The Sun Isn’t Out Yet, But There’s Blue City Lights Cascading From The Blinds Along Your Bedsheets,

osamu + “we’re fake dating! why did you tell them we were engaged?!” for @amarinthe thanks for requesting this! it's probably one of my favourite prompts

the moment you open your front door, you kind of regret it.

because while your totally hot neighbour is standing in your doorway in his dark jeans and fitted black t-shirt glory, you’re rocking shorts and an unreasonably large sweatshirt.

“osamu,” you blink, tugging the hem of your shirt down a little. “hey.”

“hey,” he replies with a smile that makes your knees weak, holding up a takeout bag. “i brought some onigiri home. wanna share?”

thinking about the instant ramen currently boiling on your stovetop, you couldn’t possibly refuse his offer (especially if it’s from miya osamu, whose very successful restaurant is quite literally across the street).

so you open your door wider, letting him step inside and slip his shoes off while you move into the kitchen, placing two plates on the counter.

“so, how was your day?” he asks, unpacking the setting two onigiri on each plate. “anything interesting happen?”

you slide into the stool next to him, swinging your legs lightly as you munch on happily on the food. “not particularly, you?”

“actually, yeah,” he starts, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair (you think it’s unfair, how good it still looks, even after spending all day smushed under a baseball cap). “my ma called today.”

“your ma?” you hum through a mouthful of salmon and rice. “what’d she say?”

he picks disinterestedly at the seaweed on his onigiri. “she, uh, asked that i visit home for dinner tomorrow night.”

“that’s sounds fun,” you start, pausing when he visibly grimaces. “unless it’s...not?”

“my brother’s bringin’ his girl again,” he shrugs. “and i know that means ma’s gonna be on my ass about why i’m not datin’.”

“yeah, i’ve had that conversation with my parents before,” you shudder, patting his shoulder in understanding. “the future, grandchildren, the passive-aggressive judgement from siblings. you should just call and say you’re sick.”

“can’t,” he sighs heavily. “i already cancelled twice. she may disown me if i skip a third time, or worse, show up at my place.”

it’d probably be funny, you think, seeing mama and brother miya across the hall, bugging osamu. “then maybe you should bring someone,” you suggest off-handedly. “just to keep them off your back a little. when was the last time you went on a date?”

when he doesn’t answer, your happy chewing slows, and you glance over at him. “jeez, that long ago? i thought you had more game than that, miya.”

a slow grin spread across his face when he meets your gaze. “last time i went out with someone was...four months ago, actually.”

“four months ago? that was around when we—” your eyes widen slightly, heat spreading to your cheeks. “oh. that...was not a date. that was a slightly intoxicated but very satisfying sexual exchange between friends.”

osamu chuckles, ducking his head a little and making those eyes at you (the ones that’d lured you into fucking him on your living room floor at two in the morning). “maybe don’t bring that up when ya meet my mom.”

“excuse me?” you laugh. “you cannot bring me home to meet your family.”

“why not?” he questions, looking genuinely confused. “you’re the one who suggested it. it’s just for one night anyway.”

“i just can’t!” you insist, looking at him incredulously. “i’d be nervous even if we were dating. what if they ask questions about--”

“i’ll give you free onigiri for a month.”

_____

“so, how did the two of you meet?” osamu’s mother asks as she pours you a generous glass of wine.

you freeze, blinking a few times. when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

(it’s funny how, on the hour-long drive to hyogo, the two of you hadn’t discussed any basic information about your relationship. instead, you’d spent your time debating the best taylor swift album and making fun of the other tenants in your building.)

you almost flinch when someone places a hand on the small of your back, but relax when osamu’s faint cologne meets your senses. “actually it was the day after she moved in next door,” he says. “i brought some onigiri over because she’d asked me that morning where the closest grocery store was so i figured…”

you smile fondly, recalling the day you’d run into him at the mailboxes, and he’d shown up a few hours later with food. he’d claimed they were just leftovers even though it was mid-afternoon.

“i can’t believe you remember that,” you murmur.

he hums quietly, gaze flicking over your face briefly. “i guess it’s just when i knew.”

you’re sure that your heart stutters in your chest. surely he’d stolen that from some cheesy romance flick?

“how long have you two been together?” his mother follows up with, glancing between the two of you expectantly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“eight months,” you say.

“almost a year,” osamu answers at the same time.

across from you, atsumu hides a smile behind his glass of water.

“i mean, who’s counting?” you laugh, quick to recover, reaching over to your ‘boyfriend’ blindly, meaning to pat his shoulder but instead catching him on the cheek. “time flies when you’re in love.”

you turn to stare at osamu when you feel him clasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, lips curling against them.

your stomach flutters a little at the gesture.

“‘tsumu,” he continues, redirecting the conversation. he rests your clasped hands on the table, thumb brushing the back of yours gently. “i thought you were bringing your girlfriend.”

“oh, she’s at her place doin’ some packing,” he answers easily. “she’s movin’ in next week.”

“that’s great news!” their mother beams, osamu’s hand tightening around yours as he blurts,

“yeah, well, we’re engaged!”

this time, you choke on your bite of chicken, almost hacking up a lung as you whip your head towards your neighbour/friend/fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé.

he shoots you a pleading gaze as he rubs firm circles on your back, and when you finally dislodge that traitorous piece of meat, you draw a slow breath and sigh. “babe, i thought we were going to wait until you made it official.” you lift your left hand, pointing at your empty ring finger before turning back to his mother and brother. “do you mind if we step away for a second?”

they both wave you off, and you snatch osamu’s wrist, dragging him out the back door, making sure it’s shut tight before you whisper-shout,

“we are fake dating! why would you tell them that we were engaged?”

he rubs his hands down his face, groaning. “i’m sorry, i panicked! it’s just that when atsumu mentioned moving in i got weirdly competitive because we’re twins—”

“so naturally you told your mother we were getting married? what’s next, atsumu mentions a joint bank account and you tell them that i’m pregnant?”

osamu lowers his hands to peek at you. “can i actually do that?”

“no! this is so not worth the free onigiri!” you growl, smacking him on the shoulder a few times, osamu yelling in protest.

(inside, atsumu and their mother peek out the kitchen window to watch the both of you, the latter murmuring, ‘definitely engaged.’)

_____

“you cannot tell that story in your toast,” you laugh, three years later with a very real engagement ring on your finger.

“why not?” osamu whines, completely invading your side of the bed to wrap his arms around you. “it’s how we got together, isn’t it?”

“by lying to your family.”

“soon to be your family,” he reminds you happily. “and i didn’t have to tell them you were pregnant.”

Being chief means you get two floofs.

HQ!Firemen and their floofs part 3.5 (because I have no self control)

part 1 | 2 | 3 |  4

You guys remember frat boy!osamu?

Well, you guys broke up.

It was stupid. You spent maybe half an hour yelling at each other. Just because Osamu wasn't like his frat brothers didn't mean he wasn't a frat brother, and fuck, you just wish he would say something to the dozens of girls who threw themselves at him daily. It hurts! How doesn't he get that?!?

After a couple of months, Atsumu begs to you come back around the house. Just because you and his brother stopped dating doesn't mean that Atsumu had to lose someone he now considered his best friend.

After the blonde twin blows up your phone with invites to a party at the frat house, you decided to say fuck it.

You show up in some tight jeans and a lace-up cami. You don't necessarily want to impress anyone; all you're going to be doing is talking to Atsumu and drinking a couple of beers, but it's nice to dress up sometimes.

You expect to see Osamu in his room like he usually would be. Even before you dated, he never participated in a party, but 20 minutes after you arrive, you see him walk into the house from the backyard with a girl on his arm. Atsumu tries to place himself in front of you to act as a human shield, but it's already too late, and you're making your way out of the house as he yells for you.

Once back at your dorm, you check your phone and see a snapchat from Suna, but you don't bother to open it. Instead, you wash off your makeup and cry yourself to sleep.

You don't get to sleep very long though. A loud knock at your door wakes you, and you check the time to see that it had been an hour since you'd left the party. You assume it's Atsumu trying to make you feel better, so you open the door.

"'Tsumu, I appreciate your efforts but-" You stop talking when you see who it really is.

"Wrong twin," Osamu says, running a hand through his gray hair. He holds out his hands. "I, uh, the store didn't have yer favorite flowers, but I thought ya'd like these ones..."

You only stare at the flowers. "What do you want, Miya?"

"Can I come in?" He asks. "I just want to talk, and if afterwards, ya never want to see me again, I understand."

You let him in, and he thanks you. After he sets the flowers on your desk, you flick on the lights. You gasp as you see a bloody nose and bruised eye. "'S-Samu..."

He chuckles. "It's okay," he reassures you. "It was just 'Tsumu. No big deal." He waits for you to calm down a bit before speaking again. "I miss ya," he tells you. "And I'm so fucking sorry for what I did to ya. I love ya, and I can't believe I ever allowed myself to let ya feel insecure. I should have just told all those girls to back off. If the situation were reversed, I'd want the same."

Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "I don't get it 'Samu," you say. "Why did it take you months to get it? The girl you were with tonight was one of the girls who I asked you to tell to back off!"

He puts his head down in shame. "I know," he admits. "And I..." He takes a deep breath. "I overheard 'Tsumu and Hinata talking before the party, and 'Tsumu said he invited you, and Hinata said he was excited to see you again, and I just... I guess I got upset that ya were hanging out with my dumb brother, and I wanted to make ya jealous."

"You're a fucking idiot," you tell him.

"I know, but I do love ya and miss ya," he says. He walks over to you and holds your face in his hands. "And I promise to be better for ya. Just give me one more chance."

You look up at him, your gaze softening as your hands reach up to brush under his bruised eye. It'll need to be iced in the morning. "You really promise? I can't let you in just to get shattered again, 'Samu. You're the only man I've ever loved."

He nods in response. "And if I break my promise, which I won't, I'll let ya beat me up with 'Tsumu next time."

You laugh at his words and lean up to kiss him. "Okay," you whisper. "One more chance."

Osamu grins like a kid on Christmas and picks you up to spin you around before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. "Ya won't regret it."

He sleeps in your dorm room that night. You lay on top of him with your head on his chest as he plays with the ends of your hair, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

...

...

...

BONUS:

The next morning, Osamu sits on your bed, holding a bag of ice up against his eye. He's got a childish pout on his face.

"Ya can stop watching it now!" He grumbles.

Meanwhile, you're standing across from him, gawking at your phone. "Damn, baby, 'Tsumu really got you this time," you tell him. You wince as you watch Atsumu's fist makes contact with Osamu's nose. "Suna's a great camera man."

Copyright © 2022 oooobokuto.tumblr.com - do not copy, modify, repost, or translate any of my works. any action to do so will be considered plagiarism.

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."

sero vs. tape dispenser 

SAY MORE ABT DAD NANAMI W SWIM TEACHER READER RN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

‘kay!

minors & ageless blogs dni, i am an 18+ blog!

gn!reader, one mention/reference to drowning, no powers au, single dad nanami au, nanami is oblivious (or is he)

"excuse me."

you almost drop the teetering pile of foam bubble belts you're carrying.

actually, you do drop them. it's just that nanami kento—father of one and the oblivious bachelor of the year for the entire swim school despite his blunt demeanor—catches them without pause. his bicep flexes with the movement, the muscle rippling beneath his skin.

you swallow.

(your friends all grumble about how lucky you are to have little yuuji in your class.

you are not lucky.

yuuji is darling. you always hear him calling out a delighted, chirpy 'hi!' to everyone he passes before his little head of hair—the soft pink of still-ripening strawberries—pops into view. he's got a smile like the sun and an energy output to match. you think he could probably power a small city.

but lucky people do not have to try and keep a handful of young children from drowning as they learn to swim while nanami kento is busy being attractive by just existing, raking a big hand through his damp golden hair until it feathers out, gleaming beads of water trickling down the thick column of his neck to pool in the dip of his clavicle.

you should have been a camp counselor, you think miserably, looking away from his broad form just in time to catch the kickboard that's rocketed out from under nanase, a powder blue foam missile. at least then the parents keep their shirts on.)

"sorry. i didn’t mean to startle you,” nanami says. he’s acquired stickers since you last saw him, the bright little stars sprinkled across his cheeks like neon freckles. you suspect that yuuji has matching ones.

"it’s okay, nanami. thanks," you say, reaching out for the belts. "for uh, catching those. i just rinsed them, so—"

he brushes your hands away gently, adjusting his grip so he has a better hold on the belts. “i wanted to speak to you.”

“okay—what about?” you ask, your hands lingering before you let them drop to your sides awkwardly.

“i’d like to know which of your coworkers conduct private swim lessons and of those, who you feel would be the best match for yuuji.”

“oh.”

nanami’s brow raises a bit. he examines you for a beat, his umber eyes keen. “you know yuuji’s skill level better than anyone,” he tells you. “and i assume you know which of your coworkers would do best with his personality.”

“i find it hard to believe that there are people who don’t do well with yuuji’s personality,” you say.

his lips quirk into a tiny smile. it’s small, but you’ve learned to catch them over the last few months, those little flashes of contentment. of pride. he briefly glances back to where yuuji is chattering at his friend megumi.

(even your boss had commented on how yuuji managed to pry stoic little megumi out of his shell.

having witnessed it firsthand, you’re not sure that ‘pry’ is the right term. it reminds you more of when seagulls smash clams against the shoreline rocks to break their shells open. megumi never stood a chance against yuuji’s weaponized sunshine.)

you reach out for the belts again, desperate for something to fidget with as that hint of a smile melts through you. nanami gives you half of them; you don’t bother to protest. it’s not the first time he’s helped you put things away after class has finished. 

“true,” nanami concedes. “but yuuji can be difficult to keep up with.”

“i guess,” you say, tugging at your lower lip with your teeth.

for a breath, you think nanami’s eyes drop to your lips. but you blink, and he’s simply looking at you, waiting for a response.

“yahaba would probably be best, i think,” you say softly. “she’s a great teacher. yuuji’ll like her. she likes to play games with her students a lot.”

“thank you,” nanami says. “it’s appreciated.”

“sure.” you bite your lip again, fidgeting with the edge of your swimsuit. “do you have concerns about what i’m teaching yuuji?”

he blinks. “no. have i indicated that i do?”

“no, i just—i know it’s come up that i offer private lessons too. of course you don’t have to use me, it’s completely up to you, i understand if you want someone else to teach him, but the group lessons don’t end for another few months, so i guess i wanted to be sure that you felt like he was learning? in case that’s why you wanted to go with someone else instead of me. that’s—that’s all.”

“ah,” nanami says. it’s almost a hum, the word rumbling low in his chest. if he was anyone else, you would say he looks faintly pleased. “no, i have no concerns. i wouldn’t have kept yuuji in the class if i had any.”

your cheeks burn. “oh.”

“it’s simply that i don’t start personal relationships with people i employ,” he says, matter-of-fact. “which means that hiring you isn’t an option, because then i couldn’t ask you to get dinner with me once the group lessons have ended.”

you drop the bubble belts again.

thunderstorms and reheated prawns

pairing; suna x g/n!reader

genre; domestic, fluff

warnings; puking, lame jokes, suna endearingly calls reader "(y/n)-chan"

a/n: a fanfic inspired by all the rain ive had lately, and the fact that my Ma made me prawns yesterday 🤷🏽‍♀️

The rain is relentless today.

It comes down in buckets as it hammers mercilessly at your window, running down the glass in thick streaks and sending the trees outside into a violent flurry. The sight of it alone is enough to make you shiver.

Luckily, it's far warmer inside your bedroom.

You're sitting on your bed with a heavy duvet thrown over your head like a makeshift tipi. There's a chill lofi beat playing quietly in the background, a warm cup of hot chocolate sits deliciously between your hands and you have no chores to tend to, having already sought to them the day before.

To put it simply, it's bliss.

That is until you get a text and you turn your head towards your phone that buzzes twice against the bedside table. Leaning over to retrieve it, your brows furrow a little when an odd message pops up under Suna's ID.

2 messages from Sunarin <3

hello (y/n) can you come over today big brother has a tummy ake and mummy and daddy are out

please thank you

You blink upon realising it's Suna's little sister who has his phone and you can't help but laugh at her message. You don't know what's funnier; his little sister not knowing how to spell "tummy ache" or the fact that she actually had to reach out to you for something as trivial as that.

Either way, after finishing the rest of your hot chocolate, you reluctantly crawl out from your little den, slip on some comfy clothes and head out the door.

*

"Knock, knoock."

You smile as Suna's little sister opens the door for you, albeit with a struggle since the handle was still a little too high for her. Like you this morning she's wearing her PJ's, giving her an overall relaxed appearance, save for her face which looks rather distressed.

"You need to come quick, onee-san! I think big brother's dying!"

You snort as she ushers you into the house, barely giving you time to take off your shoes as she pulls you towards Suna's bedroom. As you walk up the stairs you begin to wonder just how sick her brother really is. He seemed fine the last time you saw him— then again, Suna did always have the pesky talent of fibbing when it benefits him, like how he sometimes lies to his teammates about needing to babysit his little sister on Fridays just so he can have a longer weekend, or when he tells the twins he's deleted the videos he takes of them, only to bring them up for blackmail purposes later on. You wonder if perhaps this was another one of these instances and he'd simply faked an illness just so his little sister would leave him alone for the afternoon. (You knew how clingy she could get, especially when their parents weren't home.)

Still, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt as you push open his bedroom door, only to wince as your boyfriend promptly vomits into a sick bowl.

Oh.

This time he's definitely not lying.

"Perfect timing, lil sis. Make yourself useful would you and fetch me a— (y/n)?"

You're torn between bursting out laughing or coo-ing at the sad scene before you. Your attractive boyfriend, usually standing tall (sort of) and looking all slick and sexy is reduced to nothing but a lump hanging off his bed, hair disheveled and sticking slightly to his forehead, his head half in the sick bowl, looking at you with the most disheartened, most sullen face you've ever seen.

"Just end me now, I guess."

This time you do laugh when Suna rolls back onto his bed, pulling the covers over his head like a moody teen.

"Wow, you really are worse off than I thought," you say as you start to approach his bed. His bedsheets rustle however as you take another step closer and you stop in your tracks when he speaks from under the covers.

"Out. I don't want you to see me in my decomposing state."

"Oh, don't be silly, Sunarin. This is what partners do. I'm supposed to help nurse you back to health." You walk to the other side of Suna's bed where the sick bowl isn't lying on the floor and gently rock him against the mattress. "Plus, didn't you just say you wanted your sister to fetch me?" You add with a smirk.

You watch as Suna worms an arm out from the duvets, blindly grabbing your wrist to stop you from shaking him.

"Stop moving me, you sadist. Or next time I'll aim it at you," he says, making you scrunch up your nose in disgust. "And no I didn't call for you, you just so happened to waltz into my bedroom."

You roll your eyes at Suna's usual bite, knowing it's nothing but bark. "You rather I tango in here instead?"

You bite back a laugh as your terrible joke makes Suna emerge from his bedsheets, the green eyes that poke out looking truly disappointed. "You dare come into my room and sully it with jokes like that."

"I know, I know. Sorry," you lie, before a grin makes its way to your face. "No but seriously, should I? Might bring a smile back to your face."

"Please don't," is all he says as he finally fully comes out the covers, sitting up against the bedframe, and although you know he's trying his best to fight it, there's that telltale twitch of his lips that indicate your goofing around has actually effected him. "What you can do is fetch me that glass of water." There's a short pause. "Please."

You smile, relieved that he's finally letting you take care of him. Then you notice that the hand he'd grabbed you with earlier is still holding your wrist. Switching roles, you take his hand in yours and bring it up to your lips, planting a small kiss to his inner wrist.

"Coming right up."

*

A glass of water with ice later and it's Suna who decides to join you downstairs. You hear his almost cat-like footsteps pad down the stairs and as you turn around you notice that he's freshened up a bit. His hair's no longer the hot mess it was earlier, instead it remains neat and unstyled, he's also wearing different sweats from earlier, that is to say the black joggings with the red stripe down the side of the leg that you'd gotten him for Christmas, along with the black sweater that you always love to borrow.

"Oh look, it's alive," you tease.

"Only just," he sighs before flopping heavily on the couch. He busies himself by switching on the TV and opening Netflix, which you recognise by the familiar opening screen sound.

"How're you feeling?" You ask as you place the cold water on the coffee table. Suna utters a quiet 'thanks' as he leans over to grab it, bringing it to his lips before taking a few swigs.

"Could be better," he drawls after downing almost the entire glass. "'Least I'm not blowing chunks in front of my s/o anymore," he mutters, voice still carrying traces of previously felt embarassement.

You chuckle at that, watching as Suna lays down on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes. "Don't worry, Sunarin. I'm sure other couple's have seen worse," you say as you take a seat beside his head.

He stays silent as you gently pull his arm off his face. At first he looks at you with a cocked eyebrow, most likely wondering what you were up to, but once you place the back of your hand against his forehead, he allows himself to relax and closes his eyes.

"What's the verdict, (y/n)-chan? Am I dying?"

You snort and roll your eyes at his theatrics. "You're not dying, you big baby. How did you even get sick anyway? You don't seem to have a fever."

After concluding that Suna's forehead wasn't any hotter than it should be, you gingerly brush a stray piece of his chestnut hair from his eyes, smiling when he exhales pleasantly at the gesture.

"I think it was the prawns I made yesterday. I was the only one who ate them and I'm the only one who's sick."

As Suna tells you this, you immediately start to see where this is going.

"Were they pre-cooked prawns?" You ask. "And did you reheat them more than once?"

"Yeah."

You sigh. Yup. "That'll do it." Shaking your head, you poke Suna's forehead as a scolding, making him squeeze his eyes shut and knit his brows together. "You're not supposed to do that, you know. You can get really sick."

"You don't say," he drones, shooing your hand off with his. "How did you know I was sick, anyway? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were stalking me."

Your nose scrunches up jokingly. "Ew, why would I do that? If I wanted to stalk someone I'd at least go for one of the twin—"

You're promptly cut off mid-sentence when a pillow collides into your face with a dull thud and you giggle when you're met with Suna's eyes narrowing warningly up at you. "I'm just messing with you, Sunarin. Your sister told me. She somehow got access to your phone."

"The little toe rag."

"You trying to say you're not grateful I came over?" You ask with a raised brow, crossing your arms defensively.

"Didn't say that now, did I," he replies cooly, sitting up to face you before a tiny smirk forms on his lips. "After all," you make a small yelp as Suna suddenly worms his way into your personal space, his long limbs wrapping around your body like a koala and purposely giving you no means of escape. "Now I have the perfect pillow to hold onto. One that'll nurse me back to health too."

You gawk, trying to wiggle out of his hold, only for him to pull you closer. "Hold on a minute— What if I need to pee?!" He ignores you completely and deliberately, and instead lazily nuzzles into the area between your chest and collarbone.

"Night night, pillow-chan."

You throw you head back against the couch.

Looks like you're not going anywhere.

little moments on the rooftop

featuring: KUROO TETSURO

pairing: implied she/her pronouns ?? (

type: SUMI’S ONE-SHOTS

warnings: okay there's a kissing moment and the term "masochist" is used in a joking manner and ummm yeah that's about it tbh

genre: slice of life/fluff

a/n: trying to start writing little things so i can get back into the flow of writing again idky i haven't had any motivation recently :((

"hey," a voice called out to you in the night.

you turned your head to see the bedhead haired boy, standing at the rooftop entrance door. he was in his familiar nekoma volleyball team jacket with a pair of checkered warm pajama pants.

you had situated yourself on top of blanket and a few other blankets that were wrapped around you. "hey."

he walked over to where you were sitting and took off his shoes, gently stepping onto the blanket. he crossed his legs as he sat down. you opened the one blanket you had wrapped around you just so he could scooch himself in next to you.

"god you and your long limbs. so difficult to deal with," you mumbled as he tried to settle within the blanket.

"hey! leave me and my long limbs alone," he huffed with a pout. the both of you bursted into laughter with a half smile etched on your face that he grew to love and cherish.

looking away from each other, you looked out into the view in front. ithe both of you could see the lights from the downtown skyscrapers into the distance.

in front of you, though, you could see your neighborhood lit up with the usual and casual street lights. occasionally, there would be a car or bicyclist going by but it was relatively quiet during this time.

as the both of you stared into the distance, you leaned your head onto his shoulder. his body tensed for a moment but you eventually felt it soothe down.

"mmm you smell nice," you told the boy. "did you put on some new body lotion or something?"

"yeah. obassan bought some new body lotion but i don't think she knows which one is my regular one but it's okay. i like this one though," he explained.

"you smell like that rose scented perfume i showed you at the mall the other day," you told him.

he sniffed the sleeve of one of his hands. "how do you even smell that? it clearly smells like strawberries."

"does not."

"does too."

"it literally said on the package 'strawberry scented.'"

“…”

he looked over at you, his smirk growing on his face. “you don’t wanna admit that i’m right huh?”

"i hate you."

"no you don't. otherwise, we wouldn't be here now, would we?" he said with that mischievous grin on his face.

"stop it or i'll plant my fist on your nose," you rolled your eyes.

he comically put his hand on his forehead to show his pain and agony. "are you a masochist or something? you're always putting me through pain huh?"

you laughed and lightly flicked your finger on his cheek which had you laughing but him wincing in slight pain which turned into eventual chuckles.

he starts mumbling something under his breath. you couldn't seem to catch them though.

"hm?" you responded.

"i love being with you. so damn much." he replied.

you looked up at him as he continued to look towards the scenery in front. you lifted your head off his shoulder which had him confused, forcing him to look at you.

and then you took his face in your hands and kissed him. it wasn't those messy, desperate kisses that you had when the both of you made out. it was a kiss that was slow. and passionate. and in a way, comforting. a kiss that explained more than words could ever.

he slowly responded back with his hands wrapping around your waist. he pulled you in closer to him, trying to get you as close as he could to you.

he pulled away and a blush started to etch its way onto his face. you couldn't help but let the snarky comment come out of your lips. "aww is my favorite pretty boy blushing?"

with no response, you realized he may have been a bit too flustered your sudden kiss.

you forced his face to face you. looking into those golden pools in his eyes that you always sought comfort and joy in, he smirked and leaned in to kiss you back.

“i'm always blushing for my pretty girl.”

YOUR DATE FOR THE NIGHT IS KUROO TETSUROU!

you and tetsurou spend most of the night outside where there are a few less people and a lot more fresh air — popping in and out briefly to grab new drinks or use the bathroom. he’s trying to keep the conversation on you, and your interests, but that guy — he’s standing across the backyard staring daggers into the both of you. what’s his deal?

“we must look pretty damn good together, hm?” he chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you over to an empty spot on the steps. he plops down — gesturing to the space between his legs with a goofy smirk. now, you sit just one step below him, encompassed by his thighs. “that guy won’t quit.”

you know what he means — you feel the daggers too, coming from the sullen individual a few feet away. he almost reminds you of the man sitting behind you in a way — but you know him as fushiguro megumi.

if you hadn’t walked in with tetsurou trailing close behind, he would’ve spent the evening with you — at least, that’s what he tells himself as he watches your date twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. tetsurou isn’t concerned in the slightest — just a little annoyed.

“let’s head in, yeah? think i felt a few drops,” he hums, and you’re fairly certain there’s no rainclouds hanging in the night sky, but you go with him anyways. not one hour later — you leave with tetsurou.

WHO ELSE HAD THEIR EYE ON YOU TONIGHT?

you and suna rintarou held eye contact for a little too long as he padded up the steps — he tries to find you on social media later that night. you asked todoroki touya if he knew where the bathroom was — he stared at you for a full ten seconds before answering no.

note : i’m getting a vibe from you .. feel like it’s showing in the charas i chose ghhhh anw i hope you enjoy ! ! thanks for being so nice in your ask my love :D mwah @whorefornoodles