About Time

put a ring on it.

premise. snippets of daily life between a humble servant and an increasingly clingy master.

word count. 5.4k

note. reader full of snark + dumbass in love ayato = gratuitous amount of banter. i have to say that ayato never goes out of line though, and you're not actually bothered by his advances; you're just a massive tsundere.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

“Is that so?”

The noncommittal response pointedly marks the end of his acknowledgement as Ayato makes no effort to sit up, remaining slumped against your frame. His head rests upon your shoulder, a ticklish sensation blooming where your neck and chin meet. Light blue hair trail prickling heat where it grazes your skin, an itch you can't quite scratch away.

Even so, the discomfort doesn't reflect on your face, frigid expression carefully layered with blankness. His sinking weight fails to impede your immaculate posture, refined poise a great disparity from his leisurely disposition. It paints an odd picture, the ordinarily faultless heir lacking decorum—though granted the freedom to do as he wishes in the private confines of his room, it is a mystery why a servant such as you is... graciously permitted to bask in his exclusive company. In the private confines of his room. You feel the need to emphasize that detail.

In his hands lay a scroll concerning governmental affairs, urgent matters that demand his attention, so you can't begin to comprehend why he insists on using this time to harass reward a lowly attendant with his valuable presence when there is business to attend to.

He leans more of his weight to your side, and he—you nearly sputter indignantly—mimics an action that can almost be described as nuzzling. “Mhm. This is convenient for me, since I've hardly found the time to rest today. Do you find it intolerable?”

Ignoring the last bit, you advise, “Perhaps it would be more effective if you were to rest in your chambers. I will come call when the Kanjou Commission asks for you.”

He pretends to consider it for a moment, the silence filled with the quiet jingle of wind chimes. But predictably, the corners of his mouth hook up to an impish smile. “I would prefer to stay, if you don't mind?”

Resigned to your fate, you can only say, “Of course not, my lord.”

For reasons you cannot fathom, the head of the Kamisato household harbors a strong attachment to you.

In normal circumstances, this fact would be taken as great news; presently, you are little more than puzzled and unfeeling. Rather than delight, dread stirs in your stomach whenever he calls your name in a volume louder than necessary—a conscious decision, you presume, since he seems to interact with other servants just fine. Curt and polite, keeping his words concise, preventing further delay from addressing his responsibilities.

Had you not known better, you wouldn't be able to identify him as the same man who indulges in trivialities when he invites you to share snacks, engaging in frivolous chatter over tea and pastries. With increasing frequency nonetheless, and with varying refreshments each time to boot, an assortment of exquisite wagashi produced only by the best. Strawberry daifuku on one tea break, mizu-yokan on the next, sakura mochi on the day after that... You've been serving him for a considerable amount of time, but he's never been much of a sweet tooth until as of late.

Ayato hums thoughtfully, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. “The mild flavor is pleasant. I believe it might be to your liking.”

He offers you a cup, steam curling above the warm brew. The pink beverage glistens beneath the sunlight, rippling with movement when you take it into your hands. It doesn't require much thinking to conclude the tea leaves must've cost a fortune, but it leaves you plenty of questions just as well. Why would a benefactor give you a taste of luxury?

But you would be a fool not to appreciate it while it lasts, so you lift the cup for a sip.

The flavor of spring bursts in your mouth, fragrant and tasting of sweet nectar. Your frosty guise wavers under the bribery, bliss crossing your face before your lips quirk up to a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Deeming your elated reaction satisfactory, Ayato nudges the plate of confections towards your side of the table. “Eat. They pair well with the tea.”

Who are you to say no to your lord? Therefore, the correct choice must be to accept his gifts with gratitude!

(Distracted by desserts, you fail to see his amusement in the way you stuff your cheeks full adorably like a chipmunk.

But he's aware it's not the right time yet, so he suppresses the urge to pinch your face.)

Kamisato Ayato is often praised for his intellect and cunning mind, but sometimes you wonder if he'd finally gone stupid. It was only a matter of time.

“My hand feels cold,” he laments, as if he hadn't chucked away his gloves ten seconds prior. “Can I hold yours for a moment?”

Ayaka, for her part, looks ashamed on her brother's behalf. With a graceful flick of her wrist, her fan snaps open and obscures the mortified expression on her face. Thoma's bottom lip quivers, valiantly repressing his bubbling laughter though he turns quite ugly in the process.

Sending a prayer to the heavens, you hope your face looks as unreadable as you think it to be. “...I'll fetch you a pair of gloves,” you say, side-stepping the pair he just abandoned on the floor.

“Mhm. That won't be necessary,” he counters, tugging on the edge of your sleeve. “You see, I heard those granted Pyro Visions have warmer body temperature...”

That is undoubtedly a lie he conjures up on the spot.

“...So I was hoping to sate my curiosity today,” he finishes, looking far too pleased with himself. Ayaka avoids your gaze when your eyes sweep past her (she absolutely knows it's an idiotic idea because going by that logic, she should have a colder temperature... but that is obviously not the case), and Thoma is blatantly ignoring your requests for assistance, whistling an awkward tune.

You have half a mind to shift the responsibility to another retainer similarly bearing a Pyro Vision, who is currently trying his hardest to stifle his pained grunts when you pinch his forearm admonishingly, but there's really no way out of this. Ayato would certainly craft another bullshit reason to coax you anyway. (A part of you thinks it might be fun to keep up the charade just to hear what he'll say next.)

You hold up your hand, and Ayato's eyes flicker with mischief. His slender fingers wrap around your wrist, brushing over the jut of your bone. He marvels at the size of it, dwarfed by his large hands, and he curls his fingers tighter.

...He doesn't seem to be assessing your temperature.

But you are mindful of his, a searing heat devouring your senses. His light touches settle heavily on your skin, a prominent warmth amidst the cold gale. Where his fingers rest leave imprints of fire, trails of scorched ash in his wake.

Experimentally, his thumb rubs circles on your palm, tracing over the lines. He rolls the soft flesh, staring at the small cuts and calluses with an attentive eye. Burning the image into his mind. Fiddling with the shape of your fingers. Then, following a brief hitch of his breath, he fits his own in the spaces between yours.

His hand is soft, you think to yourself. Without the presence of leather, it is fully bare, pale and dusted with pink. His knuckles are pronounced, palm surprisingly unscarred in spite of vigorous sword practice, but a writer's callus lays on his ring finger. It is easy to imagine his frame hunched over his desk, pen between his fingers, ink running dry from writing back to missives and signing endless contracts.

(And responding to engagement offers. You would know. They clutter his workspace, scented letters branded by wax seals of a distinguished family's emblem.

He barely throws a cursory glance at them before giving his never changing answer.)

When he gives your hand a squeeze, you finally ask, “Is it warm?”

“Yes.” He sounds somewhat strangled, there, less confident than he was before he took your hand. “Very warm.”

He reluctantly parts with it, stepping back to reduce your close proximity. Ayaka fans herself as she scrutinizes his reddening complexion, and Thoma—partial to the lord, you see, even though he wasn't very eager to lend you a hand before—makes some excuse about a meeting he has to attend to (some beetle fight with Itto, most likely) and if you'd kindly excuse their presence.

“...Please pardon my brother's strange behavior,” Ayaka murmurs when only the both of you remain in the room. “He could be quite straightforward when his curiosity is piqued. He doesn't have weird intentions, really.”

She doesn't appear to believe it herself, but you appreciate her attempts to clean up Ayato's mess.

“It's no trouble, milady.” You flash a placating smile for good measure, reaching down to collect the discarded gloves Thoma nearly tripped on in his way out. “But I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave now as well...”

“Yes, of course! You may go.”

Following her affirmation, you scramble to take a duster and retreat to clean the library.

At least she doesn't comment on your flushed cheeks and colored ears. Small mercies. (There's only so much composure you can exhaust within one day.)

For all that you (privately) complain about the extensive list of chores to tackle in the Kamisato Estate, you find tending to the garden fairly enjoyable. Alas, you can't exactly spend the whole day pruning the shrubbery; the smile on your face drops when you're sent to go on a shopping trip. Worse still, with no one to assist you in carrying the groceries. Thoma has already promised to accompany Ayaka for a mission, and everyone else is busy preparing for the Kamisato head's upcoming business trip.

Said Kamisato head is apparently “free” and “has the spare time to help” despite being the one who should be busy holing himself up in his office.

Regardless of your protests, Ayato insists on tagging along to the market. Which brings you to your current situation, your employer dutifully carrying bundles of cloth and a basket of radishes and carrots with an easygoing smile, while your hands remain empty. He is... considerate, if you were to speak in flowery words. He is stubborn, if you were to be blunt.

However, he is relatively obedient, save for the handful of times he rushes off to chase something that caught his eye. As a result, he keeps purchasing cheap trinkets he'll probably have no use for and his pocket is brimming of candy he sometimes stuffs your mouth with when you have something to scold him for. (To be fair, it's very effective for shutting you up.)

“Please don't interrupt me from speaking,” your words are partly muffled, mouth still chewing on the confection. Ayato smiles innocently, pressing another piece of sugar to your lips.

“Where are we headed next?” He questions, looking around the bustling streets as he tucks the jar of konpeito candy in his sleeve. “Do you still have vegetables you need to buy?”

You shake your head. “No, the cook said he's only missing radishes and carrots in particular. I've also gotten the materials needed to mend clothes Thoma asked for.”

He deflates at that, disappointment painting his expression. “I suppose we're returning, then?”

You purse your lips, considering your options. It isn't like you were told to come back an appointed time, and you could always blame Ayato for your tardiness... “Does my lord wish to visit anywhere specifically?”

The river of stars in his eyes twinkle ever so slightly, flashing a thinly-veiled childish gleam. “Not anything I could think of at the top of my head. Do you have any recommendations in mind?”

“Recommendations?”

“Places you like to visit.”

During your free time, you usually look around to shop for clothing or accessories... but they're nowhere near the quality befitting of nobles. The yukata isn't tailored to your size, made from cheaper cloth of cotton, and aren't as decorative to what your lord is used to; it's what makes it affordable. Whereas Ayato is often dressed in luxurious silks, embellished with golden thread and customized to his liking.

“It's no harm to bring you there... I guess.” You scratch your cheek. “Though I can't guarantee you'll like it.”

“Nonsense.” He smiles amicably. He reaches for the basket before you can grab it, gesturing for you to start walking. “I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless where it is.”

And... he does. He marvels at the extravagant brocades displayed at boutiques, wondering how one could possibly wear so many heavy layers. Though he doesn't buy clothes for himself, he decides to buy a cute purse he thinks his sister would appreciate.

Ayato expresses interest in ornaments and cosmetics as well, to which the shop owner proceeds to happily introduce her entire catalogue for a man she knows has deep pockets. He doesn't disappoint.

“You don't want anything?” He asks when you only answer his questions pertaining to Ayaka's preferences, two steps behind, never taking the opportunity to roam and search for potential additions in your wardrobe.

It's not that you haven't seen anything you'd like to take home, per se. More like everything is too expensive for your pocket money in this high-end portion of town. “No,” you say instead, because it's easier to explain that way.

He tilts his head inquisitively, but doesn't push the topic. “Help me choose a hair pin then. You know what fits Ayaka best.”

He leads you to the display case housing rows of hair ornaments, each one more remarkable than the next. The last one, undoubtedly the most costly whose price would make you weep, teeters on the edge of gaudy. Adorned with silver butterflies, tear drop sapphires, gems delicately shaped like dewy petals and white pearls sitting atop carved gold, they almost blind your eyes.

“...She'd look beautiful in everything,” is the conclusion you come to, because you speak nothing but the truth. “But please don't buy everything. She will get mad at you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “That's why I needed your help picking one.”

You almost drill holes to the items with how hard you're staring at them, but you eventually point at the pin with pink blossoms. “This would contrast nicely with her hair.”

“Mhm. If you say so,” he hums approvingly, tracing the sculpted leaves.

“Then if that's all, I'll go pay...”

“Ah, which reminds me.” He spins on his heel to face you, lips shaped into an apologetic smile. “I'm nearly running out of parchment paper. Could you stop by the stationery store up front? I'll handle things from here and meet you by the entrance.”

“Of course, my lord.”

On your way outside, you resolutely do not allow your curious gaze to steer towards the tables of sparkling jewelry.

--

The trip back to the estate is uneventful, and the rest of the afternoon passes like any other.

Perhaps the only inconsistency in your repetitive days is the accidental nap you fall into, blanketed in warm rays of sunshine and caressed by the refreshing breeze slipping past ajar doors, your cheek resting on the surface of the table you were supposed to be cleaning. How uncouth of me, you think as you wipe your mouth to check for signs of drool. Your only respite is not having anyone witness you in such a state, otherwise you would've long been rudely awakened and received an earful of chastising.

...Is what you think, until you spot a foreign ring you definitely do not recall putting on.

It curls around your finger, dotted with crystals in a hue of blue you're all too familiar with. You see it everyday, gleaming in mischief, darkening with intrigue. Framed by long, long lashes, crinkling at the corners when filled with mirth. Crashing torrents that freeze in displeasure yet inexplicably gentle the moment they meet your eyes, akin to gentle sea waves that pad to your feet.

(You wonder if this is why he insisted on touching your hands so much, just to roughly measure your ring size.)

“I hope you fare well during my absence. Fear not, I will do my best not to prolong my leave.”

The way his words sound so self-assured and full of conviction doesn't sit well with you, and the genuine pity reflected in his irises almost makes your eyebrow twitch. You haven't even spoken a word before he began his theatrics.

“Take as long as you need,” you reassure him. “My lord mustn't rush his work.”

He wilts, but he perks right back up, “No need to put up a front. I'll come back for you.”

Incorrigible.

“Then I await your safe return.” You bow deeply as you swallow back a sigh of defeat, the other servants lined up on either side of the street moving accordingly.

“Please be careful,” Ayaka bids when she walks in front of him. “I've heard of bandits intercepting carriages to steal... I don't mean to undermine your abilities, but you should still be vigilant of trouble.”

Ayato laughs at that. “You don't have to worry, Ayaka. They'll sooner surrender before they lay a single scratch on me.” Glancing at the supplies being loaded on his carriage, he grimaces slightly. “I better get going. I'll see you all in three weeks.”

He climbs to the interior, giving you a final smile before closing the door. You stare at the carriage until it fully disappears, the trotting of horses out of earshot. When Thoma begins to walk back to the estate, you fall into step with him, matching his strides.

“The lord hasn't left for this long in a while,” he comments, to which you hum in agreement. “Think you'll miss him?”

“Three weeks is hardly a long time,” you retort back, complacent for the rare period of peace to follow the next month. “He'll return in no time, as if he'd never been gone in the first place.”

Thoma eyes you strangely at that, but says no more. “If you say so.”

--

The first day is bliss. No disruptions in your work, no unwanted conversation partner as a distraction, no midnight snacks needed to be prepared for the clan head a weird mix between workaholic and slacker.

The second day proves to be the same. No incessant chatter in your ear as you sweep the floor, no complaints for a stack of paperwork to be done within the day, no sudden requests of a shoulder massage for a job well done deserving of a reward.

The third day, you feel like your schedule is lacking, blank spots of free time sprinkled in between.

Ah, right. The tea breaks.

You tell yourself you only miss the fragrant tea, the selection of treats given to you by the young master's generosity. Not his thoughtful commentary for the taste, the chuckles spilling from his lips when you respond to his quips, the brief moments of eye contact before you resume your respective duties.

The fourth day, you're sent to hang the laundry. You tell yourself you don't miss a certain someone's abrupt appearance, poking a head through the sheets to startle you, huffing bright peals of laughter when he attains his desired reaction.

The fifth day, the cook requests your help to prep dinner. My lord doesn't like this dish, the sentence almost leaves your tongue as your eyes track down the recipe when you remember right, he's not here, and milady likes this dish, so it's one of the few chances she gets to eat it.

The sixth day, you clean his office. You organize the account books, restock his collection of pens and paper, and shuffle through his mail to sort them by category (definitely not noting down the number of letters asking for his hand in marriage). Your face flushes slightly when an unassuming bookmark falls out of a book you pick up from the floor, familiar flowers pressed thinly to fit between the pages. (You have only given those flowers on a whim, plucking fresh blossoms from plants you grew outside the Kamisato's garden. You didn't think he'd keep it around; they're not nearly as fancy as what his family owns.)

By the seventh day, you begin to doubt the calendar. There is no way it's only been a single week.

--

“How do I look?”

“Positively charming,” is your dry answer.

“You're not looking.”

Your eyes flit to Thoma's attire. “I am.”

He shakes his head, taking off the robes he's been trying on. “You're always daydreaming nowadays. What are you thinking about?”

Reminiscing the last time you visited this clothing store, which is when you brought the young master in your shopping trip, and also presumably when he bought the ring for you. Recently, you've taken to pondering over the specifics; did he commission it beforehand? But how would he have known for certain you'd be visiting the store that day to give it to you later that afternoon? You were only planning to get groceries... Unless he was planning to give it another time? If so, in what occasion did he want to present it as a gift? What prompted him to give it to you earlier? ...Did he see your longing gaze on the jewelry?!

No, no, no, you made sure none of that showed on your face... Did he mean to give it to you that day? He somehow predicted you'd cave to his whims and show him around town? Then when you were gone, he retrieved the ring he commissioned, hitting two birds with one stone in a single trip?

...Knowing your sly lord, the idea isn't so far-fetched to be unbelievable...

To this day, you have yet to solve the mystery. But Thoma doesn't need to know your current musings. You shake your head. “It's nothing. Are you buying it?”

“Since you kindly gave an approving opinion, sure.” His tone drips with sarcasm as he takes out his money pouch, paying for the clothes. “I think I don't need the answer from you, actually. I'm confident I have an accurate guess.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Who else would linger in your mind?” Thoma sighs in dramatic fashion, stepping out of the premises with you not far behind. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.”

Bristling, you vehemently refute, “I'm not thinking inappropriately of the lord, if that's what you're implying.”

“I didn't mention any names.”

“But you clearly meant him.”

He holds up his hands. “If that's what you want to believe, suit yourself.”

His gaze drops to the ring wrapped around your finger. The ring has been a topic of interest for the gossip mongers within the estate, wondering who you could've received it from; what other implications can wearing a ring have? Your cold exterior is no secret, your heart guarded with thorns, so who was able to sweep you off your feet in the end?

Thoma only needed one look at the shade of blue to make a correct guess.

“...I'm sure at this point, you know of his intentions,” Thoma says slowly. “And I have plenty of reasons to believe his affections aren't entirely unrequited.”

If they were, you would have brushed off Ayato already, just like you always do with the others. He may be persistent, but he knows how to back off. Yet the most you do is sigh and spoil him, albeit in (fond) exasperation.

“Even if they aren't...” You fidget with the hem of your shirt, averting your gaze from his blazing eyes, “...it doesn't mean we'll work. I'm certain he has better prospects for a spouse, anyway.”

“You mean those daughters from noble families?” He snorts. “He'd barely give them the time of day before running back to you. You should know that by now. Don't you remember when he faked being sick in that lunch meeting so you could take care of him?”

Of course you do. He had pretended to be in a dizzy spell, collapsing on your shoulder and making furtive hand signals asking for your help to get the lovesick maiden off his back. There really is no way to reject people like her without offending his business associate, so he tended to evade confrontations in roundabout ways.

You could excuse his clingy behavior out of necessity; it would be disgraceful to collapse on the floor, after all. The problem lies with the aftermath where you had already steered clear of the trouble but he insists on requiring treatment, body calculatively feeble as he gives you woeful pleas.

In another world, perhaps this would've been a heart-rending experience: a cold man who didn't share his burdens with others asking help from you specifically, because you were special and he trusted you the most.

In this world though, the act is only deserving of a derisive snort. He pulled off this plot for who knows how many times. How would holding your hand help with his throbbing headache anyway?

(You ignore the fact you indulge him each time regardless.)

“In any case, the lord is returning in a week. Not much time left for you to mope.” He laughs even as you elbow his side.

A week.

(That is one week too long.)

--

When Ayato returns five days short of three weeks, you aren't there to greet him.

Instead, you are sick in bed, bundled in a pile of blankets, and suffering from a stuffy nose.

Ah, and delirious from fever. Very much so.

So when Ayato miraculously appears in your bedroom earlier than scheduled, you only sniff in response and brush him off as a hallucination.

But of course, your dismissive attitude isn't enough to discourage him from pestering you and running his mouth. He hovers by your bedside, noting with glee that you keep his ring on a nightstand close by. “This is rare. I don't think I've ever seen you ill.”

But you've seen him plenty, frail and weak after days straight of sleepless nights. He doesn't look too pretty in such a mood, quick-tempered and sharp-tongued at the slightest annoyance. He only ever softens when your expression flits to dismay for a fraction of a second before dutifully offering him prescribed medicine from the family's physician, the saddened expression gone like a mirage.

“How are you this annoying even in my dreams...”

As it turns out, you're even more of a worse case than he is.

“Mhm. Your filter is completely shut down when you're sick, huh.” Ayato laughs, amused at the surprising revelation. He doesn't get to be the receiving end of your blunt words very often. “Alright. How bad do you feel right now?”

“Terrible, since it's the ass crack of dawn.”

It is not the ass crack of dawn, but you wouldn't know any better with the folding screens obscuring the orange glow of the evening. “Do you have an appetite? I'll have a servant bring a meal.” Then, he slyly adds, “I can feed you, if you want me to.”

He doesn't know which part of that statement appeals to you the most but you sit up straight, attentive.

Interesting.

Though Ayato meant it in jest, he has no complaints scooping spoonfuls of porridge to bring to your lips. He patiently coaxes you into drinking the bitter medicine after, quickly soothing you with bite-sized cut fruit to wash away the acrid taste.

“Good job,” he compliments, chuckling when you glow at the praise. Your lips are shiny with juice, trickling from the corner of your mouth.

Absent-mindedly, his hand lifts to caress your cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping it away. You jolt, a startled sound escaping you, and you hasten to clamp a hand over his mouth.

He blinks at you owlishly, dumbfounded.

“Don't,” you speak, your face decorated with a lovely pink. “You'll... you'll get sick.”

Ayato takes an embarrassing amount of time to process what that means. However, when he does, you can feel him grin beneath your fingers. He takes your hand, his huff of laughter tickling your palm.

“I thought we were in a dream? You don't get sick from kisses in dreams,” he teases, pressing a light kiss to your wrist. Your heart stutters in bewilderment but you make no move to pull away, only twitching when he kisses your fingertips.

“It's better to be careful...” Your brows knit together, and he kisses the tiny furrow away too.

“Okay. Let's do it next time then, when you're truly awake.” He gently pushes you to your back, fluffing up the pillows for your comfort and tucking you in the blankets. Indulgently, he presses a final kiss to the crown of your head. “Rest well so I can get that kiss sooner, hm?”

“That's a stupid reason to recover...” You murmur defiantly, stubbornly blinking your drooping eyes open.

In the end, you fall asleep to the sound of his laughter, the fingers combing through your hair, and the rhythmic beat in his chest.

--

When you wake up, you admonish yourself for having such a shameless subconscious, but you acknowledge that you had a good dream.

Then your eyes land on a pair of discarded gloves on your nightstand, one that you remember Ayato putting away before he began to spoonfeed you your meal.

...Fuck.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

A thoughtful hum answers you, preceded by a curious glance at your expression. Your legs are folded underneath you, back straight and eyes overlooking the garden instead of the weight resting on your lap. You can feel him shift, turning over where he faces against the porch, his robes wrinkling where they lay below.

“Are you suddenly becoming shy because a maidservant passed by?” He places down the novel in his hands on the wooden floorboards, watching your face burn in embarrassment. “I doubt this is the first time she's seen us, though.”

“My apologies. I'm not as thick-skinned as you are.”

“I'd prefer the term 'proud,'” he pokes the sash around your waist, smiling cheekily. “Who wouldn't want to show off their lover?”

He feels you stiffen, sees the flush of pink crawling outwards to the tips of your ears. “It's inappropriate. We're in a public setting.”

“That's only because you refuse to enter my chambers.” Ayato sighs and you look positively mortified. “I wouldn't ravage you, if that's what you're worried about?”

Not yet anyway, he doesn't say.

“My lord, please be reasonable. Whether you do or not, I will still be seen as your bed warmer. Did milady not advise us to be discreet? Inazuma would be in an uproar if they learned you were... you were...” You purse your lips, unable to spit the last word.

“Wedded.”

“I'm afraid we haven't gone that far, my lord,” you deadpan.

“So will you consider it?”

“My lord.”

“What?”

You give him a look, and he sighs in acquiescence. But he turns to face the opposite direction, expression hidden fron view. You can practically hear the pout in his voice, “I see. [Name] only sees me as a fling. My heart breaks to know this bliss is short-lived, but I will cherish our remaining time together.”

He's begun his theatrics again, you think tiredly, accustomed to his stunts. “In any case, we must be careful. We never know who has loose lips around here...”

He's still not facing you, resolutely looking away.

...Is he sulking for real? Was that a genuine marriage proposal?

“My lord?” You call out softly, in a lover's tender voice. He doesn't respond. Quieter, you whisper to his ear, “Ayato?” yet that doesn't earn a reaction either.

You start to panic, wondering if you were acting too indifferently. The change in your relationship had been a recent one, and you're still settling in a period of adjustment; even if you wanted to properly flirt with him like normal lovers do, bickering came more naturally to you.

You reach for his shoulder, hoping to turn him over and see his face. But then he catches your wrist, and you only have a second to catch a glimpse of his triumphant smirk before he captures your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Mhm, I see. So you're more considerate towards me when we're dating,” he cheerfully notes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as if he can't see the way your shocked gaze morphs into a cold glare. “I truly am privileged.”

“Incorrigible.” The word drips with poison, but he laughs and kisses you again, thumbing at the ring around your finger.

“Too bad you're stuck with me forever, huh?”

haikyuu boys as unintentionally flustering things

this has been in my drafts for a bit n i intended to add more boys but i also wanted to put something out for you guys!! so i hope you enjoy :)

includes; suna rintarō, oikawa tōru, iwaizumi hajime, matsukawa issei, miya osamu, miya atsumu, semi eita, akaashi keiji, bokuto kōtarō, kageyama tobio, sakusa kiyoomi, sugawara kōshi, hanamaki takahiro, tanaka ryūnosuke, ushijima wakatoshi, konoha akinori, tsukishima kei

suna rintarō — sitting really close next to someone and having your shoulders and thighs pressed together.

the way your skin feels ablaze and your body’s so tense and you feel a little lightheaded is so intoxicating. you crave more, so much more, but you’ll take what you can get. neither of you make any move to get away, enjoying this minimal physical contact with one another. like you’re both just sitting there and making excuses to stay sitting stuck to each other like this, even if there’s space. for a moment, he does move forward to grab at something in front of him and you deflate a little, but he comes back right away, pressing himself to you and even leaning close to show you something on his phone.

oikawa tōru — leaning down to hear someone clearer or to allow them to whisper in his ear.

oikawa’s incredibly tall, has always been and will always be. he was tall in high school and he‘s tall now, and of course he prides himself in that. half his ego comes from his height. so, given that, more often that not whenever you urgently rush up to him to tell him something, he has to lean down to hear you better, even if you’re only slightly shorter than him. just the way he leans in and tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes unfocused as he listens in before he smiles and twists his head to answer you and his face is so close to yours shbsdjxj

matsukawa issei — manspreading, but not the dickhead type.

the way he sits is always like he’s so effortlessly attractive. he’s kinda slumped in his chair or on the couch like he’s not sitting straight but rather lazily sliding down you know? when he sits, he’s got his legs spread wide and either his hands interlocked and resting on his stomach/crotch, or an arm behind the couch and a hand on his thigh or chest. he always looks??? so inviting??? like you want to go sit on his lap?? and sometimes he leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs and god. God.

iwaizumi hajime — when guys park in reverse and do The Thing with the steering wheel and The Other Thing with their arm.

iwaizumi’s driving the two of you the majority of the time, not because he doesn’t believe in your driving skills (he doesn’t, rude) but because he kinda just wants to serve you always? like do all he can for you? acts of service ykyk,,, anyways whenever he’s parallel parking or parking in reverse, he starts to do the thing with the steering wheel where he uses only the lower palm of his hand to quickly twist it, and then he puts his arm out onto your seat to glance back and god,,, God.

miya osamu — when guys put their hand just barely on the small of your back when guiding you somewhere.

it’s kind of instinctive with osamu, where he just does it in the moment and you’re left with your nerves on edge and your body on fire for the rest of the night. like you’re trying to get past him to go to your seat or he’s leading you to the window seat on a bus or he’s opening the door for you and gently guiding you. it’s so subtle, his fingertips grazing your back and heat of his palm barely obvious and somehow it’s both the quickest and slowest moment of your life. your back tingles and burns alive for the entire night and the day after too.

miya atsumu — naturally good with kids it’s kind of ??? surprising ???

he’s weirdly like just so good with kids. he’s not awkward and is so smooth when it comes to communicating with them. they always listen to him because he’s just that fun that it feels right to abide by his rules. he’s also always going with the flow too so if the girls dress him up and make him their prince he’ll act accordingly, and if the boys wanna pretend to wrestle him he’ll lose on purpose and he’ll play dead if he gets shot with a nerf gun seriously give this man an oscar. it’s just so endearing watching him there’s no way you wouldn’t wanna marry him.

semi eita — just playing the electric guitar. every instrument too but electric guitar specifically.

the way he casually picks up the guitar and tunes it. the way his fingers move over the strings, the way he glances down barely but then looks up with a small, confident smile because it’s muscle memory for him. the way he shakes his head a little in time with the music. the way he grips the guitar to return it to its place. musician!semi with a lot of rings and chains on and chipped black nail polish. it just <3333

akaashi keiji — saying your name in a conversation

cannot explain what’s so hbwjdnejdd about someone saying your name in the middle of a conversation you’re having. like the need to grab your attention, the way it sounds, the implied and unintended intimacy. like names aren’t generally said a lot during conversations (your name & the person you’re talking to) so when they or you say it, it’s a very lightbulb moment kinda like your attention is completely fixated now.

kuroo tetsurō — that cheeky smile with the tongue to the upper corner of their mouth that guys do.

it’s like a smirk but not really a smirk, where he’s barely smiling down at you, and it’s so teasing. his tongue pokes at the upper corner of his mouth just slightly, and he raises a brow or something. it’s just the type of look that makes your heart tighten in your chest, or makes your stomach flutter and tickle. and the thing is he’s aware he looks good doing it, but he’s so subtly confident that it’s a thousand times more attractive.

bokuto kōtarō — that little celebratory thing guys do after a win/score. let me explain.

so he’s fist pumping the air, leaning back a little and bending his knees. he’s got this feral grin on his face and he’s so sweaty that his uniform’s clinging onto every ridge and muscle and best of all— the way his thighs bulge against the long knee pads he’s wearing. he just looks so good being that happy, high off so much adrenaline. and that surge of confidence it brings him after too!!

kageyama tobio — when they’re super sweaty during a game and guys just grab the hem of their shirt to wipe their sweat

it’s usually during practice matches, and at first it’s always like grabs the neck and wipes. but then it just ends up being frustrating that he has to grab the hem of his shirt. he lifts it up with both hands and just wipes his face, and you’re gifted with the sight of his glistening abs and that trail of hair that leads down into his shorts. he’s so casual about it too like he won’t really realize the consequences of his actions even if some girls are straight up fainting at the sight. i think it’s his nonchalance that makes it even more attractive.

hinata shōyō — those hugs that guys give where you’re swallowed up in their embrace.

it’s a very casual kind of hug, the one where he can continue having a conversation but continue hugging you. it’s that type where he had both arms wrapped tight around you, basically caging you in against his chest. and he starts to do that thing where he’ll rub soothingly or squeeze endearingly, maybe rock you two from side to side while sighing casually. it’s the kind of hug where you’d really needed it and he’s indulging you. you’re silent and just reveling in his touch.

sakusa kiyoomi — that smile where they’re like trying to humor you.

when guys do that thing when you make like a joke or try to one up them somehow and they kinda huff out a laugh or dry chuckle and smile in amusement like yeah ok. it’s kind of a belittling yet challenging smile? sometimes he raises a brow too and he’s so chill and completely unaffected otherwise, with his hands in his pockets and a mask obscuring half his face and then it’s just a raised brow and the hint of a smile seen through his eyes. and he’s staring you down too?? good god

sugawara kōshi — when you nearly trip or fall and they reach out for you.

it’s like that heart stopping near fall and then he gets all wide eyed and reaches out for you, saying “woah, careful” in that really soft, gentle voice. even better if he grabs at your arm or presses his hand on the small of your back to steady you even if you are steady. does he make fun of you after? yes. but it’s still really attractive the way he gets all worried and grows really soft for you in the moment.

hanamaki takahiro — when they can keep up with your energy.

the banter is endless with the two of you. every thing you say he’s got a comeback, a witter, funnier, probably more sexual comeback. it’s so like? exciting? the way he’s always challenging you. he’s always got something to make fun of you of, even if it’s not real and made up. and he says it so smooth and it’s always, always, right in the moment. like he thinks of it in the spot. the fact that it just naturally comes to him how he can keep up with you and match your energy is so, so attractive.

tanaka ryūnosuke — when funny, light hearted guys get super serious about something

he’s always chill and always cracking jokes. he’s everyone’s comfort person, and no matter the situation he can be relied on to cheer and lighten up the mood. but sometimes shit gets serious, like if you’re hurt or something, and he does not crack a single joke. nothing. he won’t attempt to lighten up the mood because he cannot bring himself to. especially if he’s like protective and angry, he gets super quiet and won’t take shit from anyone it’s both heart warming and kinda scary.

ushijima wakatoshi — when serious, solemn, no jokes guys let loose

the complete opposite! ushijima’s super serious and he honestly doesn’t get jokes to even consider making them. he’s a very strong and reliable presence, like a literal pillar. but then maybe you do something stupid or you buy him a snack he’s been wanting and he smiles so softly, so sweetly, and his face just relaxes and softens and his eyes are so kind that you instantly melt. because it’s a sight that‘s as rare as it is makes it all the more endearing.

kozume kenma — when guys have a softer smell rather than a strong, cologne.

when i say softer i don’t mean girlier. i just mean softer. like maybe it’s a fresher smell (like minty) or maybe it’s a more floral smell like jasmine or lavender, or maybe it’s like warm tones (like cinnamon). either way, no matter what he smells like, it’s subtle but there. especially if you sit directly next to him or pass by him. you get a whiff of him and it’s so? calming? alluring? intoxicating in the most subtle way? idk. just. attractive.

konoha akinori — when guys stretch while they’re sitting and their shirts ride up.

he‘s just sitting there minding his own business, relaxing, chatting. he’s had a long day and his muscles are all tight and tense, so he just lifts up his arms and stretches, groaning a little and sighing, in relief and satisfaction, as the tension is relieved. his shirt rides up a bit and he even leans back too, exposing more of his lean abdomen. and when he sags in his chair after he’s got this delirious, satisfied smile or smirk on his face.

tsukishima kei — when a guy is explaining something to you and is demonstrating

like the way he’s trying to explain something on a computer and you’ve got the screen before you so he reaches across you to point something out and then suddenly the two of you are really close?? or if he’s writing down something on paper and he keeps looking up as he’s explaining to see if you’re getting it and to keep you engaged. or when he’s just explaining something and he just. sounds smart. you don’t get a thing but it’s fascinating.

whatever dynamic this is

hq boys as meet cute scenarios !

✸ ft. atsumu, kuroo, suga, akaashi, kenma, & suna

✸ info & warnings: fluff

✸ a/n: might turn these into more detailed drabbles if anyone shows interest :)

✸ you pretend to be ATSUMU’s date so he doesn’t have to face an awkward interaction with his ex. you’re a little surprised when the random man approaches you and practically begs for your help through slightly slurred words. the desperation behind his eyes and pink flushing his cheeks convince you to go along with his deception. your mediocre night at the bar transforms into something much more entertaining as you get to know the blonde stranger. the two of you effortlessly click, bouncing jokes back and forth and breaking out in fits of rowdy laughter. despite the feel of angry eyes burning a hole into the back of your head (which must have meant his plan was working), you enjoy your time with the man you’ve come to learn is miya atsumu, who now holds the title of the most interesting person you’ve encountered at your regular drinking establishment. by the end of the night, the two of you are exchanging numbers and promising to meet again. maybe you’ll upgrade from pretend partner of convenience to his true significant other.

✸ KUROO holds the elevator door when he sees you rushing towards it. you’re out of breath by the time you make it into the lift, but you use what little air you have left to thank the man profusely for the polite gesture. when he asked what floor you were getting off on, you laughed, explaining that you were also stopping at floor twelve. the two of you share small talk before getting off, both of you making your way to the receptionist. you ask them to point you to kuroo tetsuro’s office and that’s when the man finally reveals his identity. he’s the one interviewing you for the position to become his personal assistant. your cheeks heat with embarrassment at your lack of punctuality, but kuroo assures you that he understands that life happens—he’s willing to look past it. his reassurance and your conversation with him in the elevator made the process of the interview a lot less nerve-wracking. kuroo was impressed with your resume, your experience, and most of all, you. he hired you on the spot. looks like you’d both be seeing a lot more of each other.

Keep reading

11:42 PM. KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

his first words after six months aren’t ‘can i come in?’ when he shows up to your doorstep unannounced. it thunders behind him, pouring rain with a vengeance only seen on movie screens. each strike of lightning lights flashes bright white against his features, illuminating already startling crimson eyes.

he looks like he hasn’t slept in months. ash blond hair matted to his forehead, dark circles hanging like stalactites—never have you seen him in a state like this, and it makes you want to shrink away, back into the comfort of your home.

you stay out anyway, and the cold nips at your socked feet almost playfully.

“why are you here?” your voice shakes him out of his stupor and he pauses, mouth open with a retort already dying on his tongue. what was he doing here? interrupting your peace away from his torment filled life with selfish wants?

how does he tell you that he hasn’t had a good night’s rest since that massive argument six months ago? that he shouldn’t have nitpicked and snapped at you because his mission failing wasn’t your fault—you were just there and suffered the brunt of his anger in your attempt to help.

how does he tell you his misses the way your hands would run through his hair, slow and practiced, as the dust and dirt from the day’s work washes down the drain? that he misses your silly songs made up from a tune he’d gotten stuck in his head, and that he can’t bear to clean up because the very thought of doing the most mundane things without you sends an unfathomable amount of ache to his chest?

that he misses having the weight of you, skin against skin, at night, where he could be just katsuki?

he can’t say any that. he can’t do that to you. you look well—better, even, after six months. your voice is soft when you ask, not even the slightest bit of hatred present at all, and he almost wants to disappear. regret courses through his veins, but he can’t find it within himself to move.

slowly, his gaze meets your once more, hands shoved into his pockets, and he lays out the barest contents of his heart then.

“i didn’t know where else to go.”

reblog are appreciated ☕️ thank you for reading!

315 days with master diluc

request: y/n and suna come back from an event that went on too long and she’s too tired to do her skincare and change so he does it for her? i love seeing the pinterest couple pics where the girl is sitting on the counter and he’s brushing her teeth and washing her face for her 💗💗 ty so much for your consideration 🥰

suna rintaro • love sick

“wait just a second, princess.” suna instructed you, his right hand opening his car door as he spoke.

you halted your movements, pausing the action of unbuckling your seatbelt out of obedience for him. you already assumed what he was going to do, it was a unwritten rule of his every time the two of you went out.

your hands tuckered back into your lap as you watched him exit the car, catching him sending a wink your way as he shut the driver door, leaving you alone in the warm interior as he jogged around the front of the car, nearly slipping on ice ungracefully.

you let out a worried yelp at the slip of his foot, but was soon relieved when he grinned at you as a way of reassurance.

“jesus.” you mumbled to yourself, nearly having a heart attack just then.

rintaro walked it off like nothing had happened, smoothly recomposing himself for your view only. if it wasn’t for the freezing temperatures, you would have been able to notice the bright blush on his cheeks from embarrassment. but he played himself off well, as usual.

when he got to your side of the car, he hesitated slightly before opening the door. it would be cold out here for you, and you were exhausted, nearly spent already from socializing all night with friends. the sudden, harsh winter air would make you displeased and shivering for a few fleeting moments before entering the house, and suna just couldn’t have that.

he couldn’t have his precious princess be cold for any more than a millisecond or else he’s be very disappointed within himself.

deciding what his solution would be, he help up one finger at you through the window, signaling for you to be patient for one moment and he’d explain the change of plans later.

“what?” you questioned him, but he could only read your lips through the thick glass.

“one minute, baby. i’m going to go do something really quickly, hold on.” he halfheartedly explained.

you understood what you needed to in order to ask no more questions— both exhausted and lack of communication being a result.

your eyes followed him as he walked to the front door of your shared home, unlocking it and entering the house before shutting the door behind him after blowing you a gentle kiss for good measure, a way of telling you that everything is okay and he’ll be back shortly.

you sat back in the seat tiredly, the heated interior keeping you in a nice warm hug while you waited for him.

after only a few fleeting moments, you had forgotten about rintaro and found yourself falling into a soft slumber.

“c’mon, sweet girl, let’s get you inside.”

you awoke slightly when strong arms wrapped around your body, closely holding you tightly to his chest to secure and comfort you as he lifted you carefully out of the car, nudging the door closed with his knee once your were fully outside and safe in his arms.

“rinnie?” you sleepily mumbled, your eyes still closed gently as you called out to him.

he glanced down at you as he began to walk up the driveway, a small smile on his face at your sleepy state.

“yes, princess?”

“are we in bed, yet?”

he chuckled, causing his chest to rumble and you to whine at the vibrations against your body.

“not yet, special one. i’m carrying you inside— you fell asleep in the car.” he answered as he walked into the warm house, you wrapped in blanket in tow.

you stirred slightly at the change of lighting, the dark night sky in contrast to the warm yellow light the living room lamp provided becoming noticeable to you.

your eye were still shut, too tired to open them and welcome light in as you stayed bundled in your boyfriend’s arms.

“gonna have to set you on the couch, okay, pretty girl? i have to take our shoes off.” suna explained, his voice soft as he spoke at you, his eyes taking in your resting face.

you tiredly mumbled a barely coherent ‘yes’ in response, your cute cozy voice causing rintaro’s heart to swell and his stomach to warm up in pure happiness.

how he got to lucky with you was beyond him, but he wouldn’t trade you for the world. every little quirk of your’s had him tripping over his two feet in adoration, much to your disbelief. he didn’t care if you believed him though, because he could feel it in his bones the each centimeter of you was beautiful— especially now as you drool sleepyly in his arms.

he walked a few feet in front him, stopping to crouch down and ever so gently set you down on the velvet couch he had bought a few months prior as a anniversary present. your previous couch had been stained by your newly potty trained puppy and you were heartbroken over it, but as always, suna knew just what to do to cheer his princess up once more.

the feeling of a soft cushion cradling your head had you nuzzling into the feeling, rubbing your flushed cheek against a throw pillow that suna placed there for under your head before lying you down.

a few moments passed before you were scooped up carefully again, your favorite blanket wrapped cozyly around you, granting you infinite warmth.

“alright, princess. now it’s time for bed.” he sighed, relieved.

you were too tired to understand much, only the nickname kissing your ears like a song. but, you trusted that rintaro would do whatever was in your best interest no matter how sleepy you were.

he made his way to the bedroom, continuing to carry you effortlessly throughout the house as you slept peacefully in his arms. he often glanced down at you, finding a small proud smile on his face as he did so.

you were everything to him, nothing else mattered when he was around you. his only focus in those moments were taking the best care of you that he could and making sure you were safe and happy. all of which you seemed to be in this moment.

rintaro watched you thrive tonight as you spoke to all of your friends at the holiday party, and he couldn’t have been seen happier in the corner. his face held a grin all night, a proud smile he wore for everyone to see as they passed him by. the other guests probably assumed that he was one of two things: either high or just had the best sex of his life— but he wasn’t even close to their unclean thoughts. suna rintaro was lovesick, so lovesick that you surrounded his whole night— even on the rare occasion that you were out of his protective sight. you occupied his thoughts every minute, the way you spoke to everyone with such kindness and consideration, the way you let some of them cut you off mid sentence but were careful to bite back if someone off hand was said, the way you gave him sweet reassuring glances every two minutes to make sure he was having a good time and welcome to join your conversation whenever, the way you blew him kisses when you passed by him to go into another room— everything about the way you glew at that engagement party had suna feeling like a hopeless romantic.

as he neared the bedroom, only being two steps away from it, you stirred slightly causing him to gently stop momentarily to check on you. this allowed him to also use this as an opportunity to admire your unconscious state.

‘a true sleeping beauty’ he thought to himself.

your eyes were relaxed, an eyelid delicately draped over them like a blanket.

your mouth was open slightly, leaking drool that pooled in the corner of your mouth. the same mouth the suna kissed every morning and night, and dreamed of stealing more when he couldn’t.

but, as he stared down at you, he noticed how dolled up you still were. you still had your makeup on, a tad but smudged but there and your hair was neater than usual.

“fuck.” he whispered under his breath in realization.

the bathroom wasn’t too far from where he was now, just a few feet behind him, but he didn’t want to move too much in fear of waking the sleeping princess. but, he could manage.

carefully, he turned around as smoothly he could without swinging you around in his arms, his sockclad feet skillfully shifting with little to no motion beyond his torso. glancing down at you, suna nearly sighed in relief to find you still sound asleep.

he confidently but carefully took a few steps before making his way to the bathroom.

“rinnie?” you mumbled dreamily.

his heart almost stopped, had not been gently enough?

“yes, princess?”

you opened your eyes, blinking up at him sleepily.

“i still have my dress on and it’s uncomfy.” you whined softly.

he smiled at your cuteness but sympathized with your uncomfortable feeling.

“i know, sweetheart. i’m going to take you into here and get you all cleaned up and ready for bed, okay?”

you pouted but nodded slowly, dreading having to wake soon to get unready.

———

after a few minutes of unexplained moment, you finally opened your eyes to find suna looking down at you as he cradled you in his arms. you quickly recognized that he was standing in your shared bathroom, the familiar dim light of the mirror giving it away.

“hey, beautiful. i have to wash your pretty face off, okay? you have makeup on.” he softly explained when confusion flashed your face.

“oh.”

he smiled and nodded in agreement before leaning over and eventually attempting to sit you up on the counter. little to no words were exchanged between you two as you repositioned, the action being understood by you quickly.

he reached behind your right side, sliding your cleanser forward before giving your nose a soft kiss.

“wait,” you interjected. “i need the makeup remover first before the cleanser…” you corrected.

he nodded understandingly, murmuring a quick ‘thank you, baby’ in return before correcting his almost mistake by placing the larger bottle of micellar water from near the light switch, next to the cleanser.

“this stuff?”

you hummed in agreement, a sleepy haze coating your eyes as he glanced back at you, taking note of how beat you looked. he’ll be sure to get you all nice and tucked in when the two of you finally lay down for the night, the best princess burrito he could muster.

rintaro leaned over closer to you, his strong scent filling the empty air between the two of you causing you to wake slightly but not enough to pull you out of your dozed off state. you’re eyes were open but you had zoned out within the few silent moments, brain foggy and peaceful. his catlike eyes narrowed at you, enjoying the beautiful sight of you so serene. it was like you were an enchantress, your beauty lit up his whole soul, opening him up with light and covering all of his shadowy spots with your glow.

“you’re so fucking beautiful, princess.” he mumbled. “all mine too.”

your lashes fluttered shut, a carelessly swift motion that sent suna’s heart on fire.

“tired.” you groggily mumbled.

“i know, sweet girl. let’s get you all cleaned up, yeah?”

he briefly caressed your hair lovingly before turning the faucet on and squirting a pump of face wash into his open hand.

“one or two pumps?”

you hummed out your answer, a low effort attempt to answer him.

“what was that, princess? gonna have to speak up for me.”

“t-two.”

he obliged, dispensing another glop and lathering it to foam under the running water.

“now, you’re gonna have to wake up a little more, okay? i’m sorry, babygirl, i know you’re tired.” suna gently sympathized, his large callused hands wet with foamy makeup remover.

you let a light whine pass your lips, frustration and exhaustion bubbling in your chest cavity and threatening to flood the bathroom, taking your beautiful boyfriend with it. but, you obliged; opening your bloodshot eyes and being greeted with the domestic sight.

he stood in front of you now, only about two inches of space left between you. his hands were facing up, arms slightly extended to keep the soap from getting on him or dripping everywhere. rintaro’s eyes watched you intently, awaiting your ‘okay’ to wet your face and wash away the day.

but the only thing you could focus on was the scent that filled the air; suna’s scent. the delightful musk of his cologne mixed with fresh linens and a warm scented candle you lit earlier that day embraced your lungs as you breathed in, causing your heart to warm up and a small content smile to graze your lips.

“what’s that pretty smile for?” rintaro asked, his expression mirroring your own.

“just love you so much. feel like home…”

“i feel like home? or this house feels like home?”

you paused, inhaling the comforting aroma once more. this time his icy cologne overpowered the other smells, giving you a nostalgic feeling and a fond memory of yours clouded your vision.

it was late last june, the third summer you had spent with suna wrapped around your finger and this particular night just proved how true that started was. you were sat on this very counter top, your nightgown stained with the green clay mask that suna sloppily applied on your face. your arms were outstretched in front of you, your fingers gently tracing his face and leaving a thick layer of clay trailing behind them with ever inch of skin you graze. his strong hands rested firmly on your hips, thumbs rubbing the clothed skin lovingly.

“is it supposed to sting? because right now it’s stinging.” rintaro asked, his voice filling the silent bathroom.

you chuckled at his childishness, his pain tolerance low.

“yes, just slightly though— nothing harsh. it means it’s working, as long as it isn’t too bad. is it?” you replied.

he shrugged gently, his hands still firmly placed on your generously loved hips. oh, how much he loved your hips.

“nothing major or irritating. just… different.”

you paused the motions of your hands, focusing your attention on the tranquil expression that graced his face. as if he wasn’t already stunning…

his eyes were rested, gently shut and relaxed as you applied the face mask to his already clear face. whispering promises of relaxation and baby soft skin. he trusted you, allowing you to put whatever you desired on him without question.

“you look so pretty, rinnie.”

he chuckled, slightly flattered but used to your compliments by now.

“i bet you look even prettier, princess. my pretty princess.”

your eyes nearly rolled back in ecstasy at the last statement, your tummy infested with butterflies that had just got a sudden burst of energy. 

“my pretty princess.” you tiredly mumbled, the memory of that beloved night leaking into reality accidentally.

he furrowed his brows at you, confused to say the least but sure you had a good reason behind it… at least he hoped.

“what, dollface?”

“you called me your pretty princess the night we did face masks for the first time. don’t you remember?” you explained, hopeful that the memory was dear to him as well.

you and suna were both very madly in love; truly, deeply in love. so in love that both of your friends were so sick of hearing how much you meant to one another, hearing brag upon brag about how amazing the other was. but the worst wasn’t even in conversation— no, it was the way he spoke to you.

you meant the entire world to him, and he was absolutely sure that there was nothing that trumped you in anything; beauty, intelligence, kindness, affection— all of the traits that rintaro was sure you were the best at. his most fond memories of you were selected carefully, hand picked by himself going off of a system he called love.

anytime he felt like his heart was going burst, or when his palms would pool with sweat out of nerves, or whenever you both did something for the first time together— he would hold those special moments as close to his heart as he manage.

so yes, he did in fact remember the particular night you are reminiscing.

“mhm.” he hummed back. “f’ course i remember, sweetie.”

you smiled tiredly, your eyes hardly open but still trying.

“you called me your pretty princess.” you repeated.

suna’s cheeks tinted pink at the way your voice sounded, as if you were dreaming and he was everything you could ever wanted.

and he was.

“i always call you that.” he deadpanned.

why was that particular name sticking to you? it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for those exact words to slip out of his mouth when addressing you, so why were you so hung up on it now?

“yeah- but this was different. you said it like you meant it-“

“i always mean it. always.” his voice was authoritative, as if he was ordering you gently to correct your thoughts.

like a king, ordering his insecure queen to trust his love, demanding that she change her course of thought before he beheads her.

or at least that’s what your groggy mind concocted.

“but this was the first. the first time that i felt you meant it. i could feel the love and security behind your words, even if there were only three of them.”

rintaro was silent, his rough hands foamy and awaiting your approval to wash away the exhausting party. but, he couldn’t think of that right now. all that filled his lovesick brain was how beautifully romantic your soul was, and how it took everything he ever said to heart.

a few fleeting moments passed as he continued to think, a calm silence building in the air before a cheeky grin spread across his face.

“fuck, i just love you so much. you’re so damn fucking sweet, y’know that? my princess is so goddamn sweet and lovely. i just love you. so so much, baby. don’t ever change, please.” suna rambled, a large smile on his face as he spoke.

he placed a kiss to you lips, quick but enchanting before he finally quirked a brow at you, suggesting that he was ready to get this over with. you nodded, consenting him to clean your makeup off at last.

“wet my face a bit first. it’ll come off easier.” you mumbled.

he hissed out a ‘shit’ before rapidly looking around for a washcloth to wet and gently rub on your face to dampen it as you suggested.

you quickly caught on and told him to just rinse off his hands and pat the wetness onto your face before his hands dried.

“are you sure?”

“yes. it’s not like you’re dirty or anything. i suck on your fingers all the time, i’m sure i won’t get any dirtier from this than that.”

he smirked at the mention of his slender fingers in your mouth, suddenly craving the sight and feeling of it. but, he had enough courtesy to wait until before you drifted off in bed soon.

the action wasn’t sexual when you did it, neither of you saw it that way. it was more of a comfort thing for you, and suna sure did enjoy watching you so content just from suckling on his fingers. his.

with a small sigh of self-dissatisfaction, rintaro reached his hand into the sink and nudged the faucet on with his large ring finger.

“suna?”

he ran his hands under the water as he let out a quite hum.

“would it be okay if you could undress me too?”

“of course, princess. i was going to anyway.”

“really? it wouldn’t be weird?”

he furrowed his brows once more.

“why would it, doll? i’ve seen all of you many times, and i adore it. sexually or not.”

your heart swelled.

“what would i do without you?”

he chuckled as his hands turned clean and wet, taking them out of the running sink to wet your face with them.

“nah, sweetheart. the real question is; what would i do without you? my life would be so meaningless without a pretty princess to take care of. who’s door would i open? who’s food would i cut up? who’s pretty feet would i kiss and rub on?” rintaro questioned, taking a pause to place his warm wet hands on your face.

you sighed at the warmth, the water being the perfect temperature for relaxation. plus, his slender hands felt so comforting on your tired face, allowing your eyes to close at the feeling of your cheeks being caressed by your love.

“i love you so much, rinnie.” you mumbled. “thank you for taking such good care of me all of the time. i-i can’t imagine my life without you.”

he huffed out a adoring laugh, leaning down and giving your nose a gentle kiss.

“the pleasure is all mine, sweet girl.”

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

+

part two here

WHEN HIS SON TELLS HIM HE HAS A CRUSH !

featuring: Oikawa Tooru, Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime, & Sugawara Koushi

warnings: subtle timeskip spoiler in suga's

notes: this is barely proofread so if there's a typo i'll just die gn

ღ OIKAWA is convinced he has all the knowledge a guy needs about love. so, when his son comes home to tell him of a newfound crush, he's over the goddamn moon. you watch as your husband tells him every innocent technique; "you gotta give her flowers!" and "walk her to class!" being among the few. now, though you admit he's rather dramatic, you're confident in his love game—you'd married him, after all. he just needs a slap on the head sometimes.

"so you walk her to class, right?"

the boy nods. "right!"

"then you take her hand," he demonstrates with yours, "and kiss her knuckles like so– ack!"

"or," you ignore your lover's whines as he rubs his head, "you can tell her she's invited to your birthday next week and work from there."

ღ ATSUMU is proud and teary when he hears about his son's crush. "he's growin' into a man!" he cries out, which elicits an eye roll out of you. your husband's patting his back and juicing out every little detail of their interactions at school, much like a gushy school girl. he's laid back but attentive as he listens, and he treats the encounter like your classic guy's night—he's the one giving tips.

"uh huh, and then?"

"i smiled, like this!" your son quirks his lip. "then i waved at her."

atsumu grins, "atta boy!" he ruffled his hair, "but ya know what could've made it better?"

"what?"

"if ya winked," he winks at you, "like how i do to yer mommy."

you look at him, unimpressed. "no dinner for you, 'tsumu."

"what'd i do?!"

your son sighs. "you never learn, dad."

ღ IWAIZUMI is a little confused and secretly alarmed. of course, the last thing he expects to come out of his son's mouth when he picks him up from school is a question about how to handle a crush. it almost would've been better if the boy told him he flunked his math quiz. almost. he wasn't the man for questions like that, but without you here, in the midst of traffic, who was he to not even try?

"well," he tapped on the wheel, "how about you try talking to her more? share your lunch, maybe."

"but i'm shy!"

iwaizumi chuckled. "you're never moving forward like that."

the boy pouts. "i know." a beat passes before he speaks again. "hey dad?"

"yeah?"

"how did you get mom to like you?"

okay. he thinks, ignoring the growing heat of his cheeks. i can work with that.

ღ SUGAWARA isn't unfamiliar with the wonders of childhood, so when his own son comes to him squabbling about a pretty girl at school, he's calm—excited, even. he thinks that all his years of teaching has led to this very moment. he's grinning as he makes dinner, because he's listening to his boy with earnest. definitely ends up teasing him about it later every chance he gets.

the knife hits the cutting board with a dull thump, harmonizing with sugawara's humming. "she really let you borrow her pencil?"

"yeah!" the boy yips and grabs a plate. "she's super nice, dad."

"i'll bet," he adds a careful as his son walks to the dining table. "wanna invite her over for dinner some time?"

the walking stops. "really?"

"yeah," he eyes the boy with a playful glint. "you're so in love."

"am–" the child's face flushed bright. "am not!"

"are too!"

you watch as your lover teases your son with kissy noises, chuckling to yourself from your spot on the doorway.

you'll have to join in on the fun later.

feedback & reblogs are always appreciated!