Hello! Could I request a scenario with iwaizumi and some sort of unrequited crush/love? thank you!
what goes unsaid.
iwaizumi hajime x reader
drabble, angst, childhood friends, unrequited love, canon compliant. mentions of alcohol.
a/n: thank u for requesting!!!! i hope u enjoyyy this was surprisingly fun to write i missed thinking abt iwaizumi
iwaizumi isn’t sure when it went from irritating to straight up painful to hear about your boyfriends.
it had started small. he’d hear you on the phone with your sister, maybe, or catch a few words from a conversation you’d be having on the side with oikawa. a mumbled complaint about how your man of the month, as makki dubbed them, was being stupid yet again. a flippantly delivered sentence so backhanded and roundabout and passive-aggressive he’s certain he only catches onto the true meaning of because he can’t help but overthink everything when it comes to you. it had been nothing more than a twinge of annoyance when it had first started back in high school, but now he’s certain that hearing about your love life is genuinely detrimental to his health. what else could possibly explain why he feels like someone just slipped a blade in between his ribs?
iwaizumi watches you now, curled up on his sofa, hogging his heated blanket, worrying away at the skin on your pinky knuckle with your front two teeth. it’s the same nervous tic you’ve had since fourth grade; over twelve years later and you still haven’t shaken it off. he still has the overwhelming urge to reach across and grab your hand- just to stop you from chewing your knuckle to ribbons, he tells himself.
“- and so i told him exactly where i was going to be all night, exactly who i was going with, and i just… something just hit me right then. i was like, why on earth do i need to tell you all this? you sure as hell don’t do the same when you’re out. you make me feel crazy when i mention the double standard. and once i actually thought about it i checked out so quickly.” you shrug. “i think it’s done.”
iwaizumi feels his mouth twist wryly. he cares about you, of course, you’re one of his best friends. he does not care one little bit about whichever douchebag you’ve been seeing-slash-sleeping-with right now. “i’m sorry.”
you snort. loudly, derisively. “you are not sorry. not even one little bit.”
“no, i am not,” he agrees and you laugh at how readily he gives up the pretense. iwaizumi doesn’t know how to fake sympathy; he doesn’t even think you need sympathy in this scenario. he knows you aren’t particularly torn up about whoever the hell this man is, so why bother? he’ll gladly talk shit with you instead. that comes much more naturally; he’s got his older sister to thank for it.
iwaizumi loves making you laugh. he tells himself it’s because when you’re laughing you forget to keep gnawing your knuckle to shreds- the same way he tells himself he likes the more expensive brand of buttery movie-style popcorn (he only ever opens it when you’re around to excitedly eat it by the handful and tell him it’s your favorite). the same way he only even owns a heated blanket because you sent him a billion links for one a month before your last birthday (because why would he buy one for you when buying one for himself would get you to come see him more often?), and the same way that he pays such obsessively close attention to all your man-related horror stories because he tells himself he’s learning how to be better (he is, just not for the reasons that you think).
iwaizumi hajime is deeply, terrifyingly in love with you.
he’s known since he was eighteen years old, when you came up to him after the last competitive volleyball match he’d ever play and let him bury his face in your sweater for hours. you had pretended not to notice the large wet patch his tears had made on the material, or his puffy eyes and nose, cradling his face so gently that he had thought his heart and mind would explode from pure affection.
he sees your presence everywhere he turns and he loves and hates it; he loves it because he loves you. he loves to think of you, loves to talk to you and of you, loves to do things for you- even things like watching you hog his blankets and the comfier half of his sofa and sticking your cold feet under his knees while yammering on and on about how much you detest anything that identifies as male.
his feelings for you are terrifying. he cannot see a way out.
iwaizumi knows he’s doomed to repeat this cycle of events at least one more time. he knows, in a few minutes, he will get up and get the expensive, extra buttery popcorn he bought specifically for you from his kitchen. he knows he will uncork the bottle of too-sweet wine that you brought with you, he knows that you will both pass it back and forth until either the bottle runs dry or your head begins to loll of exhaustion. he knows he’ll tug you up by the elbow and guide you to his room and he knows you’ll wrap your arms around your waist in some bastardized attempt to stabilize yourself. he knows you’ll ask for the heated blanket when he tucks you into his bed and he knows he’ll make the trip back out to the living room to fetch it for you.
he knows you’ll throw your arms around his neck and give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek when he bids you goodnight, and he knows you’ll tell him you wish the guy you were with would be more like him.
worst of all, as he tosses and turns futilely on his lumpy old couch, iwaizumi knows he’ll keep wishing for the same.
matsukawa issei x reader
warnings: band-ish au!, mention of reckless driving, drinking ig
Matsukawa had always been a charmer; his toothy grin that made your skin crawl, his deep chuckles, the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating, hell even when he was just standing there, looking bored, he somehow still managed to make your heart stir.
But the moment where he looked the most ethereal had to be while he was singing his heart out, the guitar strings callusing his fingers, the bright stage lights shining on him as if he was divine. And the way he sang, oh the way the melody and the words spilled from his lips like honey, nothing could ever compare, you were convinced of it.
"This is.. a new song we've been working on and we wanted to play it for you guys tonight," his ring-clad fingers held onto the microphone, the small venue shook with excitement, screams of thrill ringing through your ears. Even with the sea of people in front of him Issei couldn't help but stare directly into your eyes, a smirk crawling up his lips as your own split into a wide smile.
The bang of the drums echoed through the air, the guitar following not far behind. Isseis deep voice sang lyrics that were foreign to everyone in the room, even you who had been to almost all of their practice sessions and you could feel the energy buzzing in the air, goosebumps crawling up your body.
"And im on my way back to you, my lady, but i, i don't know if ill make it, all the way there," sweat clung to his skin making his wife-beater stick to his body and his fingers ached from plucking at his guitar but god he had never felt so good, especially as he stared into your eyes, eyes that were shining just for him.
Being Matsukawa's girl was nothing short of blissful, from the way he stared into your eyes during the concerts as if you were the only being in existence, to the way his deep hums tickled your skin when you sat in his lap, his face buried on the crook of your neck.
Much like now, even with Makki sitting with two girls hanging from his arms, hand nursing a beer, Kyotani right next to him on his phone no doubt texting his girlfriend to come to the back for the after-party, you sat in Issei's lap facing him for the time being, his thumb drawing circles on your thigh, the cold of his rings a harsh contrast with your warm skin.
"You have a dimple." your words weren't a whisper but with the booming music they might as well have been; you gazed at his lovestruck face, your finger slowly poking his cheek as his smile grew even wider.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Just the one, dimple singular," you lightly poked it again with the pad of your finger.`
"Had you not noticed before?" you shook your head and he pecked your cheek, arms wrapping around your waist. Conversation filled the air, not that you noticed nor listened, you just focused on Matsukawa's breathing, his touch that was ever-present. You could feel the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, the keys to his car in the other, and the comforting smell of his cologne that had clung to his skin even after all the sweating on the stage.
Agreeing to date Issei had been a decision you took on a whim, you had been friends for so long, so much could've gone wrong. But when he showed up to your house that night, his car terribly parked in front of your house from the hurry and a breathlessness that wouldn't even let him ask you out, you took a leap.
He almost gotten in a car crash on his way there and you were feeling kind of reckless, no time like the present to resolve the tension that dripped from the friendship you two had. And god was it worth it, the way he made you feel was electrifying, addicting, reckless. You wouldn't trade it for the world.
not anon bc i am unashamed— kuroo college au IM ON MY KNEES
like late study nights together, LAB PARTNERS-
tardy.
kuroo tetsurou x reader
oneshot, fluff, college!au, coworkers
warnings for mentions of organs (kidneys) in a college anatomy lab setting; no explicit descriptions but they are mentioned multiple times
a/n HELLO MY LOVELY hope u enjoy ily
he’s late.
you sigh loudly, locking the door as the clock marks ten minutes from the beginning of the lab period. of all the days kuroo could’ve picked to ruin the next two and a half hours, he had to pick a dissection lab day.
you love your TA job. you love teaching anatomy, you had loved taking the class itself, and the second-year students who make up the majority of your lab periods aren’t all that stupid. you do not love the smell of formaldehyde, however. you do not love handling the slippery sheep organs. you do not love the cleaning that it requires after the lab is complete. you especially do not love when your co-TA is running unexpectedly late and you will be expected to run the slimiest bits of the lab yourself.
you glance at your phone screen. the three different texts you’ve sent him asking where the hell he is and if he even plans on showing up today are still unanswered and if he has indeed skipped the lab without telling you, your boss will be getting a strongly worded email.
it’s not even like kuroo’s a bad guy. a little annoying, sure, a little too talkative, most definitely. a little too good-looking to not be at least a little evil either. he is also annoyingly consistently tardy. but he is excellent at his job and his students adore him. he also just tends to get carried away in whatever the hell he’s doing and forget that you two are supposed to be partners.
you sigh and pocket your phone, heading back up to the front of the room. the students have five more minutes to finish their pre-lab quiz, meaning you have five more minutes to drag out the buckets of organs from the storage room and begin counting out the dissection equipment. the slides for the brief lecture that the TAs are supposed to give prior to the practical lab portion are already up on the monitors; you can’t pretend there’s anything else to do.
sighing deeply once again and picturing which medieval torture methods you’d like to use first on your coworker, you enter the storeroom. the buckets are unpleasantly full and the lids are not secure at all; formaldehyde splashes all over the floor as soon as you lift them and you curse loudly. you don’t even care that your entire classroom definitely heard, you don’t care that you can hear their muted titters from behind the door. all you can think of is upending one or maybe even both buckets over kuroo tetsurou’s head.
thankfully the door opens before you need to put a bucket down to do so yourself. one of the girls who sit towards the front half of the lab sticks her head in.
“hey, d’you need any help with that?” she eyes the buckets warily, wrinkling her nose. “it smells terrible here, wow.”
“yeah,” you huff, struggling to pass her one. “my clothes are going to stink all week.”
she nods sympathetically, taking the bucket from you and stepping back so you can exit and close the door behind you with your foot. you smile gratefully and make a mental note to do your best to inflate the hell out of her lab grade.
“also, the other TA guy’s here.”
“oh, is he?” you mutter, narrowly avoiding getting another dribble of kidney juice on your shoes. “lovely.”
and she is right; kuroo is here. he’s leaned on the glass while a few students from the stations closest to the door attempt to unlock it. he’s gesturing wildly at the back of the room, mouthing something at them that none of you can hear through the glass and you feel a twinge of satisfaction at the way he looks somewhat frantic. not nearly as stressed as you feel, but it’s a start. when he sees you, his face lights up in relief. he waves animatedly, pointing at the lock and you can tell he knows you’re the only one with the key on you. with the fakest smile you can muster in place, you make your way over to the lab doors and unlock it agonizingly slowly.
“thank you,” kuroo says breathlessly, sliding his backpack off his shoulders. he’s wearing a suit, you see, and a tie- a frustratingly flattering suit. it hugs his shoulders just right, showing off their width without being too tight a fit, but is not flattering enough to overpower the anger in your mind. you wonder where on earth the man has been that requires a full suit and tie. normally, he’s wearing a ratty sweatshirt that barely passes lab safety standards and what looks like the same pair of jeans he’s owned since he was seventeen years old. his hair is different too; he’s sporting his typical tousled glory, but it looks less like bedhead and more like there were attempts to gel it back that did not quite work.
the look is really working for him.
whatever. you don’t care.
you don’t acknowledge kuroo any further. you shoo students away from the door, telling them it’s time for the lecture, and head back up to the monitors.
“okay, everybody go ahead and close your laptops now. we’re starting the urinary system this week, so your first lab is going to be a kidney dissection one. nothing crazy, you’ll just have to take pictures and label the basic anatomical structures listed on the rubric.” you can see kuroo opening his mouth in the periphery of your vision; the kidney labs are some of his favorite, you know from last semester, and you just know he’s gearing up to interrupt your flow. he means no harm, but you’d still rather die than let him talk over you right now. “when i finish going over the slides, you can see kuroo here to collect your organs. one per pair, please. we have some extras if anything crazy happens, but not that many so please be careful.”
kuroo deflates out of the corner of your eye. you know he hates handling the organs as much as you do and you know it’s petty to make him do so while he’s wearing what is probably his only suit, but you could not care less. you’re mad at him and when you’re mad you’re petty. and you’re planning on ignoring him for as much of the lab period as you can.
the lecture is one you’ve given a few times before, both in your other lab sections and in the previous semesters that you’ve been a TA for this course. you go through your notes without a hitch, and the majority of the lab seems to actually be paying attention. maybe they can sense what a shit mood you’re in and know not to test their luck right now. either way, you’re not complaining.
kuroo is watching you talk too, you know. you’re still not looking at him but you can feel him looking at you, large warm brown eyes darting between you and your professor’s slides that you had doctored into cohesion. it’s about halfway through the presentation that he seems to remember there is more prep work required, and ducks into the storeroom to retrieve the dissection trays, scissors and blades. he also snaps on two pairs of gloves to grope blindly through the buckets for the kidneys without saying anything to you.
when everyone has received an organ, kuroo strips his gloves and ambles up to your monitor. “big puddle of formaldehyde in the storeroom, by the way. we should get that cleaned up.”
your jaw tightens involuntarily. “that’s what happens when i have to do two peoples’ jobs by myself.”
he sighs. “look, i’m sorry. i really am. i had a really important interview that took way longer than expected and i just couldn’t get a message to you in time.”
you finally turn to look at him, sympathy prickling in your throat. “oh. i’m sorry.” and you really are. everybody’s been there, and if it really is just a one-time thing then-
“what? oh, it didn’t go badly. they offered me the job right away, i just got caught up in talking to the recruiter about-”
you jerk your face away. cocky bastard. you’re never bothering to feel sorry for him again.
“hey, hey, i still really am sorry, okay?” the sincerity in his voice is what makes you finally turn your head back to him. “let me make it up, please? let’s go get coffee after lab. on me.”
you cannot believe your ears. “i don’t need your pity coffee, kuroo.”
he looks aghast. “this isn’t pity coffee, i swear. i really feel bad about making you do all the slimy lab prep yourself.”
“that is the exact definition of pity coffee. you walk in twenty minutes after the period starts, forty minutes after you’re supposed to be here and think one shitty campus coffee can make up for having me do the bulk of the work for the most prep-heavy lab of the semester?” you drag a hand down your face. “and you were late because your job interview went so well you just couldn’t leave the recruiter alone. of all the excuses you’ve given me for being late, this is the worst. and if this isn’t a pity coffee i don’t know what is.”
“i know i’m being a dick today and i swear it isn’t pity coffee.” he sighs, mouth opening and closing a couple times as if he’s mulling over what he’s about to say. “if it helps… i’ve wanted to take you out for a while now. ever since we got paired up that first semester last year. and i promise it won’t be shitty cheap campus coffee either. i’ll take you to a good cafe. cross my heart and all that.”
you tilt your head. his eyes are sincere; alight with some other emotion you can’t quite place. his words are sending little thrills through you as well; you can’t help being intrigued at what coffee with kuroo tetsurou might be like.
“fine.”
kuroo lights up, about to launch into speech, and you hold up a finger.
“but only if you’re never late again. ten minutes early, actually. and you carry all the organ buckets for the rest of the year.”
he nods quickly, breathlessly, a grin splitting his face in half. “i can do that.”
tsukishima kei x reader
warnings: angst, bittersweet, post-breakup, for @4suke
Tsukishima Kei wasn't a man of many words. Not for feelings, not disappointment, and definitely not for love.
But he knew.
He knew he loved you like flowers loved the sun, the way fish loved the sea. Unaware of his love until you weren't there anymore.
He thinks that the fact that you knew his capability to love you was laying somewhere deep inside, made it even worse. The way you told him so many times, begged him even.
You begged him to stay, to leave, to spill everything he held in his heart; you even begged him to shut up and never speak to you again. You loved him with everything you had, but sometimes everything isn't enough.
Not in the face of indifference.
It's not that he didn't like you. You were dating; of course, he did. He just couldn't stop thinking.
Your smile, the curve of your face, the way your voice had a slightly different tone when you spoke your mother tongue. He thought about how you always drew on his hand with your favorite color pen, thin lines decorating his skin. He thought of these things even after you were gone.
He doesn't know why. He blamed your friends for a bit, always telling you that you could do better, someone who would clearly love you back, show you.
Tell you.
But he knows that not only was it not their fault— They were right. Maybe he could fix his mistakes sometime in the future. Maybe with you again, maybe with someone else.
He can't blame you for leaving, not when it was him that pushed you away.
This is stupid , he thinks. Why am I doing this?
Running through the airport isn't a small feat, especially not while dragging four other idiots behind him. The phone he had pressed up against his cheek, a little closer than necessary, kept ringing. You weren't picking up. Maybe you blocked his number.
Maybe you deleted his contact.
Maybe you had already deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your being. The purple bracelet he had given you probably discarded in some corner of the 'give away' bin, your pictures together in the bottom of the trash can.
He could see the gate in the distance. On the other side of the plexiglass hung the bright 9 .
" What do you want? " you sounded so tired. Tsukishima's heart was going at a million miles per hour; he was so close. Even then, he didn't know how to get around the glass barrier. He would have to settle for only seeing you if you hadn't gone through the gate already.
"You can't leave" His words came out in puffs, but he didn't stop. Not even with his lungs screaming at him to quit.
" Why? "
"You just can't" he finally stopped in front of the gate, searching for your familiar figure. Yachi jumped on Yamaguchi's back to gain some height, Hinata and Kageyama already walking a few feet of the plexiglass perimeter for ‘better perspective.’
You had seen him, of course, before he saw you. His blonde hair was messed up from all the running, mused from his fingers carting through it. His clothes looked disheveled, and you wonder how much of the airport he ran. You could see how quickly his chest rose with each breath he took, and his cheeks were a rosy pink you rarely ever got the pleasure to witness.
" That's not a reason. I don't know what you want from me, so if that's your piss poor attempt to make me think that you care, I will be going now, I have a plane to catch, " Your hand simply grabbed your suitcase handle, but you made no other move to leave. Your feet stayed glued to the ground, eyes observing the desperate look on Tsukishima's face as he continued to look for you.
"Because I love you," His eyes finally landed on you as he said those words. Words he hadn't been able to tell you in two years. And now that you were leaving, they rolled off his tongue so sweetly. His eyes were pleading, and you couldn't move. It was like someone had dragged your heart to the pit of your stomach, then back up to your throat. You didn't know if you were going to throw up or pass out.
But you did neither.
You pressed the red button on your phone screen; you knew he could hear the beeping of the canceled call by the way his eyes widened in distress.
For the first time, after three weeks since you had broken up with him, you could move weightlessly. You broke eye contact first, and you felt him staring at the back of your head as you continued through the crowd, right up to the gate. Tears gathered in your eyes as you stared at the stupid purple bracelet, and you wanted to think that it was the irony of it all.
How bittersweet.
Poor fish didn't know he loved the water until the river dried up.
commoner!matsukawa issei x princess!reader
fluff, developing relationship.
part 2/3 of 20cm.
prev: 01. palanquin
you’re unsure if it’s safe to call matsukawa a friend of yours.
granted, you’re not exactly accomplished at making friends. you spend your days either studying in your library, with your father (more studying, this time of the kingdom and of its current political state), socializing with carefully handpicked noblewomen (also meant to be yet more study, this time of social manipulation and other softer skills more suited to the wits of a lady- although most of the information that you gather is that the majority of the young ladies your age either are eagerly awaiting the day they will be matched with a handsome lord of some sort, or are being hounded by their parents to proceed into engagement with some repulsive nobleman far too old for them) or with your ladies-in-waiting. you are never alone, but the dull ache of loneliness has echoed through your chest since you were old enough to recognize it.
you’re also unsure if you even fully have grasped the idea of a friend. you’ve read of them and you’ve seen other girls your age affectionately flock to each other, but are you truly qualified in the art of friendship if you cannot name a single friend of yours? you think even your horse may be a better companion than another person your age and the pathetic nature of this is not lost on you.
matsukawa has friends of his own, you know also. you see him more and more frequently now, ever-present in the periphery of your gaze, so regular and naturally placed in your life that you marvel at how you had never noticed him before. you see him with his own friends, three other men that all look about your age as well and wear the palace livery with carefree grace. through carefully worded questions, you learn about them from your maids.
the rusty-haired man named hanamaki, in particular, you notice, is always within an arm’s distance from matsukawa. he’s a manservant in the kitchen, you deduce, from the band of brown on his sleeve, and you wonder how a kitchen boy and stablehand could have possibly met, let alone become close enough to spend as much time together as you observe.
the shortest of the bunch, a thickset muscle-bound man named iwaizumi, is apprentice to the head blacksmith. you hear whispers of how when his master retires (likely in the next year or so), iwaizumi will single-handedly commandeer the production of armor and weaponry for the palace’s entire guard force. you keep a mental note of this, keeping your senses peeled for any potential way to secure his allegiance personally to you. if there’s one thing that history lessons have drummed into your mind, it’s that the knowledge of where what weapons within your residence are circulated is of incredible importance.
oikawa, the ‘pretty’ one, according to your youngest maid, is of the highest station of the lot. he has the aristocratic nose and high-boned forehead of a certain courtier, and you hear that there is apparently heavy discussion on whether he is said official’s illegitimate son. you don’t really care to listen to speculation on some random man’s parentage; you don’t even think he’s that pretty. compared to matsukawa’s larger tanned build, dark curls and silver-stud earrings, oikawa’s lankier limbs, paler skin, chestnut hair and large eyes make him look boyish. you have trouble believing that both men are apparently the same age.
you see them together often, traipsing across the grounds or wandering the halls. you’ve only ever been close enough to them to receive a greeting once, when you’d rounded a corner with your nose in a book and had almost walked clean into iwaizumi.
they’d greeted you in unison, a chorus of “good afternoon, princess!” and a flurry of quick bows. nothing remarkable except for matsukawa’s gaze on you. his smile had melted from mischievous to something softer as your eyes met, and he had dropped down to one knee to pick up and return the book that you had dropped. he had also quipped about how you kept seeming to drop whatever was in your hands while around him, which had drawn a quiet laugh from you and a gasp of shock from your maid. you forget how unusual it is to be addressed the way matsukawa speaks to you; it feels so natural it has never raised any red flags in your mind.
your cheeks still warm at the memory of his fingers under yours, hands meeting as you had accepted your book back from him, his dark eyes shining with some emotion you cannot place.
you do not see matsukawa again until a few weeks later after a ride.
spending time with your horse is the only time you can spend alone without feeling lonely. it’s hard to focus on the curlicues of emotions within your ribs when the wind is whipping over your face and through your hair, the dazzling sunset is almost searing your vision into blindness, and your horse is going so fast that everything else surrounding you seems to blur into wisps of color. it is after such a ride that you lead your horse back into the stables, windswept and cheeks burning from the chill, to see him gently combing burrs out of another beast’s mane, whistling softly.
you stop in your tracks. all the inhibitions that you had left behind come flooding back as matsukawa looks up, smiles and ducks his head.
“had a good ride, m’lady?”
“of course.” you are acutely aware of the weight and position of your limbs, feeling like one of your wooden dolls from childhood whose joints atrophied into dysfunction. your tongue, too, seems to fail you, and you wonder how much more finishing classes you would need to banish these feelings from every interaction you have with this man. “always.”
he hums. “as expected of our princess.”
“what does that mean?”
“oh, nothing. you’re pretty well-known for being able to outperform several of your father’s knights on horseback, ‘s all.”
your cheeks burn at his praise. again, not something you are unused to being told, but everything feels fresh from him. “you’ve seen me ride?”
he shrugs, muscular shoulders rippling like water. your eyes track their movement as they reach up to grab an apple from a shelf. “a little, but i also do believe in all my friends enough to blindly trust any praise i hear of them.” he tosses the apple to you in a smooth arc. you catch it.
“we are friends?”
you regret your tone instantly. he colors, cheeks as red as the apple he had just given you, and sheepishly rubs his face with a hand.
“i…well…it just came out. please don’t be offended, princess. i know my station, i promise.”
you turn away from him, pretending to make a fuss over feeding the apple to your horse so that he cannot see the mirrored flush that appears on your own face. “i’d love to be your friend,” you say, and your voice is so soft with shyness you wonder if he can even hear you.
“really?” matsukawa’s voice is tinged with relief and something you discern sounds hopeful. “i didn’t think you’d want to be friends with a stablehand.”
you mimic his shrug from earlier, turning back to face him. “i didn’t think you’d want another friend. don’t you already have three?”
his brow creases and a smile that sends thrills through you reappears. “commoners don’t have restrictions on how many friends they have, princess. do you?”
the oh-so-familiar sensation of shame drips down into your stomach. “i…would not know. i suppose you are my first friend, matsukawa.”
his eyes widen briefly, then soften. “i’m flattered, m’lady. and you can call me mattsun. all my friends do.”
you smile back shyly, repeating the nickname quietly to yourself. you do not notice the way his eyes follow the movement of your lips or the way his blush intensifies as he realizes what it is you are saying.
mattsun.
your first real friend.
“so that is what hanamaki and the others address you as?”
“wha- you know who makki is already but it took you a year to figure out i existed?”
“i apologize-”
he cuts you off with a shake of his head and an amused quirk of his mouth. “friends don’t need to apologize for these things, m’lady.”
you’ll learn. for his friendship, you’ll learn anything.
-
the annual capitol parade takes place during the festival of lights. you’ve attended since you were old enough to stay upright in the chariot for the full four hours wearing the heavy brocade cloth required ceremonially of the royal family.
this is, however, your first year having your own chariot. your maids buzz with excitement as they twist your hair ornamentally, your senior lady-in-waiting droning on about the significance of your own chariot upon your adulthood; it is the beginning of your first year being formally presented as the queen-to-be, your first year being addressed as your majesty rather than the usual your highness.
all the chatter turns to white noise in your ears. you mechanically paint your own face and select your own jewelry, only pausing in your movements to signal a maid to carefully pat color to your eyelids and line your eyes with darker pigment.
it is with pleasant astonishment that you discover that your charioteer for the evening is mattsun. he meets you at the palace entrance, dressed in fine silks that move around his muscles like water, his greeting bow surprisingly deep. you suppose it’s the magnitude of the event that’s brought out this new sense of formality in his interactions with you.
you do not miss the brief flicker of color on his face as he first sets eyes on you, nor the way his mouth falls slightly apart. it sends a pleasant tingle through your stomach and you thank your years of training that did not let you betray that you almost had the exact same reaction when you first saw him.
your skirts are too heavy to risk climbing into the chariot yourself, you know. mattsun carefully places your hands on his shoulders; his own go firmly around your waist as he lifts you onto the higher surface. you are so close that you can feel the warm tickle of his breath on your exposed collarbones and his gaze meets yours as you feel solid wood under your ridiculously high-heeled shoes.
mattsun smells of sugar, grass and mint. you inhale deeply, trying to commit the scent to memory while taking a step back- and your heel, which has apparently landed on your hem, flies sideways. you lurch and his grip at your waist tightens quickly, clamping on you so hard that you can feel his radial pulse through the layers of your bodice and corset. his eyes are wide in terror, and you can’t help but smile fondly as you regain your footing.
“i am unhurt,” you say, lips almost brushing his broad shoulders. “i know you would not let me fall.”
mattsun’s gaze softens as his hands relax. “you’re the only one with that much faith in me, m’lady.”
matsukawa issei x reader
warnings: none/fluff, short
It was calm, awfully so. The soft breeze caressed the grass, the cool wind nipping at your cheeks, and the grass poked you slightly as you lay in it.
The grass was bright green. A fluorescent kind of green you hadn’t seen since you were young. You didn’t know why it looked that way today; the world seemed ten times more vibrant.
“You’re extremely quiet,”
“I’m enjoying the moment Mattsun shut up-“
Matsukawa rolled over to rest on his forearms, facing the ground. He pulled a blade of grass from the dirt and twirled it for a few seconds, opting to throw it at your face instead.
Your face scrunched up in annoyance. You smacked his arm, muscles tensing as he started laughing. A lopsided smile spreads across his face as he crawls over closer to you.
Leaning slightly over your face, “Don’t act like you hate me, you know you love me-“ you smacked him again, a loud laugh ringing through the air and he flopped on top of you.
“I can’t breathe, stop you’re too heavy!” You pushed at his body as he laughed, barely budging. Finally, he sat up, leaning over you. He propped up on all fours, caging you in.
“You’re so annoying Matsukawa, I’m going to call Makki so he can come to get your ass I’m done dealing with—“
His lips captured yours in a shy kiss. It was soft and he tasted like mint, Matsukawa wasn’t exactly a rough person but you didn’t expect him to kiss you so softly.
“I’m sorry-“ his eyes were wide as the two of you parted. The sky above him was an electric light blue, and the white clouds formed fluffy shapes in the sky.
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking you asshole,” you smacked his arm once again and wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing him down for another kiss. You knew now, why the world seemed brighter.
☆ in the past year ive been gone ive gotten obsessed w pibbles so... expect more of that. i WILL be pushing the #mattsunpibbleluvr agenda
☆ Noya isn't actually mad
☆ lowkey pibble made y/n giggle, we like
☆ I AM BACK FROM HIATUS, sorry this isn't the most eventful
commoner!matsukawa issei x princess!reader
fluff, first meeting.
part 1/3 of 20cm.
you decide you absolutely detest the palanquin.
while you were used to being ferried around by multitudes of servants (as all noblewomen were expected to— therefore especially so princesses), it usually happened in large airy chariots. or seated side-saddle on your own beautiful white horse. the palanquin was only brought out when the royal family wished to be taken about as discreetly as possible- which was not very discreet after all, considering the fanfare and processions of drummers and horns and soldiers that trailed royalty whenever they deigned to step out of the walls of their palace. you were no stranger to the palanquins, but there was just so much to hate; the dimly lit, stuffy atmosphere, the overwhelming smell of sweat from your ladies-in-waiting (that could not be quelled no matter the amounts of rose water and sandalwood they dabbed delicately on their necks and arms), the up-and-down movements of the palanquin bearers that made you feel queasy.
the nausea must have shown in your face, because your oldest maid, a wrinkled woman who has attended to you since birth, touches your elbow with concern written in the lines of her face.
“my lady. if you feel ill, you may unhook the curtain briefly. i do believe that as long as his majesty sees nothing, all will be well.”
you nod faintly, thinking to yourself that you didn’t particularly care whether his majesty saw you stick your head out or not. from what you knew of your father, he’d take an undignified princess over one who was sick inside the best silk palanquin any day. you battle with the large iron hook that holds the curtains together and shields you and your retinue from the world, and as if just to spite you, the palanquin wobbles alarmingly and the hook comes away from the heavy brocade all too soon. caught off balance and with your weight alarmingly close to the edge of the palanquin, you topple over and the upper half of your body falls through the curtain.
the material is heavy, but not sturdy enough to break your fall. it is by far the most undignified appearance you have made to your people- even the palanquin bearers, who are more often than not eyes and ears to the most embarrassing parts of palace life.
as all your entrances do, this one brings noise and attention. more particularly, the cacophony of the handmaidens screaming and the palanquin-bearers yelling to bring the whole contraption to a halt and check the princess for injuries. you want to yell that you don’t have injuries and could everyone shut up, please but you know it’s not worth it. and also below your station, but mostly not worth it.
large rough hands grab your shoulder and waist, hoisting you upright and you finally release your death grip on the tasseled curtain ends. you are eased safely out of the palanquin, the hands that catch you are rearranged under your knees and at your waist, and suddenly you’re looking into a pair of unblinking dark eyes. “you alright, m’lady?”
you nod, not used to being so close to another man who isn’t your father, and your heart begins to hammer at your ribs as you realize you’ve been pulled flush against his chest. you can feel the hard planes of muscle through his thin cotton tunic. “are… you new?”
he looks almost offended. “wh- i’ve been here for almost a year now, princess. and i was in the stables before that. tending to your horse. d’you really not remember me?”
you look away, a shameful prickle climbing up your throat. “i didn’t realize… so you’re the matsukawa.” your gaze lands on his hand on your waist. his grip is strong and steady but there is still a degree of care to how he holds you. he smells of fresh-cut grass and sugar cubes, just like your horse, and heat rises to your cheeks as your mind flits to how pleasant the combination of scents is.
“the matsukawa? people talk about me inside the palace?” he sounds amused. you are too embarrassed to make eye contact again and drag your gaze away from his hands to watch the palanquin-bearers struggle to lift the carriage up again with only three people. “yes. that’s me. did you expect some smelly old man?”
“no! i just didn’t… expect him to look the same age as me.” and ten times better-looking than any prince you’ve ever seen, but you’re not going to tell him that. it’s definitely more trouble than it’s worth. and also below your station.
matsukawa’s eyebrows raise. “i am the same age as you, thank you very much. i also didn’t realize that princes were getting uglier these days.”
you bury your face in your palms, mortified. where had all the careful etiquette training gone now? what kind of princess were you, loosening the grip on your tongue the moment a handsome man quite literally swept you off your feet?
he laughs, before the most senior palanquin-bearer, a man who has carried you since your toddler years, walks over and cuffs him sharply on the back of his head. “idiot! addressing the princess so casually, are you? where’s your respect?” the wizened old man glances at you, the lines of his face falling into something more reverential. “apologies, my lady. i’ll take this scoundrel off your hands now.”
“he meant no harm,” you say smoothly. gracious-princess mode has kicked back in now, as matsukawa places you on your feet and you do your best not to think of how large yet gentle his hands are around you. their warmth sends tingles down your arms and into your chest and you wonder for a split second if you are experiencing some kind of cardiac emergency.
“pardon my disagreement, but this one was definitely out of line. i apologize on his behalf again.” the older man ducks his head respectfully before reaching up to grab matsukawa’s ear and drag him off toward the palanquin. the comical height difference between the two makes you break into a faint smile, and you make sure you don’t lose sight of him even after your ladies-in-waiting begin to flock around you like a group of distressed hens.
you’ve always been a terrible sleeper in new places and the inn is no exception.
the room is unbearably stuffy. the curtains drawn around your four-poster bed, swathed in sheets of mosquito netting, do absolutely nothing to keep the initial chill of the evening trapped. you’ve tossed and turned all night, fading in and out of consciousness, and you finally sit bolt upright at half-past three, your forehead and the back of your neck slick with perspiration.
this will not do.
sliding your feet into slippers, you pad soundlessly out of your room and down the hall. you barely remember the layout of the inn; you’d been ushered inside well after sunset when the indoor lanterns had thrown up far too much shadow to discern any sense of where you had turned to get to your quarters. you let your senses guide you, following the faintest draughts in the hopes of finding fresh air of some sort.
it takes an embarrassingly long time, but you end up outside the building. you’re on the southern side of the compound, by the looks of it, and the stables are directly ahead of you. a pang echoes through your heart as your thoughts flit to your own pure-white beauty of a horse. you wonder how many months of palanquin-travel you’ll have to endure before you get to see her again.
as you approach the stables, you see that there is someone else inside already. faint firelight flickers in the windows, sending shadows darting all over. you hear your father’s horse whinny softly, a sound so normal, that you abandon all rational thoughts of your own security and stride directly into the stable.
the firelight, you see, comes from a torch placed in a bracket towards the back of the stables. maybe you truly are alone in here, you think to yourself, making a beeline straight for the light source. maybe it’s simply protocol to leave a light in the stable overnight in case of emergencies. you lift yourself onto your tiptoes and ease the torch out of its bracket, lowering it to your eye level with the intention of finding your father’s horse. if this place followed any protocol similar to the royal stable, you think, he should be right-
“morning, princess.”
you jolt. the torch falls from your grip face-down, snuffing itself out on the earthen floor. it takes all your learned and practiced poise not to let out a bloodcurdling scream as darkness floods the stable.
“w-who’s there?” only the slightest tremble is present in your voice, much to your own credit. your heart and mind are racing in unison; this was a terrible idea. who knew what the inn’s security was like? who knew what kinds of enemies the crown had in these parts of the country? you knew better than to wander alone, you could’ve woken anyone to promenade with you, they’d have had no choice but to obey their princess anyway-
“it’s just me.”
you turn slowly, eyes still adjusting to the abrupt change in lighting. “who…?”
“really? still don’t remember?” the mild tinges of indignation and amusement in the voice jolt at your memory as a shadowy figure steps forward.
you blink rapidly, forcing your eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness, and your eyes find matsukawa’s lazy grin. “oh. good morning. i didn’t see you”
he hums, ducking his head respectfully, and reaches past you to pat your father’s horse on the nose. it huffs, pushing into the touch. “no worries. i didn’t know they let you out past your bedtime.”
“i’m not a child,” you say heatedly, watching him interact with the animal. this horse in particular is known for being bred for the battlefield; it especially has a reputation for biting stablehands. matsukawa makes it look completely docile and you cannot help but be intrigued.
“i know, i know.” the man produces a lump of sugar seemingly out of thin air and the horse lets out a grunt of satisfaction as the treat is quickly accepted. “same age, remember?”
“yes,” you say, raising your voice above the crunching sounds of teeth on sugar. “why are you here? and with my father’s horse, no less?”
“i couldn’t sleep.” matsukawa runs a hand down the horse’s mane. “and horses make good company.”
you tilt your head. “neither could i.”
“and here i thought royalty was above such troubles.”
“not at all,” you say, wondering where on earth he could have gotten such an impression of you. “why do you think of me like that? you saw me topple out of the palanquin. i am as ordinary as it gets.”
“you’re our princess, m’lady. you’re anything but ordinary.”
“and you’re a stablehand-turned-palanquin bearer who’s feeding my father’s horse without being bitten for his troubles. you’re clearly not ordinary either.”
he huffs a quiet laugh. “don’t forget i’m apparently good-looking enough to put certain princes to shame.”
you turn your head as a flush of embarrassment rises into your cheeks “that was undignified of me to say.”
“so?” matsukawa shrugs. “there are worse things royalty have said to commoners. and it means more from a woman like you.”
a woman like you? “what do you mean by that?”
“well,” he glances at you sheepishly. “y’know. a woman who’s face sparks duels.”
the warmth in your face increases. this is neither the first nor last time you will hear such flattery, but it feels different coming from this man. a man who is so informal with you that it should feel disrespectful- instead, it feels more authentic. in a sense, it may be your first time being complimented in such a manner. “really?”
matsukawa chuckles quietly again. “this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that, m’lady.”
“it isn’t,” you agree. “but it is my first time hearing it like this.”
“what, undignified and insolently?” his mouth twists wryly. “it’s no way to address our future queen.”
“when i’m queen, i’ll pass whatever laws i need to for you to call me pretty however you wish.”
matsukawa stares, mouth falling open slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. as quickly as it had appeared, your newfound confidence dries up, leaving your tongue feeling awkward and too large for your mouth.
that expression, along with the brilliant scarlet that had adorned his cheeks, is what comes to mind when he takes your hand to help you into your palanquin the next morning. it inflates in your mind, occupying your thoughts so effectively that you don’t even complain about the rest of the nauseating journey.
kuroo tetsurou x reader.
angst, exes post-breakup, oneshot
crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.
you don’t get it.
it keeps you up at night, it takes your mind away from schoolwork, it makes you replay every single moment of the last year and a half and all the years of friendship before, and you still don’t get it.
you’ve pulled apart every interaction both by yourself and with yaku, who has been nothing if not kind and patient and supportive and so simply unlike himself… and so like himself at the same time because yaku morisuke is nothing if not the best friend you will ever have. far too many evenings have been spent starfished on his too-big bed with his beloved weighted penguin plush on top of you, while the guy himself paces around alternating between sitting beside you or at his tiny desk-chair. he’d never been good at sitting still, less so when the topic of conversation upset him just as deeply as it did you.
you wish feelings made sense. even the mere thought brought a fresh wave of pain, because it had never been you who had wanted the logical side of things. it has always been him, while you had laughed and patted his elbow placatingly. you wish a lot of things made sense, actually, but they didn’t and there was also nothing you could do about any of them. so you wallow in your heartbreak and let the voice at the back of your mind call you pathetic until it goes hoarse.
there’s no space for recovery. you’re in close proximity to tetsurou at almost all times- if not physically, then in the framed photograph on your nightstand you can’t bring yourself to throw away, or in the matching phone wallpapers that all the volleyball team bar two (yaku, out of consideration for you, and kenma out of sheer stubbornness) have, or in the group chat that still floods your phone every night. in kenma’s not-so-secret private instagram, in kai’s shared google photo album, in lev’s clumsy little wannabe vlogs, in yaku pretending he isn’t in the same room as you when tetsurou calls. most of all, he’s in your own head- you hold so many memories of him you might just burst.
you wish the world would stop. stop reminding you of him, stop existing with him in it, stop existing with the both of you in it- anything would be preferable. but the earth refuses to stop spinning because you’re sad, and you wish that the earth didn’t have quite so much of kuroo tetsurou in it.
(funnily enough, that isn’t the only impossible thing you wish for.)
the earth will not stop spinning, and your friends will not let you stay rooted in the muck of feelings he left you in. you continue to eat lunch with the second-years (on all five days of the week instead of just two now), you continue to walk the first-years home when they stay back late for practice (you do it alone now), you continue to poke fun at taketora and lev over the post-game bowls of ramen and you continue to treat inuoka like your long-lost son. you continue to crack a smile at fukunaga's puns and you continue to beg kai for homework answers over text mere hours before the deadlines. you continue to smile at tetsurou in greeting, continue to stay back when he asks you to discuss their prospects at nationals with coach nekomata, continue to offer to clean up the gyms every other day so he can head home to take care of his grandmother. the heavy knot of heartbreak still hangs like dead weight inside your rib cage, but as long as you continue complaining about kenma’s god awful sleep schedule and continue nodding energetically at snippets of songs that play when yaku slips you his earbuds, you can gloss over the way tetsurou hurt you.
you get used to the weight with time. it doesn’t fade, but your friends seem to notice a difference even though they say nothing about it. kenma stops hiding his instagram stories from you when he posts another tetsurou grandpa moment. yaku stops sending you cautious glances during practices. taketora finally stops treating you like you’re about to break and starts clamouring for you to join the team bonding sessions once again.
you aren’t fooled, though. your pain isn’t the kind of scar that heals up cleanly and quickly. you’re fighting to pretend you’re fine, existing this close to kuroo tetsurou and ignoring every instinct that screams at you to quit your post as nekoma’s volleyball manager and beg your parents to let you transfer to itachiyama.
the only thing that makes it hard to stick to the track, unsurprisingly, tetsurou is himself.
he isn’t even trying. he’s normal again, and you know him well enough to tell that he (unlike you) is not faking a thing. there’s no internal conflict behind the large honest eyes every time he nods at you in greeting, no hesitation or pain echoing across his mind when he casually throws himself onto the couch between you and kenma on movie night and slings an arm across the back of the sofa inches from your head and shoulders.
that , at least, makes sense, you think to yourself, walking home alone after a night out at the arcade with the team. he was the one who broke up with you so why should he feel any of the pain? why should he feel the ghosts of your touch on the sides of his face and the insides of his wrists every time he absentmindedly brushes against you in a crowded hallway? why should he lie awake at night trying not to think about the feeling of your arms curled around his waist when you used to nap together during free periods?
he has no reason to agonize over something he chose to end, you know. rationalizing it doesn’t make it better.
the messy cannonball of emotions tucked neatly between your ribcage’s left walls wouldn’t hurt half as bad if it was another thing you shared with tetsurou, you think bitterly, wrapping your scarf tighter around your face. but life is unfair and this is the one thing you don’t share. you’re unbalanced. kuroo is fine and you are not.
you skip the next team outing. you sit in your bathtub, lukewarm water up to your shoulders with your head pressed against your arms, and you don't get it.
꩜ kuroo lives w kenma and yaku, in a 4 bedroom apartment that kenma pays half of bc he uses 2 rooms... separation of work spaces or whatever
꩜ kuroo is double majoring in economics and marketing and has minor in english (gave up the chem minor bc he literally cannot take any more classes per semester)
꩜ yaku is on a d1 scholarship and doing marketing, kenma has been streaming since his senior year (doesnt know who tf college is)
꩜ first month back to campus always consists of a rotation of ppl sleeping on their couch, the usual guests are bokuto, lev, kai, sometimes daichi... they usually just stay for the weekend, its a nice tradition they do
꩜ kuroo answers emails while walking, runs into stuff sometimes... he's getting the hang of it
꩜ he rlly does think yn is gorgeous... hence why he added wayyy too much paint into his mixing bowl and started mixing that goddamn blue paint too fast and it flew everywhere
꩜ its all his fault.
꩜ kyotani does NOT use twitter, he only follows y/n... and yachi now
꩜ they went to seijoh together!
꩜ y/n and kyotani are juniors in college! She is double majoring in biochemistry and art. Do not ask her how she does it.
꩜ yams, tsukki and yachi are all sophomores.
꩜ tsukishima is doing geology (he's just praying his D1 scholarship gets him into a national team he doesn't give a shit about college rn), yachi is doing advertising and marketing and yams is sadly doing electrical engineering, kyotani is majoring in ceramics (he finds it relaxing, that D1 scholarship is carrying so much god-)
꩜ yn's roommates were a year older so they moved out during the summer but! just in time for the three idiots to move in bc otherwise... homelessness for yn
꩜ kyotani lives in some uncle's garage or attic... idk no one knows NOR asks. yn's the only one that has been there
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prguitarman
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