#iwaizumi series

[rishiguro]

26; RESULTS

evanescent

/ɛvəˈnɛs(ə)nt,iːvəˈnɛs(ə)nt/ — “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

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taglist: @ninjamomo @not-another-ackerman @midnight-drives-with-sunarin @bloombb @jewlmin @tia827 @namyari @fuckyouwhotookmyname @yuminako @megumuro

#₊❏❜ ⋮evanescent #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu angst #iwaizumi angst #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu smau series #hq smau #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi series

[clubkira]

DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ

── FIANCÉ!JNT / FEM!READER SERIES┊͙HAIKYUU!!

my one and only all my life!

꒰ premise ꒱ : the nhk’s special broadcasts centered around the jnt ‘monster generation’ lineup’s future wives-to-be!

꒰ content ꒱ : haikyū!! / f!reader. JNT & staff. mini-series. established relationships. horrendously downbad fiancés. fluff (with suggestive moments).

series soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.

⁞ ‘✎ — vie’s love letter ؛ ଓ series updates irregularly. extremely suggestive at times (no explicit smut). mentions / allusions to sex or intimacy. sfw + fluff.

꒰ haikyuu!! masterlist. ꒱

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (01)

⌗ relationship advice with ; atsumu miya. rintarou suna. wakatoshi ushijima. shoyo hinata.

the nhk gives it’s viewers a peak into the love lives of the jnt’s lineup, interviewing the future wives of the jnt to crack the secret to a happy relationship! ❤︎

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (02)

⌗ truth or drink with ; koutarou bokuto. morisuke yaku. kiyoomi sakusa. tobio kageyama.

the nhk is hosting another special broadcast featuring the fiancées of the jnt’s lineup! and this time, it’s truth or drink! ❤︎

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (03)

⌗ would you rather with ; motoya komori. kourai hoshiumi. aran ojiro. kenma kozume.

due to popular demand, the nhk has organized another live special with the monster generation’s fiancées! tune in for this segment of would you rather + a surprise game with our special sponsor! ❤︎

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (04)

⌗ QnA with ; tetsurou kuroo. hajime iwaizumi.

the fiancées of the jnt’s staff get a turn in the limelight in an all new special broadcast, a couples QnA spanning their several happy years of romance together! ❤︎

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (05)

⌗ reading thirst tweets with ; tobio kageyama. wakatoshi ushijima. kourai hoshiumi.

this nhk segment is brought to you by the schweiden alders! thirst tweets with the jnt alder members, but not of them— they’ll be reacting to thirsts for their fiancées! ❤︎

── DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ (06)

⌗ two truths and a lie with ; shoyo hinata. atsumu miya. koutarou bokuto. kiyoomi sakusa.

with the jnt’s msby members comes two truths and a lie! it's a battle between two lovers; who knows the other better? ❤︎

── ONESHOTS .ᐟ

coming soon !

── EXTRAS .ᐟ

HEY, FUTURE HUSBAND . . . ( ASK EVENT )

⌗ event status : closed!

FIANCÉE’S JOBS

⌗ answered ask !

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

© property of shoyostar / thomae 2023. all rights reserved.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu series #haikyuu x self insert #hinata x reader #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #bokuto x reader #sakusa x reader #kageyama x reader #iwaizumi x reader #kuroo x reader #yaku x reader #hoshiumi x reader #komori x reader #aran x reader #haikyu fluff #kenma x reader #haikyuu x imagines #( 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝑜𝒻 : 𐚁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒞𝓁𝓊𝒷 ) #𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝓃’. 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝓈 ෆ #[ 𐚁 ] 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝐹𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 ꒱ྀི

[satorisoup]

ᰔ GLITTER GLUE ft. hajime iwaizumi

ʚ CW : “one sided” crush. confessions. cursing.

ʚ hq valentine’s series mlist ಇ

it’s valentine’s day, or rather, the most dreadful day of existence, if you were to say so yourself.

walking through the halls of school on a normal day was one thing, but now it seems that every corner you turn, you’re rather rudely reminded of your state of loneliness on the soul national holiday of relationships. bouquets of reds and whites, floral smells corroding your nostrils with every inhale, cute plushies holding little hearts, pretty cards with love written in sparkly pink gel pen. all gestures of admiration that are so sweet to any other person, but quite frankly, it’s just making you feel stupid for coming to school today.

you feel even stupider when you’re walking into class, eyes avoiding the gross kissing couples as you make your way to sit down, and you’re faced with exactly why you mourn valentines day so much.

hajime iwaizumi, the third year who sits one desk aside to you in class 5, who just so happens to be the person your heart decided to fall head over heels for. it was an unmistakable crush with the way your cheeks felt hot when he’d stretch in his seat, or the way your heart fluttered when he would make small talk when there was a particularly boring lesson. he’d even occasionally walk with you during lunch period in the midst of conversation or sharing a snack, before his friends would come and steal him away. he was sweet aside from looking intimidating, and it all the more so made you infatuated with him.

you watch him grumble outside of the doorway at one of his friends, a roll of his eyes before he’s striding into the classroom to take his proclaimed seat. you feel disappointed in yourself that you still haven’t been able to work up the courage to ask him out, too much of a coward to ever admit your interest in him. you take a quick glance at his hands, and what you see makes your heart drop even lower.

you catch a short glimpse of a pretty red valentine in his left hand before he’s quickly moving to neatly stuff it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

it looks like someone had beaten you to the chase, and it was only the first class of the day.

throughout the entire period, you notice the off behavior of your classmate as he sits in his seat. iwaizumi seems nervous almost, his leg softly bouncing up and down, and you also take into account that he hasn’t said a single word to you, or even looked at you this entire time. that usually would seem more normal on a regular class day, but today it was a free period, much to everyone’s liking. after dismissal, iwaizumi wasted no time to get up and out of the classroom before you could even ask him if he was alright.

classes today seemed to go by as if minutes were hours, and students had gotten even more enthusiastic as time went by as they all exchanged their thoughtful valentines to their partners. you think you’ve heard enough random “i love you’s” to last you 3 lifetimes in a singular day, but what you were seriously dreading was lunchtime. where everyone would walk around hand in hand through the courtyard, gifts, cards, flowers, big huge teddy bears to little tiny ones, kissing that should probably be saved for behind closed doors, and especially confessions. not wanting to be surrounded by the exact thing you were missing out on, you opted to stay inside for lunch.

the empty classroom you sit in is completely silent, the only sounds you hear coming from outside through the windows, voices of distant squeals and happy laughter. you sigh at your own demise when you decide to finally get up and wander around the halls. paper heart chains and pretty streamers litter the lockers and walls, and even some of your teachers had little decorations as their own way of getting into the spirit. it really was unfortunate that you weren’t able to celebrate today with who you wanted to so badly, as your fate lies in your own thoughts because you were too chicken to ever say it. and now, your crush was starting to act weird, which meant he had probably already accepted a confession, or maybe even confessed himself, to a person he was interested in. you wanted to be angry, you really did, but it wasn’t your place to be mad at him. he wasn’t ever yours to begin with.

as you stroll along and unwontedly admire the atmosphere around you, you hear the uncomfortable squeak of shoes against the wooden flooring, alerting you that you weren’t alone. when you look up from your feet to meet the eyes of the person who had interrupted your thoughts, you can physically feel your stomach sink to your feet.

iwaizumi stands at the end of the hallway, his hands behind his back with that same expression he had during class, even if it was barely noticeable. he looks at you before he straightens up.

“hey.” is all he mutters.

…

“hi.”

he takes a few steps forward to meet you where you had halted before and begins to speak.

“i was looking for you.” he voices.

“oh.. well you found me.”

you aren’t helping much with his attempt to cure the awkwardness around you two, but even so, he continues to talk nonetheless.

“why weren’t you outside for lunch?” he asks you.

“eh, didn’t wanna be around all that lovey dovey stuff. but, um.. why were you looking for me?”

you feel nervous when iwaizumi is silent, his hands now coming out from where they risided, holding that same red valentine from this morning.

“because i wanted to give you this.” he replies.

you notice the tinge of pink on his usual hardened face, looking down to where he held out the card to you.

you carefully grasp the messily accessorized card, studying it as you feel your heartbeat pick up to a faster pace. the red, heart shaped card stock proposed a simple question of ‘be my valentine?’

and as cheesy as it was, your lips pull into a wide grin when you look back at him, his hands tucked into his pockets while he waited for your answer.

“is this a confession, or am i reading the glitter glue wrong?”

“shut up, it was oikawa who dumped all of that shimmer shit on it…” he rumbles, recalling the short memory of his best friend tossing glitter onto his card while scolding him, “iwa, you seriously lack so much pizazz. girls love sparkles and glitter!”

you laugh at the thought of his friend taunting him over his card, and then you’re suddenly blushing at the concept of how iwaizumi had taken his time to make a special valentine, just for you.

“well, i accept your confession, iwa…”, “even if it’s twinkling in ‘shimmer shit’.”

it was iwaizumi’s turn to chuckle when he laces his arm around your shoulders, and he smiles as he walks with you.

“idiot.”

yes, valentines day was usually a dreadful day. but the surprises it holds? those aren’t dreadful at all.

#stupid cupid .ᐟ #satorisoup #iwaizumi headcanons #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fluff #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #aoba josai #aoba johsai #seijoh #haikyuu series #haikyuu x you #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #anime #haikyuu x reader #hq drabble #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi haijime x reader #aoba josai x reader

[queer-obsession]

Haikyuu boys reaction to the "he's gone. come over" prank. yes this is super old. does it look like i give a fuck? Anyway, Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Kenma, and Suna for this one 😙

Hajime Iwaizumi:

Toru Oikawa:

Rintarou Suna:

Kenma Kozume:

#anime #haikyuu #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #post timeskip #timeskip haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu smau series #haikyuu texts #haikyū!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu boys #smau #anime smau

[hanaonesflower]

Iwaizumi finds himself looking at you, puzzled at the way you shy away from his touch. He doesn’t quite get it. But he doesn’t want to push. Hajime does what he knows how to do best; talks it out. Or he tries really hard to. Ever since he’s been more comfortable around you, his arms often swing behind your shoulders and his hands usually are intertwined with yours but he hasn’t stopped to notice that you don’t openly accept his touches.

“Honey, stop.” His tone far from harsh but it still manages to stop you dead in your tracks. You turn to see him, finding your lover standing a couple feet away from you, his arms unoccupied, flinching with the itch for wanting to hold you.

“Hi? Is something wrong?” Regardless of how it may seem, Hajime is not good with his words. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times only for hopeless croaks to escape his throat. He looks, sad. So, so sad. His arms are being brought up, holding out as if he is collecting a reward, well in this case the reward would be to hold you longer.

“Can you come here, please?” Oddly enough you don’t protest, you don’t try to question him. Instead you step towards him as if someone has possessed you, Hajime looks relieved, he doesn’t have to fight for it. Even though, we all know that he would. “Can you, can I — can you let me hold you, please?” Oh. Yeah. You think. It still doesn’t occur to you that Hajime caught onto the way you shorten every hug, halt every kiss before it gets too deep, shake your hand away from his grasp. Physical touch makes you feel queasy, and it is oh so unpleasant. The direct linkage of physical touch to sex makes you uncomfortable, feeling like each touch has to be accompanied by sexual intimacy. Why does it have to be like that?

Once the distance between you decreases he quickly pulls you close, wraps his arms around your torso tightly. Afraid of losing you.

“D-don’t pull away just yet, okay?” You stay, without saying a word. Hajime doesn’t say much either, it doesn’t take long for your breathing to sync with one another. It was peaceful, tranquil. His hand instinctively travels lower towards your waist, and just like clockwork, you pull away, resisting the strength of his arms. You should have known by now that Hajime can rage storms with his eyes but shut them down just as fast with the way his arms bring so much peace.

“Why?” He asks. This isn’t a normal look for Hajime, he looks like he is on the brink of tears. And you feel yours begin to pour. He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t get to treat him like this. Poor boy just wants to show you what genuine touch feels like and you refuse to give him a chance. “Why can’t I touch you? Why can’t I hold you?” He feels so bad. Hajime tries to rethink about all the things he might have done that led you to feeling unbearable being held by him.

Resolve crumbling at your feet. Physical touch is his way of expressing his love, it’s always something that has always bring him comfort, stability, it has grounded him in many situations. He wants to feel close to you, but he has never felt so far away. It feels like a part of himself is always missing, hiding within you. This is cruel. This is isolating.

Without saying much you crouch to reach him, arms wrapping his shoulders, snuggling your head in his neck, situating in its rightful place. You two don’t share much words in this moment, not much is needed to be said anyway. The way he’s breaking down, longing so badly for the touch of his beloved, so much it hurts. The way his neurons fire, sending chills down his back and the way his skin heats up at the moment you make contact. You hold him and you don’t let go. You stay until you both are spent from the tears you shed. “I’ll hold you like this forever if I could, Haji, I’m sorry.” You believe that you finally get it now. Physical touch doesn’t have to feel evil, it can feel just like this. His hands find your torso again, timid, but he’s willing to try. he sighs into your touch, so relieved to be reconnected with the part of himself he once relinquished to you.

#as someone who has a lot of trouble giving into physical touch #even tho I’m touch starved #this one is for the girlies that feel the same way as me #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi scenarios #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #hq shorts #iwaizumi fluff #Iwaizumi Hajime #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #⌑ 5 LL series ⌑ #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi headcanons #haikyu angst #angst to fluff kinda

[chimielie]

wonderland

summary: didn’t they tell us ‘don’t rush into things?’ didn’t you flash your green eyes at me? haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds? (or: what happens after graduation to a pair of teenagers in love)

word count: 1k

cw: irresponsible decision making (but i assure you there will be no consequences), The Teenage Need To Get The Fuck Out Of Your Hometown, mountains of fluff, my usual Thing iykyk, excessive 1989-related puns

hajime’s never considered himself an impulsive person.

sure, he’s: headstrong, audacious, hotheaded. but he almost always has oikawa spearheading his more reckless decisions with wild emotional situations, a shield that makes him look like a calm, responsible adult. oikawa could make almost anyone look sane.

hajime is pretty sure even oikawa would call him crazy right now, if oikawa weren’t in argentina. maybe, for all his turbulent nature, his friend really is some grounding force; since he’s been gone, hajime’s felt on the precipice of something… big. earth-shattering.

“i just can’t stand it,” you say, head lolled back onto his shoulder, spine curving into his chest. hajime is trying valiantly to ignore the soft weight of your ass on his lap, even though you’re mostly sitting between his applesauce-crossed legs. he can feel it, though, against his right thigh. he is failing miserably. “it feels like everyone’s moving and i’m… stuck.”

“stuck,” he echoes, and you roll your head so you’re looking right, out of his bedroom window at the familiar landscape of miyagi. the sun is close to setting, having burned through the daytime clouds and casting a brilliant glow over you. your lips look darker and fuller and more kissable in this light, he’d thought earlier, right before he’d kissed them bruised.

“more like a balloon,” you muse. “on a still day. just drifting up, and up, and up, and the birds are just flying by.”

he hums, deep in his chest, in agreement. something’s felt wrong ever since graduation. you and he had stayed, and it had been what you both wanted at first.

but not like this.

miyagi without oikawa, without makki, who was rooming with mattsun in the city while the latter earned his junior degree and the former chased youtube fame, wasn’t what he’d thought it would be at all.

“it’s gonna be all ours,” you’d promised him, graduation cap tilted jauntily and smile brighter than the pure white clouds drifting above. “you’re all i need, hajime.”

but miyagi without the people you’d grown up with was empty, a melody that only echoed memories. it was you and him—and the ghosts of your childhoods.

“you’re not happy here,” he says. not a question.

you twist to look at him, eyes open wide. “i’m happy with you. i didn’t mean—”

“i know,” he says, kissing your pursed, worried mouth. “but we’re not happy here. i feel it too. maybe i’m crazy, but i think we need—”

“change!” you’re sitting straighter in his lap now. “every day is the same. i’m starting to feel like i need to do something insane. i need enrichment in my enclosure.”

he puts his arms around you and you draw yourself tighter into him until you’re cheek to cheek.

“do you trust me?” he says. you snort.

“what is this, haji, aladdin?”

“yes,” he says, rolling his eyes. in this light, they’re a forest, green and deep and irresistibly inviting to you. “do you trust me, princess?”

you nod, and he feels it against him, your skin rasping together. “of course. take me to wonderland.”

“that’s corny, too,” hajime grumbles. “don’t criticize my romantic gestures then reference the wrong movie.”

“whatever,” you brush him off. “how much do we need to pack?”

that’s how the sun sets on your last night in miyagi.

hayakawa tomoka’s job at the ticket counter is so boring. she sits there all night—during the day, she studies fine art—, a magazine propped up in front of her, arching high brows at anyone who hadn’t had the forethought to buy tickets online.

she does so now at the young couple skidding to a stop in front of her, suitcases bulging even if there’s only one each, panting for breath and knocking shoulders as though even their bodies are on a gravitational course to each other. they can’t be more than twenty.

“when’s your next flight to california?” one asks, his straight hair sticking up like a hedgehog.

“…where in california?” hayakawa asks, pointing her mouth at them. “it’s a big state.”

“anywhere,” the other says. “we’ll find our way to where we need to be.”

hayakawa blinks slowly at them. these new romantics are too exhausting to deal with at this hour. she types, click-click-click, wrinkling her forehead at the blue glow of her computer.

you stare anxiously at her as she does, desperately hoping for anything in the next day.

hajime tugs you into him as you wait, and you relax, turning a closed-eye smile up at him while he looks down on you with a mirrored expression.

“too impulsive for you yet?” he says, mouth twisting wryly. you shake your head.

“there’s one to santa ana,” hayakawa says. “the south. in five hours.”

“perfect,” you say eagerly.

“thank you,” hajime says.

there are two seats free next to each other, serendipitously. ticket prices are exorbitant, but not bank-breaking—both of you had worked all of high school at the café next door, earning good tips and waiting for something worth spending it on.

“okay,” hayakawa says finally. “your flight’s set, mr. and mrs. iwaizumi. safe travels.”

“thank you,” you say effusively, “so much.”

“you too,” says hajime, and then turns very red.

hayakawa watches you go, a rare and soft smile gracing her features as your suitcases crash into each other even as both of you refuse to let go of the other’s hand to control their direction. the night shift is boring. something like this shakes things up.

after a race—more like a marathon—through customs, hajime finds himself shifting in a plastic seat, peering through the blackness of the night for a glimpse of airplanes landing. falling stars, sort of, magic to be wished on. you breathe evenly, deeply asleep with your head on his shoulder, his denim jacket wrapped around you, leaving him with just his hoodie and the new band of cheap jewelry around his fourth finger.

his mother would flip if she knew how rushed his wedding was. next time, he promises himself, he’ll do it again with you if you’ll keep having him and the ceremony will be beyond your wildest dreams.

it’s colder than he thought it would be in the airport. the earth is moving under his feet.

you’re all he needs; he’s gonna give you the world.

#tbh i usually write hajime w brown eyes even though theyre green in the show im pretty sure. but it had to be done 😏 #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #iwaizumi my beloved my husband loml etc etc #iwaizumi x reader fluff #iwaizumi hajime x reader fluff #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #hq!! fluff #hq fluff #what if… i made this a snippet series. like their life as they figure it out as a couple married way too young navigating a new world #step one of the journey to irvine

[iwaizumis-bitch]

CHAPTER ONE

series masterlist | prev > next

taglist (open): @atrashsith @fckin-buttered-noodles @woahhajime @fantasycantasy @pocketful-ofdaisies @msbyomimi @akisrandom @katszumi @hoperenae @pelicanpizza @wolffmaiden @bloombb @feiwelinchen @lilactaro @toorusluvr @queen-aria-things @pattys-got-cakes @desideityy

#series: saj rework #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smau #hq smau #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi smau #haikyuu fic #iwaizumi fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you

[lightnightss]

✮Part six: OFF MY FACE✮

M.list

Didn’t get to look through this before posting so I hope it’s right 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Taglist: @eggyrocks @nuriistalk @localgaytrainwreck @0moonii @httpakkeiji @notsaelty @k8nicole @Intergalacticory @kunimix @cherrypieyourface @yukatoraa @eclecticeggknightpsychic @nitasplace @bananabananna-hh @infinitelytimebound @hermaeusmorax @scxrcherr @deluluforcarlos55 @makkir0ll @xoitsan (to be added to the taglist fill out this form)

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #click! hq smau #haikyuu smau #haikyū!! #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu smau series #iwaizumi hajime #hq iwaizumi #oikawa x reader #hq oikawa #oikawa tooru #lightnightss #spotify

[hubookunaluwawa]

the horrifying realization that someone genuinely knows you

it wasn’t supposed to go this way. it was supposed to be easy. casual. fun. but now, you feel like puking. because the second those forbidden words left his lips while he was buried deep inside of you, after a night of the both of you pretending not to know how the other felt, all hell broke loose in your heart. you were able to keep your composure through the end, but once he cleaned you up and fell asleep, you quickly grabbed your stuff and got the hell out of dodge.

your throat tightens up, and your eyes start to sting as you head for the bus stop. one minute passes. then five, and then ten. and then, as if this night hadn’t been bad enough, droplets of rain began to drizzle from the sky. this bus couldn’t be coming any fucking slower, you think, and you nervously tap the side of your leg, hoping with all your might that he didn’t realize you left, because if he did–

“y/n?”

fuck.

“hey!” you feign innocence as you quickly glance at him, “what’re you doing up?”

“i could ask you the exact same thing,” he returns, his smile masking something foreign… something vulnerable.

“oh, well, yeah, i mean, i have an 8 am class, so i have to head back to my place.” you feel your easygoing facade beginning to crumble as you continue to stare straight ahead at the road. you felt gross, lying to someone you always felt so comfortable around. you just hope he doesn’t realize it before the bus gets here.

“really?”

“yep!”

“i mean, i thought you said you don’t like doing… this…” he motions between the two of you, “the morning before an early class. said it fucks up your internal clock and stuff,” he remarks in a tone that makes it crystal clear he’s not buying a word you say.

you turn to look at him once again, and he’s staring at you with a hooded unwavering gaze that you’d mistake for apathy if you didn’t know him any better. unfortunately, you do know him better: enough to notice that the unfamiliar look in his eyes is blatant fear, as if he thinks you could disappear at any moment. and then, how much he knows you hits you all at once, and you’re left a scared little kid with no idea what to do.

“yeah, i guess i just forgot.” you’d have to be in complete denial to think he couldn’t hear the distinct crack in your voice, fake smile be damned. the two of you stare at each other for what feels like hours until the tears threatening to spill from your eyes make you look away.

“y/n.” but his eyes are still on you.

“mhm?” don’t.

“y/n, please.” only on you.

i can’t.

“i need you to tell me if i just fucked everything up back there.” the desperation in his voice is unmistakable, making you catch your breath. your face falls, and your heart hurts more than you ever thought possible.

“why’d you say it,” you whisper, “why’d you have to go and say it?” and his heart shatters at the brokenness of your voice because it was him who did this shit to you.

“when we started this, we promised it wouldn’t turn into anything. and it was fine when it was just me feeling something, but it won’t work with the both of us–”

“why?” something’s changed. he’s angry. “why won’t it work? why can’t we let it work?”

“because shit like this never does!” you scream, and you can feel everything you’ve been bottling up inside for the past few months escaping your body in one go.

“it never does,” you say with a quiet laugh. “we’d get together, and then you’d get bored with me–”

“i could never get bored with you–”

“–or i’d get bored with you,” you continue while noticing the fleeting look of hurt in his eyes that’s quickly overshadowed by anger, “and then we’d only be with each other out of obligation. we’d be ruining a really good thing just for the chance of something different, so just forget it, because whatever… it is that you feel won’t last,” you say as if it’s the funniest thing in the world while gesturing towards him.

“oh, fuck you.” he laughs, tugging his hair in frustration.

“fuck you!” you retort, delirious from the fact that this conversation is even happening at all.

“no, fuck you for trying to tell me that what i feel isn’t real.”

“okay,” you scoff as you begin to walk away. you don’t know where you headed, but as long as he’s not there, you know it’s where you need to be.

“and fuck you for making me love you! in more ways than just one!”

you freeze for probably the 50th time tonight, and you finally look at him again to see the shine in his eyes as he speaks.

“please don’t disappear when i tell you this,” he practically whispers to you with a once-again fearful look.

and you don’t. you’ve heard your fair share of “i love yous” in your life, and they all meant the same, substanceless, conditional thing. and so, the more you heard it, the less you believed it. you’ve seen relationships–both yours and those of the people you care about–fall apart because people will romantically love those that they don’t even like platonically. so you believed, and continue to believe, that romantic love without a platonic basis is an incredibly common recipe for disaster. you know this, and yet, you don’t think you could run from him right now even if you tried.

“i’ve never felt what i’ve felt for you with anybody else. i think about you all the time. like, you’re the first thing i think about in the morning and the last thing on my mind every night. and whenever i see you, it feels like what everybody talks about in the movies and the songs, and it’s like the heavens open up and everything makes sense and my world’s brighter because you’re in it. i’m completely and utterly head-over-heels in love with you.”

he just thinks he is, you try to remind yourself, but this shit isn’t real. it’s just infatuation, a burst of attraction, a trick of the mind. it’ll go away eventually–

“but it’s not just infatuation like you always say.” you mentally curse him for being able to read your mind and peel back your layers so easily, but he takes a step closer to you as he speaks.

“because you’re also the one person i feel most comfortable around. i could be having the worst day of my life and seeing you for a few minutes would make it the best, because everything about you makes me happy! everything! i mean your smile and your eyes and the way you giggle at the corniest jokes and the little crinkle you get on your forehead when i say something dumb and… how you make me feel safe enough to talk to you and know you won’t think i’m crazy, and how passionate you get about the things and people you care about: all of it has me completely obsessed with you, and all i know is that i wanna keep making you breakfast in the mornings and holding you close at night and going on late night drives with you and hearing you laugh because your laugh makes me feel like i’m dreaming whenever i hear it and i can’t help but laugh too because i just can’t believe that, out of everybody on this planet, you keep choosing to be here with me and i just… i love you, y/n. and even if this doesn’t last, i wanna be with you for as long as i’m able, because it doesn’t feel like my love for you is ever gonna go away.” 

and he breathes out the final declaration with a confidence that leaves you stunned because holy shit you’re actually starting to believe him. you can’t tell whether the wetness on your face is from the pouring rain or your own tears. maybe it’s both. but all you know is that, now, he’s holding your heart in his hands. and the scariest part is that he’s holding it with as much care as he’d treat his own heart. no, as much care as you want to treat his. and then, he starts to ramble, which you’re sure you’ve never seen him do (in fact, you’re pretty sure this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak).

you can’t stop yourself from looking at his lips, and the space between you grows smaller and smaller until it ceases to exist.

“i mean, it’s like you’re branded on my heart. you have this insane amount of control over me and i’m constantly wanting to be around you and hold you and make you happy because you feel like home to me but in the best way possible and i just want to be that for you too, and if you don’t feel the same way, that’s completely cool, and we could just forget this conversation ever happened, because you’re also my best friend and i don’t wanna lose you, and i–”

your lips taste sweet against his, and your hands cup his cheeks with a delicateness that makes him feel like crying, and he feels happier than he thinks he’s ever felt because he knows what this kiss means.

you take a moment to break apart, the tip of your nose brushing against his as he chases after your lips, and you desperately proclaim, “i’d never get bored of you either. i love you. i love you. you’re all i want.”

the bus you were waiting on passes you both by, and he meets your lips again, sighing into the kiss with relief. and you both make a silent promise, right then and there, to never let each other go again.

#eren x reader #eren jeager x y/n #eren x you #fwb to lovers #college!eren #angry rain confession #love confessions #this was made w eren in mind but you could imagine it w whoever honestly #iwaizumi? erwin? suna? aki? choso? sakusa? the world is your oyster !! :D #this is my first fic so y/n is kinda based on me 👀 #but i might make a series out of it on ao3 (bars)… #is delicateness a word???? i honestly have no idea #it's as real of a word as substanceless i'll tell you that much #the ending is very dookie and there’s a lot of run-ons but we move !!! #constructive criticism is very much encouraged like please tell me if it's trash !!!

[ktsumu]

cross check [1]

pairing: hockey player!iwaizumi hajime x f!reader word count: 771

chapter synopsis: icarus on ice.

masterlist | one | two (coming soon!)

Iwaizumi feels heavy on solid ground; like he’s held down in place.

He feels like the atmosphere and gravity and whatever else only exist to act on him, and everything else gets affected by that in turn.

On ice, he is weightless.

It takes him seconds to get up the ice, it takes him seconds to score. It takes him seconds to get over the boards, and it takes him seconds to get some water into him and get put right back out in the play.

But that’s what he loves about the game — he’s weightless, and he’s timeless. And nobody does timeless better than him.

His skates turn ice into snow as he races with the pair beside him, blades scraping the top off the surface, carving streaks out into the rink. He weaves through defense like it’s what he does in his sleep, bumping shoulders and sides but managing to keep the puck in the arch of his stick; loosely, but it’s there.

( He’s never been a clean player, anyway. )

It’s the adrenaline that keeps him going from there.

It comes from the screaming crowd, the skates scratching to life behind him, the crash of sticks hitting the boards, the way the goalie begins to drop in anticipation that he’s going to shoot on him; there is no stopping, not here and not now.

To his right, all he hears is screaming. Cheering, chirping; it depends on what colour the person in the stands is wearing. His team makes sure he knows to keep going, at least, as if he wasn’t gonna do that himself anyway, and his coach looked expectant when he passed him on the way to the net.

To his left, he can see Oikawa, who managed to catch up with him and is now racing towards the net on the far side — in between them is a player that wants to stop the pass he fully intends to make. Behind him, skates close in.

The most overstimulated you’ll ever be is in a jersey in motion; he doesn’t wanna be anywhere else.

You blink and you miss it; the puck is passed to Tooru and directly past the defender, just by his skates, the thundering of the arena only growing louder with every inch they get closer to the net. Knowing the boards are coming up on him, Iwaizumi stops abruptly, bringing him to a messy halt in the corner. It’s probably killing his ankles, but at least it stops him. Not much can.

Iwaizumi comes to standstill. The player behind him doesn’t.

He doesn’t have the time to see if Oikawa got the goal, because when he turns to look again, all he can see is a body flying towards him and a barred stick coming with it. And by the time he processes that he wants to get out of the way, he’s already in the air.

The last thing he sees before he hits something — he doesn't even know what — are the blinding lights that hang from the tall ceiling of the arena and the jumbotron housing the score, telling everyone that they’re winning.

But, then again, hockey is timeless. Just as fast as sees the score, he’s slamming against the ice and wall at full force, his helmet flying off and a pop in his knee so violent it makes him lightheaded.

The arena suddenly gets louder, and his vision doubles as he struggles to find the air he had a few seconds ago. Gloves are dropping, people are throwing punches like it's a different sport entirely, and all he can think about is how bad his brain is shaking instead of his skull and how bright the world is. He can’t do anything but wheeze out groans and struggle to get a glove off, clutching his jersey in the middle of his chest as his ears ring. He tries to move, but just yells instead. It's a lot easier.

He tries to bend his leg, but that doesn’t help the noise any.

One of the medics they keep on standby rushes onto the ice and right over to him, dropping to his level with a bright orange kit as they rest a hand on his chest.

“Stay still,” they say. It sounds like they’re both underwater — he’s guesses that he’s the one drowning. “Don’t move your head, just stay awake 'til the big guys get here. Hey, he's going — Hajime!”

He lets out a strangled hum to avoid nodding, eyes fluttering as the woman shines a bright light at them, and his vision fleshes white before he lets himself rest.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu series

[rishiguro]

53; “WAIT, YOU’RE GOING TO DIE?”

glances were exchanged as you were sitting on the bed, resisting the urge to bite your nails and instead fiddling your fingers.

you could tell how your friends grew more and more uneasy with every passing second, noticing how you were still looking for the right words, like you were afraid of how they might react. and yet you knew them well enough to be aware that, while feeling uneasy, they tried to keep an open mind, fearing that once they’d call out loud for the devil, he’d be there, right around the corner.

“thank you guys for coming,” you finally broke the ice, still fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

all of them nodded. “of course,” it was aran, who sat on the bed next to you, who replied, his lips curling upwards.

you didn’t know if he was trying to comfort you or himself.

you cracked a weak smile, briefly looking at each person in the room before looking back down. “guess i better get right to it, huh?” you mumbled, just about loud enough for everybody to hear you.

“please,” kita affirmed softly.

you opened your mouth to continue, but soon found out that no sounds could escape. you tried again and again, only to close your mouth over and over again.

just how were you supposed to say it?

you mentally groaned in frustration, clenching your fists and digging your nails into your palm.

your friends grew concerned, their eyebrows furrowing. aran leaned slightly forward, examining your carefully. “(y/n)? are you okay?” he asked.

maybe you should just rip it off, like a bandaid? or ease into it? you didn’t know.

and realistically speaking there was nothing you could do to soften the impending impact.

“i’m getting transferred” you started slowly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. you shyly looked up again with a weak smile on your lips. “out of this hospital”

immediately your friends leaned closer to you, their facial expression softening at you, tense frowns being replaced by warm and cheerful grins. “did you find some specialist?“

your heart ached at the hopeful sound of aran’s voice. did you really have to crush that hope? could you even be so cruel?

“that’s good! great even!” kita continued, an honest smile on his face.

meanwhile suna only shrugged, but you didn’t fail notice how his face lit up. “yeah! you’ll finally be able to leave this abomination of a room” he looked around the room before shrugging once more, focusing his attention to you again. “sounds like a great thing to me”

“this room does suck, yeah,” you agreed weakly, trying to ignore the weight on your shoulders, pressing you further down every second your friends celebrated the supposed good news.

“see?” atsumu grinned, no longer leaning on the wall and instead walking towards the foot of your bed. “i’m sure it’ll all be okay”

osamu agreed with his twin, playfully shoving him after catching up with him, leaning forward. “it can’t get much worse, can it?”

they sounded so hopeful. why couldn’t you sit here with good news?

you clenched your jaw. “guys—“ you started, yet found yourself unable to continue.

“can it?” osamu repeated, waiting for you to affirm him.

hope. what would they do if they found out that there wasn‘t much hope left for you?

you pressed your lips together, wishing you could just pinch yourself to wake up from this, wishing that all of this was just a dream.

and maybe it was.

osamu and atsumu exchanged another glance, as if they had to confirm that you were indeed quiet, instead of happily sharing some great news. nervously, the blonde twin spoke again. “why aren’t you saying anything?”

maybe it was a dream. but that dream turned out to be a nightmare.

next to you, aran shifted in his seat, looking at you nervously. “(y/n)? what’s going on?”

you knew you should speak up. say something, anything.

but you just couldn’t.

instead you looked at your hands, your knuckles became white as you flexed them more and more.

what were you supposed to do?

you didn’t know just how to respond. you didn’t have any good or even slightly hopeful news with no clue how to break them to your friends.

you wanted to. you needed to. but how?

the boys grew more concerned with every passing minute, especially once they noticed how aran, your best friend since you could even think, had shut down, just like you did. they looked at each other before deciding to sit down on every surface near you — next to you on your bed, on your bedside table, pulling up a chair to sit in front of you.

you could practically feel how their heart ached.

after a while, aran leaned back, his hands intertwined in his seat. he couldn’t even look at you anymore, his eyes instead focused on the floor. “you’re not being referred to some specialist, are you?”

you swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. “no,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly.

you couldn’t see how your friends looked at each other again while aran reached over to you, grabbing your head, like he had done ever since you were children. it was a familiar gesture, one that always gave you comfort and reassurance.

but today you felt your heart crack as soon as his hand engulfed yours.

next to you, suna turned his upper body in your direction, his hands shoved in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “then where—“ he stopped for a second, like he was afraid to continue, afraid of what you might say. “where are you going?”

you opened your mouth, only to close it again, your throat protesting the second you tried to produce a sound.

you couldn’t.

“(y/n)?”

“hospice“ your voice wasn’t louder than a whisper and if it wasn’t quiet in here then you were convinced that nobody would’ve even heard you. and as soon as your voice died down, silence settled over you again — you practically could’ve heard a pin drop.

hospice.

not daring to look up, you instead continued to stare at the floor with such an intensity that you almost feared to burn holes in it.

“wait,” osamu frowned, taking a deep breath. instinctively he reached out for his brother’s hand, a habit the two of them had ever since they were kids, and atsumu gave it a squeeze. “you’re going to die? is that what you’re telling us?”

yes you were.

“(y/n)?”

you hated the sound of kita’s voice. he sounded so unsure, so weak.

kita was never one of these things. he had always been a rock, a safety net.

and now the net had a big hole in it.

“please, say something,” it was suna who begged with a shaky voice, fidgeting in his seat as he silently prayed that he misheard. that all of this was a giant prank. a dream. anything but reality. “anything”

“i’m sorry,“ you breathed out, clutching aran’s hand forcefully as you finally, finally, allowed tears to escape your eyes, leaving behind a wet trail on your cheeks. you looked up at your best friend, practically shivering in your seat. “i’m so sorry”

evanescent

/ɛvəˈnɛs(ə)nt,iːvəˈnɛs(ə)nt/ — “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

mlist | previous | next

taglist: @not-another-ackerman @midnight-drives-with-sunarin @bloombb @jewlmin @tia827 @namyari @fuckyouwhotookmyname @yuminako @megumuro @saiewithakatana @sukunasrealgf @julia-1901 @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @siriusblackrunmeover17 @kaidoslastbraincell

#₊❏❜ ⋮evanescent #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu angst #iwaizumi x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #hq smau #hq angst #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq scenarios #hq series #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu smau series #aran ojiro #kita shinsuke #suna rintarou #atsumu miya #osamu miya

[meowdarame]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

series masterlist | next chapter

pairing: fwb!hajime iwaizumi x f!reader (afab!reader, she/her pronouns)

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 (𝟐𝟏). 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚, 𝐈𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞. You pique the interest of the handsome stranger at your college gym, but little does he know about your troubled past. Ever patient and ever kind, Hajime helps you pick up the broken pieces of your shattered heart, but more questions arise about the nature of your “relationship” as it blossoms— what is he to you? Is he a friend who you can call for a good time, or something more?

word count: 6.4k

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. angst/very little to no comfort (for this chapter only). heavy, distressing, and dark content. reader discretion extremely advised. themes of SA/noncon (mentions, none during the duration of the story), PTSD, hyper-sexuality and self-blaming as a trauma response. reader tugs on their own hair as a coping mechanism. reader attends a counseling/therapy session. mentions of STD/STI testing (in the past), and mentions of food, alcohol, and exercise. some suggestive content. (please let me know if there’s anything i missed that could potentially be triggering!)

notes: 1st chapter for my iwa series. this chapter is really personal to me and mirrors my own experiences, so please be gentle with it (and me!) special thanks to @christeningsakusa for beta-reading <3

“So, see you again next week?”

While sliding your underwear over your thighs, you turn around to face the man you had just hooked up with. His dirty blonde hair is matted to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat glistens on his skin; his chest rises and falls slightly as he tries to steady his breath. The purple LED lights in his room illuminate his face, and he stares at you with cocked eyebrows and a smug grin plastered on his face.

You shrug and nonchalantly reply, “Depends on my schedule.” As you hastily throw on your shirt and jeans, he hops out of bed and tugs his boxers back on. You make your way over to the door and kneel down to put on your shoes. While you tie them, his figure looms over you, waiting for you to finish.

“So, uh-- bye!” you say as you rise off the carpeted floor, forcing a smile and a gentle wave.

“Bye!” he starts, and he extends both of his arms to initiate a hug.

Not this fucking shit again, you sigh to yourself.

Reluctantly, you let him wrap his arms around you as yours limp awkwardly at his sides. While still holding you, he whispers in your ear.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

Oh, shut up.

You pull away and exit his apartment before you could catch a glimpse of his face again. You take hurried steps down his complex’s stairwell, and once you pass through the front doors of his building, your face is blasted with the hot California September air. You look up at the night sky, and where there should be stars, your eyes are met with a vast expanse of empty darkness.

Light pollution is no joke, huh? You chuckle to yourself.

And thus your ritual of regretting every decision you’ve made so far begins during your “walk of shame” back to your apartment.

I knew it was gonna be a waste of time, you sigh. ‘I had a lot of fun tonight’ headass. Of course you did! I did all the work and you just sat back and did absolutely nothing.

A group of skateboarders zoom towards you, and you move to the side to let them pass. As they whir by, their joyous laughter fills your ears.

It’s always fucking like this though— it’s almost formulaiac. I come over, we make small talk for like two minutes until he puts his hand on my inner thigh, and then we fuck. He cums in five to seven minutes TOPS, and then I quickly get changed before he kicks me out.

You open the doors of your apartment building and hear loud chattering in the lobby. There’s a group of drunk girls who most likely just got back from a frat party. Behind them are their male counterparts, and you can barely make out the Greek letters on their shirts before they all hop into the elevator. You turn to your left to head up the stairs.

Or maybe I leave before my shame can settle in.

Your steps echo through the empty stairwell, the clicking of your shoes ringing up and down the barren walls.

I know this isn’t good for me, and I know this isn’t the best way to cope, but I can’t stop.

You arrive at your floor and navigate through your building’s twisty hallways, coming to a stop in front of your door. You quickly pull your keys out of your pocket and shove them into the keyhole, rattling them a few times.

This damn key always gets stuck at the most inconvenient of times. Just let me get inside.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice in the distance, and your stomach drops. You fiddle with your keys even faster, heart rate increasing as the voice draws closer and closer. Finally, your doorknob turns and you swing your door open and immediately shut it, right before the person turns around the corner of your hallway.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth to silence your panting as you check through your peephole. Shutting one eye and aligning the other with the little window, you stealthily watch a couple pass by— a man with shaggy, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair has his arm wrapped around a girl who’s slurring her words and stumbling, clearly more than a few shots in. Your breath hitches when they stop right outside of your door.

Tears start to brim your eyes as he pulls out his phone. You watch as he turns to the girl— his supposed ‘conquest’ for the night— and whispers something to her. You press your ear against the thick wood of your door to hear them more clearly.

“My roommate said we can have the room all to ourselves! We’re good to go,” he says to her in a honeyed tone. She laughs as he presses a soft kiss to her temple and they continue walking past your door.

When their voices fade out, you turn around and hold your back flush against the door. Sliding down it, your skin drags along the cool wood. Once your bottom hits the ground, you pull your thighs to your chest and bury your face in between your knees. Hot tears trickle down your legs as you sob, and your dark apartment is filled with sounds of your hics and uneven breathing. A panic starts to swell in your stomach, and you grab at the nearest thing to try to steady yourself. Tangling your fingers into your hair, you tug slightly to try to relieve some of the tension that you feel in your gut, but nothing’s working. That’s when you pull out your phone and decide to phone a friend.

The call rings a few times before your ears are graced with a comforting voice. It’s your friend’s— her voice is raspy and soft as if she had just woken up, but it immediately becomes more alert when she hears you sniffling on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong, dear? Did something happen?” she asks you, her voice dripping with concern. You hear shuffling in the background as she pulls away her covers to sit upright.

“I saw him right now. He lives in my building,” you manage to croak out. You’re trying your best to stabilize your voice, but your vocal chords are working against you; it feels like the pit in your stomach has slowly made its way up to your throat and is now choking you, depriving you of precious air.

You hear your friend gasp and immediately collect herself. “Is this your first time seeing him since… y’know?”

A weak “mhmm” is all you manage to get out, and now the pit is sitting on your tongue like a crushing weight, making it hard for you to speak. Your anxiety manifests as nausea, and you slowly start crawling your way over to the trash can in the corner of your kitchen. You collect your hair with one hand while the other presses your phone against your ear.

“Do you want me to come over and spend the night?” your friend asks softly. Even though she’s always so busy— classes, work, personal life, etcetera— she never fails to make time for you whenever you need help. She’s been there for you since your first year at UCI, and she was one of the few people to help you through the aftermath of the incident.

“No, I’m okay,” you murmur. You don’t know how you’ll ever repay her for her kindness, or if you even deserve her kindness, but you’re more than grateful that she’s there.

“Are you sure?” she replies, her voice ladled with even more concern than before. You know she doesn’t believe you, so you do your best to muster up all the strength you could gather to give a more confident response.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you say back, and even you are impressed by the reassuring tone that rolls off of your tongue. You hear your friend sigh on the other end, before bidding you farewell.

“Okay, I believe you. And don’t forget your counseling session tomorrow morning at the student health center. Make sure you don’t miss it and set several alarms so you wake up on time, okay?”

You thank her for the reminder and for calming you down before you hang up. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you pick yourself up from your floor and trudge over to your bathroom. When you turn your light on, you’re greeted with a horrific sight— your disheveled face post-anxiety attack.

Your nose is runny and mascara is smeared under your eyes and across your cheek. Drool pools out of the corners of your lips, and your whole face feels hot from the rush of blood to your head. You turn on your sink and let the water run for a few seconds, waiting for it to get warm.

Your fingers test the rushing water, and once it hits the ideal temperature, you lower your face to the sink and splash water all over your face. With closed eyes, you feel all around your counter for your bottle of face cleanser and press onto the pump, letting a few spurts of the soap spray onto your open palm. Your other hand turns off your sink and you wash your face, making sure to scrub underneath your eyes to remove the mascara stains before rinsing off the soapy bubbles and drying your face

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you drink in the new image before you. Now, your reflection is back to normal— well almost. The only evidence of your previous crying fit are your puffy and bloodshot eyes, but you figure that a good night’s rest will be enough to get rid of that.

You’re okay, you try to reassure yourself. You’ll be okay.

You let out a long sigh as you shut off your bathroom light and enter your bedroom; the twinkling lights draping down one of the walls of the room casts a soft light on everywhere it can reach. You grab a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt from your drawers and change out of your dirty clothes, tossing them into the hamper underneath your bed.

Once you crawl onto your mattress and pull your covers over you, you stare at the ceiling. Despite how many times you try, you can’t get the image of the man outside of your door out of your head— it’s branded on the frontal lobe of your brain. No matter how many times you try to forget, no matter how many bottles of cheap beer you guzzle to forget the acrid taste of his lips, no matter how many men you lie under to forget his shit-eating grin— you just can’t seem to do it.

A tear spills out of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting your pillow underneath your head. More tears flow out and soon a pool forms on the dampened cloth. You raise your head and flip your pillow to the dry side, rolling over to press your cheek into the plush material. Shutting your eyes tightly to prevent more tears from pouring out, you drift off to sleep.

…

Whoever said that there’s no better rest than after crying yourself to sleep is a fucking liar.

The next morning, you wake up more exhausted than the night before. Light peeks through your blinds and illuminates your room, waking you up a few minutes before your alarm is scheduled to go off.

You roll out of bed and stand in front of your full length mirror. Your hair is tangled, your lips are chapped, and your throat is painfully dry— probably because you forgot to drink water after sobbing out half of your body’s water content. You reach over to your desk to grab your reusable bottle, taking a few big gulps of the cold liquid to help relieve the pain. Bringing your face closer to the reflective glass, you can’t help but notice how your eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. You groan and walk over to the mini-fridge on the other side of your bedroom, crouching down as you open the small door.

You reach inside and pull out a silver spoon from your freezer, the cold metal stinging your fingertips. You return to your mirror and watch as you bring the spoon up to your face, gently placing the rounded part of the utensil to your eye socket. You hold it there for a few seconds before removing it, checking to see if there was any improvement. There was, and now the swelling around your eyes is greatly reduced, but the red tint on your sclera is still noticeably visible.

I look like I’m high, you joke to yourself. I’ll have to put on some eye drops later.

You repeat the process with your other eye, and once you finish you toss the spoon back into your freezer. Running a hot shower in your bathroom, the warm water soothes your tired muscles. You thoroughly scrub your body with soap— your neck, your arms, your torso, your legs— but you spend extra time washing the expanse of flesh between your thighs. Your hand collects the warm water in your palm and harshly rubs the spot back and forth, meticulously cleansing the area to the best of your abilities. You know that it won’t undo or change anything, but you find yourself doing it subconsciously, almost as if it’s a reflex now.

Hopping out of the shower, you quickly pat yourself dry before throwing on some clothes. You throw your hair up into a towel to let it dry while you sip your morning coffee.

And thus your morning ritual begins. You sit at your windowsill and stare out of your window, watching people pass by underneath you. There’s a wide array of sights before you— energized people in athletic wear and headphones going on a morning jog; hungover people still wearing their beer-stained clothes from the night before, most likely starting their walk of shame home; and half-awake people still in their pajamas lazily trudging along the sidewalk, heading over to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts to grab their morning fix of caffeine.

You swallow your last sip of coffee, throw on some shoes, and head out your door. While walking through your building’s hallways, you check your watch for the time.

It’s barely 8 AM, you think to yourself, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s too early, there’s no way he’s awake yet. I probably won’t run into him right now.

Once you exit your building without running into the man from the night before, your hurried pace starts to slow down. You make the ten minute trek across campus from your apartment to the student health center, kindly waving and greeting the people that you recognize from your classes.

Arriving at your destination, the cool air from the medical center blasts your face. Despite your school’s vain attempt to liven up the lobby with teal-colored walls, the clinic itself still feels sterile and void of life. You know that most people don’t come here on their own volition— whether they’re receiving treatment for a worsening cold, getting tested for STDs or STIs, or seeking mental health counseling— everyone waiting in the cushioned seats of the lobby doesn’t actually want to be here.

You check in with the receptionist and sit down on one of the benches and wait for your appointment. You pull out your phone and idly scroll through social media. The first story is of your friends from high school clinking shot glasses together and throwing their heads back, swallowing the hard liquor in one gulp. The second story is posted by your classmate from last semester, and it’s a graphic advertising their club’s fundraiser later this week. The final story shows someone who lived in your freshman year dorm building at a party, flashing lights shining across their carefree face.

Hearing your name being called from above you, you shove your phone back into your pocket before standing up. You follow the nurse through the hallways and into the room, fluorescent light bouncing off the white walls. You plop onto the leather couch that sits directly across from a chair made out of the same material.

The nurse turns to you before leaving and starts speaking. “A counselor will be with you shortly,” she says and then exits the room, leaving you alone.

You wait for a few minutes in tense silence. To pass time, your eyes scan around the room, reading every single infographic and painting that hangs from the walls. They land on an image of a “pain scale,” a series of happy and sad faces resting on top of a 0 to 10 scale.

Your face scrunches up as you ponder the picture before you. You’re struggling to decipher where you fit onto the scale, when the door swings open and interrupts your train of thought. You straighten up in your seat when a pretty woman in her mid-30s steps into the clinic room.

“Hi,” she says sweetly, taking a seat in the chair in front of you. She continues introducing herself, “I’ll be your counselor for today.”

You greet her and tell her your name, and she replies with a warm smile. Her fingers sift through the files on her clipboard before she speaks again. “I see this is your first time visiting the mental health department. What brings you here today?” She looks up from the page and stares at you intently, waiting for a response.

“Well,” you start. “My friends recommended that I come here for a counseling session.”

“Hmm, I see,” she looks back down at the sheet of paper, and your palms grow clammy in anticipation. Without lifting her eyes, she asks you a question in a softer tone. “It says here in your files that six months ago you went to the student health center to get tested for STDs and STIs and to ask for a birth control referral.” She lifts her face again, and her concerned expression pangs your heart. “Was that a routine check-up or something else?”

You feel the pit in your stomach reappear, and your heartbeat booms violently in your chest. Blood rushes to your head and the room grows hot; the lights feel so fucking bright as they shine into your eyes, nearly blinding you. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, and after an elongated sigh, you confess, trying to mask your fear with a seemingly indifferent tone.

“No, it wasn’t,” you reply coolly, but you can’t seem to hide the slight quivering in your voice. “I was taken advantage of six months ago, but I’m fine now. I promise.”

The counselor eyes you up and down, scanning your face for any signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. They run down your body and finally settle on your lap, where your fingers twiddle and fidget with each other.

Shit, you think to yourself. She caught my bluff.

“You know,” she whispers to you gently, almost as if she were approaching a cornered animal. “Anything you tell me here stays between you and me. I know you don’t know me and it’s hard to open up sometimes, but you have my undivided attention.” She flashes you a compassionate smile, and it causes your eyes to swell up with tears.

You take a deep inhale before starting. “I saw him last night,” your voice is shaky as you scour your brain for the right words to say. “The guy who hurt me. He was outside my door, and he was with another girl. She was clearly drunk, and I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

You’re sobbing now, and your nose is becoming stuffy. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, but you continue on. “If he did anything to her,” you croak, throat growing tight as you ramble on, “it’s my fault. It’s my fault because I didn’t intervene. It’s my fault because I didn’t report him so he could never hurt another girl again. I wanted to stop him, I really did. I wanted to open my door and yell at him to get a fucking life and stop being such a dick, but I couldn’t. I was so scared— I froze in fear behind my door.”

You look up at her, and through tear-stained eyelashes you could see that her cheery expression morphed into one of pain.

“I’m just as much to blame, and I’m no better than him. I’m weak.”

You drop your face into your palms, your hands muffling your sobs. You feel a gentle hand rub your shoulder, and you look back up at the counselor. She has the warm expression plastered onto her face again, but her eyes are solemn as she gives you advice.

“It’s not your fault. It’s entirely his.” She reaches over and grabs a box of tissues from the counter and places them onto your lap. “You’re not to blame for the harm that he does unto others.”

You nod your head as you pull out a tissue and wipe your wet face. You blow your nose to try to clear your nasal passages, but it doesn’t work. She continues with the session, maintaining her sympathetic tone.

“If you’re comfortable with sharing, why didn’t you report him? Not saying that you need to— it’s completely your decision whether you do or don’t. Your experiences are valid regardless.”

You let out a hollow chuckle before you answer. “I can’t report him,” you say dryly, your voice starting to grow louder as your frustration builds. “He’s a student athlete on a popular team here. Who would the university believe— him, a star athlete on a team that brings the university so much money, or me, a common whore who this school couldn’t give less of a shit about?”

“If I do report him, what if his team comes after me? A few of them live in my building; it’d be easy for them to pound on my door and threaten me or do even worse things. If not that, his family has money. His parents could sue me for defamation, and I don’t have that kinda money. There’s also the issue of my parents finding out, and I’d rather die than have them discover what happened to their daughter. I don’t know how they’d react— would they be heartbroken? Would they blame me? Would they ask me what I was drinking or wearing? Either way, I don’t want to find out.”

You shake your head before carrying on. “Even if I did report him and the university believed me, what punishment would he get? A slap on the wrist? Get kicked off of his team? Nothing will ever be enough.”

Tears brim your eyes once again. “Nothing will return the months of my life that I wasted, desperately trying to move on from the situation. Nothing will make me unafraid of men. I can’t pass by a group of student athletes without having panic burn through my body. They all look like him— they all have his cruel smile and it haunts me wherever I go.”

Your emotions start to spiral out of control as your inner turmoil and anger bubble in your stomach. Hot tears spill from your eyes and stream silently to the floor. Realizing that your blood is growing hot, you stand up and frantically pace around the room, trying to calm yourself down. You place your hands on top of your head and take a few deep breaths to steady your heart rate.

After a minute of pacing, you sit back down in your seat. A pained sigh slips past your lips, and you forge on. “I just don’t think there’s anything that this school or this government could do that would correct his sins against me. He didn’t just take advantage of me— he destroyed my soul. He robbed me of my bodily autonomy, my self-worth, my sense of control. How do you fix that?”

The two of you stare at each other in silence before she opens her mouth. “You can’t,” is all she replies.

You nod your head somberly. “Exactly,” you conclude gravely. “You can’t.”

The counselor takes a few seconds to collect her thoughts before continuing on. “You know, it’s really unfair how our justice system treats survivors. More often than not, people feel re-victimized and re-traumatized rather than helped by these systems. So, everything you said is completely valid, and you know what’s best for you more than anyone else.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and she adds on, “There are ways to receive closure that don’t involve the justice system at all. How do you cope with the pain that you feel? What are some things that you do?”

You take a deep breath before responding. “Honestly, I just pretend like it isn’t there. I just want things to return to normal, and I believe that if I don’t think about it, it’ll eventually go away or I’ll forget.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you let out an exasperated groan. “But, if you want specifics, I’ve been taking up a bunch of various hobbies to try to regain some semblance of normalcy. I’ve been going to the gym everyday for the past few months; I joined a few interest clubs; and I even took up some journaling. You know, anything I can do to give me some sense of control…” Your voice trails off as your gaze meets the counselor’s again.

The corners of her lips curl upward to form an enthusiastic smile. “That’s great! Those are all really healthy coping mechanisms for trying to move on from the situation, and there are other things you could do, too! Like…” Her voice fizzles out into the background as you zone out from the conversation.

Of course I only told her a half-truth, you think to yourself. I know if I told her everything I did, I would get scolded.

Little did your counselor know that for the past month since you’ve returned to campus, every weekend you would go out to a party, find some random guy, and let him take you home to have less than subpar sex. If there were no parties going on that night, you’d check your dating apps, picking one man from the vast sea of horny and disrespectful messages in your inbox. You’d head over to his place and do all the work while he sits back in utter bliss.

You know it’s not the best coping mechanism, but somehow, you can’t stop. It’s the only way that you feel in control again. “They can’t use me or take advantage of me if I let them,” was your reasoning, a bastardized reclamation of power.

They can’t rob me of my sexual autonomy if I consent first.

But deep in your heart you know it’s not true. After every disappointing session, after every failed orgasm, after every prideful expression is plastered on your “partner’s” face, you feel worse than before. You know that they treat you like a masturbatory aid— that they view you as nothing more than a cocksleeve— yet you still return to these shitty men. You still return to these men who wouldn’t give a fuck if your picture appeared on an obituary one day, because in your mind it was your twisted way of coping with the grief.

The counselor’s voice rings through your ears and brings you back to reality. “So,” she says, clapping her hands together. “That’s all the time we have today. I hope this session helped you, and if you ever want to talk again, just schedule an appointment through the student portal.”

The two of you rise to your feet and shake hands before exiting the room. You make your way over to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, the puffiness in your eyes has returned, and somehow your eyes are even more bloodshot than they were this morning.

You sigh to yourself. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear makeup, but I wish I brought my frozen spoon.

You turn on the faucet and cup the cold water in your palms. Oh well, this’ll have to do.

You splash the cold water in your face and dry it with a paper towel. Checking your eyes again, the swelling has gone down slightly, but you know that your metal spoon would’ve done a better job at masking the inflamation.

You exit the restroom and make your way out of the clinic, your eyes adjusting from the harsh, sterile lights in the building to the bright and sunny California daylight. You check your watch again and see that it’s almost 9:30 AM, still too early for him to be awake.

Phew, you think. I can head back now, get ready for the gym, and leave before he wakes up. By the time I’m done with my workout, he’ll be at practice so I can return home without running into him.

Admittedly, it’s embarrassing that you know his entire schedule, but it’s a measure that you have to take in order to protect yourself.

You make the journey home in ten minutes. You fill up your water bottle and change into workout appropriate attire, before heading out once again.

The campus gym is a lot closer to your apartment, about half of the distance to the student health center. In five minutes, you walk through the sliding doors of the recreation center, the filtered cold air blasting your face and giving you goosebumps. Your eyes scan the room to make sure that none of his friends are here, and relief flushes your body when you realize that you’re safe.

You plug in your earphones and hit play on a random workout playlist you curated. Energetic music blasts in your ears as you start a light jog on the treadmill.

Let’s just forget what happened earlier and try to have a good workout, alright?

Your workout runs smoothly— after your warm-up run of one mile and lifting sets, your legs start to ache and burn. Finally, it’s time for the barbell squat, your least favorite leg exercise.

You make your way over to the squat rack section of the gym, and your eyes land on a familiar face. His features are strong, typically formed into a scowl as he lifts a ridiculously heavy amount of weight. His green eyes always look so determined, and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. His arms look toned even when he’s not flexing, but when he does, you can’t help but wonder if he could crush a melon with his bare hands. But his most noticeable feature has to be his spiky dark brown hair that comically rests on the top of his head— it reminds you of a porcupine.

He’s very handsome, and it’s not just you that notices his looks. Everytime you see him there, there’s always a crowd of people gawking at him, asking him to help fix their form or help spot them. Usually, most guys would take this as an opportunity to hit on the person who asked for assistance, sometimes even getting unnecessarily handsy with them. But never this guy. He just helps them with whatever they’re doing, offers useful tips and tricks, then returns to his workout.

He’s so good looking, and because of this, you have no doubt that he has a significant other or that his phone is overflowing with random numbers that people gave to him. He doesn’t seem like the type to be a sleaze, but with a face and body like that he definitely doesn’t have trouble finding love— or a casual hookup, at least.

The first few times you went to the gym, you noticed him staring at you. Initially, you thought that there was something on your face or wrong with your form, but that suspicion subsided after it happened several more times. Now, whenever you go to the gym, you inadvertently have a stare-off with the attractive stranger, waiting to see who will crack first.

Today is no different. As you walk to the empty squat rack next to him, his eyes follow your figure while he takes a drink of water. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal bar when a wild thought flies through your mind.

Giggling to yourself over the idea, you decide to try your luck, and you turn to the hot stranger to your left and ask him a question.

“Hey,” you sweetly call out, drawing his attention away from his water bottle. “I’m gonna try adding weight today, do you mind spotting me?” You flash him a bright smile, hoping that he’ll take the bait.

He quickly nods and sets down his bottle, walking over to you. You place the appropriate plates on both sides of the barbell and wait for him to stand behind you. Once you sense his presence, he asks you a question, and you can feel his hot breath against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine and forcing the little hairs on your skin to rise.

“Are you ready?”

To which you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “Yep!”

You duck your head under the bar and rest it on your shoulders. You lift the metal pole off of the rack and take a few steps forward, the stranger’s hands hovering around you just in case you need help. You bend your knees and drop your ass into a seated position, making sure that your back is straight. You rise up and straighten your posture, and repeat this process eight more times.

On your tenth and final squat for this set, your thighs ache from the weight. Sweat beads at your temples as you drop down, and while you slowly rise back up, you hear a deep voice from behind you.

“C’mon!” The stranger encourages you. “This is your last one for this set, then you can take a break! You’re almost there.”

Using your last bit of strength, you stand back up, and he helps you place the barbell back onto the rack. Your fingers brush against each other, and your breath hitches at the sudden contact.

“Phew!” You chant as you wipe the sweat off of your forehead with your shirt sleeve. “Thanks for that encouragement at the end, I really needed that!”

The man smiles at you, and for the first time you see his hardened expression actually soften. “No problem! Your form is really good; I’m thoroughly impressed.”

You smile back at him and point over to his rack. “It seems like you do a damn good job yourself,” you reply, referring to the multiple large plates on his barbell.

He rubs the back of his palm as his face tints pink. “Oh, it’s no biggie at all. I’ve been regularly working out since high school, and I’m a sports science major, so physical fitness is a huge part of my life.”

You nod your head in interest, before continuing on. “Anyways, I’m sorry for pulling you away from your workout. If you want, you can go back to your sets; I think I’ll be okay with mine!”

He raises a hand and shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather help you and make sure that you’re safe.”

Your face grows hot at his words. You eagerly nod your head and turn back around to face the barbell. But before you can start your second set, he murmurs something in a low voice.

“But what’s a guy gotta do to get dinner and a movie with a pretty girl like you?”

You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. Was that friendly demeanor earlier all just a façade? You ask yourself. Collecting your thoughts, you turn your head slightly to face him, your faces merely inches apart.

“Well,” you start, scrunching your nose as you stare up at the ceiling, pretending to look for an answer. “You could spot me for my next two sets. I’m free tonight after 7, if that works for you?” You innocently bat your eyelashes at him, waiting for his response.

For a split second, you swear that there’s a crack in his confidence, and his features gaze at you in a stupor, almost as if he were in shock that you actually agreed to go on a date with him. He regains his cool though and nods his head before helping you remove the bar from the rack.

At the end of your set, the two of you exchange numbers. You introduce yourself and tell him your name, and he wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts before extending it out to you.

You grab it and shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hajime Iwaizumi, but you can just call me Hajime.” He flashes you that killer smile one more time before you part ways.

Once you make it back to your apartment, you run a hot shower. While massaging your hair with shampoo, you think about your handsome date for tonight.

You grin when you think about his dazzling smile, but your mood soon turns sour when a realization hits you.

He’s still a guy at the end of the day, you think to yourself disappointedly. And an attractive one at that. He’s probably like every other man— they all just want one thing. Sex. And once you give it, they’ll toss you to the side.

That whole ‘dinner and a movie’ thing was probably just a ploy to get me to agree to go on a ‘date’ with him, if I can even call it that. But I know better. I know that he has no interest in getting to know me, and tonight will probably end the same way that it always does— with me walking home unsatisfied and feeling ashamed of myself.

There’s no point in getting my hopes up.

A tear rolls down your face, but you quickly wipe it away.

There’s no reason for me to be sad; that’s just how it is. We both use each other for one thing, and it’s consensual, so there’s no harm nor foul, right?

You try your best to reassure yourself, but know that it’s to no avail when another tear streams down your face.

tagging: @bxnten @ry0m3n @jiminjamms @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey @ohtobiors @frenchtoastmafia @miya-dynasty @sabyss @rinsie @chaotic-fangirl-blog @semisgroupie @rueren @portfolio-of-dreams @arozaur @hyeque @momoewn @whore-for-anime @shoyouu @thathoneybee3 @smexyair @dessceased @itachislut @tokyometronetwork + want to join my taglist for this series? leave a comment below or join my general taglist here!

#🎲.writes #🎲.fics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu smut #haikyuu series #haikyuu dark content #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi series #iwaizumi dark content #tw.noncon #tw.ptsd #tw.mental health #tw.food #tw.alcohol #tw.exercise #tw.trauma #tw.sexual health #tokyometronetwork

[zuiz41]

Just a smol continuation : P

Decades of Hidden Feelings. [Story Draft idea]

#iwaoi #my art #haikyuu!! #oiiwa #my art is crappy #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #Decades of Hidden Feelings series #so cute??? #daughter and father bond <33

[lanirawhoney]

Hhehiii :3 I'M HAVING MY OWN VERSION OF A RELAPSE WHERE EVERY 10 PM I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP BECAUSE TIMESKIP!IWAIZUMI HAJIME PROBABLY WON'T SHOW UP IN THE HAIKYUU MOVIES

We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of best boi Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer 😞🙏 No glow up ever so glowy, no waist ever so snatched, no slay ever so slain 😭🤧 I miss himmmmm

#my asks #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu movie #aka crimes against the people #haikyuu!! #anime #anime series #hq

[gatitties]

Please please please part 10 of the seijoh manager!!!

Manager Miniseries

─Aoba Josai x fem!reader

─Summary: you were trying to have a relaxing afternoon playing minecraft with the team and ended up making a new friend

─Warnings: none

It's your lucky day because I was thinking of updating this miniseries soon so… 👀

9 < 10 > 11

You sat on your chair, turning around a couple of times until decided that you should enter the Discord voice chat that you shared with the guys on the team, you didn't use it much, but it was fine when you all had to discuss some things about training. But today you weren't here for any of that. You clicked on the group icon, immediately being greeted by different voices.

"Are we all here?"

"I don't understand why I'm doing this."

"It will be fun Iwa-chan!"

You sighed silencing the group until you could enter the game,you had been very addicted these last few days playing Minecraft, so much so that you proposed to create a server to be able to connect with friends and play. You clicked on the logo waiting several minutes, when it was loaded you went back to Discord to let them know that they could enter the world now but you only heard screams and screams from your classmates calling you.

"(N)?"

"(Nn)? Have you forsaken us?"

"She's been online the whole time."

"Is she muted? It doesn't surprise who would want to listen to shittikawa?""

"Hey! shut up, I'll make a better house than yours and then I'll hunt you Iwa-chan!"

"That, that! Show him who's boss Oikawa."

Matsukawa's laughter was heard, encouraging the rivalry between friends.

"I don't think Iwaizumi will be defeated so easily, right?"

"I'll kill that idiot and have the best house."

"I bet on Oikawa."

"Huh? Really Makki? then I go for Iwaizumi."

"Oi don't bet on us!"

"Makki you have made a good choice! but what exactly are we betting?"

"Mmh, now that you mention it I don't know, any ideas guys?"

"Whoever loses pays for a dinner for the whole team."

Both parts agreed with the proposal that Kunimi had made, immediately reaching a deal, chaos would return to the chat if it weren't for a grunt and a blow, creating a silence, which you took advantage of to speak.

"Guys, you can join the server now."

"I'll win against Iwa-chan so that he and Mattsun pay!"

"I don't think it was a good idea to agree to join."

"Yahaba, don't be so negative, I'll help you with your house and get materials."

"Thank you (N), I really adore you."

"Could I also have some help?"

"Sure Kindaichi, I guess I'll have to help you with the main thing."

You all started with the basics, gather some wood, kill a couple of sheep, create a small house until it got dark. Right now you were playing alone without using voice chat, you were concentrating on mining until you heard an explosion followed by a message in the in-game chat.

[King_Oikawa has been blown up by a creeper]

You couldn't help but giggle as watched your companions foolishly die one after the other because of the creatures of the night.

[Makkinotfound has been killed by a zombie]

[Yahaba_pro has tried swimming in lava]

[xXKentaroXx has drowned]

[Mattsun777 exploded]

[Iwaplay has fallen from a very high place]

You came out of your house armed with a stone sword, killing some zombies and skeletons, you met the first year boys who were trying not to get killed by a mini zombie that was running around like a demon. You got into a voice chat where only the three of you were, you were trying to help them.

"Help us please, we haven't finished the house yet."

"Sure, what do you need?"

"How do you make a torch?"

"Oh, Kunimi, let me guide you while Kindaichi finishes filling that hole with this."

You tossed Kindaichi some wood, then you explain to his partner how to craft some things, Kunimi really got interested in how to build a bed while the turnip boy was trying not to get hit by arrows. After a long while and ending up helping the third year pranksters a bit as well, you muted the voice chat again. You frowned looking at the game screen where a new message had appeared, apparently no one had noticed that another person had entered the game.

[Applepie has entered]

'I forgot to put a password to the server? what if they're a hacker or something? Nah.'

[(N): hello??]

[Applepie: oh I think I got the wrong serv]

[(N): don't worry, at least you're not a hacker or something]

[(N): or so I hope…]

[Applepie: I'm not]

[Applepie: Some servers are down and I thought this would be fine, your IP was open]

[(N): well it's just a server between friends, but you can stay and play :)]

[Applepie: thanks]

[Applepie: I think I'll stay, no lag here]

[(N): feel comfortable in Seijoland]

[Applepie: I will]

[(N): maybe we could talk on discord? If you don't mind of course]

[(N): I would like to have a internet friend]

[Applepie: ok]

You practically spent the whole afternoon playing with the boy named Kenma, you both had a good time, apparently had some things in common.

"Then he left me in the tree for an hour."

"I should meet your friends, they seem interesting."

You laughed at Kenma's story, according to a very tall boy from his club, he left him on the branch of a tree to take a picture of him as if he were a kitten but forgot to come back for him.

"Your friends also seem… curious."

"Believe me, you couldn't bear to spend much time with them."

[King_Oikawa: i just finished my house]

[King_Oikawa: mattsun and Iwa will be paying the team a dinner!!]

[Mattsun777: sorry dude, i don't think so]

A 'tss' followed by an in-game explosion was heard, the characters of Kenma and you looked at each other silently wondering the same thing in their minds.

"Did they just blow up the house of that 'King Oikawa'?"

"Yeah, they're betting."

"I guess they take it very seriously."

"No one wants to pay a dinner for the entire team."

"Understandable."

You two continued to ignore the boys chatting about Oikawa's house, while you asked your online friend for help to build something like an area so they could fight for that dinner. The rest of the team seemed to be starting to understand the game more so they were exploring everything without any help from their manager.

"Kenma, are you playing again?"

A faint voice came over the call, as Kenma's character stopped.

"Don't you have to bother Lev or something?"

"No, I like to bother you." the voice was getting closer to the microphone "Are you playing with someone else?"

"Yes."

You laughed at the clear irritation of your recent friend, catching the newcomer's attention.

"Hey? Are you playing with a girl?"

"Yeah, and she's listening to you, so shut up."

"Hello! I'm Ku-"

There was a blow followed by curses, several whispers, and finally Kenma spoke again, irritation spilling over his tone.

"I'm disconnecting now, my friend is very annoying."

"Okay, see you Kenma."

"Bye (N)."

Before he could hang up you heard a scream over the line.

"Now I know her name!"

Returning to your team who were still arguing over who should pay, you decided that was enough. You went through all the houses not understanding how Mattsun and Makki had built a bunker out of diamond blocks, Kunimi and Kindaichi had accidentally burned down their house for trying to make a Nether portal, or how Kyotani was chasing Yahaba with a bucket of lava because apparently he had accidentally killed Kentaro's dog. You blinked a few times to laugh out loud hitting your desk and inadvertently joining the voice call again.

"What is (N) laughing at?"

"From your trash home Iwa-chan."

"The only garbage here is you."

[Iwaplay has killed King_Oikawa]

"Hey! That's cheating."

When your laughing fit stopped, you were able to speak correctly, still with a mocking smile on face, trying to stabilize yourself, since it began to hurt your chest from laughing so much.

"Guys, why are your houses totally blown up?"

Apparently neither Iwaizumi nor Oikawa were near their houses because just hearing what you said they screamed in surprise.

"WHAT?"

"NOO my house dude!"

#manager miniseries #manager series #miniseries #seijoh x reader #seijoh #aoba josai x reader #aoba josai #haikyuu xreader #haikyuu x fem!reader #reader insert #kentaro #kindaichi #minecraft #oikawa #iwaizumi #yahaba #matsukawa #hanamaki #kenma #haikyuu #haikyuu x manager reader #fem reader

[iwaizumis-bitch]

CHAPTER TWO

series masterlist | prev > next wc | 584

you slipped the coins into the slot, humming a tune as you grabbed the milk from the bottom slot. you still had a sinking feeling in your stomach, the doctors had explained hinata's injury relatively well but worry still gnawed inside of you at the thought of shoyo missing out of the olympics he's longed for playing in since he was a child.

you let out a small yawn as you stepped out of the elevator. you were sure there were purple bags forming under your eyes, you had only slept for a few hours, tossing and turning in the waiting room chair. you could see hinata's room door was slightly ajar, and you could hear an unfamiliar voice coming from inside. you gently knocked on the door, making your prescence known as you slipped in.

'i bring beverages', you say in a sing songy tone, attempting to lift the mood in the room. your cheeks immediately fluster when you notice the unfamiliar face in the room, who you'd clearly just cut off. you stepped off to the side next to yachi, spurring on the handsome stranger to continue his sentence.

you silently slipped the carton of milk to tobio, who threw you an appreciative smile. your eyes flicked back to the man sat next to shoyo. he had on a dark blue polo, and you could see a small japanese flag above his left peck. you quickly deduced he was someone with the japanese team, here to check up on the ginger. he had short, dark, spiky hair, and black slacks adorned his lower half. he leaned over to probe at hinata's calf, feeling around for any further aches and sensitive spots.

you noticed the expensive watch on his wrist, and how the muscle of his biceps and triceps fought against the cotton of his shirt. suddenly, you felt more self conscious of your appearance. you tucked your hair behind your ears, trying to untangle the knots that had formed. you pressed your lips together, and your eyes caught shoyo's for a second.

you held out the drink, giving him a look asking if he wanted it or not. his brown eyes beamed and he nodded eagerly, happy to get his fix of juice. you unscrewed the cap, quickly bringing the drink over to the man sat up in the hospital bed. taking in a sharp breath, you muttered a meek 'excuse me', slipping between the man in the polo and the hospital bed. your eyes fluttered back to the blackette, unable to resist a glance at his handsome face.

shit. he was looking right at you with such an intense gaze. his olive green eyes were drilling into your own, eyebrows furrowed and jaw protruding. he raised an eyebrow as he caught you staring, and your stomach dropped.

your stomach wasn't the only thing that had been dropped though, as when you finally broke your gaze there was a puddle of juice on the floor, soaking into your socks and into the cuffs of your jeans. you slapped a hand over your mouth, heart thumping as you let out a weak 'sorry', before making a dash out of the room.

run and run you did, only stopping to unlock your car door, throwing yourself in the back seats and covering your face in your hands. your phone was already buzzing in your back pocket, and you couldn't start to think of all of the texts flaming you which were yet to come.

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