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tohrutetsumu · 9 months

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"you're going out again," you say, and your roommate, kuroo, laughs a little.

"i am," he replies, reaching for his shoes. "that's allowed, right? you didn't write up that bedtime rule just yet?"

it's allowed and there's not really a bedtime rule, but for some reason, you kind of want him home. call it selfishness or jealousy or whatever, but, recently, there's been a little ball that forms in the pit of your stomach every time he walks out the door after 11 PM.

"no, no it's still in revision. i think i'll have it ready next week." you grin, a little halfheartedly you'll admit. "it'll be on the fridge when it's done."

and he laughs, "thank god. we need a little structure around here. if you haven't noticed you're an animal."

you could hit him, you think, just for a moment.

"ah of course, because i'm the one who has weird midnight escapades, right?"

"right," he says, tugging his lip between his teeth. "gotta do anything i can to keep you contained."

kuroo pulls his shoe onto his foot and, as he searches for his wallet, you find yourself inching your way towards the front door. you're not really sure what your big plan is here, but, for some reason, body blocking seems like a great start—at least for the moment, anyway.

"you gonna uh-" he sways one of his hands back and forth in a little shooing motion while the other stuffs his wallet into his back pocket.

you eye him, "okay, but what if i have a nightmare? like a terrible horrible one where everyone i love dies." you pause for dramatic effect, "you included."

"then you call me," he says, a little smile creeping up his lips. "y'know, like you always do?"

"but tetsurou i mean like, bad. like, really bad. like, plane crash, shipwreck, my-worst-nightmare kind of bad. what's a phone call gonna do then?"

"what's me being here gonna do then."

"oh, you know." you're pretty sure he doesn't, and you really don't either if we're being honest here. "human touch? a helping hand? a little oh my beloved roommate it is just so sorrowful to see you like this maybe?"

"is that what i sound like in your head?"

you laugh, "sometimes."

"right now?"

"maybe."

kuroo shakes his head a little, plucking his keys off the hook before he begins to nudge you away from the door.

"you're gonna be fine," he says. "promise."

(so much for a great plan)

"and if i'm not?" he tilts his head at you and you jut out your bottom lip, holding on to any chance of pleading with him you have.

"i don't know, you got life insurance?"

"oh fuck you," you say, and he laughs.

"i'm kidding. really though, what's gotten into you?"

that, you think, is a really good question. if this conversation happened a month ago, you'd be pushing him out the door—all six feet and five inches (he insisted you knew that the moment you moved in together) of him in one fell swoop. you'd be begging for kuroo to get out of this apartment—and you'd be reveling in the alone time you'd get after he was gone—but, lately, seeing him go makes your skin crawl a little.

and you know well enough that's not because of some stupid nightmares you've been having—it's because you hate to see him go. you like having him around and you like talking to him and you like the idea of him spending the night with you instead of whatever girl from his organic chem class hit on him this week.

(and that's not to say you're one to slut shame—you're just jealous. bitterly, terribly, jealous.)

but that, you think as you work it out in your little head, is entirely your own problem, and really no reason for you to drag him down with you.

"it's nothing, really." you back away from the door, squeezing between kuroo and the handle. "i should let you go."

"no wait," he turns, facing the path you were planning to use to escape, and you halt. "you're freaking me out—i'm worried about you."

"i said it's nothing, tetsurou. i was being stupid, just go." you wave your hand out in front of you, motioning for the door.

"i'm not gonna leave you here if there's something—"

"go."

"but i don't think it's—"

"go," you repeat, and he pauses.

you scrunch your brows at him, hoping maybe that'll get him off your case. at least that way you could go lie in your room and pretend you hate him or something.

"no," he says finally. "i'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's up."

"tetsurou-" you start.

and he says your name, a little quieter than you'd usually expect from him, "just tell me."

you would like to say you consider what you're going to say to him for a moment. that you come up with something really wonderful and articulate and well-thought-out enough to get you out of this situation; you don't.

"i like you, stupid. i really, really like you and watching you go makes me—upset, that's all."

he grins, big, wide, and toothy, "you like me?"

the reality of what you said sets in a little as you watch his teeth poke out from behind his lips, and part of you wishes you could take it back. he's never going to let you live this down and you know it.

"not if you keep looking at me like that."

"you like me," he replies—same phrase, different emphasis.

"i do," you say.

"that's adorable."

you eye him, "don't baby me, big guy."

"no, no it's not even like that i just—" he stares at you for a second before he leans forward, holding your jaw between his fingers.

his eyes run over your face, your nose, your lips, and you feel your skin melting in his hands. he waits there, pulling his lip between his teeth again."

"can i?" he says finally, a little spark lighting up in his eyes.

you nod (as enthusiastically as you can with your jaw held in place), and then he leans forward, crashing his lips into yours.

and listen, you'd spent a lot of time thinking about what kissing kuroo would be like—more so than you'd ever care to admit—but it's nothing like you'd imagined. there's no honey on his tongue or fire in his mouth, but it's him. in some indescribably, stupidly-appealing sort of way, it's him.

he moves like tetsurou and he tastes like tetsurou and he runs his tongue along your bottom lip in a way that nearly takes you off your feet before he pulls away.

"you okay?" he asks, huffing a little breath from his throat.

and i'm okay, is what you say before he smiles.

"good, 'cause i really wanna do that again."

#im HHHHH #.fic rec sfw

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

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Hihi i saw ur request box was open & i just couldnt resist! A big confession to make here, uhh ive been such a big fan of u and yr writings and also u were the v first fanfic blog i came across a couple years ago so yea, u literally open my third eye to a whole new world of fics👉👈 🥺

i feel like you havent written angst in a while–and bc i miss ur angsty haikyuu fics– sooo could i request post-breakup college!au with atsumu or iwai (honestly anyone who'd best fit the scenario cuz i trust ur characterization👌) abt the aftermath of the breakup, them seeing us on campus and unconsciously following us with their eyes, reschin to help out on instinct only to realize theyre no longer together, thinking about what could've been just reminisce reminisce

ahhhh im sry honestly dont know how to expand more on the idea

thank you for stealing my ficvirginity😃

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 2.1k content contains exes still in love, college!au, mutual pining author's notes hi <3 i remember you (eycee, right?). don't be a stranger! you can always dm me and say hello :) thank you for the constant support. not sure if this fic is angsty enough, but i wanted yours to be the first req i do <3

“Hi, welcome in! Let me know if— Oh.”

Your voice falters, recognition and maybe even something similar to embarrassment flits across your face, and a split second later, you go back to smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you haven’t spent the better half of this month actively avoiding each other at all costs, even though the sprawling acres of the University of Tokyo suddenly feels too small. The entirety of Japan has felt too small ever since it became his mission to never cross paths with you ever again.

This mission of his started just a little over two weeks ago, on the very same day you decide to use his heart as your own punching bag. The worst part of it all, though, is the fact that he doesn’t even hold any type of contempt for you. It’s a cruel sort of joke; sometimes, Atsumu Miya feels like everything bad that happens to him is just some sort of sick punchline in a sitcom instead of real life.

Usually, when girlfriends find out their high school sweetheart is going to be a wildly successful (and rich) professional athlete, they’ll do anything in their power to hang onto him.

You decided to snip the invisible string tying the two of you together, and you did it so effortlessly, so quickly, that Atsumu had to make sure that he hadn’t been imagining the last four years of your relationship.

He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s torn between staring at you like a total creep or looking at everything in the campus bookstore but you. He settles for the former, scared that this will be his last opportunity to really look at you.

Neither of you is saying anything. It’s a Saturday and so no one else is even in the bookstore this morning, and Atsumu wants to say something, anything, but he’s never been that great at carefully picking his words, and he’s scared out of his mind that he’ll say something stupid and prove once and for all that you had been right to break up with him. Better yet, he wants you to say something. He wants you to give him a better explanation instead of the bullshit you told him in his apartment.

We just want different things.

What does that even mean? He thinks he would have shouted out that question, if only your little break up speech hadn’t caught him so off guard. Different things? The two of you wanted different things? Sure, Atsumu likes to sleep in a freezing cold apartment, and you need the room to actually be at a reasonable temperature. And maybe Atsumu has a penchant for overly fried, greasy foods when all you want (and deserve) is a fancy dinner. Maybe Atsumu wants to be at a sports store instead of browsing aisle after aisle in Sephora, but he doubts these different wants have accumulated so much that you felt you had no choice but to break his heart.

“Hey, Miya.” You say it softly, dropping the perky customer service voice you greeted him with before you turned around and realized who he was. And he flinches. He fucking visibly cringes at the way you speak to him, walking on eggshells and going back to formalities like he’s barely above a stranger to you.

Miya.

(Did you know that he wanted to make that your last name?

Do you know that he still does, even now?)

“Hey,” he replies back, curling his fingers into fists inside his pocket. He thinks his voice comes out all scratchy, like how it always sounds when you don’t use your voice nearly enough. He clears his throat awkwardly. Everything feels awkward; everything feels wrong. He says “hey”, but what he really means to say is please don’t call me Miya; you know the color of my toothbrush, you don’t have to call me Miya.

“Were you looking for something?”

You.

Subconsciously, Atsumu finds himself seeking you out. He walks by another girl on campus and almost breaks his neck with the speed he turns around to catch a whiff of the perfume wafting from her body because he swears it’s the same fragrance you favor. He walks by the building that houses all the classrooms for your specific major, even though it’s located on the opposite side of his own classes because he secretly hopes against all hope that he’ll run into you, and you’ll see him and fall in love with him again. He goes to the same restaurants the two of you frequently ate at together, and he orders your usual because you can never finish your entire meal and always have him finish off the leftovers for you (and the food is always good, but somehow it doesn’t taste the same when your utensils haven’t touched it first). And he doesn’t even need to be here, doesn’t even care enough about his stupid class to go out of his way to buy the study guide, but he knows you’ve started picking up the weekend shifts at the campus bookstore, and suddenly, he cares enough about passing to get the damn study guide.

He shrugs. “Just some stupid workbook to study for an upcoming exam, but it’s not that serious.”

“Oh. Is Dr. Furata giving you a hard time again?”

“How do you do that?” Atsumu blurts out, wanting to kick himself for giving too much of himself away. You already own every centimeter of his heart and maybe his soul. You don’t need anything else from him; he’s almost certain there’s nothing left for him to give you, but he can’t help but impulsively ask the damn question that’s been running through his mind ever since you left him behind.

Did you know that when you’re confused, your brows furrow together, and you get this adorable, endearing crinkle in between them? Do you know that he still finds that same expression as cute as he did when you still called yourself his girlfriend?

“What are you talking about?”

How can you just stand there and act like you never crushed his heart? How do you wake up in the morning and not feel like your life is missing something important, like you’ll never feel whole again? How can you keep him wrapped around your finger, and then have the audacity to not even realize it? How did you let him go so quickly?

Practicing caution, he swallows hard before clarifying, “How do you know everything?” Because if you can act like he’s just a polite acquaintance, like he’s nothing more than another fellow classmate, he can try to play pretend too. He can act like there’s not enough history between the two of you to fill up every damn textbook in this stupid store. “Yeah, Dr. Furata’s been on everyone’s ass. Somethin’ about midterm grades being worth a quarter of our overall grade.”

“Believe me, you’re not the first victim of Dr. Furata’s to come wandering in the store. I think I have a few more of the workbooks he suggested in stock. Let me go check.”

It’s instinct at this point for Atsumu to just follow you. If he uses his imagination, it’s almost like he’s back to browsing in a makeup store, walking aimlessly in every aisle, following you loyally because he’s happy to have you lead the way and he doesn’t care where he ends up, so long as you’re there with him.

But this isn’t an afternoon date with you. This is him following a bookstore employee. After you find that study guide, which is really nothing more than his flimsy excuse for seeking you out, you’re going to ask him “card or cash?”, ring him up at the register, and he’s going to walk out that door and have to act like he’s still not in love with you. All the while, you’re doing fine. You’re fine right now, and you’re going to be fine when he leaves, and you’re probably going to be fine, five years down the line, when you’re happy with someone else and Atsumu is alone because in this little hypothetical, he still hasn’t gotten over you.

He is trailing behind you in this bookstore, and your back is facing him, and he’s panicking because he doesn’t think he’s capable of not loving you.

Just two weeks ago, you knew him better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than Osamu, perhaps even better than he knows himself. Now, you just give him a polite smile as you grab the small stool to reach the books located at the very top of the shelf.

“God, I hate the way we organize everything in the store.” You say, lightheartedly complaining. He knows you do. He knows because he’s known you for nearly a decade. The two of you have grown up together. You made this same complaint sprawled out on the couch in his apartment.

When he doesn’t reply, you look down to see if something’s the matter, only to do it too quickly that you find yourself losing your balance. Before you can come crashing to the floor, Atsumu is quick to catch you, and you pretend that his protective embrace isn’t comforting. You pretend not to notice that he’s wearing the cologne you bought him for Christmas last year, and you continue to pretend that you don’t miss him at all, that you don’t still love him.

And for a second, the two of you both pretend that you’re still with each other. That it’s perfectly okay to savor this intimate moment, that his arms wrapped around your body right now isn’t awkward in the slightest. He’s staring at you with a sort of starstruck, boylike wonder, and it’s so familiar, so sweet, because it’s the way he always used to look at you. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, and—

The loud ring! interrupts whatever moment the two of you are sharing, and you nearly jump out of his arms. You hear the distinct footsteps of another student, and you adjust your shirt before remembering where the two of you are — what the two of you are. Not a couple. Barely even friends. Just a bookstore employee and a student that needs a book. That’s all the two of you are allowed to be.

“I should probably go check up front and make sure they don’t need any help.” You tell him, biting down on your lip. “Anyway, did you need anything else, or would you like me to check you out right now?”

He blinks a few times, as if still in a daze. “Uh, yeah, sure.” The tips of his ears are flushed a light pink. “Y-yeah, I’m done here.”

The two of you practically race each other to the front of the store, and you step behind the counter to scan his workbook. He drums his fingers, looking around the store. When he’s nervous, he likes to be moving. You know this.

Just looking for an excuse to use his hands, Atsumu mindlessly picks a pack of gum off a nearby rack and slides it towards you so you can also scan it. You know you shouldn’t say it. You know it’s supposed to be a clean break. Instead, you tell him,

“Actually, if you want, I have the fruit variety flavor.”

“Huh?” This catches his attention.

You reach into one of the boxes that have just been shipped to the store, rummaging through a tiny one before revealing a shiny, new package of gum, this one advertising all the flavors based on tropical fruits. “Would you rather have this one?”

“Oh, yeah!” As if truly forgetting what the two of you actually are (exes, strangers with too much history, two people still pretending like they’re not in love), his eyes light up. “How did you kno—” He doesn’t finish the question. He knows the answer to the question.

You’re quick to finish ringing him up, the “polite strangers” illusion being completely shattered. It’s obvious, really, that there are always going to be parts of Atsumu that still live deep inside of you. You can only hope that this isn’t the case for him.

You hand him the bag, and when he grabs it from you, your fingers just barely graze each other’s. Atsumu is scared — scared that this might be the last time he ever feels your touch.

And because you’re a glutton for punishment, you find yourself telling him,

“Don’t be a stranger.”

You can’t tell who’s more devastated: you or him.

#cuts deep like a knife #my heart is YEARNING #.fic rec nsfw

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

Note

“she fell first, but he fell harder” with any inarizaki boy of your liking please! 🩵 have a good day~

pairing rintarou suna x f!reader word count 2.6k content contains mutual pining, tutor!au, right person/wrong time, bittersweet ending, unrequited love, slight angst author’s notes maybe not what u anticipated hehe

You don’t look up from your book even though the slamming of a bookbag on top of the table obnoxiously announces the arrival of another student, one who’s obviously going to take the seat next to yours.

“Hey—” So it’s a boy then.

“—can I ask you for a favor?”

Now you look up, partially annoyed that he’s interrupted you while you were in the middle of reading a particularly interesting paragraph, but more curious than not. You tilt your head, taking him in. Of course, you know Rintarou Suna — it’s hard for any student in the school not to know him. But just because you’re aware of his existence — and if you dare to allow yourself to be bold enough, you think he’s aware of your own — doesn’t exactly make the two of you chummy enough to ask each other for favors on a Tuesday morning.

You must have a bad poker face because he raises both hands in mock surrender. “Look, just hear me out. I need to pass this English class or my coach and captain won’t sign off on allowing me to play in the next few matches. I’ve seen the rankings; you’re top of our class. You know this shit a lot better than I do.”

A beat passes.

Two startling and equally scary revelations:

Now that you’re finally seeing him up close, Suna’s eyes are a much lighter shade than you thought they were. (Not that you’ve given his eyes much thought up until now, anyway.) It suits him. And,

Suna is absolutely aware of your existence.

“I’ll owe you one.” He says, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s playing at being nonchalant, but you can see it in those lighter-than-you-thought eyes of his that he’s practically pleading with you.

“I want you to convince Atsumu Miya to do an interview for the school paper.” You finally say.

Raised eyebrows is the closest thing you’ll get to seeing emotion on his face, you think. “Done.” And then, “Why Atsumu?”

“He’s not an easy person to get a hold of, but I know being the first person to ever interview him will probably mean something in the future.”

He nods, taking it in. “So it’s not because you’ve got a crush on him?”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not; his voice and facial expression give nothing away. Shifting a bit in your seat, you frown. “No. His bad dye job makes him an eyesore.”

The corners of Suna’s mouth curve up at that.

ii.

“I didn’t know you wrote for the school paper,” Suna says.

“I’m the president of the club.” You push a paper covered in red pen marks, all of them corrections and criticisms against him. “Suna, we’ve been going at this for almost two weeks now. How have you barely improved?”

“Maybe you’re just not a good tutor.” You can read him well enough to know that he’s only joking. “You wanna be a journalist or somethin’?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. At least pretend to look over your paper.” Sighing because you know he won’t actually do anything unless you appease him, you shrug. “I want to be a sports reporter.”

“So that’s why you were so excited to meet with Atsumu!” You don’t expect him to actually be invested in your life, but you excuse his exclamation as him being bored out of his mind and savoring any distraction he can get.

The idea of being just a pleasant distraction from the pain of schoolwork makes you feel weird.

iii.

As you near the two-month mark since your tutoring sessions began, you make progress with Suna. He’s funnier than you realize, both of you sharing the same dry sense of humor that has jokes that can only properly be delivered if you say it with a straight face. He’s shown you about 200 of the images and videos cluttering his camera roll, and you pretend there’s no intimacy in that. His grades in English have substantially gotten better, to the point where you’re certain one day he’s going to decide that he doesn’t need tutoring anymore.

(For some reason, that makes you kind of sad.)

For now, you’re content to just be sitting next to him, both of you silently working on your assignments. He’s rewriting his essay due tomorrow (he’s a bit of a procrastinator, really) and you on your latest article for the school paper. The silence in the library — the silence wrapping the two of you together — is surprisingly comfortable.

Sometimes, Suna can’t make it to the tutoring sessions, and you pretend that it doesn’t matter. You just shrug and smile and move on. After the third time he does, he confesses that it’s because he’s seeing someone.

We’re just talking, he tells you. But you know that he must really like her because Suna doesn’t usually waste his breath talking about things he doesn’t care to talk about. He’s the one who brought her up completely unprompted. You actually would have been more than okay with remaining completely oblivious to whoever Suna decides to enter the talking stage with.

He yawns, stretching his arms while he does so.

It should be illegal, you decide, for someone so out of reach to still be so close to you. If you shifted your body back against your chair, nothing would stop the inevitability of his outstretched fingers brushing against your hair. The thought of that happening makes you far more excited than it should.

(He never tells you when they stop talking, but you know when they do because somewhere in between all these tutoring sessions, you started to learn him.)

iv.

“You really think I’m just messin’ around?” He’s got his elbow resting on the library table, cheek and chin laying against the open palm of his hand. When Suna smiles, it’s a little crooked, almost like a smirk, yet warm enough to cause heat to rise to your cheeks, especially when he’s smiling and staring at you like that, like you’re the one person he actually wants to see.

“You’re always messing around,” You point out.

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” There’s that familiar pleading look in his eyes that contains enough superhuman strength to pound away at your steely resolve. It’s the same look he gave you all those months ago when you two were nothing more than classmates exchanging favors. It’s the same damn look that got you caught up in all sorts of messes: rearranging your schedule to tutor him, suddenly spending more time making sure you look good for school, rejecting the other guy who first asked you the same question Suna’s asking now…

“I’m serious. Please go to the dance with me.”

“You didn’t even give me chocolate or flowers.” You manage to say, trying to ignore the pleased sensation that overtakes your body. It’s a different reaction from what you felt when your other classmate asked, and he at least had the decency to bring you your favorite drink from the vending machine when he did it. “This doesn’t seem like a very serious request.”

He snorts. “Would you have even wanted me to show up to homeroom with a poster and a bouquet and the twins serenading you as I asked you to a school dance?”

He knows you well enough that an extravagant proposal like that would have you wanting to run into the nearest bathroom stall and lock yourself in there until school ended. The fact that he knows you would hate anything remotely close to that, less dramatic or not, makes you agree to go with him.

(Perhaps he’s spent these tutoring sessions learning you, as well.)

“Hey!”

You turn around at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling when he comes into view. Donned in the same oversized gown, graduation cap hanging from one hand, Rintarou Suna is smiling back at you.

“Knew you would graduate top of our class. Congratulations.”

“And you were ranked within the top twenty. Being a volleyball star just wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

It feels good to be out here, freshly graduated and knowing the rest of the world is out there, just beyond the boundaries of your high school. The heat is getting the best of everyone wearing the thick graduation gowns, but instead of looking like a sweaty mess like the rest of you mere mortals, Rintarou just seems to shine, as if he’s made for summer. His hair sticks up, probably an effect of being stuffed in the cap for so long, and you find yourself pressing down on his hair. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help him tame his cowlick, and the action is so familiar, that it doesn’t even catch him off guard.

“My tutor carried.” He says, grinning at you.

(You feel considerably warmer now, and it’s not because of the sun.)

The laugh you give him makes his grin only grow wider. You sound equal parts pleased and surprised, just like how you always do whenever he decides to randomly compliment you. Is it bad that he wants to make you laugh like this for the rest of his life?

Before he can make a proper quip, one that will surely have you laughing even harder, someone is gently tugging you away from him.

“Hey, babe, my parents wanted to get pictures of us together.” And then, as if realizing Suna’s right there even though he’s tall enough to be hard to miss and close enough to tug you back towards him, the boy stares at him. “Oh, hey. Suna, right?”

Everyone here pretends as if it’s not already obvious that you all know each other.

“Congrats on nationals, man.”

“Thanks.” Suna says, without sounding the least bit thankful, even though he should be. He thought the two of you broke up already, and he’s been preparing for how he’s going to confess his feelings for you for the past two months now. At least now, he won’t have to suffer your rejection and embarrass himself for making a move on a taken girl.

“C’mon, my mom’s going to hate us if we keep her waiting any longer.” Your boyfriend is holding your hand, leading you toward wherever his parents are. You turn your head, looking like you want to say something to Rintarou, anything at all, but instead you give him a shrug and a small smile.

He keeps that smile of yours tucked safely in his pocket, not knowing that it’ll be a few more years until he gets to see it again.

vi.

Staying in touch is hard, but Suna is nothing if not stubborn. A random TikTok sent to you at 2 AM here, an attempt to meet for lunch if the two of you are in the same city at the same time there.

Getting drunk from your high school reunion and sneaking into the library the two of you spent the better half of your high school years pining after each other in is the most fun Suna’s had in years. The two of you are lying on the plush carpet, too drunk to care about how dirty it must be.

“Gosh, we spent so much time in this place.” You’re looking up at the ceiling, tacky glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to it, remnants left behind by students who graduated way before you two.

“Some of the happiest times of my life.” He’s being too honest without realizing it.

You laugh, thinking he’s just joking because you always think he’s joking every time he tries to hint at his feelings for you. Feelings that didn’t hit him until he realized how pretty you are, even with your hair tied back and your bottom lip being bitten to death by your teeth as you type away at an article none of the students in this school will even bother to read. Feelings that he wished he confessed to you on the dancefloor, when the two of you slow danced, and you asked him are we doing this as friends? and he didn’t have the balls to say anything but of course it’s as friends.

“Yeah, I bet having me roast the shit out of every paper you wrote was the highlight of your second year.”

“It’s because it was you doing it that made me so happy.”

You laugh even louder at that. “Oh my God, Rin, you’re such a sap when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not just sayin’ shit just to say it, y’know? I mean it.” He tries his hardest to make the sincerity in his words stick, but he’s drunk, and his words are kind of slurred, and his intentions just slip and slide away. “I liked you back then.” Still do, he doesn’t say. I still like you.

“No way, really?” You turn to face him, wide-eyed with a tipsy smile on your face that lets him know that you just don’t know how serious he is right now. “Because I had the biggest crush on you in high school too!”

He always assumed the feelings were returned, but the possibility that they weren’t — that him confessing would just fuck up your friendship and have you leave him — was too large for him to risk it. Swallowing hard, he asks,

“Did you… Did you ever think we would end up together? Back then, I mean?”

You hum, too inebriated and maybe too distant to him now to recognize the pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted us to, but then I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell you would actually like me back. Gosh, this was all so long ago, though. I can’t believe we used to like each other, isn’t that so funny, Rin?”

The used to reveals enough to him.

vii.

You’ve made a name for yourself now. You’re not just a mere sports reporter (he doesn’t know that he’s the first person you confessed your dream career to), but every professional volleyball team in Japan has deemed you their favorite reporter to see out on court. Rintarou blames the fluttering of his heart and the excitement that floods him every time he sees you at one of his games on your popularity, but he sees through his own flimsy excuse.

You don’t show favoritism when it comes to conducting your post-game interviews, but tonight, you’re standing in front of the camera with him, smiling up at him with a microphone in your hand. He’s happy you’re here, but the only question he cares to answer is the what if? that’s been haunting him ever since that reunion. What if he confessed in high school? What if he sobered up after that night and told you the truth? Would this interview be different, then? Would you still say,

“Congratulations on a game well played!”

And would he still say,

“I heard some more congratulations are in order.” He’s giving you the same lopsided smile he always gives you, the smile that rests on his face yet belongs to only you. It’s all anyone could talk about. Pictures of you flood his timeline; his teammates, other players, and sports fans alike all were overjoyed at your happy announcement. You didn’t just win his heart over, but a good portion of Japan’s as well.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

You smile at him, practically beaming, shining so much brighter than these stadium lights, and he holds onto this one even tighter. A smile just for him, placed right next to the memory of the one you’d given him at graduation.

#no but i cried #ALEXA PLAY THE 1 BY TAYLOR SWIFT #.fic rec sfw

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

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bbq with team japan!!

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

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🤘🤘🤘

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

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I always forget to upload here too wh-

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tohrutetsumu · 1 year

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you proposed to kuroo.

and he thinks that's funny, really—because he's all grand gestures and pretty rings and getting down on one knee, and you asked him to marry you in the kitchen while he was unpacking a box of dishware.

not that he has anything against the kitchen, of course; it's all shiny and new and picked just for you, after all, but you look nervous and a little like you just popped a tetsu do you wanna marry me? from your mouth. though, he supposes you did, so maybe that isn't all that unfounded.

"you mean like eventually, or?" he can feel you roll your eyes.

"i mean like—i don't know, after we plan a wedding?" you say, and kuroo grins.

"oh, so you want me to be your fiancé?"

and there's a moment where a little cloud of what he thinks might annoyance flashes across your face, and he considers that maybe he could be teasing you a little too much. but then you turn a little red and sink your teeth into your lip and spill out a little yeah, i do and, truthfully, he's never been so smitten for someone in his entire life.

"if you're not ready or your don't want to or i just ruined everything you can say no." you slide a box of dishes onto the counter, pulling the top open. "i just—i don't know, tetsurou. i wanna marry you."

he finds this funny. hilarious even.

and it's not because he doesn't want to marry you or that there's any way in hell he's going to say no; it's because you're nervous. you're reaching into that box and pulling out the dishes and sorting them into little piles while you're asking him to marry you. he keeps trying to catch your gaze, but every time he turns towards you, you turn away.

"i wanna marry you too," he says finally. "i have for a while actually."

"you do?" you pause for a minute, pushing a stack of dishes away from you, and you turn. "are you sure?"

and part of him wants to laugh a little more. to look and you and ask how that could ever come as a surprise to you? how could you ever think that he, in any instance, wouldn't want to marry you? because, truly, if not you, then who else?

he knows what shampoo you buy and how you like your tea—even if he forgets sometimes. he buys foods you love, even if they aren't his favorite, just because he knows they make you happy. he begged you to move in with him—and he means begged you—because the idea of not spending every day with you made him feel a little ill.

he's in love with you. hopelessly, bitterly so—and there's no one in the world he would rather marry.

and he'd tell you that now, he'd love to actually, but that would be stripping away too much of his future vows for his own good.

"baby," he says instead. "i have a ring."

and he can see the way you choke a little—the way your face turns a little red and you look like you want to say something but you just can't, so instead, he raises a finger in the air and scurries off to his room—your room now—and pulls a little box from the bedside table.

he holds it in front of you then—a little black box with a ring propped up in the middle—and, in true kuroo fashion, he sinks to his knee.

"marry me?" he hums, a little laughter spilling from your lips. "even though you already asked?"

and you smile, "oh, you had to steal my shining moment, didn't you?"

he shrugs, "i think it's part of my charm. so—marry me?"

you hold your hand out in front of you, dangling your little ring finger towards the box.

"just put the ring on my finger, tetsu," you say, and he is more than willing to oblige. "but—when people ask, it was all me."

"yeah, yeah, all you." he plucks the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger. "they'll be too busy telling you how wonderful your fiancé is to ask."

"oh of course they will." you throw a hand into his shoulder. "too busy looking at the rock on my finger to even care who proposed."

"exactly, you get it." he lifts himself from the ground, planting a little kiss to your forehead as he reaches his feet. "but if it comes down to it, all you."

you grin—toothy and wide and so much of the girl he fell in love with. "all me."

#.fave!#.fic rec sfw

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