"hold On... Isn't Your Leg Still Injured?" You Ask, Pulling Away From Hungry Kisses Peppered Along Your

Osamu leaves his phone number on napkins as a way to flirt with you.

You find them everywhere. Anywhere. It’s almost always the same thing- a chicken scratched version of your name, a crudely drawn winky face, and his phone number. If it wasn’t his phone number, it was another silly flirt, cheesy as can be and making your cheeks heat up each and every time you catch it.

who needs the galaxy when the only stars i want are in your eyes?

if i could rearrange the alphabet, id put U and I together

your hand looks heavy… want me to hold it for you?

call me ;}

And you’d be completely smitten with these originally, rolling your eyes and telling him how inappropriate it was leaving little napkins scattered around the back of Onigiri Miya for you.

But you don’t have to. Because you’ve been engaged for seven months by now.

“You don’t have to waste the napkins like this,” you snip playfully, tossing a wad onto the desk he’s occupied at. “You could very easily just text me your silly ass flirts.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, standing up and strutting confidently towards you. “You wound me baby,” he says, pulling you in for an embrace. “Is it a crime to leave little love letters for my little love?” You fake a gag and he rolls his eyes before pulling you in for a hug, “besides, how will everyone know you’re mine if I don’t?”

“I wear a fat rock on my finger every day, we come in together, and I know you’ve given me marks that I’ve been unable to cover- trust me, I think they get it.”

He lets his eyes glaze up and down before settling on your lips again, “well what if I just want you to know I love you? Huh?”

“I come back here, and you tell me,” you offer with another kiss, which he takes happily. “You always tell me.” Your arms snake around his thick neck, fingers playing with the short hairs of his undercut just to hear him shiver. He settles his hands on your waist and gives you a small, playful pout.

“You really don’t like my napkin-flirts?”

“I don’t like you wasting napkins,” you snort. “Gotta leave some for the customers and staff, angel boy.”

He sighs dramatically, “fine. No more flirt napkins.”

“Good,” you say, smiling. In truth, it does seem weird that you’ll start walking into work without crude little napkins flirting with you, but it’s for the best. And it is weird for a few days, even to the point some of your staff asks about the lack of affectionate little notes.

But the strange feeling doesn’t last.

Instead, it upgrades to bright pink sticky notes, littered around the shop in a familiar fashion to the napkins, only now, stuck in place for you to find throughout the restaurant.

And every now and again, all over the house. All over.

But who would’ve known, he was right.

Because you’d be lying if you say you do hate the unprofessional little reminders.

#24 on ur spotify wrapped describes how 2024 will go, how screwed r u

tw: mentions of alcoholism/sobriety

Sober!Samu coming home from a really really fucking bad week at the shop and just collapsing onto the couch in his apartment in a boneless, dejected heap.

He shuts his eyes, a headache raging between his temples like a storm.

It's not often that Osamu laments being a business owner, or someone's boss, but he had to fire someone this week—a guy who no-called-no-showed one too many times, and that Samu's suspected has been skimming off the till at closing. He'd put the unpleasant task off as long as he possibly could—made an effort to be understanding about what circumstances may have led his employee to that point—but it was starting to impact the other staff members, and Samu has to look out for them, too. And then on top of all of that, the shop's walk-in has been acting up again, and he just got a quote for repairs that's gonna blow his budget for the month. 

He wants a drink.

It doesn't happen often these days, so many years into his sobriety, but occasionally (on the worst days) the desire rears its ugly, inveigling head.

He gives the call more thought than he ought to—the familiar siren song doomed to run him aground growing too loud in that quiet, vulnerable moment. He imagines shuffling to the refrigerator and grabbing a cold can from the bottom shelf where he used to keep them. He can almost hear the crack of the top and the and hiss of carbonation escaping the can as he opens it. Can practically feel the familiar burn of bubbles rushing down his throat, and taste the bitter, tannic flavour of hops on his tongue as he swallows it down. He could repeat the process until the thoughts in his head go quiet. Until everything feels a bit lighter. Until—

“Oh! You're home!"

Osamu opens his eyes and sees you standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Your bedroom now too, since you'd recently moved in—though he still sometimes has trouble believing it, since it feels too good to be true. You’re towelling at your hair, having evidently just washed, and looking at him with a bright, welcoming smile.

He watches your expression shift, sees it drop slightly, as your eyes take in his dispirited form.

“Just got here,” he offers weakly, attempting a smile to try and reassure you.

It doesn’t work.

You pad over to him at the sofa.

“You okay?” you ask him, your mouth curling down at the corners in quiet concern.

Osamu’s learned to read your face so well after all this time together, and he knows you’re the same. He knows that no matter what he says, no matter what lie he tries to offer you so that you won’t worry, you’ll still see the truth.

He shuts his eyes, and lets out a long, pained breath.

“Bad day.”

You crawl into his lap without replying, straddling his waist and resting between his spread thighs. You smell like the shower gel you always use, the one he likes so much, and you’re still warm from the bath. He breathes in deeply as you press yourself against him, using it to ground himself.

“Was just thinkin’ about havin' a drink,” he admits further, cracking one eye open to peer up at you. 

You don’t look surprised, or panicked. Just thoughtful. A pensive pinch between your brows as you smooth your hands along the front of his Onigiri Miya t-shirt.

“Don’t think that’s gonna make the day any better,” you finally offer him, your eyes meeting his.

He snorts. “Yeah, yer right.”

Osamu winds his arms around your waist, pulling you forward against his chest. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” you whisper into his skin, punctuating the sentiment with a featherlight kiss against his pulse point. 

“’S better now,” he says back warmly, holding you a bit tighter than before.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just letting him hold you. You occasionally press another kiss against his skin, and as heat rises in his cheeks, Osamu feels the tension of the day burning off with it. The siren song grows fainter in the mist.

You begin to kiss your way up his throat.

“Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” you ask him in between kisses.

Osamu hums, a deep, needy sound. “Whatcha got in mind?”

“We could watch a movie?” You kiss the edge of his jaw near his ear, skimming along his jawline towards his mouth. “Or we could go for a walk to the park? Bet the swing set’s free. Maybe even the seesaw if you’re lucky.”

Osamu laughs, seeking your lips with his own. Your mouth is sweet and obliging, like it always is, letting him press his way inside of it to taste you. You unconsciously roll your hips against his when he presses one hand down against the small of your back, and it makes his stomach clench when he feels the pressure of you grinding against his lap.

He wastes no time, flipping you over so you’re sprawled on your back against the sofa cushions. He holds himself up over you with a hand pinned beside your head while you stare up at him breathlessly, your eyes glassy and your gaze fond. Your lips are shiny with spit and Osamu’s never wanted to taste anything so bad in all his life, even though it’s something so familiar to him now.

“I am lucky,” he says, and your gaze softens affectionately at his words. He dips down until his lips are just brushing yours, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards slyly. “But think I have a better idea in mind.”

Polyamorous relationships were meant to be 3 bisexual men and one fujoshi or like 17 lesbians not one guy and his 6 girlfriends who can’t interact with eachother. Jesus said that it’s in the Bible

if you told tobio your tummy hurts he would literally panic because he has the constitution of a horse and has not gotten sick in at least 8 years so he has no idea what to do about it. then he googles it and panics even more because all of the search results tell him you're dying so he starts frantically packing a bag to take to the hospital only for you to wake up from a nap and he's got three full-size suitcases packed and you're like "i feel fine now! :)"

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍; 𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

as you walk out of the door to go shopping with him, he pulls you back into the house and holds the door open for you. “i can be a gentleman and open the door for you.” whether that be a pouty claim or a cocky one, he won’t be letting you go through that door without him holding it for you.

sugawara, KUROO, BOKUTO, atsumu, SUNA, ushijima, lev, oikawa, MATSUKAWA

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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.”

offerings made to the wise witches of the west,

random quiz i made instead of listening in class: which haikyuu captain would be your true love?

pls tell me your results <3

“make sure ya get the back of my neck.”

“sure.”

“get the sides, too.”

“okay.”

“and make sure ya don’t miss a single spot!”

this time, you don’t have as much patience. you grip a handful of osamu’s wet hair, ignoring the exaggerated exclamations of pain as you do.

“i. said. oh.. kay!!” each word is accompanied with a jerk of his head. osamu’s reaching for your forearms now, smacking them as if he’s tapping out of a boxing match.

he glares at you, pout on. you grin back. you win.

and as if to make it a point, you begin to massage his scalp with a gentle scrape of your fingernails. swirling his hair, making sure you get into the follicles, and forcing a subtle pressure onto the base of his skull, you press a kiss right at the edge of his brow as a gift for finally behaving.

osamu hums at that. he closes his eyes to relax and as the moments pass, he slowly liquifies beneath you. the bend of his back curves into your belly as he breathes deep, unperturbed by the scent of ammonia.

“feels nice.”

“is that right, old man?”

osamu’s back to glaring. a giggled kiss back to his brow does nothing to abate it.

“too soon?”

he answers by pinching your thigh. you smack a gloved hand across his shoulder and he only snickers loudly, leaning all his weight onto you that you almost topple over. just as quickly as it left, silence settles into the bathroom once again.

“too old,” osamu eventually says. his confession is quiet, one that opens a space for thought, a little reprieve to reminisce. the fluorescent bulbs in your bathroom suddenly dull into a warm glow.

he says old as if it were a bad thing. like cracks on a sidewalk or black cats. old as if it were something to avoid.

it’s how this all started anyways. after a long day at onigiri miya, osamu’s feet found their way back home to you. he smells of sweat and sweet vinegar and hard work and yours. routine makes his way to you, slide his hands across your ribs and pecks you twice along the lips. then he goes to the bathroom, turns the shower on, and sheds his clothes beginning with his cap.

osamu was fiddling with his belt buckle with one hand and shuffling his hair with the other when he found it.

a gray hair. gray. and not the artificial kind.

one hour, one impromptu trip to the konbini, and one plucked gray hair burned spitefully at the stove, you're back in the bathroom again.

he wants to dye his hair gray. the artificial kind. the color he had back in high school, to a younger version of the one in front of you. and as much as you liked inarizaki osamu, any version of osamu actually, you especially like this one here.

"i think you're pretty sexy in gray." you mention without looking at him. osamu's trying to find meaning, the true meaning to the words you say. he watches your reflection as you busy yourself by discarding your used gloves.

old means growth. his hair will fade just like the original onigiri miya shirt that stretches across his wide chest but your love for him never will. time loves him just as much as you, kisses lines at the corners of his eyes, strokes rough edges along his palms, and you are gifted with a front seat to it.

"ya think tsumu's got gray hairs?" he finally asks.

"i'll do you one better," you smile wryly and lower yourself to whisper in his ear. "i think his hair is thinning."