mptalitylustt

♡20♡ ♡she/her♡

[mptality]

masterlist + requests ♡

hi! i'm accepting requests right now, ill write for the fandoms below and most characters from these! ♡

divider: @petalpxl ♡

demon slayer ♡

rengoku kyojuro x reader 4.2k words - you're another hashira and got hurt

haikyuu ♡

adlers!hoshiumi kōrai x reader 1.6k words - he's your boyfriend of 7 years

red dead redemption ♡

[angelbearknyyy]

Hiiii! Do you think you could do a sanemi x fem reader? Im bad at coming up with ideas, but can it be fluff?? If not that’s totally ok!! Have a great day

Too Cold To Sleep - Sanemi Drabble

Author's Note: SOFT SANEMI GETS ME EVERY SINGLE TIME. Thank you so much anon for the request! I absolutely loved writing this! Also the lowercase is intentional because I was sort of lazy writing this, sorry! Pairing(s): Sanemi x fem!reader ~460 ish words 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Sanemi wasn’t a morning person.

this was something everyone knew.

you especially.

which was why seeing him standing in your doorway before sunrise was concerning enough to make you sit upright immediately.

“…Sanemi?”

he looked exhausted.

hair messy, haori half slipping off one shoulder, expression stuck somewhere between irritated and completely dead inside.

“the sparring field’s occupied,” he grumbled.

you blinked. “okay…?”

“and?”

“and what?”

his glare sharpened.

then, after a long, painful pause, he muttered, “…move over.”

you stared at him.

Sanemi stared back, visibly regretting every decision that had led him here.

“…you woke me up,” you said slowly, “because someone was using the training field?”

“no.”

“yes, you did.”

“tch.”

before you could argue further, he walked into the room anyway and dropped heavily onto the edge of your futon.

the entire mattress shifted with his weight.

you looked at him. “what are you doing?”

“sleeping.”

“in my room?”

“you got a problem with that?”

“a little?!”

Sanemi groaned quietly, dragging one hand down his face. “you ask too many questions this early.”

“you literally broke into my room early in the morning.”

“didn’t break in. the door wasn’t locked.”

“that’s worse somehow.”

he ignored you completely, already lowering himself onto the futon like this was the most normal thing in the world.

you could only stare as the terrifying wind hashira pulled your blanket halfway over himself with zero shame.

“…Sanemi.”

“hm?”

“you have your own room.”

“mine’s cold.”

you opened your mouth.

closed it.

opened it again.

“…you came here because your room was cold?”

“don’t repeat it like that.”

there was genuine irritation in his voice now, which only made this more ridiculous.

you looked at him for another second before finally sighing in defeat.

“unbelievable.”

“hurry up and lay back down.”

“you’re very demanding for someone invading my bed.”

“tch.”

still muttering under your breath, you settled back onto the futon carefully.

the moment you did, Sanemi shifted closer automatically.

not dramatic.

not clingy.

just enough for warmth.

your breath caught slightly.

he noticed immediately.

“…what?”

“nothing.”

“you’re being weird.”

“you are literally cuddling me right now.”

“i am not.”

his arm was fully around your waist.

you looked down at it pointedly.

Sanemi followed your gaze.

silence.

“…oh.”

the single word came out flat, like he genuinely hadn’t realized he’d done it.

you bit back a smile. “so?”

“so what?”

“are you gonna move?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer.

then his grip tightened slightly instead.

“…no.”

something warm bloomed in your chest instantly.

Sanemi clicked his tongue, eyes already closing again. “you’re warm. quit makin’ a big deal outta it.”

“you came in here like a stray cat looking for heat.”

“watch your mouth.”

you laughed softly despite yourself.

almost immediately, his brows furrowed.

“…why’re you laughing?”

“you’re cute.”

his eyes snapped open.

“i’m gonna leave.”

“but you won’t.”

a long pause.

then Sanemi buried his face deeper into the pillow with a low grumble.

“…shut up and go back to sleep.”

but he stayed exactly where he was.

arm still around your waist.

and five minutes later, you felt him pull you just a little closer in his sleep.

Thank you for reading <3 Credits to @saradika-graphics for the banners!

Taglist: @otte-ball @tringushi @frickpickle

[ardxnlxst]

k. tetsuro | crimes against chad crack, kuroo being an idiot, gn! reader wc: 749

“I’m getting rid of it.” 

“No! Put him down!” 

“No!” 

“YES!” 

“STOP! HE’S GOING TO BLOW AWAY!” 

You lunged at your boyfriend, but Kuroo just palmed your face like a volleyball, holding you back as you swiped viciously at him. Your childhood stuffie was currently dangling out of the window by the thin strip of fabric that used to be his tail 

“Good! Maybe it will teach him that I - Kuroo Tetsuro - DO NOT SHARE!” 

And then Kuroo committed the ultimate crime - he dropped him. 

Out the window. 

From your 10 story apartment building. 

Kuroo’s beef with your childhood stuffed animal knew no bounds. Everywhere you went, so did the stuffie. Kuroo’s first problem with the stuffie was his name. It’s name was Chad. You named it Chad - like it was the president of a fraternity. Kuroo’s second problem? Chad’s spot? It was Kuroo’s. 

“Babe…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why is it in my spot?” 

“Chad was here first.” 

“Tell Chad” he spat out the stuffie’s name in an annoyed tone, “to move.” 

“Sit next to him. He’s comfortable.” You returned your focus to your phone. 

Kuroo snatched up the stuffed animal by the throat and dropped him in your lap. You put him back. Kuroo moved him again. Same result. This happened four separate times which resulted in the window incident. 

You managed to slip past Kuroo’s obnoxiously long arms and look out the window. 

There laid your child.

Belly up.

In a mud puddle. 

Kuroo peered out the window, satisfied with his actions. “Maybe he will learn his lesson about hogging my girlfriend’s time.” 

“Kuroo.” 

“Yes?” 

“He’s face up.” 

“He’s still in one piece” He snorts. 

“In the mud…” 

“He’s in one piece. Besides, it builds character. He needed to experience the world” Kuroo started to walk away and then you suddenly grabbed him, shaking him back and forth. 

“From 10 stories up?!” You screeched.

Kuroo just flopped back and forth as you shook him, rambling on and on about the state of your stuffie. He rolled his eyes, clearly not fazed by your current emotional state. He just couldn’t see the absolute importance of the raggedy looking blob of fabric you called a stuffed animal. 

“Go get him.” You pointed out the window, your voice dangerously calm. 

Kuroo peered out the window and then turned to look at you. 

“No.” 

Silence. 

You blinked. 

“I’m sorry. I must not have heard you right, care to repeat that?” You asked.

“N.O” He crossed his arm, smirking like he had you cornered, “No is a complete sentence.” 

“Kuroo Tetsuro.” 

He raised a brow, “That’s me, sweet cheeks.” 

“If you do not retrieve my child-” 

“Your child?”

“-you are going to wish it was you that fell out that window.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

You took a step forward. 

Kuroo took a step backwards, leaning against the wall, acting like his entire existence wasn’t about to go up in flames. 

“I don’t make threats…I make promises…” You glared, voice dangerously calm. Calmer than he had ever heard it. Kuroo gulped, suddenly feeling very cornered and concerned. He glanced out the window, suddenly thinking that maybe retrieving the wet mop was his best chance of survival. 

“It’s literally falling apart-” 

“IT?! DID YOU JUST CALL HIM AN IT?!” 

He froze. Kuroo lifted his hands in surrender, realizing that his life was actually in danger. “Fine…” 

“Thank you.” 

He let out a breath, suddenly feeling very inconvenienced. “I’ll go get the stupid wet mop.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Walk.” You pointed at the door. 

~ 

10 minutes later, Kuroo stood in front of the washing machine, arms crossed as you scrubbed at Chad with a stain remover stick. 

“Are you really about to put that sad excuse for a stuffed animal in there?” 

You narrowed your eyes, “Well his father just tried to off him and he’s now covered in mud, so yes.” 

You gently placed Chad into the laundry bag and set it inside the washer. 

“For the record, I am not his father. That thing is too ugly to be my kid.” 

The washer clicked shut. 

“He’s perfect.” You retort, watching the bag spin for a moment. 

“It’s judging me.” 

“You did just drop him out a window.” 

Kuroo peered over your shoulder, glaring, and then went pale. Just for a split second, he could have sworn Chad smiled. 

“It just smiled at me.” 

You snorted. “No he didn’t” 

Kuroo took a step back, suddenly feeling a very ominous presence.

“I’m sleeping at Kenma’s…” 

a/n: kuroo is literally one of my favorite characters like ugh i love him down. as always, i hope you enjoy!

photos & fanart were found on Pinterest

if you know the artists of the images, please comment their users & platforms so i can credit them appropriately :) thank you

©ardxnlxst

all works belongs to ardxnlxst. do not copy, repost to other platforms, translate or feed into AI!

[weirdergirlbrina]

It’s a calm morning when you unknowingly decide to ruin Iwa’s sense of reality.

He’s standing beside the counter in a pair of gray sweats, still half asleep, broad shoulders relaxed as he pours you both coffee.

You’re leaning against the counter, reminiscing on your old high school days out loud when you casually say, “God I was so in love with you in high school, it’s actually embarrassing”

The comment stops him dead in his tracks. He slowly turns to you, eyebrows pinches tight, “…Huh?”

You just laugh, the sound way too light and airy for the absolute bomb you just dropped on him.

He’s staring hard now, eyes glued to your face as if the answer might suddenly change if he looks hard enough.

“You liked me?”, he asks slowly.

You blink at him, “Yeah, wasn’t it obvious?”

The room goes silent for a second, both of you trying to process the new information.

“I thought you liked Issei”, he suddenly blurts with a frown.

“…Why would I like Issei?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

His jaw drops, “You two literally acted like a couple!”

That makes you snort, “Oh, that was his idea. We were trying to make you jealous”, you laugh a little, waving him off, “I just figured it didn’t work because you didn’t want me!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Iwa just stares at you like his entire high school experience is replaying behind his eyes in horrible, painful detail.

Every hangout where Matsukawa draped himself all over you, the teasing little comments and shy giggles.. Every single time you laughed at his dumb comments while Iwa sat there trying to force himself to be happy for you two.

“We could’ve been together so much sooner!” He barks, incredulous look on his face.

Now, it’s your turn to be stunned. You blink, “Wait…. What?”

“I was obsessed with you!”, he groans loudly, dramatically dragging his hands down his face, “Oikawa used to make fun of me because I’d bitch about you and Issei all the time!”

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open dramatically, “Shut up, no way!”

“All those years…” he groans, “All because that dumbass wanted to play mind games”

The laugh that escapes you cools him down a little. His shoulders loosen, huffing out his own little laugh as he shakes his head.

“Hey,” you say softly after a moment, smiling at him real sweet, “we got here eventually, didn’t we?”

And just like that, his irritation melts clean away.

Because you’re right here.

Messy morning hair.

One of his oversized shirts slipping off your shoulder.

Mismatched socks sliding against the kitchen floor.

Standing in your shared apartment making breakfast together like this was always where you were meant to end up.

His entire expression softens instantly, “…C’mere,” he mutters, already reaching for you.

You grin immediately, shuffling into his arms with a giggle as he wraps himself around you completely, pulling you flush against his chest and rocking you gently side to side.

“I can’t believe it” he mumbles into your hair.

You smile up at him, crinkling your nose, “Sorry, I really th-“

“No,” he cuts in immediately, pulling back just enough to look at you with pure disbelief, “I can’t believe Oikawa was right about it being fake”

You burst out laughing so hard you nearly choke.

Iwaizumi follows a second later, loud and bright, the sound filling the apartment and melting away the last sleepy traces of the morning completely.

————————————————————————

A/N: Iwa makes u swear to never tell Oikawa bc he knows he’ll never hear the end of it

[showhay]

but when i touch her i feel like i’m cheating on you.

fluff

oikawa tōru who fell for you at first sight then fell even harder when you told him, “you’re really charming, it’s getting in my nerves.” it’s like his eyes had a built-in tracker just for you starting at that point.

oikawa tōru who got approached by his fan girls after he fell in love with you and immediately told them that he now has a wife, she just didn’t know that she’s married to him, but does it matter?

oikawa tōru who’s been crushing on you ‘til the end of time refuses to talk to girls, even his fan girls since he thinks that he’ll be cheating on you if he talks to them about anything more than stuff about school.

oikawa tōru who’s—if asked about you—will go on an endless monologue about every nook and cranny of your personality, sure he loves your looks, but he can’t all be superficial right? everything is for his beloved y/n-chan.

oikawa tōru who’ll look at you with hearts in his eyes no matter what you do. you’re being loud? amazing! you’re being mean? oh how he loves you. you failed a class? you did your best, you’ll always be his smart y/n! you passed your exams? time to celebrate! you have a stain on your face? you look perfect even when you’re messy, it’s unfair for his heart!

oikawa tōru who’ll shamelessly express his love for you, unless you seriously tell him to stop. he knows how to read you like a book so he knows when you’re being serious and when you aren’t, even if you don’t show it.

oikawa tōru who has a list of every favorite you have. favorite movie? check. favorite foods and drinks? double check. favorite person? quintuple check, quintuple because that’s how many syllables his name has!

oikawa tōru who tracks your off days. he knows when to tease, when to be serious, when to listen, and when to speak his mind about your problems.

oikawa tōru who’ll never push you into liking him back or reciprocating his feelings quickly, and urges you to not be pressured by his love. he’d rather admire you from afar—albeit violently sobbing—than make you comfortable with his feelings.

oikawa tōru who still waves to his fan girls but barely talks to them as he sincerely believes he doesn’t have to talk to any girl unless it’s you, or unless he has to talk to them about group projects, thought it never goes farther than that.

oikawa tōru who’s aware that what he’s doing can reflect horribly on you as people might assume you’re telling him to do it, so he announces it on the PA system.

“ahem—is this thing on? hello everyone who looks like wilted grass, and hello to my beloved y/n-chan! i’ve heard rumors talking about my y/n-chan controlling my actions which is definitely NOT true. i do this out of my sheer devotion for her. she’s my wife and i’d like for her to feel secure—” iwaizumi interrupts, “she’s not your wife—”

“she’s my wife at heart, iwa-chan! ow!” cue to one huge smack!

“didn’t feel that one bit, y/n-chan. i just did that so iwa-chan sounds strong. but if you wanna kiss my forehead then i don’t see why not— okay, reverting back to my topic. if anyone talks bad about my wife, i’m gonna spike a volleyball on your foot and make sure it’ll turn into mush.”

huge silence.

“okay, bye! see you in a minute, y/n-chan!” is all you hear before a huge blanket of a boy drapes himself over you.

oikawa tōru who looks nervous as you stare him down in the courtyard after his announcement. “okay, in my defense, i did it all for love.. i didn’t want anyone thinking that you’re controlling me—in which, you definitely could, just say the word—i don’t want anyone viewing you in a bad light because of me. even if.. even if you don’t like me back, i’m happy that you give me an ounce of your attention. i just— i just can’t stop loving you.” his voice falters slightly, shoulders slumping, his lower lip quivering just a bit. “i can’t get you out of my head. i don’t want you to get out of my head, please don’t push me away. just let me stay beside you even if you don’t share the same thing i feel. i don’t want a life without your presence in it.”

oikawa tōru who wraps his arms around you and sobs as you finally break, telling him you like him back, and that he’s stupid for even thinking otherwise.

oikawa tōru who’s over the moon while walking you home, gently rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “i can’t believe you like me back, y/n-chan. i thought you were just tolerating me.”

“at times.”

“WHAT?”

“i said i love you.”

oikawa tōru who goes back to sobbing at that, hugging you tight outside your house. “i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.” he murmurs.

oikawa tōru who—after a few minutes—finally lets go of you to go back to his house, but not before pecking your lips. he runs away, giggling like a school girl.

oikawa tōru who’s actually also your neighbor, so you hear him fan girling about you to his mother who squeals with him.

oikawa tōru who never lets go of you and his dream, which is now also you. he drags you to argentina with him, he saved up so he could take both of you. he begged your parents to get their permission until they agree (they weren’t planning to decline anyway).

oikawa tōru who still shamelessly talks about you on media, he has your name on a sweatband. he’s known as “tōru the loverboy” because that’s what he’ll always be, just for you.

a/n: i’ll be busy this week right until friday or when my presentation finishes :(

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[mptality]

omg, can u do a fanfic

this is why i didnt give you my tumblr

[mptality]

Hello I’d like to request

yes?

[showhay]

to be loved

bokuto kōtarō x f!reader

bokuto would do anything for you, even if it isn’t your birthday.

wc: 1.4k, request

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART @bigdaddyyaoii MWUAH!!

the morning sun hadn’t even finished peeling itself off the horizon before bokuto was already vibrating with the intensity of a thousand malfunctioning kitchen blenders. it was your birthday. to anyone else, it was a tuesday. to bokuto, it was the super bowl, the moon landing, and the discovery of sliced bread all rolled into one seismic event. he was pacing the fukurodani hallways with such vigor that he was genuinely at risk of burning a trench into the linoleum.

he had three envelopes stuffed into his jacket—each one slightly crumpled because he’d hugged them to his chest for four hours straight—and three packages that he had wrapped himself with more effort than he’d ever put into a math exam.

𓏵

the first one hit your desk with the force of a meteor during homeroom. bokuto didn’t say anything; he just stood there, breathing heavily through his nose, eyes wide and golden like a hawk that had just found a very precious, very confused mouse. he dropped a small, squishy parcel next to the envelope and bolted.

you opened the letter first.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much my heart goes ‘boom’ every time you walk into a room, but i’m gonna try anyway! honestly, i think if i didn’t have ribs, my heart would have flown out of my chest and attached itself to your backpack like a parasitic twin months ago. you are the absolute ace of my life, the top of the podium, the golden medal around my neck! i wake up every day feeling like i just won the national championship because you actually chose to date me? me?! i’m just a guy who hits balls really hard, (hehehehe) and you’re like... a celestial goddess who smells like sunshine and magic! i’m so lucky i could scream (and i did, ask akaashi, he told me to shut up at 4 am). i am yours forever and ever and ever!”

the gift accompanying it was a custom-made plushie of an owl. not just any owl, though. it was a round, rotund great horned owl wearing a tiny, hand-knitted replica of your favorite cardigan. it was so soft it felt like holding a cloud that had been blessed by a saint.

𓏵

lunchtime was a tactical operation. you were sitting under the usual tree when a shadow loomed over you. bokuto hovered. he looked like he was vibrating at a frequency only dogs could hear. he handed you the second envelope and a flat, square box.

“read it,” he whispered, sounding like he’d just run a marathon. “read it now, y/n!”

“LOVE us! honestly! we’re the ultimate power duo! i was thinking about how much i adore you, and i realized that if you were a volleyball, i would never spike you because i’d never want to let you go (but that would be a foul, so i guess i’d just carry you off the court). you make me feel like i’m permanently in the ‘way of the ace’ mode. everything is brighter when you’re around. i look at you and i feel like i could jump high enough to touch the moon, grab a handful of moon-dust, and bring it back to make you a necklace. living without you would be like playing a match with no net, no ball, and no floor. just a dark, sad void. you’re the sparkle in my hair gel! you’re the perfect cross-shot of my soul!”

inside the box was a hand-painted denim jacket. on the back, he had painstakingly painted a mural of your favorite flowers surrounding a tiny, stylized version of the two of you. the paint was thick, and there were a couple of yellow fingerprints near the hem where he’d clearly gotten too excited, but it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. it smelled faintly of his laundry detergent and pure, unadulterated devotion.

𓏵

by the time the final bell rang, you were expecting a full-blown parade. instead, you found bokuto waiting by the school gates, looking uncharacteristically shy, holding a single, heavy-duty gift bag and a final, slightly tear-stained envelope.

he didn’t wait for you to reach him. he bounded forward, nearly knocking you over with his sheer aura. “this is the big one!” he chirped, his voice cracking just a tiny bit. “the finale! the grand slam!”

“YOU are the reason i’m so loud! i have to be loud because my love for you is too big for a normal human body to contain! it’s leaking out of my ears and my mouth! if i were a poet, i’d write you a book as thick as a dictionary, but i’m just kōtarō, your kōtarō, so i’ll just say this: you are my home. you’re the person i want to show every cool rock i find to. you’re the person i want to yell ‘hey hey hey’ to for the rest of my life. you make me want to be the best version of myself, even when i’m in a slump. especially when i’m in a slump. you’re my ultimate support, my favorite person, and the greatest thing that has ever happened to this planet. you’re stuck with me, okay? i’ve already decided. we’re a team for life!”

the final gift was a heavy, high-quality scrapbook. you flipped it open to find it wasn’t just photos. it was everything. he had saved the wrapper from the first snack you ever shared. there was a dried leaf from the day you went to the park. there were “coupons” he’d drawn for “free hug (infinite duration)” and “kōtarō will do your chores while squatting, if possible.”

on the very last page, there was a polaroid of him sleeping on your shoulder, with a caption in his messy, bold handwriting: the happiest moment of my life (until tomorrow).

bokuto was watching you read, his lower lip trembling slightly as he waited for your reaction. he looked like a giant, muscular puppy waiting to see if he’d been a good boy.

“kōtarō,” you breathed, clutching the scrapbook to your chest. “this is... i don’t even have the words. you spent so much time on this.”

he let out a sound that was half-sob, half-cheer, and scooped you up into a hug that lifted your feet three feet off the gravel. he spun you around, burying his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you with the strength of a man who truly believed you might float away if he loosened his grip by a fraction of a millimeter.

“i just want everyone to know!” he shouted into your shoulder, muffled but passionate. “i want the birds to know! i want the principal to know! i want the guys in the celestial heavens to know that y/n is the coolest, prettiest, smartest person ever and she’s my girlfriend!”

“kōtarō, everyone can already hear you,” you laughed, patting his spiky hair, which was surprisingly soft despite the sheer amount of product in it.

“good!” he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression so intensely sincere it made your chest ache. “because if i could, i’d buy a billboard. no, a satellite! i’d put your face on the moon so everyone has to look at how great you are before they go to sleep!”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your cheeks, moving with a frantic, desperate sort of affection as if he were trying to memorize your face through touch alone. you were his entire world, his north star, and his favorite cheering section all at once.

“happy birthday,” he whispered, finally settling down into a gentle sway, still refusing to let your feet touch the ground. “i’m gonna make sure every single day feels like your birthday, i promise. i’ll buy you so many owls. i’ll hit so many points for you. just stay right here, okay? right here with me. please, stay with me, the love of my life.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest, feeling the frantic, rhythmic thumping of a heart that beat entirely for you. “i will.”

until tomorrow = once tomorrow happens, that will be his happiest moment.

n: i cried, crew, and crode while proofreading this. i love bokuto.

kō’s taglist 1/2

@lsirria @cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @theflowerwower @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @tetsurae @rabbitcola @nivabiva @eudaim0nia-a @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @george-russell-defender @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @eri0-0 @fiannee @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[oikyawa]

I’M SUPER SHY, SUPER SHY | requested ۶ৎ

atsumu miya x reader

SYNOPSIS atsumu has a huge crush on you, his brothers best friend. and with the help of osamu and a horror movie, he finally confesses.

osamu miya has been your bestfriend ever since middle school.

from the day you two met, it just clicked instantly.

you haven’t gone a day without hanging around him, even so far as going to the same school as him when you both entered highschool, just to be able to hang out with him more often.

and you’d think that being friends with osamu would naturally also make you befriend atsumu, since they’re literally inseparable. but that’s really not the case.

atsumu’s a very arrogant, handsome and cocky bastard. but he completely freezes up whenever you’re around.

when he sees you, his heart does around twenty somersaults in his chest, along with the inability to breathe for what feels like two decades.

it could be at school, or whenever you’re over at their place, you never fail to literally take his breath away and choke on the insult he was about to throw osamu’s way.

he’s just so undeniably in love with you, it physically aches in a good way.

from the moment he first saw you. which was on a rainy thursday in may, your whole entire body being drenched to the bone, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, standing in the entrance to the gym, he was in love.

that was the day his entire perspective on life changed.

he wasn’t just going to chase a successful volleyball career, but he was also going to chase you, figuratively and literally, until you’re finally his.

but the problem is, he doesn’t know how.

he’s a complete nervous wreck when you’re even in the same room as him. he can’t even look you in the eye without combusting internally.

and osamu gives him absolute hell for it.

every single volleyball practice goes the exact same.

‘ya should just confess, ‘tsumu.’ ‘well i can’t! i can’t even talk ta’ her like a normal dude, my heart explodes everytime she’s near!’

‘if ya can’t even confess to a girl you see everyday, than what can ya even do, moron!’ cue osamu giving atsumu a harsh slap on his face to put some sense into him.

‘ ‘samu, stop naggin’ me about it will ya!?’ atsumu yells back while slapping osamu twice as hard, starting yet another fight between the two.

suna pulls out his phone to record, ‘i’ll send this to y/n, wonder what she thinks of your crap.’ he says loud enough for atsumu to hear.

‘don’t ya dare do that, sunarin! i’ll seriously kill yer ass!’ and it always ends up with kita’s calm demeanor creeping everyone out, making them forget what happened in the first place anyway.

suna doesn’t send the videos to you, but he does have a dedicated folder of all of them, waiting for the day atsumu finally gathers enough guts to actually out. and only then will he send you the collection, you’ll get to know just how bad atsumu was crushing on you.

some of the videos are rather embarrassing ones, one of them is atsumu sick to the point of fainting, laying down on the waxed floorboards muttering your name like a prayer.

‘y/n-chan.. she’s so pretty.. an’ smart.. an’.. amazing..’ he was babbling your name and all your best qualities, until he eventually did pass out. but it did make for a hilarious scene.

and those are only small tidbits of what happens at practice, sometimes he’s so off his game because he’s thinking of you.

your pretty face, soft hair that he’d love to rake his fingers through, your soft lips that he’d love to feel against his, your perfect hands, ones that he wants to hold until his last breath, the way you laugh at osamu’s jokes, hoping that one day you’ll laugh at one of his like that.

you’ve successfully found your way into his mind at constant, sitting right next to volleyball, and everything else in that head of his.

the crush he has on you is very movie plot worthy, that’s how bad it is.

it’s a friday afternoon at practice, and atsumu is setting the worst balls of his life.

‘ ‘tsumu the hell is wrong with ya!’ osamu shouts, absolutely done with the horrible balls he’s been given by atsumu, they’re barely even reachable.

atsumu groans loud enough it echoes through the gymnasium, but he doesn’t give an answer to osamu, making his brother even more annoyed than before.

‘spit it out! ya always berate me when my plays are shit, so now i’m doing it to ya!’ he grabs atsumu by the collar, fed up with the lame excuses the fake blonde has been giving him this entire practice session.

‘i can’t focus ya dipshit! ya told me y/n was comin’ over tonight and now i can’t focus!’ atsumu yells back, tugging on the front of osamu’s shirt with a vice grip.

‘yer being this useless cause’ y/n’s on yer mind? get a grip ‘tsumu, ya can’t be like this forever! jus’ confess to her for fucks sake!’ suna’s got his phone whipped out, and everyone’s exchanging looks between eachother.

‘how do ya want me to do that?! if i’m in the same room as her i feel like i’m havin’ a heart attack!’ osamu rolls his eyes, not believing the words coming out of atsumu’s mouth, ‘why the hell are ya so nervous around her? i haven’t seen ya this nervous since we were like five!’ osamu lets go of his grip on atsumu’s shirt, crossing his arms like a disappointed mother.

‘she’s like my dream girl y’know! she’s basically perfection in human form!’ atsumu half yells half whines, the tips of his ears going red at the thought of you.

‘yer so stupid,’ osamu mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

‘what was that?’ atsumu’s already prepared to start another pointless fight with his brother, this time over literally nothing important.

but then, the gym doors swing open. carrying a loud gush of wind into the gymnasium.

everyone looks to that direction, and there you are. hair messy like you personally fought a tornado, flushed cheeks from running all the way here, probably.

‘yo, ‘samu!’ you quip, still trying to catch your breath from the mini marathon you ran from the main building to the gymnasium.

‘did ya run all the way here? ya look awful.’ he laughs, walking over to you and ruffling your hair a little, messing it up even more than before.

you give him a look, narrowing your eyes at him. ‘practice ends at five doesn’t it? i’m just five minutes early.’ you tell him, your eyes scanning the space infront of you.

the gym’s still messy, balls laid astray on the floor, towels and water bottles haphazardly thrown in the large sink.

normally they would’ve been cleaning up by now. well kita is, the rest just aren’t.

atsumu looks like he’s about to shit his pants, suna has a regular bored look on his face, and kita just looks unimpressed.

but the elephant in the room is, that it’s really quiet. and it’s never quiet when inarizaki has practice going on.

well sure it was quiet because you barged in, but the minute before that you also didn’t hear anything.

you figured the twins must’ve fought again, osamu’s shirt like it’s been tugged on pretty hard. the front of his shirt all crumpled up.

‘did you two fight again?’ you ask osamu, shifting on your feet. ‘nah, ‘tsumu jus’ wouldn’t admit somethin’ to me.’ you nod, taking a look at atsumu who’s now awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

in the times you’ve been friends with osamu, you’ve learnt to never ask what they were fighting about. no matter how bruised and battered they made the other. it’d always start another fight.

so you just wonder, wonder what they’ve fought about. and this time it was actually about you.

about atsumu being too nervous to confess his undying feelings for you, and being unable to be in the same room as you without combusting into a thousand little pieces.

but you’ll be oblivious to that fact until further notice.

kita calls everyone to help him clean up, something they should’ve been doing instead of watching the twins fight once again.

and when everyone turns around to start doing so, everything’s already done. the stray volleyballs have been placed in the basket, the water bottles have been neatly aligned, and the towels have been thrown in the laundry basket.

‘just go home,’ kita says, his expression sending a shiver down everyone’s spine. including yours, and he wasn’t even talking to you.

everyone straightens up and rush to the locker room to get their belongings, leaving you alone for around thirty seconds.

‘ya ready to go?’ osamu calls out at you, his brother following suit behind him. you give him a thumbs up, flashing him a small smile that atsumu happens to see.

and it makes his heart nearly explode.

such a small, graceful smile has changed the wiring of his brain, he’ll cherish it until the day he dies.

‘ ‘tsumu, you okay? you look flushed.’ you point out, walking two steps to stand infront of the fake blonde, placing the back of your hand on his forehead to check his temperature.

osamu clenches his jaw, knowing what you just did is not good for his brother’s wellbeing.

because atsumu tenses the second your hand’s touching his skin, full body jolt and then he’s as still as a renaissance statue.

‘you’re really warm, i think you have a fever.’ your hand goes down to his cheek, which is really red, and really really hot.

you’re genuinely concerned for his wellbeing, osamu has to hold in his laughter, and atsumu has stopped functioning, his cheeks getting hotter and hotter with the longer your palm is on it.

‘ ‘tsumu—’ ‘he’s fine, let’s go.’ osamu yanks your arm away from atsumu’s cheek, gently.

you take one look at atsumu, who doesn’t look as fine as his brother claims, his eyes wide and dazed, cheeks still red as they were before your hand got yanked away.

osamu’s already outside, atleast thirty steps away from the gym. ‘hurry up! i don’t have all day.’ osamu yells, still taking lazy strides foward.

you rush out at osamu’s call, leaving behind a still very dazed, and tensed up setter.

it’s only a short ten minute walk to the miya’s home, which is usually filled with bickering between the two, but this time it’s quiet. and that’s because atsumu hasn’t said a word yet.

maybe they had an argument about something really serious earlier, but osamu doesn’t seem bothered by anything, his expression seems normal, no twitch in his brow or a scowl, nothing.

atsumu doesn’t look pissed either, but he doesn’t have a neutral expression on, he sort of looks really stressed out. a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, probably still from practice though, or maybe the fever he’s running.

but little do you know, you’re the cause of his elevated stress levels.

you touched him, twice. both on his face, for his wellbeing, you cared, for his wellbeing.

he wonders how you’d treat him if he were actually sick, would you feed him pickled plums? run him a bath? kiss his forehead to check his temperature? coddle him like a baby? boss him around that he can’t get out of bed no matter the occasion?

you’d be the best caregiver ever, he knows it, and he’s convinced. you’re the only one he’d let take care of him, nobody else, just you.

‘ ‘tsumu walk faster! did ya transform into a snail or somethin’ ?’ osamu snaps, effectively snapping atsumu out of his daydreaming.

‘shut up ‘samu!’ he yells back, although he does pick uo his pace a little, now walking beside his brother to elbow him, which the grey haired happily returns.

and before they can pull at eachother’s hair, you arrive at their home. the upcoming fight scheduled for a later date, or never, you hope.

‘ ‘tsumu, come with me. y/n, ya can change in the bathroom.’ before either of you can respond, osamu’s already dragging his twin to their shared bedroom.

you go to the bathroom to get changed out of your nasty uniform from wearing it at school all day, while osamu has had it with his brother.

‘yer such n’ idiot! do ya know how stupid ya looked earlier?!’ osamu slams the door behind him, keeping his voice low enough so that you won’t overhear their conversation.

‘well what was i supposed ta’ do?! her hand was on my face, ‘samu. her hand!’ atsumu’s voice is a pinch too loud, causing osamu to slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

‘shut yer trap! if ya don’t confess soon enough i might have ta’ do it for ya!’ atsumu yanks the hand off his mouth, ‘ya wouldn’t dare! give me a break will ya, i can’t rush somethin’ like that! ‘s gotta be perfect!’

‘who cares if ‘s perfect, the answer’ll stay the same anyway! ‘s not about how you do it, ‘s about who does it, ya seriously don’t understand that?’

shit, he’s right. for once in his life, atsumu actually agrees with what osamu’s said.

it’s about the person, not about the location or how it’s done.

you could ask someone out in math class, and if they like you, they’ll say yes. since it’s not the location or moment you’re going to date, it’s the person you fall in love with.

that means, he could probably blurt it out whenever, and depending if you reciprocate his feelings or not, you’ll say yes, because it’s him you say yes to, not how or when he does it.

‘huh, that kinda makes sense.’ atsumu mutters, very deep in thought.

so basically, he has to grow some balls for one moment, any moment at all, to ask you out, and the answer depends if you like him like he likes you.

sounds simple enough, the only thing it’ll take is courage, and a hell of a lot of it.

he can do that, he can find enough courage. he’s atsumu freaking miya afterall, he can do anything, even ask the girl of his dreams out.

it’s going to be easy, he won’t mess anything up, or will he?

anyhow, it’s been five minutes, and atsumu is still standing in the same position, eyes fixed on a stain on the floor, still very deep in thought.

while osamu’s already changed out of his practice clothes, and in something more comfortable. a shower will come later.

‘you guys okay in there?’ you knock on the door to their bedroom, a little concerned since there was quite the bit of yelling not long ago.

‘ ‘tsumu, go change!’ is the last thing osamu yells at atsumu before opening the door to you. ‘everything alright?’ you ask, looking behind osamu to see a very focused atsumu, not doing what his brother told him.

‘yep, had to kick some sense inta’ him. let’s order food, ‘m hungry.’ he brushes past you to the kitchen, setting humself on a chair and scrolling on his phone for the food delivery app.

‘what’dya wanna eat?’ he yells from across the room, ‘coming!’ you quickly pad away to the kitchen, your eyes shooting to atsumu for one quick second before you leave.

even though he didn’t look at you, atsumu still combusted internally, seconds away from giggling like a highschool girl.

your voice is captivating, it’s perfection to his ears, it’s like a spell he wouldn’t mind falling for, it’s music to his ears.

he could listen to you talk for hours on end, and still tell you to keep going.

but what’s not music to his ears, is his brother yelling at him, for the nth time this day.

‘ ‘tsumu get yer ass over here! we’re tryna order somethin’! ’ he quickly tugs off his clothes from practice and changes into a random tee and some sweats. then finally comes to the kitchen.

you three sit around the kitchen table, with the very tough decision on what to order.

‘ya’ll want ramen? chinese?’ you groan at the two options he’s given, you’re not craving either of those. and you don’t know what exactly you’re craving.

‘pho?’ you blurt out, now that you’ve said it. it does sound really good. ‘sure, ‘tsumu?’ ‘ ‘m fine with whatever.’ he murmurs, stretching his arms behind his head.

you and osamu share a very knowing look.

atsumu is never fine with ‘whatever’, he always has to argue back and forth until he agrees wholeheartedly.

neither of you decide to comment on his weird behavior, even though it’s really tempting to.

you all put in your orders, watching how eerily calm atsumu’s being, not fighting about the extra beef he usually wants with it, which is again, really weird coming from him.

a small twenty minutes later, the food finally arrived. and you all dig in, the room filled with slurping noises and osamu choking on the noodles from eating too fast.

atsumu keeps eyeing up at you, watching your cute expressions while you’re eating.

the way the corners of your mouth tug up a little when you take another bite, all the flavors exploding on your tongue filling you with joy.

you look adorable with your cheeks stuffed. happily munching away at your meal without a care in the world.

he could squish your cheeks from how much cuteness agression you give him, he could totally take a bite out of your cheeks right now.

osamu notices the glances atsumu takes at you, and since he’s not that of an asshole to verbally point it out, he instead stomps on his brother’s foot, hard.

‘—ow! the hell was that for?!’ atsumu yelps. his knee hitting the table from jerking it away, knocking over his own bowl of food, and nearly your own. good thing you all finished your food.

‘felt like it,’ osamu gets up from his chair and starts gathering all the takeout containers and throwing them in the original bag they came in, just to get the mess out of the way.

another little while later, you’ve all cleaned up, and are now seated on the comfortable couch. attempting to pick a movie to watch tonight.

although it’s not that easy to pick a movie when you’re with the miya’s.

they bicker alot on a regular basis, and you guessed it. it’s worse when it’s time to pick a movie.

although this time, atsumu’s only giving half assed answers, a ‘nah, already saw that,’ with every movie that gets clicked. no fire in his words like usual, which is weird.

but little do you know, it’s about you, again.

you’re too close to him.

your thigh is brushing his everytime you shift, along with your shoulder.

he can smell you, you smell like heaven and coconut, along with something fresh, probably your conditioner.

your side profile’s also really pretty, even better up close.

and the light from the television highlights your already beautiful features even more, you look like an angel that got sent from heaven to save him, save him from his embarrassing crush on you.

he’s staring, so hard, completely unaware of it too.

you’re just so pretty, he can’t help himself.

you’re a blessing to his eyes, you’re the sun, the stars, and everything he’s ever dreamed of.

his thoughts get interrupted, this time not by osamu, but by the loudest bloodcurdling scream coming from the television. and he himself nearly lets out a scream adjacent to the one on screen.

‘ ‘samu, why the hell’d ya pick a horror movie?!’ neither of you three likes horror movies, so why’d he pick the scariest one on the internet?

well, it’s because osamu’s so done with atsumu’s nervous highschool girl behavior around you, that he thought it’d be a great idea to put on a horror movie, so the fake blonde will jump in your lap with every jumpscare, and maybe that’d lead to him finally confessing.

it’s an idea he put around forty seconds of thought in, but he’s betting it’ll work. or atleast in some way.

and that’s also why he watched this movie beforehand, even if he also isn’t very fond of horror movies, to know where the scariest jumpscares are, so he can leave the room to make it a little easier for his brother.

it’s probably the most thoughtful thing he’s done for his brother, ever.

and he’ll surely get atsumu to pay back the favor, because why should he do something so generous with no costs attached.

the movie’s packed with jumpscares, one around every ten minutes. so another one should come very soon.

‘ ‘m gonna get some snacks, ya’ll want anything?’ osamu takes one look at atsumu, and notices just how insanely tense he looks.

his fists are balled so tight his knuckles are white, he looks like he’s barely breathing, staying as still as humanly possible, probably cause you’re centimeters away from touching him.

‘i’m fine, thanks,’ you smile, then return your attention back on the screen, not affording to miss more than two seconds of the movie.

even if it’s a horror movie, the plot’s still pretty good, you’re only unaware that there’s about to be a jumpscare that’ll scare a near heart attack out of you.

the temptation’s rising, the music’s becoming intenser with every step the main character takes, the floorboards creak, and then—

‘AH!’ you physically jump, hiding yourself against the closest thing next to you, which happens to be, well, atsumu miya. his chest to be precise.

his arms wrap around you on instinct, like it’s the most normal thing to do.

you don’t even realize where you’ve put your head until you feel a frantic thump against your forehead.

your head shoots up with the speed of lightning, your expression horrified. ‘i’m so sorry!’ you blurt out, staring him directly in his big, brown doe eyes, and he looks as equally terrified as you do.

his hands are still on you, and this time it doesn’t make him feel as nervous as it should.

‘ ‘s okay— i have somethin’ to tell ya though.’ this is the time, this is the perfect time to confess, you hid yourself against him. not in your arms, a pillow, against him.

that’s got to mean something, means that you probably trust him, more than the pillow you’ve been clutching for five minutes.

he’s going to do it, he has to.

you nod, trying not to focus on the eerie music in the background too much.

‘y/n, i love ya. yer everything i’ve ever dreamed of, and i always feel like i’m ‘bout to combust in a million pieces when yer around. yer perfect, ya’ve got no flaws whatsoever. and i know i’m a cocky bastard who’s only got volleyball on his mind, but i mean it, i like you, i even remember the day that i really fell in love with ya.’

he takes a deep breath in, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter to ground himself, and to not freak out completely.

‘ ‘t was in our first year, ya showed up to the gym completely soaked to yer shoes, yer cheeks were tomato red, and ya had this adorable look on yer face, an’ that’s what made me fall in love with ya.’

he’s not freaking out, he’s actually doing it, he’s actually confessing to you, with very creepy music in the background.

‘so please, save my dignity when i ask ya this, d’ya wanna be my girlfriend?’ he’s staring deep into your eyes to find even a speckle of doubt, but he doesn’t find any.

‘yes— yes i’d love to be yours!’ you wrap your arms around his neck immediately, hugging him as close to you as humanly possible, and so does he.

he wraps his arms around you like you’re a lifeline, and he lets out the most relieved sigh of his life.

you’re his now, he gets to call you his.

osamu’s standing at the corner of the hallway, the most prideful smirk on his face, as if to say ‘congrats, bro. ya finally did it.’

a/n: i feel like this is my best work yet, i’m so proud of it, i don’t know how 4k words happened..

tags: @akaashiit, @blythmourning, @bakugosgrenade, @bookworm-center, @levisotakugf, @wellitseugi, @badtzmai, @returntothefae, @noyamlv, @charukii, @amisuh, @z9mbo, @showhay, @wowbyselene, @heavybit3rr, @kotarosangel, @kpopmultistans, @girlwithanattitude, @eclipsedivan, @imgonnashartmyself, @listentothemelody00, @dearestelsie, @scarymygodurdivine, @qrxswan, @immortalblazethief,, @wave2cal, @tdntu0, @s1ckntw1st3d, @imagoodwriter, @haniipie, @venusdreamr, @st3rdust7, @cwinxclub, @superswagboi05, @creamelon, @xyyyulat, @catgvrl, @shookykookie30, @tchmiya, @https-kasley, @katsukisser, @a2m-saranghae, @miismelater, @sunnysideupx5, @juhonarrt, @thickthighsthickthighs

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[showhay]

microdose - BOKUTO K.

when you leave it got me feeling like so depressed.

timeskip!MSBY!bokuto kōtarō x f!reader being MSBY’s and bokuto’s beloved manager is easy until you get sick, and bokuto loses the light of his life.

​entropy is a scientific concept, but in the msby black jackals’ gym, it looked exactly like a six-foot-two man slumped in the corner behind a stray ball cart.

​the atmosphere was practically tectonic. usually, the gym vibrated with the sound of ‘HEY HEY HEY!’ and the thunderous percussion of spikes hitting the floor. today? it sounded like a funeral for a very loud bird.

​bokuto was currently experiencing the psychological equivalent of a total solar eclipse. you weren’t there. for the first time in the history of his professional career, the spot three feet to the left of the bench—the spot where you usually stood with a clipboard and that specific, grounding smile—was vacant. empty. a void.

​“he’s been there for twenty minutes,” atsumu whispered, gesturing toward the ball cart where bokuto was currently trying to make himself small, which is physically impossible for a man built like a greek god made of boulders. “he’s sulking.”

​“it’s pathetic,” sakusa muttered, eyeing bokuto from a safe, ten-foot distance. “he thinks she’s dead. or worse, that she moved to brazil without telling him.”

​bokuto was convinced the universe had finally decided to punish him for his ‘emo modes’ by taking away his north star. by the second day of your absence, the ‘thick cloud of sadness’ had evolved into a localized weather system. he hadn’t spiked a single ball into the court. he’d missed every serve. he spent most of the morning staring at his phone, waiting for a text that never came because your migraine was so aggressive that even the thought of a blue-light screen felt like an ice pick to the brain.

​it wasn’t until sakusa—driven to the brink of insanity by the lack of structural integrity in the team—snapped and texted the coach.

​sakusa: where is the manager? bokuto is currently trying to merge with the floor tiles. ​coach foster: oh! right. she’s got a nasty flu. told her to take the week. forgot to mention it. my bad.

​when sakusa relayed the news, the transformation was instantaneous. bokuto detonated.

​“she’s sick?!” the roar echoed off the rafters. “she’s dying?! i have to go. omi-omi, i have to go right now.”

​he didn’t wait for permission. he was a white-and-black blur, bolting out of the gym with the frantic energy of a man who had just realized he left the stove on—if the stove was the love of his life and currently suffering from a 40°C fever.

𓏵

​the convenience store clerk had never seen a man move with such desperate, feral intent. bokuto was tossing things into a basket with the precision of a hawk: expensive honey-lemon tea, every flavor of jelly drink available, the softest tissues in the prefecture, and three different types of high-end porridge.

​then came the pharmacy. he stood in the aisle, looking like a deer in headlights, staring at a wall of cold medicine as if it were a complex offensive formation. naturally, he called the only person who could tether him to reality.

​“agaashiiii! if she has a headache but also a cough, do i get the blue box or the red box? does the red one taste bad? she likes peaches! is there a peach-flavored medicine for adults?!”

​“bokuto, please breathe,” came the weary, yet fond voice over the speaker. “get the standard tablets. and don’t give her caffeine. also, did you buy flowers?”

​“flowers. yes. strawberries too. she needs vitamins. i’m a genius, akaashi.”

𓏵

​when the doorbell rang at 2:00 pm, you were currently a cocoon of blankets, feeling like your brain had been replaced by wet cement. your eyes were puffy, your nose was a shade of pink that would rival a sunset, and your hair looked like a bird’s nest that had survived a hurricane.

​you shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. all you saw was a giant bouquet of sunflowers and a mop of silver-and-black hair.

​the moment you turned the deadbolt, the door flew open—not with force, but with a desperate kind of urgency.

​“my favorite human!”

​bokuto lunged. for a split second, you braced for the impact of a 190-pound professional athlete, but he slowed down at the last centimeter. he caught you in a hug that was as light as a feather, his large hands hovering over your back as if you were made of the finest, most fragile porcelain.

​he pulled back, his golden eyes scanning your face with enough intensity to melt lead. “you look... you look...”

​you winced, expecting him to say ‘terrible.’

​“…absolutely stunning,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “even when you’re melting, you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen. i thought you quit! i thought you hated me! i thought i did a spike so bad you decided to never look at me again!”

​his knees actually buckled a little. he looked like a kicked puppy who had just been offered a steak. before you could even protest that you were contagious, his arms were under your knees and behind your back. he swept you up in a bridal carry so smooth it felt like you were floating.

𓏵

​“bokuto, you’ll get sick,” you croaked, your voice sounding like a rusted gate.

​“i have the immune system of a mountain lion!” he declared, marching toward your bedroom. “and even if i catch it, then we can be sick together. it’ll be a team bonding exercise!”

​he settled you into bed with more care than he’d ever given a volleyball. then, the babbling started. it was as if two days of silenced thoughts were bursting out of him.

​“the gym was so quiet,” he whispered, tucking the duvet around your chin. “i kept looking at the spot where you stand. i even sat there for a while, just hoping i’d catch your scent or something. everyone told me to stop being weird, but they don’t understand. i can’t function without hearing your voice telling me my form is slightly off. i missed your voice so much it felt like my ears were broken.”

​he was peeling an orange for you, his large, calloused fingers working with surprising delicacy.

​“i even tried to hide in that little gap between the equipment shed and the wall,” he admitted, looking genuinely ashamed. “like a lost dog. hinata tried to lure me out with buns, but i wasn’t hungry. how can i eat when my manager—my favorite person in the whole wide world—is suffering alone?”

​he fed you the orange slices one by one. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, the way he was looking at you—like you were the center of his entire solar system—was doing more for your recovery than any pill could.

​when you mentioned you needed to freshen up, he went into full bodyguard mode. he prepped the bathroom, steamed it up just right, and then insisted on waiting right outside the door.

​“if you slip, just yell! i’m right here!”

​when you emerged, damp and shaky, he was sitting on the floor with a literal blindfold tied over his eyes.

​“bokuto... what are you doing?”

​“akaashi said i have to be a gentleman! i’m not looking! but i’m here if you need balance!”

​you laughed and he visibly brightened, his head whipping toward the sound of your voice. “that! i missed that! that’s the best sound in the league! forget the roar of the crowd, i want that on a loop!”

​he spent the next twenty minutes drying your hair. he used the lowest heat setting, his fingers combing through your strands with a gentleness that made your heart do backflips. he was so focused, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, ensuring he didn’t pull a single hair.

​“there,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head once it was dry. “now, medicine time.”

​he watched you swallow the tablets with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. it was the look of a man who was completely and utterly gone for you. he was at the bottom of the ocean, and he didn’t want air.

𓏵

​by evening, the exhaustion of being a full-time nurse-slash-fanboy caught up to him. you were drifting off, the medicine finally kicking in, when you felt a weight settle on the side of your mattress.

​bokuto was sitting on the floor, his head resting on the edge of the bed, his hand firmly but carefully clutching yours. he looked so small in the dim light, the usual bravado replaced by a quiet, desperate need for proximity.

​you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly from the fever, and brushed a stray lock of silver hair away from his forehead.

​“i like you too, kōtarō,” you whispered into the quiet room, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his brow. “so much.”

​you fell asleep shortly after, missing the way his eyelashes fluttered and the way his entire body went rigid the moment your lips touched his skin.

𓏵

​the next morning, the fever had broken. you woke up feeling lighter, the cement in your head having turned back into actual thoughts. however, there was a new weight—a very warm, very solid weight.

​bokuto was in the bed. he wasn’t technically under the covers, but he was on top of them, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, suffocatingly sweet embrace. he was staring at you with wide, awake eyes. he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink, but he also looked like he’d just won the olympic gold.

​“you’re awake!” he chirped, though his voice was uncharacteristically soft.

​“i feel much better,” you smiled, trying to shift, but his grip only tightened.

​“so...” he started, his lower lip trembling in a way that was almost tragically cute. “about last night. you said you liked me. and you kissed my head. and i’ve been thinking about it for six hours and twelve minutes.”

​he sat up, pulling you with him so you were sitting in his lap, encased in his warmth. he looked at you with such yearning, such raw, pathetic hope, that your heart felt like it was going to burst.

​“i already decided in my head that we’re dating,” he whispered, his face inches from yours. “i already told the group chat we’re ‘engaged in spirit.’ but... i should probably ask the official way, right?”

​he took a deep breath, his golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of devotion and sheer desperation. “would you let me be your boyfriend? i’ll take care of you every day. i’ll spike every ball for you. i’ll even let you have the last bite of my meat buns. please?”

​you didn’t even have time to get the ‘yes’ out before his face transformed. when you nodded, he looked completely discombobulated, his brain short-circuiting at the sheer joy of it.

​“really?! yes?! hey hey hey!”

​he peppered every single inch of your face with tiny, frantic kisses. your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your chin—he was like a heat-seeking missile of affection.

​“i’m gonna be the best boyfriend ever,” he promised, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his tail-wagging energy practically shaking the bed. “i’m never letting you get sick again. i’m banning germs. i’m fighting the flu with my bare hands!”

​as he pulled you back down into the pillows, refusing to let go for even a second, you realized that being managed by bokuto was going to be a lot more intense than managing him—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

n: i love it when men are pathetically in love. yk? y’all get me? right? RIGHT??

kō’s taglist 1/3

@lsirria @cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @theflowerwower @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @tetsurae @rabbitcola @nivabiva @eudaim0nia-a @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @george-russell-defender @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @eri0-0 @fiannee @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[sweet-art-o-mine]

Javier Escuella Relationship HCs [RDR2]

[[Author Allie here! Just a few random thoughts I had about Javier, since he was on my mind lately. These ones are all sfw. Enjoy (:]]

-----

Javier is someone who gets super attached and feels things very deeply. He practically worships Dutch as a savior, he was willing to kill a high ranking military man back in Mexico because of a woman he was in love with. He doesn't do attachment in half measures, he falls into feelings intensely.

I'm sorry but I cannot for the life of me see Javier as the smooth, suave flirter I see him being portrayed as by a lot of fans... we literally see him flirting with a woman in the first mission in game with the prostitutes in Valentines - he's not charming, he's a little awkward, he won't touch her (unlike Charles who does casually touch the woman he's talking to), and he just sighs in disappointment when she walks away. Combined with a few of his voice lines when talking to other characters, such as when he says "Words fail us all when it comes to women" to John, I do not get the sexy charmer vibes. This guy is earnest and passionate, but he is not smooth with it.

Absolutely the jealous type, and absolutely willing to fight over it. Reiterating my point about him getting super attached, and about how he was willing to kill over a woman before. I don't think he has a quick temper about it though, I think he's the type to generally sit and stew in his jealousy if he sees his partner/lover/crush getting attention from someone else. In the "just a crush" stage, he will just fester with jealousy but not do anything about it, but he gets willing to step in when it looks like the people giving you attention are getting aggressive/you look uncomfortable with it - because then he can wave it off as "just looking out for you" rather than "seeing them smile at you like that put a pit in my stomach". In the "officially together" stage, he's much more willing to quickly slide in with a "what's going on over here?" and a glare if someone starts flirting with you, because then you're his and it's his duty to defend you from other bastards who think they can put their hands on what belongs to him.

To expand a bit on the whole "what belongs to him" aspect, I try to be realistic about the time period and gender expectations of the era. It was clearly considered a man's job to "keep his woman" by scaring off other men, possessiveness/controlling behavior was generally seen as a natural thing, and especially in that tail end of the Wild West period where bar brawls were considered a perfectly acceptable way to settle disputes. I don't think Javier is high up on the list of controlling partners, I think he'd respect individuality and your personality a lot especially if you were independent and tough, but no matter what he is absolutely willing to step in and fight if he sees someone trying to flirt.

I think if you put your hair up in a bun/ponytail, he'll wind up staring at the back of your neck a lot when he's behind you. Out on rides, walking in town, just sitting a little behind you at the campfire. It's not the same if you just have short hair, there's something about the fact that he doesn't usually get that sight that makes it a bit of a fixation for him. I also think he'd love to rest his hand on the back of your neck when you're alone together - not gripping, just resting it there, thumb moving in slow strokes.

I also think he doesn't naturally get touchy in public considering we see him brushing off Hosea's hand in Colter and not wanting to touch the woman in Valentine, I believe he doesn't like touch that much, likely as a result of all those scars he has - especially that one around his throat... but there are times where he'll reach out first, like if you're making your way through a thick crowd then he'd probably put a hand on your waist to keep you by his side, or when he sees others flirting with you then he'd put a hand on your back or shoulder as a claiming touch/warning to the other person. He's more willing to be physical when it's just you two, though.

[jellyfishsthings]

Hello hello! I found ur page and I am very intrigued 👀🙂‍↕️ I was wondering if I could request a ootp fred weasley x reader? 🥹🙏 fluff with maybe lil hints at smut, ofc if not feel free to ignore this ty in advance -🖤💜🔮

Contraband

One: The Weasley Problem

The problem with Fred Weasley was not that he was annoying.

You could have dealt with annoying. Annoying was manageable. Annoying was something you could build a defence against and maintain with reasonable consistency.

The problem with Fred Weasley was that he was annoying and funny and he knew it, and the combination of those three things meant he operated with a kind of confident ease that made it very difficult to look at him without your brain doing something you hadn't given it permission to do.

He sat two rows across from you in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'Sat' was generous. He occupied the space. Sprawled into it. Took up exactly as much room as he felt like taking up on any given day, and somehow Umbridge had never managed to make him sit up straight, which you suspected was a source of genuine personal anguish for her.

He'd first spoken to you properly in September. Not counting the years of existing in the same castle — you'd been in the same year since first year, you knew who he was the way you knew who everyone was, but knowing wasn't the same as speaking.

September. Umbridge had just handed back a particularly insulting essay grade and you'd made the mistake of muttering 'this is actually educational malpractice' under your breath, and from two rows across Fred Weasley had said, without looking up, 'educational malpractice. I'm using that.'

'Please don't,' you'd said.

'Too late. It's mine now.'

'I coined it.'

'And I've claimed it. Spoils of war.'

Umbridge had looked over. Both of you had looked very interested in your parchment.

After class he'd fallen into step beside you in the corridor and said, 'Fred Weasley. In case you didn't know.'

'I know who you are.'

'Good. What's your name?'

You told him.

'Right,' he said, like he was filing it somewhere. 'I'll be needing that.'

'For what?' you'd asked.

He'd grinned — that specific Fred Weasley grin, the one that meant something was already in motion that you hadn't been informed about — and said 'you'll see' and turned down a different corridor.

You had, in retrospect, been doomed from that moment.

It had taken you several more weeks to admit it.

✦ ✦ ✦

The thing about fifth year was that everything had a weight to it that the previous four hadn't.

You felt it in the corridors — something taut and low, the way the air felt before a storm. Umbridge in the castle and her decrees going up on the noticeboard one after another, each one landing like a small controlled explosion. No gatherings. No organisations. No independent study of defensive magic. The Ministry's hand reaching all the way to Hogwarts and closing around it, slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

You'd heard about the DA from Ginny, who had heard about it from Hermione, who had looked at you with the very specific expression of someone deciding whether to trust you with something important and deciding yes.

'It's risky,' Hermione had said.

'Most worthwhile things are,' you'd said.

Hermione had nodded once, like you'd passed something.

The first meeting was in the Hog's Head, which smelled terrible and was clearly chosen because nobody sane would linger there. You'd filed in with the others, found a space, and were trying to look like someone who attended clandestine anti-Ministry meetings all the time, which was the exact kind of thing you thought about, when Fred Weasley appeared at your elbow.

'Educational malpractice,' he said, very quietly, into the space beside your ear.

You startled. He was closer than you'd expected. Close enough that you could smell the particular Fred Weasley combination of something smoky and something sweet, which was presumably the product of spending every available hour working on things that occasionally exploded.

'You're still using that,' you said.

'It's a good phrase. It captures the full horror of the situation.'

'I want credit.'

'You'll get a footnote,' he said. 'In the official account of the revolution.'

'The revolution.'

'Someone's got to call it that. Might as well start now.'

Harry had started talking at the front of the room. You both turned to listen.

Fred didn't move away.

You didn't move away either.

You told yourself it was just the room being crowded.

The room was not, especially, crowded.

Two: The Room of Requirement

DA meetings became the fixed point of the week.

Everything else was Umbridge's Hogwarts — the decrees, the inspections, the Educational Authority nonsense that had settled over the castle like a particularly vindictive fog. But the Room of Requirement was something else. Warm and lit and full of people who had all collectively decided that learning to defend themselves was worth the risk of being caught, which was, you had decided, one of the braver things you'd ever been part of.

Fred Weasley was, reliably, at your elbow.

Not in a way you could call him out on. Not in a way that was obvious. Just — there. When you were practicing Expelliarmus, there was a Fred-shaped presence somewhere nearby making commentary. When Harry was explaining Patronuses and you were frowning at your wand trying to find the right memory, a voice appeared beside you saying 'you're overthinking it.'

'How do you know?' you'd said.

'Your face does this thing when you're overthinking.'

'My face does not do a thing.'

'It does. It goes — ' he'd pulled a face that was a completely unfair impression of your concentration expression.

'It does not look like that.'

'It looks exactly like that. You look like you're trying to do sums in your head.'

'I'm trying to access a specific memory, it requires concentration — '

'What's the memory?'

You'd stopped.

'Sorry?' you'd said.

'The happy memory. What is it?' He tilted his head. Not joking now, just — asking. Looking at you with an attention that was different from the banter, steadier. 'The best ones are specific. Not big things. Small ones. Moments.'

You'd looked at him for a second. 'How do you know that?'

'Because George's Patronus is our mum's cooking on Sundays,' he said. 'And mine is — ' He stopped. Looked briefly like he hadn't meant to say that much. 'Anyway. Small moments. Try that.'

You'd tried it.

The Patronus had come — silver, substantial, more than the wisp you'd been managing — and Fred had made a sound of satisfaction beside you that you felt more than heard.

'Told you,' he said.

'You did,' you agreed.

He was already grinning. Back to Fred, the version you were used to. But you'd seen the other one, just for a moment, and you were not going to be able to un-see it.

Which was, you were beginning to understand, rather the problem.

✦ ✦ ✦

The Decoy Detonators incident happened on a Thursday.

You hadn't been involved, technically. You'd been in the corridor adjacent to the one where a small army of Fred and George's prototype devices had gone off simultaneously, which technically put you in the wrong place at an extremely interesting time.

You'd been pulled into an alcove by a hand around your wrist — Fred, appearing from nowhere the way he always seemed to, George immediately behind him — just as Filch came thundering around the corner.

The three of you pressed back into the shadows. Fred's hand was still around your wrist. Filch stood in the corridor for approximately thirty seconds that felt significantly longer, peered at the smoke still curling from the Detonators, muttered something unprintable, and left.

Silence.

George looked at the two of you, looked at Fred's hand on your wrist, and said 'I'll meet you upstairs' with the energy of someone exercising enormous self-control, and left.

Fred's hand dropped. He had the grace to look slightly caught out, which was not an expression you saw on him often.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Reflex.'

'Pulling people into alcoves is a reflex?'

'Pulling people out of the path of trouble is a reflex.' He glanced at the corridor where Filch had been. 'You were about to walk right into that.'

'I was going to the library.'

'You were going to the library via a corridor full of our finest work.' He said it with complete pride. 'You're welcome, by the way.'

'I didn't say thank you.'

'That's what the 'you're welcome' was for. Pre-emptive.'

You looked at him. The alcove was not large. He hadn't moved back, which meant the distance between you was the distance of two people who had just been pressing themselves into shadows trying not to get caught, which was to say: not much.

'Were those the Decoy Detonators?' you said. 'The ones you were testing last month?'

He blinked. 'You remember that?'

'You mentioned them. In the Hog's Head, that first meeting. You said you were working on something that would cause a diversion.'

Fred Weasley looked at you the way people looked at things that had surprised them.

'You were listening,' he said.

'I listen to most things.'

'I talk a lot.'

'I know. I still listened.'

Something moved across his face. There and gone. He stepped back, gave you the corridor distance back, and the moment was over.

'Come on then,' he said. 'Library's this way. I'll walk you, make sure there aren't any more diversions en route.'

'That you caused.'

'Details,' he said, and gestured for you to walk, and fell into step beside you, and you went to the library with Fred Weasley as an escort and tried very hard to think about books.

You thought about him the whole way.

Three: Umbridge Makes a Mistake

Umbridge inspected your Defence class on a Wednesday.

You had been warned it was coming — the whisper network in Hogwarts was efficient in the way of all things that formed in response to something intolerable — and so most of the class had arrived prepared to look precisely as obedient and useless as she wanted them to be.

Fred and George had other ideas.

It started small. A question asked with perfect, polished innocence about whether Ministry-approved theory was consistent with the spells used in documented dark wizard encounters. Umbridge had said yes. Fred had said, with an expression of complete sincerity, that he'd read something suggesting otherwise and could she clarify. Umbridge had clarified. George had asked a follow-up question. Fred had countered with a point. The whole thing had the quality of watching two cats calmly bat a vase toward the edge of a table, and Umbridge's smile was getting tighter by the minute, and the rest of the class had gone completely still in the way of people witnessing something that could go badly wrong and finding it impossible to look away.

You were sitting directly in front of Fred, one row up.

He leaned forward and said, barely a breath, 'she's going to snap in about three questions.'

'Two,' you murmured back, without turning around.

'Bet?'

'What are the stakes?'

'If I win, you have to come to the next DA meeting early and help us test something.'

'That sounds dangerous.'

'Mildly.'

'And if I win?'

A pause. Umbridge was answering George's question through a smile that had become essentially structural.

'Name it,' Fred said.

You thought about it for exactly the length of time it took George to ask the follow-up question.

'You stop stealing my phrases,' you said.

'Educational malpractice is my phrase now.'

'It was never your phrase.'

'I've used it fourteen times since September.'

'That's called theft, Fred.'

He made a sound that might have been a laugh converted into a cough at the last second.

Umbridge snapped on George's second follow-up question.

Not loudly — she didn't do loud. But the smile went completely rigid and she said, in the soft deadly voice she used when she'd had enough, that she thought that would be sufficient discussion for the day.

George sat back, satisfied.

Fred leaned forward again. 'Two questions. You win.'

'Thank you.'

'Educational malpractice is still mine though.'

'You agreed to the stakes, Weasley.'

'I agreed to stop stealing your phrases. I'm arguing that prior acquisition counts as possession.'

'That is not how that works.'

'It's how it works in my legal system.'

'You don't have a legal system.'

'I'm working on one,' he said. 'George is the co-founder. We've been drafting since third year.'

You turned around, just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

He was grinning. Close — your desk was only a row ahead — and looking at you with that specific attention that made it hard to remember what you'd been going to say.

'Fine,' you said. 'Keep it. It suits you anyway.'

He blinked. Like that wasn't what he'd been expecting.

'Yeah?' he said.

'You're the one actually doing something about it,' you said. 'You've earned the phrase.'

Umbridge dismissed the class. People started moving. Fred didn't, for a second, just looked at you with an expression you couldn't entirely decode.

'Come to the next DA meeting early,' he said.

'I won the bet.'

'I know. Come anyway.'

He left before you could answer, catching up with George in the corridor.

You gathered your things.

You were going to go early. You'd already decided.

You weren't going to tell him that yet.

Four: Early

You went early.

The Room of Requirement was already configured when you arrived — mats on the floor, practice dummies in the corner, the warm light that the room always chose for these evenings. Fred was there, sitting on the floor with components spread out around him in the organised chaos of someone who knew exactly where everything was even when it looked like nothing was in order.

He looked up when you came in and something — quick, genuine, there before he managed anything over it — moved across his face.

'You came,' he said.

'I said I might.'

'You said you weren't going to tell me.'

'I wasn't. I'm here anyway.' You came and sat on the floor across from him, looking at the components. 'What is it?'

'Portable swamp,' he said. 'Prototype. We've been testing the containment.'

'What does it do?'

'Exactly what it sounds like.' He picked up one of the small packages. 'Except it needs to deploy in an enclosed space without flooding the whole building. That's the part we haven't solved yet.'

'Spatial limitation charms,' you said. 'You'd need to set a boundary before deployment.'

He looked at you. 'Go on.'

'The charm would have to go on first, not the device,' you said, thinking it through. 'Otherwise the swamp expands to fill available space. If you set the boundary before — like a ward, basically — the swamp reads the ward as a wall.'

Fred was quiet for a moment. Looking at you with that steady attention. 'That's — yeah. That's the part George and I kept getting stuck on. We kept trying to limit the device itself.'

'You can't control the output, you can only control the space.'

'That's exactly it.' He leaned forward slightly. 'How'd you work that out?'

'Charms theory. Containment principles. We did it in fourth year, Professor Flitwick.'

'I was probably not listening in fourth year Charms.'

'Probably not,' you agreed.

He smiled. It was a different smile from the grin — quieter, less performed, the one she suspected most people didn't get to see.

'You're clever,' he said, simply. Not a compliment designed to get somewhere. Just a thing he'd observed and said.

'I know,' you said, which made him laugh — quick and real, head tilting back slightly — and the Room of Requirement was warm and empty and there were forty minutes until anyone else would arrive and Fred Weasley was laughing and sitting three feet away from you and you thought: there it is. There's the problem, clearly named at last.

You were absolutely gone on him.

You'd been gone on him for weeks.

You had no idea what to do with that.

✦ ✦ ✦

He taught you the containment application. Walked you through the modifications, which meant forty minutes of the two of you on the floor of the Room of Requirement with components between you and his voice doing the thing it did when he was explaining something he cared about — still warm, still Fred, but focused, specific, not performing anything.

At some point the distance had reduced without either of you formally deciding to reduce it. He'd leaned in to show you something and stayed leaned in. You were close enough that you could see the small scar above his left eyebrow that you'd noticed before and never asked about.

'The scar,' you said, before you could stop yourself.

He glanced up. 'What about it?'

'How did you get it?'

'Which story do you want? I have three.'

'The true one.'

He looked at you for a moment. 'Exploding Snap, second year. George dared me to hold the card too long and I held it too long.'

'That's much less dramatic than the options you implied.'

'The other two are better. A dragon features in one. Completely false, but compelling.'

'I'll take the true one,' you said. 'I prefer those.'

He tilted his head. That slight recalibration he did sometimes, like you'd said something that made him reassess something else.

'Most people want the dragon,' he said.

'Most people don't know you well enough to know the truth is better.'

The words sat between you.

You hadn't fully intended them to come out like that — weighted, specific. But they had, and Fred Weasley was looking at you in the warm light of the Room of Requirement and not saying anything, which was, for Fred Weasley, a significant event.

'Is that right,' he said, finally. Not a question.

'I think so,' you said, keeping your voice level.

He looked at you for another moment. Then, slowly, deliberately — giving you every opportunity to move if you wanted to — he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Just that. Nothing more.

Your breath did something it didn't have permission to do.

'I've been trying to work something out,' he said quietly.

'What?'

'Whether you'd mind if I — ' He stopped. His hand had dropped but not far, resting near your knee, not quite touching. 'Whether this is something you'd want.'

'This,' you said.

'Yeah.'

'You're going to have to be more specific than that, Weasley.'

He looked at you. 'No I don't,' he said. 'I think you know exactly what I mean.'

You did.

You'd known what he meant for weeks. Maybe longer.

'I'd want it,' you said.

The smile came back. The quiet one. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

He leaned in —

The door opened.

George walked in, stopped, took in the scene with the rapid assessment of someone who had spent seventeen years reading his twin, and said 'oh' in a tone that contained a truly impressive amount of information.

Fred did not lean back. He just turned his head and looked at George with extraordinary calm.

'You're early,' Fred said.

'You told me to come early,' George said. 'To help test the — ' He looked at the components on the floor. Looked at you. Looked at Fred. 'The portable swamp.'

'We solved the containment problem,' you said.

'Did you.' George was having an extremely good time. It was written all over him. 'Brilliant. The swamp. Solved.'

'George,' Fred said.

'I'll just — ' George gestured vaguely at the other side of the room. 'Go over here. Test some things. Alone.'

'Thank you,' Fred said.

'Take your time,' George said, moving away with magnificent dignity. 'The swamp will keep.'

You looked at Fred.

Fred looked at you.

'Right,' he said, low enough that it didn't carry. 'Where were we.'

'I believe,' you said, equally quiet, 'you were being more specific.'

He laughed — surprised, warm — and this time when he leaned in there was no door opening, and he was specific, and it was — brief, because people were going to start arriving, but entirely, completely enough to confirm everything you'd been not-examining for months.

When he pulled back he was still smiling. The quiet one.

'Educational malpractice,' he said.

'What?'

'Still mine. Just so we're clear.'

You laughed, helpless, and he looked at you laughing the way you'd seen him look at things he liked — openly, without trying to manage it.

'Fine,' you said. 'Keep it.'

'I intend to,' he said. And then, quieter, just for you: 'among other things.'

✦ ✦ ✦

People started arriving ten minutes later.

George, from across the room, caught your eye and gave you a look of such extravagant satisfaction that you had to look at the ceiling to keep a straight face.

Fred pretended to notice nothing. He was extremely bad at it. His ears were red.

Harry started the meeting.

Fred sat next to you. Close. Not touching, because there were people everywhere and this was new and fragile and neither of you had decided what to do with it yet.

But close.

And when you were practicing Shield Charms and he corrected your stance — hands brief and light on your shoulders, adjusting the angle — he said, very quietly, 'better' and his voice was warm and specific and entirely for you and only you.

And when the meeting ended and everyone filed out and George said he'd see Fred upstairs with the manner of someone giving two people space on purpose, Fred turned to you in the emptying room and said:

'Tomorrow. Hogsmeade. Before the others.'

'Is that a question?' you said.

'It's a request.'

'A polite one, even.'

'I'm trying something new.'

You looked at him. Fred Weasley in the warm light, ears still slightly red, looking at you with the most sincere expression you'd seen on him.

'Tomorrow,' you said. 'Before the others.'

His whole face did something wonderful.

'Good,' he said. And then, because he was Fred: 'I'll file that under 'wins'.'

'You have a file for wins?'

'Extensive one.' He held the door open. 'You feature in it more than once.'

You walked through. He fell into step beside you.

The corridor was cold and Umbridge's latest decree was pinned to the board at the end of it and the year was heavy with things that hadn't happened yet.

But Fred Weasley was warm beside you and his shoulder was pressed to yours and you were going to Hogsmeade tomorrow before the others and right now that was enough.

Right now, that was everything.

[zzz-ghostfairy]

Mornings with Sanemi in Modern Au with lots of fluff and cuddles plssss

🥺

Bright Mornings With You

Sanemi Shinazugawa X Reader

Modern Au!

Summary: You wake up to your lovely boyfriend smothering you in kisses and cuddles.

Author's Note: Ahh, I missed writing for this man so much! I had some free time, so I figured I'd get through at least one request, since this one wouldn't take too long to write.

The sunlight filtering through your curtains was your first warning that morning had arrived. You shifted slightly in your sheets, trying to sit up, when a heavy arm draped across your waist.

Your gaze shifts over to your boyfriend, who's peacefully sleeping by your side, a striking contrast to what he's like when he's up and awake.

You tried to shift again, but the movement only caused him to tighten his grip on your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Stay," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, devoid of its usual gruffness, "Just a little longer."

"Sanemi, we should really get up, we've got people coming over later," you whispered, though you were already melting back into his touch.

He didn't say anything; instead, he began to methodically pepper kisses along your shoulder before moving up to your jawline.

They were soft and lingering. When he finally pulled back his soft white hair was a mess, pointing in all directions as he looked at you with soft eyes.

"Let 'em wait." He huffed, pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Yeah, but we really should get up, it's already 10," you say softly while combing your hands through his hair.

"Tch, we got time, Genya knows better than to show up this early anyway," he huffs, pulling you impossiby closer to him.

The room was still, save for the faint sound of cars passing by outside and the steady rise and fall of Sanemi’s chest against yours. He didn't say anything else, and he didn't need to.

He just hooked a leg over yours, anchoring you in place as if he were afraid you might actually get up and leave the warmth of the blankets.

You felt him exhale a long, heavy breath, the kind he only let out when he was finally, truly relaxed. His hand, calloused and warm, slid from your waist to rest flat against the small of your back, pulling you in until there wasn't a single gap left between you.

"Just stay," he muttered again, his voice cracking slightly, heavy with sleep.

You nodded against his chest, your fingers mindlessly tracing the patterns of his scars. There were no plans yet, no guests to entertain. The sunlight grew brighter, but not enough to convince you to move.

For now, it was just the heavy weight of the duvet and the quiet comfort of his arms. Sanemi let out a soft grunt of approval, his grip softening just enough to be comfortable as he followed you back into a doze.

[showhay]

flirting 101

ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

ushijima trying to win you over with his (not-so) elite flirting skills that has the grace of a falling anvil so he could court you. wc: 1.7k, request

the sun was a violent, golden orb in the sky, beating down on the sand with the kind of intensity that usually only existed in ushijima’s serves. it was the sort of heat that made the air wobble and turned the ocean into a giant, shimmering bowl of blue gatorade. for the shiratorizawa boys’ volleyball team, this was ‘team bonding.’ for you, the manager, it was an exercise in preventing a group of elite athletes from devolving into sunburnt toddlers.

ushijima was currently standing over a charcoal grill with the same grim, unwavering focus he used to crush oikawa’s dreams. he was flipping burgers like he was executing a strategic maneuver. his muscles, which seemed to be carved out of the very granite of mount fuji, rippled under his sweat-slicked skin every time he moved the spatula.

“ushijima, if you stare at the meat any harder, it’s going to cook from intimidation alone,” you said, trotting over with a crate of chilled sodas.

he looked up, his expression as stoic as a statue in a high-security museum. “the heat must be distributed evenly to ensure maximum protein retention,” he stated. his voice was deep, like a landslide of velvet rocks. “would you like a burger? i have designated this specific patty as the most structurally sound.”

you giggled, the sound like wind chimes catching a breeze. “i’d love the structurally sound one, thank you.”

at that moment, something shifted in the tectonic plates of ushijima’s psyche. as you reached out to take a napkin, your fingers brushed against his wrist. to anyone else, it was a nothing-moment. to ushijima, it was a literal electrical surge that recalibrated his entire nervous system. he watched a bead of saltwater—from the ocean or sweat, he didn't care—roll down your collarbone, and suddenly, volleyball felt like a very small, very round distraction from the absolute masterpiece standing in front of him.

he realized, with the crushing weight of a thousand spiked balls, that he was utterly, hopelessly, and violently in love with you. it wasn't a gentle realization. it was a head-on collision with a freight train of affection. his heart, usually a steady, athletic thrum, began to do a frantic little jig in his chest, like a trapped bird trying to escape a cage made of ribs.

‘i must court her’, ushijima thought, his brain immediately switching to high-stakes mode. ‘i must demonstrate my value as a mate through superior provision and intense proximity.’

𓏵

the rest of the afternoon was… an experience. ushijima decided that ‘flirting’ was synonymous with ‘aggressive helpfulness and stating facts with extreme intensity.’

while you were trying to set up a beach umbrella, ushijima appeared behind you like a broad-shouldered poltergeist. he didn't say “let me help.” he simply took the pole from your hand.

“this umbrella is inefficiently angled,” he grumbled, his shadow swallowing you whole. “the uv index is currently high. i’ll create a fortress of shade for you.”

“oh, thanks, ushijima! you’re so thoughtful.”

he looked down at you, his eyes burning with a fervor usually reserved for winning nationals. “i’m not being thoughtful. i’m ensuring your skin remains undamaged by solar radiation. your complexion is… optimal.”

you blinked, wondering if you’d accidentally walked into a sci-fi movie where the hero was a very handsome, very confused robot.

later, as you were sitting on a towel trying to organize the team’s discarded flip-flops, ushijima marched over and sat down beside you. he planted himself like a sequoia tree. he then proceeded to stare at you for two minutes without blinking.

“is there something on my face?” you asked, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun.

“you have a grain of sand near your ear,” he announced. before you could move, his massive hand reached out. his touch was surprisingly light, his thumb grazing your skin with the tenderness of a man handling a glass butterfly. he showed you the single grain of sand on his fingertip as if it were a diamond he’d mined just for you. “it’s gone now. you’re once again perfect.”

you let out a strangled sort of squeak. “thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” he said, puffing out his chest. “i’m very good at noticing details. for example, i’ve noticed that you haven’t drunk water in fourteen minutes. hydration is vital for the manager of a powerhouse school.”

he handed you a bottle of water that was so cold it was practically a solid block of ice. he had clearly been guarding it in the cooler like a dragon guarding gold.

𓏵

tendō, who had been watching this entire train wreck from the safety of his inflatable swan, was vibrating with unholy glee. he paddled over to the shore, his red hair sticking up in salt-crusted spikes.

“wakatoshi~!” tendō sang, dragging the “i” out until it sounded like a dying violin. “you’re being about as subtle as a neon sign in a dark alley. if you want to woo our lovely manager, you have to do more than report on her hydration levels.”

ushijima turned his intense gaze toward his teammate. “i’m providing. provision is the basis of courtship in many species.”

“yeah, but y/n isn’t a penguin, you big dummy,” tendō cackled, jumping out of his floaty. he leaned in, whispering loud enough for the entire prefecture to hear. “you have to be romantic. tell her she’s pretty! take her to see the sunset! give her your jacket even if she isn’t cold! girls love it when you act like their personal space heater.”

ushijima processed this. his internal processor whirred. “i’m naturally warm due to my high muscle mass. i can be a space heater.”

“that’s the spirit!” tendō slapped him on the back, nearly knocking ushijima into the sand.

𓏵

as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple, neon orange, and a pink so bright it looked like a spilled strawberry smoothie, the rest of the team started packing up. the shouting of gishiki and shirabu faded into the distance as they headed toward the bus, leaving you and ushijima to do a final sweep of the area.

the beach was quiet now, the only sound the rhythmic shush-shush of the waves licking the shore. ushijima was carrying three heavy coolers as if they were made of feathers, but his eyes were glued to you. you were standing by the water’s edge, your hair blowing in the salt air, looking so beautiful that ushijima felt a genuine physical pain in his chest—like his heart had grown three sizes and was now too big for his ribcage.

“the sun is setting,” he said. it was a redundant statement, but he said it with the gravity of a king declaring war.

“it’s gorgeous,” you whispered.

“it’s acceptable,” ushijima corrected, dropping the coolers with a heavy thud. “but it lacks your consistency.”

you turned, eyes wide. “did you just… compare me to the sun, ushijima?”

he stepped closer, his presence looming over you, warm and solid. the smell of sea salt and his specific, clean scent wrapped around you. “the sun goes away every night. you’re always here for the team. for me. i find your presence… necessary. like oxygen. or a well-inflated ball.”

your heart did a spectacular backflip. “that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me involving sports equipment.”

ushijima reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek. he looked genuinely distressed by how much he liked you. “i’m not good at this. tendō says i’m ‘clueless.’ but i have a very strong desire to be near you at all times. i wish to be the one who ensures your safety and happiness. i would like to… court you. officially. with a permit if required.”

you laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that made ushijima’s knees feel like they were made of jelly—a sensation he’d never experienced in his life, and he wasn't sure he liked it, but he knew he wanted more of it.

“you don’t need a permit, wakatoshi,” you said, using his first name for the first time.

his pupils dilated so much his eyes looked like black pits of devotion. “you called me wakatoshi.”

“i did.” you stepped into his space, wrapping your arms around his broad waist. you felt like a kitten trying to hug a skyscraper.

ushijima didn't hesitate. he wrapped his massive arms around you, pulling you against his chest. being hugged by him was like being wrapped in a heated weighted blanket that could also bench-press 300 pounds. he tucked his chin over the top of your head, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“soon, i will be very good at being your boyfriend,” he promised into your hair, his voice vibrating through your entire body. “i’ll research the best dates. i’ll provide optimal snacks. i’ll defeat anyone who causes you even a minor inconvenience.”

“i believe you,” you giggled, snuggling deeper into his warmth.

you both sank down onto the sand, the coolness of the evening air beginning to settle. ushijima pulled you into his lap, treating you like a fragile, priceless treasure he’d just discovered on a deserted island. he leaned back against a driftwood log, his legs tangling with yours, his thumb tracing patterns on your arm that felt like liquid fire.

as the last sliver of the sun vanished, leaving the stars to pop out like spilled glitter across the velvet sky, ushijima squeezed you tighter. he was completely, utterly whipped, a giant of a man reduced to a puddle of affection by the girl in his arms.

“you’re very soft,” he murmured, his voice thick with a level of adoration that was borderline frightening. “i think i shall never let you go. that seems like the most logical course of action.”

you smiled against his chest, listening to the frantic, happy thumping of his heart—a heart that, from this day forward, beat exclusively for you and the occasional high-stakes volleyball match.

the bus driver honked in the distance, but ushijima didn't move. he was too busy inhaling the scent of your shampoo and deciding which wedding venue that would make you shine more, and what kind of house structure would have the best ceiling height for his future children’s vertical jump.

n: i toned down the stiffness of ushijima since i somehow ALWAYS get accused of AI whenever i use “i am”, “i have”, “i will”, etc. instead of “i’m”, “i’ve”, and “i’ll” 😭😭

toshi’s taglist 1/3

@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @highandalive @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @nivabiva @eudaim0nia-a @whimsybloom @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @meonelixir @immortalblazethief @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @knkzshx @han0vyc @george-russell-defender @meikstv @burriedfifii @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @horanghaepaws @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita @griffincorn @poeticsorcery @windsblow @fiannee @snowstormsandavalanches @starzlytoetsie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin @thinc0ck

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[laylaroze]

Kuroo Tetsurou

Morning of a Day Off

Author: devilllaa_ (tiktok)

The sun barged through the window so boldly, as if it had been waiting for the weekend just to slip through the loosely drawn curtains and scatter golden stripes across the bed, the blanket, your face. You squeezed your eyes shut, tried to turn away, but the warmth had already spread over your cheek, and your second attempt to hide failed, the very moment you realized something wasn’t letting you escape those intrusive rays. Beside you settled a familiar weight, steady breathing that hitched on the exhale into a soft, almost feline huff, and a hand draped across your waist so possessively, as if it had every right to be there.

Kuroo was asleep, occupying the bed with that same catlike audacity that somehow let him take up far more space than one person should. His legs were tangled with yours so thoroughly you couldn’t tell whose knees were whose anymore. One arm pinned you gently to the mattress, the other was tucked under the pillow, and his hair stuck out in all directions, forming a chaotic halo around his head. The air around you carried that familiar scent of warm skin and morning, something that only belongs to people you love so much it makes you tremble.

You lay there for another minute, soaking it all in, his weight, his warmth, his breath tickling your shoulder. The room was quiet; only the occasional car passed somewhere outside in the Sunday city, and birds called to each other. Sunlight crept across the blanket, reaching his face, and you found yourself holding your breath, watching how it fell across his cheekbones, his sharp chin, his slightly parted lips.In sleep, he was different. Not that sly cat who could provoke you with a single smile. Not the captain carrying the weight of his team. Not the sarcastic menace who loved teasing everyone around him. Here, in the quiet of the morning, he looked almost like a boy, relaxed, defenseless, the lines near his eyes smoothed out, his brows faintly furrowed even in sleep, as if he still worried about something.

But your body insisted on reality, and the need to go to the bathroom eventually overpowered your desire to stay like this forever. Carefully, you tried to move, freeing your legs from the trap of his. It worked, so you shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under his arm and at that exact moment, his fingers tightened around your waist, pulling you back with sudden, reflexive force.

He didn’t even wake up. His body, his instincts, reacted faster than his mind: mine, don’t let go.

— “Where?” His voice was muffled, sleepy, buried in the pillow, barely understandable, but the tone, demanding, possessive, even through sleep, made you smile.

— “Bathroom,” you whispered, gently stroking his arm, trying to soothe and persuade him at the same time.

— “Later.”

— “Kuroo…”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you closer, burying his nose somewhere between your neck and shoulder. His warm, steady, slightly damp breath evened out again as he sank back into sleep. His hair tickled your skin, stubborn, unruly and you absentmindedly ran your fingers through it, getting lost in the morning mess.

— “Five minutes,” he mumbled into your collarbone, and it sounded like a verdict.

— “Just five more minutes.”

You sighed, realizing the battle was lost, and leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling as that slow, warm, infinitely tender feeling spread through your body. Lying like this, pressed against him, feeling how his muscles beneath your palms slowly began to wake, tiny twitches, faint tremors, the shifting rhythm of his breathing. It was its own kind of happiness, the kind you wanted to hold onto with both hands.

Time moved slowly, thick as honey. The sunlight crawled onto his back, gilding the dark fabric of his shirt, and you watched how it played across his shoulder blades, how shadows fell along each vertebra, how his long fingers rested loosely on your waist. And suddenly you caught yourself thinking, you could wake up like this every morning for the rest of your life. Even if you had to wait for those “five more minutes” for hours.

Exactly half an hour later you knew, because you’d counted three cycles of him drifting off and stirring his eyelids finally fluttered. First his lashes trembled, then his brows shifted slightly, and at last his eyes opened. Cloudy, unfocused, empty, they landed on you without recognition, filled only with that dark amber depth still heavy with sleep.He blinked once. Then again. His gaze drifted lazily from the pillow, to your shoulder, to your face and then stopped, focused. You saw the exact moment his mind caught up, when that emptiness shattered into something warm, golden, infinitely familiar.

— “Hey,” he breathed out, and that single word held everything surprise that you were still here, joy that it was you, and a strange, almost puppy-like gratitude that didn’t quite fit him. His voice was rough, low, sleepy morning voice.

— “Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” you smiled, your chest tightening at the way his sly eyes lit up in response. That catlike squint that always made your heart race, even now, when you were both tangled in bed, messy and half-asleep.

— “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked, a familiar smirk creeping into his voice, though his eyes remained soft, warm, almost sticky with tenderness.

— “You wouldn’t let me go.”

— “Oh. Right.” He gave you that signature grin, the kind girls all over Tokyo would probably do anything for.

— “Party policy: don’t let valuable things out of your hands.”

You rolled your eyes, but inside everything melted, warmth spreading through your veins, because you knew ,for him, you were the most valuable. Not a thing, but something like a center. An axis. A place to return to.

— “I still need the bathroom,” you reminded him, trying to hold onto some semblance of seriousness.

— “Oops.” He widened his eyes in mock guilt, but didn’t move his hand.

— “And if I let you go… you won’t run away, right? You’ll come back?”

— “Where would I go?”

— “Promise.”

— “I promise.”

He studied you for a second, as if checking your honesty, then suddenly leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. Only after that did his fingers loosen, letting you go.

When you came back, a little more awake, thinking about breakfast, he was still lying the same way, but now his eyes were open, following you from the doorway to the bed, never letting go for even a second. You slipped back under the blanket, and he immediately moved closer, wrapped you up again, buried his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply as if checking that you still smelled the same.

— “Coffee?” you asked into his chest.

— “Nah,” his voice turned sleepy again, relaxed.

— “We’re staying here.”

— “But I want coffee.”

— “I’m your coffee. Black, strong, first thing in the morning,” he huffed at his own joke, and you felt the vibration of his quiet laugh against your head.

— “Drink me.”

— “You’re unbearable,” you rolled your eyes, smiling.

— “Yep!” His voice sounded so pleased it might burst.

— “Your...uhg...”

And you stayed like that. The sun climbed higher, filling the room with gold, somewhere in the neighboring apartment music started playing, a dog barked outside. The world beyond your bed clearly existed, but it felt like another reality altogether. Here, there was only his chest beneath your cheek, the steady beat of his heart, his fingers threading through your hair and that feeling of absolute, unshakable peace.

[showhay]

microdose - KUROO T.

you’re my ecstasy when you’re next to me.

timeskip!kuroo tetsurō x f!reader you surprise your long distance bf!kuroo and instantaneously give him a cardiac arrest.

​the thing about kuroo is that he has always been a little bit of a menace. not the ‘i’ll set your house on fire’ kind of menace, but the ‘i will stare at you across a gymnasium until you feel the heat of my gaze through your uniform’ kind.

​when he first saw you at that away game, his brain basically short-circuited into a single, high-frequency hum. you were power-walking across the court with a clipboard, looking like the most beautiful, stressed-out person in miyagi, and he was a goner. he didn’t even try to be cool. well, he tried, but he mostly just ended up leaning against walls in your peripheral vision, looking like a tall, lanky gargoyle who had been struck by lightning.

​he spent the next few months yearning with the intensity of a victorian widow waiting for a ship to return from sea. it was pathetic, really. kenma would be trying to play a boss fight and kuroo would be sighing into his palms, wondering if you liked apple juice or orange juice better. he was gentle about it, though. he never wanted to crowd you. he just wanted to be near you, like a moth circling a very pretty, very confused lamp.

​then came the fukurodani summer camp. the heat was melting everyone’s brains, but kuroo was on a mission. on the final night, under the cicada-heavy air, he cornered you, not in a scary way, but in a ‘my knees are actually shaking’ way.

​“look,” he had started, his voice cracking like a middle schooler’s. “i know we live hundreds of kilometers apart. i know i’m just a guy from tokyo with hair that defies the laws of physics—but a very handsome one—and a laugh that sounds like a hyena having a mid-life crisis. but if you don’t let me be your boyfriend, i think i might actually wither away like a neglected houseplant. i’ve got it bad. i’ve got it so bad that i’ve started liking karasuno’s black and orange team uniforms just because i saw that they also got you a custom one. please. give me a chance. i’ll be the best. i’ll be so good you can boss me around anytime, and i’d say thank you.”

​it was the longest, most desperate, most strangely poetic ramble you’d ever heard. you melted faster than an ice cube on the pavement, pulled him down by his collar, and kissed the rambling right out of him.

𓏵

​fast forward to the present, and the long-distance thing? kuroo handled it like a man that has the spirit of a thousand devoted golden retrievers.

​three hundred kilometers is a lot for some people, but for kuroo, it was just a distance he could bridge with excessive delivery orders. you’d mention a craving for strawberry shortcake at 2:00 pm, and by 4:00 pm, a delivery driver would be at your door in miyagi with a box from the best bakery in town and a note that said: ‘eat up, my beautiful treasure. i’m currently hugging my pillow and pretending it’s you.’

​he sent you flowers for no reason. he sent you ‘thinking of you’ care packages that were 90% snacks and 20% hoodies he’d worn for three days straight so they smelled like him. his letters were the worst, long, sappy, ink-smudged manifestos of his devotion.

​but lately, the ‘jokes’ had started.

​“you know,” he’d say over facetime, lounging on his couch in a tank top that showed off way too much shoulder, “the guest room in my apartment is looking really lonely. it’s actually crying. i heard it sob today. it said, ‘tetsu, why isn’t she living here yet?’ and i didn’t have an answer.”

​then he’d show you the room. he’d turned it into a sanctuary. your favorite candles were on the nightstand. the bookshelves were stocked with your favorite series. the bedding was the exact shade of the color you once mentioned you liked. he was actively luring you. he was baiting the trap with high-thread-count sheets and domestic stability.

​and god, you were hungry for the bait.

​saturday night. tokyo.

​kenma, the unsung hero of your romantic life, had been your inside man. he’d driven you from the station, mocking kuroo’s ‘pining puppy’ energy the entire way.

​“he’s going to lose his mind,” kenma muttered as he pulled up to the lavish apartment complex. “he’s been moping all day because you didn’t text him back. he thinks you’re mad. he’s probably currently staring at a wall in silence.”

​kenma helped you get your bags to the door, rang the bell, and then evaporated into thin air like a ninja. he didn’t want to be there for the sheer amount of sap that was about to occur.

​you stood there, heart hammering against your ribs. you heard footsteps. heavy ones. the door swung open and there he was, kuroo, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that said science is cool, looking absolutely dejected.

​“kenma, if you’re here to tell me i’m being dramatic about the lack of texts, i—”

​he stopped. his jaw practically hit the floorboards. his eyes darted from your face to the suitcases at your feet, then back to your face. for a solid ten seconds, he looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

​he didn’t scream. he didn’t cheer. instead, he moved with a surreal, robotic sort of calm. he reached out, took your bags with hands that were visibly trembling, and stepped aside to let you in. he was so quiet it was actually terrifying.

​“tetsu?” you whispered, your nerves finally bubbling over. “are you… okay?”

​he set the bags down in the middle of the living room and turned to face you. the ‘calm’ facade shattered instantly. his hands were shaking so hard he had to shove them into his pockets, but then he took them out because he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for you.

​he lunged, not to tackle you, but to fold himself around you like you were the last source of oxygen on the planet. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hitching in ragged, heavy bursts.

​“you didn’t text me,” he choked out, his voice thick and wobbly. “i thought… i thought you were tired of me. i was sitting here planning how to drive to miyagi at midnight just to check if you still liked my face. and then i open the door and you’re here. with bags. tell me those bags mean what i think they mean.”

​“i’m moving in, tetsu,” you murmured, rubbing his back. “i’m staying.”

​a sound escaped him, a jagged, pathetic little sob-laugh. he pulled back just enough to frame your face in his large, warm palms. his eyes were wet, sparkling with a level of adoration that felt almost heavy.

​“i love you so much it’s actually embarrassing,” he rambled, his words tripping over each other. “i was so scared. i was genuinely terrified that i’d finally annoyed you into silence. but you’re here. in my house. you’re going to be in that room i decorated. you’re going to be in my kitchen. i’m going to see you every morning? i’m going to wake up and you’ll just… be there? i don’t think you understand. i’m going to be the most annoying roommate in history. i’m never letting you leave this apartment. i’ll lock the door and throw the key into the sumida river. i’ll be your personal chef, your foot massager, your bodyguard, anything.”

​he kissed you then, and it wasn’t a ‘welcome home’ kiss. it was a ‘i have been starving for you and finally, i am full’ kiss. it tasted like relief and far too much caffeine.

​he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his chest still heaving. “i have the guest room ready, but just so you know, my bed is much bigger and i have a heated blanket. just a suggestion. a humble proposal from your very desperate, very relieved boyfriend.”

​you laughed, feeling the vibration of his own chuckles against your lips. kuroo was a lot of things, a dork, a former captain, but standing there in his living room, he was mostly just a man who had successfully trapped his favorite person in the world, and he looked like he’d just won the olympics, the lottery, and a lifetime supply of your attention all at once.

ps. you didn’t sleep in the guest room that night, or any other night for that matter.

n: all i could think about while writing this is his back, like mmm back muscles..

tetsurō’s taglist 1/3

@lsirria @cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @moon-blizz0 @trulyylee @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @tetsurae @asyaacia @rabbitcola @eudaim0nia-a @yeonette @katzline @asthmaticasma @meonelixir @immortalblazethief @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @knkzshx @babybird-meena @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @keiob @ghostwifeyy @mptality @crystal-lilac @methiart @forgottensniper @wensurr @emotiandon @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @adagio4strings @sillylule @horanghaepaws @ssssierrau @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @griffincorn @fiannee @snowstormsandavalanches @percybutjaeger @m0chablitz

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[showhay]

microdose - USHIJIMA W.

i won’t let you down, i’ll give you everything i got.

timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader husband!wakatoshi who’ll do absolutely anything just for your smile.

​the floor of the ushijima household is polished to such a high shine that a person could probably perform surgery on it, but that isn’t what has ushijima currently vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass.

​no, it’s the fact that you, his wife—the literal center of his gravity, the person who makes his heart do backflips like an over-caffeinated gymnast—simply mentioned that you had a ‘minor craving’ for a specific brand of limited-edition strawberry shortcake.

​ushijima launched himself from the sofa like a surface-to-air missile. if there were a leaderboard for ‘fastest human to put on shoes,’ he would be the undisputed world champion, holding a record that would remain unbroken for a millennium.

​“i’ll return shortly,” he declared, his voice carrying the solemnity of a king going off to reclaim his stolen kingdom. he looked at you with an intensity that could melt lead. “don’t move. conserve your energy. i shall secure the cake.”

​to anyone else, ushijima is a pillar of stoicism, a man of few words and immovable resolve. but to you? he‘s a giant, muscular puddle of golden retriever energy masquerading as an elite athlete. he isn’t merely ‘in love’ with you; he’s legally and spiritually bound to your existence. he treats your happiness like a top-priority national security issue.

𓏵

​when he reached the grocery store, he hunted. his eyes scanned the aisles with the precision of a high-tech laser, terrifying three elderly ladies and a stock boy in the process. when he found the last box of the shortcake, he shielded it with his massive frame, looking around as if a rival volleyball team might swoop in and attempt a block.

​he sprinted to the checkout line. he didn’t care that he was breathing like he’d just finished a five-set match against schweiden adlers’ rivals. he had the goods. he had the nectar of the gods. he had the one thing that would make your eyes crinkle at the corners in that specific way that makes his soul leave his body for a few seconds.

𓏵

​he burst through the front door, slightly winded but triumphant. he looked like he’d just survived a trek across the sahara rather than a ten-minute trip to the convenience store.

​“i have it,” he panted, presenting the box to you as if it were a holy relic.

​you laughed, reaching out to take it, but he hesitated, pulling it back for a split second. “wait. let me plate it. the presentation must be adequate for you.”

​you watched from the doorway as this absolute unit of a man—a man who could probably crush a coconut with his bare hands—carefully arranged the cake on your favorite ceramic plate. he spent three whole minutes ensuring the strawberry was perfectly centered. his brow was furrowed in deeper concentration than he ever used during a national tournament.

​“wakatoshi, honey, it’s just cake,” you teased, leaning against the counter.

​he froze, looking up at you with those wide, earnest eyes. “it’s not ‘just’ cake. it’s something you desired. therefore, it’s the most important object in this prefecture.”

​he walked over to you, placing the plate on the table before folding his large hands into yours. he looked down at you, and the sheer volume of affection in his gaze was enough to make your knees feel like they were made of lukewarm pudding.

​“i told you before we married,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant tone that vibrates in your chest. “i’ll give you everything i got.”

​and he meant it. if you asked for the moon, he wouldn’t ask why; he’d simply start calculating the trajectory needed to jump high enough to snag it for you.

𓏵

​later that evening, as you were tucked under his arm on the sofa, he was staring at you again. he wasn’t watching the movie. he was just… observing. like you were a rare celestial event that only happened once every ten thousand years.

​“is there something on my face?” you asked, tilting your head.

​“no,” he replied instantly, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleness that felt illegal for someone with his grip strength. “i’m simply recalibrating my appreciation for your presence. it appears i find you more captivating than i did at 4:00 PM. the rate of growth is exponential.”

​you buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady, thumping drum of his heart. it was fast. it was always fast when you were this close. for all his strength and power, he was completely and utterly defenseless against you.

​he leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you as if he were trying to merge your atoms together.

​“you’re my entire world,” he whispered into your hair, sounding breathless, like he still couldn’t believe his luck. “i’m quite literally your shadow. wherever you go, i’m already there, waiting to make sure the path is smooth for you.”

​you looked up and saw the raw, unfiltered devotion in his eyes—a look that promised a lifetime of strawberry cakes, defended honor, and a love so heavy and solid it could hold up the entire sky if the clouds ever decided to fall.

​you pulled him down by his collar, and as his lips met yours, he sighed into the kiss, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. he was a titan, a champion, a force of nature—but in your arms, he was simply a man who had found his home and intended to guard it with every single fiber of his being.

𓏵

​the kiss ended, but he didn’t pull away; he just rested his forehead against yours, breathing your air like it was the only oxygen supply left on the planet. his hands, large enough to palm a basketball with insulting ease, were cupping your face with the fragility one might use to hold a literal soap bubble.

​“you liked the cake,” he stated, though it sounded more like he was recording a divine decree into the annals of history. “but the store-bought quality was... statistically average. i’ve determined that you deserve a higher tier of craftsmanship.”

​you blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “toshi, you don’t have to—”

​“i must,” he interrupted, his eyes igniting with a fire usually reserved for crushing oikawa’s spirit at the net. “if it can be improved for your sake, then it’s my duty to improve it. i shall construct a confection from the primal elements. flour. sugar. eggs.”

​before you could even process the mental image of him in an apron, he was already in the kitchen. he marched. it was the stride of a man going to war with a bag of all-purpose flour.

𓏵

​you leaned against the doorframe, watching the spectacle. ushijima did not ‘dabble’ in hobbies. he conquered them. he had three different tabs open on his tablet, each one a different scientific breakdown of the maillard reaction.

​“wakatoshi, do you even know where the whisk is?”

​he paused, a measuring cup held aloft like a chalice. “i’ve located the rotational blending tool, yes. it’s positioned behind the salad spinner. an inefficient storage choice, but i’ve rectified it.”

​he began to measure the flour. he leveled it off with a ruler. a literal, plastic school ruler. if it was even a microgram off, he dumped it back and started over, his jaw set in a line so hard it could probably deflect bullets. he was sweating. actual beads of perspiration were rolling down his neck because the stakes of making you a snack were higher than the olympic finals.

​“the recipe calls for ‘softened’ butter,” he muttered, staring at the golden stick on the counter with a look of profound betrayal. “it’s currently at 18°C. the optimal spreadability occurs at 21°C. i’ll wait.”

​he stood there. he actually stood there, arms crossed, staring at a stick of butter for three minutes, willing it to warm up through the sheer power of his monumental ego and love for you.

𓏵

​thirty minutes later, the kitchen looked like a snow globe had exploded. there was flour on the ceiling. there was a dusting of cocoa powder on his nose. he looked like a very handsome, very muscular baker who had just survived a landslide.

​“are you okay in here?” you asked, stifling a giggle as he tried to crack an egg with one hand.

​he succeeded, but the force was so calculated and intense that the yolk landed in the bowl with a sound like a wet slap. he looked at the bowl, then at you, his expression one of pure, unbridled desperation.

​“the consistency is... thicker than anticipated,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “i fear i have over-kneaded my emotions into the dough.”

​you walked over, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into his broad, flour-dusted back. he immediately melted, his rigid posture softening as he leaned back into your touch.

​“it looks perfect, toshi. i’m sure it’ll taste like heaven because you made it.”

​he turned in your arms, ignoring the mess, and looked down at you with a gaze so heavy with adoration it felt like a physical weight. “i would burn down the entire culinary world if it meant providing you with a single moment of genuine satisfaction. i’m not a baker, but for you, i’ll become a master of the hearth.”

​he leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose, leaving a little smudge of white flour behind. he looked at it and actually smiled—that rare, earth-shattering ushijima smile that makes your heart do a triple-axel.

​“you have flour on your face,” he whispered, his voice thick with a tenderness that made your soul ache. “i’ll clean it. but first, i must ensure this cake survives the oven. i will not let the heat defeat my promise to you.”

​he turned back to the oven with the intensity of a commander watching a missile launch, guarding the glass door as if he were protecting a sacred flame. he was completely, hopelessly, and hilariously under your spell, and honestly? the cake was probably going to be as dense as a brick, but you knew you’d eat every single crumb because it tasted like a man who loved you more than he loved winning.

n: why do i keep getting asks with people telling me to peg them.. i mean, speak your truth but

toshi’s taglist 1/3

@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @highandalive @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @nivabiva @eudaim0nia-a @whimsybloom @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @meonelixir @immortalblazethief @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @knkzshx @han0vyc @george-russell-defender @meikstv @buriedfifii @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @horanghaepaws @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita @griffincorn @poeticsorcery @windsblow @fiannee @snowstormsandavalanches @starzlytoetsie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin @thinc0ck

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

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