âş á´ á´ĘÉŞĘá´Ę ââ´ď¸Ë･â 20 ââ´ď¸Ë･â sheăher ââ´ď¸Ë･â sleep-deprived nursing student ââ´ď¸Ë･â my hyperfixation on harry potter comes and goes as it pleases
SYNOPSIS: In which Atsumu plans the perfect proposal for the woman heâs loved for six years, only to learn that sometimes love isnât enough, and the hardest ânoâ comes from someone who loves you just as deeply.
PAIRING: Miya Atsumu x Fem!Reader
WORD COUNT: 1.4k
A/N: wrote this before taking my antipsychotics. cheers
The first thing Atsumu noticed was that your hands were cold. They always got that way when you were nervous.
He reached across the table, threading his fingers through yours on the white linen. "Yer freezing."
You turn to him from your distracted gaze on the window. You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once before pulling away to wrap your shaky fingers on your wine glass.
"I'm fine," you say after you took a sip.
Atsumu didn't say anything because he believed you. He never had a reason not to.
The restaurant overlooked Osaka Bay. It wasn't too extravagant, unlike what others would expect a celebrity athlete would take his girlfriend to. It was quiet enough for Atsumu to not be bombarded with fans wanting his autograph and disturb your date. You'd once pointed it out during a late-night walk after one of his matches.
"If anyone ever proposed to me," you once joked, "I'd want it somewhere like this."
From that moment, he'd remember it. Every time he passed by this place, it was all he could think about.
Atsumu remembered everything about you. The way you took your coffee. The way you always hum that same song whenever you're cooking. The way you absentmindedly trace circles on your mug while talking. The way you whispered "drive safe" every ingle time he left for practice, even when he was only going twenty minutes away.
He'd built an entire future out of those tiny things.
You had been together for six years.
It was long enough for reporters to start asking about your future together, long enough that his teammates had stopped teasing and simply assumed. Long enough that Osamu had already began calling you family and always saving a spot on the dinner table for you.
"You've got a ring, don't ya?" Osamu asked his brother after catching him staring at the velvet box weeks ago. Atsumu grinned.
"'Bout time." He held up the box.
"'Bout damn time."
You didn't think anything of it when he excused himself, too busy watching the boats drift across the water. Atsumu felt the small box from his jacket pocket, his heartbeat thundering louder than any packed arena he'd ever played in.
Funny, he thought. He'd played in the National championships before, in the Olympic finals with thousands of screaming fans. But none of those had ever made him this nervous. When he returned to his seat, you were still looking at the boats.
"You okay, 'Tsumu?" You asked, turning to him. But when your eyes lowered on the table between the two of you, your smile disappeared at the sight of the velvet box he was holding.
It wasn't because you were happy, or surprised. Obviously not. Because, all at once, you looked terrified.
Atsumu's stomach dropped before he even opened the box.
"I know I ain't perfect," he began, voice shaking despite himself. "But I swear I'll spend everyday tryin' to be someone worth comin' home to."
You froze, your eyes glassy.
"I wanna wake up next to ya when we're eighty."
You felt a tear slide down your cheek.
"I wanna fight over whose turn it is to wash the dishes."
Another.
"I wanna raise a family with ya-"
"Don't."
You cut him off with a whisper. Atsumu paused.
"âŚWhat?"
You covered your mouth, your emotions getting to you. "Please⌠AtsumuâŚ"
Before he proposed, Astumu imagined a hundred reactions. Laugher, perhaps, or happy tears. Even silence.
But Atsumu never imagined pleading. He never imagined hearing your voice so broken after he had expressed his dreams that he'd always imagined on living out with you.
"I'm sorry."
Something inside Atsumu had shattered.
"I'm so, so sorry."
He didn't know what to do. He just stared at you, the velvet box still on his palm, unopened.
You were crying harder now, shoulders trembling.
"I can't," you managed to say. The box suddenly felt impossibly heavy on his hands.
"Can't⌠what?" He asked you. You shook your head, unable to look up at him.
"I can't marry you.â
The restaurant had gone quiet. Somewhere, glasses clinked. Someone laughs. Life had continued. But the world around your table stood still.
"I love you," you cried.
"I know, sweetheart.â
"I really do."
"I know."
"But I can't."
Atsumu frowned, his confusion twisting into desperation.
"Then tell me why." His voice broke. You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. But nothing came out. âSweetheart, please.â
How could you possibly explain something you barely understood yourself?
How could you tell him that every time he talked about forever, your chest tightened until you couldn't breathe?
That every wedding invitation from friends made you smile before you locked yourself in the bathroom to cry?
That you'd spend months pretending everything was okay because you wanted so badly to become the version of yourself who could say yes?
You loved him.
God, you loved him so much.
You loved him enough to memorize every expression on his face. Enough to wait awake after away games just to hear his voice through the phone. Enough to picture children with his natural brown hair and charming smile.
But love wasn't the thing missing. You were. You felt pieces of yourself slowly slipping away for months. You couldn't promise forever when you weren't even sure who you'd be tomorrow. You couldn't possibly ask him to spend a lifetime waiting for you to become someone you no longer recognized.
"I don't deserve you, Atsumu," you managed to whisper. His expression cracked.
"Don't say that, sweetheart."
"It's true."
"Don't."
"I would only keep hurting you."
"So let me hurt with ya."
Those words nearly undid you. The hurt you hear in his voice was devastating. He doesn't deserve this. Still, you shook your head.
"If I say yes tonightâŚ" you say slowly, your voice breaking, "âŚI'd only be saying it because I'm afraid to lose you."
The silence was deafening.
"And one day you'd realize I never really chose marriage."
Your breathing hitched.
"I just chose not to break your heart."
Atsumu looked at you as though you'd already done exactly that.
He slowly pulled the unopened ring box back to himself, slipping it back into his pocket.
For a long moment, neither of you moved nor spoke. Then Atsumu stood up, his chair scraping against the floor.
"SoâŚ" His voice sounded strangely calm.
"I guess that's that."
You could only nod, unable to meet his eyes.
The streets were oddly quiet. Atsumu insisted on driving you home, just like always.
He'd imagined one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with yours over the center console because you couldn't seem to stop touching him.
He imagined you turning your hand over and over beneath the streetlights, laughing every few minutes because the diamond caught the light differently each time.
"It's so pretty," you'd whisper for what had to be the fifth time.
"You really like it?" He would then ask, pretending not to care that much even though he'd spent three months finding one that reminded him of you.
"I love it!"
He'd grin so hard his cheeks would hurt.
He'd even cleaned the passenger seat that morning and vacuumed the floor mats. Even made sure that his music app remained on premium so there wouldn't be any ads interrupting the drive.
But the ring box sat untouched in the glove box. The seat beside him felt miles away despite being less than an arm's length. There was no music playing in the radio.
At your apartment door, Atsumu finally looked at you, his eyes red.
"So this is goodbye," he said. You nodded once.
"I'm sorry," you say. He gave a small laugh.
"You've apologized enough, sweetheart.â
Silence followed. Then, quietlyâŚ
"I hopeâŚ" Atsumu trailed off.
"âŚI hope whatever you're lookin' for⌠ya find it."
That was perhaps the cruelest thing he could've said. Because even now, after everything, he wanted your happiness more than his own.
Months later, the headlines stopped asking were you were. Fans stopped wondering why you weren't sitting in the front rows anymore. Osamu stopped setting an extra plate during family dinners. Life had rearranged itself around the absence you left behind.
"She really said no?"
"After all those years?"
"Poor Atsumu."
"Such a shame."
People have called you selfish, others called you a mess. You never corrected either.
Years later, people will remember Miya Atsumu as one of the greatest setters Japan ever had. They'll remember the championships, the Olympic medals, the impressive sets. But there will always be one story that never made the headlines.
"Back away, you vile creature!" You used your hand to gently shove Elliott's face away from you.
"Sweetheart, why must you torture me?" He moaned as he rubbed his reddening nose. It was rare for Elliott to come down with a sickness, but when he does, he becomes the most dramatic man Stardew Valley has ever seen.
"This is not torture. I am only trying to avoid contracting your cold," you said, dodging his hands as he reached for you again. "Why don't you head back inside your room like I told you to do thirty minutes ago?"
You had visited Elliott's cabin that afternoon with a basket full of fresh pomegranates that you recently harvested, when you found the man slumped on his writing desk, his hand weakly dragging his pen across paper.
"I have to finish my novel." Elliott sniffled. "The words inside my head are begging to be brought to life!"
"Well, tell those words inside your head they need to shut it for once," you chided. "Your health comes first, whether you like it or not."
You snatched Elliott's pen from his hand. "There. You can't write anymore!"
"Ha!" Elliott pulled out another pen from his pocket. "A writer always carries twoâ"
âIâll take this one too.â
âHey!â
With both pens in your hand, Elliott slumped on his desk in defeat.
"Rest."
"No."
"Now."
"Okay."
He stood up and dragged his feet towards his bed. You followed him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You feel his forehead, sighing.
"Now you've got a fever." You combed Elliott's long hair away from his face. He leaned into your touch like a cat seeking sunlight, his eyes fluttering shut.
âThen perhaps,â he murmured weakly, âI shall perish beautifully.â
You stared at him flatly. âYouâre not dying. You have a fever.â
âA tragic fever.â
âA very normal fever.â
He placed the back of his hand dramatically over his forehead. âTell the townsfolk I fought bravely.â
âIâll tell them you caught a cold because you stood outside in the rain last night by the docks hoping to 'seek inspiration'.â
His eyes opened just enough to look offended. âThe ocean understands me.â
âThe ocean got you sick.â
You rose from the bed before he could protest and grabbed a clean cloth from his wash basin. After soaking it in cool water, you wrung it out and gently placed it over his forehead.
Elliott sighed blissfully. âAh⌠your hands are far kinder than the sea.â
âFlattery wonât get you out of drinking medicine.â
His face twisted into a frown. âMedicine?â
âYes, medicine.â You reply.
âMy darlingâŚâ He reached for your hand with surprising urgency. âIf this is truly the end, let me spend my final moments gazing upon your lovely faceânot swallowing vile concoctions brewed by Doctor Harvey.â
You snorted. âHarvey said itâll help your fever go down. And I don't think he personally made those medicines.â
âHarvey also told me to ârest my voice,ââ Elliott muttered. âA novelist without his voice is like a bird without wings.â
âYouâre a writer. You use your hands.â
âMy hands are weak.â
âThey seemed strong enough to try and grab me five minutes ago.â
A faint smile tugged at his lips before he suddenly dissolved into a fit of coughs. Your teasing expression softened immediately as you helped him sit up, rubbing gentle circles against his back until the coughing subsided.
When he finally relaxed, he looked utterly exhausted.
âThere we go,â you whispered. âEasy.â
He sagged against you without warning, his warm body pressing into yours as he rested his head on your shoulder.
ââŚI like when you take care of me,â he admitted quietly.
Your hand stilled against his back.
âWhat?â
He let out a sleepy hum. âI know Iâve been dramatic.â
âThatâs one way to put it.â
âBut I enjoy being fussed over by you.â His voice grew softer with each word. âMakes me feel terribly loved.â
Your heart melted a little at that. You adjusted the blanket around him and pressed your lips to the top of his head, ignoring his earlier attempts to infect you.
âOf course youâre loved, you ridiculous man.â
He smiled against your shoulder.
âEven when Iâm a vile creature?â
âEspecially when youâre a vile creature.â
He let out a quiet laugh that turned into another sniffle. You handed him a tissue before he could wipe his nose on your shirt.
âAbsolutely not.â
âYou wound me.â
âI save you from death and this is how you repay me?â
He gave a weak chuckle before his eyelids began drooping.
âStay until I fall asleep?â he mumbled.
You tucked another strand of hair behind his ear. âI wasnât planning on going anywhere.â
Satisfied, Elliott curled closer beneath the blankets, one hand lazily finding yours. Just as you thought heâd drifted off, he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.
ââŚwhen I recover, Iâll write you again into my next novel.â
You smiled.
âOh, again? I feel spoiled.â You said.
âThe protagonist spends pages describing how beautiful and devoted their beloved is.â
âOnly pages?â
His sleepy grin widened.
âThe entire book, then.â
And for once, Elliott fell silentâsave for the soft sound of his breathing as he slept peacefully against you, your hand still tangled with his while the waves outside his cabin gently kissed the shore.
one night i was bored in bed and stalked you on the internet | iwaizumi h.
SYNOPSIS: in which you accidentally liked hajimeâs post from years ago.
it was one of those nights where sleep seemed to evade you.
youâd already flipped your pillow twice, kicked your blanket off and dragged it back on, checked your phone, locked it, unlocked it again.
2:13 a.m.
the screen glowed back at you like it was mocking your restlessness. you groaned, and tried another position in hopes of eventually tiring yourself out. nothing happens.
so you did what any sane person would do at this hour.
you started stalking.
not strangers, no. not in a creepy way, you told yourselfâbut people you knew. acquaintances. old classmates. just some harmless scrolling to pass the time.
somehow, though, you ended up on his page.
iwaizumi hajime.
you stared at his profile for a second longer than necessary before tapping it open, like it might bite.
âthis is normal,â you muttered to yourself, already too far gone. his page wasnât even that active compared to oikawaâs. a few posts here and there. mostly volleyball-related. a picture of him mid-spike, jaw clenched, muscles tense. another one with his teammates, slightly blurry, like someone took it in the middle of laughing. you zoomed in. then zoomed out. then scrolled further.
there were older posts too, ones you hadnât seen before. a dog (you didnât even know he had a dog), a sunset, a random picture of a protein shake with a caption that just said âmid.â
you snorted quietly into your pillow. âwhat even is this,â you mumbled, yet you kept going.
you didnât notice how much time passed. or how your initial âjust a quick lookâ turned into analyzing captions, reading comments, noticing the way he replied⌠short, blunt, but not rude. very⌠him.
then, you found a photo you hadnât expected.
it was old, perhaps from a few years ago. his hair slightly messier, his expression softer. he wasnât looking at the camera, just off to the side, like someone had called his name.
your thumb hovered.
ââŚoh shit.â
you didnât realize what you did until youâve done it.
you tapped the like button before you could overthink it. your entire body froze.
ââŚthat was from three years ago.â
you stared at the screen.
ââŚfuck.â
your brain started catching up to what youâd just done.
âno no no noââ
you scrambled, tapping again to unlike it, like that would undo everything, like the universe hadnât already witnessed your crime.
you tossed your phone beside you like it had betrayed you. you fought the urge to scream into your pillow out of frustration and embarrassment.
âitâs fine,â you whispered to the ceiling. âheâs asleep. he wonât notice. people donât check that stuff⌠right?â
your phone buzzed. you did not move. it buzzed again. damn it!
slowly⌠very slowly, you turned your head. the notification lit up your screen.
iwaizumi: why are you liking my old posts at 2 a.m.
you felt like the world has suddenly deprived you of oxygen.
âiâm going to disappear,â you murmured. âiâm actually going to evaporate.â
you debated ignoring it. throwing your phone across the room. moving countries, maybe?
but your fingers betrayed you again, already unlocking your phone. you stared at the message.
you typed.
then deleted.
typed again.
you: i was⌠bored?
send.
wow. so convincing.
you immediately buried your face into your pillow. then screamed. your phone buzzed again.
iwaizumi: so you stalk me when youâre bored?
you groaned into the fabric. you could have replied with a snarky comment, but it was practically dawn and your brain seemed to not function well during this time.
you: it wasnât stalking. it was⌠light browsing.
there was a pause this time, long enough for your embarrassment to double.
iwaizumi: you liked a post from three years ago.
you: i panicked.
iwaizumi: you liked the one where i was at the coast.
you blinked. you hesitated before replying.
you: the one where youâre not looking at the camera.
you almost added it was nice, but stopped yourself. the typing bubble appeared. disappeared. appeared again.
iwaizumi: yeah.
just that. yeah.
you stared at it, heart doing something weird. thenâ
iwaizumi: that oneâs old.
you: yeah i noticed that too late.
another pause.
iwaizumi: you can like it again if you want.
you sat up.
âwhat?â
you reread the message, just to be sure you werenât hallucinating from lack of sleep.
you: are you serious
iwaizumi: yeah.
iwaizumi: you said it was nice.
your heart did that weird thing again.
you hadnât even sent that part.
ââŚdid i type it and delete it?â
you scrolled up. no, you hadnât. you hesitated.
then slowly typed:
you: it is.
this time, his reply didnât come immediately.
when it did, it was simpler than anything else heâd said.
iwaizumi: thanks.
you stared at your screen, the embarrassment still thereâbut milder now.
your phone dimmed after a while, but you didnât turn it off right away.
because now you certainly couldnât sleep anymore.
âWhy the hell are you here,â Hajime deadpanned. He had thought that he would have a stress-free day with Oikawa away on a vacation with his family, but no, you just had to be there, eating his plate of strawberry shortcake.
âI didnât know you liked strawberries, Iwaizumi,â you commented, going for another slice when Hajime held the plate away from your fork. Jerk.
âBuy your own cake,â Hajime grumbled, âand you didnât answer my question.â
You shrugged. âWell, as you can see, there are no more seats left,â you replied, looking around the full cafe. âAnd besides,â you turned back towards Hajime, who was shielding the half-eaten plate of his strawberry shortcake from you. So stingy, you thought. âYou looked quite lonely without your other annoying half. So I figured you might want the company.â
For a moment, Hajime had thought that it was kind of you to sit down with him while the rain drizzled outside, but immediately changed his mind when you reached for the only strawberry left on the plate after he let his guard down, a mischievous grin plastered on your face as you plopped it into your mouth. âWhat the hell?â he exclaimed, âthat was supposed to be mine!â âToo bad,â You replied, slowly chewing the fruit, teasing him. "You'll just have to buy us another one, then."
