Seconds, Hours, Minutes, Days | Kenma K. 

yeah this actually happened like 100% canon

you: *sneezes*

iwaizumi: are you sick?? *gets you a tissue* i swear to GOD *gives you medicine* it's because you keep staying up LATE *prepares you a healthy meal* and you eat like SHIT *draws you a hot bath* you're ALWAYS on your computer *gives you a blanket* this CANNOT keep happening *tucks you in bed* ENOUGH IS ENOUGH *takes away your laptop* GO TO SLEEP

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi tended to avoid a number of things: germs, crowds, his teammates, and interviews. He preferred his life out of the limelight. When rumors spring up about his love life, keeping his fiancée a secret becomes a whole lot harder.

Chapter List

The Snake Den 

MSBY Black Jackals

Return to Tokyo

The Game

Post Match Interviews || Extra

A Late Night Encounter || Atsumu

Drinks with the Boys

Spring Qualifiers

Tokyo Rematch

Sponsors and Fangirls || Extra

Musubi Tower

Gold Digger

Breakfast at Tiffany’s

If She Had to Pick

The Final Game

BONUS: Paranoia || Kiyoto

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random sakusa headcannons

he loves wearing jewelry; necklaces and rings are a must. he prefers chunky (thick) silver over dainty pieces

enjoys photography- he even has his own camera

loves surprising you on dates. on your 6th month anniversary, he got you a charm bracelet. there were already a few there, but there was plenty of room for more to be added. everytime you’d go a special date, he would add a charm for to remember it

furthermore, he takes a picture before each outing and saves them to a folder in his phone. once he’s reached a couple year’s worth of photos, he prints them out and puts them into a journal, writing down small details of what happened on each date 🥲 i am love starved

likes scary movies and especially enjoys teasing others when they get scared. definitely finds them silly (especially 80s and 90s slasher films) 

SAKUSA LISTENS TO INDIE, ROCK AND CHILL POP MUSIC !!! BILLIE MARTEN, FRAN VISILIĆ (religiously, okay probably even seen him live), JUNODREAM, ST. VINCENT, SUMMER SALT, ALT-J 

his handwriting is so nice ? extremely neat and not too small ( it looks like he’s typed it but it's just that good)

the type to say he has nothing to wear but his closet is FULL OF CLOTHES

posts on social media like 5 times a year 

a dog person but if you got a cat he would bend over backwards for them

this man will put his pets before you. if he’s at an away game, expect him to facetime and demand to see his children. will straight up ignore your text for hours at a time and respond only asking if you fed his babies- i hate men 

his phone is so unorganized ??? istg it’s like he ignored the ios 14 update. even if you try and fix it, he somehow always messes it back up again

watched true crime shows religiously in high school (there was no motive for this one) 

[A/N]

i love that this progressively gets more chaotic as it goes on

anyways ! hope you enjoyed :) likes and reblogs are much appreciated ♡

listening to zelda music and it’s storming out— 2day is good

sugawara as your boyfriend

my brain is currently rotting bc of suga ! love him so much so i definitely went heavy in the simp department </3

the most chaotic person ever

everyone thinks he’s the sweetest but he annoys you for sport an actual menace

will pinch you just for fun 

definitely unplugged your phone charger while you were using it

then used it for his own phone :/

don’t try to get him back, i promise you’ll regret it (he always has something up his sleeve)

but he always makes up for it so maybe it’s not so bad

not true, he sabotaged your spotify wrapped by playing your least favorite artist when you weren’t around

pretty lowkey about your relationship. he doesn’t mind people knowing— but prefers not to share details

if you ask suga for help with your homework, he’ll either tease you or doodle on your arm

only serious 5% of the time

his favorite dates are game nights

arcades ? laser tag ? board games ? basically, anything where he can be competitive

please don’t ever play monopoly, he’s vicious and will kick your ass

will force you to get up early with him to be “productive” (rip night owls aka me)

koushi’s the type to ask to read you to sleep but wake you up every time you doze off because he has to “finish the job”

surprises you with little trinkets (a random bracelet he made, a charm he bought at a vendor, polaroid pictures from when he was younger)

somehow convinced you to get a pet with him

you now have 3 ferrets and 5 goldfish :’)

suga loves to go on long drives with you. doesn’t care who drives or where you’re going, he loves any time spent with you

you’ll be gone for a day and a half because he didn’t want to go home tbh same

will get a bunch of matching t-shirts when you guys go on roadtrips

hope you enjoyed :) likes and reblogs are much appreciated ♡

Luke Hillestad | Moth and Datura, 2023 | oil on hemp, 36 x 28 cm

@lukehillestad

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader genre: fluff, slice of life wc: 1.2k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There were a lot of things Sakusa wanted to do on his day off.

In fact, if one were to open the notes app on his phone, one would find a neatly compiled list of things he had planned in anticipation for this said day-off.

First on his list was to clean his apartment — his schedule is soon to be ridiculously packed with practices, games, interviews, and events, and who knows when he’ll get the next chance to tidy up his space?

Then, he thought, perhaps he could finally make a dent in the pile of books that were slowly accumulating dust on his night stand.

He even saw a movie he wanted to watch on some streaming service Komori downloaded into his TV. He read the reviews online, and it looked great.

Maybe he was gonna make himself a fancy snack. He might have gone to the grocery store to stock up on food and household items.

He had an entire day off — one that he wouldn’t be getting for maybe another three months, with season in full swing. He wants to make the most of it, and be productive.

So the last thing he ever wanted to do was to be sitting in a dusty waiting room of a dentist’s office, tapping his shoes impatiently on the linoleum floor. The reception attempted to usher him into a seat, but one look at the dark gray linen seats made him shake his head with vigor.

He’s been waiting for nearly forty five minutes, and the sharp scent of the antiseptics had started to singe his nose hairs. The TV that hung from the corner of the ceiling played the same news program in an endless loop, and no matter how many times he checked, his reception gave him zero bars.

Just as he was about to hang his head back and groan in frustration, the door into the exam rooms buzzed open, and a dental assistant peeps her head out, visibly sagging with relief at the sight of Sakusa.

“Are you Omi?” she asks Sakusa, and the black mask strapped across his face had successfully hidden the frown of irritation.

“That would be me,” he begrudgingly answers, and the young woman nodded before turning back inside.

As soon as the door opens, Sakusa nearly falls over in shock when the dental assistant emerges with you in a wheelchair, two ice packs wrapped against both sides of your cheeks with a white bandage tied with a bow neatly on top.

Though, that wasn’t the only part of your appearance that was jarring. He had thought you might be a little loopy, but he never expected for you to be wheeled out a sobbing, blubbering mess.

“Where’s Omi?” You said in between shaky breathes, your words muffled by the cotton that had been stuffed against your bleeding gums.

Keep reading

Note: got my hair done, had to self project lmao and then it got really long and sappy

[text logs of Y/N and Sunarin]:

You: so it’s almost the new semester

Suna: oh is it really?

You: 🙄💀 shut up

You: you know what I mean

Suna: is it time?

You: it’s time

“It’s time,” you’d said. Time for your pre-semester makeover. For reasons Suna has never pretended to understand, you insist on being the hottest person in the lecture hall, semester after semester - at least for the first week before you default to barely brushed hair and wearing his clothes every day.

It’s always something different, depending on your mood and budget. One year it was just your nails. Most years, it’s a haircut of some sort. One year, it was a few new outfits that made him forget how to breathe.

It’s time - and you refused to tell Rin what your makeover would be this semester. Until…

He hears his door open. It’s you, with his spare key, shouting, “Rin!” as soon as you shut and lock the door behind you. “Come look!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

With all the athleticism of a two year old, he sprints through the house on socked feet, slipping on his tiled floor and almost busting his head open in his rush to see his pretty girl. He’s been fantasizing about previous versions of you all day; poor guy is about to die because every version of you is the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. Every time.

There you are now, hair cut short, highlighted in bold colors. He remembers days gone by when you didn’t have confidence for any of this, hiding behind curtains of undyed, barely styled hair, but now you beam at him like you own the world. And you do. His world.

The sight of you stops him in his tracks. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck me. Baby, I’m going to have to learn boxing or something.” He scans all around your face, moving his head around to observe the way the color changes under the light.

Tipping your head, you tease, “Why’s that? Volleyball not enough of a workout for you?”

“Every year, you get prettier, and I have to fight off more suitors. Damn, you’re gorgeous.” He finally comes close enough to touch you, to drag his fingers through your hair. He kisses the top of your head, then your forehead, then…

You whisper, “You tease,” when he lingers millimeters from your lips. Hooking two fingers into his belt loops, you tug him forward. he stumbles a bit, straightens up away from your face, though the rest of him is closer than before. “Thank you.”

“…For?” He raises his eyebrows.

With a shrug, you respond. “For being you. For convincing me I’m pretty enough for… all this. And for loving my personality too. You know… You remember how I was when we started dating, and I only grew this much because you convinced me it was okay. Convinced me that I had to before you left me behind.”

“I would never leave you behind.” Rin sounds scandalized but the very thought.

“I know that now. But once I started looking for ways to be better for you, I found ways to be better for me too.”

There are no words to his response. Just soft, emotion-filled eyes and his hands creeping into the back pocket of your jeans. “Thank you. For looking this hot and still coming back to me every time.”

It’s not romantic, objectively speaking. But there’s a lot he’s said there without saying it. It’s in his tone, his stance, his eyes. It’s in every fiber of his being that doesn’t need words.

It’s, I love you. I’m proud of you. You can do whatever you want with me because I trust that it will only be good. I never want to lose you.

It’s a language the two of you are still developing, your own unreliable way of saying things without really saying them.

“Shut up, loser. Now get your hands out of my pockets and make me some dinner.”

“Is that any way to speak to your loving boyfriend?”

“It is when I’ve spent the last three hours in the salon. Come on, gimmie food.”

“So demanding.”

“Rin.”

“Yes, darling. Right away, darling.”

“…We can go for ice cream after this.”

“I have ice cream in the freezer.”

“Rin.”

“Yes ma’am, we’re going for ice cream after this. It’s a date. Me and the most beautiful woman in the universe.”

them as ways i’ve died in botw

this was so much fun to write ! i should have something longer out in a couple days ♡

atsumu - didn’t think you could take fall damage and jumped off the ledge after the opening cutscene

sugawara - blew himself up with a bomb arrow on death mountain

kenma - no deaths !!!! god gamer !!!! got 1 shotted by a lynel

bokuto - got struck by lightning :/

nishinoya - dropped a metal chest on himself

tendou - ran out of stamina while paragliding

yachi - tried to sneak into an enemy camp but whistled instead of crouching

aone - mud pool. that’s it.

oikawa - freaked out at his first guardian interaction and forgot the controls </3

hope you enjoyed ! :) likes and reblogs are much appreciated ♡

Message in a bottle

Summary: Suna says “I love you” again for the first time

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: ex-husband Suna and ex-wife reader; angst to fluff; Suna calls you a poop

Your first thought is: Suna.

Footsteps patter as you circle around your living room in a flourish of high knees and twirls. You end one phone call for another, squealing in your hand from the excitement. He answers you devotedly, expectedly.

“I got the job!”

“You got the job!”

“I got the job!”

“I knew you would!”

He matches your energy, triples the high, and makes all your insecurities disappear. This was a big promotion that skipped several rungs of the corporate ladder, far beyond your reach, but Suna vouched for you when you couldn’t.

It’s weird to be reminded of your value by an ex-husband. Your friends like to point it out whenever you mention him, as if ex-husband is an addendum to his name, but as the seasons cycled one over the other, so has your relationship.

You’ve done one full rotation from friends to lovers to strangers and to finally friends once more. By all means the transition wasn’t seamless and came with a learning curve quite steep, but the two of you are better off than even your first round of friendship.

“Let’s celebrate,” you offer without a second thought. “We should go out tonight. Fancy. I know we usually don’t do fancy but this deserves fancy!”

Where you expect immediate consent, Suna stutters instead. That cracked, almost yes shatters something in your chest. It could be your heart but maybe it’s a rib because it feels like you’ve lost your breath. You stop circling your living room to lean against a wall.

“Oh, are you busy?” 

He hesitates, a single inhale answering you instead of words and now you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration. The descent from your high is slow, agonizingly so, as you bend at the knee to slide down to the floor before hitting rock bottom.

“You could have—” just the sound of your morose tone makes you choke. The disappointment should be familiar. After signing the divorce papers, you made a new promise to yourself which was to stop expecting anything from him. Yet here you are, committed only to the same mistakes of relying on someone you shouldn’t.

Falling into Rintaro is obsessive, a swallow into the deep. He makes it easy when the candid words people keep like secrets slip smoothly through his lips.

Maybe if you’d loved him a little older, when you’d learned falling in love is an ideal but being in love is the process, maybe then it wouldn’t have taken a couple of mistakes to whittle away from the foundation of your relationship. Disappointments were tallied like grudges and eventually, you two separated not even a year into marriage.

It took years of estranged meetings, secluded conversations when somehow the two of you were left alone in a room, and a couple of awkward phone calls when neither of you knew of anyone else to be vulnerable to to be where you are now and find that balance again.

Here you are once more, with the scales tipped away from your favor.

“You could have just said that.”

“The accounting manager invited me to this company event. I didn’t plan on going, but she asked and—”

“Ayame?”

He pauses, “yeah.”

“You could have said her name. I’ve met Ayame.” She never worried you but the fact that Suna decided to hide that detail does now even when it shouldn’t.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re going with her?”

“Is that okay?”

The instinctual answer falls flat behind gritted teeth. You want to say of course as if you even have a right. Maybe your friends should suffix your name as a reminder too with ‘ex-wife.’

“Why are you asking me? You know it doesn’t matter what I say.”

He hums a displeased sound. It makes you wince because you’re not quite sure you have enough restraint in you if he decides to push any further.

Gratefully, he simply changes the subject. “I still want to celebrate with you. You should have your day. Let me take you out to that one place we always talk about but never go.”

“No, I’m—”

“You said you deserve it,” Suna reminds, “and I agree.”

“No, it’s okay. I—“

“Quit being weird. Say, ‘Rin?’” he over exaggerates in pitch to imitate you, possibly clutching imaginary pearls. “‘Did you just agree with me? Who is on the phone right now because you’re not my ex-husband.’ And then I’ll tell you I ate him like Kirby. Then you ask me who’s Kirby—“

“I know who Kirby is.”

Suna disagrees almost a little too quickly, “nah, you don’t know who Kirby is. You know who Kirby is?”

“Yes! I know who Kirby is.”

“Well I’ll tell you about him anyways and educate you on 1990s Nintendo lore for the next fifteen minutes.”

You force a chuckle for his sake only. It convinces him because one more time, he says, “let me take you out.”

Relenting is the only option because Suna knows how to pick and choose his battles.

You can finally hear the smile in his voice, another surge of ache filling your chest when he asks, “next week?”

Next week comes but you’ve already made the necessary steps to isolate yourself from a repeated mistake. The gaps between texts gradually grow longer until you’re confident to leave him on read. Sometimes you’d call him after work just to update him about your day, but instead you change out that piece of your routine for a compelling new podcast.

He allows you to let go in grace, a clean rip versus the tattered remains of your past marriage and it’s rewarding to witness the growth.

Suna doesn’t even argue when your response to him asking what time he should set the reservations is think i have a fever. can’t make it

You think you’ve outdone yourself, unexpectedly content on your quiet weekend. The floor feels smooth as you glide your toes along it, swept and polished from earlier. Your new candle is burning and your blanket’s delicately soft and warm from the dryer.

These are the hobbies of an ex-spouse, independently involved from their ex-lover. Suna is only a passing thought when you imagine his face when he receives your message but you carefully tuck him away. Somewhere special. Somewhere far.

Unfortunately, your phone, though, is in your palm. It rings with a call from Suna. His name erupts a mess in your chest that you thought you’d cleaned. You throw your phone to the side, shove it into the cracks of your sofa so that it may muffle the sound. He calls again, followed by a flurry of texts, and then another phone call. Then eventually, silence.

You exhale a breath of relief. It’s clear now, that you have to move on. It’s a peace you’ve come to terms with.

Peace that is shattered by someone banging on your door. It’s only ominous for a second, heart racing, until it is accompanied by your phone ringing once more.

Apprehension tremors into your fingers as they clumsily reach for the device.

“Thanks for answering the phone,” Suna grits, “now the door.”

“I’m sick!” you throw in a dry cough for good measure.

“August 16, 2015. We used that same excuse to bail on Atsumu when we woke up too late from a nap.” He pauses for your reply but you don’t even know what to say. “January 3, 2016 we did the same thing to Komori. We told him you had a fever, sent him a picture of you with a rag over your head–”

“You did not tell me that!”

“–and everything. And then you actually got sick two days later and you said you’d never do it again because of karma. I sent you the pics if you actually read my text messages. I’ve got the receipts. That’s our excuse so tell me why you are trying to use it on me.”

“I’m not using anything on you!” You sniffle exaggeratedly over the phone, “I’m sick. Stop yelling at a sick person.”

“Prove it.”

Your face twists at the incredulous request, “how am I supposed to do that? Do you want me to slide my used tissue under the door?”

Suna chuckles. He sounds less mad, “no. Send me a picture of your outfit.”

“What?”

“You have a sick fit.”

“A sick fit?” There’s deliberate pauses between each word, enunciating them so Suna can hear exactly how ridiculous he sounds.

“You wear that dumb hoodie you got from a souvenir shop in Harajuku because they have the thumb holes on the sleeve and always a pair of fuzzy socks.”

It’s impossible not to huff, “you don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” he whispers, “you’re my ex-wife, you poop. So open the door for your ex-husband.”

“Poopy ex-husband,” you say, finally softening.

Suna laughs, “sure. Poopy ex-husband.”

Breathing feels easier now, as if without your even knowing, Suna’s resolved everything. There’s comfort in the fear, companionship maybe. So you take steps back towards him and open the door.

His typical, sharp eyes dart up to you when you do, analyzing your expression with a rigid jaw then dropping to check your attire. He smirks slightly while pushing his way in.

“Called it,” he says, celebratory. “I knew you weren’t sick.”

You can’t help but point out the bag of takeout in his hands, “is that soup?”

He’s nonchalant when he says, “contingency planning. What if you were actually sick? I’d be a dick if I barged in here and I was wrong.”

“You’re a dick anyways.”

“Maybe,” Suna sets the food down on your small dining table. You take a step forward, planning to continue the banter but there’s an intensity when he turns around that stills you where you stand. You shift your weight to the heels of your feet to escape the brunt of his stare.

“But you’re a liar.” He articulates the final word with accusation but cracks at the end. If he weren’t your ex-husband, if you didn’t know what he looked like at the altar and in front of a notary public, then you would have overlooked it. He’s hurt, clear in the crumbled edges near his lips, and you’re the reason why.

His pain swallows you to him. You pull him into an embrace that crashes the both of you onto the ground. He knocks his head against your chair but he ignores it to pull you in. His palm presses to the back of your head, pushing you into his chest.

“You should have just told me,” Suna rushes to speak, as if this moment could be swept from him at any moment. “I would have never gone with Ayame if it bothered you.”

You shake your head. Doing so, you dip deeper into his neck, “that’s not it.”

“Then what was it?” Honesty ladens his statement. Accompanied by the rocking motion he’s got the both of you in, it seems like he really wants to know.

“I got scared.”

“Scared?”

“We haven’t been acting very divorcey lately and I guess it scared me.”

He hums as he sways you for a little while longer. You situate yourself against him by tucking your legs to your chest. He presses you closer.

“I can send you divorce memes in the morning,” Suna offers. “We can threeway a phone call with our lawyer for the hell of it.”

You giggle, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Good,” he says. Suna leans down to press against the top of your head. It feels too close to a kiss, a whisper of it. “I like what we have now.”

You concur with a nod into his chest, burrowing your face closer to him.

“I get to love you in a way I’ve never loved you,” your heart suspends in both anticipation and dread because he loves you. They’re words that you’d both thrown away into the ocean long before you even divorced and not even this slow kindling of your relationship, whatever this may be, has ever given either of you the confidence to say it again. He just has and the sound of it makes you tingle between your shoulders. There’s excitement but also fear because just as he’s said, it’s not the same.

You yearn for more, unsatisfied with the faded edges of affection. It’s easier now to admit to yourself that you love him too. Though you’re not sure you’re the same as him. You love him.  You love him the way you promised you always would.

“What,” you shuffle against his hold and perch your chin against his collar bone. Your nose lands near his pulse. He smells of memories – of Monday mornings and midday meltdowns. He smells of everything in the in between that you can’t quite wrap around where he begins and ends. You swallow before finishing your words carefully, “do you mean?”

Suna tilts his head toward you. Bangs frame sharp lines in front of his eyes but aren’t enough to mask the intensity in his gaze.

He looks at you like an altar, vowing, “like how I’m supposed to.”