something about the sunshine

He’s strict, love his routine, keeps to himself.

Until you came around.

Now he’s wrapped so tightly around your finger it’s almost embarrassing. So far gone he genuinely thinks he’d do anything you asked of him as long as you batted your pretty little lashes at him.

He finds himself crawling into bed a little later these days, after you beg him to stay up with you. All you have to do is give him a little pout and a soft, “Please Haji?” and he’s already deciding maybe 8 is too early anyways.

His food options even branch out, strays away from boring meal preps because the way you politely smiled through his plain chicken and rice once stuck with him. He went shopping that same night.

Now you two cook dinner together after work, bright smiles and laughter filling his once silent kitchen.

He smiles more, over the stupidest little things. Everything somehow leads back to you. A passing scent, a shop window, a fleeting thought, and there you are again, smiling so brightly in his memory he can’t help but smile himself.

Toru teases him about it one night over facetime, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a loverboy,” he snickers. “Welcome to the club, Iwa-chan.”

The word stands out to him. Rings in his head for days.

Loverboy.

Hajime never saw himself that way. Never really cared to.

But with you..

He finds himself softening piece by piece, bending his routines, reshaping his days, to create a life that has you in every piece of it.

Maybe he is a loverboy after all… just for you.

————————————————————————

A/N: loverboy Iwa is so canon to me, that man’s got his hands on you every chance he has but he’s so subtle and cool about it.

“Working again?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and it led to a small bump at the edge of the heart you made on the current coffee order, which you saved by making it into an arrow shooting through it. Glancing over your shoulder, you confirmed what you already knew. Sawamura Daichi was there for his morning coffee.

“I should say the same to you, officer,” you answered cheerily. Handing the finished cappuccino to the new worker, you asked them to deliver it for you. He complimented the design, and you laughed it off as a creative flurry.

Taking a deep breath for effect, you dusted off your apron before looking up at the police officer with a bright smile.

“Another long day ahead of you, I presume?” you asked him, crossing your fingers under the counter that no more customers would get in line behind him before he had to leave again.

He sighed, but the smile stayed on his face even as he rolled his shoulders. “You know it. Are the Christmas specials in yet?”

Kyotani never had anyone cheer him on for a game since he joined the Sendai Frogs. Tsukishima’s friends and brother would be there every other game, despite his ungrateful attitude, and Koganegawa had a lot of family and friends come see him, so he pretty much always had someone. Meanwhile, Kyotani would just busy himself with warming up and keep his eyes on the floor or the net, brushing off any comfort his teammates might try to provide.

You and Kyotani had not been dating for very long. It had grown from something shy to something sweet, but you were both new to the whole open affection thing and preferred dates in the safety of your homes. It’s not that you didn’t go out at all, you’d been to the cinema just the other day, and that morning you’d grabbed a coffee together before he had to go to work.

Still, he never asked you to go to his games. Just the thought of asking for it made him grumble in fluster, worried it was too much to ask for or somehow a weird thing to want.

Who openly admits they want someone to cheer for them, and them only?

You were none the wiser of his mental struggles and decided to surprise him by showing up to his game.

Kyotani warmed up as usual, but there was this odd feeling like he was being watched. It shouldn’t be odd, he was in the middle of a volleyball court and they were about to start, lots of people could be looking at him, but this was different. His heart was beating faster, and he slowly turned around, eyes searching the stands.

And he found you almost immediately.

Because he didn’t know you were coming and couldn’t give you his jersey, you wore a frog-themed bucket hat. The neon green kind with eyes sticking out at the top. Their merch could be quite expensive, so you made your own sign with his name on it and lots of doodles around it, making it stand out. With a happy but unsure smile, you gave him a subtle wave, thinking that he might not want to make a big deal of it.

Kyotani took a long, deep breath and slowly let it out, before the biggest smile you’d seen on him yet took over his face. He held up his arm, knitting his fist and giving you a signal that he’d fight bravely.

You returned the gesture with a giggle that melted into the loud cheers from the rest of the crowd, but Kyotani knew the sound well enough that his mind provided the vocals.

Kyotani hadn’t played this hard in a long time. The commentators couldn’t keep his name out of their mouths, and all the cameras kept panning to him. Everyone questioned what got him so fired up until the whistle blew for their break. As if on command, Kyotani sprinted right in your direction, jumping over the divider and jogging up the stairs to your row. He had an urge to hug you, but stopped himself at the last second and ended up just staring at you and trying to catch his breath.

With a gleeful chuckle, you opened your arms, urging him to lean down and capture you in a sweaty hug. Koganegawa was making some loud comment somewhere in the distance, but Kyotani couldn’t care less, even knowing the cameras might have caught the vulnerable moment. He was just so happy to see you were there for him.

After indulging in the hug for as long as he could allow himself, but not nearly long enough, he stood back up with flushed cheeks and rubbed the top of your hat. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You pushed his hand away playfully and lifted the hat back up so you could look at him, stars in your eyes. “Me too.”

masterlist

requested by @knoxing-around for don't forget me<3

“Do you think if I lived inside your skin I’d be able to move your arms and legs?”

“I wish you’d stop saying things, sometimes.”

Despite his sigh of exhaustion, Kiyoomi smirks at your words, his sleepy eyes closed with his lashes on his cheeks. He’s minutes away from falling asleep in your arms, his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat, but you’re feeling a little too playful for your own good.

You move a hand to gently cradle the back of his head, fingers gently playing with the rings of his curls, “I’m just saying; I’m always saying how I want to live inside your skin. I’m just figuring out logistics.”

“Do I get to move them when I want to?” He asks.

You ponder for a moment, then hum, “you can, but I feel like you’d trust my judgement enough to let me move you, and you’d never have to move again.”

“No, because then, I’d never go anywhere,” he snickers. “You’d keep me in bed with you all day, and as delightful as that sounds, it’s not sustainable.”

You go quiet, and when he pops an eye open to look at you, you’re pouting. True, genuine pouting, and he clicks his tongue and angles his head to look at you, chin resting on your sternum. "angel. Come on."

You huff and reach over for your phone, seemingly now done with the conversation, "whatever."

"You're going to look me in the eyes and tell me you'd let me get up and go to work and not keep us contained to the bed forever? Since when?"

"It doesn't matter," you grumble. "Just say you hate me and move on."

That does it. Immediately, Kiyoomi pounces up on his hands and knees, hovering over you. You gasp at his sudden burst of energy, barely fighting him as he takes the phone from your hands and moves it to the side. His hair shags around his face, almost like a halo, and you fight the urge to hook the ringlets behind his ear. "First of all- first of all:" he puckers his lips out dramatically for a kiss, which you do give him, "I love you a filthy, disgusting, but not embarrassing amount because I could never be embarrassed by being in love with you." That has you smiling. "Secondly," he reaches to hold your hands, "look me in the eyes and say 'I, as a future Sakusa, swear that if I lived in my husband's skin, I would not keep him in bed all the time.' And then I'll believe you."

You giggle softly at his silliness, but ultimately don't say anything. No answer is his answer. He chuckles, "that's what I thought."

"That's not fair!" You giggle. "You're telling me if you lived in my skin, you wouldn't stay in bed forever?"

"Of course I would, but I'm not supposed to tell you that."

You laugh and angle your head up to kiss him, gently resting your head on your bundle of fingers, "at least we're on the same page."

blanket hog, kuroo tetsuro

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  kuroo tetsuro is a blanket hog, plain and simple.

➼ pairing! timeskip!kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

➼ warnings! none, this is pure fluff

➼ word count! 1.1k

➼ author’s note! erhm, hello! found this half-written piece i wrote last summer and finished it up. enjoy :p

"Tetsu," You hum out softly, pointer finger jabbing into the meat of said man's arm for the umpteenth time. As expected, Kuroo doesn't so much as move a muscle. Huffing quietly, you lean back onto your calves, knees digging further into your side of the mattress that you share with the insufferable man who currently lies with his back towards you. Eyes moving past him to get a glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table, you realize that after having completed your night routine and spending a good ten minutes attempting to wake up your boyfriend, a new day has begun, and god, are you tired. So despite knowing it's most likely futile, you give one last call of your boyfriend's name. He remains asleep, or what you personally believe to be a pretense of sleep. And normally, you'd simply leave him to his own devices. But there was one issue.

He's hogging the entire comforter. And the room is freezing.

you notice it when he’s reaching for his drink — arms outstretched, shirt discarded somewhere in the sand.

“wait,” you say, sitting up on your towel. “what is that.”

kuroo looks down at himself, then blinks. there, just under his ribs, is a soft pale shape. the rest of his skin’s gone golden from the sun, but right in the middle—oval, ridged edges, unmistakably seashell-shaped—is a perfect little mark.

he snorts. “oh. huh.”

“you fell asleep with a seashell on your stomach?”

“apparently.” he grabs his glass and takes a sip of the vanilla and peach mojito you’d ordered earlier, half-melted ice clinking gently against the rim. “could’ve been worse. could’ve been a crab.”

you laugh, flopping back down. “you’re going to be walking around with that thing for a week.”

“good.” he shifts closer, leans over you on one elbow. “means i’ve got you with me even when you’re not around.”

you squint up at him. “because of a tan line?”

he shrugs, grinning. “symbolism, baby.”

you shake your head, but your smile gives you away. he leans down, presses a kiss just beside your cheek, his skin still warm from the sun.

“besides,” he adds, voice lower, “you’re the one who gave me the drink, set up the umbrella, and picked the playlist. you're the reason i was knocked out cold under the sound of the waves. it was a good nap.”

you hum. “still ridiculous.”

“romantic,” he corrects. “ridiculously romantic.”

the wind shifts. the sun keeps burning steady above you both. and somewhere in the sand is a little shell that’s officially made its mark.

the final whistle has barely echoed through the gym when his eyes find you in the stands—already standing, already smiling, like you’ve been waiting for this moment just as long as he has. the crowd is loud, people moving everywhere, teammates clapping him on his back, but none of it registers because you’re the only thing he’s moving towards.

your face lights up when you see him heading your way, and you start weaving through the edge of the court. he meets you halfway, and before he can say anything—before he can think of anything worth saying—you throw your arms around his neck.

he grunts softly as he catches you, big hands steadying your waist like you’re the most natural thing he’s ever held. you hug him tight, nose buried in the damp crook of his neck, all sunshine and love and joy that you know he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

“you were so good,” you whisper, pulling back just enough so you can look him in the eye. “like, stupidly good. i was yelling so much i think my throat gave up on me.”

ushijima blinks, dazed from the affection, but there’s something warm flickering behind his eyes.

“you yell even when i’m bad,” he says.

“that’s because i love you either way,” you reply without missing a beat, and press your mouth to his like it’s instinct, like it’s something you’ve wanted to do since his first serve of the match. it’s a little clumsy, but it makes his hands grip your waist just a little tighter.

when you finally pull away, noses bumping, he blinks again: flushed and terribly in love. the faintest curve tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“i thought you didn’t like to be so… public,” he says, voice low.

“i don’t,” you say, pecking his lips again, “but i’ll make an exception for you.”

ushijima kisses you again, and thinks, you’re mine. you’re my exception, too.