WARM CONVERSATION (suna X Reader)

WARM CONVERSATION (suna x reader)

cw: breakup heavy, light mentions of reader going through it, angst to fluff i promise!!!! best friend osamu <3 kinda long im sorry, titled from sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift because what else would it be  

You should’ve known he’d come over. Should’ve expected it the moment you sent the text turning down his offer disguised as a reminder. 

A sick part of you almost wants to laugh as you reread the texts on the phone in hand. 

From: Osamu

ur coming with me to atsumu’s stupid thing tonight, right?

To: Osamu

absolutely not 

Not even twenty minutes later (which is impressive, considering Osamu lives at least thirty away from your apartment), an abrasive knock is on your door and you don’t even need to check the peephole to see who waits on the other side. 

The moment you open the door with unimpressed eyes, Osamu is opening his mouth to complain. 

“You’re shitting me, right?” 

Keep reading

This isn’t the first time Iwaizumi’s heard the team talking about you.

“Just seems ta not wanna be here an’ doesn’t even like us…” Miya reflects after practice as Bokuto fervently nods. “Never comes out with us, even ta eat…”

Kageyama grumbles “doesn’t stay late when we’re doing extra practice.”

“Hasn’t shared any social media with us,” Hoshiumi adds.

He thinks about it a lot, what the guys said.

What they’ve been saying.

You’re a different kind of manager than most of them have had and from the outside it would seem like you’re not particularly invested in the job, in the team.

Everything the guys say is true.

You’re not overly enthusiastic, you don’t spend any time with anyone on the team outside of practice, you don’t show up early and don’t stay late, no one’s been able to find you on social media, and no one’s been given your cellphone number. You have a work phone through which they can reach you but it’s not yours.

And then they find out.

“Completely makes sense now…Uncle Hibarida’s the one we hafta thank fer our manager,” Miya complains. “A bit’a nepotism an’ we’re denied a key asset.”

There’s a round of shared sentiments and you’re suddenly even more out-of-the loop than before.

Iwaizumi hates that he’s starting to feel the same way. “I just…I’m trying to understand the hiring decision…” he offers after asking Hibarida about you and why you’re so…apathetic.

The coach measures Iwaizumi with a look but he doesn’t offer an explanation; he just pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder and walks away. Without a satisfying explanation, or any explanation at all, Iwaizumi wonders if you’re going to make it as their manager.

   Suna’s off his game.

He knows it and he’s doing everything he can but it’s not working. No matter how much extra time he puts in on the court or in the weight room he just can’t get out of this slump and he’s internally panicking that he’s going to get benched.

When practice gets out he feels lost. Everyone’s got a place to be and he lingers in the locker room, dragging his feet to go home wondering if he should stay and keep trying.

“Suna?”

He’s surprised that you of all people call him out of the locker room. “Yeah?”

You search his expression for a long moment and deeply inhale, like you’re hyping yourself up to face a big obstacle. “Come on.”

“Huh?” His expression scrunches up. “Where?”

“Conbini.” You’re almost frowning.

“Ookaay…” Suna awkwardly tags along curious and confused as to what’s happening. You don’t try to make any small talk along the way and when you lead him to the candy section you just stop and point to the “chuupets?”

You nod inscrutably. “They’re your favorite, right?”

His narrow eyes flick to you, taken aback. “Yeah…so?”

“So,” you sternly reply, “pick some out. My treat.”

“But…why?” His eyes narrow even more at you. “We’re not even allowed to have treats. Iwaizumi’s gonna flip.”

You cross your arms. “If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.” When Suna doesn’t make any move your arms fall back to your sides. “Okay, look…I know we’re not…friends…but I do care. You’ve been having a hard time recently and need a…well…I don’t know,” you admit self-consciously and shift your weight. “I just thought…” You sigh in defeat. “Let’s just forget this…Sorry.”

You step past him to leave-

“Green Apple.”

You freeze.

He tentatively picks up a package, avoiding your gaze.

“When I was little my favorite flavor was green apple…” the plastic crinkles in his hand. “I don’t like it anymore…Hate it, actually…But sometimes I eat it anyway…just to see if I can feel all those good things about being a kid again.”

“What’s your favorite now?” you ask quietly, looking at the assortments with him.

“Pineapple.”

“Then we’ll get both,” you offer without hesitation and take the biggest variety pack, the only one with both flavors and bring it to the counter.

Suna’s still by the candy section when you’re done paying.

“You coming?” you call. Though he gives you a mystified look, he nods and follows.

       Iwaizumi’s on the bus when he sees you and Suna sitting on a bench together. He only has a glimpse as the bus drives by–are those candy wrappers between you?! There’s no doubt candy isn’t allowed on the diet plan but for the first time the two of you are smiling and the next day at practice Suna’s in top form.

He doesn’t bring it up but ever so slightly

something shifts.

    Bokuto’s next.

The owl disappears during practice one day after a hearty round of laughter that wasn’t necessarily directed at him but it was definitely because of him.

“He’s done this since high school,” laments Yaku.

Miya sighs “he’s a sensitive boy.”

From the corner of his eye Iwaizumi sees you slip out of the gym while the others debate sending someone to find him.

“Seriously,” Yaku assures them, “he’ll hide somewhere for a little while and come moping back around.”

“You guys keep practicing. I’ll take a look,” Iwaizumi offers to a round of gratitude. 

He doesn’t have to wander far until he hears your low voice.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah.” Bokuto sounds unnaturally small. Iwaizumi stays out-of-sight, waiting for something else to happen but Bokuto asks “what are you doing?”

“Keeping you company,” you simply reply.

“But…why?”

Iwaizumi imagines–tries to imagine–you shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t like being alone when I’m upset…” You consider something for a long moment. “It’s hard…because usually people want to do something…like they can fix it…When all I really want is to not be alone.”

You’re both quiet for a while before Bokuto softly admits “usually everyone just tells me to cheer up.” You wait quietly as he adds “but it just makes me feel worse…I just want to be sad!” 

“Sometimes people can’t handle seeing someone act in a way that doesn’t fit the person they think they are.”

“Huh?”

Iwaizumi smirks at Bokuto’s confusion but there’s no trace of humor in your response, only patience as you rephrase it. “Everyone sees you as the ball-of-energy Bokuto. And they’re too fragile to understand you get sad, too. You have every right to your feelings Bokuto for however long you need to feel them.”

Iwaizumi’s heart aches when he hears the emotion in Bokuto’s voice. “Thank you.”

    After that it’s Kageyama who’s having trouble with his nails and nail file. Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of you giving him something after practice and the next day Kageyama’s meticulously caring for his nails with a glass-crystal file.

Then Sakusa who states displeasure about the lack of hand sanitation throughout the facility and finds new stations set up a few days later.

Ushijima who stares at his phone for a long time until you sit with him and help write a reply to something.

Finally Kiryu who goes out for a run after practice. Iwaizumi doesn’t think anything of it until you dash out; he follows and gets to the lobby in time to see you speeding off on a bike after Kiryu. On his way home he catches sight of you, the two of you, sitting on the same bench you shared with Suna as you listen intently, patiently to the over-thinker who’s clearly venting. 

It becomes clear that you care for them, just in your own way.

Sure you don’t stay late or arrive early every time one of them does but there are too many monsters to keep up with and if you tried, you’d never leave. So you’re not here extra but when you’re here, you’re here. You’re not the out-going or bubbly manager many of them are used to but you go above-and-beyond for them.

It’s clear you want to be here as much as they do.

So when they have their first press conference of the Olympics and someone from the crowd insults the vertically challenged members of your team?

You have to be contained.

With walls of muscle like Ushijima, Ojiro, and Hyakuzawa, it’s laughably easy for the team to hold you back. It doesn’t stop you from spitting venomous challenges for the coward to show themselves so you can properly insult them back, though,

“Seriously? You think that was bad?” Hoshiumi comments. “Do you even see what people say on twitter?” 

“No, I don’t have one,” you reply. “What do they say?”

In his shock he misses your question. “You don’t have one? What do you have, then? Instagram?”

“No.”

“Tik Tok? Facebook? Discord? Tumblr?” He gags “myspace?”

You laugh “no! I don’t use any social media.” A moment of realization comes over you and you ask “wait…what do to they say about you guys on those sites?”

If there was any doubt left in how you felt about the team, it’s gone after your reaction.

“I was wrong about ya,” Miya admits as the team moves into the dorms for the Olympics and he sees the special attention given to everyone’s needs, put into the specific accommodations for each athlete. “Fer a grumpy little scrub…yer a good manager.”

Iwaizumi sees the small and private but glowing smile as the setter walks away.

In the way you defend them from negativity, intervene when reporters are being unprofessional or fans too intense, and support them from start to finish more than anyone else, you’re their champion.

Their heart and soul.

Helpless

Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): NSFW. Quickie. Anxiety.

Authors Note: Reposted.

You’d always known your soulmate, in a weird sort of way.

The two of you were on opposite sides of the globe, casually doodling patterns across each other's skin while the other slept. It had become painfully clear in childhood that the two of you didn't speak the same language; with the help of your mother, you’d figured out that it was Japanese at least.

Unfortunately, you’d lived in a poor, rural part of america, so finding the money or place to study the language had been something far beyond what your family could do at the time.

No, it wasn’t until you had gotten a sports scholarship to college that you’d managed to slip it into your curriculum. Needless to say, the thought of finally managing a conversation with your other half, after many years of speaking almost exclusively in doodles and broken English, made your heart swell uncomfortably in your chest.

Even better, you finally knew his name. Well, how to say it.

You’d memorized the kanji years ago, despite having no idea what it meant; you’d been a bit overeager to finally hear it spoken aloud and ambushed your professor on the first day of class. He’d been amused when explaining the details to you, and thus, the first thing you’d learned to say in proper Japanese was Kozume Kenma.

Kenma! You’d written it on your wrist, hoping to garner the man's attention since you’d figured out that he was a bit of a night owl; sure enough, a small smiley face appeared beside it to indicate you had his attention.

With the help of your Japanese teacher, you managed to write your phone number on your forearm; the little :O Kenma doodled in response before your phone pinged with a laughing emoji made your heart flutter. Your elderly professor patted your shoulder before heading to the front of the class to begin his lecture, and you added your soulmate to your contacts.

* * *

“Y/N--” His sentence came out a bit too quick for you to effectively translate and you felt a pout forming on your face as you tried to keep up. Seeming to realize the issue at your prolonged silence, you heard Kenma laugh softly before saying, in english:

“It is nice to hear you.” Melting, you murmured your agreement; with that, he went back to speaking in Japanese and you just listened to the sound of his voice, flopping backwards in bed with a beaming smile on your face.

* * *

“Do you work?” You’d gotten better at understanding him over a months worth of classes, but Kenma was kind enough to use English as often as he could. Apparently he’d had mandatory English during school, but he’d been a lazy student, and after years of being out of high school, he’d gotten rusty with what he did know.

“At the University Library, yeah! My housing is covered on my scholarship, though, so it’s primarily for groceries and stuff.” You could hear the sound of gunshots in the background and realized he was playing video games while the two of you talked; with a grin, you shifted the topic to him and found yourself delighted when he went off on a small tangent about the latest feature of his current favorite game.

You’d never really been interested in video games, but anything that got your normally soft-spoken soulmate to ramble automatically got a thumbs up in your book.

* * *

“Come see me.” You choked on your water as you crossed campus; the sound of his sleepy voice making you shiver pleasantly despite nearly coughing up your lungs.

“I can’t afford that.” You’d laughed after a moment, and his husky chuckle had you pausing to lean against the nearest brick wall.

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Thats, like, a thousand dollars minimum, a-and I don’t even have a passport; I couldn’t just--”

“Y/N,” Firmly, he interrupted your polite denial. “I can afford it. Let me do this, please.” Clearing your throat, you promised to think about it before using your next class as an excuse to escape the weird tension that had formed; as you hung up your phone, you willed the butterflies in your stomach to still.

You also started checking your schedule for next quarter and the details of your scholarship in the hopes you could take some time to leave the country; tentatively, you sent him the details on a flight that would work that evening as you settled in to sleep.

* * *

After jumping through about a million different hoops, you managed to get your passport; Kenma bought your ticket for the upcoming winter break, and since you'd never seen snow, your other half insisted he'd take you further north than Tokyo.

"You'll love it." He promised, all eager whispers and quiet laughter. The end of the quarter seemed to drag on, after that, and the closer your flight came the more anxious you got.

What if he didn't like you? Or, worse, found you unattractive? Sure, you guys had sent selfies and done the occasional facetime, but you'd learned the moment you got a cellphone what angles worked best to make you look more appealing and now it was second nature. Was that cat-fishing? Were you cat-fishing your soulmate?

You tried not to overthink it.

* * *

After a miserably long red-eye flight, you landed in Japan.

You weren't entirely positive what half the signs said, but with the help of google and a phone call to Kenma, you managed well enough.

Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke--

You were literally trembling when you made your way towards the exit, scanning the crowd subtly for any sign of your soulmate. One hand gripping your suitcase hard enough you were positive the cheap plastic was seconds from snapping as the other pressed your phone to your ear.

You saw him before he saw you, and the world seemed to move in slow motion.

"Oh no you're gorgeous." You hadn't meant to say it aloud, but watching the confused -- and then surprised -- expression flit across his face before he began searching for you more avidly made you smile a bit.

When his gaze met yours from across the room, you were suddenly way too hot and very much regretting the black hoodie you'd thrown on; his sly little grin as he approached, hanging up the phone call, kept you frozen in place.

"Thank you." He murmured, smiling a bit gentler as it became clear you were too flustered to formulate an appropriate response.

"You're pretty cute, too." The compliment made you let out an undignified squeak before you cleared your throat and tucked your phone into your pocket, debating what kind of greeting would be appropriate. Should you hug? Shake hands? Oh God why was this so awkward?

Making the decision for you, Kenma wrapped his arms around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest with a small, contented sigh. You promptly returned the gesture, clinging to him a bit as your nerves slowly began to settle.

"C'mon, we can grab some takeout on the way home." He yawned and turned to lead the way; you murmured your agreement and followed obediently.

* * *

You kissed him.

To be honest, you didn't mean to, but he was pulling his hair out of that messy bun he'd worn and for some reason he just-- looked so good right then and he was right in front of you. When you pulled away, wide eyed at your own audacity -- what if he was, like, ace or something, and you'd just seriously overstepped? It wasn't like you guys had really talked about such things -- you could have sworn you heard him mumble "thank god" in his native tongue before he tugged you forward into another kiss.

The needy whimper you let out as he rolled you onto your back -- one arm bracing him over you on the couch as the other slid underneath your shirt, fingers ghosting across your heated skin -- was a bit embarrassing, but he just smiled against your lips.

"My pretty little soulmate." Kenma teased, bumping his forehead to yours; you curled your arms around his shoulders as he stared down into your eyes.

"Yours." His golden eyes widened at the soft affirmation, letting out a breathless laugh of surprise.

"Always yours." The promise seemed to cut whatever thread was holding him back; with trembling, hurried hands both of your clothes were discarded blindly. Your kisses became feral -- a clash of teeth and tongue and need -- and he let out a soft hiss when you shifted to mark up his pretty neck.

Honestly, you were pretty sure that your underwear was literally shredded as he sought out your soaking core. He didn't bother prepping you after a quick swipe of his fingers revealed that you were just as eager as he was; as he slowly sank himself into you, he murmured soft praises, one hand coming up to caress your cheek gently.

Kenma kissed you as you began squirming at the stretch, brushing the moisture that had gathered in the corners of your eyes away with slender fingers.

"Beautiful-- so fucking perfect--" He groaned, finally settling all the way inside you; your nails dug into his shoulders when he grinded against your fluttering walls.

"I love you." You mewled and he stiffened in surprise before melting against you, arms looping beneath you to press the two of you impossibly closer as he slowly began thrusting into your heat.

"I love you too, Y/N." His chuckle against your ear -- in addition to the abrupt change in tempo as he began to piston in and out of you, somehow managing to brush against you in just the right way to have sparks dancing over your vision -- was enough to send you over the edge in a matter of minutes.

Kenma cursed softly as your body clamped down on his cock, a quiet whine passing his lips as he chased his own high; when he pulled out and finished on your stomach, the two of you collapsed together in a mess of tangled limbs.

"That… wasn't how I planned on doing this the first time." He admitted, almost shyly, and you laughed.

"Oh, you mean a quickie on the couch?" At your teasing he groaned and rolled off of you, tugging you up with him.

"Let's go shower off so we can do it right." At that, you outright cackled, letting him tug you along to the bathroom with a blush.

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