#nohr.writing

[alienaiver]

Multiple gold medals 🥇

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

synopsis: athlete is a noun. it is the person who is involved in the physical activity of sport or containing that agile quality. athletic is an adjective meaning physically active. you are neither, at least according to your rude boyfriend.

tags: summer olympics 2024, fluff, sfw, established relationship, banter and playfighting, canon compliant-ish, post-timeskip, no use y/n, humor, poc and body positive reader tho reader is Not sporty, one shot warnings: theres a minor-minor description of tickling/blowing a raspberry. otherwise, none! wordcount: 1.2k

notes: written for @tetzoro 's summer olympics collab! this was so fun. ive probably watched a total of six minutes of the olympics this year, i apologize 😔👊🏽 i love a good banter, tho. i hope i delivered!!! ✨

You throw an M&M up in the air to catch with your mouth, but it lands sadly on your collarbone before sliding down by your neck, lost underneath you between the throw pillows. You mentally promise Kuroo to pick it up as soon as you get up for water.

It’s your day off and you’re beat. The heat is nothing to scoff at, either; the humidity making any endeavors outside of the apartment walls virtually impossible.

Well, to you at least. Kuroo’s on a convenience store run to pick up as many snacks as he’s able to carry, and your favorite milk tea. The men’s volleyball game in the Olympics is tonight, Argentina against Japan. He’s been buzzing ever since they qualified for the finale. As much as you love to listen to him yap, his excitement is only working to make you impatient for something you didn’t think you’d care that much about.

Volleyball’s never been your strong interest. Sport in general isn’t high on your list, actually. It wasn’t until you met Kuroo that you even began watching the Olympics at all.

Right now the Olympics are on, too. It’s been on most of the days when either of you occupy his home, and right now it’s time for the Men’s Single luge. You’ve never heard of it before, but it’s a sort of sled competition in an ice tube sort of field.

You’re about to throw the next M&M into your mouth when the door clicks open. “I’m back!” you hear Kuroo yell out, and you greet him back before eating the candy. You hear him sit down by the genkan to take off his shoes; he firmly refuses to toe his new sneakers on and off like his old ones. It ruins the structure of the back quicker, he claims. He wants to be more environmentally conscious and take better care of his things.

He groans as he comes in, wiping his neck and collar with his handkerchief. You smile up at him, admiring the way his bangs stick to his forehead from the perspiration. On his shoulder hangs his tote bags, brimming with contents you can’t wait to dive into. When you reach out for it, he yells, “ah!” and pulls it dramatically away from your reach.

“It’s for tonight!” he huffs, puffing up his chest and jutting out his bottom lip. You shake your head, “just lemme see! Gimme an unboxing, at least!” you make grabby-hands at him, and he throws his head back, “nuh-uh. I’m putting it in the kitchen for later. You need a real dinner first, too.”

You fall back onto the couch with a huff, “as if you’ll be able to eat anything during the match anyways.”

“What was that?” he calls back tersely from the kitchen but you just blow air out through your nose, “nothing.”

As in defiance of him restricting you, you put four M&M’s in your mouth at the same time.

Just to prove a point.

He comes back out after he’s washed his face, and leans against your head, “what’s on now?”

He kisses your cheek.

“Luge.”

“Huh?”

“Sled.”

“Ah.”

He jumps the backrest of the couch to land next to you, and you laugh and dodge the arm that almost pulls your head down with his entire weight. The plastic of the M&M’s container crinkles as you lift it to offer him some. Instead of reaching for it like a normal person, he pushes his face into the bag like a freak, and you pull it away with a screech. He looks proud when he looks up, crunching loudly to prove he succeeded in getting a few.

You take a handful before you put the bag on the table and cuddle up to your boyfriend. He sighs as he settles with an arm around you and you start to watch the games silently.

There’s an awkward sort of silence from the commentators as the athletes ride on their sleds, like they’re holding their breath and waiting for something spectacular to happen at every turn, but it’s pretty straightforward. Technical, sure, but straightforward nonetheless. It’s only during the sharp turns that they really say anything, and it’s without much substance. It doesn’t really give a fair idea on how much skill is needed to do this.

You throw an M&M and succeed in catching it. “I could do that.” you conclude after a person reaches the goal, the successful catch fueling your ego. Kuroo doesn’t even spare you a glance or a visible reaction, “sure.”

You playfully punch at his thigh, “I totally could! It’s just downhill.”

Kuroo snorts, “yeah, then to the left in a sharp turn and oh! Right after that another sharp turn. I’d sooner see you crash walking up the stairs to the ice tube.”

You gasp in offense and sit up, shaking off his arm from your shoulder, “excuse me!” you say, your voice high-pitched and scratchy. Kuroo gives you one of his handsome, disarming, lop-sided smirks that you almost fall for, before you catch yourself.

He reaches out for you again but you move further away, “have you no confidence in me?” you mock-cry, giving him a look of absolute disgust, “are you all talk? Lowering the net for people to enjoy your favorite sport, but you don’t care about other athletics like me? Huh?” you cross your arms and pout, and Kuroo snickers at your choice of words before he leans his head back onto the backrest. Athletics.

“You can barely catch a stray piece of candy you throw yourself.”

You gasp, and point to the bag of M&M’s, “you saw me catching one just a minute ago!”

Kuroo lifts his arm, his hand closed in a fist. You follow his movement as he reaches out for you, turns the fist and reveals a half-melted M&M in his open palm, “there’s like six of them between these pillows right now.”

You raise an eyebrow, “so? That’s from when you stuck your head in the bag like a pig.” your exaggerated lie makes him nod thoughtfully, “yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re right. You’d win, but not at luge.”

Your eyes open up, excitement visible as you lean forward, “what sport do you see me winning?”

Kuroo keeps his face neutral as he collects the fallen heroes of candy you've sacrificed to throw out, “you’d win a various of games, actually. You’d be the gold winner in all of them, even.”

You lean forward even more, and he laughs then, “qualifications for sports like overthinking situations that happened years ago, jumping to conclusions and complaining about your stomach hurting after eating dairy”- he’s interrupted when you push all the way onto him with your entire weight, smashing your face into his chest and immediately blowing a raspberry -”and best of all,” he laughs and feebly tries to push you away as you try to reach his neck to give it the same treatment, “being delusional on main, and hey! Stop it!”

He’s pushing at you more desperately now, unwilling to let you attack him directly on the skin. There’s mirth in his voice still and you giggle before you succeed. He howls and grabs onto your shoulders, “I yield! I yield! Fine! You’d win in luge!”

You pull away immediately as he yields, a satisfied grin on your face. “Hmph, now that wasn’t so hard, was it? To recognize talent for what it is.” you turn around and situate yourself again up against him and he lets out a chuckle as he kisses the crown of your head and wraps his arms around you.

After a moment of just resting his own head against yours, he asks, suddenly serious, “do you wanna try luge one day? There’s also luges for doubles. There’s a stadium for it downtown.”

“Oh, never in a million years.”

[alienaiver]

Hello Love, I would love to request a reader with IBS with Bakugo crushing on them

hi my love !!! i hope you'll enjoy this, thank you for sending in a request! <3

warnings: none, fluff + sfw wordcount: 1.3k notes: kept the specific IBS triggers as vague as possible. we all know bakugous a big fan of organizing and planning. impressing you is no less meticulous than his entire career plan. timeskip, semi-early prohero bakugou under best jeanist's agency!

Bakugou prides himself in his cooking, always has. So when Best Jeanist gave him his own department in the agency with various heroes, sidekicks and support under him, he decided he’d build up trust in various ways.

One of them was to cook for his colleagues weekly, gathering them for lunch in the open office at the center of his department floor, only asking them all to provide their own drinks.

It’s popular immediately, everyone gushing over the homemade food by a rising hero like Dynamight. He takes the praise in stride and it motivates him to surpass his own dishes every week. There’s only one issue.

You don’t eat any of it.

It’s not like you choose to be anti-social when this particular lunch break rolls around. You just always bring your own bento box, even if he keeps insisting it’s all free and that he always makes more than needed so that no one needs to hold back.

He makes a variety of dishes; Asian, European, even American styled foods, and whenever he goes directly to your seat to personally present the dishes, you just give him this wide smile that turns his knees into jelly before you say, “that’s so kind of you, Bakugou! Thank you.” before you stab your chopsticks into your own lunch.

It ticks him off, but mostly, it makes him deflate. Of course Bakugou’s not cooking for eight people once a week only to impress you, but it had been part of his 12-step plan to make you fall in love with him. Though he won’t ever admit that he has specific steps set in motion.

First was to get noticed by you in the agency as a whole. Then, to be promoted by Best Jeanist from newly hired sidekick to established hero, and third's to get his own secretary – which you became, because you got along so well by the water cooler. After that was to get this department. A minor step in the right direction was also to get you a new desk that had more space for your trinkets.

His current step, the food, seems to be his Achilles heel. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that you’d have the audacity to be uninterested. You’ve gotten along so well for years now, it’s strange that you don’t even want to taste. He can’t find it in himself to see it as rude, because as earlier established, you dutifully show up and socialize.

He’s in his office, boots on the desk as he contemplates his next move. His food was supposed to have given him an in into your life outside of work, inviting you home to teach you a few cooking tricks, have a nice wine and fluid conversations that’d make you laugh and weak in the knees.

And yet, here he is, dateless.

For a few weeks now he’s been taken peeks at your lunches whenever he passes your desk, but it’s not like anything specific glares at him, like a heavy gluten allergy or lactose intolerance. There’s dairy some days, he’s seen peanuts in your bento, too – and meat. Your diet really doesn’t exude vegetarianism or like you have any other food restrictions. Before weekends, he’s seen you taste the cakes that Himiko, the support secretary, brings with her. But you declined the baked goods he was given once from a rescue mission on a Tuesday. They were both the same type of cake.

Are you just incredibly picky?

He shakes his head and hides his pout in the collar of his suit; he needs to go on patrol soon. He doesn’t have time to think about this all day.

//

A few more grueling weeks of grumbling and groaning over how to make you eat his food, he notices a pattern in your lunches that’s taken him a while to put together. Certain items are never in the bento, like eggs or pineapples.

The other night he ate out with his parents, and his mother loudly talked about her colleague’s stomach issues, not caring that everyone in the restaurant was turning their heads to the conversation; Masaru kept trying to douse her noise level. Not only was the topic sort of awkward when everyone around you is eating (though husband and son were no strangers to such subjects during dinner at the Bakugou household), it’d be a bother if a patron recognized Bakugou.

Of course, Mitsuki paid no heed to anyone else but her family at their table, and explained about the condition she’d just learned about. About certain food triggering reactions even if no official allergy was involved; luckily, the healthcare provided by Mitsuki and Masaru’s company covered some very expensive allergy tests, and she’d then told Mitsuki that she had been diagnosed with IBS.

After being dropped off at his own apartment, he’d sat by his computer and googled IBS, which he learned stands for irritable bowel syndrome. He sucked up all knowledge available on the internet, scientific papers and healthcare provider’s talk about certain diets, testimonials from affected people and watched tons of videos from influencers creating awareness on TikTok. If the bags under his eyes were visible at work the day after, no one commented on it.

//

Now his heartbeat’s through the roof as he puts out the food like usual on the center table, everyone gathering and complimenting him on the smell. His hands are sweaty; more so than normal. He keeps wiping them off on his pants, swallowing excess saliva. In the thermal bag, at the bottom, is a dish specifically made with you in mind. He wonders if you’ll hate it.

You walk in next to Himiko, laughing about a joke she made. You part when you go directly for a seat and Himiko comes up to the make-shift buffet, patting his back in praise.

While everyone is busy filling their plates, Bakugou grabs the last bento box and goes straight to you. He puts it on top of the bento you’re just about to open, “here.”

You freeze for a second, eyes locked on the box. Then you smile up at Bakugou, “that’s so sweet Bakugou, but I brought my own food.”

He almost rolls his eyes before he squats down to lean his arms and head on the table and look up at your eyes. Gently, he says, “it should be safe.”

He hopes his voice doesn't sound as raw as it feels.

The comment takes you back as your eyes are locked onto his. He searches them, drowning in the richness of the color. It’s like he’s at the deep-end of the pool, entranced by a spell, only able to keep himself floating. You raise your brow, “safe?”

He turns away from you with a pout, “I often put pineapple in my curry. And eggs in my bibimbap. This is curry without all the things I’ve noticed you avoid.”

Your eyes travel between the lunch and him, comically back and forth like a cartoon character. “That you’ve noticed I avoid?”

Bakugou blushes; shit. He’d really hoped you wouldn’t catch on to that part. He hides his face in the arms that’s resting on the table edge. “Yeah,” he mutters out, muffled by his hidden face. The silence stretches out, and he’s holding his breath.

After what feels like entirely too long, you let out a small laugh and he hears the lid clicking open. You inhale deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh, “this looks delicious, Bakugou. Did you make it all for me?”

He lifts his head, his eyes still locked to the side. His ears are burning, “mhm,” he nods. You almost coo at him, as you pick up your chopsticks, “this is very kind of you.”

Neither of you notices your colleagues standing around you, various expressions of awe and admiration. You’ve both been the office gossip for some months now.

Bakugou looks at you as soon as you’ve taken the first bite, determined to see your reaction through his embarrassment. Through your chewing you can’t help but smile, stars emerging glittering and shimmering in your eyes as you reach a hand to your cheek, “Bakugou, this is amazing!” you say, taking another mouthful as fast as possible. He loves the way his name sounds when it comes out from your lips; you use it so often it makes him dizzy.

“Can you teach me how to make this? Please?”

Step six completed.

He smirks, “sure. It’s a date.”

check out if my requests are open here ✨

[alienaiver]

Proposals Plus One

Iwaizumi Hajime x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers and references to Godzilla Minus One, it is gender neutral but you are being proposed to ! <3 also iwa gives oikawa the finger if thats not ur thing wordcount: 2.4k content: FLUFF, proposals, genderneutral reader, poc!friendly and body positive reader, Childhood friends to lovers trope, SFW, No use of y/n, canon compliant, post-timeskip, one-shot, established relationship, use of honorifics (iwa-chan is the only one, by oikawa of course), this was supposed to be a drabble hi, also oikawa appears at 5ish am in argentina, i salute him for his dedicated friendship

notes: when i describe iwaizumi watching the movie i basically just described myself LMFAO!!! anyways.. i wanted this to be a let-iwaizumi-experience-my-favorite-movie but it turned into... this! i hope u enjoy heheh <:) <33 PLEASE enjoy my title pun as a reference to Godzilla Minus One!!!!!

Iwaizumi’s hands are not still for more than a few seconds at a time during the little more than two hours you spend in the cinema. They shift between grasping onto his soda or taking the popcorn from you – only to put them back onto your lap, or grasp onto your hand like his life depends on it. Especially during the big, cinematic scenes. When Godzilla starts to charge the atomic beam attack, you hear him take a sharp intake and lean into you, like he really can’t contain his own mortal vessel.

It’s really cute.

You’re glad he brought you along with him, even if you’d been hesitant to begin with.

“Oikawa always goes with you,” you tried to argue, “I don’t want to take his spot.”

Iwaizumi had lowered his gaze and tried to hide his expression when he admitted that Oikawa wouldn’t be in Japan for the release. You genuinely thought he would, so you couldn’t hide the surprise at the admission. “So… you’re not imposing yourself.” he’d grunted afterwards and got up from the dining table, “but you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Whenever there’s a big action scene, like when Noriko falls from the open and destroyed train free-fall into a pool of water or when Godzilla destroys the cinema, he leans forward in his seat before he looks at you and even through a dim cinema with lights only emitting from the screen, you can see the stars reflecting in his eyes, his mouth open in a smile you don’t see often on him. Like he can’t really believe what he’s seeing, and he’s checking with you to confirm it.

When the credits starts rolling and people start to leave, your boyfriend puts his palms on his temples as he uses a moment to process what he’s just seen. Then, very slowly like he’s edited into slow-motion he turns towards you. His eyes are wide and his mouth slack, but the more you get into view, the more the corners of his lips tugs upwards.

You laugh and grip his upper arm, squeeze it lightly, “was it everything you needed the 70th anniversary to be?”

The look he gives you is perplexed; almost like he can’t believe that you’re asking him that. He drags his hands down his face, dragging the skin with him and making a grimace, “what’s the time?” he then suddenly ask, real time seemingly catching up to his body as he hurries to check his watch.

“It’ll roll again at 6! That’s in 45 minutes! We can grab a quick bite and then”- he interrupts himself with a cough before he reminds himself and tenses his shoulders -”sorry, we have a reservation.”

You take him in for a minute, your underlip worried between your teeth as you weigh your options. The reservation isn’t important in and of itself; it’s just a small Yakiniku place that ended up being close to the cinema and you’re full from the popcorn and candy anyways.

You hum, dramatically as you pretend to be an actor for the effect. Iwaizumi’s already on his phone, checking the Google Maps route to the restaurant. You fish out your own phone and go to the cinema’s website to buy two new tickets. During the booking you see it’ll be shown in another of their screens, which only makes you smile mischievously.

When the booking’s confirmed, you start to get up with a sigh, “let’s talk about the movie at the restaurant, yeah?” you try to keep yourself neutral as to not give away your plan. Iwaizumi smiles and puts his arms through the sleeves of his light jean jacket. The summer heat is peaking, so he’d only worn it to have pockets.

You grab onto his hand and squeeze it as he gets up next to you, “thank you for coming with me, it means a lot.”

You kiss his him chaste on the lips before you start to drag him out. After you’ve both been by the bathroom, you pass by the snacks and tug at him, “can we go back in real quick? I really regretted not buying that chocolate bar when we browsed before the movie… please?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at you but smiles widely and follows you, his other hand already searching his pocket for his wallet.

You grab two different chocolate bars, one you know that he likes and your own favorite. Then you go to the soda aisle and pretend to think it through deeply. Iwaizumi’s eyebrow perks up at your behavior, “what do you need soda for? The restaurant will have drinks. If you want something specific we can pick it up on the way home.”

You shake your head and tighten your lips into a frown, “yeah but look! They have this fun variant of melon soda. Don’t you want to taste?” you point to the small sign next to it, “it’s cinema exclusive.”

Iwaizumi is never really able to say no to you, but he is perplexed about the behavior you’re exhibiting. You bite your lip as you give him a pleading look, fearing your luck’s running out. The puppy eyes makes him shake his head and grab two cups to fill. You kiss his cheek with a laugh.

With renewed drinks and snacks (minus the popcorn, you can still feel the kernels stuck to your teeth) you go to sit down by one of their benches, pretending to tie your laces. Iwaizumi sees that your laces aren’t untied, but he stays quiet.

When you sit back up with a satisfied grunt, you grab your phone from your purse and find the tickets, “look babe! We’re in the middle row seats!”

He squints to look properly at what you’re showing him, his nose crinkling in a way you think is adorable. You wish you’d had a second phone to secretly record this reaction. There’s nothing like it. Warmth and blood rises to his face and makes his ears bright red as his eyes widen, mouth hanging slack.

“What did you- how… when did you?” he asks, clutching at his hair with his free hand. You laugh, proud to see him with revived excitement, “I booked them right after. We’re going to have so many snacks that dinner can be a little later… I’d rather experience that with you than that restaurant!”

Iwaizumi pulls back from you a little with a laugh as he drags his hand over his mouth, suddenly looking unsure of himself. You tilt your head to the side. He says, “but that restaurant’s really… uh… special.” You sigh and reach out for his hand, “yeah but you’re more special to me. We can always go some other time, right?”

You’re suddenly afraid he doesn’t want to watch it again, that it was just the adrenaline of excitement making him say it back when the credits where rolling. He mutters unintelligible words under his breath before he mumbles an announcement, “well now’s a good as time as any.”

He then looks at you, the blush returning as he puts the drinks and snacks down next to yours on the bench, “I uh- I need to call Shittykawa real quick.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at that, but you nod. Maybe he wants to tell him about the movie before you watch it again; this used to be their thing growing up after all.

You sit back down on the bench and take out your phone, scrolling through social media as you wait for him to make his call. You’re surprised when the sound of a FaceTime call starts ringing through the air and Iwaizumi looks annoyed. It’s not an uncommon expression on him, so you’re not sure you’re able to decipher the meaning behind it right now.

“Iwa-chan? That’s early! Doesn’t it take 10 minutes to the restaurant?” Oikawa gasps on the other end, “no way, did you get cold feet!? Iwa-chan!!” he suddenly scolds and Iwaizumi grunts out a shut up and you assume point the camera towards you because Oikawa’s voice greets you, strained and perfectly polite. It’s eerily unnatural when acted towards you and not a fan. Confused, you just wave at him and Oikawa gasps again. “In the cinema? That wasn’t the plan at all! Did you already do it?” he continues on, and you make a grimace to Iwaizumi. What the hell is he talking about?

Iwaizumi snaps at Oikawa and hurriedly moves out of earshot from you, mumbling into the phone. Then he comes back with his back straightened´up and stiff, legs seemingly wobbly under his weight. He puts his phone with Oikawa on the call up against the plant next to you, pointing it towards you. You can see Oikawa lying on his stomach on a bed, eye masks on and no light except for the screen – Argentina’s far behind Japan after all. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s jogged back in front of you and practically falls to his knee in front of you, wincing from the pain of landing unexpectedly hard.

You think you’re catching on.

Your breath catches in your throat as you keep your eyes locked onto the man in front of you, suddenly fearing he’ll disappear into thin air and that this is just a dream.

Iwaizumi clears his throat and opens his mouth to start talking before he catches himself and hastily goes through his pockets. He pats the chest pocket an extra time before his nimble fingers slide inside and come out with a blue velvet box. Your hands go to cover your mouth, because it’s the same color as Aoba Johsai’s turquoise.

“Why’d you choose Seijoh?” an angry-looking 15-year-old from your new class asked you during the rounds where you’re supposed to get to know each other. With a strained smile you admit sheepishly, “I loved the colors of the school’s volley uniform.”

When he sees your expression he laughs, “I planned to do this at the restaurant – but you willingly choosing to go to the cinema to watch my … uh, my thing, not once but twice. And in a day no less, well…” he clears his throat and looks away, “it kinda knocked me off my feet. I’ve known for a long time this was going to happen but… when you showed me your phone with that excited expression that I love? It’s like… well, it was like the entire universe conspired to confirm that it has to be you… you know?”

He shakes his head and apologizes for sounding so cheesy before he drags a hand through his spikes. When he looks directly into your eyes after gathering himself, you straighten your back and start nodding. He hasn’t even asked you yet but your legs are shaking with the intense feeling of your response.

He laughs when he sees you nod. The raspy and relaxed one, reserved for you. You stare at each other for a time, admiring each other’s eyes and being in this moment, this time in life carved for the two of you. Then he shakes his head and starts to open his mouth. It must take too long though, because your shared childhood menace of a best friend starts booing. You both look to him and Iwaizumi has a scolding ready on his tongue until he sees the fat tears shining on his screen, Oikawa’s nose red and wrinkled.

Iwaizumi decides to simply give him the middle finger before he turns back to you. He says your name with an embarrassed lilt to his tone and finally, at last, formally asks you;

“Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You laugh, unabashed and excited. In your bewilderment you shake your head in disbelief and the raw fear in Iwaizumi’s eyes makes you flinch and yell out a too loud “yes!” to make sure that you were merely reacting to the overwhelming situation in front of you.

People in the cinema are looking, silently clapping and smiling at you both but generally keeping a polite distance. You sniffle and lean towards Iwaizumi, foregoing the ring to fall into his arms. It takes him a moment to process before his arms wraps around you too, pulling you into him so tightly, shaky breaths leaving him as he keeps pawing at your back, your hair, your neck. Like he can’t really believe this is happening, either. You repeat the word “yes” like a prayer, your heart thrumming at intervals you’ve never tried before.

You pull back and wipe a tear from Iwaizumi’s cheek, “you better calm down before we watch it again, huh?”

Oikawa clears his throat from the phone, “the ring, Iwa-chan! The ring!”

Iwaizumi gathers himself and rather forcefully grabs onto your hand before apologizing, letting his finger caress your knuckles in apology. You let him, and he fumbles to get the ring out. It’s a simple one, so very like him. Oikawa chimes in with your exact thought, “he was so panicky at the jeweler! You should’ve seen him!”

You wish you had. Flustered Iwaizumi is your favorite flavor, but seeing him with shaky fingers fitting the ring onto your finger, warms you more than anything else.

You perk up, “is your war finished?” you ask and Iwaizumi’s eyebrow rise for a second before he hears the reference to the movie you just watched and beams, eyes glowing with an excitement you didn’t think could be topped moments before. He leans forward and says yes before he kisses you.

Oikawa cheers and you hurry to pick up his phone and show Oikawa the ring in detail, “you could’ve warned me!” you scold him and he shrugs, “eh, I honestly thought you already knew. And don’t worry, I took plenty of screenshots for your families and friends. There’s even a pretty romantic shot of you hurling yourself into his arms.”

You gasp in feigned insult, “I did not hurl myself!”

Iwaizumi stands before you with his hands in his pockets, a bright smile, “you did kinda hurl yourself.”

“Shut up! Both of you! I’m not taking you into the movie with me! I’m canceling your ticket!”

Iwaizumi pretends to panic but leans down to rest his forehead against you, “you can hurl yourself at me for the rest of my life, I don’t mind. Don’t listen to Shittykawa.”

You shake your head at your two friends.

No, your friend and your fiance. It feels surreal. You wonder how long it’ll take you to get used to. You can’t wait to spend the time finding out.

[alienaiver]

Masterlist for 'Domestic Life with Suna' which is a small series including warm, domestic moments during your marriage with Suna Rintarou. You're buying appliances, going to family gatherings and fixing up your freshly bought house!

They can all be read separately, but exist within the same universe <3 They're all genderneutral, body positive and poc friendly ✨

link to the AO3 series!

Part one: FV90BNS2BE

Adult life is scary, especially when it requires big adult decisions like proper appliances! Should you go for a cheap one that sucks up electricity? Would a washer-dryer be effective? It's a good thing you have Suna by your side as support.

Part two: Gubbön to my Poäng

Decorating your shared house can have mixed responses about each other's taste. Are rocking chairs terrible or will they be an acceptable piece of furniture in your home?

Part three: A Christmas Surprise

It's time for the Suna family's annual gathering. This is just a regular old holiday celebration, right?

Part four: Rotisserie Chicken

There's something about keeping old furniture even if it is IKEA; fixing it up takes some will and surprises and secrets are uncovered. The banter between you never stops.

+ more to come! thank you <3

© alienaiver 2024.

[alienaiver]

Rugged

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

warnings: quirk-induced amnesia, canon minor character death (major in my heart tho), spoilers for... season 5 and forth? to be safe wordcount: 4.9k content: confessions, first kiss, fluff, sfw, no use of y/n, pro hero reader but quirk is unspecified, canon compliant, genderneutral reader, poc!friendly reader, body positive reader, hurt/comfort in like the mildest sense, soft love, amnesia situation, friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, started as a meme turned into something serious, something about cats, unbeta'd, flashbacks to high school days

notes: this is so embarassing to admit but i only came up with this story bcos of that tiktok/insta reel (link is a tiktok as thats where i could find the source material) about having a type that's 'rugged'. it was supposed to just turn into a little joke on that and... uh, ykno suddenly i was almost 5k deep into a childhood friends to lovers, ..ya my brain had a VISION alrighty!!!!! please enjoy a one-eyed kitty, one-eyed aizawa and interrupted confessions!

Aizawa’s leaning forward on the desk, meticulously writing down an exact copy of your notes from English Literature that he missed yesterday due to being in the infirmary… again. He’s always known that becoming a Pro Hero with a non-physical quirk would be tough, but he didn’t imagine landing himself in a hospital bed as often as he does. He’s bulking up nicely, but he feels beaten black and blue every other day and it’s… exhausting.

Rewarding, but exhausting nonetheless. He’s momentarily disturbed as a chair is being dragged across the floor, screeching away before haphazardly thrown next to the desk, wrong side facing it, and Yamada throwing himself onto it, arms leaning on the backrest. He says your name in a sing-song voice – your given name, has he no shame? - and steals a peek of you from over the rim of his glasses. You rest your head in your palm and smile at him, “what’s up?” you ask, and he hums as if he’s thinking deeply about something. Aizawa’s got a bad feeling about whatever subject he’s about to bring up; ever since he appointed himself Aizawa’s wing man, the pestering’s both been non-stop and non-discreet.

Aizawa keeps his face buried in the notes, purposefully removing himself from the conversation.

“What’s your type?” Yamada asks and Aizawa has to hold back a facepalm. You simply giggle and play with the zipper from your pencil case before you answer, “hmm, I’m not sure. But with all due respect, I know it’s not you,” you tease him and he straightens his back in mock-surprise, the conversation’s one you’ve had before. He takes a hand to his chest, “what? Not me? Well you’re not my type either!” the shriek in which he yells is a little too loud, his quirk still a little too unmanageable when he gets excited – he winces as the rest of the class turn their heads. You simply laugh and bite your lower lip. Aizawa steals a look at you through his bangs, admiring the glimmer in your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry ‘Zashi, I truly am, but… you’re just not… rugged enough.”

“What? I’m so rugged. I can be rugged!”

“Look at you, you’re not rugged,” you laugh as you gesture vaguely to… all of him. He takes offense as he puffs up his chest, “how am I not rugged? Because I’m not wearing a flannel in 80 degree weather?”

You hide your face in your hand as you try to contain your laughter, “yeah, sure, whatever… but look at you now. You fly off the handle like that, you’re too angry.”

“That’s a very rugged thing to do!”

“No, it’s really not.”

Aizawa has been saddled with the two of you for almost two semesters now, and he’s still not entirely used to the way you joke around. In the beginning he was always worried about you fighting and not getting along and he’d stare at you both with wide eyes like a startled cat and hope you’d settle down soon. You always did, laughing like the greatest joke was just told.

You lean forward on the table to bark out a laughter deep from your stomach, momentarily blocking the view of your notes that Aizawa’s copying. He lets out a soundless grunt at you being so close and pulls away in surprise when he accidentally smell your shampoo. He wants to lean forward again, to commit the scent to memory, but you’re already straightened back up, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye, “you don’t even want me, Hizashi, why is this always so important to you?”

This makes Aizawa freeze, terrified that Yamada will accidentally tell his secret to you. But Yamada simply crosses his arms, puffs up his cheeks and nods, “you’re right, I don’t. But I want you to want me. I’m the entire package.”

You laugh and shake your head, letting your arm fall onto the desk in defeat. “Sure then, ‘Zashi. I want you. Badly. More than anything. Please go out with me.” your face is as flat as Aizawa’s can be, and Yamada smiles proudly, “no thank you.”

Aizawa’s startled out of grading papers when his personal phone starts ringing next to him on the desk, the screen much too bright for the darkened room he’s situated in. It’s an unknown caller, which makes him hesitant at first but since it’s well past office hours, he knows it won’t be a salesman of any sort.

He bites his lower lip before he picks up.

“Aizawa speaking.”

“Ah, good evening. I apologize for contacting you at this hour, however, you are written down as the emergency contact for…” he apologetically butchers the pronunciation of your name, but gets your hero name correctly, “this is Aizawa Shouta, right?” the person on the other end confirms, and Aizawa nods before he verbally comes up with an answer.

“Well, it’s just that…” he explains your situation precariously, advising Aizawa to just come down to the station if he’s able, since someone will need to escort you home. He makes sure to remind Aizawa that you have two more emergency contacts on file in case he’s not available, but after getting the location, he’s already up from the chair before he’s hung up with the poor officer dealing with you.

From the call he knows you’re neither mortally wounded or in any kind of distress. You were on patrol when you encountered two villains. One of them turned out to have an amnesia quirk, and now you were stuck at the precinct, not entirely sure where your apartment is located. The officer informed Aizawa that you seemed calm and collected but that the last date you remember was well over 10 years ago even if you haven’t age-regressed in any way.

When he arrives, the officer leads him to one of the offices, profusely apologizing and thanking him at the same time. He’ll never really get used to the way newly appointed officers act around Pro Heroes.

Even if all facts and rationale tells Aizawa that you’re fine, he still grips the door handle way too tight, throwing open the door and evidently scaring the shit out of you, sprawled out on the couch with an ice bag on your knee. You spew out some profanities as you sit up. Aizawa immediately calms down as he sees you alive and well. He thanks the officer and agrees with the officer to sit down and talk with you before taking you home. He bows before he closes the door and looks back at you.

“I already gave a statement – was anything missing?” you ask, resting your hands neatly on your thighs. Aizawa shakes his head, “I came to pick you up – they informed you about which of the emergency contacts to call, right?”

Realization seems to travel across your features as Aizawa masks the sting he feels. Instinctively you reach out, but ultimately pull your hands back, “Aizawa?”

For a split second he lets his emotion show on his face – the way you say his last name instead of his given name, but he’s quick to hide it again. He nods and sits down on one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table, “I was informed that your memory’s been wiped.”

You nod and look at the floor, “yeah. They took in the villains and interrogated them. It seems it’ll wear off in five to seven hours, but until then I’m stuck with my first work study as my most recent memory. I don’t feel like high school me, though, it’s just like there’s an empty gap in my timeline and not an age-related kind of thing. I can’t remember what has happened since then, but cognitively speaking, I’m still myself.”

Aizawa breathes in sharply, “well, that’s a relief. I have enough students to take care of,” he dryly jokes and the way your eyes widen make him self-conscious. He shouldn’t have made the joke he thinks as he shrinks in on himself.

“You’re a teacher?”

The way you ask betrays your emotions all too clearly and Aizawa holds back a snort. If the last of his personality you remember is high school, he gets why you struggle with the image of him taking care of the budding youth.

“A homeroom teacher, actually.”

Whatever preconceptions you had initially seems to dissipate and you smile proudly, “that’s amazing.”

You haven’t commented on his appearance; besides the moment where you didn’t recognize him, you don’t seem all too taken aback by his lack of eye and prosthetic leg. He’s relieved.

“You ready to go?” he asks, patting his lap with his palms before bracing himself to get up. You get up too and stretch your arms over your head, waiting for that satisfying pop, but it never comes. Annoyed, you let your arms falls and Aizawa smiles at you.

He leads you out of the room and as you put on the jacket he came with, he thanks the officers for their work with some polite back and forth and a bow.

The trip back is quiet as you seem to just take in your surroundings. You stop by your Agency to grab your personal items and civilian clothes that you left behind before your patrol. Luckily the offices are mostly cleared out, so you don’t have to ‘meet’ everyone and Aizawa gets out of explaining everything to everyone.

“Do you want me to escort you to your place? Or do you want to come to mine?”

The question is straight-forward and innocent; you sleep over so often that Aizawa’s spare futon has simply been dubbed your futon, but you seem taken aback, eyes wide and mouth agape. For a moment Aizawa’s blind to the confusion before he remembers.

“Sorry, you sleep over at my place a lot since it’s close to your work. I thought you might also like to see Benben.”

Your eyes that had seemed so tired ever since he arrived, lights up in recollection and excitement, “Benben’s alive and well?” you ask, absentmindedly leaning into Aizawa’s space in your joy. He struggles not to lean back reflectively.

“Yeah, she’s living with me now. She’s becoming old, though. But you’re still her favorite human, so she’d be happy to see you too.”

You giggle into your palm, clearly trying to picture Benben. She was a stray that you and Aizawa started to feed your leftover lunches to back during your first year at U.A. She was also one of the reasons you even started bonding with the stoic classmate. When you talk about the name Benben, a very bad nickname based off of bento, you always laugh and tease Aizawa about his cat-naming skills. While he defends himself in front of Yamada – the man with a habit of getting out his childish side – he never once argues against you on that subject.

Next to Aizawa, you clear your throat right as he’s about to unlock his front door. He’s been polite enough to not comment on the level of staring you’ve done ever since he picked you up, but it seems to be getting too much for yourself. He smiles at you gently, like he’s communicating with a lost child, and the smile makes you act before you can think too long about the action. Aizawa’s breath hitches and whole body freezes when your cold fingertips reach the skin of his cheeks. Your eyes look at him like they’re searching for something, and shortly after your palms make contact, your thumbs start traveling around his face, from his eyebrows to the slope of his nose and then a finger is being traced over the scar under his right eye. He can see all the questions fly through your head, the way you hold back from tracing the eye patch but stare at it like it’s not supposed to be there. He’s about to clear his throat when a thumb starts tracing his chapped lips before continuing down to his jawline, tickling his 5 o’clock shadow. As he tries to smile patiently at you, you mumble something under your breath that makes Aizawa’s heart stop for just a moment too long before racing at the same speeds as Yamada’s car when he’s late.

“It really is you… you’re just so…” you pause for a moment to swallow thickly and lick your lips, “…rugged.”

Not until you’ve had your (in Aizawa’s terms) grabby little fingers on every part of his face and given his heart an aneurysm with your words, does realization hit you. You seem to shrink and pull away to bow half-way a few times at him. Aizawa grumbles out a weak complaint about personal space and jingle the keys again to find the right one. No matter how advanced his work place is in terms of security and technology, he finds it unbelievable how many different types of keys he is expected carry for the school grounds alone. Logically, he’s aware that he’s fumbling due to your innocent advances but his brain’s not exactly acting calm and rational, so he furrows his brows and as he puts in the correct key, takes in a deep, calming breath.

When he motions for you to enter the apartment, he can’t help but observe you as you curiously peek around while you enter. You don’t toe off your shoes or step up from the genkan until the door behind him is locked and he gestures to the left pair of slippers in front of you. You let out a breath as you mumble, “sorry for intruding…” as if this isn’t your home away from home.

As Aizawa toes off his own shoes, he takes notice of your searching eyes. He jerks his head towards the living room, “she’s probably sleeping on the couch. She can’t hear very well anymore, so she doesn’t greet by the door.”

There’s a clear sort of heartbreak in your eyes that Aizawa recognizes, before you nod and walk in the direction of the living room. While your memory might be gone for the moment, it seems there’s muscle memory still intact as you purposefully step over the loose floorboard he always warns guests about. He smiles at that. Benben seems to spot you from her pillow on the couch because no sooner than you enter the room, he starts hearing the hoarse bleating of the senior kitty in there. She must’ve stayed up when Aizawa suddenly left, since it’s out of routine. She’s never been able to meow properly, which enchanted you since she first bleated at you for a bite of your convenience store-bought onigiri back when the two of you met her for the first time.

He hears you coo at her and can only imagine you both before he turns the other corner for his office to shut down the computer for the night. He quickly rejoins you and finds you with Benben on your lap, purring and headbutting your hands to her heart’s contents. When his eye travel higher to meet yours, he’s taken aback momentarily at the strained smile and wet eyes.

“She looks so loved.” you try to explain, and Aizawa can’t hold back the blush from the compliment. She does look loved now, a little on the fuller side (not by a lot, as her physical health is very important to Aizawa), her coat is shiny despite the coarseness that age brings, and she no longer has that stubborn eye infection it took Aizawa several years to treat out of her; she’s missing an eye now as a result, but she’s healthy.

You look around his living room, smiling and heaving in breaths at all the external proofs for her love; she has a pet staircase to both the windowsill, couch and the dining chair next to his; there are three different cat towers and several cat shelves for her to perch on although they’ve rarely been used for several years now. Aizawa can’t bear to take them down – what if she wants to go on one last adventure to the shelf highway he built for her close to the ceiling? It obviously wouldn’t be safe for her to do so, but robbing her of the options feels cruel to his heart.

When you pet her behind her ear and Aizawa situates himself on the floor pillow, you giggle, “you match.”

You’re referring to the missing eyes and while Aizawa takes no offense from the comment, he can’t help but snort at the straightforward observation. It’s very like you.

“How did you lose it?”

You don’t remove your eyes from Benben as you ask and from the shaky lilt to your voice, he knows you’re afraid of the answer. He’s afraid of telling you, too.

So much bad has happened during those years – you were there during his low points after, and asking that question is like removing the experiences you’ve shared. The grief you’ve suffered.

But he knows you want to know. Before he can answer, you continue, “can you tell me everything? About you… Oboro and Hizashi, too. I was informed it was only you, Hizashi and my mom on my emergency contact list. I know it’s not supposed to be miles long but… yeah…” you trail off and Aizawa’s grateful that you’re not looking at him. He’s not sure he’s able to control his face right now; and the emotion he’s showing wouldn’t be remotely close to soothing for you.

“Uh,” he jerks and clears his throat several times to stall, “when did you say your memory would be back?” he asks instead even if he’s aware of the answer.

You look up and hum thoughtfully, “they said five to seven hours around … two hours ago? So…” you count on your fingers and despite everything, Aizawa huffs out a soundless laugh, “three to five hours? Give or take.”

He inhales sharply. He can’t drive you off for that long, even if he used going to bed as an excuse. You’d just toss and turn in fear of what you’d come to remember.

So he tells you. He retells every painful memory with clear objectivity, pausing to let you process each one, seeing the light slowly dissipate in your eyes for every terrible incident. When he reaches present day, he inhales slowly and holds his breath for a moment to control his own emotions.

You’ve stopped petting Benben who’s sound asleep on your lap now, your hands hanging like lifeless limbs by your side. Aizawa then clears his throat, “you were scouted. In third year. ‘Zashi opened a radio station shortly after graduation. Oboro’s mom still invites us for hotpot for his birthday every year despite the mismatch in dish and weather,” you both laugh at that one – of course she insists on his favorite dish on such an important day. An image of the four of you huddled around, sweating over a pot of delicious food has you throwing your head back in sincere laughter, “you have a prodigy; you inspired me to take a pupil on as well, and he’s graduating this spring… I, uh… I use eye drops now.”

The last tidbit of information makes you turn your head so fast you almost get whiplash. Then, your expression turns stern, “didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I tell you to be careful!” you reprimand and he almost rolls his eye at you. Almost.

You shake your head at him and focus back on Benben, a little more color on you again as the mood has successfully shifted. He’s unsure if you’re pretending to be fine for his sake or if he actually succeeded in making you feel better, but he can’t stifle the yawn that comes out of him as soon as he feels relief.

You look up apologetically, “oh my God I’m so sorry, I’ve kept you up haven’t I? Please, you can just go to bed, I’ll be okay!”

Aizawa wants to argue but he also can’t fight the creaky ache he feels in his bones. He went straight from a night shift to school, napped in the teacher’s lounge and then home to grade papers. He’s dead-tired.

He gets up to carry his futon into the living room and set yours up in his bedroom. Usually, you sleep in the same, bare room as him and Benben, but he feels it might be too much for you without your memories, even if you sleep on separate futons with space in between. You make a joke about the futons but then, in a soft voice admit, “I think it’s nice you sleep on something accessible for Benben…” there’s a warm tone to your voice that makes him blush heavily before he pushes you out of his living room.

“I’ll sleep out here, you take the bedroom.”

You meekly argue about taking his bedroom, but he shuts you down in the same way he’s always done, and urges you to carry Benben in with you. You agree to have the door ajar in case Benben wants to walk around, and you bow your head when you bid him goodnight. Aizawa lets the light in the hallway stay on.

////

You wake up with a hitched breath and sweat on your brow, unsure when you managed to fall asleep. Disoriented, you take in Aizawa’s bedroom; you were supposed to sleep home tonight after your shift though, not to mention that Aizawa’s futon isn’t laid out next to yours. It takes you a moment to gather your bearings until it all comes back to you. You’d lost your memory.

You’d lost yourself. You hug your arms around you as the feeling of being lost still sits heavy in your body and makes you shiver. Seeing Aizawa was terrifying; you’d no idea of the obvious horrors he’d had to endure. You didn’t remember your best friend’s death.

For a moment you control your breathing, making yourself calm down as best as you’re able. It makes sense why Aizawa decided to sleep in the living room, if the last memory of him was a pimple-y teenager and not the gruff man he is today. You close your eyes and think back to right before you entered the apartment.

You roll onto your stomach and hide your face in your hands, letting out a drawn-out flustered groan. Without thinking, you kick your legs on the bedding to alleviate the embarrassment that’s coursing through you at your own actions. You’d just went all up in his face! The sensation of his stubble underneath your fingertips, his warm breath and his chapped but so, so kissable lips.

No!

You groan again, drowning in your one-sided misery of a crush. Your honed Pro Hero senses are completely dulled by your pining, so when Aizawa suddenly throws open the door and asks if you are alright, you screech as you lift your head from the pillow, “Shouta!”

“Shit, sorry, I heard you moving around so I thought you might have a nightmare,” he hurries to explain, secretly relieved to hear you say his given name again. He frowns when he can’t see your face with your back turned to him. Still frozen, you barely breathe before he continues, “...you are alright, right?”

Making a grimace and with no interest in facing him right now, you choke out “mhmyepdefinitelyeverythingsperfect!” in one single breath before you’re forced to inhale deeply. You hear Aizawa’s metallic foot as he walks towards your futon and hear the rustling of his clothes as he bends down in a squat next to you, “you don’t sound perfectly fine to me, though. Do you have a fever? Is it an aftershock from getting your memories back?”

Being the perfectly rational man that he is, he oversteps any boundaries to quickly check your temperature with his palm. Embarrassment can come after he’s made sure you’re okay.

You push his hand away weakly, still looking pointedly at the wall in front of you, letting out a strained laugh, “heehee, I’m just… you’re right, it must be an aftershock, right? Nothing else!”

He lets you swat his hand away without much resistance but stays where he is, letting the silence hang over you both for a minute. Suddenly, he croaks out all hoarse and desperate, “Just tell me if there’s anything, please.”

Your shoulders fall at the voice. Aizawa’s the opposite of having a heart on a sleeve, but you’ve been with him through enough tragedies to know he must be scared shitless right now. Whenever you or Yamada is even remotely bruised, he fusses over you in his own, annoyed way, until he finds you sufficiently healed. You sigh before you let your head fall back onto your pillow, a short moment to gather your thoughts and feelings before having to face him.

It must’ve been a lot for him, when you asked him to recount the years you’d momentarily lost. It would’ve been better to let it be, but he knew you so well and knew you wouldn’t let it go. Curiosity kills the cat, right?

With heavy and slow movement, you turn around so that you’re facing him, hoping your expression won’t betray your real emotions. You sigh and reach out for his hand. It’s shaking but as soon as your warm fingers make contact, he flinches before he relaxes.

Then, he grunts like he’s annoyed and chastises you for worrying him. You giggle, “I’m sorry, you’re tired, right?” you ask, knowing his schedule this week is packed. He usually leaves little wiggle room for emergencies, however many he encounters.

Before he can reply, you pull at his hand and he topples over, half on the futon and half on the floor, on his knees. You laugh and pull him even closer to you, hoping your beating heart isn’t as loud as it feels.

You and Aizawa have cuddled before; loneliness and grief has made you carve out comfort in each other, but nothing else have ever been spoken aloud. No kissing, no romantic notions to trace back to. Having a one-sided crush since high school feels deafening right now, when all the years travel back to you after what only amounts to a moment without them.

You want to tell him how you feel; losing your memories made you realize how much you’d like for him to comfort you with kisses if anything should ever happen; how you’d like for him to hold you without holding back.

He grumbles where his head is rested in your neck after he’s settled, but he makes no effort to move. You nuzzle into the mane of hair and breathe in his scent; it’s a lavender-scented shampoo that Yamada insists on buying for him. He never accepts it without complaining, but he also never showers without using it. There’s a spare in your bathroom, at the Agency’s bathroom and at his teacher’s dorm at U.A.

“Y’know, I was really surprised for a moment that you became a teacher.”

He makes no movement, but you know he’s listening.

“But as soon as I thought about it, it made perfect sense. You care so much it sometimes hurts to watch…”

You feel his fist tighten around your bedding, but he stays otherwise quiet still.

“You hurt watching me, too, right? How we both have a habit of bending over backwards for what we perceive is right.”

You start dragging your hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I like that we know each other so well. I like how after so many years, you’re still right here in my arms…”

You pause as his upper arm snakes around you, a sharp exhale against your neck.

“You’ve never dated anyone. At least, not anyone you’d tell me about, so I have no idea where this will lead me to but,”

You take a moment to gather your nerves. There’s really no backing down now. Even if you regret it, your words have already given your feelings away; there’s nothing you can take back.

There’s nothing you want to take back.

You’re about to continue your confession when Aizawa pushes against your neck, his warm lips, soft despite the dryness, presses against your pulse point. You can hear your heartbeat so loud in your ear that the rustling of the sheets from Benben is indistinguishable to you, the only sensation you’re able to take in being Aizawa’s lips as they briefly pull away from your neck, only to push back higher up, closer to your jaw.

You whine and pout, but it’s shaky and without much force. You want to protest, scold him for interrupting you but suddenly he lifts his head to face you, and you’re faced with wide eyes and blown pupils. He steals a glance at your lips before he licks his own, pink tongue peeking out. You feel like a cornered prey, one that’s about to be devoured by a beast. When he hovers mere millimeters above your lips he pauses as if to ask for permission and the sigh you let out makes him know that everything’s okay. That everything he’s ever wanted, wished for, dreamed of, is real.

That losing your memory for a second made you desperate to make more meaningful ones.

And you kiss.

While curiosity did kill the cat, satisfaction definitely brought it back.

[alienaiver]

Favorite ready meal and a soft kiss.

Yamada Hizashi x afab!reader (genderneutral language, but subject is periods.) wordcount: 697!

for @dira333 - made it purposefully as vague as possible. asking for details would chance a reveal of my little gift. still hope it brings a little comfort even if im off, though!

When the front door unlocks and swings open, you’re not prepared for the boom of sound traveling through the apartment. To be honest, when you’d sent him the list of groceries, you assumed he’d realize why you needed those things.

“Hello my favorite listener!!!!”

It’s so loud that you instantly wince, hiding underneath the mountains of blankets as fast as possible. Yamada strolls in with a grocery bag in one hand and a bag from the convenience store in the other, his smile bright and wide.

Until he sees the human-shaped lump on the couch. His expression drops as he scolds himself mentally, too excited to come home to you to really think his actions through. He knew and yet, he forgot during the short travel home. He feels silly.

“Baby,” he coos gently, sneaking to the couch and crouching in front of your face. You groan from within and he reaches inside your wall of fluff to pet your hair, “I brought all the stuff you need.” he says, his voice as gentle as he’s able, albeit scratchy. It’s been a long day.

You whine before you slowly lift off the blankets to show your puffy face. Yamada smiles at you, warm and welcoming. “How’s the pain?” he asks, his hand traveling from your hair to your cheek. You lean into the touch.

As you seem to ponder how inflicted you are, he starts unpacking the bags next to him, putting the medicine and the snacks on the coffee table right next to you, together with the ion-supply water and ready meal from the convenience store. He’s hoping your favorite konbini meal will entice you to get something down because something is better than nothing.

The scent of the already heated meal seems to interest you, your nose sniffing around to see what he’s got behind him. You hum out a small thank you when you realize he went off the list in the best way. It’s just what you need.

“Can you sit, my love?” he asks, breaking the single use chopsticks apart and handing you the water first so you can re-hydrate. With a wince you start to push yourself up, sitting up slumped. He smiles at you, “good job.”

The praise feels like what he says to his students all day when they get an answer ready, so you shake your head with a smile before you take a sip of the water, the neutral taste making you gulp down another sip. He exchanges the bottle with the plastic container smoothly, “it’s a little hot. It cooled down a little on the way home, but be careful.”

Blearily, you accept and take in a deep breath through your nose, bracing for the nausea. You straighten up happily when nothing arrives but a pang of hunger. It must be your lucky day.

While you eat, Yamada puts the rest of the things he bought away that needs to go in the fridge or the cabinets. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you with his usual debriefing of the day conversation, unless you initiate it yourself. He comes back to the container empty and you lying back down, the seal of the medication already opened and the correct dosage taken.

He smiles and circle the couch, crawling at an awkward angle over the backrest to come up behind you. You huff out a laugh through your nose as you wiggle yourself forward to make room for him. He sighs contentedly when his long limps are settled around you, a hand drawing circles into the upper part of your stomach. He nuzzles into your neck, “let me know what you need whenever you need it, yeah? I’ll get it to you lickity split.”

You can’t stop the laughter from leaving you at the use of expression, pushing back towards him, “you really are my hero. Thank you.” you strain your neck to give him a soft peck on the lips and he hums into it, his lips still split into a smile. When you pull back you look into his eyes again, “really, thank you. For being here through it.”

“Anything for my favorite listener, always.”

[alienaiver]

Rotisserie Chicken

Suna Rintarou x gn!reader

warnings: none! this is pure fluff wordcount: 1.2k content: fluff, SFW, genderneutral reader, bodypositive and poc friendly reader, domestic fluff, established relationship, post-timeskip, canon compliant, not beta'd, youre married and pretty handy in regards to like. building stuff LMAO, light humor and banter, no use of y/n, i googled rotisserie chicken a thousand times to make sure i spelled it correctly. it looks wrong no matter what i do

notes: this is part four of my domestic life with suna series! i should really make a masterpost actually. anyways, your 10 year old bed that you lovingly bought together at the start of the relationship is creaking; you fix it. suna has his thoughts and secrets are uncovered!

go to part 1, 2, 3 (but can be read as a stand-alone)

Suna walks into your bedroom with a cold bottle of tea in his hand and his phone in the other, eyeing you for only a moment before throwing himself onto the recliner in the corner. You’ve been forced to take PTO days before they expire and so the recliner, dubbed the Laundry Chair, is actually available to sit on. Suna doesn’t hesitate.

Silently, he lifts his phone to stare into the screen again, making a point out of not commenting on your work. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees you popping up from behind the bed frame to see if he’s looking at you. When he isn’t, you pop back down and fiddle with the screws. Profanities have been said because your small power drill hasn’t been charged over night like you planned yesterday (you forgot to turn on the outlet itself before joining Suna on the couch for a late night Netflix evening).

He knows that you’re hoping for an offer of his drink but he’s as stubborn as you are; you’re fully capable of asking, he reasons. You grumble out some more words before you turn to the next screw. He bites the bullet, “why, oh, why has the mattress been lifted from my perfectly functioning bed?”

The way your head rises up and your smile beaming has him rolling his eyes already, “I’m just tightening the screws. The creaking is making me insane.”

“Oh?” he says, unscrewing his bottle, “I find the clown bicycle honks kinda hot when you do your half-hourly rotating.”

You narrow your eyes but before you can speak he continues, “I wonder who would’ve been correct in saying that IKEA furniture that’s been disassembled before is shit. Who could’ve saved us the trouble?” He looks to the ceiling and around the room before his eyes lands directly on yours, “that’s right. Me.” he says dryly, challenging you with a raised eyebrow.

You snort before you turn back to your task at hand, the mattress balanced hazardously up against the walk-in closet that’s currently half-open. Not a dangerous thing at all, no, he observes to himself.

After a moment of silence you forego his scolding and ask, “what the hell do you mean half-hourly rotating? Who does that?”

He scrolls social media as he chuckles, "you. You do that. Like a little rotisserie chicken but instead it’s all natural, no electrical wires needed.”

The wide stare you give him is enough to make him crack a smile, eyes still theatrically trained on his screen. “Is that why I’m called rotisserie chicken on your fucking phone!?”

Bingo. Suna sits up straighter with as neutral a smile as possible, stretching his arms above him, “of course. Everyone knows I call you that.”

“Everyone!?” you shriek, completely forgetting about the screws that urgently needed tightening only a few short minutes ago. Suna groans from the stretch, “yeah, my boss ate it up.”

“Your boss? Who, the trainer? The physiotherapist?” you ask with a laugh spilling from your mouth; unbelieving but at the same time awed that Suna talks to someone about you. Those are useless details to share.

“No, the bald guy who sponsors the team. The one who loves hugging you when you stop by practice and matches.”

You make a grimace at the memory. He’s truly a kind, middle-aged man but he is very touchy-feel and while you don’t mind a hug once in a while even from acquaintances, it is shrewd how many he tries to squeeze in there. Then, you shake your head at your husband, “you’re unbelievable you know that, right?”

You pretend to throw the screwdriver in his direction and he mock-dodges to the left and wipes his brow in relief when he successfully avoids the sharp object, “what is unbelievable is the fact that we brought the bed from our first apartment to our house. I feel like we deserve something to go with the rest.”

You grunt as you reach a screw that no matter how much you tighten it, it seems to go loose. You realize it’s not even the same as the others on this metal… thingy. “Rin…” you say and it sounds like a warning. Suna’s muscles tightens for a moment, “why is this screw different from the rest?”

he gulps loudly. He’d forgotten about it; spent so long hoping you’d never notice (or that the bed wouldn’t fall apart underneath you) that it disappeared into the back of his mind. He gets up to take a look as if he can’t imagine the exact screw you’re fiddling with.

“Oh, that one,” he tries to say breezily, hoping casual will be the correct path to take. You look up at him when you realize that he knows something; he shoots a picture of you instead before he continues, “uh, we couldn’t find the screw so Atsumu just put that one in, saying it was the right girth.”

Your eyebrows shoot to your forehead in such a speed that Suna’s sad he didn’t capture it on video, spluttering out incomprehensible sounds that might’ve been words, accidentally spitting on the floor in your vigor. Probably something about different screws having different purposes. Then, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, “and why didn’t you just call for me? I was right downstairs when you and Osamu assembled the bed! Why did Atsumu suddenly help you?”

Suna avoids your gaze by looking pointedly out the window; snow was falling and staying. Winter would be cold this year.

“Suna Rintarou,” you say sharply and a shiver runs up his spine. You enjoy seeing the reaction. He deflates, “you were sitting with my nephew who’d gotten hurt. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You warm at his confession. His nephew had gotten hurt, running around as family and friends were carrying furniture and boxes into the newly bought house; a box he’d been curious about had fallen over him. All it needed was a kiss and a band-aid and he’d been fine, but you had sat with him and sang until he calmed down. You even think you scolded the box together with him.

You shake your head, “well I guess this screw has been holding out. We’ll just continue using it then.”

Suna rolls his eyes, “why don’t we just buy a new bed?” the question makes you laugh, “we have one that works perfectly fine, don’t we? We even upgraded the mattress when you first got on the National team!”

Suna rolls his eyes, “next time the clown bike’s back, I’m buying us a new bed.”

You give him a thumbs up before you crawl out from the frame, “yeah, yeah. Now put the mattress back with me, will you?”

“Sure, Tjiken.” he says with a sly smile. It’s the nickname his niece once started calling you out of nowhere. Your eyes widen and mouth drops open in an ‘o’ shape as you realize.

“Is my cute, familial nickname a child abbreviation of the word chicken!?”

He can’t tell if you find it funny that his whole family’s calling you chicken, or if you’re slightly horrified. Personally, he’s amused that you’re finally learning the truth that’s been common knowledge among his family members.

He can’t wait to start his own family with you someday, hopefully soon. Then, he’d find an equally silly name and teach your child to call you that. His eyes twinkle with excitement at the thought that you might do it back, too.

[alienaiver]

"i thought you promised me you'd stop."

you don't mean to sound as angry as you do, nor as accusatory. it's merely a statement. aizawa isn't phased by the harsh sentence, though. he knows you.

he looks up from his laptop, stopping his hands from massaging the part between scalp and neck. he looks like a deer caught in the headlights - or more accurately to him, a cat caught at a crossroad. you can't figure out if he'll try to sneak away before explaining himself. both of you know that you're not going to let him.

you sigh and slump further against the doorframe, lifting a hand to your face. what are you going to do with him? he rolls away from the desk to face you properly, "i was... but it changed..."

you know what he means. it always changes. he promised he'd quit after raising a new generation of heroes; that he just wanted to follow his class to the door as an active pro hero. that he'd become a full-time teacher and retire from being a pro hero when his last class graduated - which they did, two years ago.

and yet, aizawa's filing a report after his afternoon patrol. he'd barely been able to eat dinner, his body not able to stomach much with all the stress and medication it's being put under.

for someone who hates medication, he sure is willing to take a lot in order to overcompensate at an already oversaturated jobmarket.

the stout and strong man you fell in love with has dwindled. he argues that he hasn't diminished nearly as much as all might, and you remind him that it's not a competition. that dealing with chronic pain and then losing a leg and an eye is cause for concern for anyone; his plate is full.

but then, a prodigy came around. one you love and has taken in as your own as well, supporting them both. and although aizawa's argument is always that he does it for the kid, said kid has begged him to retire since his second year in high school.

you sigh and let your arms fall and walk over to him, defeated. you stand in front of his desk chair, in front of him, and look into his eye before you start to run your hands through his hair. you're silent together for a moment.

"i'd like to grow old together."

he hums and leans into your touch, arms reaching out towards you, holding onto the sides of your thighs.

"me too."

a chuckle turns into a sigh for you before you give him a stern look. you understand him; this is his dream after all. this is everything he worked towards. the challenges he faces on a day to day basis are tough; but so is he.

you hold onto his face with your hands, your thumbs dragging over his cheeks, "can you take fewer shifts at least?"

he considers for a moment before his arms travel up to join yours, "i'll try."

try.

that is all you can ask of him, really. and you won't try for more; after all, this is also a part of him you fell in love with. this is also a part you chose to live with when you accepted the ring on your finger. he pulls gently at your hand to kiss said ring while maintaining eye contact and you huff out a breath before you smile.

"i'll hound you about this in another six month's time." you warn and he laughs, low and scratchy, before he nods, "and i'll be there to listen."

[alienaiver]

Catch and release

Komori Motoya x Chronic Pain/Disabled GN!reader but reader is described wearing skirts

content: It's Komori's birthday and you wanted to dress up nicely for the dinner party. Just your luck that your planned outfit and your disability decides to have a playfight. It's a good thing you have your high school sweetheart to cheer you up when navigating the new world of dynamic disability.

tags: fluff, sfw, birthday fic, post-timeskip, disabled!reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, canon compliant, no use of y/n, sweetie + my love + baby as petnames, sappy and supportive boyfriend, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, childish/cheeky komori, chronic pain/disability condition is not mentioned/left vague on purpose but reader does need a cane (type of cane not described either), genderneutral reader, unbeta'd but proofwritten twice, sakusa's there too but only to suffer the humor of literal kids

wordcount: 1.1k

notes: guess who learned something new today about cane usage and long skirts! 🙋🏼‍♂️ its a journey! luckily i have some soft, comforting boys to maladaptive daydream about taking care of me 🥰 i hope you enjoy this little work of mine! either as a disabled person or as an abled interested in learning something new!!!! im smooching u all, have a lovely evening! i also know im a ✨ little ✨ early about komori's birthday but who doesnt think about him 24/7?

also happy disability pride month ✨

"you ready?" Komori calls from the entrance, where his keys are circling his finger, making a jingle sound. It's his birthday, and you're going to a restaurant with his parents for dinner. Sakusa's even agreed to stop by.

He hears you hum from the bedroom before your steps sound through the living room, a little uneven but with your usual speed. He whistles when he sees you, but his eyebrows still raise at your choice of clothes.

"You changed." he states blankly, unsure what else to say. The outfit was important to you today, and you took great care in planning it last night, which is the reason he sends such an apparent statement your way.

You avoid his gaze as your lips draw a thin line, "yeah, don't worry about it," you say hastily, clearly eager to end the subject as you pick up your shoes from the rack. "Don't get me wrong sweetie, you look amazing. But I thought you wanted us to color match today?"

From the bench where you're tying your sneakers you glimpse at him for a split second, but it's long enough that Komori notices the disappointment you're trying to hide from him. He sighs and bends down in front of you, "what happened, my love?" his thumb grazes your cheek before it drags a sliver of hair behind your ear. From this angle he sees your small pout more clearly. He puts down his keys to let his other hand hold your head as well.

You sigh and lean forward. He meets you halfway and revels in the contact of your foreheads touching. He's always loved being close to you.

"I need the cane today."

Ah.

You recently learned bitterly that long or airy maxi skirts and canes don't match up. It's not like they tangle extremely and directly cause you to fall, but it changes the pressure in which you need to pull and move your cane for your next step if it's windy, which can cause mishaps. You haven't fallen because of it yet, but you've decided you don't want to risk it.

And then you need your cane on his birthday, where you'd planned such a skirt. He winces and you sigh. There's a distance of walking from the train station to the restaurant, so he can't offer much of a different solution than your own.

Then he kisses your nose, "I'm sorry, baby. Is there anything you need?"

You close your eyes and try to relax in his closeness. His left hand has traveled down to rub your arm, and you don't have the heart to tell him that his touch aches today. Not on his birthday.

"No, it's... It is what it is, right?" you ask and he nods hastily, "I know it might not help on the disappointment, but I still think you look absolutely amazing. And I'm glad you're listening to your needs and doing what you have to, even if it sucks major ass."

You snort and shake your head at him. He prides himself in the smile he won from your lips before he claims them with his own, sighing at the contact. He's needy today you notice, before you kiss him back with the same energy, trying to push away the negative thoughts clouding your mind. Today is about him.

When he pulls back he looks so lovestruck that you can't believe that you're high school sweethearts. Who gets this winded from a simple kiss from someone they've been with for over 10 years? Slowly and little by little, warmth and light fills you up again. He comes back for a quick peck before he gets back up and smiles down at you, flustered.

"Which cane would you like today? Personally I think the blue one with flowers would match your blouse perfectly!"

He turns his back to you as he opens the entryway closet, and you hum behind him thoughtfully, "maybe the grey one will garner less attention. I still feel awkward being both dressed up and so visibly disabled."

You're still getting used to using canes publicly, embarrassed and afraid someone will see you as a fraud if you're able to walk a few steps without it or if they suddenly deem that you're using it wrong. You know it's irrational, but it's taken you great courage to accept the dynamic part of your dynamic disability.

Komori's been supportive and understanding in every possible way, never batting an eye at any need you're voicing. He only complains when you hold back needs or lie about how you're feeling when you're out doing something together. You'd be, too, if the roles were reversed so you're glad he always lets you know while you learn to navigate being a burden - and being okay with burdening the people you love.

You admire his back. Broad, reliable and secure and always ready to support you. You still can't believe that you've been so lucky with him, grateful that your distasteful joke about his eyebrows he overheard in your second year somehow made him interested in you. You still cringe when you think back on it but he tells the story with a joyful and prideful expression every time.

He turns around with the grey, foldable cane and starts unfolding it for you, doing a little shimmy of a dance for you while doing it. You throw your head back and laugh, "so the birthday boy's the one giving a show this year?" you joke and he smiles cheekily at you, the expression making you flustered. Maybe you're just as bad as him, with the lovesickness. Sakusa will roll his eyes today, surely.

"Well... My favorite entertainer is indisposed, so if my lying hips can delight and beguile my audience, I'm happy to shake things up a bit."

He leans down with the cane, offering it as a sword to a knight. You snort and receive it just as gracefully, before he reaches a hand out to help you up, "I'll order your favorite from the menu and give you half of it if you kiss both my cheeks and my forehead in front of Omi."

You're busy laughing at his childish antics getting up, so you miscalculate your balance and fall into his arms. He catches you easily, like he always has and always will. You bite your lip, "then I'll order your favorite dessert if you do the same to me."

His antics may be childish, but they definitely match yours.

"Happy birthday, Motoya. Thank you for always catching me and helping me release the tension." you say and kiss him, hoping your emotions reach him. The smile he can't hold back against your lips tells you he might've gotten the memo.

[alienaiver]

cw; hurt/comfort, toxic family dynamics, cutting parents off, soft ending

you sniffle as you press yourself further into shinsou's shirt, trying to contain your tears but failing miserably. it feels gut-wrenching to keep them back so against your active will, you let them flow. shinsou's hand rubs gentle circles onto your back, not entirely sure how to comfort you in this situation.

he's no stranger to unhealthy family dynamics and even the story you've unveiled for him through the time of your relationship has sounded eerily familiar to what his home was like before he became an orphan.

"am i a terrible child?"

his heart skips a beat at the question before he feels a boiling anger rise to his head. not at you, not at the question itself, but at your parents for making you feel like this.

he coos gently as he kisses your forehead, trying to sound calm, "no, they're terrible parents."

his certainty, the determination in his voice makes you flinch before you hide again. you're flustered at being an adult crying like this to your boyfriend, but deciding to go no-contact with your parent proves incredibly hard as their presence keeps haunting you like unrestful ghosts.

he kisses your forehead again and you let out a new series of sobs. he so badly wants to help you through this; he sees the flinching when your phone rings, the name familiar on the screen. he sees the dysregulation in your stability when it's brought up. he sees the way you curl in on yourself whenever you have to defend your choice.

you willingly orphaned yourself and some people have made you out to be the villain.

but what child - no matter how old they may be - would willingly want to lose their parents, if not out of a desperate need for survival?

your parents messed up, not you.

he says this as he pulls you closer, into a tight hug. you squeeze your eyes impossibly tighter, feeling hot from the embarassment of complaining about your parents when you know how his abandoned him. you're priviliged and spoiled, right?

it's like he reads your mind because he presses a kiss to your wet cheek and pulls your head up by the chin to look into your eyes, "our situation's not the same. you looking out for yourself is neither terrible nor selfish of you. i am so sorry that they do not appreciate you for who you are, but i'm here for you, and"- he tugs a strand of hair behind your ear and wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb -"whatever terrible thoughts are going through you right now, i am not thinking any of that, i promise you. you deserve to have your boundaries - which are very basic, by the way - respected. you've tried, you've communicated, you've given chances. you haven't given up on them without a fight, so this is their own doing, okay?"

your underlip wobbles as another fat tear spills from your eye, but you nod and lean into him again, inhaling his scent as you try to unclench every muscle. it's going to be okay. you're not alone in this.

"they made their bed." you say finally, hiccuping as you take deep breaths. shinsou nods, "yeah, and they're grown adults who've made choices. i know it hurts - but you're not alone."

"thank you hitoshi."

he smiles and kisses the crown of your head, "i'll always be there - together with all your friends. we see you and we support you. you deserve better."

he wants to tell you that family isn't blood, that he could be family, that he wants to be family but you're overwhelmed right now and this is not how he's planning to propose; the ring's already hidden in his locker at the agency, waiting for one of your friends to finish a crocheted commission of your cats that he'll need to make his plans perfect.

he knows a husband isn't a substitute for having a mom or a dad, but he hopes he'll always make you feel loved and appreciated when he one day becomes your family.

[alienaiver]

now that its cold again and i am, once again, too cheap to turn on the heat in my apartment, i am back in my allen era...

"but why won't you turn on the heat?" he asks, confusion laced into his question. it's not out of place, his inability to understand your logic.

mostly because you don't want to tell him your plan.

hanging out at allen's small apartment is always cold and you always sneak in a way to have his arms wrapped around you. but lately, ever since his stove stopped working and the landlord's taking his sweet time to fix it, you've been spending time at your place.

allen's not good at initiating cuddle times - it's awkward and straining for him to ask for the affection you'll freely give and you can be stunted too, in making the moves that are sometimes needed to push you both.

so, after lavi's suggestion, you decided to let the heaters stay turned off, because this will make sure that you're cuddled up for warmth shortly after dinner. it's a secure deal.

except, allen won't stop asking questions.

he does it out of worry. are you short on money? did the heater break and you dont know how to fix it? are you suddenly self-conscious about his choice of letting it stay off for as long as possible? should he take an extra shift at work to help you replace it?

you try to shrug off his question again, wiping down the countertop after dinner and deflecting, "should we continue 90 days fiance tonight?"

(allen's official stance will always be that reality tv like that is staged and shallow - but that won't stop him from being dramatically invested in the bad choices of these people desperate for love.)

he huffs out a breath and lets his shoulders sag. then, he shakes his head and reaches out for your hands.

with both of his. a recent development you've been more than thrilled about - yet you're too afraid it will make him uncomfortable to mention it.

you squeeze his and muster up the most nonchalant expression you can before you lean in close and talk before he can ask another question, "we can bring the duvet and bedcover into the livingroom with us."

if you think it's rude that he rolls his eyes at you, you don't say it out loud. instead, you inhale sharply before you kiss him. he grunts unexpectedly - he loves kissing you, feeling the shape and warmth of your lips, but he's not used to it yet.

he sighs and locks eyes with you, "you promise everything's okay?"

you laugh and swat his shoulder, "yes."

he eyes you for a moment like he sometimes eyes kanda when his definitely-not-friend-but-also-close-friend says something suspiciously kind to him.

you kiss him again, "it's embarassing to say out loud but i promise that my intentions are good and that there literally isn't any issues. can you please be a good boyfriend and come cuddle with me now?"

he thinks it's underhanded, how you use the term boyfriend, fully aware of how flustered it makes him. you smile victoriously before you grab onto his left hand and drags him into the living room, caressing his scarred skin with your thumb all the way. you can't wait to be covered in blankets, duvets and the scent of him for the rest of the evening, listening to him revert to his rude speech pattern as the people on screen makes the worst choices or says the worst things publicly. it's still early, but you think you love him.

[alienaiver]

atsumu's nose scrunches up as he looks at the four images his recently-turned 12 year old niece has sent him on snapchat. it's pixelated pictures of a hatsune miku plushie (whom he knows, thank you very much) with various captions reading drink miku juice, panik atac 😳 a repeat of drink miku juice and then PANIk atAK 🥹. atsumu's not even sure he understands the gist, if there even is one and calls your name as he gets up from the couch to reach you in the bathroom.

you're barely out of the shower when he shoves his phone into your face, "what the hell's this suppos'd to mean?" he asks, eyebrows raised and voice laced in genuine confusion. you squint to get a look at the pink undertoned pictures and quickly gather where he's got it from. his niece is obsessed with hatsune miku and while her uncle respects it, encourages it with gifts even, he can't claim he knows whats going on, exactly. you smirk, "what, you dont get it?"

"hah?" he can barely contain the snarl before he pulls his phone back to get another look, to find the hidden meaning. you carefully start drying yourself off with a shrug, "its okay if youve gotten old, 'tsumu."

the sentence is barely out of your mouth before his eyes are widening and he goes straight to speed dial; you know who hes calling.

being an athlete in your early 30's isnt easy or forgiving and the age complex has hit your husband particularly hard; it doesnt help that his brother, his twin, betrayed him by getting a daughter when they were much younger, letting him feel age that much more clearly watching her grow up. miya osamu the betrayer, is his contact name on atsumu's phone.

the phone barely rings twice before hes storming back into the living room, voice vivid as he barely greets the man on the other end, "'samu! please tell me we're not old yet!"

you let out a snort as you finish up your routine in the bathroom and get into comfortable pajamas for the evening. the bickering of the brothers are heard no matter where in the apartment you situate yourself, "well if I'M old, yer old, too!" you hear him yell with a groan, trying to explain the concept of memes and how they, in his humble opinion, needs to make some goddamn sense.

you cant admit to him now that the meme didnt mean much to you either, that its probably meant to be a little nonsensical and how the trends of his teen memes versus the teen's memes now are vastly different. it'd just hit his complex more and youre not sure neither you nor osamu is ready to deal with that kind of blow.

you enter the living room to find him sprawled on the chaiselong, hugging one of the throw pillows. you come from behind and let your hands travel from his arm and around his chest before grabbing onto his jaw to make him look at you, "'tsumu, you can just reply the misspelling of the word panic back, and call it a day. she won't know you didnt get it."

he theatrically sniffles with raised shoulders and all before he looks at you, "you sure she wont see through me?"

you hold back a grin as you lean down to kiss his cheek, "i promise. she doesnt think of you as old if shes sending you those memes, y'know? fake it 'til you make it or whatever, right?"

atsumu leans up to reel another kiss out of you, and you happily comply. its not fun to see your husband genuinely distressed but you can never really hold back from teasing him. hes got to get over his complex anyway and luckily, you and his twin are masters in calming him back down. he sighs and you cant help but think he looks a little pathetic and sweet as he picks up his phone to open the chat, "so i just write 'PANIK' in bold letters?"

you nod as you hum, massaging the back of his head, "youll sound young and cool if you do that." you reassure with a small smile playing on your lips. you feel him puff out his chest, "well. i am young and cool, so of course shes sending me all the most fire memes, right? because i'm hip."

you laugh this time, throwing your head back before you look at him with so much love in your eyes, "yes, the hippest husband in town. now go clean up after dinner like you promised you'd do while i showered."

[alienaiver]

You know I love the fic where you figure out that you're anemic with Shinsou...

How about a fic where reader is extremely exhausted after a mission that messed up their sleep cycle and now they should rest but can't? With Denki? I just love how you wrote this bone deep exhaustion and I'd love to see your take on how Denki would try to get them to sleep?

thank you!!!!! its such a good fic, too i feel! im very proud of it 🥺🧡

i hope this is okay!! im not sure i hit it as well as i imagined, but i do think it turned out cute!!! thank u for this request, denkis so cute. i wanted to write more honestly, but i also need to contain myself sometimes..... 🙈

warnings: none! this is just cute. genderneutral and poc+body positive as always! unbeta'd but proofwritten. timeskip and prohero!reader (quirk not mentioned) and pro hero!kaminari wordcount: 1k

You’ve been staring at the wall for hours.

Or at least, it feels like it, but you hardly notice the time passing. The cup of tea in your grasp has gone cold, steam flowed up and left. It’s not until you feel a warm palm on your shoulder that you’re pulled out of whatever trance your insomnia’s put you under.

“Y’know, I feel like that sleeping tea would work better if you actually consumed it.”

You look up and send Kaminari a half-hearted glare. He just smiles before he jumps nimbly over the backrest of the couch – ever the agile hero – to cuddle up against you. His hand traces your arm and squeezes lightly, “you need to sleep.” is all he says. You hold back a scoff, your tiredness making your edges sharper than usual.

You’re exhausted.

You came home a little over 23 hours ago – or was it 25? - prepared to throw yourself right on top of the bedding and pass out. Stake out missions that ends in confrontation are exhilarating and exciting, adrenaline rushing through you from the moment you’re stationed in some bush on a hill right until the last villain has been cuffed and handed to the police.

Unfortunately for you, the after shocks of the adrenaline takes a while to leave. A rush after a rush, how ironic. Every time you close your eyes they physically want to open themselves, want to be aware of your surroundings. You guess napping in a bush while your partner keeps watch will do that to you.

Kaminari nibbles at your shoulder as his puppy eyes keeps you under tight watch; he’s had the days off and watched you succumb to an awakened state that doesn’t sit right.

There’s a faint buzz to your limbs, the heaviness making it not quite a tingling, fizzling out in your fingertips and toes. It helps when Kaminari’s close to you. He’s much too often too warm, but the comfort of him is nice these hours. He lets out a small huff of a laugh, “want me to zap you? To make you pass out, I mean.”

You grunt, “if you’re cleaning the couch after I’ll accidentally relieve myself, sure. Anything at this point.”

He laughs and nuzzles into you, “anything, you say? If those words were as true as Bakugou’s unbridled anger, you would’ve consumed the tea I so carefully brewed with love.”

You feel shame run through you; you had meant to drink it, time just… passed. Vanished without you noticing. God, your eyes are heavy. How can your eyes hurt so much from being awake, yet refuse to stay closed?

You bend your knees up and he gently takes the cup out of your hands with a kiss to your cheeks, “I’ll brew a new one, love. I’m just teasing you.”

Now you mirror him, nuzzling your head into his chest, “I know.” you pout, and he wraps his arms around you. When he starts drawing circles onto your back with the cup slowly, you laugh. He kisses the top of your head before retreating, taking his warmth with him.

You follow his figure out into the kitchen and hear him turn the kettle back on. It whirs into life with a droning that grates your ears. You really should clean it, soon. Kaminari’s humming a light tune, the sound of a tea-bag wrapper being opened before the click of the kettle rings. He does as told, waits a moment before pouring the tea as to not burn the tea leaves and make it bitter. A trick he learned from Shinsou when he’d called and asked how to make someone sleep in a minor, badly-hidden panic yesterday.

Your head drops back and you stare at the ceiling. It’s white and nothing to write home about, but every shade and stain of color pops out when you stare at it this intently. You feel a crick in your neck that groans at every small movement. You should buy new pillows like you’ve planned for too long. Did you change the sheets before the mission? You don’t remember. You’re not sure why it’s important when you’re fighting with the ache in your elbow. You took a nasty hit during the fighting that aches. It travels towards the shoulder, thudding, thudding. You won’t be able to sleep on your left side.

Kaminari comes back in with the cup, and when you reach to grab it, he pulls away. “Nuh-uh, I’ll keep an eye on the temperature and give it to you when it’s drinkable. You’re just going to forget again.”

You groan but let your head fall to his shoulder after he settles. “Can you hum a song again?” you ask and he turns his head so that his lips are against the crown of your head and starts humming. It’s slow, melodic and calming.

He hums out Stay Alive by José Gonzáles. Kaminari doesn’t remember lyrics well, but a few words slip past his lips here and there, and you enjoy the feeling of his lips moving.

“The tea is ready now, my love.” he hums and pulls gently away to hand you the tea. Gravity does it work to a limb body and your head falls slowly towards him before it gently hits the backrest. There’s a small path of drool trailing from the corner of your lips and from the new position, a small snore starts to make its way through you.

Kaminari smiles, helps your head back on his shoulder slowly and stay like that until he’s sure your sleep is deep, so that he can carry you to bed gently and wrap you up. From time to time, he turns his head to kiss your forehead. He swears he sees a smile forming after one of them, but it might just be your dream triggering it.

He makes sure all of yours and his usual alarms are turned off for tomorrow, making sure that however long you need to rest, you won’t be disturbed.

[alienaiver]

Ooooooooohhh. Can I have your headcanons about Present Mic? *blushing face*

yes YES YES you sure can !!!! i hope i do the beloved man justice <333

Songs on his iPod: yamada is EVERYWHERE. he goes from jazz to rock to pop in a span of few songs. i added the ones he jams to the most that gears him up for long days! supermassive black hole - muse innocent arrogance - BiSH bling-bang-bang-born - creepy nuts can't hug every cat remix - the gregory brothers and cara hartmann

The one place they fall asleep – where they’re not supposed to: he often falls asleep in the teacher's lounge. having three jobs is demanding, okay! its a problem though, bcos it's always during lunch, where students come by to borrow keys to classrooms/clubrooms and advice for english midterms, so the door's open. more students than he can count has pictures of him leaned back in his desk chair, with his mouth open, quirk accidentally activated as he snores. aizawa sometimes uses his quirk instead of waking him up, because he knows how much he overworks himself.

he thinks it's UNBELIEVABLE that his precious students are more interested in him sleeping where he shouldn't than his colleauge and friend, aizawa. aizawa argues his gimmick of sleeping at every given opportunity is old news to everyone. however, the lively teacher? more exciting.

The game they’d destroy everyone else at: with his lips scrunched up towards his nose and a heavy air of concentration around him, he will turn ANYONE to dust that challenges him in J-star victory VS. it doesnt even matter which character he plays as or against, he will end you.

The emoticon they’d use most often: 🏎 he uses it to relay that he's on his way wherever (to work, plans, etc) to colleagues and friends. he thinks his beat-down car really is a race car.

What they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep: even more energetic, which no one thinks possible. he never really gets enough sleep, so that's just his baseline, actually.

Their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights or mornings: caramel latte. he needs the sugar on top of the caffeine.

How they like to comfort/care for themselves in a slump: hes a bad boy, because he doesn't. he just pushes on, ignoring all the warning signs until he absolutely crashes and burns. then, hes in the dumps for a week or so, his friends and you bringing him food and support. then he bounces back, pretending it never happened. one day, you'll get properly through to him.

What they wanted to be when they grew up: formula 1 driver. hence, the type of car

Their favorite kind of weather: storms! typhoons, especially. if his ma' asks, hes OF COURSE never went outside during one!!!!

Thoughts on their singing voice: he sings like an absolute angel. he's able to do falsetto gorgeously too, and getting him to sing lullabies before bed is like a heavenly blessing bestowed upon you, and always guarantees the perfect sleep.

How/what they like to draw or doodle: EVERYTHING. he draws cats, stars, random shapes, whatever theres in the room with him (windows/curtains, chairs, chalkboards). hes quite an artist

GOSH I LOVE HIM SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH

send me a character and ill fill out these headcanons

[alienaiver]

Heart-shaped Narutomaki

Shinsou Hitoshi x gn!reader

warnings: light mentions of detoriating mental health, poor self esteem but not a main theme wordcount: 2k content: fluff, valentines day special!, sfw, gender neutral reader, poc and body type friendly reader, established relationship, soft love, affirmations, surprises, giving men flowers is important to me, no use of y/n, timeskip, pro hero shinsou, canon compliant with few canon divergences (shinsous acquired a scar that isnt canon), time to treat the male on valentine i think!, reader is bff with midoriya, COMFORT, reader is described to wear jewelry but not which kind, not beta'd

notes: hewwo! :3 another shinsou fic straight from my shinsou-obsessed brain juices. in this universe it's a rather new relationship, albeit established! reader is best friend with midoriya and who helps with the elaborate shenanigan. happy valentines day yall ily!!!!1 im smooching you and giving you a bouquet of flowers i found in the wild<!!!!3333333

You turn the corner of the hallway with a bright smile, giddiness giving way to the spring in your step. The cellophane wrapper of the bouquet in your hands make a crinkling sound as you pass it around in your arms, being as gentle as you’re able. Midoriya spots you from the end of the hall and waves excitedly before signaling with a pointer the location of your boyfriend. He’s in his office to the left, writing up a report with a false deadline. He thinks he needs to turn it in before his patrol tonight, but it’s not due until tomorrow. There’s perks to being best friends with the number one hero, after all, and you’ve been given permission to utilize them to the fullest tonight.

Shinsou has an evening patrol that he absolutely cannot dodge and the apologies he spouted a month ago when he found out still makes you ache. The date itself isn’t important to you, you’ve always thought you could celebrate any other day of the month and it’d still be as romantic. But at the same time you and the people around him have noticed the burn-out he’s close to reaching, and decided he needs to be treated.

And then the planning came into play. It helps that Shinsou works at Midoriya’s agency, giving you full opportunity to utilize aforementioned perks.

Midoriya hurries to disappear as to not seem obviously complicit as you reach the entrance and hide the flowers behind your back, leaning against the door frame in what you hope is an attractive pose. Your outfit’s inspired by his hero costume, complimenting the black and grays with purple jewelry and accessories sprinkled in.

If Shinsou notice you, no movement betrays it, face glued to the screen in front of him as he scrolls rather aggressively with the mouse in his hand. You clear your throat and wiggle the flowers to get the crinkles to catch his attention. He looks up unhurried with confusion laced onto his face before he realizes who’s standing by his door. His expression immediately softens as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” he says gently, leaning back in his chair and clears his throat, “what brings you here?”

If you wanted to keep it cool, you’re unable to with how bright you’re smiling, shoulders tensed from the excitement of the surprise. You giggle as you enter his office, revealing the bouquet of flowers from behind you, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

His eyes widen for a split second before he laughs, “aw, you came with these for me?” he hurries to get up and greet you, a hand to your hip and a chaste kiss to your lips, “lemme go see if there’s a vase in the kitchen.”

He accepts the bouquet from your hands with the utmost care, eyes twinkling in a way you hadn’t expected. He looks like a child on Christmas Eve who sees Santa Claus putting presents under the tree. The magic seems to be shining through his every being.

As he exits the office you take stock of the surroundings; it’s usually abundantly clear how he’s doing based on the tidiness of his work space, but there’s no glaring pointers when you look around. You circle the desk to see the picture he has of you framed; a candid shot taking at Eri’s 18th birthday party and next to it the picture of him and his dads from his U.A. graduation.

You smile as your fingers trace absentmindedly over the desk, hoisting up the bag on your shoulders. He comes back with a laugh, “there was a vase that fits the color scheme of his bouquet perfectly, isn’t that amazing, babe?”

You pretend to be surprised and not reveal to him the part about Midoriya planting it in the office kitchen specifically for Shinsou to find it after your arrival, “what? No way!” you smile, watching him put it gently at the desk, sighing out almost wistfully.

“It’s the first time I’ve gotten flowers.”

You circle the desk again to reach him and wrap your arms around his neck to give him a kiss on the cheek before he turns his face to get one on the lips. It feels meaningful and deep. After you pull away, you see that his eyes are still closed, chasing the feeling. You smile and whisper again, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

Shinsou leans his forehead against yours and smiles, huffs out a small laugh, “thank you.”

You let the moment linger, basking in this point in time of being with him, feeling his warmth on your waist where he’s holding you, listening to his breathing. When he pulls away slowly to, presumably and regrettably, kick you out you hurry to interrupt him with a playful pat to his shoulders, “I brought you a change of clothes. The reservation’s in 15 minutes so you better hurry.”

Shinsou’s brow raises at you and he shakes his head, “can’t, babe. I know my patrol’s not for another hour but I have a report to finish.”

You smile,”your patrol’s not for another two hours. Starting when you sit your ass down at the restaurant. That’s a bargain I made,” you wink and hand him the bag of clothes. Puzzled but complying, Shinsou takes the bag and looks into it. The dress shirt he once confessed he feels the most handsome in is there, folded and pressed, together with his favorite pair of ripped, black jeans. He looks up at you with wide eyes and the excitement you’re exuding is warming him from the deepest part. With a disbelieving laugh he pushes the bag back towards you, “still have that report, though.”

You sigh theatrically with your shoulders poised before you push the bag against him again, the game of reverse tug a little fun. Your hands travel over his arms back to his shoulders, “you know I love your work ethic,” you catch his eyes, “but trust me when I say I have this planned out, okay?”

You peck him on the lips and let your arms fall back to your sides, “this is the thing I’ve been planning for weeks,” you wink and Shinsou laughs. It’s more a huff of breath out of the nose, but the smile indicates that he’s finally processed what’s going on. You’ve planned a Valentine’s surprise for him.

The restaurant isn’t fancy or typical of Valentine’s. Your friends all recommended all kinds of cliche spots that would be sure to blow your boyfriend away, but you know him and his preferences. He likes when it’s personal and home-y. His obsession with having a home only started to make sense to you in the recent months of your relationship. You hadn’t known of his past or his life at the orphanages until very recently.

So you decided that this, the first place he took you on a date would be perfect. When he realizes where you’re headed, he keeps squeezing your hand in barely contained excitement and laughs bashfully whenever your eye catches his. It’s absolutely adorable and your own butterflies are soaring at the unmistakable happiness and love he emanates towards you.

When you arrive at the local ramen shop hand in hand, the local owner, an uncle type of man greets you excitedly, giving you a not-so-subtle wink as he maneuvers you to your regular seat at the back. When you’d come down a few days ago to reveal your plans to him, he’d gushed about how honored he was to host such a thing and even suggested to make you a special ramen, which only made you all the more sure that this had to be the special spot.

The owner waits on you as if you’re at a real restaurant, bringing you the chopsticks and the glasses from the counter where it’s normally a self-serve kind of function. Shinsou can barely look the man in the eye, embarrassed to be treated with such high regard at his local eatery.

You talk about his day, of the coming patrol tonight, the report he needs to finish and you tell him of the cats at home. How you made sure to feed them before leaving and how long you’ve been planning this date. He reaches for your hand as you start to tell him of the trip to the florist for purple flowers, of the chats with Midoriya on how to make this work. It’s all very relaxed and comfortable, smiles and glances exchanged between sentences.

When the food arrives, you both gasp. His more silent than yours but no less surprised. You know there’s a style to prepare ramen bowls, but he’s taken it to the next level. Not only has he taken his time to cut the narutomakis into small hearts, he’s also cut your nori seaweed into heart shapes too. It is so beautiful and endearing that you can’t help but bow your thanks excessively at him. He sheepishly scratches his neck as he announces how it wasn’t a big deal and that his two favorite customers only deserve the best on such a special night before he retreats to his kitchen.

After he’s gone, you fish out your phone from your bag to catch a picture. Shinsou starts pushing his bowl gently towards yours so that you can get a picture of them both but you push it back towards him to indicate you want a picture of him with the bowl. He looks at anything but you for a moment, a shy smile playing on his lips as he shakes his head, “I’d ruin the picture,” he admits sadly and you lower the phone to look at him properly. The scar that he’s attained on the left side of his face from a particularly nasty fight with a villain has yet to heal or completely disappear, and ever since then he’s been reluctant to be in pictures.

You try not to sound condescending as you coo at him, “you are the most handsome man I know. You would compliment this beautiful bowl and I promise you can check and approve the picture afterwards, okay?”

He sighs and lets his shoulders fall before he complies. You smile at him and raises the phone anew, angling the camera perfectly. The light falls on his right side, making the scar less visible in the low light of the room.

“Say cheese.”

The picture comes out absolutely wonderful and you’re unable to hold back a squeal of excitement as you grip the phone close to your chest, letting the love you have for the man in front of you rush through you. He patiently waits for you to show him the picture and when he does, your heart aches at the way he visibly relaxes, eyes softening at the way you caught him looking naturally relaxed and handsome despite how tense he felt. He nods approvingly before you both get ready to eat.

“I almost don’t wanna ruin it,” you whine and Shinsou laughs, “me too.”

Full of both the deepest broth, noodles and love, you walk back towards the agency hand in hand. The silence is comfortable between you, the hum of the town surrounding you.

Before you reach the agency, Shinsou stops in his tracks and retracts his arm, scratching his head. “I… I’m not sure how to properly thank you. I’ve never… uh, never had a proper Valentine’s date before.”

You smile mischievously as you lean in to catch his eyes, “I’m amazing, right? But really, there’s no need to thank me – seeing you enjoy the night is way more thanks.”

He rolls his eyes before he pulls you in close, “I mean it, thank you. You make me feel so many good things and I’m so terrible at voicing them. Thank you for planning this.”

You snuggle your cheek into his chest with a warm sigh, “you’re welcome. I love you.”

He kisses the crown of your head and squeezes your hip, “I love you, too. So much.”

[alienaiver]

Give me your headcanons about Kenma please?

here they are !!!! :3

Songs on his iPod: i think kenma really, really likes OST's mixed in with some mindless pop that can go on repeat in the background when he games alone.

Pokemon Sword and Shield OST - Gym Leader Battle All Time Low - Jon Bellion Amusement Park - Nier:Automata OST

The one place they fall asleep – where they’re not supposed to: ooooh kenma definitely has a terrible habit of doing this as a general quirk of his. IF and only IF there are people he is safe and comfortable around (you, his team, family, hinata) he won't have ANY qualms about snoozing for a second if there's a moment that calls for it. most chaotic moment was during his own hospital visit. he'd hosted a 48-hour livestream and passed the hell out because of course he also didnt eat properly during. the doctor popped out for a moment to check something from a chart, and when he came back, kenma was asleep. it worried the doctor to no end for a second, before he realized the cat-like barely-adult-adult was simply snoozing. you and kuroo apologizes profusely, but the doctor chalks it down to the weird thing he was doing online before he came. assigns rest as medication.

The game they’d destroy everyone else at: there's no doubt that kenma's a class A gamer in every game to exist. the most infuriating one - the one that kuroo HATES that he always wins - is ludo. its a game that runs on pure chance half the time, yet kenma's never lost a single game, not to you or anyone else. hinata's little sister came close one time, though. that made kenma's brow sweat a little.

The emoticon they’d use most often: 👍. its easy during streams, its easy if hes sleepy, its easy if hes busy. it confirms whatever people want from him in a second.

What they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep: practically non-verbal. eyes squinted and barely able to do things required of him. he gropes and grabs at random stuff in his cabinet or fridge to find something edible and his phone is all up in his face. you mostly talk aloud to yourself during those times.

Their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights or mornings: kenma doesn't advertise it a lot, but he loves a good, warm bubble tea with tapioca. it has to be a black tea or he isn't having it.

How they like to comfort/care for themselves in a slump: kenma calls kuroo. slumps are his arch nemesis, the boss battle he cannot handle alone. so back up and support characters are needed.

What they wanted to be when they grew up: im pretty sure kenma achieved exactly what he dreamt of: freedom to play his beloved video games in the capacity that he does.

Their favorite kind of weather: overcast, but not humid or rainy. it's a perfectly acceptable day to stay indoors.

Thoughts on their singing voice: i think kenma is a very nice tenor, but he doesnt have the confidence or skills to really sing from his stomach, so it comes out shallow and off.

How/what they like to draw or doodle: he likes to doodle weapons from his games. the master sword from legend of zelda, cloud's buster sword, and the keyblades from kingdom hearts. it's all a cute, non-detailed chibi style tho, only marking what makes the sword stand out. mostly, hes the only one who can name them all if hes sitting thru a long enough meeting to draw multiple.

send me a character and ill fill out these headcanons