You Dare Overstep Your Mortal Authority ?!

thinkin bout boss!osamu who gets a little shy around you because he doesn’t want you to think he’s some creep who hired you just because he thinks you’re pretty (but god does he think you’re pretty). who stammers and tries to keep a polite distance and smiles soft and warm and helps you tie your apron when you ask (and has to internally scream at himself to make sure his fingers don’t linger at the small of your back longer than necessary). who lets you work whatever schedule you want and maybe gives you more free meals and bigger discounts than he originally planned for employees and makes you wait on him as he locks up so you don’t walk to your car alone at night. who is a good boss and a great man and totally, completely baffled when you ask him if it would be unprofessional to want to kiss your boss as you stand outside of onigiri miya after closing. (and who doesn’t even give you an answer, just fumbles to kiss you instantly, dropping his keys to lock up in the process).

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

hq captain squad from a fic called ‘In the Woods of Japan’ where a hiking trip goes terribly wrong :’)

date night

pairing: atsumu x f!reader

summary: atsumu forgets about date night :/

warnings: a lil sad but not too bad

word count 1.1k

notes: this was inspired by this audio lol

at first you thought that he was just running late––it happened sometimes, that's just how he was. but as you watched the time pass by ––ten minutes, then twenty... by the hour mark, you'd given up.

he forgot. he forgot about the date night that you both planned in advance, weeks ago. atsumu had been so busy for the past few months, you were so excited to just have one night to each other, one night to have him all to yourself.

you dressed up nice, putting on your fanciest, sexiest dress and heels, you took your time to get ready, knowing this was a special night, the first night you'd go out with your boyfriend in a while. and it didn't happen.

the reservation was an hour ago, and atsumu was two hours late. you were contemplating going to bed when the door burst open to reveal atsumu, panting, eyes frantic and apologetic. "baby fuck, i'm so sorry––" he practically ran towards you, throwing off his jacket and kicking off his shoes haphazardly.

he ran his hands through his hair, trying to give you a small smile but you wouldn't look at him, choosing to focus, or rather pretend to focus on the tv. "it completely slipped my mind honey, i promise i didn't mean to blow you off––not that that makes it better..."

he was met with silence and his shoulders sunk as he stepped towards you hesitantly, his feet dragging like a small child. "c'mon baby i would never do that to you on purpose, i mean...look at you, i––god i'm a fucking idiot."

you nodded subtly but he didn't comment on it, his eyes still trailing along your body. your dress fit you perfectly, it accentuated all your best features and your shoes––you rarely wore shoes like that, though they were sexy, he knew they also hurt like a bitch, so the fact that you wore those for him and he didn't even show up? he had a lot of making up to do.

"baby doll please look at me, let me see those gorgeous eyes so you can see how sorry i am." he cursed quietly to himself, looking around for some sort of answer. "please don't ignore me princess."

you kept your eyes trained forward, your tongue in your cheek as you tried to calm yourself down, the frustration and disappointment still lingering in your mind, making your body buzz. you sighed, "i don't know what you want from me, atsumu."

you could see from the corner of your eye that he was pouting dramatically, eyes wide. "wh––atsumu? what happened to baby? or bub?" he got on his knees in front of you and placed his hands on your thighs but you looked to the side, not wanting to give in.

you crossed your arms, your voice quiet when you spoke up again. "where were you?"

you noticed him hesitate and scratch the back of his head nervously. "i––well i was with the boys baby and––"

you nodded your head and he paused, scared that he'd said the wrong thing, he didn't want to mess up even more tonight. "but as soon as i remembered i came running home." you got up, and walked past him but he was quick to stand up and follow you. "but you love the boys don't you?" he was trying to make the situation better any way he could, thinking that maybe if he reminded you that you liked them, and even considered them your own friends, you wouldn't be as upset––shit logic, he knows.

you kept walking until you made it to your bedroom, "yeah i do, but they're always with you, tsumu." tsumu, that was better than his full name. you glanced over your shoulder briefly, the hurt look in your eyes stopping him in his tracks for a brief moment. "i just wanted to be with you, for once. i just––can't remember the last time we had a night to ourselves. i missed you." fuck.

you made your way in front of your vanity, looking in the mirror as you reached up to take out your earrings when atsumu's hand gently wrapped around your wrist in mid-air. "wait wait," he brought your hand up to his face and kissed your wrist, pressing his cheek into your palm. "i'm so sorry babygirl, please don't get undressed, you look too good to let all this go to waste. let me take you out, show you off–"

you shook your head, "it's late."

he felt like crying, "but––"

you shook your head again, letting your hand drop to your side. "i'm tired, babe." you reached for your earrings again and this time he didn't stop you, watching you put them away in your jewelry box.

you walked over to your side of the bed and sat down and atsumu dropped back down on his knees, reaching to take your heels off for you. "i'll make it up to you tomorrow––i'll blow off practice and you'll have me all to yourself all twenty-four hours, promise."

you appreciated the effort but sighed, both from his words and the feeling of his hands gently massaging their way from the heel to the ball of your foot. you hadn't actually walked with them so your feet weren't hurting, but you weren't going to reject the massage. "you can't just skip, you're on a professional team."

he moved onto the other foot, bringing it up to kiss your ankle. "sure i can, i just won't go." he was serious as ever, yet you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

you ran a hand through his hair and he smiled, content with the affection you were showing him. "you're really not gonna let this go, huh?"

he shook his head and kissed up one of your calves, his hand caressing the other. "of course not." he looked at you earnestly and you could tell he wasn't joking around. "i hurt my girl and i've gotta make it up to her." he leaned up on his knees between your legs and tilted his head up towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes. "kiss?"

you bit your lip and nodded, placing your hand on his cheeks to pull him in for a sweet kiss and he sighed, hands resting on your thighs. it wasn't like your usual passionate ones, it wasn't intense, it was short but meaningful, a reassurance. when you both pulled away, he looked at you, a warm gaze in his eyes. "i love you pretty girl, i will make this right, i swear."

𝟓:𝟒𝟕 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔.

you’re not too sure what time it is, but you know it’s early when osamu lays himself over you, head digging into your chest as he steals your warmth. you groan, wrapping your arms around him as you pull the blanket higher over your bodies.

“what time is it?”

“almost six,” he hums. it’s quiet for a moment, you seem to be drifting back to sleep, and osamu grins in victory against your shirt that all’s gone according to plan as he drifts off himself.

until you speak up.

“wait a second. aren’t you supposed to be on the couch?” his body freezes for a moment before he’s clutching onto you tightly while you’re trying to shove him off. “samu! get off!”

“no!”

“i’m serious, i’m still mad at you,” you huff. he frowns (though it’s more of a pout) and simply shakes his head.

“‘m not lettin’ go. ma back hurts. i’m cold too.”

“miya osamu—”

and before you can finish your sentence, there’s a soft bite at your chin that makes you stop.

“don’t call me by ma full name,” he grumbles, settling back down into your chest. “‘s rude.” he has the audacity to grab your hand and plop it into his hair too, gesturing at you to play with the dark brown strands.

“did you just bite me?”

“and what if i did?” comes his quiet mumble, voice muffled by your shirt.

last night wasn’t exactly a big fight, it was a petty one if the both of you were being honest, but osamu should’ve admitted he was wrong, and his attitude was what landed him a spot on the couch. and to his dismay, you seem to fall asleep much easier without his embrace than he does without yours.

“what do you—you bit me,” you repeat incredulously. you smack his shoulder when he snickers quietly at your shock.

“didn’t even hurt, ya drama queen.” and you want to keep your facade of being mad, you want to tell him to go back to the couch until you’ve deemed he’s earned his spot back, but something about the way he nuzzles into you and kisses your collarbone before trying to fall asleep makes you give in.

he’s stubborn, you’ve come to know this a tad bit too well, but he’s also gentle. he plants one more spoonful of dinner to your plate when you tell him to stop, he pulls the sun visor down for you when the light shines in your face as he drives, he wakes up and puts socks on your feet when they feel like icicles against his calves, and he’s the only person who easily forgives you for your own stubbornness too—every time, without fail.

so you wrap your arm tightly around him, stroking through his locks as you mumble “you’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“well, ‘s just the way i am, deal with it,” he mumbles back. and then you giggle, he laughs, you kiss his forehead, and he kisses your jaw—and you’re back to your usual routine, last night all forgotten.

“i love you,” you whisper.

“love ya too. and i also love yer cheeks, ‘m bitin’ them next.”

still firmly believe osamu’s love language is biting

no thoughts. just this post.

Bakugo: okay, since we’re living in dorms now, there’s some shit y’all need to know

Iida: it’s good of you to open up, Bakugo!

Bakugo: fuck off, I don’t mean me. I mean about Deku.

Uraraka: shouldn’t he tell us himself? It’s pretty rude to expose his secrets

Bakugo: these aren’t fucking secrets. They’re safety precautions.

Kirishima: so manly that you’re concerned about him!

Bakugo: I’m not. This warning is for *you*. If you don’t listen, it’s not my problem.

1-A, nervous: …

Bakugo: if you see him out of his room past midnight, do 👏 not 👏 approach 👏 him 👏 and call me immediately. I don’t care if I’m sleeping, wake me up and tell me where he is. Do not approach him.

Midoriya: this is a little dramatic Kacchan

Kaminari: I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?

Bakugo, grimacing: this little shit sleep-fights. It was bad enough when he didn’t use his quirk. I’m telling you for your own health. If you don’t want to spontaneously fucking die, do not interact.

Midoriya: it’s not as bad as it sounds.

Kaminari: I’m sure it’ll be fine dude

——————————One Week Later——————————

Bakugo: what did I tell you?

Kaminari: don’t approach him after midnight

Bakugo, turning to Kirishima: and what did he do?

Kirishima, sighing: approached him after midnight

Bakugo, to Midoriya: and what did YOU do?

Midoriya, tearing up: Detroit smashed him through a wall and destroyed the ground floor of the dorms

Bakugo, back to Kaminari: and where are you now

Kaminari, disturbed: in the hospital after briefly visiting god

🐇 🥦 vs class A

tobio day 🎉 in all the AUs i've drawn him in since 2015. here's to my favourite fictional boy of 6 years 💙

WORTH BEING SECOND BEST ♡ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader

ingredients? perhaps being “second best” and not having other people crowding him all the time had its perks. what’s it? fluff allergen warning/s? delves into iwaizumi’s insecurities and the stuff he doesn’t project outwardly so maybe he’s a lil ooc. sugar level? 2.3k regulars? @hanayanetwork @tahonet @tokyometronetwork​ parlor’s note? iwaizumi, along with eita who i can’t shut up about are so underrated ugh.

bon appetit!

iwaizumi’s been oikawa’s friend for more or less a good fifteen years now and as such, he’s come to the conclusion that there are pros and cons to holding the title of oikawa toru’s best friend.

the pros? one, toru’s entertaining. whether it be with his latest gossip that he may or may not have gotten from a fangirl who snitched on their friend just to gain his attention for a few measly seconds or him hitting himself in the head with the volleyball trying to better his serve, oikawa always knew how to make iwaizumi feel happy (and worried, but that’s just part of the Oikawa Toru’s Friend Experience, he reckons).

two, he’s genuine, even if it may not seem like that to some people. if he smirks at the rival team’s captain, telling him they’re gonna be the one headed to nationals, that’s what he’s planning to do. if he tells them to do their best, oikawa wants them to do their best as he’s aware that the competition will sharpen him to be better. if he thanks a fanboy for the cookies he’s baked for him, he’s actually thankful. while the fan may be thinking that this is his movie moment, that the oikawa toru is going to be his boyfriend and oikawa doesn’t really think much of the sweet gesture, he still actually appreciates it. besides, since after the breakup with his last girlfriend, oikawa wasn’t really into the dating scene during high school, much too focused on finally defeating and humiliating shiratorizawa or ushijima wakatoshi in general.

and three, the one he cherishes the most is how they’re like-minded people, both hardworking and studious. the brunette man never led him astray, never became a bad influence - at least not to the point of it becoming an issue - and never nagged him to just have fun. they both cared about their performances, polishing it to the best they can because like he said, talent is something to nurture and wisdom is something to hone. he probably wouldn’t be as good at his profession as he is now without oikawa, but that’s not something he’s going to tell the man. there’s no need for him to blow up his friend’s ego even more.

the cons? he wants to say there’s a lot, but to him, there really isn’t much of those. not subjectively speaking anyways. he loves oikawa, he’s his best friend and though he objectively had flaws, there weren’t flaws to hajime because it made him him.

that being said, there are still two the bugged him to death.

Keep reading

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if you like how a creator portrayed a character, tell them. if you like an idea they came up with, tell them. if you just like how they write in general, tell them.

i’m starting to see more and more of my mutuals and friends leave this platform because they don’t feel appreciated anymore and it’s sad because writing for an audience is so much fun but it isn’t fun when it starts to feel very manufactured.

you’ll get busy, no one is expecting you to be in someone’s notifications every day, but it’s nice to see familiar names from time to time.

(also adding, if you arent comfortable coming off anon: that’s ok! i love anon messages and i know it can be scary to send them at first but trust me when i say everyone who received a nice message from an anon will be overjoyed)

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