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ballsandbabes · 2 months ago

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GOM + Kagami: Seeing their s/o with tighter clothes for the first time

Summary: Our favourite chaotic dumbasses but this time with class, suit and tie, as well as a stunning accompaniment for the evening. Super cute, fluff and funny <3 Enjoy

Authors Note: Y/n = your name // GIFS are not mine // Female reader implied // Not really proof read, sorry.

The hotel ballroom glowed under soft chandeliers, packed with athletes from every major high school and college in the region. It was a formal gala—a celebration of academic and athletic excellence—and for once, everyone was out of jerseys and into evening wear.

Tetsuya and the others were now spread all over the hall: Midorima was busy finding a suitable place for his lucky charm, while Kise Atsushi had to hold back from snacking before the buffet opened. Aomine stood awkwardly near the chocolate fountain, wearing a navy blue suit that looked like it had been wrestled onto him five minutes before the event. He tugged at his collar, looking to Kuroko.

“Tetsu didn’t say this thing would be this uptight…” he muttered, scowling at the bowtie he’d failed to fasten properly. “Still looks better than your school uniform,” a familiar voice teased.

He turned—and froze.

You stood just a few steps away, a sleek, form-fitting dress hugging your curves: Blue, shiny, expensive looking satin fabric clung to your figure. It wasn’t overly flashy, but it left little to the imagination—and yet somehow, the look in your eyes made it feel more elegant than provocative. You smiled at him, slightly nervous, slightly amused.

“…Daiki?”, you asked at the sight of him malfunctioning completely.

Aomine blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again like he’d forgotten how to human. Normally, you and Aomine were very similar when it came to clothing. Wide fit, comfortable and with a sporty touch. Lots of oversized hoodies and sports pants. Which was actually quite practical since you two now had two wardrobes at your disposal. So this sight was new…

“Holy—uh,” he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair as a blush crept across his cheeks, “You… look… different.”

“A good kind of different?” you asked, teasingly.

He looked away, muttering, “Like, punch-someone-who-looks-too-long different.”

You laughed, stepping closer. “You really can’t take a compliment without threatening violence, huh?”

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. “I didn’t know you had a dress like that.”

“I didn’t. Kuroko’s girlfriend made me buy it. Said it’d be funny watching you malfunction. You know what Satsuki is like. And I thought, given the occasion, I might as well try something new.”

Aomine groaned and glared across the room at where Kuroko stood stoically talking to Satsuki, sipping water like a crime hadn’t been committed.

You reached out and gently straightened his uneven tie. He looked incredibly good, you had to give him that. His bad boy charm, clad in a navy blue suit…you could have looked at him forever.

“You look good too,” you said softly. “Like a chaotic James Bond.” “…The tie's choking me.” “Then suffer. For fashion. And me.”, you laught sweetly.

He gave a rare, boyish laugh and looked at you—really looked. A slow grin spread across his face, and this time it wasn’t laced with sarcasm or teasing.

“You’re seriously gonna make me fight someone tonight, huh?” he murmured, voice low and genuine.

You rolled your eyes and looped your arm through his. “You can start by walking me to the dance floor, Mr. Bond.”

Aomine sighed dramatically. “Only if there’s no spinning. I’m an athlete, not a ballerina.”

“You’re such an unbelievable idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours.”

The sports gala was in full swing, all glass chandeliers and polished floors. Athletes in tailored suits mingled with scholars and coaches, speeches echoing off the marble as the evening celebrated excellence in both academics and athletics. The invitation came about a month ago. Midorima wasn't sure if he should ask you at first because you had only been dating for 2 months at that point. When you found the invitation to visit him, the decision was overdue.

Somewhere near the edge of the grand hall, Midorima stood stiffly in a charcoal-gray suit with a spotless white pocket square… and a suspiciously green frog keychain peeking out of his breast pocket. He adjusted his glasses for the third time in a minute, clutching his phone in one hand and murmuring quietly. He and the other athletes had already been invited in and now he was waiting for you.

“Cancer’s lucky item today is something green,” he said under his breath. “Green… lucky item… green…”

He was working himself into a mental checklist frenzy—when the crowd parted, and you stepped in.

Dark green silk. Fitted in all the right places. A slight shimmer under the lights, the dress hugged your silhouette, confident yet understated. Your hair was pinned just enough to show off the delicate curve of your neck, where the small, delicate necklace with the green emerald ,that his grandma had given you, hung. And the look in your eyes said: You did this on purpose.

Midorima’s jaw didn’t drop. That would be unseemly. But his ears turned bright red in an instant. Normally baggy track pants and baggy t-shirts were the order of the day. Not that it would have bothered him. That's exactly why he liked you, you were unapoligatically yourself.

You smiled and walked over, your heels soft against the marble. “You said something green would be your lucky item today, right?”

“I—yes—Oha Asa specifically stated that Cancers should keep something green close to them to avoid emotional turbulence and maintain stability in relationships and—” He abruptly cut off, realizing what he was saying.

You tilted your head innocently. “Yeah, I know. I thought, maybe… I could be your lucky item.”

His eyes widened. Glasses fogged. Brain short-circuited. How could you do that? now that he had to go on stage soon and was already way too nervous.

“You—you’re already—I mean, obviously—yes, that’s extremely logical,” he blurted, rapidly pushing up his glasses again. “That’s… ah… very considerate of you.”

You leaned in just slightly, brushing imaginary lint from his lapel. Your delicate scent, which smelled like a Moscow Mule, enveloped both of you.

“You look really handsome tonight, Shin-chan,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, looked down at the floor, then at you—and blushed even harder.

“I should be the one saying that,” he muttered. “You look…”

Pause. Long pause.

“…Statistically unfair to everyone else in the room.”, he exclaimed. You laughed. Then, after another agonizing moment of trying to maintain his composure, Midorima exhaled slowly and added, almost too softly for you to hear:

“…I must be very lucky indeed. To have a girlfriend like you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. He stared forward, frozen in place, already regretting saying it out loud.

“…Shintarō.” “Forget I said that.” “Not a chance.”

You took his hand gently.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I’m lucky too. You are amazing”

Somewhere behind you, Takao and Taiga were watching from a table and whisper-yelling, “HE SAID IT?! DID HE ACTUALLY SAY IT?!”

The sports gala glittered with polished shoes, award plaques, and dignified chatter. Music drifted through the grand ballroom, and athletes from all over had cleaned up for the evening. Even the towering Kagami Taiga, usually more comfortable in sweatpants than a suit, had managed to wrangle himself into a sleek black tux.

His tie was slightly crooked. He was fiddling with the cuffs. And he was sweating. He had always dreamed of something like this. It feels like draft night in the NBA.

“Oi, Kagami,” Aomine muttered from the snack table. “Why do you look like you’re about to face Rakuzan again?” “He’s nervous,” Kuroko said, appearing out of nowhere as usual. “(Y/N) said she would accompany us, remember?,” Kuroko added.

Kagami’s ears turned red. “S-Shut up!” “You’ll survive,” Midorima muttered, arms crossed. “Unless she shows up in something red. Cancer’s unlucky color today is red—”

And then everything just stopped. The double doors at the ballroom entrance opened, and you stepped in.

A revealing red dress clung to your figure like it was made for you and for you only. The slit on your thigh, the soft glow of your skin, the perfectly tied-up hair with just enough strands loose to frame your face—it was elegance with a dangerous twist. Your jewelry—ruby red and shining—matched your dress like fire licking gold.

And to Taiga Kagami, you didn’t just walk in. You descended from the heavens. His heart stopped. Literally skipped. Probably as red as your dress.

“…She’s really wants to kill me...,” he whispered.

You scanned the room until you locked eyes with him. You smiled, soft and confident—and Kagami, the guy who stared down NBA-level opponents, panicked.

“Kagamin’s about to combust,” Kise whispered, eyes wide and amused. “I give him twenty seconds,” Murasakibara said, chewing.

You made your way over, hips swaying just slightly—not teasing, just effortless—and stopped right in front of him. The gentle click of your high heels came to an end.

“Hi,” you said with a grin. “You clean up nice.”

Kagami opened his mouth. No sound came out. He cleared his throat. He didn't know where to look…Your legs? No. Your accompaniment? Absolutely no way. He wasn't a weirdo. So he chose looking at your shoulders. Somehow the least problematic spot to look at, he thought.

“Y-You—uh—you look—uh—” He looked down, face crimson. You tilted your head. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You look—damn.” It burst out of him before he could think. “Like—like some kind of goddess. Like—what are you doing to me right now?”

You laughed softly, reaching up to straighten his tie, your fingers warm against his chest.

“Just returning the favor,” you whispered. “You know how you kill me in those jerseys. All sweaty, shiny and with tense muscles peaking through. This felt fair.”

Kagami blinked rapidly, trying not to overheat.This sentence finished him off. “Y-You didn’t have to go this hard—I mean—you look amazing. Seriously. But—uh—also, like—this might not be safe for my....blood pressure.”

In the background, Aomine clutched Kuroko’s shoulder. “He’s gone, man. She slayed him.”

Kise sniffled dramatically. “Young love is so beautiful.” You tugged Kagami gently toward the dance floor. “Come on, Taiga. One dance. For your goddess?”

He made a strangled sound, but let you pull him away. Your hand firmly gripping his biceps. He could have sworn to God that you would eventually be the death of him.

“…I’m gonna mess this up,” he muttered under his breath. “You won’t,” you smiled, resting your hand against his chest. “You’ve got the biggest heart in the room. You’ve already won.”

Midorima pushed up his glasses, averting his gaze. “This is getting disgustingly romantic. I'll excuse myself to the toilet”. Murasakibara popped another macaron. “I still ship it.”

The ballroom shimmered with golden lights and polished crystal, filled with the quiet buzz of athletes, coaches, and scholars mingling at the annual Academic Sports Gala. Kuroko had already been here once with the Teiko team. Now, however, it was different. The other schools and thus also the generation of miracles were all in this hall. He is pleased that everyone was able to come together in a friendly manner for this evening.

Near the refreshment table, Kuroko stood with a glass of water in both hands, looking as calm and unreadable as ever in his tailored black suit. But if anyone had been watching closely—which the entire Generation of Miracles was—they’d see the tiny signs: the shifting weight from foot to foot, the faintest flush on his cheeks.

“She’s late,” Aomine muttered, checking his watch. “Kuroko’s about to evaporate.” You and the boys had known each other since your Teiko days. At that time you were the manager of the Leichtatklik Club, with which the boys had always had a little rivalry.

“I give him ten seconds once she walks in before he drops the glass,” Kise smirked. “You guys are so cruel,” Murasakibara said between bites of cake, “but also, I’m curious.”

“She did say she’d wear a teal dress,” Midorima noted, pushing up his glasses. “Bold choice for someone as quiet as her.” “She said, Taiga told her it’s Kuroko’s favorite color,” Kise whispered.

Aomine snorted. “They're both idiots in love.”

Then the doors opened—and it seems, as if the room held its collective breath: You stepped in, the teal, almost waterlike dress hugging your frame like liquid silk. It was revealing, yes, but tasteful—delicate straps, a slit that played just on the edge of bold, and a deep neckline that somehow didn’t feel showy on you. What really made it stop time, though, was your hair—usually up or hidden under a cap—now cascading in shiny waves of brown, catching every speck of light like fire spun into thread. Like golden threats had been woven into it.

You walked with purpose, but your eyes searched. And the moment they found Kuroko, he just… froze. The cup of water in his hand tipped slightly.

“Called it,” Kise whispered, holding out a napkin.

You stopped a few feet in front of him, slightly nervous despite the confidence your dress was supposed to give you. “Hi, Tetsuya.”

He blinked once, then again, as if making sure you were real.

“You look…” he said quietly, voice unusually soft even for him. His eyes moved up to yours, lingering. “Incredible.” You smiled, brushing a bit of hair behind your ear. “Thank you. I, um… remembered you said you like red.”

Kuroko looked away briefly, cheeks burning. “It… suits you more than I could’ve imagined,” he said, barely audible, but the words were genuine in the way only he could make them.

You stepped a little closer. “You’re staring.” “I know. I’m sorry,”Kuroko said mildy blushing and immediately looking away. “No,” you said with a light laugh, “it’s okay. I was hoping you would.”

Kuroko blinked again, then looked down at his now-empty water glass. “I think I spilled.”

From behind a column, the rest of the Generation of Miracles were bunched together like overgrown middle-schoolers spying on a crush.

“Oh my god,” Aomine groaned. “Someone please just lock them in a closet already. I can't watch this anymore.” “They’re like deer,” Kise whispered in full awe. “Adorable, awkward deer.” “I think it’s sweet. But it's annoying that this has been going on for so long,” Murasakibara mumbled, licking frosting from his finger. “Since our Teiko days, it's like a series without a season finale…Hopefully one of them explodes from suppressed feelings,” Midorima said flatly.

Back on the ballroom floor, you took a tiny leap of courage.

“Would you like to dance, Tetsuya?”, you asked sweetly. He looked up, stunned for a second. “…Yes. I’d like that very much.”

He offered his hand, and you took it gently—his palm warm, just slightly trembling.

As the two of you walked onto the dance floor, Aomine groaned louder.

“They’re still blushing! It’s like watching a slow-motion hug.”

But Kuroko didn’t hear them. His world, for once, wasn’t quiet—it was beating wildly, fast, loud. He knew he had to ask you at some point or confess his feelings to you. No one else should find this teal colored gem.

The ballroom of the grand academic sports gala glimmered with elegance. Glass chandeliers spilled golden light across polished floors, string music floated in the air, and rows of desserts lined the buffet like edible artwork. Like everyone else, he got the invitation from Takao. He actually had no desire to attend. When Rin, the new manager, mentioned that she and a friend were leaving, he perked up. He knew that you and Rin got along well, so maybe there was a chance that you…

Towering by the dessert table, Murasakibara Atsushi lazily munched on a strawberry éclair, violet eyes half-lidded as he scanned the room in slow, lazy loops. Boring people, boring ambience and boring snacks to say the least. He looked mildly bored—until something made him stop mid-chew. Takao had given him a nudge with his elbow.

“…Mmm?”

The world seemed to pause. You had just walked in. A soft pink ball gown bloomed around you like cotton candy clouds, hugging your waist and cascading in layers of delicate tulle. Long, white satin gloves wrapped your arms, and your hair was swept up into a graceful bun, a few strands framing your face. You looked like you stepped out of a storybook.

Atsushi blinked slowly, pastry forgotten in his hand. “Whoa…” he mumbled.

The rest of the Generation of Miracles, gathered nearby with varying degrees of interest, also noticed the sudden shift in him.

“Did he just stop chewing?” Kise whispered, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen him do that,” Midorima said, adjusting his glasses. Aomine grinned. “That’s gotta be love.”

Murasakibara stared as you finally spotted him and began making your way over, lifting your gown delicately with gloved fingers. When you reached him, he blinked again and said, almost childlike, “You look like… cake.”

You blinked. “Cake?” How very...him.

“Like one of those pretty ones in glass boxes. Too pretty to eat,” he said slowly, then tilted his head. “You look… really nice. Way too nice.” You laughed gently. “I was worried it might be too much.” He stared for a second longer before saying in his low, mellow voice, “Can I… dance with you?” You blinked this time. “You want to dance?”

He shrugged one big shoulder. “Dunno. Feels like I should. Like, if a princess shows up, someone’s supposed to dance with her, right?”

You smiled, warm and a little shy. “Then yes. I’d like that.”

He moved with surprising gentleness for his size, his large hand cradling yours as you walked together to the center of the floor. The music slowed into something soft and lilting. The world hushed. You placed your gloved hand on his shoulder as he fumbled slightly to find the right position.

“I don’t really… know how to do this,” he murmured. “You’re doing fine,” you whispered. “Just sway.” As you moved together, he glanced down at you—really looked. “Your hair’s up…” he said quietly. “I like it. I can see your face better.” You flushed. “Do you… really mean that?”

He nodded slowly. “I mean everything I say to you.”

Silence fell between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full—tender, like candy melting slow on the tongue. Then, very softly, almost like he was talking to himself, Murasakibara murmured:

“I don’t think sweets ever made me feel like this.”

Your breath caught just a little. “I think you might be my new favorite thing.”

From the sidelines, the other Miracles were frozen.“…What the hell,” Aomine said, baffled. “Did he just say that?” Kise whispered, “I didn’t even know he could talk like that…” Midorima crossed his arms but looked quietly affected. “He’s not even sleepy right now. He’s… present.” Kuroko smiled softly. “She makes him feel something no snack ever could.”

As the song came to a close, Murasakibara leaned down slightly, resting his forehead against yours for the briefest, quietest moment.

“You make everything feel slower,” he whispered. “But in the good way.”

The Akashi family’s private ballroom was nothing short of breathtaking—marble floors that shimmered like water, chandeliers that hung like floating constellations, and crimson-and-gold banners bearing the Akashi crest fluttering gently with the hush of circulating air.

The Academic Sports Gala, hosted by the Akashi Corporation, was in full swing—graceful and efficient, just like its organizer.

Seijuro Akashi, dressed in a sharp white suit with a deep red tie, stood near the entrance with a champagne flute in hand. His posture was perfect. His gaze? Sharp, assessing, calm.

Until the murmurs started. A hush spread like a ripple. Heads turned. And then—so did his.

You stepped into the ballroom. Not in your usual oversized sweaters or casual, lived-in jeans. No. Tonight, you were something else entirely.

Wearing a dress would silence even a roaring thunder: It was black and deep red, silky with a daring slit and low-cut back, sculpting your body with elegance and edge. Your hair—usually thrown into a ponytail or hidden under a hoodie—was pinned up in a sleek twist, with a few soft strands framing your face perfectly. Jewelry glinted at your ears and collarbone.

You weren’t just attending. You ruled the room. And Akashi… was stunned.

The girl who wore oversized hoodies and joked about ramen in class now looked like she’d just been crowned Empress of the Akashi household.

Seijuro’s breath caught—just for a second. He didn’t show it. But his hand around the glass tightened faintly.

Across the room, the Generation of Miracles froze in sync.“Wait, is that—?” Kise’s jaw dropped. “That’s her, thats y/n” Aomine muttered. “No way.” The boys only able to stare at you. “…That’s not fair,” Midorima said, adjusting his glasses aggressively. “She looked good before, but that’s an entire transformation into a godess.”

“She looks like one of those rich fancy sweets that you have to unwrap with gloves,” Murasakibara mumbled around a mochi. “She looks like she belongs by Akashi-kun’s side,” Kuroko said quietly, with a rare, small smile.

You approached Seijuro with that same quiet composure he usually wore. Your eyes found his—and even you had to admit, this wasn’t how you usually moved, how you usually felt. But for tonight, you wanted to match his world. Just once.

“Seijuro,” you greeted, voice soft but unwavering.

He stared. Not at your body—but you. Every inch of who you were tonight. Your aura was that of a queen: elegant, confident and calm.

“…You look divine,” he said after a pause, his voice lower than usual. “More than that—undeniably yours, and no one else’s.” You flushed, nerves fluttering beneath the cool exterior. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it? I don’t usually…”

“It’s perfect.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “And it’s not ‘too much.’ You just forgot who you are.” You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Akashi reached for your hand, guiding it to his chest. “You are someone who can turn silence into awe. Someone who walks into my family’s ballroom and redefines what elegance looks like. You are worthy of every crown I’ve ever worn.”

You swallowed, heartbeat racing. “You’re not… overwhelmed?”

He actually chuckled—a rare, genuine one. You knew each other since Teiko Middle School. At first you two were at ease with each other with few touch points. He had always watched you in the library until closing time, fascinated by your discipline. Admiration eventually turned into admiration and began to turn into love. Deep conversations about the pressure and your own wishes and dreams had welded you together and created a wordless understanding for each other.

“I’m not overwhelmed. I’m honored.” He offered his arm, regal and sure. “Will you allow me the first dance?” You slipped your hand into his. “You may.”

The two of you moved to the dance floor, gliding as if the entire gala had been constructed just for this moment. Back at their corner table, the Generation of Miracles stared in stunned silence.

“…So this is what it feels like to lose to romance,” Aomine muttered. Kise sniffed. “I’m emotionally unprepared for this level of royalty.” Midorima took off his glasses to clean them. “They’re more intimidating together than apart.” “Still cute though,” Murasakibara hummed.

Kuroko sipped his drink quietly, his expression soft. “He’s never looked more at ease.”

And in the center of it all, Seijuro Akashi twirled you once beneath the light, leaned in, and whispered:

“From now on, I hope you always remember this feeling—of being exactly as powerful, beautiful, and irreplaceable as I’ve always seen you.”

The ballroom of the annual Academic Sports Gala Japan glittered with elegance—warm lights, a polished marble floor, and a cascade of glittering crystal from the high chandeliers. Athletes and scholars in sleek gowns and tuxedos mingled under the hum of conversation and soft music.

Among them stood Kise Ryouta, his golden hair perfectly styled, his tailored white suit catching the light just right. He was already surrounded by a small group, chatting and smiling, drawing attention like always. Girls who looked at him and adored him from all corners of the ballroom. It had been easy for him to get ready for this occasion. It was no different than an evening event for his modeling job.

But his eyes? They kept darting to the entrance. Searching even. “She’s late,” Aomine said, standing nearby with the rest of the Generation of Miracles. “You sure she’s even coming?” “Maybe she got shy,” Midorima added. “That’s not really her scene and we know how she is.” “She’s not… flashy like Kise-kun,” Murasakibara said, chewing lazily on a macaron. Kuroko, ever quiet, simply said, “She’s may be not flashy or in the limelight all the time—but she matters to him.”

Then the doors opened. Silence. There you stood.

Wearing a deep royal blue dress that looked like the night sky had been sewn into silk. It hugged your figure in all the right places—elegant but just daring enough to make it somewhat sexy. Your hair, normally tucked behind a hoodie or loose around your face, was swept up into a delicate updo, revealing your neck and a pair of shimmering earrings. The one he gave you as a gift. He had a photo shoot for a jeweler and was allowed to choose a piece of jewelry as a thank you - he immediately thought of you. For a moment, you hesitated, eyes searching nervously through the crowd.

And then they locked with his. Kise dropped his champagne flute. “Holy…” Aomine blinked. “That’s her?!” “I—Is she glowing?” Kise heard Kuroko murmur. “She looks like a completely different person,” Midorima said, stunned. “No… I mean...she looks like herself, but elevated.” “She’s so… pretty,” Murasakibara muttered astonished between bites.

But Kise? He was already halfway across the floor. He met you halfway, eyes wide, a huge grin blooming on his face like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Y/N-chan…!” he practically gasped, stopping right in front of you. His eyes roamed—your dress, your hair, your flushed cheeks—and then landed on your eyes, warm and nervous.

“You’re… wow. You’re…” He stumbled, hand reaching to take yours gently. “I think I just fell for you again.”

You laughed nervously, looking down. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I feel kind of ridiculous…”

He instantly cupped your cheek with one hand, shaking his head with the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“No way. You look like a star. Like, the star of tonight. Everyone’s staring—I’m staring. I’m never gonna stop.” You blushed deeper. “I just wanted to match you. Just this once.”

Kise’s smile softened, his voice dropping to something more tender.

“Y/N-chan… I didn’t fall for you because I wanted someone to match me. I fell for you because you’re calm, and gentle, and kind. But this? This side of you…? It’s just proof you’ve always had this beauty in you. I’m just lucky I get to see it.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy, and he leaned in just a little.

“Dance with me?” he asked, already offering his hand.

You nodded.

And as the two of you glided onto the floor—him beaming with pride, you glowing with quiet confidence—the rest of the Generation of Miracles could only watch.

“…Okay,” Aomine muttered, rubbing his neck. “Now I get it.” “She’s beautiful,” Midorima admitted. “Understated elegance.” “They look like one of those luxury ads,” Kise’s former captain, Kasamatsu, added from a distance. Making everyone laugh.

Kuroko smiled softly. “She didn’t need to match Kise. Kise chose someone who grounds him and reasons that matter to him. Tonight, she just reminded the rest of the world why he did so.”

Murasakibara shrugged. “Still want cake. But yeah… they look sweet.”

As the music swelled, Kise leaned down just slightly to whisper in your ear.

“Next time, oversized hoodie or not, I’m still going to think you’re the most beautiful girl in the room.”

220 notes · View notes

bunnies-and-blues · 9 months ago

Note

Hi~ your post on study session headcanons was so relatable for me, because I’m preparing for exams right now! Wish Kogure-sempai could keep me company while I revise… Sigh

Would you do headcanons for Mitsui, Rukawa, Kogure, and how they’d make up with their s/o after an fight?

Thank you so much! Keep up the good work!

─꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱─ slam dunk : kiss & make up ☆

⸝⸝ tl;dr : fights are always the worst thing to have with your partner. work features mitsui, rukawa, kogure, and you !

⸝⸝ note : not really hurt/comfort, but more so just the comfort after talking it out with the sd boys ! and thank u sm, peach, wishing you the best on exams ! (even though its vv late) =DD

you don't even remember what you fought about . was it a conflict on schedules ? were you being too clingy ? or lack thereof ? whatever it was, it felt awful .

mitsui hisashi . . .

look, i love the guy, but he's not the best at communication

chances are, he'll be giving you the cold shoulder for a couple of days, even though his heart yearns for your presence and his eyes automatically search for your name whenever his phone lights up with a notification

i feel like he'd be a bit prideful, not replying for hours on end and giving you terse replies whenever you speak — like i said, awful communication skills !!

secretly though, he'd be asking his friends for advice — kogure, specifically. and to some extent akagi as well; he knows that both of them are level-headed enough to hear both yours and his side of the story.

eventually, he breaks ; he misses being around you : (

mitsui stops you just as you were about to leave the room. it was late afternoon, the sun's rays slanting through the classroom windows. dust motes swirl lazily in the light as mitsui steps towards you once, twice, three times, until eventually you two are facing each other. his eyes are downcast, his feet shuffling on the worn wooden floors. "look, i - uh -" he starts, and he curses. why the hell can't he talk ? even when you're not doing anything, you can still render him speechless. he stops, takes a deep breath, starts again. "i just wanted to say that i'm sorry, for you know, not answering your messages and not calling you back. ignoring you. i - i have no excuse for that; and i'm not proud of it, either. but i just wanna say that, whatever we fought about, we- we can talk it out, if you're okay with that. i wanna make this right. i don't like being in fights with you, and it feels weird, not talking to you. and the thing is, i-" he sighs again, his gaze finally coming up to meet yours. his words come out in a whisper, his statement meant for you and you only. "- i missed you."

kogure kiminobu . . .

easily the best communicator out of the three !!

he's the type of person that strives to end any miscommunication before it could even begin, so fights and arguments with him are infrequent, if not completely rare

the only scenario i can see wherein you'd get in a fight with him is about how maybe you're working too hard -- studying from the time you get home to the early hours of morning with no breaks in-between

kogure hates seeing you suffer, so often times he tries to offer advice, even if you don't want or need it

eitherway, an argument would happen ; maybe some hurtful words were thrown around, words that neither of you meant

regardless of who instigated, kogure would always be the one to first make amends

all around you, the world goes on -- students chatting excitedly over lunch, footsteps echoing all across the campus, birds and cars and people all just trying to move forward. but in this corner of the school, the one with the flowering cherry tree behind the cafeteria, the world only consisted of you and him. you fidget with the water bottle in your hands, the condensation making your palms wet. the sweltering noontime heat makes you dizzy. (or was it from your lack of sleep?) you raise your handkerchief to swipe at your sweat, but kogure beats you to it -- gently, he dabs his at your forehead, then your cheeks, then your neck. his hands are cool despite the heat. "i'm sorry for what i said the other day," he says as he cools you down. "i ... i just don't want to see you having a hard time. i know that your deadlines were near and you have so much to do but i just really don't like seeing you so ... tired. you haven't been talking much lately and i haven't seen you smile all week so i - i just --" "kiminobu." you cut him off, leaning your cheek into his palm. kogure's heart pounds in his chest ; you say his name so sweetly, so softly. "it's okay." "are you sure?" he stammers, leaning forward to caress your face better. "it's just that i know i said some things that i shouldn't have said and it's --" "kiminobu," you repeat again, your tone firm but gentle at the same time. you rest the weight of your head on his palms (along with the weight you've been feeling all week) and you smile at him. "it's okay." kogure stares at you for a moment, then he smiles back, his eyes crinkling and a laugh spilling from his lips. "okay," he repeats, nodding his head. "okay." he laughs, and it feels like he's weightless, floating on cloud nine.

rukawa kaede . . .

not much to say for rukawa tbh

but in all seriousness, the aftermath of your fights with rukawa would be silent and cold. much like mitsui, he tends to prioritize his pride and sore heart over actually making amends with you.

but that doesn't mean he doesn't care !

more often than not, he ends up with his fingers hovering over his phone's keyboard, trying desperately to think of a way to apologize to you, before sighing and just turning his phone off

he plays basketball to let off the steam, and also to occupy his mind from the lack of your presence : (

the sounds of rukawa's basketball hitting the floor echoes throughout the empty gym, mixing in with the sounds of cicadas chirping in the trees. moths gather under lamplights, their wings silvery in the night. bam-bam-bam goes the ball, before his pace stuttersto a halt. he wipes the sweat off his forehead and checks the time -- 7 pm. that's enough practice for one day. the cold night air greets him as he walks out the gym. as he swings his leg over his bike, he sees a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. "you're still here," he states, deadpan. he still hasn't figured out how to apologize to you, and his stiffness shows in his voice. "yeah," you reply, clutching your bag tighter. you had been in the library with your classmates up until that point, working hard to finish a group project before tomorrow's deadline. silence between the two of you. you walk on, and so does he, the click-click-click of his bike wheels the only sound disrupting the quiet turmoil of each other's thoughts. the two of you exit the school campus, and for a moment you both falter on the concrete sidewalk, shoes scuffling the grit underfoot. "i'll- i'll go this way, then," you mutter. what the hell, he hates this! everything feels so ... stilted. before rukawa could reply, you turn on your heel and start walking in the direction of the train station. you barely manage three steps before rukawa cycles by, blocking you with his bike. he takes your bag and puts it in the front basket. pats the passenger seat of his bike with a determined gaze. "i'll take you home," he says. his voice is softer now. there wasn't much else to do except to sit on the backseat of his bike and let him pedal you home, the night air causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. "wrap your arms around me," rukawa instructs. the wind carries his words, lifts it to your ear. you swear his breath hitches just the tinest bit when you do what he says, adding in a small nuzzle to his side for good measure. "i'm sorry," you whisper after a while, voice half-muffled by the fabric of his coat. your fingers toy with the zipper of his jacket. rukawa is silent for a bit, then he takes one hand off the handlebar and puts it atop yours. he intertwines your fingers with his, squeezing. his pulse vaguely thumps through his skin, sending beats vibrating through your palm. "i'm sorry, too."

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