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narumi-gens · 1 year ago

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Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional?

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional.

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside.

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife.

But you know that traditional really just means boring.

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita.

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child.

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options.

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west.

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person.

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed.

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza.

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull.

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense.

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them.

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows.

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste.

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes.

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life.

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively.

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it.

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads.

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades.

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts.

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza.

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with.

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers.

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed.

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants.

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff.

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look.

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call.

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible.

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya.

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier.

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body.

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy.

“Enough.”

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt.

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space.

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy.

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common.

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again.

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter.

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter.

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out.

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep.

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess.

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point.

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well.

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show.

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response.

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees.

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten.

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place.

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea.

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.”

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more.

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you.

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste.

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger.

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you.

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.”

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states.

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much.

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors.

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita.

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards.

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name.

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin.

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles.

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely.

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs.

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively.

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh.

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness.

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled.

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun.

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you.

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum.

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him.

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know.

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him.

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like.

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?”

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give.

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees.

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips.

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before.

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface.

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously.

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze.

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke fanfic #kita shinsuke fic #kita fic #kita fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fic #mel writes #traditional values

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zumicho · 3 months ago

Text

she takes work frustrations out on ao3, writing fics about the hot guy living next door — kita shinsuke. he helps fix roof leaks, kill pests, and stands up to their asshole landlord. unfortunately, having a spare key to her apartment leads him to read the monitor she forgot to shut down when she left.

pairing kita x miya reader

tags, cws smau hybrid (no tweets, texts only), language, lots of hurt-comfort, fem!reader, grief at the start, parental issues lol

status : coming soon ; taglist : open, send an ask/reply (27/50)

a/n : this fic is dedicated to dodger ♡ I wouldn’t be writing this if my love for kita hadn’t been revived by 88 ford !! go read go read go read

*no shade to betterhelp, joke purposes only. “AO3 > therapy” lol

────────────────────────

text intros

prologue : lucky number

grew up in the same house, so I know why you lash out. I understand you, more than you think I do

one : the curse (make your bed)

forgot how to cry, who am I to complain?

two : got a nickel?

I know better than to drive you home, cause you’d invite me in — and I’d be yours again.

three : the blessing (say thank you)

I guess it’s all about the things you want but never get

extra a/n: do NOT expect consistent uploads, the profiles/prologue should be out by tomorrow (07/29/24)

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #smau series #haikyuu smau #hq smau #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kita x reader #kita shinsuke #inarizaki #haikyuu texts #haikyuu fic #hq angst #hq fic series #haikyuu fanfiction

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stars-tonight · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii, i am the 🍓 anon, and I loved the fic headcanon thing 🫶. Can I request another one pleek

Characters: Atsumu, Suna and Akaashi

Can it be of what it would be like to date them while being the volleyball manager of their teams. Like the type of interactions they would have with each other and like the team or idk😭. Thank you, much love

~🍓

DATING THEIR TEAM'S MANAGER (FT. MIYA ATSUMU, SUNA RINTARŌ, AKAASHI KEIJI)

all pre-timeskip!

miya atsumu

🕊️ proudly shows you off every chance he gets

🕊️ gets teased about it a lot but he's proud of you so he doesn't get flustered

🕊️ doesn't let anyone give you a hard time

🕊️ (this includes opponents)

🕊️ if anyone even looks at you wrong, you can bet he'll be popping up behind you with a scary glare on his face like "oh, what business does _____-kun have with my partner?"

🕊️ makes you settle arguments between him and osamu

🕊️ if you rule in his favor, he'll rub it in osamu's face

🕊️ if you rule in osamu's favor, he'll whine and pout about it all day

🕊️ always asks you for any statistics you take of his team and of other teams

🕊️ will make you stay back with him and osamu after practice ends to do some extra reps

🕊️ timeline issues: depending on whether you're his partner before becoming the manager or you're the manager before becoming his partner, the rest of the team will treat you differently

🕊️ if it's the first case, they'll be sure to be very respectful

🕊️ you'll probably end up helping kita keep atsumu in line

🕊️ if it's the second case, they'll be a lot more comfortable around you and will probably poke fun at your relationship

🕊️ atsumu seems like a rather possessive guy, so he'd be a big fan of pda

🕊️ demands good luck kisses before every game and congratulatory / comfort kisses after

🕊️ WILL kiss you in front of everyone and not be shy about it

🕊️ calls you the team's good luck charm

🕊️ if you don't praise him he'll be really sad lol

🕊️ i give you miya atsumu, the man with an intimidating presence on the court but who, in front you, turns into a huge whiny child just needing to be taken care of

suna rintarō

🕊️ gets teased about it 24/7

🕊️ atsumu flirts with you just to make him annoyed

🕊️ complains to you all the time about the twin's antics

🕊️ if they're fighting, he'll look over at you with a "please save me" look and an eye roll if he's feeling extra sassy

🕊️ after practice or a game, he looks for you first for a high five and a hug

🕊️ will complain if you don't give him either

🕊️ on bus rides to games, you'll automatically be each other's bus buddy

🕊️ he likes to nap so he'll lean his head on your shoulder, sling an arm around your waist, and just drift off while clinging onto you like a koala bear

🕊️ he doesn't really care which seat he gets (window or aisle) because his head is going on your shoulder either way

🕊️ during one of these bus rides, someone somehow took a picture of the two of you sleeping

🕊️ this picture somehow ended up in the team's group chat

🕊️ suna isn't a big pda fan but he's very clingy if that makes sense

🕊️ so he won't be covering you in kisses like atsumu would but he'd always be holding onto you somehow

🕊️ he usually takes it easy during games but if you're the manager he'll try just a little bit harder

🕊️ enough for someone like kita or a coach to notice though

🕊️ the timeline thing from atsumu's section stands

🕊️ if you were suna's partner before becoming the manager, some of the team members (mainly atsumu, who's the most serious about the sport and the team) would probably doubt you at first, especially if you didn't have prior experience with volleyball

🕊️ but suna would warn him (in a lowkey threatening way) to not give you a hard time and then he'd back off

🕊️ if you were the manager before becoming suna's partner, holy crap would atsumu tease the hell out of your relationship

🕊️ but you know the whole team loves you and wouldn't hesitate to help or protect you

🕊️ as a partner in general suna is not unlike atsumu, but he's more clingy while atsumu is just plain whiny

🕊️ introducing suna rintarō, the man who's just a little lazy and snarky with his teammates but is actually the clingiest baby ever

akaashi keiji

🕊️ super caring and attentive

🕊️ especially since the fukurōdani guys can get kind of rowdy (*cough cough bokuto*)

🕊️ he makes sure you're never overwhelmed when you're at practice or on the bus with them

🕊️ if you ever stay back for extra practice, he'll make sure it's of your own free will and that you actually want to be there

🕊️ on the bus rides to games, fukurōdani probably hosts a whole freaking karaoke party

🕊️ bokuto is the main vocalist, washio is forced to bust out some dance moves, and konoha and sarukui do the adlibs while akaashi tunes them out to read a book and the coaches are contemplating their life choices

🕊️ so before your first bus ride with the team akaashi reminds you to bring headphones, and preferably noise cancelling ones

🕊️ when he's thinking of new plays to run he'll ask you for your thoughts

🕊️ the point i made about the timeline in atsumu's section still stands

🕊️ if you were akaashi's partner before becoming the manager, bokuto would happily welcome you (you definitely know bokuto if you're dating akaashi)

🕊️ and the rest of the team would be nice to you too, kind of how they are with fukurōdani's managers in the actual manga

🕊️ if you were the manager before becoming akaashi's partner, they'd also just joke around with you a lot more

🕊️ akaashi will tolerate jokes and teasing but if anyone makes you upset, holy crap his face will get really scary

🕊️ he's usually not an intimidating dude but his seriousness can be scary sometimes

🕊️ kind of like in the series when he was like "good passes pls" and his teammates were all like "oh shit yes captain" (even though he’s not captain lol)

🕊️ if anyone has any problems about your relationship they can take it up with akaashi

🕊️ not saying he'd go duke it out (that'd be something more up atsumu's alley) but he'd just calmly explain that you're very happy together and he'd appreciate it if they didn't make rude remarks

🕊️ is probably cursing them out in his head though

🕊️ bokuto would also be a big defender of you guys

🕊️ akaashi keiji everyone, the man who doesn't give any flying f--s about what others think about you because in his life, you are the one thing he is sure of

A/N: there you go 🍓anon, i hope you liked it! it's always a pleasure to write for you, please feel free to request more in the future! also this shouldn't surprise anyone by now but it was indeed unedited

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spooky-bunnys · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! May i request haikyuu with a black cat m!reader? Maybe a tsundere type...oh and also can it be written with Kenma, Suna, and Hinata? (You can add other characters if you wish !)

Thanks!

I'm not sure how to write for Tsundere types but I tried. Hope you Enjoy!

(Name) sighed as the air blew in through the bus window. It was time for another Volleyball training camp. But this time was different. Especially considering all of his boyfriends. We're finally gonna be together again.

That's right boyfriendS as in more then one. He was already at school with one. But now that the other two were gonna be there....(Name) huffed loudly. Catching a certain someone's attention.

"Hey babe. Wanna see the picture I just took of Atsumu?" Suna sat beside his smaller boyfriend and pulled him close. (Name) tried scooting away, but his boyfriend wouldn't let him.

Atsumu made a dying animal noise and everyone laughed. Wel except (Name)'s older brother. "Rin what have I said about your blackmailing?" He didn't hesitate to answer. "Not to tell you about it. Sorry Kita."

Everyone laughed again as Atsumu immediately threw himself on the couple. "Oi! (Name)! Get ya boyfriend under control!" (Name) flinched under the weight and tried ousting the male off.

"Rin get this sangwoo ass bee off me!" Atsumu yelped loudly as he was shoved into the floor. "Oi Barry he's taken remember and besides, you know the rules. Don't bother (Name) or Kita will make you run laps."

A shadow covered Atsumu. He slowly looked up meeting the cold eyes of his captain. "Sumu. 30 laps when we get to Nekoma." (Name) rolled his eyes and looked out the window. He grabbed his headphones and plugged them into his phone.

He silently raised a headphone to the male beside him. "Rin I'm gonna listen to music." He didn't get a response but felt the male take the other headphone. As (Name) turned on the music his eyelids got heavy.

Suna felt something hit his shoulder and smiled softly. (Name) was sleeping softly on his shoulder. Which was rare since (Name) didn't like PDA. Suna took a picture and sent it to a groupchat. The groupchat had the other two boyfriends.

The I love (Name) ♡ Groupchat

Sleepy Fox: sent a picture

Gamer Kitten: saved a picture

Solar Energy: saved a picture

Gamer Kitten: wow he's actually asleeping on you? on the team bus? how tired is he?

Sleepy Fox: apparently according to his brother, (Name)'s nightmares are back

Solar Energy: THATS NOT GOOD!

Gamer Kitten: Shoyo your caps lock is on again

Solar Energy: oh my bad. but seriously that's not good. is he okay?

Sleepy Goz: dunno but I'll make sure sumu stays away from him s he can sleep. bastard flopped on (Name) early. his brother assigned atsumu 30 laps when we arrive lol

Gamer Kitten: only 30? I would've given the bee 50

Solar Energy: isn't that a bit mean Kenma?

Gamer Kitten: no :)

Suna closed his phone and sighed, looking over at (Name). His kissed his forehead and layed back. Maybe he can catch some sleep before they make it to the training camp.

(Name) woke up when the bus stopped. He raised his head and yawned. Rubbing his eyes. He looked through the window spotting the Nekoma high school.

(Name) turned seeing a sleeping Rin. He gave a small smile. He took a picture but before he put the phone away, it was snatched by the no longer sleeping male. Suna gave him a sleepy grin and a week before pocketing the phone, and walking off the bus.

(Name) blushed and frown, before quickly followed the male wanting his phone back. Once off the bus though, (Name) was almost taken down by a ball of energy. Or in this case. (Name)'s youngest boyfriend Hinata Shoyo.

(Name) groaned loudly at the impact but didn't say anything. Cause he knew when Hinata came, his other boyfriend wasn't far behind him. (Name) felt more arms wrap around him, before feeling a head snuggling into his back.

Ah yeah. His more quiet boyfriend. Kozume Kenma. "Welcome (Name)!" (Name) flinched at the volume of the voice. Kenma who felt the flinch quickly calmed the other male. Suna who was watching from the side quickly got jealous.

"Oi! Come on you three we got a training camp remember?" (Name) tried to walk to the gym but didn't move. He hated how all three of his boyfriends were stronger then him. So he did the only thing he could do.

"If you guys let me go and go to the gym I MIGHT let you guys sleep with Rin and me tonight." Just like that the other two were gone and quickly making their way to the gym. The older Kita quietly laughed at his brothers misfortune. But even with the glare sent his way.

He knew (Name) was happy, and that he loved them very much.

#male reader #x male reader #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu #suna rintaro x male reader #kozume kenma x male reader #hinata shoyo x male reader #kenma #suna #hinata #poly! x male reader

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agendabymooner · 1 year ago

Text

pag-ibig, traducido (love, translated) || cs55 fic

carlos sainz x ofc (filipino!content creator!ofc)

EXTENSION TO RIDE HOME

Summary: Magdalena ‘Magda’ and Carlos Sainz can bring the two worlds together through words and actions. OR, moments in which the Filipino woman and her Spanish husband learned to love each other while learning more about what they know about themselves.

Content warning: Use of explicit language, shitty Tagalog/Filipino and Spanish translations, a lot of Spanish colonial and Filipino history jokes, parental abandonment, brief reference to religious and cultural practice (weddings), mentions elopement, secret marriage, briefly mentions PR relationships/girlfriends, time skipping, what is beta reading lol

Note: The last part of this story is loosely based on the idea given to me by @clairalle and the song 'Paninindigan Kita' by Ben&Ben so thank you so much! ❤️

Letting you all know that some Filipino dialogue here are translated based on how I know it in both English and Tagalog language??? And also, there are some words in here that are the same in context BUT written in two different spellings - some of the words are spelled based on phonics or how it sounds. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. 2016 — shit, ayos ka lang?

Ramona Magdalena normally had the patience for Tesco. She wasn’t sure what it was, but everything had her seething with no apparent reason. She tried to figure out what went wrong.

It was only 3 p.m., for goodness sake!

Her third year at the university was supposed to make things easier, but the way she clenched at the handle of her shopping cart as she sped through the aisles of Tesco showed nothing of the sort.

She was so tense, her jaw clenching as she asked herself repeatedly if there was an actual reason for her getting worked up over something.

Her mother, Alma, was being herself; she was merely calling to see how the university was for Magda. Alma only told Magda about her cousins in the Philippines and how they were looking forward to getting the “balikbayan” box in August, only for the younger woman to respond grumpily. Alma was a dear— so clearly Magda’s grumpiness had nothing to do with her mother’s daily check-in.

She appreciated her mother’s efforts to keep up with Magda’s well-being; after all, Alma did everything she could as a single parent who immigrated to the UK long before she took Magda.

So no. She loved her mother so much that she wouldn’t get unreasonably cranky towards her. Not easily, at least.

But her questions withered away when her speed walking was interrupted by her shopping cart crashing into a figure. Her eyes widened, and she shook herself out of her thoughts.

“Mierda!” Shit! An accent escaped out of the man’s mouth.

Now, Magda had been a citizen of the UK for a while now— she knew when to speak English and how to utilize her vocabulary in a reasonable manner. But everything seemed to be in panic mode as she exclaimed, “Shit! Ayos ka lang?” Are you okay?

The man was still groaning, bent over as he clutched to his stomach. He glared at her for a moment as he asked, “¿Por qué no observas a dónde vas?” Why can’t you watch where you are going?

“Hah?” She cocked her head slightly. She only picked up on the first two words. Por qué? Why?

He’s Spanish, Magda deduced. She stepped away from the cart and walked towards him, “I’m so, so, so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going—“

“Obviously—“ he muttered hastily, still touching his aching side.

“I’m also in a rush, and I’m so frustrated and tired. Three years into adulthood and I can’t make shit right,” Magda hadn’t even realized that she was ranting to a stranger as she rambled, “GCSE clearly didn’t do shit to me because I’m still here bitching about what to cook— punyeta naman kasi, ‘di ba.” What the fuck, am I right?

He stared at her for a moment, not even interrupting her as she spoke. But the silence made Magda pause as her face flushed red, earning a soft smirk from the man. “Mama said I have a problem with speaking too much without thinking.”

He chuckled at her rambling before sticking his hand out, “We can call it… truce— I think is the word?”

“Yeah, okay, truce,” she reached out and introduced herself while shaking his hand, “I’m Magdalena.”

“I’m Carlos.”

“So, like… you’re Spanish, right? Or do you just speak Español? I’ve only picked up on some words because they’re quite similar— or I suppose I learned it through some song from years ago.”

“I am actually Spanish; good guess. And you said puñeta— I can assume you also speak Español?”

“Oh, hah, about that— no. That’s not spoken in Spanish. That’s— yeah, that’s something.”

ii. 2017 — irog means love

“Ate Magda! Totoo ba?” Is it true?

“Jowa mo galing Spain?” Your boyfriend is from Spain?

Magda almost died laughing as she FaceTimed her cousins, who were certainly supposed to be asleep at this time. The Philippines was seven hours ahead, and with her cousins being awake at two in the morning, she could assume that they had a holiday. Everybody always sleeps in if it’s a long weekend or a national holiday.

But she hadn’t expected their night to be spent gossiping about Magdalena’s boyfriend, Carlos.

“Niño, bakit ‘di mo gamitin yang utak mo sa school kaysa sa jowa ko?” Why don’t you use your brain for school instead of my boyfriend? Magda huffed out her laugh, making her other cousin Paloma laugh next to Niño. Paloma’s laughter caught Magda off guard as she called out, “Oi, Lomi, don’t be laughing— ikaw ang nagpasimuno nito. Akala mo ‘di ko alam?” You started this. You think I didn’t know?

“Papa brought it up,” Paloma defended herself with a cry, “he kept calling you a national hero, and I had to ask why.”

“Ano ba naman ‘yan,” what the hell. Magdalena cried out as her head slumped against the couch, raising it to look at her cousins on the screen, “Tell your papa to keep his mouth shut. I love Tito Gerry— I do, but he needs to stop making jokes about that.”

“—About what?” Magda seemed to be more drawn towards her uncle’s joke that she hadn’t heard her boyfriend enter her flat with a curious look. He had just arrived from Milton Keynes, and this was a surprise as he normally arrived later than this.

Carlos had taken off his shoes and placed his bag down, walking around the couch to sit next to Magda as he pecked her lips. “Hello, cariño. How was your day?”

“Hm, good! I’ve finished my paper,” Magda grinned.

They were so caught up with each other that the only thing they heard was gagging from the phone that the Filipino woman held. Magda and Carlos peered down on the screen as they watched the two teens exaggerate at the sight of the couple being too sweet for each other.

“Reparations,” Paloma gagged jokingly, “but at what cost?”

“Matulog na nga kayo!” Go to sleep! Magda exclaimed.

“Okay po, master,” Niño rolled his eyes before waving at the camera, “nice meeting you, Carlitos!”

"You're Niño, right?" Carlos grinned as he kept his face in front of the camera before waving, "Nice meeting you too!"

“Yeah! Buenas noches, Don Carlos!” Good night, sir Carlos! Paloma giggled, the other side of the call abruptly ending before Magda could berate the pair even further.

She sighed heavily and tossed her phone aside, giving her boyfriend a look of despair as he giggled at her.

“What did they mean by reparations?” He asked her, genuinely curious at what they were joking about.

How was she going to explain it to him? Did they even teach at Spanish schools about their country’s history of colonialism? Magda didn’t have an answer to that.

“Oh, just you know…” She mumbled, “Filipinos were originally Spanish people living in the Philippines. Apparently, dating you made us a deadly combination. Enemies to lovers, or whatever trope that is.”

“Reparations? Oh… OH!” Carlos exclaimed in realization, earning a nod from his girlfriend as he murmured, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I understand now, mi corazon.”

“Irog,” Carlos said aloud, making Magda hum in a questioning tone. “Irog, bébé.”

“What’s that, bé?” Magda asked mindlessly as she stared at the screen of her computer.

Carlos turned his head in her direction as he said, “I don’t know. You’re the one who speaks the language.”

She paused from doing her work, looking up at him before she pondered the first word he brought up. Then she let out an ‘ah’ before nodding.

“So…? What does that mean?” Carlos asked. One year of relationship and his thirst for knowledge was an obvious factor that came with it.

“It means mahal,” Magda answered, remembering the word. She continued to read Filipino literature as she grew, not wanting to stay away from it regardless of the fact that she spent her last school years in a British school. She asked her mother questions whenever she didn’t have a single clue what a word meant, so this was a helpful thing to do, especially now that Carlos continued to ask her to teach him how to speak her language.

“Mahal, like expensive?” Carlos asked for clarification.

Magda shook her head, “No, not that mahal. Like mahal— you, mahal.”

“Oh,” Carlos let out before he reiterated what she said, “mahal, like love?”

“Yes, mahal,” she snickered quietly, calling him by the term of endearment. “Like love.”

“So irog means love?”

“Yes, bébé. Irog means love.”

iii. 2018 — patata, patatas. what’s the difference?

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Alonso, you’re here just in time,” Magdalena grinned. The older man, who just arrived, shot her a confused look as she stood there with her lips spread out to a grin.

“Magda, hija, call me Fernando. It’s also nine in the morning,” Fernando Alonso sighed quietly, his hand running through his face as he looked back at the girl in the white McLaren shirt. “I think it’s too early for your optimism.”

“You’re right,” Magda’s shoulders slumped, and her smile fell, her face showing nothing but defeat as she walked towards the Spaniard, “but don’t let my sadness get in the way of your duties today. My supervisor said that you have to do your filming for the next two videos of the channel— and you cannot, I mean CANNOT, back out this time.”

“I can’t,” Fernando smirked playfully, “or can I?”

“Mr. Alonso, with all due respect,” Magda sighed heavily, “I started this year. And if you continue to ditch your duties because I cannot convince you enough then I’m going to have to leave not of my own will. I did not last four years at the university just so I can have a manchild act so sassily at the person who’s merely trying her best, so please—“

“Calmaté, Magdalena. Are you okay?” Calm down. Fernando asked, reiterating his question and emphasizing the word you.

Magda had anything but an answer; her lips pursed as she shook her head. “Can I… shit. Sorry, can I be excused for a moment? It's been a morning for me.”

“Take all the time you need, querida,” Fernando told her with a smile, patting her on the shoulder as she gave him a grateful look before she walked out of the McLaren garage with a heave of sigh.

Fernando Alonso pursed his lips as he caught sight of the young British reserved driver, calling him with a whistle as Lando Norris looked in his direction with a questioning expression.

“Norris, you know Carlos Sainz, yes?” Fernando asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Lando replied with a nod. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Do me a favour, if you don’t mind,” Fernando requested, “will you please tell him Magdalena’s on break?”

“Yeah, of course,” Lando obliged before his curiosity got the best of him as he asked, “Is she alright?”

“I think McLaren broke her.”

“Leche,” she swore quietly as she stood behind the McLaren motorhome. Thankfully, nobody else was there to witness her on the verge of breaking down. Otherwise, that would have been embarrassing.

She had a bad habit of pleasing people. Living in the Philippines, with her mother working overseas and her biological father being a dickhead fuck knew where Magdalena grew up wanting to appease her friends and family. Her immediate family cared very little about the achievements she reached — they were proud, sure, but how she got there was beyond what they wanted for her.

Some kids who grew up in a Filipino household aimed to please, and Magda wasn’t an exception to that. She, however, did more than what she should have been doing. All thanks to the father she had never interacted with before or ever.

Much like now. She aimed to please. Maybe that was why she got to this predicament now; crouching with her head down as she tried to keep her composure.

She knew that everyone would kill to be in her place— working for a racing team. But for some reason, her urge to please was replaced by her fear of discomfort and disappointment. Being in a relationship with a Formula One driver taught her a lot about the sport, and she landed herself a job in a team based in England.

Being able to travel with him was a plus, but she felt that she had disappointed him. She didn’t feel as good as he told her she would when she first announced McLaren’s offer to hire her for the season.

Was this what most Formula One wives and partners felt? Or have they embraced that lifestyle long before the drivers became so popular? She wouldn’t make a good girlfriend for everyone should they find out that she had nothing but anxiety in her system as she graced the grid with her presence.

She was a disappointment of a Carlos Sainz fan.

His cologne lingered in the air as she witnessed him crouch down in her level, his fingers pulling her hair tie off her head, letting her long dark brown hair fall as she smiled grimly.

He was in his Renault fireproof, his race suit hanging off his waist. He made things more angelic than normal, and she loved him so much for it. His lips pursed as his fingers continued to massage her scalp.

“Few more months, mi vida,” Carlos murmured, his soothing voice making her feel at home. “You’re doing so good for them. Don’t let them say otherwise.”

Sure, she could be at the hotel with Ben&Ben blasting on her phone and her figure crying in the bathtub. She could be falling into the deepest depth of her sadness, but with Carlos ditching his team before the free practice — she would rather be here than be in their shared hotel room.

“Now c’mon, mi corazon,” he pulled her up, “I’ve managed to get my manager to come drop off some pancit to the motorhome from the hospitality.”

“Pancit?”

“Malabon,” Carlos beamed at her, pressing his lips to her forehead. “One of the caterers gladly took my request to have some pancit malabon at the menu. It took them a couple of weeks until they finally got tired of my constant asking.”

“Hm, you’re the best, my love,” Magda told him lovingly. “Though, I prefer palabok, remember?”

“Eh,” Carlos paused, “patata, patatas. What’s the difference? Pancit is pancit, mi amor.”

iv. 2019 — magda, maldita

“Carlos, bebe, mahal kita. Mahal kita sobra.” I love you. I love you so much. Magda sighed as she glanced over the notepad that her fiancé left on the end table of the side of her bed— their brainstorming notepad. “But do you really want to get married in a church? In the Philippines while you’re at it?”

“It’s an idea, mi amor,” Carlos said while he continued to do whatever he was doing in the bathroom, making her listen from the bed as he spoke, “Just how bad is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Magda said quietly, “it’s just something that I wouldn’t personally do. There is a lot of paperwork to do when getting married in a church. Did you know that? Not only that, but we’d have to attend seminars about family planning— which is not right up my alley, seeing as my mother is an unmarried single mother.”

“Paperwork is what you are worried about?”

“Why can’t we just elope instead? My Lola grandmother and Lolo grandfather did that, and look— they have my mom, my tito uncle and tita aunt,” she suggested out of the blue.

“And risk getting killed by either of our mothers?” Carlos scoffed, “I think we should stick to the church idea, yes, mi amor?”

“Did you not hear the story of my grandparents, love?” Magda asked him, thankful that he couldn’t see the baffled look on her face.

“More than I can count, mi corazon,” Carlos answered, “they ran away from home, didn’t they? Got married and had your Tia Maria, then your Mama after? They eloped because they weren’t close with their families— but we’re both very close to ours. We can’t do what your grandparents did.”

She sighed. He wasn’t even wrong.

The Spaniard walked out of the bathroom, his face now clean-shaven as he sat next to his fiancée. “Look, we don’t have to do the church thing. It was just an idea, hm? I know you don’t want to get married in the Philippines either, so that’s alright. We’ll just send your cousins, your aunt and uncle to wherever we’re going, then we’ll get married. Don’t worry too much.”

“‘M sorry,” Magda murmured, her fingers fidgeting with the gold engagement ring as she continued, “I’m a killjoy.”

“No, you’re not,” Carlos huffed out and clasped his hand with her left hand, “you’re the bride. The bride is more than permitted to weigh out the options. If you don’t want the Philippines, that’s okay.

“Truthfully, I just want to marry you,” Carlos murmured as he pulled her closer, “if we didn’t have such scary mothers, I would’ve already married you. You and your YouTube channel.”

Magda’s chuckle vibrated in his chest as she perched on his lap, “I don’t even know if that will even work out.”

“I am sure the wedding plans will. If it doesn’t, our marriage certainly will work out for you and your channel.”

“You are a dickhead, mahal.” “I can’t speak the truth now?”

“There was no need to bring up the channel, dumbass.”

“Mabuti nalang may passport yung mga pinsan mo,” It’s a good thing that your cousins have passports. Alma San Pedro, Magdalena’s mother, brought up as she sat across the aforementioned woman.

Magda skimmed through the spreadsheet laid out on her laptop’s screen, keeping her eyes on the things Carlos typed out on the guest list as he actively listed who’s responsible for the catering.

Alma continued to speak, “Why didn’t you want to get married in the Philippines? You’ve always wanted to get married in the Tayabas basilica— I could have had your Tita Marie look into it.”

“That was mainly because I thought you got married there,” Magda glanced at her mother before leaving a comment on the name that Carlos had just typed down on the guest list sheet.

“Lando Norris” — Magda San Pedro (monamagsp) commented: “He finally RSVP’d?”

Carlos Sainz (carlossz) replied: “Yes. He said he forgot to do it, but I managed to get him to fill it.”

He was still at Monaco for the race, but between the busy days of partying and racing he decided to abandon his friends and stayed at the hotel to plan his wedding with Magda instead. “Besides, Ma, the wedding’s in two months. Travelling is also time-consuming for most of us.”

“You’re so picky, anak,” child. Alma replied with a playful scoff.

“And you’re not married, Mama,” Magda shot back with the same amount of humour in her tone. “People complain about both, but we can’t find ourselves to care, hm?”

“Hay nako, Ramona Magdalena,” Alma rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. A rhetorical question escaped her mouth, “Bakit ka kaya maldita?” Why are you so cheeky/sassy?

Mona shrugged, “Tita Maria didn’t take any shit from my private school teachers, Ma. She’s the one who took care of me while you worked here, remember? Go figures.”

“I can’t believe you’ve invited me to the wedding,” Lando’s eyes glimmered under the warm light of the ballroom hall as he excitedly spoke to Magda. “I know we didn’t speak as much last year, but the fact that you allowed Carlos to invite me? I’m so grateful, mate.”

Magdalena San Pedro— or wait, Magdalena Sainz stood across from the British man with a grin as she tucked her hands into her pockets (she had pockets on her wedding dress that she began to think that God was treating her right today).

The San Pedro-Sainz wedding ceremony took place in the Westin Palace of Madrid. With the hopes of celebrating the love that they shared for years, Carlos and Magdalena managed to get through the hour-long ceremony without a fuss. The romantic venue created an environment full of celebration while keeping it as intimate and private as it could be for their guests and themselves.

Carlos had already made his name known to the Formula One world, his talent being recognized by every fan as the season went on. But nobody knew who Magdalena was to him, and he intended to keep it that way — thus prompting him to keep his marriage a piece of confidential information. Everyone behind the scenes knew he was in a relationship, and with the hopes that he’d get even more popular, PR relationships were introduced and tossed in his way.

None of the women he was put in the spotlight with ever lasted, and he was slowly earning the title of a Casanova. He didn’t care; he was just doing his duty and driving his car around the tracks while he worried about his partner, who now worked for a designing company based in London— where they both lived. Nobody else in the grid nor anyone in the motorsport community knew who he was romantically involved with.

Magdalena was another story. She only began to record some videos about her lifestyle as she continued to work for some local designing firm, telling whoever was watching her videos about what she knew about this field of work or what kind of food she’d eat on certain occasions.

She wasn’t as popular as him, but she continued to keep his identity a secret. She lived an average life and she was quite content with it. She’d rather post a video of herself fucking around, but they’ve made a choice to stay private for as long as they could.

Now Lando Norris was known to be a blabbermouth, but Magdalena had grown quite fond of him when he was still a reserved driver for McLaren as she worked as a PR coordinator for the team. They rarely spoke, sure, but she was certain that she could trust him with anything and he wouldn’t blab about it. Carlos was also friends with Lando, and they continued to be close friends, so Magda never protested against Carlos’ idea of inviting the younger man to the wedding.

Lando then said, “I find it quite enjoyable— your wedding, I mean. It’s clearly not as big as I would have expected because well… Carlos told me that Filipino weddings are often big, but I love it! I’ve learned more about your wedding traditions than I have in sixth form about geography.”

“Gah, don’t even say that,” Magda rolled her eyes, earning a giggle from Lando as the woman continued, “It’s barely there, I think. We tried not to pour our hearts out into what they would normally practice in the Philippines or here in Spain. Some Filipino things are here — the food, my dress and my family — but it’s just something superficial, you know?”

“It’s not even just the wedding that taught me a lot!” Lando exclaimed as he laughed, “Your cousins, Lomi, Niño and Lucia? Yeah, I sat with them during the whole ceremony so they kept telling me about wedding traditions and some superstitions: like how you shouldn’t have any relative marry at the same time as you because it’s cursed.”

“Really? I’m surprised they haven’t said anything mundane,” Magda saw Lando nod at her statement.

“They also started to say that you took one for the team—“ Lando’s forehead creased as he said, “I asked them what they meant by that, then they only said you’re heroic.”

“Diyos ko.” My god. Magda scoffed. Her cousins spelled nothing but trouble and god did she despise them at times.

“What? What did that mean, Mags?” Lando asked.

Magda sighed exasperatedly, and with a defeated tone, she answered, “Making up for the challenge we’ve lost, apparently.”

“Huh?”

“It’s— just ask Carlitos,” Magda waved off, “I’ve had to explain the concept of colonialism to too many people before. I think it’s time Carlos did it for me.”

v. 2024 — paninindigan kita (stand by you)

Mamahalin kita buong-buo. I will love you completely.

“So, tell us about yourself.”

“I’m Carlos Sainz— or wait, do you want me to speak Tagalog?” The Ferrari driver asked as he stood in front of the camera, his linen shirt in the view of the lens as he waited to be instructed.

“Directing this music video is the dumbest idea I could’ve ever made,” Magda deadpanned from behind the camera as the videography crew laughed alongside the band members, her voice being picked up by the microphone easily.

Their Philippines trip, which they should’ve made a while ago, was something of an experience for the couple.

It was the first time they’d been seen in public— with everyone finding out about their marriage after Carlos’ Instagram story slip-up when he accidentally posted a photo of Magdalena’s selfie that she sent when she travelled to the country long before this.

It really was an accident if you were to ask him. But it was something inevitable, and all Magda could do was laugh and make her presence known not only to her fans but to those who were more than interested to know about her. His fans.

Now, they were in an Airbnb somewhere in the Quezon Province as they filmed some form of documentary. It was meant to be a storytelling music video about their relationship and the romance that came with it, but after seeing Carlos’ script reading at the Shell commercial, Magda practically banned him from acting.

She was a popular content creator in the Philippines regardless of her living situation; she lived in Madrid with her husband for almost five years. And with her popularity in the Philippines came acquaintances who were more than willing to collaborate with her. The folk-pop band called Ben&Ben asked if she was more than willing to shoot a music video with them. Direct it, even.

The song they released practically spoke about her life with Carlos. At first, she didn’t think too much of the lyrics and just enjoyed the rhythm of the song, then she realized how similar it was to their relationship, from the courtship (and her outward refusal to continue this romance with him at the very beginning) to their vows to love each other as they grow old, and decided that perhaps it was time to show to the world how they truly love each other.

Carlos agreed, knowing that outside of his life as a Ferrari driver and a Formula One figure, he had nothing else in life but her and her alone. He knew that she was the one thing that he kept from everyone to provide security for his wife. He waited patiently for her — and it was now paying off. Now, he was standing in front of a camera, waiting to be filmed for his interview.

It was better than the countless documentaries and the Netflix series that he had to do interviews and filming duties for. Because this time, he got to discuss his wife, Magdalena Sainz, instead of his car.

“Can I speak Tagalog?” Carlos repeated, his typical confused expression being displayed before the others.

Magda shook her head, “You’ll butcher it, Carlitos.”

“Excuse me, Ramona,” Carlos gasped in mock offence. “I can speak it!”

“Clearly not good enough,” Magda shot back, making the others laugh at the banter between the pair.

“Your Español isn’t any better then, mi vida,” Carlos scoffed, placing his hand on his chest.

Magda said, “There’s a reason why I only listen to you and your family when you speak, honey.”

“This is what I have to deal with every day, by the way,” Carlos pointed out to their audience, making the others burst out laughing as he offered his wife a playful glare.

One of the videographers spoke before Magda could make a comeback, “Wait, the camera’s still on.”

“Oh shit,” Carlos and Magda both swore before they both laughed. Their banter was caught on camera and they were laughing about it.

It took them good ten seconds to return to their composure as the camera stopped recording.

Magda cleared her throat, clapping her hands as the camera began recording, and she instructed her husband, “Carlos, we can both speak English— it’s fine. Just speak in English, alright?”

“Okay, fine,” Carlos rolled his eyes and muttered, “mi esposa. Muy quisquilloso.” My wife. So picky. The microphone attached to his shirt picked up on his comment.

“This is so going to the music video,” one of the band members giggled.

Magda then continued with the recording segment as she spoke to her husband while she stood behind the camera, “Alright, please state your name and how long you have been with your partner?”

Carlos nodded and beamed slightly as he stared back at Magda, who was smiling as she expected his answer. With a cheerful tone, he said, “My name is Carlos Sainz. I have been with my wife, Magdalena San Pedro Sainz, for seven years and three months and have been married to her for four years and six months.”

“What prompted you to stand by her?” Magda asked as she continued to beam at him, not even noticing the heart eyes of the other people in the room.

Eight years and still extremely in love.

He answered, “Her determination, wits and her ability to stand by me no matter what kind of disaster came and went made me realize that falling in love with her was worth the effort to make.”

It was no wonder people thought their relationship had nothing to do with two worlds colliding.

Even with their constant light bickering, Magdalena and Carlos Sainz learned how to love each other through words — whether it was their native languages or their secondary ones. What mattered was that they understood the meaning of their love, regardless of what kind of language they had to translate it to.

fin.

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anisespice · 2 years ago

Note

How about walking around in booty shorts to get your man’s attention❤️❤️

you got it, anon! thank you so much for your patience and for requesting !! i took wayyyyy too long to do this lol wasn't sure who you wanted for this, so i figured i'd just make it into an "insert who you want" kind of scenario. hope you enjoy :))

pairing: various x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI. talks about posteriors (lol), suggestive themes, and i think that's all.

notes: been sick these past few days, so had to put a hold on the next part of "the fuck it list" :((( but hopefully i'll have it up sometime tomorrow, didn't want to leave you guys high and dry sooo !! hope you enjoy ♡♡♡

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐬 ∵ The ones who are caught completely by surprise, needing to do a double-take at them double-stacks attached to your spine to make sure his eyes were playing tricks. You didn’t normally wear them around the house, at least not without a big shirt that usually covered everything, so clearly you were baiting him for something; and consider him hooked. It didn't matter what he was doing before you walked into the room, consider it DROPPED + IGORNERED + NONEXISTENT. On the game with the guys? Dropped. Typing up a work email? Ignored. Watching a show? Nonexistent. Won't put his hands on you right away, his mama raised him better than that, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he will side-eye tf out your ass until you eventually have to say something—He looked like he was finna pass out if you didn’t.

"You know you’re allowed to touch me, right?"

"Thank FUCK, I thought you were gonna torture me forever - please come over here now please, thank you.”

TAKEMICHI, kakucho, chifuyu, angry, SHINICHIRO, kazutora, kyotani, kenma, aran, kageyama, deku, kirishima, tamaki, twice, [insert anyone you want ].

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ∵ DOWN BAD AND PROUD OF IT. Utterly shameless, eyes waste no time honing in on your ass the second you walk past him, indulging his intrusive thoughts by giving you a light smack on that thang just to watch it jiggle. Wearing a shit-eating grin when you turn to playfully glare at him; he fucking knows you love it. Doesn't even care if y'all got company either, I mean shittt - you didn't when you decided to walk around with them shorts on. Absolutely will follow you around, feel you up and everything, homie cannot keep his hands to himself to save his life. Not his fault you look so damn tempting, he just couldn't resist. Good luck trying to get anything done now, and prepare to be absolutely SICK of him. You wanted his attention, you got it.

"Oh my goddd, boy, leave me aloneee."

"Nah, don’t get shy on me now, babe. Nowhere close to being done with you."

SANZU, hanma, rindou, RAN, smiley, baji, mikey, MATTSUN, maki, tanaka, nishinoya, SUNA, ATSUMU, HINATA, bokuto, sero, denki, mirio, HAWKS, [insert anyone you want ].

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝-𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 ∵ Won't look like he's phased at all, you could be walking around in your underwear and he won't break a sweat. Honestly, he'll have you feeling stupid at first, thinking you weren't as irresistible as you thought. Fret not you sexy thing, that's just how it appeared on the outside. On the inside tho, that man was having some rather... depraved thoughts. He wasn't born yesterday, he knew you were trying to get a rise outta him, but he really needed to focus on his work right now. But, don't worry...once he's done, he got something for that ass later.

"You didn't think I was gonna let your little stunt slide, did you?"

kokonoi, WAKASA, izana, draken, MITSUYA, ushijima, KITA, daichi, kuroo, iwaizumi, akaashi, osamu, sugawara, oikawa, TODOROKI, bakugou, shinshou, shigaraki, dabi, [ insert anyone you want ].

#🍁wasabi #🍁allspice #tr #tokyorev #tokyorev headcanons #tokyo revenegers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev smut #hq #hq headcanons #hq scenarios #hq smut #hq x reader #mha #mha scenarios #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha smut

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auryborealis · 1 month ago

Text

Thanks again to @nadiaaisyah for this comm of Kita with Lucci and Mihawk >:D (because I am indecisive af on which ship I like more so why not both lol)

Lucky girl~

#one piece oc #one piece x oc #op oc #rob lucci #dracule mihawk #rob lucci x oc #dracule mihawk x oc #oc x canon #oc: kita #c0mmish

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revasserium · 2 years ago

Note

prompt 5 + kita shinsuke

send me a number or a prompt and character and i'll write you a thing

100% love (05. love as one of the dead languages)

kita shinsuke; 3,086 words; just fluff, bc i rewatched the inarizaki match and caught feels during the kita ep LOL

the first time you meet him, it’s in detention, though you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’s here — after school, cleaning the classroom when he doesn’t have to be.

“wait — what do you mean, you didn’t get in trouble?” you blink at him, your arms propped on your mop handle, watching as he methodically dips his own mop into the water, pulls it against the strainer, and then sets it to the floor again, dragging it through in strong, solid motions.

“exactly what i mean. i didn’t get in trouble.” kita barely looks up as he redips his mop, strains, mops. dip, strain, mop.

“so… you’re here because you want to clean up the classrooms?”

“yes.”

you bite your lips, chewing on them as you watch him work his slow way across one half of the classroom.

“if you want to leave, you can,” he says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, with no resentment or any hint of ulterior motive, “i’ll take care of it.”

but something about that digs itself into your lower belly and twists, and later, atsumu might tell you that’s what a gut feeling is, so you huff, shove your mop into your water bucket a bit too hard, splashing the floor even as you pull your mop through the strainer and smack it onto the floor.

your mopping is nowhere near as good or thorough as kita’s, but you get the job done.

when he gets made class president, no one is surprised, but you do find your eyes drawn to the back of his head as he stands up to bow and accept the position. when he enlists your help for the school athletics fair, you grumble about having to do the extra legwork, but he simply blinks at you.

“you’re good at that kind of thing, so i know you’ll get it done.”

and really, you shouldn’t have blushed so damn hard at such a terrible line but… you did anyway. and the fact that he hadn’t meant it as a compliment — well. you might’ve liked that too.

“ah — here are the bandanas for kibasen… and i think we’ve got the teacher-student relay sign ups all done,” you drop a bagful of brightly colored bandanas onto kita’s desk during lunch before plopping down on the seat in front of him, straddling the back of the chair to watch him as he opens up his meticulously crafted bento box.

“thank you,” he says, moving the bag to the floor.

you cock your head, “kita-san… do you ever eat junk food?”

he bows over his lunchbox, pausing as he considers your question.

“not really. i’m not that fond of things that aren’t good for me.”

“hm… but y’know — some things could be bad for the body, but good for the soul, right?”

he blinks as you grin up at him, your cheek pillowed on your arm, your eyes bright as sunrise.

“hm. i’ve never thought about it like that. thank you.”

you consider him as he considers you. and for a moment, your entire world is the size of a homeroom class, your heart clattering inside your chest like loose crayons in a box, your stomach empty as the rows of afterschool lockers. kita smiles then, and it shakes through your whole body like the last bell in the afternoon, letting spill a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies into the world beyond the school gates, their wings flickering orange against the afternoon sun.

three days later, you arrive in the morning to find something tucked into your shoebox, a white plastic bag with a note tucked in. a box of pocky along with a sheath of vitamin c tablets — something good for the soul and something good for the body (it’s getting colder out, please be careful) - kita.

you break into laughter so hard you scare the two girls standing behind you, chattering about a cute new cafe in town.

a week later, kita arrives at school to find a similar white plastic bag shoved into his own shoe box with a chocolate orange and a bottle of pocari sweat, a note written on glittery pink stationary states — if the unhealthy thing is in the shape of a healthy thing, does that make the unhealthy thing healthier? (also, is pocari sweat named pocari “sweat” because it tastes a little salty?)

he stares at the note for a full five seconds before smiling and folding it into quarters, tucking into his uniform pocket.

that day at lunch, you’re halfway through your second onigiri when a slice of chocolate orange appears in front of you, carefully offered on a bright white napkin.

“did you know that dark chocolate is actually quite good for your heart in small amounts? there’s been a lot of research done on it’s link with improved cardiovascular efficiency.”

you blink at the slice of chocolate orange before your eyes slowly flicker up to meet kita’s, his expression open, his smile small but sweet. you grin, quirking an eyebrow as you take the slice and pop it into your mouth.

“yeah, but i got you the normal milk-chocolate ones.”

kita laughs, a light, wonderful, skin-tingling thing, and drops into the sat in front of you, unpacking his own bento box on your desk with a nod.

“yeah, you’re right.”

you have lunch together the next day, and then the next day. that friday, you flick open your phone and turn it around to face him during lunch, shoving it wordlessly towards him. he pauses mid-chew and stares for a second before swallowing and reaching for it, punching in his number and equally wordlessly handing it back to you. you both take a breath and like a hitched breath or skipped frame, the world continues to spin, but somehow, everything is just a little bit different.

you mention a movie you want to see; he tells you that he’s been meaning to see it too.

the following tuesday, you find a single movie ticket in your shoebox.

wednesday afternoon, after volleyball practice, kita flicks open his phone to find a text from a number he doesn’t know. it just says — caramel or chocolate popcorn?

he finds himself smiling as he hits the reply button, someone is already peering over his shoulder.

“oya! kita-san is texting a girl!” atsumu’s voice is much too loud in the clubroom, full of half-dressed boys, and of course, everyone instantly pauses to look over.

“oi, oi, tsumu that’s none of your —”

“wait, is it that girl you’ve been having lunch with every day?” atsumu’s face presses in and kita sighs, methodically buttoning up his shirt.

“yes. it is.”

“ah! kita-san has a girlfriend!”

kita hoists his backpack over his shoulder, turning to slate a look at atsumu before heading out the clubroom door.

“she’s not my girlfriend yet. please don’t forget to lock up again. see you all tomorrow morning.”

everyone bows and says their goodbyes as if on autopilot. it isn’t until the door swings closed behind kita that omimi frowns, turning to aran with a confused blnk.

“wait. did he say she’s not his girlfriend… yet?”

saturday afternoon finds you both outside the local movie theater, you fidgeting with your phone charms, him showing up with a light smile. you have to stop yourself from staring at the simple white tee he wears over a pair of well-worn jeans, a single hand raised in greeting.

“so. the popcorn,” you say as you both make your way to the front of the concessions counter.

“yes,” he says, grinning as you purse your lips, eyes gliding over the various flavor options before settling back on him. there’s a blush on your cheeks the color of peach blossoms that kita sort of wishes he could take a picture of and keep forever — tucked into the pocket of his school uniform or perhaps sewn into the lining of his jacket.

“did you mean it?” you ask.

at this, kita laughs, nodding as he turns to the cashier, “can we get the large popcorn combo please — both caramel and chocolate.”

the cashier bows and someone behind the counter starts to scoop out equal amounts of each flavor into a large divided popcorn bucket. you resist the urge to squeal as the overflowing bucket slides across the counter. kita picks it up and motions for you to follow him.

after the movie, you’re wandering around the bustling streets of amagasaki, the early evening air warm as it settles around you both, already a little humid, weighted with possibilities.

“be honest, have i been a terrible influence on you?”

kita is quiet before letting out a small laugh.

“hm… that depends on what you define as a ‘terrible influence’, no?”

“and… what would you define as a ‘terrible influence’?”

you peer at him over the ice pops that you’d both bought in a nearby convenience store.

“objectively speaking… i’ve been eating things that aren’t the best for my diet, but i’ve been careful to balance them out with other, healthier things,” he says, his eyes trained on his own ice pop before he gives it a tentative lick. a shiver chases down your spine as his eyes slide over to meet yours.

“but i think i’ve been feeding my soul a lot of good things since we met. and i think that’s really important too.”

you feel that familiar twist in your lower belly, the rush of warmth as it rushes up your chest, cresting into your cheeks in a great wave. you feel your heartbeat like a hummingbird’s wings, fluttering against the base of your throat, your mind a freshly cleaned chalkboard with only one sentiment — ah… if we kissed right now, i wonder if our lips would stick.

you decide to find out.

and the answer is, they do. but neither of you feel the need to talk about it in any depth, instead preferring to press in closer, and then closer, till both your popsicles are forgotten, dropping onto the pavement at your sides.

“ah… what a waste…” you sigh, a little bit breathless as he finally lets you go, both his hands cupped around your face.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and his voice is light, his smile even lighter, but the brightness shining behind his eyes tells you more than anything that he’s eager for more. and who are you to deny him, anyway?

“yeah, you’re right — we can always get more ice pops…”

he leans down to press his lips back to yours and neither of you think to mention that well, you can always have more kisses too. but. priorities, right?

he tells you he loves you three weeks later, your fingers laced, the night already full and dark. you’d waited for him after practice, waving at his the rest of his team as they hooted and hollered at you from the 2nd floor clubroom. your breath catches in your chest as you turn to look at him.

there’s that light, easy smile on his lips, and for a second, you wonder how someone who’s so serious all the time can say something like that so lightly. but then, his eyes meet yours and you feel yourself caught like a kindling to a flame in the intensity of his gaze. you blush and look back at the empty street before you, the summer night a blaze of humidity and cicada song.

“you don’t have to say it back but… i thought i should let you know.”

you squeeze your eyes shut — don’t say that like you’re talking about the weather this weekend!

but it’s kita, and you know him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t lie to you. not about this; not about anything else either.

his fingers in yours never tighten or loosen either, and for a beat, you’re stumped by his certainty, by the casualness of it all. by his unwavering belief that this, of all things, is true.

it takes you three whole months to say it back, but when you do, he only kisses you like rain, like certainty and sunrise and he smiles.

“i know,” he says.

you frown, just a bit, pursing your lips.

“you… knew?”

kita laughs, and this time, it’s a real laugh, full-bodied and weighted, rumbling deep in his chest, shaking his entire body as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer on his bed, you slotted between his legs, the latest copy of jump! splayed over his stomach. and in another time, in another situation, the position might’ve been something less casual, less innocent, but he only grins as he recovers from his bout of laughter, reaching out to trace the line of your cheek with a gentle finger.

“yes, i did — i do. of course i do.”

“but… how?”

he closes leans down to close the magazine, sitting up to hoist you over his lap. you let out a small squeak, a now too-familiar warmth curling in your stomach as he easily maneuvers you into a comfortable position. you’d long since gotten used to the strength in his body, the long sinew of his limbs, his movements, the ease with which he could, he if chooses, to manhandle you into any position he likes — a concept that, admittedly, neither of you had brought up to explore fully just yet. but soon, you think.

he takes his time, running both his hands up the length of your back, drawing them back down to rest on the curve of your hips, his movements unhurried.

“they say that 93% of human communication is nonverbal,” he says, like he always does, his words steady and strong.

“right…” you say, amusing yourself with tangling your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on them slightly, almost absently.

“so what do you think you’ve been saying to me these past three months when you wait for me after practice, when you stay after school to help me clean the classrooms, when you blush like this… just sitting with me?”

and it’s then that you notice, the slight hitch in his voice, the more-than-usual sharpness in his eyes, the way his fingers are digging into your hips just a bit more than before. in return, you feel your own skin simmering up with heat, your stomach roiling inside you, your heart racing as if it were trying to escape your chest, leap from you mouth and perhaps into his —

“i — “

he smiles then, a raw quirk of the lips that sets your whole body ablaze.

“you’ve been telling me this whole time,” he says, leaning in to ghost his lips along yours.

“yeah… but that last 7% still means something right?” you fist your fingers in his hair, gasping as he rucks you up into his lap, just a bit further, the heat between your bodies condensing like water against a frozen glass, beading along your skin as he grins against your lips.

“of course it does… but now that i have all 100%, what do i still have to complain about?”

you puff out a laugh before he catches your lips between his and you’re lost to the warmth, to the desire calcifying inside you. after a good few minutes of kissing, of lips and teeth and tongues and gasping, he flips the pair of you over, pinning you beneath him as he trails a searing line along your jaw, down your neck.

“i love you,” he says, in that earnest, all-too-sincere way of his, but there’s nothing soft about the way he looks at you, nothing innocent about the way his knee presses up between your legs, making you hiss. you let your eyes flutter shut, arching up into the liquid fire of his touch.

“i love you too,” you say, your words cut off by a high whine in the back of your throat as he inches a hand down to tease at the skin of your thigh beneath your skirt, the hard calluses on his fingers and palms chasing desire through your veins.

“i know,” he says, nodding as he presses another kiss to your collarbone, “but… will you let me show you instead?”

you gasp out a laugh, nodding as well, glancing up at him through glazed-out eyes, the expression on your face one that he think he’ll never forget, all pink-cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, your hair a halo on his pillow, your clothes mussed and rumpled.

“h-haven’t you been doing that all these past months anyway?” you breathe out, your chest heaving as he traces abstract circles into the tender skin of your inner thigh.

kita laughs, bobbing his head as he pulls back slightly to pop the first few buttons of his shirt. he watches as you swallow, the way your entire body seems drawn taught, how this is all for him — and he can’t help thinking that ah… love looks good on you.

he wants to see more, to see all of it, to see all the different ways that this love can be played out against the milk of your skin. and he wants to be the one to do the playing. so he leans back down over you, kisses you sweet and deep and thorough, kisses you till he is unsure of which breath is yours and which is his, till he himself is dizzy with the taste, the feeling, the mere thought of you. and he knows that it's at least a little irrational, that there's no guarantee this will lead to a future with you, that in all likelihood, it'll end with one or both of you with your hearts broken, that it'll end, but that doesn't matter. it's never mattered to him -- not really.

because he knows that even if in the future, it might break him, that it might not be good for him, that right now, this is what he wants -- his body, his soul -- he wants to sink himself into the abyss of you and hold his breath without thinking about the drowning. he wants -- god he wants. because this journey is so much more important to him than where either of you end up, though he can't help hoping that you'll end up with him anyways.

he wonders -- no, he knows that at least for him, this is what "love" is.

“yes, i have… but i can think of a few more ways,” he says, tugging lightly at the material of your skirt.

you reach up to tug at the hem of his shirt in return and he knows he’s lost.

you smile, catching your bottom lip in your teeth as you watch him.

“alright then… show me.”

and so, he does.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #kita shinsuke scenarios #kita shinsuke imagines #haiCUTIES #floofy floof floof #bRO bro bro brO why is it that this time around -- i mean this rewatch/reread im finding myself suddenly into like...#a whole dif cast of characters??? like kita?? bro. im kinda here for it.

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youmarin · 5 months ago

Text

Now Recruiting! ft. Inarizaki VB Boys - Part 10: Fall Festivities

Summary: Miss Manager shows up for a friend. Then it's time for the school festival! Of course there's more volleyball, and more encounters!

Word count: +9.4K [including extras 14 - 17]

A/N: This baby is long af. You're in for a ride I'm sorry lol. See more notes at the end of the post.

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PART I

Ding!

It’s around 9:00p.m. You’re in your room. Checking your phone, you see it’s a message from none other than Tendou Satori, who you’d met last summer during training camp and with whom since then you’d kept in touch now and then. He’d done most of it, him being the extrovert and pulling your attention.

[9:05 p.m.] T: Spring High Qualifier Finals tomorrow!

You smiled at the screen, typing a reply,

[9:05 p.m.] Congratulations!

[9:06p.m.] T: Thanks! :D

Typing bubble. Nothing. Typing bubble.

[9:08p.m.] T: Wouldn’t you like to come see us?

You stare at the message, a little taken aback.

[9:10p.m] I’d love to. But you know, it’s quite far.

It’s far as hell. How would you even make it in such short notice?

[9:12p.m.] T: I found cheap train tickets.

You raised a brow. He’d already been thinking about it.

[9:13p.m.] T: I’ll get them for you and you can come!

[9:13p.m.] I won’t let you buy me a train ticket to Sendai, Tendou.

[9:14p.m.] T: Oh. If it is about the money, don’t worry about it! The boys lost a bet to me so it’s not all mine HAHA!

Speechless, it took you a moment to think of a proper reply.

He beat you to it.

[9:17p.m.] T: C’mon! Think about it as a present from the team.

[9:17p.m.] Why would you guys do that?

[9:18p.m.] T: Because you’re a friend, duh! And trust me, they’d rather I spend it on something like this.

[9:18p.m.] I can’t bail club.

It was a Saturday and the boys had morning practice.

[9:19p.m.] T: One morning practice without you won’t kill them, would it?

You weren’t too sure about that.

[9:20p.m.] T: It’s like a manager thing.

True, you could get intel on the next possible rival and visit a friend at the same time.

[9:22p.m.] I’ll ask Kita-senpai. If he says it’s okay then I’ll go.

[9:22p.m.] T: Yay!

You leave Tendou’s chat and open Kita’s. The text is sent and a couple of minutes pass before he reads it.

Kita calls.

The tickets were cheap, alright. The first train, early as fuck in the morning, with like three stopovers. So there you sit with your bag in tow, getting ready for a trip of more than four hours. Thinking about having to do the same to return makes you wanna cry, so you take a deep breath and empty your head. You should catch some sleep during the ride anyway.

You’re on time when you finally arrive in Sendai City. Opening your messages app - speaking of, your phone hasn’t stopped vibrating in your pocket with incoming messages since around time to get ready for practice back home. Most of them from Atsumu. -, you let Tendou know you’re there and he cheerfully sends you the location of the gymnasium. It wasn’t far from the station. Still, you got lost, having missed the first minutes of the game when you jogged up the steps to the stands, probably looking terrible by having run all the way there and lack of sleep.

What’s worse, there’s a very good looking guy sitting in the top row. He notices you coming and for a moment seems to try and hide his face. You think he’s either shy, or wants to save you from embarrassment. You take a seat leaving one row between you.

Shiratorizawa gets another point, they have the lead, and you cheer. You hear someone click their tongue behind you, then start to grumble under their breath. When the other team, Karasuno, gets a point, it’s the same thing.

Is he rooting for any of the teams?

“Nice serve, Goshiki!” You shout when Shiratorizawa’s first year heads to the end line and starts his serve ritual.

The boy behind you scoffs.

Okay, seriously,

What is wrong with him?

You whoop, “Go, Tendou!” after he spikes and earns a point. Somehow amongst all the noise, he hears you and turns to where your voice came from. You wave your arms wildly and he spots you, waving animatedly at you.

She seems to know the guys from Shiratorizawa well, but she’s not from their school, is she?

“Do you support your own team like that?”

You turn around slowly, doubting for just a second that he’s talking to you but honestly there aren’t too many other options. This section is not crowded and you’re the one sitting the closest to him.

When you see the smile he’s sending you, his words get a different meaning:

Does your own team suck?

You fight the frown that wants to take over your face, smiling instead and brushing off what he really means.

“Yes, a whole lot more.”,

then can’t help to ask, “Which school are you from?”

“Aoba Johsai High.” He answered proudly.

“Never heard of them.”

“What about you?”

“Inarizaki High.” you answer very much as proud as him. You too have your attitude. And he’s right, you’re not from around here.

Arms crossed, he brings his index and thumb to his chin, pretending to think, “Hmm, never heard of them either.”

“Has your team never been to Nationals?” You asked because you really didn’t know, clueless of how you’d just stricken a nerve.

Just what did he do to deserve this? He’d purposely chosen an empty section of the stands to not be bothered - or spotted - while watching his biggest rivals on the court -where he should be- , then in comes Shiratorizawa’s number one supporter and starts attacking him?

You stare at him for a little longer but given his silence, you turn back to the game.

You see that Karasuno is a formidable team. However, their tall middle blocker is still adjusting the timing of his jumps to block, and their libero can barely pick up Ushijima’s spikes. Yet he’s persistent, and he might. Youn lean over your seat when Ushijima receives Karasuno’s number 10’s attack -seriously, that orange head boy can jump-, then goes for a spike and ends the first set. You shout encouragements to the purple team.

Tendou starts the second set on fire with his creepy guess blocking. You’re as impressed as always but it’s also a little irritating how good he is, and think how you might have to deal with it depending on today’s results. Then in a flash, Karasuno’s number ten spikes the ball right over Tendou’s head. The next rally, he’s fooled by him being a decoy at first but as they return the ball to their court, he runs trying to keep up with him. He recovers, making it as if he’s about to follow #10 and switching to go after #5.

Later on, Karasuno’s number eleven surprises everyone by stuffing Tendou’s spike. You can see the tension sparks from where you’re sitting. Rintaro would enjoy watching the redhead getting pissed off. Their coach loses it when Goshiki and Yamagata both hesitate to dig a spike resulting in the ball slamming onto the floor right between them. You grimace, knowing that Goshiki’s getting the end of it. Another surprise: Karasuno’s number eleven is switched out for their number two and when it comes their turn to attack, the starting setter switches spots with him and the rest do their starting runs for a spike, leaving no one to cover for a follow up. It’s a risky trick yet it earns them the point.

Shiratorizawa reaches twenty first, “Way to go, Goshiki!”

If they win this one, it’s going to be way more difficult for Karasuno to pick themselves up.

Karasuno subs in a pinch server. He goes for a jump floater, but his momentum is shut down at once when their blockers fail to stop Ushijima’s powerful spike and he’s back out. Both teams keep catching up to each other and can’t get a break. Then it happens: they corner Ushijima with a wide three man block, obliging him to do a straight shot directly to their libero and the ball goes up. Being a critical moment of the game, Tendou seems to guess they’re going to set it to their ace but number nine chooses the middle.

Karasuno gets a service ace, but just when they might get ahead, Tendou smacks the ball down on their court when it crosses the net after one pass. Shirabu does a setter dump, taking the opponents by surprise. Their tall middle blocker manages to react and touch it, but they can’t follow up. It’s match point. Then it’s deuce. Karasuno’ s setter gets back at Shirabu also going for a setter dump and it’s a stare down. None of them manage to end the set.

Karasuno reaches thirty points.

Finally, they claim the set when Shirabu sets to Ushijima and their number eleven shuts him down. The crowd bursts in an uproar around you. They’re unbelievable. Both of them.

Could Karasuno do the unexpected and steal the win from the prefecture’s favorites?

Shiratorizawa doesn’t seem to delve into the question as they get back taking the third set. The silent reprimand of their coach seemed scarier than yelling and Shirabu goes back into the court as sharp as ever.

Goshiki was maybe a little too fired up, starting the fourth set with a serve that went out of bounds.

“Yes, Kawanishi!” The second year was able to read through Karasuno’s synchronized attack and stopped their ace.

Karasuno kept working around a way to deal with Ushijima’s attacks. The blockers narrowed the path, while the players on the back row stepped back, expecting the spike to land close to the end line given its sheer power. Their strategy proved effective, nonetheless, when their number five went for the spike Tendou was there to block him. Your redhead friend relished the cheers. You chuckled, cheering yourself.

The next plays were a flurry of the orange head jumping around. Since he’s short, he goes for blocks as if he was doing a starting run for a spike.You think that might take a toll on his stamina, but it’s the fourth set. They have to win it if they want to keep playing.

A voice behind you, a deeper one, gets your attention.

“Oh. You’re here too.” From the corner of your eye, you spy as its owner jumps over the back of the seats to take a place next to the brunette with the glasses. “You said you weren’t going to come because it’ll piss you off no matter who won.”

That explains a lot.

“No matter who wins, I’m gonna be able to see the other team’s faces when they lose.”

Your face scrunches up. If you have to admit it to yourself though, it was kind of funny.

“You really are a piece of crap.”

So you laugh, then catch yourself a little too late and slap a hand against your mouth.

Your face burns, feeling the gaze of both boys on you. Yet a curious look takes on the boy’s features. He seems amused, even, one corner of his lips twitching up almost imperceptible but there. It’s not often a girl makes fun of his best friend.

“Right, meet Shiratorizawa’s cheerleader.” The first boy says and Iwaizumi’s face falls. Not everything’s perfect.

You turn towards both of them. Getting a good look at his friend stops you from snapping back (why are you falling for this and picking a fight with a stranger in the first place?). He’s handsome, and seems more serious.

Wait. you realize much too late with dread, Is he a third year? Are both of them third years?

You only grow more embarrassed.

Oh well. You’re in too deep now. And you probably won’t see them again when you cross the doors out of this gymnasium.

“You’re friends with Shiratorizawa?” The other asks.

You nod, unsure, “I’m more like acquaintances with the team. Satori is my friend.”

“Number five?”

“A weird friend you have.”

“Hey!” you frown, “Like it’s so normal to come to a match to hate on both sides.”

The spiky haired boy snorts.

“What are you laughing about? You’re here too!”

“Unlike you, Shittykawa, I didn’t come here with any foul motives!”

Your laughter and their arguing is cut short with the jitters of the crowd. Ushijima notices the holes in the opponent's defense and takes advantage of it. His hits had been reaching the back, so they placed the defense there. Now, he aims at the open space they left. Karasuno’s setter starts showing his exhaustion. It affects his form and as a result he’s not as precise, giving way for a couple mistakes. But he refuses to back down. For a moment, you thought that Shiratorizawa would get the win right then, but Karasuno takes it by a hair’s breadth.

“If you play a disappointing match, you’re going to be running back to school from here!”

Tendou flinches.

You feel a chill down your spine and turn sharply to find with your eyes your redhead friend on the side of the court.

The fifth and final set begins. Goshiki does a great serve but Karasuno cuts him off from the start. It’s only a fifteen point set, so it seems to go by in a flash. Ushijima surges with new determination. The crows number eleven’s blocks have improved throughout the game, getting a lot of one touches to help the defense. After touching one of Ushijima’s spikes, they stop everything for a moment. He’s injured. Getting him out this far sure will hurt his team. That, and that their number nine is currently out.

They seem to push on through alright, keeping the point gap narrow. Tendou gets chewed out when he fails to react for a block, too caught up in his train of thought when trying to guess. The bell signalling a player switch goes off and number nine is back. And he seems glad to be back. He goes straight to serving and sends a strong one. Yamagata receives it but it’s long and heads back to Karasuno’s side of the court after his pass. Then their setter takes the first touch and number ten slams it down. Shiratorizawa gets back with strong serves of their own, Semi getting a service ace. Just two more points. Both cheering squads get louder.

They catch up and turn it around. Shiratorizawa gets two points in a row and it’s match point. A deuce. Ushijima scores. Is that Karasuno’s eleven coming back?

The score is way past fifteen points now. Karasuno’s number ten seems to be reaching his limit and isn’t able to jump for a block, leaving an opening for Goshiki who earns the point for his team. But there’s no time to beat himself over it, as pretty boy behind you remarks.

Will it all really end now? It looks like it when Shirabu’s serve touches the net and it’s as if the ball falls in slow motion. Karasuno’s libero does an amazing safe but it’s long. Goshiki jumps and smashes it down. Directly to the libero’s arms again and the ball goes up!

“Either one is going to piss me off, they should lose.”

“You really are a crappy guy.”

“Could you stop calling me a “crappy guy”?”

“Pick between that or a “shitty guy”.”

“Well, then I guess I choose “crappy”.”

How is one better than the other?

You shake your head at their nonsense.

After a very long rally in which each team gave everything they had, Karasuno stunned everyone by winning the Spring High Qualifiers and now are headed for Nationals in January.

Apparently, coach Washijou had threatened the boys with making them run their way back to school earlier before the last set started. Pleased with their performance, they’d avoided that fate - something you were grateful for. You didn’t want to run your way back with them and were thankful for the bus ride. It wasn’t enough to save them from hitting a hundred serves as soon as they got back to the Academy.-.

Now, you've stopped at a restaurant. The coaches were treating the team for lunch. You’d hesitated to join, not wanting to meddle, but Tendou refused to let you go so soon and wanted to at least spend some time together. There was still plenty of time before you had to go back home. With all the excitement from the match (and you weren’t the one playing), you hadn’t noticed how hungry you were until the smell of food filled the air. You didn’t have time to eat a proper breakfast.

You were sitting beside their manager, who looked for words to cheer up Goshiki. She kept her composure, and you suspected she was doing everything she could to not break down in front of them. The other boys, you knew, were also feeling down even though it had been a great match. They didn’t think they would lose, not when it was supposed to be the start of things. It was the last match for the third years. The whole ordeal was very emotional.

Tendou was sitting across from you, Ushijima by his side.

“Y/n- chan.”

You hummed, having your mouth full.

“You should say something to Tsutomu too.”

“Me?”

“Sure!” he grinned, “I’m sure that’ll really cheer him up.”

You looked at the boy. Goshiki was pretty hung up at every word their manager was saying. He seemed much better.

Before you knew what he was up to, Tendou was opening his mouth again, “Right, Tsutomu!”

“Tendou-san?” his kouhai looked at him to pay attention to what he had to say. Oh Goshiki, always so willing.

“Y/n was telling me how cool you looked today on the court!”

“Re-Really?”

You side eyed Tendou, then sheepishly gave your response, “Yes! Your straight shots were super sharp!”

Your words hit the target, striking him. He turned so red you worried if he was even breathing.

Out of all the restaurants they had to come to this one,

Oikawa thinks as he stands with Iwaizumi at the entrance. He’s about to turn and leave but the owner spots them and welcomes them with a smile.

“Welcome!”

Iwaizumi yanks him by his collar before he can still think about it, “We’re already here. And I’m hungry.”

The place isn’t so big, so it’s not long before they're spotted at a nearby table. Oikawa wants the earth beneath him to open up and swallow him.

“Oh! It’s Aoba Johsai’s Oiwaka and their ace!”

You turn at Tendou’s outburst and follow his line of vision.

It’s the two guys from earlier in the gymnasium.

So much for not seeing them again.

“Hello, Oikawa.” Ushijima greets him cordially. “Would you like to join us?”

“We’d rather die.” you choke on your drink. Tendou holds in his laughter but still helps you, patting your back comfortingly and asking if you’re okay.

“So rude.” Semi mutters.

“So, how do you feel after your defeat?” He was pissed earlier seeing that Ushijima didn’t look as upset as he would like. If he had to go through this he’d at least try to get a reaction.

“I don’t know, you probably know better than us.” Tendou bites back. You’re not sure you’re going to survive past this meal but you can’t tear your attention from what’s happening.

“We’re very disappointed.” Ushijima answers truthfully yet his face gives nothing.That seems to get more on their nerves than what Tendou said. You think a vein from their temples might pop.

Damn you, Ushiwaka.

“Why does he hate you?” you whisper the question to your friend.

“He’s bitter he never beat us.”

“Is he good?”

“Oikawa is a great setter.” Wakatoshi answers for Tendou, having heard your conversation, “He should’ve come to Shiratorizawa.”

“There he goes again.” The brunette rolls his eyes, “Stop saying that!”

Lunch goes well despite the momentaneous clash. You thank the staff and the owner for the food and gather your things to head outside. The boys still have to head back to the Academy and go through serve torture, as Tendou calls it.

“Hey, you two!” Tendou calls from behind you to Oikawa and his spiky haired friend as they make their way out shortly after you. “I know you heard me!”

Oikawa takes a deep breath.

Iwaizumi answers before he can. “What do you want?”

“We still have to go back to school. You can walk Y/n to the station.”

“Tendou!” You hiss.

“Ah. Sure.” Iwaizumi answers a bit awkwardly.

“You don’t have to. I can get th-” you try to turn them down politely.

“Of course they have to! We have to make sure you get there safely!” He shakes your shoulder a little too brusquely, then wraps one of his arms around them and gestures with his other hand, “You are the princess, and they’’re the two knights that will make sure the princess takes her carriage back home!”

Right.

You look at Iwaizumi. The role sort of fits him. Then you look at Oikawa, his arms crossed and chin turned up.

He seems more kingly to you.

You shake your head to stop Tendou’s scenarios from getting to you.

“Thank you for your support!”

“Come see us again!”

“It was nice meeting you both.” you say to the two boys once you’re at the station and it’s time to go.

“You too.” Iwaizumi answers shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You aren’t so bad.” Oikawa admits, “Just need better taste.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight a smile.

“You’re going to keep playing volleyball?”

“That I will.”

“Maybe one day I can watch you play.”

“Oh you better be ready. I’ll be better than Ushiwaka and the boys from your school.”

You wave goodbye.

See you again next time.

PART II

High school life was as busy as always. Since the beginning of the month, students had been getting ready for the school festival. First, second and third years all had something to do. Nervousness, perhaps a little anxiety over it lingered in the air, but also eagerness and excitement.

Amongst the second years, you’d heard that the twins and Gin’s group would put up a cafe. Suna’s classroom apparently would have a photo booth, with different props according to several themes. They had also this raffle going around that you had been basically forced to get a ticket from a bunch of girls as they giggled away. You tried not to think much about it. You made a mental note to ask Suna about it later.

The leader of the twin’s group event project had thought about it with her minions. They had Atsumu and Osamu Miya. Safe to say they were amongst the most popular of the grade and probably the entire school. And loved by a bunch of the girls. So them being just girls too, their minds had run a little wild creating the perfect scenario. Atsumu Miya, the host of the cafe, would be dressed up nicely with a suit, and receive the patrons with a dashing smile. And Osamu, one of the waiters, making sure everyone was comfortable and pleased. The girls were swooning just imagining it.

But she was abruptly brought back from her daydream when Atsumu turned the offer down, “Can’t do. Ya know, volleyball club.” He also had the perfect excuse.Clubs had their own activities, so they weren’t obligated to participate in their class event.

“I can try to make a little time to help.” That was Osamu’s response. Ginjima had agreed with Osamu to look to participate.

“Sure ya can.” His twin said. Osamu knew what he meant by his tone alone. Some crap about him being indispensable and it not being the same in his case.

Later, during the evening after practice ended and they gathered in the club room, the volleyball team discussed what they could do to get the rest of the student body’s, visitors and possible new students’ attention. Apart from helping with whatever you guys settled with, you also thought about the future and how the club would need a new manager when you were gone. There was still time for that, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. It was all for the benefit of the team.

Usually, they would split the team and have a friendly match. It was enough for the people to get to know the team members and their performance on the court. To interact with the public, they could take some time to talk about the fundamentals of the sport, maybe get practical and give a short lesson. Last but not least important, let them know they welcomed new team members.

“So, what’s your class doing?” Suna asked after the small meeting was called out before you all went home.

“They wanna do a play.”

“Are you participating, Y/n-san?” Kita asked, seemingly interested.

“I would like to. We still haven’t picked which yet though. And there’s the club too.”

“Don’t worry about us if you wanna do it. We’ll be fine.” Aran told you.

“And we could go see ya. Even if you end up playing rock #3.” Atsumu said jokingly.

“If I remember well, which in this case I do, you said you were busy with club so you couldn’t help our class, and you have time to go see Y/n?”

“She’s our dear manager! Of course we can make a little time, right?”

“Sure.” To everyone’s surprise, the captain agreed with Atsumu. “We should show our support to Y/n if we can.” then he added, which you found a little funny, “And rock #3 is just as important as the lead, Atsumu.”

“Yes, Kita-senpai.”

Then came the day when they put the title of the play to vote.

And the winner:

“Beauty and the Beast”.

First, the characters were laid down for volunteers to pick. You were looking for a minor role so you could leave most of your focus for club. Maybe you could just help prepare the stage.

Atsumu was striding down the hallway coming back from one of the vending machines near the stairway, a lollipop in his mouth and two bags of chips in his hand. There he saw the director of the play having a breakdown. Against his better judgement, he stopped and stared, debating if he should help or keep walking.

“Uh, you doing okay?” In fact, nothing was. None of the boys settled to be the male lead, throwing names around only to be rejected and passed on to the next. And it wasn’t fair to change the title after the votation.

She froze, mortified, then hurried to fix her hair and wipe her eyes. She put her glasses back on. Oh it was worse than she’d thought. It was the setter of the volleyball team.

Wait.

“Atsumu- kun!” Suddenly, every trace of despair was gone from her face, replaced by such brightness he swore he saw stars dancing around her. “Would you like to be part of our play?”

Ah, that again. Festival’s driving everyone crazy, he thought. He opened his mouth to reject once again, then stopped. The play. Your class was the one doing it.

Without thinking it through, Atsumu gave his response. He clearly didn’t take it that serious either, as he said, condescendingly, “Sure. But if it ain’t the lead I ain’t taking it.” Then, a little too late, it seemed to register, “By the w-“

He went from amusing himself to almost choke on the candy in his mouth, as the overexcited girl dragged him the rest of the way to your classroom. When they crossed the threshold, he saw you standing on the front. Your conflicted look morphed into confusion as you saw the setter barge in with the director.

“Everyone! Atsumu-kun accepted to be our lead!” There was a mix of surprise, cheers and whines of regret -you thought you heard someone start to cry-.

“What?” your eyes widened in surprise, turning to look at him again.

“Oh! We just got Y/n to agree for the Belle role!”

Your silence as you mentally debated what task to take on played against you, getting the attention from the group and resulting in them picking you as the female lead. You tried to turn them down but it was settled.

Atsumu looked at you, then read the big writing on the center of the board, finally learning the title.

Him and his big mouth.

—

The members of the volleyball club had to take a moment as they laughed their asses off picturing Atsumu as a prince/Beast, especially the other second years.

“Serves ya right.” Osamu told him, wiping the tears from his eyelashes. Suna’s face was flushed with how much he’d laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself, looking at the three boys and the pout on Atsumu’s face.

Since both the leads were part of the club, it was a given that the whole team would try to attend.

Then it was time for rehearsals.

“I gotta go see that.” Rintaro sneaked out of his classroom while they did their own preparations and headed to the school auditorium.

They had been at it for half an hour already when Rintaro walked in. He took a seat on the front row and held up his phone, capturing Atsumu’s bad delivery while you stood there trying not to laugh. This frustrates him and consequently, the rest of the cast and crew while the boy starts whining about it to you, who finally stops holding it back and laughs. As you compose yourself feeling sorry for the rest of your class and a little embarrassed for behaving that way, the scriptwriter spots the middle blocker and an idea pops in his head. It’s not like he wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb anyway.

“Suna Rintaro!” He lowers his phone but not before he saves the video. Everyone turns to look at him.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Atsumu mutters and before he gets off the stage to throw himself at Suna, you grab hold onto his arm. Suna snickers and you glare at him when you make eye contact for purposely pissing Atsumu off.

He’s preparing himself to be chewed out for sneaking in during a private rehearsal, but when the scriptwriter opens his mouth again ignoring Atsumu, it’s not something he was expecting. “Since you seem to have free time, take Atsumu’s place.”

“Wait, what? Me?”

And just like that, Atsumu was fired.

Think again.

“No way. Why are ya replacing me with him? He’s no better!”

Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.

“Just,” the boy breathes, “Just take a moment to rest. Maybe you’ll come back better after watching someone else.”

Suna walks onto the stage a little awkwardly but set on making Atsumu bite his words back. Someone else hands him a script and lets him skim through it for a few minutes before starting again.

“Time’s almost up for today. Let’s move forward to the ballroom scene.”

You take a deep breath, “Here we go.” you say a little nervous. You step closer to each other. then, “Rintaro.”

“What?”

“Stand up straight.”

“He probably be better at playing Quasimodo with that posture.” Atsumu cackled, disrupting Suna’s focus for a second.

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of your hands in his and carefully places the other on your waist.

“I’m not a very good dancer.” He says, and you notice by his voice that he’s also nervous.

You smile at him tenderly. “Don’t worry, I’m not very good either.”

You dance, and luckily don’t step on each other's feet. Then comes the scene when the Beast tells Belle she’s free to go.

“What scene comes next?” There’s a pause so Rintaro can check again.

“The confession scene.”

Oh.

Right. Now you had to tell Rintaro- the Beast, that you loved him. That story was a little weird.

He was supposed to be at the brink of taking his last breath. You do your best to remain in character as you stare at him lying there on the floor and hurry to crouch down beside him.

“Wait-Please, don’t leave me.” There were tears in your eyes as the words left your mouth almost desperately. “I love you.”

Damn, you were good. He almost bought it. Maybe you should audition for drama club. For someone who was about to die there was a lot of color on his face, matching your own blush as you internally freaked out a little.

At last, the spell was broken, the Beast turned into a handsome prince and there was just one last scene: the kiss.

You and Rintaro stared nervously at each other, then started getting closer. And closer. The girl directing glanced at the scriptwriter boy.

Are they kissing for real?

Everyone was just staring at you two. The other actors, the ones in charge of the scenography. Atsumu’s jaw dropped.

You could feel Rintaro’s breath tickling your face, your eyes shutting tight. His own eyelids were closing, your lips almost brushing.

The bell rang, signalling the end of rehearsals for today. You took a couple of steps back putting some space between each other. Suna stared at you a little longer, at your lips, before he cleared his throat and his gaze darted across the room avoiding yours.

“Okay, everyone, let’s continue tomorrow. Atsumu-kun, you better be ready.”

—

You stared at the poster for the play. It was the first day of the Inarizaki High School Festival. Which in turn meant the big day had arrived. You really hoped everything went alright. Honestly, Atsumu hadn’t gotten much better during rehearsals, always using the wrong tone, stumbling over his words or entirely forgetting his lines. But you didn’t have to worry about that until the evening. Right, they had pushed the play until evening so the different activities’ time didn’t overlap and everyone could go watch. Which meant more people might go. Just great.

On the bright side, you could carry on with the club’s activity without rush and stop by the different stands and classrooms afterwards.

Before opening the gym doors, you’d made sure everything was neat and all you might need was at hand. Students from the school, their families, alumni, students from other high schools, junior high students, and people from the community showed up to meet the volleyball team. Kita received everyone with a warm welcome, and you watched as he taught a couple of kids how to place their arms out correctly for a bump before Aran softly threw them the ball for them to make a pass. The little ones adored them, cheering when they got to make the pass back directly to the ace.

The experience hadn't been the same with a certain boy. When Atsumu tried to speak with the kids, they scurried away, intimidated. You felt bad for him while he tried to figure out what had he done wrong. But there was a little someone who wasn’t afraid of approaching him. As soon as your little brother arrived with your mom and spotted his target - they’d come directly from his school after he finished his own presentation-, he’d been following the setter around everywhere.

After the match, the boys thanked everyone, bid their goodbyes and split up to get ready to help their class or walk around campus to enjoy the rest of the festival. When you finished cleaning up and putting everything away, you did the same and went with your family. First, you stopped by a food stand to eat something while you still had an appetite - you weren’t sure if you'd feel like eating anything later as the minutes ticked by and show time got closer-.

You went ahead alone after a while, curious to see how the boys were doing.

“Y/n! You’re here!” Gin cried out when you reached the home econ. classroom they’d turned into a cafe.

“Is something wrong?” You looked him over, worried. “Is everyone alright? Where’s Osamu?”

The boy in the kitchen had accidentally burned himself and was taken to the infirmary. Osamu went from tending to the tables to taking over his place, and they were short handed in staff.

Ginjima apologized a hundred times while you assured him it was okay as one of the girls working as a waitress pulled you away after you asked how you could help. In a moment you were dressed up and got to work. With the new skills you’d acquired being the manager of the team, you’d noticed how to be more time efficient and the orders were taken out and delivered in no time. People left happily and more came to visit, attracted by one of the Miya’s being in the kitchen and surprising everyone as being a good cook, and by a certain maid’s unexpected arrival.

—-

The next stop after your impromptu shift was Rintaro’ s classroom. Obviously you weren’t going in to get your picture taken. You just hoped his class had been doing better than Gin’s and the twins. In the back of your mind you were also wondering where Atsumu had gone to.

When you walked in, you saw none other than Suna himself taking the pictures. You thought the task couldn’t suit him more.

“Hey.” He greeted you once he stopped to take a break and a girl took over. “Wanna get a picture? I could take it for you.” He was about ready to tell the girl to move over if you said so.

“No, but thank you.” You smiled at him. “I just came to take a look around.”

Everything seemed to be going alright.

Suddenly, you remembered you never asked him about the mysterious ticket.

“Ah, Rintaro, what’s this ticket for?”

“You got one of those too?” whatever those girls were plotting had Suna surprised at you being tangled up in it.

“You don’t have one?” You frowned, inspecting the piece of paper.

“No.” One of his classmates had asked to exchange it and then he just decided to throw it away, not interested in participating.

“What’s it for?”

“Um,” He began, uncomfortably, “a kissing booth.”

It was then that you noticed the other booth at the opposite side.

The closing of the event would be said kissing booth. It wasn’t a raffle. They had given away tickets with a number on it. The couple that had the same number should go into the booth and kiss.

Did none of the teachers learn of this?

Suna saw you begin to panic when the time came and they started calling numbers.

“Now, it’s the turn of couple number 6!”

A girl stepped forward, and looked around expectantly. Then her eyes landed on Rintaro. The boy whom he’d swapped numbers with looked over at him too, then said. “I thought Suna had that number.”

He squinted his eyes at the boy, then looked over at the girl.

Oh he was not falling for that.

“Nah, that one ain’t mine really.”

“What do you mean, “really”?”

“Exchanging numbers is cheating, right?”

“Yes.”

“He swapped his with mine.” He jabbed a finger towards the boy. “You have 11, right?” The boy jolted in place at his bold accusation. A gasp escaped you, looking down at your own number to double check.

“Y/n?” Suna turned to you, “what is it?” And he finally paid attention to your own ticket, the number 11 glaring back at the two of you. You looked up at him, face burning, and saw his own stunned face.

“But!” the girl spoke up, getting their attention, “Since you’d already done it, why not just go on with it?”

The rest of the students glanced between Suna and the other two, while Suna glanced at you, the ticket in your hands and the boy that was holding his.

Then, the girl organizer spoke up, “Where’s the ticket with number 6?” seeing as Suna didn’t have it in his hands. “If you give it back you can get your original number. If not,” she turned to the girl, “You two are out.”

Suna walked to the back of the classroom, towards a desk near the window. He grabbed his bookbag, recalling the last time he’d seen the damn piece of paper was when he carelessly tossed it in. He still didn’t want to participate at all. It was just that you were there, and there was a boy who thought that he could kiss you for fun. You probably didn’t even know his name!

He rustled the contents of the bag and in the end held it upside down, tossling everything into the desk and clattering to the floor.

It wasn’t there.

So that left Suna and the girl out. The girl scowled as she sat back down on a desk and things moved on.

Then, they called for couple number eleven.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Suna told you earnestly, his firm hold on your upper arm stopping you and making you look up at him again.

“C’mon, Suna, don’t be a drag.”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That’s all they want, right?

The words were out right as they flashed through his thoughts.

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?”

Was this, what? The second time in less than a month that this happened?

“It’s just a kiss, right?” He smiled at you bashfully.

Shyly, you nodded. He brought a hand up to gently cup your face and you closed your eyes.

It was just for an instant, you felt his lips touch yours.

Then it was gone.

“What is going on here?!”

Hastily, you all turn to find their teacher standing there, eyes wide with disbelief and wrath.

The kissing booth officially shut down.

—

It’s all dark and everyone murmurs in anticipation. The Inarizaki Volleyball Club -minus the stars of the night- secured the front row, saving a spot for your mother, your brother, mother Miya and their relatives that had shown up. Rintaro holds a video camera, while Osamu holds a bag of popcorn he’d already eaten halfway through and the show hadn’t even started yet.

Then it’s curtains up, light floods the stage. The scene shows a castle, and there stands Atsumu in his prince costume. There’s a collective delightful sigh from the girls present, though the prince glowers with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Suna doesn’t miss the tint to his cheeks as he zooms the frame and both him and his brother guffaw. Atsumu hears them, his eyes roaming the audience until he spots them and his frown deepens. His eyes caught movement from somewhere else, and he sees you peeking out from backstage, encouraging him and sending him a thumbs up.

“Go, baby!” That. That was his mom. His face burns in embarrassment and his teammates just about die stifling their laughs.

“Once upon a time,” the narrator* starts, “a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle.”

*“Although he had everything his heart desired, he was selfish and unkind.”

Enter the beggar woman.

“Please accept this rose in return for shelter this night as it is cold outside.”

“Take your rose and get movin’!” Atsumu sneered.

Everyone stared, stricken.

He was a natural!

“You should not be deceived by appearances.”

“Yeah right.”

“You are really up to turn me away?”

“Darn right. Ya heard me.”

*“After being dismissed for the second time, the old woman revealed herself to be truly a beautiful enchantress.”

The girl took off the cape she was wearing. She looked pretty indeed, her hair styled up nicely paired with her makeup and dress.

“I ain’t apologizing to anyone.”

“Very well then, you spoiled brat,” For a moment, his counterpart ran out of patience and also went out of script, “I’ll cast this spell over you and your castle to teach you a lesson, until you learn to love and earn another’s love in return.”

The lights went out for a moment, and when they turned back on, the two were back. Atsumu had been transformed as the Beast: there was a wig with a pair of horns and some dog-like ears attached to his head, a beard on his face to match, a pair of pointy fangs protruding from his mouth and his shoes are gone, now having claws for hands and feet. He didn’t look scary at all, looking more like he was a wolf than a beast. The public laughed.

“This rose will bloom until your twenty-first year. If by then you haven’t found love, the spell will remain and you’ll be cursed to stay a Beast for all time.”

It was time for your appearance. You show up, wearing a simple blue day dress topped with an apron. And you surprise everyone by singing a little, getting applause from the audience.

The story moves on, and now Belle has taken her father’s place as the Beast’s prisoner.

“I’ll show ya to your room.”

“My room? But I though-”

“If ya wanna stay here, fine by me!” Atsumu says harshly, then looks at your tear stained face. He knows you’re just playing your part, but he actually feels bad about having yelled at you. “I me-”

*“The Beast leads Belle to her room,” Atsumu deflates as he gets interrupted by the narrator.

He’s relieved when not long after, there comes the ballroom scene, which means the whole thing is almost over.

The audience gasps as the spotlight falls on you dressed in a ball gown at the top of a set of stairs to the left side of the stage, while you’re too busy carefully descending the steps. You’re afraid you might trip on your heels. Or get your feet tangled in your skirts and roll down instead. When you reach the center of the room, it’s Atsumu’s turn to make his way down from the other set of stairs on the right.

He’s right in front of you and now that the light shines upon you both, he can fully take in the image of you.

The song begins to play and you dance. There’s no dialogue, but he still speaks.

“You look pretty.” He smiles sheepishly.

Staring at the cute ears on his head, you let out a small laugh, looking radiant, “Thank you.”

Belle returns after being set free with a new revelation, and Atsumu is your next victim when the confession scene rolls in. The audience is moved to tears by your delivery and stare expectantly when the lights go out, meaning the spell was broken and the return of the prince.

Atsumu hurries backstage for the outfit change, gladly to finally get rid of the ridiculous costume. He takes off the itchy claws, his shirt, the fake hair around his face that tickles, the fake fangs that hurt his lip earlier, and off goes the wig all with horns and ears.

You start to worry when Atsumu doesn’t come out and you’re there standing in the dark for more than you should. The audience starts to murmur, also wondering what’s taking so long for the play to continue. In the shadows, the team sees you as you pick up the skirt of your dress and run following the same direction he went.

“What happened?” You ask as soon as you get backstage.

Everyone turns to you. Atsumu stands in the middle, sitting on a chair, shirtless, almost all parts of his costume gone except his pants, and well, the wig. One of the girls from the costume department stands close, trying one more time to yank it off.

“Ouch!” He yelps, swatting the hands away. “I told ya to stop that!” Then his eyes meet yours through the mirror in front of him.

He blushes in embarrassment but turns to you, “The stupid wig doesn’t come off!”

Why was this happening to him? After he accepted his fate and went through being part of the stupid play now there’s a stupid wig that won’t come out of his head. Did they put glue on it? He didn’t want to be the bald twin.

“What do we do now?”

You stare at Atsumu and see his frustration.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix this. It’ll be fine.” you encourage him, holding one of his hands with yours.

“Y/n? Atsumu?”

“Kita-senpai!”

“Is something wrong? Oh, we brought this. For you.”

It’s then you notice the flower bouquet he’s holding. He hands them to you.

“Thank you.” You say as your heart melts a little. He was so sweet.

You move on to tell him what’s wrong and see his genuine concern but everyone’s worries vanish with two words.

“He’s perfect!”

—

The lights come back on, you’re back on stage with

Kita?!

The girls grip their chest as if they’re hearts have been stricken and it’s too much to take. What they’re witnessing is utter perfection. A third year - and it’s not any third year-, Kita Shinsuke, stands there as the Prince who seems to shine without the need of the limelight. As if fallen from heaven itself. It brings some of them to tears as hearts seem to float around them.

It’s the final scene, the kiss. You stare up at your upperclassman, flustered, then he leans in and kisses you. On the cheek, close to your lips. Because you didn’t need to kiss for real.

When he pulls back, he dedicates you a soft smile which you return.

The audience erupts in applause and you hear your friends whoop and holler.

The curtain closes.

–

Last night, you were exhausted and surrendered to sleep without problem. Today, you were back up again for day two. But this time around, you were going exclusively to enjoy the last of it as a visitor along with the rest of the volleyball team.

You ate, took group photos, saw the different projects and exhibitions, and participated in different games and contests.

Now for the big closing, there will be fireworks.

“Where’s Y/n? She’s going to miss it!”

“I think she went back inside.”

“I’ll go look for her.”

Atsumu headed back inside the school after you. The hallways were dark, soft moonlight seeping in from the windows. There was yellow light coming from one of the classrooms, escaping from the panel on the door and from under it.

“Y/n? What are you doing here? We found a good spot.”

“Ah, Atsumu. I just- It’s a little windy outside and I forgot to bring a jacket.” You admit. He nods in understanding. The nights were beginning to get a little chilly. Atsumu wasn’t a fan of the cold. At that moment it’s impossible for him to ignore that he’s not wearing one either, and so he can’t lend it to you.

“We can ask one of the others to lend you one.”

Absolutely not, “It’s alright, really. But you can go back with the others.”

“I’ll stay here with you.” He moves to sit next to you near a window.

As you begin to complain back and forth -you telling him it’s alright and that he can go while he argues that he doesn’t mind and won’t leave you alone-, you had tuned out everything else and for a moment you had forgotten what was about to happen. You jump in place and nearly fall from your seat when the first bang is set and then follows an explosion of colors in the sky.

Atsumu moves and catches you, but it’s so sudden you both end up falling on your asses. You managed to miss him, landing between his spread out legs instead, and you laugh, turning your head slightly to look back at him. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He holds back a grimace and smiles back at you. You both don’t make a move to stand up. Instead you turn to look out the window excitedly, the sparkles filling your vision, mouth open in awe as you take in the scene. Atsumu stares at you at first, then leans back on his arms contentedly while he stays there watching the fireworks with you.

As long as you’re with your friends, any spot could become a good spot.

Extra 14: Chef Miya Osamu and Miss Maid Manager: The Miracle Duo! [223]

You’re sitting nearby Osamu in the makeshift kitchen after the rush has died down. There’s this mouth watering smell in the air from whatever the boy is making. You’d seen hearts floating around the cafe all the while you’d tended to the tables.

Osamu steals a few glances at you. Seeing you dressed in a maid outfit was not on his bingo card for today. He’s sure there’d be chaos if the others were here. Especially his twin who had a thing for dramatics - so dramatic but for what he’s heard apparently he sucks on stage. He laughs inwardly to himself but can’t help to pity you a little for what you’re in for later-. He noticed though, while you’re sitting there resting you’d quite spaced out, a content look on your face.

A plate is placed in front of you, and you return to planet Earth, still in work mode.

Osamu stops you, “It’s for you.”, and chuckles a little at your surprise.

“Oh. Thank you. But you didn’t have to.”

He scoffs, “Please. I think I’ve heard your stomach grumble at least twice.”

Your face reddens in embarrassment.

When you try it, Osamu stares expectantly, awaiting your reaction.

There are more hearts floating around the kitchen, this time coming from you as you hum in delight. Osamu smiles with pride, satisfied.

Extra 15: Sorry for the blur, my camera doesn’t focus on the fake [201]

A few days pass, and Rintarō’s class starts to get complaints after they've delivered the pictures to everyone that went to their class for the photo booth.

The pair of photographers are sitting in front of their class organizer. She’s ninety nine percent sure of who’s responsible, but to make it fair and not jump to accusations, she drops the question.

“Which of you is responsible for the blurry pictures?”

The girl side eyes Suna, positive she wasn’t.

“What?” Then, he grabs one of the pictures. A blurred faced girl. He turns to his partner, “That girl was awful. She was mean to you while asking only for me to take the photo. And this guy,” He turned to the organizer, “skipped the line.”

“What about this one?” She holds up a group photo. Among them is the boy who’d swapped his ticket with his, face blurred. Being petty, he’d ruined it after the kissing booth deception attempt.

He shrugged, answering simply and sincerely, “I just don’t like him.”

He takes out his notebook for class, and doesn’t notice a crumpled paper slip peeking at the bottom and about to fall from between the sheets.

When it did, there was a ticket with number 6, never to be seen.

Extra 16: The Villain of the Story [140]

“Okay, girls, I heard there’s a kiss scene in class A’s play. We have to stop Atsumu from kissing the volleyball manager.”

“Are they kissing for real for the play?”

“Of course they are! And if we didn’t know, would you wanna risk it?”

“No…”

“Okay, then. What should we do?”

“Why don’t we drop a barrel of paint on them?”

“We don’t want to ruin his hair!”

“Drop the curtains?”

“Nah, they might fix it up too soon. And it’s too risky to get up there and down without getting busted.”

“And we could hurt someone down on stage.”

“That too.”

“I got it! One of you is going backstage to mess up his last costume change. With the flurry of people going to and fro, they won’t notice if someone that isn’t part of the team sneaks in!”

Extra 17: And He Huffed and He Puffed

“If only you were triplets, you would've been perfect for “Three Little Pigs.””

“Ha,ha. Very funny.”

They’d come to almost do it in junior high ( someone had slipped that into the suggestion box) but nobody else needed to know that.

“You could still do it for Halloween.”

“No way.”

You snorted, imagining Atsumu dressed in costume.

“What if y/n was the third one?”

“What? Why are you involving me?”

They ignored you, “Would you do it then?”

Guess he would. And you all did, grudgingly.

“Just so you know. I own the brick house.”

(Rintarō was the big bad wolf).

A/N: We've reached part 10! I can't believe it. Just reaching part 6 was a stretch (does any of y'all remember my struggles back then? XD). Thank you so much for reading this story and showing it love. Means a lot.

The name of this chapter is word play. “Fall” as in the season, “Fall” as in, did I get you to fall for something that didn’t happen (probably once or twice XD)?, and “Fall” literally. There was a lot of falling here heheh. I wrote the first part second. I never imagined I'll write this much for Shiratorizawa and here I go narrating most of their match. I just love Tendou sm. And Oikawa!! Still not sure if I write him good enough but I was dying to find a way to introduce him here.

So much to say about this and that but don't want to make a long ass note like I tend to do.

Anyways, hope you love this one. I went insane and wrote for days beginning right after posting the previous part.

Until next time! - Youmarin

(don't be surprised if I disappear for a while again. I might've fried my brain working on this one).

P.S.: Atsumu ran into your mom and your brother after you split up in festival day 1.

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