gn!reader fluff | “y’see somethin’ you like?” osamu asks, barely glancing at you as he shapes the rice in his hands into a triangle.
the stool beneath you wobbles as you lean forward—he really should get a new one—and smile, palm resting on your cheek. “yeah, i like watching you work.”
your eyes follow the veins on his hands to his forearms, up to his biceps and his chest barely hidden by his stupidly well-fitting black uniform shirt.
he hums. “well, that’s nice t’hear-”
“i love watching you make croissants.”
osamu pauses.
he looks at you, but no eyes meet—yours focused on his hands that move to wipe themselves clean on a towel before resting on his hips. maybe if you were stronger, you’d notice the smirk on his face. “what colour’s my shirt?”
a smile tugs at your lips. “red?”
fingers flick your forehead before you can wave them away. “ack- god, ’samu!”
he snorts and pulls you off the stool, forcing your head into his chest and muffling your groan while he pinches your cheek. “i should kick ya outta my kitchen for harassin’ the chef.”
“but he’s so hot and handsome, what am i meant to do?” you huff.
“at least don’t say i’m making croissants. am i french?”
“woah,”—you push away from his chest—“take that back right now. you know i’d never date a french man.”
“then why’d ya say croissants?”
“i don’t know, it was the first pastry i thought of! i love, i don’t know, macarons—”
amusement lights up his face as his arm takes you back into a head lock. “macarons? the also french desert—”
“fuck, stop, wait, oh my god, please,” a sound between a laugh and cry escapes you.
osamu cackles when you smack his chest with one hand, covering your face with the other. the onigiri is forgotten on the counter as he pulls it away to uncover your face, fingers threading through the spaces between yours.
your laughter dies down, and after using your free hand to pick a stray grain of rice off his shirt, you pout. “whatever, not french man. are you gonna kick me out of the kitchen for ogling you now?”
he only rolls his eyes. “no, it’s not like y’don’t already ogle me outside of the kitchen.”
another smack comes to his chest as you scoff. “wow. okay, it’s because i love you, you know.”
“yeah, yeah, of course you love the hot, handsome guy who cooks for you,” osamu brushes off your defense and picks up the last finished onigiri.
motioning to the stool and pretending you can’t see the blush that paints his cheeks, or smile on his lips, he huffs. “now sit back down so you can taste test this for me.”
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kiyoomi who can't stand the idea of touching things that aren't meticulously placed by his own hand. he knows exactly if it's clean, what surface it's touched, and how long it has been sitting there.
luckily everyone has their exceptions- in his case it's you. kiyoomi can grab onto your sleeve to guide you toward your guys' destination. kiyoomi who can cup your face between his hands, as he gazes down at you fondly.
but... he still won't grab your hand unless he knows you've washed it. god forbid he kisses you before either of you has brushed your teeth. everyone has their limits.
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suna blurb based on some selfshippy stuff :3 360 words
you can feel a pair of eyes burning a hole in the back of your head, like they’re looking into the depths of your soul. you swallow your bite of food and then sigh, turning around in your seat to meet the gaze of the boy staring at you. your attention gives suna the courage to speak. “are you still mad?”
“do i look mad?”
he pauses for a moment to take in your expression. you certainly don’t seem happy. “yeah.”
“then i guess i’m still mad,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders and facing forward once more.
maybe it’s trivial, but you’d expect that the guy who you thought was your boyfriend to have you saved as something more sweet than your whole name in his phone. you’d updated your contact name for him forever ago—a week after the two of you made it official. maybe that was a bit soon but it’s been months since then.
a pout overtakes your lips as you mull over the matter but a poke on your shoulder keeps your from dwelling too long. you know it’s suna and you contemplate ignoring him before he pokes you again. an annoyed groan rumbles in your chest as you turn around for the second time to see what he wants.
only, you aren’t faced with him, but his phone. it’s pulled up to your contact. instead of being met with the sight of your full name typed out across the screen, you see that he’s exchanged it for just your first—and it’s followed by a heart. its such a small thing that might mean nothing to someone else but the gesture means almost the world to you.
suna must sense a change in the air that surrounds you. he asks, “am i forgiven?”
you give him a short nod and an excited smile. “you are forgiven.”
his next question feels silly to ask, but he needs to know if the two of you are on good terms—the way you had been before your discovery of what might as well have been a crime. “are we dating again?”
“yeah,” you laugh, “i kinda missed calling you my boyfriend.”
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oikawa who has always known what he wants and digs his fingers into the earth for it, to fight, to reach higher and higher and higher, vs sugawara who wants but steps back, letting someone else shine in his place, scraping for what he can get instead
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