Rintarou Plays With A Bit Of Ribbon Left Strewn Across The Floor, Twirling It Around His Long, Lithe

HEY who’s following me …

ok but lazy makeouts with suna?? you and rin are sitting together and so close that suddenly you're kissing and rin doesn't even remember who started it because all he can think about is how pretty your sighs are and how sweet you tastes.. and then he's pulling you up onto his lap and running his hands down the curve of your back and your fingers are in his hair and your body is pressed up against him and all he want to do is stay there forever, kissing and worshipping you that makes your head spin.

trigun college!au where knives doesn't think you're good enough for vash, and hates how close the two of you seem to be getting as your friendship develops. so of course the obvious solution is to fuck you within an inch of your life on a semi-regular basis so that you don't get any ridiculous ideas about trying to date his little brother.

I could change him 🥺😌🥰

me: i got that dog in me 😤

said dog in me:

heart eyes.

Ramen

very vague sex, swearing

fake dating to lovers with osamu but there’s no big confession, u guys just end up in a commitment relationship, no words exchanged about it, just boom! ur in love and you don’t even remember it happening

maybe it started cuz there was this manager at his restaurant that would not leave him alone, and you two were pretty tight, maybe ur his college buddy or something. u swing by and he sees the girl and he’s like “can u do me a favour”

n ur like “what is it”

“can you lay one on me” and taps his cheek and makes a kissy noise.

ur like “bro why”

and he’s like “my manager won’t hop off my dick”

so u do and she goes over does the whole “i had no idea you guys were a thing 😆😆😆 how long when did this start???”

and he, committed to the bit, pulls you in by ur waist and goes “ah, a month now, always had a thing for this one since college” and ruffles your hair lovingly. you smile and lean into him and play the part perfectly.

fast forward a couple weeks, whenever you come in (which is often, that’s ur boy!) ur all cutesy and romantic n shit, even kissed on the lips once. he smacked ur ass in front of all the staff, which earned him an earful over text after you went home.

you’ve now developed cute pet names for each other thag started off as ironic but now you can’t drop them. you call him stuff like babe, my big strong man, sweetheart (alternatively sweetfart when you guys are alone), bb (pronounced like that) and he calls you stuff like babe, angel cakes, beautiful. it started off as only in front of his colleagues, but now he’ll whiz u texts at 8 pm like “hey angel cakes, got some left over udon from the shop if ur hungry” or “babe did you send me tik toks at 3am”

and now you don’t just huddle close with other people around, when you meet for coffee he’ll kick your feet under the table and give you hand a squeeze, and when you two have paid and left he’ll walk you back to your car with his arm around your waist. and before you hop into your car, you give him a tight hug and a peck on the lips.

fast forward a couple months now, it’s the staff christmas party, obviously hes gonna bring his girl!!! waitresses come up to u and tell you how jealous they are of you too, how they wish their bf looked at them that way, how they wish they could be that comfortable and in love with someone. you laugh and shake your head modestly, pretending like u don’t know that you two are absolutely perfect. you guys are getting real good at the charade... right?

He swings by and oh my god he is fine as hell. he’s in a fuckinh white button down that’s tight as hell on his big ass chest and shoulders, with them cute dress pants u helped him pick out for his.

you’re not looking too bad yourself. although he’s always let it be know he’s attracted to you, you look particularly cute in your little cropped sweater and that pretty little skirt. Your hair is beautiful (as usual, he’s not sure what you do it to get it so... pretty) and ur makeup makes him wanna grip your face and examine it for hours.

“Hey babe, hey guys, what are we talking about?”

wraps his big ass arm round ur shoulder n ur pussy is UNAPOLOGETICALLY pulsing.

“we were just talking about what a cute couple you two are mr.miya!”

He beams a bright calming smile and squeezes your shoulder, although before you know it his hand slipped down and gives your ass a little squeeze. the pussy pulses tenfold.

“aint we though?”

the party ends, and you’re not sure how it happens but you’re getting bent over his office desk and ploughed like a goddamn wheat field.

fucks u on the small sofa in the corner of his office, bounces u on his dick in his desk chair (his cleaner saw the stains and kept zip, hes real one), ate u out on the fuckinh kitchen counter (which is a fycking health and safety violation but hes horny and silly and it is his restaurant) (but like really?? ur bare ass was on the counter where he makes food and he has no problem?? alright), all moaning and groaning. when you guys are done, he asks if you want to stay the night at his. you take him up on that, and cuddle up close in his bed, too tired to do anything else, just watching a movie or two, you fall asleep on your sides with your back up against his chest and his arms wrapped protectively over you. and after that, you guys are literally inseparable.

It doesn’t fully set in you’re official until one day, about 7 months into the relationship, when a dude hits on you and you say

“ah, i’m sorry, i actually have a boyfriend”

the guy apologies and leaves and you’re left in utter shock, oh my god, you do have a boyfriend don’t you?

that is so weird, how did you not realise? i mean you definitely had feelings for him, and you knew he had feelings for you, and sure you fucked all the time, and yeah ok maybe you did meet his parents, but still. when did that happen?

you try to think back to when it all happened, but there was never an official thing, you guys just... got together out of no where.

When you swing by later that day, you break the shocking news to him.

“You didn’t realise we were boyfriend and girlfriend?”

his mouth is open in a look of confusion and concern.

“y/n it’s been 7 months”

“I know! it just didn’t fully sink, but we’re like, dating, you know? like actually dating, i’m committed right now. when did that happen?”

he scoffed, eyebrows still raised in judgement, and he came round the other side of the counter.

“i mean in my head, the day we got together was the day of the christmas party, that’s when we were official to me.”

He pulled you in by your waist, looking down into your face with a cocky smile.

“You think that’s just what i do with my friends?”

you rolled your eyes, suppressing the girly giggle in your throat.

“oh be quiet, i knew that we were dating, i just didn’t know, you know?”

“No.”

“Whatever. you’re my boyfriend, that’s all that matters.”

“And you’re my stupid little dumb dumb.”

“You can not be my boyfriend anymore if that’s what you want.”

He laughed and pulled you in tighter to him, smushing your cheeks against him.

“I hate you.”

he sighed, breathing your smell in.

“Love you too y/n.”

bitter ain't sweet

summary: Suna x F!Reader. a college fairytale in reverse

word count: 2.8k

cw: angst to fluff, [kuroo voice] stupid young people, hypothetical discussion of throwing up towards the end

a/n: one night i was so so miserable bc i just know suna is out there falling stupid in love with girls who don’t care about him and this was born

"Aren't you tired?" You say, amused, as a twenty-one-year-old Suna Rintarō stretches out his legs over the arm of your couch, his head resting in your lap.

"Nah," he shakes his head, his eyelids dropping shut and his muscles going limp when you thread your fingers through his hair. "I'm staying on that grind."

"Oh, aren’t you," you snort. He reaches up to flick your face, eyes still closed, and settles for waving his hand vaguely around in search of your face about five inches below it.

"Vulgar," he says. "Who's teaching you these things?"

"You."

"Ah. You shouldn't let me do that."

"Do what?" You cease petting his hair, and he wriggles petulantly upward, searching for your hand. You give in too easily and resume.

"Corrupt you," he says, all too happily. "Anyway, like I was saying, I can't decide where I should take her out Saturday."

With the subject change, you let your mind wander away from the man at hand. You pull your hands away from him, the only contact between the two of you the weight of his head in your lap, pressing against your stomach. He doesn't notice, too engrossed in parsing out his latest romantic encounter with his latest romantic interest.

You sigh and tip your head back as far as it can go. Oh, Rintarō. You've been long since corrupted, ruined for all men by one who falls asleep in his classes and passes them all anyway, who has a beautiful singing voice only so long as he's wasted, who takes you to movies and taught you to wait in the bathroom to watch a second one for free, whose glowing eyes see everything but you.

Rintarō doesn't have a type.

Sometimes she's tall, sometimes she's short, always she's enamored by him. He never really gets to know her that well before it's over.

He likes—adventure, likes flirting and fucking around, likes it when she does something he doesn't expect. Eventually, though, something has to shift. It can't be late-night driving and hot tub hickeys forever, as much as he wishes he could stay steady in the stream of change.

Sometimes he ends things. Sometimes she does. He's never really that cut up about it.

And there's always another girl.

Rintarō doesn’t want to break hearts; he’s not playing the dating field like it’s some kind of game. It’s just never... quite... right.

You’re right (and he knows you know it). He’s tired. He wants a cinematic story with a happy ending, in his own way, without frills or saccharine sweetness. He wants someone he won’t get tired of, someone who doesn’t idolize him, someone to love. Hands cold and blood pooling in his cheeks, Rintarō just wants.

You’re Rintarō’s best friend, one of his favorite people in the world; you make everything easy. Of course he’s sitting next to you, shoving popcorn in his mouth and staring at his television, when he figures it out.

“Your friend,” he says suddenly, interrupting the sopping, dramatic monologue of the man onscreen. “Your, ah, roommate.”

“What?” You glare at him, the tension of the scene broken.

“Is she single?”

Your expression shutters off. He’s never not been able to read your thoughts on your face. It’s disturbing. He’s not sure what he did wrong—his words, interrupting the movie, discussing her—but he wants to take it back.

“Yeah, she is.” You cock your head, still inviting an explanation. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop his momentum.

“Would you—do you think, uh—”

“She does hate you,” you say, dry to his ears. She hates him because she’s the one who checks in on you while he’s out, who watches you insist over and over again that you’re over him, who lets you lean on her when it all inevitably happens again. To Rintarō’s knowledge, she’s just a little ornery, someone who will fight for what she wants, someone whose next move he’ll never guess. “That might be a problem.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he waves it away, infuriatingly confident in his own subtle magnetism. “But only with your permission.”

“My permission.” You echo, sounding faraway. He’s handing you a big, round, waxy red apple here; watching your turmoil with serpentine eyes. Rintarō leans forward, takes one of your hands between both of his. The movie is long forgotten.

“Yeah. You’re my friend, and she’s yours. I don’t want to move forward with anything if it’ll make things weird between us.”

“Why would it make things weird between us?” You say, and he doesn’t have an answer, just a gut feeling. “Do what you want, Rintarō, don’t bother with what I think.”

“But I care what you think,” he says. “You’re right. Fucking around isn’t enough for me, anymore, you were right when you said I go after women I don’t really like. But I like her,” he says your name, and your heart feels overworked and suddenly you’re just exhausted. “I really do. I think I always have.”

You jerk your hand out of his. He jumps at the moment, at the outright fury that breaks over your face. His hands feel cold, again.

“If you care so much about what I think, then don’t,” you say, more bitterly than you want to. “Don’t ask her out, don’t try to convince her she’s the one. Don’t jump ship from dating women you don’t like to dating women who don’t like you.” You let out a broken laugh, and he’s not sure exactly where this is going but he’s sure it’s too late to salvage. “For the love of—do something good for yourself, Rintarō.”

You storm out, the blood rushing in your ears deafening his pleading, his desperate questions. He catches your wrist, and you look back at him with something awful in your face. The line between love and hate is thin. Your last words hang in the air like thunder rolling behind your lightning, and the echo sounds a lot like stop being selfish, Rintarō.

The door catches before it shuts, and Rintarō can’t bring himself to close it, ‘cause maybe you’ll come back. He sits down next to the opening and scrubs his hands over his face, through the strands of his hair. His head hurts. He feels sick. He fucked up.

You’re Rintarō’s literal girl next door, or you were, his freshman year in the dorms. Your assigned roommate was never home, and his was always kicking him out. He found a comfortable spot as the shade to your sunny disposition, spending countless afternoons dragging you outside to laze around on the green or pulling you out of the library to stock up on more poisonous energy drinks.

He’s selfish; he’s not stupid.

He's spent too many days almost lying across your dining table while you don an apron over your hoodie and shorts, whipping together incredible concoctions from a cookbook. He can't cook worth shit, but he loves to watch you do it, phone lifted in front of his face but eyes trained on you. He heckles you as you go. What do stiff peaks mean? That's dirty. I'm not eating this if the souffle comes out flat. How many syllables are in ratatouille, honey?

Every time, he says it's his favorite food in the world, right around the time you slide him a portion, because he knows he's an ass and he's sorry about it. And because you're amazing.

He knew that, too.

You have standards too high to ever want anything to do with him like that, know him too well to imagine that he could treat you like you deserve to be. At his bravest moments, he imagines that if he could prove to himself he could do it with another girl, one not as important as you, he could convince himself he could touch you without breaking.

At his most cowardly, he asks for favors you can't give.

Your laugh, that raw sound filled with anything but mirth, plays over in his mind and it feels like it’s sanding him down, tearing him into pieces. If Rintarō has nothing else going for him, he can make you laugh; he can bring the light into his sunshine girl’s face. It feels like he’s ruined that, too.

The ring of your doorbell is like a death knell. Once upon a time, when boys like Rintarō fucked over princesses like you, they would have been executed for their dishonor. Maybe he’ll go back to Hyōgo and ask Kita to bring back the old days.

There’s a scuffle behind the door; muffled words that he can’t understand.

“You shouldn’t!” He can hear your roommate say, frustrated and protective, and it hurts to think that she’s protecting you from him. He curls in on himself (further), wonders what he looks like in the fish-eye view of your door’s peephole. The stems of the flowers he’s holding crinkle in his grip.

Shit shit fuck you fucker, he thinks at himself.

The door opens a crack, and your eyes appear above the lock.

“What do you want,” calls your roommate, and his view of you disappears.

“Can you let me—” the sentence is aborted, but Rintarō can imagine your combination of hand gestures and mouthed words.

“Okay, okay,” she calls, and he’s more than a little relieved that she seems to be getting further away. He almost feels bad for it, too.

Mostly, though, all of his energy is focused towards feeling guilty about you. You pop the door open, leaning on it, and there’s not a smile on your face when you face him, just shadowy eyes and chapped lips.

“Hi,” you open the door for him, flannel pajama pants dragging on the floor, and he watches, eyes wide. “You wanna come in?”

He passes you the flowers, stammers through an explanation for them that doesn’t make any sense to his brain no matter how many words he adds on. You don’t say a word to help him, don’t complete his sentence to parse out his meaning, nothing. You just let him flail.

Eventually, he trails into defeated silence, and wishes he could be grateful that his own voice is no longer grating on his ears. It’s embittered by the way you take the flowers, expression unchanging, and turn, pretending to fluff them up and rearrange them.

He stares at your back, left open and vulnerable. You don’t have a reason to guard against him, he guesses, he left all his swords behind when he stabbed them through you today.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and glance halfway over your shoulder. Rintarō freezes.

“You should be free to date who you want. Or ask, anyway. Especially if that’s how you—how you feel.”

“No,” he says, and his tongue feels thick and gluey and stupid.

“Yes,” you argue. “I’m sorry I reacted—um. I let my f-f—” You can’t seem to finish the sentence, a long-held horror icing over your veins. Years of pining, collapsed into this one awful moment.

You drop your chin to your chest, stare down at the flowers. There’s an aphid crawling in one of the roses, descending into the heart of the bloom.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s like a full-body sigh to finally say it right. You turn, and he’s right there, and it’s so easy to lean your head on his chest and let his heartbeat calm you.

Except his pulse is hammering in allegro, faster even than yours, and you have to wonder why unflappable Rintarō seems on the verge of panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I lied.”

“About what?” You lift your head, and his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them, his mouth barely turned down.

“Not your roommate,” he mutters, and you nudge him.

“Can’t hear you.”

“I—shut up, this is hard, okay?” His voice has no anger in it, though, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your face, even as you brace yourself for god-knows-what. “I made a lot of mistakes. That were especially. Unfair. To you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say plainly. “Please, what the fuck?”

“I’m in love with you,” he says it like a curse, scrubbing his hands through his hair, eyes squeezed shut. You stand up, ramrod-straight, and he sways a little, practically unnoticeably, at the loss of your touch.

“You are not.” Your voice is firm but your eyes are watering. You want him out, you want him to go away. You want him not to use this, your most precious secret, against you. You want him to be better.

“I am,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

“That is,” you struggle for words, and that distorted laugh escapes you again. “That is cruel. That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious,” Rintarō says, desperate, hands out and palms up. “I love you."

"I'm going to be sick," and you might be joking, but your hands are clutched over your stomach like maybe you mean it.

"Please don't," he says, and the familiar warmth of his touch is a balm on your clammy cheek. "I made mistakes because I was scared. That you were too good for me, that I'd fuck you over, just like I ended up doing. You're right, I think, I knew I was dating girls I didn't like or who didn't like me and I thought I couldn't face that with you. I know it sounds stupid, really stupid, but it's true, Y/N, please."

Wiry strands of Rintarō's hair are sticking to his forehead, his lashes clumping together, his mouth wobbling. You hate how many minutes you've spent staring at that mouth, the shape memorized through quick, platonic swipes of your thumb across it to clear smeared crumbs, through taking advantage of his love of side-eyeing other people and leaving you free to stare. That's your undoing—the stupid tremble of his barely pink, bitten lips, the ones you've always wanted to kiss until all of his snarky nonchalance has melted right off him, the way you know Rintarō couldn't fake that expression if he wanted to.

"And my roommate?"

"I'm an asshole," he says, with none of the usual wryness he uses when he's being charmingly self-aware. "I couldn't face my feelings for the only girl I couldn't have so I asked for the closest thing to it."

Maybe he could have survived like that, chasing a forever that could have existed if he weren't heartstoppingly, achingly, crazy in love with you. He could have watched from a safe distance as you fell in love with someone else, could have distracted himself while the girl he wanted found someone who was better for her.

"You could have me, though," you say, frustrated. He shakes his head.

"Nobody should have you. Nobody deserves you. Should just feel lucky you let them hang out with you." You huff out a laugh, but he sounds dead serious. You remember, early on, you'd gone on a couple dates, and Rintarō had always been there, sprawled over your couch, yawning, tawny eyes narrowed. Don't drop your standards for these losers.

"You know this kind of thing doesn't foster trust," your hands cover his, and there's a hopeful glimmer in those eyes that makes his breath pick up. "Kind of an ominous start to a relationship."

"I'm not romantic." He's a little afraid of the effect the words will have, but he needs to be honest with you, with himself. Even when it's ugly. Example: "You threatened to puke on me when I told you I love you."

You turn your nose up in the air, joy leaking through your expression, and the rub of your thumb over the back of his hands feels like forgiveness. His teeth tug on his lower lip, exposing the scar where he'd once had a lip ring that had driven you into a fever for all the months he'd worn it. You know then: you have history with the fucking mouth he has on him, and you're not done with it. "It was deserved."

"The worst part is that I wouldn't mind." He'd just worry that it got in your hair, that you weren't feeling good. God, he loves you so much it's grossing him out. "Are we...okay?"

"We will be," you say, and kiss him, because you've been wanting to since he first hid in your room from the chaos of your floor's common area. And then you kiss him again because he's really good at it. And then one more time, to bite his lip and hear him pretend he didn't whine when you pulled away. "You shouldn't call yourself an asshole, you know. I don't like it when people shit talk the people I love."

"Mm, it was deserved," he grins. "But if you really want it—you should make me."

Link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-zinh-rebuild-her-life-and-achieve-her-dream

I was contacted personally by zinh in gaza to help her cause. She is so close to her initial goal! (39000/50000 as of 6/8)

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Zinh Rebuild Her Life and Achieve Her Dream, organized by Miranda Harris

My dear friend Zinh Dahdooh is asking for support to gather enough fun… Miranda Harris needs your support for Help Zinh Rebuild Her Life and

This is the initial costs are 50000, but with hopes and goals to cover each family member as you all know the extortiinate prices of crossing the border. goals to help evacuate the rest of her family, including her younger sibilings and mother. More details are on zinhs twitter. https://x.com/zinh_1?mx=2

https://x.com/zinh_1?mx=2

Her last GFM was frozen because of the amount of money withdrawn, but the problems are all cleared now. She manages her campaign herself and reaches out to a lot of people. We can pick up the slack and lessen her stress by spreading and engaging- like i said, repost away any version of this QR code or drawing. Please do help, or if you can’t, RB, or repost as you please.

Vetted by: 1) gazavetters verified on the list is (#89 ) 2) fiercynn verified on the list is (#22 ) 3) a-shade-of-blue Here and Here 4) 90-ghost Here 5) dlxxv-vetted-donations Here.

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.

Your support, no matter how small, could mean the world to us:

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A simple share of our story could connect us with someone who can help.

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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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