You got a date tonight and Stiles isn't having it. You mentioned it once at school and now he won't shut up about it.
The first time you mentioned the date, it was casual. Too casual.
You were leaning against your locker, half-focused on shoving your books inside while Lydia talked about something you were only pretending to understand. It slipped out between sentences. “Oh, yeah, I have a date tonight.”
You didn’t even think twice about it.
Stiles did.
“Wait—what?” His voice cut through the hallway noise like a record scratch, sharp and immediate. You barely had time to blink before he was in front of you, eyes wide, brows furrowed like you’d just announced you were moving to another planet.
“A date,” you repeated. Slower this time, like that would somehow make it less of a big deal. “You know. Dinner. Person. Conversation. Normal human behavior?”
“That is not normal,” he shot back instantly. “Not for you. I mean—not that you’re not dateable! You are very dateable. Extremely dateable, actually. That’s not...” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Who is it?”
You gave him a look. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he said quickly. “I just...care. Like… concern. General concern for your safety. And your dignity. And your- your evening plans.”
“Stiles."
“And what kind of date is it?” he pushed on, ignoring your warning tone to shut up. “Like a movie? Dinner? Because dinner is worse. Dinner means talking. Extended talking. What if they’re boring? What if they chew weird? What if they’re secretly a serial killer?”
“Stiles...It's your friend from chem class. Remember you gave him my number?”
Stiles cut you off.
“And second of all, why didn’t I know about this?” he added, genuinely offended. “I feel like I should’ve been consulted. Not that I’m saying I should approve it, but I’m also not-not saying that.”
You shut your locker with a sigh, turning to face him fully. “Stiles, it’s one date. One... Let me have one single night!"
“One date turns into two dates,” he blurted out. “Two dates turn into… I don’t know, hand holding and emotional attachment...and then suddenly I’m third wheeling my own.” He cut himself off abruptly, his jaw tightened for a split second before he forced a laugh, a very Stiles thigh to do... “You know what? No. It’s fine. Totally fine. Go on your gross, probably terrible date.”
You lifted your upper lip with slight disgust. “You’re going to be like this all day, aren’t you?”
“All day?” he repeated, voice higher. “Wow. You have a lot of faith in me. This is at least a week long process.”
A heavy breath left your mouth just before the bell rang, "yeah...no. You continue this for a week, I'll hit you with your own jeep, Stiles."
Stiles choked on air for a second, "nice. So nice. I'm just trying to watch over..." He paused, "watch—be there...for you."
He tripped over his words more and more. You were already half way across the hall by the time he finished. You shouted, "you know who it is so don't be worried!"
Stiles tapped his foot against the floor with agitation. Scott had texted him a few times from down the hall asking what the argument was about, but Stiles was too...stressed out to care about anything else. Anything but you.
Few hours later...
The knocking is uneven.
Not loud and not urgent. Just…wrong. Like whoever’s on the other side of the door doesn’t quite have the energy to do it properly.
Stiles almost ignores it.
He’s sprawled across his bed, one arm thrown over his face, phone balanced on his chest as he had scrolles mindlessly, trying very hard not to think about where you are right now. Or who you’re with. Or the fact that he is the one who set it up.
The knock comes again. Softer this time.
He sighs, dragging himself up. “Coming,” he calls, already coming from his room and downstairs. He sounded annoyed and distracted.
And then he opens the door. His heart drops to his stomach and he feels physically ill just seeing you.
Your makeup is smeared, your eyes red and glassy, tears still slipping down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away. Your hands are shaking, actually shaking. And for a second you don’t even look at him. You can’t.
“Hey...” His voice catches, the word collapsing in on itself as panic floods in. “Whoa, hey, what- what happened?”
That’s all it takes. Your face crumples.
“He was awful,” you choke out, the words breaking apart between sobs. “Stiles, he was—he was so rude and he kept...he wouldn’t stop talking about himself and- and he made fun of me and-” Your breath stutters, uneven, and you press a hand over your mouth like you can hold it all in. “I didn’t know how to leave.”
Guilt hits him so hard. Because of course he knows him. Of course he does. He saw your tears and heard your cries, it all made him feel sick to his stomach thinking he set you up with someone like that.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, barely audible now, like you’re the one who did something wrong. “I thought if you picked him, he’d be nice, and I just...I didn’t want to be mean or...”
“Hey. No. No, no, no.” Stiles steps forward, hands hovering before settling on your arms, grounding and careful. “Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t apologize. None of that is on you, okay? That’s...” He swallows hard, jaw tightening. “That’s on me.”
You finally look at him then. And that might be worse. Because there’s no anger in your expression. No accusation. Just hurt. Confusion. Trust that hasn’t quite realized it’s been taken for granted.
It twists something deep in his stomach.
“I thought you knew him,” you say softly, voice trembling. “I thought… if you said he was okay, then…”
His stomach drops. He did know him. Or at least he thought he did. Thought he was harmless...Not someone who would make you cry on his doorstep. Not someone who would make you look at him like this.
“I messed up,” he admits quietly, the words heavy and upset. “I really messed up.”
Your shoulders shake again, and that’s it, that’s all it takes before he’s pulling you inside and closing the door behind you
“Come here,” he mutters softly, guiding you toward his room. “You’re not staying out there. Not after that. Not tonight.”
You don’t argue. You just let him take you upstairs without a fight. Not that you have any energy to do so. And somehow that makes the guilt even worse.
Stiles doesn’t let go of you as he leads you upstairs.
His hand stays lightly at your back, like he’s afraid if he lets go completely, you might disappear or fall apart again. You don’t fight it. You don’t say anything. You just follow, quiet except for the occasional shaky breath you can’t quite hide.
His room is a mess.
It always is...but tonight, he notices it. Really notices it. The clothes on the chair, the scattered papers, the general chaos of it all. For a split second he looks almost embarrassed.
“Uh—ignore literally all of this,” he mutters, already moving to shove a pile of clothes off his bed and onto the floor. “I didn’t...this wasn’t exactly a planned, uh… emotional support situation.”
Despite everything, your lips twitch. Just barely. He catches it, and something in his chest loosens.
“Okay,” he says, a little softer now. “Okay, um—here.”
He moves quickly, crossing to his dresser and pulling it open, rifling through it with more focus than usual. His movements are a little frantic, a little too deliberate, like he needs to do something, fix something, make this better in any way he can.
“Clothes. You need… different clothes. Because those—” He glances at your outfit, immediately looking away again, jaw tightening. “Yeah. No. We’re fixing that.”
He pulls out an old lacrosse t-shirt, soft from too many washes, the lettering slightly faded. And a pair of grey sweats, worn in all the right places.
He hesitates for half a second before handing them to you.
“They’re clean,” he adds quickly. “I mean—I’m like, ninety percent sure they’re clean. Actually, no, that sounded bad. They are clean. I just—words are not—” He stops himself and exhales. “You can change in here. I’ll… go stand outside. Or downstairs. Or I’ll just not be in this room. That’s the point.”
You take the clothes from him, your fingers brushing his for just a second.
“Thank you,” you say quietly.
“Yeah,” he replies, just as soft. “Yeah, of course.”
He backs toward the door, pausing like he wants to say more, like there’s something sitting on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite force out. An apology, maybe. Or ten.
Instead he just gives you a small nod and steps out, pulling the door shut behind him.
The room is quiet for a moment. Then the sound of fabric shifting.
A zipper on your dress. A shaky breath.
Outside, Stiles leans back against the wall, dragging a hand down his face. His heart is still racing with guilt still clawing at his chest. But underneath all of that, there’s something else now.
Something he’s been trying not to name. Because the image of you crying at his door? The way you said you trusted him? The way you’re in his room right now, wearing his clothes...
That’s not just guilt. And that’s a whole different problem.
The door clicks open again just a crack, and Stiles’ head snaps up before he can stop himself.
You step out, wearing his old lacrosse t-shirt and the grey sweats, oversized and soft, hanging on you like they were made for comfort itself. The shirt falls halfway down your thighs, sleeves bunched around your wrists, hanging off a shoulder. Oh, he can’t stop staring.
“Uh…” His voice cracks halfway through the word. He clears his throat, shoving a hand through his hair like he’s trying to think, trying to act normal. “You. wow. You...um… that actually—yeah. That actually looks really—good. Really good.”
You glance down at yourself, tugging at the hem of the shirt self consciously. “It’s just—your clothes. They’re big.”
“Big,” he repeats, teasing the word. “Yeah, huge. Totally huge. Way too big. But… somehow not too big on you. Somehow perfect.”
You laugh softly, a little shaky, wiping at the last of your tears. It’s small, and he can tell you don’t mean it to be funny, but it breaks something open in him anyway. He takes a careful step closer, his hand hovering in the air, uncertain if he should reach for you.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You don’t have to be sad anymore, okay? Not here. Not with me. You’re—look at you—you’re safe. You’re… you’re amazing.”
Your chest tightens at the way he’s looking at you...like he’s seeing everything and trying not to let it break him too. The words he says are small, but they hit harder than anything else tonight.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, too soft. “I… I shouldn’t have...”
“Stop,” he interrupts, stepping closer until he’s just a few feet away. “No. No apologies. Not tonight. Not for anything. This was my screw up. I set this whole thing up and it went… horribly. And I’m sorry. But you? You’re not the one who messed up.”
You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together, and he takes that as his cue to finally close the space between you. Just a little, just enough so that the tips of your shoulders brush. You don’t pull back.
“Come here,” he murmurs, and this time it’s softer, coaxing. “Sit. Stay. Let me… let me make it better.”
You do. You sit on the edge of his bed, head slightly burrowed, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders. His other hand reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight and careful.
“You’re mine,” he says suddenly, almost to himself, and your head snaps up. His eyes are wide, honest, and a little panicked...because he didn’t plan to say it. He’s not even sure what he means by it yet but the words are out.
“I mean… you’re mine. Not in a weird, possessive way. Just… in the only way that matters. You trust me, you’re here with me, and I’m not letting anyone… anyone make you feel like tonight happened to you, okay? I’ve got you.”
You blink at him, heart thudding so hard it’s almost painful. You’ve never seen him like this. So vulnerable, serious, intense, and just… yours.
Stiles Stilinski, with his chaotic energy and endless talking, suddenly feels like the safest place you could ever be.
He doesn’t let go. Not yet....If you let him get away with it.
He gently guides you to lie back on his bed, pulling the oversized shirt down so it covers you comfortably. His arm curves around your shoulders, holding you close, while the other hand absently brushes your hair back.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “you look… really good in my clothes. Like… way too good. I might start charging admission for this view.”
You let out a small shaky laugh, the sound breaking the tension that’s been squeezing around your chest all night. “Is that your way of flirting or just being ridiculous?”
“Both,” he admits immediately, smirking despite the worry still in his eyes. “Mostly both. But also—” He hesitates, eyes dropping to yours. “Also because I want to make sure you know that… even if tonight was a disaster… you’re amazing. And… I don’t just mean in my shirt.”
Your heart catches. You can’t stop the flush creeping up your neck, and he notices. Of course he notices. He always notices.
“Stiles…” you whisper, voice trembling just slightly.
“I mean it,” he interrupts softly, leaning just a fraction closer so his forehead nearly touches yours. “Seriously. You’re… perfect. And I hate that tonight sucked. But if it makes any difference, you being here, right now… makes it okay. Almost.”
Your hands twitch...wanting to touch him, to anchor yourself to him in the safest way possible. He reads it instantly, tilting his head so you can rest against him, letting your shoulder press against his chest.
“And you know what else?” he adds, voice getting even lower, teasing starting to creep back in. “I think I’m really going to need you to stay in my shirt from now on. For… uh… moral support purposes. Scientific purposes. Totally valid reasons.”
You can’t help it. You laugh softly again, shaky still, but letting the tension release a little more. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “But you love me anyway.”
And as much as you try to argue, as much as the night has been a mess, as much as your heart is still shaky from crying, there’s no denying it.
You do.
Because here in his arms, in his room, in his clothes that smell of nothing but him… everything that hurt tonight starts to feel a little better. Everything that matters right now is him.
And maybe, just maybe… him realizing he’s been in love with you this whole time.
the urge to just hold stiles face and be so sweet to him because he dosent deserve literley any of the treatment he gets from anyone
「sleepless nights」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader
tw: traumas, implied violence, nightmares, set right after the end of season 3.
━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━
"Stiles, come to bed." you stir out of your sleep, the empty spot next to you is cold, signaling that he woke up already a while ago, if he ever actually slept. He's sat at his desk, head against his arms on the wooden table, his back is facing you as you get out of the warm sheets to reach him. "Baby," you rub his back delicately as to not scare him and he raises his head to look at you: his eyes are dull and accentuated by two, deep black circles. You give him a tight lipped smile, "you need sleep."
He just shakes his head.
"No." He answers curtly. He refuses to go back to bed, to sleep, to possibly let that thing take control of him again. "I'm fine." He answers and diverts his eyes from you.
"no you're not, you're tired and you need to sleep." You turn his chair around to make Stiles look at you.
He lets you turn the chair easily, his eyes look at you, the bags under them even prominent in the dim light coming from outside the window, "I can handle being tired." He replies stubbornly, but his eyes are telling you that he is already worn out and just when you're about to answer he keeps on going.
"-what I can't handle though, is dreaming over and over about what he- what I did." His voice trembles as he speaks and your heart breaks a little when his eyes become teary. It's the first time he talks about what happened and for the whole past week, after the Nogitsune was defeated, you've tried at least once a day to make him open up: enough to make him understand that you were ready to listen and be there for him but not so much as to make him feel under pressure.
"what he did, Stiles, that wasn't you, it was never you." You kneel in front of him.
"I know-" Stiles answers, his voice becoming thick, "I know that, but- but it was my body, wasn't it? I was there, inside of it, watching." He admits, his head hits the back of his chair repeatedly and his eyes closes shut, like he's trying to get something out of his head.
“I- I can't stop thinking about it." he whispers, opening his glassy eyes to look at you again, you grab his hands, they're cold against your skin and he grips them strongly to hold on something. "Allison is dead, she died because I wasn't strong enough to control him no... because he knew I was weak enough to control and the things my body did to Coach, to Kira and Scott... to you... How can you even look at me after all I did?" he lets out a sarcastic laugh and your own eyes become teary at the mention of Allison.
"No one thinks that what happened is your fault, Allison is not dead because of you, Scott and Kira didn't get hurt because of you and neither did I." You squeeze his hands and bring them closer to you, his bust falls forward until his elbows rest on his knees and his head his slumped in front of your face.
"When the Nogitsune did those things I didn't feel your hands, I didn't see your eyes, I didn't hear your voice." your fingers move to grab his face and caress it softly, he looks at you from between his eyelashes: vulnerable, guilty, and so, so tired.
"How can you say that?" He asks you, and his voice is shaky. "How can you be so sure? Maybe I am evil." he whispers, keeping his eyes close, and you can't help but shake your head as he nuzzles his face in your hands.
"Because everything was so different with him: he was colder, angrier... it was evil, everything that you're not, everything that I'm not seeing right now." your thumbs are placed under his eyes, ready to catch the tears that are threatening to escape.
He leans into your touch, his tired eyes closing and a shaky breath leaving his lips. His shoulders slump forward and his head falls against your shoulder, the wet sensation of his tears against your skin is followed by his breath, like he's trying to fight a sob, trying to control himself. "I don't want you to see me this way," he whispers.
"I don't mind and you shouldn't either, I want to know what's going on in your head all the time, from the dumbest thing to the most serious one, that's what I'm here for." you kiss his temple.
His hands move away from your grip to grab your hips instead, his fingers grip at your skin in an attempt to hold onto himself as he buries his face in your shoulder, trying to hide, embarrassed. He whispers hoarsely, "I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not! You could never be a burden to me, Sti'... You're always there for everyone, always ready to help, let me do this for you, let me be the one to help you this time." You whisper against his temple and it seems to break the last bit of his wall as he finally lets his dam break, his body trembles against you as he finally lets out a broken sob, his chest heaving in a pathetic attempt to keep crying quietly.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says on repeat, his arms tighten around your hips, clinging to you like his life depends on it.
"shhh, you don't have to be sorry, it's okay," you rub his back to soothe him. His sorry's doesn't stop, his face still pressed against your skin and with each apology his grip on you tightens. "You're exhausted, after a night of sleep you'll feel better, come with me."
He shakes his head again, "No, no I can't-" He doesn't finish his sentence, another broken sob escaping his throat as he tightens his grip on you even further, you doubt he's even aware of what he's doing, lost in another wave of guilt.
"I promise that I'll wake you up if I'll feel you move or mumble."
Stiles stays in place, still shaking and sobbing against you, his entire body tense with the effort to keep himself together. "Promise?" his voice is a wreck, a barely understandable whisper.
You nod, "I swear." You stand back on your feet and he lets you maneuver him until he is lying on the bed.
"I don't want to fall asleep," he whispers but it's a weak protest, his eyes are already closing.
"I know... I'll be here." you sit on the pillows next to his head and he soon finds your lap to rest on, his arm lay around your thighs next to his face, a tense sighs escapes his lips when he feels your hands rest on him again: the left on his cheek to dry the tears and the other under the collar of his shirt, right between his shoulder blades.
His eyes flutter shut and his face relaxes at the soothing feeling of your fingers on his body... the guilt, the tiredness, the fear, he let all of that wash away from his body, focusing on your touch and your voice. He fights to stay awake for as much as he can, until the tiredness in his bones eventually drag him in a deep sleep, his breathing slows.
He looks so vulnerable, so at peace that you can see how tired he was in the way his face relaxes, the shadows under his eyes becoming more prominent against his tired face. He looks young, too young to have gone through all of those ordeals. The room door creaks as it gets opened and your eyes shot up towards the noise.
At the door a sleepy, yet worried looking Noah appears, he's dressed in his sheriff uniform, he probably just got home from his shift and you didn't hear the front door open. He looks surprised to see you here, you haven't slept in the Stilinski's house for a whole month and the past week Stiles forbade you to sleep with him so as not to scare you or make you lose sleep "unnecessarily", his words, not yours.
You smile to wordlessly greet him and cover Stiles ear with your palm to avoid waking him up. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him for tonight, go to sleep," you assure him with a low voice.
He looks at his son, his chest rising and sinking with each breath, then at you: tired, clearly worried but still determined, he takes in the image for a moment before sighing and nodding, his own tiredness makes him accept the proposal more easily than he would have done if he hadn't been so sleep deprived. "I trust you, just... call me if anything happens."
"I will, goodnight Noah."
He nods with a forced smile. "Goodnight, sweetheart." He closes the door behind him and you go back gazing at Stiles, your breathing coordinates with his, deep and slow, and involuntarily your eyes close a few minutes later in a light sleep... light enough to feel his breath become erratic an hour or so later.
You immediately open your eyes and look down at him: his eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed in the way you've sadly seen too many times these days and his mouth opened to let out small whimpers between his trembling breaths. You sigh and move your hand to shake his shoulder lightly, until his eyes shot open and he takes a a breath similar to what you would usually take after staying too much time under the water.
It would have been ridiculous to think that after everything that happened to him in the last month he would stop having nightmares after just one night, but it's okay, because you know that he can get through it, and that you won't leave him to deal with this alone.
━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━
Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3
its 1:18 am, when you hear keys jangling in your front door.
excited to see your boyfriend after a long day, you get up from the couch and turn into the hallway, calling out to him.
and it is, in fact, suna, but it’s not suna.
not with the way he’s sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him, back against the wall, as he cries. you rush over, sitting in front of him with your legs beneath you. “baby? baby, what’s wrong?”
you’re holding onto his forearms as he sobs into his hands.
“i love you — fuck, god, i’m so in love with you.” he whimpers, as he slowly lets down his hands, looking into your eyes with a passion so hot, so powerful and so raw, something that you’ve only read about in books.
“i know, i look pathetic,” he shakes his head, taking your hands in his. “but fuck if i give a shit. i just, i-i come home to you. i come here, home to you, and i wake up to you, and i fall asleep with you,” he explains, filling your heart with an emotion that not even words could describe. “i never want anything to change, and god i’m so afraid that one day, one day, i’ll open my eyes and you’ll be gone.”
“rin,” you whisper, tears swelling in your own eyes as you cup his cheek. “why wouldn’t i be here?”
“because you’re too good to be true. it’s so much, i don’t deserve you at all, but you’re here with me, and — fuck, i just, it’s just so hard to believe that you chose me.” he looks around for his bag, reaching over and fumbling inside, pulling out a tiny black box.
your heart explodes.
“rin-”
“marry me, y/n. please.” he breaths. “i want this, i want this forever. i never want anything else, never. i just want you, i want all of you, so fucking bad.”
you watch as his trembling hands pry open the box, revealing a small silver band, with the most gorgeous diamond you have ever laid eyes on. you’ve never owned any diamonds, never.
he carefully places the ring on your finger, before looking up at you with eyes that say everything he can’t. “there are so many things i can say, so many things i can do,” he shakes his head. “but living without you, isn’t one of those things. living and knowing that you aren’t mines, that i’m not the one you want, it’s too much. i don’t even want to think about it.”
you’re crying with him now, the two of you sobbing together by your front door.
“you don’t have to think about it. i don’t want you to ever think about it, because it’s never going to happen, i promise.”
and it’s 1:18 pm when you secure that promise, in a dress that took nearly an hour to put on, walking down the aisle to rintarou; to your future, to your forever.
and suna, even in a suit so expensive, in a venue so expensive — and later, on a honeymoon, very expensive — is still trying to comprehend the fact that you’re about to become his, fully his.
kenjirō confesses to you on your birthday
wc: 1.8k, happy birthday bby @misasprout ilysm !!
there was a precise, scientifically calculated limit to how much stress shirabu’s cardiovascular system could handle before it simply combusted into a cloud of petty, medically fascinating ash.
today, he was pushing that threshold by about three hundred percent.
it was your birthday. his brain had completely abandoned all basic functions—like cellular biology or remembering to breathe—and replaced them with a looping, high-definition reel of your face. he was so violently, irreversibly down bad that it felt like a terminal diagnosis. if you looked at him for more than three seconds, his ribs felt like they were collapsing inward like an aluminum can stepped on by a heavy boot. he knew you liked him back; he wasn’t stupid, and he had spent the last three months carefully analyzing the way you lingered by his desk and handed him milk cartons like they were holy relics.
so, the plan was foolproof. he was going to walk up to you after practice, present a perfectly wrapped box of those specific strawberry pastries you practically wept over, and demand—very politely, but with immense internal desperation—that you become his.
except life wasn’t a well-optimized textbook. life was a cruel, unfeeling joke.
shirabu rounded the corner of the sub-gym, a small, neat bag clutched in a grip so tight his knuckles were white enough to blend into the drywall. he stopped dead.
the air left his lungs in a sharp, pathetic wheeze. there you were, looking entirely too radiant under the crappy fluorescent lights, holding a ridiculous giant plush bear. and standing right next to you, towering over your frame like an ominous, athletic monolith, was ushijima wakatoshi.
worse. ushijima was reaching out, his massive, terrifyingly strong hand coming down to rest right on top of your head, ruffling your hair with a gentleness that shouldn’t legally belong to a guy who could dent a volleyball court with his bare hands. you were beaming up at him, your smile wide and bright enough to completely blind a man.
shirabu’s internal monologue immediately shattered into a million screaming pieces. ushijima? his captain? the absolute pinnacle of shirabu’s volleyball worship, the guy he dedicated his entire athletic career to setting for, was currently invading his romantic territory?
a normal person would have wilted. a normal person would have slunk back into the shadows, cursed the heavens, and eaten the strawberry pastries alone in a dark room while contemplating the unfairness of genetic distribution.
but shirabu kenjirō did not possess a normal, healthy coping mechanism when it came to you. he was possessed by a deeply rooted, completely unhinged devotion that bypassed logic entirely. a sudden, white-hot surge of possessive panic flooded his veins. if he had to fight a six-foot-two national powerhouse for your affection, then he would simply have to figure out the exact angle to strike a knee to bring down a giant. he was not leaving here without his girl.
he marched forward, his sneakers squeaking aggressively against the linoleum. each step felt like he was marching into a medieval battle armed with nothing but a box of baked goods and sheer, concentrated audacity.
“excuse me,” shirabu barked, his voice cracking only a tiny, microscopic bit.
you both blinked, turning to look at him. ushijima’s expression remained as blank as a freshly washed chalkboard, while your eyes lit up like sparklers the second you registered his slashed bob hair.
“kenjirō!” you chirped, entirely unaware of the absolute war zone currently occurring inside his chest.
shirabu didn’t look at ushijima. if he looked at his captain, his survival instincts might kick back in, and he couldn’t afford that right now. instead, he locked his gaze onto you with the intensity of a starving hawk. he reached out, grabbed your wrist—carefully, ensuring he didn’t actually hurt you, though his palm was trembling with adrenaline—and literally hauled you three inches to the left, stepping directly into the space between you and the ace.
“i’m taking her,” shirabu said flatly, looking up at ushijima with an expression that he hoped conveyed ‘i will bite your kneecaps off’ rather than ‘please don’t crush me like a bug’. “we have an appointment.”
ushijima tilted his head, his massive brow furrowing in genuine, slow-motion confusion. “an appointment? the cafeteria is closed, shirabu. and she is supposed to help me carry—”
“it’s urgent,” shirabu snapped, his ears burning a furious, violent shade of pink. he tightened his grip on your wrist, his heart hammering against his ribs so loud he was convinced you could hear it. “happy birthday. you’re coming with me.”
with all the grace of a frantic goblin stealing a shiny coin, shirabu turned on his heel and dragged you down the hallway, his legs moving at a brisk, panicked clip.
you let out a breathy, startled laugh, stumbling slightly to keep up with his aggressive strides until he hauled you into an empty, dimly lit classroom and shut the door behind you with a definitive thud.
he leaned his back against the wood, chest heaving as if he had just run a triple marathon uphill. the sheer adrenaline of hijacking his captain’s conversation was beginning to fade, leaving him utterly exposed to the reality of what he had done. he looked at you, his eyes wide and completely vulnerable, looking like a cat that had successfully stolen a giant fish but had absolutely no idea how to clean it.
“kenjirō,” you breathed, a massive, teasing gring breaking across your face. you adjusted the giant plush bear under your arm, stepping right into his personal space. “what was that? you looked like you were about to try and fight wakatoshi with your bare teeth.”
“i would have,” he muttered honestly, his voice dropping into a rough, defensive mumble. he looked down at his shoes, his usual sharp demeanor completely melting into a puddle of mush. “i would’ve fought him. i don’t care if he can launch me into orbit.”
you tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “why would you need to fight him?”
“because!” shirabu burst out, his hand flying up to cover his face as a wave of intense embarrassment finally washed over him. his skin was so hot he was pretty sure he could fry an egg on his forehead. “because i’ve been losing my mind for three months straight over you. because i can’t sleep, and i can’t focus on my sets, and every time you laugh at something semi says i want to hurl myself out a window. and then i come out here to give you your stupid birthday present and he’s touching your hair, and i realized if i didn’t do something right now i was going to lose you to a guy who talks to rice fields.”
he finally pulled his hand away from his face, looking at you with a desperation so thick it was almost tangible. “i like you. so much it’s actually disgusting. i need you to be my girlfriend or i’m going to fail my college entrance exams, i swear to god.”
the classroom went entirely still. shirabu held his breath, his soul practically leaving his body through his mouth as he waited for the rejection that would inevitably send him into hiding for the next five years.
instead, you let out a sound that was half-squeak, half-giggle, dropped the giant plush bear directly onto the floor, and buried your face straight into his chest.
shirabu froze, his arms stiff at his sides like a mannequin. “what.”
“you’re so dumb,” you mumbled against his uniform, your voice muffled but completely laced with joy. “you’re such an idiot, kenjirō.”
“that’s not a no,” he whispered, his hands hovering over your waist, desperately wanting to touch but still paralyzed by the sheer shock of your warmth.
“of course it’s not a no,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your cheeks flushed a beautiful, soft pink. “i’ve been dropping hints so obvious that even goshiki noticed them weeks ago. but… why were you jealous of wakatoshi?”
“he was touching your hair,” shirabu grumbled, his possessive streak flaring back up as he finally allowed his arms to wrap securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “he doesn’t touch anyone. he barely acknowledges human touch.”
“kenjirō,” you giggled, reaching up to gently pat his burning cheek. “wakatoshi is my cousin. my mom is his dad’s sister.”
shirabu’s brain completely short-circuited. the internal machinery groaned, sparked, and died. “…what?”
“he’s my cousin,” you repeated, your smile growing wider as you watched his expression transition from fierce jealousy to absolute, catastrophic realization. “our families have sunday dinner together every week. he was rubbing my hair because he bought me that giant bear and didn’t know how to say ‘happy birthday’ without sounding like a robot.”
shirabu let his forehead drop forward until it rested heavily against your shoulder. a long, agonizing groan vibrated through his chest. “i’m going to throw myself off the gymnasium roof.”
“don’t do that,” you laughed, your fingers sliding up into his hair, gently massaging the base of his neck. the feeling was so incredibly good that shirabu felt his entire spine go limp. “i like you alive. and i really want my birthday present.”
he sniffed, a purely dramatic sound, and pulled back just enough to retrieve the crumpled paper bag from his pocket. he handed it to you, watching with an embarrassing amount of anxiety as you opened it to reveal the perfectly intact strawberry pastries.
your eyes went wide, and you let out a genuine, delighted gasp that made his chest swell with so much pride he felt like he could fly. “you remembered!”
“of course i remembered,” he muttered, his thumb reaching out completely on instinct to brush a stray strand of hair away from your cheek. his touch was infinitely softer than ushijima’s could ever be, his fingers lingering on your skin as if you were made of glass. “i remember everything you say. it’s a problem.”
you beamed, setting the bag on a nearby desk before wrapping your arms firmly around his neck. “best birthday ever.”
shirabu didn’t answer with words. instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss sweet and desperate and so entirely full of his absurd devotion that it left you both breathless. when he pulled away, his hands were still resting on your hips, refusing to let you step even an inch out of his reach.
“you’re mine now,” he stated, trying to sound firm, though the goofy, love-struck grin breaking across his face completely ruined the effect. “no more giants allowed near you.”
“deal,” you whispered, kissing the tip of his nose.
— 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ hello hello! another addition to number neighbour, the unofficial collection. chatfic, but towards the end it has less of the chat and more of the fic. without further ado.. proceed
requested ☆
more in the number neighbour collection
akaashi — smau // ushijima — chatfic
if you're being honest, you should've known doing this was a bad idea.
at first, anyway.
you're staring at your phone screen, the bright light blinding you in the dark of your room. you rub your eyes and squint at the small rectangle in your hands.
you should be sleeping, but they do say that night is the best time to be awake. and for some reason, the internet trend of texting your number neighbor did seem like a stroke of genius five minutes ago..
your phone number ends in a 4, so you have two options. either a 3 or a 5.
making up your mind, you decide to start with a 3. you open a new text thread, type in the number that is identical to yours except for that last digit, and bite your lip in anticipation as you begin to draft your message.
you
hey number neighbor!
hope youre having a good night :)
xxx-xxx-xx3
Please stop texting this number.
you
huh
xxx-xxx-xx3
I'm a 45 year old male and this is my work number; I don't have time to deal with unemployed people like you.
Do not contact me again.
you
fuck im so sorry
message failed to send
ah. he actually blocked you.
you let out a breathless laugh into your pillow, face burning from embarrassment. “oh my god.”
well. that went horribly.
but now you're fully awake, and the adrenaline of getting instantly rejected by some 45 year old man (you hope he isn't too peeved about that..) has you feeling reckless.
after all, there's still the 5.
you copy the number, change the last digit – again, a five this time – and send the text before you can overthink it.
you
okay i hope you arent a 45 year old man this time too
because my other number neighbor just blocked me lmao
anyway hi number neighbor !! (take two)
xxx-xxx-xx5
??
who is this??
and why are you texting me at 2am about middle aged men ^-^
you
im your number neighbor 😔
our numbers are the same except the last digit
xxx-xxx-xx5
hold on
you
holding
xxx-xxx-xx5
WAIT OMG THEY ARE
you
see im not insane
xxx-xxx-xx5
debatable
you disliked this message
and wow your other neighbor blocked you immediately?
that’s embarrassing for you
you
i don't need another person to tell me 💔💔
xxx-xxx-xx5
too bad i'm telling you
you
okay dude
xxx-xxx-xx5
you know what vibe you give off (^-^)
you
what
xxx-xxx-xx5
small and grumpy
you snort quietly into your blanket.
if you have to say so, there's something stupidly easy about texting this person, even if it's only been a few messages. the texts come quick, like they're typing the second they get yours instead of leaving you on read for a bit. half teasing, half genuinely interested it appears.
you hesitate, fingers stalling on the keyboard before hurriedly replying.
you
first of all
im not grumpy
xxx-xxx-xx5
if not grumpy
you texted strangers at 2am
that, btw, automatically makes you a little weird
you
says the person answering
xxx-xxx-xx5
touché ;)
you liked this message
but what made you text me
well me and the 45 yr old man
you
couldn't sleep
you?
xxx-xxx-xx5
my practice ran late
bones aching and muscles sore
brain is still awake
you
practice for what
and what the fuck is that a fucking haiku
xxx-xxx-xx5
secret ;)
fucking and fucking yes fucking it's fucking a fucking haiku
you
i literally said it twice.
you are so dramatic
xxx-xxx-xx5
thank you! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
you roll your eyes – dramatic is honestly the perfect word for them. and as for those blasted emoticons, kaomojis, whatever you call them-
in any case, every message sent through from them somehow feels like they can't help making everything sound theatrical, even through text.
your phone vibrates again before you can answer.
xxx-xxx-xx5
WAIT
what if YOURE actually a 45 year old man trying to lure me into a false sense of security!?
you
yeah definitely
that's exactly what's happening
xxx-xxx-xx5
i knew it you CON ARTIST
you
go to sleep grandma
xxx-xxx-xx5
grandma??? 😨
i'm youthful and radiant actually (≧◡≦)
and i'd be grandpa
you
gramps, only old people say youthful and radiant
xxx-xxx-xx5
and you have experience with that
you
omfg no
xxx-xxx-xx5
wow
this relationship is becoming toxic
you swear like a sailor (⇀‸↼‶)
you
this is not a relationship 😭
arr me hearties
xxx-xxx-xx5
wow okay
way to friendzone me
you
we're not even friends
xxx-xxx-xx5
YOU'RE SO CRUEL
you
goodnight annoying neighbor
you changed xxx-xxx-xx5 to annoying neighbour 🙄
annoying neighbour 🙄
get rid of that emoji i’m begging you that is gruesome
you
no i’d rather not
annoying neighbour 🙄
well then
annoying neighbour 🙄 changed xxx-xxx-xx4 to oh so lovely neighbour (˘ ³˘)
annoying neighbour 🙄
now we're matching
you
i actually don't mind that tbh
annoying neighbour 🙄 liked this message
you fall asleep smiling at your phone despite yourself.
the next morning, you wake up late. obviously not because you went to sleep past three am.
your phone is at 12%, and there's a text waiting for you.
annoying neighbour 🙄
good morning! •⩊•
did the 45 yr old text you back yet?
you snort, a little huff of laughter escaping your mouth.
you
no 💔 he blocked me remember
annoying neighbour 🙄
oh yes
i should do that
stranger danger you know..
you
oh stfu
why are YOU awake this early
annoying neighbour 🙄
stop with that attitude
some of us are productive members of society
you
i don’t believe that for two seconds
annoying neighbour 🙄
then believe it for one
the next few days, texting him weirdly becomes part of your routine, first nature.
well, you still don't know their name, or age, or what they look like (a boy, apparently), but you know quite a lot at the same time.
like how they're the type to talk with their hands because they spam texts in bursts instead of one message, and you know they complain dramatically when they're hungry, you know they're competitive about literally everything, and-
yeah, you could go on.
annoying neighbour 🙄
just beat my friend at mario kart btw
im basically a professional athlete
you
that is not athleticism.
annoying neighbour 🙄
that's wrong actually!
my thumbs are incredibly talented
you
that sounded gross
annoying neighbour 🙄
OH MY GOSH NOT LIKE THAT??
why is your mind so dirty (¯ ¯٥)
you reacted ! to this message
you never send selfies, but they never ask either. however, sometimes you catch yourself wondering,
wondering if their grin is as smug as it sounds through text,
wondering what kind of expression they make when they type all these stupid dramatic messages,
wondering if your luck is crazy enough that they have an extremely attractive face.
judging by your luck so far, though, probably not.
one friday night, you're brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes from where it lies on the sink counter.
annoying neighbour 🙄
EMERGENCY
you
what
annoying neighbour
🙄
i need you to settle an argument
you
why me :/
annoying neighbour 🙄
because i trust strangers on the internet
obviously
you
that sounds unsafe
who would even think! of texting on in the first place??
annoying neighbour 🙄 liked this message
annoying neighbour 🙄
my friend says mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste
tell him he's wrong
you
LMAO i'm brushing my teeth right now what a coincidence
your friend is right actually
annoying neighbour 🙄
blocked.
you grin.
you
wow first the 45 yr old now this
everyone keeps abandoning me 🤧
annoying neighbour 🙄
you deserve it for your horrible opinions
you
you're so dramatic
annoying neighbour 🙄
you've said!
you do continue texting me every day though ⸜( ˙˘˙)⸝
now go brush your teeth, i bet they're stinky..
you
oh shut up
then you pause, because he’s right; every day. without really meaning to, it's become constant.
whether it's during class, or late at night, while shopping, when he's apparently ‘at practice’.
you're still not one hundred percent sure what sport he plays, but you're beginning to suspect volleyball purely because of how often he complains about his shoulders, since you're somewhat knowledgeable on the sport.
and also, because one time he texted:
‘if one more person tells me serves are easy i'm going to lose it.’
this time, you're sitting in your kitchen eating cereal straight from the box when another text comes through.
annoying neighbour 🙄
i think my teammate is trying to kill me.
you
HELLO??
annoying neighbour 🙄
he spiked a ball directly at my face
i'm sure it was on purpose (◑_◑)
you
oh so you do play volleyball
..
wait did i guess right
annoying neighbour 🙄
shit
you
HAHAAHAHHA
annoying neighbour 🙄
don't laugh at me
i liked being mysterious and all that
you
there is nothing mysterious about the way you text 😭😭
annoying neighbour 🙄
wow.
you stifle a laugh, then return to your cereal.
not even a minute later, though-
annoying neighbour 🙄
for the record i'm very mysteriously good looking ᵔ.ᵔ
you nearly choke on cereal. the confidence on this man..
that night you're walking home from the convenience store when your phone buzzes – again.
annoying neighbour 🙄
bad news
you
what now
annoying neighbour 🙄
i think my teammate stole my knee pads
you
just confirming this is the same teammate who spiked a ball into your head and said mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste right
annoying neighbour 🙄
YES
you
cool
why would someone steal knee pads tho 😭
annoying neighbour 🙄
jealousy
envy
obsession
need i go on
you
no thanks
annoying neighbour 🙄
you wound me (╥﹏╥)
you smile, fingers typing back a snarky response, but then, then-
someone bumps into your shoulder, hard, and your phone nearly slips out of your hand as you nearly faceplant onto the concrete.
“sorry,” the stranger mutters, barely glancing back before continuing down the sidewalk.
you frown, then glance at your phone. you type out a response again.
you
bro someone walked into me and nearly knocked me over
and at the exact same time you send it-
annoying neighbour 🙄
OMG
i just saw someone almost eat shit on the sidewalk ⊙﹏⊙
you stop dead in your tracks.
that.. can't be a coincidence, right?
slowly, you look up.
across the street, near the crosswalk, a tall guy in a white hoodie is staring at his phone.
then he looks up too.
and even from this far away, you can see the way he freezes up.
no. way.
your heart starts pounding, frantically panging against your chest in a quick rhythm.
nope. absolutely not. there's no fakaashing way.
you start to type again, but slower this time, fingers hesitantly pressing each letter.
you
if you're wearing a hoodie by chance
what colour is it
annoying neighbour 🙄
white
you
oh my god
that better not be you standing there.
you stare across the street in horror, and the guy lowers his phone slowly.
then the light changes, and instead of crossing toward you-
he immediately turns around and starts walking fast the opposite direction.
like, fast. really fast.
your jaw drops, not at the speed (although shit, it is insanely quick) but at the fact he's literally running away.
you
DID YOU JUST RUN AWAY??
annoying neighbour 🙄
SELF DEFENSE
you
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN
annoying neighbour 🙄
this is too much pressure suddenly Ծ_Ծ
i wasn't emotionally prepared to find out you're like actually real
you burst out laughing. people stare, but you don't even remotely care.
annoying neighbour 🙄
so you were the one that nearly ate shit..
you
oh hush
you changed annoying neighbour 🙄 to run(a)way queen
run(a)way queen
i would complain but that's sort of genius
you
i know
run(a)way queen changed oh so lovely neighbour (˘ ³˘) to shit eater :p
you
im not playing you better fucking change that right now before i chase after you.
run(a)way queen
oh please like you could catch me
you
YOU HAVE 5 SECONDS
run(a)way queen
OKAY OKAY
run(a)way queen changed shit eater :p to run after queen
you
really
run(a)way queen
hey i had no ideas it's better than shit eater
you
you mean akaashiit had no ideas
akaashiit
oops
run(a)way queen
what the
after that, things get worse, or better – you're not entirely sure.
because now there's a face attached to the texts.
okay, well. sort of. you really only saw him for maybe.. three seconds?
tall, brown hair (you believe; it was hard to tell from only the faint light of the streetlamps) and that white hoodie.
also,the most obnoxiously smug posture you've ever seen in your life.
you
you literally fled the scene like a criminal
omg are you a criminal
run(a)way queen
listen i panicked
you
mhm sure
run(a)way queen
AND YOU WERE SHORT???
like i've been calling you short but damn you really are
this is the best day of my life
you
blocked.
run(a)way queen
NO WAIT
you still don't exchange names though. mostly because now it's become weirdly funny not to.
he calls you gremlin, menace, shortstack, the likes.
you call him drama queen, pretty boy, loser, read more.
he reacts quite strongly to pretty boy, which is suspicious.
one night he randomly sends:
run(a)way queen
be honest
am i your favorite person to text
you
absolutely not
run(a)way queen
you replied in 4 seconds btw （˶′◡‵˶）
and with that, you promptly yeet deposit throw your phone across the bed.
sometimes, he disappears for hours, usually after ‘practice’, but that's understandable since you're busy too.
then he comes back texting like nothing happened.
run(a)way queen
im alive
you
congrats here's a golden star ⭐️
run(a)way queen
wow no concern for my wellbeing??
you
?i gave you a star what more do you want dude
run(a)way queen
heartless (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞
you
whered u go anyway
run(a)way queen
match
you
did you win?
the pause that follows is long enough that you think he won't answer, then:
run(a)way queen
yeah :)
you
good job then
i'm sure you played well
three whole minutes pass.
run(a)way queen
careful there!
you almost sounded nice (≧◡≦)
you
JUST LET ME COMPLIMENT YOU
a few days later, you're sitting in class half asleep when your phone vibrates under the desk.
run(a)way queen
EMERGENCY PART 2
you
if this is about ice cream again i'm blocking you
for real this time
run(a)way queen
dead sirius?? ( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)
you
you didn't.
run(a)way queen
ANYWAY
worse
i think one of my classmates has a crush on me and is planning to confess later
you blink.
why does that annoy you a little..
you
okay?
run(a)way queen
okay??
that's all u have to say?
you
what do you want me to say 😭
run(a)way queen
idk maybe cry a little (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵)
you
and why would i cry
run(a)way queen
good question actudnf fkrmtm
you stare.
yeah.. he definitely got his phone taken away.
frowning, you lock your phone harder than necessary.
stupid. that's stupid. you don't even know this guy!
later that evening, he texts again.
run(a)way queen
sorry i got my phone taken (◑_◑)
you
yes i could tell
run(a)way queen
i rejected her
your fingers pause over the keyboard – it's funny how you know what he's talking about straight away.
you
why are you reporting this information to me like i'm your manager
run(a)way queen
because secrets aren't good in relationships!
you
there's that word again..
you hate how warm your face feels.
the first actual real conversation happens accidentally.
you're out in the rain, trying to get home, safe and sound, when your umbrella honest to god snaps inside out from the wind.
you stand there in disbelief, getting more drenched by the second. surely your day can't get any worse.
run(a)way queen
you alive
you send a picture of your destroyed umbrella, and his reply comes immediately.
run(a)way queen
LMFAOOO
that umbrella gave up on life
you
this is not funny
run(a)way queen
it's a little funny
wait where are you rn
you pause, then send a vague picture of the street.
run(a)way queen
oh wait i know where that is
you
what
run(a)way queen
don't panic but i think im like 5 mins away
you
that sounds threatening when you say it like that
run(a)way queen
LMAO
do you need help or not
you glance up at the pouring rain and instantly get pelted in the eye, which makes up your mind straight away.
you
fine
but if you murder me i'll be really annoyed you know
run(a)way queen liked this message
five minutes later, more or less, a black umbrella appears beside you.
you turn your head, and-
oh.
oh, he's pretty.
the first coherent thought that hits you.
still fluffy brown hair damp from the rain, stupidly sharp eyes that are crinkled up,. taller than you by an infuriating amount, an athletic build.
and smiling at you like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“you are shorter than i imagined,” he says immediately, and you roll your eyes.
“you ran away last time,” is what you answer with. you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, and pray that if he does hear it, he'll believe it's from the cold.
shit. you understand why that girl had a crush on him now.
he shrugs, still grinning at you. “fight or flight response.”
“and.. you chose flight.”
“obviously.”
his voice embodies his texts somehow. dramatic and smooth and teasing all at once.
you stare at each other awkwardly for two seconds.
then at the same time,
“you really are pretty–”
“you really do talk too much–”
you both stop, and he blinks. then grins slowly.
“waaaait,” he says, an even larger smile spreading across his handsome face. “what was that first part?”
you flush. “nothing.” oh, why did you have to open your mouth?
“no no, say it again, i insist.” he's still grinning.
“absolutely not.”
“you think i'm pretty–”
“oh my god shut up.”
he laughs loudly enough that two people walking by glance over, and you swear one of them leans over and murmurs about ‘what an adorable couple you are’.
you clear your throat, tapping your foot against the pavement. “ i do not talk too much. i've literally barely spoken – if anything, you’re the chatterbox here.”
he continues to stare at you, an amused expression on his face.
“what?’ you demand.
“that was sixteen words in one sentence.” he beams. “point proven.”
“it was two sentences you nincompoop-”
walking home beside him under one umbrella feels like it's the only right way.
which is dangerous – walking next to him is dangerous, breathing the same air as him is dangerous, just being near him is dangerous.
that's the only conclusion you come to during the fifteen minute walk home.
before this, he'd just been texts on a screen, annoying messages at 2am.
dumb kaomojis. dramatic complaints about volleyball and life and mint chocolate chip ice cream.
now he's this actual, living breathing person beside you holding an umbrella, slightly more over your side than his without mentioning it.
and unfortunately, he's pretty enough to be a genuine problem.
“you're staring,” he says casually.
you'd think he's being cocky if you didn't chance a look at him to see the red snow peaking his ears.
god, he knows exactly what he looks like – of course he does.
“you talk exactly like you text,” you mumble into the collar of your jacket.
he smiles. “is that a compliment?”
“not really.”
he stops, causing you to stop too. “ouch,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at you that you snort at.
you glance at him sideways. “sooo.. what do i call you now?”
he gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. “wow. after all we've been through together, you still don't know my name?”
“bye, i'm leaving-”
“hey- wait-” he reaches out and grabs your wrist just as you turn to leave. you weren’t really going to, but..
when you turn to him with wide eyes, he clears his throat and lets go, albeit reluctantly.
you don’t know that, of course.
he laughs again, all loud and easy but sort of.. breathily? this time. “you can keep calling me number neighbor. or runaway queen. whatever is to your liking, maam,” and flourishes a bow.
you heave a sigh and cross your arms. “that’s stupid.”
“says the person who still hasn’t told me their name either.”
a smile pops onto your face, and you hastily pull out your phone.
he frowns now. “what.. what are you doing?”
you only hum. after a moment, you hold your phone up, turn the volume all the way, and an automated voice comes out, like the one used for google translate.
“touché,” the robotic tone says.
he bursts into a fit of laughter.
when you reach your building, neither of you say anything as rain taps against the umbrella softly.
he shifts his weight awkwardly.
“well,” you start quietly, “thanks for rescuing me, i guess.”
“you’re welcome, tiny gremlin.”
“die-”
he grins and wags a finger at you. “hey, don’t make jokes like that.”
“oh, i’m not joking.”
then his grin wavers, then softens when he realises you're only teasing.
“text me when you get upstairs,” he murmurs. “so i know you didn’t slip and- die, or something.”
you sigh. “i solemnly swear i will not slip and die.” you turn to walk away.
“wait.”
you glance back, confused.
he’s rubbing the back of his neck now, looking oddly nervous for the first time since meeting him.
“you- er, still- still think i’m pretty, right?”
you stare at him blankly.
then immediately walk off without answering while he shouts offendedly behind you.
guess you’ve both pulled a walky-offy now.
you don't know it they're coincidences or not, because now he starts appearing everywhere.not intentionally, probably, but it's situations like you'll be walking past a shop or on the stret and suddenly get a text.
run(a)way queen
look left ;)
and there he is, across the street holding up an energy drink with that stupid grin.
or, you'll be in line at a café and hear, ‘wow, fancy seeing you here!’ like he didn't absolutely text you twenty minutes earlier asking where you were, all innocent and ‘oh, no reason!’
but, he still refuses to tell you his name, which honestly would annoy you more if you weren't equally stubborn, like two peas in a pod.
instead, your.. relationship settles into this weird in between.
not strangers, and not exactly friends either.
maybe flirting – although you're trying not to think about that too hard.
for all you know, he does this with everyone, or he could be in a relationship. for now, you're content to stay whatever you are.
you're lying in bed one night, contemplating whether to sleep or text your number neighour, when he beats you to it and suddenly sends:
run(a)way queen
can i ask you something
you
depends if it's weird
knowing you yes
run(a)way queen
rude
you liked this message
do you think we wouldve talked if we met normally?
you
wdym by that
run(a)way queen
idk
like if we met randomly somewhere would you have talked to me
you think about seeing him for the first time in the rain.
his stupid smile, the confidence, the way everyone probably notices him immediately, and honestly? you probably would've assumed he was out of your league and avoided eye contact.
but you don't say that.
you
maybe
if you weren't annoying 🥹
run(a)way queen
im never annoying?? (>o<)
you
would you have talked to me?
run(a)way queen
yeah
i think i would've noticed you anywhere actually
when you eventually learn his name, it's completely by accident, which feels unfair considering how long he (and you) dragged it out.
you're at one of his volleyball matches – he'd convinced you to come after spamming you twenty four seven.
so there you are, sitting, pretending not to care‐
except you absolutely do care, because he's..
well.
annoyingly good.
and the girls behind you won't stop talking about him.
“oikawa-san's seriously so cool.”
“who? number 1?”
“yeah! him!” comes the following reply, then a dreamy sigh.
your head snaps up.
oikawa? oikawa.
of course his name is something like oikawa.
he's about to serve again when he looks up directly into the stands, and the girls start squealing.
but he finds you instantly, and smiles a real, genuine smile that warms you from the inside out.
later after the match, your phone buzzes just as you're leaving.
run(a)way queen
you came!! ヽ(^。^)ノ
you
against my will
run(a)way queen
you still watched the whole game though ≧☉_☉≦
you
yes well unfortunately your volleyball propaganda is working on me
run(a)way queen
that's because i'm amazing darling
you
don’t call me darling
run(a)way queen
sorry darling
you
okay
you changed run(a)way queen to oikawa..
oikawa..
YOU FOUND OUT
what's with the .. though it looks threatening
you
your fangirls were squealing your name it was kind of hard not to find out
oikawa..
oh how nice of them
well it's only fair i know your name now??
you
hm
l/n
oikawa..
pretty name for a pretty person (o^ ^o)
you
boy 😭😭
oikawa.. changed run after queen to darling l/n (づ￣ ³￣)づ
oikawa..
perfect
you
wtf is that kaomoji bro
oikawa..
change my name to pretty boy oikawa (≧◡≦)
you
only because you won't shut up if i don't
you changed oikawa.. to pretty boy oikawa..
pretty boy oikawa..
okay seriously what is with the ..
you reacted 😊 to this message
the more you text, the more oikawa starts calling instead of texting, and it gave you the shock of your life when he first did it.
usually late at night, and you'll answer half asleep with a groggy voice to hear,
“l/n-channn.”
“why are you saying my name like that.” is your default response. and his will be, “because i'm suffering.”
“dramatic.”
then he'll ramble for twenty minutes while you listen sleepily, occasionally offering your mumbled inputs like ‘mhm’ and ‘uhuh’.
sometimes he talks about volleyball, or school, and most of the time random things that don't matter.
and sometimes, there are quiet pauses where neither of you says anything at all.
those are your favourite.
whenever you're upset or in a bad mood, you don't bother telling him – mostly because you're used to dealing with things alone.
but one night when you answer his call, he notices that you're.. different, straight away.
“what happened?”
you frown, knowing he can't see it since your camera's off. “nothing.”
“liar.”
“wha- i’m serious.”
oikawa sighs softly through the phone, and you shift uncomfortably, pulling your blankets closer to your neck.
“did someone hurt your feelings?”
you laugh weakly, tilting your head. “that sounds so kindergarten.”
“answer the question.”
you stare up at your ceiling, vaguely making out the dying glow in the dark stickers that are stuck up there.
“i- it's no big deal- but um.. sort of.”
there's rustling on his end like he's sitting up.
“who?” oikawa says urgently.
“it doesn’t matter.”
“it matters if you sound sad.”
your throat tightens unexpectedly – that's the thing with oikawa.
he jokes around constantly, acts unserious all the time. but that only means moments where he suddenly becomes serious hit way too hard.
“my friend cancelled plans again,” you admit quietly. “for her boyfriend. and- i know it's selfish of me to be sad about that, but it always happens, and last minute.”
“wow. that sucks.”
you smile faintly. “thanks.”
it's silent for a few minutes after that, save for the sound of your combined breathing, then he breaks it.
“wanna come watch me practice tomorrow?”
you blink. “what?”
“you heard me loud and clear.”
“that's your solution?”
“well, yeah. if your friend sucks then i'll just steal you instead.” you can almost hear him grinning, and if he turned his camera on you're sure he would be.
it only takes a second to make up your mind.
“you know what, sure. i have nothing better to do anyway.”
so, the next day you go.
you almost turn around three separate times before even making it inside the gym.
you spot oikawa through the open doors and unfortunately remember how attractive he is. great.
he's standing in the middle of the court when he notices you. one second he's talking to one of his teammates, the next his whole face changes and he straightens up so fast, like a dog spotting its owner in public.
you barely have time to process that (did he just do that?) before somebody else notices too.
“oi.”
a guy near the net squints at you for a moment, then his eyes widen. “wait.”
you pause awkwardly near the entrance, hovering and not sure if you're supposed to go in or not.
another guy turns around at the tone of his voice and immediately points at you. “NO WAY.”
your stomach drops instantly, because why do they look like they recognize you??
“that's them, isn't it?” the first guy says.
“the phone person?” another one blurts out loudly.
you choke. “sorry, the what?”
oikawa visibly pales.
“mattsun,” he yells, horrified. “WHY WOULD YOU CALL THEM THAT.”
“because that's literally what you call them,” the guy – mattsun, apparently – says flatly.
“not to their face–”
you stare at him, expression beginning to turn amused.
“..phone person?” you repeat slowly.
silence for about four seconds, then another teammate snorts. “yeah, because you were ‘mysterious phone neighbor’ for like, months.”
your brain completely stalls.. “months?” you echo.
oikawa closes his eyes like he's in physical pain.
“okay,” he says carefully, already walking toward you, “before they start exaggerating–”
“you literally talked about them every day,” someone cuts in.
“alright, that is such a lie–”
“you asked us if using two exclamation marks looked desperate.”
“i-”
“you made iwaizumi read over your texts once,” mattsun adds with a lazy smirk.
you whip your head toward him so fast your neck almost cracks, eyes wide and glaring. “you what?”
oikawa looks genuinely cornered now, holding up his hands sheepishly. “in my defense, i didn’t know if saying goodnight twice was too clingy.”
you stare at him blankly.
and it hits you then, that this idiot has apparently been talking about you to his teammates for months while you thought you were just some random person he texted when he got bored.
now you can't even properly make fun of him for it!
oikawa stops in front of you, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly like he did the first time you met face to face. “listen, they're making it sound worse than it is.”
“you made your teammates help you text me?”
“once..”
“three times,” somebody corrects from the back.
“nobody asked you.”
you bite the inside of your cheek hard trying not to laugh, but ever so observant, oikawa he notices the moment you do.
his eyes narrow. “don’t.” that only makes it worse.
“you were workshopping your texts?” you manage between chortles.
“okay, wow,” he says, looking betrayed. “this is a vulnerable moment for me, you know? don't rub it in.”
you lose it a little after that, enough that a laugh slips out before you can stop it.
and the thing is, the second it does, oikawa just.. stares at you, like he forgot there are other people in the room.
the way he's just looking at you causes your laugh to falter, and the two of you lock eyes for a long moment until he clears his throat.
“l/n-”
and the moment is gone when someone smacks the back of oikawa's head while walking past.
“quit flirting and practice,” the guy says bluntly, prompty smacking him again but harder.
“OW– iwa-chan!”
you laugh again, louder this time, and oikawa turns toward you looking extremely offended.
“you're enjoying this way too much.”
“because it’s funny.”
“my suffering should not amuse you.”
“your suffering is the funniest thing about you sorry to say.”
he gasps like you've personally stabbed him in the chest, then points dramatically. “see? this is what i deal with.”
you roll your eyes affectionately and cross your arms. “you love me, really,” you say offhandedly.
oikawa's ears dust a bright red.
it doesn't occur to you how important he's becoming to you until oikawa slowly starts disappearing.
it starts as slower replies, missing calls, and shorter messages. you tell yourself he's busy.
until nothing at all.
you
hey.
you alive?
seen
and oikawa always replies – even if it's just to be annoying.
three days later, he finally texts.
pretty boy oikawa..
sorry
been busy
and that's it. your stomach sinks.
you
everything okay?
pretty boy oikawa..
yeah dw about it
which is an obvious lie, but every time you try asking after that, he just brushes it off.
eventually you just stop asking.
you find out through social media; some volleyball account posts clips from a tournament.
the caption says:
‘aoba johsai eliminated after intense semifinal loss’.
that's oikawa's team.
and it all makes sense now. you stare at your screen, and immediately text him.
no answer, so you call.
straight to voicemail.
and you don't have to think before grabbing your stuff and heading out where you think he's most likely to be.
the gym is dead silent when you arrive, lights dim.
you almost think he's not there and are prepared to leave until you hear a volleyball bouncing somewhere inside.
you follow the sound, and find him alone.
he doesn’t notice you at first – he seems to be serving repeatedly at the far wall, hard enough that the impact echoes through the gym.
again
again
again
agai-
“oikawa.”
he freezes, and the ball rolls away slowly across the floor.
for a second he just stands there with his back to you, then laughs quietly.
except it sounds wrong, forced and twisted and sounds so unnatural coming out of the brown haired boy.
“you, ah- weren’t supposed to see this.”
your throat tightens, and oikawa finally turns around.
and oh,
he looks awful. eyes tired, eyebags hanging, smile plastered on and barely there.
“why didn't you tell me?” you ask softly.
oikawa shrugs like you're not even there, not worth talking to you. his shoulders hang low, drooping. “didn't really feel like talking.”
“you.. disappeared.”
“sorry.” he says lightly, like it doesn't matter.
you step closer, footstep sounding loudly against the wooden floorboards and state, “you lost one match.” not gentle.
his jaw tightens, eyes fiery. “it wasn't just one match.”
right. of course it wasn't.
for him, volleyball is everything.
you suddenly remember all those late night calls, all the pressure he puts on himself every single day, all the moments where he'd laugh something off before changing the subject too quickly. all the times he acted overly confident like he was trying to convince himself just as much as everyone else. that maybe, just maybe, if he stopped moving for even a second, everything would finally catch up to him.
then, quietly, he murmurs, “i'm so tired.”
and oikawa never says things like that. he complains dramatically all the time, sure, but never seriously. never in a way that sounds this honest. this exhausted.
you don't know what to do. standing there suddenly feels awkward, and maybe you shouldn't have come after all, like maybe this is something private and ugly and painful and hurting that he never wanted you seeing.
but then he laughs again under his breath, except it still sounds wrong, jagged around the edges, and you realise he's waiting for you to treat this like a joke so he can pretend he's fine again.
instead, you walk toward him slowly until you're close enough to see how his shoulders shaking.
his eyes flick up to yours, surprised.
you could melt, drown in them and be happy.
so before you can think too hard about it, you wrap your arms around him.
oikawa goes completely still like his brain short circuited, like he wasn't expecting comfort from you at all. you can feel the sharp inhale he takes against your shoulder, and for one horrible second you wonder if you crossed a line.
then his arms wrap around you, leaning in and burying his head into your shoulder.
he's still shaking.
you close your eyes. “hey,” you mumble quietly.
he lets out this weak little laugh, muffled into your shoulder. “don't. this is kinda embarrassing for me.”
“i don't care.”
“i do.”
“good thing this isn't about you then.” you wince; maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.
thankfully, another laugh escapes him at that, and he doesn't let go. if anything, oikawa's grip tightens more, fingers bunching in the back of your hoodie like he's afraid you'll disappear if he loosens his hold even slightly.
the gym is completely silent around the two of you now except for the faint buzzing of the overhead lights.
after a long moment, he says in a tiny voice, “i really wanted to win.”
and god, that hurts.
he feels so painfully human. just a boy who wanted something so badly and still couldn't reach it.
you embrace him tighter. “i know.”
he exhales shakily. “i hate losing.”
“i know.”
another pause. then he mutters against your shoulder, again. “oh, you're gonna think i'm pathetic after this.”
you pull back immediately just enough to glare up at him. “don't say that.”
“i'm serious. i'm literally standing here having a breakdown over volleyball.”
“yeah,” you answer, frowning. “because it matters to you.”
his expression shifts. the exhaustion is still there, heavy under his eyes, but something else slips through now too. surprise, maybe. or relief. like he expected you to brush this off the same way he always tries to.
instead you're still here.
oikawa stares at you for a long minute before speaking again. “you came all the way here.”
you blink. “obviously.”
“why obviously?”
you open your mouth automatically, ready to answer, but nothing comes out.
why obviously?
because hearing he lost made your stomach drop.
because the thought of him sitting here alone hurt worse than it should have.
because over the last few months, he somehow became the first person you want to tell things to. the first notification you look for when your phone lights up. the person you think about constantly without even trying or wanting to.
because somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him.
oh.
oh no.
your face must give something away because his entire face changes.
“l/n-chan?”
you can’t breathe properly all of a sudden.
this is bad.
actually terrifying.
because what if you ruin this? what if you care too much? what if all the flirting and jokes meant more to you than they ever did to him?
“hey,” he says again.
oikawa's hand lifts hesitantly, fingertips brushing against your sleeve as if he's not fully sure you'll let him.
“what happened?”
you stare at him helplessly, and apparently that's enough.
his eyes widen slightly before cracking in a way that completely wrecks you.
“oh,” is the only thing that comes out, his mouth an ‘o’ shape.
“don't,” you blurt out before he can say anything else.
oikawa blinks. “don't what?”
“make it weird.”
“make what weird?”
you gesture vaguely between the two of you, mortified. “this.”
oikawa merely looks at you. then the corners of his mouth lift a little.
“a bit too little too late for that.” ayo laufey reference
your throat burns, and it hurts to swallow. “oikawa–”
“i think i started liking you the first time you insulted me.”
now it's your turn to stare at him. “huh?”
he smiles weakly. “you called me grandma.”
despite everything, a laugh bubbles out of you. “that's your romantic origin story?”
“don't judge me,” he mutters. “i was charmed. you were charming.”
you shake your head, still laughing breathlessly, and when you do something in his expression relaxes. maybe he was nervous too, and that maybe he thought imagined the whole thing.
oikawa reaches for you again, giving you enough time to pull away if you want to.
you don't.
his arms wrap around you, almost cautiously now, like you're something fragile in his eyes. you can hear his heartbeat through his thin shirt, fast enough to make warmth spread through your chest.
“hey,” he murmurs into your hair after a while. “are you.. crying?”
“no, shut up.”
“this might be the best day of my life.”
you laugh wetly into his chest. “you're so annoying.”
“yeah,” he says gently, tilting your chin up to gaze into your eyes. “but you like me anyway.”
when oikawa pulls back, he's smiling properly for the first time since you got there. tired still, but smiling. his eyes flick down toward your mouth for a split second before darting back up again, and he looks.. nervous.
is he.. is he going to–
“..can i kiss you,” oikawa asks carefully, “or are you gonna bite me.”
you blink at him in disbelief. “that is genuinely the worst thing you could've said.”
“sorry,” he says immediately. “i got i want to kiss you disease.”
you snort, heart melting on the spot at the same time.
because this is oikawa. loud, confident, obnoxious oikawa who flirts with literally everyone without blinking. and somehow, he's standing in front of you looking like the answer really matters to him.
so before you can overthink it anymore, you grab the front of his hoodie and kiss him.
he makes a startled sound against your mouth before kissing you back instantly, one hand coming up to cup your face like he's scared you'll disappear halfway through it.
truthfully, a kiss worthy of the fairytales.
and when you pull away, oikawa's staring at you like he just won the lottery.
“wow,” he breathes. “i- wow.”
you point a warning finger at him. “don't start.”
“you're literally in love with me.”
“you love me more though.”
oikawa's grin widens so fast, almost blinding.
“hey, y/n-chan?”
“what.”
“remember when you hoped i wasn't a forty five year old man?”
you groan so loudly it echoes through the gym, and oikawa laughs hard enough that he has to lean against you to stay standing.
hearing that sound again feels like finally being able to breathe.
you wake up to your phone vibrating nonstop against your mattress. you're surprised it isn't leaping into the air.
still half asleep, you blindly grab it, fumbling and squinting at the brightness.
tooru 🤍
good morning my amazingly amazing significant other >’v’<
hm that sounds off
sorry sorry
good morning situationship
that sounds worse actually
ignore that you're not my situationship..
i love you
good morning love of my life
good morning DARLING ;))
you drop your face back into your pillow, groaning. he’s so endearing.
another text follows.
tooru 🤍
HELLO???
are you ignoring me
this relationship is so toxic
you
oh my god shut up
why are you awake
tooru 🤍
i’m experiencing great joy and whimsy!
darling
you reacted 😐 to this message
you
tone it down a little
tooru 🤍
never
dating oikawa turns out to be exactly as exhausting – in a good way — as you expected, now that he’s officially decided you're his person.
he gets dramatically offended if you take too long to answer texts (“i’m your top priority!”) he throws himself across your shoulders whenever he sees you after practice like he's been separated from you for years instead of six hours (“reunited at last!”). he complains constantly that you ‘don’t compliment him enough’, despite the fact you called him beautiful once and he looked so emotional about it for the rest of the day.
but there are quieter things too, things he does without noticing.
saving the seat next to him automatically, and walking on the outside of the sidewalk. tugging you closer absentmindedly whenever crowds get too big like it’s second nature, and falling asleep on calls because he says your voice helps him unwind and relax after practice.
one afternoon, while you're sitting across from oikawa in a café, you zone out so badly you don't even realise he's talking to you until he flicks your forehead lightly.
“ow? what was that for??”
“you're doing the thing again,” oikawa replies, chin in his hands and elbows propped on the table as he gazes at you with those eyes you could drown in.
you blink twice. “what thing?”
“the overthinking thing!”
“uh, that’s not helpful at all,” you grin, amused, stirring your tea. the scent wafts up, drifting into your nose, and you inhale deeply.
“is it not true?”
oikawa reaches across the table, hooking his fingers loosely around yours. he’s been doing that quite a lot lately.
“what’s going on in that scary little brain?” he asks, tracing little shapes onto the back of your hand. imagine he wrote will you marry me lmao
you hesitate before shrugging nonchalantly. “nothing.”
oikawa frowns, stopping his thumb movements and causing you to jut out your bottom lip. “you know you don't always have to do that, right?”
“do what?”
“pretend everything's fine before you've figured out if it actually is.”
you look away toward the café window, a little annoyed.
“you do that too. and i just don't wanna ruin stuff.”
“ruin what stuff? y/n, darling-”
you gesture between the two of you.
oikawa stares at you for a second before snorting.
you narrow your eyes at him. “tooru. what now?”
“sorry,” he says, already laughing. “i just remembered you literally texted me because a forty-five-year-old blocked you.”
you groan, drawing it out as you thud your head down on the table. “can you stop reminding me? my gosh, that was ages ago.”
“and now we’re here.”
his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles.
“you're not gonna ruin us, idiot.”
us.
like there's never been another option.
a week later, you discover he has screenshots of your texts saved.
“YOU SAVED THESE?”
oikawa, sprawled comfortably across your bed, looks completely unashamed. “of course i did!”
“why.”
“because they’re cute, why else?”
“they are not cute.”
he gasps dramatically before turning on his phone and reading one aloud.
“‘go away you're literally annoying.’ wow. true romance right there.”
you immediately lunge for his phone while he yelps and nearly falls off the bed cackling.
“give it!”
“never!”
“tooru–”
“wait wait, this one's my favorite.” his voice softens slightly while he reads. “‘text me when you get home okay?’”
you stop moving. you remember sending that, late at night after practice when he sounded exhausted over the phone and you got worried.
but you didn't realise how much it meant to him.
oikawa glances up at you with his stupidly fond little smile.
“that was one of the first times i thought i was completely screwed.”
whenever oikawa has a game, he never directly asks you to come. instead, he send things like:
tooru 🤍
match tomorrow btw
you
okay
tooru 🤍
okay???
thats all???
you
good luck?
tooru 🤍
woah i can really feel the support
you reacted 😊 to this message
it's worth it, though, when you show up regardless, and his entire face lights up as he spots you in the stands.
like he's surprised someone came for him specifically, even though he has a million fangirls that giggle his name.
oikawa only cares about you.
naturally, iwaizumi talks to you first about it.
one day after practice he falls into step beside you while oikawa's distracted arguing with kyotani, probably about something stupid.
“thanks,” iwaizumi says suddenly.
your brow furrows, and you turn your head. “er- for what?”
“for dealing with him.”
you snicker. “that sounds concerning.”
“oh, you have no idea.” he has an exasperated expression on his face, but then it shifts. “he's happier lately.”
before you can answer, oikawa appears out of nowhere and throws himself dramatically over your shoulders.
“iwa-chan, are you talking shit about me?”
“always.” iwaizumi deadpans.
oikawa gasps mockingly. “fake friend.”
“shittykawa.”
“shittyzumi.” then oikawa turns to you pleadingly. “save me.”
“nah. go on, iwaizumi. how many others you got?”
“no!”
it's funny how one stupid, impulsive text at two in the morning somehow flipped your entire life around – now your days are full of him. oikawa. your boyfriend. it still feels surreal to say.
his voice. his laugh. his constant whining. his hand finding yours automatically.
oikawa loves loudly, openly, like he's physically incapable of hiding it. he talks about you constantly, drapes himself all over you every chance he gets, looks at you like you're the best thing he’s ever found.
one night after practice, the two of you end up lying on the floor of his bedroom while he complains dramatically about training.
“i'm dying,” oikawa groans, letting his long legs flop over your stomach.
“you said that half an hour ago.” you half-heartedly attempt to push his legs off, to no avail.
“it's a slow death.”
you snort quietly, glancing over at him. his hair's still damp from his shower and there's a bruise forming near his knee.
you reach over and brush your fingers lightly against his hand, and he immediately intertwines your fingers together without even opening his eyes.
automatic, like breathing.
“hey,” he says after a minute.
“hm?”
oikawa lowers his arm to stare at you properly before smiling brightly.
“thanks for texting me after. imagine if you’d only texted the forty five year ol–”
you burst out into a fit of laughter. “oh my god–”
he grins sleepily before rubbing his thumb absentmindedly across your knuckles just like he likes to do.
“seriously, though,” he says more softly. “meeting you kinda changed everything for me.”
pursing your lips, you murmur, “that's disgustingly cheesy.”
“yeah?”
“yeah. for me too, though.”
“aww.”
you squeeze his hand tighter, smiling helplessly. “good thing you answered, then.”
“best decision i've ever made.” followed by, because he physically cannot stay serious for more than ten consecutive seconds:
“also, thank goodness i'm hot.”
you grumble and shove his face away while he laughs hard enough to nearly fall onto the floor completely. sadly, he didn't and his heavy as fuck legs are still laying on you.
tooru 🤍
i love you my number neighbour
you
i love you too my number neighbour that isn’t the forty five year old man 😚
tooru 🤍
you ruined it 😠
you
EMOJI
tooru 🤍
so what
anyway what if i text MY other number neighbour
you
oikaw fucking tooru
tooru 🤍
OKAY
you liked this message
“tooru?”
“yes, my darling?”
“why are we texting when we're right next to eachother?”
oikawa smirks at you. “romance.”
i wrote this on google docs so the quotation marks look so different.. but anyway fucking hell that was a ride to write!! sorry, kat. i tried to make it 6.7k words for you but there was so much i wanted to fit in there so it ended up um exceeding that by 2k 😚
summary: lately, stiles just cant seem to catch a break, and everything is getting to be too much. lucky for him, stiles seems to have his own anchor.
wc: 1.6k
cw: physical bullying, blood, suicidal ideations, stiles is having a panic attack and is very hopeless, mentions handling pills (does not attempt), just a lot of guilt and intrusive thoughts, fluff at the end to make everything soft and nice again!
i found this half-written one-shot i'd written back in 2015 and thought i'd finish her up. HUGE hurt/comfort. who hurt me and why was i writing such detailed suicidal ideations
reader is written as a werewolf just for a little paragraph to add detail, so technically werewolf!reader, but it's not by any means a plot point
masterlist and taglist!
stiles' head bounced off the lockers behind him, and he let out a groan as his back slid down the cold metal. his shaky hand made contact with his pounding head, fingers quickly met with the warm sensation of blood. he had clipped the hinge on the way down. "dude, what the fuck?"
jackson smirked and squatted down, eye level with stiles. he leaned in close, "i'd like to say there was a reason, but that was just for fun. see you at practice, stilinski."
he stood up and walked away, but not before shoving stiles' head against the lockers once more. stiles cursed under his breath before helping himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his hands onto his jeans. he grabbed his backpack off the floor and made his way toward the parking lot, barely making it to his jeep before tears slipped down his cheeks.
"fuck this."
he started the engine and made his way home.
to say stiles had had a rough day was an understatement. everything that could have gone wrong did, and it was only 2 p.m., leaving the boy nothing but exhausted. his mind was racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't listen to, but he just didn't have it in him to fight anymore today. he wanted to lay in bed, feel like shit, and go to sleep.
he pulled into his driveway, thankful his dad's car was nowhere to be seen. he grabbed his bag and exited the car, only to get his strap caught in the door as he slammed it.
"fuck me," he muttered, pulling as hard as he could on the strap until it released from the metal door of the jeep. he looked down to see his newly ripped backpack.
stiles let out a pained scoff. "of course."
he made his way inside, trudging to his room with barely enough energy to make it up the stairs. he opened his door and threw his bag to the ground with a pained shout, his papers flying absolutely everywhere.
stiles sobbed into his hands, not knowing what to do anymore. it had all gotten to be too much, and he couldn't keep up.
he didn't want to.
he climbed into his bed and curled up tightly as his thoughts scrambled around his head at a thousand miles an hour.
he couldn't breathe. each breath he took was shorter than the last, and he hadn't felt like this since he had his panic attack at his mom's funeral. he grasped at his chest, one hand tangled in his shirt and the other threatening to pull chunks of his hair out.
he just didn't know what to do anymore. everything in his life was out of his control: from the supernatural, to school, to his own father— everything was just getting harder and slipping away from his hands. and the tighter he held on, the more damage he felt himself do.
he tried to help. he tried to do anything. but it was all too much, and nothing was working.
needless to say, he hadn't been taking care of himself much recently. he couldn't remember the last time he took his meds, ate a full meal, or slept over 4 hours. he couldn't. there was too much going on. he had to make sense of any of it, whatever he could.
he'd been struggling for weeks on end. the whole pack had, really.
between the recruitment of the new betas and being at odds with the alpha pack, no one had time for anything, and they were all run down. stiles, however, was taking the brunt of it. he always did, whether he meant to or not. he just wanted to do whatever he could to help those around him, to relieve as much stress from the others as he could.
this time, he'd taken on too much, and he couldn't handle it anymore.
he tried desperately to steady his breathing, but each moment that passed was another attack from his own mind, begging him for some form of relief, an end to his descent into madness.
quiet.
he just wanted things to be quiet, even for a moment.
stiles did everything in his power to keep himself sane. to not turn against himself. but with each second that passed, the thought of going to sleep and not waking up grew more and more enticing.
a chance at some peace.
his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he contemplated answering for a moment, hoping to draw himself out of the spiral he was in. he cursed as his body froze and he let the call end, a series of vibrations following, signalling a string of texts. he couldn't respond to anyone in this condition.
he couldn't do anything in this condition.
he couldn't do anything.
he grabbed a bottle of pills from his nightstand drawer and clutched it tightly in his pale hands, sobbing as he realized the point he was at. he just needed a break.
his shaky hands tried to open the cap, but he kept slipping. with each attempt at twisting the lid, he grew more and more frustrated, ragged and loud whines escaping his throat as he struggled. suddenly, his hand flew forward.
white pills were scattered all over the bed around him, forcing the air out of his lungs. his eyes widened with the realization of what he was doing, newfound guilt flooding his core. he let out a sob, gasping for air as he held himself, taking in the gravity of the moment around him. he closed his eyes as tight as he could, clenching his fists and crushing the pills he had in his hands.
"stiles? oh my god!"
he swore he had a heart attack at the sound of your voice; he hadn't heard you enter his room.
he opened his bloodshot eyes and locked them with your frightened ones. stiles almost let out a sigh of relief at the sight of you before remembering the scene before him. his breathing grew more sporadic.
"i'm, it's— it's not what, i, i didn't, i haven't—
fuck, (y/n)."
you ran to the boy quickly, not believing what you were seeing. you listened to his heartbeat and tried to get a scent off of him, anything to indicate whether or not he'd already taken the pills.
"stiles, did you take anything? what did you do?" you growled. you didn't mean to be so harsh with him, but you were terrified beyond belief at what you'd just walked into.
stiles shook his head furiously, choking out whatever words he could. "i, i didn't take anything, (y/n)! i'm, i promise."
your hands caressed both of his cheeks, wiping tears off his flushed skin as your own made their way down your face. he leaned into your touch, and it broke your heart more to such pain in the eyes of someone you cared so much about.
"stiles, what's going on? please, talk to me."
stiles tried to regulate his breathing, attempting to come up with a response and gather his surroundings. he looked at you, his soft features furrowing. "w-what are you doing here?"
"you left school and looked pretty upset. i saw you bleeding. and then you... you wouldn't answer your phone. i-i just needed to know you were okay,"
you looked around his room, silently taking note of the chaos before you. you looked down to the white pills on his bed and your stomach turned. your voice dropped to a whisper. "and i guess i'm glad i came."
stiles looked down into his lap, embarrassment taking over his features. "i'm sorry i worried you. i wasn't going to do anything stupid, i mean it. i was just..."
he let out a sigh of frustration, running his hands over his face roughly as he fought finding your gaze again. "it was all just too much there for a second... you know?"
you grabbed his hands, softly squeezing as you held them in your lap. you leaned closer, and against his wishes, he looked up to meet your eyes. they were sincere, and stiles felt an ounce of relief in his shame. just being in your presence, he could feel himself calming down.
"yeah, i do know. i'm really sorry everything sucks so much all the time."
he let out a breathy chuckle and you grinned at him, relieved to see a smile on his face again. he stared at you for a moment before letting out a deep breath, leaning forward to lay his head against your shoulder. you immediately let go of his hands to wrap your arms around him, holding him as tightly as possible.
you heard his sniffle under you, and you slid your hand up his back to meet with his brown locks. you ran your fingers through gently, a soothing motion that meant more to stiles than he could ever articulate. you felt him press a kiss against your shoulder and snuggle even closer, his breathing finally steady.
he let out a huff of air, amused. "jesus, that was pretty dramatic."
you laughed sharply, your chest beginning to feel lighter as your beloved sarcastic stiles began to shine through again.
"honestly, i think you're overdue for a crash out. shit sucks," his laugh was music to your ears.
"come on, let me help you clean all this up." you whispered against his head, fingers still intertwined in his hair.
he nodded against your shoulder but didn't move. and as you listened to his steadying heartbeat, neither did you.
like the stydia kiss in season three when stiles is having a panic attack, except you're the one panicking and he kisses you!
obviously details a panic attack so trigger warning for that
masterlist and taglist!
"(y/n)?"
stiles knocked softly on your door, frowning at the lack of response. he called your name a few more times to no avail, slowly opening the bedroom door with a deep breath. he called out your name again, sounding his presence before even looking in the room. was he concerned you were unresponsive because you were dead? yes. but he was still a man of respect.
his heart grew heavy in his chest as his eyes fell on your frame. you sat on your window sill, legs curled to your chest and a heavy blanket wrapped around your figure as you balanced on the ledge of the open window. not in a concerning way, stiles decided. you didn't appear ready to jump, but rather more... pensive. he couldn't see much of your face, as you overlooked the activity on the street below, but he could hear you crying. the entire scene was gut-wrenching to him.
you, on the other hand, considered it pathetic.
you didn't hear stiles entering your room, lost in your own world as tears stained your cheeks. your once racing thoughts had been numbed by feelings of dissociation, no longer having the energy to even ruminate anymore. you pulled your weighted blanket tighter around your body, hoping at this point it would just crush you and swallow you whole. you nearly fell out the window at the sound of stiles calling out your name.
"... (y/n)?
you turned to face him, and you swore he almost looked as sad as you did.
he stepped hesitantly into the room. "i'm sorry, i, we just, we haven't h-heard from you all day. are you... are you okay?"
the fatal question.
as soon as the words came out of his mouth, you choked out a sob. the emotions you had detached yourself from came flooding back into your system, and you lost control.
you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think, yet that was somehow all you were able to do — no words would come out no matter how hard you tried. stiles ran to your side immediately, pulling you from the window and onto the ground.
"shit, hey hey, okay hey, stay with me (y/n)," he tugged you against his chest, holding you as tight as he possibly could as if he was afraid you'd run. as if you had that kind of control over your body in this moment.
you felt yourself beginning to hyperventilate, no longer feeling like you could get any oxygen into your lungs. it made you panic more, and while you knew stiles was talking to you, begging for your attention, you just couldn't seem to pull out of it.
"hey, everything's okay. j-just, uh just try to slow down your breathing, come on,"
everything was overwhelming again. you felt like you were in a trance — and it was absolute hell. you needed to snap out of it. you screamed in your head, begging, pleading with your brain to think rationally.
it's no use, you thought. i'm fucking stuck like this forever.
stiles didn't know what to do. he'd dealt with his own panic attacks before, but seeing you in one short-circuited his brain. he was panicking himself, the thought of you hurting this badly physically bringing him pain. he pulled you off his chest, trying to get you to look in his eyes. trying to pull you out of it.
"(y/n), please, i need you to listen to me,"
"please, just please look at me,"
"i need you to breathe, please, i need you to listen to me. you're right here with me, you're safe. whatever this is, i, i-it's okay, i promise, just, please,"
there was nothing you wanted more than to cooperate, but you weren't in control anymore. you sobbed harder, feeling defeated.
stiles' breathing was getting quicker too, feeling helpless. he just needed you to hear him, to come back to the present. he needed you to breathe, he really needed you to breathe, he just —
his lips hit yours with a force, silencing your mind in an instant. your eyes widened as you felt him against you, his hands pressing on either side of your face, holding you close to him. you saw his eyes squeezed shut tightly. you felt his choppy exhale against your face. you could smell his cologne. you could hear your stereo playing softly in the background. suddenly, you were here again — present.
your eyes fluttered closed and stiles let out a sigh into your mouth as he finally felt you relax against him. he held there for a moment, his soft lips on your chapped and swollen ones, lightly running his fingers through your hair as he felt your body begin to calm down. you let out a shaky exhale through your nose as you laid a hand against his chest, and he knew you had come back down to earth.
he pulled back slowly, his eyes opening to lock with yours. your lips remained slightly parted, shaky breaths coming out at a much slower pace than just moments before. you both just sat there, inches from one another, and your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what just happened. his eyes flickered down to your lips, causing him to lick his own subconsciously.
stiles spoke first. "i, um,"
"i read somewhere once, that, holding your breath can help stop a panic attack,"
he paused for a moment to clear his throat. "so, when I kissed you, you, uh, you held your breath."
"oh,"
"yeah,"
"i did?"
he nodded slowly with pursed lips, shaky breath escaping his mouth. "yeah,"
you nodded slowly, feeling your heart rate return to normal for what felt like the first time in days. you leaned back slightly, taking in his whole frame. you took a deep breath, butterflies beginning to replace the sickly feeling in your stomach. "thank you,"
She left for summer break as Scott’s annoying little sister and she came back glowing, confident, and gorgeous. Stiles can’t stop looking, but he finds he isn’t the only one.
Warnings: none
———————————————————————
The heat pressed down on Beacon Hills High like someone had draped a giant, sweaty blanket over the entire state of California. Even the asphalt in the parking lot shimmered with it, waves rising like a mirage as you, Scott, and Stiles trudged toward the Jeep. Your backpack dug into your shoulder, your hair stuck to the back of your neck, and your brain already felt like a dripping ice-cream left out in the heat.
But Stiles Stilinski had apparently found a new source of energy that defied all known laws of biology. He kept bumping you. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip. A little nudge every few steps, just enough to be irritating but not quite enough to justify committing a felony.
You shot him a glare after the third hit. “Seriously? Can you not?”
He widened his eyes in mock innocence. “What? I’m just walking. Normal walking. Completely standard-issue, FDA-approved walking.”
“You’re swerving like you’re drunk.”
“I don’t swerve,” he gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his heart. “I glide.”
Scott groaned, adjusting the straps of his own bag. “Dude, it’s ninety degrees and school just ended. Can you maybe not harass my sister for five minutes?”
“I’m not harassing her,” Stiles said, immediately bumping you again.
You elbowed him so hard he stumbled. “Oops.”
He caught himself, mouth falling open in a scandalised gasp. “She assaults me and you say nothing? Unbelievable. I am a victim.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you felt your skull shift. “You deserve it.”
His grin was bright, stupid, and annoyingly infectious. “Maybe. But you love it.”
And there it was, the line he’d been tossing at you since freshman year. The line that always made your stomach twist even though you denied it every time. You fought the heat rising in your face. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him know. Scott would never let you live it down. Stiles would never let you forget it.
“What I love,” you said coolly, “is the idea of getting to the car without you touching me again.”
“That’s gonna be tough,” Stiles said, swinging his Jeep keys. “My orbit naturally pulls people toward me. Gravity and whatnot.”
“You mean your giant ego the size of a black hole?” you muttered under your breath.
He heard it. Of course he did. You meant him to, after all. His grin sharpened. Scott climbed into the passenger seat. You tossed your bag inside and slid into the back.
Stiles turned to look at you, pointer finger extended. “No kicking the back of my seat.”
So you kicked it.
“Hey!” He whipped around like you’d committed treason. “I literally just said—”
“You deserved it,” you repeated.
Scott sighed, leaning back. “Can you guys not fight for, like, one drive? Just one?”
“No,” both you and Stiles said at the same exact time.
And then all three of you laughed. You looked out the window as Stiles started driving, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing you wished you could surgically remove. You wished your crush on him would stay in the backseat when you left for the summer. You wished it would disappear entirely.
But crushes were stupid. Especially when they involved boys with messy hair, sarcastic mouths, and brown eyes that always, always saw more than he admitted.
———————————————————————
Spending summer with your dad felt like stepping out of your own life for a while. No Beacon Hills. No petty highschool drama. No school stress. No Stiles. Just sunlight, lake water, and long days that stretched lazily into warm nights.
Of course, Scott had chosen to stay back in Beacon Hills to spend the summer with his best friend, but you? You were eager to spend some time with your father. Lord knows you didn’t get much of that anymore.
You hiked, swam, read, helped your dad fish on the dock, and practically lived in bikini tops and bare feet. You barely checked your phone. The days blurred together in the good way until suddenly people were staring at you differently.
Your father said it first, “Sweetheart, you’ve really grown up.”
Then the niece of the local corner shop owner, “When did you get so…pretty?”
Then the mirror said it, too. You had sun-warmed skin, ocean bleached hair, brighter eyes, confidence that hadn’t been there before. Your clothes fit differently. You stood differently. You felt different. You felt better.
———————————————————————
You arrived home mid-afternoon, suitcase wheels rattling over the walkway. You lifted it up the porch steps, expecting to hear your mom calling, or Scott bounding outside, or even total silence.
You did not expect Stiles sitting on the deck beside Scott, legs kicked out, leaning back on his hands, talking a mile a minute about something involving animal activity and a conspiracy theory. His head snapped toward you mid-sentence, and the rest of the sentence died on his tongue.
For the first time in your entire shared history, Stiles Stilinski went silent. Completely and utterly silent.
His eyes widened. His mouth parted the tiniest bit, and then he stared. Not in a rude way, and not in a boy-ish ‘oh wow’ way. This was different. This was careful, and stunned, and intense. You felt heat bloom in your cheeks.
Scott noticed a second later. “Oh! You’re home early!”
You smiled at him, letting him pull you into a hug. “Yeah. Dad had work stuff, so I came back a few days sooner.”
Stiles didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe correctly. When Scott pulled away, Stiles finally croaked, “Uh. Hi.”
You raised a brow. “Hi.”
His gaze flickered down, then up again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed. His fingers twitched on his knees like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
You’d imagined this moment before - Stiles actually seeing you - but you never imagined it would knock every thought out of his head.
“Stiles,” Scott said, confused. “Dude. You good?”
Stiles didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at you like you’d rewired his brain.
———————————————————————
Scott invited you with him to the lake the next day. You said yes, mostly because you missed swimming everyday. Totally not because Stiles was going.
You stepped out of your shirt and shorts, leaving you only in your new leopard print bikini. The one you’d bought because you liked the way you looked in it, not for anyone else’s eyes. But Stiles looked anyway.
He was sprawled across the warm rocks by the bank, shirt half off, sunglasses in hand. He froze mid-motion when he saw you, arms awkwardly tangled in cotton, like someone had paused his animation. Your stomach flipped, tension tugging warm and sweet behind your ribs.
He pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and promptly dropped it on his foot, tripping over it when he got up and tried to walk, stomping on a sharp piece of dry clay. “Ow, dammit! Sorry, ignore me…uh, hi,” he stammered, waving with zero coordination.
You felt yourself smile. “Hi.”
Scott tossed you sunscreen. “Want me to get your back?”
Before you could answer, Stiles blurted, “I can! I mean, I…could do it. If you want.”
Scott shot him a look. “Why would she want that?”
Stiles kicked Scott’s ankle. “Shut up.”
“I don’t need help,” you said quickly, even though part of you curious what his hands might feel like. “I’m good.”
Stiles nodded too fast. “Yeah. Cool. Awesome. Independence is important.”
You dropped your towel, walked toward the edge of the bank, and felt his gaze follow you like the sun. You slipped into the water, cool greenish-blue swallowing your skin, and walked until it was deep enough to dunk your head under. When you wandered back to the surface, wiping your eyes, Stiles was still watching. He didn’t look away. Not even a little.
You dove under again just to hide the smile blooming across your face.
———————————————————————
Two days later, Scott suggested bowling. You came along. Stiles arranged himself on the seat next to the shoe rack like he belonged there with one leg bouncing, his hands fidgeting, and his eyes constantly drifting toward you.
“Okay,” he said, leaning forward as you grabbed your bowling ball, “don’t be offended, but please don’t throw it backwards.”
You smirked. “You think I’m going to drop it?”
“I think,” he said, pointing dramatically, “that physics will betray you.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Ignore him.”
You lined up your shot, raised the ball, and released in a clean and smooth motion. It rolled straight down the center like it had been waiting all its life to do exactly that.
Stiles and Scott leaned forward comically and you held your breath until the pins clattered down. All of the pins. You’d scored a strike!
“Woah! When did you get good?” Scott arched a brow in surprised
Stiles only gawked at you, his mouth hanging open. “Since when can you bowl?”
You brushed imaginary lint off your shorts. “Since now.”
Stiles stared at you like you’d personally rewritten the fundamental laws of the universe. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said suspiciously.
“What am I doing?”
“Being good at…things. That you weren’t good at. Before.”
“People learn, Stiles.”
“Yeah but, you learned suspiciously quickly.”
You bent to pick up your ball again, aware of his eyes flicking down, then away, then back again because he absolutely couldn’t help himself. Your heart fluttered, but his did too. You could see it this time.
———————————————————————
Scott dragged both of you to the store later that week. You showed up in cutoff denim shorts and a fitted tank top, hair still damp from a shower. Stiles saw you walk toward the aisle and literally forgot how to stand still.
He pushed the cart into a shelf of canned beans because he wasn’t watching where he was going. The clatter made Scott jump. “Dude, what the hell?”
Stiles whispered harshly, “She’s doing it again!”
You raised an eyebrow, reaching for some chocolate ice-cream. “Doing what?”
“Existing,” Stiles snapped helplessly. “In clothes. With legs. And, hair that’s shiny, and distracting, and illegal.”
Scott blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” Stiles said quickly. “Shut up.”
You hid your smile behind the freezer door.
———————————————————————
The night before returning to school was a warm evening, the air thick with the smell of grilling from a neighbor’s yard and the hum of crickets. You and Scott were carrying grocery bags to the house. Stiles lingered by the Jeep, keys hooked on his finger, watching without really watching.
You laughed at something Scott said and when you looked over, Stiles was staring again. But this time was different. He wasn’t shocked. Or flustered. Or surprised. He was…soft, and quiet.
His eyes followed the curve of your cheek, the shape of your smile, the way your hair fell forward when you set the bags down. His expression shifted, slow and dawning, like a realisation on had been working its way through him all week and finally clicked.
You felt it. You felt him seeing you. Not as the kid who’d once thrown popcorn at him. Not as the girl who always fought with him in the Jeep. Not as Scott’s little sister. But as a young woman standing in the soft summer light. As someone he wanted. Someone he couldn’t stop looking at.
You caught his eye staring and this time he didn’t look away. Neither did you. Your heart pounded loud enough you were sure he heard it. His breath hitched, just barely.
Summer was ending. But whatever this was? It was just beginning.
———————————————————————
The first day back to school after summer always carried the same exhausted buzz. Students dragged themselves across the courtyard, teachers pretended they didn’t want to disappear, the smell of too much body spray and freshly sharpened pencils lingered in the air. But this year felt different. You felt different.
You walked beside Scott and Stiles toward the front entrance, backpack slung over one shoulder, the morning sun catching in your hair. You weren’t trying to draw attention, you were just existing, but apparently that was enough because people stared.
Boys you’d known since kindergarten. Upperclassmen who had never looked twice at you before. One guy from the lacrosse team walked straight into a trash can because he wasn’t watching where he was going.
You bit back a laugh but Stiles didn’t seem to find it as funny as you did.
“Hey!” he shouted, pointing aggressively. “Eyes forward, buddy! Eyes on your own legs, or whatever.”
Scott gave him a side-eye. “Dude, what is your problem this morning?”
“My problem,” Stiles muttered loudly, “is that this school is full of hormonal gremlins who apparently never learned what personal boundaries are.”
You snorted. “They’re just looking.”
“Yeah,” he said sharply. “That’s the problem.”
You rolled your eyes. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” he insisted, immediately proving himself a liar by tripping over his own shoe. “I’m the picture of relaxation.”
Scott stopped at his locker. “Why are you so on edge?”
Stiles pointed at you with both hands like you were exhibit A in a courtroom. “Have you seen her? Everyone else has! The whole school is staring at her like she’s…she’s…”
“Stiles,” you sighed, “I can handle myself.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, falling in step behind you as you kept walking further down the hall to your own locker. “you shouldn’t have to. I’m obligated.”
You blinked. “Obligated?”
“Yes.” He gestured dramatically between you and Scott. “Sister of best friend. Basic bro code. Article 5, subsection C. I’m required to protect you.”
“That’s not a real thing,” you said dryly.
“It is,” he insisted. “It absolutely is. It’s my duty.”
“Your duty,” you repeated, amused and annoyed in equal measure. “Right.”
He opened his mouth to argue further, but then Isaac Lahey walked up. Isaac, with his beautiful curls and his shy smile and his lovely, gentle voice. You knew Isaac decently well. He was in your brother’s grade, but quiet. He kept to himself. You’d both found yourselves alone in the library at times, exchanging polite conversation.
“Hey,” Isaac said, smiling in a way that was way too charming for a Monday morning. “You look different. Good! Good different.”
You felt your chest warm. It wasn’t even the flirtation - well, it was - but it was also just nice. Nice to be seen. Nice to be noticed.
Stiles made a noise - a noise that was barely human - that sounded like something between a choking sound and a suspiciously canine growl.
Isaac looked over. “Stiles. You okay?”
“I’m great,” Stiles said tightly. “Perfect. Peachy. Never better.”
Isaac turned back to you. “If you ever want to hang out sometime—”
Stiles stepped between you like a malfunctioning traffic cone. “She’s busy.”
You frowned. “I am?”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “Very.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Uh…okay? You can let me know if—”
“She won’t,” Stiles snapped.
Isaac blinked, taken aback. “Right. Well. See you around.”
He left and you turned to Stiles slowly. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” he asked innocently. “I was helping.”
“No, you weren’t! You were being rude, and weird, and…controlling!”
His eyes widened. “Controlling? I’m not controlling.”
“You won’t even let a guy talk to me!”
“Because he wants to talk to you!” Stiles said, as if that explained anything.
You threw your hands up. “Yes, Stiles! That’s the point! That’s what happens when a girl is interested in someone or when someone is, God forbid, interested in her!”
He froze, mouth opening and closing. “You were…interested? In him?”
“That’s not the point!” you groaned, pacing in a small frustrated circle. “The point is that you’ve been glued to my side all morning like some overprotective…jackal!”
“A jackal?” he repeated, offended. “I’m more fox-like, thank you.”
“Stiles!”
He held up his hands. “Okay! Fine! I’m sorry, alright? I just—” He cut himself off, eyes darting away.
“Just what?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind whatever excuse you’ve been giving yourself for the past week. Tell me.”
He swallowed hard. His voice was lower when he said, “I just don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?”
“All the guys looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes, assuming where this was going. “Why? Because of the bro code?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “Not because of the bro code.”
You crossed your arms. “Then why?”
“Because I see you differently now!” he blurted. His hands were shaking. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I don’t just see you as Scott’s annoying little sister anymore? That I can’t stop looking at you? That all summer I didn’t know what changed but suddenly you were just everywhere in my head and I can’t…God, I can’t turn it off!”
Your breath was snatched away by his words, but he kept going, words tripping over each other like he’d been holding them back for too long.
“I hate when other guys look at you because I want to look at you. I’ve been looking at you. All the time. And I don’t want to pretend it’s because of Scott or some fake duty or whatever. It’s because I like you. I like you so much it’s making me insane.”
Silence punched the air flat. Your heart hammered. Warmth flooded your chest, so bright it felt like sunlight. “It’s about time,” you whispered.
Stiles blinked. “Wh…what?”
“It’s about time you realised,” you said, stepping closer. “Because I’ve liked you for a lot longer.”
His mouth fell open. “You have?”
“Yes,” you breathed, fingers reaching up to curl into his shirt. “Idiot.”
And then you kissed him. His shocked inhale melted instantly into something hungry, desperate, relieved. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer like he couldn’t believe you were real. You felt him smile against your mouth. It was wide and giddy and unbelievably sweet.
You broke apart just barely, foreheads touching, both of you breathless.
“Just for the record,” he said softly, “I still hate when guys look at you.”
You snorted. “Too bad. I’m hot.”
He groaned dramatically. “Trust me, I know.”
You kissed him again, slower this time. Somewhere down the hall, Scott shouted your names. You pulled back and Stiles paled.
“Oh God,” he whispered. “We’re dead.”
You grabbed his collar, smiling. “Later. Right now? We’re busy.”
And Stiles kissed you like he couldn’t stop. Not now, not ever.
i really liked the ‘comfort kisses’ with iwaizumi, could you write something similar for oikawa?
have a great day <3
THANK YOU and yes omg my first time writing oikawa i hope you enjoy! art creds to loony! comfort kisses here!
cuddle bug
oikawa tooru x gn!reader who’s sad :’) angst and fluff, potential ooc oikawa
oikawa singsang your name as he knocked on your door, quietly pushing it open without waiting for a definitive response. he’d had an idea of how he’d find you, but seeing it in real time made his heart clench in his chest.
you were curled up in the middle of your bed, making yourself as small as possible beneath the heavy cushions. a sliver of your forehead was the only skin visible, and oikawa silently wondered how that could be comfortable.
he said your name again and frowned when you failed to respond. “are you sleepy?” he asked, which made you shuffle slightly in bed.
huffing quietly to himself, oikawa didn’t care about changing out of his practice clothes before crawling into your side. given how long you’d been there, he’d be pulling you up and washing your sheets before the end of the day.
you tensed when the bed dipped beneath his sudden weight and peeked past the comforter to look at him. “what?”
“what?” he mirrored as he shuffled closer, carefully tossing his limbs around you and wiggling you into his side. “uncomfortable?”
you didn’t say anything for a long time before shaking your head. it was a bit warm with the addition of oikawa’s body heat, but you enjoyed the lines of him and the smell of his deodorant.
oikawa hummed at your reaction and squeezed you a little harder. “you can tell me.”
and, with your bottom lip in very serious danger of trembling, you did. you explained how tired you were, how you missed feeling joy in the little things, how you’d been struggling to allow yourself some leniency in life. never once did your boyfriend interrupt you, though he did gasp once or twice to emphasize your point for you.
when you finished long enough to properly breathe, you were wilted like a flower against oikawa’s chest.
“i’m tired,” was all you could croak, and when he tightened the hug he’d trapped you in, you found yourself smiling.
oikawa ran his lithe fingers through over your scalp. “sleep. i’ll stay here with you until you wake up, and then we can make some dinner together. hm? sound okay?”
you were already asleep before the reply came, but oikawa didn’t mind. he only covered your face in gentle, peppering kisses and did as promised.
You love Atsumu so much. Your big, strong, and funny Tsumu, with a chipped tooth from when he fell down a slide when he was 8, with hands so warm that you wouldn’t feel whole without them on your hips, with shoulders so large and muscular that you feel a strain in your back hauling him through the street.
“Angel, babyyy,” he sings, giggling at the way your steps are wobbly, “am I that heavy?” He pouts, his warm breath tickling your neck, the sour smell of whiskey reminding you of just how drunk he is. You’re just glad you didn’t wear heels, it would make it that much harder to keep yourself from slipping on the icy sidewalks. You would be freezing cold tonight if it weren’t such a workout trying to haul your very very intoxicated boyfriend back home.
You have one of his arms slung around your shoulder to keep him from falling into the road, your other arm hugging tightly onto his waist to keep him standing straight.
“I love bein’ close ta ya like this.” He peppers messy kisses to your cheek; you would be more appreciative of his display of affection if you weren’t nearly out of breath. “Yer so goddamn gorgeous, I need ta tell ya that more.” He nuzzles into your side even more. “I love ya so much!”
“I love you too Tsumu,” you huff out. “But please, you gotta help me out here,” you whine.
“So pretty yer makin’ me blush.”
“You drank too much.”
“Only cause I was so nervous talkin’ ta such a stunner.” His shameless flirting doesn’t suffer at all when he’s under the influence. He just can’t help but let every single one of his precious thoughts slip out when he looks at you. You were so beautiful it made his eyes water just thinking about how you were his. He looks at you, sweaty and panting under a very light snowfall, and he feels himself fall in love all over again. You’re already his, but he has the sudden compulsion to win you again.
When the weight of his body is lifted, you take your first proper breath of air of the hour. You look up in confusion as you see him stumbling into one of the tiny storefronts that line the street.
“Atsumu?” You question, standing still to let yourself catch your breath. He looks back with a goofy smile and bright eyes before disappearing into the shop.
You look up at the street sign and it’s a small import department store. You walk to the window and see china tea sets lining the front displays and just behind them is an entire wall covered ceiling to floor in different baseball caps. Incense, cutlery, umbrellas, children’s books, chess sets, massage chairs… you can’t possibly imagine what Atsumu needs so you’re about to follow him into the store before he stumbles out again, holding something in his closed fist. There’s a wide child-like grin as he wobbles to stand in front of you and takes your face in his free palm. You can’t help but laugh at how odd his behaviour is.
“You ready to go home now, silly?” You brush your fingers gently through his platinum hair. Before you have time to turn around and drag him behind you, he’s lowering himself. Atsumu doesn’t have the balance in his current state to rest on just one knee, so he opts for sitting on both of them. Instead of wide glittery eyes, he’s met with an unamused expression. Nevertheless, he takes your delicate hand and reveals the simple silver ring he hid in his palm.
“I never even knew I could love someone this much.” His words are slurred as he speaks. “I’m so happy that yer mine. Yer the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. I promise ta make ya happy, I’ll give ya anythin you’ve ever wanted.” His puppy eyes start to water as they look up at you. “Can we make eachother happy forever?”
“Will you get off the ground, your knees are getting wet,” you scold.
“Tell me you’ll be mine forever.”
“I’ll tell you when you’re sober enough to actually remember it, now let’s go home.” You try to lift him to his feet but he’s stubborn.
“I know it isn’t the prettiest ring and you deserve something that’s just as gorgeous as you. I spent so long pickin’ the perfect one for ya but in the end I just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. I needed to ask ya here ‘n now if you’ll marry me.” His words take a long second to register. Your heart thumping violently in your chest. Was he already planning on proposing?
“I don’t care about the ring, silly.”
“I know, I know, I know ya don’t. But still I wanted to buy a diamond big enough that everyone could see how much I loved ya, and I did! It’s in my dresser at home and I was gonna give it ta ya next month but I was gettin too impatient and I just wanted ta tell ya already how in love with ya I am. I’m so fuckin’ in love with ya, I can’t believe yer real sometimes. I need ya ta know I can’t think of a life without ya, Y/N.”
“Atsumu…”
“Marry me. Let’s grow old together.”
“Tsumu,” you cup his cheek in your frigid palm and with a sweet smile, you shed a soft tear. “You’re so fucking drunk,” you laugh. “I love you so much, I want to marry you.”
Atsumu leaps up from his spot on the ground and throws his arms around you, nearly making you collapse under the sudden weight. You can’t help but notice the skin of your neck starting to dampen with Atsumu’s tears. Everything feels so hopeful and the gravity of his promise is just starting to sink in. He’s going to be yours, and you’re going to be his.
“You really couldn’t wait,” you giggle. Atsumu shakes his head.
He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.
for the msby black jackals, it’s very easy to tell when atsumu miya is in a bad mood.
maybe it’s how they’ve all gotten to know each other better or maybe it’s the amount of time they’ve all spent together since the very first day, but by now, they can all tell, just by atsumu’s little quirks and whims, when the setter’s feeling particularly … grumpy.
“did’ja forget how to serve all’a sudden?” the blond barks in the middle of the court, cutting the practice match short as the ball hits the ground loudly.
sakusa bites back at him, eyes squinted, “did you forget how to set?”
atsumu’s been like this all morning.
ever since he entered the gym doors and hinata greeted him their usual morning “hellos”, he’s been nothing but a grumbly, mumbly mess, glaring at everyone who got at least two feet near him.
they figured its just one of those days.
usually, they’re able to work around it, eventually snap him out of his horrible demeanor and bribe him back to his usual tsumu self with a couple of jokes here and there.
but today, nothing is working. he isn’t budging at all. not even meian could get through to him with how loud his sulking is getting.
and it’s bothering everyone on the team.
“so, when are we gonna call reinforcements on this?” sakusa mutters to shoyo, the two of them watching their blond headed friend from afar, observing - not so discreetly - as he sits alone on the bench, somehow still managing to look annoyed at the floor.
they wonder if he’ll yell at that too.
“i don’t wanna get yelled at again.” hinata grimaces, his shoulders dropping wantonly as he recalls the last time he called for reinforcements.
after all, the reinforcements: you, did warn all of them the last time it happened that you would very much rather not be involved in any of this should it ever happen again.
( the last time they called you in because atsumu was apparently being unreasonable, not only did you reprimand atsumu for terrorizing the team, but you reprimanded everyone else as well for even dragging you into it. )
hinata nudges sakusa, “you make the call, omi.”
and sakusa breathes in deeply, “… no.”
the rest of the morning feels horrible for everybody. an obvious damper in the air as no one is feeling energized or static enough to proceed with the rest of the day’s practice.
if it wasn’t so sunny outside, hinata swears, he could hear thunder and lightning flashing so dramatically.
“obviously we’re all not feeling great this morning.” meian starts, addressing everyone on the team as they all huddle around each other. “some more than others.”
atsumu sees the pointed look his team captain gives him. he does his best to look to the side and ignore it.
“but, regionals are coming up, and that means i need everyones heads to be in the game.”
atsumu knows he hasn’t been the best teammate today, but can they really blame him? he wasn’t just picking on them for no reason. the serves really were weak and the timing and the tempos of the plays were just plain subpar.
if he was in a good mood, then fine, sure, maybe, he would have relayed those criticisms better, be gentler and nicer.
but tough shit, because today, he’s not.
today, he is in an awful, horrible, terrible mood, and the team’s below-average play was just making everything worse.
“so, why don’t we all take a break?” meian’s voice cuts him out of his slump, and for the first time all morning, his shoulders pick up a bit in anticipation. “how does thirty minutes sound?”
thirty minutes sounds great – fantastic, even.
but not for him to take a break, no - no way. there’s absolutely no time for that.
because right now, as meian speaks (so awfully slow, atsumu thinks) you are currently 15 minutes away from his gym stadium, tucked away in an opera theatre with one of your classmates, watching a performance you’re assigned to write an essay on.
and usually, he’s cool with things like that, it’s normal for you to go on university trips with your friends. your major takes you all over japan for the amount of assignments it has you accomplishing, after all.
but for some reason, this time he’s not. this time he can’t be cool with it.
this time it gets under his nerves so much that it just about makes him want to explode at a wall.
this time you aren’t with the friends he’s met before. this time you’re with someone new, someone assigned to watch the show with you, and it’ll be someone he’s never met, just the two of you there, in the theatre, in the dark, alone.
he’d yell at a floor if he could.
now, he isn’t a jealous person. he really, really, really isn’t.
and when you both left the house this morning, he’d given you a kiss on the cheek with his usual sly grin, an i love you to start the day, and a promise that he’d pick you up when he can.
but the second you left his sight, it was like it all suddenly hit him.
you. a guy. alone. in a theatre.
you were basically going on a date.
and that puts a very, very awful taste in his mouth.
“alright you rats,” meian sighs as he takes a look at the team he’s talking to, no one seemingly paying attention anymore after the minute he said ‘break’, “be back in thirty. i mean it.”
and that was all the cue atsumu needed to hear. one second he’s breaking from the team huddle, and the next he’s bolting out the door.
“be back in thirty or it’s diving drills for all of you!”
atsumu glances on his wristwatch as he runs, he’s got about thirty minutes on the clock and you’re about fifteen minutes away from him by foot. he didn’t bring his car today and really, just from the practice alone this morning, his heart rate is already up by a dozen.
he can’t afford to slow down now. so, he’ll just have to run faster.
this is fine — better than yelling at the floor, at least.
“so, how about that performance, huh?”
you look up from your watch as your classmate’s voice cuts through your thoughts. he’s standing to your right, awkwardly distanced, but a decent amount of feet away that he’s not so close.
is it bad that you don’t remember his name?
“it was okay.” you give him a polite smile, scratching your cheek in instinct as you make polite conversation.
“i thought it died down a bit during that final part though.”
“i noticed that too,” he gives you a smile back, “it did lose momentum.”
the conversation is very polite, quiet, riddled with pointless small talk to make up for the painful awkwardness wafting in the air.
you’ve got half a thought in the back of your mind to make up some lame excuse to just suddenly leave and go, but you still kinda feel a little bit sorry for the guy for being stuck with you on this project.
(plus there was that whole forgetting-his-name thing that something tells you you should feel guilty about.)
curse you, randomly assigned project partners.
despite having shared classes with mr. nameless over here and seeing him around campus a handful of times, the two of you never really interacted until this morning when you both met up for this theatre watching project.
you’d mentioned it to your husband in passing, and halfheartedly expected him to make a fuss about it, especially when you told him that it’d be another guy you were partnered with, but much to your surprise, he’s taken it pretty coolly ( a feat you weren’t aware he was capable of ).
now though, as the show just ended and the two of you wait in front of the theatre for the next bus to arrive, the air is filled with a thick awkward silence that you hope when the bus does come, it goes in the complete opposite direction of where he’s headed to.
you’d almost feel bad for the guy for having to withstand such awkwardness if it wasn’t for the fact that you hoped he’d just walk away and leave.
“you wouldn’t happen to be free after this, would you?”
the silence comes to an end when he turns to you, hand on the back of his neck, cheeks slightly flushed.
so much for just walking away and leaving.
his voice seems quieter now, less whole, and he’s pretty much looking at every other thing except for you, “i just noticed that it’s around lunch now and well, maybe we could grab some food together and continue discussing the show?”
now, you wish the bus would arrive and just run you down on the spot.
what do you even say? surely, not his name, you can’t even remember it.
if atsumu was here right now, he would absolutely lose his shit, maybe even yell, or cause a scene, but that’d be enough to rescue you from this highschool confession scene about to unravel, but he’s not and he’s busy and far away and–
“hey, did i miss the show or sum’n?”
you blink. was your husband a genie or something? suddenly appearing out of nowhere each time your little heart calls for him?
“tsumu?” you’re more excited than surprised, “what’re you doing here?”
instead of answering you, your very sweaty husband turns to look at the guy you’re with instead. the very guy who’s been tormenting him all morning in that sweaty little head of his.
he is so not impressed.
“miya atsumu,” he says suddenly, almost scoffing, and he wipes the sweat from his forehead as he straightens his posture, and with that same sweaty hand of his, he extends it out for your classmate to shake. “nice to meet ya.”
your classmate gives you a nervous laugh, looking at you more than the odd and suspiciously sweaty man in front of him.
he asks, smile breaking a little bit, “miya?”
“yup.” atsumu replies bluntly, and he’s got that punchable smirk of his on his face again, “miya.”
where was that bus when you needed it?
“nice to meet you too.” your classmate gives him a short reply, that same polite smile he gave you earlier now appearing not-so confident, and he grimaces slightly as he shakes your husband’s hand.
you try not to laugh — it wouldn’t be polite.
the next bus is forgotten though after that gruesome little handshake as your poor, poor classmate suddenly gets a text from - apparently - his mother, asking him to walk back home right this instant.
you tell him you understand and that it’s okay and that you hope he gets home safe.
and you both ignore the fact that his phone has been in his pocket this entire time, and that neither of you saw him get any text at all.
really, you owe him for putting him through such awkwardness, but when you remember his name, you’ll remember to return the favor.
once he leaves — rather hurriedly — it’s just the two of you now, you and your very sweaty husband.
“hey, what’re you doing here?” you ask him for real thus time, less surprised now and more pleased to see him so suddenly, “did you finish already?”
atsumu finally gives his attention on you, and just like magic (genie magic?) his sly and obnoxious demeanor changes into something so much more familiar.
he deflates a little bit, now that it’s just you around, and you’re grateful that the cool japan air has dried down most of his sweat before he envelops you in a hug.
“nope.” atsumu shakes his head, melting away in your embrace, “meian gave us a thirty minute break, i thought i’d swing by.”
you push him off, and you tilt your head at him, brow raising, “but it’s more than a mile away?”
“yeah.” he gives you a nervous laugh and his ears pink up just a little bit, “yer telling me.”
so, maybe, he didn’t take it as coolly as you had initially thought. maybe you did marry a very jealous man who would run over a mile to come see you.
but that’s okay too, because your cheeks hurt from smiling so much at that fact.
“does this have anything to do with the text sakusa sent me earlier?” you give him a knowing look, smile teasing.
“depends.” atsumu squints his eyes. “whadd’he say?”
“something along the lines of “help. come. right now.”, does that make any sense at all to you?” you raise a brow, and you cross your arms over your chest as you ask.
“nope. not at all.”
“oh, you are evil when you’re jealous.”
“i am so not jealous.”
“you so are.”
it’s easy to tease him when he’s like this. all flustered and pink in the ears, and the toothy smile on his face makes you forget that he could ever be seen as anything remotely close to scary or intimidating.
you give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “thanks for coming to see me.”
“i did it all for my sake.” he tells you, scratching the back of his neck, “sorry.”
“reminds me, shouldn’t you be getting back by now?”
atsumu takes a quick look at his watch, it’s almost that thirty minute mark meian gave him for his break, and he knows, all too well, that he’ll get another earful of it when he gets back.
you see him look worried for a moment.
not to say that he wouldn’t deserve it. he knows now — now that he isn’t blinded with all consuming jealousy — that fine, maybe, maybe, he might’ve been an asshole today.
but he’s back to himself now, and he really didn’t want to do any of those diving drills.
“come on, let’s go back now, i’ll come with you.” you take his hand in yours as you tug him to make a progressive step.
he perks up a little bit, “you will?”
“well, you need all the help you can get sweet talking everyone back into believing you haven’t been a jackass to them all morning.”
synopsis ☆ kuroo’s walls come down after the game with karasuno.
content info — some hurt/comfort with our beloved nekoma captain because he deserves all the love in the world 🙏 SPOILERS for the dumpster battle movie so beware. reader is mentioned to be kenma’s sister a few times.
author’s note — just wanna say hi to the haikyuu fandom :) hope u enjoy this short drabble i wrote, i’ll probably make it look pretty later. lmk if you wanna see more kuroo x kozume!reader in the future.
your lips are on kuroo’s before the locker room door even has a chance to close. his skin is soft and familiar, his kiss eager yet vulnerable. something compels you to reach up, circling your arms around his neck as you pull him closer, tighter, until you’re sure that his warmth has become your own. the sound of his breathing is the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground as your mouths meet again and again. no words need to be spoken.
after years of being together, and even more years of being friends, you know tetsurou like the back of your hand. as if he’s perpetually been woven into your spirit, etched into your heart since the day he moved into the house next to you and your brother’s.
you know that the cheery grin he shot his teammates, the reverent bow he gave to the crowd, and the meaningful hug he shared with daichi at the end of the match were all borne out of three things—his sworn responsibilities as the captain, his earnest respect for karasuno, and the addictive rush of adrenaline.
the moment he left behind the arena’s blinding lights, though, the high seemed to wear off.
yet an aching feeling stayed with him.
when you pour your heart out on the court and play until your muscles feel like they’re on fire, when you devote hours of your precious time towards practicing—towards smoothening out every crack within your blocks, every blemish within your serves, every falter within your receives—and when you imagine the game countless numbers of times in your head until it feels like a memory, there’s a certain type of pain you feel when it’s all over. it’s a sadness that’s inevitable, and yet one that stings so profoundly and uniquely that it becomes a bittersweet moment you’re bound to remember for the rest of your life.
just one more second, one more chance— you think to yourself in a flurry of desperation. because as foolishly selfish as it sounds, nobody ever truly wants the game to end.
that feeling of wanting to remain frozen in the experience is something you yourself are all too familiar with. volleyball, after all, was what gave birth to the connection you now so deeply share with tetsurou.
you suppose that’s why you’re able to pinpoint the exact moment his shoulders start to shake.
pulling away from the kiss, you feel your heart plummet into your stomach before you can even see the tears trickling down his face. something you’ve come to learn about tetsurou is that he rarely ever cries, so when he does, it only makes the sight that much more impactful. wordlessly, you pull him into you once more.
the way your arms firmly, comfortingly wrap around his tall figure conveys a simple but invaluable message that resonates throughout the empty room— “i’m not letting you go.”
quietly, he sobs. you let him.
you barely notice your nekoma jacket becoming damp with his tears. when his crying slowly starts to recede, you break the silence, voice soft and tender. “you were amazing out there, tetsurou,” you whisper. “and there’s three things i want to thank you for.”
withdrawing by the tiniest sliver, just enough so he can meet your patient gaze, your boyfriend tilts his head slightly in the way he always does. his fingers subconsciously trace patterns across the small of your back. “what are they, baby?” his voice is quiet and a little hoarse. really, it’s a miracle that you manage to block out your own shadows of sadness.
“one,” you whisper, fingers reaching out to gently wipe away his tears, “thank you for being the best captain this team could ever ask for.”
“two,” you continue, leaning in to kiss away the tears that remain, before a small smile pulls at the corners of your lips, “thank you for helping my brother fall in love with volleyball.”
“and three,” you breathe out, your vulnerable gaze meeting his own, lips inching towards his once more, “thank you for being as strong as you’ve been, and for carrying the world’s burden on your shoulders when none of us could.”
when you finish your heartfelt confession, tetsurou’s hazel eyes glaze over with a fresh wave of tears—this time, however, it’s for an entirely different reason.
and this time, he’s the one that kisses you first.
after watching your high school's volleyball game, a certain setter had caught your attention. what else does a bored girl supposed to do in bed but stalk through his socials?
note: this was insipired by drop dead by olivia! <3 also this is my first haikyuu work, i hope y'all like it ( ´ ▽ ` )
the screams inside the giant gymnasium felt as though they might burst your eardrums off. the game had been going on for so long, both teams on the court were locked in this seemingly endless rally that had your eyes going back and forth to both sides.
but obviously, you were rooting for your high school’s team. fukurodani academy was known for having a strong team, though guiltily, this was your first time watching any of their games.
it was competition season, as your friends called it—they had practically dragged you out here to watch a bunch of games—mostly that of your volleyball club’s.
at first, it took you a few games to understand the rules and what they were actually doing on court, but when you got the hang of it, you found yourself cheering along with your friends, eyes locked onto that ball.
your heart pounded inside your chest as the ball returned to fukurodani’s side. the ball was received by the libero, flying high in the air. then, your gaze locked onto that player that had stolen your attention for a while now.
number 5, the setter, as your friends called him.
he flawlessly tossed the ball to the tall guy running up to the net. and with a powerful spike that had you sitting on the edge of your seat, the team successfully earned their victory.
the gymnasium erupted with cheers, your friend grabbed your arm and pulled you up to jump and cheer with her.
“they’re so good!” one of your friends commented, grinning as she lifted a makeshift banner—or more like a piece of paper with the fukurodani name scribbled on it.
“i swear, that number 4 looks like he could rip arms off with his spikes!” your friends discussed the game, watching as the players approached your side of the bleachers to bow.
your eyes stayed glued onto the composed expression number 5 had on his face. he didn’t look that ruffled from the game save for the quick rise and fall of his chest—indicating just how exhausting that game was.
the team bowed in front of the bleachers, shouting ‘thank you’ to the audience. more girls around you cheered, waving their signs around and shouting ‘good job’ across the bleachers.
you couldn’t help but wonder what number five looked like up close.
your attention is torn away when your friends grab your arm, “we should head to the cafe before going home! i could really use a drink.”
the cafe was quiet when you arrived. it was already deep into the afternoon and everyone was probably headed home by now.
you sipped from your drink as your friends passed a phone around the table. you took a peek at the screen and found a social media profile opened.
it was that guy with white-gray hair that won the game with that terrifying spike. “this guy’s in my older friend’s class, he’s a third year.” one of the girls shared.
“i think his name was bokuto. apparently, he’s like one of the top aces in the country.”
“damn, really? no wonder his spikes were so clean.” you comment, eyes skimming over his profile.
then, you see it. a post that showed that familiar number 5 jersey.
bokuto smiled up at the camera with the setter you saw earlier standing just right behind him. he wasn’t even looking at the camera but the ball in his hands as though he was deep in thought. it looks like it was captured without him knowing.
now that you could see his face more clearly, you felt your heart skip a beat. he was cute—handsome, you couldn’t quite put the words together.
but the way he looked at the ball in his hands, eyes glimmering with determination made you lean closer to the phone, scrolling through more pictures until you found another.
it was another post, another candid shot. this time, he was sitting by the window of a classroom, chin resting on his hand. his eyes were trained onto the textbook before him, wired earphones dangling loosely.
a few other people surrounded him, casually tossing volleyballs around. yet, he seemed quite used to the ruckus with how unbothered he looked.
was this some sort of deja vu?
school had finally ended for the day, but before heading home, you’d forgotten your notebook somewhere on your table. you tell your friends to go on ahead as you ran up to the second floor.
you stopped in your tracks when you passed by an empty classroom—except it wasn’t completely empty.
near the window, a boy sat in his seat, fingers flipping through the pages of his textbook. your eyes grazed his dark—slightly messy hair, and that composed expression on his face, like this was just another one of his routines.
you swear you’ve seen this before.
“akaashi!” a loud voice echoed across the corridor. you quickly moved to the other side of the hallway and away from the door.
a guy you recognized to be bokuto sauntered into the classroom, a volleyball tucked in his arm. “let’s go!” he called out.
so, his name was akaashi, huh.
as soon as your head hit the pillow, you grabbed your phone and dialed your friend. for some reason, your heart was racing—feeling a bit nervous. but god, were you just so curious.
“hey! did you find your notebook?” your friend answered.
“yeah. but i… have a question.” you hesitated, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks.
your friend chuckled on the other line, “what’s up?”
“you know that setter from the volleyball club? number 5.” you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady. but of course, your friend has none of this and laughs from the other line.
“akaashi keiji? i’m on it!” she announces, voice filled with excitement.
not even a minute later, his username was already in your chat.
“he’s a second year like us, and oh my god look! he’s the vice captain of the volleyball club!” she giggled over the phone, almost sounding as though she were endorsing him to you.
“and you know, i heard he’s really smart—and isn’t he cute too?!” she spoke quickly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes while fighting a smile.
“i didn’t ask for all of that.” you mumbled, fingers already typing in his username.
“you wanted it anyway.” she teased.
when you opened his profile, you were greeted with basically nothing. although he had a good amount of followers, he only had two posts in his feed. one being a picture of his table with a few mangas scattered about.
the other post seemed to be his volleyball team, they were at a restaurant, big smiles and drinks raised up. akaashi sat quietly beside bokuto, smiling softly. he held up a peace sign and had an onigiri on the other hand.
a small flutter in your stomach tells you everything—you need to see his smiles up close, and maybe how his voice would sound too.
it was almost as though you had manifested him. ever since you noticed him at the game, you just kept on running into him.
at first, it was at the convenience store near your school. you were buying yourself a quick drink before class and ended up grabbing the same one as akaashi. when your hands touched, you both flinched and pulled away, murmuring apologies to each other before awkwardly grabbing something else.
but that ended up with both of you standing in front of the cashier, offering the other to go on ahead. the cashier switched his gaze between the two of you, smiling to himself.
the next time was on the train. by the time you managed to get on, the train was practically full and you had no choice but to stand somewhere off to the side. just as the doors were about to close, a person squeezed in just at the last minute.
you recognized your school’s uniform on him and slowly looked up. akaashi was already staring back at you, eyes a little wide from recognition.
the two of you exchanged a short, awkward greeting before you pulled out your phone and stared at the screen—your mind reeling from the sudden proximity between you.
at this point, your heart was already pounding in your chest. you snuck quick glances at him and noticed how he just looked out the window, eyes tracing the view outside, completely indifferent from the world around him.
and of course, just as fate would have it, when your stop came, he also got off the train. you quietly trailed behind him, noticing how the two of you were taking the same path home.
but of course, you wouldn’t let an opportunity like this pass up. you started visiting that convenience store near school more often. who knew akaashi would go there everyday like clockwork? that he seemed to buy that drink almost habitually every morning before school?
or maybe the fact that when he didn’t have practice you’d find him sitting across from you on the train ride home.
what mattered the most was how he looked at you. first, he was curious—of how often he’d see you around when he didn’t notice before.
curiosity turned into familiarity, and whenever akaashi keiji found himself looking for you. his morning convenience store runs had become a complete staple of his day, sometimes he’d see you already heading inside and find himself walking faster to catch up.
“when did you start drinking these sweet drinks, akaashi?” bokuto asked during lunch, his finger poking the drink carton on akaashi’s desk.
akaashi shrugged, “i like it.”
it reminded him of you.
it’s probably feminine intuition. your fate was sealed the moment you saw him at that volleyball game. you knew it then, akaashi keiji had your whole undivided attention, without even trying.
the court was filled with loud cheers from the audience. fukurodani academy had just taken another win, advancing them further into the competition. you got up from your seat, hands clapping as a smile tugged at your lips.
“they’re on a roll! akaashi’s doing well today too! did you see those dump shots?” your friend laughed, waving her banner around.
but just like a routine, you slipped away from the stands and found your place near the court and in the shadows of the door.
you clutched his favorite drink in your hand, feeling the cold seep against your skin.
after the players were free to leave the court, akaashi’s legs were already moving towards you.
“keiji!” you smiled, waving your hand. akaashi smiled, feeling the exhaustion ebb away from him the closer he got to you.
akaashi stood in front of you and walked right into your open arms. his own automatically coming up around you.
“good job today!” you commended, feeling his arms tighten around you as he rested his chin against your shoulder.
“thank you.” he mumbled quietly. akaashi had practically melted onto you.
maybe it was really intuition. because the moment you saw him that day, a part of you had already imagined what it would feel like to be this close to him.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 1.86k wc, @lumixnouss on ao3 and wattpad <3
ℒ ove, lumi.
summary: you’re just trying to survive spring 2007— working at a beachside diner, dodging water like your life depends on it (because it kind of does), and keeping the whole sudden-mermaid thing a secret. then oikawa tooru starts looking at you like he sees something. and that’s where the trouble really starts.
boyfriend!atsumu can’t keep his hands to himself. they’re always on you.. or in.
c/w: 1.7k, fluff, heavily suggestive !! read at your own risk :3
this thing starts with a sock. yes, your sock. which atsumu had tucked into his practice bag like a holy relic because he claimed it ‘smelled like home,’ which was just a fancy way of saying he’s a massive weirdo who can’t function if he isn’t within breathing distance of your skin cells.
being msby’s star setter apparently didn’t come with enough ego to offset the fact that he was, at his core, a cling-wrap. he loves you so much, he was colonizing your personal space. if you were a planet, atsumu was the moon, the atmosphere, and the annoying little satellites circling you 24/7.
it wasn’t just the sock though. it was the way he’d walk into the apartment after a ten-hour day of jumping and sweating, look at you sitting on the couch, and collapse onto your lap like a felled redwood tree. he merges into your very soul. and now, he’s currently trying to achieve some sort of biological symbiosis where your skin ended and his began.
“yer heart’s beating real fast,” he mumbled, his face pressed so firmly into the crook of your neck that his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “is it ‘cause i’m home? did ya miss me that much? i bet ya did. i bet ya were cryin’ at the door like a lonely puppy.”
the irony was thicker than his hyōgo accent. atsumu was the one who had sent forty-seven line stickers of a weeping bear while he was in the locker room. he was the one currently on top of the moon with the sheer intensity of being within grabbing range.
“‘tsum, you’re literally crushing my internal organs,” you teased, though your fingers were already tangled in those bleached-blonde locks, scratching at the scalp where the sweat had dried.
he let out a sound that was half-purr, half-whimper, a pathetic little noise that had no business coming from a man who could serve a volleyball at speeds that caused sonic booms. he shifted, crawling upward until he was straddling your lap, his massive frame dwarfing the cushions. his hands—those famous, expensive setter hands—didn’t go for your waist. no, he went straight for the hem of your shirt, slipping his palms underneath to feel the heat of your lower back. his skin was always scorching, like he was perpetually running a fever of 110 percent devotion.
“can’t help it,” he whispered, nipping at your jawline with a desperation that was frankly embarrassing for his brand deals. “i spent all day dealin’ with bokuto’s screamin’ and shō’s energy. ‘m depleted. ‘m a battery at one percent, darlin’. need ta recharge.”
he started trailing kisses up your neck, each one sounding like a suction cup. he was so needy. he wanted to consume your entire essence. he was simpy in the way a victorian poet was simpy—just absolute, unadulterated brain-rot for the person he loved.
“did ya notice the missing sock?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you with those hooded, dark eyes.
“the one you stole from the laundry basket? atsumu, that’s theft. i’m calling the police.”
“call ‘em,” he challenged, a lopsided, arrogant grin breaking through his sad puppy facade. “tell ‘em yer boyfriend is a criminal for lovin’ ya. tell ‘em he’s got a fetish for cotton blends that touch yer ankles. see if they care.”
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. atsumu was a tactile glutton. even when he wasn’t kissing you, he had to be touching you. a toe on your foot, a finger hooked in your belt loop, his chin resting on your shoulder. he was a human ivy plant, and you were the sturdy brick wall he was intent on overtaking.
“i’m takin’ ya to the game tomorrow,” he murmured, his hands wandering lower, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pajamas. “i want everyone to see ya. i want ‘em to know why i’m playin’ so good. ‘cause i gotta get home to this. to you.”
the devotion in his voice was enough to make your teeth ache. it was sweet, sticky, and utterly relentless. he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible, and buried his face in your chest.
“yer so soft. why’re ya so soft? it’s unfair. i’m all muscle and angles and yer just... perfect.”
∞ྀི
the msby black jackals locker room smelled like deep heat, expensive cologne, and the lingering scent of victory. the game had ended twenty minutes ago, and while the rest of the team was busy shouting about post-game yakiniku, atsumu was a man on a mission.
he had spotted you in the stands—obviously, he’d spent half the warm-ups staring at your section until barnes told him to focus—and the moment the final whistle blew, his clingy meter had redlined.
you barely had time to step into the hallway before a large, sweaty hand shot out, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you into the darkened secondary locker room. the door slammed shut with a heavy thud!, and suddenly, you were pinned against a row of cold metal lockers.
but the lockers weren’t cold for long. atsumu was a radiator.
“missed ya,” he growled, and he didn’t wait for a reply.
his mouth crashed onto yours with the force of a man who had been wandering a desert for forty days. it wasn’t a gentle ‘hello’ kiss. it was a ‘i haven’t seen you in three hours and i’m losing my mind’ kiss. his tongue pushed past your lips with an impatient flick, demanding entry, demanding everything.
he tasted like gatorade and pure hunger. his hands were everywhere—one tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back to give him better access, the other wandering down, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist.
“‘tsumu—” you gasped into his mouth, the sound immediately swallowed by another deep, wet slide of his tongue.
“shut up,” he breathed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your lips. “just let me... god, i’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the second set. you in my jersey. lookin’ all cute. makin’ me want to jump the rails, carry ya off, and bend you over on the shower room.”
he broke the kiss only to attack your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right below your ear. he wasn’t being careful, not at all. he left a mark—a dark, blossoming hickey that screamed property of miya atsumu—and he did it with a smug little hum of satisfaction.
his hand slid under your top, lifting it with his palm hot and calloused as it cupped your chest, his thumb raking over it through the lace of your bra. you let out a sharp, jagged breath as he starts squeezing, licking, and sucking through the lace, your fingers digging into the damp fabric of his jersey. the contrast was insane—the high-octane professional athlete out on the court, and this desperate, trembling mess of a man in the dark.
his touch heavy and possessive, he wanted to feel every curve, every inch of skin he’d been deprived of during the match. his kisses moved back to your mouth, sloppier now, more frantic. you could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of the both of you making out echoing off the lockers—the slide of tongues, the hitch of your breath, the low, needy groans he kept making in the back of his throat.
he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, hard, before soothing the sting with a slow, agonizing lick. he was acting like he wanted to climb inside your ribcage.
“ya taste so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted for air. his eyes were blown out, dark and glazed with a terrifying amount of affection. “i’m gonna go home and i’m gonna keep ya awake all night. i’m gonna kiss every single inch of ya until ya forget yer own name. ya hear me?”
you couldn’t even form a sentence. your brain was mush. atsumu took your silence as a challenge, leaning back in to suck on your pulse point, his hands firmly kneading your hips as if he were trying to mold you into a shape that fit him better.
“miya! we’re leaving! don’t tell me you’re still lookin’ for that sock!” sakusa’s muffled, disgusted voice drifted from the hallway.
atsumu stiffened, letting out a frustrated hiss. he didn’t pull away, though. instead, he pressed the tent of his shorts against you one last time, a heavy, grounding pressure that made your heart do backflips.
“i’m never lettin’ ya go,” he whispered, a promise that sounded a lot like a threat to your personal space.
he pulled back just an inch, his eyes scanning your face with a look so tender it was almost painful. he reached out, thumbing a stray drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth then putting it in his, his expression shifting from feral predator back to hopelessly devoted boyfriend in a heartbeat.
“go wait by the bus, darlin’. i’ll be out in two minutes. and if i see any guy lookin’ at that mark i just gave ya, i’m hittin’ ‘em with a jump serve.”
he gave you one last, quick peck on the nose—a jarringly wholesome contrast to the debauchery of the last five minutes—and watched you walk out with the gaze of a man who had just won the lottery and was terrified someone would steal the ticket.
atsumu was a lot of things: a champion, a twin brother, a fatty, a public figure. but mostly, he was just a guy who would happily live in your pocket if the laws of physics allowed it. and as you walked toward the bus, feeling the tingle on your lips and the weight of his mark on your neck, you knew there wasn’t a single place in the world he’d rather be than stuck to you like cosmic glue.
he was already texting you before you reached the exit.
slave: “should we try the sturdiness of every furniture again? we’re buying new furnitures with your favorite color if we stain them too much.”
n: awooga, this was kept in my drafts for my eyes only. but i reached a milestone, so there goes my selfish desires.
ps. suggestive fics are in between smut and fluff, no one can torch me for this.
hi! can i get a headcannon for nishinoya, semi, and akaashi of their first big fight with their s/o? and what they or their s/o will do as an apology later? your writing is great btw 🥺💓 much love to you!
FIRST FIGHT
Includes: Akaashi Keiji, Nishinoya Yuu, Semi Eita
Tw: angst, mentions of jealousy
AKAASHI KEIJI |
— Akaashi had been working late into the early morning hours each and every night for the past two weeks. Without fail, every night the door to your apartment would slam shut and it would be followed by a deep and heavy sigh.
— Like clockwork he’d come home later than usual, kick his shoes off, make himself a cup of black coffee and seat himself at his desk for hours on end during the night.
— Tonight was one of the countless nights where you had laid in bed without him next to you. You stared at the clock that sat on your nightstand and rolled your eyes silently. It was late, almost too late and he still hadn’t come to bed.
— Your eyes shifted to the balcony door that was ajar. The sheer grey curtains swayed gently with every chilly breeze that invited itself into your bedroom with ease. Taking a deep breath, you sat up and yawned as you slid out of bed and made your way down the hallway towards Keiji’s office.
— The door was open and his back was arched almost unnaturally as he sat in his desk chair. His head rested in his palm and the laptop screen illuminated his sharp features. His eyes carefully observed the documents on screen and his index finger scroll along the mouse.
— “Keiji.” You said softly as you stood in the door frame. Your arms folded over your chest as you watched him roll his eyes.
— “Keiji, it's late. Please just come to bed.”
— He huffed in response, tucking his arms under his head and leaning back in his chair. He looked you up and down methodically and scoffed in irritation.
— “It’s almost four in the morning Keiji. You can’t keep doing this. What is so important that you can’t rest or let alone acknowledge me?”
— Your tone was stern and you heaved out a sign through your mouth. Your hip jutted out and your hands were on your waistline. Your eyebrows were knitted together in frustration and a scowl grew on your otherwise delicate features.
— “Acknowledge you? You really think I’d prioritizes you over a paycheck?You act like your entitled when it comes to my attention and I’m getting fucking tired of it! I genuinely don’t give a shit about what you say to me so get out!”
— He’d never snapped at you like this. His upper lip twitched in annoyance and his cheeks flushed red as he seethed with anger.
— Your jaw went slack and your eyes went wide. Shock overwhelmed you and your vision blurred as tears began to pool in your eyes. Your hands dropped to your sides and you choked on sobs as you began to mumble out incoherent sentences.
— You covered your mouth with the back of your hand and mustered the courage to pull yourself together. Your heart beat was shallow and you choked on a sob as you took in a deep breath.
— “Well since you think I act entitled and you don’t give a shit about what I say, take your fucking engagement ring back, get your shit, and get out of my apartment.” You slid the diamond ring off of your ring finger and dropped it on the hardwood floors beneath you and turned on your heel.
— Akaashi stood abruptly as dread and utter regret overwhelmed him. He stumbled out of his desk chair and grabbed your arm just to have you slip out from his grasp. You slammed the bedroom door in his face and he went to turn the doorknob only to find it locked. He slammed his hand on the door and begged for you to open up.
— The door opened for a split second and a black duffel bag filled with his belongings was dropped at his feet.
— “Leave.“ Akaashi turned his gaze down towards the bag as if it mocked him. He bit his lip, drawing blood as he turned back towards his office and picked up your ring.
— His vision was obstructed by tears that had begun to well. He somberly dragged himself to your shared bedroom and slid down the door. He brought his left knee to his chest and his arm rested atop and he fumbled with the ring. He silently let tears slip down his face in shame at his own actions.
— His eyes had closed only momentarily but when they opened, he was greeting the dark grey skies of the early morning and the sound of heavy rain. He felt as if the world was weeping with her. He heard your cries just on the other side of the door and his heart strained within his chest.
— Akaashi forced himself off the ground, his knees buckled under him and he placed a hand on the door in attempts to steady himself. He slowly turned the doorknob to your bedroom and to his surprise, it opened.
— He opened the door to your bedroom and closed it softly behind him. He leaned against the door, hands behind his back as he observed your small form that lay with his pillow pressed against your chest.
— You were awake, he knew that much. He watched as your knuckles turned white from gripping the fabric of his pillow and he swallowed hard. He watched as your body shook with every silent sob.
— “(Y/n).” His voice cracked and he pursed his lips together tightly.
— Upon hearing his voice, your body tensed and your breath became unsteady.
— “I am deeply sorry for what I said to you and I am very ashamed of myself for the way I treated you. My actions are inexcusable and I won’t make any excuses. I just wanted you to know how truly sorry I am for what I’ve done and I wanted to bring you this before I left.”
— He held the delicate piece of jewelry with care and he gently placed it down on his bedside table. His eyes carefully traced over your features and he’d noticed the delicate and soft skin around your eyes was red with irritation from your tears.
— He watched as you curled your body closer to his pillow as you hugged it close to your chest, face buried within the soft fabric in attempts to shield yourself from him. He placed his hand next to yours and hesitantly brushed his thumb over the top of your palm. A tear escaped your eye as he carefully tucked your hair back and placed a very soft kiss to your forehead.
— “I love you more than you know. I truly hope that you find happiness elsewhere, (y/n). I’m not asking for forgiveness, I just want you to know how much I cherish you.
— The back of his hand was met with the tears that fell from his eyes silently. You heard him let out a shaky sigh before pushing yourself up and staring at his grief stricken state.
— “Keiji, don’t.” You spoke so quietly, almost a bit too quietly. He was afraid that he heard it in his head but upon turning around, he saw your somber face.
— “Please just come here.” Your cries caused him to flinch a bit, his eyes closed and his fists tightened at your plea.
— “Keiji, I’m so sorry I-“
— Akaashi sat down on the bed next to you and held your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest.
— “(Y/n), please don’t apologize for anything. You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. I promise. I’m the only one who should be apologizing for my actions.”
— He stroked your hair in a loving manor and kissed the side of your temple once, then twice.
— “I know how much I’ve hurt you and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say what I said. I can’t take that back.”
— “I know you’ve been working late and I can see how exhausted you are. I know you’re irritable when you're tired, Keiji.”
— “It’s still not an excuse for how I spoke to you. I’d never let anyone speak to you that way, never. And to think that I was the one who spoke to you that way angers me.”
— You buried your face into his chest and your hands crawled up his back and rubbed small circles into the fabric of his now wrinkled button up. His strong arms pulled you into his lap and he buried his face in your shoulder.
— “You need to stop pushing yourself beyond your exhaustion. You’re actions are inexcusable your right and I know you may not forgive yourself, but I forgive you. You are a good man and I know how compassionate and hardworking you are. I know you never meant to disrespect me, show me the Keiji I know.”
— “I’m trying to be better for you. I will always try to be better for you and words cannot express how truly sorry I am, (y/n).”
— Keiji sighed and he took in your gentle scent and closed his eyes tightly. You felt his hands tremble and he trailed his fingers up your back.
— “Keiji, I love you. You’re better than this, I know you are. I’m still here.”
— “I know....I know...”
NISHINOYA YUU |
— You adored your boyfriend more than anyone, he made life exhilarating beyond your expectations. But you had begun to regret your decision on moving in with him almost instantaneously when you were able to witness how unorganized he was.
— He wasn’t equipped with basic cleaning skills as he claimed on moving day. He wasn’t capable of folding the laundry and organizing it neatly.
— Cleaning the bathroom mirrors and glass door of the shower seemed nearly impossible for him to do without supervision.
— You were constantly left with the laundry basket overflowing due to Yuu forgetting to empty it into the washing machine. Dishes were never done when you awoke from a long day at work.
— You were beyond exhausted from handling customers and employees at work and coming home to an unruly apartment was enough to push you beyond your breaking point.
— Opening the door to your apartment, you threw your bag down and groaned knowing that you’d have to spend hours on end cleaning like usual.
— You walked into the kitchen in hopes of grabbing a glass of water but to your dismay, every glass had been used and piled high in the sink along with the other dishes you’d asked Yuu to clean before you left.
— “I’m fucking done!” You screamed as you stood before the clutter in your sink.
— “Babe?” Nishinoya peeked out from your bedroom door. “What’s wrong? Was work bad?”
— You turned your head slowly, a scowl plasters on your face and you threw your hands up as you spoke.
— “Yeah work was shit! But this?!” You said motioning towards the sink. “I come home to this every single night and I’m tired of it!”
— He looked puzzled by the way he raised an eyebrow at you. He stepped away from the doorframe and leaned against the wall.
— “Tired of what?”
— Your eye twitched. How could someone be so incompetent?
— “Tired of what?! Are you kidding me? You! I’m tired of how you expect me to clean up after you every single day and I can’t! I’m so exhausted when I come home and you make everything worse!”
— Noya gripped at his chest as if to silently tell you his heart had broken at the words you had just shouted at him. He shook his head all while avoiding your eyes and swallowing hard.
— “I-I’m sorry. You know... I uh, I’m sorry I make things worse...”He muttered.
— You huffed in anger but soon realized the effect your words had on him. He wasn’t hurt, it was much deeper than that.
— The way he bit his lip in attempts to hold back tears was a quite pitiful sight. He never cried when the two of you argued, if anything he was the one to calm you down and keep you level headed.
— Your heart began to feel heavy in your chest as you saw him avoid eye contact with you. You knew he felt embarrassed, ashamed even. The way he fiddled with the cuticle of his thumb gave it away.
-“Yuu...” you said quietly.
— His eyes flickered towards yours momentarily before he looked away in embarrassment.
— “I’m so sorry...I-I didn’t mean to say that to you.”
-“It’s okay...I know I don’t do enough for you and I need to change that. You shouldn’t have to tell me to do things, I should take it upon myself.”
— You weakly nodded and looked at him apologetically.
— “Thank you. I’m so sorry for saying you make things worse. It’s just hard, Yuu. I work overtime every night and I’m exhausted.”
— “No, no. I understand. You do so much for me and it’s not fair that I’m not pulling my own weight. I know you’re frustrated but I promise I’ll do better.” His gaze never faltered and his tone was confident as he stood tall before you.
-“Thank you... I love you.”
-“I love you too and I’ll do better. I promise.”
SEMI EITA |
— You watched the snow fall in a light flurry from the sky as you stood on the metro, hand gripping onto the pole next to you. Your boyfriend had walked with you to the train station that morning and as expected, he was horribly irritable.
— He stood behind you protectively, his hand wrapped around yours that gripped the pole, and his chin rested on top of your head. His eyes were closed and he had been dozing in and out of consciousness throughout the train ride.
— As the train came to an abrupt halt, you moved your head slightly which caused Semi to snap his head upwards. He groaned as you nudged him awake and grabbed his hand, tangling your fingers with his as you pulled him off the train.
— He growled under his breath as someone accidentally ran into his shoulder and you stroked your thumb over the back of his hand in attempts to calm him down.
— He was silent as you walked down the sidewalk towards Shiratorizawa’s front entrance. As you approached the front gate of the school, you could see Shirabu leaning against the courtyard wall accompanied by Tendou. Tendou laughed to himself as if to mock Shirabu as they bickered playfully.
— Tendou noticed you both and he waved excitedly and a grin played in his lips.
— “(Y/n)-Chan! Is that you! Of course it is, I can sense you from a mile away. Well, I can sense Semi, cranky bastard eh?”
— You giggled at him and gave him a side hug, letting go of Semi’s hand for a split second. Tendou was undeniably close to you and the two of you seemed to have an unbreakable bond that Semi was jealous of. The two of you were conjoined at the hip since elementary school and your friendship had carried on into high school.
— Semi grabbed your hand and laced his fingers with yours tightly. He tugged at you to follow him and he half ignored Tendou’s whine for you to “stay longer and chat”.
— “Eita?” Your voice made him snap out of his irritated thoughts and he hummed.
— “Is everything okay?” You turned towards him calmly, your eyes filled with the slightest bit of concern.
— “Yeah fine.” He said. He rolled his eyes and pulled you towards a table in the cafeteria so you could sit in peace. He closed his eyes once again, trying to focus on anything but the noise that rang in his ears.
—A loud and obnoxious voice rang in his ear not even seconds later and he recognized it to be Tendou.
— Again. Semi’s eyes snapped open and he saw Tendou wrap a lanky arm around your shoulders playfully and smirk.
— “Ehh? Semi your girlfriend, wow! Like, she’s a real baddie huh? Don’t you think?” Tendou said raising his eyebrows suggestively and you playfully jabbed him in his side.
— “Stop Satori, you're being annoying!” You giggled and tugged at his hair and he playfully poked at your cheek just to rile you up a bit.
— ‘So she’s on a first name basis with him too, huh?’
— “Can you just knock it off.” Eita was clearly bothered by Tendou’s antics by the way he snapped his eyes up towards the both of you and spoke with annoyance prevalent in his tone of voice,
— “Ohoho? Is someone mad? Come on~ I’m just playing! Right (Y/n)-Chan?”
— Semi’s gaze flickered to you almost daringly. His steady breathing faltered and the way his lip quirked upwards in disapproval was enough to have Tendou put his hands up in defense.
— “I was just kidding. But I’m gonna go, please don’t have too much fun without me. Bye now~”
— You frowned at your boyfriend and his dark eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. You rolled your eyes knowing that he was in fact jealous beyond belief at the situation he’d just encountered.
— “Eita, can you stop acting like that? You know Tendou and I are close, what’s your deal?”
— He lowered his gaze almost in a threatening manner. He huffed and slammed his hand down on the table which caused multiple heads to snap towards your direction.
— “What’s my deal? That fucking freak is the issue!” He yelled. The whole cafeteria went silent and looked towards your table.
—Tendou stood next to the volleyball teams table and his sleepy eyes widened at Semi’s sudden outburst.
— “What did you just call him?” You said almost in shock.
— You shook your head and held up your hand to shush your boyfriend before standing up and excusing yourself from everyone staring at you.
— The morning bell rang and everyone gathered their bags, shooting Semi glares as they stalked past him. Tendou shook his head and walked off trying to remain in his chipper attitude.
— You ignored Eita for the remainder of the day. He’d come to your class during lunch in hopes you’d speak to him but his attempts fell short when he saw you with Tendou.
— He saw how heated you were and he overheard you say how embarrassed you felt about what occurred that morning.
— He knew the way he acted towards you and Tendou earlier was inexcusable. He knew that Tendou had a special place in your heart and he had to respect that.
— He knew how close the two of you were and how you were a lifeline for Tendou at times. He knew he’d crossed a line by calling your best friend a freak and he was highly disappointed in himself.
— He had taken the train home by himself after school. Silence had never been so loud to him. His stomach churned as he thought about what he had done to you, not only about how he made you feel, but how he made your best friend and his teammate feel.
— Stepping off the train, he swiftly rounded the corner and jogged briskly as he made his way across the street, ignoring oncoming traffic. You didn’t live far from the train station and the minute your street came into view, he slowed his pace. You had never fought with each other.
— You chose to love him despite his overbearing attitude problem and his jealous streak. He didn’t know what it’d felt like to be absent from your presence and although he'd never admit it, it started to weigh heavy on his chest.
— He had approached your home and he was met with the door that had allowed him to enter into such a personal space. He'd been here many times, yet he was hesitant to knock on your door.
— He swallowed his pride as he lightly knocked on your door. He knew he knocked quietly, almost too quietly and he partly did that because he was afraid to be met with your sullen eyes. It had been like you waited for him though.
— The door swung open in an instant and he was met with your unamused stare.
— “What do you want, Eita.”
— His jaw locked and his gaze flickered down towards his gym shoes. He nervously shuffled which was very out of character for him.
—He was always so stoic, always so stern and to see him struggle internally was quite amusing to you. You leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest as you huffed.
— “I crossed a line earlier.” He spoke.
— “Yeah. You did.”
— “I just wanted to apologize for how I acted.”
— “And?”
— “And for calling Tendou a freak because I didn’t mean that.”
— “And?”
— “Oh my god. And for making a scene in front of everyone and embarrassing you.”
— You quirked your eyebrow and you tilted your head to the side as if to innocently ask him what else he was forgetting.
— “And I’m sorry for being jealous okay?”
— A smirk played on your lips and you put your hands on your hips triumphantly. He looked up at you with sincerity in his eyes but it quickly faded once he saw your demeanor. He rolled his eyes and focused his gaze elsewhere.
— “I forgive you. I knew you were a lot more irritable than usual this morning, but that doesn’t mean you can act like that.”
— “Yeah, yeah I know that okay?”
— “Well if you know then knock it off. I love you more than anything, you just have a shitty attitude problem.” You giggled to yourself and snorted a bit which caused Semi to smile sheepishly at your cute laugh.
— “Okay okay, are we good now?” He asked a bit impatiently.
— “Hmm. Yeah, but you know, my parents aren’t home.” You raised your eyebrows at him suggestively and smiled as you watched him push past you and slam your front door closed behind him.
— He didn’t hesitate any further as he kissed your lips passionately. His calloused hands gently cupped your cheeks and your hand slowly traveled towards the base of his neck to deepen the kiss.
