bartender suna x reader

You’re the one who comes in every Friday.

Approximately at the same time. Eight at night, when the club comes to life and the bar is at its busiest moment. You order the same thing—a lemon water—and you look around the room before leaving an hour after your arrival.

It always feels as if you’re on the quest for someone, your eyes darting around in a manner that is almost suspicious. It would be suspicious for most, he presumes, but Suna can’t find it in himself to care. Not when he has a dozen drunk customers to serve.

He doesn’t care, until the day you sit directly in front of him and ask for his number.

“Hello,” you say, and Suna notices the color of your eyes.

“Hi. Would you like your usual?”

“No,” your response comes quick, “I’d like to talk to you.”

“That’s not exactly in my pay grade.”

“You’ll make it work.”

He doesn’t care enough to argue, so he moves closer to you. It’s here where he notices the small wrinkles on your face—years of laughter and smiles have graced your face with such beautiful marks. He notices the scars on your hands, the birthmarks on your skin, and how your lips lean slightly to the left when you smile. (He’s never cared this much about someone else’s appearance. Maybe it’s just you. Maybe there’s a first time for everything.)

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Straight to the point. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only pure confidence and elegance to your speech.

“No.”

“Would you like a girlfriend?”

“I don’t care much about love.”

That makes you stop. He notices a slight twitch to your eye, and how your fingers tap against the table in deep contemplation.

“Maybe you haven’t been loved right.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re asking too many questions about a bartender you hardly know.”

“I could change that.”

He smiles. Typically, your persuasive attitude would annoy him. But there’s something about you, something so strong and captivating. He is simply a man at sea falling into the tune and tricks of a siren.

“You could. Or you could let me do my job.”

He’s playing hard to get. He knows it and you know it. He’s never been one to beat around the bush, but Suna Rintarou has never been desired and he wants to enjoy the chase.

You smile. He smirks. He has fallen for your tricks.

“You could do your job, or you could tell me what time your shift ends.”

“10 PM.”

Another smile. You’ve got him.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“what’s wrong with you?”

you groan, pressing your head back into the pillow. you’d dragged it into the living room to make yourself a makeshift bed on the couch while you waited for bakugou to get home.

“don’t feel good,” you mumble quietly. your eyes are closed, but you can feel him glaring at you from his spot near the door.

a second passes and you flinch when you feel a rough hand press into your forehead—then both cheeks, your temples, your neck. you’d smile at his doting if you didn’t feel so awful.

“what doesn’t feel good?”

“stomach hurts…my head too. feel really tired.”

“fuckin’ idiot,” he snaps, but there’s no heat to it as he brushes your hair out of your face that’s just a little sweaty, “what’d you stay up for me for then?”

miya osamu is a busy man.

even on days that the shop is closed, there’s always something to do, whether it’s prepping for the next day, or going over inventory. he’s used to rising early and sleeping late.

miya osamu, however, is also a little weak when it comes to you.

so when you’d asked the day before if he wanted to bake bread with you, he’d immediately said yes.

and sure, he has a laundry list of things that need to be done today - a leaky sink that needs to be looked at, a batch of umeboshi he’s supposed to start - but he just couldn’t tell you no. couldn’t even fathom the idea.

did he know anything about baking bread? absolutely not, but how hard could it be, really? it’s bread. if you’d asked him to help you bake and decorate a five tier wedding cake, he would have said yes.

and, no, it’s not because he has a crush on you or anything like stupid tsumu who can’t mind his own business claims. stupid tsumu who keeps calling him things like whipped and a simp. stupid tsumu who has never felt the touch of a woman, he’s sure.

it’s just because he wants to be nice (to you, at least), because you’re his friend.

his friend, whose company he always sought after whether it’s walking around with you at the grocery or just stopping by to help you change a bulb. whose smile makes him weak in the knees and whose simple texts almost always make him blush.

okay, so maybe you’re a good friend.

that’s all.

toji was never the type for birthdays. his excitement dwindled down for each year that swung on by. usually, he’d just buy himself a mini cake or a dozen donuts from krispy kreme as a minor celebration but with you around this time, it seems his plans of another uneventful birthday had gone down the shitter.

since the first day of december, it was the nonstop tormenting of asking what he’d like to do for his birthday, what did he like to eat? did he want any gifts? you were so curious to know but was left with witty responses, simply shrugging off the idea of a plan.

but today was the day. his birthday. waking up this morning, toji expected an empty bedside. you had work and toji demanded various times for you not to take the day off. his eyes are barely open, sighing as he pats all around his bed, searching for his phone in hopes of sending you a good morning text.

however, though it’s never a major occurrence, there are a few things that toji didn’t expect this morning. one: to be burned by a liquid sitting on his vanity that causes him to seethe, “fuck,” he whispers to himself, sitting up from bed rather quickly. two: to see a note in your handwriting, ‘for when you wake up <3 let’s enjoy your day.’ three: a tray filled with breakfast items that were still suspiciously warm.

like you come home to find him lounging in the kitchen with a bag of chips and he shoots you a look, asking “what are you doing here?” and you’re stuck there flabbergasted because the last time you checked, YOU lived here!

or how he has absolutely no regard for your personal space. he’ll plop down next to you on the couch and spend exactly .23 seconds being normal before he’s laying his long ass body down across the length of the couch and shoving his feet all over your face.

somehow the even more infuriating breach of personal space than feet in the face is when he crowds up behind you in the kitchen during another one of your parents family dinners, leaning down — his head almost resting on your shoulder — to reach into the fridge that you’d been scouring. not so much as apologizing as he grabs a bottle of beer and leaves.

or when you’re both hanging out in your brother’s apartment one night in college — YOU’RE house sitting for him as he visits his girlfriend, you don’t know what suna’s excuse is — and you’re on the couch just flipping through tinder. suna pokes his head over your shoulder, encouraging you to swipe left on every guy that you see for various reasons. “too scrubby” “he’s lying about his height” “is that a fish”. until you stumble across his profile — it’s barely even that, just a picture of himself and a short bio + some details. and the two of you sit there silently for a second until you cough and laugh breathily, breaking the ice by telling him what a shitty photo he chose. (you close the app as you tease him, though he doesn’t miss how you don’t swipe.)

cw: use of 'girl' like twice so ig its fem reader. not proofread.

"give me a minute, i'm trying to rememberー"

"alright," nanami adjusts his glasses, eyes leaving the book spread on his lap to instead focus on your figure pacing around the living room as you desperately tried to shake your memory for the right answer to his question.

you stare at the carpet beneath you, eyes furrowed in frustration as you bring your hand to your mouth to nervously bite on the nails of your fingers before you hear a soft 'don't do that' from nanami and immediately hide your hand with a sheepish apology leaving you.

you can't remember the answer. face heating up from embarrassment you stop your walking and slowly turn to face nanami, eyes catching the way his head tilts to one side in interest(that was so cuteー), the room quiet as he waits for you to say something.

"you don't remember, do you?"

you groan in annoyance, rubbing your face with your palms roughly as you stomp your way back to the couch. removing the book from his lap you let yourself fall by his side, head not so gently hitting his stomach with a soft 'oof-' coming from him in response.

"sorry, kentoー"

"it's fine."

you feel one of his hands on your back, slowly rubbing soothing circles on the surface as his other hand finds a purpose in your hair, waving through it with gentle movements. the quietness of the living room along with the calming march of kento's steady breathing makes you want to fall asleep right there and now, but you just have so much to learn and go over... too much.

"you should get a little bit of rest, beloved," nanami mutters softly as if reading your mind, and you want to give into the temptation so bad yet the fear of failure makes you feel dizzy and anxious, further pushing back the thoughts of any rest.

you sit up, rubbing your eyes like a child, mumbling about how you still have tons of things to do, before kento pulls your fists away, clicking his tongue about how you are too harsh on yourself as he soothes the area around your eyes with his thumbs and you melt.

"i want you to sleep with me." he whispers, eyes locked with yours, distracting from the warmth that fills your chest at the worry waving through his features.

"but, 'namiー"

"no." he shushes you simply. standing up from the couch, he puts the book on the coffee table and then tugs you to follow him.

the bed feels softer than usual, always warmer with nanami wrapped around you. your body is slowly shutting down for the day but your brain still thinks with an unstoppable force pushing your thoughts further into a mess.

"i justー i don't want to fail, y'know?"

"i know you don't, darling," he presses his lips to your forehead, then to you cheek, pecking the skin couple of times before he gazes at you once again. "you won't fail, i'm sure. you are my smart girl."

you nod slowly, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling the way he presses you further onto himself.

"i won't fail, kento."

"good girl."