Kita Tries To Be So Normal About Learning He's Going To Be A Dad, But The Next Morning He's Feeding The

What’s a stereotypical food from ur culture that u absolutely love.

In case you didn’t know, I’m in love with Osamu Miya.

But I’m especially in love with the idea that Osamu Miya can, and does, look good doing absolutely anything. Be it from folding your laundry (seriously, he knows how to fold a bed sheet? God tier.) to tying a tie around his neck for a business meeting, even drying his hair from a shower is an absolute joy to witness him do, and your eyes merely glaze and follow his frame as he performs these tasks with you to only watch.

And boy, do you indeed love to watch him.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He snickers, his eyes fixating on yours through the mirror, massive paw carding back his now brushed, albeit still damp hair. You offer him a shrug and a smile, “just you… I’m always looking at you.”

When he bows his head to hide the blush and the smile that wants to spread over his face, he’s interrupted by your dramatic sigh, “can’t help but think how I could do so. Much. Better.”

His eyes, now glimmering with mischief, meet yours back in the mirror, and he gives you a sharp, overdone inhale through his nose before stalking towards you. “Is that right?” He hums, planting himself at the edge of the bed and biting his cheek. “Seven years together and you’ve had to live with that knowledge every day?” Before you can answer, a massive hand darts down to wrap around your ankle and drag you down the bed and have him stood between your legs, ignoring your screams and laughter of protest. “How have you ever lived such a life?”

“Osamu!” You scream, your legs tossing around his waist instinctively while his now free hands lace his fingers between yours before pinning them on either side of your head. You try to tug your arms down, but he’s got them exactly where he wants them, and he’s not letting them go.

“You poor, poor thing, didn’t your friends warn you about that before we got together?” He peppers your neck and ears with bites and kisses to make you squeak and laugh at the ticklish feeling, your heels drumming against his lower back. “S-Stoppit!” You scold as sternly as you can despite your laughter.

“Oh, what, don’t want some absolute ogre so close to you?” He playfully starts to slam his hips upwards to bounce into yours, mimicking an all too familiar action and causing your body to bounce and shift upwards. Each slam of his hips against yours only makes a louder scream tumble past your lips, and your legs tighten around him. The bed creaks under you both, his mock thrusts showing a playful side of ‘Samu you’d always crave.

“O-Sam-u!” You laugh with each jounce of your frame. You finally tug your hands free and shove him back with all your might when he uses one of his newly free hands to skitter over your ribs. “I-I-I’m sorry!” You whine, arching as much as you can against his tickling and thrusting hips.

“For calling me ugly, or for insinuating you could do better?” He says, but his voice holds no annoyance or sadness, instead, it’s mingled with a smile that plants sweet kisses to your jawline once he stops his merciless punishment.

“You’re not ugly,” you sigh happily at the feeling of his lips over your skin, your arms tossing around his neck when you deem him pliant. “I just hate how handsome you are- gotta knock you down a peg once in a while.”

“And that seemed to work awesome for ya.” He snickers against your skin before wrapping his own arms around you, worming them between your body and the mattress to hold you impossibly closer.

“But hey… must be pretty handsome if I was able to score you, babe.”

You smile and scratch lovingly at his undercut, “must be.”

we love to see what your faves put as their contact name for you, but what do you put as the contact name for your faves??

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Dear Kind Soul,

Life has a way of testing us, and for me and my family, it’s been a test of survival. As we navigate the aftermath of a devastating war, our world has been reduced to uncertainty, cold nights, and endless struggles to find stability.

I’m Ghazi Al Amoudi, and I’m reaching out to you not for luxuries or dreams, but for the most basic human needs—safety, shelter, and hope for a better future.

Due to unforeseen issues, I had to pause my previous GoFundMe campaign and create a new one to ensure all support reaches us without any obstacles.

Here’s the previous link (now paused) And here’s the new link, where you can continue supporting us

Our goal remains €70,000. Thanks to incredible generosity, we’ve raised €3,957 so far—almost 6% of the way. But with €66,000 still needed, we have a long road ahead.

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Thank you for being a beacon of hope in our darkest moments. Together, we can turn despair into possibility.

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miya osamu x gn!reader. slight suggestive? samu being hot mostly. that’s all.

After hours at Onigiri Miya are always rather quiet.

It’s when all the employees clock out one by one, collect their things and finish up their duties before saying bye to the boss and heading out. And it’s when you always stop by to meet your boyfriend whenever you happen to be in the area during closing time.

(Which, granted, you find an excuse to be pretty frequently. But that’s not the point here).

The bell of the front door jingles as you let yourself in, meeting the last straggler of your boyfriend’s establishment just on their way out. He’s young, working to pay his way through college, Osamu told you. He has kind eyes and a sweet smile, a good kid.

“Hi,” he nods, moves to hold the door open as you finish walking through, points a thumb behind him. “Boss is in the back restocking, he wouldn’t let me stay to help.”

“Figures,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself. “He’s a bit stubborn.”

And the kid chuckles like he doesn’t want to agree because it’s his boss, but the knowing smile speaks volumes anyways. He gives a quick bow of his head, mutters a polite goodnight, then the bell’s jingling again and you’re left alone in the front of your boyfriend’s restaurant.

You toss your keys onto the counter and push past the little waist high door with your hip to venture to the back of the restaurant. It’s pretty clean, save for where Osamu seems to have flung his hat off by the sink and there’s a familiar black apron pooled in the floor that looks to have fallen off its hook. You collect them both and smile to yourself as you clean up after him.

That’s when you hear it, as you swing by his office to put up the overlay part of his uniform—the slight muffled grunts coming from the storage room. Right, he’s restocking. Lucky you.

And if you were anyone else, you might be annoyed. Because the nights where Osamu stays behind by himself to restock can get long—like right now, with the time pushing midnight when he’s normally snuggled up in your bed by eleven—but, you must argue, it does have its perks. Like him bringing home extra leftovers from the day to make it up to you for being late. Or him giving you sweet sleepy kisses as he plops himself on top of you as soon as he walks in.

Or, and this is arguably your favorite one, you getting to witness the sight of him like this.

Your teeth dig into the corner of your lip as you lean against the doorframe of the storage room, the grunts that lead you to him punching through the air again as you watch the muscles of Osamu’s back flex and release as he tosses a bag of rice under one of the shelves. His work shirt hugs him so nicely, tight across the broad expanse of his shoulders and snug around the definition of his arms. It gets a little baggy past the expanse of his chest, a little looser towards his waist, but it bunches up due to the back brace he has strapped on.

You remember when he got it, albeit begrudgingly as he came home one day shy to show you what he picked up on his run to the store. The faint flush to his cheeks as he mumbled about how he can’t move as easily as he used to, that all those years of volleyball aren’t doing him any good now. You’d just kissed his cheek, told him it wasn’t even a big deal, anything that would keep him from hurting himself.

And as you eye the way the brace squeezes around his waist, does well to accentuate the slight cinch there that’s gotten just a bit wider over the years but is still very nice, you can’t even attempt to fight off the slight swirl in your gut.

Oh yes, lucky you indeed.

“Woo,” you whistle as he straightens up to swipe his forehead with the back of his hand, chewing your cheek as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, baby.” And he’s breathless, and it shouldn’t sound so fucking attractive, as he turns to walk towards you. He places his hands on your waist, drops his head for a kiss and hums against your lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. Ya get cranky past eleven.”

“I get even crankier when my boyfriend isn’t in bed with me,” you retort, but there’s no malice in the confinement of the storage room, no tilt to your words. You kiss him again. “But getting to walk in on you like this isn’t so bad.”

Osamu laughs into your mouth, pulling back slightly when you try to loop your arms around his neck. He catches your wrist, kisses your palm.

“Ah, don’t get too close. I’m all sweaty,” he offers up with an apologetic grin, then tips his head with a scrunch of his nose when you roll your eyes. “I just have a few more bags to move, then we can get ya home and in bed.”

“Yeah,” you hum, but you don’t pull away. Instead you trail your hand down his chest, try to bite back your smirk at the way your boyfriend shivers a bit, until your fingertips reach the edge of the tight brace wrapped around his waist. “Guess I’ll just sit back and enjoy the view, hm?”

You give the brace a tug, do your best to swallow the giggle that threatens to slip at Osamu’s over exaggerated groan. His fingers give your waist a squeeze, a signature Miya pout being thrown in your direction.

“Yer evil,” he sulks, stares at you like he’s fighting some terrible inner battle, then grumbles under his breath as he surges forward to kiss you again. “Ya said you won’t pay attention to it.”

“No I said I wouldn’t make fun,” you correct, blow out a light laugh as Osamu pulls you flush against him while peppering kisses down your throat. “Not paying attention to it would be a crime when it makes you look so good.”

His lips pause on your throat. You swear you can feel the flush burning from his cheeks straight into your neck. You thread your fingers into the damp buzz of his undercut, run your nails over his scalp.

“It’s for back support,” he mumbles, low and soft. And maybe you are evil, truly, because the retort is quick from your lips.

“I could use some back support.”

Osamu stops breathing, you press into him a bit more, then suddenly you’re being moved over and pushed back onto the checklist desk by the wall. You can’t help the fit of giggles you fall into as your boyfriend nips at your neck, his fingers squeezing your sides in a mixture to tickle and also to drag you closer all while he berates you.

“Oh you’re gonna need back support by the time I get done with ya,” he chuckles, moves up to kiss you even as his lips curl in a grin and soil the action. He grabs one of your thighs, hooks your leg around his waist playfully. “So mean, comin’ in and distracting me when I’m trying to get work done. I’m busy, yanno. And you just wanna tease and—“

“Sir? Sorry, I think I left my apartment keys by the—“

Both yours and Osamu’s eyes widen, heads snapping to the doorway of the storage room. There stands the sweet, sweet boy from earlier, face going from pale to red to about seven different emotions all at once as he takes in the scene. Then he slaps a hand over his eyes almost comically, turns on his heel to retreat, shouting out sorry’s every step of the way as you and your boyfriend stare after him appalled.

Osamu scrambles after him, you scurry off the desk, and both of you internally curse that damn back brace and the power it holds over your heads.

this is incoherent n idc the point is osamu back brace supremacy goodnight.

I HAD A DREAM ABOUT KUROO

Polyamorous relationships were meant to be 3 bisexual men and one fujoshi or like 17 lesbians not one guy and his 6 girlfriends who can’t interact with eachother. Jesus said that it’s in the Bible

i took the color quiz and i got grey/black damn ig i’m cooler than i thought 😎

not me missing a man… i’m tweaking the fuck out

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