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seumyo · 2 days

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SAKUSA KIYOOMI ✰ 8:56

NOTE. I am now proposing Haikyuu boys with their Oldest (or Older) sister! Reader and how that dynamic goes . . inspired by this TikTok video.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, when had too many drinks at the post-wedding reception of his oldest sister, is a whole different person when completely sober. And in the rare times that he does get drunk (to no one’s surprise, he’s actually lightweight), he gets a little (a little is an understatement) sentimental and vulnerable.

It just happens; it’s not like he has any control over his raw emotions.

“What was that?” Motoya asks his cousin.

Kiyoomi had been sobbing for half an hour now, his cheeks blooming with a slight rosy hue and his eyes brimming with tears as he wiped them away with his hands—like how a crying toddler would. “Onee-san got married,” he cried through muffled hiccups.

“She’s going to start her own family.”

“And what’s gonna happen?”

“We’re never going to see each other again.”

This side of Kiyoomi was definitely quality entertainment. He rarely ever held his heart and emotions on his sleeves, but tonight was a particular exception. But then again, it was a little surprising how attached he was to his oldest sister considering how big their age gap was.

It could be that, among his siblings, the oldest of the four practically raised Kiyoomi. His older sister and brother were always too busy to play with him because of the obvious difference in their ages as well as their different developmental stages. When Kiyoomi was four, his older sister was ten, his older brother was twelve, and you—his oldest sister—were sixteen at that time.

You were always the one to entertain him whenever you got home from school, spend time with him in the manor’s library, and encourage him to make new friends (before Motoya came along and visited more often) so he wouldn’t be as lonely as he used to. So it was natural that he was much closer to you than his own parents.

“Do you want to say bye again?” Motoya suggested.

“No,” Kiyoomi sniffled, shaking his head. “I already did, it would be too awkward...”

Back in the hotel room, Motoya and Kiyoomi’s older brother—Kino—made sure he didn’t randomly collapse on the way back. They didn’t have to worry about that because Kiyoomi was quite compliant and just kept on talking about how he was going to miss you.

And of course, Kino, being the teasing little shit he was at his grown age, decided to film Kiyoomi’s confessions.

“I’m going to miss Nee-san,” he murmured.

At this point, Motoya and Kino thought that Kiyoomi’s tears were almost at an end, but the whole dam broke when Kino asked, “What’s going to happen to Nee-san?”

“She’s got married.”

“But that’s how it is—“

“But she’s going to leave the house!” Kiyoomi added, unknowingly folding the freshly ironed blankets the hotel staff provided earlier when they asked for another one. “She was the one who got me to play volleyball,” he said.

“I never listened to what she had to say because she was annoying sometimes, and now I’m going to miss it.”

“Aw, Kiyo!” Kino chuckled. “That’s how it is; she’s bound to start a family of her own eventually.”

But Kiyoomi couldn’t stomach the fact that he had a little too much to drink. He didn’t understand—he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he would no longer see you when he went home during the weekends if he didn’t have practice; he wouldn’t have to argue with you anymore on who would wash the dishes after supper; he wouldn’t have you cook his favorite dishes anymore.

You wouldn’t come home anymore. You wouldn’t be visiting as often as he’d hoped you would. You wouldn’t visit his games as often as you could because of your job.

The thoughts he was having were antagonizing. They made him feel small and vulnerable, and that familiar feeling of loneliness from his childhood lingers around in the form of a throbbing headache the next morning. Kiyoomi struggles to get through his hangover, but he does his best.

He stares at the mirror in his hotel room’s bathroom, then gets eye drops on his obviously red and still puffy eyes. How much did he cry last night? He doesn’t even remember anything. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to remember if it’s embarrassing. He’d much rather crawl in a hole and never resurface.

Then he sees a message from you.

[video attachment]

Aww, sleep tight, Kiyo :((

Don’t forget that I’ll always be your sister even if we don’t share the same last name anymore or even if I’m not around as often as I wished I could! You could always visit us, ok? Just text me if you need anything!

And just like that, Kiyoomi’s in tears once again.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa drabble #sakusa fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu sakusa #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq drabble #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu kiyoomi #hq kiyoomi

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forusomimiya · 10 months

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Masterlist by forusomimiya ღ

Hii ✨ I finally had some time to write my own masterlist with all my works, as many of you were asking me to do it. I will be updating the list with each new work I publish, so, for the new followers, you will always be able to see the old works without having to go through all my profile. 🏐 𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙆𝙔𝙐𝙐 🏐 (male x male) ↴ 🌼Headcanons/Scenarios/AU´s: • (Ushisaku)

• (SakuAtsu) ↴ ➝ 1 ➝ 2 ➝ 3 (ft. SunaOsa) ➝ Driver License 🚘 ➝ 5 ➝ Friends w/ Benefits 👨🏼‍🤝‍👨🏻 ➝ 6 ➝ 7 • (SunaOsa) ↴ ➝ My "good" boy

• (HQ guys with 🐱 pt.1) • (HQ guys with 🐱 pt.2) 🏐 𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙆𝙔𝙐𝙐 🏐 (x reader) ↴ 🌼Male x Reader: ღ (ATSUMU) ➝ Atsumu as a bf ➝ 3 drinks for 3 things about you ➝ Sing them to me ღ (BOKUTO) ➝ First time? ➝ Birthday Boy ღ (IWAIZUMI) ➝ Iwaizumi as a bf ღ (OIKAWA) ➝ Tooru being spanish ➝ Thigh riding ღ (OSAMU) ➝ Osamu as a bf ➝ Big boy with big arms ღ (SAKUSA) ➝ Sakusa as a bf ➝ 🎱 ➝ Fantasies ➝ Virgin! Sakusa ღ (SUNA) ➝ Workout pt.1 ➝ Workout pt.2 ➝ Rintarou Suna`s secret ➝ Summer taste ➝ Suna likes to... ➝ 📱 ➝ He likes them 🍒 ➝ Sex tape ➝ Smoker! Suna ➝ Virgin! Suna pt.1 ➝ Virgin! Suna pt.2 ➝ Hello chat! This is my bf ➝ 🚬 ღ (USHIJIMA) -1- -2- 🌼Poly w/ Reader: • (ATSUOI x reader) • (BOKUROO x reader) • (IWAOI x reader) • (SAKUATSU x reader) • (USHIIWA x reader)

• (SUNAOSA x reader) ↴ ➝ Among foxes ➝ Both? Both. ➝ A stranger in a fox mask

• (MSBY4 x reader) ↴ ➝ Brasil! Hinata ➝ Four´s a crowd

• (SAKUSUNA x reader) ↴

➝ Don’t play with us

🌼Multi (Kita, Akaashi, Hakuba Gao, Tobio, Mattsun and more…): • (HAIKYUU! TEXTS 💬 pt.1) • (HAIKYUU! TEXTS 💬 pt.2) • (HQ BOYS BEING PERVERTED 🤫) • (WHO HQ GUYS LIKES TO BE HUMILIATED VS. LIKES TO HUMILIATE) • (HQ CAPTAINS REACTING TO YOU WALKING SEMI-NAKED WITH HIS TEAM JERSEY) Part 1 Multi -1- Multi -6- Multi -2- Multi -7- Multi -3- Multi -8- Multi -4- Multi -9- Multi -5- Multi -10-

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milktei · 1 year

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When you write angst/fluff one shots, I love how you indulge more with your character's feelings and not just straight up jumping to the good part where everything's alright. Specifically during "Again" and "Fine". Would you mind writing the same stuff but with a bit of hostile management of actions whilst in a disagreement with the reader? Will writing for Kuroo or Ushijima okay? ( I think you've taken a liking to Sakusa so I'm not sure if you want the first two captains.) Anyhow, I'm frankly talking about a bit of viol3nce. In this view, how would they speak up their mind and resolve the matter maturely?

Of course when you're available, thank you for your time:3

Love Sealed in Gold

Ushijima Wakatoshi x gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, tiny bit of hurt/comfort

Warnings: Violence (not towards reader), Possible oocness again. Not edited :P

The pace that i managed to get this out is surprising even to me :o But i had an idea the moment i read the ask!! Isn’t that crazy???

the fact that it’s obvious that sakusa is my fav is kinda embarrassing ngl HAHA BUT i just enjoy writing for haikyuu so don’t worry about requesting people i haven’t written on!

hope you enjoyed this anon! i couldn’t in good conscious add anymore “violence” than i did. what i wrote is really tiptoeing the line for me.

That being said anyone who reads this please don’t take this as me saying to forgive everyone who acts like Ushijima does in this, of course every situation is different but i don’t want it to seem like this is acceptable behaviour and something a person should have to deal with and accept. Violence is a scary and serious thing especially in a relationship so stay safe!

Anyways the idea of using Kintsugi as a metaphor in writing isn’t exactly new but i hope you guys enjoy my take on it and how i wrote it :)

The Japanese art of Kintsugi is a method of fixing broken pottery that has been popularized all over the world, romanticized even. Something about using the precious material that gold is (among other materials), to put something back together seems to tear into the hearts of people all over the world. So much so that companies even sell their own Kintsugi kits where you can break the provided pottery and put it back together yourself.

How ironic, to buy something only to break it and go through the tedious task of connecting all the broken pieces back together again.

Many hold the belief that kintsugi hold its own deeper meanings. Some say it shows that something breaking and being repaired shouldn’t be covered up, but instead embraced, as it is a part of that objects history.

A more pessimistic view on the subject could be the fact that no matter how beautiful the broken pottery looks, it will never be the same again.

As you stand looking at your boyfriend with only horror filling your body, you could only think about the same could be said for your relationship.

You knew from the get go that getting into a relationship with the Ushijima Wakatoshi was going to be a tough mountain to climb. Anyone from family, friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers had warned you of that fact.

From his personality, to his schedule and the demands that came with being a professional athlete; it seemed that everything was put against the two of you.

But he was the one to ask you out, to court you, the one who crossed the line from friends to potential lovers. That was something that no one could deny being surprised about.

Yes your boyfriend was intimidating, seemingly expressionless and emotionally constipated. But you loved him, and he loved you.

You could work around schedules, you understood why he works as hard as he does, and learning who he really was something that came with time.

As your relationship progressed you could really begin to see what kind of person he was, and how the most subtle changes in his demeanour could signal a change in mood.

But this behaviour was not subtle, it was pronounced, loud, it filled the entire room and made it difficult to breathe properly.

You could barely remember what you two were arguing about this time. Perhaps how you acted during a charity event? How he was running late to a date and didn’t text or call to let you know? it seemed to be a trend for you two in the last couple of weeks. Pick at every little thing one found less than pleasing and then getting mad when the other tried to defend themselves.

This cycle had been going on for far too long and both of you were tired of it, but at the same time too stubborn, too proud to admit defeat.

It was late, far too late for the both of you to be awake, it was far from an appropriate time for you two to be arguing at the volume you were, but whatever exhaustion either of you felt was smothered by a whirlwind of emotions and stubbornness.

Ushijima wiped a hand down his face in frustration from where he sat at the dinner table. Across the room you paced, ranting about your point in the argument that had only been going in circles at this point.

“I-it’s like you can’t even bring yourself to care anymore!” you exclaimed frantically.

A piercing glare was sent your way and it took everything in you to not shrink away from it.

He stood up, with his size, the action in itself felt extremely intimidating, but you felt the way he talked down on you much more severely.

To further articulate his words, a palm would slam down on the surface of the table, so hard that you could feel the vibration in the floor. Each slam was louder and each time you flinched.

His words grew harsher, louder, and more pointed with each sentence. The look of pure, searing anger and hatred on his face kept you frozen in your place.

The man in front of you was unrecognizable, the man in front of you was not the gentle giant you loved. If anything, he was exactly like how many people would describe him upon meeting him. If not worse.

His words, which had now become shouts swirled in your mind, your eyes began to sting as tears began to well in your eyes. All you could think about was how you wanted this to stop, how if only your body would listen to you and move so that you could begin to ask for forgiveness. How you would give anything right in that moment for him to stop yelling and to stop looking at you like you were dirt on his shoe.

Your prayers were soon answered by the sound of shattering ceramic.

The gasp you let out was visceral, uncontrollable, you couldn’t hold it back if you tried.

The fire in his eyes seemed to die out all at once, his gaze moved to his outstretched arm and he look at it as if it had a mind of its own.

His arms were his prized possession even if he never said it out loud, some would go as far to say that they were something to be celebrated. His arms that can hit a volleyball with the utmost precision, arms that brought him to victory and through loss. Strong arms that held you at night and provided you with a great amount of comfort some could only dream of.

Arms that now only served to fill your body with dread.

A vase, along with all its contents was shattered on the hardwood floor.

It had chipped the paint on the wall beside him where the impact initially happened, water that splattered the surface had begun dripping to the ground.

You both recognized the vase, how could you not?You had gone out together to buy it when he had brought you flowers for the first time and you had realized you had nothing to put them in. After moving in together, you used it as a center piece for your dining table.

How sad that an item so fragile and small could hold so much meaning, and that it now lay broken, it was almost as if it were mocking you.

The room was silent as the both of you stared at the scene before you. Minds reeling as you both tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

Ushijima had thrown the vase at the wall in a fit of anger.

“y/n-“

“Don’t”

You looked up at him and wondered if the conflicted emotions that flickered across his face mirrored your own.

You looked away and took a shaky breath. “An apology won’t fix it. You can’t throw and break something, especially not that, and just expect me to be able to hear and accept an apology, not now, not for this.”

His mouth snapped shut and the tension that filled the room was suffocating. Every time you glanced at the broken ceramic the urge to cry grew and grew.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and took a step back, “I’m…” You swallowed roughly as your voice cracked, “I’m going to the bedroom, you need to clean that up and it’s obvious that we need time to cool down.”

With one last glance at the scene, you turned on your heel and made your way towards your shared room, not seeing the look of anguish that Ushijima held on his face as the watched you leave his sight.

You softly closed the door behind you and as it clicked shut, the realization of what had just transpired fell upon you like waves during a storm.

Despite popular belief, Ushijima had never been an intentionally violent man. The only harm he had caused was on the court, where it wasn’t uncommon for athletes to get injured no matter how good or bad they played.

But tonight, he had no reason to do what he did, there was no excuse even if it was the nth argument of the week. The Ushijima you knew was emotionally intelligent enough to know that he did not have to go through the actions of picking up the vase and throwing it at the wall in order to let his anger be known. He did not need to do that to show you how angry you made him.

His anger had been shown all throughout the night. It was practically palpable.

Your legs shook underneath you as you tried to make it to your bed but your efforts were in vain, you crumpled to the cold hard floor, feeling like you were in pieces, much like the ceramic on the floor of your dining room.

You desperately tried to hold yourself together as you replayed the what had just unfolded again and again in your mind. Not understanding why you felt so conflicted.

Fear. You realized.

Fear is what you felt, refused to believe. How could you fear the one you loved?

And yet every part of your body rejected the idea of your boyfriend and urged you to be afraid of him. Afraid of the only man who could make you as happy as he did.

The man who was supposed to make you feel loved, protected, and safe was the same man that made you feel the complete opposite.

Your chest ached and you breathing quickened, now fully aware of the situation you found yourself in. You were afraid of your boyfriend and didn’t know what that meant for the future of you relationship.

He was- is all you ever want, you couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone but him, but how were you supposed to move on from this? You now knew how he could react in times of great anger, what if it only got worse from here?

It was then that you finally allowed yourself to cry. After all that had happened you didn’t know where your relationship stood.

It was only after a couple minutes that the door to the bedroom began to open ever so slightly, at a pace so slow you couldn’t even see or hear it through your sobs.

“y/n?” His voice managed to spit out. He was quiet, uncertain, he feared for what your reaction may be at him being there at that moment.

You didn’t respond to him but he knew that you knew he was there, even as sobs racked your body and you pressed a hand to your mouth in a feeble attempt to quiet them.

Slowly, as if not to startle a deer in the forest, Ushijima sank to the floor from where he stood. Keeping an eye on you as he sat down, angling himself so that he was looking at the far wall and you wouldn’t be forced to make eye contact if you could find it in yourself yourself to look up at him.

This was far from ideal to him. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms and bring you to bed, quiet your cries as he held you tight and told you that it would pass and by the morning it would be a thing of the past.

But he knew better. He knew that he was the reason for your tears and the last thing that you needed was for him to wrap his arms around you.

He was aware of your fear before you were. The horrified look you gave him would be something that would stay engrained in his mind for years to come.

He was only used to you looking at him with love and happiness in your eyes and he had managed to ruin that in one night.

“I know that you don’t want an apology right now.” Ushijima started, he looked down at his hands and clenched them together to prevent them from trembling. “But I just wanted to let you know that… I am fully aware of how unacceptable my actions were tonight, that was no way to take out my anger and I should know better than to display my anger in the way that I did.”

Your cries had stopped at this point but you still trembled, still it brought him the smallest amount of comfort knowing that you were likely listening to him now.

“You deserve better than my misplaced anger, and you have every right to be angry with me, to not want to even be in this room, in this house with me right now. If you wanted to leave-“

His breath hitched and he found himself looking down at the hands in his lap with disgust and sadness.

“If you wanted to leave right now I would understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on us, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

Your head lifted ever so slightly and it gave him the confidence to keep going,

“I’ll get help, I’ll find other ways to channel my emotions. Along with that I’ll ask you for your feedback on how you think I’m doing, if what I’m doing makes me worthy of being with someone like you. It won’t start more fights I promise.”

He smiled at himself sadly “You seem to know me better than I know myself at times and that’s one of the reasons I fell in love you. I don’t think I could forgive myself for losing you if I didn’t put as much effort into trying as I could.”

The room was filled with silence once again as Ushijima finished talking. He sighed to himself. He hated this, he hated what he had done to you two, he hated that he was the reason for your tears and he hated that he was feeling completely helpless at the moment, and that you were well within your right to end everything, and there would be nothing he could do.

Your hand grazes his shoulder and he has to do a double take to ensure that you were there. Right at his side like you always had been for the years you had been dating.

Your smiled was coupled with sadness and exhaustion, and he couldn’t hold back the sound of surprise that left him as you wrapped your arms around him and let yourself press your weight into him.

He let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding and allowed his arms to finally reach for you, the next thing you knew, you were being pulled into his lap and he held your head close to his chest, you could hear his heart pounding and could feel his entire body tremble. He kissed the top of your head and let his head rest on top of yours. When he realized how instinctively he was acting, he froze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to act so suddenly I-“

You shushed the man and ran your stroked his arm soothingly in an attempt to calm him.

“I understand.”

Quiet filled the bedroom and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel oppressive, or hot with anger. It felt comfortable as it always should have.

Ushijima was the first to break the silence. “We’ll be okay y/n, right?”

The question was almost childish, naive, and ignorant of how many more questions would be raised answering it.

But it was purely Ushijima. Something that only Ushijima would ask in a time like this, he knew about the complexities, knew it would be hard to answer, but he asks anyways.

You ponder for a moment, knowing that no matter how you answered, there was still always the chance that everything could still turn out very differently that whatever you two could imagine.

“We’ll have to work towards it Toshi, and it might be a slow process, but from the bottom of my heart. I believe in us.”

Strong arms hug you tighter, filling you with that familiar warmth

“Thank you.”

Kintsugi is the art of repairing what was once broken by adding something precious to the mix. When used as a philosophy it encourages the acceptance of fragility, coming back from hardship stronger than before, and being proud of something imperfect.

Something that is repaired using this method will never look the same, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it still holds a unique beauty to it and will continue to function, as long as it is done properly and handled with care.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #ushijima #ushijima x you #ushijima imagine #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader

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universal-imagines · 1 year

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☾ found feelings

fandom: haikyuu!! pairing: nishinoya x reader word count: 1.2k request: perhaps a scenario with nishinoya comforting his crush when they get rejected by their own crush. maybe ending with them realizing that nishinoya is better then their crush anyway?

a/n: this request has been in my inbox since i first made this blog, and it’s been written for about as long too i just never got around to transferring it from my notebook to my computer but here it is now! i had to make a separate post from the ask cause the set up was all weird. this might also be the last post i make with banners cause i lost all my old ones and no longer have photoshop ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

please do not use any of my works, in any shape or form, without permission.

He knew. Call it a libero's intuition, if you will.

The moment Nishinoya's cell phone rang, almost vibrating its way off his nightstand, he stopped what he was doing to answer. Only one person would call him this late, and today of all days too. But something told him it wasn't about the positive response you'd wanted.

Congratulating himself on another good save, he allowed himself a tentative smile along with his usual greeting.

For a couple of minutes, all he got in response was a sniffle. But he was patient. If volleyball had taught him anything, it was waiting for the right time to move.

"They rejected me," you finally voiced his suspicions.

A part of him couldn't help but be relieved. As mean as that was, he was afraid of missing his chance. When you first told him about your crush, he'd felt a tinge of pain in his chest. And his stomach twisted every time you gushed about them. It was eating at him. He should have been happy for you, but it hurt hearing you talk about someone else. It was worse than missing a crucial point in a match.

The other part of him was heartbroken on your behalf. He knew just how much of yourself you put into that confession. It was nothing short of pouring your heart out. He knew because he had listened to you practice, day in and day out, as you worked yourself up to confess. So hearing you so broken about getting rejected hurt and made him angry. This person he didn't even know didn't deserve your affection, much less your tears.

"I'll be right over." He wanted to say so much more, but that could wait until he could comfort you in person.

A heavy sigh of frustration left Nishinoya's body as he let his phone drop onto his lap. He had every intention of keeping his promise of coming over, but he had to compose himself first. What kind of impression would he give if he looked ready to beat someone up? Probably not a bad one cause it showed he had his friend's back, but there was more to it than that. And he wasn't ready to explain it all just yet.

But he was ready to get some late-night comfort food, however. All your favorite snacks and meals were at the top of his checklist, along with two pints of ice cream.

Two convenience store stops later, among other places, Nishinoya made his way toward your house. It wasn't a long walk, but after his 35-minute detour, he arrived at your home almost an hour after promised.

One knock. Two knocks. Three knocks it took for you to open the door. As expected, a puffy-eyed [ name ] appeared in the doorway. The sight of you almost sent him on a rant, but he stopped himself.

"Sorry for taking a while..." he searched for your eyes, "But I'm armed with snacks." The last bit came out as more of a question than a statement. He wasn't sure how enthusiastic he was allowed to sound, so he wanted to assess the situation first.

You didn't even look at the bag of goodies he brought before enveloping him in a hug.

"Yeah... sorry," he whispered, doing his best to return the hug.

Finally moving from the door, both of you ended up in your room. It was quiet for a while, but not in an awkward way. You were both just enjoying a pint of ice cream. The silence might have lasted longer if it weren't for Tanaka, who sent Nishinoya a meme.

'Damn Tanaka,' Nishinoya thought as he scrambled to silence his phone.

"They said they never gave me any reasons to get my hopes up. That... they could tell I liked them and went out of their way to make it obvious they weren't interested, but..." You drew a shaky breath. "I can't believe I didn't notice. I must have been so annoying."

"Did they seriously say that?" Nishinoya's blood was boiling.

You nodded, needing another moment to gather yourself. "I could even feel how annoyed they were." "What an ass. You'll probably think I'm saying all this because I'm your friend and would take your side in any situation, but he didn't deserve you. If that jerk could not see how amazing you are, that's on them. Not you. It just sucks you got your heart broken because of someone like that."

Nishinoya was glad to see you roll your eyes at him because it meant you were feeling slightly better.

"I don't know about being amazing and all that. If that were the case at least one person out there would like me, but there's no one." You shrugged.

"There is." The response slipped out on its own. "I'm sure there is," he quickly added.

"Doubt it."

"Why?"

"Because... well, because no one has ever said anything." You threw your arms up in defeat.

"What if they're afraid of telling you? Of getting rejected? You just found out how much it hurts."

"Yeah... you're right."

'Stupid. Stupid Noya.' He would shoot himself in the foot if he could.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" He was panicking over what to say to fix his mistake.

"No, it's okay. You're right. After what happened today, I don't picture myself confessing to anyone ever again. And if anyone does confess to me one day, I know I'll never be that mean."

Nishinoya chuckled. "Being let off easy still hurt, you know."

"Sure, but it can't be as bad as being outright rejected on top of being ridiculed for confessing." You crossed your arms and huffed, but he could tell it was more for show.

"Can't argue with that," he shrugged. "So, is it safe to assume you're less upset about getting rejected but more about how they went about it?"

You nodded with a soft smile.

"I hope you know that ass really didn't deserve you. Besides, you can do so much better!"

"Oh yeah," you chuckled. "I deserve someone who will cherish me and treat me right. Someone who will bring me pizza at midnight."

"Ha, I've done that." Catching himself once again, Nishinoya quickly added, "And it wasn't fun."

"What are you talking about? We stayed up all night watching movies and talking. I remember cause you forgot you had practice the next morning and were dying." You were now laughing.

"Exactly, not fun."

"Whatever."

The night went on like that, harmless banter back and forth with some movies and laughter sprinkled in between. The person who'd ruined part of your day was long forgotten by now.

"You should just stay over at this point. It's 4am, and you don't have practice tomorrow. So it's okay, right?" You were already pulling the blanket over the both of you as you spoke.

"Fine. Just don't kick me off the bed when you wake up in the morning cause you forgot you asked me to stay."

"I only did that once!" You laugh at the memory.

"Once was enough!"

"Okay, okay. I'll make it up to you if I do it again." You scooted a little closer to him and shut your eyes.

"How about you make it up for last time first?"

"With what?" You yawn.

'A date.'

He thought he had said it outloud when he heard the exact same words he was thinking, but you'd been the one to utter them. Maybe it'd been a figment of his imagination, he was tired after all. But he would soon find out they weren't. He would have to wait until morning though, cause you were out like a light.

please do not use any of my works, in any shape or form, without permission.

#nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya yu imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#nishinoya yuu #*fluff #*oneshot #*scripto

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chaoticevilorange · 2 years

Text

Haikyuu

Haikyuu boys x reader scenarios

Videogames: fight games

Taking care of his s/o

Slow dancing with his s/o

Rainy days

Taking care of you during your period

Watching an episode without him

Caught in the rain

Soft kisses

Little accident

Stealing kisses

Stealing time (slight NSFW)

He gets sick

Romance movie cliché

His s/o having weird manners

Comforting his s/o after a nightamare

Reactions to getting piercings

You sleep at his place for 1st time

Jealous hq boys (highschool steamy edition)

Watching a sad movie with you

What kind of thirst trap does he sends you

He and his team see you play

Asking you to move in with them

How he acts after he realises he’s falling for you

Playing among us with the haikyuu boys

Colombian or hispanic s/o short drabbles

His s/o gives him a love bite

You walk on them while they change (as friends)

He walks on you while you change (as friends)

You kiss him in front of his team

First thing in the morning

What domestic chore he hates most

First time spending the night with you

He realises he’s falling for you

They watch a scary movie with you

Jealous hq boys (time skip steamy edition)

You ask if he can help you with your sunblock

You smack his ass (suggestive)

They wake up on your chest

They catch you staring

Cuddling sessions

First kiss

They help you to study

Falling asleep on their lap

Special events

500 followers: MSBY Proposal

400 followers: first time (slight nfsw)

300 followers: Inarizaki´s new addition

Shiratorizawa´s sweet/badass manager

Captains as husbands; Daichi, Oikawa, Ushijima, Kuroo, Bokuto, Kita

His s/o calling them petnames for the first time (only nekoma)

200 followers: Day off

Kabedon scenarios: Ushijima, Sakusa and Suna

100 followers: How he reacts to you calling him “husband”

Friendship headcanons; being childhood friends with the twins

Chat: Miya twins

Chat: Kageyama & Daichi

Characters hc and one shots

Tsukishima Kei:

Steps back

Tsukishima Kei x reader

Suna Rintarō:

Suna Rintaro x reader

Where he left you

Iwaizumi Hajime:

Manhandled

Visiting your family (fem spanish/latin s/o)

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader fluff

His s/o is a heat thief

Kita Shinsuke:

His to love (smut)

Kita Shinsuke x reader fluff

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Interview

How he reacts when someone kiss your forehead

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader fluff

Sakusa Kiyoomi:

Love is blindness

MSBY Black Jackals: How you meet

MSBY Black Jackals: Friends to lovers

Bokuto Kōtaro:

MSBY Black Jackals: How you meet

MSBY Black Jackals: Friends to lovers

Bokuto Kōtaro x reader fluff

Miya Atsumu:

MSBY Black Jackals: How you meet

You didn’t knew he was a volleyball player (time skip Atsumu)

Friends to lovers headcanons

Late valentine’s day

Miya Osamu:

Osamu Miya x reader

Osamu x reader fluff request

Hinata Shoyo:

MSBY Black Jackals: How you meet

Hinata Shoyo x reader fluff

Kenma Kozume:

Special request : he visits you in the hospital

Kenma Kozume x reader fluff

Oikawa Tōru:

Jealous

Oikawa Toru x Gn!reader

Various

Asahi Azumane x reader

Daichi Sawamura x reader

Nishinoya Yū x reader

Yamaguchi Tadashi x reader

Kuroo Tetsuro x reader

Satori Tendou x reader

Sugawara Kōshi x reader

Akaashi Keiji x reader

Tobio Kageyama x reader

I think that’s all, if you notice the fanfic or hc doesnt matches the redirected URL please let me know! 😉✨

Thanks for reading! 🐨✨💖

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b1as1an-souya · 2 years

Note

If it’s okay can I request the toman founders and they have to deal with a reader who has the personality of kenma from haikyuu. I’m not good with explaining stuff so this is what I can think of so I’m sorry if it’s very little

Hi! Thanks for requesting me, I appreciate it. I’ve never really gotten into haikyuu so after some research on kenma i think i understand what he acts like! (Please correct me if i messed up)

Btw! Sorry this is so short!

That was so cool!

Toman founders x male reader

Warnings: slight blood, violence, cursing, violence

Ps: this is kinda inspired by the ep where kenma wanted to play volleyball with the ginger dude more.

This is also in 2003

If you asked the toman founding members to describe their friend they would say he was quiet, calm, pretty chill. You know something among those lines. That would usually lead people into thinking how is he a founding member? Or even in a gang overall.

[Name] wasn’t really into going outside really, he just liked to stay at home, sleep, and maybe play on his Gameboy. Which never lasted long because his friends were always dragging him outside.

One thing they never, and I mean never expected to see was [Name] using all of his energy. They saw him fight, but that was only one time thing. And he wasn’t even trying!

“What the hell?” Mikey whispered to his friends as they saw [Name] deliver a final kick to some high schooler that tried to hurt his friends. “Is that really [Name]?” Kazutora said in disbelief. “Yeah…” Draken said not realizing that [Name] was in front of them. “Hey guys.” [Name] said quietly as he wiped the blood from his face.

Startling his friends with his words they took one look at him then stared at him in awe. “That was so cool!” Pah-Chin praised, giving [Name] a smile. “Thanks…” He quietly muttered back. “I never knew you could do that!” Mitsuya complemented, making [Name] freeze up. “I wanna… I wanna fight some more people!” [Name] admitted then looking away in embarrassment when he saw his friends look shocked by his words. “N-Never mind. That was a dumb thing i said…” [Name] shyly said.

“Shit, I could go for a fight right now!” Baji yelled while cracking his knuckles. “Yeah me to!” Mikey smiled. “It’s like your a mind reader [Name]!” Pah-Chin laughed putting his hands in his pockets. “Don’t be stupid Pah-Chin!” Kazutora said flicking him on the forehead. “Come on! We could go fight if you wanna!” Mikey said as the seven of them went to go beat up people.

08/03/22

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kabie-whump · 3 months

Text

Badly Summarized WIP Poll!

Thank you @whumperofworlds for the tag this is my first time getting tagged in something like this teehee

Rules: Pick a bunch of your WIPs and summarize them as badly as possible, then ask your followers to vote on which one they’d be most likely to read. Multiple/all/none options are completely optional.

Tagging ummmmmmmm @sapphicccici and @morning-star-whump (no pressure ofc)

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jxbsbokuto · 2 years

Text

play along | bokuto koutarou

pairing: bokuto x fem!reader

genre: sfw, fluff, strangers to lovers, fake dating au

words: 2.0k

haikyuu masterlist

Panic was written in your eyes as you spotted your ex-boyfriend through the glass, sitting at a table among the rest of your friends. You wonder just why he's there until you remember that he is also friends with f/n, the one who initially introduced the two of you.

It’s not like you still have feelings for him - oh hell nah - but your relationship didn’t really end on good terms. You were fine with it, sort of relieved actually, but you wanted him to look at you and see how good you were doing without him.

However, the truth is, you aren’t doing so great. Of course, breaking up with him was a huge improvement in your life, but besides that, not much has changed since the last time you were with him. Especially, in your love life.

You tried, but most of your dates didn’t work out. They were either boring or trying to get in your pants as fast as possible. For a quick moment you believed your ex when he said you wouldn’t find anyone if you left him, but again, it would be better to spend the night with the guy trying to sleep with you than being with him.

You look down at your outfit, a button-up shirt with a lace bra underneath and light jeans. Simple, but the combo along with some accessories and a cute baguette purse looked rather elegant. Yet, it wasn’t sexy, nor ‘I’m doing better without you, asshole”.

You turn back to the street side of the sidewalk and spot a car a few steps away from you. You walk to the window and look at your reflection, wondering how you could fix yourself. You decide to open your shirt, leaning down a bit to not let other people in the street see your boobs, then make a knot with its ends. You fix your hair, apply a little more lipstick, and check your ass out. But you still think something is missing. Lastly, you dig your hand into your bra and pull your boobs upwards. As if all this wasn’t enough you check out yourself one last time.

While at it, the window you were using as a mirror slowly made its way down to reveal one of the most handsome men you have ever seen in your life. For a moment you think you have already seen him somewhere, but you decide it was probably in one of your dreams.

“Hey.” He says, so nonchalant it doesn’t even seem he’s just seen you fix your tiddies.

You keep staring at his golden eyes in complete disbelief. “You... were there... the whole time.” He chuckles at your mortified face.

“Yep, I was. But don’t worry, I closed my eyes when you were, uh,” He motions his hands over his chest. “yeah.”

A deep sigh of defeat falls out your lips, the thought of unliving yourself very strong in your mind. You take a step away from his car and he finally steps out of it.

Just from the sight of him behind the window, you knew he was big, but your jaw drops when his 6'3 figure of broad shoulders, muscles, thick thighs under his slacks, and Dorito-shaped torso stands in front of you. Your brain couldn't comprehend how someone so damn attractive could exist.

“What are you fussing about anyway? You look great!” He points his hands ahead, gesturing for you up and down. "I mean, you already looked good before, so I don't understand."

"You see that dark-haired guy on a table inside?" You nod your head in the direction of your ex-boyfriend.

"The one in a blue shirt?"

"Yes. That's my ex. It's my friend's birthday today and I forgot they're friends, the possibility of him being here didn't even cross my mind."

"And... you want him back or something?"

"Oh, God, no." You shake your head. "He's an asshole. I just want him to see that I'm doing good- no, great, without him."

"Hm, I see." He nods. "Well, you're very pretty, I can't even believe he was able to pull you off. You don’t have to worry about him." You feel your cheeks heating up at the praises and you thank him quietly. He checks the time on his watch before turning to you again. “I have to go meet my friends inside, but it was nice to meet you…”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, wow, what a beautiful name. I’m Bokuto.”

“Thanks, it was nice meeting you too, Bokuto.”

He gestures for you to walk ahead of him like the gentleman he is. You open the door of the pub when a group of drunk guys also decides to leave, one of them is destined to bump into you but a large hand finds your waist, spins you, and pulls you in, making your front meet a hard surface that you soon acknowledge as Bokuto’s chest.

“Are you okay?” He asks while the men pass by, bumping into his back while they do so.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thank you.”

By now you have no doubts he can see your flustered cheeks.

Bokuto lets you go and smiles.

“Hey, dudes, look where you’re going!” He shouts back to the group that only responds with a shrug of shoulder and mumbles.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Y/n. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bokuto.”

You start walking towards your friend’s table but turn your head back to look at him one last time. Your heart beats faster when you see the dual color-hair man is looking at you too. You smile giggly because of him.

“Oh my God, Y/n, who was that with you?!” One of your friends asks as soon as you reach the table.

As you open your mouth to respond, your gaze meets your ex’s. He looks at you with slightly narrowed eyes, clearly interested in your answer too. The words fall out of your lips before you can even think.

“He’s my new boyfriend.” You answer while taking a seat beside your best friend.

“What?!” They’re shocked.

Not because they don’t think it would be possible for you to be with someone as good-looking as him but because of the same reason you were shocked when you saw him.

“He’s the one you were out on a date with last week?!”

“Yep.” You put all your confidence in your words, to be as convincing as possible.

“Wait, so you’re dating MSBY’s Bokuto?” Your ex asks, genuine disbelief in his voice.

So that’s where you saw him, you think.

“Yes. It’s pretty recent, so we’re keeping it low key.”

“He’s super hot.”

“I’m glad you found him, you've been looking for someone for so long.”

You catch a glimpse of your ex’s mouth curving upwards a bit.

“Yeah, he’s amazing. And super sweet.”

“I saw the way he was looking at you.” Bf/n nudges your side. “You got him wrapped around your finger.” You just laugh away, dropping the conversation.

Soon your friends also let go of it and start talking about something else. Suddenly, you feel your phone vibrating and take it to see a message from Bf/n.

>> since uh when??

you NEVER showed me a pic of him

<< soooo i lied :D i met him outside the pub

>> is this bc of ex/n?

<< yeah

>> god y/n

but what i said was true he was looking at you differently

pls tell me you gave him your number

<< i didn’t

>> i’m gonna kill you istg

“Excuse me, that gentleman at the bar sent you this drink.”

You look up from your phone to the waiter beside you, who put down a Grasshopper in front of you and tilted his head towards Bokuto, who was sitting with three more guys.

His smile grows bigger when your eyes meet and he raises his own cup in a toast, then winks at you.

“Something sweet like you, he said.” You switched your gaze to your friend beside you partly to hide your blush and to see her reaction as well.

“I told you.” She whispered.

Everyone at the table made a big deal out of it and started teasing you, well, not everyone, since a scowl took place on your ex’s face.

The night went on and near the end of it, your friends decide to go to a club. It’s not like you didn’t want to go, but you didn’t really want to, you only wanted to plop down on your bed and sleep till noon. Everybody gathers their things to leave and gets up from the table.

“Won’t you say ‘bye’ to your boyfriend, Y/n?” Ex/n asks, emphasizing the word ‘boyfriend’. It’s obvious he still doesn’t believe in your little lie. “Does he even let you go to the club without hi-?”

“Hey, Y/n!”

Like work from destiny, the player jogs up to you. You turn around in his direction and mouth a ‘please play along’ before putting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Bokuto’s eyes go wide and he stiffens momentarily, but the soft feeling of your lips on his cause him to kiss you back and hold your waist against him. You hum in the kiss, prolonging it for a little longer than you should then pull away. His mouth moves forward, searching for yours.

The rest of your friends watch the scene in front of them with their jaws dropped and Bf/n almost pulls her phone to record it.

“I was about to go talk to you, Darling.” You say, straightening the fabric of his shirt on his chest. “The girls want to go to a club, you don’t mind if I tag along with them, right?”

Bokuto takes a quick glance at the man beside you and quickly understands what’s going on.

“Of course I don’t, Princess.” He holds you tighter and raises your hand to his mouth to place a chaste kiss on its back. “But you promised me cuddles tonight.” He pouts then dips his head down to get closer to you. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”

His words make your stomach cold and your breath uneasy. Ex/n shifts in his place, uncomfortable, and cleats his throat, making both your attentions go to him.

“Oh, hey, man.” The ace greets him.

“Uh, where did you two meet?” Your ex raises a brow.

“In a coffee shop. I went there with Tsum-Tsum and she was ordering in front of us.” Bokuto answers.

“That’s funny ‘cause Y/n doesn’t like coffee.”

“I was there for their red velvet cake.” You resort.

“Okay, so you met in a coffee shop on a random day, and just like that you started going out?”

You and Bokuto take a look at each other and start nodding, both in the same place with the act.

“Yep, exactly like that.”

“Hey, you’re her ex, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’d say it’s a shame that you weren’t able to appreciate her as she deserves, but if you did she wouldn’t be with me so, I guess I gotta thank you actually.”

You see a vein popping on Ex/n’s forehead. You hug Bokuto’s torso and get on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“You flatter me too much, Baby. I think you just earned those cuddles.” You turn to your friends. “Sorry, girls, we can schedule the club for another day.”

“Sure! Go have fun with your man.” Bf/n says with a smirk.

“Bye, y’all!”

You take Bokuto’s hand in yours and walk away as he waves to your friends. When you get outside, you stop.

“Oh my God, thank you so much. And sorry for putting you in that situation.” You smile apologetically.

“No problem, I didn’t mind that at all. Especially the kiss. I didn’t mind that at all.” He repeats and you feel your face burning.

“Ex/n didn’t believe me when I lied and said you were my boyfriend so I panicked.” You explain.

“Well, if you let me take you out, it won’t be a lie anymore.” He tilts his head to the side, waiting for your response.

“Let’s make it real, then.”

likes and reblogs are more than appreciated!<3

taglist! @humanbean-123 @pelicanpizza @dai-tsukki-desu

join here

#jxbsbokuto #jxbsbokutooneshot #jxbshq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fluff #bokuto x femreader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto

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slamdunkhcs · 2 years

Text

the success of slam dunk

Something I often hear from others is that “Slam Dunk is underrated”. To an extent, this is true. The series isn’t very talked about among younger fans of manga, and newer sports series such as Haikyuu are mentioned more by younger fans. However, Slam Dunk is not underrated in the slightest. Its numbers of copies sold worldwide (170 million copies, making it the seventh best selling manga of all time) speaks for itself, but in this essay I want to break down both the numbers and impact that truly show Slam Dunk’s success.

During the time of the series' publishing in Shonen Jump, Japan had been going through an economic fall. The Japanese economy suffered a prolonged recession that followed the collapse of the economic success of the 80’s. Corporations had stopped hiring new employees in order to maintain their current ones. This meant that many people were out of work, and it led to high unemployment. While this doesn’t directly affect Inoue, it puts lots of pressure on his manga to do well. After all, if he couldn’t make something that sold, he was out of a job. He had also stated that his editors were against him making a basketball manga due to it being unknown in the country, yet he did it regardless — despite knowing that he could easily be out of a job and face the financial difficulties many others were facing throughout the 90’s.

Throughout the 90’s, basketball wasn't very known in Japan. The NBA was at its peak in popularity, but this popularity didn’t translate to Japan. Baseball and soccer were far more known sports in Japan, and so Inoue was faced with the task of introducing basketball to his readers. (He did a good job of this). Slam Dunk starts off more comedic and casual compared to an intense sports series, and this was done to appeal to a wider audience. In fact, some of the most popular chapters and episodes at the time had been the gym fight arc, which didn’t exactly have much to do with basketball. But as the series progressed, Inoue was faced with two choices; to continue with the writing structure that was selling, or to double down on the basketball aspect of the series and risk alienating and losing his audience.

But instead of backing down, Inoue decided to take the risk. The story became more and more basketball focused, but he didn’t alienate his audience. In fact, the story was becoming more and more popular. At the time, it contended with Dragon Ball Z, and at times was even outselling.

The apex of the series’ popularity had been towards the end of its serialization in 1995-1996, throughout the Shohoku vs Sannoh match. And then… it ended. Inoue’s editors wanted him to continue the series as it was one of the magazine’s best selling, but instead, he just left. A complete power move. The series had lots of material that could have been used to continue the series, such as what happened to Shohoku (particularly Sakuragi) after the Sannoh match, him getting the girl, him becoming an even better player. I think that Inoue knew the series could have been even bigger if he had continued, but I also believe that it ended where it needed to. If Slam Dunk had been dragged longer, it may have gotten stale, and it might not have been as beloved as it is right now. Additionally, Inoue’s other big titles such as Vagabond or REAL don’t have endings due to long hiatus, and it’s possible that Slam Dunk may have faced similar treatment.

Aside from its overall sales, another interesting metric that encapsulates Slam Dunk’s success is its sales per volume estimate.

Slam Dunk being second only to One Piece (the best selling manga of all time) highlights just how successful it is.

Additionally, here is a sales chart of the best selling manga in September 2022. The fact Slam Dunk places here despite being a series that has been completed for over 25 years speaks for itself.

The series is very impressive sales wise already, but another component on just how successful Slam Dunk is its cultural impact in Japan. I already stated Inoue was forced with the task of introducing basketball to Japan. And to say he introduced it to them would be an understatement; it can be said that Slam Dunk popularized the sport.

Around the 90’s, while basketball was at its peak in popularity due to the NBA, Japan didn’t pick up on this. Baseball and football were still far more popular. As I said before, Inoue was tasked to introduce basketball to his readers.

Introduced is an understatement, and Inoue’s story actually increased enrollment in basketball among Japanese youth. In fact, throughout 1990-1995, around one million Japanese high schoolers were playing basketball as an extracurricular. And when Slam Dunk ended its serialization, this number dropped again.

Additionally, when the NBA came to Japan during the time the series was being published, the stadiums for their games were packed. This adds onto just how much more popular basketball was getting in Japan. And even now, it can be said basketball is a much popular sport in Japan.

But he didn’t just introduce the game itself; he also showed the culture surrounded by basketball.

Basketball culture is another prominent thing shown in Slam Dunk, from the boys hooping in Jordans, the baggy clothes they wear, to the sneakerhead culture. Inoue bridged 90’s American culture to Japan, and he made it a thing among Japanese youth.

Something else I want to note is that Nike allowed for Inoue’s use of their products in the manga. On my initial read, this surprised me, since I figured that Nike would have copyrighted the series. However, the reason they allowed for Inoue’s display of their products was because it essentially advertised their products to the Japanese market. In fact, Jordan’s and Nike’s sneakers had a massive increase in Japanese sales throughout the series’ publication (particularly the shoes worn by Sakuragi and Rukawa). Additionally, Nike also had a collaboration with Inoue to make red Jordan’s with Slam Dunk’s panels.

The series wasn’t known in just Japan, but throughout other Asian countries such as South Korea, China, and The Philippines. And as a result, basketball got popularized in these countries as well. If you were to ask anyone from there from around the 80’s-90’s, it’d be difficult to not find a Slam Dunk reader.

Throughout all this, I firmly believe that Slam Dunk isn’t underrated. It is arguably one of the most influential mangas, and easily one of the most successful.

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chiptrillino · 2 months

Note

Ive been stalking your page—and I will say you got so much amazing art but I’m surprised you’ve never had a Tokyo Ghoul phase 😭😭 (love you Zukka fan art 💕💕)

oh no i so had one hahahaha (i was in big deep) I was among the people that was like looking through the pages trying to find numbers!!! did i know the meaning? was my knowledge of tarot cards adequate egnouth to tell what it could mean and predict what the manga could be hinting??? no

but that manga had an iron grip on me. but... parallel to it i also red haikyuu... and well... yeha... (i did use to have a TG oc)

Thank you :D!

#chip!ask #the show had younger my crying on weekly basis.#heck the spoiler accounts and people so graciously translating tiny bits and everyone scrambeling to figure out what is happening!!!#the numbers!!!! the numbers hidden on pages that may or may not were hints...#-singing badly the opening song and suffers-#(honestly follows the patern of 'tragic protagonist with bowl cut and asymetric eyes )

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heich0e · 2 years

Text

JUST A TASTE - part one: salt miya atsumu/bartender!reader (haikyuu!) ao3 link word count: 3.3k tags: see series masterlist for more tags, enemies to customer service providers, f!reader, frequent mentions of alcohol a/n: this series is heavily informed by my understanding of western bar culture/mixology, so... suspension of disbelief, poetic license, forgive my ignorance, etc. my apologies + pls read at your own risk if that might bother you!

salty dog: 1.5oz gin or vodka, 4oz grapefruit juice, kosher salt, ice, grapefruit slice (optional for garnish). pour kosher salt onto a plate. rub grapefruit slice around the rim (or wet with tips of fingers and grapefruit juice) and dip the glass into the salt. reserve the grapefruit for serving if using. fill glass with ice. add vodka or gin, then top with grapefruit juice. stir gently to combine and garnish with the reserved grapefruit slice.

The most popular cocktail in the first bar you ever worked at was the Long Island iced tea.

You never knew why it was called a Long Island iced tea. The drink wasn't made with tea. You weren't even sure it came from Long Island—though the concoction undeniably stemmed from the excess of the west.

The cocktail's recipe was as complicated as the ambiguous etymology of its name: equal parts vodka, tequila, gin, rum, and triple sec; one and a half parts sour mix; all topped with a splash of coke to give it its familiar amber hue.

Like tea, maybe. If you'd never seen tea before.

The drink was stupid and convoluted, but they could get you fucked up pretty fast and didn't cost too much—which made it a fan-favourite among the broke students that crammed into the bar near your university campus every night of the week. Fridays they were even two for one, and the highest tally of Long Islands you'd ever made in a single night working the closing shift was three hundred and seventeen. It was on a Friday just after midterm week, and you’d almost thrown the last one right at the poor girl who’d ordered it at last call because you were so sick of mixing them.

Needless to say you were happy when you graduated and got a job at a nicer bar further in Osaka's city centre.

It was only supposed to be a temporary gig; just something to keep your lights on while you hunted for a job in your field. But all too quickly the career prospects that had seemed so promising with your diploma fresh in your hand quickly dried up, and so the drinks kept flowing.

The second bar was fancier than the one you’d worked at through college—the kind that named drinks after famous dead people and used coasters. It was frequented most often by young working professionals only slightly older (if at all) than yourself—dressed in suits and loosened ties, shirts unbuttoned at the collar, as they stopped by for a drink on their way home from the office or with a date on a Saturday night who they’d probably swiped right on on some app. You didn’t really mind working there all that much—the tips were more consistent, the spirits better quality, and you didn’t have to deal with obnoxious college boys slurring unsolicited advances at you over the counter while you poured them their fourth sake bomb of the night and resisted the urge to spit in it.

The most popular drink at this bar was a classic kamikaze, branded with a different name to justify the unnecessarily costly price attached to it. The recipe was a classic: equal parts lime juice, vodka, and triple sec; garnished with a slice of lime.

When you would leave the bar at the end of a shift, shuffling lethargically down the road to the humble apartment which you shared with two friends from college, you could still smell the sharp, astringent aroma of the green citrus fruit clinging to the tips of your fingers because of how many limes you'd used as garnish that night.

It was at that second bar that you learned to really enjoy bartending. It was easier to do in that place, when you weren’t focusing on quantity over quality; over making sure the senpai on the other side of the bar wasn’t getting too handsy with the junior girl you’d served one too many lemon sours that evening; over ensuring that someone didn’t steal the framed painting of Jumbo Ozaki off the wall (for the third time that month.)

You found that, over time, the half-assed google searches and scanning job postings at the back of the Saturday newspaper stopped entirely; the books on your nightstand turned from a stack about finding your calling and nailing interviews to titles on mixology and spirits.

You got better at bartending too. You weren’t just fast and efficient (the only good thing that ever came out of that college bar job) but you had a good memory when it came to drinks—quickly becoming a walking encyclopaedia of not just recipes, but facts about spirits, wine, and beer that you used to charm customers into ordering the top shelf offerings, which translated into fatter tips left for you and your impressive wealth of trivia at the end of the night.

And then one day, an opportunity fell in your lap.

“I got a job at that new bar across town—you know the one on the top floor of that crazy high rise?”

You looked up over the steaming bowl of ramen that was commanding the majority of your attention, your chopsticks pausing halfway to your open mouth.

Your coworker and friend, Shoji, peered back at you from the other side of the table after he said his piece. You should of known when he offered to take you out for lunch ahead of your shift that evening he’d had ulterior motives.

“Ah,” you said, popping your food into your mouth and then speaking as you chewed. “Dees ah’ guilt noodows.”

“They are not guilt noodles, thank you.” Shoji laughed, slumping back in his chair as he watched you chew. He seemed to be contemplating something.

Shoji Taiyou was a few years older than you—closer to 35 than he was to your 25—and had been in the bar industry for twice as long as you had. He was still youthful in spite of it, with tattoos on his arm, a buzzed head, and a piercing in his eyebrow—and you rarely noticed the gap in ages between you. Above all else he was a good coworker. Reliable. The two of you had become fast friends when you’d started working at the second bar that took you on just after graduation.

You swallowed your mouthful of food.

“That place is fucking swanky—why the hell did they hire you?” you asked, but the comment had no grounds and you both knew it. He was as good of a bartender as they came, and had taught you a lot in the few years that you’d been working together.

You’d miss him.

“My old friend from college is the manager,” Shoji said, reaching for his own chopsticks and picking out a piece of pork from his bowl. “He’s been trying to convince me to come on board for the past couple of months,” he explained, leaning on his elbow as he watched you fish out a shiitake from your own bowl of broth. “He came in last week to talk to me about it again—remember him?”

You vaguely recalled the man, though you forgot his name. He was wearing a suit and had smiled a lot, showing off his unnaturally white teeth. He’d been pleasant enough.

“He liked you,” Shoji said. “A lot.”

“I’m not interested in getting set up with your buddy even if he does run the fanciest bar in Osaka,” you said with a roll of your eyes, pointing your chopsticks at him warningly.

“He’s married,” Taiyou laughed. “And he doesn’t want to date you, he wants to hire you.”

You paused.

“Me?”

Shoji had twice the wealth of experience you did, so it made sense he’d get scouted by another bar. But you? You were just a college grad who bartended because apparently art history majors were not, in fact, in such a high demand at the moment.

“He said you made him one of the best cocktails he’s had in a long time.”

“I'm pretty sure he only ordered a highball...”

“Just think about it, will ya? He liked you, and I vouched for your skills,” Shoji said with a long-suffering sigh at your recalcitrance, letting his hand hit the table with a determined thud. The broth in your bowl rippled at the impact. “I’m putting in my two weeks today, so that gives you fourteen days to make up your mind as to whether or not you’re coming with me.”

And you did think about it.

A lot.

You thought about it while you worked that night—shaking a Martini over your shoulder for one of your regulars: a middle aged woman who was meeting with her lawyer as they discussed the third divorce she’d gone through since you started working at the bar.

You thought about it while you shopped for groceries after your closing shift on the eighth day at the 24 hour grocery store by your apartment, choosing between vegetables and ice cream because your budget didn't allow for both. (You chose the ice cream.)

You thought about it while you vacuumed your apartment on the thirteenth day, tripping over the cord of the appliance with a face mask smeared thick across your t-zone that promised to help improve the brightness of your skin. It had been dull as of late, and you chalked it up to too much thinking.

You handed in your notice the next morning.

It hardly feels right to call the third bar you find yourself employed at a simple bar at all when it's so much more than that.

It has stunning views of the city skyline from the top floor of a newly constructed high-rise. There’s polished glass, black marble, and a profusion of other modern finishes decorating the space in a tasteful, luxurious way that never feels too heavy-handed. But your favourite part of the modern, sumptuous bar has to be the atmospheric lighting that casts the entire space in a dim, ethereal glow without ever diminishing the view.

Going to work every day still feels like a dream.

And it’s here that you really get to shine.

The liquors behind the bar are expensive and imported. There are bottles of wine on the wine list that cost more than a month’s rent at your old apartment—which you’ve since given up in favour of a one bedroom closer to your new place of work, that you can afford now on your own thanks to the substantial pay increase you’d gotten when you’d accepted the new position.

The job comes with more responsibility, commensurate to the pay-raise, to be sure—you help to curate drink menus, source new and exciting additions to the spirit shelves and wine list, deal with any issues with distributors that crop up along the way. But you get to mix drinks, ones you come up with yourself, and it’s given you the space you need to thrive.

The clientele of the new bar is elite; politicians, actors, and athletes flock to the space in droves. They're the kind of people who don’t bat an eye at the hefty bills that land in their hands at the end of night, or think twice about how many zeroes they scribble on to the tip at the bottom of their receipt to be split between you and the waitstaff.

All in all, you find the patrons at the downtown bar to be mostly tolerable.

Except for one.

Miya Atsumu: professional volleyball player for the MSBY Black Jackals, part-time heartthrob, and full-time pain in your ass.

He shows up every Friday night with a date—a standing reservation in his name.

He always orders two cocktails.

Never the same one twice.

The women nor the drinks.

It had started a few weeks after you’d begun your new job: a busy Friday evening, as always, and the most popular drink that night seemed to be the cocktail that you and head bartender Shoji had come up with—a slightly more modern take on a classic whiskey sour.

You were in the process of making three more of the evening’s special when a head of peroxide blonde hair suddenly popped into your line of sight. You looked up, meeting a pair of suspiciously soft brown eyes peering at you from the other side of the sparkling bartop.

“Hello,” you greeted the man politely, wiping your damp hands on the apron tied around your waist, condensation from the shaker you’d just been holding clinging to your fingertips. “Can I help you?”

Your eyes flickered down to the man’s hands as he set them on the counter and leaned towards you—long, inarguably elegant fingers wrapped around two cocktails identical to the ones you’d just been preparing. One was mostly drained while the other barely touched, though you could spot the soft ring of a lipstick mark along the edge of the polished glass.

“I was wonderin’ if ya might be able to do me a huge favour,” the man asked, voice teeming with what you were sure was meant to be charm but immediately set your teeth on edge. You couldn’t help but have a sudden, visceral flashback to the college boys who would leer at you over the counter in your first bar, and you found yourself taking a half step back from him without thinking.

His eyes flashed with a quiet confusion at your unsubtle retreat, but he didn’t seem to let it stop him.

“Ya see, my date and I both ordered this cocktail—but she really hates whiskey.”

“It’s a whiskey sour,” you replied, forcing yourself to keep your tone professional though it still came out a little flat. Why someone who hates whiskey would order a drink that was made of it perplexed you—but it happened far more often than you cared to linger on in your line of work.

“I know—and I happen to think it’s delicious—I thought she’d like it too but she says she absolutely can’t drink it.”

“Alright, I’d be happy to make you something else,” you said, tone slightly clipped but still accommodating. “What can I get for you?”

“Well, what would you recommend?” he asked, his blonde head tilting curiously to the side.

Your eyes dropped down to the three almost completed cocktails in front of you, which you’d already allowed to rest for too long thanks to the unexpected distraction. You set about completing them while you spoke with the man.

“Well, she doesn’t like whiskey. What spirit does she like?” You finished garnishing the cocktails, waving over the server who had been waiting for them at the edge of the bar to hand them off.

“Uh, dunno…” The man scratched absentmindedly behind his ear.

You blinked at him blankly, biting back a scoff.

“Alright, well does she like sweet things?” you tried again.

The man pursed his full lips. “Not sure about that either.”

“Is there anything you know about this woman?” The biting comment slipped out before you had the presence of mind to stopper it behind your teeth—and you momentarily panicked, wondering if he was going to take offence.

He merely grinned at you wolfishly.

“I know she's a swimsuit model.”

You very nearly sneered.

You curled your hands into fists out of sight below the bar, counting to five in your mind to calm the rage you felt building in your gut.

“Okay,” you said, turning away and grabbing some ingredients off the wall behind you.

It wasn’t anything particularly complicated—a slightly modified take on an Aperol spritz. The man watched you while you worked, mixing up the two cocktails with a measured hand, offering a few facts about the beverage along the way as you were accustomed to doing.

You finished the drink off with a bit of briney salt spray over the surface of the bubbling beverage, the champagne still fizzing from having only just been poured over the ice.

“What’s that?” the man asked, watching you mist the drinks.

“Saline solution,” you explained, running a clean cloth over the edge of the glass to clean up a little drop that had spilled over the lip. “It’s salty—like the sea. People say it reminds them of the beach.”

“Perfect fer a swimsuit model.” The man nodded approvingly, flashing you a winning smile.

“Sure,” you agreed half-heartedly, handing the drinks to the evening’s most annoying customer over the counter.

“I’ll be sure to let ya know what she thinks!”

You bit back the comment sitting on the tip of your tongue telling him not to bother—catching yourself that second time before saying something you’d regret.

You didn’t need him to come and tell you his date enjoyed her drink—even though he did make a point of doing so on his way out, his cheeks flushed a little pinker and hair a little more dishevelled than it had been when he first approached the bar that evening. The three more rounds of the same cocktail that had been ordered for his table (and the hefty tip he’d left, with specific instructions that it was to go directly to you) really told you everything you needed to know.

It became a routine after that.

Miya comes in on a Friday night, some exorbitantly beautiful woman on his arm, and he’s quickly seated at whatever table the front of house staff has ready and waiting for him.

Moments after that, he rises to approach you at the bar.

He’ll offer you some minute detail about his date (though occasionally it is mercifully pertinent to their drink preferences—like a spirit they enjoy or a flavour they’re partial to) and you’re left to come up with a cocktail that will appeal to them.

“So, what’s the story with this one?” he asks one evening, a few months into the little ritual that has settled between you, leaning over the counter as you whip up a drink for his lady of the week. His hints that night were: daughter of a mogul, refined tastes, wants to get messed up.

“Comes from Monaco. They say the queen devised the recipe herself—all the bubble of champagne but twice the punch. Ladies weren’t allowed to drink hard liquor without it being seen as unbecoming, so this was a way they could get away with it and still have a good time.” You strain the slightly green tinted drink into the waiting champagne flutes below the shaker, watching as the frothy liquid pools in the basin of the glass.

“Nice.” The man nods in approval as you top both drinks off with a float from a freshly popped bottle of champagne. The colour of the drink softens even further with the addition of the effervescent wine, and in the dim light of the bar you can hardly even tell it isn’t pure champagne.

“Two imperials for your prim and proper date.” You slide the drinks over to his waiting hands.

“She won’t be proper fer long." Atsumu winks at you over the counter and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Your interactions with the regular customer have also shifted in the weeks since he’d started bothering you with his patronage—far less professional than the tone you’d tried (poorly) to maintain on his first few visits to the bar.

“Revolting,” you mutter.

“Thanks again! I’ll let you know how this one goes.”

“Just leave me a nice tip,” you say dismissively, wiping down the bartop with a clean cloth to prepare for the next drink orders waiting to be filled.

“I always do,” the man chirps back, flashing you the same grin he always does—charming, self-assured, and utterly carefree—as he steps away towards his waiting date once more.

But he’s right: for all of Atsumu’s shenanigans, he always leaves you a very generous tip at the end of the night. He always ensures to stop by on his way out—one arm wrapped around the waist of whatever absurdly good looking woman he’s conned into going out with him that week—to tell you that they loved their drinks and to slide a neatly folded stack of bills towards you across the counter.

He’s annoying, but he’s single-handedly financing your habit of buying the really good ice cream on your weekly grocery trip, so you don’t complain much.

You watch as Atsumu crosses the length of the room to return to his table—this week he’s been seated at one not far from the bar, which affords you the perfect view of him sliding into his seat and handing one of the two drinks you’d just carefully prepared to the woman waiting for him.

She takes a sip and smiles, and you watch as Atsumu reaches out to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than is necessary.

You look away with a roll of your eyes, setting to work on the numerous orders that have come in since you’d been busy preparing his drinks.

Good tipper or not, he really is completely shameless.

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