𝙔𝙀π™ͺπ™£π™œ π™„π™™π™žπ™€π™© π™‹π™–π™§π™šπ™£π™©π™¨ β€”β€” At twenty-three, you were supposed to be worrying about university, careers, and where to go on the weekend. Instead, you’re married to Atsumu Miya, living in a beautiful house, and raising a three-month-old baby boy. Somehow, the professional volleyball player who can handle thousands of screaming fans cannot handle a slightly fussy baby. Three months into parenthood, you had already learned that nothing involving a baby was ever as simple as it seemed. A quick trip to the grocery store should have been easy. The list was short, the store was familiar, and Kotaro was safely tucked against Atsumu Miya’s chest in his baby carrier. There was absolutely no reason for anything to go wrong. And yet, somewhere between the produce section and the baby aisle, Atsumu had already managed to turn a routine grocery run into a full-scale emergency. πŸ“credits: @gasoline222 on C.AI

πŸ’¬ 128.9k

@jinajinara

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket hummed overhead, casting that particular sterile glow that makes everyone look slightly washed out. The cart sat stationary, Atsumu's dramatic swaying having come to a complete halt the moment Kotaro let out that tiny whimper.

By writing, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Policy