Requests are open so feel free to ask about any of the characters on this list! :)
Fluff = β€οΈ Angst= βΆ Smut= βΏ
Karasuno
Kei Tsukishima
Coming soonβ¦
Shoyo Hinata
Coming soonβ¦
Tobio Kageyama
Coming soonβ¦
Tadashi Yamaguchi
Coming soonβ¦
Yuu Nishinoya
Coming soonβ¦
Keishin Ukai
Coming soonβ¦
Koushi Sugawara
Coming soonβ¦
Daichi Sawamura
Built on sandcastles β€οΈ
Summary: Heβs always been your brotherβs best friend, heβs always been there from sandcastles to high-school crushes. But somewhere along the way, he became so much more.
Aoba Johsai
Tooru Oikawa
Coming soonβ¦
Hajime Iwaizumi
Coming soonβ¦
Fukurodani
Keiji Akaashi
Coming soonβ¦
Bokuto Koutarou
Say it back β€οΈ
Summary: what happens when you decide to prank your sweet, dramatic boyfriend by not saying βI love you backβ.
Nekoma
Tetsurou Kuroo
Coming soonβ¦
Lev Haiba
Coming soonβ¦
Kazume Kenma
Coming soonβ¦
Inarizaki
Atsumu Miya
Meanie, mine β€οΈ βΆ
Summary: Atsumu Miya has been pulling her pigtails since they were six. What started as teasing turned into years of bickering, tension, and stubborn feelings neither of them could name.
Osamu Miya
Coming soonβ¦
Kita Shinsuke
Coming soonβ¦
Suna Rintarou
Skin colouring book β€οΈ
Summary: a lazy afternoon with your boyfriend where he lets you use him as your own personal colouring book.
Shiratorizawa
Ushijima Wakatoshi
Where itβs quiet β€οΈ βΆ βΏ
Summary: Ushijima finds himself lost when an injury keeps him away from the volleyball court so in a desperate attempt to keep his sanity he goes back home. Surrounded by memories and people from the past, will he find himself once again or something else entirely?
The stone princeβs garden β€οΈ βΆ
Summary: Known as the heartless βStone Princeβ Ushijima Wakatoshi hides his true self behind duty and silence, until a chance encounter with a gentle village herbalist changes everything.
Eita Semi
Coming soonβ¦
Satori Tendou
Coming soonβ¦
Tetsumu Goshiki
Coming soonβ¦
Others
Yuuji Terushima
Coming soonβ¦
Takanobu Aone
Coming soonβ¦
I also write for JJK on my other blog @yuujispunches in case you want to check it out
Pairing: Prince!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Herbalist!Reader
Summary: Known as the heartless βStone Princeβ Ushijima Wakatoshi hides his true self behind duty and silence, until a chance encounter with a gentle village herbalist changes everything.
CW (content warning): Medieval AU, mentions of blood an injury (nothing too descriptive), prince Ushijima, herbalist reader, itβs kind of suggestive at some point but itβs nothing descriptive.
AN: Hi guys! π€ Iβm finally back after my summer break with the first instalment of the medieval/fantasy AU series I posted about ages ago (you can find it HERE). Iβm still open to hearing more tropes/pairings for this series as Iβm working on posting the rest of the works I put up on the poll. I also still have to go through my requests still hahahah. Anyways, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
The village of Shiratorizawa sat like a quiet breath in the lungs of the valley, ringed by whispering woods and rolling lavender hills. The days were gentle, filled with birdsong and the rustle of herbs drying in the rafters. And in the heart of this sleepy place stood a crooked little shop carved into the slope of the hillside, half-stone, half-wildflower, and full of warmth.
It smelled of crushed thyme and rosemary, of honey steeped in elderflower, of smoke and something softer, like the trace of healing in the air.
This was your home. You had no grand titles, no legacy but your motherβs garden and the quiet way sheβd taught you to listen to plants like they spoke a language. You brewed teas for aching bones, poultices for burns, tinctures for coughs. You stitched wounds and whispered comfort. Your work was simple, and sometimes hard, but always full of care.
And from across the river, the castle loomed.
A silent watchtower. Cold and unreachable.
Even the children whispered stories about it, about the one who lived there. The βStone Prince,β they called him. Ushijima Wakatoshi. The son of the aging king, soon to inherit the crown.
βThey say he was born without a heart.β One boy murmured to another as you tucked chamomile into a paper pouch for their grandmotherβs nerves.
βThey say he doesnβt bleed.β Said the other.
You just smiled faintly.
βEveryone bleeds.β You said softly, handing them the packet. βEven princes.β
That summer morning began like any other. You were elbow-deep in calendula, gently separating the blossoms from their stems, when the sound of frantic hooves shattered the calm.
You looked up sharply, standing just in time to see a horse gallop past the shop. It was riderless, lathered with sweat. Behind it, distant shouts echoed up the path from the forest's edge.
You dropped your shears.
The woods beyond the village werenβt hostile. They were simply wild and dense with pine, root-woven paths, the shimmer of foxglove in shadow. But something had happened there.
You followed instinct more than thought, your apron still tied around your waist, a small satchel of bandages and salves thrown hastily over your shoulder.
You didnβt know you were walking toward him. He was half-hidden in the underbrush when you found him. Slumped against the base of a tree, cloak torn, blood trailing down one side of his face. One leg twisted awkwardly beneath him, his breathing shallow but even. A sword lay discarded nearby, its blade nicked.
You hesitated. Not out of fear, he was clearly wounded, but because something about him felt⦠enormous. Like a boulder in the path of a stream. Still. Steady. Unmoved.
He turned his head slowly as you stepped closer. Dark eyes met yours. Unreadable. Unshaken.
βAre you hurt?β You asked gently.
A pause. Then, quietly. βNot badly.β
You moved toward him regardless, kneeling to examine the gash above his brow. It had already clotted some, but the skin was split. The bruising at his temple worried you more.
He didnβt flinch as your fingers brushed his skin.
βIβm going to clean this. It might sting.β
He nodded once.
You soaked a linen square in a bitter-smelling tincture and pressed it to the wound. A quiet inhale from him, nothing more.
βHow did this happen?β You asked, dabbing carefully.
βAn ambushβ¦β He said after a beat. βThe carriage. Bandits, I think. We were separated.β
βWe?β
βMy guards.β
You blinked at the calm in his voice. It wasnβt arrogance. Justβ¦ detachment. Like he wasnβt surprised to be bleeding alone in a forest.
βWere you a merchant?β You asked, eyeing the fine weave of his ruined cloak. βYou donβt look like one.β
Not because you didnβt suspect the truth, there was something unmistakably noble in his posture, even injured. But because he didnβt seem ready to say it, and you werenβt the kind of woman who pulled secrets from peopleβs teeth.
You offered your hand instead. βCan you stand?β
He took your hand without hesitation. His palm was rougher than you expected, calloused. A soldierβs hand. You braced your legs and pulled as he rose, watching pain flicker briefly across his face. The injury to his leg made his stance unstable, so you slipped under one arm, steadying him as best you could.
He didnβt thank you, but he didnβt resist either.
You led him by the less-traveled paths, away from curious eyes and open windows. You were used to helping injured men, you knew the rhythm of their breath when they pushed too hard, the way they leaned against pride until it faltered.
He was quiet. Always quiet, but he watched you.
You could feel it each time your hand found his wrist to check his pulse, or when you shifted under his weight, or when you murmured something low about the slope ahead. His gaze stayed with you.
Back at the shop, you guided him onto the low cot you used for patients. He didnβt complain. Just exhaled once and let you peel back the tattered fabric around his leg.
The wound was shallow but long. Clean, at least. No signs of rot or poison. You cleaned it in silence, working by habit.
βYour hands are steady.β He said suddenly.
You blinked. It was the first unsolicited thing heβd said.
βIβve had practice.β You replied, not looking up.
He said nothing more, but the space between you had changed. Slightly. Like a breeze shifting direction.
You wrapped his thigh with care and offered him tea while the salve soaked in.
He took the cup but didnβt drink.
Instead, he looked around. Slowly. As if taking inventory of your little shop, every jar, every string of herbs drying on the wall, every bottle labeled in careful script.
βThis is yours?β He asked.
You nodded.
βYou live alone?β
βI do.β
He was quiet again. Then, βItβs peaceful here.β
You smiled faintly. βMost days.β
And then, for a fleeting moment, something passed over his face. Not a smile. But not nothing either.
You didnβt ask his name that night. He slept on the cot, and you sat near the fire, grinding valerian root with the mortar and pestle. Outside, the wind shifted.
In the morning, he was gone. He left without a word. No note. No name. Just a single gold coin beside the teacup.
You turned it over in your fingers. Thinking about the stoic merchant and the lonely look in his eyes.
You were hanging bunches of feverfew in the back garden when the quiet crunch of boots on gravel drew your attention. You turned, expecting old man Hiro or perhaps a neighborβs child but instead, there he stood.
The stranger. The not-quite-merchant with the sword-callused hands.
He looked⦠cleaner this time. Less torn. His wound had begun to heal, and though he still limped slightly, he moved with the same quiet, self-possessed strength.
You blinked at him. βYou left without a word.β
He gave a short nod. βI didnβt want to trouble you.β
You tilted your head. βYou were bleeding.β
He looked away, eyes following the curling vines of ivy across the shopβs stone walls.
βStill.β A pause as he looked at the ground, the broad man before you looking unsure. βI brought this.β
He held out a wrapped cloth bundle. Inside was a loaf of honey-oat bread, clearly from the castleβs bakery. You recognized the delicate scoring on top. No one in the village made bread like that.
You raised an eyebrow. βYouβre not from around here.β
He didnβt deny it. βI was raised near the court.β
A partial truth. A carefully chosen one.
You smiled faintly and stepped aside. βWell, court or not, youβre welcome back, but only if you ever decide to leave your name this time.β
His gaze lingered on you. Then he murmured βToshi.β
You didnβt know why the name felt important then. You only nodded.
βAll right, Toshi. Nice to meet you.β You smiled warmly at him, making something inside his chest stir.
Never on a pattern. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes at dusk. Never in the rain. Always walking alone.
You noticed he never brought anything to be healed after the first few times. Just small excuses. βI thought you might have a remedy for fatigue.β βDo you sell anything for dreamless sleep?β βMy leg aches when it storms.β
You would often find him outside the shop before you opened, silently helping carry bundles of fresh-cut herbs, or refilling the heavy water jugs from the well. He didnβt speak much, and when he did, it was always simply, directly.
You learned to speak around the quiet.
Sometimes he helped you sort dried roots into jars. Other times, youβd hand him a knife and a bowl of wild ginger to peel, and heβd sit at your small table, his large hands surprisingly precise in their work.
It became routine. Not daily. Not expected. But⦠welcome. And fragile. Like a bird who kept returning to your window, unsure if the glass would hold.
βI used to think people like you didnβt exist.β He said once.
It was evening. You were drying your hands on a towel, having finished tending to an old womanβs twisted ankle. Heβd helped her into a chair and said almost nothing the whole time. Now, he sat with his hands folded in his lap, watching you move about the room.
βPeople like me?β You echoed.
He didnβt meet your gaze. βPeople who care. Quietly. All the time.β
You blinked. Then smiled faintly.
βMost people care.β You said gently. βThey just forget how loud the world is.β
That night, when he left, he touched the doorframe as he passed through it.
A small thing. But something in you wondered if he needed the grounding.
He never told you much about himself. But you began to learn the shape of him in pieces.
He preferred bitter herbs. He slept little. He looked at storm clouds like they were old friends. He flinched but not outwardly, it was only in breath when he heard children cry. He always checked the edges of the room when he walked in.
He never relaxed. Not fully. But when he sat with you, sometimes peeling bark, sometimes watching the kettle steam his eyes softened just enough to change their color.
One afternoon, while you packed salves for a neighboring village, you asked without thinking. βToshi, were you a soldier?β
He paused mid-reach. βI trained as one.β
You nodded. βThat explains the sword.β
He tilted his head slightly. βAnd the silence?β
One morning, a child burst into your shop with a bloodied knee and a shaking chin. You crouched instantly, cooing softly, and began to clean it with lavender water.
Toshi was there, as he often was by then, sweeping fallen herbs into a pile. He knelt beside you without a word, holding the boyβs small hands gently between his own as you worked.
The boy sniffled. Toshi didnβt speak. He just held his hands firm, steady.
When you finished and wrapped the wound, the child glanced up.
βYouβre strong.β He mumbled to Toshi, almost in awe. βLike a knight.β
Something flickered across Toshiβs face. A shadow of a frown. But he only nodded once.
After the boy left, you said quietly, βYou donβt like being called that.β
βIβm not.β He said.
You studied him. βNot anymore?β
βMaybe not ever.β
But your heart tugged at that. Because you didnβt know what he meant, but the ache in his voice told you it had once mattered.
You didnβt know when it had started to feel like this, like something delicate was building between you, even if neither of you dared touch it.
It lived in small things.
How he held the basket when you gathered rosemary. How you set aside extra tea for him before you even knew heβd visit. How he said your name softly, always just once. Like it mattered.
You werenβt foolish. You knew he wasnβt a simple man. His bearing, his silences, his hands, all told you he came from a world you didnβt know.
But he looked at you like your world rested him. Like he came here to breathe.
You had lit the lanterns early. A storm was approaching the clouds thick and low, thunder grumbling in the distance. Toshi lingered at the window, watching the rain begin to fall in curtains.
βYou can stay here.β You said gently. βUntil it passes.β
He didnβt answer right away.
Then he sat on the bench by the fire, his profile limned by firelight. You noticed then, his hands were trembling slightly.
βI havenβt felt safe in a storm since I was a child.β He said.
You paused. βWhy not?β
He looked into the flames. The silence stretched. βBecause everything I love disappears in them.β
Your heart cracked, just a little. You knelt beside him, reached for his hands.
βIβm not going anywhere.β You said softly.
And something in him unraveled.
He slept on the cot that night. You left tea by his bedside and shut the door gently. You didnβt sleep much.
The storm passed quietly, by dawn. And when you woke, he was still there. Not gone. Not hidden.
The sickness arrived slowly. Like rot under a floorboard, hidden at first, but spreading.
You noticed it in small ways.
A child who hadnβt come for cough syrup in days. A man in the market who looked pale despite the heat. Your neighbor, who stopped tending her garden and stayed inside, the windows dark.
Then, one by one, they began to knock at your door.
βToshi, I need more yarrow. Can you grind it?β
βBoil this bark until the water turns dark red. Stir slowly, donβt let it burn.β
βHelp me carry her, sheβs burning up.β
βDonβt let that one touch the others, itβs spreading.β
You worked until your fingers went numb. You couldnβt stop. Not when old Mrs. Ota couldnβt breathe through the fever. Not when the Kobayashi twins cried from their motherβs bedside. Not when you were the only one in the valley who knew what tincture even meant.
And Toshi, gods, Toshi was there for all of it. He didnβt leave your side for days. Not once.
He ground herbs until his hands blistered. Carried feverish villagers in his arms like they weighed nothing. Learned the names of every root you handed him. Fetched water and wood and wrapped bandages when your hands shook too hard to finish the knot.
But he also watched you.
Every moment. Eyes constantly on you, quiet, tracking the way your shoulders slumped, the way your breath caught, the way you sometimes stood still for just a second too long.
βYou need to rest.β He said once, voice low.
You shook your head. βLater.β
βThere might not be a later.β He said.
You smiled weak, but kind. βThen Iβll make sure thereβs a now.β
He didnβt argue but he looked like he wanted to.
You stopped counting how many fevers you treated. How many cloths you changed. How many prayers you whispered between clenched teeth.
And then, on the fourth day, you made a mistake.
You hadnβt eaten. You hadnβt slept.
You were leaning over a childβs bed, checking her breathing, when the room tilted. You blinked. Once. Twice. The air narrowed to a tunnel. Your knees went soft and the last thing you saw before your world tipped sideways was Toshiβs face turning toward you, eyes wide, hand reaching outβ¦
You woke to cool linen against your forehead and a voice low, rough with panic.
βDonβt do that again.β
Your eyes fluttered open.
You were on your own cot. A faint breeze moved through the window. The smell of willow bark tea and rosewater floated in the air.
Toshi was sitting beside you. His eyes always so unreadable, were raw now. His hand was clenched tight around a cloth he was using to dab at your neck.
βYou fainted.β He said quietly. βYour pulse was shallow. You werenβt responding.β
You tried to speak, but your throat was dry.
He handed you a cup before you could ask. Helped you sit up slowly. His arm around your back was steady. Solid.
βDid Iβ¦?β You whispered, voice hoarse. βHas anyone- ?β
βEveryoneβs stable.β He said. βYou did more than enough.β
You closed your eyes. Relief washed through you and shame.
βIβm sorry.β You murmured.
He stiffened beside you. βDonβt say that.β
βI was careless.β
βYou were exhausted.β
Your eyes met his. βYou were scared.β You whispered.
He didnβt answer. But the silence howled with truth.
βIβve seen people die.β He said finally. His voice was quiet, but his jaw clenched. βIβve held men as they bled out. Iβve stood in battlefields, Iβve seen sickness take entire villages. But Iβve never-β
He broke off. Looked away. Then whispered, barely audible. βIβve never felt what I felt when I saw you fall.β
You blinked. Heat rose to your cheeks, but something inside you ached, because his voice didnβt tremble like love. It trembled like fear.
βToshiβ¦β You started.
βI thought I was too late.β He turned back to you, eyes dark and burning. βAnd I couldnβt- I couldnβt do anything.β
You reached out, slowly, and took his hand. He let you.
You felt the tension in his shoulders, the way his breath hitched once before leveling out. He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.
βI donβt know what this is.β He said, βbut I know itβs the first thing Iβve ever wanted that wasnβt given to me.β
You swallowed hard and, for a moment, you forgot to breathe.
That night, the two of you sat outside the shop under the stars. The village was quiet again. Tired, but healing.
He didnβt let go of your hand for hours.
And when you leaned your head against his shoulder, he exhaled slowly, like something in his chest had finally begun to loosen.
But he still didnβt tell you his full name. And you still didnβt ask. Because something told you, if he spoke it aloud, the magic between you might fracture.
The days after your collapse blurred into warmth and quiet.
The village was recovering. Slowly. You still made house visits, still crushed herbs and folded bandages, but now Toshi watched you with a closer eye. Every time your hands trembled, his would steady them. Every time you swayed, he was already there.
But more than that, something had changed between you. He no longer looked away when you caught him staring. You no longer hid the way your breath caught when he reached for you.
One evening, the air smelled of chamomile and soft wind. The last of the sunset spilled golden across the hills. You and Toshi sat outside, side by side, hands brushing but not quite touching.
He turned to you his face shadowed, solemn, but open in a way you had never seen.
βI donβt know what kind of life you imagined for yourself.β He said. βBut if there is space in itβ¦ I want to stand in that space.β
Your chest ached.
βI never imagined much of anything.β You said. βBut somehow, youβre in all of it now.β
He reached for you then. Not with urgency, but reverence. And when his hand touched your face rough, warm, careful you leaned into it like youβd been waiting all your life.
You donβt remember how your feet carried you inside, only the hush between breaths and the trembling gentleness of his hands as he followed.
His touch was unhurried, unpracticed, almost shy. As though he feared he might shatter you if he moved too quickly. You guided him with soft touches, with murmured reassurances. With the truth your body had longed to speak.
When his lips finally met yours, it wasnβt a kiss, it was a vow.
That night, you shed years of loneliness together. You memorized each other in quiet gasps and lingering glances, in the slow brush of fingertips across bare skin, in the ache of holding and being held.
Toshi made love like a man discovering softness for the first time.
Like someone who had never been allowed to want, and now finally could.
After, he lay with you tucked against him, his breath steady against your hair, his arm around your waist like heβd never let go.
And he whispered so softly you almost missed it. βIβve never been more myself than when Iβm with you.β
It was two days later. You were returning from the river path when you saw the royal crest on the strangerβs cloak, a deep green with silver embroidery. His stallion was war-trained, his armor too pristine for a simple guard.
He was speaking to the baker, brows furrowed. Toshi wasnβt anywhere in sight.
Your chest tightened. You slipped quietly behind the bakery wall and listened.
ββ¦spotted near the border during the ambush. Heβs not just missing, heβs avoiding the castle. Thereβs talk heβs hiding in the southern villages. Have you seen any unfamiliar men?β
The baker mumbled something. The knight frowned.
βHe may be using a false name. Heβs tall. Broad-shouldered. Scar over his left brow.β
You found him by the river, just outside the village. He was crouched low, filling a basket with smooth stones, a habit heβd picked up from you. He looked peaceful.
You didnβt feel peaceful.
βToshi.β
He looked up. Saw your face and stilled.
You dropped the basket in your hands.
βWho are you?β
He stood slowly. βI- β
βDonβt lie to me.β
Silence.
βMy name is Wakatoshi Ushijima.β He breathed out and your world blurred.
You shook your head. βThatβs the princeβs name.β
He looked at you and said nothing. As if silence would soften the truth.
βYou lied to me.β
βI didnβt mean to.β
βEverything you told me was a lie.β
βNo.β He said, voice sharp. βEverything I felt was real.β
Your hands curled into fists. βYou let me fall for someone who doesnβt exist.β
He stepped forward. You stepped back.
βYou donβt understand.β He said, voice strained. βI came here wounded, hiding. But I stayed because of you. Not because of who I was, but because you saw who I could be.β
βI saw what you let me see.β You whispered. βAnd I trusted you.β
He said your name and you broke.
βYou made love to me while lying to my face.β
That stopped him. Like a blow to the chest.
You turned before he could see the tears fall. βDonβt follow me.β
You left him standing in the riverlight, the wind pulling at his cloak, the prince who was never supposed to be yours.
You moved through them like a ghost, hands still grinding herbs, lips still forming words of comfort, but the warmth was gone. Where once your work had been lit by something bright, now it felt like tending wounds in the dark.
You didnβt speak his name. You couldnβt.
The villagers noticed your quietness, of course. Old Mrs. Ota reached for your hand once and said, βEven healers need healing.β You smiled, small and brittle, but you didnβt answer.
At night, when you lay in your cot, your body still remembered him. The shape of his hand at your waist, the way his breath had steadied when you leaned against his chest. You shut your eyes against the memory, but it pressed in anyway.
Far away, in the castle that loomed over the hills, the prince walked its halls with steps that sounded too loud in the silence.
The palace was colder than he remembered. The walls were lined with tapestries, the air thick with incense, but to him, it felt like stone and emptiness. Every bow from a servant, every formal report from a knight, every polite nod from a courtier scraped against him.
He had spent his life being the βStone Prince.β The man with no feelings. The one who could not be shaken. And yet, now when he stood in the great hall, when he trained in the yard, when he sat at the kingβs table he felt only one thing.
Loss.
Your face lingered in every shadow. Your voice threaded through every silence. And for the first time in his life, he hated himself for not being brave enough to give you the truth sooner.
But duty held him. Or maybe it was cowardice. He truly didnβt even know anymore.
He returned to his role, the prince with iron eyes. But inside, his heart bled still.
It was nearly a month later when the news reached him.
A messenger arrived breathless at dawn, dust streaking his cloak. Rebels, he said. Armed men from the neighboring kingdom, slipping across the border to raid. The valley had been hit. Villages burned.
Wakatoshi didnβt wait for orders. He didnβt wait for a council meeting or his fatherβs decree.
The moment he heard your villageβs name, something inside him snapped.
He left the castle that night with only his sword and his horse, his fury so sharp it silenced every knight who tried to stop him.
The village was smoke and ruin when he arrived. The air stank of fire and iron, of fear and broken things. He cut down two rebels on the path before he even dismounted, their blades still red.
βWhere is she?β He demanded of every villager he found, grabbing shoulders, scanning faces. βWhere is she?β
No one had seen you.
His chest tightened. His hands shook.
Until he heard your voice.
It was faint, strained, coming from behind the wreckage of the old blacksmithβs shop.
You were crouched there, clutching a wounded child to your chest, blood smeared across your face where a rebel had struck you. And even then, even shaking, exhausted, covered in ash you were still fighting to keep someone else alive.
β(Y/n)!β
You looked up. And the world seemed to stop.
He was there. Bloodied, furious, alive.
βWakatoshi?β Your voice cracked.
You didnβt have time to say more. A rebel lunged from the shadows behind you.
Wakatoshi moved faster than thought. His sword cut clean through the manβs strike, steel clanging, sparks flying. The rebel fell at his feet, and Wakatoshi stood over you, chest heaving.
βI found you.β He whispered, almost desperate. βI found you.β
β
But it wasnβt over. The fighting surged around you both once again. Shouts, steel, fire. Wakatoshi fought like a storm, cutting down every enemy that drew near. He shielded you with his own body, his eyes burning.
But then, one blade slipped through. You saw it before he did.
βWakatoshi!β
The rebelβs spear caught his side. The impact sent him staggering. He gritted his teeth, tore it free, and felled the man in one brutal strike, but when he turned, blood poured down his ribs.
You scrambled to him, hands catching his shoulders.
βNo, no, no- stay with me.β You pleaded, forcing him down before he collapsed.
His eyes found yours. Steady, even now.
βIf this is the price.β He murmured, voice rough. βIβll pay it. To keep you safe.β
βDonβt you dare.β You snapped, tears blurring your sight. βDonβt you dare leave me now.β
You pressed your hands against the wound, herbs and bandages spilling from your satchel as you worked with frantic precision. Your mind spun with remedies, with every scrap of healing knowledge you had. But your heart, your heart screamed, because this was him.
The man who had lied. The prince who had broken you. The only person you still wanted to live.
The battle waned. The rebels fled. Villagers began to gather, but you saw none of it. All you saw was Wakatoshiβs pale face, his heavy breath, the weight of his blood on your hands.
βStay awake.β You begged. βPlease, Toshi, please.β
His eyes fluttered. His hand caught yours, holding it tight against his chest.
βYou called me Toshi.β He whispered.
βI donβt care who you are.β You cried, pressing your forehead to his. βPrince, knight, liar whatever name you want- I donβt care. Just stay. Please stay. You promised youβd stay with me.β
And in that moment, he smiled. Small. Pained. But real.
You kept him alive. Through the night, through the fever, through the hours where every breath seemed like it might be his last, you kept him tethered to this world with your hands and your will.
And when dawn came, he opened his eyes again.
You wept into his shoulder. He held you weakly, but held you all the same.
The villagers believed the prince had fallen in the raid. Whispers spread that the Stone Prince had been slain defending innocents, that his body had been carried off by the enemy.
But the truth was quieter. Softer.
In the little shop by the hillside, you tended his wounds. You nursed him back to health. And for the first time, he was not a prince, nor a soldier, nor a stone figure for the world to look upon.
Weeks later, when he was strong enough to stand again, you walked together through the village fields, hand in hand. The lavender had begun to bloom, and the hills smelled of summer.
βYouβll be missed.β You said softly.
He nodded. βPerhaps. But they will move on.β
βAnd you?β You asked, glancing at him. βDo you regret it?β
His hand tightened around yours.
βLeaving the crown is not a loss.β He said. βLosing you would have been.β
Your chest ached with love so sharp it almost hurt.
βI thought you had no heart.β You teased gently.
He looked down at you, his expression quiet but certain.
βYou are my heart.β He said simply.
And for once, you believed it.
The Stone Prince was gone. But the man he left behind was everything you had ever wanted.
And when the lavender bloomed that summer, he was there to see it with you.
Always.
Tags: @pizzitamia
Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added in future works! :)
Alright I may or may not be cooking up a medieval/fantasy AU series for different Haikyuu characters. I already have some of them written so Iβd like to know if you guys would be interested in reading them hahahah π€
Iβll leave a poll with the ones I already have so you can vote the one youβd like to read first (Iβll post them all eventually) and you can also let me know if you have ideas for tropes with other Haikyuu characters :)
hi where is the timeskip suna art from in your fic header from 7/6 ? love your writing btw!!
Hi! Thank you π«Άπ»
The fanart is from Loony, sheβs an artist that does a lot of Haikyuu fanart and all of it is amazing hahah. You should really check her out if you liked that one!
This is her instagram, but you can also check her out on X, Pinterest and TikTok under the same @ :)
Summary: a lazy afternoon with your boyfriend where he lets you use him as your own personal colouring book.
CW (content warning): just pure tooth rotting fluff, Suna has tattoos based on Loonyβs fanart.
AN: Hi guys! Hereβs a shorter drabble while Iβm working on finishing up a few other works hahahaha. Also I updated the list of characters I write for and added a couple of new ones. English isnβt my first language so Iβm sorry if thereβs any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of him.
Not heavy, not suffocating, but just enough to remind you that he was there. That even in sleep, Suna Rintarou always managed to find you, even if he started at the far end of the couch.
Your cheek was pressed into his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt warm and faintly smelling of laundry detergent and something distinctly him. His arm was slung loosely around your back, fingers resting idly against your spine, and one of his legs was tangled with yours, pinning you in place.
The TV hummed quietly across the room, the opening theme of some drama you hadnβt even been paying attention to anymore looping as the next episode auto-played.
It was one of those rare weekends where neither of you had anywhere to be, no practices, no meetings, no errands. Youβd started the day meaning to clean up the apartment or maybe go out for lunch. But somehow youβd ended up here instead, half-buried under a throw blanket, curled together on the couch while afternoon sunlight streamed lazily through the curtains.
You didnβt even bother checking the time anymore. Suna made a soft noise , something like a sigh and you felt his chest rise and fall beneath you.
βYou awake?β You murmured, your lips brushing his shirt.
A long pause. Then, he spoke, voice low and thick with sleep. βMm. Barely.β
You smiled against him, feeling the vibration of his voice through his ribcage. βWanna move? Orβ¦?β
He cracked one eye open to glance at you, lids heavy, expression unreadable but fond in that quiet, understated way of his. βWhy would I move when Iβm already comfortable?β
βFair point.β
You adjusted just enough to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him. His hair was a little messy from his nap, falling into his eyes. You reached up to brush it away absently and caught sight of the ink curling down his forearm.
It wasnβt the first time youβd seen his tattoos, youβd watched him get a few of them over the past couple years but something about the way the light hit them now, black and intricate against his skin, made your fingers itch to trace them.
So you did.
Starting at his wrist, you let your fingertip follow the line of one design.
Suna glanced down at you, an eyebrow quirked lazily. βWhat are you doing?β
βNothing.β You said, though your finger kept moving.
He snorted quietly, but didnβt stop you. Instead, he let his head fall back against the couch cushion, eyes fluttering shut again.
You took that as permission to continue.
The tattoos were beautiful and very him. A blend of sharp angles and flowing curves, subtle enough to peek out from under his sleeves without screaming for attention. Youβd always thought they suited him: understated, intriguing, and a little mysterious.
βDid this one hurt?β You asked softly, dragging your fingertip over a section of geometric shapes that wrapped around his elbow.
βNot really.β He murmured.
You huffed a little laugh. βYou always say that. βNot really.ββ
He cracked an eye open again to smirk at you. βThatβs because it didnβt.β
βMmhm.β You poked at his bicep playfully. βTough guy.β
βExactly.β
Still, his arm twitched under your touch, not in discomfort, but more like it tickled.
You shifted so you were half-sitting now, legs folded beside him, and kept tracing higher, to where a delicate line of ink disappeared under the sleeve of his t-shirt.
He watched you silently for a moment, then tilted his head.
βWhat?β You asked, self-conscious under his gaze.
βNothing.β He replied simply, closing his eyes again. βJust donβt stop.β
You felt your heart do a strange little flip at that, but you obeyed, dragging your fingers back down the inside of his forearm.
Then an idea struck you, one that made your lips curve into a mischievous smile.
βHey, Rin.β You said, voice light.
βMm?β
βCan Iβ¦β You hesitated, then continued, ββ¦color them in?β
That earned you a pause. His eyes opened fully this time, sharp green-gold meeting yours.
βColor them?β
You held up a pack of pastel highlighters from the coffee table, left over from some studying youβd been doing earlier in the week. βJust temporarily. You know. Like a coloring book.β
He settled back against the cushions like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, one arm draped over his stomach, the other stretched out for you to work on.
And so you began.
It was slow, careful work and you were determined to do it justice. You started with the angular shapes near his wrist, filling them in with soft lavender. Then you chose a mint green for the swooping curves along his forearm, blending it where it met the black ink.
Suna glanced at you every now and then, but otherwise stayed quiet, letting the sounds of the TV and the faint scratch of marker on skin fill the room.
When you finished one section and moved on to another, you heard him murmur under his breath:
βYou missed a spot.β
You froze, then laughed softly. βOh, so you are paying attention.β
βDidnβt say I wasnβt.β He replied, eyes still half-lidded.
You continued diligently, switching colors and occasionally blowing gently on his skin when the marker threatened to smudge.
Somewhere along the way, the afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the room in warm golds and soft shadows.
By the time you leaned back, finally satisfied, his entire left arm was a pastel masterpiece, a muted rainbow of pinks and blues and greens nestled within the dark outlines of his tattoos.
βDone.β You announced, setting the markers down and admiring your work.
Suna lazily tilted his head to inspect his arm, eyes sliding over the colors.
βCute.β He murmured finally.
βYou mean impressive.β You corrected, grinning.
βThat too.β
You started to shift away to grab your phone and snap a picture, but before you could fully pull back, his hand shot out and caught your wrist.
βWhere are you going?β He asked, his tone still casual, but there was a faint, almost petulant edge to it.
You blinked down at him. βI was just- β
βDonβt.β
His fingers wrapped around your wrist more firmly as he tugged you back down, and you found yourself settling against him again, your knees tucked beside his thigh.
βIβve already finished your arm.β You pointed out, amused.
βDoesnβt mean you should stop.β He murmured, letting his eyes fall closed again.
Your chest ached with something soft and fond as you stared at him, this six-foot-something professional athlete, all sleepy-eyed and stubborn, asking you wordlessly not to move.
So you didnβt.
You picked up another marker and found a new section of ink on his shoulder, pretending not to notice the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the quiet dialogue from the TV, the whisper of marker on skin, and the occasional sigh from him whenever you hit a particularly sensitive spot.
βYouβre gonna make me fall asleep.β He murmured after a long stretch of silence.
βThatβs fine.β You said.
βYouβll still color me in if I do?β
βOf course.β
βGood.β
You glanced up at him, at the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, at the way his lips curved faintly even in repose, and felt that strange, quiet ache in your chest again.
βRin.β You said softly.
βMm?β
βYouβre really spoiled, you know that?β
His mouth twitched, but he didnβt open his eyes. βYouβre the one spoiling me.β He murmured, voice low and warm.
You flushed at that and ducked your head back down, focusing on the next section of his tattoo.
Minutes blurred into more minutes, and eventually the highlighters ran dry or faded out, leaving only a faint haze of color over his ink.
You finally capped the last marker and set it aside, brushing your thumb over the now rainbow-splashed designs.
βThere.β You whispered. βMasterpiece complete.β
βMmβ¦β He hummed, eyes still closed.
βYouβre not even gonna look at it, are you?β You teased, poking his side lightly.
βDoesnβt matter.β He replied, voice thick with drowsiness now. βFeels nice.β
You rolled your eyes affectionately but didnβt argue, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist.
When you tried to shift away again, this time to grab a drink, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him before you could even get your feet on the floor.
You let out a surprised little laugh. βRin- β
βMm-mm.β He murmured, eyes still closed. βStay.β
βYouβre clingy today.β You accused softly, though you were already settling back into him, your head resting against his shoulder.
βNot today.β He corrected, lips curving faintly. βAlways.β
You went quiet at that, feeling your face grow warm as his fingers traced absent little circles on your side.
Neither of you spoke after that.
You let the quiet fill the room, let his warmth seep into you, let the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear lull you into that dreamy, content haze that only he could make you feel.
Eventually, his breathing evened out, and you felt him slip fully into sleep, his hold on you never loosening.
You stayed right where you were, your fingers still ghosting over the colorful patterns youβd drawn on his skin, and thought that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever.
After all, Suna Rintarou had already decided he wasnβt letting you go anytime soon.
And honestly? You didnβt mind one bit.
Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)
Summary: Heβs always been your brotherβs best friend, heβs always been there from sandcastles to high-school crushes. But somewhere along the way, he became so much more.
CW (content warning): Reader is Sugaβs little sister (a year younger than him and Daichi), jealous Daichi, very slightly angst, mutual pining, mentions of a physical fight, not much more this is 99% tooth rotting fluff.
AN: Hi guys! So hereβs the second instalment on the childhood series I talked about making on my last Atsumu work. Since Daichi is going last on my medieval AU masterlist (a crime in my opinion) I thought about making this to post something for me and the other 5 Daichiβs fans out there! π«΅π» English isnβt my first language so Iβm sorry if thereβs any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
Sandcastles (Ages 4 and 5)
The playground was loud with the kind of wild, half-screamed laughter only kids could get away with. Metal clanged, sneakers pounded on the concrete, and a ball thudded against the fence before bouncing away unnoticed. You sat by yourself in the sandbox, a little island of quiet in a world moving too fast around you.
Sugawaraβs friends were over again, he was already in first grade, and that made him cool. Too cool, apparently, to let his baby sister join their soccer game. You didnβt mind, not really. You were only four, and four-year-olds were apparently not old enough to keep up.
So you dug into the dry sand with your tiny plastic shovel, determined not to cry even though your throat felt tight. Youβd been trying to build a castle, but it kept falling apart, slumping into sad piles like your mood.
βYouβre doing it wrong.β
The voice made you look up. A boy with round cheeks, sun-warmed skin, and messy dark hair stood just outside the sandbox, a soccer ball tucked under one arm. You blinked at him. He wasnβt your brother, but youβd seen him around. He was always with Koushi.
βIβm not.β You said, lips wobbling even though you were trying to sound tough.
He tilted his head. βYou kind of are.β
You crossed your arms. βYouβre mean.β
βIβm Daichi.β He corrected instead, then stepped into the sandbox like he belonged there. βCan I help?β
You stared at him for a long second, then nodded slowly. His smile was wide and toothy, and you didnβt know it yet, but that smile would become one of your favorite things in the world.
βIβm building a castle.β You explained seriously, gesturing to the sad pile in front of you.
Daichi sat cross-legged beside you and squinted down at it. βIt looks more like a mountain.β
You pouted.
βOkay, okay! Castle. Right.β He started scooping up handfuls of sand and packing them into lumpy towers. They were terrible, worse than yours and he kept knocking them over with his elbows. But he made you laugh.
When he managed to accidentally collapse one of your towers for the third time, he dropped his chin into his hands and sighed dramatically. βIβm really bad at this.β
βYouβre terrible.β You agreed through a giggle, and that only made him grin harder.
βYou know what would make it better?β He asked suddenly. βA moat. Castles always have moats.β
Together, you spent the next twenty minutes digging a crooked, shallow circle around your βcastleβ Daichi got sand in his socks and down the back of his shirt. You both ended up dirty and sun-warmed and happy.
When Koushi came running over to tell Daichi you were going home soon, you felt a little pang in your chest.
βBye!β You said, waving your sandy hand.
βBye!β He said, then paused. βYou build really good castles.β
Your face lit up.
That was the very first time Daichi Sawamura made your heart feel a little bit bigger.
Daichi bolted across the grass, arms pumping, sneakers kicking up dirt. He was fast, always had been, but the older kids had longer legs, and that meant he had to try harder to keep up. He liked that. It made him feel strong. Grown-up.
Until, of course, he didnβt see the root sticking up in the grass. His foot caught. His body pitched forward, and he hit the ground hard.
βDAICHI!β Koushi yelled.
βIβm fine!β He called back instantly, sitting up fast even though his knees burned and stung. His palms were scraped too, small pebbles sticking to the torn skin. It hurt.
But boys didnβt cry, right?
Still, his lip was trembling a little as he brushed at his knee. There was blood. Not a lot, but enough to make his stomach feel weird. He looked up and saw Sugawara running toward him, panic written all over his face.
And then he saw you, a small blur of pink and pigtails breaking into a run across the grass, your little shoes thudding hard. Daichi quickly looked down again.
βDaichi!β You called, breathless by the time you dropped to your knees beside him. βYouβre bleeding!β
ββM okay.β He mumbled.
But you were already digging into the tiny pink Hello Kitty pouch you carried everywhere. Out came a tissue, slightly crumpled but clean, and a bandaid decorated with sparkly stars.
You dabbed carefully at his knee, tongue peeking out in concentration. βYouβre not okay.β You said matter-of-factly. βBut itβs okay to cry, you know.β
He looked at you, wide-eyed.
βYouβre allowed to cry.β You repeated gently, and then, without warning, you blew softly on his scraped knee.
Daichi blinked fast. He didnβt cry, not really, but his shoulders dropped, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit.
You peeled the bandaid and smoothed it over the cut with gentle fingers.
βThere!β You said beaming up at him. βAll better.β
And he looked at you like youβd just fixed the world.
You stood just off-stage, fingers twitching with nerves. The recital hall was bigger than you remembered. The polished black piano sat center stage like a challenge, and the rows of folding chairs were filled with strangers. Parents. Teachers. Judges.
Not your parents, though.
They wanted to come. They really did. But Koushi had a fever over 102, and your mom couldnβt leave his side. Your dad stayed too, and though you told them it was okay, your voice had cracked on the word.
You knew it wasnβt their fault but your stomach still twisted with disappointment as your name was called.
The walk to the piano felt miles long. You sat on the bench, placed your hands on the keys, and took a shaky breath.
You started to play. The first few notes were hesitant, your fingers stumbling, but muscle memory took over. You got lost in the melody, pouring your heart into the piece youβd practiced for weeks. It wasnβt perfect, but it was yours. When the final note faded, there was polite applause.
You stood, bowed, and left the stage with your hands trembling. Your throat burned. You werenβt going to cry, not here, not in front of everyone but it was close.
You stepped out into the hallway, wiping at your eyes before they could spill over.
βHey.β
You jumped.
Daichi stood there, awkward in a button-up shirt that didnβt fit him quite right and jeans a little too long. His hair was combed for once. He held a crumpled bouquet of flowers, yellow daisies and babyβs breath tied together with a string.
Your mouth dropped open. βWhat are you doing here?β
He shrugged one shoulder. βKoushi said you had your recital. Your parents couldnβt come, so Iβ¦ figured someone should.β
Your hands curled around the bouquet automatically. βYou came?β
βI was a little late.β He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. βBut I saw the whole thing. You were amazing.β
You blinked fast. βI messed up at the start.β
βBut you kept going. And you didnβt run offstage crying or throw the piano stool or anything. So, yeah. Amazing.β
You laughed, half-choked and half-sniffled. βThatβs a bit dumb.β
βMaybe.β He grinned. βBut I brought flowers.β
You stared at the yellow petals, heart warm and aching. The hallway was quiet now, just the two of you. You didnβt say anything for a moment. βThank you.β
Daichi looked at you, softer than usual. βAnytime.β
Koushi was stuck finishing an assignment, and Daichi had come home from the overnight school camp sick, like really sick. Fever, sore throat, barely-talking kind of sick. His mom called in to say heβd be home for at least two days. And with the teachers sending over homework, someone had to drop it off.
So, Koushi looked at you. "Please?"
You grumbled a little, but truthfully? You didnβt mind.
You arrived at the Sawamurasβ place after school, your backpack heavier than usual and the plastic folder of assignments crumpling slightly in your grip. Daichiβs mom answered the door, soft-eyed and frazzled, thanking you a little too many times as she let you in.
βHeβs upstairs.β She said. βBeen sleeping most of the day, but maybe hearing a friendβs voice will help.β
You didnβt correct her. You werenβt sure what to call it friendship didnβt feel like enough anymore. But it was easier that way. Koushi surely was Daichiβs friend but you werenβt exactly sure what you were to him.
Daichiβs room was warm and dim when you pushed the door open gently.
He looked⦠awful. His face was flushed, dark hair stuck to his forehead, mouth slightly parted as he breathed raggedly through a stuffed-up nose. A cold cloth lay half-slid off his head, and the blanket was tangled around his legs.
You set your bag down quietly and crossed over to the bed. βHey.β You whispered. βItβs me.β
No response.
You bit your lip, then climbed into the chair by his bedside. You picked up the fallen cloth and stood to re-wet it from the bowl on the nightstand, wringing it out and gently placing it back across his forehead.
Still nothing.
You sighed, then leaned your chin into your hand and began to talk. About school. About your teachers. About how Koushi nearly got detention for talking back to the gym coach. You told him about the vending machine that swallowed your money and about how your lunch had tasted weird but not bad, and how the clouds looked like mashed potatoes that day.
At some point, you looked down and realized heβd turned his face slightly toward your voice.
You reached for his hand. It was warm too warm, but he didnβt let go.
You stayed there, fingers wrapped around his and words spilling quietly into the air. You didnβt even realize how much time had passed until Daichi muttered something under his breath.
You froze.
βWhat was that?β
He twitched slightly. A soft, strained sound left him. β...βm sorryβ¦β
You frowned, leaning closer. βDaichi?β
His eyes stayed closed, breath shallow. Then, barely above a whisper,your name. Just your name, drifting out like an anchor in a fever dream. Your heart climbed right into your throat.
βIβm here.β You whispered back instinctively. βIβve got you.β
He didnβt reply again. But his hand never let go and you swore he held on tighter for a moment.
You werenβt quite sure when it started to feel like something more.
There wasnβt a single moment, but a series of them, threaded together like tiny lights on a string, warm and blinking and easy to miss unless you really looked.
At his matches, you were always in the front row. Screaming his name when he served, clapping until your palms stung. You learned the game slowly, enough to keep up. Enough to see the way his eyes found you first when he landed a good spike. Always you.
At movie nights with the team, he always saved you a seat. Never said it outright, but it was always there, the spot beside him, the bowl of popcorn between you, the way heβd tilt the box of juice toward you first before taking one himself.
Once, Nishinoya tried to take your usual seat as a joke. Daichi didnβt even say anything, just gave him a look. That was all it took.
Noya grinned. βOkay, okay, got it. βPrincessβ seat.ββ
You rolled your eyes.
Daichi didnβt say a word.
But he smiled when you sat beside him anyway.
On rainy days, heβd offer his umbrella before you could ask. βYou can give it back tomorrow.β Heβd say, rubbing the back of his neck while the rain soaked his shoulders. You gave it back the next day every time. And somehowβ¦ it always smelled like him after.
When your cat died, he walked three blocks to your house even though it was a school night. Said he brought homework from Koushi but he never opened the folder. He just sat with you, quiet, legs crossed on your bedroom floor as you cried. When he finally left that night, your pillow smelled like his hoodie.
There was nothing romantic about it. Not yet. It wasnβt flirting. It was more. It was trust, built soft and slow. It was knowing that you could fall asleep in the middle of a movie night and wake up with a blanket over your shoulders and Daichiβs jacket folded beneath your head. It was brushing hands accidentally in the popcorn bowl and not pulling away. It was watching him laugh and not knowing why it made your chest ache.
It was all the things neither of you had words for. Not yet, but something was coming.
And somewhere in the space between childhood and whatever came next, the two of you had become each otherβs safest place.
You never knew that watching someone get confessed to could hurt.
It was spring, and the hallways smelled like too many flowers and teenage hope. First-years were already rushing to get their chocolates ready for Valentineβs Day, and second-years were just starting to get bold with handwritten letters and awkward hallway meetups.
Daichi was tall and broad-shouldered by then Captain material, dependable and easy to talk to, with a smile that made even the teachers melt.
You saw it happen again and again: a girl standing with her hands clenched around a ribbon-tied box, red-cheeked and trembling. And Daichi, polite as ever, bowing his head with that apologetic smile that never quite reached his eyes.
βIβm really sorry. Thank you, though.β
And the girl would wilt a little, whisper it was okay, then rush away.
He never accepted. Not once.
And you didnβt know why it twisted your stomach the way it did. Why your heart sped up every time someone even looked at him like that. Why you caught yourself searching his face for a reaction he never gave. Why part of you felt strangely relieved when he turned them all down.
It made no sense. He wasnβt yours. He never had been. Still, every time he smiled at someone else, even just to say βnoβ, something inside you clenched like a fist.
You didnβt have a word for it back then. But it lived in you, quiet and constant. A dull, aching gravity.
It started with a name youβd gotten tired of hearing. Kento Takagi. He was a second-year, he was tall, annoying, way too smug. The first time he asked you out, you were polite. The second time, you were firm.
The third time, you ignored him completely. By the sixth time, you were one deep breath away from shoving your school shoe directly into his face.
You were standing just outside the school gates, trying to pack your books into your bag, when he approached again. βCome on, just one date.β He said, reaching for your wrist when you turned away. βYouβre not even giving me a chance-β
βLet go.β You snapped.
Thatβs when you heard the sharp voice from behind you.
βShe said let go.β
You turned. Sugawara got there first, stepping between you and Kento like a calm wall of sunshine and thinly veiled menace. βYouβve asked her enough times. Sheβs not interested. Take the hint.β
You couldβve hugged him.
But it was Daichi who arrived seconds later, face unreadable, steps deliberate.
Kento scoffed. βSeriously? Youβve got two bodyguards now?β
And that was when he grabbed your arm again. That was his mistake.
Daichi shoved between you before you could react, his hand closing around Kentoβs wrist like steel. βAre you deaf?β His voice low and cold, βShe told you to let go.β
Kento sneered. βWhatβs it to you? You her boyfriend or something?β
It happened too fast. Daichiβs fist swung clean and hard - crack - straight into Kentoβs jaw. The other boy stumbled backward, clutching his face, spitting curses and blood.
βDAICHI!β Sugawara shouted.
Your heart dropped. βWhat- ?!β
And then the teachers were there, and everything blurred, raised voices, hands pulling them apart, Kento wailing about βassaultβ and Daichi just standing there, jaw clenched, breathing hard, knuckles bleeding.
One week. After school. Report filed, parents notified.
You waited for him anyway.
You sat on the stone steps just outside the gym, watching the sun dip low behind the school roof. You werenβt sure if heβd even want you there after what happened, but your legs stayed glued to the steps.
He came out just as the light started to fade.
βHey.β You said.
He paused. βYou waited?β
βDuh.β You muttered, standing. βWho else is gonna yell at you for punching a guy like an idiot?β
A smile tugged at his mouth, tired and faint. He didnβt say anything else.
You walked side by side in silence for a while, the wind tugging at your sleeves, leaves skittering across the sidewalk. His hand hovered just a few inches from yours, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of it.
You didnβt move away.
When you finally reached your street, you caught the way he flexed his fingers, bruised and red, still split at the knuckles.
βCome here.β You said quietly, turning into your driveway instead. βLet me clean that.β
He didnβt argue. You sat him down at the kitchen counter and pulled out the first aid box. He sat obediently, arm resting on the table, watching as you opened the kit with practiced hands.
The light in the kitchen was soft, gold and humming. You dipped a cotton ball into antiseptic, glancing at him before pressing it gently to the raw skin. βThis is probably going to sting.β
βIβve had worse.β He muttered.
You didnβt ask when. You didnβt like thinking about him getting hurt. You worked slowly, carefully, dabbing at the scrapes and cuts, the silence between you thick with things unsaid.
βYou didnβt have to do that.β You said finally, voice too soft. βI couldβve handled it.β
Daichi didnβt look away from you. βHe shouldnβt have touched you.β
Your chest tightened. βStillβ¦β
He shook his head slightly. βI donβt care if I got detention. Iβd do it again.β
Your fingers paused over the edge of a bandage. The weight of the moment pressed between you. You wrapped the gauze slowly, smoothing it flat over his knuckles. Your hands lingered on his, thumbs grazing gently across his skin.
He wasnβt looking away. Neither were you. You could feel his breath, short and uneven. His hand turned slightly, palm brushing yours.
βDaichiβ¦β You whispered.
His eyes dropped to your lips. Your heart stopped. He leaned in-
-and then pulled back, sharp and sudden.
His chair scraped softly against the tile. βThanks.β He said, voice too stiff. βForβ¦ patching me up.β
You sat frozen, heart pounding, mouth still parted like a question. He didnβt look at you again as he stood to leave.
And just like that, the moment passed, too big, too heavy, too much for two people still pretending they didnβt already belong to each other.
It crept in slowly, quietly, like a song youβd heard too many times to really hear until one day, it cracked you wide open.
It was in the way he laughed, full and real, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flutter.
It was the way he always noticed when something was off. The way he handed you your favorite drink without being asked. The way he texted you before every exam: Youβve got this. I believe in you.
It was the way he looked at you after matches, chest still heaving, sweat dripping down his temple but his eyes always found you in the crowd first. Always you.
It was in the small things. Because thatβs where Daichi always lived.
And one night, alone in your room, scrolling through the blurry picture Suga had taken of you and Daichi at the last team festival, him smiling wide, your cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, you felt it all at once.
You loved him.
It wasnβt loud or dramatic. It just was. And it hurt. Because he had never said anything. He had pulled away from you that night with bruised knuckles and trembling silence. And despite everything you thought you saw in his eyes, he had never crossed the line.
Not once.
So maybeβ¦ he really did just see you as Koushiβs little sister. Someone heβd always protected. Someone who had always been around. Familiar. Comfortable.
You told yourself it was fine. That you understood. But the ache in your chest said otherwise.
He was sweet. Polite. Sat next to you in art class and smelled like peppermint and clean laundry. He made you laugh with his bad puns, and once stayed behind to help you carry paints back to the storage room.
And then one day, after class, heart in his hands, he confessed.
You blinked at him for a long second. βWait, me?β
Riku flushed. βYeah. I know itβs kind of sudden, and you probably donβt see me that way, but I justβ¦ I thought Iβd try. One date. Thatβs all Iβm asking.β
You hesitated. Then you said yes. Not because you didnβt love Daichi. But because he didnβt love you back and, maybe, if someone else looked at you like that, like you were the one theyβd been hoping for, maybe it would be enough to forget the feeling of being invisible to the only boy who had ever mattered.
Daichi didnβt find out from you. He found out from Koushi.
It was after practice, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, everyone sprawled out in the gym, sweat and laughter hanging thick in the air. Koushi was chatting absentmindedly about weekend plans, tossing his water bottle from hand to hand.
βYeah, I think [Y/N]βs got a date with that Yamamoto kid.β He said casually, wiping his forehead.
Daichi froze. βWhat?β
Koushi looked up. βHuh? Oh, Riku. You know, from Class 2-C? She said he asked her out and she figured, why not.β
The air shifted. Daichiβs grip on his towel tightened.
βOh.β He said, flat and hollow.
Koushi paused, brows furrowing. βYou okay?β
βYeah.β Daichi lied. βFine.β
But he wasnβt. Something cold and sick settled deep in his chest, and it didnβt move.
You didnβt hear from him for two days. No texts. No calls. Not even a glance when you passed in the hallway. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But by the second day, your chest was too tight to ignore it anymore.
You cornered him after practice, outside the locker room, where the hallway was dim and empty.
βDaichi.β You said, breathless. βWhy are you avoiding me?β
He turned, slowly, sweat still clinging to his hairline. βIβm not.β
βYou are. You havenβt talked to me in two days.β
He shrugged, expression unreadable. βBeen busy.β
βWith what? Pretending I donβt exist?β
He flinched,just barely, but you caught it.
βYouβre mad.β You said. βWhy?β
βIβm not mad.β
βThen what is it?β
He looked away. βIt doesnβt matter.β
βYes, it does!β Your voice cracked. βJust say it, Daichi! If youβre upset, then say it! Why have you been avoiding me since Koushi told you that I was going on a date?!β
And then it hit like thunder, loud and raw, shoving out of him before he could stop it. βBecause I- β
But he stopped.
Your breath hitched. βBecause you what?β
Daichi stared at you, chest rising and falling. And then- Nothing. Silence. He looked down, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.
You laughed, bitter and broken. βRight. Thatβs what I thought.β
He reached for you instinctively. βWait- β
You stepped back. βNo.β You said. βYou donβt get to do this. You donβt get to get jealous and act like you care and then say nothing.β
Tears stung your eyes.
βIβve spent years loving you, Daichi.β You whispered. βAnd I thoughtβ¦ maybe you felt something too. But you never said anything. You just left me hanging. And now I finally say yes to someone else, and now you care?β
He looked shattered.
You shook your head, blinking hard. βIβm not doing this anymore.β You said as you turned and walked away.
Daichi stood frozen in the hallway long after you were gone, gutted and ghost-silent, realizing too late that maybe the biggest mistake heβd ever made was thinking silence would keep you safe.
He went through practice like a ghost, movements tight, eyes distant. He forgot to bring his lunch two days in a row. He barely spoke unless someone asked him a direct question. When he did speak, it was flat, empty, like someone else had taken up residence in his chest.
He still couldnβt believe it. Heβd hurt you. You, the one person heβd sworn to never hurt. And heβd done it not with his fists, not with his voice, but with his silence. It was almost worse.
βOkay, Iβve had enough.β Sugawara said, finally slamming his bento box down during lunch break.
Daichi blinked across the bench. βHuh?β
βYouβre miserable. [Y/N]βs miserable. Everyone within a 10-meter radius of you two is miserable. And Iβm tired of being the only emotionally functioning person in this hellhole.β
βI- β Daichi started.
βNo. Shut up and listen to me.β
Sugawara leaned forward, voice dropping low, expression dead serious.
βIβve known you my whole life. Youβve been my best friend since we were basically in diapers. And I knew. I knew you were in love with her before you did.β
Daichi stared, color draining from his face.
βYou used to look at her like she was the whole damn world. Still do, honestly. But the second someone else looked at her that way? You freaked. You got scared. And instead of saying something, you broke her heart.β
Daichi swallowed hard. βI didnβt mean to- β
βI know.β Sugawara said gently. βThatβs the problem.β
A beat of silence.
Then Suga sighed, raking a hand through his hair before adding with brutal softness, βYouβre my best friend, Daichi. I trust you. But if you make her cry againβ¦β He leaned in, all warmth gone. βIβll make sure you never have kids.β
Daichi choked. βJesus- β
βI mean it.β
βI know, thatβs what makes it worse.β
βNow go fix it.β Suga said, softening again. βBefore someone else does.β
Riku was kind. He held your hand when you let him. He smiled when he looked at you. He paid attention. He didnβt try to be anything other than himself. He wasβ¦ safe
But he wasnβt Daichi. He didnβt notice the way you only ever half-laughed. He didnβt know that you hated sour candy but kept a pack in your bag because Daichi liked it.
He didnβt know that the piano pieces you played the most were the ones Daichi had once said made him feel like flying.
And it wasnβt fair to either of you.
So one quiet afternoon after class, you sat on the bleachers behind the school and looked at Rikuβs warm, patient face and whispered. βIβm sorry.β
He smiled, sad but understanding. βI figured.β
βNo hard feelings?β
He shook his head. βYou donβt forget someone like him. I wouldnβt want to compete with that either.β
You laughed, choked and wet and when he hugged you goodbye, you didnβt cry. Because the only person who could make you cry like thatβ¦ was the one who already had.
It was three days after you ended things with Riku when the knock came at your door. You opened it and froze.
Daichi stood there on your porch, rain misting through his hair, his hoodie clinging slightly to his shoulders like heβd run here even though the walk wasnβt far.
His eyes were wide. Nervous. He looked wrecked.
βHeyβ¦.β He said, breathless. βCan Iβ¦ talk to you?β
You nodded, heart pounding. He stepped in, water dripping from his sleeves. He didnβt sit. Just stood there, shifting like he couldnβt figure out how to stand still.
βI heard you broke up with Riku.β
You blinked. βHow- ?β
βSuga.β He admitted. Of course.
You wrapped your arms around yourself. βIf you came to say I shouldnβt have- β
βNo.β He said immediately, almost desperately. βNo. Thatβs not why I came.β He inhaled like it hurt. βI came because I shouldβve said something. A long time ago. And Iβm scared if I donβt say it now, Iβll never get another chance.β
You froze. He looked at you then, all soft vulnerability and breaking open.
βIβve been in love with you since I was eight and you made me those stupid flower crowns at the park.β He said, voice cracking. βI didnβt even know what that meant back then, I just knew that when you smiled at me, I felt like the sun was coming up inside my chest.β
Your breath caught.
βYouβve always been more than just Sugaβs little sister to me. Youβve been my best friend, my safe place, my home. And I was an idiot for thinking that staying quiet was somehow protecting you. I thought if I kept things the same, if I stayed in that βsafeβ space, youβd never leave. But I hurt you instead.β
You didnβt move. Couldnβt even breathe.
He shifted, eyes wide and panicked. βI- I donβt know if you can forgive me. I get it if youβre done. I just- β He ran a hand through his hair. βI just had to tell you. Because I meant it. Every time I looked at you I couldnβt pull my eyes away because youβre the most beautiful thing Iβve ever seen. And I didnβt know how to say it then, but I do now, and- β
βDaichi.β You whispered.
He froze mid-ramble. βWhat- ?β
βJust shut up.β You stepped forward and kissed him.
Soft. Slow. Certain. And he melted.
Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, his cheeks cold from the rain. His fingers trembled as they touched your waist, like he still couldnβt believe you were real.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you smiled.
βWelcome home.β You whispered.
He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sob at once and held you like heβd never let go again.
Later that night, curled up beside him on the couch, the soft glow of the TV washing over your skin, Daichi whispered. βI was so scared youβd moved on.β
βI tried.β You murmured into his shoulder. βDidnβt work.β
He chuckled. βGood.β
You tilted your head to look at him. βWhat about Suga?β
βI already got the threat.β He said, deadpan. βSomething about not having kids?β
You grinned. βSounds like him.β
Daichi leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. βWorth it.β
You sighed into his chest. It had taken you years but you were here now. No more almosts. No more silence. Just the two of you, finally.
The moment you told Koushi, you were terrified. Not because you thought heβd be mad. You knew your brother, heβd probably suspected it for years.
But because Daichi, the captain of Karasunoβs volleyball team, defender of justice and protector of your heart, had gone completely pale.
βOkay, okay.β You whispered, gripping his hand. βHeβs not going to kill you.β
βI donβt know.β Daichi muttered. βHe did threaten to neuter me.β
βOkay, valid.β
So naturally, when you finally told him one evening after dinner, it went exactly as expected and also, somehow, worse.
You sat him down in the living room. Daichi looked like he was preparing for a firing squad. You reached for his hand and took a deep breath.
βKoushi.β You said gently. βWe have something to tell you.β
He blinked.
Daichi cleared his throat. βIβ¦ Iβm dating your sister.β
A beat. Koushi saw the opportunity of his life and he was going to milk it. His eyes narrowed, slowly, like a cat sensing prey.
βMy best friend.β He said. βMy lifelong best friend.β
Daichi nodded, bracing. βYes.β
βMy sister.β Koushi added. βWho I have known since she was a literal embryo.β
βCorrect.β
He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. βBetrayal. My blood. My captain. Youβve conspired under my very nose!β
βOh my god.β You groaned. βKoushi, please.β
βI leave you two alone for five seconds and suddenly thereβs hand holding in my house? Kissing under my roof?β
Daichi was already hiding behind a throw pillow. But then Koushi dropped the act, grinning so wide it made your eyes sting.
βTook you long enough.β He said, eyes kind. βGod. Youβve been making heart eyes at each other since grade school.β
You blinked. βYouβre notβ¦ mad?β
βPlease.β He scoffed. βYou think Iβd have let just anyone get close to you like that? Iβve been waiting for you idiots to figure it out.β
You exhaled, relief slumping your shoulders.
Then he added with a smirk, βBut I swear, if I walk in on you making out, I will bleach my eyeballs.β
He did in in fact, end up walking in on you making out.
To be fair, you thought he was out with the team. And Daichi thought the coast was clear.
So when he kissed you against the kitchen counter, slow and thorough you tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he whispered something that made your knees weak-
βOH MY GOD- β
You both leapt apart like guilty teenagers caught red-handed.
Koushiβs face was scarlet. βI eat there! The counter!β
Daichi was already halfway behind the fridge door.
You covered your face. βKoushi, we werenβt- β
Karasunoβs gym was buzzing with laughter and soft music, the crowd a sea of uniforms and proud parents. You were practically vibrating with excitement, your camera hanging from your neck, phone fully charged.
You spotted them immediately.
Daichi, sharp in his black gakuran, shoulders broad, smile wide and Koushi, looking radiant as ever, waving his arms dramatically from a distance.
You ran toward them and threw your arms around Daichi first, nearly knocking the wind out of him. βYou did it!β
He laughed, wrapping you up tight. βWe did it.β
You pulled back only to be immediately seized by your brother.
βBetrayed.β Koushi said, loud and overdramatic. βIβm also graduating, and yet you run to him first? My own kin? Have you no shame?β
You rolled your eyes, grinning. βYouβll live.β
βWill I?β
βYou got three flower bouquets, and I saw someone slip you their number.β
βOkay, Iβll live.β
Daichi chuckled, eyes fond as he watched the two of you bicker. Then he slipped his hand into yours, just like he always had. Only now, it meant something.
You leaned your head on his shoulder. You didnβt say it, but he felt it anyway. Iβm proud of you.
That night, you sat together on the roof of Daichiβs house, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the stars just starting to peek out. He was quiet beside you, his hand warm over yours.
βSoβ¦.β You said softly. βWhat now?β
He smiled. βPolice academy starts in a few weeks.β
You nodded. βYouβre going to be amazing.β
βWhat about you?β
βIβve got one more year.β You said. βAnd thenβ¦ music school, maybe. I want to teach. Or compose. Maybe both.β
He looked at you like the stars were in your skin.
βIβll be cheering for you.β He said.
You glanced sideways. βLong-distance okay with you?β
βOnly if you promise to send me songs.β He said. βAnd let me visit you on weekends.β
βDeal.β
You were quiet for a while, the breeze soft around you.
Then Daichi added, voice barely above a whisper. βI want a future with you, you know.β
You looked at him, heart stuttering.
βNot just dating. I meanβ¦ life. You. Me. Someday.β He kissed your temple. βI already wasted years of our lives because I was too scared to say something, I plan on spending the rest with you.β
Your throat tightened.
βGood.β You whispered, squeezing his hand. βBecause I do too.β
He leaned in, kissed you slow and sweet and everything, the years of near misses, quiet heartbreak, ache and waiting,clicked into place.
Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)
Summary: what happens when you decide to prank your sweet, dramatic boyfriend by not saying βI love you backβ.
CW (content warning): nothing really, just dramatic Bokuto and his antics, purely fluffy.
AN: Hi guys! Thanks you for all the love on my other works, it really means a lot π«Άπ» Iβm working on the medieval AUβs that I put on the poll yesterday (they are mostly done, just giving them some finishing touches and Iβll post them in order of most voted). English isnβt my first language so Iβm sorry if thereβs any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
You knew the risk you were taking the moment you thought of it.
Bokuto Koutarou, your boyfriend of two years, was⦠intense. Emotional. Dramatic, even. You adored him for it though, his heart was too big for his chest, his feelings written all over his face, his love for you loud and warm and endless.
It was why, when you stumbled on a TikTok about pranking your boyfriend by not saying βI love youβ back, youβd laughed to yourself. Because if anyone would react spectacularly, it would be Bokuto.
So here you were, curled up on his couch in his apartment on a rainy Saturday afternoon, half-watching some volleyball match he had recorded while scrolling through your phone.
Bokuto sat beside you, legs spread, one of your thighs slung over his lap as if he couldnβt stand not being touching you somehow. Every so often heβd glance down at you and grin, that big, sunbeam smile that made you feel like the luckiest girl alive and mutter something like, βGod, youβre cute,β or βHowβd I get so lucky, huh?β and your stomach would flutter, as always.
So when the next commercial break rolled around, he leaned back on the couch, stretched, and tugged your phone right out of your hands.
βHey!β You protested, reaching for it, but he just laughed and tucked it in his hoodie pocket.
βYouβre not even watching the game.β He pouted, nuzzling his face into your neck, his hair tickling your jaw. βYouβd rather stare at your little screen than me?β
βYou are insufferable.β You muttered, though you couldnβt help laughing as you ran your fingers through his hair and he let out a content sigh.
He pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek. βBut you love me anyway.β
And here was your chance.
You swallowed a smirk and looked back at the screen instead of him. βHm.β
Bokuto froze against you.
It took a second, but you felt it: his head lifted slightly, his shoulders stiffened, his hands loosened around your waist as if unsure whether they were still welcome.
βHm?β
You kept your face neutral and adverted your gaze towards the TV screen, pretending to look distracted. βYeah.β
He blinked at you, brows furrowed. βYou didnβt say it back.β
Your pulse quickened, this was already more effective than you thought itβd be. Still, you kept your tone even. βDidnβt say what back?β
βThe thing.β He said, waving vaguely at you. βI said I love you. And you saidβ¦ βhm.ββ
You finally looked at him and nearly cracked. His golden eyes were wide, a little wounded, like youβd just kicked a puppy.
βOh.β You said lightly, hiding a smile. βRight. Sorry. Hm.β
His mouth fell open. βHm?!β
You bit the inside of your cheek and stood up under the pretense of grabbing water from the kitchen. Behind you, you could hear him scramble up from the couch.
βWait! Hold on!β
You turned halfway, feigning confusion. βWhat?β
He stood there, arms out like he didnβt know what to do with them, his expression somewhere between panic and offense. βYou- you always say it back. You- you say βI love you too,β or βI love you more,β or- or something! Not- β He mimicked you poorly. ββHm!ββ
You opened the fridge, ducking your head to hide your grin. βWeβve been together a long time, Koutarou. Do I really have to say it every single time?β
βYes?!β He cried, voice cracking on the word.
Oh, God. You had to press your lips together to keep from laughing outright.
When you closed the fridge and turned back, he was still standing there looking completely flabbergasted.
βWaitβ¦β He said slowly. His eyes narrowed. βYouβre not mad at me, are you? Did I- did I do something? Are you mad?β
You sipped your water and gave a little shrug. βDonβt think so.β
He just⦠stared at you. You could practically see his brain short-circuiting. Then, with sudden determination, he marched up to you and put his hands on your shoulders, bending slightly to peer into your face.
βOkay.β He declared, βI donβt know what I did, but whatever it was, Iβm sorry.β
You raised a brow. βFor what?β
βForβ¦ whatever I did!β His hands dropped to his sides, helpless. βWas it last night? Did I steal all the blankets? Or, um, this morning. Oh! Was it because I finished the last of the cereal?! Iβll go buy more right now- β
You shook your head, utterly deadpan. βNope.β
He gasped quietly. βOh my god. Is there someone else?β
That one made you actually snort. βKoutarou!β
βWell you didnβt say it back!β He defended, throwing his hands up. βThatβs like- thatβs like- rule number one of dating! Say it back!β
You bit your lip. βMaybe I just donβt feel like saying it right now?β
His jaw dropped, his eyes growing even wider. βDonβtβ¦ feel like saying itβ¦?β He repeated, voice faint.
You set your water down and walked back to the couch, settling back down casually. βMhm.β
For a long moment, he didnβt move. βOkay. Okay. No big deal. Youβre just- youβre just messing with me. Thatβs it. Youβre kidding. Youβre- youβre pranking me. Ha. Ha-ha.β
You only hummed in reply.
He stared at you for a full ten seconds before dramatically flopping onto the couch, draping himself across your lap like a dying man.
βBaby.β He groaned, burying his face in your stomach. βDonβt do this to me. You canβt just- you canβt just not say it back. Itβs cruel. Itβs torture. You know Iβll die.β
You idly played with his hair, still keeping your face carefully blank.
βBaby.β He tried again, peeking up at you with big, pitiful eyes. βPlease? Just say it? Once? And then you can go back to ignoring me or whatever.β
You gave him a tiny smile and said nothing.
He gasped again, clutching his chest like youβd stabbed him there. βOh my god. Iβm being punished. This is what hell feels like. You donβt love me anymore.β
At that, you finally let yourself laugh softly. But Bokuto didnβt even notice. He sat up suddenly, his hair sticking out in all directions, and pointed at you.
βDonβt laugh!β He accused. βThis is serious! You canβt just- β He broke off with another groan and flopped backward dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. βYou donβt love me anymore and now I have to become a lonely hermit who lives in the mountains and befriends squirrels because no one else will ever love me again.β
You cracked, at that. You absolutely lost it, doubling over in laughter. Bokuto sat up again, eyes narrowing.
βWait.β
You tried, and failed, to stop laughing as he stared at you.
βWait a secondβ¦.β He said slowly.
You ducked your head, still giggling.
βYou little- !β He lunged at you, tackling you back into the couch cushions. You shrieked and laughed as he buried his face in your neck and started tickling your sides mercilessly.
βYouβre pranking me?!β He demanded between tickles. βYou think this is funny?!β
βYes!β You gasped out through laughter, squirming under him. βYes- okay! Stop, stop!β
He finally relented, pulling back just enough to scowl at you, though it was undermined by the faint grin tugging at his lips.
βYouβre evil.β He informed you gravely.
Still breathless, you cupped his cheeks and smiled up at him. βBut you love me anyway.β
He made a noise of indignation but then leaned down to kiss you hard. all messy affection and dramatic flair.
When he finally pulled back, he glared at you half-heartedly. βYouβre lucky youβre cute.β He muttered, pressing another quick kiss to your nose.
You bit back a smile. βYou were really about to move to the mountains and befriend squirrels?β
βYes!β He said indignantly, sitting up and crossing his arms. βWhat was I supposed to think?! You always say it back! And then you just- didnβt! I thought my world was ending!β
You sat up as well and wrapped your arms around his middle, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was still fast and his arms instinctively came up to hold you tight.
βIβm sorry.β You murmured, looking up at him sweetly. βYou forgive me?β
He looked down at you, still pouting slightly, but you could see the affection in his eyes.
βSay it.β He demanded.
You tilted your head. βSay what?β
βYou know what!β
You smiled softly. βI love you, Koutarou.β
His whole face lit up like someone had flipped a switch and all the light came pouring back in.
βI love you too!!β He practically yelled, scooping you up and spinning you around before dropping back onto the couch with you in his lap.
You couldnβt stop laughing as he peppered your face with kisses, mumbling, βDonβt ever scare me like that again.β Between each one.
βOkay, okay.β You giggled, kissing his cheek. βI promise.β
But when he finally settled back, arms wrapped tight around you and chin on your shoulder, you could still hear him muttering under his breath.
ββHm,β she says. Unbelievable. Gonna give me a heart attack before Iβm thirtyβ¦β
You just buried your face in his hoodie and smiled.
Mission accomplished.
Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)
This isnt a request but i wanted you to know how much hatred i have for your haikyuu au series poll HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE ONLY ONE OUT OF ALL THE GOOD OPTIONS?????? i fell for kuroo's choice bc i think its SOO CUTE but id love to see the iwaizumi fics some day if you do decide to do them!
The way my heart sunk when I read the first part of this hahahaha π The ones on the poll are the ones I already have written (I just have to tweak them a little and give them some finishing touches but they are mostly done) so Iβll post all of them, just in order of most to least voted π€
Also Iβm still open to hearing ideas for other tropes with different characters in case any of you want to share them hahahah
Iβm already thinking of Poet!Prince!Eita Semi x Mermaid!Reader and Prince!Oikawa x Princess!Reader.
(Kurooβs one is my favourite of the bunch I think so good choice)
Alright I may or may not be cooking up a medieval/fantasy AU series for different Haikyuu characters. I already have some of them written so Iβd like to know if you guys would be interested in reading them hahahah π€
Iβll leave a poll with the ones I already have so you can vote the one youβd like to read first (Iβll post them all eventually) and you can also let me know if you have ideas for tropes with other Haikyuu characters :)
Maybe (please) reader who often styles goth and oikawa getting giddy over it
Thanksies so much <3
Hii π God I canβt believe I almost accidentally missed this request hahahah Iβm halfway through two other works but Iβll get to this as soon as Iβm done with them so be on the lookout for it
Thanks for the request and giving me the push to make this blog to post my Haikyuu stuff hahaha π€
Summary: Atsumu Miya has been pulling her pigtails since they were six. What started as teasing turned into years of bickering, tension, and stubborn feelings neither of them could name.
CW (content warning): Atsumu is kind of a warning himself, childhood βfriendsβ (if you can even call them that) to lovers, slight angst but mostly fluff.
AN: Hi guys! Thank you so much for all the love on my Ushijima post Iβm so happy you enjoyed it π«Άπ» This was requested so I hope I made it justice. Also I had a lot of fun writing this and Iβm thinking of making a series of childhood friends to lovers with different characters so be on the lookout for that hahah. English isnβt my first language so Iβm sorry if thereβs any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
The sun was warm on the sandbox that day, casting gold across the schoolyard like confetti. Six-year-old [Y/N] sat cross-legged in the middle of it, hands buried in soft, sun-baked sand. Her shoes were kicked off to the side, forgotten. The pink ribbons in her pigtails bobbed as she leaned forward, smoothing the walls of the sandcastle she and Osamu Miya had been building for the past twenty minutes.
βIt needs a moat.β She said seriously, tracing a circle around the edge with her finger.
Osamu nodded, equally focused. βI can make a tunnel for water.β
She grinned in response, bright and beaming. βLike a real castle! With a bridge, too?β
βOf course. A drawbridge.β
They giggled together, heads bent, both covered in specks of sand and pride.
Across the yard, Atsumu Miya stood with a red ball in his hands, kicking pebbles with his shoe and scowling. His twin brother was supposed to play dodgeball with him. Instead, Osamu was over there in the sandbox. With her.
Atsumu's gaze narrowed on the girl in the pink hair ribbons. She laughed at something Osamu said, and her smile went wide, soft and bright. Her voice, even from a distance, was gentle and light, like the breeze on a summer afternoon.
She looked like a ray of sunshine, Atsumu thought, warm and glowing, the kind of happy that made your chest feel funny and your ears go red.
He didnβt like her. Not like that. Ew. Gross. Of course he didnβt.
But for some reason he wanted her to look at him. Not at Osamu. Not like that.
So, in his brilliant six-year-old brain, he came up with the best idea he could think of.
Drop the ball. March over. Pull her hair.
And he did. He stomped right over to the sandbox, ignoring the way his sneakers filled with sand, and yanked one of her pigtails.
βHey!β She squeaked, turning around so fast she almost toppled the castle wall. She blinked up at him, startled. βWhat was that for?!β
Atsumu puffed his chest, not really sure what to say now that heβd done it. βYour hair was in the way.β He said smugly, even though it definitely wasnβt.
Her jaw dropped. βYouβre such a meanie!β
Atsumu grinned, triumphant. She was looking at him now. Her attention was on him and even though she wasnβt smiling like she did just moments ago with his brother, just the fact that she was looking at him made it feel as if he had gotten what he wanted.
Osamu groaned loudly behind them. βCan we build one castle without a disaster for once?β
βNo.β They both said at the same time.
And that was the beginning.
From that day on, the pattern was set: [Y/N] with her soft voice and fiery glare, Atsumu with his smug teasing and constant interruptions, and Osamu, forever in the middle, sighing into his rice balls and wondering why he had to be born a twin.
Things had changed, sure. Osamu was a bit taller, Atsumu louder, and [Y/N] wore her hair in a braid now instead of pigtails. Especially after a certain boy pulled them one too many times.
But the essentials remained: she still brought her markers to school and drew at recess, Osamu still snacked all the time, and Atsumu still annoyed her every chance he got.
Today, the classroom buzzed with the end-of-day hum, papers shuffling, chairs scraping, kids packing up bags.
[Y/N] had drawn something that afternoon, something she was actually proud of. A little fox curled up under a tree, its fur shaded with orange and gold and bits of red leaf detailing. She had used every warm marker she had.
She kept it tucked carefully inside her notebook as she walked out into the hallway, clutching it tight.
Unfortunately, she wasnβt alone.
βHey, whatβs that?β One of the boys from class, Kenta, grabbed the edge of her notebook and yanked it open before she could stop him.
βDonβt!β She cried, reaching for it.
He held it out of reach. βAw, whatβs this? You still draw little animals like a baby?β
A couple of his friends gathered around. One of them snorted. βIs it sleeping under a tree? Thatβs so dumb and childish.β
βShe probably talks to them too. Like, βOh, Mr. Fox, would you like some tea?ββ They mocked, laughing.
[Y/N] felt her cheeks burn. βGive it back!β
They didnβt. One of them mimicked her voice in a high-pitched squeak. βDo you wanna cuddle, Mr. Fox?β
βStop it!β Her eyes stung before she could stop it. βJust stop!β
And of course, that made it worse.
βAww, crybabyβs gonna cry?β Kenta grinned. βMaybe your fox will cheer you up!β
βCrybaby!β They all chanted, snickering, as they finally tossed the drawing to the ground and ran off.
[Y/N] stood frozen for a moment, fists clenched, blinking away the blur in her vision as she knelt down to pick up the crumpled drawing.
She didnβt know that someone else had heard everything.
He was just turning the corner on his way to grab a juice box when he heard them shouting.
He stopped when he recognized her voice. Heard the word βcrybaby.β Heard the laughter. By the time he peeked around the corner, it was already over. The boys were running off. She was kneeling on the floor, shoulders stiff.
Atsumuβs blood boiled. He clenched his fists, stared after the boys, and turned on his heel.
Atsumu charged him by the tree near the fence and socked him right in the mouth.
βOW! What the heck!?β
βYouβre the crybaby!β Atsumu yelled, tackling him to the ground.
They rolled and punched and kicked, and it was two-on-one after that because Kentaβs friend jumped in, but Atsumu didnβt care. He was furious. He didnβt even know what he was yelling anymore.
Eventually, a teacher pulled them apart. Atsumuβs lip was busted, his eye was swelling, and his fists were scraped and dirty.
He got sent straight to the nurseβs office and scolded all the way there.
βHonestly, Atsumu. What is wrong with you?β The nurse muttered, dabbing at his lip with antiseptic.
He hissed. βNothinβ.β
βDo you want to explain why you were in a fight with two boys?β
βNope.β
The nurse sighed. βYouβre lucky your brotherβs not in trouble too.β
βOsamu didnβt do nothinβ. Leave βim out of it.β
She left to grab a bandage for his hand. A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, but it wasnβt the nurse. Atsumu turned his head and froze.
[Y/N] stood in the doorway, frowning, a folded handkerchief in one hand. Her braid was a little messy, and her cheeks were still pink from earlier. But her voice was calm.
βYouβre so stupid.β
Atsumu blinked. βYouβre welcome.β
βI didnβt ask you to fight them.β
βI didnβt ask βem to be jerks to you.β
βYouβre mean to me all the time.β She huffed and crossed the room, hopping onto the stool beside the cot where he sat. βYouβre also bleeding.β
βI know, thanks.β
She gave him a look. βLet me see.β
He started to protest, but she was already tilting his chin with two fingers and gently dabbing at his lip with her cloth.
He winced but not because of the sting from the cut.
βOh, donβt be a baby.β She muttered, even though her touch was gentle.
βYouβre the baby.β He grumbled. βCryinβ over a dumb fox.β
βIt wasnβt dumb.β She snapped, eyes flashing.
Atsumu looked at her and didnβt tease her again. They sat like that for a moment, quiet. She folded the cloth again and kept working.
βYou didnβt have to do that.β She said eventually, softer.
βYeah, I did.β
βWhy?β
He shrugged. ββCause it made me mad. Thatβs all. I never liked that idiot, this just happened to be a good excuse to beat him up.β
She frowned, like she didnβt believe him.
She stayed beside him until the nurse returned and said he was cleared to go home. When he slid off the cot, she handed him the cloth.
βKeep it.β She mumbled.
βI donβt want your crybaby handkerchief.β
She glared. βThen give it back.β
He shoved it in his pocket. βToo late.β
She rolled her eyes, he expected her to get up from the chair and leave him there after throwing one last passive-aggressive comment at him. She didnβt.
βI still think youβre an idiot.β She said as she folded her legs underneath her, no intention of leaving his side. βAnd just for the record I donβt want to be here.β
Atsumu grinned, lip still bleeding.
βYeah? Youβre still a pain in the butt.β
Osamu met them outside the nurseβs office, arms crossed.
βYouβre both ridiculous.β
They looked at each other and, just for a second, smiled.
Everyone was growing too fast or not fast enough, the desks were too small, and people started caring about who liked who and who passed notes in class. It was the start of confusing feelings and bad haircuts and awkward silences in the hallway.
But some things hadnβt changed. Osamu and [Y/N] still got along like peanut butter and jelly. They were lab partners, shared snacks during lunch, and could communicate in shrugs and eyerolls with the kind of ease that only came from years of friendship.
Meanwhile, Atsumu was still a menace.
βYou forgot your pen again, didnβt ya?β Osamu muttered one morning in science as they settled in for lab work.
βNo.β [Y/N] said.
βYes.β Atsumu called from the next table over, spinning around in his chair. βShe always forgets. Princess over thereβs helpless without Osamu savinβ her.β
[Y/N] narrowed her eyes. βCall me princess one more time and I swear Iβll dump hydrochloric acid in your shoes.β
βOoh, scary.β Atsumu said, dramatically clutching his chest. βYou gonna cry if I take your pen too?β
He reached out and snatched it from her desk.
βGive it back!β
βCβmon, share with your favorite twin.β
βIβm gonna strangle you with your own shoelaces!β
Osamu didnβt even look up. βPlease donβt. I donβt wanna have to explain a murder in my lab report.β
It was always like that. Constant bickering. Paper balls tossed at her head during lectures. Sarcastic pet names. Sassy comebacks. Everyone around them thought they hated each other.
Even [Y/N] and Atsumu had half-convinced themselves that was true but then there were the in-between moments.
Like how he always sat behind her in class, even though there were open seats up front. Or how heβd pretend to steal her erasers just to give them back when she pouted. Or the way heβd go strangely quiet when she talked about someone else.
Especially when she started crushing on Daiki.
Daiki wasnβt in their class, but he played soccer and was tall and charming and always said hi when he passed her in the hallway.
Osamu rolled his eyes whenever she brought him up. Atsumu on the other hand? He made fun of her mercilessly.
βYouβre doodlinβ his name in your notebook now?β Atsumu said one day, snatching the paper from under her elbow at lunch.
βIt was one heart!β She snapped, trying to grab it back.
He held it high. βYou want me to sign it as him? Dear [Y/N], I think youβre super cute and your eyes are like, what is this? Sunlit puddles?β
βThatβs not what I wrote!β She shrieked, face flaming.
Osamu sighed. βStop being an idiot, Atsumu.β
Atsumu ignored him. β[Y/N], if you like someone that cheesy, youβve officially lost all taste.β
She finally got the paper back and shoved it in her bag.
βJealous?β She said before she could stop herself.
Atsumuβs grin dropped for half a second. βWhy would I be jealous of him?β
It had taken her everything to finally gather the courage. [Y/N] wrote Daiki a short note and slipped it in his locker. She didnβt expect a yes really, but she didnβt expect him to laugh either.
Heβd read it with two of his friends and started snickering immediately.
βShe thinks youβd date her?β One of them said. βIsnβt she that weird girl with the markers?β
βShe hangs out with those volleyball twins, right?β Daiki added, not even trying to lower his voice. βKinda loud. Sheβs like a little sister or something.β
His friends laughed. βOuch. You broke the poor girlβs heart.β
βI didnβt even answer her yet.β
βYou donβt have to.β She said, geez fixed on the ground.
[Y/N] had been around the corner, just out of sight, close enough to hear everything. She ran. Behind the gym, where no one ever went during lunch.
She wiped her eyes roughly, furious that she even cared. Furious at herself. She wasnβt loud. She wasnβt clingy. She just... liked someone. But apparently, that was hilarious.
So she sat down behind the school building, pulled her knees to her chest, and tried to breathe.
Heβd noticed she wasnβt at her usual lunch spot with Osamu. He told himself it was just because she still owed him a pen but when he checked the classroom, the courtyard, and finally spotted the edge of her shoe behind the gym, he knew something was wrong.
She didnβt look up when he approached. He didnβt say anything either. He sat beside her slowly, folding his long legs under him, and dug into his pocket. A slightly smushed, but still warm, milk bread roll appeared in his hand. He held it out silently. She stared at it.
βI didnβt ask you to sit here.β She mumbled.
βGood.β He said, tearing the plastic open with his teeth. ββCause I didnβt ask ya if I could.β
She didnβt move. He placed the roll gently beside her on the pavement and leaned back on his elbows, eyes closed like he wasnβt paying attention to her at all.
The silence stretched between them.
βI hate middle school.β She whispered.
βI hate Daiki.β
She startled a little, turning toward him.
He peeked one eye open. βHeβs a prick.β
βYou donβt even know what happened.β
βDonβt need to.β
[Y/N] looked down at the milk bread. It was a little flat from being in his pocket, but it smelled sweet and soft. She picked it up.
βThanks.β She said quietly.
βDonβt get used to it.β Atsumu said. βI just did it because my brother would be upset if he saw you like this so get over it quickly.β
She almost smiled.
He didnβt ask what Daiki said. He didnβt need the details. All he knew was that her eyes were red, her voice was tight, and her sleeves were damp from wiping her cheeks.
So he stayed there until the bell rang, kicking pebbles and making dumb comments about ants. When she finally stood up, she glanced back at him.
βYouβre still a jerk.β
He smirked. βYouβre still a princess.β
And for the first time, she didnβt throw something at him for saying it.
Inarizaki High School had no shortage of noise. But few things were louder than the crowd that followed Atsumu Miya wherever he went.
Star setter. Flirt. Loudmouth. Ego the size of the gym. Girls slipped him notes between classes. Fans squealed at tournaments. Even teachers groaned when he walked into class with that lazy swagger and messy hair, five minutes late and grinning like the world owed him something.
[Y/N] was not impressed.
βYouβre like a walking ego.β She told him one afternoon, arms crossed, as she watched yet another girl press a folded letter into his hand. βYouβve got a fan club, Atsumu. An actual fan club.β
He grinned, cocky and unbothered. βWhat can I say? Iβm lovable.β
She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. βYouβre impossible.β
βAnd yet,β He said, leaning against her locker, βyou still talk to me every day. Whatβs that say about you, princess?β
When the teamβs first big tournament of the season rolled around, Inarizakiβs volleyball team packed up early for the bus. Their school was hosting, which meant they had to arrive first and, since [Y/N] had somehow ended up on event staff through sheer bad luck and one βvolunteerβ sheet signed without reading, she was stuck riding with the team.
As the last few seats filled, she looked up from her clipboard only to freeze in horror.
βWait. No. Anyone but him.β
Atsumu was already grinning, tossing his bag into the seat beside hers. βLooks like weβre seat buddies, princess.β
βThere are ten other seats.β
βAll fullβ Osamu said from behind her. βSorry. I already called dibs on the aisle with Aran.β
[Y/N] groaned. βWhy do bad things happen to good people?β
βIβm sittinβ right here.β Atsumu said, dropping into the seat. βGuess that answers that question.β
She shoved her bag down beside her legs with a sigh and crossed her arms. βDonβt talk to me.β
βWouldnβt dream of it.β
He didnβt, surprisingly. For the first thirty minutes of the ride, he just leaned against the window, one earbud in, nodding along to something on his phone.
[Y/N] leaned away from him at first, but the bus was stuffy and warm, and her clipboard was heavy in her lap, and the sun through the window was just right...
By the time they hit the highway, she was fast asleep, cheek pressed to Atsumuβs shoulder.
He looked down the moment he felt the weight. She didnβt snore. Her lips were parted slightly, hair falling across her forehead, and her brow furrowed just a little like she was having a dream she couldnβt catch.
Atsumu didnβt move.
Carefully he shifted his arm to make her more comfortable, adjusting so her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. He reached up without thinking and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
Then he just sat there. Still. Quiet. Watching her like she was the only thing in the world that wasnβt moving too fast.
The gym was packed with teams, staff, fans, and noise. [Y/N] had a clipboard in hand and her event badge hanging around her neck. She flitted between tables, updated match scores, and passed out water bottles like her life depended on it.
Somehow, even in the mess, she ended up in a conversation with Kita Shinsuke, Inarizakiβs composed, respected, mildly terrifying captain and somehow... they hit it off.
He was kind. Blunt, but thoughtful. Quiet, but funny when he wanted to be.
They chatted between matches. About the game, about her ridiculous volunteer hours, about how she managed to keep Atsumu from getting himself banned from school. Shinsuke even smiled at one of her jokes.
Atsumu noticed. He noticed everything. From the way Kita leaned in to hear her better to the way [Y/N] laughed, softer than usual, almost shy.
By the third time Atsumu found them talking, he stomped over, holding out an empty water bottle like it was urgent.
βOi, princess. Water me.β
She stared. βAre you... serious?β
βIβm dyinβ.β
βYouβre fine.β
βIβve got heatstroke.β
βWeβre inside.β
Kita raised a brow. βYouβre interrupting.β
βI noticed.β Atsumu said flatly.
[Y/N] rolled her eyes and turned back to Kita. βSorry, he does this.β
βItβs fine.β Kita said calmly. βHeβs just jealous.β There was no Iβll tone behind his words, he just said it like it was a fact that everyone but the two people before him knew.
Atsumu choked on air. βWha- jealous!? Of what?!β
Later that night, after a long loss and a close score that came down to a missed serve and a broken rhythm, Atsumu didnβt speak to anyone.
The team went back to the school to change and clean up before dinner.
[Y/N] knew where heβd be before anyone else even realized he was gone.
The outdoor stairwell behind the gym, right where the vending machines buzzed and the shadows crept long in the afternoon light.
He sat on the lowest step, arms draped over his knees, head tilted back.
βYou didnβt go to dinner.β She said, walking over.
βWasnβt hungry.β
βYou always say that when youβre mad.β
βIβm not mad.β He muttered.
βYou are.β
He didnβt look at her. So she sat beside him. Silence stretched for a few seconds.
βI missed that serve.β He said eventually. βIt was my fault.β
βIt was one point.β
βOne point matters.β
She glanced at him. βYouβve won games with worse odds.β
βNot the point.β
βNo,β She said gently, βbut itβs still true.β
He finally turned to her. βDo you ever get tired of knowinβ exactly what to say?β
She smiled, a little smug. βOnly when youβre too stubborn to hear it.β
He huffed a laugh, eyes falling to the space between them. βThey expect me to be perfect, you know? I mess up once and itβs like... like I broke somethinβ important.β
βYou didnβt.β
βIt feels like I did.β
She was quiet for a moment. Then, spoke softer. βYouβre allowed to mess up.β
He didnβt respond.
She bumped his shoulder with hers. βEven if you are an insufferable, arrogant pain in my ass.β
By the last day of the tournament, Atsumu had started to feel like something was shifting. Like maybe the way her voice softened around him meant something. Like maybe her bumping his shoulder and staying behind with him meant more than just old habits.
He hadnβt even teased her when she fell asleep on him again during the bus ride back to the venue. Maybe sheβd finally see he wasnβt just a walking ego.
So when he came looking for her before the final exhibition match, planning to tell her something real for once, he didnβt expect to see what he did.
Behind the gym, again. Her and Kita. Close. Talking. Laughing. Kita handed her something. Her fingers brushed his. She smiled, soft and unguarded.
Atsumu stopped in his tracks. His stomach twisted. He felt something sharp and ugly bloom in his chest. He wasnβt thinking when he walked over.
He wasnβt thinking at all.
βHope Iβm not interruptinβ your date.β He said, voice louder than it needed to be.
[Y/N] jumped, startled. βWhat? Itβs not- β
βOh, please.β Atsumu snapped. βYouβve been followinβ him around like a lost puppy all weekend.β
Kita stood slowly, eyes narrowing. βWatch it, Miya.β
βWhy? You two already makinβ plans for next weekend? Gonna braid each otherβs hair too?β
βAtsumu!β [Y/N] hissed.
He turned to her fully now, anger blooming too fast for him to stop. βYou know what? Go ahead. Flirt with him. At least he wonβt be stupid enough to think youβre special when youβre not.β
The words hung in the air like a slap. Her face fell. Everything stilled.
He saw it immediately, the change in her eyes, the way her mouth parted slightly, stunned. Like heβd actually hurt her. For real. Not just irritated. Not just teased.
He had hurt her.
She stepped back. Once. Twice.
βRight.β She said softly. βThanks for clearing that up.β
And then she turned and walked away. He wanted to run after her, tell her that he didnβt mean it but his muscles refused to move so he stood there frozen in place like a statue as he watched her slipping through his fingers.
It had been four days since the tournament. Four days since the words flew out of Atsumuβs mouth like knives. Four days since he saw the way [Y/N] flinched like she didnβt even recognize him anymore.
And nowβ¦ she didnβt look at him. Not once.
She came into class, greeted Osamu, smiled at her friends, laughed at something Kita said when he passed by, but when Atsumu threw a comment in her direction?
Silence.
βOi, princess.β He said that morning, leaning back in his seat, tone casual. βGot a new hair routine or somethinβ? Looks shinier than usual.β
No answer. Not even a roll of her eyes. Not even a groan. Just silence as she scribbled something in her notebook, ignoring him completely.
Atsumu felt something cold bloom behind his ribs.
This was worse than yelling. Worse than insults. Worse than all their back-and-forth.
This⦠nothing was unbearable so he tried again at lunch.
βYa know, I heard people who spend too much time with Kita start developinβ a stick up their ass.β
Osamu gave him a flat look. β[Y/N], you gonna let him get away with that one?β
She glanced at them, expression unreadable. Then went right back to her food and said nothing.
By the end of the week, Atsumu was unraveling. Truly losing his mind.
Every room felt louder without her voice snapping back at him. Every moment felt slower. Every hallway he passed her in felt like a missed chance he was too scared to grab.
He hated himself for what he said. He hadnβt even meant it, not the way it came out. βYouβre not special.β He could still hear the echo of it.
She was special. She always had been and now she wouldnβt even look at him.
He wasnβt blind. He saw the way [Y/N] stiffened anytime Atsumu walked into a room. Saw the forced, polite smile she gave him when she couldnβt avoid him. Saw the way Atsumuβs teasing got quieter, sloppier, more desperate each time.
Until one day, in the locker room after practice, Osamu dropped his bag hard on the bench and said:
βWhat the hell did you do to her?β
Atsumu didnβt look up from tying his shoes. βWhat are you talkinβ about?β
βYou know what Iβm talkinβ about.β His voice was cold now. βSheβs not lookinβ at you. Sheβs not talkinβ to you. Iβve never seen her act like this, not even when you pulled that stunt with the glitter glue in eighth grade.β
Atsumu winced. βI justβ¦β He muttered. βI said something I didnβt mean. I messed it up.β
Osamu crossed his arms. βWhatβd you say?β
Silence. Then, quietly spoke. βThat she wasnβt special.β
Osamuβs jaw clenched. βYou what?β
βI didnβt mean it. I was mad. I saw her with Kita, and- β He stopped himself.
Osamu stared at him, exasperated. βYouβve been in love with her since we were six, dumbass.β
Atsumuβs head snapped up.
βIβm not stupid, Atsumu. I saw the way you looked at her when she was buildinβ that sandcastle with me. The way youβd steal her markers just so sheβd yell at you. The way you shut up when she cried behind the school. This has always been about her. And youβve always been too much of a coward to admit it.β
Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, voice low and rough. βI donβt know if I can fix it this time.β
βThen donβt.β Osamu snapped. βLet her go. Let her move on. Let her be with someone who doesnβt hurt her just because heβs scared.β
Atsumu froze. Osamu took a breath, a little softer now.
βBut if youβre not gonna let her go? If youβre not gonna spend the rest of your life kickinβ yourself for blowinβ this? Then grow a damn pair and tell her how you feel.β
Silence. βI donβt know if sheβll forgive me.β He said quietly.
βThen you apologize anyway.β Osamu said. βAnd maybe, for once, stop hidinβ behind sarcasm and say what you actually mean.β
The next few days crawled. Atsumu hovered on the edge of every room she was in. He watched her laugh with Osamu, passing notes during class. Watched her hand Kita a sports drink after practice, smile small but real. Watched the way her eyes slid right past him like he wasnβt even there.
It was a new kind of punishment. Not yelling. Not anger. Just being invisible to the one person heβd been trying to get to look at him his whole life.
He caught himself remembering things in flashes. Her sleeping on his shoulder, her smile behind the gym lights, the way she had gently cleaned his lip with her handkerchief years ago, pretending she didnβt care while her fingers trembled.
Now he felt as if heβdbroken it. Heβd broken her and he wasnβt sure if he deserved to fix it.
The gym was mostly dark by the time [Y/N] stepped outside, her duffel slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a quick shower. She sighed, rubbing at her neck, exhaustion creeping into her bones after a long afternoon of cleaning up after practice and managing the volleyball teamβs logistics.
The last thing she expected was to find Atsumu Miya leaning against the wall just outside the main doors.
She stopped in her tracks.
βWhat do you want?β She asked, deliberately trying to keep her tone flat.
Atsumu straightened immediately, hands shoved into his pockets like he didnβt know what to do with them.
βIβ¦ just wanted to talk.β
She rolled her eyes and walked past him. βNot in the mood.β
He followed. βJust for a second.β
βMiya- β
βPlease.β He said, and it came out quieter than she expected. βI... I need to say somethinβ. Just once. You donβt even have to say anythinβ back. I just- let me talk.β
Something in his voice made her stop. Not the usual sarcasm. Not teasing. No smugness, no stupid grin. Just... him. Real and raw.
She turned to face him, arms crossed. βYou have exactly two minutes.β
He looked like he was trying to wrestle the words into shape. Like he hadnβt practiced this half as much as heβd claimed he would.
βI was lookinβ for you that day.β He said. βThe last day of the tournament.β
She blinked. βWhat?β
βThat morning. Before I saw you with Kita. I wasnβt planninβ to fight. Wasnβt planninβ to ruin everythinβ. I was... gonna tell you. How I felt.β
Silence. He kept going, voice low and thick with everything heβd kept buried for years.
βIt started when we were six, okay? You were sittinβ in the sandbox with Osamu and you were smilinβ and buildinβ that stupid castle like it was the most important thing in the world. And you looked so happy. So... bright. Like a sunbeam or somethinβ. And all I could think was- I wanted that smile pointed at me. Not Osamu. Me.β
He took a breath. She stood there with an unreadable expression on her face but he kept going.
βSo I did the dumbest thing I could think of. Pulled your pigtails. Got yelled at. Called a meanie. And it still felt better than beinβ ignored.β
She stayed silent, her eyes on his, unmoving.
βAnd it never stopped.β He said. βEvery time I teased you, every time I said somethinβ stupid, it was just βcause I didnβt know how else to make you look at me. I was scared if I didnβt get under your skin, Iβd disappear.β
His voice cracked a little.
βYou looked at Osamu like he was the only person who understood you. Then you got older, and you started lookinβ at other people like that. And every single time I saw it, I wanted to tear my own goddamn hair out because I wanted it to be me.β
Atsumu swallowed.
βThat day behind the gym. I saw you with Kita and... I donβt know. I lost it. I thought I missed my shot. I thought I was too late. So I said the one thing that would push you away for good. And I regretted it the second it left my mouth.β
He looked at her now, no longer hiding behind anything.
βIβm sorry. Iβm so sorry. You are special, [Y/N]. You always were and Iβve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Even when I didnβt know what that meant.β
A beat of silence. And another. And another. [Y/N] didnβt move. Didnβt blink. Didnβt say a word. Atsumuβs chest tightened. The silence clawed at his throat.
βI- I get it if you donβt wanna talk to me ever again,β he rushed out. βI mean, after everything, Iβd hate me too. Iβm a loudmouth. I donβt think before I speak. I ruin everythinβ. And I get it if youβre into someone like Kita βcause heβs mature and quiet and- God, Iβm makinβ this worse, arenβt I- β
βShut up.β
He blinked. She was suddenly in front of him, close. Too close and, before he could process the way her eyes were shining or how her lips parted or how her hands grabbed the front of his jacket. She kissed him.
Hard. Like sheβd been waiting years. Like all that time sheβd been biting her tongue and pushing him away had been holding back this single, explosive moment.
He froze for a second. Then kissed her back like he might never get the chance again.
Her hands curled into his collar. His found her waist. She was warm and real and right there in his arms and he couldnβt stop tasting the apology between their mouths.
When they pulled apart, barely an inch between them, her breath hitched.
βI really hate you.β She whispered.
His lips quirked up. βYou kiss all the people you hate like that?β
βOnly the ones who pull my pigtails and get into fights over me.β
He laughed, the sound soft and disbelieving. βDoes that mean youβre not gonna pretend I donβt exist anymore?β
βNo promises.β
He grinned wider. βStill a princess, huh?β
She raised an eyebrow. βStill a meanie?β
They stood like that, foreheads almost touching, breath mingling in the cool air outside the gym.
Then, like it had always been this simple, like the whole world had just clicked back into place, she leaned into him again.
And this time, he didnβt have to pull her pigtails to make her look at him.
Tags: @stanwallpapers
Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added in future works! :)
hello !! as u may can tell from my comments i LOOOVED ur ushiwaka one shot and ur writing in general and got excited when i saw ur taking requests :) if u want to itd be great if u can write something for atsumu, tsukishima or goshiki. nothing specific, i just trust ur writing and creative skills tbh, but i loved the mix of fluff, angst and smut in the ushiwaka one shot ! u can also just ignore this if its too vague for u, but nonetheless i can tell u through this again that i love ur writing teehee
Thank you so much this is so sweet! π Getting feedback like this really means a lot π₯Ή Iβm already working on it, Iβm writing it with Atsumu and Iβll tag you in it when I post it. I hope I make it justice and that you can enjoy it hahaha π€
Summary: Ushijima finds himself lost when an injury keeps him away from the volleyball court so in a desperate attempt to keep his sanity he goes back home. Surrounded by memories and people from the past, will he find himself once again or something else entirely?
CW (content warning): post-time skip!Ushijima, mentions of sport injuries, slight angst, smut, MDNI (+18), p in v, oral (m recieving), despite the smut this is mainly fluff.
AN (authorβs note): Hi guys! Iβve been writing for Haikyuu for a while now but I never really thought about posting it until I started posting my jjk works on my other blog (@yuujispunches if you want to check it out π«Άπ»), Iβm kinda nervous because itβs really different but I hope you guys enjoy this! English isnβt my first language so Iβm sorry if there are any mistakes :)
Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)
Masterlist
The crack of impact was sharp, clean, almost too clean. At first, no one understood what had happened. The rally kept going. Ushijima had leapt high, even for his standards, dominating the air like it belonged to him. But when he came down.
He didnβt get up.
The arena didnβt fall silent immediately. Ushijimaβs absence in movement wasnβt noticeable until the ball hit the floor with a hollow thud. Then there was that chilling beat of delay before every head turned.
He clutched his leg, his face twisted in a rare grimace. Not from pain, Ushijima Wakatoshi had played through pain before. This was something deeper. Something breaking apart, not just torn muscle or strained tendon, but something fundamental inside of him.
The prognosis came in harsh and sterile, in a room that smelled like antiseptic and dread.
"A full tear of the Achilles tendon."
Surgery. Recovery. Three to six months minimum before rehab. Closer to a year before he could even think of spiking a ball again.
The doctors gave him comforting smiles. The teamβs manager offered words of reassurance. Fans flooded social media with hashtags, edits, tributes, well-wishes.
None of it touched him.
Wakatoshi found himself sitting alone in his apartment in Sendai, his leg immobilized in a boot, staring at the wall as if willing it to become something else, something useful. Something moving and not broken.
Two weeks passed in the haze of forced rest and ice packs. Then four. The more his body stagnated, the more his thoughts grew wild, unrecognizable. He had built his world around control, around the sharp edge of purpose that volleyball gave him. Now, everything felt dulled.
Thatβs when he made the decision. One morning, with no plan except the aching emptiness he couldn't shake, he packed a bag, informed his manager he needed some time away, and booked a train to Yamagata.
The old roads were unchanged. The farmland rolled out under a soft spring sky, gentle and wide. Wakatoshi hadnβt visited in years, not since his parents sold the family home and moved closer to the coast. But the town hadnβt forgotten him.
Even walking down the main street with a hoodie pulled low, heads turned. People still recognized him, somehow. Tall as ever. Stoic. Broken now, though they couldnβt see it.
He stayed in a quiet inn on the outskirts, a simple place with tatami mats and a view of the rice fields. He didnβt do much. Didnβt want to be recognized, didnβt want to talk. Mostly he limped through memories, haunted by the sound of his own breath.
βJust because you can make it doesnβt mean you should.β You huffed, spinning on your heel and nearly walked straight into a wall of muscle and fleece.
You stepped back instinctively. Then your eyes narrowed.
βWakatoshi?β
His shoulders went stiff. He turned.
Your face lit up like summer. βOh my god. It is you!β
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
You filled the silence. βYou probably donβt remember me [Y/N], from Shiratorizawa? I was in Class 3, used to talk your ear off during lunch. You always stared like I was speaking a different language.β
His brow creased a little, like he was digging through dusty memory files. And then, you saw it the flicker of recognition.
βYou liked strawberry milk.β He said.
You blinked.
βIβ¦ did, yeah.β A laugh escaped you. βThatβs what you remember?β
He nodded slowly. βYou said it was the superior drink. I disagreed.β
You looked up at him. The Ushijima Wakatosh you knew, now a famous, national-level athlete but he still stood like a fortress. Still had that calm, unreadable expression. But now there was something else underneath it. Something frayed.
βIβm glad you remember.β You said softly. βHeyβ¦ are you okay?β
You just started talking again, like years hadnβt passed. Like he hadnβt disappeared into the world of professional sports, and you hadnβt grown into your own life, working remotely now from your childhood home, helping your aging aunt run her flower shop.
The next day, you saw him again. This time sitting alone on a park bench, leg propped up, staring into the lake like it might give him answers. You sat beside him with a box of taiyaki.
βYou look hungry.β You said simply offering the box to him.
He took it. Ate in silence. You swung your legs off the edge of the bench and let the sun warm your skin.
βStill hate strawberry?β
He chewed slowly, nodded.
You grinned. βSome things never change.β
The words didnβt really mean anything but for some reason they sounded almost like comfort to him.
You bumped into each other βby accidentβ again. Then not by accident.
You invited him to your auntβs shop to see the garden youβd been working on. He stood among the lilies and said nothing, but his eyes didnβt wander. He watched you kneel in the dirt, brush pollen off your fingers, talk about soil PH like it was sacred.
You brought him books you thought he might like. He read them. You could tell by the way he handed them back without creases but with little post it annotations places on the margins with calculated care.
When you were with him, you didnβt expect words. You filled the quiet with stories, with small kindnesses. And slowly, he started to talk, not much, just enough. But when he did, it always mattered.
And heβ¦ didnβt mind. In fact, he started waiting for you.
Not obviously. No, never that. But heβd be in the places you might show up, sitting on the same bench, outside the same shop, buying the exact coffee you liked so you wouldnβt have to wait in line. It wasnβt that he needed you there.
But when you were, the silence in his chest didnβt ache as badly.
You were light. Loud and quick and always moving. You talked with your hands, with your whole face. You had this thing where youβd lean in close when you were excited, as if your joy couldnβt be contained in just your voice.
Wakatoshi had never met anyone like you. Not really.
On the court, everything was angles. Force. Timing. Discipline. He was good at that. Better than anyone. But off the court?
He didnβt know what to do with the messiness of people.
Yet somehow, your messiness didnβt feel like chaos. It felt like sun through the leaves.
You showed up at the inn he was staying at, dripping and barefoot, holding two bags of convenience store snacks and a half-wilted daisy youβd stuffed behind your ear.
βSurprise!β You beamed. βRain check on the flower beds, literally. Thought we could hang out here. Unless you donβt want company, in which case I will melt dramatically into the road.β
He stared at you for a long moment, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the sight before him. Then stepped aside.
That night, you both sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, watching a movie on your tablet. You kept shoving snacks into his hand without asking. He never refused. You talked through most of the film.
βOkay, but if the ghost is her dead twin, how did she not know the entire time?!β
βIβm just saying, if I die tragically, you *better* make it a dramatic haunt.β
βDo you think ghosts get bored?β
βDo you believe in ghosts?β
Wakatoshi didnβt speak much. But he watched you like you were more compelling than the screen.
After the credits rolled, the thunder outside softened to a distant rumble. You glanced at him.
βHeyβ You said, quieter now. βHow are you holding up?β
He didnβt answer right away. βI really donβt know. Badly I think.β
The word fell heavy between you. Honest. Plain. But weighted. You nodded gently, inching closer so your knees brushed.
βI figured.β
He looked down at his hands. βEverything Iβve worked forβ¦ all the time, the years. I donβt know if Iβll get it back. I donβt know who Iβm supposed to be now.β
You reached over and touched his wrist, light as rain.
βYou donβt have to know yet.β You whispered. βItβs okay to not be okay, Toshi.β
He didnβt move. But he didnβt pull away either. The nickname falling from your lips made a weird feeling spread through his chest and he found himself wanting to believe you.
The more time you spent together, the more you learned his rhythms.
He was blunt but not unkind. He hated loud music. He preferred savory to sweet. He didnβt like when people asked him how he was unless they actually wanted to know.
He also had a strange fondness for animals. You caught him once, crouching awkwardly to pet a neighborhood cat that had hissed at you five minutes earlier.
There were days he didnβt come out of the inn. Didnβt answer your texts. Days when you knew he wasnβt hurt, just hollow. You didnβt push him on those days.
You dropped off fresh onigiri with a note taped to the lid:
Itβs okay. Iβm here when youβre ready.
He never replied. But the containers were always returned, empty. The notes were kept on his nightstand, to reread when he felt like loneliness was about to swallow him.
One evening, he joined you on the roof of your house.
Youβd invited him there once before, told him the view was better than therapy.
Now you both sat with your feet hanging off the edge, the stars bright above, the air filled with the chirp of summer bugs. You handed him a cold beer and didnβt say anything for a while.
Then, quietly. βI used to think you were scary, you know.β
His brow twitched. βWhy?β
βYou never smiled. You had that whole murdery volleyball thing going on.β
He stared straight ahead. βI wasnβt trying to be scary.β
βI know that now. Youβre justβ¦ intense.β A pause. Then you spoke again. βYouβre still kind of intense but youβre kind, too. And steady. I like that about you.β
He didnβt speak. But you saw his knuckles tighten around the bottle.
Your voice softened. βYou know, you donβt have to go back to who you were before. Youβre allowed to change. To figure out what you want.β
He turned to you then. There was something raw in his expression, something that cracked just enough to show what was underneath.
βI donβt know what I want.β He said.
You smiled at him, tired but warm.
βWellβ¦ until you do, youβve got me.β You said as you nudged your shoulder against his softly. Bright eyes shining as you looked at him.
For the first time he found himself that maybe tomorrow didnβt sound so terrifying anymore.
You didnβt realize it yet, but something was shifting inside him. Slowly. Like spring thawing frozen ground. Every time you said his name, it softened him. Every time you smiled at him like he wasnβt broken, it pieced him back together.
He didnβt plan on going. Of course not. But his feet took him there anyway.
You were working a booth when you saw him.
The crowd parted like it knew. Like the story was unfolding just for you.
Ushijima Wakatoshi. Standing still in the middle of the street, in a sea of movement. No crutches. Just a limp. In a plain black shirt that clung to the curve of his shoulders, eyes scanning every stall until they landed on you.
You froze.
He walked toward you, slow, deliberate.
βI was wrong.β He said, stopping in front of your table. βThe other day.β
You raised an eyebrow. He looked down. Swallowed hard.
βI was scared.β He said. βI still am. Everything I am. Everything Iβve worked for was built around being the best. And now I donβt know if Iβll ever get that back.β
Your expression softened. βI wasnβt trying to take that from you.β You whispered.
βI know.β He said. βBut I didnβt want you to see me like this.β
You stepped around the booth, closer now. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin.
βToshiβ You said quietly, βIβve only ever seen you like this. And Iβve never once thought less of you.β
He looked at you like youβd just said something in a language he couldnβt translate. Like the words didnβt make sense, because no one had ever spoken them before.
You lifted your hand slowly, touched his chest just over his heart.
βYou donβt have to be strong with me.β
His breath hitched and in that moment, he leaned his forehead against yours.
Not a kiss but something closer. Something deeper.
After the festival, he stayed by your side the entire day.
You didnβt ask for it but he handed you water when your voice got hoarse. Kept kids from knocking over the display. Sat on a crate in the back of your booth like a silent bodyguard, expression unreadable but his eyes never strayed from you.
When the crowd thinned and your feet ached, he offered his arm. You took it without question. He felt⦠steady again. Not because he was healed. But because you were there.
Later that night, you brought him to the lake.
Same bench. Same spot. This time, you leaned into his side. He didnβt move away.
βIβm sorry for being a brat.β You said quietly.
βYou werenβt.β
You turned your head against his shoulder.
βYou sure?β
He glanced down at you. βYou were right to be upset.β
You smiled. βWow. Did Ushijima Wakatoshi just admit I was right?β
A long pause.
βYes.β A reluctant smile on his lips
You grinned, poking his ribs gently. βGrowth.β
It was silent for a while. But it wasnβt empty.
Then you said, βDo you ever think about what youβd do if you didnβt play?β
His hand twitched beside yours.
βI donβt know.β He said finally. βIβve never let myself think about it.β
You looked up at him. βWell. Maybe you donβt have to figure it out alone.β
He met your gaze. And something softened. βOkay.β
Just one word. But when he took your hand in his it it felt like a beginning.
The lake was quiet when you brought him there again.
A week had passed since the festival. Since he let his forehead touch yours like it meant something. Since he started showing up without needing a reason.
Now, he came because he wanted to.
He still didnβt talk much. Still didnβt smile often. But the way he looked at you had changed.
He watched you like he was trying to memorize something fragile. Like he was afraid of blinking and losing it.
Tonight, you sat side-by-side on the grass, the stars reflecting in the still water.
And you told him, soft and sure. βYou donβt have to prove anything to me.β
Wakatoshi swallowed thickly. βSometimes I feel likeβ¦ if Iβm not playing, Iβm nothing.β
You turned, eyes warm and fierce. βYouβre so much more than that.β
He met your gaze, slow and aching.
βYouβre the first person whoβs ever said that to me.β
Your heart broke a little at that.
But it bloomed too. Because it meant you could be the first and maybe the only.
This time you were the one that reaches for his hand. He took it without hesitation.
The kind of quiet that buzzed under the skin. Every brush of his arm sent a pulse down your spine. Every glance felt like a tether pulling tighter between you.
When you got to your door, you turned to him.
βDo you want to come in?β
He hesitated, just for a breath then nodded.
Inside, the lights were low. You kicked off your shoes and walked into the kitchen, nerves fluttering. He stood near the entry like he didnβt know where he was allowed to go.
βMake yourself comfortable.β You said gently, setting your keys down. βYouβre safe here.β
Something in his face shifted. He stepped closer.
βYou always say that.β
βBecause itβs true.β
You turned to him. He was closer than before. His eyes dark in the soft light, jaw tense.
βI donβt know how to do this.β He said quietly. βBut I want to.β
Your chest swelled. βYou donβt have to know how.β You whispered. βJust stay with me.β
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
He sat on the edge of your bed while you stepped between his knees, hands at his jaw.
βTell me if anything feels wrong. Or too much.β
He nodded once. Silent. A storm behind his eyes.
You kissed him again, longer this time. Slower.
And then you knelt between his legs. Wakatoshi tensed.
βWait- β He started, but your fingers worked open the button of his jeans with calm precision.
βLet me.β You said. βI want to.β
He swallowed. Adamβs apple bobbing. βI donβt usuallyβ¦ let people do this.β
βI know.β
You kissed the inside of his knee. Then the scar.
It was thick, pale, a little raised. You ran your thumb over it, then pressed your lips to the center. Slow, reverent.
His breath hitched. His hands fisted in the sheets.
βI hate it.β He murmured. βItβs horribleβ
You immediately know what he was referring to. The scar that reminded him of what he might lose. You looked up at him.
βItβs part of you.β You said in between kisses as your lips trailed up along his inner thigh.
He stared down at you like you werenβt real. Like he was dreaming.
Then you leaned in and took him into your mouth.
He was big. Of course he was. But that wasnβt what made him lose control. It was the way you looked at him.
The way you held him in your mouth. Slow, unhurried, every pass of your tongue deliberate. Your hands resting on his thighs, fingers stroking gently, grounding him.
You didnβt rush.
You let him feel everything. Every inch. Every second.
He groaned your name once. Rough and low like it punched the air out of him. His hips twitched, but he held himself back, muscles trembling with restraint.
You pulled off with a soft pop, lips swollen, eyes full of heat.
βLie back.β You said, standing to undress.
He obeyed without question. Watching you undress. His gaze didnβt devour you. It honored you. Like he was witnessing something sacred.
You climbed into his lap, straddling him, and ran your fingers through his hair.
βYou okay?β
He nodded.
But his voice was hoarse. βI donβt deserve this.β
Your heart ached. βYou deserve everything.β
You guided him to your entrance, bodies flushed and warm, and sank down onto him slowly.
His hands clutched your waist like a lifeline. His mouth fell open. Low grunts and moans filling the room as he looked at you as if he was scared youβd slip through his fingers if he didnβt.
You rocked against him, slow and tender. Your bodies fit like youβd been made for this. Every movement dragged another broken breath from his throat.
You kissed his jaw. His neck. His shoulder. You caressed the scar again, when you shifted his legs spreading wider under yours.
And when he came. He was shuddering, breathless, his arms wrapped around you like heβd fall apart otherwise. You held his face in your hands.
βYouβre not broken.β
He came down slowly, blinking up at you like he didnβt know what world he was in.
You lay together after, tangled in the sheets, your head resting on his chest.
His arm was around you. Tight. Protective. His fingers trailing up and down your spine. But not out of fear. Out of need. Out of something new and fragile blooming between you.
He whispered, after a long while. βThank you.β
You smiled against his skin.
βYou donβt have to thank me. I want you.β
He swallowed.
βI donβt think Iβve ever felt thisβ¦ wanted. Not like this.β
You kissed his shoulder.βGet used to it.β
He didnβt answer. But you felt the way his body relaxed. The way his fingers curled into yours and he held you closer to him before kissing your lips once more.
The morning after was silent. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything was finally right.
You woke first. The sun filtered in soft and golden through the curtains. Ushijima lay beside you, broad chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep, one arm still draped around your waist like his body refused to let you go, even unconscious.
You reached up and brushed his hair back from his face.
He looked⦠peaceful. Like the war inside him had quieted for the first time in a long, long time.
He woke slowly. Brows furrowing at first like the sunlight confused him. Then his eyes opened, and he looked at you. Like he knew exactly where he was. Like heβd been hoping this wasnβt a dream.
You smiled, soft and sleepy. βHey.β
He didnβt smile.
But he reached up and touched your cheek, callused fingers grazing your skin like you might disappear if he wasnβt careful.
βIβm still here.β You whispered.
He exhaled. A shaky breath. Like heβd been holding it all night. βI donβt know if I want to go back.β
You curled into his side. βYou donβt have to. Not yet.β
βBut I will, eventually.β
You looked up. βAre you scared?β
He was quiet for a long time. βYes.β He exhaled as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You didnβt offer empty encouragement. No false hope. Just your arms, and your warmth, and the solid truth of your presence beside him.
βYouβre not alone this time.β You said simply. βIβll be there for you.β
The weeks passed slowly, and for once, neither of you minded. He stayed longer than he planned.
Sometimes he helped your elderly neighbor carry groceries. Sometimes he sat in the sun with you and read, barely turning the pages, just listening to the sound of your voice as you rambled.
He limped less. The stiffness faded.
But what changed most wasnβt his body, it was the way he carried himself. Like he wasnβt rushing to prove anything anymore. Like he knew that, even if he never played again, someone still saw worth in him.
One morning, you found him at the bench by the lake. Same one you always went to. This time, he was alone.
You approached quietly, but he didnβt look up. Just held out a hand as you came near, like he felt you before he saw you.
You took it without hesitation and sat beside him.
βIβve been talking to my trainer.β He said softly. βThey think I can start light drills next month.β
You felt your heart leap but didnβt let it show too much.
Instead, you squeezed his hand. βThatβs great, Toshi.β
He looked at you then, eyes quiet but steady.
βI want to go back.β
You nodded. βThen you should.β
βBut not because I need to prove Iβm still strong.β He said. βNot to anyone. I justβ¦ I want to feel the court again.β
You leaned your head on his shoulder. βThatβs the best reason.β
He exhaled through his nose. βAnd I want to take you with me.β
You blinked, startled.
He turned slightly toward you. βYou donβt have to answer now. Butβ¦ if I go back to playing, to traveling. I want you to be part of that world. However you can be.β
βToshi.β You whispered.
He squeezed your hand. βYou make it quiet. In my head. Like I can breathe.β
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You leaned up and kissed him, slow and full, pressing your heart into every touch.
His rehab was scheduled to continue back in the city. There were evaluations, contracts, trials. But this time, when he stepped on the train, he didnβt look hollow.
He kissed you softly and promised heβd call every night.
As time passed the lake was quiet again. You sat on the bench, older now. Still just as in love.
He came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning.
βYouβre early.β
βI missed you.β
You beamed.
And he did something he only did for you. He smiled.
You lived together now, in a small home near the city but close enough to visit his hometown. He still played, but more balanced. Not like it was life or death because now, he had a life outside of it.
A life that included you. Warm meals. Early morning cuddles. Your voice reading out loud while he rested. He talked more now, always honest. Always tender. And always yours.
Sometimes, youβd trace the scar on his knee before bed. Kiss it. And every time, heβd close his eyes and breathe a little deeper. Because you never saw it as a wound. You saw it as a part of him like his silence, his strength, his love.
And slowly, he started to see it that way too.
βI love you.β Heβd whisper every night as he held you close to him.
βThis would be quite awkward if you didnβt.β You laughed, caressing his face softly, the metal of the ring on your hand that matched his felt warm against his skin. βI love you too.β
He kissed you slowly and tenderly because now he had the rest of his life to do so.
Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)
