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theogony · 5 months

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the case study into sakusa kiyoomi's facial structure

written for the haikyuu big bang 2023 (@hqbb) ! Been wanting to write Sakuatsu for forever now and finally gave me the impetus to start writing :3 check out the beautiful companion art by twilightdays on twitter here!

Atsumu grins, foxlike and sharp, before turning to Osamu.

“If I manage to get a smile out of Sakusa Kiyoomi within 3 months, you’ll agree I’m the funnier twin and give me an entire 2 weeks’ free supply of your onigiri.”

There are very few things Atsumu likes to almost surely bet on - examples being volleyball, Bokuto’s ability to break the sound barrier when calling Akaashi, and Osamu’s ability to be an annoying, stuck-up ass.

Osamu hums, before holding out his hand with mock solemnity.

“A week and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The newest addition to the list? Sakusa Kiyoomi’s unflinching jawline.

–no one's convinced that Sakusa Kiyoomi can smile, least of all Atsumu (which is a downright shame considering the fact his face could be chiselled out of pure marble) - but by god if Atsumu is a quitter; especially when his drunken pride and Osamu's onigiris are on the line.

Alternatively, the 5 times in which Atsumu tries to make Sakusa smile, and the one time he does (ft. errant volleyballs, bad cooking, drunken decisions, and one nosy Olympic team)

read the rest on AO3! (formatted better there) / read below the cut!

It’s close to 1 in the morning when his phone buzzes, and Atsumu is nowhere near sober enough to comprehend the texts appearing on his screen.

He squints, blearily, trying to decipher through giant blobs of colour who exactly the notification is from, almost regretting the drinking contest he went up (and won!) against Aran. Next to him, Suna isn’t doing much better, for once phone left unguarded on the tabletop where he’s slumped. Aran and Kita are off in some corner, doing god knows what, and the only one remotely sober is Osamu, their designated driver, still picking at the leftover onigiri. There’s a particular glint in his eye that Atsumu knows means that he’s busy doing some particular chef analysis with the ingredients and god knows what else, so he resigns himself to swiping at the messages.

Omi-Omi: Remember we’re both practising our sets tomorrow

Do not be late.

Atsumu rereads the message twice, before throwing his phone (as gently as he can while drunk) with a loud groan.

“Fuck Sakusa Kiyoomi. Honestly”

Osamu turns his head around at the loud proclamation, before wordlessly joining Atsumu on the table next to him, retrieving Atsumu’s phone along the way. Instead of handing it to Atsumu like a sane person, he whacks his shoulder with it - ignoring his cry of pain - prompting Atsumu to monologue on “Stupid, Stupid Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid, stupid rules and stupid, stupid face.”

Osamu seems content to let him continue rambling, but with an unexpected amount of effort, Suna props himself up on the table, fully facing Atsumu.

“You’re kind of obsessed with Sakusa, aren’t you?”

Atsumu sputters.

His new fixation is one born of superiority. Not in volleyball - it doesn’t take a genius to notice Sakusa Kiyoomi’s sharp instincts and sheer skill - but in charm. Like, let alone having suaveness - hell, Sakusa’s Kiyoomi’s face is probably stuck in a perpetual line of disgruntle and disappointment - which occasionally curves up at a specific angle between 5 and 8 degrees when he looks down upon you, mocking.

And if Atsumu perhaps thinks it’s a shame, considering his face, he isn’t drunk enough to admit that - even to himself.

“Komori San did tell me Sakusa’s an emotional guy though”, Kita hums vaguely enough, having seemingly emerged from the deepest corners of the bar to provide sage wisdom on the perpetual disposition of Kiyoomi. Suna vigorously nods, before attempting to trawl his endless gallery for an almost certainly photoshopped image of Sakusa smiling.

“Omi cannot smile. It’s like. Statistically impossible.”

Even imagining it sends a flush throughout his body. In horror. Of course.

“You know what I think?” Osamu finally drawls, resting his chin upon his palm with a grin, and Atsumu suddenly feels a flicker of fear. “Tsum-Tsum here”, he helpfully adds, pinching his cheeks with a saccharine grin, “simply isn’t funny enough for Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

How. Dare. He.

Atsumu’s face blooms scarlet. As if he could never be enough for that stuck-up prick. Sakusa Kiyoomi should feel lucky that he even spends time with him! A man who doesn’t know how to handle social interaction and function without the help of a 5-metre radius from everyone should feel honoured Atsumu even takes pity to keep trying!

"How dare ya say I'm not funny enough for Sakusa Kiyoomi!"

Osamu takes one look at the petulant expression on his face and starts laughing even harder, and Atsumu suddenly decides that no, perhaps it isn't too late to repent for the fact he never ate him in his mother's womb.

Before another full brawl can break out between the two of them, Aran holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“We could always settle it using a wager.”

Atsumu grins, foxlike and sharp, before turning to Osamu.

“If I manage to get a smile out of Sakusa Kiyoomi within 3 months, you’ll agree I’m the funnier twin and give me an entire 2 weeks’ free supply of your onigiri.”

Osamu hums, before holding out his hand with mock solemnity.

“A week and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The newest addition to the list? Sakusa Kiyoomi’s unflinching jawline.

There are 10 minutes left into the first game of the season in Tokyo, in a gym with over 3000 fans when Atsumu Miya lines up one of the last serves of the game. Though the distant cheering of the crowd is inspiring to some of the players - he knows Bokuto thrives off it, hell, in any other situation he would too - but this close to a victory - close enough he can nearly sink his teeth in - he can’t afford any slip-ups - any uncontrolled variables. The weight of the ball rests heavy and fits perfectly in the groove of his palm - but he doesn’t let the familiarity of the scene fool him into forgetting that playing against the Adlers is different from when it’s just practice matches.

And though it may frustrate him, well. If there’s one thing life has taught him through a myriad of scraped elbows and bruised dreams, it’s how to channel that spark of anger.

Atsumu smiles, fox-like and vicious as he hits a perfect serve toss - one slightly low, but still powerful enough to reach a fellow teammate, the resounding thwack memory at his point - comfortable enough to elicit a familiar welling up of nostalgia and competition. His eyes dart across the court, analysing the trajectory of the ball as it sails cleanly across the set (perfect path, his inner voice internally trills) - until the ball is smacked back against an impenetrable block of players, and he lands back on his feet, back in high-school again and staring at the faces of the triumphant team in front of him.

Damn it. This isn’t working.

The frustration he’s feeling is clear in the eyes of his other teammates - he can see it reflected across Ninja Shoyou’s face - can see it in the way Adriah’s grin strains a little at the edges - the way Oliver’s hands tighten imperceptibly.

But it’s nothing compared to the analytical grin Sakusa sports - eyes narrowed and face scowling, as though trying to figure out the key to cracking the game open.

And then his gaze shifts - and there’s a flicker of something colder underneath, gone after an instant, and it hits Atsumu like a bolt of lightning.

It makes him grin - makes him want to try something impulsive.

“Omi-kun”, he continues, deliberately pitching his voice low so that the others can’t hear. “Trust me, yeah?”

In his peripheral vision, he sees Sakusa give Atsumu a long look, before dropping his hands to his sides.

It’s all the cue he needs for him to recklessly set the ball high up into the air. His body moves into a long-remembered dance, fluid and fast as he steps into motion, habit honed into instinct at this point. One step, two, three—he loses count and jumps, calloused hand slamming into the sweat-sticky leather of the volleyball. The ball sails upwards - a dazzling comet to the rest of the court and a thinly veiled demand.

Well? Hit it.

There’s no doubt that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a brilliant player - there have been enough interviews - reports and articles on his “potential” and “style”.

But it’s one thing to read about it - and one thing to see his eyes twitch as he analyses the path of the ball in a way that is so perfectly like him - see his body flex as he responds to the arc of the ball, sending it perfectly across the court - the sharp zing through the air lost to the quick frenzy of players rearranging themselves to the unpredictable spin that he’s known for. Hirugami goes up too, but it’s a split second too late - and the thud of the ball as it hits the court is lost to the applause.

Though he can feel the confused exclamations from Hinata and feel more than hear Bokuto loudly screeching in his ear, Atsumu doesn’t pause to think before carefully bumping a jersey-clad shoulder against Sakusa’s briefly.

“Omi-kun”, he lightly drawls - giddy on adrenaline and excitement, inhibitions lowered now that one of his reckless decisions has already paid off. “No celebration?”

Sakusa sharply cuts his gaze away as he makes a soft noise under his breath - though not fast enough to completely hide the smirk he’s sporting - nor hide the familiar spark in his eyes.

“Your set was too far left.”

Fingers twitching, almost hesitant to reach out, Sakusa walks off to address the Adlers.

Demanding bastard, he thinks, but he’s still wearing a foxy grin as he trots behind him, maintaining a careful distance as they go.

He tries not to think about the half-hidden smirk on his face - and the near brush of their fingertips. He dimly wonders if it’d feel like electricity - like the same thrum of lightning whenever he sets a volleyball into motion - like fingers fluttering an instant before locking together for impact.

The sun has barely risen by the time the rest of the Jackals are up on their bus.

This, however, has done nothing except possibly increase the amount of vigour in Bokuto's voice as he sings another slurring edition of the latest hit on the radio. Even though Atsumu's 90% sure this counts in some way as a violation of the Geneva Conventions with the way it pierces through his skull, he's frankly not awake enough to comprehend much. He could bother Hinata into doing something, but unfortunately, said Hinata is currently miming a conductor with such zeal that Atsumu perhaps wonders if there's any lost love between Shoyou and music.

Meian ends up coming to their rescue, turning around and glaring at them with such wither and vitriol that it could rival Omi. Bokuto eventually shuffles back into his seat near Shoyou, as the bus quiets back down to a volume reminiscent of a traffic jam in the suburbs.

However, as an unceasing panic starts to set in suddenly, Atsumu wryly ponders that perhaps Bokuto’s one-man band was the only thing loud enough to drown out the large thumping of his heart as he sits next to Sakusa Kiyoomi.

At rest, like this, the sharp angles of his face smoothen out, light playing over his features with a soft, golden glow - an unintentional side effect from his constant attempts to find a comfortable sleeping position (though judging from the angle chosen, Atsumu can almost foresee the inevitable funk Kiyoomi’s going to be in due to an excess of kinks in his neck.)

The bus rolls over a peaceful bump, and as though the universe is agreeing with Atsumu’s astute deduction, shifts Kiyoomi slightly, bobbing his still immaculate curls. Atsumu hums, turning the other way before freezing as he feels the bus jolt again - this time sending an irritated Omi straight into the space between the seat-

-And Atsumu’s shoulder.

This close to him, Atsumu can feel the steady rhythm of Sakusa's breath - probably intensely regulated from all the yoga he does, because of course he does yoga - and can see the delicate curve of each of his eyelids, hooded and alluring. His moles are close enough for Atsumu to trace - and he has the irrational thought to try to connect them - like glittering stars in a night sky.

As a particularly harsh sun ray strikes the window, Kiyoomi tsks, shying away like a vampire, Atsumu muses, before his heart rate kicks up another notch, and he stills, unmoving - because Sakusa Kiyoomi is now unconsciously nuzzling himself into the crook of Atsumu’s neck.

His skin is impossibly soft, and his mouth twitches - curving imperceptibly - a facsimile of a smile. Studying him like this, unguarded and awash in the rosy sunlight, Atsumu can't help but feel faint at the sight of a completely unguarded Sakusa Kiyoomi - at the sight of him so peaceful.

So……..soft.

So….human.

He’s snapped back into reality by Bokuto's deep lungful of air, indicating another round of the song, and Adrian practically diving across the aisle to tackle him down. Despite his best attempts at stifling his surprise, he shifts imperceptibly - but even that much is enough to send Sakusa skittering back like a cat, eyes blown wide.

The two of them spend the rest of the bus ride in silence, content to let Hinata's chatter fill the space in between - and if Atsumu still steals glances at Sakusa back, it's only to see if Sakusa is planning to turn around and smile.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

The bar is vaguely familiar to Atsumu the same way everything’s vaguely familiar when you’re seeing swirls in mid-air, and internally he thanks himself for not breaking out into a brawl with Osamu the last time he was here. The next thing he thinks to himself is about the stupid bet and the stupid, stupid man who’s been taking up nearly all of his waking hours with every waking syllable that comes out of his stupid mouth. For analysis.

Or something.

Atsumu would have made more of an effort to remember, but it’s not often that Meian gives them free rein to get as drunk as they like - a victory treat to celebrate another match won against the Adlers before they’re forced up at ungodly hours of the morning for their regular drills.

(After an entire day of recovery, of course, from the inevitable hangover everyone would be nursing. Meian may be harsh, but he’s not an absolute monster.)

His head is spinning, and he feels lighter than a feather, and Atsumu knows without a certainty he is not drunk - rather, almost certainly hammered. Not that it matters, because he still makes his way to the bar to get more drinks because why the fuck not, since he’s already past the point to care.

It’s only when he’s halfway across the room, and he’s close enough to recognise Hinata and Kageyama furiously making out in the corner, that it dawns on him that the bar is the other way, and he sharply veers away from the sight. Before he can make it any further, he finds himself collapsing into the nearest barstool and leaning close to the nearest person he can see-

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

Atsumu distinctly recalls his previous prayer and then also dimly remembers the fact that the universe, in general, is a fucking joke.

Oh, he faintly thinks, as he turns around to get a front-row view of Sakusa’s steely glare. Karma is a bitch.

But hell, does intoxication suit Sakusa Kiyoomi - a slight sway in his hips as he turns to face him, moving to some melody that only he can hear, one that he’d very, very much like the lyrics for. His usually sharp gaze is a little unfocused as it wanders over the room, his over-bright, red-rimmed eyes making him look tired and ready for bed. Or getting into bed with someone, he thinks, ignoring the unfamiliar twang of indignation and anger, only if Sakusa Kiyoomi was the guy to get into one-night stands.

Atsumu gives himself a little shake, telling himself not to stare. Of course, he’s a pretty drunk.

He stares anyway.

How can he not, when every single thing about him is just the right side of dishevelled – his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed in that lovely end-of-the-night sort of way that makes him want to pull him closer and run his fingers through it. The still perfect curls that now curl loosely around Sakusa’s neck, so at odds with his put-together appearance on the court, beg to be pulled around his fingers, Atsumu not letting go until he’s rumpled and breathless, and the only thing that is on the both of their minds are each other. He wanders vaguely forward, thinking of doing just that, and his gaze suddenly sharpens and snaps to him.

“Miya?” he says sharply, as though glimpsing Atsumu for the first time, and well. Atsumu doesn't cower, but he does take a step back. Slowly, his dark eyes shift up and down his body (checking you out a delicious voice whispers in Atsumu’s brain) and all of a sudden, his prickly shield slips, and he visibly slackens.

"I've found you." He says, in what he thinks is a whisper.

It is not - yet the breathy lilt of his voice makes it sound like an invitation.

Atsumu is certain this is a ploy to somehow send him to an early grave - because there's no other explanation for why Sakusa Kiyoomi is currently saying what he's saying- and because there's no other explanation for the way his heart painfully stutters a beat when he hears those exact words.

You're drunk, his brain ridiculous supplies back.

"I'm very much not drunk, thank you very much. I'm completely undrunk." Kiyoomi glares back as he puffs up like an adorable cat, and Atsumu faintly thinks he's never been more glad that Sakusa is the definition of a liquor snob - only drinking the finest (and strongest) wines.

"Right."

The frown between Kiyoomi's brow deepens, and oh, he's fucking grinning now, the urge to laugh bubbling up in his chest as Omi continues scowling like the contrarian he is.

"I'm serious! I can walk perfectly straight. "

The fond feeling in his chest only grows as he watches Sakusa attempt to walk away - before swaying and falling back into Atsumu's arm, content to nuzzle into his chest. Something pleasantly possessive aches along his bones at the thought that he is the only one who gets to see him like this – only him and not Hinata or Bokuto, who gets to see him sleepy and soft at the end of the day, whispering secrets and leaning close - eyes and words crystal clear and bright despite the low hum and mundanity that comes with sitting in a cheap dive bar.

“Stop that. Don’t smile at me. I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?”

“You’re trying to… seduce me.”

Atsumu blinks.

Did he mishear that? Freudian slip? Can you Freudian slip with your hearing when you're drunk? Even so, he can’t help but frown a little. In all the years Atsumu has known Sakusa Kiyoomi, and further in all the years he’s heard from Suna and Komori - this evening’s behaviour is extremely atypical for him - he’s almost never seen Kiyoomi this drunk, let alone expect him to go search for him in such a state.

Which is ridiculous. Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is aloof. Mysterious. Not someone like Atsumu, who feels too much and wants too much, half ready to carve his heart out of his chest if Kiyoomi would direct a smile at him.

Atsumu blinks again.

“Does that happen a lot?” he asks, in what he hopes is a tone that doesn’t scream Hey, Maybe in another world where I was a bit drunker, and you were just a random stranger, and we had no emotional baggage I’d be kissing you senseless, but here we are, and I’m totally not jealous, but also I may be a bit jealous, but it’s chill and totally fine.

His life is a train wreck.

Sakusa seems to ponder the question, before lolling his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder with frightening ease.

“Perhaps. About 5 times in this room, though none of them were good enough to be partners. There’s a difference between partners and partners, of course.”

“Really?” He says, only slightly shocked at the fact that Kiyoomi’s been propositioned 5 times today alone. But damn, if that doesn’t hurt Astumu’s ego. He’s not even locked eyes with anyone or checked out someone today (present company excluded, of course). “What sort of-”

Sakusa ploughs on as though he hasn’t heard him, even as his voice slowly becomes barely discernible under the cottony feeling in Atsumu’s mouth as his eyes roved over Kiyoomi’s curls and the chaotic din of the bar around them.

“The next song, dance with me.”

Atsumu stopped short. “What?”

"Dance with me," he repeated, clumsily pushing himself off from Atsumu's hand that he forgot was lightly coiled around his extremely nice to-hold bicep. "The next song, whatever it is."

"If you wanted to get rid of me, you could have just said-"

"No!" Kiyoomi puts his hands on his shoulders, and for a second Atsumu fears that he might lose his balance - an absurd image that almost makes him laugh. "The song. The next. Let's dance," Sakusa mumbles, eyes glistening and breathing heavy, but gaze determined. It's silly, really, but there's something adorable in the way he gazes at Atsumu with the seriousness of a marriage proposal, and laughter bubbles up in his chest. It's foreign – this urge to tip his head back and let himself laugh in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi - but he just lets it out, conflicted by how easy it is - how familiar all of it feels.

But God, it feels wonderful, this addictive cocktail of amusement and care that Atsumu wouldn’t have any other way.

“Alright”, Atsumu finally says fondly, as he feels the beat of the next song start up, and he gently brings Kiyoomi to the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

The song that plays in the background is quiet and smooth, a woman crooning out to her lover, accompanied only by a guitar. Even then, Sakusa moves limply, eyes focused downwards as Atsumu lets him lead through a decently complicated half-step that seems to fit this song exactly despite their stiffness. As the song slowly began swelling towards the inevitable climax, Atsumu let his eyes rove over Sakusa Kiyoomi’s body - in the dip of his shoulders, in the half crook of his grin, in the glimmer yet distracted allure of his eyes as he looked towards their feet, which had stopped moving a long time back.

“Something interesting down there?”

Kiyoomi looks back up, eyes unfocused and dazed, and Atsumu suddenly realises he’s close enough to smell the faint, barely perceptible smell of alcohol on his breath.

Close enough to see the chapped corners of his mouth.

Close enough to kiss, he startlingly thinks as he sees Kiyoomi move forward.

Before Atsumu can think too hard about it, he nestles his head into the crook between his shoulder and neck and slips his hands down from his hips to his waist, his quiet crooning more of a vibration into his neck than an actual audible sound.

“Atsumu?” Kiyoomi finally murmurs, the name almost an inarticulate sound in his alcoholic muttering.

"Mh?"

“You know the thing about partners?”

Atsumu nods, half distracted, distantly remembering the drunken ramblings.

"You're going to tell me which one I am?" He half-jokingly asks, almost expecting the answer to be something flippant.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, before indulging him anyway, leaning close to his ear, his next few words barely above a whisper.

"You're the best kind."

He says it so carelessly - like it isn’t the most remarkable thing in the world. Like it’s just a fact of life, known and accepted and unchanging. The sky is blue, the earth is round, and he makes him ridiculously happy just because he's the "best" kind. Atsumu presses his lips together, embarrassed by the sudden rush of emotion in his chest.

"I-"

Whatever he's about to say next is drowned out by the large clinking of glass in the background, and all of a sudden the moment breaks - the both of them simultaneously moving apart. Kiyoomi still smirks at Atsumu, as though he knows precisely what he's doing to him.

Even when intoxicated, he still looks at him with a challenge in his eyes - still looks at him with a look that tells him that damned fool still wants to win.

Atsumu’s not sure that he'd be entirely averse to losing at this point.

But for God's sake, not tonight. Not when Atsumu still hasn't managed to crack a full smile on Sakusa's face.

"Drinks!" It's not quite the smooth recovery he hoped for, but Sakusa doesn't say a word, only tilting his head to the side as Atsumu makes his escape.

As he perches himself onto a rickety barstool, the song shifts into something more upbeat- but the moment he shared with Sakusa Kiyoomi out of all people still replays in his mind - the slight tickle of his breath as it ghosted over his ears, the firm but gentle grip of his palm on Atsumu’s hips. A strange combination of feeling like he can’t quite catch his breath and somehow like he also just took the deepest, cleanest, fullest breath of his life comes over him, and he furrows his brows at the surprising pleasantness of it all.

He suddenly wishes Sakusa was here, not that he’d be much help in the current situation. He’s probably trying to fantasise in peace about how victoriously he’d be able to crow his immunity to any hangovers and headaches over the rest of them (over Atsumu only, he reflects in hindsight). Sakusa’s a bit ridiculous like that. His drunken brain supplies ridiculously beautiful, and Atsumu suddenly remembers why exactly he’s drinking again.

To forget about stupid Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid theoretical smile and-

-and the bartender suddenly slams 3 shots on the countertop in front of him, moving forward to the next counter. Atsumu says a quick prayer for good health and good times before downing it all in one go, and he turns around to get up and chase the bartender back - only to bump into the man at the barstool over.

"Sorry!"

The other man grins at him, shirt half unruffled, and platinum dyed sticking out messily in a charming, roguish way.

"I'm sure a handsome stranger like you can make it up to me by buying a round for the both of us."

Sure, Atsumu may have been half joking when getting offended when Sakusa Kiyoomi had been propositioned 5 times, if only for the fact that deep - very deep down, he knows that number is slightly improbable even for someone as great as him. But at the same time, that doesn’t necessarily mean Atsumu has never been flirted with - hell, it doesn’t mean Atsumu Miya is blind enough to miss the hungry way the stranger's eyes skim over his body.

Had it been any other night, Atsumu would have probably made this a night to remember for the both of them - a night spent with a quick drink and an even quicker tussle in slick and sweat at some rundown hotel. But for some reason today, an extremely familiar man with black hair and a smile for some reason he’s sure would light up the entire room creeps into his mind.

The clink of glass on the countertop breaks his reverie, and he dimly realises he’s been staring at the man with a dopey grin - a fact which the man seems to revel in, preening under the dim lights as he leans closer - far too close for someone with innocent intentions.

“Hope you don’t mind. I ordered one for us to share. It’d be awfully presumptuous of me if I didn’t bother to greet the most sinful man I’ve met tonight.”

Even though the sensible voice in his head currently blares about 3 different warning bells, Atsumu doesn’t move away - paralysed by the knowing look in his grin so exactly familiar to the one Kiyoomi was just wearing-

“Miya?”

The sensible voice in his head goes very quiet.

Atsumu turns around on the barstool, ignoring the hesitant voice asking whether he's already spoken for.

"Ah, Omi-kun, wait-"

Sakusa opens his mouth, but then shuts it, eyes flicking between the two of them.

"I'll leave you to your date. My apologies for interrupting."

Without even a second thought, Atsumu scrambles up, following Sakusa into the freezing air.

"Omi, it's just a stranger-"

Sakusa turns around, moonlight silhouetting him like a vengeful angel as he glares at Atsumu, apparent indifference to Atsumu's matters forgotten.

"Do not call me that. And don't take me for an idiot. "

For a brief second, Atsumu considers reaching out to Kiyoomi and his hand twitches - a move that doesn't seem to go unnoticed, given the brief flash of…sadness? that flits across his features.

In the end, none of them moves - and Sakusa finally turns, inky curls glistening in the moonlight as he walks away, leaving Atsumu to sober alone in front of the bar.

And it’s just…… it’s so damned unfair- the way Kiyoomi looks so breathlessly stunning even leaving like this - and Atsumu suddenly feels a stabbing ache go through him at how badly he wants to run back and say sorry for something not even entirely his fault.

The best kind of partner, huh?

How could he say such things when Atsumu hasn't even seen him smile even once?

When Atsumu first looks into his mini fridge after promptly dragging himself through another tortuous evening drill session with Meian, Atsumu swears he can hear his brother shout in his head at the dismal state of it. Normally, Atsumu would simply order something - rather than run all the way to experiment with ingredients from a completely new store - but he supposes that it's about time that he figures out how exactly Osamu just throws things in a pot and somehow produces the next culinary masterpiece.

Midway through swiping through Japanese recipes, Atsumu sees an ad for a surprisingly appetising-looking sauce and impulsively decides that perhaps it’s time to try something new - and so he scours the internet for easy-to-make dishes and quickly swipes to a recipe for some soup he’s never seen before.

Pho, the cheerful grandma says as she shows off her little stove top that looks nothing like Osamu’s meticulously arranged shelves - a fact that despite everything sends a small thrill through him. Osamu’s always been the showier one with food - cooked for precision, cooked to experiment and discover.

Atsumu’s simply happy cooking for a sense of comfort - one this recipe seems to promise in spades.

As he navigates the slightly off-beaten crossings, Atsumu muses about the strangeness of the situation - even he can admit Osamu is the real culinary twin - and the only other place he's ever tried to cook for himself is at their childhood home in Miyagi, a surprise downpour always chilling the tatami floor - which always made the food seem even more fresh, even more warm. Though in a way, it's not that much of a surprise - on the court, alongside Hinata's sunny disposition, Bokuto's cheer, and even Sakusa's frown he's found himself a new home amongst the rest of them - maybe not one that is perfect, but one that is inexplicably perfect for him.

After stepping into the chilly wonderland of supermarket air conditioning with the sound of a tinkling bell, Atsumu finds that all things considered, grocery shopping isn't too bad. Though it takes him a few unnecessary turns around all the aisles to locate all the produce he came here to buy (and a few other extra sweets because really, who knew they had such a varied selection of mochi?) Atsumu can triumphantly tick almost everything off his list - except a packet of glass noodles, which he thinks is right in the aisle in front of him.

And there he sees it - a holy beacon nestled in between two other irrelevant packets of other pasta brands. He's lucky he came when he did - it seems to be the last one in the entire store, and it seems to beckon to Atsumu only till it’s cruelly snatched out of the aisle, to be rescued and imminently kidnapped and held for an indefinite ransom in some random thief's basket.

Luckily, Atsumu has been training for the past few years for this - being a jackal and more importantly, a twin of Miya Osamu meant always fighting for the best food, and so Atsumu reaches out to grab the other edge of the packet with enough dominance that he’s certain is bound to scare the other person away. He doesn’t bother tugging on the packet more than once - he sagely recalls that if done one too many times, your hidden desperation will reveal, which can become a tool that your enemy can use against you.

“Miya?”

Atsumu feels a faint sense of déjà vu as he hurriedly drops the edge of the packet, jaw slackening in surprise.

While being Osamu's twin may have prepared him for a lot of things, it unfortunately did not prepare him to combat people who could stun Atsumu with a single glance.

Then again, nothing really could prepare him for the immense self-rationalisation and gymnastics he'd have to go through against Sakusa Kiyoomi every single time.

Even dressed down and bathed in the most harsh of fluorescent lights, Sakusa still manages to maintain flawless posture and form. More importantly, Atsumu realises upon looking down into his shopping cart, that he's somehow managed to stack everything up in neat little rows and ensure it doesn't spill outside his basket. Atsumu is sure that if Osamu was here, he would weep at the forgotten opportunity to make Omi a top aisle organiser and perpetual employee of the month, and instinctively, he shies his basket away.

"Pho?"

"You’ve made it before?"

Sakusa furrows his brows harder, as though regretting the inevitable headache that appears whenever he's in Atsumu's vicinity.

"If you're making Pho, why are you buying sugar? And so little garlic…."

Scandalised, Atsumu snatches his basket back. Even if Sakusa hypothetically was right in the sense that he hadn't bothered to properly look at the exact quantities of ingredients, he did at least bother to call Osamu to let him know about his culinary foray! Or at least leave him a voice note after he didn’t pick up, most likely still busy with his restaurant!

As though he can hear his inner monologue, Sakusa arches a single eyebrow at him, and Atsumu slumps over defeated.

Fuck his stupid face.

As though deciding that a socially acceptable amount of time has passed, the irritation on his face grows, and he picks up the basket, heading to the counter.

“Omi-kun, don’t you know I need the glass noodles? ”

To his credit, Sakusa stops, though his eyebrow twitches.

“There are plenty of other recipes out there which are more traditional.”

“Yes, but the recipe calls for it as well, so it needs to be a staple of mine, y'know! And besides-” Atsumu scrambles, eyes catching on the nearby bottles of Soju and Sake cheerfully advertised, lining the aisles directly opposite to them.

“If you want, you could come over and help me cook! We’d make a drinking thing out of it- have some food and wine-” And oh, Atsumu is rambling, so he sends himself a mental note to shut up and give Sakusa his most winning smile.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem as impressed as he hoped. And yet, it still sets Atsumu’s heart thrumming.

“It’s 10 pm, Miya.”

Atsumu blinks, tossing his head back - if only to hide the darkening blush on his cheeks at the typical connotations that come with inviting someone to their house this late at night.

“How badly do you want this?” Sakusa asks, eyeing the half-hefted bag of groceries, and Fuck, Atsumu thinks.

That’s certainly something to think about later. Not now, in the middle of two aisles in their local grocery store. Definitely not now, under the inscrutable gaze of Sakusa Kiyoomi.

“..... Fine. Under one condition.”

Atsumu’s already prepared to say yes, but he can’t help but try pushing a bit further.

“I don’t know, depends on the deal….”

Sakusa holds his gaze impassively, though his eyebrow twitches again in what Atsumu realises is covert exasperation.

“Just give me the rest of it. When you're done. ”

Atsumu would be lying if he said he'd know what to do with it anyway - and with jubilance, he picks up Sakusa's basket alongside his and begins marching down towards the checkout.

“Miya, wait-”

Instinctively, Atsumu switches both the baskets to one hand, the song and dance familiar from his childhood trips with Osamu, fingers gently stretching to hold the ones behind-

-Oh.

Atsumu never thought of his hands as pretty - covered in calloused, fingers bruised asymmetrically - immensely useful but mechanical joints with seamless cogs. Holding Sakusa’s fingers, however, feels like holding paper lanterns - like cradling a gentle craft Atsumu can break in a minute.

It feels like holding perfection - and Atsumu never wants to let go.

Belatedly, Atsumu realises that it's Sakusa Kiyoomi - Sakusa touch-averse-no-sweaty-hands-will-bleach-his-eyes-out-after-this Kiyoomi whom he's holding hands with, and he nearly drops his neatly fitted palm - already running through millions of excuses to quell the dull ache that he’s sure will remain imprinted - a phantom feeling he’ll continue chasing for the rest of his life.

But then he feels the curling of fingers - soft, but firm - cold ivory contrasting with the warmth of the flush that he can feel prickling just under the marble skin. Atsumu’s gut twists with a hunger he can’t name - a feeling of fullness, yet desperate yearning.

“... Just hurry and buy the groceries, Miya.”

And if none of them says another word about the matching blushes on both of their cheeks, then. Well. That's neither here nor there.

“You can take those onions, and make X's in the bottom with a knife, and drop them into that pan.”

"In with the soup?"

"No. Shoot." He kneels and retrieves a pot from one of the lower cupboards. "In here. They need to boil for a minute, and then you take them out."

Atsumu does as Sakusa says, filling the pan with water and turning on the flame. He finds a knife and scores the onions, and under his watchful eye carefully measures the fish sauce and cuts the lime wedges, before throwing them into the broth. He searches in a cupboard for a stainless-steel spice caddy and throws in a star anise and a pinch of salt, before letting the contents come to a simmer. On his other side, Sakusa prods the pieces of meat with a wooden spoon, and Atsumu is free to let his eyes wander over Sakusa’s frame and marvel at how comfortable he looks cooking like this, humming a song under his breath, fitting into the small kitchen space so seamlessly - as a familiar piece slotted into place.

“I’d rather you not burn my kitchen down at midnight. Don't want the neighbours to think that this is what I do with all the men I invite over.” Atsumu finally says, arms lazily inching a breadth away from Kiyoomi’s. It’s easier to cover vulnerability with banter they’re both familiar with, and his body involuntarily relaxes as he sees familiar irritation flash across his face, breaking whatever trance he is in.

“Fuck you, Miya. Or would you rather I leave?”

Atsumu doesn’t bother answering - doesn’t bother calling out the bluff behind his words. It’s easier than breaking this illusion than admitting that Atsumu could have ordered out and not made a makeshift space in his life that Kiyoomi could have fit into, a small bubble of quiet amongst the loud. Easier than confronting the fact that Sakusa could have said no from the start - could have hidden closed himself from Atsumu and never shown him this side of him - from the highlighter-coloured jersey to the small reading glasses currently perched on his nose - could have hidden the way he relaxes around Atsumu in a way no one else seems to see.

“I think I need to add more liquid," Sakusa finally decides, pouring water from a tea kettle into the pan, suddenly causing the glasses he’d forgotten to take off to steam.

"I can't see."

Sakusa unconsciously steps away so that he stands a bit closer to Atsumu - the rest of the apartment is silent apart from the sounds of the stove, the kind of quietness that comes only when it’s nearly midnight and everyone else with their sanity intact is sleeping. Even as he holds up his hands, messy from cooking, coated with flour and thin grease and prepares to remove the glasses, Atsumu reaches over him carefully - fingers pressed to his bare arms, cool despite the warmth of the kitchen, a whisper of Let me ghosting over his lips as he pulls him closer to pull off the fog stained glasses before his breath catches in his throat, and he’s faced with eyes wide and open and brilliant and bright and startling, staring straight at him - and instinctively he knows, from the storm raging in his chest and the drum of his fingertips on pale skin that something’s changed.

The sharp whistle of a pressure cooker breaks the silence between them and startled by the sharp noise, Sakusa looks away wildly, leaving the glasses askew before rushing to fix the fish sauce and ensuring the entire pot noodles haven’t been charred.

Even as moonlight slants over the both of them, reminding Atsumu of the entire absurdity of the situation - it’s 1 am, and here he is making pho with Sakusa Kiyoomi out of all people - he can feel the palpable tension between the two of them simmer into something calm. Inexplicably, Sakusa starts humming again, a half smile curving his lips and starts doling out the steaming hot bowls of soup. It’s not perfect - the meat’s charred in some places, the noodles too stiff - but Atsumu savours the soup like a starving man, the broth filling him up with warmth. The light above them flickers, and perhaps because it’s midnight - perhaps because Sakusa’s trying to be soft, in his own way - he begins to talk - begins telling him a story about Motoya trying to impress Suna by trying to learn how to bake. The shadows on his face soften the harsh features - and for a change, Atsumu sits and listens - occasionally interjecting with short anecdotes. In one moment - when the shadows on his face shift with apparent disbelief, Atsumu thinks he sees the tiniest trace of a smile, open and honest, playing on the edges of Sakusa's lips - but then he slips off into drowsiness - the tartness of tangerines haunting his dreams, juxtaposed with the gentle sweetness that is simply, inexplicably Kiyoomi.

Atsumu’s not sure when this started - when hanging out with Sakusa Kiyoomi became part of his daily routine - when sliding next to Sakusa Kiyoomi became an inevitable fact of life, regardless of whether he’d be loudly shouting with Hinata, or pummelling Bokuto over some silly bet. A lot of it is probably from his dogged persistence - but it’s still surprising how they’ve gone in a blink of an eye from mere teammates to good friends.

And yet, he thinks, frowning at the back of the setter who’s currently doing his best to try to disinfect every single surface of the gym equipment he’s currently meant to be helping to carry for Meian (decidedly ignoring the fact that he’s also very comfortably perched on the floor under the guise of an extended water break with Hinata), he’s never seen that damn smile even once.

And sure, Atsumu has always been a too-curious-for-his-own-good kind of guy - but this particular bet echoes in his mind for some reason he can’t name. Maybe because it involves someone else for a change. Maybe because that person is Sakusa Kiyoomi, out of all people - the one person Atsumu can never accurately predict, the one person who clashes with Atsumu like gasoline and oil but complements him like fire and kindling.

“Is he staring at Kiyoomi-kun again?”

Before Atsumu can think of an accurate response, Shoyo loudly cuts in, shushing Bokuto with what is meant to be a discreet whisper.

It’s obvious why he’s his favourite Kouhai, really, Atsumu proudly thinks as he lets his eyes wander back towards Sakusa’s expansive back. Always ready to defend his superiors-

“We’re not meant to tell him we know!”

Atsumu blinks once, brain grinding to a halt as he considers the words.

“Know what?”

Bokuto and Atsumu make sudden eye contact, and Atsumu feels a sudden urge to take a deep breath and count to ten.

See, the thing about the rest of the MSBY jackals is that the one thing - if it can be called a thing - that brings them together is their pestlike nature. Sure, some of them are upfront about it - like Sakusa, who would gladly invoice you an itemised list of everything you’ve done wrong the past month - while some of them are less intentional about it - like Adriah accidentally revealing he’s been watching Atsumu figure out whether it was a push or pull door for months on an end.

Individually, however, both Bokuto and Hinata are probably the best at it - simply because the two of them are so genuine about it. You think they’re doing good and being honest until Bokuto’s loudly weeping on your shoulder about how beautiful Akaashi is at 3 am after offering to buy you a round, or Hinata’s grinding alongside you into the air - subsequently making a fool of yourselves on Instagram.

And then you end up forgiving them, in the end, simply because they’re both fucking sweethearts about everything.

Which is precisely why Atsumu’s already made a mistake by ignoring the biggest red flag of this entire conversation - the fact that the two of them are in complete agreement over something.

“It’s just...your vibe.”

“Our….vibe?”

Hinata pauses, momentarily deep in thought. “Like… the tension between the both of you where you’re always staring at him, and he doesn’t look back until you’re not looking at him. And you also know everything about him like his favourite snacks and colours and flowers, even the things Bokuto and I never notice! And the fact that you always spend time around him outside practices, and you’re always able to predict his bams and counter with your kachows! It’s like me and Kageyama before-”

Before Hinata can go into even more sappy and excruciating detail about his own love life and make Atsumu feel pathetic about the lack of his own, his mind glazes over to absorb Hinata’s spiral.

Tension? Sure, he has regular tension with Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s inevitable when you’re dealing with someone exactly like Sakusa Kiyoomi, who walks around 24/7 with an insane amount of rules and a stick up his ass. If there is any tension in the first place, it’s only from the frankly ridiculous amount of little grievances that Sakusa has about everything Atsumu does in general. Not that Atsumu really minds changing his habits, even if a good 50% are external factors, if only because adapting to seeing and living alongside a more comfortable Sakusa Kiyoomi is something he secretly doesn’t mind.

The one thing that’d help dissolve some of that tension, however, is probably the fact that Kiyoomi has still never smiled in his direction. But now that he does think about it though, the two of them are probably his best bet on trying to figure out whether Sakusa’s capable of smiling - given Motoya’s probably in both Suna and Osamu’s pocket when it comes to the terms of the bet.

“It's for science.”

“For science?”

“For personal reasons.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m performing a socially backed-up study.”

“Wow.”

“It's Osamu’s fault.” He’s losing credibility.

“Tsum-Tsum, just because you like Sakusa–”

“Shut up.”

It’s because he really, really doesn’t. Sure, it’s been quite some time since he’s made out with someone or looked for another outlet to blow off some steam. And sure, he and Sakusa have been getting along together - and they do spend enough time off the court for their relationship to be misconstrued. And even if Atsumu is irrationally overly invested in making Sakusa smile for reasons he can’t explain, it’s not like there’s any concrete proof of it.

It’s mere conjecture. Plausible Deniability.

-Or it’s plausible deniability until a stray curl falls across Sakusa’s face, and Atsumu lets his gaze travel across the moles littering his face - mapping the haphazard constellations he makes until he meets Sakusa’s gaze head-on from across the room, a sharp pang in his chest pulling him in like a siren’s song.

Omi-kun would look really good with a smile, Atsumu first thinks. I wouldn’t mind seeing it every day, is the next thought and oh, he suddenly understands Bokuto and Hinata’s casual sappy comments about their own lives and their partners, because he’s pretty sure he’s fallen head over heels for the most insufferable person he knows - fallen for the snark in his voice whenever he insults him and the quiet care at which he makes space for him - fallen for the constant push and pull between them and the stupidest quirks like the way he secretly loves reading maudlin poetry and the way he competes over everything.

Oh fuck, he faintly thinks.

Atsumu’s not sure what he wants to do right now. Scream? Cry? Kiss Sakusa Kiyoomi until he’s out of breath? Seek therapy?

Bokuto sympathetically pats his shoulder with the wisdom of a centuries-old wizard as Atsumu crumples into his hands.

“Don’t worry! You can just go up to him and kiss him! It worked out with me and Akaashi!”

He should have swapped to the Schweiden Adlers when he had the chance.

+1.

Here’s the thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi. Even though their relationship can be tenuous even on good days, and on some other days he’s a complete prick - well, the one thing that he doesn’t let it interfere with is his damn sense of professionalism.

It’s unsettling, the way he’s able to push everything aside and pretend to notice the way Atsumu’s been ignoring him for days on an end, terrified by the sudden realisation that he wants to kiss Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi. Sometimes, when Atsumu feels particularly self-flagellating, and he notices him looking his way but not saying a word, he lets himself think that it wouldn’t matter in the first place - that Sakusa has never cared.

It’s suffocating, the sudden realization that you like someone, he thinks. Like inviting a beast willing to swallow him up whole. Atsumu knows himself - he knows he won't be able to disguise it for long, that he'll burst eventually, the words he'd fought to keep buried rushing from his lips the moment Kiyoomi looks at him.

But for now, he’ll contend himself by pushing himself further. Even though his t-shirt is soaked it sticks uncomfortably to his back, he meets Kiyoomi’s challenge with gritted teeth and satisfaction searing through his veins, agreeing to stay back even as the rest of the team files out of the gymnasium.

The set starts easy. Even though Sakusa sometimes goes easy on the others, he never goes easy on him. Watching him give it his all, hair barely unruffled, even as his eyes narrow on the tosses Atsumu sends at him, makes the satisfaction in his ribs flare and grow.

By the time they stop, both of them are breathing hard, and Atsumu briefly squeezes his eyes shut as he sees Sakusa step forward.

“You don’t have to try so hard.”

Atsumu stills, nearly flinching at the inexplicable hurt that comes with finally having Kiyoomi’s concern - the intense want that comes with being this close. Like this, less than one foot away from each other, there’s a small part of him that wants to simply give in to the voice in his mind to pin Sakusa Kiyoomi to a wall and kiss him till he forgets his name.

But he doesn’t know how to ask for that. Can’t ask for that.

“I do.” Doesn’t he fucking get it?

Kiyoomi’s gaze turns quizzical, even as he takes another step forward, so close to Atsumu he can feel his breath on his skin - can see the slight crinkle between his brow, can see the golden light framing him already like a memory.

“Why?”

It’s warm and inviting, the way his voice echoes in the empty room, the air still between them except for the rush of blood in his ears and the thundering of his heartbeat.

“Because I’m in horribly into you, you idiot.”

He looks at his lips for a split second before it hits him - an insane cocktail of adrenaline and embarrassing bravery that grabs him by the neck until he’s digging his fingers into his scalp, and he pulls Sakusa Kiyoomi till their lips finally, finally touch.

Kissing Sakusa is like kissing the sun - like tasting the softest and sweetest thing Atsumu’s ever known, and he chases after it - colliding into his body and slotting his easily into his own as if they’d been carved together from the very start. Atsumu kisses him harder, burying his hands into his hair, and Kiyoomi loops a hand around him before dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. Atsumu whines, pliant in his hands, ready for him to take and take, a silly grin parting his lips against his will as his brain goes blissfully quiet - happy to stay like this, framed against a window underneath the sloping sun - just like this, for the rest of his life, having found everything he wants to know.

And then it hits him like a truck.

Oh. Oh fuck.

He doesn't even have time to come up with an excuse by the time Sakusa steps back, lips red and puffy with a giant smile on his face.

Atsumu feels his face burning as he reaches out, ever so gently to brush a thumb over his lips, the touch lingering even as he caresses the corner of his mouth agonisingly slow, as though memorising the features of Atsumu’s face.

He’s dizzy, and the world doesn’t seem to make much sense right now, the thoughts in his brain blurring from coherent thoughts to simple exclamation marks.

But then Sakusa Kiyoomi begins to laugh, wild and free, and Atsumu knows he’s a complete goner.

His eyes are bright and inviting, sparkling with genuine mirth that spills from his face, lighting the skin up in a way Atsumu never knew he could fall in love with - brightens his face up in a way Atsumu now knows he won’t be able to live without. Even as Sakusa’s hands wander freely across his face, Atsumu feels his face heat up - suddenly shy even as he parts his lips in a silent request. Kiss me, he thinks, half pleadingly, as Sakusa’s fingers stray dangerously close to his lips, moving with a deliberateness and earnestness Atsumu has never felt before, kiss me until I can’t breathe - until the only thing that I can think of is you.

“You know”, he finally hums, tucking his head into the crook of his neck, tangling his hands behind his back and pulling him tight. “I was wondering how long it’d take you.”

Atsumu gasps, his entire body going beet red even as Kiyoomi nuzzles him close to his ear, cool breath hot against the sensitive skin on his neck.

“You—this is not how I wanted to tell ya! I wasn’t even sure if I was ever gonna tell ya, you absolute ass!”

“I thought you liked me”, Kiyoomi hums, light and free in a way that Atsumu hasn’t heard before.

Atsumu freezes, voice catching even as he looks at the ground. “You’re welcome to ignore that.”

“What if I don’t want to?” asks Sakusa, half smile still on his face, even as Atsumu scrambles back out of his embrace, face aflame, only half convinced this entire sequence isn’t just an extended hallucination from the universe.

“Ya serious?”

But then Sakusa laughs again, sound too real and vivid to ever compare to any of his fantasies, sweat dripping down his skin and eyes earnest and bright, and he reaches forward to grip his wrists gently, pulling him back into a hug again, light slanting through the glass and painting them aglow - eyes closed and hearts peaceful, perfectly in bliss.

Kiyoomi doesn’t answer him - instead, he lifts his head and kisses him, enough times that he loses count until his brain is dazed - until he’s a little but a mess under his palms and Atsumu finds he couldn’t care less.

“If I had known it would lead to this”, Atsumu finally says, biting his bottom lip as his chin rests on top of Kiyoomi’s head, “I would have embarrassed myself in front of the team a lot sooner.”

“You embarrass yourself enough anyway.” he finally hums, no real heat behind the comment. Atsumu still isn’t sure if he deserves that smile or those words and Kiyoomi’s whole heart - and he knows when the others get back they’re going to tease him mercilessly, but right now Sakusa Kiyoomi is looking at him with all the warmth of the world in his eyes and Atsumu finally knows what he looks like when he cares. When he cares about him. It's—it's so lovely that it makes his chest ache.

Maybe, Atsumu finally concedes, some drunken bets with Osamu aren’t that bad after all.

#haikyuu #hq #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa #sakuatsu #atsumu #osamu #atsumu miya #osamu miya #sakusa x atsumu #skts #haikyuu fic #hqbb2023 #fan fiction #i lied i still have no clue how to tag fic. god bless.#also a lot of this fic was written like. past 24 hours. me if i never procrastinated

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urmelodysblog · 8 months

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haikyuu bf tropes

enemies to lovers - tsukishima, kudos, yaku, tendo

Childhood sweethearts - issei, hinata, daichi, asahi, kiyoko, kenma, iwazumi, Aone, bokuto

second chance love - Ukai, saeko, oikawa, kyotani

fake relationship - Oikawa

opposites attract - yachi, nishinoya, kiyoko, Yamamoto, kenma, aone, ushijima

forced proximity - iwaizumi, daichi, yahaba

friends to lovers - asahi, hinata, suga, lev, kindachi, akaashi

workplace romance - daichi

tutor - tobio, tanaka, yachi, kuroo, kyotani

#haikyuu ff #haikyuu #Fluff #Hc #headcanon #Daichi #sugawara #fan fiction #ff

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hotvinimon · 6 months

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Symphony of date No. 10

Sawamura Daichi x Reader

Part 2

Plot : What's the best feeling you ever had ?? 4 times reader felt like having best feelings but one time, she was sure that this is the best feeling that she will cherish forever. A/N : Images are not mine. Credits to the owner. Likes, Comments and re-blogs are appreciated. Please don't steal my work. Enjoy ;) Warnings - English is my second language.

Master List

So, there you were, on your 10th date with Daichi, arriving fashionably late by 11 minutes (who's keeping tabs, right?). Well, apparently you are, marking each date on your secret calendar with red hearts and circles. It's like your own undercover mission!

You dressed up in that cute floral chiffon sundress, paired with your favorite handbag, feeling like a vision of elegance and grace. You were secretly hoping that this time Daichi would beat you to it. But, as luck would have it, he was the early bird of this romantic duo.

Then, the moment of intrigue arrived - you found Daichi, scrolling through Instagram, a habit he swore off. "Aha, someone's smitten," you teased him, watching him swoon over the photos from your past dates. Daichi, caught in the act, blushed like a ripe tomato.

In a sweet and almost cinematic move, he stood up and pulled your chair out, proving that chivalry was not yet extinct. You couldn't help but give him a little theatrical swoon and quip, "Thanks, Ichi, and they say chivalry is dead." You added a sly grin for that extra touch of charm.

The scene was set at a cozy, candlelit Italian restaurant, the kind of place where romance and dreams intertwine. The mood was perfect, and the world seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment with Daichi.

The date was a feast for the senses. The garlic bread was like a fragrant invitation, the pasta dish a creamy delight, and the chocolate lava cake was, well, pure dessert heaven.

However, Daichi's behavior was intriguing and mysterious. He appeared a tad jittery, like he was drifting into a world of his own, and it left you puzzled. Was this the moment when he'd break the news? Your heart raced with curiosity.

Unable to hold back your inquisitive spirit any longer, you took a deep breath and decided to broach the subject. "Daichi," you began, "I've noticed something different in our recent dates. Is there something on your mind?"

Daichi snapped out of his daze, looking genuinely surprised. He cleared his throat, his eyes locking onto yours, and your heart felt like it skipped a beat. This had to be the moment of truth, right?

But Daichi had other plans. "I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he confessed, "I've been lost in thought, trying to find the right words."

Your heart sank - you were convinced this was the preamble to a heartbreaking revelation.

But then, Daichi took a deep breath and, with newfound determination, said, "I've been reflecting on our time together, and it's been nothing short of magical. You mean the world to me, and every second with you is a treasure."

There was tension in the air, but with another deep breath, Daichi mustered the courage to declare, "I want more than these wonderful dates, (Y/N). I want to make this official. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Your eyes widened, and your heart soared. It wasn't a breakup; it was a love declaration! Relief and euphoria washed over you like a dreamy, sun-kissed ocean.

Without a moment's hesitation, you beamed at Daichi and replied, "Yes, Daichi, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

Daichi's face lit up like a constellation of stars, and he reached across the table to take your hand. The confusion of the day seemed to evaporate as you shared a dreamy, heartfelt moment, relieved and ecstatic about your newfound commitment.

The night continued with laughter, warmth, and the shared dreams of your future. It was undeniable that you were stepping into a thrilling new chapter of your relationship, where dreams and reality merged into a beautiful love story yet to be written.

With every passing moment, you realized that this could be the prelude to something magnificent, and that perhaps, the best feeling was yet to come.

V- Chan's Dilly Dally

Finally part 2 came. Next part will be sooner than this and I would do my best to complete this series before October, as won't be able to write in next 2.5 months due to my exams.

I'll do my best to update you guys with short drabbles and incorrect quotes.

Join me for taglist by commenting for the same

Love you all.

B-Bye

💗

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manufacturedrainbows · 4 months

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me on my phone writing hurt/comfort fanfics, knowing damn well I'm never gonna post them

#I've had several fanfic wips for years but never have the courage to finish and post them 😖#it's all self indulgent hurt/comfort fics anyway LMAO #currently writing a whump fic of Kageyama getting injured and Ukai comforting him before the ambulance arrives #and am I gonna post it anywhere?? probably not ☠️#all I write are men/boys crying and being consoled by another character #am I the problem #yes 😌✨️#rambles #writing #creative writing #fan fiction #hurt/comfort #whump #wip #ao3 #haikyuu #kageyama tobio #coach ukai #ukai keishin

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anystalker707 · 5 months

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worship

Pairing: Nishinoya x [male] Reader Genre: Smut / Comfort Summary: Nishinoya tries to prove his boyfriend that he is attractive. not proofread

Requested by @chrizzyswift [Can we also have Top Nishinoya getting to do it (seggs) with a fat M! Reader just so Noya could prove reader that he can also be attractive.]

The sound of footsteps down the hall cut through your thoughts, making you more aware of the texture of the pillowcase against your face and the way the blankets folded under your body, but you still didn’t move. There was a sigh before you felt the bed start moving, and a pressure on your back.

“Mm, I was wondering where you were,” Nishinoya muttered, his cheek moving against your shoulder and his chest vibrating against your back as he spoke. He sighed as he buried his face into the back of your neck, nuzzling softly as he held your waist. Soft kisses were pressed along the back of your neck, slow breath fanning over your skin, and shivers ran down your spine with it.

“Yu,” you sighed softly, feeling a hand slipping under your shirt to squeeze your hip.

“Can we—”

“You know,” you cut him off and shifted, making Nishinoya move to lie on the bed. He had his head tilted, eyebrow raised, when you faced him. “I don’t— Um, like, are you sure?”

Nishinoya furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head, but he just shook his head and made a vague motion with his hand; he was on his side, propped up on an elbow. “Am I sure of what, love? You gotta be a little more specific than that.” His face softened with a smile, and your heart fluttered.

“Ah, you know,” you exhaled, looking down at the bedsheets for a moment while you tried to find the right words to describe it. Honestly, it was embarrassing, making you wish you just vanished, but you also knew you had to keep true to your boyfriend as much as possible. You took a deep breath—there you go. “Am I really that attractive? You don’t— Well, I understand if you don’t want to have sex with me anymore. You don’t need to pretend you like me, I—”

“Wait,” Nishinoya immediately cut you off. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing more than a couple of syllables actually came from him before he pressed his lips together and sighed in frustration, scratching the back of his head. “If you’re not joking, I’d like you to stop.”

You frowned. “Why would I be joking about that?”

“I hoped you were,” he sighed with a frown of his own.

Well, so what? Did Nishinoya agree with you to some degree? Was he truly still with you because he felt it was an obligation? A heavy feeling formed in your gut before you closed your eyes for a moment to calm down and finally looked at Nishinoya—his face softened when your eyes met.

“Look,” Nishinoya breathed, looking around for a moment, “it’s nothing like that. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from, but if I ever made you conclude that, I’m so sorry! Why would you think you’re unattractive, in the first place? What makes you think that?” The same sadness present in his gaze also laced his voice; it made your heart ache.

There wasn’t a big secret when it came to that, honestly.

“I’m fat,” you stated directly.

Nishinoya stared at you for a moment before he raised his eyebrows and shook his head a little. “So what?”

“Yu,” you sighed, pressing your face to the pillow momentarily. “It’s unattractive.” Wasn’t it obvious? Why did you have to word that? Noya didn’t want to humiliate you or anything—he’d never do it—, but it still made your heart sink to your stomach.

Despite the blatant truth, Nishinoya eyed you with furrowed eyebrows and slightly parted lips. This time, he decided to press his lips shut together instead of just trying to voice whatever thought came to his mind. His hand was warm, cupping the side of your neck gently so that you’d look at him instead of the awful images created by your own thoughts.

“I already told you that stuff is meaningless,” Nishinoya sighed in frustration as he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to yours, lips pursed in a small pout. He didn’t know what had specifically gotten in your mind today, but he was very well aware of the kind of stuff you could come across on the internet, or even the seemingly innocent comments in public that held a deeper meaning behind them. “I think you’re attractive. Very attractive. Extremely attractive.”

Noya’s words made a foreign feeling bubble up in your stomach, something you tried to ignore and push down, but it still managed to make you feel all giddy when summed up with the kisses he pressed to your cheeks until they were heating up. Finally, though, he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

It wasn’t all the comfort and reassurance that you needed, Nishinoya knew that, but he needed a start, either way, and a kiss felt like a good start. He hoped the passion in the kiss was noticeable, the way he made sure to keep the kiss slow but also intense just the right way.

“I wouldn’t exchange you for anyone,” Noya said in a matter-of-a-fact tone, shifting so that he was on top of you now. “I mean, I have no reason to, and I wanted to believe that I didn’t have to say it either.”

Whatever you had to say died in your throat, replaced by a lump—you didn’t want to cry, no, but it still made you somewhat emotional. Noya sighed as he kissed your lips once again, parting your legs open with one of his knees so that he could slip between them, with his hands on your thighs while your arms wrapped around his neck, almost instinctively.

“I don’t care whether you’re not skinny or anything,” Nishinoya said softly, though it was in a more caring tone this time. “I like them with some meat on them, either way.” A grin stretched his lips before he chuckled at your flustered reaction and leaned in to kiss your lips again, this time nipping on your lip. “I don’t know, I just—” He shrugged a little. “I like squeezing your thighs, squeezing your hips, your waist… Even biting, you know?” A little giggle escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help but echo it, sighing as you looked away for a moment.

The thoughts that once clumped your mind were now dissolving into silly worries according to how Nishinoya kept showering you with affection, nuzzling your neck gently to kiss it before he was tugging your shirt up. For a second, your brain was alarmed at the thought of being shirtless, but it was Yu. He’d never judged anything about you, and there was no need to suddenly change your behavior around him now, so you decided to enjoy the comfort that his hands brought instead. They pressed flat to your skin, caressing it softly, trailing up your torso in a worshiping way.

Nishinoya’s love language was well-balanced. He gave you words of affirmation, acts of service, and physical love all in the right doses, cheering you up in the cutest ways, with the right words and right gifts. It always made your heart flutter and your cheeks heat up, making a mess of your feelings that you’d never felt before—all in the best way.

Today wasn’t different.

You just lay there with your bare back against the mattress while Nishinoya smiled at you and leaned in to press kisses along the top of your chest, just below your collarbones. It sent sparkles down your spine, helping the heat accumulate in your lower stomach. Fuck.

“Are you alright?” Nishinoya asked softly. An almost vibrant tone of red lingered on his cheeks. “I mean, can I…?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. The worries about your weight and not being attractive were still haunting your mind, but they weren’t as close to being the focus of your attention as Nishinoya’s love was at the moment. His gentle caresses easily made something stir inside you, making your breath slowly heavier and eventually hitch in your throat when his hips pressed to yours. The friction felt so fucking good…

Noya bit his lip, groaning at the feeling of his erection grinding against yours through the layers of clothes. He wanted to feel you already, but he also knew to take a moment to take care of you, to give you some special attention that focused only on you. A soft groan escaped his throat when his hips pushed against yours again, in a way that made your thighs twitch and lock around his hips briefly.

“Yu,” you breathed, feeling the heat pool on your skin, inevitably having you squirming and wishing for more, and of course, he’d grant you that.

Rough fingers ran along your sides before squeezing your hips; his thumbs rubbed circles into your hips. It felt good against the sensitive skin and earned Nishinoya another groan from you, your fingers curling around his shirt.

The discomfort brought by the way your underwear and pants trapped your cock was solved carefully, with gentle tugs at the clothes until they were discarded to the ground to be forgotten just like your shirt, but it was a problem for later, either way. Once all your clothes were off, Nishinoya sat back on his legs and took a deep breath as he eyed you, practically already fucking you with his eyes. His pupils were blown with that lovesick gaze; you were all tingly inside, wanting to look away, but you just couldn’t manage it. Fuck.

“Please,” you whispered in a broken tone, and Nishinoya seemed to snap out of his daze, nodding.

“Can’t take over how handsome and hot you are,” he groaned, scratching the back of his neck with a lazy grin.

Nishinoya wasn’t hesitant once he got in action—his mouth just enveloped the tip of your mouth without previous notice, and he surely enjoyed the way he made you gasp and arch your back, with a hand flying to his hair. He hummed softly before he slowly started taking more of your cock into his mouth, pressing a hand to your thigh for leverage while the other wrapped warmly around the base of your cock.

Noya’s mouth was hot and wet, welcoming you with licks all over the tip and eventually the underside of your cock; your breath shuddered, and your cock twitched in his mouth. It felt so fucking good.

Cold air replaced Nishinoya’s cock around your mouth, making you groan softly, but it was soon enveloped by his warm hand as he pumped your cock slowly. “Mm, you also taste so good,” Noya whispered as he kissed along the underside of your cock, sometimes letting his tongue trace the sensitive veins that pushed against the skin. “You wouldn’t be worried about being attractive if you saw how you look under me like this,” he whispered, not even giving you time to reply before he was tonguing at your tip, applying pressure to all the right places as the texture of his tongue made you squirm.

“Mmph, there,” you whispered, tugging at Noya’s hair when his tongue lingered on a spot along the underside of your tip, making you gasp and push your hips forward when he dragged his tongue against the spot slowly.

Whatever you had to say was lost among moans when Noya tightened his hand around your cock and started to pump it not so slowly, but it wasn’t fast either. He was buying himself some time before his mouth enveloped your cock once again, and this time, the touch was accompanied by pressure on your hole. Noya’s finger traced your hole before he started to push it in, not holding your thigh anymore.

The intrusion wasn’t bad—you barely had time to focus on it since Nishinoya’s mouth worked along your cock so fine, slowly taking each time more into it until his nose met your skin and his finger pushed into you to the last row of knuckles. Your hands were closed tight, both around his shoulder and the bedsheets.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, letting Noya’s praises still ring through your fuzzy mind, making the tingly feeling in your lower stomach intensify as your cock twitched inside Noya’s mouth. He hummed around it, in vibrations that sent sparkles down your spine, and you squirmed under Noya again, gasping and thrusting your cock into his mouth.

Nishinoya took the message. His free hand pressed flat to your crotch, holding you firmly, while he worked a second finger inside you and started adding some pressure to his movements, locking his lips tighter around your cock.

Despite the fact that Nishinoya wasn’t fast or overstimulating at handling you, you still could take note that you were more sensitive than usual. All the worship, the care, the time he took on your sensitive spots… It was hard to remember how much you hated yourself when Nishinoya praised you like that. He made you feel loved and wanted among all the gasps and moans that escaped your lips, even more so when his fingers curled inside you and pressed right against your prostate, all at the same time his lips became hollow around you.

“Fuck,” you gasped, thighs quivering. “Yu, I-I’m close,” you whispered, feeling the familiar feeling start to march close according to Noya’s movements.

There was no verbal response; Nishinoya didn’t bother doing anything as he only intensified his movements, groaning around your cock and sinking his fingers deeper in, trying to keep a steady rhythm. Moans came from you more often, at the same time Noya’s mouth started filling with the familiar salty taste, so he knew he was on the right path.

When your tip hit the back of Noya’s throat, a louder, broken moan escaped your lips as you threw your head back against the pillow, gasping. Your balls tightened, more pre-cum spilling into his mouth, but it took you a few more strokes until you were actually cumming, whimpering as you felt Nishinoya’s mouth still around your cock as he swallowed your cum. He made sure to keep going, still fingering you until your high rode out.

“Yu,” you whispered, almost whining as your thighs quivered, and you shifted a little, gasping at the feeling of him pulling away.

A wide grin adorned his face before he leaned in again and kissed your tummy before he pulled off his shirt. “Damn, I hope you’re still willing for one more round. I want to feel you.”

#haikyuu #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya x male reader #haikyuu x reader #oneshot #imagine #fan fic #fan fiction #male reader #scenario

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bts5sosempire · 2 years

Text

cheese trap (i); forget-me-not

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: oikawa tooru x reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: slight yandere, slight suggestive, obsession, bully! oikawa, power dynamic, cussing, use of threat, mention of indirect kiss

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2,991

𝐚/𝐧: more semi-dark post after some regular posting—time for me to suffer 🤠 after doing some shit-posting. I got a lot of dark stuff in my drafts or archive; if interested, please let me know since I rarely post it. NOT PROOFREAD PROPERLY.

As a child, you couldn't remember when was the last time the chocolate boy wouldn't stop bothering you and treating you like a second-class citizen. Oikawa Tooru was an enigmatic person, he was hard to forget by most, but to you, he was nothing but a thorn to the side. But when you grow older and Oikawa shifted away from being such a menace when you got rid of a few bugs for him on the different occasions that he started warming up to you, this doesn't make you like him any less or more. You tolerate him to a certain extent until he starts inviting himself into your little friend group, conversations, and showing up at the most unconventional time to create dispute. You told him repeatedly that you don't appreciate him following you around or him trying to stick close to you like glue when he has Iwazumi for that, to which Iwazumi shot you a glare.

It's not that Oikawa cares about the memo; if he forces himself not to read what you present to him. Oikawa thinks he wouldn't be able to be held accountable if he were to remain and feign ignorance of the problem. With his looks and popularity with the Aunties, it's not hard for him to gain favors around the block when he straight up lies with teary eyes and pulls the best global acting you ever saw when he says to them that you're bullying him or you don't want to play with him. The older women would coo and try to make Oikawa feel better with head pats and back rubs, even offering sweets too, and then it was your turn to be chastised by them. Your indifference turned to annoyance, then to hate, when you saw that smug look that Oikawa presented when you're being taught to be gentle since you're a girl. Young girls ought to have better manners. Words travel to your mother's ears, and then play dates between you and Oikawa were set up frequently at either your place or his for you to get along with the 'Nice Neighborhood Boy,' Oikawa. Playing House with you (as his wife and him as the husband) or volleyball was his favorite way to pass the time. You made it an objective to push/ keep Oikawa as far as possible whenever your mother or his isn't around; your scowl and dislike of Oikawa were brushed off by Oikawa himself, him thinking that you were throwing a tantrum that you'll get around to like him.

The play dates only stop when you end up socking Oikawa in the nose when he made fun of your friends and even called them lame. Even your attitude had made your mother horrified. You were a relatively calm and tight lip child, but to see you lay a hand on another was uncalled for; your mother made you apologize to Oikawa and his mother, and you begrudgingly did so after so much nagging. Your mother never bothered to ask you why either, and your relationship with her instantly made you shut yourself off. Your father does take the time to coax you to talk to him as you refuse to open your mouth and do not even try to hold eye contact. Hating the feeling of being stifled, you told your father what Oikawa did and had said with reluctance on some parts, but it still spill out as you remember them clearly in your head, to which he took your side surprisingly. You thought he would be like your mother.

You still remember the talk you vaguely overheard when your father conversed with your mother that he forbid Oikawa from coming over no matter how much the boy had begged, seeing how much the boy had disturbed your peace and wellbeing. Your mother brushed it off as *boys will be boys, and blah blah blah,' thought, seeing Oikawa as harmless. Still, your father mentioned you were in tears when talking about Oikawa's treatment to where you don't want to be friends with someone like him, which results in resentment build-up over time, and you did what you had to do to Oikawa. That made your mother change course quickly.

True to your father's prediction, Oikawa came around a week later, begging to play with you. He makes himself a starry-eyed child that makes him look perfect to anyone who couldn't find him to be in the wrong. Your mother was conflicted upon seeing the boy, but with a stern 'no,' she turned him away with an excuse of why you're not available. You only play with your friends when you know that Oikawa is done playing or hanging out with Iwazumi sometimes; this doesn't exterminate the fact that you would still see him from time to time. Even if he tries to play with you, you turn tail and run straight home, avoiding coming out. Oikawa would sometimes wait outside your house to see if you would come out, but the moment he saw you spread the blinds open and peered outside for any signs of him, and if you saw him, you just refused to come out. This results in him hiding in bushes or areas you couldn't see or find him, and when you saw no one, you would leave your house to play, but your excellent eyesight would catch his figure, and you would run back inside.

It wasn't until you stopped coming to elementary school and Oikawa went by your house that he saw the 'sale' sign hanging above your gated door. You had moved away, and Oikawa was inconsolable for the first few weeks. Even Iwazumi thought he already was a crybaby, but your leaving had caused the dam to break that Oikawa would cry on end in the neighborhood every day until he got sick.

Until time passes by, you become nothing more than a figment in Oikawa's memory. The pain aches from time to time, and then it dulls away. Somewhere lost deep inside those memories he thought were precious (the opposite to you, apparently, lol), Oikawa held them dearly.

Oikawa heard there was going to be a transferred student joining his class from abroad in the middle of the school year as a 3rd year. Who knew you would come back into Oikawa's life like a whirlwind? He was astonished upon seeing you again, brightening up the class with your greeting and introduction. Even the smile you held was captivating. When was the last time he saw you smile? Probably when you both were children.

To say you didn't recognize Oikawa was a blow he didn't expect, considering you were seated next to him as a seatmate. You remain passive throughout the class and indulge in the curriculums, only talking when the teacher picks you for answering, or you ask the teacher in general. Now looking up at you closely, Oikawa noticed that you had grown up very well; your skin was relatively supple, with no blemish in place, your hair was styled neatly and crisp. Even the makeup you wore was light enough to be undetected.

"How can I help you?" You ask, without looking up from excesses of notes, that others are willing to lend theirs for you to copy. Tucking a loose hair strand behind your ears, you scribble away and work on your practice work.

"I just thought that you look familiar to someone that I used to know," your hand movement came to a halt before going back to writing immediately.

You: "Oh?"

Oikawa smiles at this, 'You do remember me? How cruel of you to make me suffer?' With the small reaction, he clings to it. "It was quite mean of you to leave me alone without saying goodbye." Oikawa fake pouts and leans closer to your table by tilting his body over.

"I don't remember us being friends," you snark back quickly, "You were an asshole child too, and it seems to have followed you to this age." Angling your body away from him, you abruptly stood up and quickly went to the teacher and asked them about a question you were stuck understanding. But you didn't see how Oikawa's eyes darkened, which held a dangerous glint.

A few weeks passed; Oikawa didn't both you as much, and you were thankful for and quite suspicious simultaneously. Finding friends wasn't much of a problem since everyone gravitated toward you as the new student. The girls were hanging around you, complimenting and talking your ears off about the latest trend that's going on in the fashion world and what's taking over the internet. When you're alone, the boys will butter you up, asking to show you around the campus while inviting you to their games or practices.

"Look out!" You looked and saw where the voice came from and saw a volleyball hurdling straight towards you; with the proper reaction, you ducked down and avoided the ball. "Sorry!" Someone runs up to your location and peers down at you, "Are you alright?" The person extends a hand in your field vision, and you look up to see who the owner is and see it is a boy who has dark hair and olive green eyes.

Standing up and brushing imaginary dust away on your school skirt, you felt suddenly awkward. "I'm fine; watch out where you're hitting the ball next time."

"Iwazumi, are they alright?" Another volleyball player shouted from across the yard.

So this is Iwazumi Hajime, Oikawa's best friend since childhood. You still vaguely remember him as someone who Oikawa clings to when you're not around, and you doubt that Iwazumi highly recognizes you, too, unless Oikawa's big mouth had already blurted you to him and talked his ears off.

"They are," Iwazumi bent down to pick up the ball that had bounced back against the wall earlier and had landed near you. "Shittykawa has been talking about you nonstop," they whisper just for you to hear, "and they're pretty restless that you're not responding to them."

"That's his problem, not mine. He's the one who left me alone," you answer right back without a thought, then it takes you a second to realize what you've just said to Iwazumi. You were going to say something right afterward but then decided to shut up. The mention of Oikawa's name always brings you distaste and displeasure, so your brain always comes up with an automatic response to that curse at that insufferable boy.

"Words of advice, don't take him lightly." With that, Iwazumi walks away and continues with his volleyball.

Another few weeks passed, and it was morning; you were pulling your school materials out of your desk and quickly winced when you felt something sharp poke your finger. It's like lightning has struck you; you check your finger and notice it bleeding. Searching your school bag, you took out a bandaid and wrapped it around the wound; you always carry a small medical kit just in case you or others got hurt. You carefully kneel and peer inside your desk to find thumb tacks. Sweeping the sharp objects out carefully, you went to throw them away and recheck your desk for anymore while setting your school stuff onto the desk. It was still early in the morning, and there wasn't a soul inside the classroom, so you didn't know who had done it.

It's going to be a long day.

(A/n: (n/n) -> nickname)

Oikawa was paying half attention to the lesson since there were only a few minutes left till the class ended, and he side-eyed you; it wasn't until he saw the band-aid around your forefinger that he grinned. "Did (n/n)-chan hurt herself?"

"You have eyes, don't you? Or did your contact lenses fail you?" Oikawa's smile is even broader than before; you can feel it. He made it no secret that you're his target, just like when you were children.

"Why don't we hang out later?" The latter asks, leaning his upper body over. You quickly glare at him, side-eyeing.

You: "You were forbidden to hang out with me, remember?"

Oikawa: "Ah, yes. I remember now. Do you still hold it against me when I said those losers don't deserve to hang out with you?"

You: "Until the day I die, so of course I do."

Oikawa: "We can let bygones be bygones, can we?"

You: "I rather we not; my fist still aches to kiss your nose again."

The final bell ended, and every student rushed out of the classroom. You were still packing up; Oikawa didn't bother to as his gaze was out the orange glow of the sunset. It wasn't until the classroom emptied that you would leave too. "You're always like this," Oikawa spoke up from behind you, and your steps paused. "Always leaving me behind and never looking at me." You grip your school bag straps tightly in your hands. "You know, maybe what I did as a kid was pretty bad, but you can't hold it against me forever."

"Who in the hell gave you permission to tell me what I could and couldn't feel?" You reel in on your heels and face Oikawa, whose expression is blank as a canvas. It was so empty that it wasn't the same guy you would see who would grace every girl with his killer smile. You were almost stunned. "You're always picking on me as a kid, even now. I don't like you and will never, Oikawa; you're so insufferable that you must make everything about you. I don't know what is so special about me that made you want to be in my presence so bad, but stop, it's so fucking pathetic and stupid. You have your fangirls for that, don't you? Go to them since they're the ones who are willing to cheer you up for everything. So leave me alone."

Oikawa just scoffed at you like he was hearing something funny for the first time. His body shook lightly before it grew more powerful as he laughed.

*Is he mocking me?'

"You hate me? I can't let you do that," Oikawa brushed an artificial tear away, calming himself down, "I was going to let you off easily, but I guess I will have to bring it up a notch. I WILL make sure that I'll be the only thing that matters to you."

"Are you an idiot? I said I want you to leave me alone." You roughly express your words in a loud attitude, annoyance making its way onto your face. Quickly turning on your heels, you would like nothing more than to not spend another second in the room with that deranged asshole. But before you can move your feet, you yelp out as you were startled when Oikawa's tight grip was on your wrist, cutting off any blood circulation you might've had. You wonder how he could even get across the room without you noticing anything.

Oikawa flipped you around to meet his vacant eyes as he used his free hand on your lower back. Pushing you up against him, you both were pelvic to pelvic against one another; any other movement would entice the air to change heavily to something else.

"What do you think you're doing?" You ask out in alarm, trying to pull away from Oikawa, but he wouldn't budge.

Oikawa brings his face closer to you, "You don't ignore me unless I say so (n/n)-chan, I could make your life a living hell." There was a hint of fear that flashed across your eyes, and he was enjoying every second of it. "Now be a good girl; I'll let you go as long as you listen to me." You went still, and he smiled. Oikawa should've known it didn't take much to chip away your formidable walls with the right of threat. He eyes your glossy lips that were plush and glowing against the evening brunt sky, "Since you remember clearly that I do have a fanbase, it would be bad if you do something stupid to me that could trigger them. I could let them eat and trample you alive if I wish."

Oikawa releases your wrist, and you snatch it back with incredible speed. He only lets out a little smidge of chuckles before using that free hand to cup your chin. His thumb pressed against your soft lips gently, and the lip gloss instantly transferred over, filling in the slight indentation of lines. To make a small mess, he smudges the front to the corner of your lips, wiping a great deal off before retracting his thumb back, bringing it to his lips. Oikawa pastes against his own before parting his mouth open, eyes never wavering as he dares you to look away when his tongue slides out sensually to lick off the gloss. He could taste the flavor of vanilla.

You want to throw him across the room for humiliating you like this, much less threatening you too. Oikawa would never change, you know that; he was a person who would always get his way no matter what if he was or wasn't the one getting his hands dirty. You hate to admit it, but you should've seen this coming from a far distance. Maybe heeding Iwazumi's words for once would be a wise choice, considering you labeled him the same as Oikawa.

"Are you happy now?" You glower at him, and his expression change instantly. Now the sunny Oikawa is back.

"All done!" He let go of you, and you didn't waste time creating a considerable distance and leaving the classroom in a rush.

Oikawa's eyes trail to where you left before he looks back at his thumb; an indirect kiss is probably the closest thing he could get to you now. He needs to bide his time.

If he wants you all to himself.

#fan fiction #masterlist #hq oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#anime #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x imagines #yandere x reader #yandere imagines

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