#suna dye my hair pink again

[chimielie]

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

+

part two here

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna angst #suna fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #hq x reader angst #hq x reader fluff

[baby-bear10]

Fun things from my Haikyuu 2020 Lockdown fic "Destination Permanent Vacation" that just make sense: (warning, spoilers ahead)

1) Oikawa and Hinata gossiping about Iwaizumi and Kageyama in Spanish incase someone overhears them (Hinata learnt Spanish and Portuguese)

2) That one scene where Sakuatsu shower together for convenience but then it happens again once they start dating and Sakusa doesn't try and stand on the opposite side of the shower because the whole point of a shower is to clean so he doesn't have to worry about germs and Atsumu loves it because Sakusa helps him with his lotions and covers his eyes for him when he gets the shampoo out and basically it's like one of the few occasions that Sakusa actually shows affection for his boyfriend.

3) The star patterned canopy over Iwaoi's four poster bed to calm Oikawa down so he doesn't get nightmares (there's leds in it as well so it twinkles)

4) Suga and Yaku dad-dancing in the kitchen to 80s music

5) Them also acting like ott European mum stereotypes. "food! he needs food!" "do you need money?" "go outside! get sunlight!" "i baked this just for you!" "come, help me bake!" "how are you, my child!" "my mother's recipe!" (i have a European mum btw) *walks around the house eating tomatoes with salt* "do you want prunes?" "my mum used to make-"

6) Oikawa and Kenma becoming besties because Oikawa's jet lagged and Kenma's nocturnal and their platonic love language is roasting the shit out of each other and calling each other out on cap

7) All of the pro players practise together and Iwaizumi is brutal with training but afterwards he pampers the heck out of Oikawa and lets him stop for a break as soon as his knee starts hurting

8) Daisuga are cringey domestic parents I do not take criticism

9) Suga does online zoom lessons so Daichi builds him a work zone in their room

10) The entire pretty setter squad refer to Iwaizumi's exgirlfriend as a puta

11) When Iwaizumi dumps her for being toxic, Makki and Mattsun get out a Bluetooth speaker and a phone and play Toxic by Britney Spears and it's so funny that Iwa aint even mad tho

12) Iwa follows it up by calling the ex a puta

13) Iwa trauma-proofed the room that he shares with Kawa.

14) Iwa kisses the homies Oikawa goodnight

15) Terushima feels lonely because people only ever want to date him for his looks

16) Kyoutani struggles with social cues

17) Yaku calls Oikawa 'Mr Whinypants' until chapter 12 when he finds out about Oikawa's past and feels bad for him and starts being nicer

18) Because of Oikawa's past, he's selectively mute and really struggles to talk after an attack. Being mute really annoys him so he usually cuddles up to someone he deems safe until he feels better.

19) Because of how long Oikawa spent in Argentina, he struggles more with Japanese than Spanish when he gets his ability to speak back.

20) Iwaizumi makes Little Mermaid references to cheer Oikawa up when he's struggling with his mutism

21) Suga catches on and sings under the sea but it sounds like... well we've seen the internet.

23) Lev calls Yaku lyubimyy which is a Russian term of endearment that means turtledove and it annoys Yaku to no end until they clear up what happened in Moscow

24) All of the bilingual people call Kenma kitten because they don't think he'll know but he catches on and claims he hates it but actually he loves it

25) Kenma's afab genderfluid

26) Kenma has an iron deficiency and the team parents baby the heck out of him over it

arts27) Kuroo and Kenma have the biggest room so they can both have computer set-ups in there.

28) Sometimes, if Kenma's sleeping during the day, Kuroo will work on his laptop instead of a computer so he can stay next to him because Kenma likes holding Kuroo's hand in his sleep.

29) Hinata and Kageyama sleep with a pillow wall but they always manage to wake up curled together anyway

30) Tsukishima and Yamaguchi do their working from home sitting up on their bed side by side and they take it in turns to get snack and drink refills.

31) Osamu gets annoyed at the fact that the team mums seem to be doing all of the cooking so he sets a stupidly early alarm so he can go down to the kitchen and cook and Suna helps him so Suga and Daichi just walk into the kitchen one morning and omg why is the oven on- Oh hi. Suga just laughs at the confusion and tells Osamu about the "staff kitchen" that have because it's such a big house so Osamu gets his own kitchen and ends up setting up an Onigiri Miya home base and the driveway is constantly filled with delivery drivers doing deliveroos and uber eats.

32) After chapter 12, Tendou opens up to Oikawa about their similar experiences in private but Ushiwaka overhears and he approaches Tendou afterwards and offers to help him with it like Iwaizumi does for Oikawa.

33) Makki dyes Kyoutani's hair bright pink to force him into talking to Terushima

34) Kenma refuses to call him Mad Dog

35) Kuroo realised years ago that Kenma likes it when he babies them so he constantly calls them cute nicknames like Prince and Princess and talks to them like a child and Kenma secretly loves it

36) Daichi and Sugawara jokingly act like a 50's married couple from an old film and some people think it's weird and toxic but it's not actually serious and both of them enjoy it so where's the harm?

37) Kenma can't get changed in front of other people (not even Kuroo)

38) Kuroo gives Kenma "platonic" forehead kisses when they're panicky or struggling with their anxiety.

39) Iwaizumi knows a little bit of Spanish. He knows the basics (introductions, greetings, colours, numbers, days of the week) and how to flirt with Oikawa. He calls him princesa and mi amor and it drives Oikawa crazy.

40) The team moms also know how much Kenma likes childish things and they take it in turns to sit with them and watch Disney films.

#haikyuu #hqdestinationpermanentvacation #iwaoi #kuroken #daisuga #kyouteru #bokuaka #yakulev #ushiten #kagehina #tsukiyama #asanoya #ennotana #matsuhana #sakuatsu #osasuna #hq fanfic

[iyeonjuni]

bad hair day // chapter 16: pink (FINAL)

word count: 504

prev / masterlist / next

as the festival comes to an end, y/n walks around the pitch bowing and thanking the staff and aims to find yeonjun amongst the crowd.

maybe it was because his hair was red y/n could spot the red haired boy instantly, thanking the staff around him as well. and it was like instinct, yeonjun’s head turned around to meet y/n, waving at him.

yeonjun jogged slightly towards them and grabbed their wrist.

“let’s go somewhere.” he smiles and pulls them along with them.

-

they ended up at the school rooftop, looking among the skies slowly turning orange as the sun sets.

yeonjun walks to the edge of the roof to admire the view and y/n follows standing right next to him.

“so this is what it feels like, chasing your dream and doing something you like.” y/n speaks, “i never thought that making music would make me feel so much joy and watching someone you like perform it, makes it even all the more surreal.” y/n smiles as they look into the distance.

yeonjun looks at y/n eyes widened, unsure if y/n even caught on to the slight confession they made.

he then turns around to face y/n, calling their name slightly, slowly holding their hands and takes a deep breath before allowing himself to continue.

“i like you.” he confesses.

y/n couldn’t believe what they just heard, heart beating a little too fast for their liking.

yeonjun could sense their nervousness and slowly rubbed his thumb against y/n’s hand to soothe them.

“during this whole process, i fell for your passion for music production, your hard working attitude and just everything about you.” he continues.

as silence fills the air yeonjun starts growing uneasy, looking to y/n’s unreadable expression, he starts panicking.

“i’m sorry, i mean- you don’t have to accept me now but-” yeonjun is then interrupted.

“i like you too.” y/n spoke quietly, but yeonjun heard every single word loud and clear.

y/n lifts their head and now they are both looking at each other.

“i’ve liked you ever since you dyed your hair pink.” y/n laughs.

“that’s- that’s two years ago!” yeonjun’s eyes widened.

“yes i have liked you for a very long time, choi yeonjun.” y/n grinning now.

“but i understand, pink was my favorite too.” yeonjun jokes as he grins, now looking at y/n once again.

yeonjun stares at y/n’s lips and slowly leans in for a light peck.

y/n’s cheeks heat up, hoping yeonjun wouldn’t notice.

“so...I actually have a question.” y/n looks at yeonjun.

“what is it?” yeonjun tilts his head.

“you dye your hair a lot, how is your hair still so strong and so in shape?” y/n slowly reaches their hand to pat yeonjun’s red hair, and of course it's silky smooth.

“actually i've been asked this many times...to be honest, i actually don’t know.” yeonjun laughs followed by y/n’s.

-

a/n: AAA and THATS IT!! sorry the ending isn’t so great 😔 but thank you so so sososo much for being on this journey with me for my first ever FINISHED SMAU. i would like to thank my friends and everyone who just hyped each chapter so much ,, it means so much to me and as well as those who liked and reblogged !!! im unsure whether i should make an epilogue tbh but we will see! and now for my next smau . it's coming sooner than you think :D ily all 💓

taglist [closed]: @choihaiyun @atinyyylove @247byun @luvrbin @strawberryyukhei @suna-kiyoomisproperty @meowtella @jisungsquirrelhabits @enhacolor @junluvr @skypemonke @fairybinie @txtville @hoshi4k @simpforscoups @jamjam728 @berrychyuu @beomjundiaries @honeybutterchup @wkhdery @ahnneyong @99outros @rinyx @jeonkoookiee @emobeomgyu @bubblejunnies @hobistigma @nycol-ie @milkycloudtyg @day6andetcetera

#txt smau #txt au #txt fake text #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt social media au #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun smau #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun social media au

[amesstm]

haikyuu boys’ anonymous confessions

a/n: inspired by my coworkers telling me their dirty secrets. Not all are true ofc… hopefully. But think of this like we’re asking them a secret of theirs and they answer hehe

Hinata: Sometimes I really buff myself up in front of the mirror and act like I’m a volleyball star. Don’t laugh! It’s completely normal! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Kageyama: I’m actually lactose intolerant. People complain about the smells from the bathroom… and then I blame it on Hinata (*´-`)

Tsukkishima: I have that inflatable dinosaur costume. The best part is that no one can see my face so they don’t know it’s me. You better not tell anyone of this. -_-b

Yamaguchi: I’ve given individual names for each freckle on my face. They keep me company when Tsukki is being edgy again :(

Yachi: Hinata’s really cute. Kiyoko-san is gorgeous. If polyamory was acceptable, I’d have them both.

Daichi: I’ve gotten so many grey hairs from the first-years. Suga says that I should embrace them, but I use hair dye now.

Sugawara: If we didn’t have to wear uniforms, I would absolutely wear that hot pink outfit Lil Nas X wore. It would be fabulous on me. （＾Ｏ＾☆♪

Asahi: Even my parents’ have a shrine of me and not Jesus. It’s really embarrassing to explain to guests... especially on Christmas

Kiyoko: Tanaka is cute sometimes. Sometimes.

Ennoshita: this isn’t my secret, but I had to tell Nishinoya that 3+3 did not equal 8 if you just mashed them together...

Tanaka: I might’ve looked at some tentacle stuff…

Nishinoya: Sometimes I tell girls I have more centimeters than I really do

Atsumu: Haha, jokes on you! I’m not even a real blonde.

Osamu: I’m adopted. Jk. But I wish I was. (¬_¬)

Suna: I’ve sold off Atsumu and Osamu’s used water bottles before. You’d be surprised by how much they sell for

Kita: Everyone asks me about the secret behind my hair. I was just born with it

Aran: The only thing that makes Atsumu and Osamu’s fights somewhat amusing are imaginary punch sound effects from the 50s. It makes the fight more childish than it already was in the first place.

Ushijima: I didn’t know why so many people called me beefy until Tendo told me. He said that they thought I was a delicious piece of meat??? Now I’m concerned why there’s so many cannibals around me.

Tendo: I can tell anyone’s personality based on their favorite flavor of chocolate. Personally, I think that anyone who likes dark chocolate is quiet and reserved. Wakatoshi likes dark chocolate so there’s clearly a correlation.

Semi: Girls like Ushijima’s groans so much that I might use them for a soundtrack one day. Tendo’s Baki Baki song will be used for a song when I’m feeling angsty

Kuroo: I hate how everyone thinks that I’m a chemistry nerd. And I mean - I am, but if I were to murder someone with chemicals, it’d be way too obvious who it was.

Kozume: If there’s a way to make money off of both video games and my body, I would do it.

Yaku: Some people say that short people are closer to hell. That’s why I bully Lev. If I’m going there anyways, I’ll at least make the journey worthwhile. ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

Lev: Everything in Japan isn’t really suited for tall people. I’ve dropped my soap in the shower and accidentally hit my head against the shower head so many times that I might’ve sustained brain damage :/ Wait- don’t tell Yaku that!

Oikawa: I sell some of the baked goods that my fans give me. I can’t afford to lose this figure (^з^)-☆

Iwaizumi: I’ve seen Oikawa look at my arms too many times now. I might need to send him off to Argentina or something

Matsukawa: People only recognize me as the less-buff Iwaizumi. Kinda hurts

Sakusa: I had to teach myself not to shove people away when they hug me. I still shove Atsumu away, though

Terushima: I thought about getting a ring on my dick but then I didn’t have the balls to actually do it.

©amesstm on tumblr // pls do not plagiarize, steal, or repost my content w/o permission!! BUT likes & reblogs are highly appreciated :)

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq captains #hq x you #hq setters #hq headcanons #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hinata headcanons #kegayama tobio #ushijima wakatoshi #atsumu miya #miya osamu #suna #sakusa kiyoomi #kuroo tetsurou #tendou hcs #kozume kenma #oikawa headcanons #iwa chan #tsukki imagines

[haikyuuublog]

Haikyuu Characters as Theater Kids: Inarizaki Edition ft. Sakusa

Sakusa:

Came to practice just to see what was going on and Atsumu pressured him into trying out

Atsumu tried to dance with him and Sakusa swatted his hand away. He then proceeded to speed walk to the corner and use the entire supply of Purrell to “rid himself of that annoying germ”

Atsumu asked him if he thought he was contaminated jokingly

Sakusa just responded with “yes”

Then Atsumu asked, “Would you still love me if I was a germ 🥺”

Sakusa never returned to practice again

Atsumu:

Gets mad every time someone in the audience so much as whispers during the show

Does the fist thing on stage even though there is no music or chant. It looks really stupid.

Gets in fights with Osamu all the time omfg

He was banned from being on the stage at the same time as him because they would throw hands in the middle of the play 😤

Osamu had a line where his character insulted Atsumu’s. Atsumu glared at him yelled, “Ok, I see how it is. Insulting me during the play so I can’t fight back. Jokes on you, I’m gonna fight you anyway!” And then he tackled him and they literally fought onstage.

After the show, people thought that the fight was part of the actual play and Atsumu got praised because “wow, that fight choreography looked so realistic!”

Despite the praise, the instant the audience left, Stage Crew Iwaizumi grabbed them both and said, “the next time you two fight each other in front of me, the fight’s about to get A LOT MORE REALISTIC”

I need to mention Stage Crew Iwaizumi whenever I have the chance because he lives in my head rent free 😌

Atsumu is also so fucking cocky and brags about how good he is

I actually think he would have a good singing voice which is unfortunate because he has a right to brag 😔

Is a ridiculous perfectionist too so he would really want to be the best and put in the effort

Does not cooperate with the other actors and complains nonstop

Has driven away people trying to audition because he straight up will tell them they suck

Really goes all out on stage though. This attention whore needs the standing ovation

Osamu:

Eats on set

Like he brings a whole ass meal and if he’s hungry he will bring the food on stage

One time Atsumu said, “you don’t need to bring food because I’m already a full course meal”

From then on, he brought food for everyone but Atsumu

He does cook all the time for everyone else though

It’s on sight every time he and Atsumu are in the same vicinity

Kita:

Literally the ideal cast member

Hardworking, practices consistently, a leader, smart, patient, cooperative, graceful, doesn’t need to be the center of attention, memorizes all the lines so he could fill in for any cast member etc.

I have no critiques: like he’s genuinely perfect

However, he is really intimidating sometimes

Atsumu complained all the time about Osamu not giving him food. He kept making these annoying passive-aggressive remarks towards him. Like Osamu would mess up a line and Atsumu would be like, “Well MAYBE if you had actually GIVEN someone food, this wouldn’t have happened” or Atsumu would forget a line and be like, “Damn, I’m so HUNGRY, it’s hard to think.” And would just pointedly look towards Osamu.

One day Kita had had enough. In the middle of a scene, this man gets up on stage, walks straight up to Atsumu, and stares him down. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares. With intense eye contact.

Kita is 175.2 cm (5’9”) and Atsumu is 183.6 cm (6’.03”). Yet somehow it felt like Kita was the one looking down on him

Atsumu ended up profusely apologizing and promising he’d never complain about it ever again

Kita basically used only eye contact and his presence to make Atsumu shut the fuck up

So yeah, like I said, Kita’s an absolute saint 😇

Suna:

Records everything to post online

He has a tea account where he posts all the videos; it is mainly the Miya twins fighting

Has amassed so many followers

Some videos he has not posted because he “wanted to use them for future reference”

Atsumu said that suspiciously sounded like blackmail and Suna gave no response which was more concerning than if he said anything

Aran:

Another great person to have in the cast

Helps keep people in line (mainly the Miya Twins), is a good actor, is supportive of everyone

Similar to Kita, he is very mature and poised on set (unlike most people *cough cough* the Miya Twins)

He helps keep them humble too. Especially Atsumu.

Every time Atsumu says something outta pocket, Aran calls him out. His favorite one to say is, “Until you fix your whack ass dye job, you have no right to talk shit about anyone.”

On one hand, Aran does mean to roast him, but also he genuinely really wants Atsumu to fix his dye job.

Which is incredibly valid

Because it’s really bad

He has a bet with Osamu on if he can convince Atsumu to change his hair color

Unfortunately for Atsumu, the color Osamu would secretly dye Atsumu’s hair with was hot pink

But honestly, it’d still be an upgrade 🤷‍♀️

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

I had a really long day of work today, and I really wanted to get out these headcanons before the day is over. I know I said this about last post, but I really don’t think that these ones are as well-done as the others. I’m sorry that they’re not as funny or creative.

Also, this whole post is basically Atsumu slander. I would like to say that I love Atsumu. I kin Atsumu. I simp for Atsumu. But will I ever stop slandering Atsumu? No. No I will not.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu funny #haikyuu memes #inarizaki #sakusa #sakuatsu #osamu #kita #atsumu #miya twins #suna #aran #msby #haikyuu incorrect quotes #haikyuu textposts #incorrect haikyuu quotes #incorrect quotes haikyuu #hq memes #haikyuu quotes #osamu miya #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #miya osamu #suna rintarou #kita shinsuke #aran ojiro #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #atsumu slander

[osamusbigtits]

"do you think I should dye my hair again?" osamu asks. he's watching his reflection in the mirror as he runs his hand through his hair. he can also see suna's reflection watching osamu's arms flex.

"do you want to?" suna asks and looks at osamu's hair.

"kinda?" osamu turns to face suna. "like I miss having color in my hair. I don't know if I would go silver though."

"I think you'd look good with anything."

"that's because you're never looking at my hair." osamu rolls his eyes when suna smirks at him.

"you could go pink. that'd be cute." suna gets up and stands behind osamu. "maybe green." suna plays with osamu's hair.

"you're so helpful," osamu mutters and leans against suna.

suna kisses osamu's cheek. "I am, actually."

#hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #miya osamu #suna rintarō #suna rintarou #sunaosa #osasuna

[cherrywoes]

prologue. (acanthus.)

SAKURA HARUNO LOST THE ability to use medical ninjutsu when she turned twenty.

There had been no warning, no sputtering of her chakra, no imminent sign that she was about to lose the very foundation that her newfound strength had been built upon. She woke up one morning to her squad members with their throats slit, one just barely clinging on to life—a Hyuuga, her pretty lavender eyes wide with shock and desperation—and when Sakura sealed her hands over her pale throat, intent to close the wound as best she could and haul ass back to Konoha, there was nothing. No pale green chakra to flood her systems, no pinpoint accuracy of healing down to the very cells, nothing—just razor sharp chakra, cutting so deeply into her teammate’s throat that it went far enough to decapitate her completely.

Sakura watched the light fade from her eyes with pale pink strands of hair blowing into her face on a warm, humid breeze.

She continued this for some time—accidentally murdering her teammates when they were on the brink of death. Fear kept her from telling Tsunade. Ego kept her from revealing she was not, in fact, the prized healer of Konohagakure anymore. Arrogance forbade her from admitting any harm she had done. Sakura made herself forge the stories of her teammates’ deaths when she couldn’t sleep, their eyes haunting her dreams and her not so kind hands wrapped around their throats. It kept her up at night, so every afternoon, when she returned from narrowly avoiding every single healing session that was tossed her way at the clinic, after pushing them off on overworked nurses and doctors on overtime, she took enough sleeping pills to kill a horse three times over just to rest.

The people in her dreams were faceless, then, and easier to deal with when she woke up.

“Forehead, you look like you’re about to pass out.” Ino’s long blonde hair was a bit too bright in the sunlight. It was shinier than it had ever been, flourishing under the happiness of a successful pregnancy. She glowed, and it was even in her personality. She was chipper, far more perky, and while her appetite was something to be feared, it didn’t stop her observative eye from catching on to the dark circles underneath her friend’s eyes or the sallow look of her face. “Are you alright? Is Tsunade making you run night shifts again?”

Sakura sighed and rested her forehead on the cool marble tabletop. It felt nice against her heated skin; heated as if it was under the sun of the Suna desert. Suna, where she had managed to disembowel her adorable teammate instead of stitching her leaking intestines back together. Suna, where she had been forced to kill her second teammate who had witnessed it to hide her secret and spread his limbs amongst their enemies before returning home. Suna, where that ninja probably still remained, rotting in the hot sun and being picked apart by vultures.

Ino, a concerned hum exiting her mouth, pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up! Sakura, how long have you been like this?”

She didn’t answer and pressed her cheek further against the table. Her hair, long, longer than she had ever had it before, the ends brushing past her waist, stuck to the side of her face and neck, clinging with sweat. Her thoughts were muddied and sluggish. An image of a face flashed through her mind—cute, chubby with baby fat, and eyes of the lightest Yamanaka blue—in livid color, doused in vermillion red seconds later, Sakura’s rough hands held over her injured eyes.

“I’m so tired of this, Ino,” Sakura sighed. It was mumbled and nearly incoherent, but the blonde caught it anyways, pressing an ice cold cloth to her forehead. “I’m so tired of killing my teammates.”

“What?” Ino’s voice was tight. The lights around her warped in and out of focus. “Sakura, what did you just say?”

Sakura couldn’t answer. She slipped into darkness, the faces of her victims—her teammates—floating seamlessly through her dreams, as if they had never died at all.

Sakura spent the next four months in a cell. She was given subpar food—a multigrain bar, some vitamins, IV fluids to flush her system of the high doses of sleeping pills, water that tasted far too much like chlorine—and equally appalling care. When her chakra cuffs dug into her wrists, no one came to heal them, so they scarred over and opened back up in an endless repetition until they were permanent accessories to her skin, shiny and puckered and irritated. When her period did eventually come, spotty and unusually light at best, they gave her tiny packets of pads for her to stretch through months, and if she suffered several bacterial infections afterwards, they didn’t much care. Her hair had grown long and matted, unbrushed, and combing it with her fingers did nothing to help the endless matts and knots that had grown near her nape. Her clothes were the same ones she had gone in with, so they were dirty, threadbare, and practically dry rotting off of her body.

She felt she deserved it—this torture. She was only afforded the barest of luxuries—her food and IV—because she was, despite what she had done, the Hokage’s apprentice. Former apprentice now, she figured, since they had most likely discovered what she had done. Four months was enough to follow Sakura’s bloody trail all the way back to her twentieth birthday when she had been sent out on a mission. It was also enough to compare the discrepancies in her reports; enough to exhume the bodies of the dead and charge her with a dozen counts of murder, and recover the other bodies she had neglected to bring back.

When anyone did deign to visit her, it was to cross reference what she had said with the actual truth. She had no reason to lie, anymore, not when her little slip of the tongue in a delirious fever had gotten her caught in the first place.

“Haruka Hyuuga.” Sakura could recognize Kakashi even when he wore the ANBU mask and attempted to disguise his voice. His hair was impossible to hide—she had tried on several occasions to dye it, only for it’s unusual hue to spring back within a few days and nearly blow their cover. He was, at the moment, playing the role of Hound, but she knew once the mask was off he would be her former partner, former teacher, and broken hearted friend; because he, of all people, would believe it was his fault she had ended up in a cell just because she was too proud to say she was an awful human being. “Do you remember her?”

“Yes.” Sakura leaned back against the small wooden shelf that made up her bed. It was covered with a thin white sheet that wasn’t much in the way of comfort, but as a kunoichi it didn’t bother her like it would a normal civilian. She dragged her shoes across the concrete floor to break the lack of noise within her section of the underground jail cells. They had been ground down to the latex-polyester sole when she paced in boredom or dropped her heels and skidded them as she walked. “She was the last one… Someone had gouged out her eyes. Or tried to, I think; it was all a blur. It didn’t matter in the end, though. I couldn’t heal her.”

Kakashi—Hound—was quiet as he wrote something down in his tiny square notepad. “When did you first lose your medical ninjutsu?”

Her pale pink eyebrows furrowed. No one had bothered with this line of inquiry before, past merely wanting the knowledge of when she had lost it in the first place. Kakashi was usually there to interrogate her about her teammates, nothing more. “When I turned twenty; so, maybe six or seven months ago.”

“And you had no precursory signs beforehand to indicate you would lose it?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly and reached for the small metal tin cup he had placed in her cell. She was surprised to find it was filled with her favorite drink—apple juice, of all things—and cherished the tiny little sips of flavor she was granted. “It just… happened. I was healing—or I thought I was?—and then it wasn’t… healing. It was cutting, sharp as a razor’s edge. I couldn’t have stopped it if I had wanted to by then.”

“But you continued going on missions after that, knowing you would hurt others in your attempts to use medical ninjutsu again.”

“I didn’t think that. That I would hurt them.” Sakura paused and admitted, so quietly it was barely a whisper,”I thought it would come back if I tried hard enough.”

More scribbling, this time a little slower than the previous. “I think you tried hard enough after the second person you killed.”

Hound stuffed the notepad into his white flak jacket. With a cursory nod to the guard standing just out of her field of view, he was gone, vanishing in a puff of smoke that had Sakura’s eyes watering.

“You know what they’re calling you, right?” The guard goaded when he was certain there was no one to hear him. Sakura closed her eyes; she didn’t want to know what they were saying about her out there. “They’re calling you ‘Ninja Killer Sakura’. Like teacher like student, huh?”

A few days later, her Strength of a Hundred seal was gone, as if it never existed in the first place. The vast amount of chakra she had stored within it was gone, spirited away from her body. No one had removed it from her; no one had sealed it while she had been asleep. It had just disappeared in the same way her medical ninjutsu had, in nearly the same fashion. The only clue she had that it had vanished was the faint tingling in her forehead, right between her brows—but something else was clearly there, because the next guard in her rotation was calling for a Nara guard before she could wonder what it was.

She found out, later, after being immobilized by a shadow technique and examined by a medic, that the symbol upon her forehead had changed into a crimson red spider lily. It was no larger than the diamond had been, but was more ornate and complex, with interlocking rings centered at the bottom and sun phases etched into said rings. When the rest of her chakra, the chakra she used to maintain her health, was sealed off because of it, she didn’t complain.

She deserved it, after all.

“I don’t know if I should kill you or slap you and kill you and revive you so I can kill you again.”

Her next visitor was Tsunade. She hadn’t expected her to visit her at all, much less come traipsing in her cell with clean clothes, a basin of water, shampoo, soap, new shoes, and a pair of scissors. While the Hokage was angry, Sakura wasn’t sure if it was her fondness for her keeping her alive or the fact that it would be fairly inconvenient for the Senju woman to kill her and dispose of her without the council’s input.

“What were you thinking, Sakura?” Tsunade whirled on her, scissors in hand. She watched them cautiously, fiddling with the scars on her wrists when they itched. “Really, I mean, what was going on inside your head? I had thought you of all people would be level headed and rational—”

“Rational went out the window when I lost the only power keeping me equal with Sasuke and Naruto, Shishou.” Sakura met her gaze head on, unflinching. Her eyes were dull mimicries of the once vibrant jade they used to be; she was tired, sick, and most of all, guilt was eating her alive. “I lost everything keeping me from drowning in the ranks of endless genin. And now I’ve even lost the Strength of One Hundred seal—I don’t think I’ve been level headed or rational for a while.”

“I see.” Tsunade sighed. “That’s good, then. We can plea insanity—”

“You’re helping me?” Sakura blurted incredulously, her first real show of emotion in months.

“Of course. It isn’t out of the goodness of my heart, though. If I had my way you’d rot down here for the rest of your life.” The Hokage crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders. “But I owe a certain teacher of yours a favor, so after this we’ll be more than even. Now clean up and get dressed so I can cut your hair. Your trial starts today.”

When the cell door slammed behind her, Sakura picked up a clean rag—the cleanest thing she’d seen in months—and dipped it into the water. It was pleasantly cool as she ran it along her neck experimentally, bringing with it the grime and dirt of four months without a shower. When it came back visibly stained, she soaked it clean and lathered it with soap and got to work.

When she finished with her body and hair, the basin was almost pitch black. She wasn’t very surprised. She had seen worse when she returned home covered in dried blood, mud, dirt, and various other secretions she would rather not recall due to the pungent odor. She smelled like mint and watermelon, a scent she purchased personally before she had been put in prison, and she was momentarily comforted by the smell until the stench of mildew crept past it.

Tsunade had provided her with a simple long sleeved turtleneck she had seen many ANBU wear underneath their flak jackets and a pair of slightly too large pants that she quickly realized were men’s pants. She tucked the shirt as best she could with the sagging waistline and pulled on the standard issue civilian shoes (flats, uncomfortable on her high arches), and felt like an entirely new person. Clean, renewed, with clothes that didn’t smell like death and underwear that wasn’t blood stained for once, she felt a little bit of the old Sakura creep back in like a breath of fresh air.

When her former teacher returned and began hacking away at the giant knots in the back of her head, she allowed the faintest, most miniscule thread of hope to worm its way into her heart.

masterlist ❚ 一 (ichi)

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something out of my comfort zone (at least moderately; it's very tame compared to what i normally write.) feedback is appreciated! i just let the words flow and didn't take it too seriously. <3

#naruto #naruto shippuden #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #kimimaro kaguya #kaguya kimimaro #kimisaku #kimimaro x sakura #sasusaku #kakasaku