Hi!! For The Scenarios, Kuroo+baby’s First Word?

"You don't have to walk me home."

"It's nothing." Iruka rubs the back of his neck when he lies, flat palm against his skin as he smiles sheepishly. "It's not out of my way."

It is. He lives on the complete other side of the village, down by the schoolhouse. There's no real reason for him to meandering down here by the main gates, so close to you that the back of his hand brushes against yours intermittently.

It's rare that Iruka even comes out with the groups for dinner, let alone a couple of drinks. His cheeks are tickled pink from the alcohol, the smooth skin of his scar silvery white against it. Whenever you glance his way, it crinkles in the middle as he smiles.

"Really," he insists, "It's my pleasure. Besides, it's what boyfriends do."

Boyfriend. The term sounds so childish, but it makes your chest tense with excitement. Your relationship is still shiny and new, glimmering with a future of unknowns, polished with unfettered affection. Tonight was the first time you introduced him with that word 'boyfriend' and tonight was the first time his hand found yours under the table, out of view from the rest of the world.

The street lights barely illuminate the road, puddling weakly in their own respective spots and pulling weak shadows across the front of your apartment building.

"You should come in for a coffee," you say as you turn on your heel, stopping both of you short, "As a thank you."

"I don't drink coffee, but..." Iruka looks away for a moment, rather sheepish despite no one being around to witness, "I'd still like to come in, if I could."

Your face splits into a smile as you bounce on the pads of your feet, purely excited at the insinuation. Dating has its own set of rules, most of which are outdated, but appease the elders and their watchful eyes. Dates are usually done in groups, public displays of affection are kept to a minimum, and, most importantly, men aren't to come into a lady's home this late at night without pretense.

Like coffee.

You step forward into the dim, halfway there light of the lamp, and place your hand on his arm. He follows suit, but more daring, his hand finding the dip of your waist.

Appearance is important to him. Teachers are judged to a different standard than everyone else. These little rebellions only exist when there's no one else to hear them.

"I could make some food?" you offer, thing soft lilt to your voice more playful than anything. Iruka leans in, bonking his forehead against yours, and says:

"I don't want that either."

His hand scoops around the base of your neck, pulling you up and guiding your lips to the press of his own. There's an edge of innocence in the chasteness, physically buzzing with anticipation of more as he hums into you. Every breath between you is used to get closer; each exhale your chest deflates and he crushes you closer, that hand on your hip now snugly behind you, curling your back into him.

Each inhale he takes advantage of, tongue sneaking past your lips and lewdly pressing into yours. The lewdness of it all -the wet, spitty, desperate way he engulfs you deeper at every chance, the way his hand has drifted to squeeze the fat of your ass- surprises you so much that it's all you can do it keep up, holding on by his shoulders. The heat of his breath mingling with yours makes your whole body searing hot.

As if he knows, Iruka starts working his knee in between yours, thigh firm against your pussy and giving you some of the friction you desperately need. When you buckle into the contact, he moans like a wanton whore, open mouthed and deep, eyebrows crumpled together in rapture-

A low wolf whistle echoes down the street.

"Aw, get it, sensei-!" By the time you both scramble apart, the gaggle of youths (much too old to be his current students) is nothing but shadows running in the distance, guffawing as they go.

"You- hey-" Iruka's face is scarlet with embarrassment as he staggers over his words, both trying to yell and stay quiet enough not to wake your neighbors, "Go home, boys."

"They can't hear you, Umino." You pat his arm and a half-hearted laugh. You'd care more if you were younger, but age gave you thicker skin.

Your boyfriend apparently doesn't feel the same.

"Aw geez," he laments. Somehow, the kiss has mussed his hair, pulling a couple long strings in front of his face. "How embarrassing, people are gonna talk-"

"They were going to talk anyway-- people love gossip," you laugh, tugging at his sleeve, "Come inside and let's give them something to talk about."

His jaw flexes as he comes around to the idea, physically swallowing the shame of being caught.

"What happened to the food you were offering?" he teases, voice low and rolling. You turn away, walking towards the stairs to your building.

"Don't worry," you hum, "I'll give you something to put your mouth on."

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

liv i have a question about ur dear suna,, in most fics he's smoking a juul/cigarette so does he ever blow that smoke into readers eyes to be a little shit after inhaling ?!

suna's favourite game is "hide the juul" where without his knowledge or permission you take his juul and put hide it somewhere without him knowing (esp in your own pocket) and then when he asks if you've seen it you say no and then watch him search for it in confusion and even help him out looking under pillows and stuff and then when he's at his wits end bc he cannot for the life of him figure out where it went u just take one like long drag off it and he hears the crackle and turns around with the least impressed look on his face bc u got him AGAIN (trust me he loves this game, keep doing it.)

the most depressing part is that it's not even kamala's stance on genocide that is costing her the elections. i wish it were. it's people genuinely shifting for trump. but it's the pro-palestine movement that's going to get the blame for it.

sending so much love to everyone who feels like they’re never chosen as the best friend, as the partner, as the favorite. sending love to all of you who have been treated and felt like second best. sending love to all of you who have felt rejected and unwanted. to all of you who have had to try really hard to fit in because you felt like you never will. 

you are so loved. you will be seen and heard by the right people. you can trust that you are valuable and not defined by other people’s perceptions of you. if someone doesn’t see your worth, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Premature Death

sucker for you.

summary: you’re dramatic, there’s no doubt about it. so when you get annoyed at your vampire boyfriend, what do you do? wear all the things that would cause his suffering, of course.

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

genre: vampire!kuroo, human!reader, fluff//humor, established relationship, (flashback) meet cute, (mentioned) college!au, v domestic, reader is dramatic <3 

word count: 5.6k

a/n: we’re in spooktober! starting off the month with some wholesome vampire!kuroo and his wonderful human!gf heehee <3 hope you enjoy!

“y/n! i’m… oh no.”

kuroo stands at the door of your shared apartment, face falling at the sight of your figure on the couch with stubbornly crossed arms. but it wasn’t your crossed arms and furrowed brows that caught his eye first, but what was hanging around your neck.

you were wearing a string of garlic around your neck.

freaking garlic.

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I love being a woman in stem, I say as my phone is at 1% and I speak these last dying words to you while my research proposal sits in front of me, unfinished

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 [ miya atsumu x f!reader ]

word count : 2k // notes: no warnings just me having a crush on atsumu <3

“Are you still single?”

It was an overused taunt between the both of you.

Miya Atsumu, the nation’s bachelor’s twin brother had recently proposed to his girlfriend and so he and his bride had hired you to ensure their wedding day would be perfect.

“And who are you to say that, Miya-san?” You smile, swiping your journal with all of your plans away from his sweaty hold.

He sticks his tongue out when you laugh in triumph.

Each of his friends had fallen into the curse of matrimony—as Atsumu would call it.

His teammates from Inarizaki, from MSBY, down to the national team, and even his rivals have all settled down and some of them even had the “privilege” of having children.

He had attended the majority of the weddings as the best man—being the constant single friend; and you had attended all as their wedding planner and that was how you met the ever so charming Miya Atsumu.

“What’s the excuse this time? Commitment issues? You know... you should probably be planning your own wedding soon, Y/N.” He smiles, playing with the nameplate on your desk. “We’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t really see the need to get married. Commitment isn’t a joke, Miya-san—“

“Miya-san is my father, just call me Atsumu.”

“I like my job, Miya-san.” You flip through the demands of the couple. They wanted fancy but simple, memorable but special, a garden theme sounded nice but having the reception at a beach wouldn’t hurt, Elegant but hints of youth would be nice.

That was as far as their requests went. The rest was up to the both of you.

Being a good friend of the bride and as the wedding planner, you had the duty of making their day perfect to suit both of their interests.

As the brother of the groom, Atsumu was left in your care to help you out—a request from the engaged couple.

Their special day rested in both of your hands.

Atsumu fumbles with his phone. “I’m just saying, most girls at our age tend to worry about settling down. And we’ve had at least seventeen weddings together in the last six years, right? Seven of them, I was the best man—not that I’m counting or anything.”

He miscounted.

The both of you had seen each other at nineteen weddings total and at every wedding since the third, you would taunt each other regarding your relationship status.

He charmed a bridesmaid or cousin from two of those events but declined their company, danced on one of the tables two weddings ago and Osamu had to bring him down. He cried five weddings prior to this one because that wedding was where his first love married someone else that wasn’t him.

Rumors said he had been sleeping around since then—Atsumu would leave an indefinite and open response but his brother, Osamu, would oppose to say that Atsumu wasn’t the type to do so; and who better to believe than his own twin?

Despite all those times you mentioned you hated seeing his face at all those weddings, the fondness in your eyes reserved for him (and only him) would say otherwise.

When you’re about to lose your mind, he was always there to rescue you and take you away for a bit. Whenever one of the plans goes wrong, he somehow helps you come up with an alternative thanks to his connections.

He was spontaneous yet reliable and you loved having him around.

And his signature cocky grin just made you just want to kiss the corners of his lips.

With a lazy yet cocky smile, Atsumu pocketed his phone. “Why don’t we get married next? That way you can finally plan the wedding of your dreams.”

“No thank you, do you have any idea how expensive weddings are?” You answered rather too fast.

“Money won’t be a concern with me.”

“It’s still a no.”

“Suit yourself.”

Five weddings ago—the same one where he cried his heart out, you slept with Atsumu Miya. The moment his warm hands pressed themselves onto your hips almost like a cry for help, you foolishly allowed him to have his way with you. He wreaked of tears, chardonnay and red wine, cologne from Ralph Lauren, and caramel tarts that night.

There was something about the way he whispered your name instead of hers like a prayer, how he carefully undressed you and looked at you like you were everything he wanted, how his feverish yet impatient touch burned on your skin, how his tongue felt and tasted like caramel against yours, or how he kissed you and said that he loved you.

You left immediately after he passed out on the pale white sheets of the hotel bed.

“Are you still single?” Atsumu’s habitual greeting came as he swung the door to your office open.

“As are you.” You click the pen in your hand while you try to imagine a layout for the ceremony. “The groom wanted something traditional and his bride wanted something modern… I’m thinking of gray satin—“

“This isn’t the first time we worked together, right?” He immediately plops himself down on the couch of your office. From where he sat, he could see fabric samples scattered and pinned on a desk, three whiteboards that blocked the windows full of table arrangements for the reception at a garden, contact numbers listed and posted all over your window.

It was messy—but you had a system.

“No it isn’t.” You look back at him. Miya Atsumu looked so unbelievably handsome you couldn’t help but stare. He was dressed in a white tee and jeans, it was a simple outfit yet his top accentuated his broad chest and shoulders and the jeans around his thighs—

“The first was at Oikawa’s wedding or was it at Bokuto’s or Hinata’s?”

“No it was at Bokuto’s and then at Hinata’s, then it was at Oikawa’s”

He laughed, remembering how stressed you were handling all those events in a span of a year.

( He wonders if you ever took breaks. You rarely asked for help and never brought your personal life onto the table—Atsumu knew so little about you. )

You wave your hand in front of his face and mention that he was aggressively staring off into the void—too intense for your liking. It was like he was plotting a murder or something.

He then ponders about a life with you.

The nation’s best wedding planner and the nation’s eligible and most desired bachelor? That would certainly be a headline or a cover for a magazine.

Would you soon be wearing that navy blue dress from five weddings ago? The very dress he had given you as a gift as a thank you for making his friends happy?

A smile pulled at his lips, remembering how you teared up in gratitude when he managed to pull some strings and hired another media crew to document the wedding when the one you hired decided to back out on you six hours before the event.

They owed him a favor and he wanted to help you.

When you called him your hero and embraced him so tightly that day, he swore his heart stopped.

He wanted you to look at him like that again; seeing as how exhausted you tend to be when planning these events, you most probably needed a partner to help you out. If he had to stop volleyball, perhaps he could run this business with you—if you would allow it.

“Miya and Miya’s Wedding Planning Service.” Atsumu grins to himself and locks eyes with you. “How does that sound to you?”

“If you and your brother are planning to buy my business from me, it’s not happening.”

“Oh, I was thinking of Miya,” Atsumu’s palm rests on top of his chest. “And Miya.” He then gestures over to you—fingers in your direction and palm facing upward.

A proposal.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion with a tinge of shock, feeling your cheeks burning. “What are you talking about—“

“Just painting a picture.” He leaned into the cushions of your couch. “It looks… less lonely and I see two happy people. What do you see?” There was a sound of an object breaking—or rather, crunching, behind him.

“Not a lot without my glasses.”

The professional athlete fished said object from the cushions and promised to buy you a new pair.

You waved it off.

One minute your face was so close to shriveling like a pathetic raisin within the walls of your office from stress, the next it was relishing in the soft breeze of the beach.

“What do you think?” Atsumu rolls the cuffs of his jeans above his ankles. “They loved driving to this spot every summer. This was where my brother and his girlfriend had their last date.”

He passes you the umbrella and dashes into the water, laughing like a child’s first time on the beach.

“Before he proposed?” The sand crunches under your toes, tailing after him.

The resort nearby was owned by one of your cousins—it would make a great location for the reception.

“I think so.” He splashes the seawater your way and invites you to join him in the water. ( You didn’t have the energy to scold him for dampening the cover of your planner. )

You’ve seen him play on the court before. The way the lights would give him some sort of halo, his sweat glistening on his skin, the triumphant grin on his lips, the way his muscles tensed, his sharp eyes...

But to see him underneath the bright afternoon sun—it was different. Atsumu and the beach were a terrific mix. He was beautiful.

Atsumu was reliable, gentle when he wanted to be, a little crass and informal at times, judges characters without hesitation, inviting, endearing, warm, smelled like autumn, safe and whatnot. There was just something alluring about him.

Setting your shoes and planner next to his, you roll up your slacks just below your knees.

The setter beams and cheers when you step into the waters and approach him. His hand was outstretched for you to take which you timidly did.

“We could have the wedding here.” He glances at the waves foaming on the sand. ( It takes him a moment to remember he was there for his brother’s wedding and not his future one. ) “The bride really loves beaches so I believe we’d get plus points for having it here.“ He continues to ramble on about the possible arrangements.

And then it finally settles in you—you like him... a lot.

“I didn’t think wedding planning with you was going to be entertaining.” He squeezes your hands and softly places his lips on the curves of your knuckles. “You know, my offer for Miya and Miya’s Wedding Planning Service is still open.”

And it honestly doesn’t sound so bad...

Thirty hours until the wedding.

Everything was in place, all toxic invited guests were eliminated, never went above the budget, the bride is excited to officially wear her gown and change her surname, the groom is shaking in anxiety and finally got the acceptance of his father-in-law-to-be, none of the hired staff and crew looked like they were going to back out anytime soon...

Both parties were planning to celebrate the day before the wedding and you were planning to get some rest before you were going to be overwhelmed with pressure and stress that will come in the next couple of hours.

Seven months of stressing over the pressure, planning, calls, negotiations, and connections finally paid off.

Atsumu had other plans though—he wasn’t interested drowning in blinding lights and beer that day. Leaving his brother with his peers, the setter had asked you if it was alright to see you.

How could you ever oppose?

The same taunting greeting came as soon as you both locked eyes but this time, there was a hint of hope in his tone. “Are you still single?”

“Who’s asking?” You lean on your doorframe.

“Me.” He shoves his hands in his pockets—his eyes admiring every inch of your face. “So... will you be wearing the same navy blue dress you wore five weddings ago? That pretty velvet one... the one I gave you.”

“Are we going to keep asking questions—wait what?” Your stomach twists in shock. Navy blue dress? Five weddings ago? Does he actually remember what happened?

“I wasn’t drunk that night and neither were you.” Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, processing the mixed emotions on your face. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Atsumu, were you planning to match with me tomorrow?” You could not help but smile at the way the tips of his ears burned red.

“I was.”

“Navy blue is not part of the palette, remember?”

“It should have been.”

His lips tasted like cherries that afternoon.

WARM CONVERSATION (suna x reader)

cw: breakup heavy, light mentions of reader going through it, angst to fluff i promise!!!! best friend osamu <3 kinda long im sorry, titled from sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift because what else would it be  

You should’ve known he’d come over. Should’ve expected it the moment you sent the text turning down his offer disguised as a reminder. 

A sick part of you almost wants to laugh as you reread the texts on the phone in hand. 

From: Osamu

ur coming with me to atsumu’s stupid thing tonight, right?

To: Osamu

absolutely not 

Not even twenty minutes later (which is impressive, considering Osamu lives at least thirty away from your apartment), an abrasive knock is on your door and you don’t even need to check the peephole to see who waits on the other side. 

The moment you open the door with unimpressed eyes, Osamu is opening his mouth to complain. 

“You’re shitting me, right?” 

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