#konbini things

[briechyne]

Just the Konbini things.

[theextendedbriechyne]

Just the Konbini Things

(A Monologue)

You ever step into a konbini at 2 AM and feel like you've walked into a parallel universe? The hum of the refrigerators, the soft jingle of the automatic doors, the faint scent of fried chicken and fresh melon pan... It’s like a liminal space where time doesn’t exist.

I mean, where else can you buy a single hard-boiled egg, three different kinds of onigiri, a face mask infused with the tears of cherry blossoms, AND pay your rent all at once?

It’s a haven for the weary salaryman clutching his canned coffee like a lifeline, the student debating between instant ramen flavors like it’s a life-altering decision, and the tourist discovering that, yes, the egg sandwiches really are that good.

And the staff? Oh, they are the unsung heroes of the night. The silent guardians of the cash register, scanning your midnight impulse buys without an ounce of judgment. A tub of ice cream, a copy of Shonen Jump, and a single can of beer? They nod, as if to say, I get it. Life is tough.

The konbini is a sacred space. A place where you can contemplate your existence under the fluorescent glow of the instant noodle aisle. A place where an 800-yen bento can somehow taste like a home-cooked meal when you’re sitting alone in your tiny apartment.

It’s the little things, really. The perfectly chilled drinks, the seasonal Kit-Kats, the way the cashier places your chopsticks just right so your food doesn’t spill in the bag.

Just the konbini things.

A love letter to the ordinary. A tiny, neon-lit universe where life’s small comforts are always in stock.

[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.”

[bbagelbitch]

Y’all I am packing SO MANY headcanons into this silly little one shot like y’all don’t even KNOW

[yoiku]

4am insomnia-riddled thoughts: "Why have I never made corndogs at home? I should make some corndogs soon."

[oars]

ok well i was late on my first day of class uhh i got lost in the station and tripped before that and then after class (class itself was really nice btw) i got even MORE lost then got off the wrong station and got my ic card charged even more from exiting and going back in and i also didnt know i had to pay for textbooks until i was at school so it was just money literally straight from my pocket but hiiii

[delatorius]

I found an asian market (I think its Myanma owned, but has mainly Korean and Japanese style snacks and tons of actual food that I was never brave enough to cook)

I wanted to get udon and ramune. And we were low on tapioca pearls and sago, so i grabbed that.

... And then i found tteokbokki, which ive always wanted to try...

And then I found the mochi.

I spent like $100 us-american dollars.

For food i mainly would have found at a convenience store.

Fuck.

[bootsukki]

the first time tsukki buys you flowers, it’s almost by accident.

he’s on his way to your house after practice, passing by a small flower shop, when a bouquet of soft yellow tulips catches his eye. he has no idea why he stops to look at them—maybe it’s the way they remind him of you, always bright and warm. checking his wallet, he enters the shop and buys them.

truth be told, he doesn’t expect much of a reaction from you, you have been dating for four months and he doesn’t even know if you like flowers (he knows you’re not allergic though because you always tend to the school garden with one of your friends) and when he arrives, he just shoves them into your arms.

but, when your eyes widen in delight, your fingers tighten around the stems and you look at him like he’s just handed you the stars, he knows he’s fucked.

you cling to his arm all the afternoon, giggling every time you look at the flowers and kissing him endlessly, he feels his cheeks burning.

“I should have just brought you candy.” he mutters, pretending to be annoyed.

but he does it again. and again. and again.

sometimes, he starts picking up flowers on random days—after practice, when he sees sales on his konbini… you react the same way, eyes bright, arms thrown around him, pressing kisses to his face. he mumbles under his breath but he never pulls away from your hugs and precious kisses he cherishes so much.

he continues doing so when you go to tokyo to study and he stays in sendai. every two weeks, without fail, a bouquet arrives at your doorstep, always with a note scrawled in his familiar and neat handwriting, “try not to kill these before i visit you, pretty.”

and when he sees you again, you throw yourself at him in the middle of the train station and, like always, he lets you. because he’s missed this and you.

even after college, the flowers never stop.

the day he thinks about proposing, he goes back to your old text messages, finding your messages and pictures about every single bouquet he has given you and asks for a special bouquet filled with one of every single important bouquet he has given you, from the tulips to the roses he gave you last anniversary.

as he hands you the bouquet and goes down on one knee, you tear up and nod, hands shaking as he puts the ring on your finger and he knows he made the right choice by choosing you.

the morning of your wedding is a blur of soft laughter and excitement as you sit down on the chair to start getting your makeup and hair done.

but before they can start, yachi clears her throat, drawing your attention.

“i have something for you.”

yachi grins, stepping aside to reveal the most beautiful bouquet resting in one of the vanities.

you gasp—the bouquet is a masterpiece filled with pastel calla lillies, clemantis, veronicas and slipper orchids. you stand up, reaching out for the flowers, brushing over the beautiful petals. and then, you see your name written in his familiar handwriting in an envelope.

baby,

i’d like to say that i planned all of this from the beginning, that the first time i bought you flowers, i already knew i would be doing it for the rest of my life, but the truth is that i didn’t realize until i saw your beautiful eyes and gorgeous smile when you saw the yellow tulips.

i love your smile and i wanted to see you smile. you looked at me like i had given you the world and you held to them like you never wanted to let go.

so, i kept bringing them every chance i had. do you remember how sad you were when the wind ruined the bouquet i gave you during your last finals weeks? i got so mad and sad that i ran to the store at nearly 2 am to buy you some and get them sent to you the following day.

i am not good with words, you know that so i guess that i found everything that i wanted to say through flowers: i miss you, you’re the best thing that has happened to me, i love you, i want to spend the rest of my life with you…

i think that this one is the most special one. do you remember all those late night work i had to do? i lied, sorry.

i was getting special lessons from the florist down the street: how to prepare a bouquet, how to cut the stems perfectly so they last longer, how to take care of them… all of that so i could get you what i think it is the prettiest bouquet of all the ones i have gotten you although i don’t think they are as beautiful as you are but i have selected them because their delicate colors and smoothness makes me think of you and i don’t know, i wanted to remind you that you are always on my mind.

holy shit, you and me forever. FOREVERRRRRRRRR (if you see tear marks while you read this, those are NOT mine).

i love you baby, i’ll wait for you at the end of the aisle so, take a deep breath, wipe those tears (I know you are probably crying) and see you soon. can’t wait to make you my wife.

-kei.

you clutch the letter to your chest as tears spill freely onto your cheeks and your friends laugh softly, cleaning their own tears as well.

“is it too late to use this as my wedding bouquet?”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)

A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.

Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence

Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten

[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.

"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual." 

Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."

Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth. 

"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"

Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.

"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"

True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship. 

So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).

"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"

The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.

"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave. 

The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you. 

With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window. 

That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing. 

That settles it. 

"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.

A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.

Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way. 

Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with. 

"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."

"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless. 

There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency. 

"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.

There's always a next time.

The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant. 

Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops. 

"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.

"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"

Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.

The yakuza is taken aback. 

"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily. 

"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."

Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...

He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up. 

"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"

He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend. 

"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.

"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly. 

"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza." 

The two men exchange a knowing look.

You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts. 

You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your  coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.

You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.

As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly. 

From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?

You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger. 

You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.

Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.

"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably. 

"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape. 

The blonde man stares at you. 

"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"

"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.

Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.

"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"

Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it. 

As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.

"Y-you thought we were dating?"

"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."

"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach. 

You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.

"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?" 

You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body. 

"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up. 

Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm. 

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm. 

You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.

"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."

"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.

"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.

"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."

Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part. 

Bonus: Daitou's backstory 

"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"

Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.

"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect. 

"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."

"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas." 

After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up. 

"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"

He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.

"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."

"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement. 

"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"

You nod.

"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."

You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances. 

"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"

The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.

"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."

Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry. 

"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid." 

He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you. 

"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.

They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."

You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection. 

"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.

Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.

I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.

We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.

You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."

You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.

"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up. 

He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat. 

You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus. 

That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."

You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair. 

"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.

Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."

Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.

"Or for you. Especially you."

[briechyne]

Just the Konbini Things

(A Monologue)

You ever step into a konbini at 2 AM and feel like you've walked into a parallel universe? The hum of the refrigerators, the soft jingle of the automatic doors, the faint scent of fried chicken and fresh melon pan... It’s like a liminal space where time doesn’t exist.

I mean, where else can you buy a single hard-boiled egg, three different kinds of onigiri, a face mask infused with the tears of cherry blossoms, AND pay your rent all at once?

It’s a haven for the weary salaryman clutching his canned coffee like a lifeline, the student debating between instant ramen flavors like it’s a life-altering decision, and the tourist discovering that, yes, the egg sandwiches really are that good.

And the staff? Oh, they are the unsung heroes of the night. The silent guardians of the cash register, scanning your midnight impulse buys without an ounce of judgment. A tub of ice cream, a copy of Shonen Jump, and a single can of beer? They nod, as if to say, I get it. Life is tough.

The konbini is a sacred space. A place where you can contemplate your existence under the fluorescent glow of the instant noodle aisle. A place where an 800-yen bento can somehow taste like a home-cooked meal when you’re sitting alone in your tiny apartment.

It’s the little things, really. The perfectly chilled drinks, the seasonal Kit-Kats, the way the cashier places your chopsticks just right so your food doesn’t spill in the bag.

Just the konbini things.

A love letter to the ordinary. A tiny, neon-lit universe where life’s small comforts are always in stock.

[kxsagi]

heyy! would you be okay with writing headcanons with yukimiya and sae whose dating a reader who cares a lot about their appearance? like for example, whenever they go out on a quick errand, they essentially try to look their best. thank you so much!

“𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞”

a/n: long headcanons ahead for you, love! 

ft. yukimiya kenyu, itoshi sae

𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐮 – “𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰?” 

yukimiya totally gets it. like, completely. 

he’s the last person who will ever judge you for wanting to look your best, even if it’s just a two-minute walk to the konbini (convenience store). in fact, when you first started dating, he thought it was cute. he’d wait patiently, playing with his rings while you put on your gloss. he didn’t even flinch when you pulled out a lash curler like you were going to war. 

you’re both on the same wavelength: “look good, feel good.” and honestly? it becomes your love language. 

he’ll straighten his bangs while you fix your baby hairs. he’ll fix your necklace clasp if it turns around. he carries blotting papers in his wallet just for you. you're basically that couple that walks into a store and people lowkey assume you're influencers. even if it’s just to buy toilet paper. 

one time you were running late to meet your friends and told him to go ahead while you “touched up.” 

he stayed. 

“we’re walking in together,” he said with the softest smile, perched on your bed, elbow on his knee. “you always wait for me when i’m being a diva, remember?” 

(you almost cried. it was just blush, but it wasn’t just artificial blush.) 

the only time he ever gets slightly annoyed is when you start spiraling. like if you're fussing with your outfit in front of the mirror for the fourth time and going, “i look bloated. i hate this top. should i change? be honest. do i look weird from the side?” 

yukimiya’s already behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder like clockwork. “you look stunning. and no, i’m not just saying that. do you wanna wear something else because you feel like it, or because your brain’s lying to you again?” 

he doesn’t let you self-sabotage. he reminds you how you glow in every outfit. 

and the rare days you feel like crap and don’t wanna dress up at all? yukimiya always finds something to compliment. 

“barefaced looks good on you. it’s giving natural model in paris energy.” 

“your hair’s a little messy. i like it, it’s hot.” 

“you’re always pretty, you know that, right?” 

and you’ll roll your eyes like ugh shut up, but he’ll smile and whisper, “seriously. my prettiest girl.” 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞 – “𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤.”

sae does not get it. 

the first time you delayed a quick coffee run by 30 minutes because you were fixing your hair, he just stood at the door with his arms crossed like “… you know this isn’t a photo shoot, right?” 

he’s not rude about it. but he’s definitely a little judgy. like he’ll stare blankly while you layer lipliner and mutter, “you’re stalling. again.” 

if he had it his way, you’d both leave the house in hoodies and unbrushed hair. but nooo, his hot girlfriend wants to look like a pinterest board every time you step out. 

“you literally look good all the time. stop trying to impress the cashiers.” 

“it’s for me, sae.” 

“… and the cashiers.” (he’s joking. mostly.) 

the weird thing is… he does notice the effort. he may not understand why you do it, but the little things never go unseen. 

he sees the way you match your earrings to your bag. the way you fix your collar in the reflection of a shop window. the way your eyes light up when he says something compliments-adjacent, like: “is that a new lipstick?” 

“you wore this jacket last time we came here.” 

“your makeup looks different today. good different.” 

he says it in that flat, lazy voice of his, but it still makes your stomach flutter. 

and god help him the day you don’t do any of it. 

you’re in his shirt, bare-faced, and your hair’s in a clip because you gave up halfway. and he pauses. blinks at you like you’re speaking another language. “you okay?” 

“yeah?” 

“… why aren’t you doing the whole… thing?” 

“i didn’t feel like it.” 

and suddenly, he’s on high alert. wrapping his arms around you from behind like what’s wrong? why are you not overdressing for literally nothing? 

but he won’t say all that. he’ll just grumble into your hair, “don’t get used to this. i like the little eyeliner flicks.” 

and even if he gripes about it every time, he still slows down his pace when you’re walking so you can reapply your gloss. still turns the car mirror your way without you asking. and when you ask, “do i look okay?” he doesn’t even blink before answering, “you always do.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[beezhives]

"I need chocolate."

"yeah, good afternoon to you too, Dynamight," are the groggily mumbled words the pro hero receives from you on the other side of your door.

grumbling, strong arms folding over his chest impatiently, Bakugou Katsuki huffs out a greeting more normal that your brain can register, followed by, "I need chocolate."

sometimes, being the neighbor of a pro hero has its perks. late nights locked out of your own apartment, help fixing random appliances, and (in the case of Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight) unsolicited cooking tips when you just happen to let slip what you're making for dinner that night.

other times, like right now, you're awoken to harsh knocking on your front door at three-something in the afternoon when you just wanted to sleep. all because the damn man wanted... chocolate?

"what the fuck are you staring for? d'ya have chocolate or not, dumbass?"

opening your door fully, a silent invitation for the pro hero to walk in, you pad back through your dark apartment towards your kitchen. "it's too early for this confusion, man..."

Bakugou did not understand what was so confusing about chocolate but he stepped into your apartment anyways, shutting the door behind him and flicking on the light. having an apartment with the same layout as his helped sometimes.

"none of that white or dark chocolate bullshit," he called through the apartment, leaning back against the door. "plain fuckin' chocolate's what I need!"

after rifling through your pantry for a few minutes, setting aside a variety of chocolate bullshit for yourself to eat later, you returned with a small bowl of baking chocolate for the brooding blond in your entryway.

"what has you needing chocolate so urgently?" you ask, handing the bowl over to the man who grumbles while inspecting the selection.

"making shit for Sparky's thing later," he replies, huffing a small breath of satisfaction through his nose. the chocolate you found would work for him.

"cool." leaning around him, you open your front door and motion the pro hero out of your apartment. "next time you need baking chocolate, go to konbini down the street instead of waking me up, yeah?"

Bakugou rolls his eyes, scoffing, as he exits your apartment. he's holding the bowl against his chest like he would a child, hands already warming the chocolate so it can melt sooner.

"yeah but this shit's free," is his reply, offering you a shit-eating grin before turning around and making his way back to his own apartment.

it's then, in the light of the hallway outside your apartment, that you realize there's something green and orange – icing, you assume – smeared on his clothes. you can't help but roll your eyes, both at his comment and the colourful stains, while you close your door.

later, much much later, there is a singular knock on your door. expecting the odd trick-or-treater, maybe a teen or college student who was making a last ditch effort through your complex, you make your way to the door with your bowl of treats to hand out.

what you were not expecting was to see a treat left on your welcome mat. black container with a webbing design on it. your name was scribbled onto a post-it place on top.

inside the container sat a set of perfectly rounded chocolate cake eyeballs, clearly fake and clearly made with care. each one appeared to be made with skilled hands.

and, upon trying them, you could've sworn that they tasted of your own baking chocolate.

♡ late Halloween post. oops. any likes or shares would be appreciated. thank you for reading, see you later. ☁︎

[toriaaniin]

The Cost of Going Underground

What happens when connection becomes the thing that must be hidden?

This was always going to be the most difficult post to write. Not because there isn’t evidence to support it — but because so much of the story we’re telling here exists in the space where public narrative ends and private truth begins.

When I say Luke and Nicola went underground, I don’t mean they disappeared. In fact, they’ve been visible: promoting work, attending events, walking carpets, giving interviews. Nicola’s public presence, in particular, has never been stronger. But visibility isn’t the same as connection — and that’s what disappeared. The light, the warmth, the resonance. The shared gaze. The background smiles. The moments that made us believe.

This post is about what it’s cost them to keep that part hidden.

Nicola’s Cost: Dimming Her Light

There’s a contradiction at the heart of Nicola’s public image right now: she’s everywhere, and yet she feels more remote than ever. TV Choice Awards (won), SAG and BAFTA nominated, awards for personal achievements and advocacy endeavours, centre-stage as a featured speaker, brand ambassador partnerships with Kate Spade, Neutrogena, and Olaplex, and appearances as an invited guest at Gucci and Dior fashion shows — and yet the story around her is… quieter. Less electric. More muted.

It didn’t start that way. Nicola came out of the World Tour radiating joy — glowing, grounded, triumphant. Big Mood was launched in the spring and her depiction of Maggie was critically acclaimed, she gained massive industry credibility, started and released new projects. But then something shifted. The narrative around her became less about her, and more about who she was seen with — or wasn’t. First it was/wasn't Luke, then Jake... whose presence lingered like background noise from August until it got suddenly loud in April, first as Nicola’s plus-one at the BAFTA-TV Nominee's Party, then again at Canneseries. It marked a shift. Not in Nicola’s visibility, but in how much of the story was being told through adjacency. A rumble became a roar. And while Nicola has always protected her private life, what made this feel different was just how much attention the background was getting. Not because of her, but in place of her. Canneseries, where she was honoured with the Konbini Commitment Award, barely made a ripple. The focus had shifted away from Nicola herself, and onto who she was, or wasn’t, seen beside.

And the Claddagh? For months, it was her quiet declaration. Then, during award season, it vanished (we know she doesn't wear it to events, but it's missed). Not forever — just from view. Just like the story we believe in.

Nicola has never liked sharing her private life. The fandom once learned that she lived with a partner for two years — a boyfriend the public never knew about. That’s how private she is. Which is why the whispers, the Jake narratives, the adjacent baiting — has felt so contradictory. So unlike her.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the real cost for Nicola hasn’t been image. It’s been agency. Instead of living the private life she prefers, she's being buried under speculation and playing along with a narrative that isn't hers.

If her goal is protection — of herself, of her child, of her relationship — then maybe the cost isn’t one she minds paying.

Luke’s Cost: The Reputational Hit

If Nicola’s cost is felt in the silence behind the narrative performance, Luke’s is etched into public perception.

I’ve talked before about the Bad Boyfriend Optics — about how Luke has, in two distinct stretches — from mid-June through July 2024, and again from January 30th to now — appeared beside a woman he won’t publicly claim, performing coldness so convincingly it’s made even longtime fans question who he really is. But that coldness, that calculated distance? It hasn’t clarified. It's confused. It's hurt. And it's invited something darker: backlash.

The Lukola fandom loves Luke, and wants the best for him. We remember the man we saw during the World Tour: vibrant, joyful, connected. We want him celebrated for his work in Season 3, seen for his talent, and paired with opportunities that allow him to shine. And yes, we want to see him with Nicola — not just because of the chemistry, but because of how present, proud, and luminous he seems by her side.

That’s why the optics of this past year have been so difficult to reconcile. Because the man we’re seeing now — stiff beside someone he’s never claimed, disconnected from the warmth that once defined him — doesn’t look like the Luke we remember. That absence, compounded by silence, has created a narrative vacuum. One that Luke has never filled with clarity, and so the worst assumptions take root.

This isn’t about suspicion. It’s about confusion. About the ache of wanting to understand why someone so loved, so admired, would let a version of himself take hold that feels so far from the truth.

The question that always gets asked is: “Why does he take the hit?”

I don’t know.

And yet… he did it anyway. To my mind, that’s the story. That’s the mystery.

Because there is no easy explanation for what we’ve witnessed. Not one that satisfies both logic and compassion. So instead of asking what’s so bad that he’d allow it, maybe we ask: what’s so precious that he’d endure it? What kind of love — or responsibility — makes a man let the world misunderstand him, and say nothing to stop it?

The Weight of Performance

If this past year has been a strategy, then it’s been one built on restraint. A performance of separation so well-rehearsed, it sometimes threatened to become the only reality. And that’s what it’s cost the fandom: clarity, trust, and to some extent, hope.

But maybe the point of camouflage was never to convince us. Maybe it was designed for people outside this corner of the internet — for the press, for the tabloids, for the algorithms. Maybe it was a smokescreen meant to disappear once it had done its job.

And that’s the tension we hold now: wanting the performance to end, but understanding why it might have been necessary.

The reappearance of Antonia hasn’t helped. It's reignited old narratives, invited new backlash, and made the optics worse. If this was damage control, it backfired. If it was obligation, the price may be too high. And if it was strategy — well, it cost Luke more than it ever protected.

What If the Cost Was Worth It?

There are those who say the long game isn’t worth it. That the fallout — professionally and emotionally — is too severe. That what’s been lost — credibility, goodwill, momentum — might never be fully regained.

But maybe that’s because we’re still in it. Because what we’re watching now is a story that hasn’t finished unfolding. Maybe the strategy isn’t failing — maybe it’s just incomplete.

What feels monumental to us in the moment may later prove to be just one chapter in a longer story. We don’t know what plans are quietly being laid, what projects are in motion, or what decisions are being made behind the scenes. We’re not privy to their timeline — professionally or personally. Luke and Nicola may already see this moment as a temporary holding space, not a defining one. A pause between acts. An interval before emergence.

Maybe this is the blip, not the legacy.

And maybe, once the contract ends and the noise subsides, they’ll get to write a different ending. One that doesn’t need to hide behind silence, performance, or camouflage. One that lets them step forward, not as a scandal or a mystery, but as something simple and real.

Because the love never disappeared. It just went underground. And one day, I believe it will rise.

Aaniin Xxx

Postscript: Where We Go From Here

This is the final entry in the Optics Series — at least, officially. But as long as the optics are shifting, the stories tangled, and the questions still humming beneath the surface, there’s always more to explore. I’ve loved the process of reflecting on what’s visible, what’s hidden, and what might be real. So while this is the end of a specific arc, don’t be surprised if more posts appear in the future — tracing new connections, testing old theories, and continuing the work of witnessing whatever rises next.

Thanks for walking this far with me.

P.S. Find a listing of this blog post series along with short summaries of each - including those not yet published - here:

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, fluff

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: lost in japan.

you’re lying on your stomach on the couch, your phone propped up awkwardly against a mug on the coffee table, facetime crackling slightly with the spotty wifi.

atsumu’s grinning at you through the screen, chin propped in his hand, hair messy and flattened a little on one side like he just woke up.

“i should come see ya,” he says, offhand, like he’s just talking about picking up groceries.

you snort, lazily twirling the pen in your hand. “yeah, okay. you’re only a couple hundred miles away.”

“a couple thousand,” he corrects with a mock-offended look, lips jutting out in a pout. “but sure, close enough.”

you laugh under your breath and roll your eyes. “mhm. sure. see you in five minutes then.”

there’s a loud clatter as your phone slides sideways off the mug and onto the table, giving him a lovely view of your kitchen ceiling.

“hey, hey!” you hear him protest, voice crackling through the speaker. “put the camera back up, i wanna see my beautiful girl.”

smiling stupidly to yourself, you pick it back up and angle it toward you again, chin resting on your folded arms.

he’s smiling too, this soft, slow, lovesick kind of smile like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day.

“there she is,” he murmurs.

you feel your cheeks heat a little, biting your lip to hide the way it makes you want to kick your feet like a schoolgirl.

he gets a call on his end. you hear the little notification ding and he grimaces. “shit. i gotta go, babe. team stuff.”

you sigh dramatically, clutching your chest. “abandoning me in my time of need.”

“i’m comin’ back soon, promise,” he says, playful but sincere, like he means it.

“i miss ya,” he adds, softer.

“miss you too,” you say back, a little quieter.

he blows you a kiss, stupid and exaggerated — before the call cuts off.

you spend the rest of the afternoon in a cozy haze.

you do some studying. half-hearted, if you’re honest, tapping away at your laptop in the soft sunlight slanting through the windows. you clean up your tiny apartment, vacuuming around the cluttered corners and scrubbing down the little kitchenette. you even throw on sneakers and wander downstairs, picking up a bag of groceries from the corner konbini, yawning the whole way back.

by the time evening drapes itself over the city, you’re exhausted.

you make yourself a cup of tea, nibble at a convenience store pastry, and settle into a lazy rhythm: answering a few emails, half-finishing a homework assignment, scrolling your phone aimlessly.

tokyo outside your windows is breathtaking at night: rivers of golden headlights threading through the streets, towers lit up like constellations, neon signs blinking in and out of existence like fireflies.

your little apartment feels even smaller against it, but it’s cozy. warm.

you tug on one of atsumu’s old t-shirts, massive and soft and falling halfway to your knees, and a pair of fuzzy socks. your hair’s a little tangled, your skin clean from a quick shower, and you flop onto the couch, flicking on cars for maybe the twentieth time this month.

the gentle hum of the city floats up through the cracked window. you curl deeper into the cushions, blinking slow and heavy-lidded at the screen.

you’re asleep already when the knock comes.

at first you think it’s a drunk neighbor knocking on the wrong door. maybe a late package you forgot you ordered.

you blink blearily at the door, not quite processing it.

then comes another knock. louder this time, hurried.

you shuffle over, yawning, dragging your feet. you peek through the peephole—

and your heart nearly stops.

atsumu’s standing there.

hoodie shoved over his messy hair, mask pulled down under his chin, a tiny half-zipped suitcase by his ankle.

and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers, messy and half-wrapped, an explosion of color like he just grabbed the wildest, brightest thing he could find.

his smile when he sees you looking is crooked and breathless, golden under the cheap hallway lights.

he leans against the doorframe, casual like he didn’t just cross the entire world for you, and says, “ya gonna let me in or make me stand here lookin’ stupid?”

you fumble with the lock so fast you nearly pull it off the door.

he steps inside like he belongs there, suitcase forgotten, standings on the backs of his uggs, a little dazed from the travel and the weight of finally being here.

he holds the flowers out to you, sheepish. a little battered, a little squashed. still beautiful.

“ya wouldn’t believe how much airport flowers cost,” he mutters, almost shy, and it makes you laugh, breathless and stunned and a little choked up.

you take them in both hands, hugging them to your chest, the stems cool and damp against your fingers.

then he’s pulling you into his arms. lifting you slightly off your feet, holding you so tight you can barely breathe.

he buries his face into your neck, breath warm against your skin, hoodie soft against your cheek. he smells like airplane air and his favorite cologne, a little musky from running around, a little familiar, a little like home.

and into the hush of the tiny apartment, into the glow of the city outside your window, he mumbles, “missed ya like crazy.”

you laugh, pressing your face into his shoulder, arms wrapped so tight around his back you never want to let go.

you’re half-convinced you’re dreaming, but he’s real, solid, warm, right here.

he leans back just enough to look at you, that dumb, gorgeous grin tugging at his mouth.

“idiot,” you whisper, voice shaking.

he just bumps his forehead gently against yours, still smiling, and says,

“your idiot.”

[andypantsx3]

shirtless pro hero shouto on the cover of heroes illustrated!! and it comes with a fold out autographed poster if you get the first print run!! you line up early at the bookstore/konbini to get your copy and when you come home shouto's just returned from his morning run so he's a little sweaty with a towel around his neck... and he looks at you. looks at your prize clutched in your arms. starts pouting.

"is that why you left so early, love?"

you've been caught red handed.

"i am the real thing," he stalks towards you, "would you like to see?"

FUJI I HAD TO GO FOR A WALK AROUND MY HOUSE TO CALM DOWN LKLSDLJHKJFHKD

[wordsofelie]

🔭mercury

part of my observatory event, requested by @liquidcatt <3

sugawara koushi x f!reader

summary: you always seem to run into sugawara koushi—your frustratingly charming, unfairly cute neighbour—at the worst times. (but maybe that’s for the best).

content warnings: time skip setting, manga spoilers, a bit of swearing, a lot of fluff

words count: 1.2k

You think the universe is against you.

One moment, you’re carrying a heavy box filled with newly delivered supplies for your office, the next, you’re tipping backwards and losing your balance. There’s a flurry of movement, a surprised gasp—not yours—and then you’re landing on something much softer than the cold, hard ground.

Or, rather, someone.

“Wow,” a voice hisses beneath you. “I wasn’t expecting to be crushed to death today, but I guess there are worse ways to die.”

Your brain short-circuits. Because under you—chest heaving, silver hair slightly tousled, brown eyes gleaming despite having just been nearly flattened—is none other than Sugawara Koushi.

Your neighbour.

The same one you keep running into at the most inconvenient times (when you’re out of toilet paper at the konbini, when you’re all sick with a red nose and dark circles under your eyes at the pharmacy, or when you’re dressed in your least cute pyjamas to pick up your takeout food in the lift). The same one who always greets you with a smile so bright it makes your mind dizzy. The same one who is currently lying beneath you on the ground, blinking up at you like he finds this entire thing oddly hilarious.

You scramble off him, mortified. “Oh my god-I’m so sorry-”

He sits up, rearranging his shirt, still grinning. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I always wanted to know what it felt like to be tackled by someone other than a ten-year-old.”

Right. The kids. Sugawara is a primary school teacher, which explains his infinite patience. And, apparently, his ability to bounce back from near-death experiences with nothing but a smile and a joke.

You shake your hands in panic. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head and getting up. “Although, I think this makes us even.”

“Even?”

He nods and grins even more. “For the time I nearly ran you over with my bike.”

You groan. “I told you that was my fault.”

“I still think about it at night,” he says. “The look of pure horror on your face…”

You roll your eyes, but your heart does something stupidly pleasant in your chest. He’s easy to talk to. Too easy.

“Well-um,” you play with your fingers. “I’ll go now.”

You turn to your door, your skin still warm from him. He’s about to leave as you start patting your pocket, then looking in your bag, and in your pocket again seeking your keys-

Your keys.

Your keys, which had been in your hand a few hours ago. Your fucking keys, which are now nowhere to be found.

“Oh no.” You look around the ground, then groan. “Oh no, no, no.”

Sugawara turns, facing you again, and tilts his head. “That’s a lot of ‘oh no’s. Should I be worried?”

“I left my keys inside the office,” you whine.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

“Is that how you talk to your students?”

He chuckles. “Sorry, sorry force of habit. Do you want me to go with you?”

You sigh. “No, it’s fine. My boss probably left by now. I’ll figure something out.”

He gives you a long and considering look before sighing. You know it’s not out of annoyance, but more out of sympathy.

His smile shifts slightly—no more teasing grin, but a soft, almost delicate smile. “You can stay at my place, at least until you – figure something out.”

You feel the heat rising in your neck. Somehow, it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

This is ridiculous. This is absurd.

But if you’re being completely rational, what else can you do? Wait outside (it’s mid-January)? Go to your boss’s place (you have no idea where he lives)?

“Sure,” your voice wavers a little and you clear your throat. “Thank you very much.”

He helps you lift the cardboard that was still on the ground and leads you to his place. Two doors away.

It’s warm inside—which doesn't surprise you. The house isn't as tidy and organised as you'd imagined. There are still unwashed dishes in the kitchen, piles of drawings on the table and coloured pens on the floor.

“Welcome.”

You say nothing back and just look around. He hands you a cup of steaming tea, you hadn't even heard him turn on the kettle.

“Sorry for the mess. I didn’t plan on inviting anyone over tonight.”

“And I didn’t plan on falling on you.”

“And I swear I didn’t plan on almost running you over with my bike last time," he says, sipping his tea. "Unless you find that romantic, in which case I can do it aga-”

“Finish that sentence, and I’m the one who’s gonna run over you.”

Sugawara laughs, bright and clear. “Seems like we always bump into each other in dangerous situations. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something.”

“Oh yeah? And what is it saying?”

He grins. “That you should let me take you on a date.”

There’s electricity running through your whole body.

Sugawara Koushi—your frustratingly charming, unfairly cute neighbour—is asking you out.

“Wait. What? How does that have anything to do with us bumping into each other in dangerous situations?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, maybe that was just an excuse. I just wanted to take you on a date. I must sound so lame, right now.”

You stare at him. He looks nervous, you probably do too.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, and run away and panic, you chuckle, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go on a date with you. But only for safety measures.”

The man exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath for too long.

And then he smiles.

At this moment, you’re convinced Sugawara’s smile is more radiant than a thousand suns. He closes his eyes and you instantly miss their chocolate shade. Deep down, you think you’ll miss them even if he blinks.

“Great! How’s Saturday?”

“Saturday works.”

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

You’re about to say more but your phone rings in your pocket, you check it.

“It’s my boss, he has my keys, he’s waiting at the station.”

He takes the cup from your hand, your fingers brush. “Be careful then. And text me when you’re back home, I’ll bring your box.”

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and thank him.

Once you’re outside you can’t stop smiling.

When you go to bed that night, you think the universe isn’t against you anymore.  

Or maybe, just maybe, it had been working in your favour all along.

a/n: that was the first work for the event and i loooved writing for suga!! i should do it more often haha

i hope you enjoyed this story <3