229zmi

[229zmi]

🔭Saturn

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

summary: you’ve finally found a rival who meets your standards. too bad the man is the most infuriating, stupid and annoying person on earth.

content warnings: high school setting, hurt/comfort, sports / academic rivals, swearing, reader kinda has an inferiority complex

words count: 1.4k

It started as a game. A silly, stupid, little game.

At least, that’s what you told yourself at first.

You’ve always been rather—competitive. Ever since you were a kid, you chased after every first place, every gold medal, every record waiting to be broken. Higher grades, longer races in PE, and everything else that would make you better. And then, you found volleyball—a sport that only fed that hunger, made the desire to win burn even brighter.

But before, no one had ever truly met your standards.

That is, until you met him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You became classmates in your first year of high school. You didn’t pay much attention to him on your first day (he seemed like the perfect depiction of a teenage boy—messy-haired, slouched over his desk, probably more interested in making dirty jokes than studying). But when the first chemistry grades came, your jaw dropped—that bastard had a better score than you. Maybe it was chance, you tried to tell yourself at first, but the semester passed, and his grades only improved.

“Need something?” is the first thing he ever asked you.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the paper in his hands until his voice reached your ears.

“I don’t,” you quickly regained your composure, clearing your throat and lifting up your chin.

His mouth turned into a side smirk. Infuriating. “Cause I can tutor you if you want.”

That motherfucker, is the only way you could describe Kuroo at this moment. You gripped your pen like it was his throat. Your hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

Still, you forced a smile in return, “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Too bad. I’ve got the annals from last year’s exam at home. I could’ve lent them to you. Or maybe they’d be too hard for you to understand.” He rested his chin in his palm calmy, looking almost bored.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

“Don’t bother, I fear I might smash your face with the book.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his laid-back attitude came back just as fast.

“You can try, but I don’t think you can reach me. I’ve seen you play, I jump higher than you, you know.”

“Wow. Real mature-”

You were convinced the game could have gone on for hours, but unfortunately—or fortunately—the bell rang, and the class got dismissed.

You remember watching him getting up. If you didn’t just get belittled by him maybe you could have given credit to his looks. Tall, athletic, confident. That’s what Kuroo was like in your eyes. If he didn’t have a shitty personality and a stupid hairstyle you think that maybe he could have been less unbearable. But as you got out of the classroom, you only wanted to prove him wrong and dethrone him.

Your first-ever interaction transformed into a declaration of war. And the war lasted all high school.  Because, obviously, Kuroo wasn’t just good in chemistry—maths, physics, PE. Teachers loved him, praised him, classmates laughed with him. He was perfect in everything. And what made your blood boil in your veins was how effortless he made everything look. You sacrificed so much to be where you were, gave so much passion and time into school that you couldn’t stand the sight of him acting like it was easy.

And he played volleyball, which gave you even more reason to compare yourself to him.

It got worse when you both became captains of your team. You started comparing scores and blocks and victories.

At first, you liked the unspoken rule between you—the constant back and forth, the rivalry that kept you both on edge whether it was for school or volleyball.

Then, it became an obsession.

You started waking up earlier to go for a run, going to bed later to study for exams. You did everything you could and still—he was better.

You remember seeing Kuroo once on the sidelines at one of your practice matches, grinning at you with hands on his hips. “You’re looking a little slow today, Captain.”

You shot him a glare.

“Why are you even here Kuroo?” You spat once the game was over. “You’re not gonna get any girls with that haircut, you know.”

“Making fun of my hair again? You’re getting a little repetitive these days.” He chuckled. Gosh, you hated this laugh. “Besides, there’s only one girl I want attention from.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, but deep down, your heart was pounding fast. You hated how good he was. You hated that he pushed you to be better. And more than anything—you hated how much he could control your emotions, making you sad and angry and frustrated just by being close to you.

The Inter-High qualifications arrived too fast, but you were ready.

Your team had trained relentlessly. You’d pushed yourself harder than ever, and now, it was time to prove that you could do this. That you could win.

You made it to the semi-finals. You were so close.

And then—you lost.

You didn't even make it to the finals, let alone Nationals. Your dream shattered in front of you, a cruel joke the universe had played at your expense.

You shook hands with the winning team, congratulated them like a good athlete should. Then you headed to the locker room, collapsing onto the bench; your throat was tight and your eyes burnt.

You didn't hear the door opening.

And a few seconds later, you knew he was here.

You hated him. Kuroo Tetsurou.

You hated him from the bottom of your heart.

And that hatred only grew bigger now that he was standing there, hands in his pockets, ready to make fun of your loss.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Kuroo.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “I’m not here to tease.”

You finally looked up. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found, you almost missed it. Your eyes immediately stared at the floor again. “I just-” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t deserve this.”

You scoffed, bitter. “Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard.”

Kuroo took a step closer. “I know how much this meant to you.”

Your jaw tightened. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you’d break. And you didn't want to break in front of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of always winning?”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always ahead. Always. You beat me in volleyball. You beat me in grades. You beat me at everything. It’s exhausting.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’ve spent years trying to keep up with you. And now-” You laughed, but it was humourless. “Now, you get to go to Nationals while I sit at home and watch.”

Kuroo frowned. He opened his mouth—you saw it from the corner of your eyes. “I never—”

“You never what?” you snapped. “Never tried to one-up me? Never enjoyed being better than me? Cause I’m way behind you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to beat you.”

“Bullshit. Every time we got a grade, you asked to see mine. You came to every practice game, telling me I could do more. You stayed late after school just to show me how your receives were better than mine. At tournament, you came in the frontline just to see me lose and-”

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not that-” He hesitated. “You inspire me.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second, or two. “What?”

“You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had,” he admitted. “And yeah, I like pushing you, but not because I want to humiliate you. I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in the three years you had known him, he looked nervous. “I like seeing you play. I like watching you get better.”

You stared at him. This—this wasn't how your conversations usually went. Kuroo was supposed to be smug, sarcastic, insufferable. Not… this.

Not kind.

“I don’t need your pity,” you finally muttered as you looked away.

Kuroo stepped closer again and knelt down in front of you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” The words quieted one after the other.

He seemed to be looking for the right words. But then—

“I’m going to miss you.”

You froze and your heart stuttered, and you hated that it did. (Or maybe the feeling wasn’t so bad, maybe you didn’t hate it, maybe you could get used to it.)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked. You tried to sound annoyed instead of breathless, but your voice betrayed you.

Kuroo grinned—soft, for once. “It means I don’t want this to be the end of our game. Even in uni, even when we’re old and can’t play volleyball anymore, I want you to remain my best opponent.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“You’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again. With his usual smirk and his stupid bed hair, he asked: “Need something?”

And then—because you were exhausted, because you’d lost everything that day, because you didn't have the energy to fight anymore—you let yourself leaned into him, just a little.

His arms were warm as they wrapped around you.

Tears started falling from your eyes, your muscles eased. Everything hurt and softened at the same time.

He was right. Maybe this wasn't the end of the game.

Maybe it was just a new round.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this <33

thank you so so much to @keishuii for beta-reading it, you’re the best!!

[229zmi]

LETS GO LESBIANSSS

[229zmi]

meet cute with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer except it’s less cute and more him nearly bursting a blood vessel while he’s in line waiting to order a coffee watching you (a barista) try to lift a stack of heavy boxes in the most back-ruining way known to man.

[229zmi]

012125. cw | none. just fluff. 731 wc. notes | i got my first strike YEY 🧑‍🦲🔫 @phantasmaebg nighty night zzz

matsukawa issei isn’t the type to openly gush over people, though that’s not the same to say that he doesn’t. you know this. because he’s always gushing about you in his own way, the only form you’ve learned by heart, one you’ve come to fully adore.

when he spotted you across the room, he swore his chest tightened in a way he’d never admit out loud. still, his affection screams — in the spaces that reach you to understand without fail, how honest his eyes are, an open journal of sorts.

you were curled up on the couch, sinking deep into your phone in your hands, your messy hair thrown into a half-lopsided bun, only the upper parts alongside your bangs, sweatpants slung low on your hips, stomach looking so delicate & slightly revealed under your sleeveless top, and headphones perched lazily over your ears.

you look half-asleep, groggy. the sunlight filtering through the windows renders your tired eyes to look more dreamy. your whole skin glowing, lashes glimmer like specks of jewels. you yawn, looking soft and untouched and undone.

something about you like this—so completely yourself—has his heart diving over itself. he has no idea how you managed to look so utterly captivating without trying. his heartbeat races when you stood up, unaware of his presence. and you head to the kitchen, probably going to make something really delicious—like always.

he watches you in quiet reverence, lips pulling a slow grin, nothing but adoration in his gaze.

his arms crossed over his chest, letting the sight of you etch itself into his memory. you’re too caught up in whatever quiet ritual you’ve set out to do in the kitchen, and he finds himself enamored by the way you move—relaxed, deliberate, but so distinctly you.

he always think he loved you most in moments like these, where there was no effort, no pretense, just you being you.

you stopped in front of the counter, reaching for something on the shelf, and the hem of your sleeveless top lifted just slightly. that little sliver of skin caught the light in the gentlest way, and matsukawa felt his restraint falter.

before he knew it, he was behind you, large hands sliding around your waist with the familiarity of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.

you stiffen slightly at first, but then you easily settle yourself, the familiar warmth of his palms sending a shiver of comfort through you. “issei,” you murmur, your voice soft and tinged with sleep, “when’d you get here?”

he tugs the side of your headphones down as you turn to look at him.

“just now,” his voice low and husky, lips curling into a smirk you can’t see. “you looked too good on your own, had to come ruin it.”

you huff, chuckling, your body leaning instinctively into his as his arms loop around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “i haven’t even washed my face yet,” you mutter, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“doesn’t matter. you’re cute when you’re half-dead, y’know?”

you rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, he leaned in, resting his forehead to the back of your head, then he lowers himself, lips coming to plant tender kisses on your temple, a gentle nibble on your ear, and a shuddering warm peck to your nape.

this makes your cheeks flush, but you shake your head, focusing instead on the task at hand. “if you’re gonna keep distracting me, at least help me cook something,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing—quite horribly, actually— because he pulls you impossibly closer, practically snuggling against you so shamelessly.

“come take a nap with me instead.”

“issei.”

“please. i just wanna—” he inhales, a long, deep breath, and exhales, you feel his chest against your back rise and fall in result, “you’re the only thing i wanna see all day.”

and just like that, any lingering grogginess thawed away, like popsicles melting from the beautiful warmth of everything. like his touch, especially his touch, along the undertones of intensity laced by his words. you turn slightly in his arms, your hand reaching up to playfully flick his forehead, though your smile betrays so many parts of you.

“you’re impossible.”

“yeah? impossible for you, miss.” he quipped back, smiling tenfold.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[229zmi]

hoot hoot

[229zmi]

getting stood up | ft. hq boys

-> pairings: miya atsumu, miya osamu, hinata shoyo, suna rintaro, tsukishima kei, iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader | sfw | cw: smau, cursing, they all highkey want u | genre: fluff | mlist

-> synopsis: you text your friend after getting stood up, and he knows exactly how to comfort you.

—a/n: don’t look at me.

[229zmi]

the cutiest cutie ever

[reference]

[229zmi]

LOST IN THE MAIL

Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader | 4.3k words, bad pick-up lines (of course), wingman yaku, more silly than romantic

The problem with assigned seating arrangements is an obvious one.

So blatant, like the slightly smudged pen markings on your desk that resemble two initials inside the ugliest shaped heart you’ve ever seen. You see this as the modern-day version of carving your lover’s name in the bark of some random ass tree, in the same way you view folded pieces of notebook paper passed between two of your new deskmates as the contemporary equivalent of letters exchanged overseas by lovers.

You suppose that makes you the unfortunate mail carrier, then, when you’re the one sitting right in the middle of it all, in between Kuroo Tetsurō and another classmate you don’t remember the name of.

Having worked with him for a few group projects in the past, you’d say you’re somewhat familiar with Kuroo. He’s nice, you remember from your conversations. Smart. Funny. His charm, aside from his physics-defying hairstyle, is the dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.

Maybe that’s why the first time he asks a favour of you, you don’t mind it too much.

It starts with a whisper of your name and then a shoe gently prodding against the bottom of your chair after your initial attempt at ignoring the disturbance. You whirl around in your seat to face him, and with a smile, Kuroo silently motions for you to hold your hand out before dropping a neatly folded piece of notebook paper onto your palm. As your gaze moves down to the object, the force of the atmosphere overpowers whatever effort he must’ve put into folding the paper one last time, so you end up catching a glimpse of the graphite embedded on it— something that looks like a heart and the start of a really shitty pick-up line.

Hey! Did it hurt when you fell from…

Before you can read further, he hovers a large hand over yours and the note, prompting you to glance up just in time to see him flash a smile, albeit a bit strained. He clears his throat awkwardly, even though you’re certain that there is no need to in the first place. “Sorry. Could you please pass this on to Yaku?”

You frown in confusion. It’s such a shame you’re so bad with names and faces because then maybe you could muster up a more intelligent response other than, “Who?”

Kuroo grins at your owlish response. His hand moves up, with his index finger extending just centimetres past your ear. Following it, your gaze lands on the brunet sitting in front of you.

“That guy, Yaku Morisuke. Just throw it over his head, he’ll know it’s from me. Thanks.”

Ah, you think, embarrassed as you hunch over your desk to politely hand the piece of paper to its intended recipient. He has a thing for the shortie sitting up front.

You’ve seen them bickering with each other like a married couple so often around school grounds that this makes perfect sense.

The rest of class goes like this: Kuroo writes a note and passes it to you. You pass it to Yaku. Yaku reads the note, writes something on the paper, and gives it to you. You hand it back to Kuroo. Repeat.

And then over the next couple of days, it becomes routine.

Of course, it’s not like you actually wanted to become an unpaid mail carrier. But who were you to disrupt your classmates’ high school romance? …Even if said romance was happening in the form of bad pick up lines and crumpled sheets of notebook paper with the occasional highlighter-yellow sticky note at eight in the morning.

Still, you do find it a bit strange, the way Yaku’s face scrunches up every time after reading Kuroo’s note. Maybe it’s disgust, or maybe it’s confusion. And Kuroo, in return, always looks mildly disgruntled at his response.

From this, you can only conclude that they must already be going through a rough patch in the early stages of their relationship. How unfortunate.

“Please tell Roosterhead to stop harassing me with these godawful pick up lines.”

Silence sweeps in between the two of you, interrupted only by the teacher’s voice as they drone on about thermodynamics. When all you have to offer is a blank expression in response to his sudden interjection after yet another note from Kuroo, Yaku explains awkwardly, “I’m talking about Kuroo. His hair— it kinda makes him look like a rooster, y’know?”

Out of sheer curiosity, you turn around to see if the comparison is true. You’re surprised, however, when Kuroo’s face is only inches away from yours, supported by the palm of his hand as his elbow rests near the edge of his desk.

“Hey.”

His mouth slants into a grin across his face. Forcing yourself to not search for the slight indent by his cheek, you instead focus on the asymmetrical bangs that fall just above his well-defined cheekbone and the tufts of hair that stick out from the top of his head.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, what?”

“You do look like a rooster.”

(Behind you, Yaku stifles a laugh.)

Ruddiness blossoms from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Don’t listen to that weirdo freak. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he says, right as Yaku makes a noise of indignation at the epithet.

“Okay, ‘weirdo freak’? That’s funny, coming from the guy who unironically says stuff like ‘cutie-patootie’ and—“ the offended brunet stops to unfold the paper, frantically skimming over the contents of it before reading it out loud “—‘Do you like science? Because I’ve got my ion you.’”

The rouge across Kuroo’s skin only deepens as he suddenly reaches for the note in Yaku’s grasp. However, at an impressive speed, Yaku’s hand moves out of his range just in time, leaving Kuroo’s arm sprawled pathetically over half of your desk, like a large fish dried up against the shore.

(Great, you think. You’re literally caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel, which had started over what?

…Bad flirting?)

It’s a pitiful attempt at hiding the evidence of his embarrassment when he passes a hand through his hair and it lingers near the ends of the sable tresses against his forehead, concealing half of his face for a few seconds longer than usual before he finally defends himself.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear. You’re just saying it wrong because you’re so loser-ish and uncharismatic.” Kuroo pauses, then adds for good measure, “Unlike me.”

Yaku glowers at him, looking like a Minecraft creeper about to explode, though he manages to keep his voice as level as possible when he tries to defend himself, “I said it exactly like how it’s written on this paper. It’s a stupid line no matter how anyone says it. Listen—“

Then, as if remembering you’re here too, he turns to you. It reminds you of when the characters in a show look directly at the camera, and the realisation occurs to you all of a sudden that your nosy self has been staring at the two of them this whole time and very clearly listening in on their conversation, instead of the more informative yet less interesting lecture happening at the front of the classroom. Whoops.

“—how do you feel about this?”

You freeze for a moment.

“About— about the pick up line?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you think it sucks,” he says. “Be brutally honest.”

Before you can respond, Kuroo butts in with a look of disapproval directed toward Yaku, though from your proximity to him, you can see that the ends of his mouth are clearly fighting against curling into a shit-eating grin. “How pushy of you, Yakkun, dragging our classmate into this just to prove your point. You should be ashamed.”

“It’s called gathering testimony,” Yaku argues before facing you again, this time with a sheepish expression. You half-expect him to start twiddling his fingers as well, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” you say, taking pity on him. “I guess if someone said that line to me, I’d think it was funny. Like, I wouldn’t be super impressed or anything, but it’s just so bad that it’s good?”

Yaku moves his hands up to the top of his head, as though he’s about to pull out his hair, and stares at you like the end of the world is happening and it’s all your fault.

Meanwhile, Kuroo turns towards him with a wry smile, opening his mouth wide, and the sound that comes out is oozing with triumph: “Ha.”

Yaku scowls. Then, after tossing the crumpled up note at Kuroo’s face in a fit of glorious rage, he whips around to the front of the classroom. For the rest of the period, he doesn’t look back, even when Kuroo pleads you to pass the note to him minutes later.

You wonder why it had to be you of all people to become such an unwilling witness to the turmoil of their relationship.

“Are you an exam paper? Because I forget everything when I look at you.”

For some reason, Kuroo Tetsurō is bad at eye contact.

Like, really bad, you think, because isn’t he supposed to be looking at Yaku when he says this sort of lovey-dovey crap? And it’s not as though doing so is impossible or difficult for him; the brunet is right there, standing off to the side behind him. So if Kuroo could just turn around in the correct direction, everything would be perfectly normal and you wouldn’t be sitting here at your desk fifteen minutes before class, puzzled as to why he’s looking at you right now.

Yaku rolls his eyes and slaps a hand against his forehead, looking visibly upset, and you think he’s about to scold him, accuse him of infidelity, break up with him right then and there. You think it’ll happen just like in all those dramas you’ve been watching lately. However, much to your surprise and maybe to your disappointment, he’s a lot calmer than you would expect for someone in this kind of situation.

“I told you not to use that line,” he chides, almost like a teacher scolding a student. “I said that one was bad.”

“No,” Kuroo says, frowning. “You said it was cute.”

“Hell no, I did not say that.”

“You did.” Silence lingers uncomfortably between the two of them as they stare at each other for a couple seconds, before Kuroo eventually declares in an accusatory tone, “You’re sabotaging me. I get it.”

“I’m not, wh—“ Yaku stops and sighs, moving down to rummage through his backpack on the floor until he finally pulls out a crumpled ball of paper. After smoothing it out across his palm, he then holds it up for Kuroo to see.

You try to crane your neck to look as well, but apparently there’s only so much you’re allowed to know about their relationship, evident in the quick side-eye Yaku gives you as he promptly holds his hand up to shield you from reading the note.

Okay, wow. Cosplaying disinterest, you pretend to examine the wrinkles in your palm while Yaku taps the paper with his pointer finger multiple times.

“Look. It literally says right here, ‘the first one sucks,’” he reads out loud passionately. “And then I said the second one was sweet.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows tug together. Then, they smooth out in realisation after he finishes reading the note, but before Yaku can utter something along the lines of “I told you so!,” he turns to you again with the same fond look in his eyes as he had a minute ago.

“You remind me of a dictionary, the way you add meaning to everything,” he tells you, and you swear your heart skips a beat at how earnestly he says it. The problem is, though, you’re not a homewrecker, and you don’t ever plan on being one, so you glance to Yaku for help, even going as far as to blink SOS in morse code in hopes that he understands that this is so, so out of your control. However, he just looks back at you like he’s waiting on your reply as well.

Shit, you think to yourself. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Err,” you start intelligently, mustering up the courage to look Kuroo in the eyes. You still don’t know what the fuck these people want from you, but you try to sound as objective as possible. “The pick-up line is… good?”

A smile paints Kuroo’s expression despite your totally pathetic response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome…?” You nod weakly.

Nevertheless, when the teacher enters the room, indicating the start of class, Yaku has one last thing to add to this heinously stressful conversation as you and Kuroo take your seats. And again, he defies your expectations because surprisingly it isn’t an insult to Kuroo’s behaviour nor a mental breakdown over what he just witnessed. Rather, it’s quite simple.

“Let’s all go to the library after school today,” he suggests. “The three of us.”

You mull over it for several seconds. Well, you do have an exam for this class next week. And seeing how Yaku doesn’t seem to have it out for your blood just yet, you suppose a study session with two of your classmates can’t hurt— so, you agree.

(Amidst your thoughts, you miss the way Kuroo sends an overenthusiastic thumbs-up to Yaku from behind you, and Yaku roleplays humbleness with a roll of his eyes, too quick for you to notice.)

Ever since the semester started, you’ve created a list of things you want to curse the universe for bringing into your life to inconvenience you.

1) Assigned seating arrangements

2) Your teacher’s strict phone policy

3) Yaku Morisuke

Although maybe you should’ve added it way earlier, that last one is only a new addition as of today, after Kuroo announces to you that Yaku just texted him. Watching him as he reaches down to pick up his backpack and plop it onto the chair next to him, where Yaku should be sitting but isn’t, you can kind of get the gist of what’s happened. You’re already starting to plot against him in your head, manifesting him a failing score on his next test. And— the next time he asks you to pass a note back to Kuroo, you’ve decided that you’re going to say no. Yeah, that’ll really teach him a lesson or something.

Nonetheless, to be completely sure, you stare at Kuroo expectantly until he actually reads the message off his phone out loud for you, albeit in a very poorly done impression of the messenger’s voice that you can’t help but snicker at.

“‘Hi. I can’t make it to the library today because something urgent just came up. Sorry!’” Kuroo shakes his head, like he’s completely in disbelief. “How horrible of him, leaving us to suffer in academics all by ourselves after he was the one who invited us in the first place.”

You sigh at that piece of information, and the verbal reaction you provide is a lot more lukewarm than the epic revenge you’re thinking in your head right now. You can only hope that your facial expression doesn’t give it away. “Guess we’ll just have to study without him.”

For the next few hours, it’s peaceful while the two of you begin to work diligently. Occasionally, he’ll nudge your chair with his foot to ask you a question about the class, which, more often than not, ends up spiralling into a tangential conversation about something totally unrelated. It’s not that you intend for that to happen, but Kuroo is a man of many words or whatever, and talking to him is much more interesting than subject you’re studying for anyway. That is, until the feeling of impending doom returns like a bad stomach ache, reminding the both of you to focus.

This study session, it reminds you of all the other times you’ve hung out with Kuroo for group projects in the past. And looking back, you feel so fond of those memories that as much as you hate group projects and you often wish your teacher would stop assigning them, you suppose they aren’t so bad when they’re with Kuroo.

(Okay, then, maybe Yaku ditching the two of you wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. He’s still on your list of inconveniences, though.)

The sun is setting by the time you exit the school building. With the ache settling deep in your bones and your temples, you really think you might disintegrate into dust after this next exam. As you reach the edge of the school grounds, Kuroo offers to walk you home, but you decline because your home isn’t that far anyways. Still, before you both bid your farewells and part ways, you have something on your mind that you can’t help but let curiosity drive you to ask him about.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he turns to you, a tuft of black hair falling gracefully in front of his eyes like he #JustWokeUpLikeThis. The sunset illuminating the side of his face at this moment makes him look really majestic, too, but you try not to think such immoral thoughts about a taken man. Instead, you focus on being nosy because that’s just the kind of person you are, and you feel like you’ve missed some episodes lately.

“Yeah?” Kuroo prompts.

“Are you really… close with Yaku? Like actually?” you ask in a tentative manner, choosing your words carefully. After all, you don’t want to offend him by making it seem as though you can’t tell that they’re dating because of their supposed relationship problems, but recently, it’s been getting harder and harder to believe it. “He kind of looks like he’s planning your assassination every time I pass your notes to him.”

Kuroo lets out the loudest cackle you’ve ever heard, moving his hand as if to ward off your concern.

“Yeah, that’s just how he is. He’s been my number one hater since day one. But,” he smiles, and it speaks confidence for the most part, yet the pink dusting his cheeks shows otherwise, “if you’re so worried, why don’t you balance it out by being my number one lover?”

Oh!

What?!

You attempt to cover up your shock with a nervous laugh, eyes darting around as if there’s a hidden camera somewhere in your surroundings.

“Wow, that— that line’s so good? I’m sure Yaku will love it.” You aren’t sure of the source behind the heat crawling up your neck, but you tell yourself that it must be from how embarrassing you sound right now because it absolutely cannot be from what Kuroo just said. “See you tomorrow!”

Kuroo can only watch in amusement, tilting his head slightly as you scurry away, a bloom of smoke trailing the back of your shoes.

(…Wait a minute.

He frowns. Who will love what?)

“Yaku, you deserve better.”

Upon hearing your words, one of Yaku’s eyebrows jumps toward his hairline while the other remains anchored to his eyelid. He whips around, catching your arm just as you’re about to walk away from him in the middle of the crowded hallway. Gesturing with his head for you to follow him, he leads you to a separate hallway, where the area isn’t as busy and he can hear you talk more clearly.

He crosses his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

You purse your lips, sighing because you’re about to break some bad news to him, and unfortunately, you don’t have any tissues on hand. You suppose offering him your shoulder to cry on could suffice, but the idea is rather unappealing.

Nonetheless, you tell him the truth, “The other day, Kuroo told me he wants me to be his number one lover.”

He nods slowly, not understanding why you’re telling him this. “Okay… and?”

“During gym class today, he said to me, ‘Stop, drop, and roll! Because baby, you’re so hot, you’re on fire’ after I kicked a ball out of bounds.”

Now, Yaku looks scandalised. “Ew. He really said that? To you?”

“Mhm,” you confirm solemnly, and Yaku heaves a grave sigh, as though the weight of all this is too much. You really feel sorry for him, so much that you even move your hand to pat his shoulder as a way to comfort him.

However, for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, Yaku does the same.

The two of you freeze, hand on each other’s opposite shoulders like you’re both trying to console each other.

“Um.”

Eventually, you awkwardly let your hand drop to your side, and Yaku mirrors that action as well.

“Well,” he says, after another beat of painful silence. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go yell at him later.”

You come to class several minutes earlier than usual during lunch period just to talk to Yaku before Kuroo gets here.

“Hey,” you say, knuckles knocking against the top of his desk to get his attention. “Let’s make things easier for you and Kuroo and switch seats.”

Wide-eyed, Yaku shakes his head. He glances to the door as if a hideous monster (Kuroo) will storm in at any moment before uttering passionately, almost urgently, in a hushed voice, “We can’t.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Why do these two have to be so damn difficult? It’s already bad enough having to deal with Kuroo and his inability to make eye contact with the right person when he says pick-up lines out of the blue, as well as his tendency to flirt with you sometimes. However, you had hoped that Yaku would at least be somewhat normal, even if he won’t stand up for himself against Kuroo’s disloyal behaviour.

“Why not? The teacher probably won’t notice since we sit kind of far from the front.”

“It’s not that, but I… can’t say.”

“What do you mean you can’t say?” You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him suspiciously. He’s making, like, zero sense right now. “Are you really that emotionally attached to this desk? It’s just a piece of wood.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding affronted at the fact that you would even think that. “It’s just, it isn’t really my business to tell you. If I were you, I’d ask Kuroo about it. Okay?”

You blink at him. “Kuroo?”

“Yes.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking like a wonky-shaped fork for a split second. “He’ll tell you everything. Just please, leave me alone. Kuroo’s the one that actually likes… talking to you. No offence.”

Okay, a bit rude, but whatever. Leaving the classroom, you set out on a new mission:

Find Kuroo.

“We live in the age of technology. Can’t you just…? You know.” You gesture with your hands to appear as though you’re texting on an imaginary phone. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at this, finding some entertainment in your actions. You would be phenomenal at a game of charades. “Exchanging handwritten letters is sweet and all, but man, it sucks being in the middle of everything.”

A sly grin eases its way onto his face. “Are you jealous?”

“Literally how did you get to that conclusion?” You scowl. “Of course not. But it’s so weird. I asked your boyfriend if we could switch seats to make things easier for all three of us, and he said no, though he wouldn’t tell me why. Instead, he told me to ask you.”

Kuroo seems a bit surprised by that, for some reason. Actually, not just a bit— he’s very surprised, voice even cracking as he asks, “My what?”

“Your—“ You hesitate, unsure. Doesn’t he know who you’re talking about? “You know, Yaku?”

Kuroo stares at you as silence hangs in the air. Like, really stares at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing you say right now.

Then, he hunches over in the middle of the empty hallway, shoulders shuddering with laughter as he tries to stabilise himself with his hands on his knees.

You can only watch, confused.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally straightens his posture. Placing a hand over your shoulder and looking you directly in the eyes, he deadpans, “Yaku is not my boyfriend.”

Just like that, everything you’ve ever known about these two against your will comes crashing down, collapsing, and all other synonyms.

“What the hell?” you splutter, and Kuroo bursts into another fit of laughter. “Stop laughing— what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? All those notes you wrote to each other, that pick-up line I saw in your first note to him. You’re saying none of it was romantic?”

After several moments, Kuroo manages to catch his breath just enough to explain, “It was romantic, but not for Yaku. Every time, I was asking him for feedback on a pick-up line so I could use them with— with you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, pursing your lips. “So you’re not dating Yaku?”

Vehemently, he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Not even in my worst nightmares.”

“…And you really don’t have the hots for him?”

“No,” he confirms, moving his hand from your shoulder to gently graze the side of your face. “It’s always been you.”

Damn it. You were so invested.

Still, his hand is warm and soft against your cheek, and there’s that familiar dimple near the left side of his mouth that you always find your gaze gravitating towards whenever he smiles, so maybe you’re okay with this turn of events, as unexpected as it was.

[BONUS: some of the notes exchanged between Kuroo and Yaku]

author’s note: like 80% of fhis was wirtten at 3am and i havent written anything in a whileso i hope this was at least Coherent :) and Totally Not All Over The Place :)

[229zmi]

sfw. fluff. f!reader. characters are adults. thinking about neighbour!iwaizumi — but hold on, he's not your neighbour. (banner by @cafekitsune !)

your grandmother lives on the other side of town; not too far away — it's only about a fifteen-minute drive — but far enough for you and your parents to regularly worry about her since she's on her own ever since your grandpa passed away. she insists she's capable, and you have yet to see any evidence showing otherwise. she does her grocery shopping on her own, tends to her impressive veggie garden every other day in the summer, and manages all her house chores better than you.

but when you wake up to the blinding gleam of snow on your neighbour's rooftop outside your bedroom window, your first worry is that she's going to attempt to shovel her driveway on her own.

leaping out of bed, you call her while pulling on your warmest clothes, wishing her a good morning with a do NOT shovel the snow, i'm on my way! there's laughter in her voice as she reassures you that she won't in that grandmotherly way that makes you believe her.

so you feel very betrayed when you pull up to her house and see that her driveway is clean. she's poking her head through the front door with a grin like she's proud of her handiwork, but before you can scold her for not listening to you, she pushes a cookie tin into your arms.

"it was the neighbour's boy!" she waves to shoo away your shocked expression. "take this to him for me, will you? and tell him to come over for tea!"

relieved, but also in mild disbelief that your grandma didn't even invite you into the house first, you trudge over to the neighbours', turning the cookie tin in your hands to make sure it's actually a sealed tin of cookies, not a tin of sewing supplies.

come to think of it, you don't think you've ever met her neighbours. she once told you that a family lives next door — a mom, a dad and their son — a boy, from what she said just now. it's not uncommon for the neighbourhood kids to offer shovelling services to supplement their weekly allowances in the wintertime, so you're fully prepared for a kid to come to the door when you ring the doorbell.

not a man.

you probably look hilariously lost for a few seconds before you come to your wits. "uh, did you shovel my grandma's driveway?"

he raises a brow and for a moment you're horrified by the possibility that you've come to the wrong house, until his confusion dissipates. "oh, yeah. this morning."

you hold the cookie tin out stiffly. "she thanks you. i mean, i'm thanking you too but these are from her. to thank you. for that."

he puts a hand on the tin, gently pushing it towards you which thankfully stops you from adding anymore redundant sentence fragments. "no worries, she doesn't have to give me anything."

"oh," you say, your brain lagging for a moment. "but she insists."

"it's fine," he shakes his head, "tell her it's payback for all the fresh tomatoes she gives my parents in the summer."

you briefly consider letting him win, but your grandma will not let you hear the end of it if you returned with her gift rejected.

"then these are from me," you say, arms outstretched far enough to hold it to his abdomen. "i usually have to shovel for her so, thank you for doing that."

the way he slowly takes the tin from you sends you into a mini spiral of panic for maybe coming off as being pushy. then he gives you a small smile that briefly makes you consider moving in with your grandmother.

"you're welcome. say hi to her for me."

"actually!" you yelp, suddenly recovering enough sense to remember the other thing your grandma told you. "she asked for you to come over."

he tilts his head curiously and you get the feeling he's about to reject her invitation.

"HAJIME!"

you both jump at the sound of your grandma's shrill holler from her porch.

"grandma," you groan — the crazy lady is outside without a coat! — at the same time hot — er, hajime — calls, "hi granny!"

"i made tea!" she waves to him, selectively ignoring your frown. "come over!"

"are you sure?" he laughs, hand rubbing the back of his neck. it's sweet how friendly he is with her. "your granddaughter's here, so you should spend time with her."

"exactly! you should come over and spend time with her too! she doesn't have a boyfriend!"

an undignified grunt leaves your throat. "grandma!!" you whine, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you give her another look. for heaven's sake, if she wanted to set you up with her neighbours' hot son, she could've at least told you so you wouldn't have run out of house dressed like a potato, and be more subtle about it!

but he chuckles behind you, and when you turn, his eyes catch yours.

"is your granddaughter okay with that?" he calls loud enough for her to hear but you know the question is for you.

"you don't have to," you whisper.

"that's not what i asked," he smirks. his voice is low only for you to hear and knowing that makes your cheeks flush even more, it might melt the last few functioning brain cells in your skull.

so you nod once shyly, then a second time when you're brave enough to look him in the eyes again, when he gives you a look for confirmation.

then he turns to call over to your grandma.

"i'll be right there."

[229zmi]

TEN THOUSAND HOURS .ᐟ

Texts with your long distance friend (?), Tetsuro Kuroo.

a/n — been thinking about him soo muchhhhhggg I couldn’t wait for his series to get rolling I had to do something for him NEOWWW.

Taglist: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee

[229zmi]

boyfriend texts ! hajime iwaizumi 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ in which! random bf texts with iwa

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warnings! idk i don’t think there is any warnings tbh but if there is n i realise that later ill update it!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ a/n! enjoy!!!

[229zmi]

TEAM PLAYER isagi yoichi

You're fed up with the evil Blue Lock boys getting special treatment from your Evil best friend because your Evil best friend isn't Evil with you. You’ll do whatever it takes to satisfy your masochistic heart in whatever freakish ways you come up with because communicating and confessing is overrated.

i love my insane boyfriend

There's been something strange going on with you and Isagi can't quite place his finger on it. Yes, he had been away at Blue Lock for a number of weeks, but he thinks that it shouldn't impact your personality to change the way it did. You might be his closest friend and confidant, one of the most treasured people in his life, but you’re currently acting like a freak and frankly, it’s making him really uncomfortable.

As you place your foot on the park bench to retie your shoelaces, Isagi scans your body up and down. No new bruises, no broken bones, no visible injuries, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of some newly developed mental issues because why else would you suddenly be so rude? Yoichi had been hoping that you, his sweet best friend, would be a much needed break from the mental illness fandom that was Blue Lock but it seems like insanity is a disease and you somehow caught it from watching TV. Going to noisy arcades with flashing lights in a dimly lit space, trying overpriced and sickly sweet desserts at trendy cafes, and simply taking walks together under the dappled shade of cherry blossom petals were all things Yoichi had missed amidst the chaos and stress that came with the incredibly competitive atmosphere of Blue Lock.

Yet here you were, not fully meeting him face-to-face but rather side-eyeing him with a condescending stare beneath hooded eyes and raised brows. With a thud, you slumped onto the bench and crossed your arms.

“I thought you were kidnapped before you suddenly appeared on T.V. and not just any T.V., some fuckass display one at the department store. What’s up with that?” you inquired with a pathetic pout disguised into a sneer that Yoichi found slightly goofy. “You’re like a deadbeat cunt.”

“I didn’t know that they were gonna kidnap my phone and basically trap me in there while jeopardizing my athletic career!” Yoichi exclaimed, throwing his hands down onto his lap with a groan. “Also, why do you look like that? You look really stupid.”

With a slight twitch of your lip, the smallest of grins formed on your face, unfolding into a gleeful, creepy smile. “Heh. That was really hot, can you do that again?”

“Excuse me?”

You kick your feet back and forth a couple times, nodding your head side to side like a cheap bobble head toy. Continuing to smile at him with bright and expectant eyes, you explain, “Y’know, what you just said was like how you verbally abuse dudes in Blue Lock.”

With a choked cough and dry wheeze, vibrant red covered the tips of his ears and spread into his cheeks. Breaking eye contact, he turned his head away from you as all judgement left his system, leaving the remnants of pure embarrassment. A hand covering his face was the only thing serving himself a sense of comfort as he wallowed in the consequences of losing his shit during broadcasted soccer games.

“Listen,” Yoichi panicked, trying his best to save face. “Everything on Blue Lock was not real, it’s a scripted reality show. Everything you saw was Evil Isagi Yoichi. I am Real Isagi Yoichi. Evil Isagi Yoichi was created in a lab by Ego Jinpachi and is not a reflection of myself.”

“I’m in love with Evil Isagi Yoichi,” you wistfully sigh, clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth like a cringey cartoon character.

“I lied, I’m actually Evil Isagi Yoichi. That was just a test for you to prove your absolute devotion to me.”

The way you smiled at him was unnerving and the glimmer in your eyes should have unsettled him but Yoichi found himself and his heart melting at your insanity. His cheeks were no longer red out of embarrassment from his diabolical language but the soft kiss you placed on his cheek and teasing pats to the side of his face, making a grin of his own match yours.

“Call me ‘babe’ and I’ll kill you, I only accept derogatory language,” you whisper into his ear.

Like a dream come true, his freak has been (concerningly) matched.

[229zmi]

ATTACHMENT LOVE

🧺 #11: "you and i don’t love each other but i know too much about your mother / we’ll make this work" with hinata for @quikhs ! :-)

warnings: gn!reader, reader’s mom wants to have dinner (just a mention) (song link)

it’s been 3 months since hinata’s stayed the night at your apartment.

practice, work, outings with people other than each other—nothing seemed to line up, and when they did, it seemed too a heavy task for either of you to reach out, exhaustion and something else between the gaps of your bones and schedules.

you’re not sure what that something else is, or if he feels it too. you’re not sure if you want to know. but you feel it in dwindling good morning’s and plans cancelled long before his last sleepover, feel it fill the space your boyfriend used to as you wash his scent out of borrowed sweaters.

but shoyo’s here tonight, and that’s what matters, you think.

his toothbrush from 3 months ago slides as you move to change your own, and you figure you might as well change his too.

“changing our toothbrushes, do you care what colour yours is?” your voice bounces back at you while you look in the cupboard. there’s only three in the pack you have—primary coloured—and you figure he’d like yellow most. you grab red for yourself.

shoyo rubs his feet together, sitting on the edge of your bed instead of sprawling across. “mm, you can leave it for now, it’s okay,” he reassures you.

“...you sure?”

“yeah.”

“...okay.”

your eyes hover on the unused face masks he bought you for your birthday, and you let the noise of cardboard backing ripping from plastic fill the space neither of you can seem to.

shoyo calls you from the room over.

that something else roots in your stomach. “yeah?”

he doesn’t say anything for a second, two, and you take a breath.

“i ran into the girl—remember the one who, uh, kept trying to unlock the door one night because she was drunk and didn’t realize she was on the wrong floor?” you pull the memory up and along with your voice while your fingers tremble, stumble on their way to place the last toothbrush in the cupboard and almost drop it to the marble below.

and maybe shoyo notices what you’re doing—he must. he always does. “...yeah, and i thought i was gonna have to fight someone with your vacuum somehow. did she try apologizing again?”

“she almost did,”—you half smile, save the memory, that night, from sinking and drowning—“but i saw her stop herself. we just said hi and talked a little. found out she has a cat so i wanna drop by at some point if you wanna come.”

you’ve made your way back to your bedroom, and shoyo’s still sitting on the edge of your bed. he smiles, and it’s kind, not apologetic or pitying, but understanding all the same.

you’re not sure if its toward her or you.

he says your name again. quieter this time, but steady as he always is.

you purse your lips.

“and my mom wants to have dinner with us.” you grasp at the next thought. “she said she has some new recipes she wants us to try before she brings it to the next holiday party, and she wants to see your mom, too, and natsu, since it’s been so long. if that’s– if that’s okay with them– with you.”

“is that okay with you?” he squints, just a little.

the floorboard creaks as you shift your weight under his gaze, and you fiddle with your hands behind your back so he can’t see. (it doesn’t matter—he knows anyway.) “why wouldn’t it be?”

shoyo takes a breath while you hold yours.

“...yeah, okay.” his exhale is deep. “i’m not as busy this month, so i’ll ask my mom what her schedule looks like. natsu’ll be excited so i’m sure she’ll be good to go whenever.”

he moves further onto your bed as he thinks out loud. “you know i think she likes your mom’s food more than mine– i tried cooking lunch for her a while ago and the look she gave me. is my cooking that bad? i thought i stopped adding too much salt but maybe my salt senses are just dulled?”

and just for a moment, everything’s back to the way it was months ago: shoyo rambling, hands planted behind him on the mattress, you smiling as he whines, both of you in your pajamas for a night in.

but your mind lingers on the toothbrush still sitting next to your new one, and the way your boyfriend won’t lie down on your bed—an old acquaintance unfamiliar with a place that used to be as much his home as it is yours—and that something else that’s been creeping in the space between you knocks at your chest incessantly, an unwelcome visitor that has the decency to wait for your permission to enter.

you wish it would just leave or break inside.

“sho.” your voice is quiet, but catches his attention all the same. the sunset drifts over tangerine strands and honey brown eyes, lights up the dust that twirls around as he looks up at you, and you wish you were asking anything else but what you are.

“is this okay?”

whatever this is.

shoyo blinks, once, twice. sighs and smiles one more time. “i don’t think so.”

qui !! thank u so much for joining and ur ask 🥹🥹!! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME!! this one was a toughie,, doesn't play out exactly like the song. shoyo has a lot of emotional intelligence but i think he struggles in this case because he’s never had a break-up before and. it’s you. he still cares for you, even if it isn’t in the same way, and he doesn’t want to hurt you and ..? he came tonight because he knows you should talk but. he gets there and he sees all the evidence of him and your life together and everything’s harder when the time comes isn’t it. hm. anyway. if u ever write something ur proud of feel free to tag me !! i'm vry happy u enjoy mine,, thank u again!! 🥹🥹

[229zmi]

palestinians who have reached out to me via ask and their vetted campaigns

Wafaa @wafaaresh | 15k/100k reached -> gfm

Bilal @bilalassadabedrou | 5k/80k reached -> gfm

Ashraf @ashraf-family2 | 15k/20k reached -> gfm

Mohammed @m0hammed1 | 7k/15k reached -> gfm

Amira @amira-world | 18k/20k reached -> gfm

Ghazi @ghaziyounes1967 | 2k/50k reached -> gfm

Mahmoud @mahmoudkhalafff | 18k/30k reached -> gfm

Hanaa @hanaa987 | 6k/20k reached -> gfm

Fidaa @fidaa-family2 | 3k/10k reached -> gfm

Mohamed @save-hijazi-family2 | 6k/20k reached -> gfm

please donate if you can and share this post in order to spread their fundraisers!!

[229zmi]

Grilled Cheese - Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

for @shoulmate

Eyes closed, stretched out on the Couch, you take the first deep breath of the day.

Today has been a special kind of hell, one that started with a headache in the morning, coffee spilled on your favorite shirt, and a missed breakfast over having to change again.

You're never fond of rushing through things, and maybe that's just a lack of skill, but having to race through a store, trying to gather all the things you need in the shortest time possible, hasn't made your day better.

A key turns in the door.

You half expect Hajime to call out for you, but he stays quiet, slipping off his shoes at the Genkan and padding through the living space and into the kitchen.

Maybe he thinks you're napping. It wouldn't be the first time you completely slept through him coming home after work.

You wonder what it looks like. The basket with the clean laundry sits by your feet, a half-drunk bottle of your favorite drink on the table to your right. With every other man, scratch that, person, you'd probably feel ashamed.

Of the mess. Of your inability to handle it.

But this is Hajime. He's probably just trying not to wake you, thinking up ways to take the laundry off your hands as well.

As if he's not already doing the cooking and the cleaning anyway.

The fridge opens and closes. You don't hear the telltale fizz of his sports drinks. Instead, plastic crinkles.

A knife scratches over bread, the stove comes to life with the distinct click you know so well.

You've got half a mind to get up and check in on him. Is he cooking something? It sounds like that, but what could it be?

You blink lazily through half-closed eyes. You can barely make him out from here, just a sliver of his shoulder and the back of his head. It's a pretty head, you think, not for the first time.

The sounds of him, moving, breathing, existing, calm you down. Hajime is here. The knowledge of it, of his soothing presence, is enough.

You close your eyes again, feel the exhaustion nip at your heels.

"Here," soft lips brush your temple. "Eat."

"Wh?" You ask, groggy from the quick nap.

Hajime's lips quirk into a smile pressed to your skin.

"I made you a grilled cheese."

"Why?"

"Because you looked like you needed it."

"That's so-" You feel tears well up, but he wipes them away, pulling you in.

"Come on," he urges you quietly, "Sit up. You can't eat like that."

"I can sit at the table."

"Nah," he chuckles low. "It's comfier that way. Now open your mouth-"

And with everyone else, you'd be ashamed.

There's still the laundry that needs to be folded, your drink on the table, forgotten.

But this is Hajime. He promised to love you, in sickness and in health. And in the messiness in between as well.

[229zmi]

These Palestinians with vetted fundraisers have reached out to me via asks so I decided to make a post combining them. Please share and donate, every dollar can make a difference!!!

@yahyaahmed5 vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised only $885/$50,000 USD @salahaldinahhorsblog vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised only €4,406/€40,000 @fatma93-gaza vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised only €3,085/€20,000 @hadeelchilds vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised only €11,305/€35,000 @ayamaher444 vetted #216 here and you can donate here. They have raised only €6,238/€25,000 @ranin3344 vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised only €5,488/€80,000

@mohamed-mikki vetted here and you can donate here. He has raised only $1,038/$20,000 USD @hayanahed vetted #26 here and you can donate here. They have raised €64,745/€100,000 @ashraf-family2 vetted here and you can donate here. They have raised €16,207/€20,000

[229zmi]

This Week's Verified Gazan Evacuation Fundraisers

hello again! just like last week, i am putting together a round-up post of the evacuation fundraisers of those who have reached out to me this week and who i have had the privilege of donating to and sharing. please do also check out and share last week's post, as those campaigns are still ongoing and in need of funds! i am so, so happy to see how many of those numbers from last week have gone up. please continue to support all these wonderful people. (there are also some repeats on this week's list).

To everyone who reads this: I challenge you to donate! Do it right now, before you reblog, or right after. Pick at least one of these funds, any one of them, and donate any amount -- €10, €5, even €1. Pick one right now, and donate right now. And then share!

@ahmed-ostaz Ahmed Al Ostaz, Help Evacuate My Family from Gaza to Safety. €15,841/€70,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link #125]

@mahmoud66262 Mahmoud Balousha, Help us achieve a better future for our children. €17,725/€52,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link #234]

@hillesmahmoud Mahmoud Hilles, Save my children from death. €23,363/€31,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link #170]

@salem-baker Salem Alanqar, Save My Family from the War Nightmare in Gaza. €2,029/€38,000 - LOW ON FUNDS. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link]

@ahmedabuyamin Ahmed Alanqar, Helping Ahmed's Family: Escaping War to a New Life. €43,890/€49,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link #264]

@amira-world Amira Alanqar, Amira's Story: Between Hope and Resilience - A Call for Soli. €18,153/€20,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link]

@safaabed8 Safaa Al-Habil, Help us build new hope for me and my family. €18,260/€50,000. [DONATION LINK] [reblog link] [verification link #241, another verification link]

(for larger donations, (according to these prices) I will draw something for you!)

DONATE, REBLOG, SHARE