to him. each of his movements are filled with so much confidence, so much precision. for extra support, he’s not afraid to grab onto you and pull you close — grounding you so the center of your world is him, just as he intends. the deep rumbles emitting from his chest feels like an earthquake threatening to swallow you whole and yet all you can do is hold on just a little tighter.

Impending, part 1

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~1.1k

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Hey Issei.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just roll your eyes.

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

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

“Dad’s calling for you.”

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

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

“Dad’s calling for you,” you repeat.

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

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

“I said don’t touch it!”

“No promises!”

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

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

“Ready to get wrecked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything catch your interest?”

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

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

You push Issei off and spring to your feet.

“I’m going to grab another beer.”

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

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

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

does anyone know the ex husband suna series where they almost end up tog again … i think the first one was when he has a date and can’t celebrate an event with her and so she bails on their rescheduled dinner and he just knows she’s upset about his date

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿