“trans People Are Defying Gods Will” “trans People Are Rejecting Biology” “trans People Are

some fun sex tropes:

laughing during sex

and/or things going wrong during sex that leads to laughter

sex on a countertop/tabletop/sink because we couldn’t wait to get somewhere with cushions

kissing to stay quiet

biting to stay quiet

one person meticulously doing something entirely for the other’s benefit without expectation or need of reciprocation

“wow i did not know that was A Thing for me until right now and i’m totally fine with that but for the love of god keep doing it”

someone straddling the other while they’re “trying to read” and slowly getting them to put the book away

“you’re only allowed to sit there and watch until i tell you otherwise”

kissing anywhere but the lips

alternatively, touching anywhere but where the person desperately wants to be touched

“we couldn’t find a condom so we’re getting each other off in other ways” sex

anything involving the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces

sex with clothes half on/panties still on

the pleasant misuse of ties

sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍; 𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

as you walk out of the door to go shopping with him, he pulls you back into the house and holds the door open for you. “i can be a gentleman and open the door for you.” whether that be a pouty claim or a cocky one, he won’t be letting you go through that door without him holding it for you.

sugawara, KUROO, BOKUTO, atsumu, SUNA, ushijima, lev, oikawa, MATSUKAWA

Keep reading

the hunt - frat boy!atsumu/f!reader (haikyuu!) tags: not NSFW but not NOT NSFW if that makes sense, inspired by this art by @/hlxtn, mentions of alcohol, typical frat party debauchery, college!au, greek system!au, reader is in a sorority, atsumu has a lip piercing and is a whore, making out, heavy petting, graphic depictions of graphic depictions, gratuitous headboard knocking, this atsumu makes me want to scream, word count 3k

The brief is simple: a scavenger hunt of sorts. 

It’s just a bit of friendly competition between you and your fellow sorority sisters, not unusual for the chapter president and the upper ranking sisters to orchestrate. At 8:00PM on the dot, everyone received a joint text message with a list of items to retrieve or tasks to complete to earn points—for tasks without a physical trophy, a simple photo as proof would do the trick—and once the clock strikes midnight, the participants who've managed to scavenge the most points would be the winners, and those with the lowest points would face a forfeit.

And finally, throughout the night there would be bonus points come up for grabs in the form of special challenges.

Like the one currently lighting up the screen of your phone. 

(11:00PM) INZ hookup - 100 points for a pledge, 500 points for pres, 250 points for everyone else. (11:00PM) Current ranking: 12/25. 1 hour remaining.

“How far are we from the Iota house?” you ask, leaning forward against the restraint of your seatbelt and gripping the headrest of the drivers seat in front of you.

“A couple blocks,” your friend (and fellow sorority sister) behind the wheel says in confusion, “why?”

You and a few of your closest friends had wandered out that night to amass points together. You were all doing pretty well, but according to the rankings that are sent out every half hour, none of you have even broken the top 10. 

And now there's only an hour left.

“Go there next,” you say decisively. 

“Are you nuts?” another sister smushed into the backseat with you squeaks, “hooking up with an Iota is…”

Practically a death sentence. At least socially. You all know it. 

To call the boys of the INZ frat run-through would be a disservice to the word. Their reputation among the other greeks is NOT one to be trifled with. The boys themselves, beyond being philandering, are more than a little rough around the edges. They’re known for starting fights (and finishing them) and save for their chapter president Kita, and a few standouts among the brothers, they’re not generally considered the shining gold standard of Greek Life. The Iotas are the direct cause of more than a few of the sanctions your university has imposed on the Greek system in recent years, even against Kita's best efforts to keep them in line. 

But still, that many points may just be too gleaming of an opportunity for you to pass up. 

There’s a party in full swing when you pull up to the INZ house, because it's a Friday night so of course there is.

“Do you see anyone else here?” you ask your friends as you step into the fray, raising your voice to be heard over the pulsating music rattling through the house. You’re all wearing shirts with your sorority’s greek letters on them, so any fellow sisters should be easy to spot, though you can’t make any out from where you stand near the door.

“No,” one of your friends says, pressing close to your back to avoid being run over by a few passing partygoers chasing after someone in a hoodie with a quart of rum tucked under his arm. “Hey, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Of course it’s not. But the last time you lost one of these little challenges you were stuck vacuuming the entire sorority house for two months, and you weren’t eager to experience it again. 

“How much time is left?” you ask, pulling your cellphone from your pocket. 

11:12 your screen reads.

“Around 45 minutes,” your friend confirms what you know to be true once you see the time on your screen. Your eyes scan the party, landing on a figure on the edge of the crowd in an INZ hoodie with a red solo cup in his hands.

And a terrible, horrible, perfect idea comes to mind. 

You unlock your phone.

'Claiming this task!' you type as you cross the party, leaving your friends behind. 

The President replies immediately to your claim.

(11:15PM) Which Iota? 

You send your answer without a second thought.

The boy in the INZ hoodie doesn’t see you coming as you sidle up beside him, so when you put a hand on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and crane up on your tiptoes to get close to his ear he stiffens slightly in surprise. 

“Hi,” you say into his ear to be heard over the music blaring through the crowded house, your fingers twisting into the material of his sleeve, “you don’t know me, but I really need a favour.”

And that’s how you end up in Atsumu Miya’s bedroom in the Iota Nu Zeta frat house, standing on he opposite side of the room as he sits perched on the edge of his bed.

“Yer tellin’ me ya want me to pretend to fuck ya?” he asks, a brow quirked under the band of his backwards cap. “All fer some… bet?”

“It’s not a bet,” you correct him (not for the first time), “it’s a scavenger hunt.”

“And I’m the thing yer huntin’?” he's teasing you now, and you know it. 

“It doesn’t have to be you,” you huff, your lips pursing, “and if you’re gonna keep wasting my time I can go ask—“

“Now wait a minute,” he interrupts you before you can even dangle the threat before him, “now that I know yer trying to cheat the system, whose t’say I don’t send a text of my own to that pretty little president of yours and tell her what yer schemin’?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you say, your nose crinkling up in irritation. 

Atsumu grins, and the piercing on his bottom lip catches in the light of the lamp that sits on the table between the two twin XL beds in the tiny, untidy room. You assume he shares it with his twin brother, though you really don’t have much to base that assumption other than the fact you know he has one. The room is a bit neater on the side Atsumu is not sitting on, so you infer that Osamu is also the tidier twin between the two of them. 

“Nah, I wouldn’t,” he laughs, “I kinda like seein’ ya play dirty.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You guys always seem so…” Atsumu goes on, waving his hand in the air vaguely. 

“Rule-abiding?” you offer. 

“Stuck up,” he corrects you. 

He’s not necessarily wrong for thinking it, even if it does irk you. Your sisterhood is one of the more reserved greek chapters on campus—elite even, if you dared to say it. Sure, the scavenger hunt you find yourself partaking in that evening might not seem it, but the fact of the matter is that you guys aren’t inherently morally superior to any of the other greek houses - you’re just better at not getting caught. 

Something that seems utterly beyond the Iota brothers. 

Which is exactly why you need it to be him.

“Are you gonna help me or not?” you finally ask, sighing warily. 

“What’s in it for me?” Atsumu counters your appeal. 

“I’ll give you all my precal notes ahead of the midterm next week.”

Atsumu furrows his brow. “We’re in the same precal class?” he asks. 

Your expression flattens. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” you grit out, “which you might know if you didn’t spend every class napping.”

“Wait…”—he purses his lips, eyes scanning over your face—“we have a midterm next week?” 

You feel something throb palpably behind your eyes. 

“Yes,” you manage to get out even though your jaw is clenched firmly shut. "God you're hopeless."

"Yer awfully rude for someone who's tryin' to use me fer my body," Atsumu says, smirking when he sees the way your expression shifts into one of even further annoyance at his taunt. He leans back on his bed, resting his weight on his elbows. “So, what do I have to do here?”

“Just… take your shirt off and take a picture with me in bed with you,” you say, though it physically pains you to say the words. To have to stoop so low.

He quirks a brow mischievously. “Oh, ’s that all?”

“And keep your hands to yourself,” you tack on pointedly.

Atsumu snorts, lifting his hands in innocence.

“You got it, princess.”

Just as Atsumu shifts his weight forward, and his hand reaches behind his neck to grab at the collar of his hoodie, your cellphone jingles. 

You reach for it, and see that it’s a message from the sorority president. You unlock the device to reveal the message.

It’s a picture of a door.

The very door you presently find yourself behind.

Another message pops up in the chat.

(11:29) Recruited a bit of backup! You’ve got a little crowd waiting for proof, just to be safe ;)

And then another.

(11:30) Current ranking: 15/25. 30 minutes remaining.

“Fuck,” you mutter, miserable at the turn of events - and your drop in the rankings.

“What’s wrong?” Atsumu asks. 

“There are people out there…” your voice drops quieter, your eyes flickering over to the door on the other side of the room. “Waiting for… proof.”

The information seems to process slowly in Atsumu’s brain, and his eyes widen as the facts click into place. 

“Ohhh…” he trails off. “They want a real show, huh?” 

“Sorry for dragging you into this,” you sigh, “it was stupid, just forget I-“ 

Atsumu catches your wrist in his hand, tugging you forward before you can step away towards the door in defeat. You peer down at him as you stand between his parted thighs, confused.

“I never said I couldn’t give ‘em one.”

Your face flushes.

“Don’t be stu-“

“I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he says, letting his grip on your wrist fall, “we just gotta get a bit more… creative about it ’s all.”

You chew on the corner of your lip. 

You really hate vacuuming. 

“Alright,” you muster your resolve, offering him your hand for a handshake.

“And ya owe me all your notes right up until the final,” Atsumu tacks on, just before he clasps your hand in his. 

You huff, closing the distance between your palms and taking his hand in a shake. You can’t help but notice how much larger his hand is than yours. 

“Fine, whatever.”

Atsumu is… frighteningly good at putting on a show. 

He turns out the lamp on his bedside table so there’s no light peeking out from the crack under the door, he turns on music like he’s trying (and failing) to drown out any possible noise that might make it out, and he rocks his sturdy bed frame into the wall in a steady, unmistakable rhythm. 

“Hey,” he grunts out on a particularly hard knock of the wooden frame against the wall, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Ya gotta make some noise, y’know. Yer gonna ruin my rep.”

“What do you mean?” you whisper back, still standing frozen just beside the bed, more than a little awkwardly. 

“Y’know, moan or whatever,” he hisses back. 

“I can’t do that!” you snap.

“Yeah fuckin’ right,” he mutters, and you have half a mind to smack him. But before you have the chance to, a strong arm circles your waist and pulls you down. 

You squeak in fright. “Atsumu!”

He has you pinned underneath his body before you know it, practically nose to nose with him, his hands returning to their place on the headboard to give it another knock against the wall. 

Your eyes have adjusted to the dimness in the room since he turned out the lamp, and you can make out his features even though it’s dark. He’s smirking, that little silver hoop at the edge of his lip caught between his teeth. 

“There ya go,” he snickers, “just like that.”

“You told me you’d keep your hands to yourself,” you mutter lowly.

“Sacrifices must be made,” he shrugs, and gives the headboard another loud, incriminating knock. 

It’s preposterous the situation you find yourself in, pinned underneath Atsumu god damn Miya of all people. Pretending to fuck him. 

How the hell did you end up here?

“Ow,” you complain quietly when a particularly rough knock makes the back of your head hit the headboard. 

“Shit, sorry,” Atsumu mutters. He slides an arm underneath your back. “Here.”

He grunts, flipping the two of you over so you’re straddling his waist and he’s the one against the headboard in his tiny little bed. His baseball cap falls off in the scuffle, leaving the strands of his blonde hair loose. 

“’S that better?” he asks. 

It’s not actually, because this feels a hell of a lot more compromising than it had a second before. 

“Ya just gotta push against the headboard like this,”—he takes your hands in his, guiding them up over his shoulders to grip the wooden bed frame, pressing them back until it knocks into the wall—“see?”

“Okay,” you murmur, still a little dazed from the sudden role reversal, repeating the motion. 

You go slower than he had as you get the hang of it, distracted by how close his face is to yours. How you can feel his breath against your mouth. 

It smells like spearmint gum and cheap beer. 

You lick your lips. 

“This more the pace you like?” Atsumu asks, smiling crookedly as he remarks on the tempo you’ve set, his hands settling on your waist. 

“Watch your hands,” you snap quietly, and his touch retreats as you stretch back as far as you can from him without losing your grip on the headboard. 

“You’re still bein’ pretty quiet,” Atsumu comments. “You really gonna make me do everything?” 

“What do you-“

“Ohhhh, fuck.”

Atsumu’s moan is so loud that it startles you, and you let go of the headboard to slap your hand over his mouth in surprise. He grunts a little as you pitch forward, your palm muffling the sound. 

“You tryin’ to win this thing or not?” he asks you pointedly once you pull your hand away. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, acutely aware of the fact you can feel the slickness of spit on your palm, “you just… surprised me.”

He hums. 

“I’d say we’ve probably sold it at this point anyway,” he says with a little sigh. “As long as we go back out there lookin’ a bit scruffy, no one’ll know.”

You chew on the inside of your mouth as you mull over his words. 

“What?” he asks, noticing your hesitation.

You swallow, reaching up and touching the side of your neck. 

“You should give me a hickey.”

Atsumu’s eyes go as wide as saucers. 

“Yer jokin’.”

You shake your head. “It’s like… incontrovertible proof right? It’s not like I could give myself one.”

His eyes search your face for any sign of deception. 

“Ya don’t seem like the type who’d let someone mark ya.”

“I’m not,” you say, suppressing a shiver as his pointer finger loops under the neckline of your t-shirt, tugging it gently to the side. “You seem like the type to leave marks, though.”

Atsumu leans forward and chuckles, his breath is warm against your throat.

“Yeah, guess I am.”

Atsumu’s mouth is hot as it descends upon your pulse point, lips closing around the skin.

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands tangling in the blonde’s hair without thinking as he sucks at the sensitive part of your neck. His own hands have settled on your waist, and this time you don’t tell him to remove them.

“Atsumu,” you whimper as his teeth scrape over the skin he’s been suckling against, making you dizzy.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your throat, his hands slipping up under the hem of your t-shirt where his fingertips meet skin.

You don’t say anything.

Atsumu flips you over, and this time there’s nothing deceptive about the way the headboard knocks into the wall. 

His hands are still up your shirt, his lips still on your neck, and your legs wrap themselves around his waist as you writhe against his bedsheets. 

“D’ya know why,”—Atsumu interrupts himself to drag his teeth along the edge of your jaw—“I was so shocked we’re in the same class?”

You shake your head minutely, your fingers twisted into the material of his hoodie over his chest. You watch his lips part in a smile, eyes fixed to that little piercing again.

“Because I’ve had a crush on ya since first year,” he murmurs, “and if I’d known ya were there, then I wouldn’t of been nappin’.”

Atsumu kisses you—finally—and you can’t help the sound that slips out of you at the feeling of his lips slotting against yours.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and beer.

His piercing presses gently into your lips as his part against yours, his tongue slipping forward to taste you too.

His hands grab at anything and everything they can reach. 

Somewhere distantly, you feel you’ve played right into his hand. You recognize that you weren’t the only one who had been scheming tonight.

On Atsumu’s floor, your discarded cellphone lights up with yet another missed message. 

(11:45PM) Proof received +250 points

(11:46PM) No idea you had it in you LOL

(12:00AM) Final ranking: 2nd place

You don’t see the texts until much, much later.

not joking I would kind of like to brutally murder whoever thought it was a good idea to take away clicking on a person’s name to see their reblog and make it borderline impossible to get to the original version of a post without spending ten minutes scrolling with ctrl f

semester is over so i’m a lil more free !! yap to me or ask about me!! i love music and funny things and i don’t like bad opinions! <3

idrk who’s active on here either…. my old mutuals kinda went super inactive but ya come chat!

i rly like tumblr format and i wanna chat sm so

wsg

The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI

The Verge

US Copyright Office wants to hear what people think about AI and copyright

People have until October 18th to comment.

American friends! The US Copyright Office (which we know exerts huuuge influence in how these things are treated elsewhere) wants to hear opinions on copyright and AI.

"The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI and copyright issues beginning August 30th as the agency figures out how to approach the subject."

We can assume that the opposing side will definitely be using all of their lobbying power towards widespread AI use, so this is a very good chance to let them know your thoughts on AI and how art and creative content of all kinds should be protected.

bf suna in pictures

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

cool kids

summary: Kunimi x Reader. "reader's the one simping hard for kunimi and kunimi's just like "😑😑😑" but secretly likes them too" as requested by an anon!

word count: 2k

cw: uhhh two swear words

a/n: tysm for the request!! hope i did your boy justice

You just think Kunimi is nice to look at.

His hair is straight and natural and never greasy or obviously gelled; it looks soft and shiny. He probably rinses with cold water. You like how dreamy his eyes are— they’re deepset and often narrowed into a lazy smirk, but they have a faraway quality to them that makes the gray-brown shade reminiscent of the misty moors you’ve read about in books and seen in movies. You like the lean muscle on his thin frame, the way you can feel how deceptively strong he is whenever he decides that you’re his makeshift pillow at school.

“Is this comfortable?” He asks, slumping over you, forcing you to wilt over your desk beneath him.

“Not at all,” you answer honestly. “Your elbows are pointy, ow ow ow—” you wriggle until it no longer feels like he’s pressing directly on a pressure point— “but by all means, keep crushing me.”

“Hmm, thanks,” he hums into your back. “Class was so boring today.”

“The teacher is still in the classroom, Kunimi,” you say, voice muffled as he tries his best to become dead weight. “He can hear you, because we’re still in the classroom, missing lunch.”

“Nah,” he says, but graciously gets off, standing next to your desk while you gather your things, then holds out a hand to help you up. You take it, and it’s more the feeling of his skin on yours that makes you wobble on your feet than anything else. Your heart beats fast in your chest as you follow him, although he’s already let go.

“Where are we going?” You say into his ear, over his shoulder. He gives no indication that he heard you, so you do it again, speeding up your pace so you’re walking in stride with him.

“Gotta get a spot on the rooftop before everyone else shows up,” he says offhandedly, dodging a group of people standing still in the hallway. Obnoxious, you know he’s probably thinking.

“Ooh, the rooftop?” You tease. “Planning a confession?” There’s a saying about how all the best jokes have a grain of truth in them. In this case, you’re joking with a silo of hope.

“Too corny,” he wrinkles his face up, casting a disgusted glare towards the students who walk by in pairs, joined hands swinging between them. “PDA is gross, you know.”

You grab his hand again, his lack of protest reassuring you.

“You’re just jealous because you’re single.”

“Not for too long, I hope,” he says, eyes sliding to your face. You blink and drop his hand.

“What? Who? What?”

Your questions go unanswered, his volleyball seniors choosing that moment to swarm him. You wait on the edges of the group, mind spinning as you consider who your friend— your crush— would be interested in. You’re pretty sure that the only person he spends more time with than you is Yūtarō, and from the way Kunimi speaks about his teammate, you know it’s not him. You hope that it’s you, considering that you’ve been flirting overtly with him since the festival last summer, since you’d developed feelings for him. He’s never rejected you directly, after all, only made general comments on the futility of love and romance and relationships. You blow out a breath.

“Hi, sorry,” a face you recognize as a girl in another first-year class bows her way through the group of volley-boys. She’s biting her lip, clearly nervous, clearly clutching a letter behind her back. She has the locker next to Kunimi’s, you recall. A sick feeling rises in your stomach while all the others make a path for her straight to Oikawa. She makes a turn just before she reaches the third-year. “Um, hi, Kunimi, do you, ah, have a moment?”

You can’t look. You pay attention instead to the third years, watching Iwaizumi clamp a hand over Oikawa’s mouth before he can coo over his junior’s first confession. While they struggle, you bite your lip hard, shoving your hands in your pockets, feeling suddenly too hot and too cold all over. You’re probably allergic to watching people you like get confessed to or something, and now you have a fever.

Unwillingly, your gaze slides back to Kunimi, who, for once, looks wide-eyed and surprised. The girl appears to have finished her part, and he looks frozen as his eyes dart to the other people around, then back to her, then away again. Finally, he lands on Oikawa, who appears to have escaped his friend’s grip and has a disturbingly wide smile on his face.

“...Fine,” Kunimi says, and you watch him walk behind her to the stairs.

“Ah, so cute,” Oikawa says, leaning on the wall and sticking his nose up, an air of great wisdom and experience surrounding him. “Young love is in bloom today!”

You don’t want to wait for Kunimi to get back, so you adjust your bag and start to walk away, blinking rapidly.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hear behind you, and then Iwaizumi is running up behind you, grabbing your shoulder. “Are you okay?” He sounds hesitant, and a little like he’s choking as he speaks.

“Yeah, of course I am,” your own voice sounds far off and too quiet for your words to be true. “Thank you for asking, Iwaizumi-san, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re crying,” he notes, and your eyes widen in alarm as your hands fly up to pat your cheeks, checking for wetness. “Well, not quite crying, but when Oikawa said that, your face, it kinda,” he gestures to his own. You look at him quizzically, unsure what he’s trying to mime. “...Crumpled?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah.” Both of you seem at a loss for words, then, but he walks with you all the way to the lunch stand and then he follows you to the back of the gym, where you sit with your knees curled up to your chest.

“Sorry you wasted your lunch period with me,” you mumble after twenty minutes of picking at your food.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone to wallow,” he says, mouth full of melon bun. “It’s bad for you.”

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” Your voice is watery, but you can feel the corners of your mouth lifting.

“For sure,” he tells you. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I guess,” you sigh, and look down. “I just really, really like him.”

“I get that,” Iwaizumi has a reputation for being loud and kind of rough, but his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you for staying with me, Iwaizumi-san,” you say, standing.

“No problem,” he smiles sympathetically at you. If Kunimi were here, he’d call it pity. You’d rather call it kindness.

The bell rings, and Iwaizumi bounds off around the corner.

“Sorry,” you hear him apologize to someone before his footsteps echo away. When you turn the corner yourself, you see— shiny hair, dark eyes, and a tall, narrow frame. One plus one plus one equals heartbreak.

“Y/N!” He says in greeting, then tilts his head upwards, seemingly searching for something to say.

You pause in front of him. “So?”

“So what?” He looks confused.

“The confession,” you say.

“Oh,” he says, straightening a little. “It was whatever. Look, I just wanted to tell you, uh…”

“Yes?” You say. You’re late for class. You’re not sure why you’re still standing here, face hot, waiting to hear whatever he has to say.

“Wait for me?” He asks, and you blink. You weren’t expecting that, of all things.

“Why?”

“I don’t,” he tucks his chin into his jacket collar, dark eyes resting on you warily, and despite yourself, you smile a little. “I don’t want to rush things, and I’m not— I don’t wanna mess up something I know’ll be good, okay? So just wait a little longer for me.”

“What about the, uh,” you swallow. “The girl who you were talking to earlier? I’m not waiting if you’re not.”

“Her?” He makes a grossed-out noise. “I rejected her. Why would I want anyone but you?”

The ‘12-’13 Seijoh VBC ten-year reunion is nothing short of chaotic.

You’re there because you joined (in the form of management) shortly after Iwaizumi sat with you during that fateful lunch period, and everyone else is there because playing volleyball with Oikawa apparently results in some kind of gravitational effect that keeps one circling him loosely forever. You, Kindaichi, and Kunimi huddle in a sort of commiserating bunch, even though the three of you have more than kept in touch over the years; where Oikawa is an Argentinian celebrity and Iwaizumi is well compensated for his career in athletic training, the former first years are barely out of undergrad, still working and suffering beneath the weight of recent student loans.

It’s Hanamaki who opens up the conversation, complaining about his recent bout of failed interviews, while Watari pats him on the back and Yahaba lists off places he could begin networking.

“What have you been doing?” You address Matsukawa, who is slumped on his elbows on the table, a slight smile on his features as he watches Hanamaki talk, formally.

“Me? Oh, I’m a mortician, or working towards it, anyway.”

“Of course you ask Mattsun first,” laughs Kindaichi. “You still think he’s ‘tall, dark, and handsome?’”

“No,” you groan, while the others at the table perk up considerably. “Don’t bring that up, please, I’m begging.”

“You had a crush on Mattsun?” Smirks Hanamaki, laying an arm across his shoulders.

“Not really!” You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “He was only the best looking of the third years, anyway.”

Oikawa makes a wounded noise, and Mattsun sticks his tongue out at him. Next to you, Kunimi lifts his glass and takes a long sip.

“Only the third years?” Asks Yahaba, raising his brows. Kindaichi grins. In your peripheral vision, you can see Kunimi drawing a line across his neck and mouthing shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Everyone knows that Y/N only had eyes for Kunimi, really,” Turnip-Head says anyway, and every head at the table swings toward your seatmate, who drops his hand and shuts his jaw with a click. "You were obvious!" He says in response to your embarrassed expression. He's not wrong, but you're still covering your eyes with your hands, peeking through the gaps.

“Do you have eyes? Why haven’t you changed your haircut?” Kunimi says, his voice bored. “Don’t you get tired of being called names because of it?”

Undeterred, Kindaichi takes another swig of beer and continues, nudging Kunimi hard, which only has the effect of pushing him into your side as he tries to escape his friend.

“He used to get jealous, after Y/N called Matsukawa-san hot, anyway,” Kindaichi adds. “He’d try harder in practice and everything.” There’s a chorus of oooohs around the table. Kunimi groans and drops his head onto your shoulder. You pat him reassuringly. His hair is soft.

“Kunimi has a crush,” Shido grins.

“It was a decade ago,” you feel the need to defend him.

“Yeah,” Kunimi says, sitting upright. There’s a scowl on his face, but his ears are subtly red.

“You should’ve said yes to dating back then,” Hanamaki butts in. “Then you wouldn’t be single now.”

“What do you mean I’m single now?” Kunimi arches an eyebrow. “That’s news to me.”

“Why didn’t you bring them, then?” Mattsun points at him. “That’s bad etiquette, you know.”

“Yeah, Akira,” you murmur affectionately, tucking his hair behind his ear. “You have bad etiquette.”

There’s a moment of silence as your former classmates look at you, then at Kunimi, then back at you. Then at both of you, holding hands under the table.

“You’re dating?” Yells Yahaba, standing up and swaying a little. General clamor ensues as you laugh and Kunimi brings your hands up to rest on the table, his eyes narrowly focused on Matsukawa, who seems happily oblivious as he knocks back more of his drink and attempts to rouse Makki into a thumb-wrestling match.

“He’s rubbed off on you,” Kindaichi tells you later, as you exit the restaurant. Kunimi drapes his jacket over you and rests his chin on your shoulder, putting his hands in your pants pockets.

“I hope so,” you smile softly. “Almost ten years together will do that to a person.”

On the way home, Akira asks you, almost sardonic (but you know he’s being genuine), "Was the wait worth it?"

You beam and kiss him, pulling him close by his shirt collar.

"Of course it was."

tagging: @crystal-lilac , @kohi-zeri