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eni 🍰 19 🍰 she/her 🍰 black 🍰 multifandom 🍰 armin, nanami, aizawa, and akaashi’s #1 🍰 currently listening to: west coast - lana del rey 🍰

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in tears, shaking and crying. this is so good. excuse me while i go on a songfic binge

after the beep

character(s): bokuto koutaro x gn!reader

notes: uhm a song fic?? ig?? i’ve never written anything like this before but every time i listen to this song i think of bokuto. i hope this is ok!!

warnings: mentions of toxic relationship (not w bo, he’s an angel)

listen to: i think you’re really cool

one ring. two rings. three.

there’s a beat of silence, a moment where bokuto holds his breath subconsciously, then the recording of your voicemail sounds.

you’ve never not picked up one of his calls before, but a part of him is relieved now is the one time you choose to.

it has him exhaling as he listens to the message you’ve recorded, even not hearing your voice in real-time has him relaxing. if he were smarter he’d curse himself for something so stupid, something so inappropriate.

because what else would you call what he’s doing right now?

after all, being in love with your best friend who has a boyfriend is one level of ignorant in itself. but then writing a song for them and calling them to sing it as if you have any right to confess to them at all?

bokuto is really, really dumb.

still.

“hey,” he croaks out after the beep, clearing his throat through the mask of a laugh. “i just wanted to call you to share this song i’m working on. you’re my biggest fan so i thought that.. uh. anyway, here it goes. okay..”

then his voice gets quieter, tiptoeing the line of being a whisper as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“i love you.”

he sucks in one more breath, closes his eyes, let’s the air slowly seep out of his lips again. then his fingers strum against his guitar strings, and he opens his mouth to do what he’s been too scared to since the both of you were seventeen.

“this song brings on the weather, teardrops upon my sweater. i cry in bed whenever, i see you guys together.”

and it’s probably unfair of him to sing such things, to even dare write you a song like this, but he thinks this is the only way he can tell you, the only way he can gets the words out. he has to do this.

“fuck love it's all a lie, i can't sleep i'd rather die. than see that look in your eye.”

it’s his fault, really. he’s the one that begged you to pick up soup for him on facetime call when he was sick, all watery eyed and pouty. if he hadn’t done that you never would have met your boyfriend in that restaurant.

his lips are a little wobbly and his fingers a little too hard against his guitar.

“it sucks that i'm not your guy, but..”

as his fingers hit strum harder, pick catching on the strings, he can’t help but think of the first time he ever played for you. starry eyed and slack jawed as he fumbled through cords, face hot and ears pink as he messed up in front of you, his very first audience. the two of you were only teenagers then.

and you, well you stared at him with something so warm and sweet in your wide gaze, sitting on the edge of your seat as you told him it was so good, you were so impressed, so proud of him.

he remembers the way his heart swelled, how his stomach flipped, his chest fluttered for that very first time.

he’s pretty sure that’s when he fell in love.

he’d always wanted to find words to tell you how he felt, even just to tell you what he thought of you—to compliment you. and he couldn’t. couldn’t think of anything adequate enough to depict how he saw you. even now it seems all he can settle on is,

“i think you’re really cool like.”

and it seems so mundane, so childish. even as he lets it roll off his tongue again and again he wants to berate himself for not thinking of something better. because surely cool is a benign way of describing someone, in a situation like this.

you used to tell him that all the time, you still do. how cool his hair is, his outfit, his new hobbies. so maybe that’s why his brain has hyper fixated on it, why his mind wouldn’t let him choose anything but this one specific word as his punch line.

you really are the basis of every single one of his decisions, aren’t you?

“i packed my bags last week, sunrise and i'm on my feet. let's skip town and chase our dreams, 'cause this place ain't what it seems, so.”

maybe it’s just his immature hope, the misleading thing that likes to nestle admist his rib cage, but he thinks there’s just something about your boyfriend that is a little.. off.

he’s seen how you smile when you talk about him—even let himself break his heart over and over countless times because of it—but he’s noticed how it doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore, doesn’t stretch your lips as wide, doesn’t make you glow like it used to.

he thinks—prays more like—that maybe your whole relationship is under some sort of perfected facade. which makes his heart ache for you, but also selfishly has it beating for you on the other half of the coin too.

he’d like to sweep you off your feet, take you away on that trip to the bahamas you two have been joking about for years. he’s sure he has a swimsuit lying around ready to go.

he has everything ready for you always though, prepared for the drop of the hat whenever it may be, and that he knows.

“come home, let's synchronize. my soft lips caress your thighs. you get me so fucking high, the voices in my head collide, and..”

he’s desperate, but he’s smiling now. because maybe you’ll listen to this later and never speak to him again. maybe you’ll even block his number without so much as a goodbye text. maybe you’ll laugh about it with your boyfriend for months.

but just saying this, singing out his endearingly boyish heart to you, his chest feels a little less heavy and his stomach not as seasick.

“i think you're really cool like. i think you're really cool like. i think you're really cool like. i think you're really cool like.”

he’ll say it a million times if he has to, scream it from the rooftops like the two of you used to do to make the neighborhood dogs howl and piss of your parent’s neighbors.

“keep your voice down, she don't care, no.”

maybe you don’t, maybe you won’t, and maybe you never will—but that’s okay, really.

“i can't breathe i've got no air. no sympathy for my despair.”

it doesn’t matter if he gets hurt by whatever happens, he just needs you to know.

“i'm outta my mind.”

he’s so in love with you.

“i'm outta my mind.”

it’s driving him crazy.

“i think i'm outta my mind.”

he just needs to get this out.

“i think i'm outta my mind.”

and it’ll all be okay.

so with one last breath, his fingers nearly slipping and messing up his final few strums and chords, he pushes out the finishing blow.

“i think i'm outta my mind.”

and ends the voicemail without another word.

you’re so tired.

you’re tired of screaming and watching your boyfriend’s face get redder and redder as he yells at you about god knows what at this point. you don’t remember when it got like this, but the two of you have been unhappy for a while.

always at each other’s throats, starting arguments over something petty, fighting over something minute.

you’re so so tired.

“are you even listening to me?” he spits at you, lips curled up in a deep snarl. you’ve forgotten why this bout was even started now.

“i’m trying,” you sigh, exasperated. “i just don’t understand what’s wrong. why are you even—“

“unbelievable,” he scoffs, throws his hands up in the air like you’ve said something offensive, even though he’s the one who was being rude by cutting off your sentence. “if you’re just going to stand there and stare at me like i’m stupid maybe i should just leave.”

you’ve heard that line before, and every other time this was where you’d ran to him, wrapped your arms around him and begged him to stay, not to leave, that you were sorry.

but now you’re tired. so fucking tired of being trapped like this so you just,

“yeah. you should.”

and you didn’t think it was possible, but it looks like he’s even angrier now, jaw clenched and brows cinched and then—then he’s turning on his heel, grabbing his keys off the ring, and slamming the apartment door without so much as a reply.

it isn’t quite relief that washes over you as you fall onto the couch and sink into the cushions, but it’s something.

you grab your phone, innately curious as to how long the two of you have been at it this time, and as you gaze at your lock screen you see it’s been nearly three hours (which explains why your throat feels so sore). but then you notice something else.

you aren’t sure you’ve ever missed a call from your best friend before, and the notification on the screen makes your heart pang out of guilt.

the one right above it though—voicemail: kou!! :D—makes it jump against your ribs.

he’s never left you one of those. ever.

your heart is racing, and you aren’t even sure why. maybe it’s a slight hint of panic, what if something was wrong, an emergency? perhaps it’s a small tinge of curiosity, because what could he have to say that he couldn’t just text? or, by some off chance, it’s something you’ve tucked away long ago, but you shouldn’t be entertaining that thought, should you?

and yet.

your fingers tap away at your screen until you’re on the list of voicemails you should really clean out. at the top is bokuto’s, bright red like it’s teasing you, daring you to press play, daring you to listen.

so you do.

you’re not sure when it happens, but at some point within the recording, you start crying. tears streaming down your heat flushed cheeks as you let the message play on speaker in your lap. and you feel foolish, so irrevocably so, that you’re in this situation.

because you remember the first time koutaro ever played guitar for you with clumsy fingers and shaking hands in his bedroom back in highschool, and you remember falling in love with him in that moment precisely.

the irony of it all has you laughing through your tears, shaking your head at yourself because, fuck.

you’re really, really dumb.

when the message ends, bokuto’s voice cutting off with the abrupt end of the voicemail, you’re not too sure what to do. you know what your heart wants and what your mind is thinking and what your gut is telling you to act on.

and for once, they’re all pointing in the same direction.

so you call your boyfriend—and have to bite your lip to hold back the laugh as a beep sends you straight to voicemail, the irony of this all is just too unbelievable—and tell him what you’ve wanted to for months now.

(we’re over, i’m done, come get your shit when you’re done being pissed).

then, with a grin that’s probably a tad bit wider than it should be right after a break up, you scroll through your recents and click on your best friend’s contact, then the call button.

he answers on the first ring.

“uhm, hey—“

“can i come over?” you interject, instantly, the words blurting out of your lips before you can stop them.

“wh-what?” koutaro stammers, and your stupid dopey grin widens as you imagine the blush on his cheeks right now.

“can i come over?” you repeat, already standing up to try to find your keys without an answer, slipping your shoes on. “i wanna hear you play your song for me in person.”

there’s a beat of silence, then a muffled thud.

“yeah. yeah, yes, of course. come over,” he rambles out, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the upturn of his lips from just his tone.

“okay, great,” you reply, finally locating your keys and all but running out your door. you’re frantically pressing at the elevator’s down button, bouncing on your heels. “i’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“alright,” koutaro hums, “i’ll see you then.”

and you’re about to pull your phone away from your ear, the elevator doors finally sliding open as you jump inside and press the correct buttons, when you quickly make sure he doesn’t end the call first.

“hey, kou?” you rush out, and his half distant reply of ‘yeah?’ means you caught him just in time before he hung up. you bite the corner of your lip, head falling back on your shoulders as you stare up at the reflective ceiling of the elevator, foot tapping against the tile.

“i love you too.”

bokuto literally cheers so abruptly loud you have to yank the phone back from your ear, but the sound simply makes butterflies blossom in your stomach.

and if you’re replaying his voicemail the entire drive to his apartment, well, he doesn’t need to know that.

reblogs appreciated !!

part 3 when the madrigals jump him when?

His amor

In which Camilo turns to his sister for help but she insists that he hears the truth from you. You shed light to who you are and where you came from.

The long awaited part 2 of ‘his girl’. Part 1 is here ! masterlist !!

t.w abuse, mentions of blood and beating

The walk back to Casita was silent with Camilo deep in thought. He kept trying to think of the reason why your mother despises him so much. Was it his pranks? He was sure he hadn’t done anything to mess with her. Maybe she caught wind of his troublesome ways and thought he was a bad influence? No, something inside the shapeshifter knew that it was something much deeper than that.

And he knew one person who had the answers to his questions.

He was somber, gazing on the ground as Casita opened its doors for him. As he trudged to the direction of his big sister’s, a little soft ‘hm’ interrupted him from his thoughts.

He looked up to see Dolores, with those wide round eyes staring at him and she played with her fingers whilst pursing her lips.

“I know something you don’t..” Dolores had covered her lips, shaking her head. No, no, that wasn’t your story to tell, she scolds herself. “I know something you would never know.” She had continued before slapping a hand on her mouth again.

Camilo bit his lower lip, making his way over to the balcony and looking towards the direction of the rest of Encanto and you were. He had also wanted to know but he wanted to hear it from you. Or at the very least, know how you were after that ordeal.

“She’s okay.” Dolores’ soft voice had brought him out of her thoughts and she looked down. “You know, sometimes the gift I was given doesn't seem like a gift at all.” The young woman murmured as she joined her brother on the veranda, leaning against it. “You hear some things you wish you can’t. You know things you should never know. I don’t want to say anything for her sake.” She smiled down at her brother.

The girl sucked in a breath and Camilo knew she was trying her hardest not to tell him and he smiled, grateful but also in a comforting way as he patted Dolores’ back.

“Just.. When you finally know why, be there for her, hermano. Be by her side.”

Camilo gazed at his big sister before slowly nodding. “I will, hermana. I will.”

It would be a while before he returned to his room, laying in bed as he stared at the ceiling, curiosity eating him up as well as the desire to check on you but he had to restrain himself. Until he could no longer just lay there.

He grabbed his ruana in a flash, grabbing a lantern to light his journey to you. Though at his preparation, he failed to hear the soft ‘clinking’ of rocks against his window.

Camilo breathed in before opening the window and instead of being greeted with the cold breeze of the night, he was instead hit with a particularly large pebble. Startled and slightly pained, the boy held onto his nose with a groan.

What the..

“I.. um.. oops?” A voice had squeaked out from outside his window and his eyes widened, immediately running over to see you with an apologetic smile and rocks and pebbles of different sizes in your arms. You were wearing a thick shawl, a little lantern in your hand and some mangoes from before as a.. ‘sorry’ gift of some sorts.

“Agh, there are small pebbles there, princesa, couldn’t you have just stuck to one size?” Camilo had whined quietly, rubbing at his now red nose. You would only laugh nervously, dropping the assortment of pebbles and rocks.

“I didn’t know which one to pick.” Dios, you were lucky you were adorable.

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he had gently tugged down one of the winding vines that Isabela had created around the house and with Casita’s help, you had entered his room. Immediately, you ran up to him, enveloping him into a hug.

“I missed you, Camilo.” His eyes softened as he held you close. “I missed you too princesa.”

Slowly you pull away and you purse your lips. Cheeks heating up at what you had just done and you shake your head. Now was not the time for that. You were sure Camilo was still reeling over the events before. And you dreaded telling him just why your mamá reacted that way but something told you that he would understand somehow.

You took a deep breath. “I have.. something to tell you.” The shapeshifter’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, princesa? You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.” And you would nod. He deserved to know what had happened after that run-in with your mother.

Where would you even start? Taking in another deep breath and closing your eyes, you felt Camilo’s hand hold yours as if telling you without words that he was there. He would listen.

“My mamá and I came from a village far, far away from Encanto.” You murmured. “She was married, married to this.. awful man that was my father.” Your voice wavered. “Father was a businessman, a noble of sorts if you will, and she was betrothed to him at a young age. I heard people say that they were happy, the perfect couple.. and when I was a child, I thought so too.”

Suddenly everything had made sense for Camilo. Your elegance, the blatant lack of knowledge or wisdom of even the simplest thing such as picking out fruits, and as well as your not so simple outfits. You were once in a higher place in society. Loveless marriage in nobility was more common than one may think and yet your mamá tried to love your father as best as she could.

Camilo looked at you, nodding a little and offering you a reassuring smile. He was listening.

“Until the beatings started.” You whisper, voice trembling as you try not to break down in front of the Madrigal boy whose expression had been appalled. “At first it was just scolding, y’know? Father would get mad, he would yell and shout.. and then it snowballed into harsh squeezes, pinches, and my mamá, my poor mamá thought that it was nothing. Couples fight all the time, she said.”

You were always so careful as to not anger your father. Your mother, when you would manage to mess up, would always take the blame in order for your father to spare you but she couldn’t hold him off for long.

The squeezes and pinches turned into full hits and slaps. You mamá wore nothing but long sleeved tops and skirts that reached down to her shoes. Her face was always caked on with powder and covered with a silk fabric to hide the bruises your father inflicted on her. You had bruises as well though not as much as your mamá, it was mostly from pinches or slaps on the back of your headvwhenever you would say something he didn’t like.

You can still remember the day that he got her scar and you grimaced, hugging yourself. Camilo would place an arm around you. He didn’t speak. He wanted you to know that he was there for you and to take your time. “Don’t force yourself, princesa.” And again you would shake your head. You wanted him to know. No more secrets.

“The last straw was when he lashed out on me.” Your voice shook. “He was drunk, he was angry and I dropped something. I was clumsy. I didn’t mean to. I don’t even remember what I dropped.. but my father, he was so angry was going to.. he had a navaja in his hand, he was out of control. There was glass breaking and mamá, all I saw was mamá on the ground and blood on the floor.”

Camilo shut his eyes tightly, already knowing what became the outcome of the incident. The scar that ran through your mamá’s face.. was caused by your father.

“And that was it. After that we had snuck off in the dead of night. We didn’t know where we were going but we heard whispers. Somewhere safe, in the mountains where no one could find us.. there was a cart bound for Encanto and now here we are..” You swallow thickly as you finish your story, chest heaving up and down and tears threatening to roll down your eyes.

“I’m sorry, about my mamá, she wasn’t like that before.. She was gentle, kind, and always so helpful but..” Camilo slowly shook his head. You didn’t need to explain anything more but you continued.

“She’s just.. afraid, afraid that I would end up being a fool in love with a man like my father. Afraid that I’m going to get myself hurt.” You admit. “Not that I ever thought you would hurt me.” You quickly added. “I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for someone unkind, promised myself I would find someone who wouldn’t hurt me and would always treat me right.. and I think I fulfilled that promise.” You glanced at him before looking away quickly, your cheeks turning warm.

And Camilo was taken aback, his heart hammering against his chest as he quickly whipped his head towards your direction, eyes wide and heat creeping up to his cheeks. He had honestly looked dumb, gaping at you like a fish.

“I.. you..” He stammers out. Was he hearing right? Did you just..?

“You heard right!” Dolores’ voice had quipped from inside the room next door. “.. Sorry!” She calls out her apology for ruining the moment.

And as you two had sat in silence, cheeks burning hotter than any sunny day that Pepa had made, he held your hand in his.

“I think you fulfilled that promise too.” Camilo says bashfully before clearing his throat. “I want to prove myself to you and your mamá first though. I want to do this right. I want to earn both you and your mamá’s trust. And to prove to you that I will never ever hurt you.” Your eyes would widen at his declaration before he gently made you look at him.

“If I should ever raise my hand at you, it is only to caress your face in my hands. If I should ever shout, it is only to let the world know how much I love you.. know that I will never hurt you. Te prometo esto. This is the promise that I will fulfill to you, mi princesa, mi amor.”

Your father is a dick, Camilo would jump him with the Madrigal Family if he ever showed up.

Also Camilo being the absolute king he is. I hope you guys liked this one. Though as always I would love to hear your thoughts!

taglist: @writing-shroom @ilorichi

time passing through w armin :)) 

cw: mutual pining, angst, childhood friends to “strangers” to friends, always a little in love, basically…. it’s sad but it ends on a very hopeful note

best friend armin and you who are about to go off to college and leave the small town you grew up in. grasping at everything you can in the summer time, trying to salvage the friendship slipping away from you both. knowing that if you don’t stay friends he will be someone that haunts you forever, and you him. 

the common knowledge that you’re moving away from each other, that you won’t be able to see each other. the slow ticking of the clock as your days together run out. and you’re both desperately trying to keep the topic light, to avoid the conversation because you know once it comes, there will be nothing left to say. 

Keep reading

Suna loml

JUJUTSU KAISEN CHARACTERS AS FOREIGN / IMMIGRANT DAD TROPES

feat. itadori, megumi, gojou, nanami, getou, sukuna

warnings: none, itadori & megumi are obviously fathers with kids in this so they’re both grown

lil side note: this is dead just for me to check if my tags are working soo... yeah enjoy LMAO

YUUJI ITADORI -> brings his kid freshly cut fruit on a plate after they’ve been studying in their room for a while

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO -> spells out the letters of his name using other words when he’s asked on the phone (etc. “m like marry, e like egg”)

SATORU GOJOU -> tells stories about how he managed to be at the top of his class while fighting grizzly bears to get to school everyday

NANAMI KENTO -> swears up and down that there will be no type of pet in his household, but two weeks after getting one he’s in love

SUGURU GETOU -> remembers his daughter telling him that she liked something once, so he continued to buy it for her in excess

RYOMEN SUKUNA -> doesn’t explicitly say “i’m sorry,” but instead comes into his kid’s room and tells them to come eat after an argument

akaashi keiji x reader, 2.3k

you and akaashi have both been stood up. fate intervenes.

This is stupid, Akaashi thinks as he watches a couple a few tables away sharing a slice of cake.

There’s a woman in the table beside them with a slice of cake as well, but she’s alone and aggressively stabbing at it with a fork; he had watched her buy it, wondering how long he had been sitting at this cafe since his coffee had long turned ice cold.

It was the third time that Akaashi had checked his phone for a message he knew wouldn’t be there. It was funny how much rationalization the mind could create when the heart wanted to believe a lie. He should have left an hour ago, but he made excuse after excuse as to why his date would have been late— the excuses should have stopped when thirty minutes passed and his phone didn’t beep with that stupid notification jingle.

“Okay.” Akaashi muttered in annoyance. His fingers drummed against the table, each beat gradually becoming more and more annoyed until he finally grew irritated at the sound. He reached for his phone one more time. Hope fizzled out when there was no notification.

Now it was official.

Akaashi Keiji had been stood up.

“What the hell?” Akaashi asked no one in particular as he leaned back in his chair. He should have known better than to accept Bokuto’s matchmaking tendencies when he begged him to go on this blind date.

Though he tried to convince himself that this didn’t happen, and that he didn’t even care, his lips tugged downward, tugging itself into an upset pout. He let out a deep sigh, hoping that no one else had noticed that he had been stood up.

With another quick glance around his shoulder towards the front door, he mentally noted that the woman sitting alone with the cake had been here as long as he had been. He gets up to leave but when he walks past your table he hears the same aggressive sound of a fork hitting the plate.

He doesn’t know what takes over him, always being the type to mind his business, but he clears his throat to grab your attention before asking, “Are you ok?”

The stranger looks up, your eyes glassy with a hint of sadness. “Oh.” you say as you’re pulled out of a daze. You look down at the destroyed food on the plate before you, “Oh damn.”

Maybe Akaashi hadn’t been the only person waiting for someone.

You quickly brush the crumbs off of your clothes, straightening yourself. Akaashi watches your cheeks flush with a light pink as you bow your head slightly.

“Are you okay?” Akaashi repeats his question.

You press your lips together into a thin smile as you shake your head. Your voice holds a hint of nervousness when you reply, “I guess this is as good as I can be. Being stood up sucks.”

Akaashi blinked a few times before he let out a soft laugh. Incredible. The world worked in mysterious ways.

“I know what you mean,” Akaashi says, “I got stood up too.”

“What? Mr. Tall, Handsome and Mysterious? You got stood up?”

Akaashi shrugs, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while so I’m rusty at this whole thing.” As his eyes gently gaze over at you, taking you in, he thinks to himself, she’s pretty. Then the realization dawns on him: “You think I’m handsome?”

Your face flushed with cute embarrassment as you looked down at the table. Akaashi can’t help the fond smile spreading across his face.

“Are you fishing for a compliment?” you groan, pouting.

“You said it first.” he teases.

This is a welcome diversion from his original plan for the night, he thinks. Yeah, getting stood up sucks, but he can’t deny the fact that his ego needed that boost after it plummeted to rock bottom from being stood up. Especially when it came from you.

He takes the seat in front of you. “Looks like we’re both members of the Lonely Hearts Club, huh?” he comments.

“If we’re going to be part of a club, we should at least pick a cooler name.”

Akaashi laughs, “Okay, you pick our new name.”

“You’re the one who started it, you name it.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, gently bumping his knuckles with yours. “We’re the founding members. We need to come up with the name together.”

“How can I be a founding member if I don’t even know your name?”

“It’s Keiji.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Akaashi smiles at you, which you happily return. While Akaashi initially wanted to go home and just drown in feelings of self pity for the night, he has a better idea.

He recognises the dejected look in your eyes because it mirrors the exact same way he feels on the inside. Akaashi doesn’t even know a single fact about you except your name and the fact that you’re supposedly single, but he feels the need to wipe any feelings of sadness from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he meets your eyes, “Are you busy right now?”

.

.

.

They end up at a bowling alley a few blocks away from the cafe.

“How are you so bad at this?” Akaashi calls out once again, your bowling ball rolling right into the gutter for the third time tonight. He lets out a fit of giggles at the expression on your face. “How many gutters is that now?”

If he’s being honest, Akaashi is horrible at bowling. The only thing that’s carrying him through this game is his previous experiences from the bowling nights Bokuto and Kuroo insist on taking him on to ‘solidify their friendship’. As if he could ever escape them.

“I’ve never gone bowling before!” you huff, scowling as you over him. You playfully bump his shoulder with yours. “You go bowl then. Get a strike.”

“And if I get a strike?”

“If you get a strike, I’ll buy you something to eat. If you don’t get a strike, you buy me something to eat,” you bet, folding your arms over your chest. In the slice of neon lighting from the ceiling, you look at Akaashi with pure challenge in your eyes. “Oh, suddenly Mr Pro-Bowler is all quiet?”

“You hush,” Akaashi points at you, “I’ll get a strike so I can shut your pretty mouth up.”

Akaashi strides past you, picking up a yellow bowling ball and taking his position on the platform. Carefully, he lifted the ball in his hand — once, twice, three times before he took four strides and rolled the bowl. Without even looking around, he felt cool as fuck. Kuroo had made enough snarky comments in the past that his form was now undeniably perfect.

Slowly, he looked up to see the bowling ball rolling down the lane. As it drew near, Akaashi donned a proud smirk — that was until the ball veered right and kept going right until it went into the gutter.

From behind him, he could hear you jump up and whoop in excitement. Akaashi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Shut up and pick whatever food you want, Y/N.”

“Oh my god,” you mocked, “how are you so bad at this?”

Akaashi walked over to you and poked at your sides. “Shut up.” he warns in between pokes. You were ticklish — he figured it out quickly when you burst into a fit of giggles, clutching at your sides as you tried to grab his hands and make him stop. When Akaashi finally stopped, he nods, “Come on. I owe you food, a bet is a bet.”

“A man of his word,” you grin, “how refreshing.”

.

.

.

“Wait, your best friend was the one who set you up on this blind date?” you asked, walking alongside Akaashi. You were holding a fresh ice cream cone, courtesy of him and Akaashi had to look away every time you licked at the ice cream dripping down the sides. Akaashi was nice, and polite, and respectful but he was still a man.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Akaashi replies, licking his own cone. “I should’ve known better than to agree. I guess for once, I just wanted to step outside of my comfort zone. Look where that landed me, huh.”

“You know,” you perk up, “I saw this documentary once where this girl got stood up by a guy on a date. She was devastated but turns out he was a serial killer and she was about to become his next victim. Maybe it was for the best.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow at you, “You think my friend set me up with a serial killer?”

“You never know!”

“In that case,” Akaashi gasps in faux surprise, “Maybe we both just got luck and narrowly avoided becoming victims!”

“Or maybe you’re the murderer!” you point accusingly. “What kind of guy is this hot with an amazing personality I like, and isn’t a psychopath? Plus you’re eating mint-chocolate out of all the flavours. Very suspicious.”

“I’m a murderer because I like mint chocolate?” Akaashi laughs before pointing at you. “Maybe you’re the murderer. It would make sense. People as beautiful as you are rarely as funny or annoying as you are.”

“I am not annoying.”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi smirks. “I think I need to get to know you a little bit better before I make my final judgement.”

You hum. “Maybe you do.”

.

.

.

“For the record,” Akaashi says as he walks you to the front door of your apartment building, “most people don’t allow strangers they just met to drop them off at the house.”

You stop and turn to look at him and shrug. You struggle to locate your keys in your bag that Akaashi offers to hold your jacket. “For the record, I don’t usually go out with strangers after being stood up.”. You smile up at him, shadows cast against your face under the dim lighting of the entrance. “Thanks for making my shitty night actually really fun.”

“Yeah. Thanks for saying yes and being really cool about it.” Akaashi smiles back.

An awkward silence falls between you two.

Normally, this would be the social cue for Akaashi to say some cheesy line and maybe lean in for a kiss but he literally just met you and this wasn’t exactly a date. It was just an introduction… he hoped.

“Um so,” Akaashi breaks the silence as he hands you back your jacket. When it comes to asking for someone’s number, it usually comes before hanging out with them— this is new territory for him. He clears his throat before asking, “Do you think I could get your number? You know… just in case you get stood up again and need someone to hang out with.”

You smile as you reply, “I don’t know, this guy I have a crush on now doesn’t seem like the type of person who would stand me up.”

“Oh yeah?” Akaashi feels his heart picking up its pace as he watches you smile coyly. “The guy you have a crush on, huh? I hope he’s not a murderer.”

“I hope so too,” you grin, “since he knows where I live and all now.”

“Yeah, I hope he’s not weird.”

“I don’t know, I’m hoping he calls before anything. Especially since he already has my number.” you said as you turn around and hum a tune, punching in the code to the front door.

Akaashin blinks a few times. Had you given him your number already? He couldn’t remember. Akaashi was sure he would have remembered if you gave him your number.

“Check your coat pocket!” you call out from the door. “Text me later! I want to know if you got home safely. I’m not running the Lonely Hearts Club alone!”

Akaashi puts his hands in his pocket as you close the door and start walking away. He pulls out a strip of tokens he had gotten from the bowling alley earlier when he had unsuccessfully tried to win you a small plushie.

“How cute.” Akaashi says, shaking his head at himself.

.

.

.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto calls out from the sofa as soon as he steps through the door. “What the hell? You stood up my friend?”

Akaashi looks up from taking off his shoes, whipping his head around to look at Bokuto. “What?”

“She texted me an hour ago, saying she waited for so long in the cafe until she just gave up and left!” Bokuto bounds to where Akaashi is, looking like a kicked puppy. “I gushed about you so much, and now she probably thinks I pulled a fast one on her.”

“I waited for so long in the cafe! I even got there half an hour early.” Akaashi exclaims in disbelief.

Bokuto’s brows furrow in confusion. “You were? But she was there for at least two hours. I sent her a photo of you, and she even sat on the ground floor so she could look for you.”

“But I was—”

Did Bokuto say ground floor? The cafe he was in only had one floor to begin with. He lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead.

“What cafe did you say she was waiting at?”

“The Coffee House! You know, that new hipster place in the centre with the records along the front. It was the perfect place for a blind date.”

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says exasperated, “you told me to go to the House of Coffee, the cafe near that bowling alley we always go to.”

Time seems to freeze for a second until Bokuto’s eyes widen in realization. “I-I did?”

Akaashi doesn’t answer, simply patting Bokuto’s shoulder and walking past him to head into his room. Under normal circumstances, Bokuto would be on the receiving end of a lecture about how important small details were.

Not tonight, however. He pulls his phone out from his pocket, quickly dialing your number as he steps into his room. It only takes two rings before you pick up.

“Hey, Y/N. I just made it home.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

in which you unexpectedly reunite with high school sweetheart!touya

cw/tw: pro hero!touya who is messy, touya’s pro hero name is blueflame, drug use mention, alcohol use and mention, reader is a detective/cop, bar fight woo, use of guns, mentions of blood, mention of a grandparents death, angst and a little fluff, not beta read

wc: 4.9k

a/n: this is a follow up to my ua student!touya piece. you can read this without reading that but it’s more fun if you dooooo wink wink.

the number five hero is slightly beefier than he was three years ago; still lean in comparison to the likes of his hulk of a father or his broad shouldered little brother, but the biceps outlined by his tight fitting hero suit are not the same ones you once habitually wrapped your arms around. his old snake bites have been exchanged for a single hoop on the right side of his lip. long gone is the eyebrow piercing you used to hold between your fingers as a threat when his teasing would become a little too obnoxious, and in place are two additional studs on his nose that join the original to form a triangle shape. his snow white hair has been tainted by the tips, now dyed black. you think it looks like he’s been sweeping the soot out of a chimney; you wonder if the same idea has ever crossed his mind. he always did have a tendency to beat you to your own joke.

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[papamin au 🐅] morning sillies ☀️