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#haikyuu angst
amjustagirl · 2 days
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title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list
a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.
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Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 
He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 
It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  
“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 
Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 
“That’s cos she’s amazing -”
“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”
“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 
“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 
Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 
“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 
He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 
“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  
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Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 
Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.
Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 
As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 
Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 
Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 
“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 
You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 
Did you say something to him last night? 
It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 
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Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 
“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 
“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 
“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 
He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 
“Tetsuro?” 
He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 
He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.
Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 
Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 
You’re gone. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.
He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 
“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  
His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 
You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -
Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 
It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 
Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 
He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 
“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 
“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 
Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  
He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -
“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 
You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 
“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 
“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 
You don’t seem to hear him. 
“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 
You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    
“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 
The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.
You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   
He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 
“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”
He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  
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Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.
The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 
He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 
“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 
“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 
“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 
“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 
“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 
Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 
“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”
He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 
Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “
“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.
“Guys, I’m fine - ” 
“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 
Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 
Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 
“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 
“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 
“But I didn’t know -” 
“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”
 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 
Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 
Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 
“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”
“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.
“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.
“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 
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Step one. 
He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 
His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 
Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 
“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 
He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 
“The girls?” you ask. 
He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 
You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 
That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 
That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 
“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 
You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 
“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 
That gets your attention. 
“Really?”
He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 
“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 
“I won’t”, he promises. 
It’s time for him to level up.  
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Step two. 
He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 
“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 
He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 
You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 
In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 
“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 
In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 
“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 
You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 
“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 
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Step three. 
To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 
“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 
His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”
“What made you fall in love with her?” 
“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 
“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 
“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 
“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”
“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 
Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,
“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 
His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 
He can do that. 
“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.
That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 
But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 
“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 
“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 
He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 
The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 
His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 
“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 
A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”
“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 
He will. He will. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 
He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 
“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 
You goggle at him. 
“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 
You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 
Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 
“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 
His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 
Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 
“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 
He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 
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“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 
“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 
“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 
His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 
His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 
“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 
He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 
He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 
When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 
“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 
He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 
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His nights are still plagued by nightmares.
Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 
Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 
You’re there, until you aren’t. 
It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 
He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 
“What’s wrong?” you frown. 
He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 
“You’re - you’re still here.” 
You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 
He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 
“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 
The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 
Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 
It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 
“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.
He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 
“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”
He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 
“Tetsuro -” 
He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 
“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”
“You don’t”, you agree. 
He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”
“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 
“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 
“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 
The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 
“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 
He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 
“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 
 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 
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“Is this what flirting is like?” 
He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 
“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 
Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 
“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 
The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 
“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 
He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 
You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 
The girls giggle, but he protests. 
“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 
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Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 
You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 
Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 
You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 
“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”
“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 
It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 
He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 
“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 
“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 
“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 
“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”
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He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 
A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 
Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 
You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 
“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 
He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 
“You kissed me second!” 
“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 
You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.
“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  
Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 
“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 
There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 
“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”
Both of you are doing alright.
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a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?
213 notes · View notes
cr4yolaas · 2 days
Text
the first time they say “i love you” — various hq boys
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tags: fluff, all post-timeskip, all are already in an established relationship w/ rdr, some may be ooc, not proofread
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𝜗𝜚 kageyama tobio
kageyama’s first instinct was to run to you. albeit the heat of the artificial gymnasium lights burning scriptures on his back and the beads of sweat clinging to each crevice of skin and bone, he found himself in your arms — you, clad in his jersey, who stood at the front of the crowd as soon as the game ended. loud cheers fell on deaf ears as he twirled you around, seemingly overcome by a fit of hyperactivity and joy. you could not care any less. he was happy, and that was enough.
the setter’s hands never failed to leave your sides even as he placed you down. akin to a little boy, he grinned at you with streams of sunlight dripping from the cracks between his teeth. “i love you so much,” he exclaimed, as if announcing it to the reporters and the fangirls circling around him; as if proclaiming a never-ending devotion to the world. it was foreign on his tongue, and yet, it spilled out so smoothly, so naturally, as if he was born to utter those words solely to you.
a loud groan could be heard from his teammates — namely hinata, who stood from the side observing the scene in its entirety. kageyama paid no mind, for in that moment, he was bound to you.
𝜗𝜚 miya osamu
a loud clang reverberated throughout the building as the final customer left. as soon as the door shut, osamu heaved a heavy breath and slumped against the counter.
“‘m exhausting. this is tiring,” he complained, although you knew it wasn’t genuine, as foretold by the lazy smile plastered onto his face and the unadulterated joy in his eyes. “i dun’ know if i can do this for the resta’ my life.”
you merely hummed and sat beside him. your hand found solace on the canvas of his back, the repetitive circular ministrations seemingly doing wonders to him. “it’s okay. i’ll be here with you for all of it,” you whispered.
“really?”
“really.”
a handful of minutes passed in a shared silence before osamu turned to you. his lips quivered, as if he were preparing to let loose a truth that he had been holding onto for centuries. you could only hold your breath in anticipation.
“i love ya lots,” he blubbered, his eyes suddenly overflowing with tears. “thank you for staying with me.”
you grinned. “i love you too, ‘samu.”
𝜗𝜚 sakusa kiyoomi
“i’m home,” a small voice muttered from the front door. the clock on the microwave read 2:43 AM in bright green lettering, the first sign of sakusa’s late arrival.
the second sign came in the darkness of the apartment. all lights, save for the kitchen, had been turned off (you had a habit of leaving one light on for him). the man hung his bag carefully, his touch light against the strap and his movements in slow motion. with soft steps, he padded over to your shared bedroom, only to be greeted with the most vulnerable of sights.
atop the blankets, there you lay — donning your boyfriend’s sleep shirt, bathing in the strands of moonlight that peeked through the blinds, and light breaths falling from your lips. sakusa stood in the doorway for just a moment to soak it all in. he watched your chest rise and fall, the tips of your finger twitching against the mattress as if sensing his presence, and your head buried into the pillow on his side of the bed. slowly but surely he made his way to you, his own breathing light, for he feared that even the softest breaths would awaken you from such a peaceful slumber.
he was so sure that you were fast asleep, thus fueling his desire to unleash a proclamation he had hidden deep within the crevices of his heart and soul. sakusa leaned down against your ear, his voice, albeit raspy and a little too loud, whispering, “i love you.” nothing could have prepared him for your sleepy reciprocation.
𝜗𝜚 ushijima wakatoshi
on a warm summer day, ushijima found himself lounging with you on the couch, his legs entangled in yours and your gaze not on him, but rather, the book in your hands. he didn’t mind — he considered the scenario quite peaceful.
the look on his face said otherwise. his stare trailed far off into nowhere and his lips were cast into a small frown. his brows were furrowed ever so slightly, all evidence of some sort of frustration or concern. he didn’t notice the tenseness in his features for a while, until you pointed it out.
“what’s got you so worried, toshi?” your worrisome tone made his chest feel light, the wings of butterflies tapping against his ribcage. he adored how concerned you were; he thought that to receive such undivided affection was to be receive the highest blessing of all.
“i love you, that’s all,” he blurted out, as if it were a mention of the weather or a discussion of recent events. but it was not. you jumped from your spot and leaned towards your lover.
“you- you what?”
ushijima cleared his throat, his embarrassment evident. “i said i love you.”
if it were to witness the child-like grin that overcame your lips once more, he would express his love for you again and again.
𝜗𝜚 akaashi keiji
akaashi ushered you into his car, paying mind to the stumble in your movements as you crawled onto his passenger seat. the scent of alcohol hung heavy on your skin. you were far too delirious to function on your own, he realized.
gingerly, he removed your heels from your feet and massaged the blistered skin before making a mental note to bandage it when you got home. he then removed his jacket from his shoulders and blanketed it on top of you, as if tucking you in for bed. with a content sigh, he made his way to the driver’s seat.
akaashi would be lying if he said he didn’t find your sleepy state cute. you had just ended your “girl’s night out” — he had promised to pick you up at exactly 10 PM, and that is exactly what he did. what he hadn’t expected was this — you, nearly unconscious in his car, with little to no energy to even move a limb nor form a sentence.
he glanced over at you, his heart beating faster than usual. his voice barely carried itself into the wind as he whispered a small “i love you” onto your forehead before pressing a delicate kiss. perhaps he’d find the courage to say it to your face some other day — for now, this was enough.
270 notes · View notes
fuyuluvr · 19 hours
Text
that wasn’t what it sounded like! 
synopsis: you accidentally hear them say they don't like you.
characters: kuroo, suna
warnings: this was written back in 2020 and i decided to repost it so yea, be warned ig, angst to fluff!
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kuroo: 
with a sigh, you tried mustering up all the confidence you can as you trudged towards the gym. 
‘this is the day.’ you thought to yourself. you were finally going to confess to kuroo. after having numerous debates with your mind, you finally came to the decision to confess. 
your heartbeat quickened at the numerous scenarios you were thinking, most of them being rejection. 
the worst thing that can happen is rejection, right? 
you couldn’t help but fall for kuroo, how could you not? he was funny, smart, and being handsome was a nice plus. you already knew that it would be hard to just tell him about your feelings, especially knowing that he probably only viewed you as a friend. 
once you arrived by the gym, you took a deep breath before going in with a smile, waving to kenma who acknowledged you by looking up from his game.
“uh.. have you seen kuroo?” you sheepishly asked kenma who looked at you curiously before nodding to the locker room.
“hey, (y/n)?” kenma called out. “yeah?”
“goodluck.” your eyes widened as he gave you a small smile. 
you sometimes hated how perceptive kenma is despite his nonchalant behavior. with a determined nod, you walked towards the locker room, hoping to see kuroo walk out from the door. 
when you were at a near distance from the door, you hear a bunch of chatter. you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you perked your head when you heard your name come out from a voice you recognized as yaku’s. 
“man, kuroo. you’re lucky! you have (y/n) crushing on you.” a smack was heard after, kuroo groaning in pain followed afterward. 
your heartbeat quickened when you heard the captain laugh in response. 
“come on, yakkun. (y/n) and i are just friends!” for now. “eh?! seriously? you don’t like her in that way?” you scoot a bit closer to the door, wanting to hear his answer before you take the leap. 
“don’t be ridiculous, yakkun. we’re friends, and that’s it.” your heart dropped at his words. 
you were so caught up in evaluating kuroo’s answer that you didn’t realize the door to the locker room opened. “oh, (y/n)? what’re you doing here?” the chatter in the locker room evidently stopped. you blinked, trying to keep tears at bay. 
you looked up to kai who looked at you with a kind expression. “ah, our professor told me to give this to tet- kuroo-san.” you say, giving him a folder. “i have to go, please give this to him for me. thank you, kai!” you say before running off, passing by the freshmen who gave you a wave of excitement. you couldn’t find it in yourself to smile back as you ran from the gym.
once you were at a safe place, you let the tears fall free. you didn’t know why you were crying. 
‘you didn’t even confess, for crying out loud! so why are you sad?’ you thought to yourself, laughing as you wiped your eyes. 
you felt pathetic for ever thinking that kuroo would ever look at you that way. you were friends. he specified so clearly to one of his closest friends. that was all the confirmation you needed. 
you knew you had to distance yourself on the following days. knowing that if you don’t you’ll fall even deeper and get hurt. 
and you were tired of getting hurt. 
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“oi, chibi. why did the picture go to jail?” kuroo asked when the class was about to end. you took a while to answer him, you only answered when you felt him poke his pen by your cheek. “oi.” “i don’t know, kuroo. why?” kuroo could almost shiver at the tone you used, but he thinks it may just be a bad day. maybe his jokes could make it better? it always did. 
“because it was framed.” not wanting to ignore him, but not wanting to indulge him either you give him a short laugh that can be mistaken as a breath. 
“was it not funny?” “it was.” 
kuroo was silent for a few seconds before asking you with a small nudge from his elbow. 
“are you okay?” “mhm.” you realized that that answer was too curt, something that would possibly make him suspicious. and you didn’t want that. 
“i just need to listen to this lesson, this is very confusing.” you follow up quickly, taking down notes just to not look suspicious. 
“you know i could always tutor you, right?” kuroo said, a reassuring tone lacing his voice. you turn to give him a small nod and smile. “i know.” but i’d like to not be with you unless necessary. “thank you.” 
kuroo furrowed his eyebrows, clearly he knew something was wrong. but before he could ask, the bell rang and you immediately went out of the room. not even giving kuroo his usual goodbye. 
something was definitely wrong. 
“(y/n’s) acting weird.” kuroo couldn’t help but mention when they were on the train home. “eh?” kenma kept clicking on his console, listening intently as his childhood friend rant on about you. 
“and then suddenly they turned cold! i don’t remember doing anything to make them mad.” kuroo was frustrated to say the least, he knew that your friendship was going well, so of course he would be confused as to why you suddenly gave him the cold shoulder.
“i mean… did you reject them?” kenma asked, eyes still on his console. kuroo furrowed his eyebrows at his friend. “reject them? what?” 
kenma paused the game and looked up to kuroo. 
“so, they didn’t confess?” kuroo shook his head in response to kenma’s question. kenma sighed, “i think i know what’s going on.” 
“well, don’t keep it to yourself, kenma. tell me.” kuroo urged. 
“they heard you say you don’t like them.” kenma said, unpausing his game. “well, that’s only my thoughts. i wouldn’t know.” 
now that kuroo thought about it, when he told yaku he only saw you as a friend, the door of the locker room opened to reveal you, who gave kai a document that was meant for him before running off. 
kuroo should’ve known you’ve heard. because no matter how busy you were, you would always wish him good luck on his practices and give him a corny joke to keep him motivated. 
“fuck.” kuroo muttered, placing his hands by his eyes and tilting his head back on the window of the train, groaning from frustration. 
there was a small pause of silence, only the clicking of kenma’s console was heard before the underclassman spoke. 
“what do you plan on doing now?”
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“hey, we need to talk.” kuroo cornered you by the locker, you shut the metal door lightly before giving him an apology. 
“i’m really needed for the next class.” at this point, you weren’t even trying to hide the sheer fact that you were avoiding him. 
“we’re in the same class, and we both know the teacher wouldn’t show up until half the hour passes. try again, (y/n).” 
“i just don’t want to talk to you.” you say straight up, not even trying to put a filter and kuroo felt his heart clench painfully at your tone. 
“too bad. you don’t have a choice.” without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you away to a vacant classroom. 
“why have you been avoiding me.” kuroo knows the answer to his question, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. 
“i was busy, can i go now. please?” you say as curt as possible, not wanting to melt under his gaze. not wanting to break whatever resolve you have built up from the past few days you ignored him. 
“i’m not buying it.” kuroo says, crossing his arms and eyeing you down. you knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep up the tough act if you stayed there.
“you’re so unfair, kuroo.” you couldn’t help but whisper. kuroo’s posture immediately straightened. 
“i’m unfair?” kuroo asked with an amused grin on his face. “i don’t think i’m the one who ignored someone for days for no apparent reason.” you looked down at his words, knowing he has the upperhand. just why did you think you could escape him?
“i’m not the one who made someone think that they did something wrong.” you didn’t realize that he was getting closer, not until you saw his shoes in front of you and felt his hands on your chin, making you look up to him. 
“i’m the one who was deprived of a confession from the person i like, don’t you think it’s unfair for me?” your eyes widened for a few milliseconds before you pushed him away. 
“stop messing around, kuroo.” your voice cracked. “just let me move on. and i promise i’ll be back to normal.” you both know that was an empty promise. if kuroo didn’t corner you, then you would’ve completely tried to eradicate him from your life. but kuroo couldn’t have that. 
now that he knew you liked him back, how could he let this chance go to waste. 
“you think i’ll let you go when i finally have an opportunity to pursue you?” your throat went dry. 
“kuroo... stop. you don’t need to pretend, i heard what you said to yaku. it’s fine, really.” at this point, you wanted to get out as soon as possible. you knew you were going to break down if this keeps on going.
“(y/n), please. believe me. i truly do like you back.” you felt tears prick your eyes. this was some sick joke kuroo was playing at. 
kuroo panicked, seeing tears well up in your eyes before you blinked it away. 
“but i-” “yes. i know that i said those words that day, but it was to shut yakkun up… and to hide my own feelings.” kuroo said the last part quietly. if he weren’t holding you, you probably wouldn’t have heard. 
he lets go of your chin before sighing. “i’ve been in love with you for so long, i didn’t know how to deal with it so i kept denying it. i didn’t tell yaku the truth because i didn’t need him to make fun of me because i couldn’t get the person i wanted.” kuroo let it out, you were shocked. 
he felt the same way?
“kuroo…?” “(y/n). i’m sorry, but i can’t let you go. especially now when i know i have a chance. so please.” unbeknownst to the both of you, your heartbeats were almost identical on how fast it paced. 
“i...” you started. not knowing the right words to say. 
“i think we should… take things slow.” you look at him, giving him the smallest of smiles you can muster. “if that’s okay with you?” 
kuroo couldn’t find it in himself to suppress the wide smile that was plastered on his face. without another word, he pulled you to his chest. his laugh rang out the empty classroom. 
“god. i didn’t want to confess this way… but here we are.” kuroo pulled away and laughed. 
“don’t break my heart, kuroo.” you warned lightheartedly. he gave you a smile that was laced with all the adoration he felt for you before pecking raising your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles. 
“i wouldn’t dream of it.”
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suna:
the whistle was blown, signaling the end of their practice. you smiled in encouragement to the members who looked like they’ve gone through hell and back. from the intensity of their training, you would probably believe so. 
“nice work.” you say, handing atsumu his water bottle. the setter gave you a pat on the head before gesturing to suna who was wiping his sweat with a towel. “go talk to ‘yer loverboy.” 
you rolled your eyes at his statement, but walked towards the middle blocker anyway.
“nice work out there, rin!” you smile, giving him the water bottle that you prepared. of course, it was your own water bottle with the liquid infused with citrus. you thought about putting it in his, but then again, the water bottles were identical and someone else might drink it. 
“(y/n)~ why does suna get special treatment?” akagi whined. your eyes widened, not knowing that the libero was watching your interactions. 
“i want manager-san’s special treatment too!” ginjima whined as well, your face heat up at the sudden attention before the coach blew the whistle once more. 
“seems like break is over, be back later, (y/n).” suna stated, giving you back your water bottle and a quick pat on the head. your face heated up with the contact. 
“yeah.” you were in a daze, staring at suna’s figure as he went back to court. 
“‘yer staring, manager-san.” kita’s straightforward voice cut off your thoughts. “huh? what?” 
a smirk formed on kita’s face. “be careful, (y/n). ‘yer not being as cautious as before.” 
“what did you mean before? kita-san. i-” “liked our middle blocker since before you were our manager? i’m well aware.” if you and kita weren’t close, you would be scared on how he managed to catch on quickly with your stupid crush. “i’m right, aren’t i?” 
“i sometimes hate you, kita.” a scoff was heard from the bicolored male. “sure you do.” 
you and the captain went on with your banter. occasionally noting down some of the notable movements the team did in their practice. 
when the whistle was blown, that was then you realized that you have forgotten to fill up the water bottles once more. with a quick bow, you ran outside to fill it up with refreshing cold water. once done, you struggled to carry the weight of several bottles at once. 
“when do you plan on confessing to (y/n), suna?” you stopped in your tracks as you hear atsumu’s voice reverberate from the other side of the wall. 
“what are you talking about?” suna retaliated, voice deadpanned as usual. “come on, suna. don’t think we don’t see the way (y/n) has heart eyes for you.” you almost dropped the water bottles in your hands. your heart beat quick, realizing that suna was well aware of your crush on him. 
“so?” the same deadpanned voice answered. you felt saddened at the lack of emotion in his tone. “what do you plan to do if they tell you?” 
you weren’t prepared for his answer, you didn’t want to know.  
“i don’t know what you want me to say, i don’t like (y/n) that way.” fuck.
at this point, your throat felt clogged and tears were forming in your eyes. you always knew that you should have never let this small crush turn into something more, now you were here. feeling sad just because of your hopeless crush on the team’s middle blocker. 
you didn’t realize that you dropped a water bottle, when you looked down, you saw lemon slices floating around the water. as if it were mocking you. 
you sigh, picking it up. ‘one last time.’ you thought to yourself before entering the gym, pretending you didn’t just get your heart broken.
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“no lemons this time?” suna asked as you gave him his water bottle. “didn’t find any.” you say as curt as possible before attending to the other members of the team to which the others found odd. 
since when was he the first one you tended to? usually you always placed him as last so you could talk to him more. maybe you just forgot? did something happen? 
either way, the team was in confusion with your sudden shift in attitude. especially suna, who has gotten used to your daily banter every training. 
the middle blocker shrugged it off before taking a sip of the plain water. maybe you just weren’t in the mood today? who knows. 
it wasn’t only today, but the next few days. suna began noticing how his interactions with you have drastically decreased, he never took notice of how much he actually craved your presence until you stopped giving him attention and began treating him like how you treat the twins. 
well, there wasn’t anything wrong with the way you treated the twins, but he thought he was special. he knows he was special, maybe that’s why he thought that you might have possibly liked him back. but why did you suddenly drift away from him? 
suna doesn’t remember anything that he could have possibly done for you to stray away from him. 
“good work.” “are we okay?” suna suddenly asked you, who was giving out his water bottle as per usual. “of course.” you say before plopping the bottle on his hand and moving on to the next member.
“relationship problems?” osamu teased as he went beside suna, sipping on his own water bottle. “shut it, miya.”
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the middle blocker hated this. he hated how all of a sudden you pretended as if the both of you were only club mates and nothing else. 
but isn’t that what you were? you weren’t obligated to keep him company during breaks and talk about your guys’ days and plans. so why was he so bothered that you weren’t beside him?
suna had a thought, but he immediately crossed it off his mind because he knows it’s impossible. 
suna likes you, and you moved away even before he could act on it. 
“good wo-” “can we talk?” suna cut you off. you raised an eyebrow at him before trying to give him his water bottle. 
“i’m not taking that.” he huffed, before continuing. “give the others theirs first then get back to me. just like before.” startled, you wordlessly nodded before giving the rest of the members their water bottles. 
once you were done, you felt suna pull your wrist and dragged you outside. a knowing smirk invaded the twins’ faces as they saw the both of you leave. 
“suna-” “what is your problem?” your eyes widened at the sharp tone that suna gave you. 
“i have no idea what you mean.” “why have you been getting distant lately?” “i was busy, suna”
suna looked at you, knowing he isn’t buying a single word you say. he wanted to cringe at the way you called him by his last name, but he couldn’t afford to lose his composure. 
“we both know that’s absolute bullshit, (y/n).” you narrowed your eyes at his response. 
“why does it matter, suna?” you bit back,  having been fed up with this conversation. “i just want to know what i did that made you act weird around me.” 
you tense up, not knowing what to say next. you knew it was unfair to make suna feel as if he did something wrong, but you knew the more you acted upon your feelings, the more you won’t be able to move on. so with a deep breath you braced yourself for your next words. 
“you did nothing, suna.” you gave him a small smile. “that is just me trying to move on. so please, give me some time.” 
suna blinked. was that a confession? he couldn’t register it fast enough before he tightened his grip on your wrist. 
“(y/n)... what do you mean?” “i don’t want to repeat myself, suna.” you say, gently trying to take your wrist from him. 
“you like me back.” suna says, more to himself than to you. you gave him a look of disbelief. “don’t be ridiculous.” 
“no, (y/n). you like me back.” a small smirk was plastered on his face, you felt your face heat up. 
“i did.” you could barely see the way his smirk faltered. “did?” 
you sigh, wanting to get this over with. 
“i heard you say to the twins that you don’t like me in that way. and it made me realize that maybe i’ve been reading the signs wrong and you only like me as a friend.” you explain, effectively pulling away your wrist the moment he faltered in his grip. 
“no hard feelings, suna. i just need time to move on, and since we’re here now. can you please tell me to move on? just so i can have the closure i need.” you say. 
unbeknownst to you, suna only said that so the twins would leave him alone. he’s always liked you, even before you were their manager. and when you suddenly gave him special treatment, he felt as if you returned his feelings. 
now that he knows you like him back, the twins be damned. he can’t let you go. 
“be with me?” “did you not hear what i said? i said i’m trying to move o-” “no.” 
suna said, taking a step closer to you. “i said i didn’t like you that way because i didn’t want the twins knowing and potentially ruining my chance with you because we both know they’d never shut up.” suna started.
“i didn’t confess because i didn’t want to assume that you liked me the way i liked you. but god, whenever you strut in the gym and give me your stupid hello kitty bottle filled with lemon water. i couldn’t help but assume.” you make a face. “my hello kitty bottle is not stupid, rin.” 
suna smiled at the returned nickname. “and you didn’t assume. i really do like you back.” 
“so...” suna trailed off. “so…?” 
“do you want to go out with me, after training?” suna didn’t know where the courage came from, before he could shy away from his question. you gave him a smile, a small blush on your face. 
“i.. i’d love to.” 
“and will you bring back the lemon water. i miss the stupid hello kitty bottle.” he was hit by the arm as you pouted. “once again, my hello kitty bottle is not stupid, rin.” 
suna smiled before placing a hand on your head. 
“sure, (y/n).” 
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note: i love suna i want him to trip on a rock
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mavrintarou · 2 days
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[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [9]
I'm 89% sure the next part will be the last. This chapter is filled with heavy angst but comfort and understanding.
Warning: implied mild smut, angst & comfort but cliffhanging ending
Eighth part
.
Toru glared at the new wall that had been replaced between his and Y/n’s unit. He acknowledges his disdain for it. He detested both the physical and emotional distance that had arisen between him and Y/n.
Within a day, maintenance repaired the wall between their units, putting this unbearable space between them.
In the blink of an eye, everything changed, or more like in a heartbeat, everything changed for him and Y/n.
His heart has been numb since the moment Y/n announced she was pregnant and felt like it had stopped beating when she said the baby may not be his.
Everything became a blur at that moment.
“P – plea – se le – leave… I need sp – space…” she struggled with her stuttering and hiccups from her cries.
Toru was reluctant to leave her alone but to his best judgment, he needed some time to process what she just told him.
How had he not realized the changes? Especially when he had first-hand experience with Lucia when she became pregnant with Mateo.
As he recalled the brushed memories… it all began to piece together.
“Don’t – don’t suck too hard…” Y/n whimpered, blushing from watching Toru and feeling the suction he had on her sensitive nipple.
Another time when he was buried deep inside her, Y/n cried with tears pooling in her eyes. “You feel… you feel so deep…”  
Toru immediately stopped his movements and caressed her cheek, “am I hurting you?”  He wiped her tears away and only smiled when she shook her head, telling him he made her feel good.
These were tell-tale signs he remembered going through with Lucia.
It had been 48 hours since he last saw her but it felt like an eternity.
She has not returned his seven missed calls nor the numerous text messages. He knows he should respect her space but he couldn’t help but feel the distance between them is only pushing them further and further apart.
For an hour, Toru and Mateo hung out in Mateo’s large playpen together. The baby kept himself occupied with the toys Y/n had purchased him and Toru could only wonder what was running through his son’s mind.
Did he miss Y/n too?
It was two short nights but Toru spent every second of it going over the scenario.
Y/n was pregnant.
There was a probability that the baby could not be his.
That meant… it was that man that had visited her weeks ago?
“Woojin?” the name fell off his lips  
All he could remember from that first and last encounter was that this person was tall like him, a slightly smaller physique but he and this man had the same dark hair and body complexion.
Toru couldn’t help but feel jealous of this Woojin person. Who was he to Y/n and what was their relationship? How long have they known each other?
All questions attacked him and he groaned, making Mateo look at him confused.
“I miss Y/n,” he told Mateo, who instantly perked up at the sound of her name. “You miss her too?” His son stared at him as if waiting for her to appear. “Should we go see her on the other side?” He picked up his son and together they headed towards the door.
The moment his door swung open, Toru’s eyes widened seeing Y/n leaving her unit as well.
With a suitcase beside her.
Y/n called his name softly, yet he heard the sadness and pain in her tone.
“Are you… going somewhere?” He shifted Mateo in his arms, who was squirming at the sight of Y/n.
He sensed the hesitancy as she quickly shut the door to her unit before letting out a deep breath. She approached him with her luggage left by her door.
“Where… are you going?” The question weighed heavily on him, as difficult to utter as it was to bear. His heart throbbed with discomfort, reluctant to confront the truth.
“I’m – I’m going to Ko… rea… to Korea for a few days,” Y/n answered, looking at him directly in the eye. She hesitated but reached for his free hand, holding it gently. “I will be back, I promise.” Y/n gazes into his eyes, “I’ll come back to you, I will come back to you.”
Toru untangled his hand from hers and drew her into an embrace, murmuring, “what is the reason?”
Despite knowing the reason, he understood the rationale behind it and knew that it would only inflict pain upon himself by asking, but he felt compelled to inquire regardless.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt her fist a handful of his shirt. “I should – I should tell him.”
Toru clenched his eyes tightly shut. He anticipated it, and braced himself for it, yet why did it sting even more?
“I understand,” he sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Okay, have a safe flight and please come back to me.”
“I will,” she pressed her lips over his heart.
.
Mateo slept soundlessly in Toru’s arm for his afternoon nap. Their large living room seemed larger and too quiet than usual. Even for a short period, his living room was filled with Y/n’s laughter, her singing to the wrong lyrics of Mateo’s lullabies. It felt so lively and filled with lots of comfort that warmed his heart.
After ensuring Mateo wouldn’t wake up, Toru laid him in his crib. He reached for Y/n’s wool cardigan that had been in his crib and placed it beside the sleeping baby who found comfort in it.
 He closed the door to Mateo’s nursery and turned on his baby monitor. Toru was about to help himself to a cup of tea to calm his nerves when he heard something strange outside his unit.
If Y/n was on her way to the airport, who would be outside?
Without looking at the camera that pointed out to the lobby shared between him and Y/n, he pushed the door open and was ready to confront whoever it was but froze halfway.
Y/n looks up, startled and half crouching. Her luggage was lying flat on the ground as if it slipped from her hand.
“Y/n?” He blinked a couple of times, even rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands to make sure he was truly seeing her and that she was not just a hallucination. Over an hour ago he had made a tough decision to let her go, how was she… “Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport? Or on the plane to Korea?”
He walked towards her when Y/n quickly stood up and closed the distance between them, throwing herself at him, and wrapping her legs and arms around him.
Toru caught her, his arms naturally wrapping around her and supporting her weight. He sighed and hugged her tightly.
“I couldn’t do it,” Y/n finally whispered, she leaned back to look into his eyes. She quickly explained how she sat at the gates contemplating the situation and made the decision not to get on the plane. “I couldn’t go through it. Woojin deserves to know but I think I’m being too impulsive right now.” She cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. “I should have talked to you, figure this out together… that’s if you… want to figure it out together.”
“I do,” he confirmed quickly. One of his hands snaked behind her head, bringing it down to his. “I want to figure this out with you.”
Y/n brushed her nose against his, “I love you. I love you so much Oikawa Toru.”
Toru sighed, and a soft grunt came from his throat. “I love you too, Y/l/n Y/f/n.” Without putting her down, he walked over to pick up her luggage and towed it behind them into his unit.
.
They lay in the middle of Mateo’s large playpen.
“I want to get a paternity DNA test done.”
Toru rolled onto this side and supported his weight on his elbow. “Okay, I think that’s a good start too. Should we start with me?”
Y/n looked at him confused, “you?”
Toru nodded, a hand reaching out to palm her flat belly. He couldn’t voice how badly he wished and hoped that the baby that was nourishing inside Y/n’s body was his.
It never crossed his mind that he would want another child after Mateo, he’ll be honest that he didn’t want any more children and would be content with just Mateo. But since his rekindling with Y/n and the current situation, would he be so bold and willing to help her raise a child that was not his own?
“To rule it out,” he answered quietly, “it’s a small possibility… but I’m willing to hold my breath that this child could be mine.” He reached to touch her hair, “if it’s my baby then you wouldn’t have to bother talking to Woojin.”
Y/n sat up and motioned for him to sit up and as soon as he was upward, Y/n crawled on his lap and hugged him.
“Toru,” she uttered his name quietly under her breath, “I need to – need to know…” she paused to take a deep breath, “will – will you still want to be with me… if – if this child is not – not yours?”
No matter how many different scenarios he thought in his head, the one that weighed heavily on him was the high possibility that this child was not his. He asked himself if he would be able to raise a child that was not his own and the answer was yes, he would be able to raise another child that was not his.
If it was Y/n, who was also willing to love another child that wasn’t her own, Toru could also love a child that was not his own by blood.
Toru pulled away enough to see her face, he waited until she finally looked into his eyes and he smiled. “Yes, I will still want you even if this child is not mine. I will love them just as if they were my own.”
Y/n smiled, her shoulders relaxing as if his response had blown all the anxiety that burdened her. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to…”
A lingering, unidentified fear gnawed at him, compelling him to seek answers.
“If…” he took a deep breath. “If this child is not mine and is… his… what – what will you do?”
Please don’t say you’ll go back to him, he repeated over in his head.
“Woojin and I have agreed to go our ways a few weeks back and I have contemplated on either telling him or not.” Her face bore the unmistakable mark of guilt. “If this child is his, I know I should not keep it away from Woojin.”
“No, you should not,” Toru concurred, though inwardly he wished she wouldn’t have to confront that man. Yet, he acknowledged that Woojin deserved to be informed about the pregnancy and the child; he deserved to be included in the journey even if he and Y/n had no preexisting relationship. “I encourage you to tell him. If he decides not to be involved in the baby’s life, then that’s his decision. You’ve given him a choice.”
Toru would have been at a loss if Lucia had concealed her pregnancy and the existence of Mateo from him. Despite the life-altering revelation, being a father to Mateo brings Toru immense pride and joy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He has no desire to return to his life before Mateo came into it.   
Y/n pressed her forehead against his. “If this child is Woojin’s, then we will have to figure out how to co-parent but it’ll be a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.”
The weighty burden he had carried for the past few hours finally lifted. “But regardless of what decision he chooses, I will be beside you.”
Y/n leaned to press her lips to his forehead, “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve me because I deserve you. We deserve each other.”
.
Three weeks later, Y/n was scheduled for the testing.
Toru squeezed her hand, assuring her that everything would be okay. “The nurse said many have gone through this test and there is nothing to worry about, no risk to you or the baby.”
Y/n nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “We’ll be okay.”
Sometime after they were separated, they reunited again. The same nurse who took Y/n away brought her back. As if sensing Toru’s presence, she looked up and smiled tiredly while sitting in a wheelchair. She reached a hand out to him, which he took and squeezed it lightly.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, “let’s go home.”
.
Toru gently pulled the covers up to her chin and carefully got off the bed without disturbing her.
Y/n groans, curling up into a fetal at the loss of his warmth. Once they reached home, she began experiencing cramping shortly after they got home. They were informed that cramping and light spotting was expected and normal. Toru wanted her to stay with him at his unit so he could monitor her.
He swallowed hard, despising the sensation of helplessness and his inability to alleviate her pain. Plating a gentle and light kiss on her forehead, he allowed her to rest while he stepped away to make a brief phone call to his mom to check on Mateo.
“Hey mom,” he greeted quietly over the phone, “how is Teo?”
When Toru and Y/n had dropped him off with his grandma, Mateo displayed signs of distress. He appeared apprehensive in the unfamiliar surroundings, clinging tightly to Toru. When his grandma attempted to reach for him, Mateo recoiled, refusing to go to her – a behavior that shocked both Toru and Y/n, as he had never exhibited hostility before.
They had to ease him in and get him comfortable before leaving him for a few hours.
“Teo is just like you. The moment you and Y/n disappeared and he noticed it, he looked everywhere for you two.” His mom explained, “you were just like that when you were a baby. But how is Y/n? Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s okay, she is resting,” he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth to his mom about Y/n’s appointment, only saying she was not feeling good and he was going to take her in. “I’ll be there soon to pick up –“ Toru loses the rest of his words as he turns his head towards his unit door. “Mom, I’ll call you back in a second.”
Walking towards his door, he pressed the button to turn on the camera outside his unit.
His eyes narrowed when he saw someone standing at Y/n’s door, ringing her doorbell and knocking repeatedly on her door.
“Y/n!”
Opening the door, he faces the man head-on. “Can I help you?”
Woojin wiped around, his disheveled hair and ruffled clothing told Toru something didn’t feel right.
“Y/n, where is she?”
Stepping out and closing his door behind him, Toru stood tall, “she is resting.”
Woojin marched across the lobby and grabbed Toru by his collar. “You bastard, is she in there with you?”
Toru emitted a bitter chuckle, “it is none of your business if she is with me, you guys are nothing.”
Woojin shoved Toru against his door, growling, “it is my business when she is my woman and carrying my child.”
Toru’s smile dimmed as his eyes narrowed, and then he shoved him away. “Leave before I have security kick you off the premises and banned.”
Running a hand through his messy hair, Woojin chuckled coldly. “You know it too, is that right?” His silence confirms his assumption. “I will not back down – “
“Toru?”
The two men turned their heads as the door slowly opened revealing a pale Y/n who gripped her abdomen. “Toru?” Her voice shook, “some – something doesn’t feel right…” her legs trembled as she looked down at her feet, her white ankle socks soaked with redness.
. . .
E/n: I know... I know :(
>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchia-98 @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abcde12345 @shotenvinsoot @princess-sunshyn @anonymoussimper @junglewoos @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @mih311 @m1nt-3lla @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whatamidoing89 @ssc7514 @lupita97lm @ushygushybaby
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ghost-recs · 3 days
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Atsumu Fic Rec
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you're not the one by heartcondemned [ao3]
synopsis: stuck in the friendzone with suna, you have the brilliant idea of fake dating one of his best friends - miya atsumu.
i started this looking for a good suna x reader fic, but was utterly pulverized by astumu... i'm not complaining tho (option to choose either atsumu or suna at the end)!
ghost rating: 10/10
msby black jackels online! by mooshys [ao3]
@mooshys
synopsis: the crazy things that atsumu the msby black jackels want to post on their socials and the things they atsumu put you through.
mostly a good laugh and scenarios that imagine what it would be like interacting with the msby black jackels, turns into something a little more.
ghost rating: 9/10
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ilylovelyz · 8 months
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⍣ ೋ the times they cried because of you
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☆ includes ushijima, iwaizumi, atsumu, kageyama, bokuto
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USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — he never cries. you met this guy when the two of you were young freshman in high-school, and you quickly became a good friend of his. that being said, you never saw him cry. even when the two of you began dating in your senior year, you still never did. years passed, and it was the same as the previous years. sure, he occasionally got upset, but even then, he still put on a stoic display, never really letting you in on that side of him. even at your wedding, he sure showed some emotion but he didn't cry. then came the birth of your first child.
"she's so cute, isn't she 'toshi..?" you said weakly, forehead still damp with sweat, bodu trembling with the aftershocks of your hard, long labor. your eyes fluttered open, focusing on the sight of your dear wakatoshi holding your newborn baby.
your heart fluttered at the soft image of your husband holding the tiny baby closely again his chest, his forehead mere inches away from the baby's forehead. it was barely there, barely noticeable. if it weren't for the reflection of light, then you wouldn't have been able to see the way his eyes were glazed over, corners red, tears brimming at the borderlines of his eyes.
he was so memorized, so in love with this product of you, this product of his and your love. god, you just make him the happiest guy on earth.
with a grunt, he sniffled lightly, trying to mask his emotions. "yeah.."
IWAIZUMI HAJIME — he hates crying. but being the responsible and knowing person he is, he knows that crying is inevitable. but the "strong", reliable guy in him wants to punch himself every-time he feels his eyes sting at the feel of salty tears brimming at his waterline. unbeknownst to you, he would avoid you every-time he felt like he was going to cry, usually hiding in the locked confides of the bathroom. he thought he was hiding it well, until one fateful day where it all came crashing down..
"haji?" you said on the other side of the door. he immediately shot up, his eyes darting to the doorknob. he always made sure to lock it, but today, he was just so exhausted and down that the idea of a lock was forgotten. crap, "hey wait-," before he could even rise up from his slouched kneeling position on the bathtub's side, you opened the door unknowingly. "i just need my–hajime?"
there he was, in all of his fucking glory, hunched over, his face long and clearly expressing his hurt feelings. his heart fell to his stomach, his vision going cloudy as his day just kept getting worse. "hajime?" you called out once more, only your tone had softened, more light and tender. you reached a hand out to him, eyes full of concern. he couldn't help but jolt away from your hand, eyebrows furrowing at your softness.
he didn't like your tone. why are you looking at him like that? like some sad kicked puppy lost in the middle of nowhere? it made him feel so small, so weak. "haji.. are you okay?" you whispered, crouching down to his level outside of the bathtub. you attempted yet again to touch the side of his face, lightly pressing your fingertips against his cheekbone before fully pressing your palm against the side of his face.
his lips trembled as he was just a second away from breaking down, his eyes locked on a single object as to hold on to the last of his will. you sighed softly at his resistance, of course he wouldn't want to cry in front of you, but you don't understand why, afterall, what makes a person weak for crying? "it's okay, hajime."
with that, fat tears finally ran down his cheeks, his eyes shutting close as he finally broke at your words. he could only grab onto your hand as you climbed into the tub, his head going straight into your chest as he sobbed and wailed.
MIYA ATSUMU — surprisingly, you've seen this guy cry many of times before. he cried when getting accepted into nationals, winning nationals, just crying at things any normal person would do. but he never cried for you. no, he held himself to higher standards. he'd never cry for someone, not even for you. yeah, he loved you, but he wasn't about to cry for someone like a little child. all high and mighty, he never thought you would actually have an affect on him like you do now. him being someone who wears his heart proudly on his sleeve, he found himself getting into an argument late at night with you, too prideful to back down.
"are you serious atsumu?! you know i'd never do that!" you yelled, voice hoarse and scratchy due to the ongoing screaming match between you and your boyfriend. "oh really?! then why were ya' 'll over that fucker earlier? huh?!" he yelled back, pointing out the way you were seemingly flirting with a guy at the club earlier.
but you weren't? you would never do that, you're not a scum. "what?! we were just talking?! am i not allowed to TALK to people atsumu?" you scoffed, arms crossing defensively. "if you wanna consider talking as flirting, then let's talk about that girl you were laughing with the other day? huh? let's talk about that!"
his eyebrow raised at your counter, fumbling nervously as he wondered what to say. "w-wh- you know what?! fuck you! i don't know why i'm even dating a bitch like you!" he said, almost immediately regretting his words when he saw the way your eye's widened at his harsh words. the apartment was finally silent as you registered his words, he wishes you had any sort of expression on your face, but you had nothing but a stoic and emotionless face.
"okay then," you finally said, arching your eyebrow in a taunting way, resting your hand down on your hip. "bye." you followed, grabbing your bag and your keys, turning your back on him.
he watched, frozen in his spot as you exited out the apartment with your composure. his body jolted when he heard the slam of the front door, finally letting out that breath he was unknowingly holding. he scoffed at what you said, clenching his jaw tightly as he tried to hold onto his pride. "damn it." he said.
he felt the tear roll down his cheek before he could even register that he was crying. "..damn it!"
KAGEYAMA TOBIO — to him, life is volleyball. his childhood consisted nothing of volleyball, and so will his adulthood. maybe his obsession with volleyball was a little extreme, but you never really minded. he respected you greatly for your patience, he wasn't dumb, he knew that his priority of volleyball was evident, so he always tried to make it up to you by spending time with you whenever you wanted. but it seemed like after awhile, he began to take your patience for granted. it wasn't until the nth time when he didn't show up for the nth date was when he realized.
kageyama was careful to shut the front door as quiet as he could, tiptoeing as he took off his shoes and walked throughout the dark hallways and into the master-bedroom. he jolted like a cat when he sat you sitting up on the side of the bed, back facing the doorway.
"y-you scared me. what are you doing up at this time? it's nearly 10PM." he stuttered obliviously. it was silent for a few seconds before you sighed, slowly turning your head to face him. "you forgot." you muttered before turning back to look at the wall. forgot? forgot what? it was then he noticed the way your hair was done, still clad in a pretty dress.
"o-oh.. the date! i-i'm sorry y/n, i promise i can make it up to you"— "don't bother." you interrupted, voice stern yet monotonous. what do you mean 'don't bother?' you love going on dates don't you? his lips pursed into a straight line, chewing on his bottom lips nervously. "w-what do you mean? i really promise, this thursday i have a free day.." he trailed off when you suddenly stood up from the bed.
"i mean that i think we should break up." his heart dropped at your words, eyes widening. break up? his mouth was agape, mind spinning with different solutions and apologies. before he could detest, you walked over to the corner of the room, pulling up a suitcase that he didn't even notice.
"b-but why? you said yourself that me and you are meant to be together?" he cried out, quickly rushing over to your side and grabbing onto your wrist. he watched your face closely, eyes taking note of every single feature of yours. you inhaled deeply, still refusing to look at him.
"i said that when we were in high-school and didn't have any major responsibilities. things have changed, we aren't in high-school any more. you're now a pro-volleyball player with big responsibilities, and i'm.. someone who clearly has too much time on their hands, wasting it on someone who can't give me any of theirs. it's not your fault, kageyama, but we just don't align anymore."
you finally said, tugging your hand away from his grasp. before you could take a step, his hands were once again on you, gripped onto your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. "but.. you said you would be there for my game at nationals.." he whimpered out, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
it was then, when you were finally walking out of his apartment, out of his life, was when he finally did realize, that maybe, he did take your patience for granted..
BOKUTO KOUTARO — this guy cries a lot. he's cried so many times you might have to start writing it down somewhere. he rarely masks his emotions, he's an open book. thats what you love so much about him, that he's so open and honest. you love the way he's so eager and sweet, you love the way he's always willing to talk to you and so damn clingy it's like you have your own personal koala. aside from the times he's happy, he's sad, sad because he didn't perform well, or because you didn't kiss him. but you never really made him cry, you'd never do that. or so you thought.
"y/n!! i missed you!" you hear a booming voice yell, his footsteps speeding up at the sight you. he paid no mind when you didn't respond to him, as you were currently hunched over the your work desk, laptop gleaming at you brightly. your back was turned to him, so you were basically calling him for a back hug.
"y/n!" — "not now koutaro." you interrupted, tone serious and stern. he raised his eyebrows at you with surprise, his arms a few inches away from your shoulders as they stilled in their preparation to hug you. "babe? is something wrong?" he asked curiously, lips pouting at your stern denial. you never decline a hug. you love them. right?
"i'm working. can't you see that?" you spit out, sighing deeply. you pull away your cramping fingers away from your keyboard, rubbing them over your sore eyes. "my gosh." you mumble under your breath, eyebrows intensely furrowed with stress. you had been working for a few hours straight, staring at nothing but a bright screen with words that were becoming incoherent to you.
you yelp out when you're suddenly pulled from your chair, being lifted up into bokuto's strong arms as he spins you around. "don't be so sad!" he says cheerfully, hoping to cheer you up with a big warm hug. only— this seems to make you mad. "put me down, koutaro!" you yell, pushing his chest away and forcing him to practically drop you.
"don't you see i'm working?! why are you so damn clingy? you're so annoying, god, why don't you just leave me alone?" you spit out. your words are like venom, stinging his heart greatly as his hair is quickly deflating once your words reach his ears. you simply return to your laptop once you've finished, typing mindlessly once more.
him? annoying? he didn't mean to annoy you..
he couldn't help but softly whimper, left standing in shock. he opened his mouth to say something before your previous words were reminding him to stay silent—leave me alone. he clutched his palms, looking at your turned back with teary eyes. he hopes you don't find him annoying for long..
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satoruii · 2 months
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TELLING YOUR BOYFRIEND THAT YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM // HAIKYUU SETTERS
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summary: you act like you're confessing to them for the first time. HAIKYUU SETTERS ft. KAGEYAMA, OIKAWA, KENMA, ATSUMU
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noosayog · 5 months
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002 get him back!
✧ wc: 4k
✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,
✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist
divider from @/cafekitsune
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It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.
“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 
“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 
You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 
“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 
“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 
“True. But he is an idiot.” 
You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 
“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 
You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 
“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.
“Huh?” 
“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 
Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 
“Why not?” 
He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 
He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 
And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 
“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 
You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 
“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 
Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 
The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 
“So, found a guy to take you out?” 
“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 
“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 
You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 
“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 
“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 
“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 
With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 
When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 
It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 
When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 
“Now yer turn. What was that about?”
“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 
“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”
You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 
“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 
That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 
“‘Samu…” 
“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 
It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 
Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 
He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 
At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.
And it goes on. 
As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 
When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 
You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 
He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 
Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 
“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 
But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 
He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 
“I’ll walk with ya.” 
“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 
He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 
Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 
You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 
As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 
“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 
You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 
It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.
“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 
“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 
The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  
Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 
It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 
It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 
His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 
Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 
He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 
“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 
You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 
“Who?” you mumble. 
But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 
“I don’t know… I just…” 
“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 
“No,” you answer honestly. 
Osamu raises his brows. 
“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 
“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 
“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 
He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 
“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 
Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.
“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 
“Huh?” 
“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 
“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 
You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 
“Osamu…” 
“Am I wrong?” 
He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 
But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 
His question goes unanswered. 
– 
The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 
It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 
You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 
The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.
And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 
That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 
The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 
“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 
There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.
“Uh,” you stutter. 
“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 
“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 
“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”
“Just wait a minute, okay-” 
“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”
“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 
You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.
You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 
“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 
Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 
Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 
You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.
Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 
When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 
Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 
“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 
Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 
“Hey, ‘Samu!” 
“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 
Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 
He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 
“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 
He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 
“You just…?” he prompts. 
The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 
Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 
His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 
His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 
“Missed you,” you whisper. 
Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 
“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 
He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 
You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 
He stops stroking your hair. 
“What, ya don’t like it?” 
You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 
He’s teasing, you realize.
You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 
You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 
“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 
You nod shyly. 
“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 
“I want it.” 
“Alright. C’mere then.” 
You oblige. 
“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 
You nod. 
“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 
It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 
“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 
It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 
You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 
He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 
“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”
2K notes · View notes
rishiguro · 11 months
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HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN YOU CATCH THEM CHEATING ON YOU
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ft. sakusa; osamu; sugawara; matsukawa; yamaguchi
a/n: i want more angst
warnings: cheating, obviously
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sighing he sat down beside you on the couch, not even frowning when you moved away. “i’m sorry you found out like this,” SAKUSA said curtly. “but not sorry that you’ve done it in the first place, huh?” he clenched his jaw, staring at the clean floor between his naked feet. his silence told you everything you needed to know. he was always aware of what he was doing every time he was with someone, aware of the possible consequences and he never really cared enough to stop. but as he saw you leave him behind, a bag over your shoulder and not even looking back at him, the guilt started to sink in, finally realizing what he had given up on for a couple nights of fun.
OSAMU ran his hand through his hair as he groaned in frustration. “i’m sorry!” he yelled out again, “i don’t know what else you want me to say! tell me and i will, i will do fucking everything okay?” you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. “maybe you shouldn’t have gone out to fuck someone, did you think about that?” you yelled back angrily. “i know i shouldn’t have! i should’ve just broken up with you, i know! you were never here, i didn’t even know what else to do!” you didn’t say anything after, instead effective ending the conversation by slamming the door behind you. and every night he thought back to this conversation, replaying what he said over and over in his head, he didn’t know why he blamed you for what he did.
SUGAWARA wished he had an answer for you. you, the person he claimed to love the most, only to betray them in the worst way possible. he couldn’t even look you in the eyes as you kept pleading, almost begging for an answer, only wanting to know why he did what he did. after long minutes of you asking over and over with tears welling up in your eyes, he broke, yelling whatever came to his mind. “they were different! just… just different” he turned away as he continued. “they make me feel so wanted, they give me everything i want, no matter what” he could only hear you chuckling sadly. “i gave you everything i had, but that wasn’t enough?”
MATSUKAWA knew that he couldn’t fool you forever, it was only a matter of time until this blew up in his face. you noticed how he suddenly became clingier again, louder, and seemingly happier. you hadn’t expected that it was because of somebody else though. “i didn’t know how to tell you,” was all that he could say with his lips pressed into a thin line, “i still love you it’s just—“ he took a deep breath, turning around, not wanting to see the look on your face. “i’m not in love with you. i don’t want to be with you anymore” he kept telling himself that it was alright, that he did what he had to just to be happy. but after seeing your facial expression, so full of hurt, he wasn’t sure anymore.
you couldn’t stand being in the same room as YAMAGUCHI anymore, constantly telling him to get out and leave you alone, but he wouldn’t listen. instead he trailed behind you like a lost puppy or a duckling behind his mother, fingers itching to hold on to you by the hem of your top like he has done countless times when he got overwhelmed. he kept apologizing, always repeating the same few words over and over, whimpering when you ripped yourself away from him. he didn’t care about what you would say or do to him, telling himself that he would endure everything just to keep you by his side, praying that you would forgive him his one mistake. he swears that this was all that it was, a mistake — but the chats in his phone say differently.
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reblog to take revenge on them
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fushisagi · 7 months
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miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease
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୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜
word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader
the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?
warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭
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o. Desire
This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.
People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.
Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.
“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”
“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.
When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.
“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”
 “I’m sorry?”
“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.
Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”
“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”
All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.
Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.
His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—
“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”
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i. Strength
After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.
Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.
He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.
Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.
Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.
(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).
He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.
“Tsumu?”
He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”
You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”
Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”
You stare blankly.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”
“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”
“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”
“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”
“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”
Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.
“It’s my mover outfit!”
“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”
He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”
You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.
“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”
You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.
You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.
“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.
“Why not?”
“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”
“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“…Alright.”
“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”
“Actually—”
“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”
“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”
“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”
You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”
Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”
You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”
His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”
“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”
Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”
“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”
You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.
He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.
“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.
You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”
Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.
“Are you dense?”
“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”
“I was trying something out!”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”
The door swings open.
“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”
You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”
Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”
“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”
Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”
Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”
Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.
Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.
With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.
His complaining and wailing can wait until later.
After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.
He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.
But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”
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Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.
It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.
You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.
He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”
You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”
“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.
Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”
Luck isn’t on his side tonight.
“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.
Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”
The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.
You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.
“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”
“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”
“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.
You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”
“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”
Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.
(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).
“Other than me—?”
“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.
You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.
To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.
Something in his chest twists.
“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”
Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.
(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)
Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.
“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”
Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”
“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”
“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”
“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”
“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”
“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”
“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”
The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.
“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”
He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”
“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”
“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”
Your silence is enough of a response.
Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.
“Give me one reason—”
“The blanket—”
“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”
“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”
“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”
Another gasp. You roll your eyes.
“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”
“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”
He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”
You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”
“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”
You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”
“What d’you mean huh?”
“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”
“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”
He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”
He blinks. “Why?”
Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”
Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”
Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”
You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”
“None at all.”
You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.
But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.
“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.
“It is?”
“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”
“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.
You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we��re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”
“I know,” he interjects.
Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.
And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.
I’ll be there for you.
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“Do you need help?”
Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”
“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”
“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”
“Osamu said you’d say that.”
Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.
“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hm?”
“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”
Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”
“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.
“Doing what?”
“Getting dinner.”
“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”
“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”
Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.
He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.
[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?
[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?
Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.
The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.
Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.
Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.
A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.
“Tsumu?”
“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”
You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.
He smiles, amused. “Really?”
“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.
“It’s not.”
“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”
“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”
You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.
“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”
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ii. Power
He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.
With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.
On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.
He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.
Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.
Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.
It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.
“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.
(But…)
But.
The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.
“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”
Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”
“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”
“I’m the only setter you know.”
“Which is why you’re my favourite.”
Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”
If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.
But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”
The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.
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“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”
“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”
On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”
Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”
Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.
“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.
“Don’t be dramatic—”
“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”
“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”
Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.
Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.
“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”
Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”
“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”
Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”
Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”
Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”
“I really doubt that.”
“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”
Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”
“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”
You didn’t.
Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”
Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.
Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.
“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”
“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”
You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”
“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”
All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.
Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”
“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”
“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”
“Sorry—”
“They’re going on a date with someone else.”
You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”
“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”
Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”
“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”
“…That’s not a good thing.”
“It’s an hour more than usual.”
The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”
“Ay, ay, captain.”
“Don’t call me that.”
You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”
“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”
He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”
Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.
He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.
(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).
(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.
He thinks nothing of it).
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Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.
She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.
And he says yes.
At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.
At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.
You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”
You hesitantly let him in.
At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.
Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.
He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.
He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.
Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.
(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).
It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.
For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.
Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.
At 11:50, he makes his move.
He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.
Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.
You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.
“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.
Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”
He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”
Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.
“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”
You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”
“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”
“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.
“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”
You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”
“This is about the outfit?”
“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”
He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”
You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”
“Then what else?”
You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”
He frowns. “Yes.”
“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”
“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”
“He told me not to worry.”
“Worry about what?”
That snaps you out of it.
You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”
Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”
“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Dancing,” he says.
“Dancing?”
“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”
“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“You were born with two left feet.”
“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”
“I’m only telling you the truth!”
“I’m a good dancer!”
“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”
“That says nothing about my ability to—”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.”
“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.
You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not in any way, shape, or form.”
“We don’t even have music—”
“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”
Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.
“Any song requests?”
“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.
“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”
“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”
“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.
You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.
When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”
Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”
Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”
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iii. Love
“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”
“Then stay still!”
“Just promise not to poke me.”
“I’ve already promised five times.”
“Then promise again!”
“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”
You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”
“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”
“I told you—”
“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”
“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”
He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”
“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”
“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”
“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”
“You’d get us kick out.”
“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”
You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”
“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”
“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”
“You don’t even remember what happened.”
“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”
Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.
This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.
Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”
“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”
“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”
You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”
“Huh?”
“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”
“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”
“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”
“What are you saying, Y/N?”
“What am I to you, Atsumu?”
He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.
“You’re my friend.”
“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”
“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”
“Different how?”
Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.
“I—”
Someone knocks loudly on the door.
“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”
You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.
There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.
(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?
Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)
“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.
Everything in his body tightens.
You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.
When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.
“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.
“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”
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The sun had set a long time ago.
In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.
Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”
You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.
But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.
Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.
Atsumu itches to fix it.
“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”
“My date?”
“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”
“What?”
“At the party.”
You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”
Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”
“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”
Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”
“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”
“Not good, probably.”
“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”
“Did he puke on Akaashi?”
“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”
“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”
Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.
“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.
Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.
He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.
The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.
All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.
But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.
Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”
“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”
“I’m not,” he insists.
You give him a tight smile in response.
Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.
Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.
But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.
It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.
The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“What?”
He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”
You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”
(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.
He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).
“I don’t,” he lies.
“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”
He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.
Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.
This was never part of the routine.
“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Y/N—”
“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”
His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.
“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.
You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.
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Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.
Or, more specifically, the absence of you.
You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.
He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.
For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.
But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.
His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.
Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.
Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.
“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”
Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.
Nothing.
Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”
Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”
Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”
“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”
“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”
“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.
Suna gives him a look. “Well…”
“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”
Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”
The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”
Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”
“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”
Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”
“I— wait, what?”
“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”
Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.
Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”
Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.
But they all understand.
“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”
“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.
Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”
He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”
Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”
Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.
Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”
Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.
A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.
Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”
Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.
“This is a psychic.”
Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”
“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”
Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”
He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.
There’s no point being here without you.
Atsumu moves to get out of line.
“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“Boku—”
“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”
Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.
When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.
He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.
Atsumu fidgets in his seat.
“You’re here for a reading?”
A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”
His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.
You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.
His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.
She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.
What is it that you desire most, boy?
Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”
Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.
Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.
He does not need any more physical strength.
He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.
The psychic pushes. “Power?”
Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.
It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.
But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.
They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.
They will never know him as much as you do.
The psychic leans forward. “Love?”
Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.
You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.
So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.
The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”
“Miya.”
Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”
“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.
Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”
“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”
“Okay, well—”
“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”
Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”
Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.
“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”
Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”
“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”
Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.
The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.
His knocks are insistent.
“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.
“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”
You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”
Atsumu rasps, “And?”
You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”
“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”
“I didn’t.”
“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.
“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”
Your lips part in surprise. “What?”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”
“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”
“It’s not.”
“What exactly is more important than that?”
“Your forgiveness, actually.”
You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”
“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”
You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”
He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”
“I hate you.”
He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.
Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”
Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.
He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.
I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.
I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.
“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”
Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.
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© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.
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rewh0re · 1 year
Text
SLEEPING ON THE COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT
Ft.: Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji
Angst but with fluff at the end. Just my boys kuroo and Akaashi and sleeping on the couch after an argument. Reblogs + interactions are highly appreciated!!
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༊ KUROO
Kuroo cannot sleep. It's nearly 3 in the morning and he's twisting and turning on the bed for about an hour now, unable to fall asleep. The other side of his bed seems unnaturally cold and empty due to your lack of presence. You both had gotten into an argument about 2 hours prior. You had tried to convey your thoughts across to him about how worried you were that he was overworking himself and in his state of tiredness he was definitely not in the mood for your nagging. He took out his annoyance on you which resulted in some back and forth yelling before you decided to give him some space and sleep on the couch. But it had been hours and however much he denied it, Kuroo could not sleep without you. So, deciding to swallow his stupid pride he went out to the living room just to find your shivering self on the couch. You had a thin blanket on and it was a cold night.
"I know you're not sleeping," he whispered as he knelt by the couch to look at you.
What he saw broke him, there were dried tears on your face. He always fell apart when he saw you cry.
"Look I'm really sorry for what I said. Half of those things, I didn't mean them and neither should I have uttered them in the first place. It has happened now and as much as I wish I could change it, I can't. So, I'm asking you to forgive me y/n. I'm really really sorry. I love you so much ," he stroked your cheek and you could not pretend anymore. You slowly opened your eyes to look at him.
"You do?" You asked silently.
"More than you could ever know, love. You're the best thing that's happened to me. You're not nagging when you worry about me. I'm sorry for saying that. I was annoyed and irritated and tired and I took it out on you like a fool. I've said hurtful things and I feel terrible for it. Forgive me please," he looked at you with so much love and adoration as he asked for forgiveness that you broke again. You sniffled a little before cracking a small smile.
"I've said some hurtful things as well. Things I shouldn't have said. I'm sorry," you whispered to him.
"It's okay. Come back to bed now love. Tomorrow, I'm taking the day off and we'll do whatever you want to do. Sounds good?" He smiled at you, stretching his hand towards you for you to take it.
"Sounds perfect," you smiled as you took his hand in yours.
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༊ AKAASHI
Arguments with Akaashi were rare. Most of the time, you both would talk things out and solve the problem rationally rather than lashing out. You both tried to be logical and tried to communicate no matter how tired or angry you both were. But sometimes however, that was just not the case. Sometimes, things got out of hand, anger overpowered your more rational sides and things got ugly. Tonight just happened to be one of those nights. Honestly, you don't even know how the argument started. You just knew that both of you were exhausted from work and on top of that things had been rough in your personal life lately. These reasons probably got to you and an argument took place. You both had verbally hurt each other to the extent that Akaashi decided to sleep on the couch, unable to fight anymore. He left you in the bedroom alone and fuming. But the moment he picked up a blanket and went to the couch, regret immediately filled you up. You ran after him to the living room where he laid on the couch. God, he didn't even have a pillow under his head, his neck would hurt like crazy in the morning.
"Keiji," you called out his name and as you expected, there was no answer from him.
"Keiji I'm sorry," you sat at the end of the couch where his feet were propped up on the hand rest.
"I let my anger and frustration take over me and said some pretty shitty things. I'm sorry I really did not mean them. I would never," at that, he looked up at you to see your eyes getting teary as a frown took over your face.
"Don't cry y/n," he sat up and brought himself closer to you.
"I don't know what took over me. I'm so sorry. I always try to be calmer and more thoughtful while speaking but today I don't know. Work has been stressful and I probably took that out on you. Something I shouldn't have done and something I highly regret," you took his hand as you looked at him.
"I said some pretty awful stuff to you too, you know. You're not entirely at fault here. I'm sorry. Next time, I'll try to be more thoughtful and I'll definitely not yell at you again," he gave you a small smile as he opened his arms for you to hug him. You gladly did.
"Me too. Come to bed now. You didn't even bring a pillow with you. Do you want your neck to hurt?" He laughed a little at that.
"Always thinking about me aren't you," he hugged you tighter.
"Mhm. Keiji?" You started as you broke the hug to look at him. "We're okay right?"
"We will be, love."
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akimind · 18 days
Text
i'm lovesick, and i'm a fool.
a/n: i just think that miya osamu
content: angst, fluff
word count: 2.1k+
[ osamu x reader ]
–––––
Osamu’s love language is acts of service.
“He’s like an old man,” Atsumu told you once, way in the beginning, when you and Osamu were still young and naïve and innocently infatuated. “If you get mad at him, he’ll try and offer you food later as an apology.”
“Does he ever actually…apologize?”
Atsumu laughed at you. “Nope. He says sorry in complete silence. That’s just how Samu is.”
It’s not as if you aren’t in love with Osamu now, because you are. Wholeheartedly, you are in love with him. You know that, and you know Osamu knows that. But sometimes, you can’t help yourself and just wonder how — how have you managed to stay in love with him despite the cons of it? How do you manage to love him indelibly, to love him in his whole entirety, when reality interrupts with the fact that there will never not be days like today?
Because today, Osamu is not speaking to you. You aren’t speaking to him either, and haven’t been since two days ago, so neither one of you are alone in refusing to act your age. Right now, you’re tied in the race to be the most petty, act the most prideful, show the most indifference to each other, and pretend like you’re not as unbothered as you both appear to be.
Frankly, you hate any day like this. You hate not speaking to Osamu, and you hate being mad at him, and you hate the chilling silence that ensues when he’s mad at you. You hate it. You hate this. You hate the silence, and you want to hate him, but god knows you can’t; you never could. You could try to say it all you want, say “I hate Osamu,” but never would you mean the words. Because Osamu is Osamu, and you love him for who he is. It’s hard to love him sometimes when you realize you can’t love him for who you wish he could be, but that’s the charm of the man himself. What he could be isn’t what you have right here with you now; what you have right here with you now is a man still in love with you despite your own shortcomings, a man who loves you even when he acts like he doesn’t because he’s upset.
You often wonder who between you and Atsumu knows your boyfriend the best. On days like today, though, you mentally forfeit the winning point, simply clenching your jaw at the loss and the fact that when Osamu walks in and lays a plate of sliced fruit next to you on the couch (you’ve claimed the living room as your territory during this cold war), he still does so without a single word.
You hate this. You absolutely hate this.
I wish this would stop.
But you’re dating Miya Osamu, and you wouldn’t be a couple if you didn’t rub off on each other’s personalities. And if there’s one thing about the Miya family that affects everyone else around them, it’s their utter instinct for competition.
So when Osamu stands there for a second longer than you both know he needs to, not saying anything but also not hiding his lingering gaze on you, you can’t help but fight back at him with the same strategy — no words, no emotions, no hint of surrender or a dent in your shield. And you think, as your heart falls and cracks inside, that when his socks shuffle against the carpet and you see him walk away in your peripheral vision because you refused to let him see your face, that for once you may have won this time.
Then you wonder if victory can even be celebrated if the cost of it feels like it’s killing you.
Please talk to me, you plead him silently in your head. You slump your shoulders that were held up stiffly in your determination to stand against him and hang your head dejectedly now, no longer stubbornly, as you let out a sigh that makes your chest ache with longing.
Please, Samu…I miss you.
You close your eyes when you feel them start to water, and you sniffle as a tear escapes down to your lips.
I miss you.
You’re so focused on holding back your crying that you don’t even notice when Osamu returns. It’s not until you feel a gentle touch on your hands in your lap and pick up the familiar warmth of his presence right under your nose that you slowly lift your head and open your eyes to find him kneeling down and looking at you.
And the way Osamu is looking at you makes your efforts all in vain, because your tears come streaming down in waves, and you dig your nails through your clothes as he rubs gentle circles along your skin. His eyes look tired, dreary, and grayer with lack of sleep. His lips are a bit dry, and the creases in his forehead and his frown lines are deeper. The realization that you haven’t seen him smile for almost half a week twists your heart in a sharp chokehold.
“…Hey.” His voice is quiet, and you barely pick up on it outside the sound of your sniffling. “Hey, baby,” he says again. When you still don’t respond, he swallows hard. “I, um…forgot to put this on the plate with your melon.” Hesitantly, as if he doesn’t want to let go of your hands, he reaches into his back pocket and brandishes a tiny white triangle of folded paper. “Here…this is for you.”
He turns your fists over and carefully unfurls your clenched fingers, then sets the paper in the palm of your hand. You look down at it and he runs his thumb across your lips, wiping away your tears. When you glance briefly back at him, he smiles sadly like it hurts him to look at you, and you think it hurts you to look at him too. You hate seeing him like this. You hate the thought that you’re the reason his expression is like that.
You sniffle again, trying to clear your sinuses because you want to talk — you want to talk to him. But your throat still holds on to its lump, dry and heavy, so all you do for now is unfold his piece of paper and start to read to yourself.
As his letter goes on, Osamu’s handwriting starts to get blurry and you realize it’s because you’re crying again. He’s never given you anything like this, after all. To your knowledge, Osamu has never been one for writing or articulation or saying what he means without one word of sarcasm or teasing or banter. But right here, by his own hand, he’s written it for you himself.
When you finish his letter, you look up with your lip trembling more than it already was.
“I’m sorry it’s not the best, baby,” he says with a half-hearted laugh, and you smile through your clouded vision. “But I hope you know I mean it. All of what I wrote down, I mean every word of it. I love you…I’m sorry.”
You shake your head at him, finally finding your voice. “I love you. And I’m sorry, too,” you say. “Thank you for this. But you didn’t have to—”
“I did. And I wanted to.” Osamu scoots closer until he can practically lay in your lap. “I know I’m not good at…words or presents or dates or timing, but….” You watch as he fumbles your hands in his, taking note of how awkward he seems but how intently he’s trying to make sense in what he wants to say. He goes on, “But I’m pretty used to showing how I feel through my actions. And before, I used to think that was enough. But it doesn’t feel like just actions are enough anymore. So I want to get better at other stuff, too. So I can show you what I mean…what I feel. In more ways than just one.” 
Osamu finally gives in to the blush on his cheeks and glances away. You stare at him with nothing less than relief and simple endearment.
Because this is why you love him. Despite days like today, despite feeling like you want to hate him sometimes, despite the difficulties in your relationship and faults in communication and grudges held longer than you both know they should be, this is why you love him. Because despite every frigid beat that comes with frozen, angry silence, Osamu counters it with a push through the ice to remind you of warmth until both your hearts can thaw.
“What made you write a letter?” you ask him, squeezing his hand.
“Well, you like that love language stuff,” he answers. “And I’m pretty shit at most of those except the service one, I guess, so…bear with me.” Flustered, he looks away again when the smile on your face grows, and his eyes land on the plate beside you, fruit still lying untouched. He takes the plate and sets it on your lap. “Here, I sliced these for you.” 
Amused, you take a cubed melon when he offers it up. “I know. Thank you, Samu.”
His eyes brighten and the corners of his lips pull up when you eat the melon. He nods like he’s assuring himself he did a good job, then stands and says, “I’m going out to get you flowers, and then we can—”
But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you’re tugging him down and stuffing a melon into his mouth. Osamu holds it between his teeth for a moment, shocked, then chews slowly, face still flushed in pink. You stifle a giggle at the rare sight of him so caught off guard.
“We can go out for flowers together later,” you tell him. “I appreciate it. But right now, can you just…stay here?” You pull on his hand, still wrapped around yours, and he finds his place to sit next to you, leaning in like a subconscious response. “I just…I missed you,” you say quietly, your heart stitching its pieces back together just by being near him, knowing you don’t have to deny yourself of wanting him anymore.
Osamu’s eyes go unblinking but narrow like he’s trying to focus on your face and take all of you in. Then he sighs and presses you into his chest, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around your waist.
“I missed you, too,” he whispers harshly into your hair, and you burrow yourself further into the comforting scent and softness of his clothes. Osamu starts slowly stroking your back, and you breathe him in like he’s flowers himself.
“For what it’s worth,” you say, “your actions are enough, you know. That’s why I was crying after you gave me the fruit.”
Osamu laughs, his chest rumbling under your ear. “Fruit was enough to make you cry?” he says.
“It was sentimental.”
“It was fruit, baby.”
“But you sliced it for me. That’s love.”
“If that’s love, it feels like I was only doing the bare minimum,” he admits, “which is why I was going to put the letter there, too.” 
You mumble, “I’m framing that, by the way.”
“Please don’t.”
“Then can I hear it out loud?”
“Wha–no!”
“‘Hi, my love. It’s me, your lov—’”
“Stop it!” Osamu cuts you off with a grip on your cheeks, scrunching your lips together and bringing you against his own in a messy, frenzied kiss.
When he pulls away, you pout at him. “That’s not fair, Samu—”
“You don’t play fair, anyway.”
He kisses you once more before you can snap back. His hand falls from your face and lands on your neck, cradling you softly against him as he deepens the kiss and pulls a quiet sigh out of you. Your heart has found its pulse again by the time he lets you catch your breath, and you can only stare with lovelorn anticipation as he half-smiles, half-grimaces down at you in surrender.
“Alright, baby,” says Osamu slowly. “I’ll say it.”
And to both your elation and surprise, he unfeignedly recites the first few lines of the written words still held in your hand.
Hi, my love. It’s me, your lovesick fool.
I’m too much of the latter to say it out loud now, but I’m even more of the former that I’ll do so if you ask me to. I miss you, after all. On days like today, when we’re at our worst, remember there’s a fool here who will never not miss you.
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cr4yolaas · 18 hours
Text
in sickness and in health — akaashi keiji
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synopsis: despite your stubbornness, akaashi takes care of you when you fall ill.
tags: fluff, rdr is sick, can be interpreted as romantic or platonic
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akaashi can’t help but laugh at your grumbles beneath the blankets.
he thinks it’s silly, how you try oh so hard to convince him that you’re fine, when in reality, you haven’t left your bed since last night. and it’s already late afternoon.
when he re-enters your bedroom with soup in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, he’s greeted with a disturbingly loud coughing fit, coupled with a distressed face and weary eyes. in an instant, he rushes to your side, urging you to sit up and drink some of your tea. reluctantly, you oblige.
this time, akaashi can’t help but frown at your stubbornness.
“i can handle myself,” you complain in a raspy voice, each syllable coated with exhaustion. “i’ve always handled this by myself.”
instead of arguing, he only smiles. “i know. i’m just by your side this time.”
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fuyuluvr · 3 months
Text
i didn't mean it.
synopsis: your boyfriend says something and makes you insecure.
characters: suna, kita x gn!reader
warnings: angst to fluff
note/s: reuploading my old haikyuu works so don't mind me!
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suna:
“rin, you should eat.” you said, placing a tray of snacks in front of him. the team’s practice dragged on and suna was drained by the time that practice was over.
suna grumbled, sitting up before narrowing his eyes on what you were wearing.
“is that my hoodie?” suna asked, you smiled a bit and nodded at him.
“yeah, why?” you plopped a chip on your tongue, savoring the salty taste as you chewed.
“well, don’t you have your own?” he asked, no hint of amusement in his tone at all, causing you to stop midchew. you nodded, swallowing the chip and biting back a frown.
“then why don’t you wear your own clothes? i’m not paying for the hoodies for you, (y/n).” you looked at him, trying to find signs that he was only saying that as a prank, but as you look at his fox-like eyes, you see no signs of him kidding.
“i’m sorry if it bothers yo-” “yes, it bothers me. i’ve been looking for my hoodies only to see you parading them around as if it were yours.” you take note of the tears building up in your eyes as you look away and nod at him.
“i’ll wash them and return it to you tomorrow morning, rin.” you said, fighting the lump that built up in your throat. you could feel suna nod at your statement as he pulled out his phone and began scrolling. you took out yours as well before sending a quick text to your friend to ask her to call you. without question, your friend did. your ringtone blasting, effectively breaking the tensed silence.
“i’m sorry, rin. (y/f/n) needs me for something. i have to go.”
“wait, (y/n).” he stopped you as you stood up and gathered your things.
“yeah?” “can i have that hoodie back?” you wanted to laugh bitterly at that, but you stopped yourself. nodding, you took off the hoodie and placed it on his table.
“be safe on your way out, (y/n).” you give him a smile and thanks before closing the door shut as you leave.
when you got home, you sought out every hoodie that belonged to suna before folding them up and placing them in a bag after ensuring that it was clean.
his words rung through your head as you finally let a few tears slip.
you opened your closet and pulled your own hoodies, once you were done. you let yourself fall asleep, not noticing the texts that suna was sending you.
the next day, you walked to your lockers and saw suna already waiting for you. once he felt your presence, he looked up from his phone and pocketed it before giving you a hug.
“sorry for being kind of an asshole yesterday, baby.” he said as you hugged back, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“oh, right. here are your hoodies, rin. i cleaned them before folding them.” you said, giving suna the bag. he gave you a conflicted look. he was about to say something before he was cut off by the morning bell.
“better go to your class, rin.” you said before pecking his cheek and walking to your class.
suna felt like there was something off about you. he shook his head at the thought. ‘if it bothers them, they will tell me.’ he thought before heading to his class.
you managed to get used to not asking your boyfriend for his hoodies, it was hard, but you managed. even though you wanted nothing more but to inhale the cologne that left his hoodie whenever you wore them. suna, on the other hand, felt like there was something wrong, especially when you stopped bugging him.
he noticed you went out shopping more with your friends. your closet intaking more and more articles of long sleeves, he thought it was a good thing before he noticed that his hoodies stopped feeling warm after a while.  
suna, who was supposed to be over the moon after his hoodies had been returned to him, felt like there was something missing whenever he pulled his hoodies over his figure.
your scent. it was your scent that was missing.
suna then noticed that after you returned his missing hoodies, you stopped asking for his ever since. he thought of anything that he could’ve done for you to stop approaching him, then his mind went back to what he said when he was in a bad mood.
‘fuck.’
suna almost beat himself up mentally for not noticing how much his words affected you, he had to make this right.
“hey, baby.” he said, opening your room’s door before plopping himself next to you on the bed, you gave him a smile and a peck on the cheek before scrolling through your phone.
suna peered at your phone to see you on a shopping application, scrolling through various clothing, his heart feeling heavy when you pressed on a hoodie design.
“hey.” he called out, you looked up from your phone, silently asking to continue his statement.
“it seems a bit cold in your room, do you want my hoodie?” he asked, you were tempted to say yes but his words once more evaded your thoughts.
“ah, no thank you.” you smiled at the offer even though you were having a battle inside your mind for being stubborn. “i have my own.” you said before reaching out to the foot of your bed where a hoodie rested, for nights where your blanket wasn’t enough.
“oh.. yeah.” suna awkwardly said, his heart dropping at the blatant rejection.
“are you sure you don’t want mine? it’s your favorite hoodie.” he attempted once more. you shook your head before you started to pull your hoodie over your figure.
“no thank you, it’s yours.” you said, before you knew it you were wrapped around in suna’s arms.
“rin… what?”
“i didn’t mean it.” he mumbled. your eyes pricked, knowing exactly what he was talking about.
“i just really had a bad day that day, i’m so sorry for saying those words to you. i miss the scent you leave on my hoodies. i want it back.” he said, tightening his hug on your body. you ran your fingers comfortingly on his back knowing how hard this must’ve been for him to let out, especially knowing that he tends to not show off any emotions.
“aw, rin.” you sighed, he grunted in response, burying his face on your chest, trying to memorize the comforting scent that he was too foolish to let go of.
“i’m sorry too.”
“you have nothing to apologize for. don’t say you’re sorry.” his voice mumbled out. you pulled his face from your chest to face you, his eyes filled with guilt as you smiled at him.
“if it makes you feel any better. i forgive you.” you smiled.
“take my hoodie.”
“what?”
“i’m going to feel better if you take my hoodie and forget the stupidity i said before.” you laughed before letting him pull off your hoodie before he replaced it with his.
his scent overfilled your senses as you pulled on the collar to sniff it.
suna’s heart swelled up at the sight, before plopping himself beside you and cuddling against you.
“baby?”
“yes, rin?”
“let’s go to sleep.”
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 kita:
it was a tense practice. the team was feeling pressured due to kita’s unwavering presence. atsumu and osamu kept yelling at each other. suna was just filming the whole thing, unbothered. no matter what kita said, his voice was overpowered over atsumu and osamu’s argument.
their manager, rui, had managed to quiet the twins down. the team finally letting out a breath that they held. kita showed her his thanks as the team went back to practice properly. the tension was still there.
you came in, having a small skip to your step. smiling as you went inside the gym with a bag of snacks to give to the team. you were a second-year manager, having been convinced by suna to join the volleyball team. you were glad you did because you have somehow managed to catch the attention of the cold-logic captain.
not noticing the tension in the room, you placed the snacks down and you went to the place beside your senior manager and talked about the events you missed while you were out.
after a practice set was done, rui walked out of the gym to retrieve the jerseys that were washed. you walked over to kita to relay some good news on your part.
“you’re late.” his cold voice started. your smile dropped a bit at his tone before apologizing.
“i’m so-”
“how are you supposed to fully take charge of the team as a manager if you can’t even make it into practices on time.” by now, everyone was listening to the exchange. atsumu was looking at you worriedly as you shook your head slightly, a smile still on your face.
“look, shin. it’s not as if i wanted to be late-”
“but you were.” he cut you off, you swallowed and nodded your head. he was right. however, it wasn’t your fault that the teacher asked you to stay back in order to relay news that you were one of the students who climbed up in the academic ranks. unable to contain your excitement to the news, you thought of buying the team some food to brighten up their day as well. being selfless was one of the traits that made kita fall for you.
“if you could just let me explain then maybe you-”
“(l/n)-san. whatever reason you have is inexcusable. you should know that as a manager you are expected to be courteous in these types of assemblies.” he stated, still with a straight face.
you are no exemption to kita’s cold logic.
“kita-san, i don’t think (l/n)-san wanted to be late.” akagi tried to help you out.
kita looked back at him with piercing eyes, the latter letting out a shiver. “however, they are still late. am i correct?” akagi hesitantly nodded, shooting you an apologetic look. you smiled in thanks for his defense.
kita turned to look back at you, “we do not need a manager who thinks that they have all the time in the world and show up late to practice.” he started, your smile dropping at his words.
“how are the third years supposed to leave when they know they are about to leave the team in the hands of an incompetent manager.”
“oi, kita.” aran warned, kita turned to face him. “you’re going too far.”
“i have not said anything that is not based on observations.” he stated, before looking at you once more.
“you are nowhere near rui's level of duty.” and with that, you blinked the tears you didn’t know you were holding. the action shocked everyone in the room as they did not expect kita to say such words to his (s/o).
“i get it, kita. you need not remind me and i apologize for dragging the team down.” you said as loud as your voice can muster. at this point, the whole team wants to desperately console you, but you surprised them both with a smile.
“i guess you are right, kita-san.” you started. “maybe this job is not meant for me, i apologize for not being like rui.” you bowed before making your way out the door, momentarily stopping to face suna. “i apologize for not meeting your team’s expectations, rinta.” and with that you left the gym.
the gym was quiet. no one wants to make a sound. no one knows how to approach what just unfolded in front of their eyes.
everyone eyed each other awkwardly, suna stood up from his place and looked at kita who was cleaning a volleyball with a blank look on his face.
“well, i’m done with practice.” suna called out, zipping his practice bag.
“practice isn’t over, we still have 2 hours!” ginjima said, looking nervously between the captain and his teammate.
“yeah, well. if i see my best friend crying due to the insensitivity of their boyfriend, i think it is my responsibility as a best friend to check up on them.” suna said, kita’s head perking up at his words.
“practice will still be practice tomorrow, but (y/n)’s wellbeing is my priority right now.” with those words, osamu stood up and packed up as well, deciding to side with suna on this.
“see ya.”
 ever since that incident, you have avoided kita like the plague. which was made easy due to your year difference.
osamu and atsumu update you on his well-being, even though you don’t ask. they know that you still care about their captain.
your phone is filled with countless unread messages from kita who asked about how you are and if you and him can talk. you did not reply to a single one, leaving him on delivered since the past few days.
it doesn’t mean that he did not try to talk to you, because he did. it was only because suna and the twins never left your side so he did not get the proper timing.
“are you really sure about this, (y/n)?” atsumu asked as you signed the resignation form of your managerial responsibilities.
“i think it would be for the best, my own boyfriend did say that i’m not competent enough to manage you.” you smiled bitterly as flashbacks from that day evaded your mind.
suna and the twins frowned at your statement, the four of you walking to the coach’s office.
“text us if you need up to pick you up, (y/n)-chan.” osamu said, ruffling your hair a bit. you scoffed at his actions.
“we’re in school, as if i’ll get lost.” you joked as you bid the three of them goodbye and knocking on the coach’s door.
“pardon me for intruding-” your words were cut off as you realized the coach was not alone and was with kita, reviewing different reports.
“ah, what brings you here, (y/n)?” the sound of your name made kita perk up, looking at you with longing despite his deadpan expression.
“i can come back at a better time, sir.” you said, the coach shook his head before gesturing to the documents on your hand.
“i came to drop off my resignation paper, i’m sorry, sir.” kita’s eyes widened at those words and he uncharacteristically dragged you out of the room with a small goodbye to the coach, your papers in kita’s hands.
“you are not leaving the team, (y/n).” kita plainly stated. you scoffed, trying to retrieve back your documents.
“i don’t think you have a right to say what i can or cannot do, kita-san.”
he looked down on the ground before sighing and looking back at you. next thing you knew he had his arms wrapped around you, you wanted to struggle. but you know you don’t want to lie to yourself and say you do not miss your boyfriend’s presence.
you sighed, arms hanging limply at your sides, itching to hug kita back.
“i’ve been a terrible boyfriend.” you almost wanted to laugh at that. you tried pulling away from his hug, but you noticed his grip tightening and his arms slightly shaking, as if you would disappear if you pulled away from his grasp.
“i’ve said some things that i am not proud of.” he started, “i broke my promise to you and hurt you with my words.”
“kita-san, it’s okay.”
“it’s not okay, love.” your heart swooned at his pet name.
“i shouldn’t have said those words, i wasn’t thinking.”
“well, kita-”
“since when did you call me kita, it’s shin to you.” he cut you off, earning a short laugh from you, before your voice turned somber.
“i know you don’t mean it, but like as you said. those came from observations. and you’re right. i do not deserve to be the manager.”
he pulled away slightly, “i cannot express how sorry i am to have made you doubt your capabilities like that.” he placed his chin on top of your head, you felt tears building up once more as you blinked them away, kita felt your slight shaking, he pulled away before placing his thumbs under your eyes.
“i’m sorry, love. hurting you was my last intention.” he said before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, you gripped the hands that caressed your face before giving him a small smile.
“it’s fine, shinsuke.”
“please stay.”
you give him a nod as his eyes softened, a small smile on his face as he leaned down to give you a soft kiss.
“i missed you.” you smiled as you pulled away.
“as have i, my love.” kita responded.
“not to ruin your moment, but it’s time for practice.” atsumu’s voice interrupted your moment, followed by a sharp thwack on his head, courtesy of aran.
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kentobb · 3 months
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The Promise
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Character: Ushijima Wakatoshi x F!Reader
Warnings: Heavy angst, cursing, slight comfort on the end.
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It has been a rough month and Ushijima knows it. He has been overworking himself, pushing his limits at each practice. His typically calm and composed face is now etched with stress and strain. His temperament, once steady as a rock, is now volatile and erratic, akin to a stormy sea. The month had been grueling, a relentless onslaught of training sessions and personal workouts. His body is aching, his mind is strained, and his spirit is beginning to waver.
Today, he returns to his apartment later than usual, bone-tired, his muscles screaming in protest, only to be greeted by your sight, his sweet and loving girlfriend. Your smile always warm, eyes filled with concern, having dinner ready, a hot bath drawn, and comforting words falling from your lips.
He should feel guilty for his recent behavior, matter of fact he should apologize. He was not a man prone to emotional outbursts or thoughtless actions, and yet, he had allowed his stress to control him, to turn him into someone he hardly recognized these days.
He had ignored you, brushed off your attempts at conversations, and retreated into himself. He had been mean, cold, distant. He had forgotten your presence, forgotten the warmth you brought into his life, forgotten the love that had once made his heart flutter.
And tonight was no different, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders, his mind foggy and his spirit was weary. As he kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket on the hook, the tantalizing aroma of dinner wafted through the apartment. He followed the scent into the kitchen, his eyes landing on the sight of you, sitting at the kitchen table, a spread of dishes laid out in front of you.
You looked up the entrance and your face lights up with a smile that reaches your eyes. A sight that used to warm his heart, a sight that used to make him forget about exhaustion, a sight that used to make him feel loved.
“‘Toshi, you’re home!” You smiled happily.
But today, he could only muster a tired sigh in response. He saw you on your feet in an instant, your chair scraping against the floor as you rushed towards him. Your arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, your warmth seeping into him. But he didn’t return the hug, didn’t wrap his arms around you, didn’t press a kiss to your forehead like he always does. He just stood there, his body rigid, his mind elsewhere.
You pulled away, you don’t know if it is out of embarrassment or…due to a sudden heartbreak due to the neglect you have been suffering, but your hands suddenly cup his face, eyes searching his for a sign of the man you loved. “Um, we should, well, you should go eat,” You urged, your voice soft and your touch gentle. But he shook his head, his voice coming out gruff as he muttered, “I’m tired.”
But you didn’t back down this time, didn’t let him retreat into himself like he has done all this month. You tugged at his hand, tried to lead him to the table with the dinner you worked very hard for, trying to make him eat. “Come on, Toshi, you been avoiding me this past month,” You insisted, your voice firm, your grip tight. “Just be here, yeah?” You smiled.
But he snapped. “For fuck sakes Y/N, I’m tired!” He barked, his voice louder that he intended, his tone harsher than he meant. He yanked his hand out of your grip, his eyes flashing with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “You have been nagging me all these past nights to have fucking dinner and you don’t understand that I am tired.” He yelled again.
The silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the room palpable. You took a step back, embarrassed that your boyfriend had to yelled at you like that, “Ah, sorry, I just thought—“ You were saying but were cut off immediately by his sharp words.
“Thought what? Thought what, Y/N?” He yelled in disbelief, “That you have been a pain in the ass for the past few days?” He asked as he raised his voice louder, tone meaner.
“I-I’m sorry,” You apologized, trying to mask your disappointment, “I have missed you…” You mumbled embarrassedly, trying to hide your flushed face from him.
“Missed me?” He yelled, “We live in the same fucking apartment and we see each other every night!” He yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet apartment.
“I- I know, I know, Toshi,” You said, trying to calm him down, “B-But we haven’t been able to talk, you haven’t kissed me or touched me…” You admit painfully as you looked at him with teary eyes.
“God, you’re so fucking clingy and needy,” He yells as he rolled his eyes out of frustration. “All of this mess because of that?” He chuckled, “I am tired for this crap right now.” He said.
The room fell silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. He watched your face fall, your eyes reflecting the hurt his words had caused. And guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, his heart clenching at your sight.
You know he didn’t mean any single word of it, right? He was just tired, so incredibly tired. His days were filled with endless practices, his nights consumed by restless sleep. He was pushing himself to the brink, his body and mind paying the price.
He didn’t mean it.
“Sorry,” You mumbled, “I will clean the mess,” You said as you hid your face away from his, walking towards the kitchen again.
His mind raced, guilt and regret swirling within him. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to make you understand that fuck, he didn’t mean any of it. But the words wouldn’t come, his throat tight with emotion. He was trapped in his own guilt, his own exhaustion, his own regret. And he didn’t know how to escape.
He watched from the doorway as you busied yourself in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner he had refused to eat. His heart clenching at the sight, guilt gnawing at his insides. He had been harsh, mean even, and he regretted it.
Your movements were mechanical, your usual cheerfulness replaced with a somber silence. He watched as you wiped the table clean, packed the uneaten food, and washed the dishes. Your shoulders are tense, lips pressed into a thin line.
And he noticed, noticed how you tried to compose yourself, how you tried to hold back the tears. But despite your efforts, a few escaped, trailing down your cheeks and disappearing into the collar of your shirt. Each tear was a stab to his heart, a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused.
Once you were done, you turned off the lights, plunging the kitchen into the darkness. The only sound was the sound of the soft padding of your feet as you made your way to the bedroom, where he was waiting.
Both of you sat on opposite sides of the bed, an uncomfortable silence hanging between both of you. He watched as you changed into your sleeping clothes, your movements slow and deliberate. You climbed into bed, your back to him, body curling up on your side.
He was at a loss. He didn’t knew what to do, didn’t know what to say. He was worried, his mind filled with the thoughts of you, of the hurt he had caused. He knew you had taken his words to heart, knew that you were hurting. And it was all of his fault.
In the dimly lit room, his silhouette was barely visible as he climbed into bed next to you. The only sound that broke silence was your soft, muffled sobs. His heart clenched at the sound. He reached out tentatively, his hands finding their way around your waist. He drew you close, his chest against your back, both of your hearts beating in a rhythm that was painfully off sync.
He leaned in, pressing his lips against your swollen and teary face, tasting the saltiness of your tears. “I’m sorry,” He whispered into your hair, his voice barely audible. His words hung heavy in the air, a confession and a plea all at once.
You remained silent, sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles. And he could feel your body stiffen at his words. It was an unspoken tension that made his heart race with worry. He wanted to say more, you deserved way more, to explain, to ask for forgiveness, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Talk to me, love.” He implored, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers tracing circles on your waist, a silent plea for you to respond.
But you don’t. Your silence was deafening wrapping you both in a shroud of uncertainty. And he held you tighter, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and that scared him.
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The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open to a new day. His body felt heavy, his heart even more so. The events of the previous night replayed in his mind like a haunting melody.
He found you in the kitchen, a solitary figure bathed in the morning light. You were cradling a cup of coffee, your gaze fixed in the steaming liquid. Your face was pale, eyes rimmed with red. The sight of you, so vulnerable and distant, twisted his heart.
“Good morning,” he tried, he really did, his voice echoing in the silence. But you didn’t respond, didn’t even lift your gaze to meet his. It was as if he was a ghost, unseen, unheard. He felt a pang of guilt, a sharp reminder of his words last night.
“For fuck sakes Y/N.”
“You have been nagging me all these past nights to have fucking dinner and you don’t understand that I am tired.”
“God, you’re so fucking clingy and needy.”
His mind was whirlwind of thoughts. He had hoped that giving you space would help, that it would give you time to heal, time to warm up to him like you always do. But as the day dragged on, the silence between both of you grew. His phone remained silent, devoid of your usual messages.
No updates about your day, no reminders about dinner, nothing.
It was a silence that spoke volumes, and it terrified him.
Who would have thought? Ushijima Wakatoshi, the man who faced countless opponents on the court, was scared. He was scared that his actions had created a chasm between you, a distance he didn’t knew how to bridge.
As he returned from practice on the night, the apartment was dark. The usually welcoming lights were all turned off, a stark reminder of the cold silence that awaited him. He knew you would be in bed, probably feigning sleep. There would be no warm welcome, no home-cooked meal, no soft smiles.
He lingered at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the silence that awaited him. As he stepped into the dark apartment, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread that clung to him. He was walking into a battlefield, and he didn’t know how to fight this war.
The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the noise of the world outside. He stepped in, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The sight of the shared room, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, was a painful reminder of the happier times.
There you were, a small figure curled up on the bed, your back to him just like last night. Your eyes were open, staring blankly at the window. The sadness in your gaze was palpable, a silent cry for help that tore at his heart.
He took off his shoes, placing his gym bag in the kitchen before making his way towards you. He tried to speak, to break the silence that hung between both of you.
“How are you?” He asked softly, but his words fell on deaf ears. You didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
Undeterred, he climbed onto the bed, his large frame curling around your smaller one. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, making you face him. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, each kiss a silent promise to make things right.
And then he hears it, he hears you crying. Tears falling like rain, burying your face on his chest and soaking his shirt. Your sobs were heart-wrenching, a testament to the pain he had caused.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He held you tightly, as if his touch could somehow ease the pain he had caused. His apologies were a soft murmur against your hair, a desperate plea for forgiveness.
He gently lifted your face, fingers tracing the contours of your features. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, a silent vow of his love for you. He kissed away your salty tears, each one a testament to her pain, each one a reminder of his mistakes.
“I love you,” He whispered, his voice barely audible. His words were soft, filled with emotion so raw yet so powerful that it took his breath away. He repeated the words over and over, a mantra of love and regret.
Slowly, your sobs subsided. Your breathing evened out, your body relaxing against his. Falling asleep in his arms, your tear-streaked face buried in his chest. He watched you sleep, his heart aching with relief and regret.
He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing. His eyes welled up with tears, the guilt and regret overwhelming him. He kisses your forehead, a silent promise etched into your skin.
“This is the last time,” He vowed to himself, his voice chocked with emotion. “This is the last time I’ll make you cry,” He promised.
He held you close, his arms a protective shield around you.
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Reblogs, notes and comments are appreciated <3
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rizsu · 1 year
Text
euphoria ? suna rintarō.
sum. labeled, but sfw. arguments, suna cries, angst -> comfort.
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rintarō isn't one to let his anger dominate him; rather, he tries his best to keep his emotions at bay. however, there's only so much someone can take before exploding. high octaves of a once calm voice bounces off the walls, it takes both by shock. rintarō stops, his eyes bulging when he realizes what happened.
fuck, he thinks. he didn't mean to. swallowing the burning sensation of guilt, he steps forward. countless apologies flow from his lips, clammy hands trying to reach you in attempts of a hug. you're still shocked. numb to your feet, your mind replays the scene. it hurts. it really hurts. you didn't mean for it to turn out like this.
from a simple worry to nagging to spitting out meaningless words of anger. it never meant to escalate like that; nothing was supposed to turn the way it did. hurt, anger, jealousy, and sadness. he knew your words came from concern, but he was already irritated—annoyed in a way that he just wanted to be locked in a quiet room. both parties letting their words go before logic; nothing was meant to turn this way.
“i think...i think i'll go upstairs. please don't come.” y/n mumbled, pain evident in her voice. as your figure ascends into the upper floor, rintarō slouches back into the couch. a heavy sigh fills the room; regret and guilt seeps into his pores, eating him alive.
i'm a fucking ass, he thinks again.
rintarō laughs. he drags his palms over his face, stopping at his eyes before he laughs again. it's funny, really. did he really have to lash out like that? rintarō promised he'll never hurt you. he'd never ever hurt you, but can that promise still hold meaning even after this? physically, he didn't. mentally and internally? the tremble of your voice said more than enough.
the more his mind repeats what happened like a broken record, the more tears well up in his eyes. they threaten him. they laugh at him. the salty liquid mocks him—it's almost as if it's saying, “ha! you're an idiot!” 
he swallows hard, trying so hard not to let his voice be heard. he doesn't want to cry but fuck, it hurts so much. when the dam swells until it bursts, floods occur. and so he let it go. the tears race down the sides of his face. he covers his mouth with one hand, biting hard in attempts not to make a sound.
it's been a few hours. each in their own space, trying to soften the pain that invited itself. no one tried speaking to another—the fight lingers fresh in both minds. rintarō's on the edge; he's itching to be in your presence. to hold you. to kiss you. 
five minutes turn into ten, which turned into twenty, and he's still there. still behind the door that separates him from you, hesitating to turn the knob. his hand shakes—he's nervous..? anxious? afraid you'd ask him to leave you alone? hell, he doesn't know.
rintarō didn't know he was in his head until the door opened on your side. he gapes at you, eyes searching for something.
“rin—” you start but he continued, “i'm sorry.”
he notes the confusion riddled on your face but he continues on.
“i'm sorry, love.” he says, hands holding yours as he looks down biting his lips. he's ashamed to face you.
“rintarō,” you tighten your grip on his hand, “let's sit down.” you instruct and he obeys, chewing on his bottom lip as a distraction.
rintarō's eyes linger on you. he observes your face, your behaviour, your tired eyes that show clear evidence of countless hours of crying. his heart hurts. he never thought he'd be the reason you're crying tears of sadness. never did he ever want to make you cry like that.
“you've been crying.”
“yeah, you too huh? i'm sorry, rin.”
at your apology he freezes. you're sorry? why are you apologizing? he's the one who lost control so why the fuck are you apologizing?
rintarō laughs again. he's been acting like a real fool hasn't he? having a wife who apologises for her husband's inconsiderate actions.
“don't. don't do that. don't apologise.”
“but—”
“please,” he begged. pushing you both down onto the bed, rintarō holds you above him. one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other rubs your shoulder, he continues his speech, “i didn't mean to—i didn't mean to yell like that. i don't know what i'd do if you left.”
you play with the hem of his shirt waiting for him to finish.
he let out a ragged breath before continuing, “i don't like it when you're hurt. this is gonna sound corny but i hate it when you cry too.”
you wait again but he doesn't continue like before. confused you look up at him only to furrow your eyebrows while your eyes wash over with concern. is he trying to not cry? you think.
yeah, he's crying again. small droplets trickle down his face once more as he sucks in his cheeks trying to not make a sound.
“rin.” he doesn't answer.
“suna rin.” he hums quietly but it's not the answer you want.
“suna rintarō.” there, he answers.
your heart shreds. hearing his voice like this was as rare as a red moon; you hate it. you hate how he never allows himself to cry. he's human isn't he? so why's he acting as though he's a machine.
you sit up on his lower half, cupping his face forcing him to look at you.
“we both did our wrongs so why are you behaving like you committed a first degree crime?” you ask though you aren't looking for an answer.
he stays quiet. eyes lost deep in yours as he waits for your words again.
“yes it did hurt, but that doesn't mean i'll throw away your love doesn't it? i know better than to divorce you for this argument, rin. we've been together for years.”
your fingers start to caress his cheek—some even tracing his face's outline. rintarō's hands find refuge on your waist, he holds and plays with your skin.
“i love you, rin. i'll tell you over and over until you know it.”
“i know.”
“then act like you know, boy.”
he laughs for the fifth time today, but it's no longer a laugh of disbelief, no. it's a laugh of joy. it's a breathy laugh that makes his eyes crinkle.
he sits up, pulling you into a hug as he lowers his head into the junction of your neck and shoulders. a smile finally dawns both faces.
after long hours anger says goodbye as love enters the house. what a day, you both think.
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