Catch Me Making Out With Everyone (including Mak And Suna.) NO ONE IS SAVE AROUND ME

OMG HI IRIIISS I WAS SO BUSY LAST FEW DAYS I WANTED TO CHECK IN

HII NENSI i missed you sm. I hope you’re doing good 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

i’m going to need someone to help me out with my jjk ship names and other things PLA

Kuroo tetsurou in streetwear

NAGI SEISHIRO has a standard set of moves even when he’s asleep.

you found this out on accident one night as you were heading to bed, him already passed out while waiting for you.

he’s laid on his back, covers pulled up to his chest and toned arms resting above plush white as he very softly snores. it’s been tough on him lately with having to get up early and return late, he ends up succumbing to slumber much earlier than usual.

quietly settling into the empty spot next to him, you reach your hand out to rest on his, and to your surprise, he grabs it and rubs the most soothing of circles into your skin, a motion so fluid it’s like second nature.

he even turns over to fully drape himself over your figure, pulling you in close and gently humps into your clothed ass for a grand total of three times before mumbling intelligibly and pressing a kiss to the back of your head, all while unconscious and fully asleep.

shaking your head with a stifled laugh to not stir him awake, you let yourself melt into his hold, keeping a mental note on this new adorable discovery.

you later learn that he does this more often than you think, subconsciously.

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@ayatakanosstuff @cyxjz @irethepotato @mwezieclipze @mikiruie

© inloveinsickness. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

behind every writer who rarely posts is a writer who used to post daily

─ ✦ Itoshi Rin who can’t stop drawing you.

It’s all he does. He sits in class, and instead of looking out the window at the football field right outside the classroom like he used to, he sits focused, paying attention to every detail that makes you, you.

From the back of the classroom, his pencil moves effortlessly, sketching the outline of your figure as you sit in the front row. His sketchbook is filled with you laughing, talking with your friends, and doing trivial things, but his favorite to draw is when you're listening to music. Because he can actually see when you’re lost in the music. By the subtle shifts in your expression, the slight upturn of your lips when a more happy song plays, or the way your body stills when the music turns somber. He notices how your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook, your focus shifting between the melody and the words you scribble down.

Now his sketchbook is filled with drawings of you, only you. So of course he has to get a new one, a new small black notebook that he can carry around everywhere.

After another long day, he walked to the bookstore in the city. He searched for the same model notebook he had, but he couldn’t find it, so he went for the last possible solution: ask someone for help. He approached the register with heavy steps and asked an older woman if she could help him. She kindly told him that her eyesight wasn’t always what it used to be, so she asked for a younger worker to help, and it was you.

You worked at this bookshop?

With a smile, pretending not to recognize him, you gently grabbed the notebook from his limp hands. His fingers remained frozen, too shocked by your unexpected presence to react and before he could stop you, you flipped open the notebook. Intending to find the model's name inside, but by opening it, you saw all the drawings. All the drawings of you, sketches on every page, not an inch uncovered. Some sketches were intricate and detailed, others rough and hurried, yet unmistakably you in every stroke. Rin just stood rooted in place, his expression pale and unreadable, his wide eyes fixed on you as if time itself had stopped.

Then, something seemed to snap him out of his trance. Because without a word, he lunged forward, yanking the notebook from your hands with more force than both you and him expected, he turned abruptly, bolting out of the store before you could even process it.

wc: 392

cw: alcohol use, smoking

She’s drunk, sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor. The tips of Atsumu’s knees brush against hers. He has a dying lighter in his hands and a poorly rolled joint between his lips. He doesn’t get it lit until his fifth try. Her head spins.

She watches through half-closed eyes as Atsumu inhales, and then tilts his head back to blow smoke up towards his ceiling. The smell of it combines with his heavy cologne. Watching his hands grounds her.

“Here,” Atsumu says, and he lifts the joint towards her lips. He doesn’t wait for her response before he’s placing it between her lips, holding it delicately with two fingers. She inhales like she was told to, and Atsumu hums. “You look so pretty like that.”

There’s a delay in her head, and she doesn’t hear his words until she’s exhaling through her nose and Atsumu’s hand’s retracted. She feels dizzier than before.

Atsumu doesn’t say things like that to her. He shouldn’t. It makes her throat tighten up and her skin prickles. “Tsumu,” she drunkenly slurs, pulling her knees up to her chest, “don’t say things like that to me.”

“Yeah?” he says, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks. “Why not?”

She’s not drunk enough to feel embarrassed. She thinks that maybe she will be in the morning, when she remembers that this is real, and her words hold weight. “Cuz it makes me want to kiss you.”

Atsumu doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t say anything for so long that it makes her think that she made a mistake. Her eyes find the ground, and her cheeks grow hot.

“D’ya mean that?” he asks, voice suddenly lower.

Her eyes flash up to meet his. His eyes seem dark. He clenches his jaw and his Adam’s apple bobbles in his throat as he swallows. “Yeah,” she says lightly, afraid to be any louder than she is.

Atsumu grins, then. Slight and easy, and it makes her stomach flip. “You can kiss me in the morning, then, if you still mean it.”

She sleeps in his bed that night, limbs sprawled out and entangled in his. He keeps an arm over her chest and he snores in her ear. She tosses and turns but he doesn’t let her get an inch. When morning comes, Atsumu doesn’t let her forget.

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IT WOMT LET ME SEE IT OMG.

toji starts buying two of everything without realizing. two drinks, two sets of tableware, two seats on the plane. when you point it out, he simply shrugs. “it makes sense, since you’re always around.”

and it does. you are. somewhere along the way, yours and his stopped being two separate categories. things blended. bled. one toothbrush became two. one key became a spare. he didn’t assign you a drawer, but your clothes take up more space than his do.

now he’s sitting by the kitchen counter, lights dimmed, papers spread out in an unruly mess that makes sense only to him. his hair’s grayer at the temples and there’s a softness to his face that wasn’t there before — age, maybe. peace, possibly. or both.

you laugh and pad over barefoot, press a kiss to the faded scar on his mouth. his hand finds your waist like muscle memory, and you slide into his lap without thinking twice (pun intended).

he lets out a quiet “hnn” but doesn’t complain.

you sip your wine, let your head rest against his shoulder. “so,” you fix his glasses, perched on his nose like he’s fighting the idea of needing them.

“when do you plan on finally asking me out?”

he’s getting pudgy in the middle — not fat, just soft in the way you get when you find your person.

toji doesn’t look up. “it’s been twenty years.”

“and?”

“I do your taxes.”

there’s a candle burning, the cinnamon one you buy every fall. you don’t remember lighting it today. he often does it on his own these days, anyway.

you smile. “quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

“you want a title now or something?” he asks. grumbles, really. “after all this time?”

you fix his shirt. “I just think it’s funny. we’ve got a mortgage, joint bank account, and last week we agreed on baby names if it ends up looking like you.”

he grunts. “poor kid.”

“she’ll be cute. dumb, probably. but cute.”

“he.” “she.”

he chuckles, traces your ring finger between his thumbs. “you’re not getting a promposal, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

you lean in, nosing his cheek in the way that makes his knees weak. “there goes my big dream.”

you set your glass on the table beside his calculator. he’s warm, and he smells like soap and laundry and that one cologne he pretends not to like.

“you don’t even ask me for my logins anymore.”

he rolls his eyes. “don’t need to. you keep your passwords stupid.”

“they’re not stupid. they’re nostalgic.”

“TojiFan69 is not nostalgic.”

you squish his face between your hands, laughing when he scrunches it up in faux protest. “made that in high school before I even met you.”

“then it was prophetic. still fuckin’ stupid.”

now he’s muttering, something about deductions and charitable donations, and you slot yourself between his knees, hands resting on his shoulders. he doesn’t flinch. nor does he pause. only adjusts so you fit better against him, pecking you on the forehead in the way that makes your nose scrunch. revenge.

the calculator’s still blinking beside you, some half-finished total waiting for his attention, yet neither of you move. he glances down at you - now asleep - then back at the receipts, the gears turning.

in his mind, he’s already adding a third drink, a third set of tableware, and a third seat on the plane.

how does shoyo react to u wearing his clothes

first time: his brain breaks LOL. It was after he had come back from playing beach volleyball i was setting up dinner in his one of his many t-shirts that are ridiculous colors since i was doing my laundry and had nothing else to wear. He froze in his tracks after seeing me i was lwk confused and then he stuttered out about me wearing his shirt LMAO

now: he will purposely HIDE my house shirts/clothing so i can wear his he likes sharing his clothes with me it’s funny and vv cute