allie911

[allie911]

cozy lil cafe :3

[allie911]

now im thinking about overworked corporate reader and osamu. his shop is the closest to your apartment, not to mention that he’s usually open late, and most days, you don’t want to cook after spending 14 hours in the office. you always order delivery and since you’re usually the last person before closing, he’ll deliver it to you himself. after the third month in a row of you eating out, osamu finally tells you, “yknow, you need to eat some real food once in a while.”

you’re running on nothing but caffeine and the sheer will to prove to your male coworkers that you belong in this office. with bags under your eyes and your pencil skirt and blazer still on despite the fact that it’s nearing midnight, you take the to go bag and stare at the handsome delivery man. “you shouldn’t try to drive customers away. your boss will fire you.”

osamu doesn’t admit to anything, but he does start a habit of striking small talk with you every time you order. you’re quickly becoming his favorite regular, and when he asks you out one night, you pause. “does your boss know you’re asking out girls while on the clock?”

“actually, we closed five minutes ago.” and with a grin on his face, he finally lets you know, “and i am the boss.”

[allie911]

oh my fucking god i love this

"when they lay me to rest beside you, may they see this scar and think i am a part of your matching set. may they never know how i was alone."

happy birthday shoko my love 👏

[allie911]

just imagine being a teenager with a BIG EMBARRASSING CRUSH on kuroo tetsurou thinking you'd finally get to enjoy the springtime of your youth free from his charming loserboy clutches only for him to show up 6 months after graduation to say hi to his little sport team juniors .. i would be liable to commit a crime i think

[allie911]

Wait…can…can we hear more about Reader kissing Restaurant Bakugou in the walk in? Cause…that’s gotta make Bakugo feel some things, like…like damn he actually really does have feelings for Reader and it’s been a while since kissing someone felt like that….but also like now he is actually cheating on Cami and that’s gonna tear him up because he’s not that guy…

I am interested

im really torn on it!!!

he really thinks of reader as a friend, but everyone else knows he's head over heels... reader is soft and sweeet and he loves the way she lights up when he brings her a treat----

but would he even let her kiss him?

[allie911]

In all the movies, I found you - Oikawa Tooru x Reader

for @whisperofwonder

Was it the right person at the wrong time or the wrong person at the wrong time or could it have been the right time but still the wrong person or -

Thinking about it makes your head spin. 

Like having one too many drinks, or spinning too fast on the merry-go-round, or getting up too fast after not drinking enough.

If only you could take your past relationships and send them in for a study, get the results back like you do with your blood samples.

This one had not enough love, this one was too egoistic and this one was entirely your fault.

If only you could look back at it with a smile like your friends do.

"Remember when I dated that guy? I still have the bracelets he made for me. God, I was so cringy back then."

Oikawa never made you a bracelet. And if he had given you one you wouldn't have worn it, never quite sure if he even bought it himself. Too many of his gifts had been gifted to him before.

Chocolates made by his adoring fans, that really cute notebook you thought he got for you until it turned out he stole it from his sister because he had no money left that month, and the pair of earrings a girl had basically thrown at him after he complimented them.

Oikawa Tooru, the living ghost. The only human being able to haunt you and from the other side of the earth too.

Some days you wonder if you ever loved him. Or if it was just comfortable being with him.

Not that it was ever comfortable. Staying behind after class to walk home with him, pretending not to notice when all the girls fawn over him, getting roped into helping Iwaizumi when Tooru overdid it with training again.

Tooru.

How you hate that name.

It's one thing thinking about him by last name. Like he's just a guy from class you used to have a crush on.

The way you call Semi Semi and not Eita, even though you kissed in the girl's bathroom while everyone else was still sitting through the English exam. Because he's just a guy from College you'd rather forget, a guy you flirted with because he seemed the exact opposite of Tooru.

Only to turn out a setter who'd been left in the dust by his more talented junior. Maybe it's just you who's cursed to find those guys.

-

Go on a Blind Date, they said. It will be fun, they said.

Now you're sitting across from no one other than Iwaizumi Hajime, 28, athletic trainer, who's hiding his red face behind the menu.

"I didn't know it would be you," you tell him instead of choosing a wine because, of course, Iwaizumi would pick a fancy ass restaurant for a Blind Date.

"Sure, yeah, no..." He grumbles into his non-existent beard. "I should have... I should have asked."

"I'm sure your friends would have understood," you joke without humor. "Not that it's easy to find a girl in Japan that hasn't dated Oikawa yet."

Iwaizumi lowers his menu and you regret your words.

If anyone can read you like an open book, it's Hajime. Iwa-chan. Iwaizumi-kun.

Your mind transports you back to your first year at Seijoh and you're so glad it doesn't take you to graduation day for once, you let it happen.

-

"Who do you think is cute, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asks, his voice much too loud for lunch break. You can hear him all the way to where you're sitting. But you don't hear Iwaizumi's answer though you desperately wish for it.

He's cute. Quieter than his friend, though he gets angry easily. Yesterday he helped you carry books all the way to the teacher's lounge, not once breaking a sweat, his face red as he tried not to look at you.

If you could wish for something, you'd wish for him to like you.

Because Oikawa would only like you if you were popular or pretty or really cool and you don't think you're any of these things. But Iwaizumi reminds you of your favorite Ghibli films, of Kanta Ōgaki in "My Neighbour Totoro" or Seiji Amasawa in "Whispers of the Heart".

But Iwaizumi doesn't say who he thinks is cute. Instead, Oikawa calls your name, much too loud for the quiet room.

"I think she's cute," Oikawa says and you can feel eyes on you, wondering if anyone knows that you don't actually listen to music with those big headphones on. "I like girls with pigtails."

-

"Do you miss him?" Iwaizumi asks over forgotten menus and expensive tablecloths.

"Do you?" You ask back, never one to answer a question directly.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Mostly when I forget how annoying he could get."

You laugh, surprising yourself. "Yeah," you agree. He's like..." You try to think of a character you could compare him with but come up empty. "Maybe the Witch of the Waste?"

Iwaizumi laughs. "I don't think he'd like that comparison."

"Maybe not," you shrug. "But he deserves it for sure."

“I always thought he was more like Howl,” Iwaizumi admits. “He’s cocky and arrogant and everything else, but he cares, you know.”

You stare at him for a moment, left speechless. 

“Well,” you finally clear your throat. “He can be Howl if he wants to. I was just never his Sophie.”

-

Iwaizumi, ever the Gentleman, walks you all the way to your apartment.

“You know,” he admits against the cold of the night. “I used to think Oikawa only flirted with you because he thought I liked you.”

You snort. “That sounds like him.”

“It doesn’t,” Iwaizumi shakes his head. “He’s very loyal. He just hasn’t yet figured out how to love two things at the same time.”

“Volleyball and other people?” “Volleyball and you.”

His words cut your skin like a hot knife through butter and you wonder if he can see it, can see you bleeding out next to him on the sidewalk.

“It’s been ten years,” you tell him with a voice like sandpaper. “I think we’re both over this.”

“And yet you’re not.”

“You’re being mean, Iwaizumi.”

“You’re being a liar.”

You stare up at the streetlight above you and wish it to be a shooting star.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Believe?” He asks, like he’s not so sure himself. “Look, I’m not a Ghibli Mastermind like you, but maybe, just maybe, Oikawa needs help finding his heart too?”

You snort. “Oh, so you want me to feed him his fire heart and hope for the best? This is real life, Iwaizumi, not a fairy tale!”

“One more chance,” he disagrees, holding up his phone. “How about we post a picture?”

And though it can only mean heartbreak, you agree.

Maybe if you hurt him a little, you’ll hurt less.

- - -

The picture is a little bit blurry and not at all flattering and there’s not even a caption to begin with.

Tooru stares at it during breakfast, counts the rising number of likes, and waits for yours.

Did Iwa-chan not recognize you? Could he really, after all that time spent together?

Or is it not you and he’s hallucinating, seeing your face where it isn’t like in those first weeks after moving and after every single game.

“Find me in the future,” Sophie asks Howl and he wonders if you asked him that too, with your eyes instead of your lips, with your dreams instead of your words, when he left Japan for good.

But Tooru’s never dared to do it. Only in his dreams, only in the faces of other people, in the touch of women who aren’t you.

-

It’s midnight in Japan and midday in Argentina and he’s still not closer to any solution.

It must be you, Tooru’s sure of it, but who are you now?

Are you still the girl who sat on the edge of his bed, watching him as he watched Volleyball Matches, the quietest supporter he’s ever had?

Are you still a lexicon of Ghibli Movies, a mind that never tires to compare, to give birth to new stories?

Are you still in love with him like you used to be?

Were you even in love with him when he thought you were?

-

Tooru’s only ever dreamed of making it big, of playing Volleyball, of proving himself. 

At least until you slid your hand into his on the way home after training, rested your head on his shoulder as “Whispers of the Heart” played on his tiny Laptop Screen, as you kissed his cheek in the morning, waiting for the bus.

You’d opened a door in his heart without him knowing, a window to a world he’d never thought about.

One where he works a nine-to-five, takes the trash out before going to work, does the dishes while you cook. A life that looks so much like his parents it scares him a little, because what if he wanted that? What if he did that? What if he just gave up the first dream he ever thought about achieving?

Would you still love him if he was mundane?

-

There are no more pictures of you in Iwaizumi’s feed. 

No one with your name liked the post.

But after two weeks of stalking, he finds some guy called Akaashi whose girlfriend posts every single day, and there, sitting right next to someone he could care less about, are you.

Your hair color is different and you’re older than he ever knew you, but he can still find a home in your eyes, see memories reflected in your smile.

Tooru thinks of Sophie and Howl, of Seiji Amasawa and Shizuku Tsukishima, of all the stories you made him watch with your head on his shoulder and your hand in his.

It’s easy now to find your profile, but hard to watch the years pass by in nothing more than pictures. 

What he missed by leaving. 

And what did he gain but a feeling of homesickness?  A longing, not for a place, but a person.

-

Tooru carries you around for two more weeks, the thought of you, the memory.

He writes message after message only to delete them instead of sending them out, never once proud or sure about what he wants to say.

Because what right does he have to want you back?

What does he have to offer but a longing heart on the other side of the world?

He watches every Ghibli Movie he knows, hoping for inspiration to strike, a quote to fall into his lap.

He laments to Iwa-chan about it after he successfully figures out that you are not, in fact, dating.

“It’s not about the words, idiot!” Iwaizumi scolds him over the phone. “It’s about the effort. It’s always the same with you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, like you don’t remember trading autographs for bracelets because you did not want her to have some subpar present from you.”

“Excuse me, that was a great idea!”

“No, it wasn’t, dipshit! It just made you look like you didn’t give a crap.”

“But I did!”

“Well, how would she know?”

- - -

“I miss you.” 

Three words and not a single, damned emoji.

You stare at them for an hour and then some more, bite your lips bloody as you consider them.

Oikawa Tooru, Tooru-kun, the first and only guy you unironically called Darling…

Is that the chance Iwaizumi asked for? 

You could just not write back. 

You could just ignore him.

But you’re tired of being haunted and tired of being hurt and tired of loving someone years after he broke up.

You’re tired of lying to yourself too.

“I miss you too.”

[allie911]

urgh im suck a sucker for exes to lovers trope with atsumu ����

amnesia!au mixed in with exes to lovers for atsumu!!! the two of you split up and the public (and even your closest friends and family) don't know why — one day, the two of you are the cutest couple in the celebrity social scene and the next day, the two of you are pretending like the other doesn't exist. well, atsumu just avoids any mention of you like the plague & you do the same for him, and when questions about the other are unavoidable, the two of you decide to just pretend to not know each other. when you're asked "so remember that one time you dated a certain volleyball setter?" you return the interviewer's sly smile with a polite, confused head tilt and a "i've never watched volleyball a day in my life, what's a setter?"

except... you get amnesia. you finally got the biggest acting role of your whole entire career, your life, and... you get banged on the head and you have no idea what to do. you're struggling to stay in character, you can't remember your lines, and you actually forget that you're fucking famous to begin with. all you can remember is the one person you spent several months pretending to not know: atsumu.

in your line of work, it's hard to find people to trust. and while your memories are a bit foggy, he's the only clear thing that stands out to you. so, you drive to an address that you know by heart (the only address that keeps popping up in your mind) and you end up on his doorstep.

"hi. i'm [name]." you tell him awkwardly, the minute he swings open the door.

he's in his boxers and has an awful case of bedhead like he just woke up despite it being 1 in the afternoon.

"wow. you really did bang up your head, huh?"

[allie911]

"this moment, right now, is also volleyball." (2020)

[allie911]

hiii congrats on ur 1000 followers 🌟🌟

i will like to have a cup of latte and boba pls, on side note i’m allergy free ✨✨ and so is that guy over there. the tall guy with chocolate brown hair sitting at the corner of the store, he’s name is suna rintarou. do you mind passing the drinks to him? its on me 🫶🏻🫶🏻

hey, good to see you around! your order's up!

do you like girls? / suna rintarou x reader

ingredient(s): fluff + crack!! pre-timeskip! misunderstanding trope but in a good way, reader is a bassist because it works LOL

disclaimer(s): implied fem! reader but gn pronouns, suggestive but not like extended it's just the punchline

wc: ~1.0k

drink profile: lesbian panic, lesbian misunderstandings, lesbian confusion

"Really, Suna? Of all people, that one?"

"Don't call them that, asshole."

Forgetting that Miya Osamu, at the end of the day, is still Miya Atsumu's twin brother, was the biggest mistake of Suna Rintarou's life. He should have known that the two would share gossip amongst each other, but it had slipped his mind when he absentmindedly confided in Osamu about his recent infatuation. Now the two of them peek through the square window of the Inarizaki music room, fighting and clawing at each other for a view of the person behind the door. Suna watches, leaned against the wall on the other side of the hallway, glancing away at the twins as students and teachers alike pass by. Suna does not know who the twins are. He is not sure why they are fighting in front of the music room door. That is what he pretends to believe.

"...'Samu, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Osamu grunts, shoving Atsumu to the side and taking his spot. He pokes his head just high enough for his eyes to float above the window frame, but low enough to stay unnoticed. When he catches a glimpse of the person in the room, his head turns toward Suna, agonisingly slow.

"Suna, I think you're in love with a lesbian."

"Fuck you mean I'm in love with a lesbian? I would've known by now if they were, I see them in every other class."

"Oh, we mean they're into GIRLS kind of lesbian. What else do you think we mean dumbass?" Atsumu chimes in, taking another glance through the window. What a sight, Suna's infatuation is a manifestation of exactly what he cannot have. They manspread on their chair, wear clear nail polish on cleanly trimmed nails, silver rings on every finger, and most importantly of all, wink and click their tongue at another girl, who turns away giggling. If only Suna could see this, he would be shattered. Atsumu chooses to keep his silence this time.

Suna Rintarou is a great pretender, at least in front of the Miya twins, who just so happen to be awfully dense. He crosses his arms, and hugs them a little tighter against his chest, hooking one leg over the other as he leans further into the wall. He doesn't mind, of course not. After all, his infatuation could be fleeting, but your queerness is forever, at least you have an actual reason to be disinterested. That is what he wants the twins to think. But for the first time in his life, Suna Rintarou is punching the air for being born with a dick. Talk about fleeting attraction, this is all but that.

"Well, ain't that unfortunate then." That comes out more dejected that Suna intended for it to, and the twins swing around to face him, pity painted across their faces.

"Awwww Suna! Are you upset? Are you sad? It's okay, everyone ends up liking someone gay once in a whi- ow!" Osamu sends a chop into Atsumu's piss blonde hair, and receives a jab in the chest in return. "Cut it out 'Samu! Stop being a bitch!"

Neither of them notice the door swing open until it hits them in the side, and nearly knocks them over. When they regain their balance, they turn to see you halfway out the door, silver-clad fingers gripping at the handle. Suna's eyes dart towards the twins, and it's reminiscent of the time they ruined his new volleyball shoes during a petty catfight. A look of disdain. Contempt, even. Atsumu eyes Osamu, who nods frantically in return. Together, they run away.

"Is everything all good? Oh, hey Suna!" You chirp, watching the twins dash through the hall and up the stairs. "What's up? You need somethi-"

"Do you like women?" Suna blurts out, before slapping a hand on his mouth. Your eyes widen in disbelief. His face reddens in disbelief.

"Sorry?"

Clearing his throat, Suna hugs his arms around his waist, wiping his hand discretely on the fabric of his shirt that lies above his waist. There has to be a way out of this, he just isn't sure of what it is yet, or so he wants to think.

"...The twins wanted to know." Good segue! Suna pats himself on the back, until he sees the look on your face. Your eyes are squinted, head tilted ever so slightly and lips frowning in confusion.

"I'm not lesbian, if that's what you're asking. I would be open to any gender though..." You eye Suna up and down, and he isn't sure if it's a good sign, until you grin and shrug your shoulders at him. "...if I weren't already finding someone in particular attractive these days."

Something crashes behind you in the music room, and your head snaps to look back. The girl from before clumsily dismantles a drum set, and drops one of the cymbals on the floor. She's trying to be helpful, and you smile, but you're responsible for pack-up today.

"Oh well, I get why they'd think that though. Bass player, so I gotta keep the nails short." You turn back to see Suna, whose hands are beginning to get clammy on his shirt, and who hopes to God you don't question the blood that rushes to his face. Unfortunately for him, you take notice anyways. Fortunately for him, though, you choose not to push on.

"Ah. Got it." His feet shuffle, and he stands up straight again, finally separating from the wall.

"Cool? Cool. Okay, I'm gonna go and deal with that. I'll catch you later for lunch, Rin?" Suna swallows, nodding quietly. He isn't sure where the nickname came from, but he thinks he'd like to get used to it.

You retreat into the room, but not without shooting a wink and a click of your tongue in his direction, and Suna swears he can die right there. But not before he tracks Osamu and Atsumu Miya down, and forces them to apologise on their knees.

barista's note:

hope you liked it!! i had this idea because i saw a prompt about an osu player but i was like mmm no im not into osu player how about BASS LOLOL but i hope this was enough of both crack and fluff for you, dear customer! on the side i need loser suna because i just know he's a SLEAZE idc

tags: @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @catsoupki @akaakeis @hiraethwa @wyrcan @laughingfcx @bakery-anon @bailey-reeds @kongkhoi @kuroppiii

ok love u all bye bye i need my rest after english paper 1 and 2

[allie911]

from Sabrina the Teenage Witch 🔮Support me on PATREON 🪄

[allie911]

Graduation

[allie911]

wanting was enough (for me, it was enough) ; atsumu miya.

Atsumu Miya’s never been that great of a speaker.

He’s too blunt with his words; tactless, too. He says the wrong thing at the wrong time, and his jokes fall flat more often than they get laughs, and the only reason why he has so many fangirls is because they’re too busy staring at his face and his body to really focus on how he can’t flirt for shit.

It’s never really been a problem; maybe his mouth’s gotten him into more fights than he would’ve gotten involved in had he not said something stupid, and maybe his publicist wouldn’t be stressed out if he knew how to properly convey his thoughts on Twitter without toeing the dangerous line of saying something either controversial or just downright rude, risking his reputation all over 140 characters.

It’s never been a problem then, but it’s a problem now.

Now being the moment where he first meets you.

You’re looking for Bokuto. He can answer honestly, simply. Tell you that Bokuto’s in the locker room, probably showing off whatever patterned boxers he’s gonna be sporting when he gets out of practice (and then, Atsumu would probably make some attempt to be funny — ask you if you prefer guys who wear briefs or boxers, and no matter what you answer, he’ll go damn, I need to go buy some then). He can tell you that he doesn’t know, and then run back to the locker room to warn Bokuto that a (very pretty) businesswoman is looking for him. Then he thinks to himself, are you a businesswoman?

You look the part. Despite the sweltering heat of Japan’s harshest summer, you’re sporting a blazer, and he heard you coming before he even saw you, the click-clack of your heels meeting the freshly waxed court sounding like an omen.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring at you like an idiot before you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you know where I can meet with a Mr. Koutarou Bokuto? I’m supposed to be meeting with him in the next fifteen minutes, although it’s understandable if he isn’t ready yet since I did arrive before our scheduled time.”

He wants to say that no one has ever spoken so formally when in reference of Bokuto and that you really don’t have to call him sir since he’s pretty sure he’s got no more than three years on you, max. He also wants to mention that Mr. Koutarou Bokuto is probably comparing dick sizes with his teammates right now, and most likely forgot about your appointment. He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he looks at you, with your shiny MacBook clutched to your chest and those heels that really don’t do much to bridge the gap in height between you two, and he processes the speed at which you speak, as if you’re being timed on how fast you can talk, and all he can say is:

“Wow, you’re intense.”

And you blink at him, clearly caught off guard, your mouth only able to formulate one word:

“Okay.”

After that, you seemed to recover just fine from his statement, continuing to pester him about the whereabouts of Bokuto. Atsumu thinks you’re a lawyer. He tells you that, and by that time, you seem to anticipate that he says stupid shit because all you do is grin. You don’t even stop to gather your thoughts before explaining to him that no, you’re not a lawyer. Even when you’re done telling him that you’re an accountant working for the JVA, even when you’re done explaining to him just what exactly it is that you do, even when you spot Bokuto and you’re excusing yourself, telling him it was very nice speaking with you, Miya — even after all that, Atsumu still only has one thing to say.

“Wow, you’re intense.” He says it with more conviction this time, like the first time was just a subtle observation but this time — this time he knows it, could list specific examples and even write a thesis about you and your intensity. And you tell him, once again,

“Okay.”

But you say it with a smile on your face this time, like you know something he doesn’t. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about — yet.

But he knows a lot more about you when the two of you are seated in a booth together, pressed up against each other so closely that he can’t even exhale without having his shoulders brush against the fabric of your blazer. (Even when you’re clocked out, you still wear one, like it’s a part of you. He finds out that you wear one all the time in public out of fear that you’re going to run into a boss or some head and that you don’t ever want to make a bad impression. You told him this when he had ketchup stains on his wrinkled, sweaty jersey.) He keeps that cute okay of yours tucked safely in the back of his mind, convinced that it’s something Shakespearean.

You stand out. Not just because you’re wearing nothing but office clothes at a diner close to midnight, and not just because you’re the only girl present, surrounded by nothing but hulking figures clad in sweat-soaked jerseys. You stand out because in a booth full of professional athletes, where winning and being competitive are somewhat required traits for the job, you’re the one with the most intense aura. He notices (because he notices a lot about you, more than he wants to admit) how when you stare at someone, it’s like you’re studying them. How everyone’s scared to talk to you sometimes because they never know how you’re going to break apart and analyze their sentence. You don’t mean to throw back their words in their faces, but you don’t necessarily serve them back stacked up neatly and nicely on a silver platter.

The guys joke around, say that you’re like a robot. You give them a smile in return. He knows that smile (see, because he knows quite a bit about you now). He knows that that’s your fake one, the one you put up for clients. Technically, you didn’t even want to be here, but Atsumu invited — more like begged — you to show up, and for some odd reason, you agreed.

“I can’t believe you’re even friends with this guy,” Meian says to you, nodding to Atsumu. “Is he blackmailing you or somethin’?”

You give a genuine smile this time when you shake your head. “No. It’s something even worse.” When you beckon all his teammates to come closer, you have your elbows on the sticky diner table, leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially.

“I actually like him.”

The guys break out into laughter, and you lean back in your seat, seemingly happy that your joke (he doesn’t want it to be a joke — please don’t be a joke) had such a positive reaction.

He knows that it’s just in your nature, really, to constantly weigh the pros and cons of everything you do. You’re methodical with even the most mundane of tasks, down to making whole entire research papers on the best possible shampoo and conditioner combination for your hair. If you’re that insane when it comes to what you put on your head, you should be even more cautious about what comes out of your mouth. Even your jokes are carefully planned out in your head, with you factoring in the personalities of the people you’re with and figuring out the right time to say it. So, he wonders, what was the thought process you had whenever you told everyone you liked him?

He carries your confession home in the to-go box from the diner. It’s heavy, matching the American theme of burgers containing his weight in meat and fries slick with oil and grease. The two of you are walking together, and he wants to ask you, specifically, what did you mean when you told the team you liked me?

But it’s hardly the time for him to hand you over his own confession. It’s been a long time coming, he knows that much. He knows that you must know that there’s something behind his prolonged eye contact during casual conversations; how he coincidentally just so happens to be the preferred middleman when it comes to you needing to relay information to any members of his team. When he stares at you and you catch him (which happens often because he stares quite a bit), he wonders if you see the deep-rooted longing behind his eyes, a direct window to his subconscious where he buries all his feelings towards you (and at the top of that pile is your okay).

You’re perceptive, and so, when the two of you are truly alone, you pause.

“Atsumu? Is there something you want to talk about?”

You don’t beat around the bush, just like him. It’s funny how when you do it, you’re being efficient, but when he does it, he’s considered an asshole. He thinks it’s because you’re pretty, and therefore, you can get away with everything. He’s pretty sure that if he put on a blazer, he’d get more praise for his efficiency, too.

(In all actuality, people think you’re a bitch, too. He just has a habit of thinking everyone else is singing praises to you, like he does.)

He can’t confess now. Not when the only source of light is a dirty streetlamp and not the glow of the full moon. Not when he’s just got done being the butt of the joke for his teammates the whole entire night. Not when this is quite possibly the most unromantic location known to man because he’s pretty sure there’s a homeless guy staring at the two of you (or, more specifically, Atsumu’s to-go box).

You’re looking at him expectantly, and he swallows hard. He doesn’t say the right thing a lot, you know? Every time he opens up his mouth at a sports conference or during an interview, he knows either his teammates or his family or his fans and enemies alike are going to absolutely rip him to shreds. Verbally inept, he thinks that’s what it’s called, that that’s what he is.

He wants to say: he likes you, with or without the blazer. He thinks your jokes are funny, even when all your calculations and observations fail you and it ends up being misunderstood — that he thinks they’re especially funny when that happens. You’re pretty even after clocking out from a fourteen hour workday. You make him want to make metaphors about you, and write poems, and other dorky, romantic shit that he certainly can’t do — but he wants to, and shouldn’t that count for something at least?

“You’re right, it should count for something, at least.” You’re nodding, with a smile on your face that isn’t just for clients, that isn’t just for whenever his teammates get a laugh out of you — it’s a smile that you reserve especially for him. (He knows this because he’s seen you smile at other people before, and you don’t ever show your teeth around them.)

Oh. So. Looks like he said it out loud. He wonders if you can see the blush that’s creeping up from his neck to behind his ears to the apples of his cheeks. He probably looks very, very stupid right now. Even more stupid than when he fucking gawked at you and said you were a lawyer; definitely more stupid than whenever he had ketchup on his jersey.

But you’re still smiling at him, and he thinks that maybe, you might like very, very stupid.

“So…”

“So?” You cock an eyebrow. Every conversation is like a chess game with you. Sometimes, he can’t tell if you’re on the offense or defense, which makes it incredibly hard to know how best to talk to you.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re very intense.”

“What else d’you think?” You’re not running away, which is a good sign (to him). He’s starting to think that you are surprisingly softer than you let on, if the way you can’t stop smiling is any indication. It’s enough to give him a burst of confidence.

“Atsumu.”

“[Name].” He’s going to do it. He’s going to finally confess, and—

“I like you. As more than a friend.” You beat him to the punch, and he knows that you’ve been planning this out all along. He knows that you added in the clarifying phrase of more than a friend because he would have automatically jumped to the conclusion that there’s no possible way you could possibly feel the same way he does for you, and he can’t even be annoyed at you for stealing his spotlight, for confessing first, because he likes the way it sounds. The way you say his name, the way you confess to him in a slower speed than your normal talking one, as if you want to savor the sentence.

“Okay.” He says it with a smile on his face, the fattest fucking grin plastered on his features ‘til he feels like he’s a caricature of happiness. That okay of yours that he’s been holding onto is finally being handed back to its rightful owner, and for once in his life, Atsumu Miya thinks that maybe he is capable of saying the right thing sometimes.

[allie911]

[allie911]

JJK Fans when you ship a man with a woman:

[allie911]

okay so what we’re not going to do is villainize shoko.

jjk 261 spoilers, thoughts, and a brief analysis of shoko. (and touching on some sashisu stuff. more specifically the sash part.)

i see a lot of people bashing her for not having a reaction to the body swapping plan and that satoru was like ‘i’m mostly surprised shoko didn’t object’ SO. here’s what i’ve got to say.

shoko didn’t object because she was fully under the belief that satoru was going to win. that it wasn’t going to happen. it was literally the worst worst worst WORST case scenario. she had SO MUCH faith in satoru.

let’s rewind back to the shibuya arc. what we knew about shoko at that time regarding her use of cigarettes was that she had quit five years (iirc) prior to those events. her smoking habits literally revolve around satoru’s wellbeing.

mind you this was after she and yaga learned satoru had been sealed. she heard the news and immediately began smoking. why? because shoko is a person who masks her emotions and she does it well. she’s not the type of woman to break down in tears. she’s going to hide it and instead light up a cigarette.

we saw this with her interaction with suguru. she acted very nonchalant about his defection and the massacre he committed on the village and his parents. but when we fast forward ten years and go to jjk0, it’s made abundantly clear that she still cares about him. during the meeting where yaga declares they’re going to kill suguru — i’m pretty sure his words were ‘exorcise the curse that is geto suguru’ or something along those lines — shoko leaves. she flat out walks out. and during the night parade of 100 demons, we have a moment where see the most emotion out of shoko that we have for the majority of the series. she’s angry. she’s hurt. she has these thoughts of something along the lines of like ‘you sure made a mess for us’ regarding suguru. and it’s especially prominent because it’s the first time we’ve ever seen her like this and only time. the closest we get to seeing that again is during the sukuna fight.

she literally cares so much but she’s just emotionally constipated and doesn’t know how to show it 😭 it’s an issue both she and satoru have. they deflect. they mask. they move on and yet the carry it with them somewhere deep inside them.

so we go back forward to satoru and sukuna’s fight. where we do see emotion from shoko but what’s most important to note is the panels she’s in. when they focus on her, she’s either smoking a cigarette, lighting a cigarette up, or we see her surrounded by cigarette butts.

we see her genuinely fearful at this point. she had full confidence that satoru was going to win. that’s why she said ‘do what you want’ and didn’t object. because in her mind, it wouldn’t happen.

it’s very important to remember that sashisu, whether you see it in a romantic or platonic way, was a group that cared so fucking deeply for one another. their bonds were deep. their love for their found family was deep. it’s part of the reason why suguru defected in the end. which i can get it into but not at this time. but at the end of the day, sashisu had ass communication skills and failed to properly understand one another.

and that seems to continue on with the satoshoko side of that, which was left after suguru left. and after he died.

also, it’s really important to remember that shoko is not like satoru and suguru. she’s a healer. that’s it. that’s all she does. she doesn’t get to fight or be on the front lines like they do. she’s the one who gets to wait behind and wait until the damage is done to do her job. she’s been doing this since she was (probably) 15, maybe even younger since we don’t know her backstory. she’s going to be emotionally detached. also, keep in mind this page:

specifically her first piece of dialogue. ‘it’s more like we have to do it.’

and that’s the bottom line.

whew. this was rough. shoko ieiri you will always be loved by me.

[allie911]

i'm sure this has been done but i needed to contribute

[allie911]

“ there is no scientific evidence to suggest that our hair holds onto memory or trauma.”