haikyuu imagine blog

licha (lee-cha) 23 | main is @mimikyuwu Hinata Shoyo Supremacist since birth

[niceutossu]

Licha's Masterlist

Finally I have enough works to list, here's to many more! :D

I have labelled my shorter pieces with *freewrites. Everything else is at least over 1500 words. Please enjoy!

Haikyuu

Miya Atsumu

Arguments

Miya Osamu

Misconceptions *freewrites

Oikawa Tooru

Serious

Entertainer

Iwaizumi Hajime

What Ifs *freewrites

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Observant

[a-l-i-a-h-h]

🏐☀️🇧🇷🐦‍⬛

[niceutossu]

What fic should I post next

Ushijima x Reader

Kageyama x Reader

Voting ended onFeb 22

[niceutossu]

Halloween | Suna x Reader

Halloween wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be drinking and friends and fun under neon lights. Dancing next to loud speakers while keeping down mystery drinks.

Anything that was standing by yourself in a corner, tugging away anxiously at your costume. You could tell from Atsumu’s glare that he was left unimpressed and for once, you agreed with him.

You probably looked like shit. Felt like it too, like the word ‘desperate’ was stamped across your forehead in bold, black ink.

Yes, Suna wasn’t technically your boyfriend but he also wasn’t just your friend. Friends aren’t supposed to call each other goodnight every night, hold hands when no one’s looking, or kiss your shoulder when they think you’re dead asleep.

They’re supposed to set boundaries, tread carefully, be honest. Suna had practically trampled all over your life, making himself at home before even saying a proper hello.

In the beginning, both of you had been on the same page; you had certain needs and Suna was notorious for meeting them, so the match-up made sense. Pure satisfaction, nothing more, nothing less. At least, it should’ve been.

And tonight he had ditched you. You grip onto your red solo cup tighter, exhaling loudly as you go to scan for the nearest exit. You could still salvage the night with some light doomscrolling, maybe even a few tears.

He was supposed to remain untouchable, unclaimed. A clean slate in the world of one-timers. You were smart enough to know that going in.

And while the sex had been great you were certain he had a lot of women, maybe even some men, on his roster. He wasn’t yours to keep, but rather, the best one-time fling.

That’s all he was supposed to be, and it’s also why you felt so aggravated tonight. Because maybe if things had stayed strictly physical between the two of you, you wouldn’t care as much as you did. But he had ruined that. And you had let him.

-

After your first time together, he made it his life’s mission to wedge his way into your own. He started saying hello when you’d pass each other in the halls, started following you on different socials, and even going as far as to ask mutual friends about you.

It annoyed you in the beginning. Every mention of his name had you grimacing, maybe even regretting the time you spent together. It wasn’t like you, to give in so easily but it had already happened. So you had to accept it, though, that didn’t mean you had to accept any lingering feelings.

Still, the tiniest part of you wanted to believe that he maybe was interested, believe he wanted more, but even if he did, it probably didn’t go beyond physical. He probably wanted one more night together, not a whole life.

And while it had been fun, Suna was clearly a master at games, and you had no real interest in playing. You were better than that. Smarter than that.

You were cautious and reasonable, things that should’ve made his meager attempts at flirting unsuccessful. But you were also just as human, and even younger. Whatever the reason, Suna’s pull seemed inescapable.

And the next time you talk to him he makes that all too clear.

It was late. Way too late to be buying snacks at the closest convenience store to you. But you’re also hungry, and even more than that, you need to clear your head.

As shameful as it felt admitting, you couldn’t stop thinking about Suna. It was like he had planted some kind of invisible seeds in your head the night you hooked up, and they were finally taking root, painfully so.

Somehow, it felt like he knew you more than you knew him, despite having shared nothing more than your bodies with one another. The memories of which sometimes make you flush, and slightly tingle at the faint echo of his fingers tracing your outline.

The two of you hadn’t even spoken since then, and while he had begun liking anything and everything you posted on social media, it didn’t really mean anything.

Despite this, he had still successfully invaded all your senses, and you were starting to feel somewhat hopeless. At least, enough to have you wandering around at night in hopes of finding some kind of relief.

It’s quiet your entire way there, eerily so. You can hear your shoes dragging across the pavement each step of the way. The Fall atmosphere has you a bit on edge, and it almost feels like you’re being watched.

When you finally step out of the convenience store, you’re carrying two plastic bags loaded with junk food. Maybe you went a bit overboard, but you also needed some sort of distraction from your growing anxiety.

A chill suddenly runs down your spine at the feeling of a pair of eyes on you. Your head whips to the side, towards the source of the intense gaze. Your hearts practically in your throat as you peer into the night.

You barely manage to make out a dark outline a couple feet away, the shadows of which make you swallow down nervously. You can’t tell who it is but you can tell they’re looking at you. You stop walking entirely, stuck in a standoff with a potential serial killer.

A few moments pass before the figure takes a step towards you, one that makes you jump out of your skin. The sound of plastic bags squeaking and a small noise of surprise echo through the quiet. The figure takes another step forward, now bathed directly in the dim light from a streetlamp.

You squint to see Suna of all people, with his hood up and both hands in his pocket, looking like a complete weirdo. If you hadn’t recognized him, you would have considered booking it back to the store.

When he makes the move to get even closer to you, you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You knew him, sure, but not enough to have him approaching you so casually or when it was so dark.

“You walk around here this late?” He piped up, as you held the food closer to your chest as some sort of comfort, maybe even protection.

“Snack run,” you mumbled, too captivated by the how raspy he sounded and how weird this entire interaction was.

What the hell was he even doing here?

At your words, he pushed off the wall he was leaning on, expression unreadable as always.

“Let me walk you home.”

The way he phrased it let you know it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. He was walking you home, whether you liked or not.

You felt your heart began to thump unevenly, throat growing dry. Suna easily fell into a rhythm, casually walking alongside you as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was still so quiet, so much so that the only sound you could hear was the crinkling of plastic in your hand.

After a stretch of silence, you couldn’t help yourself from saying something. You glanced up at him, waiting to speak only until his own eyes met yours.

“You stalking me or something?” You joked, lips curling into a teasing smile. You wanted to see him falter, maybe even blush. Do anything to prove he was human, maybe even prove that he wanted you.

He turned his head, looking right at you as he stopped walking entirely. He didn’t smile, his expression didn’t move an inch.

“Would that bother you?”

Every hair on your body rose at that question, body tingling throughout. The way he said it, so seriously and intensely, it should’ve scared you. Should’ve sent you running.

But instead, you felt a heat creeping up your neck. One that should’ve disgusted you, left you afraid even. Instead though, it made you feel thrilled. The sickest part of you craved more, more and more. As long as it was from him.

You looked away shyly, unable to hold eye contact as you tucked away an imaginary strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re weird.” You muttered, unable to calm your racing pulse. What the hell was wrong with you?

The rest of the walk was quiet, aside from the loud thumping of your heart in your ears.

-

You learned quickly after that Suna belonged to the night; he was a nocturnal creature at heart. It explained why he always looked half-dead during the day and slightly more alive before dawn.

It was also really the only time he reached out to you which sometimes made you feel queasy. A part of you even started to wonder if you were his nighttime secret, someone to keep in the dark in more ways than one.

Nonetheless, when he called you were embarrassingly quick to answer. Just like now.

The sound of your phone ringing has your head snapping towards the noise. You should feel more ashamed at how eager you feel, secretly hoping it was him on the other end of the line.

When you’re close enough to look at the screen, your heart rate increases tenfold. It is him, it’s Suna, or his phone number at least.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t save him as a contact, feeling like it’d give him too much power, at least more than he already had. You wanted some semblance of control, as silly as it felt.

It had been almost two weeks since he first called but you had still memorized every digit, secretly waiting for this exact moment. A second phone call, given that the first was merely a ‘test call’ on Suna’s part.

“Just wanted to make sure Atsumu gave me the right number” His monotone voice had explained.

You had somehow managed to respond coolly then despite the way your heart raced. The same way it was racing now as your phone continued to ring.

You exhale slowly before picking up.

“Hello?” You question, feigning ignorance despite knowing exactly who was on the other line.

“…”. There’s no answer but you can tell from the slight static you’re connected. You feel yourself frown before going to speak again.

“Hello?”.

It’s still silent, so much so it kind of makes you uncomfortable. He called you, you’re sure of that. You double check to make sure you hadn’t accidentally hung up or anything silly like that, but you’re still connected. And it’s still silent. Too silent.

Was this some kind of prank?

“I can see you.” A low voice replies, and while you recognize that it’s Suna you still feel your heart sink a little.

He can see you?

You look around your bedroom, checking the windows. For a second, you think you see a shadow go by. You feel your breath hitch as you tighten your grip on your phone. Was he actually some kind of stalker?

Before you can do anything else, you suddenly hear a light chuckle over the line.

“Did you really check?” Suna’s raspy voice teases as you feel a blush spread across your face.

Asshole.

“Ha ha.” You say sarcastically, fighting the small smile starting to spread across your face.

He laughs some more before speaking again. “It’s almost Halloween. Just trying to get you in the mood.”

“You celebrate?” You ask, grimacing at the lameness of your question. Still, you’re genuinely curious.

“Oh, but of course.” The way he says it makes you giggle a bit. He’s more casual over the phone, funnier too.

“Of course, it’s you after all.” You reply.

“Oh? What does that mean?” He asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice. It makes your stomach flip with excitement.

“Well, to start with you’re a night owl.” You explain, relaxing by lying in your bed as you let yourself focus entirely on his voice.

“Hmm, that is true.” He replies.

“So, then you’re probably into all sorts of things that happen in the dark.” You say, only realizing the implications right after.

It’s quiet, but you can tell he’s thinking of the next thing to say. You feel a bit nervous, like you weren’t talking to the same guy who had seen you naked a few weeks ago.

“You would know.” He says, and you can hear the teasing tone and smile on his face. The image of both make you flush.

You open and close your mouth a couple times, left at a complete loss.

“Why did you call Suna?” You finally manage to strangle out, voice small and nervous. Similar to your current state.

He chuckles lightly, and you feel yourself frown. You hadn’t said anything worth laughing at.

“I wanted to ask you,” he begins, pausing as if unsure whether to follow through. You wait patiently, gnawing at your lip.

“What if we celebrated Halloween together?” He finished casually, as if it wasn’t a direct attack on your heart.

“What do you mean?” You ask, mouth working faster than your brain. But seriously, what the hell was he talking about.

“The twins party, you and me, costumes and stuff.” He states simply. Like it wasn’t the most obvious ‘I want you’ in the world.

“Hm.” Your response is merely meant to stall for time as any thoughts you had previously come to complete halt. You stare at the ceiling as your brain thinks of the right thing to say.

“Don’t tell me you’re too scared.” Suna chimes ins.

You roll onto your side, fiddling with the closet item near you as you pout. “I’m not scared.” You mutter, maybe a bit too quickly.

‘But I am scared of you’. Crosses your mind but you bite your lip to keep it in, afraid saying it out loud would offend him.

There’s another pause, and you hear him chuckle again. It makes you shiver. “Good.”

You swallow hard yet again, tucking a strand behind your ear. He’s being normal, polite even. It’s just an invitation but the weight of it sits heavy in your chest.

You knew what he was referring to, having been invited by the twins themselves. Nonetheless, it feels personal. From Suna. Everyone would see you, with him that is.

Did he want that?

“…What would we even go as?” You challenge, unwilling to accept the obvious, that he wanted you.

For a moment, all you hear is static again. Almost like he’s drawing it out on purpose.

“You pick.” He finally replied, and you hear his smirk in it. Despite letting you decide he somehow still held all the power.

A complete tease.

“Hope you won’t regret it.” You joke, hanging up in order to send your own message before stuffing your face into your pillow.

Suna could be so exciting but also just as exhausting. Too much adrenaline had your heart pounding, and now feeling sore. You felt foolish the way you crumbled for him, but you also knew he was going out of his way to reach out.

This was special, you were special. Right?

-

Despite having agreed to a costume, the logistics behind said costume were a complete nightmare on your end.

To begin with, a dog control officer is not a popular choice, believe or not. Secondly, it was midterm season and there was almost no time to gather the things you needed with how much you had to study.

A part of you even had debated cancelling on Suna entirely, but the more needy side ended up winning; too caught up in the thought of being swept off your feet by your dog-in-shining-armor.

It takes a long time and a lot of sleepless nights, but you’ve somehow managed to make a costume in time and finish your last exam. You swear you’ve never been as drained nor as excited as you are the week before Halloween, the week before the party. A week before seeing Suna.

You’re lost in similar thoughts late one evening as you made your way home from a long study session. Your mind floating somewhere between notes and exhaustion.

In between the blurriness, you see him—Suna, leaning against a streetlamp, near the same conbini he had walked you home from weeks earlier. A comment about him being in his usual spot crosses your mind before you see her, standing right beside him.

Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Her arm was brushing against his shoulder, laughing at something he said. Your stomach clenched in a painful way as you slowed your pace, unsure if you wanted to keep walking or turn around. Every motion between them, from the casual lean to the easy smile on his face felt like a punch to your chest.

You wanted to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That maybe he hadn’t seen you. But then his head tilts, just slightly, enough to make eye contact. Yet, no words come out. He straightened out slightly, gave a small but polite nod to the girl, while completely ignoring your existence.

You watched the outline of his back as he continued walking with her. You stood frozen, autumn wind slashing across your face. The ache of knowing how badly you wanted him to acknowledge you, even if it was just for a second, made you nauseous. And yet, you cared what he thought. Hated that he hadn’t looked.

You had to remind yourself of your worth the rest of the way home, heart hammering as your cheeks burned. The image of him laughing with her left your eyes stinging with tears.

He was doing it on purpose, you have no proof but you’re sure. His kindness, his unrelenting interest, him; all of it pointed to something more. Something meaningful. And yet…

“He’s lazy.” Aran told you one day.

“He can be mean.” Atsumu had added.

“Please, just be wary of him.” Kita warned, his words and the others had weighed on you.

But still, only for a moment.

Because Suna was…Suna. So charming despite his laziness. So interesting despite his unwavering nonchalance. And so addicting despite his unreliability. You were choosing to be ignorant, sure, but if people experienced what you had, they’d have to understand. He could be sweet, so sweet.

And you were someone who was starving, practically delusional from hunger. He met every need, every desire. Suna was real, someone you could touch and feel. And maybe he’d be gone the next morning but his imprint in the bedding would remain, though its warmth long faded.

-

“Hey, leaving already?” Osamu’s baritone voice chimed in. You’re not sure whether it’s the tone of his voice or his hand on your shoulder that startles you more.

“Oh, yeah, not my vibe I think.” You reply and the way Osamu’s eyes narrow has you second-guessing yourself.

“Not your vibe? What is your vibe then.” He contests and you immediately falter.

“I, you know what I mean. I’m alone, I look like a total loser.” You admitted, finally acknowledging your costume for the night; an animal control officer. You thought it was funny, given Suna’s reputation. Though, reflecting on it now you realize it’s probably in poor taste.

Suna wasn’t even your boyfriend; calling him a sexual partner was a stretch. Which was probably the reason he failed to show up to begin with. He wasn’t yours. You weren’t his.

You also weren’t trying to tie him down. At the most, you were just trying to have fun. Be creative, maybe a little cheeky. Still, the night had been awful and you were ready to move on. Stop pretending it didn’t hurt to not have him around.

“Are you sure?” Osamu’s asked, pointing towards one of the exits closest to you. When you turned to look, all you could see was a small crowd forming.

After a few moments, a familiar mop of brunette popped out; Suna, weaving through the crowd, looking all around until his eyes finally locked with yours.

You felt your mouth twitch upward, unwilling to hide your joy at the sight of dog ears and smeared sharpie on his nose. The dog to your animal control officer.

People, women, kept fawning over him. Rubbing at his faux ears and grabbing at his jaw. Despite all of it, his eyes remained fixated on you. When you turn to respond to Osamu, he’s smiling a bit.

“You like him.” He states, like it’s a fact and you go to smack his arm a couple times out of embarrassment. He lets out a small chuckle before giving you an innocent shoulder bump.

“Knock it off ‘Samu.” You whine, turning your head again to see if Suna was any closer to you but he’s stopped dead in his tracks. His face looks serious, which is weird. Normally, he’s a stoic guy but right now he looks a bit annoyed.

You cock your head to the side as Suna goes to look away from you, which makes your stomach drop. You inhale sharply as you mumble something to Osamu about being right back.

You make your way right to him, not caring who happened to be in your way as you practically stormed up to him. His back is facing you but you can tell it’s him from his broad shoulders.

You make a move to grab his wrist and he lets himself be pulled a bit, not quite turning yet to meet your eyes. You tug at him gently and he finally turns.

“Hi.” Is all he says when he comes face to face with you, eyes scanning your outfit and face meticulously. He’s a detail-oriented guy, he’s gotta take everything in. And given how long you’ve known him, you can tell he’s impressed but still a bit pissed off.

“You look…” he begins, eyes scanning over you once more. You wish you could suppress the thrill, the joy that being acknowledged brings. But you can’t.

“Elegant? Wonderful? Beautiful?” You tease, just happy he had his eyes on you for once and for long.

“All of the above.” He remarks, and while you’d usually find his dry humor charming the reply makes you frown.

“I give you three options and you can’t even say one.” You reply, clearly annoyed despite your best efforts to come off nonchalant. He could sleep with you but God forbid he had to compliment you.

“I’m sure you can get one of the twins to tell you.” He responds, catching you completely off guard with his combative attitude.

“Are you serious?” You ask, feeling a knot begin to form in your throat. Was he implying what you think he was implying?

He doesn’t reply, merely looks to the side as you feel the same frustration prick at your eyes.

“You pretend like you don’t know me in public when you’re with other girls, you can’t compliment me, but you still act like you own me.” You mumble as you brush past him, intentionally knocking his shoulder with your own.

You were beyond pissed, livid even.

Despite this though, you looked devastating. Eyebrows scrunched deep and eyes glazed over with tears as your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He’s left stranded and while it doesn’t show, he’s a bit shocked. You were normally so well composed, so indifferent despite all his teasing. He thinks this might be the first time he’s seen you cry. Or rather, his first time making you cry.

It feels shitty.

-

Suna felt irritated, pissed would be the better choice of words. At the twins, at this night, at you. No, no— not at you. At himself.

He thought he had made it obvious, his feelings obvious. He had never done this before, cared about what someone thought before. What someone did. What you did.

He had somehow ended up caring a lot, it made him feel sick sometimes. You were supposed to be someone he could read with ease, not a person who made him so nervous it hurt.

In the beginning, it was pure lust. You were enticing and he was more than happy to meet your desires. But all too soon after, he got to know your smile, your heart, your mind.

How unfair you had been, looking as lovely as you acted. The sweetest poison to his very being; someone who was strictly ‘no strings attached’.

But, as disgustingly cliche as it felt admitting, you were different. Every single part of you. From how you approached him, to how you dealt with him, was beyond intoxicating.

You were so laid-back, so unfazed. It thrilled him, intrigued him beyond belief. His whole life, people had always approached him first. Always sought out his company.

You were the exact opposite, so unenthused, beyond uninterested. It irritated him while also intriguing him. Why were you so stoic, so nonchalant? He needed to know, needed to figure you out. Make you squirm. He was a bit of a sadist after all.

Thoughts of you post hook up intruded his mind nonstop. You were addictive, enough to have him planning your next encounter. And the one after. He felt like a freak the way he let his eyes follow you everywhere you went. He even ended up keeping tabs on your favorite spots, food, and people.

It was how he had ended up learning you were close to the twins, something that devastated him as much as it annoyed him to discover.

“What the hell was that.” Atsumu’s voice calls from across the room and Suna begins to mentally prepares for a fight.

He hadn’t said anything wrong, you were a fan of the twins. Which meant you were probably fond of this guy as well.

He knew that, sure. You two had each others contact information saved after all, which was the only way he had been able to get in contact with you. And while it had been a treat to chat you up, it still bothered him.

Atsumu bothered him, so did ‘Samu. More specifically, the thought of you with either of them which was weird. Not only because you two weren’t dating, but because those guys were his friends— not his enemies.

Nonetheless, they still irritated him. Not just during practice, but just by being themselves. By talking about you, simply knowing you. Where had you been all his life that those simpletons had gotten to you before him?

It frustrated him to no end, and maybe it was unfair to take it out on you, but him and the twins butt heads enough as it was already.

“Suna, what the hells your problem.”

Atsumu was now right next to him with a deep furrow in his brow.

He doesn’t want to fight, especially when he knows he’s in the wrong. What else was he supposed to say? He feigned innocence, tilting his head to the side.

Atsumu sees right through him though and scoffs.

“I saw you.” The faux blond challenges, and Suna immediately gives in. Despite his appearance, Atsumu tended to be pretty astute guy.

“Isn’t she yours anyway?” Suna replies, trying to be cold but the implications of his own statement still leave him feeling disappointed, a little angry even.

Those same emotions flash across ‘Tsumu’s face.

“What the fuck.” Is all he says as Suna feels a wave of shock rush through him. The guy looked absolutely disgusted, mortified even.

“We’re family!” Atsumu replies with a deep sigh, rubbing both hands over his face a couple times. It slightly ruins the vampire make-up he has on but Suna also can’t be bothered to mention it as he reels over this new information.

First he feels embarrassed, for assuming, implying the worst. Then he feels remorseful for ever bothering his friend with something so…stupid. And finally, he feels afraid. Immensely afraid, like he blew his last chance with the best person he knows; you.

“Well don’t stand here looking stupid, go apologize!” Atsumu barks out, and Suna feels a chill run down his spine.

Atsumu giving solid advice? This was definitely the scariest part of his night.

-

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so alone, or so hurt. It didn’t even make sense to feel the way you do, since Suna wasn’t anything to you.

Still, that thought alone has more tears pouring down your cheeks. You hiccup into your arms as your sobs bounce off the cramped bathroom walls, seemingly tormenting you further. You wanted to mean something to him. You wanted him.

Was it really that impossible?

You nearly jump out of your skin when the bathroom door suddenly opens, only to relax when you see him. The relief only lasts half a second before you’re on edge again.

“Go. Away.” Your voice was flat, throat raw from biting back tears. It made you want to cry even more seeing him prop himself on the doorway like he belonged there.

He didn’t go away, of course. Merely shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared at you, expression unreadable as always.

“I didn’t mean to piss you off.” He mumbles, tone casual. Too casual. Like he was apologizing for nothing.

You scoff bitterly. “Is that the apology?”

His mouth twitched a bit, but not quite into a smile. “Pretty much yeah.”

For a moment you think that’s the end of it, it was the most Suna thing to leave it there. As unsatisfying and annoying as it was; half-assed effort and then disappearing into the night. But then his eyes flicked up to yours.

And he looks nervous, unsure almost.

“…I liked your costume.”

It wasn’t smooth. Nor was it enough. But it had slipped out, almost like he couldn’t help himself. And that made your chest ache worse than the tears had.

“Yeah well what about me?” You ask, too vulnerable to stop to think about the implications of those words. Too desperate to hear any sort of confirmation he wanted you, despite the evidence that was the matching costumes you both wore.

Suna shifts, his weight tipping off the doorframe for the first time since he’s walked in. His mouth opens to speak before closing again, and for once that infuriating composure of his looks cracked.

You almost think you can see it— the confession sitting heavy on his face. His eyes nervously dip away from yours, down to the tiles on the floor that are much easier to face than your gaze.

For once he doesn’t fire back. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t shrug. He stares at the ground for a couple seconds before looking back up at you, having gained some sort of confidence.

The silence between you stretches long enough for you to begin to feel its weight, and start to focus on the buzz of the party happening right outside your shared moment.

Then he begins to move, slow and deliberate. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. The lazy way he unlocks it makes your stomach twist.

Was he seriously going on his phone after you asked him what you meant to him?

You feel your throat tighten, as well as your jaw. “Okay, I think I got it. Forget it.”

When you go to push past him, he stops you with one arm; eyes still glued to his phone. His hand lifts to show you the screen.

It’s contact information, your information. Your eyes flicker to the name above your phone number.

Pumpkin🎃.

Stupid. Corny. Childish.

And yet, you falter all the same, feel your throat swell up with something you can’t quite name. It’s so unmistakably him.

The quiet, underhanded way he showed what he couldn’t quite put into words.

This is what you mean to me.

He doesn’t explain, doesn’t even try to. He stays still, watching you to see if you’ll get it. If you’ll get him.

“What about that girl.” You challenge, lips stuck in a pout as you look up at him with glossy eyes. He feels his heart stutter in his chest, wishing he could start over before he ever made you cry.

“Not my best look, I know.” He starts, hand going to scratch at the back of his neck as he sighs deeply.

“We’ve never hooked up, I just borrowed these from her.” He says, motioning to the dog ear headband and then suddenly turning his body to reveal a matching tail attached to a belt loop.

At the sight of it you burst out laughing, and he startles for a moment. He turns immediately to catch you mid-cackle, eyes still glazed over but now with a wide smile spread across your face.

He feels his heart skip a beat again but for an entirely different reason. You were so beautiful, he wishes he had said so earlier.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I only wanted to come here with you.” He explains, emphasizing the last word in a way that has you swallowing nervously.

It felt almost like a confession, a Suna Rintaro style confession.

“Do you still want to be here with me?” You question, your eyes still puffy from the tears and nose a deep red. As cruel as it felt admitting, he couldn’t help but think you looked incredibly cute. He hopes he gets another chance to make you cry again, in a better way.

“More than anything.” He admits, having abandoned any shame the moment he showed you what you meant to him.

At those words, your face lit up. He didn’t think you could get any prettier, but here you were, practically glowing. He was ruined, absolutely ruined for anyone but you.

“Make it up to me.” You say, tugging him closer to you as he feels his heart stutter in his chest.

He regains his composure somewhat, resting his hands on your waist as leans closer to your face.

“Of course, promise I’ll be your good boy.” He remarks, a teasing glint in his eye as he goes to lick your cheek.

You can’t think of a better Halloween.

[haazuli]

Today's kitchen hand

[niceutossu]

Crazy | Osamu x Reader

Ft. Atsumu

Atsumu feels like he’s going crazy.

“I swear to you, they are,” he says, trying his best to keep his composure despite his teammates’ growing, and annoying disinterest.

“I don’t know,” Hinata replies, polite but impartial. “Osamu doesn’t seem like that kinda guy.”

“We’re twins, so I’m telling ya right now, he can be just as bad as me.” Atsumu huffs, crossing his arms as Hinata raises an eyebrow.

There’s only a beat of silence before it suddenly hits him that he’s just badmouthed himself. He flushes before mumbling, “Forget it. Sorry for bothering ya.”

Before he can change the topic, Hinata stops him with a hesitant hand on his arm.

“Wait, wait, hold on. Just, start over from the beginning,” Hinata says, a little awkward but well-meaning. “Why do you think your brother is dating his only employee?”

‘There are too many damn reasons.’ Is Atsumu’s first thought, and the same one he swallows down as he forces himself to mirror Hinata’s earlier thoughtfulness.

“He’s so nice now,” Atsumu says, scowling. He thinks back to all the times he and Osamu used to go at it over the smallest things.

Hinata laughs, clearly amused. “Yeah, but he’s always been the nicer twin.”

“Yeah well, not like this,” Atsumu grumbles, thinking back to your first day at the restaurant.

When he met you, Osamu’s first ever employee, there wasn’t any of the weird tension between you and his brother that he could feel now. He was just your boss and you were just his employee, both professional and still a little awkward around each other.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Atsumu had joked, your looks having been one of the first things he noticed.

“Shut it.” Osamu grumbled, clearly overwhelmed having to train someone new when he’d barely figured out what he was doing himself.

Atsumu had found it endlessly amusing watching his brother struggle to share his personal space. He needed the help, desperately, but it also meant letting someone else into his kitchen and by association, life.

For your first day, you did incredible. Seriously, if Atsumu hadn’t been there to witness himself he would’ve never believed someone could hold themselves together so well. The more Osamu seemed to crumble, the more you pulled it together: a true dream team.

“Please keep takin’ care of him.” Atsumu had teased, jokingly bowing before saying his goodbyes and leaving you both to finish up your work. Back then, he was completely clueless to the chemistry brewing between you and his brother; one that went beyond the workplace.

-

The first real hint he picked up on was an inside joke. Honestly, he doesn’t even remember the punchline, just how he felt seeing the two of you laugh without him. He was having a quick lunch and paused mid-chew, glancing over at his brother with an expectant look.

“It’s nothing.” Osamu tells him, and the way he’s still smiling like some kinda idiot confuses him more than irritates him. Still, he brushes it off then because it is nothing. Or at least, it was. Until it became two, then three, and then a whole bunch of ‘jokes’ he couldn’t wrap his head around and ‘Samu still refused to explain.

“They have like, inside jokes.” Atsumu grumbled and Hinata laughs.

“The whole team has inside jokes.” He says, rationalizing what he clearly sees as Atsumu’s irrationality almost effortlessly.

“No it’s different, it’s not platonic like us.” He explains, motioning between the two of them as if to emphasize his point.

The two of them had grown pretty close, whether it was because of their positions as setter and spiker or their personalities was anyone’s guess. Regardless, his innocent friendship with Shoyo wasn’t anything like whatever the hell was going on between you and his brother.

He suddenly starts to reminisce on all the different occasions he had stopped by and gotten a glimpse of your blossoming bond.

-

He was only at the restaurant because Ma asked him to drop off some paperwork for Osamu, something about taxes but he hadn’t bother too much with the details. He figures he’ll get a free onigiri out of it, so he’s not complaining.

It’s slow when he walks in. Just a couple people left, it’s the tail end of the lunch rush going into the dead hours. He spots you behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something Osamu’s saying in that all-too-familiar voice Atsumu grew up listening to.

He’s halfway to tossing the folder onto the nearest table when he hears it:

“Don’t forget about your grandma’s pickled onions,” you call over your shoulder, casual as anything.

Atsumu freezes mid-step.

You don’t even notice him, just mindlessly wipe down the counter like you didn’t just say something that should’ve been a secret.

Atsumu stands there, folder dangling from his fingers. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Nothing can come out.

Because…how the hell would you know about the pickled onions?

That wasn’t small talk. That was…private talk. Intimate stuff. Family stuff.

He swallows it down, slapping the folder onto the table harder than necessary. Osamu shoots him a look, but doesn’t say anything.

Atsumu doesn’t either. Not yet at least.

-

Back in the present, he rubs a hand over his face, trying to explain himself without sounding jealous.

Because he’s not jealous. He’s just… curious. About you, about Osamu, about your relationship. About why ‘Samu hadn’t told him anything yet.

He knows they had probably grown apart with Osamu being a full time business owner and his own career as an athlete, but still. They were family, brothers; twins.

“She knew about the pickled onions Shoyo,” he mutters.

His stomach churns at the thought, and he’s annoyed at himself for even caring what a hard ass like ‘Samu even did with his life.

“Onions?” Hinata repeats, cocking his head.

“Yeah. Pickled onions,” Atsumu repeats, sharper than he means to. He drags a hand through his hair, frustration prickling under his skin.

Hinata doesn’t say anything, just leans forward a little, waiting, patient as ever.

“It’s not just that,” Atsumu mutters. “It’s—everything.”

He throws his hands up, voice getting louder before he can stop it. “It’s so obvious somethings going on.”

And it sounds dramatic but it’s true. The next time he stops by the store on one of his rare free days, you two are practically glued at the hip.

-

“Atsumu, welcome in.” You say, and he can’t even stay mad at you when you say his name so sweetly. The cute smile on your face doesn’t hurt either. He suddenly feels like he’s too aware of just how good you looked up close.

Osamu seems to read his mind, greeting him in his own way with a hard flick to the forehead.

“Hey, unprofessional.” He whines, going to soothe the stinging between his brows.

“Are ya ordering something or just here to loiter?” His brother asks, a little too protectively for someone who’s just supposed to be a manager.

“Two of my usual please.” He says, taking a seat right up front to keep on eye on you two.

When you go to make him his order, Osamu stops you by gently nudging your shoulder with his own as he walks by to make it himself, ignoring Atsumu’s complaints that he wanted his ‘favorite’ employee to do it instead.

“You guys are so funny.” You comment, trying to make conversation which makes Atsumu perk up a bit.

“Really? Never thought of ‘Samu as a funny guy, just rude.” He responds, saying the last word loud enough for his brother to hear in the back of the kitchen.

You laugh again, a sound that’s light and inviting. He can’t tell if you’re being nice cause he’s a customer or because he looks just like your manager. Regardless, it feels nice to be in your presence. For a moment, he thinks he can understand why his brother hired you to begin with.

It makes his heart drop in a funny way, the feeling that you were being kept a secret. If you were important to ‘Samu then you’d definitely matter to him too. Didn’t his brother know that?

“I know he’s my boss so it sounds like I’m kissing ass but, he can actually be pretty nice.” You say, and even though the compliment is plain the way your eyes shine with something makes Atsumu raise an eyebrow.

“Did he get ya that pin for your hat?” He asks innocently, having noticed it when he first walked in but not having gotten a chance to comment on it till now. Honestly, he made the connection on a whim and expected you to say no.

“Huh?” You squeak out, clearly surprised he had pointed it out. The way you tensed up and averted his eyes has him widening his own.

“Oh yeah, he did.” You mumble out, a little too shyly. Like you had just been caught. Upon closer inspection, he can see the smallest tinge of red on the tip of your ears.

Atsumu blinks. Then squints. Then leans in a little, like somehow getting closer to you might make you more honest.

“You’re blushin’,” he points out with a grin, almost sing-songy.

“I am not,” you huff, quickly busying yourself by wiping down a spotless part of the counter. It’s the weakest cover-up he’s ever seen which just makes it even funnier.

Osamu finally returns with Atsumu’s food, sliding it across the counter with a short, “Here.”

“Hold on. Ya bought her a gift?”

Osamu doesn’t even flinch. “Employee appreciation.”

“Employee appreciation, my ass!” Atsumu whines, pointing at the way you’re basically trying to sink through the floor. “When have ya ever appreciated me?”

“I haven’t,” Osamu says, so flat it makes you exhale against your will.

Atsumu gasps, hand going over his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. He then leaves just as dramatically, doing his best not to scream that you’re both terrible liars as he walks back home.

-

Back in the present, he suddenly grabs Hinata’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts as that specific memory resurfaces.

“He bought her a gift.” He says, dead serious, like he’s delivering life-or-death news.

Hinata just laughs again. “He’s gotten me a gift.”

“Food doesn’t count as a gift, Shoyo!” Atsumu whines, and to his immense relief, Hinata actually looks like he might agree with him this time.

“Ugh, whatever. I’m just being a creep anyway,” Atsumu grumbles, suddenly drained by the conversation he himself had started.

But Hinata doesn’t let drop it. “What if you noticed it before they did? You’ve got super insane senses when it comes to people on court, maybe it’s the same off of it too.”

Of course sweet, innocent Shoyo would find a way to tie this mess back to volleyball.

Though, to his credit, they were sitting in the gym post-practice, both waiting for a ride from Osamu.

“Maybe,” Atsumu mutters, and right then he hears the gym doors creak open.

He looks up, expecting to see Osamu waltz in with his usual lazy wave.

Instead though, he sees you.

He feels his mouth go dry as Hinata keeps talking beside him, his words dissolving into meaningless noise.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Atsumu calls out, his voice sharp with surprise, forgetting his manners entirely.

You flinch, like you hadn’t expected to be called out so quickly, and Atsumu immediately regrets the way the words came out. He’s just… shocked.

Because why were you here? And why were you wearing Samu’s jacket?

“Oh my god. You were right,” Hinata chokes, half-laughing beside him, recognizing the worn out Ongiri Miya branding on the jacket almost immediately. A staple in Osamu’s wardrobe.

You shift awkwardly under their combined stares, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I’m here to pick you up. ‘Samu got held up,” you explain, flustered, too flustered to realize you’d called his brother by the same casual nickname Atsumu always used.

“And this—” you tug at the hem of the jacket, grimacing, “was actually not my first fashion choice.”

You start to shrug it off, like you’re desperate to shed the evidence, but both teammates jump to stop you.

“I know,” Atsumu says quickly, hands up in surrender, his mind racing a mile a minute. “He forced ya.”

And for a second, it’s like he’s a kid again, watching Osamu pile his love onto the people he cared about, whether they liked it or not. It had always been easier for him to show it rather than say it.

And now, here you were. Wearing it. Showing him. The most obvious message one could send.

It should’ve been cathartic, relieving but instead, it just felt disappointing. Since when did him and his brother stop sharing everything? Probably a long time ago but you felt worth mentioning.

But then you spoke up, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“You know… it’s kinda because of you, ‘Tsumu.”

He blinks at you, slow. “Because of me?” The way you say his nickname has him feeling nervous, like you already knew more about him than you let on.

Probably cause of Osamu. He thinks to himself.

You nod, like it’s obvious. “You kept coming around, poking your nose in everything… if you hadn’t, I don’t think we would’ve ever realized we were being so weird.”

Atsumu lets out a weak scoff, not sure if he should feel offended or proud of his observations.

At least he wasn’t going crazy after all.

“Ya well, yer welcome.” He mutters, scratching the back of his neck. He wants to ask if his brother ever talks about him. If he ever says he misses how things he used to be. If he ever misses him.

“Wait—I wanted to show you something.” You say, reaching into the pocket of the jacket as he and Hinata exchanged a curious look.

“Don’t tell ‘Samu.” You say, half-joking but both teammates nod in agreement, having faced his wrath before.

You pull out a folded napkin, opening it up to reveal scribbled and messy handwriting. Osamu’s handwriting.

On it is a list of dates and times, which he doesn’t recognize at first. Was this another inside joke?

“Oooohhhh, it’s our upcoming matches!” Hinata exclaims and the realization makes Atsumu’s chest ache in a quiet way.

He stares at the napkin for a bit longer, thinking about how he must’ve written them all down every time he had visited the restaurant to chat. The same days he thought his brother hadn’t been listening at all.

“Idiot,” he mumbles, voice a little rough. He clears his throat before speaking again, “Please keep takin’ care of him.” The softness and sincerity has you and Hinata exchanging a look of your own.

“Of course.” You reply, placing your hand over his arm and giving him a light squeeze. He feels awkward having you comfort him but he also feels better, lighter even.

“Didn’t know my little bro was such a big fan.” He teased, trying to take attention away from him and back to the napkin in his hands.

“‘Little bro’? But he said you were the younger twin.” You stated, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” Atsumu deadpanned.

Silence.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“That bitch.”

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Sakusa

You’ve tried the pillows. The pregnancy belt. The heat pad. You’ve leaned forward, leaned back, sat on the edge of the couch with your feet planted just right like the blogs say. You’ve even tried that ridiculous looking yoga ball that Kuroo swore helped his sister. Nothing works. Not really.

Your lower back has become a constant, pulsing drumbeat of dull pain, like your spine itself is growing resentful. The weight of your belly pulls forward like an anchor strapped to your hips, and every time you shift, you swear you can hear your vertebrae protesting. There’s no sweet spot anymore, just a rotation of tolerable positions. You grit your teeth through them, muttering curses under your breath.

You’re laid sideways on the couch now, a pillow stuffed between your knees, one arm tucked under your bump, the other flopped over your eyes like you’re shielding yourself from the end of the world. It’s not even late. The sun’s still up, golden light filtering through the blinds. You just couldn’t take being vertical anymore.

This is the part no one talks about. Not the cute baby kicks, not the weird cravings or the glow everyone swears you have. It’s this—sore, swollen, and tired in a way that sleep can’t fix. Even breathing feels like it takes effort.

And through it all, Sakusa is there.

He’s been steady. Quietly doting. Not the type to coo over baby socks or rub your feet with oil while humming lullabies, but the kind of man who starts carrying hand sanitizer in your favorite scent just in case you need it. The kind who keeps snacks in the car, reminds you to hydrate without making it sound like a chore, who started going to prenatal appointments not because you asked, but because he wanted to understand everything. Who reads parenting books with sticky tabs and highlights and pretends he didn’t.

He’s not loud about it. He doesn’t post bump photos or narrate your journey in grand poetic terms. But he’s shown up every day in ways that matter. Never once flinching when you sobbed over dropped pickles or had a breakdown in the baby aisle because you couldn’t decide between two swaddle patterns. He holds the pieces when you feel like you’re falling apart. He never makes you feel like you’re too much.

You hear the front door click open, then the quiet hush of it swinging closed. You don’t move. Just listen to the familiar sound of Sakusa’s footsteps coming in—soft, always measured, always deliberate. No keys clatter. He always puts them in the bowl on the shelf. No shoes squeaking either; he wipes them, every time. You know it’s him without having to look.

He pauses in the entryway, no doubt clocking the mess of your position. Then, his voice—calm and even, with that velvety weight that always makes your heart twitch even when you're annoyed.

“Back again?”

“Mmh,” you hum noncommittally, eyes still covered. “Felt like someone took a crowbar to my spine. So I gave up.”

There’s a beat of silence. You imagine him there, eyes scanning you—your hunched shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the deep set crease between your brows. He’s not the type to hover. Not the type to fuss, at least not where you can see it. But you know him well enough by now. If he could physically fight your discomfort, he would’ve by now. With gloves on.

You feel the couch dip near your legs. Then the rustle of a bag being set down.

“I read about something,” he says slowly.

You lower your arm just enough to peek at him. He’s still in his work clothes—jacket slung over the armrest, sleeves rolled neatly past his elbows, forearms bare. His mask is off, stashed away now that he’s home. You catch the faintest crease of worry between his brows, like he’s weighing the next words carefully.

“Can I try?” he asks.

You blink, too tired to be curious. “Whatever. Go for it.”

He tilts his head. “You have to stand up first.”

You lower your arm further to shoot him a flat look. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You huff, but he’s already sliding a hand beneath your arm. Gently, steadily, he helps you sit up, then rise to your feet with the kind of efficiency that speaks to practice. He’s been doing this for weeks now—helping you in and out of bed, out of the car, off the floor when you insisted you could pick something up by yourself.

“I swear to god, if this is another stretch video where I end up looking like a tipped cow—”

“It’s not.”

“Because if I fall, I'm taking you down with me.”

“Duly noted.”

Once you’re upright, he steps behind you. You feel the warmth of him, close and focused. One of his hands briefly trails up your spine in a slow, soothing pass—a single stroke meant to coax your muscles into releasing some of their stubborn tension.

"Relax," he murmurs, voice low and steady, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

Then his hands brush your hips and slide slowly beneath the swell of your belly. One palm anchors, the other adjusts. It’s deliberate, the kind of precise contact that could only come from research and repeat watching. Then—he lifts.

Just an inch. Maybe two. But it’s enough.

The relief is instant.

Your lower back uncoils like a spring released from tension. That hot, grinding ache that’s lived there for weeks just… lessens. Not gone entirely, but dulled. Blurred. Like someone finally turned the pressure dial down from an eleven to a manageable hum.

You let out a sound you weren’t expecting—a breath that shudders out of you with more feeling than you meant to show. Like your whole body’s been waiting for this and didn’t know how to ask.

“Oh,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s… holy shit.”

You hear him exhale, and the barest hint of a smile follows in his voice.

“Guess it works.”

You nod, or try to. “What even—how’d you think of that?”

“There’s a forum,” he says. “A bunch of people were talking about it. Said lifting the weight can take pressure off the sacroiliac joint. Sounded reasonable.”

Of course it did. It’s so— him. Reading about biomechanics like it’s no big deal. Quietly researching ways to ease your pain without saying a word. You picture him in bed at night, phone dimmed, scrolling through medical threads while you snored beside him.

You lean back slightly, weight shifting into his hold like you’re trusting it—trusting him—with more than just the curve of your belly. His hands adjust to steady you.

Then you feel him begin to lower your bump back down.

“I didn’t say you could stop yet,” you murmur, voice hushed and wry.

His hands still immediately.

There's a pause, not because he's unsure—but because he’s listening. Because when it comes to you, Sakusa never rushes.

You feel his thumbs move slightly, drawing slow circles near your hips as he steadies the lift again, as if to say, I’ve got you.

"Should’ve tried this ages ago," you mumble.

You’re still basking in the quiet relief of his hold. Your back doesn’t feel like it's screaming anymore, and for the first time in hours, your body feels like it belongs to you again—like maybe you're not just a vessel walking around with sore feet and too many hormones.

He shifts slightly, adjusting the lift with a faint grunt.

"He’s heavy," Sakusa murmurs. There’s no complaint in his voice—just quiet awe.

You smile faintly, placing a hand over his. "That’s your fault."

"My fault?"

"You’re six-three, with legs like telephone poles. What did you think was gonna happen?"

He huffs a soft, amused breath behind you. "Could still be your fault. Maybe you manifested it."

You snort. "Yeah, I manifested a linebacker. Great job, me."

"He’s not even here yet and I already feel outnumbered," he mutters.

You squeeze his hand. "Don’t worry. He’ll probably inherit your poker face. You two can be brooding and beautiful together."

A beat. Then, so quiet it barely makes it to your ears:

"He’s going to be perfect."

You close your eyes, feeling everything swell in your chest all at once.

"He already is."

And there’s something so simple, so steadfast in the way he says it that you have to bite your lip against the warm rush crawling up your chest.

You rest your hand over his where it cups your belly. "Kiyoomi?"

"Mm."

"I love you."

His thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate. You hear the breath he draws, steady as ever.

"I know," he says quietly. "I love you too."

And just like that, in the stillness of your living room, with the soft glow of daylight bleeding through the windows and his arms supporting you from behind, you feel the kind of full-body peace that no prenatal yoga class has ever given you.

You don’t move. Neither does he. Because for now, this is enough.

[niceutossu]

Serious | Oikawa x Reader

Oikawa doesn’t want to get married until you get hurt and he can’t see you. “Family only,” the nurse tells him coldly. And he tries his best to charm his way through, joking about how you two were even closer than family but the worker doesn’t budge.

“Only blood relatives?” He asks, despite knowing the answer himself.

“Or spouse.” The woman replied, avoiding eye contact as she scribbled down important information and continued ignoring his existence.

“I’m practically-“ Before he could finish, he stopped at the sight of her hand raising.

“Are you legally married?” She interjected, clearly having gone through this conversation dozens of times before. Oikawa couldn’t even blame her for the annoyance, as much as he couldn’t blame himself for trying.

“No.” He says dejectedly, shoulders falling with a deep sigh.

“Then please just wait until actual family gets here.” She states, motioning towards the waiting room as he did his best not to scowl.

Instead, he offered her a forced but friendly smile, retreating towards the uncomfortable hospital chairs. As he sat down the plastic squeaked: loud and jarring, and he grimaced. There was no point in arguing but it didn’t ease the nervousness crawling under his skin. How long had you been here? How long before he could see you? He began tapping his foot restlessly, only serving to amplify the ache in his chest.

You two were family, practically at least. You both lived together. You shared meals, inside jokes, and the kind of silence that only happens between people who really get each other. He knew how you liked your tea, the temperature you liked to have bath drawn to. Was that not family-like?

He clenched his hands, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms as memories started to surface, further sharpening the ache. He’d never bothered to bring up marriage, and you never asked. You both knew—knew what being a pro-athlete entailed. Time off spent planning was time he lost playing. He thought he had made it clear he was still yours and you were his. But now, as he sits helplessly outside your hospital room, he regrets never saying anything.

If you were really his he’d be able to see you, and if he was really yours then he’d be willing to settle down and take things seriously. He feels himself cringe as he remembers similar words Iwaizumi had spoken to him the night you two had first met.

After introductions and hours of chatting, the three of you finally settled into a comfortable rhythm. You and Iwaizumi were a surprise match—though Oikawa teased that it shouldn’t be that surprising given that he had good taste, earning him a synchronized glare from the two of you.

He felt his heart flip in his chest—he really did have good taste (and maybe a type). Later, during a moment of quiet, Oikawa excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, he found the two of you sitting in a mutual silence.

“Hey I was gone for just a second now, what happened to all the good times?” He joked, his signature smirk only lasting a moment before being startled by the sound of the restaurant staff singing happy birthday behind him.

Turning around, he watched as they brought out a small cake with candles. His name written out in chocolate syrup and topped off with powdered sugar in the shape of his jersey number.

“I told her you weren’t worth it but she insisted.” Iwaizumi deadpanned, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him. Oikawa felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of your warm smile. The glow from the candles were nothing compared to the light in your eyes when you looked at him.

“Happy birthday Tooru.” You spoke gently, contrasting the loud cheers behind him. He felt a weird weakness wash over him, one that scared him more than the surprise singing.

You’d already celebrated with him that morning—and afternoon. He’d never thought you’d extend it to dinner. He was known to be a dramatic guy, extravagant even, but being celebrated for those things felt foreign.

Later, as you took a call nearby and he and Iwaizumi argued over the bill, his friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi asked, his voice softer than usual, “you’re serious about this, right?” He didn’t need to specify; his question hung in the air, pressing gently but firmly on Oikawa’s usual bravado.

Caught off guard, Oikawa searched for a lighthearted response, but Iwaizumi’s hand didn’t move. He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I’ve never been celebrated like this before.” He felt small under the weight of his best friend’s discerning gaze.

In all his previous relationships, he had failed to feel true intimacy, always keeping partners at an arms-length. He thought your relationship would be no different, that it’d still be on his terms albeit a bit toxic.

Except it was not like that at all.

You were like a whirlwind in his life, at first catching him off guard but now helping him build solid foundations. Between the two of you, he was definitely more needy. In the past, he would’ve said it was the other way around but you had your own undeniable magnetism. Anyone with eyes would be sure to see it too, and see right through him at the same time.

The feminine niceties he thought he had grown accustomed to had him giddy and unable to keep his hands off you. Everything you did had his heart racing and for the first time in his life, he was nervous to lose someone.

His suave streak had been brutally ended by your presence alone, having made him feel like he was worth loving again and again without even knowing. His own sweet and cheeky angel.

“If it feels good, then take it seriously.” Iwaizumi replied, his words simple but earnest. Before Oikawa could respond, you returned, bringing back your carefree nature he always craved, the same one he was starting to feel like he didn’t deserve.

Despite it being his birthday, despite feeling a certain question rise behind the heaviness in his throat after his exchange with Iwaizumi, he stayed quiet. He could’ve at least made a joke about it then, but he didn’t.

He’d told himself he was taking it, you, seriously—that you would understand without him saying it out loud. You knew him and he knew you, was that not enough? Maybe not to Iwaizumi, who also knew him maybe a bit better than he knew himself sometimes. The thought of losing you the same way he’d lost others left a knot in his stomach.

He had tried to ignore this truth: that you meant something more—not just to him, but to the people he loved. Yet every now and then, there would be reminders of just how deeply you’d embedded yourself into his life.

He started to reminisce on how he’d found out how you kept visiting his nephew after he’d left for Argentina. He’d received a photo out of the blue: you and Takeru, cheek-to-cheek, grinning at the zoo. His younger self would’ve called it impossible—Takeru, in a picture? Smiling? But there it was.

He quickly replied back with a like to the photo and a teasing message along the lines of ‘huh why what’. He’d barely hit send before you replied with another picture. This time it was of you and his older sister pressed cheek to cheek, her eyes shining with the same warmth he felt every time he looked at you.

“Sponsored trip by my favorite Oikawa <3,” you’d written.

As much as he wanted to text back a cheeky remark he felt himself falter, too focused on the way his sisters eyes shined with the same affection he felt for you. It made him feel a little funny, a little weak. The same way he felt when Iwaizumi prodded him. This was family and something else he couldn’t name quite yet.

Without even thinking he called you, needing to hear your voice and feel like he was there with you (and, of course, remind you that he’s your favorite). He’d kept his tone light, playful. But there’d been a weight in his chest, the same question hovering unasked. He knew you could tell in the way you asked him things, lingered onto his replies as if to find some deeper meaning.

Again, he could have asked. He could have made you family in name as well as in his heart, so many times. Except now, that same question haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he even deserved to ask anymore.

He shook his head as if to rid himself of any more good memories, not allowing himself to relish in you with all the regret that gnawed at him. He was so good at not biting his tongue except when it came to things that mattered. Because nothing was serious to Oikawa until it was, for better or for worse.

And he didn’t know exactly when you had become serious to him, but you had. He felt a tremor pass through him at the thought of seeing you look anything less than alive. Or not being able to make you laugh when you come home sullen anymore.

He moved around restlessly at that thought of not seeing you again. It felt wrong—horribly wrong. He took in a deep breath to calm his ragged nerves. He would see you again, even if it meant seeing you at your worst.

You had seen him at his most selfish and prideful and yet, you still reached out to him, unafraid. He wanted, no, needed to show you that he loved every single part of you the same, no matter how overwhelming because no one could be as much as he is sometimes.

All the relationships he had in high school, college, and the flings in-between had felt so stifling. The thought of making a legal commitment had always made Oikawa’s skin crawl. Except now, sitting under the sterile white lights and thinking of just how much you meant to him feels even more suffocating. You weren’t a high school girl or a fling, you were you.

And then the realization hits him hard: maybe he does wants all of it, as long as it’s with you—the highs, the lows, the commitment he once ran from. For there to never be any more regrets, to love and to cherish, all of it as long as it was with you.

But what if he was too late again?

“Tooru?” The soft sound of your voice pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His head snaps up, eyes wide as he sees you standing there, in a hospital gown, looking a bit pale but alive. Your face is a little worn, eyes sunken in but you’re still here. You’re still you. Relief floods him, so overwhelming he barely notices the creak of the plastic chair as he rises, taking long and purposeful strides towards you.

If it feels good then take it seriously.

He stands in front of you for a moment, not knowing where to place his hands as familiar words gather in his throat the way they had so many times before. Except he doesn’t let himself hold back—not this time. He’d held onto these words for too long, out of fear or pride, whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

Everything is clear as he sinks down on one knee, eyes locked on yours as he finally gives in to what he’s always wanted: you.

[nanonezmayonez]

Relapsed so hard i enden up drawing fanart for a game nobody cares about anymore

[niceutossu]

Entertainer | Oikawa x Reader

You regret telling Oikawa he could host. Honestly, you're starting to regret being in his life at all.

No, that’s wrong. You love him, you love your Tooru. So handsome, so witty, so-

“Oh, you have to meet my fiancé!”

So annoying.

You feel yourself take a deep breath and hold back a frown that only adds to the tension in your shoulders. It had been a long night of socializing, and truthfully, if this wasn't your engagement party, you would have Irish goodbyed hours ago.

Still, you can do this. You’ve done this before.

You force yourself to turn with a strained grin, doing your best to keep up the facade that you had been the entire night. You could keep up a conversation, but not like this, not like he could.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say, too tired to feel embarrassed at your unconvincing tone.

Whoever you’re meeting seems unfazed by this, taking your hand in their own. Their presence is warm and solid, like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there.

Unlike you.

“Hey congrats! You must be really patient.”

The words are wrapped in what you pray is good-natured surprise, light teasing at most. Nonetheless, you feel their heaviness settle in your chest. You’re not sure why you expect something different after hearing the same sentiment again and again.

Still, you don’t let your face betray the ugliness you feel, ignoring the way your fingers twitched at your side. You should be used to this, used to being gawked at like some sort of impossibility. Of getting treated like some kind of inside joke.

It seemed like everyone half-expected you to be long gone by now, another forgotten name in Oikawa’s long list of admirers.

Tooru laughs, though, effortlessly as always. “Of course, that’s why you’re the best!” He says while looking towards you, squeezing your waist as he leans into you. He acts like this isn’t the hundredth time someone has said something similar. Like it doesn’t matter.

A part of you wishes you could brush it off the same way.

But you can’t. So instead, you feel stuck as you offer a smile that’s anything but relaxed. And before another word can be spoken, you excuse yourself, making your way towards a quiet corner you could safely crumble in.

You had felt insecure sometimes, sure. His erratic schedule and lack of communication were valid causes for concern. Still, the weight you felt on you was nothing like those things. You felt even smaller right now, nearly invisible.

Before Oikawa, you weren’t always so hung up on impressions. Your life was your own, regardless of what anyone thought. It’s what made him so smitten in the first place: your commitment to yourself above anyone else. Still, somewhere along the line, you started to lose sight of that.

He was a force to be reckoned with, unknowingly taking up the room with just a single smile. And sometimes it made you feel overwhelmed, swept off your feet in all the wrong ways.

You hadn’t even known who he truly was when you first started dating.

Not really at least.

You had gotten to know his name, Oikawa Tooru. Gotten to know that he smiled like he knew he was being annoying, and that he walked around like the world belonged to him. You just hadn’t realized that some of the world actually did.

When you eventually did catch on, you were already half a year into your relationship, an occasion you were celebrating a bit early, given his irregular and mysterious schedule.

You were sitting on the floor of his apartment, cross-legged in front of a takeout container while putting on a show to watch.

As his smart TV flickered to life, a volleyball match began playing in the background on one of those random sports rerun channels he probably left on for background noise. You were about to switch to a streaming service before you paused upon hearing his name get called through the speakers.

“Wait,” you said, pointing your chopsticks dumbly at the screen showcasing the bold white lettering. “That’s your name.”

Tooru froze, mid-bite, eyes glancing toward the TV.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I knew you played volleyball,” you start slowly, still chewing. “But do you play like…professionally?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, and for the first time since you met him, he looked anxious.

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in the leftover rice at the bottom of his container.

You blinked. “Like… stadiums and crowds and… the whole jersey number thing?”

“Yep, the whole thing,” he said, trying to go for lighthearted, but you could hear it; something a little wary hiding beneath the surface.

You stared at him, then the TV, then him again.

“So… you’re like famous?”

Tooru winced like the word physically hurt, throwing his chopsticks into the container dramatically as he brought his hands to cover his face, “God, don’t say it like that.”

“But you are,” you insisted as you laughed, not to mock him but just out of disbelief. “That’s so crazy. So if you have fans, do you have like… fan edits too?”

“I might have fan edits,” he said under his breath, dragging his hands down his face.

“You got any groupies?”

“Can we not?” he groaned, looking absolutely mortified, which only made you laugh harder.

But then you stopped. Not all at once, but gradually.

Because suddenly it clicked: why he always had his phone on silent, why people sometimes stared when you went out together. And why he was so adamant about having zero social media presence despite seeming like the type of person who would thrive online, all things he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

Things he also never once brought it up himself.

“You should’ve told me,” you said quietly, pouting as the realization and slight sting of betrayal settled over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. Nothing was different per se, but you still felt a little played, a little naive. How could you not have noticed?

“I liked that you didn’t know,” he said, just as softly. “You weren’t trying to impress me. You were just so… you.”

You turn to take a look at him, really take a look at him, with his glasses and messy hair, mouth stained with soy sauce, and legs stretched long across the floor like he had nowhere better to be.

You then go back to stare at the picture-perfect version of him about to serve, hair laid out in a perfect messy crown, and with a glistening sweat that gives him an otherworldly glow. The only reason you could even tell it was the same person was the matching pair of intense, chocolate brown eyes.

“Are we sure this is even the same Oikawa?” You teased after a moment, feeling relieved by how comfortable he seemed around you despite his celebrity status. Yes, he had fans, but none of them would ever get to see such a domestic version of him.

“Heyyy,” he groaned out, but you can tell he’s also relieved you didn’t react poorly.

You lean over to steal a piece of food from his container, shrugging before you speak, “Well,” you said, “I guess if you’re also still you, then I don’t mind.”

He grinned, a goofy and childish one that made your stomach flutter, “Thank you very much.”

The exchange had been simple, truthful, but plain enough to make you stay. The mundane parts of his life were the parts he wanted to spend with you; it was all intentional. You were his choice, and he was yours.

Afterwards, your eyes were open to a new world; one that adored Tooru as much as you did. It rarely made you feel jealous, more so unsure of your place in his life, despite how sure he seemed himself. Oikawa knew so many people, loved so many people. Why you?

After over half a decade together, you weren’t expecting any more surprises. You knew who Oikawa was, a global volleyball star and your silly boyfriend. For a long time, this was fine with you. He was fun. Your relationship was fun. There was no expectation of a lifetime commitment from either of you, only genuine loyalty.

Still, Oikawa was also famous for his long list of lovers; a discovery you made after the fourth ex-girlfriend you were introduced to. You tried not to let it bother you, did all you could to hide the irritation on your face as he was smothered by gorgeous women, and sometimes even men.

You were still human, though, bound to crack under the weight of so many beautiful exes. You had struggled with insecurity before, sure, but not like this. Being faced with so many past lovers had whittled away the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the years.

All these people had been you, or in your position at least. What did you have that they didn’t? Every person you met seemed to be charming in their own way, enough to have you picturing a time where they complemented your Tooru well, in beauty and wit.

And despite the whirlwind of happiness that had come with getting engaged, you also felt so uneasy, like the rug could be pulled from under you at any moment.

‘I don’t actually love you.’ He would say, any future plans for a wedding would be discarded, and you forgotten.

Except, Oikawa wasn’t like that. He was a lot of things, but not cruel, not when it came to you.

Still, being in a room full of people who adore him—treat him like some legend, someone larger than life—you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve tried so hard to swallow force its way back to you.

Things like the fact he was never your Tooru, not really. He was just Tooru. And maybe calling him yours was childish to begin with. But he was your boyfriend. Your charming, extroverted, and stupidly attractive boyfriend.

And the worst part is, he’s not doing anything wrong; he’s just being himself. But still, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You used to love how effortlessly he shined, but now, lingering on the outskirts, you’re not so sure. Watching him laugh, watching him easily command a room, you can’t help but feel like you were never meant to stand beside him.

“Hey,” a familiar gruff voice interrupts the beginning of your silent meltdown.

“Iwaizumi,” you say softly, not turning to look at him directly but making space for him to stand next to you in the crowd.

“Isn’t it too late for a cold shoulder?” You can’t help yourself from exhaling at his words, recognizing his dry humor right away.

You turn to face him, doing little to hide the anxiety written all over your features. At the sight, he falters, unsure how to approach but choosing to reach out nonetheless.

“Did…did he ruin this for you?” He asks, hesitant but seemingly ready to smack his best friend over the head at any moment.

You pause at his words, unsure how to answer. Oikawa had ruined a lot of things for you. Your expectations of a lover. Planned surprises. A chance at love after him…

“I’m ruining it for myself,” you admit, finding his presence comforting despite his status as your fiancé’s best friend and man.

“Well, I was gonna say it looks like you need some fresh air but let’s start with a drink.” He says bluntly.

“Just get me whatever you get.” You mumble out, feeling caught off guard but finding solace in his sudden appearance.

Iwaizumi was Iwaizumi. Just like how Tooru was Tooru, you knew what to expect.

“That’s not like you, he must’ve really ruined this for you.” He grumbled, clearly disturbed by your uncharacteristic nonchalance but still desperately trying to keep a conversation.

“It’s still me, it’s definitely me.” You admit, feeling anything but yourself.

“Hm,” he responds, making his way to the bar but not before giving you a look that says: ‘stay put’.

You oblige with his silent request, despite the ever-growing need to run away from peering eyes. When he comes back with two drinks, you don’t bother asking him what’s in it before taking a long swig.

“Woah, no cheers?” He says, still joking but now visibly concerned. You are an adult. Free to drink as you please. But this, none of this, felt like you.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” You admit, letting the ‘liquid courage’ soar through you, or at the very least, the placebo effect of it.

“I’m me and Tooru is Tooru...you know what I mean.” You croak out, unable to say the words you felt pathetic just thinking about.

Why is he with me?

“What.” Iwaizumi blurts out, his tone more pissed off than questioning.

“Dude, he sucks.” Iwaizumi continues bluntly, face forming into a scowl at the mere thought of his oldest friend.

You laugh just a little, tired around the edges, before sighing out a response, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He says, meeting your gaze head-on. His eyes are steady, voice firm. And the confidence in them, in you, is so fierce it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“You know he’s had a lot of girlfriends,” he starts, and you can’t stop your eyes from rolling.

“God, you too Hajime?” You groan, going to chug the rest of your drink before his hand gently catches your wrist.

“Let me finish,” he grunts out, clearly annoyed at your impatience.

“He’s had a lot of girlfriends, but this is the first time he’s had a fiancée.” He says, clearly still trying to console you.

There's a beat of silence. And then two. You can’t rationalize why his words anger you more than comfort. So what? First doesn’t mean you’d be the last. And if you knew anything about Oikawa is that he never settled for the first option. Only the best. And you were starting to feel like anything but.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem,” you whimper out and he lets go immediately, as if he had felt your skin catch fire.

You feel your lip tremble as you tighten your grip on the glass before speaking your next words.

“Why me?” You manage to strangle out, voice barely audible, but you can tell he heard you from the way his eyebrows furrow together.

“Hey,” he starts, hand going to your shoulder to steady you, but his touch feels cold. You feel cold. It was like you weren’t even wearing skin anymore, as if it had all burnt off from the shame of admitting you didn't really feel chosen.

“Sorry, please forget I said anything.” You mumble out, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of your drink. You hold up the empty glass for him to see, “Do you mind? I could really use a refill.” You say, sweet and strained, but he seems to understand what you really need: space.

He takes the glass from your fingertips and, without another word, leaves you just as you had started. Lost in a sea of people, you either didn’t know or only knew through mutual friends.

Deciding you had had enough mingling for now, you waded through the crowd silently, blending in effortlessly as you made your way to the balcony. You’ve never been so grateful for Oikawa’s extravagance, which was now your only chance at escape.

You open and close the door quickly, feeling your skin prickle at the cool night air. You inhale and exhale deeply, letting relief wash over you as you finally stop hearing the murmuring of festive attendees.

Sure, you feel a little guilty leaving a party meant to celebrate you and your love. Nonetheless, you just needed a moment to yourself, away from the clinking of glasses and the feeling of being an outsider looking in. The whole night had just been exhausting.

You were just so exhausted.

Exhausted from smiling until your cheeks hurt. Exhausted of pretending like you loved being the center of attention, and the subtle digs that came with it. Exhausted from convincing yourself that loving someone so bright wouldn’t eventually burn you out.

You lean against the balcony railing at that last thought, pressing your hands to the cold metal as you peer over to the bottom. Its chillness steadies you for a moment, while your eyes absentmindedly trace the skyline. Little by little, you start to feel yourself come back down from the edge you had pushed yourself to.

The muffled laughter behind thick walls brings you back to the reality, though, just for a moment. The sound should be comforting, but instead, it almost feels hollow. Like a symphony of torment drawing out your deepest fears.

Normally, Tooru would be the one to ground you without a word. Still, how could you explain everything without sounding like you were blaming him or like you were bringing up the past? You feel your eyes burn as your frustration with yourself reaches a crescendo. Hopefully, you could get your act together before he noticed you were gone.

As if on cue, a soft knock on the glass door behind you pulls you out of your fog.

You tense up, not turning just yet. You already knew who it was; no one else knocks like he does. Gentle, hesitant, but unwilling to let his presence go unknown.

“Can I please come out?” His voice is low, stifled by the glass. When you do turn, you can’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips at the sight you’re met with.

Tooru, with his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes glossed over like a puppy’s. He perks up when your eyes meet, hand going to turn the doorknob as you nod in confirmation.

Even during your lowest moments, you couldn’t deny him, not when he was being this cute.

You watch as he slips through the doorway, shutting it quietly behind him like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare you off. His eyes search your face immediately, trying to read what you’re feeling without making you say it out loud.

“You disappeared,” he says, voice softer now, careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t answer right away, or even look at him. “Just for a little.”

Despite your unwillingness to meet his gaze again, you still feel his eyes on you. Searching for something you were desperate to hide.

“I should’ve come after you sooner, I’m sorry.” He adds, taking responsibility for something he didn’t explicitly name.

You shrug, finally looking into his eyes but the way your stomach squeezes when you do has them darting away just as fast. “You were busy.” You mumble out, slightly wincing at how unconvincing the words sound.

“That’s not an excuse.” His voice sharpens, not with annoyance, but rather guilt. “Not when you looked like you were drowning out there.”

You close your eyes at his words. Why did he have to say it like that? You sometimes hated how he seemed to have a finger in every fold of your brain, ready to speak the words you were only just thinking.

You don’t respond for a moment, feeling a little too raw despite how comforting his presence normally is.

“I didn’t even get to show you my dancing skills,” he says after a beat, trying to be light, but it lands somewhere between awkward and earnest. “I was gonna challenge you to a dance off. It was gonna be real romantic.”

You huff out something that could almost pass for a laugh. “That would’ve made me disappear for real.”

“Hey, don't joke about that,” he says, and the sudden seriousness in his tone surprises you.

You glance back at him, eyebrows pinching. He looks…nervous. Nothing like the entertainer you had seen dazzling guests moments earlier. He had that same look he wore when he proposed with shaking hands and the most un-Oikawa-like stumble of words.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he admits, voice cracking on the last word.

You blink. “What?”

He steps closer, slowly like you’d run away any moment. He can’t see the way the cogs in your head stopped turning, unable to process his words entirely. “Everyone kept making comments, and I thought—I thought you were finally seeing it. That I waited too long, that I’m too much that, that...I’m not good enough for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you ask, brows drawing together, “Everyone was saying they were surprised you were still with me—”

He interrupts you with a small chuckle, one that turns into a deep belly laugh. The way he's smiling has your ears burning with embarrassment and clicking your tongue. When finally he notices your pouty expression his own softens.

“No. No, they weren’t saying that. They were saying they didn’t know how you were still here. With me. Everyone here is genuinely surprised I hadn’t scared you off yet with how crazy I can get.”

The words hit you like a wave, warm and sudden. Unlike the tsunami that almost crushed you earlier in the evening. You turn fully toward him, noticing the way the city lights paint his face in soft golds and moving shadows.

“You,” you start, but your voice dies in your throat. “You’re not too much.” You finish meekly, but it’s laced with sincerity.

He steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently tugging your hand away from the railing to hold it between both of his. His fingers smooth over the band on your ring finger, lips twitching upwards at the feeling of the massive diamond perched on top. A small part of you wonders how he can still be so cocky even during such intimate moments.

“I think about you constantly. I talk about you even more. Every person I’ve ever known has told me I’m annoying. Hajime told me if I didn’t tone it down a bit, I’d freak you out and then, then you’d leave me.” He blurts out, voice shaky and so unlike the man who had just been smirking at your ring.

You blink again, stunned. “You’re scared of me leaving?”

His lips twitch upward, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve never cared about someone like this. If I’m being honest, I’m actually pretty terrified.”

You pause for a moment. And then another. You try and take it all in; his vulnerable expression, your complete misunderstanding. How he felt like too much, and you, like not enough. Both desperate to keep the other around.

For the first time that night, you smile, a genuine one that makes Tooru’s eyebrows raise in a hopeful way. You then go rub at your eyes, desperate to soothe the burning behind them because, despite your initial relief, you had failed to see him the way he had seen you.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispers, hands going to curl around both your wrists gently.

You move your hands away from your face, looking up at him through watery eyes. You feel like an idiot having him comfort you when you hadn’t even noticed he’d been drowning too.

“I’m sorry for being selfish.” You say and now it’s his turn to smile, a confused but amused one.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He says cheekily, pulling you closer by the wrists as you happily oblige to his warm touch.

“But seriously, don’t apologize. Thanks for putting up with me for so long.” He mumbles into your hair before giving your head a gentle kiss, as if making a silent vow to himself.

You hum in response, making a move to wrap your arms around his torso as he greedily accepts more of you into his arms.

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You say, glancing toward the balcony door and the party still pulsing behind it. The night was still young, and you felt strangely refreshed. Renewed even. ‘I tend to have that effect on people,’ Oikawa had teased once. It used to annoy you, and it still did, mostly because it was true.

For a second, neither of you speaks, simply relishing in each other's presence. The wind suddenly picks up a little, tugging some loose hair strands around your face, and he reaches to tuck them behind your ear as if on instinct.

“I promise you won’t regret being mine.” He says, hand going from your ear to cup your cheek, his eyes steeled with a newfound resolve, similar to the one you had seen on tv all those years ago. You were his newfound obsession, someone he willingly devoted all his time and passion to with a cheeky glee. Your Tooru.

[mel0njoo]

Missed drawing him 😭

[kobrafangs]

prepare for trouble & make it double!

[bonniepop]

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

[niceutossu]

Observant | Sakusa x Reader

Of course you charmed Hinata first, always matching his energetic and early morning greetings. Although the wing spiker was also easy to impress and even easier to like so it wasn’t too surprising.

Similarly, Sakusa wasn’t that shocked when Bokuto became putty in your hands. He always perked up like a little flower whenever you’d shower him with praise, your tone sincere but words firm; never going as far as to baby him but helping him get back up when he dramatically fell down.

Atsumu did take a bit longer than he had anticipated to come around. At first, he was acting like a high schooler with a crush, avoiding you at all costs until you offhandley mentioned having lived abroad. Afterwards, he easily became the most smitten.

Despite all your newfound connections, you had kept your distance from Sakusa, which he preferred and appreciated. During the brief moments you two did interact you always kept it professional, offering a polite greeting followed up by helpful advice. There was no pressure to become fast friends and you were already really good at your job, having been handpicked by Iwaizumi himself.

While he did come to silently admire your professionalism, and Iwaizumi-seal-of-approval, he found your ability to seamlessly switch gears between him and his teammates to be a bit…off-putting.

How was it that you could get along with him and Atsumu? It was unprecedented and you also were the newest addition to the team, so he couldn’t help himself from questioning your true intentions.

-

“Hinata-san is always so lively, huh?”

Sakusa paused upon hearing your voice, not wanting to intrude on you and Iwaizumi’s private conversation about his teammate. While he’d normally be one to mind his business, he couldn’t help but stand still for a moment to find out what you really thought behind the scenes.

“I guess you could say that.” Iwaizumi responded, having known the ginger longer than he had worked with him.

Sakusa slightly frowned at his tone, assuming you had broken your professional streak and were engaging in petty gossip. Of course you had been faking all those cheerful greetings, just as he had-

“Well, I like it.” Your clear voice interrupted his thoughts, tone firm as if challenging Iwaizumi’s previous comment and his own negative thoughts.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, feeling a brief sense of relief wash over him before he felt shame slowly replace it. What the hell was he doing eavesdropping and why did he feel guilty? It’s not like being a people person absolved you of anything, you were bound to show your true colors sooner or later.

-

Weeks later during your first ever team meeting, and Sakusa’s umpteenth, you catch him off guard yet again as their power-hungry assistant coach goes to make the same tired comment about Bokuto’s inconsistency.

“You’re just not very reliable during high-pressure moments.”

Glancing over to look at his teammate, he could already see his two-toned hair begin to droop when suddenly your hand shot up and all eyes turned to look at you.

Your expression was calm but your eyes were glazed over with purpose, so unafraid it almost seemed like this was your umpteenth meeting.

“Bokuto-san has always been someone who performs best when he’s supported. I’ve seen firsthand how well he steps up under pressure when he’s in the right headspace, and that’s something we can easily help him with.” You speak up, voice firm but polite.

Glancing over at his teammate again he can see the tip of his hair now standing tall, his amber eyes filling with overdramatic tears as he tried to start bounding towards you, barely held back by Atsumu and Hinata who knew better than to disturb a team meeting.

The tension in the room, despite Bokuto’s incessant wailing, was thick. Even though you were both assistants, you were younger which meant the assistant coach was technically your senior, and he had taken your comment as direct disrespect. Thankfully, Iwaizumi came to the rescue, not only agreeing with your point but adding a few of his own to de-escalate the situation.

Afterwards, Sakusa couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you during the rest of the meeting. The smallest part of him even hoping to catch your eye which surprises him.

Why would he ever want such a thing?

-

It’s their first big home game and nothing is going right for Atsumu. Sakusa can tell by the sloppy passes and frustrated grunts during rotations. Everyone was bound to have an off-game, it was human nature. Except Atsumu was anything but human— or at least he pretended to be.

Bokuto’s ‘don’t minds’ and Hinata’s ‘next times’ fell upon deaf ears as the setter finally began to crack. Before he could blow up on court the whistle was blown and a timeout was called.

The blond angrily made his way to the bench, brushing off his teammates encouragement as he sat down with his eyes locked onto the floor. He put his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily, clearly lost in thought over his minor but costly mistakes.

Even though the setter was a pain in Sakusa’s ass, he would never deny his skill when it came to the sport. He was annoyingly prideful but he had every right to be when it came to his precision and control during games. Any time he couldn’t show off these assets, his meltdowns were inevitable.

As such, Sakusa simply swipes the sweat from his brow while glancing over at his aggravated teammate from the sidelines. He knows it’s better to leave him alone to collect himself.

Just as he thinks this, there, from the corner of his eye, he sees you walking over to them. You stand right in front of Atsumu and he can tell the whole team is holding their breath as they wait for you to say something.

Over-the-top encouragement was a guaranteed way to piss Atsumu off, and also the go-to for inexperienced trainers. Sakusa can’t help but feel a little bad for you when the blond finally glances up at you, his eyebrows knit tightly and mouth parted as if ready to tell you off.

Before he can say anything though, you kneel down slightly to meet him at eye level, voice steady but soft enough for only him to hear as you speak. From his spot on the court, Sakusa couldn’t hear what you were saying but he does notice something strange: Atsumu is actually listening to you.

A few moments pass and you stand back up, offering him a small nod before going to stand at the sidelines. The setter isn’t staring at the ground anymore and the previous frown on his face has eased up. Whatever it is you had said, it had clearly resonated with him.

A few points later, Atsumu delivers a perfect set to Hinata who spikes the ball and wins them the rally. Afterwards, the blond turns back to look at you in the sidelines, flashing you a smile Sakusa had never seen before.

It’s not the annoying grin he puts on for fans or the one he’s practiced for pictures, but something more real and subdued: a genuine token of appreciation.

When Sakusa catches the exchange he feels stupid. Really stupid. You were authentic and true and he was a pessimistic asshole. At least, that’s what it felt like the universe was telling him as the rest of the match goes smoothly. Never once during it do you bring any more attention to yourself, despite having been the one to break through to their setter.

Later, during their time in the locker room and after having won, Sakusa overhears Bokuto ask Atsumu what you had said to him. Normally, Sakusa would be in and out, repulsed by the environment and wanting to avoid these sort of post-match conversations all together. This time though he stayed put, taking his time to pack his things.

Why did he even care?

“Nothin’ that hasn’t been said before.” Atsumu responded simply, and Sakusa can’t rationalize why he feels a pang of disappointment when everyone but him seems to know what that means.

He knows you had probably gotten closer to his other teammates, while he himself could count the amount of times you had spoken to him on one hand. But were you really that much closer to everyone else but him?

After he had seen the moment shared between you and Atsumu, he had silently accepted defeat. There was no need to question your intentions or gauge for your reactions anymore. He decided then and there that he could finally let it go. You weren’t like any of the trainers before, you were better in every way and then some.

But now, knowing that he had missed out on whatever magic you seemed to carry, he felt more on edge than he had waiting for you to fail.

He stuffs the rest of the things in his bag unceremoniously, clicking his tongue in annoyance and unintentionally gaining the attention of Hinata who gives him a curious look.

“You’re not really that close to Iwaizumi jr. are you, Sakusa?” The ginger asked, simply making a harmless observation but landing a critical blow on whatever remained of his fellow spiker’s composure. Honestly, Sakusa should’ve told him to stop calling you that ridiculous nickname but instead, all he could muster was a head shake ‘no’ before leaving.

-

The next few days during practice, Sakusa still can’t keep his eyes off you. Now without any judgement to cloud his mind, he’s started noticing things he hadn’t before.

Like how your hair always seemed shine when you would stand by Iwaizumi during morning meetings. Or how you smelled when you walked by, clean but never overpowering.

He feels like a creep for being able to pick up on it but he manages to convince himself he’s still merely observing, making sure you’re doing well for the good of the team.

Over time he discovers that if he gets you to meet his gaze you’ll tense up when your eyes meet his own, with you quickly feigning ignorance afterwards as you look anywhere but him.

Your subtle antics were starting to become a bit too endearing for his peace of mind. And before he knew it, getting you to meet his gaze became like a game of sorts. He felt a little mean at times but nothing excited him more than to see someone who was usually so composed, become so flustered.

You weren’t a serious person per say, he had overheard you cracking jokes even he found himself nose exhaling at. But you also weren’t so easily swayed. Hinata’s friendliness and Bokuto’s frequent touches usually went unnoticed by you. Even Atsumu’s blatant flirting left you unfazed (despite some of the lines making even Sakusa’s stomach flutter…).

So why was a little eye contact making you so nervous? He knows he can be an intimidating guy but he also can’t help himself from letting his thoughts drift to more interesting possibilities.

What if he made you nervous for…different reasons?

That thought alone led to a week of sleepless nights. He remembers the whole ordeal well because he had terrible eye bags. Or at least terrible enough for you to leave energy packets near his water bottle, neatly boxed and sanitized to his liking.

Yet again you kept him thinking of you without even saying so much as a word to him.

How cruel.

After that incident, he finds all of his thoughts drifting back to you, with his eyes now unconsciously following suit. He felt a little ashamed at times, given that you were an innocent bystander who had gotten caught up in his uncharacteristically messy emotions. The two of you weren’t even friends.

You were a stranger, charming and capable yes— but still a stranger. He was only seeing you through a rose-colored lens, he rationalized, having heard nothing but high praises from his peers. You definitely had your own germs and quirks he’d find annoying, a deadly threat to his very way of life.

But if he was being honest with himself, truly honest, you had your own gravitational pull. A sort-of welcome weight that went directly against his usual sound logic and reason.

He only truly noticed it when he saw the way you lit up talking to anyone and everyone. That’s when he thinks he’s starting to get it, to get you. And the patience and passion you have for the sport that rivaled his own.

The one he could see it in the hours you put in and the minute details you remembered, things that made you stronger and infinitely better than anyone before you.

Your quick wit was also a nice touch but these were things he didn’t even get to experience, merely yearn for from the sidelines for almost a year before he feels himself finally begin to give into your weight.

The old rickety dwellings of his heart creak at the thought of making room for another person. Especially after having spent his entire life trying to put space between him and the entire world.

Relationships with his teammates were a given, an unwritten rule in the countless contracts he had signed throughout his career. He could deal with people if it meant he got to play volleyball.

This, you, were different though. There was no need to pursue anything outside of daily niceties, simple hellos and goodbyes. You had given him the space to, the chance to live his life without another person’s germs to deal with.

But he didn’t want that, he hated that. He also hated that you had made the choice for him before getting to know him, even though you had only done so because you did get to know him through Iwaizumi. He feels stupid when he really thinks about it; how his feelings were just one big paradox.

If nothing was going to make sense, then there was no need to be logical. At least that’s what he decides when he catches himself searching for you during public events, never once actually spotting you among the crowds.

And it shouldn’t have been that surprising given your role, things he would have normally taken into account being such a rational guy. But all he can focus on for the rest of night is the disappointment he feels, and the heavy ache in his chest. It should’ve irritated him, should’ve made him push you further away but instead it left him wanting more.

Yes. He wanted more, even if it came at the cost of social interaction. If you were going to keep him up at night and occupy his thoughts 24/7, it was better to break his own rules than lose his mind thinking about you. And, if you were going to keep your distance, then maybe he’d to be the one to close the gap.

-

Whatever you were in the middle of writing down is suddenly forgotten when you feel his gaze on you again. It’s getting heavier each time, lingering longer, more insistent. It made it a bit difficult to focus on your work, especially when it was practically non-stop now.

Sakusa was an observer, that much was clear from the day you met him. He was a lot more laidback than the trio you had become well-acquainted with, preferring to stay back with Meian or Inunaki.

You never minded his gaze, noticing how his eyes closely followed anybody from his teammates to coaches. Except just like him you were also an observer, immediately picking up on his increased glances.

In the beginning it felt like he was judging you, gaze passive and discerning. There was no real interest behind it past cold calculation. Despite the heaviness, it was bearable then. You weren’t a stranger to doubts and Sakusa was just another person to prove wrong.

Except, his eyes on you feel different now: they’re searching, watching and impossible to ignore.

The first few times you had pretended not to notice despite the way his eyes burned into you, as if studying you. It made it harder to focus on the clipboard in front of you, your racing heart thrumming loudly in your ears. Why was he looking at you?

You kept telling yourself that you didn’t care, that you were imagining it, and that it didn’t matter either way.

But it did matter.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself it didn’t, that Sakusa was just another player—albeit a more complicated one—and that whatever you were feeling were just misplaced nerves.

After all, you were surrounded by men like him all the time: strong, talented, and painfully good-looking. Bokuto’s infectious enthusiasm and Atsumu’s flirtatious antics didn’t make your pulse quicken. Even Hinata, with his boyish charm and relentless optimism, didn’t throw you off like this. So why Sakusa? What was it about him that had you so unsteady?

Perhaps it was the way he stood apart from the others, always watching from the sidelines, but never fully engaging unless he had to. He kept his cards close to his chest, making him difficult to understand and even harder to approach. His sharp jaw and dark eyes definitely didn’t help to ease your nerves either.

Honestly, it was a bit frustrating how much he was affecting you. Half the time you couldn’t even see his entire face but when you did, you’d always have to take your lunch then and there to collect yourself in the break room.

You had been so careful to respect his boundaries, so determined to keep things strictly professional, and yet here you were—practically stumbling under the weight of his gaze.

What made it even worse was the fact that he knew. He had to know, didn’t he? You weren’t that great at hiding it, despite your best efforts. It felt like every time he looked at you, he was waiting for you to slip up, to betray some part of yourself you’d rather keep hidden.

Despite this, you wanted him to acknowledge the tension that had been building between you for months now. Because at least if he said something, you’d know where you stood. You could finally stop playing eye tag, stop wondering what he thought of you, and stop second-guessing yourself every time his eyes lingered a little too long.

Except you doubted he’d ever comment on his effect on you and a part of you honestly preferred to live your life without him ever saying anything about it. Perhaps you were overthinking it, and there was a logical explanation waiting to be revealed.

Like your hair being messy or how he found what you thought was thoughtfulness to be overbearing. You were someone who usually prided themselves on their people skills but Sakusa had left you utterly perplexed. It was well-known he was a complicated person but this was way beyond your scope.

Normally, he would stare from afar but this time he was approaching towards you, and quickly. You turned your head to meet his obsidian eyes and flash him a friendly smile, doing your best to ignore the nauseating way your stomach flipped and heart squeezed.

What why what—

“Do you need something, Sakusa-san?” You ask, putting on a brave face despite your crumbling composure.

It wasn’t the first time you had said his name but it was the first time he noticed how sweet it sounded coming from you. It was like even your voice was attentive, carefully curling around the syllables of his name.

“Do you have a handkerchief I could borrow?”

You immediately freeze at his question, eyebrows almost knitting together in confusion before your expression turned neutral again, remnants of hesitation still evident in your eyes.

What the fuck.

From the first day you had met Sakusa, you had also learned another thing about him; he was a germaphobe on the extreme end of the spectrum. Iwaizumi had warned you to steer clear of his belongings and ‘let him come to you’.

You remember cracking a joke that he was kind of like a cat but Iwaizumi hadn’t laughed, or even smiled for that matter.

“Well, no, cause cats eventually warm up to you.”

You waved it off awkwardly before changing the topic, silently making a mental note of Sakusa’s habits. You didn’t mind having to accommodate to him or the fact you wouldn’t be able to get close to him period. This was your job after all, you’d respect any and every boundary of your new teammates.

So why, why was he standing right in front of you, close enough to where if either of you reached out your arms you’d touch, asking for something so…unclean. You blinked up at him, head still reeling at having been so caught off guard.

It was a well-known fact Sakusa would rather be caught dead than use anyone else’s, so he can’t even feel offended at your stunned reaction. If anything, he feels embarrassed that this is the only way he could think of getting closer to you.

You feel your spine tingle as his scent invades your senses. There was an expected cleanliness to it but behind that was a hint of sweat; salty but inviting like the sea. Normally you’d gag at the smell but the fact that it was Sakusa made it gratifying. You manage to hold yourself back from taking in a deeper breath and getting fired for sexual harassment.

You only realize you’ve failed to say anything for too long when he suddenly cleared his throat, now mortified from your earlier gaping. You let out a string of apologies, stumbling over your words as you hastily make way to the bench where you had set your things, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was following you.

Despite seeing you in this flustered state constantly, it never failed to make him feel excited. You never acted this way with other team members, never threw them such coy looks. But even if that was true, he was still himself.

Aside from the excitement of being around you, he was also nervous. Completely unsure of what he would do when he was forced to take what he asked for. Even though he was interested in you he was also not about to get over years of ingrained habits like it was nothing.

When you went to hand him the cloth, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise. You had his exact brand and style of handkerchief. He could have sworn you used a different brand, having seen you offer all his other teammates a checkered red and white one.

“I haven’t used it for anyone else or even myself yet, so,” you said, voice the least confident he had ever heard it. He knew you were well-acquainted with his germaphobic tendencies but thinking about how you had been holding onto something like this, for him, was almost too much to process.

He stared down at you, expression hardened as he remained unmoving. Your hand remained outstretched to offer him the cloth, still neatly pressed in the packaging. Had you been observing him as much as he had been observing you? If so, he had never noticed your keen eyes on him.

“This brand,” he started, unsure of what he wanted to say.

‘This brand…is my favorite?’ Stupid.

‘This brand…is the best.’ God what is he, Hinata?

‘This brand…isn’t what you normally use.’ Absolutely not.

“I saw you using one like it once and so I tried them out.” You stated, unknowingly saving him with your shy confession.

“What did you think?” He asked, refusing to let your first real conversation end despite the awkward pauses and stiff flow.

At his question there was a sudden beat of silence, your eyes scanning over his face with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart stutter in his chest at your gaze, wanting to run away and hide before you could find whatever you were looking for.

On your end, you were taking your time to admire his features up close. He was handsome, moisturized skin and matching lips. His eyebrows were well-maintained, and you felt your hand twitch at sight of duo moles above his right one; fingers longing to trace over each one individually.

If this was going to be one of your only conversations with Sakusa, and the closest you’d ever get to him, you wanted to savor it despite the tense atmosphere.

“You have a good eye.” You complimented, voice so sweet and honest it made him smile, a small one that he followed with an amused exhale.

At the rare sight you gave him your own unique expression, eyebrows knitting together with a pretty red tint blooming across your cheekbones. Your eyes were searching his own for some sort of explanation, as if you had read him wrong but when he let his smile fully reach his eyes your blush only grew deeper.

Sakusa wasn’t some sort of alien, he smiled when he felt like it just like anyone else, and between knowing you noticed him and having you compliment him, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Thanks, you have a good eye too.” He said, eyes twinkling with some sort of double-meaning that you didn’t quite pick up, evident in the way you cocked your head to the side.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed him the way in the same way he noticed you.

He waved his last statement off, opting instead to take the package from your hand, making sure your fingers touched despite your best efforts to avoid it. He felt himself tingle at the brief skin-to-skin contact, eyes meeting yours as if to say ‘that was on purpose’.

“I’ll be sure to return this.” He states in his usual cool tone as you remained in a bit of a daze, cheeks still slightly flushed with your mouth pulled into a tight line.

He had never seen you show any of the other guys such a vulnerable expression and he felt his chest swell with pride at the thought. The red on your cheeks began to fade as you composed yourself, looking less and less coy but just as alluring.

“You can keep it, I bought it just for you.” You admitted, your voice once again brimming with newfound confidence as you bowed slightly.

Now it was Sakusa’s turn to be stunned. He had not expected you to be so honest. This brand was expensive and the store was out of the way. Had he really been worth the trouble?

The piercing sound of a loud whistle and squeaking of sneakers cut your exchange short. Without saying anything he met your eyes again with an intensity you finally understood the meaning of. At least enough to not look away this time, firmly holding his gaze despite the weak feeling in your knees and loud beating of your heart.

A few moments passed between the two of you, eyes locked onto one another’s in a silent confirmation of sorts, an unspoken I see you. After no more than a couple seconds he gave you a small thanks and wave goodbye. As he approached his teammates he felt himself wanting to look back at you, at your eyes more specifically. He always thought the way you avoided eye contact when he stared was amusing, but having you finally hold his gaze nearly killed him.

Had he been looking at you that intensely? He pressed his lips together tightly, swallowing down hard as the image of your glossy eyes staring into his own filled his mind. Before he could think about it any further he remembered the brand new handkerchief in his hand, gripping it slightly before deciding to pocket it, having no real intention to use it then it there.

It had been a gift after all, and a thoughtful one at that. He’d have to save it for some special occasion, just like he’d also have to get you to look at him like that again.

[meofthoois]

JAPAN?!

[yomiro]

First art in this year

[diornies]

letter to theo by vincent van gogh