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idk how much more of the last of us show i can take
#[ 「 kai.stfu ! 」 ]#like yes i played the game#& yes ive cried every episode like i didn’t know what was gonna happen#fuck you#this show is evil
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i love talking to people in real life and being like “oh yeah i have instagram but i don’t really use it… i don’t have facebook or tiktok or anything like that either… idk i just don’t want to waste my life on social media, i prefer to live in the moment” and then i go home and spend 12 hours a day on tumblr
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roleplay
bartender suna x reader
You’re the one who comes in every Friday.
Approximately at the same time. Eight at night, when the club comes to life and the bar is at its busiest moment. You order the same thing—a lemon water—and you look around the room before leaving an hour after your arrival.
It always feels as if you’re on the quest for someone, your eyes darting around in a manner that is almost suspicious. It would be suspicious for most, he presumes, but Suna can’t find it in himself to care. Not when he has a dozen drunk customers to serve.
He doesn’t care, until the day you sit directly in front of him and ask for his number.
“Hello,” you say, and Suna notices the color of your eyes.
“Hi. Would you like your usual?”
“No,” your response comes quick, “I’d like to talk to you.”
“That’s not exactly in my pay grade.”
“You’ll make it work.”
He doesn’t care enough to argue, so he moves closer to you. It’s here where he notices the small wrinkles on your face—years of laughter and smiles have graced your face with such beautiful marks. He notices the scars on your hands, the birthmarks on your skin, and how your lips lean slightly to the left when you smile. (He’s never cared this much about someone else’s appearance. Maybe it’s just you. Maybe there’s a first time for everything.)
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Straight to the point. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only pure confidence and elegance to your speech.
“No.”
“Would you like a girlfriend?”
“I don’t care much about love.”
That makes you stop. He notices a slight twitch to your eye, and how your fingers tap against the table in deep contemplation.
“Maybe you haven’t been loved right.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re asking too many questions about a bartender you hardly know.”
“I could change that.”
He smiles. Typically, your persuasive attitude would annoy him. But there’s something about you, something so strong and captivating. He is simply a man at sea falling into the tune and tricks of a siren.
“You could. Or you could let me do my job.”
He’s playing hard to get. He knows it and you know it. He’s never been one to beat around the bush, but Suna Rintarou has never been desired and he wants to enjoy the chase.
You smile. He smirks. He has fallen for your tricks.
“You could do your job, or you could tell me what time your shift ends.”
“10 PM.”
Another smile. You’ve got him.
“I’ll wait for you.”
-
True to your word, you wait.
His eyes follow you whenever you move, a moth to a flame. He watches as your hands run over your face, when your fingers trace the worn-out scratches on the table, and when your eyes wander around the room.
He watches the clock till it’s time for him to leave, and you’re still seated pretty where he left you.
“Hello, stranger.”
“Hello, Rintarou.”
He smiles. He almost feels like jumping over the counter, but decency, dignity, and decorum stop him from acting like a fool in your presence.
“Did you wait for long?“ he asks, finally by your side.
“Only as long as I needed to.”
You place your hands on his cheeks. He warms at your touch, heart fluttering in ways he’s never felt before.
“You’re too cold.”
“It’s winter.”
You frown at his response, an action that leads him to dote on you further. He places his hands on your cheeks, squeezing the soft fat in his delicate hands.
“You know,” he starts, “you have got to stop acting like you don’t know me whenever you come over.”
You giggle, “where’s the fun in that? I like flirting with you.”
“Flirting or harassment?”
“It’s roleplay,” you’re quick to comment. “Strangers to lovers. It’s fun.”
A kiss is placed on your pouting lips.
“Sure it is, stranger.”
#[ ｢recs ☆｣]#i am levitating#he is simply a man at sea falling into the tune and tricks of a siren#WTF#this was so beautifully amazingly gorgeously#ty
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took a color of your love quiz
deep blue your love is the colour of warm nights, of starlit skies and of deep waters. your love is serious, everlasting. people value the deepness of it.
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i’m sick and daydreaming
“what’s wrong with you?”
you groan, pressing your head back into the pillow. you’d dragged it into the living room to make yourself a makeshift bed on the couch while you waited for bakugou to get home.
“don’t feel good,” you mumble quietly. your eyes are closed, but you can feel him glaring at you from his spot near the door.
a second passes and you flinch when you feel a rough hand press into your forehead—then both cheeks, your temples, your neck. you’d smile at his doting if you didn’t feel so awful.
“what doesn’t feel good?”
“stomach hurts…my head too. feel really tired.”
“fuckin’ idiot,” he snaps, but there’s no heat to it as he brushes your hair out of your face that’s just a little sweaty, “what’d you stay up for me for then?”
Keep reading
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miya osamu is a busy man.
even on days that the shop is closed, there’s always something to do, whether it’s prepping for the next day, or going over inventory. he’s used to rising early and sleeping late.
miya osamu, however, is also a little weak when it comes to you.
so when you’d asked the day before if he wanted to bake bread with you, he’d immediately said yes.
and sure, he has a laundry list of things that need to be done today - a leaky sink that needs to be looked at, a batch of umeboshi he’s supposed to start - but he just couldn’t tell you no. couldn’t even fathom the idea.
did he know anything about baking bread? absolutely not, but how hard could it be, really? it’s bread. if you’d asked him to help you bake and decorate a five tier wedding cake, he would have said yes.
and, no, it’s not because he has a crush on you or anything like stupid tsumu who can’t mind his own business claims. stupid tsumu who keeps calling him things like whipped and a simp. stupid tsumu who has never felt the touch of a woman, he’s sure.
it’s just because he wants to be nice (to you, at least), because you’re his friend.
his friend, whose company he always sought after whether it’s walking around with you at the grocery or just stopping by to help you change a bulb. whose smile makes him weak in the knees and whose simple texts almost always make him blush.
okay, so maybe you’re a good friend.
that’s all.
“samu! come in, come in,” you greet, ushering him inside.
you’re wearing an apron when you open the door to let him inside your apartment. it’s stained with beige fingerprints, and when you turn around to lead him into the kitchen, he sees you’ve tied the strings into a cute bow, sitting right atop the curve of your—
he immediately averts his gaze when you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, his cheeks burning. baking is supposed to be a platonic activity.
“i already did the first few steps,” you explain, flicking on your kitchen light. after washing his hands, osamu rests his elbows on your island countertop, watching with interest as you pull a bowl from the fridge. “i had to refrigerate the dough for twelve hours and didn’t want to make you wait around that long, so i did it overnight. now all we have to do is shape it, let it rest, then bake!”
osamu will always be a restaurant owner first and foremost, so there’s nothing he values more than an efficient kitchen. but he is a little offended that you think he wouldn’t want to be around you for twelve hours straight.
he’s so stuck in his own head that he doesn’t notice you rounding the island until you’re next to him, shoulders brushing. that split second of contact is enough to make him wish he were brave enough to grab you by the hips and pull you in to kiss—
“okay,” you start, pulling him from his thoughts before he can spiral. “before we split the dough, we need to stretch and fold it.”
“that looks easy enough,” he says as he watches you demonstrate the procedure.
“okay big strong man,” you scoff, patting his bicep. if you notice him flexing, you don’t mention it. “don’t whine when your arms are tired after the third or fourth set.”
osamu proceeds to stretch and fold the dough, pretending not to notice the way you watch him. obviously you’re very intent on making sure he follows your instructions, pulling yourself to sit atop the counter, swinging your legs as you tell him,
“you look really good when you’re doing that.”
osamu’s just died. he’s dead, and atsumu’s finally going to be able to say he’s ma’s favourite.
“samu, are you flustered? you’re flustered, aren’t you?” you hop off the counter, poking at his cheek until he catches your hand.
because he’s tired of pretending the two of you are just friends. and if he’s going to be stuck here for 10 more hours, he has to do something about it.
“‘m not flustered,” he mumbles.
you gaze up at him, wide-eyed as he backs you away from the kitchen, finally on the offensive. “h-hey, what are you doing? what about the bread?”
“didn’t come for the bread,” he tells you quietly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “i came here for you.”
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if youre trans and getting misgendered/deadnamed by your family during holiday gatherings im giving you a hug over the internet rn
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@ people who don't celebrate christmas and are currently having christmas shoved down their throats
i hope whatever holiday you celebrate is fun and well!! and if you don’t celebrate any holidays this time of year, i hope your day is nice anyways!
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google search for how to write for characters besides kei and suna
#[ 「 kai.stfu ! 」 ]#ive been on tumblr for almost a yr#and ive yet to write for anyone else#embarrassing
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DECEMBER 31ST ༝ TOJI FUSHIGURO .
toji was never the type for birthdays. his excitement dwindled down for each year that swung on by. usually, he’d just buy himself a mini cake or a dozen donuts from krispy kreme as a minor celebration but with you around this time, it seems his plans of another uneventful birthday had gone down the shitter.
since the first day of december, it was the nonstop tormenting of asking what he’d like to do for his birthday, what did he like to eat? did he want any gifts? you were so curious to know but was left with witty responses, simply shrugging off the idea of a plan.
but today was the day. his birthday. waking up this morning, toji expected an empty bedside. you had work and toji demanded various times for you not to take the day off. his eyes are barely open, sighing as he pats all around his bed, searching for his phone in hopes of sending you a good morning text.
however, though it’s never a major occurrence, there are a few things that toji didn’t expect this morning. one: to be burned by a liquid sitting on his vanity that causes him to seethe, “fuck,” he whispers to himself, sitting up from bed rather quickly. two: to see a note in your handwriting, ‘for when you wake up <3 let’s enjoy your day.’ three: a tray filled with breakfast items that were still suspiciously warm.
Keep reading
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older brother’s best friend suna is so annoying !!!
like you come home to find him lounging in the kitchen with a bag of chips and he shoots you a look, asking “what are you doing here?” and you’re stuck there flabbergasted because the last time you checked, YOU lived here!
or how he has absolutely no regard for your personal space. he’ll plop down next to you on the couch and spend exactly .23 seconds being normal before he’s laying his long ass body down across the length of the couch and shoving his feet all over your face.
somehow the even more infuriating breach of personal space than feet in the face is when he crowds up behind you in the kitchen during another one of your parents family dinners, leaning down — his head almost resting on your shoulder — to reach into the fridge that you’d been scouring. not so much as apologizing as he grabs a bottle of beer and leaves.
or when you’re both hanging out in your brother’s apartment one night in college — YOU’RE house sitting for him as he visits his girlfriend, you don’t know what suna’s excuse is — and you’re on the couch just flipping through tinder. suna pokes his head over your shoulder, encouraging you to swipe left on every guy that you see for various reasons. “too scrubby” “he’s lying about his height” “is that a fish”. until you stumble across his profile — it’s barely even that, just a picture of himself and a short bio + some details. and the two of you sit there silently for a second until you cough and laugh breathily, breaking the ice by telling him what a shitty photo he chose. (you close the app as you tease him, though he doesn’t miss how you don’t swipe.)
or when he gives you tickets to his game against MSBY, explaining them away like “i had some extra ones” “your brother said he couldn’t make it” “i know you’re busy with school, just wanted to get them off my hands”. but has the dumbest grin on his face when he sees you in the stands. and after EJP wins the match, he heads straight over to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders emphatically and preening about how “you came just to see me ?? you like me or something??”
(“that his girl?” washio asks, nodding to where you and suna stand by the edge of the gym. suna’s face is lit up like a christmas tree, and although you’re rolling your eyes at whatever he’s saying, your smile is no less wider.
komori opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again “i-“. closes it. and then he settles for a shrug. “don’t know, honestly.”)
will bug you at 2am over text with offers of gamepigeon and trips to the nearby 24hr ramen place because he knows you’re awake and whether it’s through text or in person, though you win at 8ball every time, he relishes every second of the time he can get with you.
who stands on the balcony of his apartment with you at 11:58pm, a new year’s eve party in full blast on the other side of the sliding glass doors. his suit jacket is tossed over your shoulders and there’s snow in his hair and yours. you clink your champagne glasses at 11:59 and as the clock reaches midnight you lean up on the tiptoes of your heels and kiss his cheek. “happy new year, rin.” who wraps an arm around your shoulder and tugs you to his side, kissing your temple. “happy new year, scrub.”
who avoids your brother’s knowing gaze when they’re out with their friends and someone asks who’s texting him — his phone having most of his attention that night as you give him your live reaction to the show you’re watching. he replies “no one, it’s nothing” and your brother’s eyes narrow a bit — teasingly, appraisingly, knowingly— and the weight of it hangs between them for the rest of the night, though neither of them breach the subject again.
brother’s best friend suna who goes abroad for the olympics. who visits you before he goes — your apartment a quick stop on the way to the airport. you make him a cup of coffee and talk about everything and nothing, and he can’t tear his eyes off of you. you ask him if you can drive him to the airport but he shrugs and sets his cup down, claiming he doesn’t want to be a bother.
whose hugs are usually so obnoxious — big, bone crushing things where he practically lifts you off your feet, his arms enveloping your entire body — but today he hugs you softly at your front door, his head resting on top of yours for a few moments before he pulls back and smiles down at you, his usual snark returning with a goodbye of “don’t burn the place down while i’m gone”.
who knew that you had long since exited the realm of just being his best friend’s little sister but doesn’t realize what exactly you are to him — what he wants to be to you — until he’s home again and the adrenaline has worn off. your brother drags him into the house for a welcome-back dinner and although he’s over the moon to see your father and mother again, as they are him, his eyes dart around, looking for you.
and when he hears your voice (calling out “who’s at the door?”) and sees you at the top of the staircase, his heart feels like it stops. it only jumpstarts when you’re in his arms suddenly, barreling down the stairs and throwing your own around his neck as you laugh.
and he knows.
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the difference between black reader fics and non-black reader fics is that us black authors make it known that y/n is black. most of us include that in our notes. as for the non-black readers, y’all swear up and down that y/n is neutral, but always describe y/n as white or someone with fair skin. if we being real, black reader fics are more neutral than the neutral fics y’all swear y’all write. with the exception of skin color and hair texture, the way we describe our reactions are more inclusive. (ex. skin feeling hot as suppose to cheeks turning red) if your fic is self-indulgent just say that. hell. make it an OC if you got to. but this y/n’s knuckles do not turn white. 🗿
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a/n: pretty self indulgent since i have exams every week and i wish someone told me these words. anyways, i guess ill be posting smts.
cw: use of 'girl' like twice so ig its fem reader. not proofread.
"give me a minute, i'm trying to rememberー"
"alright," nanami adjusts his glasses, eyes leaving the book spread on his lap to instead focus on your figure pacing around the living room as you desperately tried to shake your memory for the right answer to his question.
you stare at the carpet beneath you, eyes furrowed in frustration as you bring your hand to your mouth to nervously bite on the nails of your fingers before you hear a soft 'don't do that' from nanami and immediately hide your hand with a sheepish apology leaving you.
you can't remember the answer. face heating up from embarrassment you stop your walking and slowly turn to face nanami, eyes catching the way his head tilts to one side in interest(that was so cuteー), the room quiet as he waits for you to say something.
"you don't remember, do you?"
you groan in annoyance, rubbing your face with your palms roughly as you stomp your way back to the couch. removing the book from his lap you let yourself fall by his side, head not so gently hitting his stomach with a soft 'oof-' coming from him in response.
"sorry, kentoー"
"it's fine."
you feel one of his hands on your back, slowly rubbing soothing circles on the surface as his other hand finds a purpose in your hair, waving through it with gentle movements. the quietness of the living room along with the calming march of kento's steady breathing makes you want to fall asleep right there and now, but you just have so much to learn and go over... too much.
"you should get a little bit of rest, beloved," nanami mutters softly as if reading your mind, and you want to give into the temptation so bad yet the fear of failure makes you feel dizzy and anxious, further pushing back the thoughts of any rest.
you sit up, rubbing your eyes like a child, mumbling about how you still have tons of things to do, before kento pulls your fists away, clicking his tongue about how you are too harsh on yourself as he soothes the area around your eyes with his thumbs and you melt.
"i want you to sleep with me." he whispers, eyes locked with yours, distracting from the warmth that fills your chest at the worry waving through his features.
"but, 'namiー"
"no." he shushes you simply. standing up from the couch, he puts the book on the coffee table and then tugs you to follow him.
the bed feels softer than usual, always warmer with nanami wrapped around you. your body is slowly shutting down for the day but your brain still thinks with an unstoppable force pushing your thoughts further into a mess.
"i justー i don't want to fail, y'know?"
"i know you don't, darling," he presses his lips to your forehead, then to you cheek, pecking the skin couple of times before he gazes at you once again. "you won't fail, i'm sure. you are my smart girl."
you nod slowly, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling the way he presses you further onto himself.
"i won't fail, kento."
"good girl."
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This page supports BLACK WOMEN being loved, soft, happy, cherished, admired, uplifted, supported, respected, spoiled, and feminine.
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