Hi I'm a beginner writer :)
Interests:
✩ Haikyuu
✩ Percy Jackson
✩ Ouran highschool host club
✩ The Freak Circus
✩ Toilet Bound Hanako-kun
✩ Project Sekai
Might take requests soon!
Feel free to ask me anything:)
megumi’s different when he’s sick, really different. but you can’t say you mind.
your usually stoic, collected, unemotional boyfriend is suddenly all over you, clingy as a koala. it’s pathetically adorable.
your hand is flat against megumi’s forehead, checking for a temperature, and he’s blatantly leaning into your touch. a kiss pressed to your knuckles, another to your palm.
you get up to make soup and he pulls you back towards him with surprising strength, for someone who’s sick. a surprised squeak leaves your mouth as you’re tugged into his warm arms, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
“don’t go,” megumi mumbles, pouting.
you laugh quietly, hand threading through his hair. “i’ll be back in a minute, baby. just gonna make you something warm so you feel better.”
he huffs, tightening his hold on you. “you can do that later. ‘s cold without you.”
“i’ll give you more blankets?”
“it’s not the same,” he grumbles. then he sniffles, a quiet, sickly sound. it tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder whether he was faking it just for the attention.
you exhale, amused yet unrelenting. “i’m sorry, gumi. i have to, okay?” somehow, some way, you untangle yourself from his tight embrace and stand up.
megumi whines, reaching for you, and you fight back a smile.
“i’ll be really quick, baby. promise.” you press a peck to his warm forehead, tucking him more properly into the blankets before slipping out of the bedroom.
not even a minute goes by before you feel megumi’s presence in the kitchen. you smile softly as his arms come around your waist, chin resting heavily on your shoulder.
“you should be in bed, baby.”
“i know,” he mumbles almost guiltily, breath warm on your neck. he watches you cut the vegetables, spiky hair tickling your skin. “it was just really cold without you. horrible.”
“horrible indeed,” you humour him, reaching back to scratch his scalp. he exhales, eyes droopy as he melts into you. “i told you i’d be back soon, no?”
“but you were taking forever,” megumi groans earnestly, eyes opening to peek at you.
“i was away for one minute.”
“a minute too long.” he says, sniffling and shutting his eyes again. “i almost died.”
you giggle, pouring the finished soup into a bowl. “i’m really sorry,” you say as you lead him back into the bedroom, pulling him behind you like a sad puppy. “won’t happen again.”
“good,” megumi huffs, satisfied.
his eyes trail over you as you get him settled in, cocooning him in blankets and pressing the bowl into his hands. you know exactly what’s coming next.
megumi locks his gaze on yours. “is it cuddle time now?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and shiny, lips downturned as though he might burst into tears if you refused.
the sight of him like this is so unexpected, so precious. you almost give in. almost.
“nope,” you say, trying to sound as firm as you can muster. you press the soup bowl further into his hands as his bottom lip quivers. “drink first, then cuddles.”
“and- and you won’t even feed me?” megumi warbles, sniffling sadly. “i’m dying, you know.”
“you’re not dying,” you sigh, sitting down next to him. “but fine, i’ll feed you. only cos’ you’re sick.”
the biggest smile breaks onto his face, eyes clearing up immediately as he hands you the soup bowl. your megumi wouldn’t smile like this in a million years, and you try to savour it.
he’s almost giddy with affection as he presses the soup bowl into your hands, cozying up to you and pressing his face into your chest. “you’re the best,” he mumbles happily.
you can’t wait to tell your boyfriend about this when he’s well again.
it’s six minutes before midnight, six minutes before your birthday, six minutes before you turn yet another year older.
and it tugs at your heartstrings.
it’s not the aging that hurts, but it’s the fact that it’s supposed to be your special day, yet it’ll probably be like any day.
your regular routine, wake up, get ready for wherever you’re going today, school, work, maybe just grocery shopping, then you get home, and do nothing for the rest of your day. and go to sleep like it wasn’t your birthday in the first place.
your friends are all busy, and you know that they’d loved to hang out with you, maybe even throw a little surprise party, their busy schedules prevent them from doing so.
your parents are also out of town, so you’re basically all alone, well, you still have your boyfriend, oikawa. but he’s also going to be busy with volleyball practice or something close adjacent.
but your thoughts get interrupted by a frantic knock on the door, making you ponder on who in the world could be knocking on your door like a madman a few minutes before the clock strikes midnight.
you still get up from your comfortable position on the couch to see who could be at your door.
and much to your surprise, it’s oikawa. one hand behind his back and the other running through his sweat soaked hair.
“tōru? what are you—” he rushes to kiss your cheek, although it’s more his lips grazing across your face in a quick movement than a kiss, but it’s the thought that counts.
he hurriedly steps in your house and brushes past you, still making sure you don’t see what he’s holding behind his back.
you check your phone, and it’s now three minutes before the clock hits midnight. maybe that’s why he was in such a rush.
you walk after him, and see him already plopped on your couch. along with a small chocolate cake on your coffee table, decorated with strawberries around the edges, and a ‘happy birthday, y/n’ written in cursive with white buttercream.
he’s fumbling with a hot pink lighter in his hand, an old crappy one from the back of a kitchen drawer, which barely has any fuel left.
there’s a single candle in the center of the cake, one of those small, striped ones you always had on cakes since you were a kid.
“does it work? i can look for a different one.” you ask, making him look up at you. snapping him out of his focus of trying to get the lighter to actually light up.
“just c’mere, it’ll work.” his tongue sticks out a little in focus, and it puts a small smile on your face. he pats the space beside him, beckoning you to come sit down.
you sit down, and he checks his phone another time. 11:59, only a minute left to get the crappy lighter to work so you can make the wish when the clock strikes.
he murmurs something incoherent, his thumb swiping over the sparkwheel over and over, alas to no avail.
“i can get a new one, this one clearly isn’t working,” you laugh through a breath, getting ready to get up. but he stops you by placing a hand on your thigh.
“baby, you have to make the wish when the clock strikes. it won’t count if you don’t.” he’s serious about this, his brows are furrowed and he’s now biting his bottom lip lightly. using all his willpower to get the damned lighter to give a little more than a spark.
he flicks his thumb one more time, and there it is, an actual flame.
he has no time to get excited over it finally working, he has to light the candle before the flame dims again, placing him right back where he started.
he quickly moves to light the candle, still making sure it’s working before he lights the candle. and the lighter gives up the next second after the flame hits the wick.
only now can he do a little victory wiggle, his hand lightly sqeeuzing your thigh, before grabbing the small cake. careful not to let the flame die down from a rapid movement.
“make a wish, baby.” the atmosphere seems to quiet down from his words, all the other sounds and noises from outside your little bubble tuned out.
you don’t hear the faucet in your bathroom dripping anymore, you don’t hear the gush of wind coming through your slightly ajar window. it’s all blurred out.
all you hear is oikawa’s steady breathing, and the flickering of the candle.
the clock has definitely hit midnight already, but you don’t want this moment to end so quickly. and have it all end as a fleeting memory, one you’ll reminisce in the future.
even if it’s simply eating a cake from the grocery store on the comfort of your couch, in old pajamas and spot cream. with oikawa sitting next to you looking like he ran two marathons back to back, his shirt lightly clinging to his back from the remnants of the summer heat.
it’s a moment you want to last forever, it’s so peaceful to be here with him. on the first minutes of your birthday.
sure you’ve definitely gotten a few ‘happy birthday!’ texts from your friends, but none of them ran all the way to your house to be with you, only he did.
he really didn’t need to, but he still did anyway.
his first thought before the clock striked twelve was you, and how you’d been feeling, since he knows you’re always a bit down on your birthday.
the thing with aging, and not having many people around you to celebrate, he knows it, he knows that exact feeling.
when he lived full time in argentina fresh after graduation, alone in a small dorm room funded by his club, with a small cupcake infront of him, no candle to accompany it.
and he didn’t call anyone, not even you. not wanting to bother you as you’re about to go to sleep, or probably asleep already.
so he knows what it feels like to, to have no one share the special moment of being a year older again.
and he’d run to your house at near midnight after a gruesome flight everytime, if it meant you wouldn’t be so gloomy anymore.
your smile is all he needs to function properly, so when he knows you’re not smiling, he has to take immediate action.
even if it’s to bring a dry chocolate cake your way, and to celebrate your birthday for a few minutes, maybe sing for you, or plop down in bed after devouring the cake.
it’s all worth it if it’s for you, he needs you to be smiling on your birthday, that’s the one day where it’s illegal for you to be sad.
so as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, chin resting in his palm, he wishes to spend every birthday with you like this.
and that’s exactly what you wish for when you blow out the candle, to spend every birthday— and every other day, with him.
dear nique,
words can’t describe how happy i am to have met you, and call you one of my friends.
you’re so dear to me. you’re one of the best friends imaginable, atleast to me that is.
you’re a sweetheart, you’re funny, and you have all the other good character traits in the world.
i love talking to you alot, it always puts a smile on my face whenever we talk.
it could be about anything, really anything at all, and we’d be able to have a full blown conversation about it, no matter how crazy it is.
and i love how you always support my delusions, and my little 67 problem.
you’re so dear to me, and i love you so much.
and now, it’s your birthday, your special day, the day that’s only about you, no one else.
i’d vouch to call june 2nd ‘nique day’ if that were possible, since i now associate this date with you.
you’ve become a light in my life, and i don’t want that to ever dim or flicker.
this letter may not be much, but i hope you do appreciate it.
happy birthday, nique, may this be a day filled with joy and gifts for you.
Now we know Hana, Duri, and Semo's birthdays, height, and weight!!
This can be found on NamuWiki!! (I just realized after it was modified a whole month later)
I already knew Hana and Duri's birthday, I posted abt it a while ago. But Semo's being on November 12?? Then that means that they don't have a huge gap, just some days.
We already knew that Semo is taller than the twins, but I didn't expect them to have the same height.
Tags: definitely more angsty, but more on the side of desperation and guilt. Some of them are lowkey toxic (and maybe Y/N is too if you squint lol), and also yes Sukuna did say he wouldn’t send a lot of messages and then did anyways. tsundere.
a/n: I’m unlikely to make a part 2 to these because then I’d have to give the arguments context and… eugh.
the first time your son learned how to walk, you and your husband satoru were over the moon. it was on a random saturday afternoon with you all in your son’s playpen. already a seemingly rare occasion where satoru finally had a break from all of his missions.
at just 6 months, your baby could already crawl and stand up by using objects above to grip onto — satoru argues that the gojo genetics has him so incredibly advanced for his age.
but that wasn’t enough for your son. now at 9 months old, he kept attempting to walk only for his little legs to give up halfway. but you were determined for today to finally be the day.
satoru was sprawled out like a starfish whilst replacing the batteries for your son’s bubble machine. that which you had shoko to thank for — all of your friends collectively made sure that your baby was beyond spoiled than he already is.
you were also sat further away with all of the toys beside you to motivate your son to walk over.
“come on baby! don’t you want teddy back?” you chirp at your son.
he slowly stands up, already making improvement since he wasn’t holding onto anything for the first time. “ma–ma!” he happily claps his tiny hands as he takes two small baby steps.
“that’s it! come to mama!” you encourage him into your arms whilst he’s still deciding if he should try to walk or not. your son has a cute pout and furrow in his eyebrows painting his dedicated face as his wobbly steps grow more steady.
“oh my gosh! satoru, look!” you shake his shoulder repeatedly to face your son who was slowly but surely padding his way over to you both.
“wooow~ look at our little munchkin go!” he cheers on. you pull out your phone to commemorate the special milestone.
“dadadadada” he babbles on until stumbling over a lego block. you and satoru immediately share a look that says ‘do not react’ before he gets back up waddling and continues his string of babbles right into satoru’s arms.
“awww my smart baby! we’re so proud of you! and i think this may call for some mochi ice cream to celebrate if mama allows it…”
“alrighttt.. just this once. our baby deserves it after all.” you say in between peppering your son’s face in kisses.
little did you know how much of an adorable menace your son would grow into once learning how to walk…
fast forward to now at 12 months old, and it feels like your son was placed on earth for the sole purpose of acting as your personal trainer with the way you’re relentlessly chasing after him non-stop.
it’s early in the morning when satoru’s soft snores have once again woken you up — but he’ll always deny it. his arms are wrapped around your waist to cage you in from starting the day way too early.
“toru, let go…” you whisper whilst caressing his hair to gently wake him up.
“mmm.. five more minutes if you love me...” he croaks, reluctantly letting go eventually — but not before whining immediately when you do get up. god, sometimes he acts more like a baby than your actual infant.
when you groggily check the baby monitor on the bedside table, your heart drops. why is your baby not… in his crib? maybe you’re running on a lack of sleep which is causing you to hallucinate? you rub your eyes and focus on the screen again only to be met with the same sight.
at this point your mind is going to the worst of places. what if the gojo clan were right and you weren’t cautious enough and now your baby was made a target?
“hey– hey, what’s the matter sweets?” satoru’s words snap you out of your overthinking. it turns out you were hyperventilating without even realising which was enough to awaken the now worried sleepyhead.
“toru, he’s not in his crib! where the hell could he be?!”
“shh, it’s okay. i can sense his tiny cursed energy still in the home. let’s just get up and look for him, can you do that for me?” he softly kisses your cheek.
“o-okay, yeah. i can do that.” you get out of bed and head to the living room, satoru trailing from behind. you won’t lie and admit that you’re out of breath when you get there. ugh, curse satoru for insisting on spoiling you with a mansion after moving in together!
you scan the empty living room all over “okay so, he’s not here..” you mumble quietly, trying to compose yourself from freaking out.
“let’s not panic, we still have fifty something other rooms to check!”
you shoot him a glare, “that is not helping me right now. what if he accidentally hurt himself? a-and it’s so bad that he can’t even call out for us?!” your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill out. yeah. you were spiralling.
“stay calm sweets. i’ll check the other living room, kay?” he kisses at your pout. you hum defeatedly in response, pacing mindlessly into the kitchen until you suddenly stop in your tracks.
there you saw…your baby? sat on the floor hugging the jar of homemade cookies whilst munching away. crumbs and chocolate chips smear his face and clothes as a sign that he’s been here for a good minute.
“what on earth…” your son just giggles like he understands your confusion. “mama cookie!” he stretches out his grubby hand to show his half–bitten cookie, almost like a peace offering.
“uh, one second baby.. ahem– SATORUUU! come take a look at what your son is up to!” you have to yell knowing he’s somewhere on the other side of the massive house. your son who is completely unfazed by your shouting goes back to joyfully munching on his cookie.
satoru frantically spawns there within seconds, “you found him?” you nod, gesturing him to look down at the sight you just walked into. “oh wow–” he can’t help but burst out laughing, “that’s my son alright!”
you scoop your baby up into your arms and prop him on your waist. he whimpers when you separate him from his beloved cookie jar. “really? you couldn’t tell when he came out with glowing blue eyes?”
“heyyy! i can’t help that my genes are insanely overpowering! but you never know, perhaps our next one will be your carbon copy~” he playfully winks at you.
you roll your eyes, “how smooth of you. seriously though, how did he even end up here and reaching the jar?”
“hmm..” satoru points at the tiny stool, “he must’ve pulled out this stool to get to the jar. and as for how he got here, you must know by now that he’s an ambitious walker.”
“oh trust me i know. gosh, he’s getting way too smart for us. i think we need to lock away the goods before this continues..”
“good idea, i’ll look into investing in a safe. you go back to bed and i’ll sort out a bath for this cookie monster.” he pokes your son’s chubby cheeks which makes him squeak before you hand him over. “after all, he probably developed his newfound sweet tooth from me.”
“probably? oh please– it was most definitely you! my pregnancy cravings were the only time i was consistently having sugar to make my pickles and ice cream combo.”
“hehe– remember when you would wrap the pickles in fruit roll ups” satoru chuckles at the memory. he would taste all of your unique cravings with you as a means of showing his support in any way possible — even if he found it absolutely repulsive.
“of course, that was heavenly.” you sigh dreamily before turning to your son and holding his pudgy hand in yours “and baby, cookies are only allowed for treating good behaviour. if you have too much then you’re going to be sick. we don’t want that now, do we?”
“nooo…” your son shakes his head.
“alright mister, let’s get that bath ready then make some breakfast in bed for mama. you gave her quite the scare wandering off like that, so give her a kiss before we go.” something about satoru in dad mode always leaves your heart skipping a beat, from the very moment he carried your baby in the hospital.
“otay! bye bye mama” he cups your face with his sticky hands and places a sloppy kiss on both of your cheeks. “dada turn!”
“well, don’t mind if i do~” he catches you off guard as his lips smoothly connect to yours. you naturally melt into the kiss until a few moments later when your son has had enough and starts pounding at his dad’s chest to stop.
“hey– ow! why’re you hitting papa, hm?”
“no more! all done.” your baby shrieks in a somewhat stern tone, and satoru could’ve sworn that he saw his son’s bright blue eyes narrow at him. you only snort at his silly attempt to protect you.
“alright, let’s not be too mean on daddy. or else who’ll buy your sweets and toys?”
“GASP– is that all you think i’m good for?”
“yes.” you immediately deadpan, your baby watches you nod and copies. “yesh.”
“oh god– i never thought i’d see the day where the love of my life and my spawn are both turning against me! i– i can’t take it!” he clutches at his shirt dramatically making you and your baby giggle.
“hey! don’t call our precious son a spawn!” you lightly slap his shoulder, of course your baby follows and shoves him too. “you sound like the higher ups..” you pettily grumble under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.
“eugh– you’re right. sorry mochi, but let’s go take that bath. something seriously stinks now–” satoru grimaces, giving one last kiss to your forehead before you go back to bed for a nap whilst he cleans your baby up.
you may joke with him all the time but one thing for certain is that he’s always been an amazing husband and father. ≧◡≦
notes: i luv reading dad jjk men so writing this was soso fun, don’t be shy to req more guys, technically gojo could have teleported to the baby but i wanted to long things out 🥰, but yeah i didn’t know how to end it so hope this was okay
just to be clear, i’m not asking if u urself r a darkshipper, i’m asking if u think everyone should ship what they like even if it’s “illegal” and no one should b harassed over ships
I'm not a proshipper, it sometimes makes me uncomfy but I think that anyone can ship anything they like as long as they don't harass people to ship the same ship as theirs :)
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ (pt.3) when you call the haikyuu boys by their first name for the first time
characters: tsukishima kei, suna rintarou, akaashi keiji x gn!reader
synopsis: their last names have always been at the tip of your tongue, so what happens when you do the unthinkable, and finally, call them by their given name?
cw: fluffy rainbows, unestablished relationship, VERY down bad men
wc: 2.6k words, not proofread
this is probably the last part :( but i really did enjoy writing this for everyone to read !! thanks for the positive reactions everyone <3 if you enjoyed my fic, you can tip me on Kofi, but pls dont feel obligated to do so <3
link to first part (bokuto, kuroo, kita) || link to second part (kenma, sakusa, oikawa)
link to masterlist!
⋆.𐙚 ̊. TSUKISHIMA KEI, he wonders, is he still just an innocent teenage boy in your eyes?
Tsukishima has always wondered how it’s so easy to fall asleep during breaktime in school.
He knows that breaktime is when the devils are released, which means it’s the loudest, because the entire school is free from classes. Certain people like Hinata and Kageyama… He swears, he can hear their voices from afar, bickering with each other.
At home, he’s known to be a light-sleeper. He gets riled up easily by the tiniest of voices, which requires him to wear headphones to sleep sometimes. Not too much, his brother warns him that he might suffer from hearing loss one day.
“You’re not going on lunch break?”
You approach him the moment the bell rings, offering him a small grin. You do that to everyone, coming up to people, having short conversations in means of being friendly.
Tsukishima doesn’t get why you enjoy talking to him. He’s a boring person, and gives short, blunt replies. Being a people-pleaser isn’t in Tsukishima’s books.
“No, I went for the first,” Yet, he still discovers himself trying his best to elongate his words when conversing with you. Just a little, teeny-tiny bit, compared to usual. Perhaps, it’s because you are the only one he finds slightly tolerable, except for Yamaguchi.
You hum as a reply. Then, Tsukishima hears the squeaking of shoes against the floor tiles, and later, doesn’t hear anything else anymore. The classroom goes entirely quiet, and he takes it as a sign to have his well-deserved rest. A daily routine of his.
Forming a criss-cross shape with his arms, he lays his head sideways, facing the wall. Gradually, his eyelids flutter closed, lulling him into a sweet, peaceful slumber.
He thinks he has gotten more than enough sleep from last night, because he ends up waking up earlier than his expected time.
However, before he shifts his head up, the loud footsteps approach his classroom, and he decides to lie down for a while more. Class might be starting soon anyway, he can slot in a few more minutes of rest.
But then, he nearly perks up when your voice enters the room.
“Guys, how about we talk outside instead?” You say in a tone, so soft, it sounds like a light breeze, but Tsukishima can still hear your words as clear as day, “I don’t wanna wake up Kei. He’s been looking tired the whole day.”
Tsukishima’s breath hitches.
“You’re such a caring person, Y/N. Sure there’s nothing else going on between you and him?” Your friend teases you, which earns a few chuckles that slowly fade into the distance. You’ve probably pushed them outside while being in a red fit of bashfulness.
For the first time, the image of your flustered expression pops up in Tsukishima’s mind. He imagines how you’re fiddling with your fingers, words stumbling out of your lips as your tongue twists. He also thinks of how you might be fighting for your life outside, while your friends continue to add oil to the fire.
Tsukishima can’t stop thinking about you.
And he most certainly can’t stop holding your voice close to his heart.
Kei.
To him, you call him Tsukishima. To teachers, you call him Tsukishima. To friends, you also call him Tsukishima.
When he’s absent, do you call him Kei to everyone? How long have you been calling him by his first name, without him knowing? Why do you never call him that when you’re in front of him?
And, why does he care so much about this?
Tsukishima buries his head deeper inside his make-shift arm pillow. The warmth doesn’t aid in the rise of temperature he feels on his face. In fact, it exacerbates the situation. He can’t look up either. His classmates might take notice of him, and it’s the last thing he wants to happen.
Class starts, Tsukishima pushes the thought to the back of his head, thinking of it as a temporary fixation.
Tsukishima tries his best to focus on the syllabus, but the lesson floods his mind, and exits out of the other ear. Your voice is the only thing on his mind now. It has become a giant, towering wave, washing away the unnecessary debris that enters his head.
You have become all he can think of, infiltrating every corner of his life, despite his initial denial.
Which is why, when the time comes, Tsukishima is walking you home for the first time.
Volleyball practice has just ended a few minutes ago, and it's also the first time you've seen him play, too. So, he plays like his life depends on it. Blocking every ball that stands in his way, soaring high above the net, standing tall like a wall, he hopes one day, you can depend on too.
The sky paints a beautiful hue of pink, and the sunlight drapes over you like a blanket, kissing your skin gently.
Tsukishima doesn’t tell anyone about it, how he heard you calling his given name when you thought he was asleep. Not even Yamaguchi, nor his brother. He keeps it to himself, until today, when he lets the long-awaited words slip out of his lips.
“You can start calling me Kei.”
“Huh?”
It’s pristine and clear. Tsukishima doesn’t want to be just Tsukishima to you anymore.
He wants to become something more than that, and it shows on his face, with dusted pink skin, similar to the tint of the skies, all across his skin.
“Stupid, what I mean is…” He takes a step closer to you, just like how you have stepped into his heart, effortlessly, “I want you to start looking at me as a man.”
⋆.𐙚 ̊. SUNA RINTAROU, he's walking on clouds, and nothing else can take away the joy you give him.
It starts with a normal after-school hangout with the three second-years.
However, due to a certain blond getting food poisoning from eating overnight dumplings, the Miyas couldn’t attend the hangout. As quoted by Osamu, “This scrub keeps sayin’ he’s gonna die and apparently, all of a sudden, he can see the light. So sorry y’all.”
The hangout becomes cancelled, what fun is there without the Miya’s providing free entertainment?
Suna proves you otherwise.
He brings you to a photobooth, where the two of you choose stupid hats for each other. You pick out an octopus one, with the tentacles falling off his head. It doesn’t do a single bit of justice for Suna’s good looks, but he looks like he’s enjoying this too much.
Because the hat he chooses for you is the most hideous thing you’ve seen on earth.
“I’m not wearing this.”
“I think you make a good ostrich,” He proceeds to plop the hat on you, where a pink ostrich rises from the base of the hat with a funny expression.
When the two of you enter the photobooth, something shifts.
He leans in close to your side, like never before, to the point where his shoulder is touching yours. You steal a glance at him, the word ‘unbothered’ written all across his face.
Gulping heavily, you try your best to pay no attention to it, and cover it up with a smile to the camera.
Then, he takes you to a lake, and teaches you about skipping stones, where you have to toss pebbles, making them bounce across the water's surface.
It turns into a competition, filled with endless bickering and laughter. You sabotage him multiple times, which ends up with him being the loser. He rolls his eyes, saying, “Cheater cheater pants on fire.”
“I think that’s the wrong way to say it.”
He huffs, “I don’t care.”
The day ends with him walking you back home under a peaceful sunset. A classic epilogue to a romance novel, except… the two of you are only friends.
Just friends.
It echoes in Suna’s mind like a mantra, a reminder that claws at the back of his mind.
The walk back is as silent as ever, with Suna beside you. You don’t notice, but he purposely makes his steps smaller, so he’s walking at the same pace as you, like how he always does, no matter where you are.
Suna likes staying close to you, and it’s clear that he likes it when he drops you off at your house, lingering a bit too long at the front gate with you. His hands are stuck inside his pockets, and his bag is slung over one of his shoulders as he stands before you, a high school boy who’s just in love.
“I had a very fun time today. Maybe it’s good that Atsumu and Osamu didn’t come,” You make a light joke, chuckling, a sound that Suna dearly adores.
Suna lets his lips quirk up slightly at the side, “You’re right. They would have ruined our peace.”
Then, there’s a moment of silence. Suna has heard that his eyes are intimidating whenever he stares too hard at someone or something, but to you, his gaze falls over you with a gentleness like never before.
So, you bid farewell, and prepare to enter your house, to Suna’s despair.
However, things change when you suddenly turn around, grasping onto the straps of your bag, and look up to him with the most ethereal smile he’s ever seen.
“Oh, and… thanks for today, Rintarou.”
Suna’s world entirely stops spinning for a while. He sees flowers all over the place, and they’re at full-bloom. Butterflies are fluttering inside his stomach, slinking into his heart before swallowing it up; it forces an emergency stop to his pulsing blood, making him want to keel over.
Yet, whenever he opens his mouth to speak, he feels his heart beating at his throat, and at that moment, Suna Rintarou truly feels like he’s become the successful main character of a love story.
“You called me Rintarou.”
“Uhh, yeah?”
He sucks in a deep breath, and god, he feels so, so happy.
He’s nearly going to do a thousand jumping jacks, hundreds of his most hated burpees, but he doesn’t, and offers you his last words, “Call the emergency services, I’m about to die.”
And Suna Rintarou really pretends to faint, dropping limp onto the ground, limbs all sprawled out like a starfish, not a single worry about how he’s going to stain his white uniform, and has to stay up late washing it.
While you yell out his name in a panic and fret, a small rising smile blooms on his lips.
If he dies tomorrow, then so be it.
The world can crash and burn, but Suna Rintarou is already glad he gets to live for another day to hear your voice.
⋆.𐙚 ̊. AKAASHI KEIJI, he realises he can't live a single moment without you, you are all that he needs.
Akaashi Keiji is calm, analytical, humble, and most likely, the most flawless human to exist on this earth. He opens the door for people to enter first. He notices the small errors and won’t hesitate to fix them. He treats everyone as an equal, letting them have their own spotlight to shine.
However, Akaashi is never good at withstanding stress. When a big match comes up, he paces around the waiting room endlessly, breathing heavily. When questioned about it, he says he’s doing breathing exercises.
“You sure…? Your face looks very constipated.”
Perhaps he should be like Hinata, and take a big dump before competing, but it’s way too late for him to stop by the toilet.
“I’m fine…” Akaashi barely holds back the tremble in his voice, clasping his hands together to prevent anyone from seeing that they’re uncontrollably shaking.
Even with Bokuto being in high spirits, and everyone else motivated to crush the rival team, Akaashi still feels a certain sensation of anxiety, crawling up his back and whispering negative thoughts into his head.
Hence, when the team finally prepares to head out to the giant court, Akaashi gets blinded by the lights, the number of people on the bleachers cheering for them, and the empty spot in the middle, where he will soon stand.
Akaashi gulps nervously, standing behind the tall and confident Bokuto to hide himself from the attention.
What if he fails today? What if he can’t make a good set, and ends up leading his team to a loss? Endless thoughts run in Akaashi’s head, bumping into each other, causing a great landslide.
It’s unfortunate you can’t make it to the game today, due to having made plans with your friends beforehand.
Akaashi doesn’t mind you hanging out with friends, and he certainly doesn’t want to bother you, but the lack of your presence completely alters his mood. Whenever he’s down in the dumps, you are always there to lift him up, like a warm glow of light that embraces his fading self.
He… really wishes you had come to cheer for him.
“Hey, Akaashi!”
He doesn’t know why his mood is getting to him. Is he becoming a second Bokuto?
“Akaashi!”
He really can’t help it. He’s not at the top of his game today, so should he just run—
“Keiji!”
Akaashi turns around almost immediately, and his eyes widen, with sudden stars that glimmer hope within them. At that moment, there’s no one else in his world, only you, and that enchanting smile of yours that effortlessly steals away his heart.
“I… I am so sorry for being late, my friends are waiting for me, but I still have to say this…” Your lips are parted, harsh breaths being panted, a sign that you have actually run, just to be with him.
Then, before he knows it, you are taking his hands in yours, just like how you’ve taken his whole life in one breath. You intertwine your fingers with his, holding them tight and close to your being—
Akaashi feels himself losing grip with reality, as he subconsciously drifts off into your existence, fusing into one with his palpitating feelings.
The final punch in the gut occurs to Akaashi when a grin dances on your lips, as you exclaim, with radiating optimism, “Good luck with your match, Keiji! I’ll be cheering for you and your team!”
Akaashi doesn’t realise the entire team behind him is throwing teasing remarks at him, nor does he notice his own hands are quivering, not from uneasiness, but from longing. And Akaashi doesn’t remember the last time he has longed for someone this much.
And so, he grasps onto that feeling, and reminds himself that it’s not a dream anymore.
Akaashi makes a promise to himself, with a beating heart, beating like it’s about to die. If he doesn’t win this match, he doesn’t deserve your heart.
“Is it just me, or did the vibe around Akaashi suddenly change?” One of his teammates comments, nudging the said boy’s shoulder with a knowing smirk.
With a subtle, genuine smile, Akaashi replies as if it’s the most natural thing in the whole world, “I am merely feeling motivated to win, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
Win. He will win this match, because you are cheering for him, and he needs nothing more than that.
Akaashi Keiji, clutching on his fists with nothing but perseverance, steps into the blazing fire for you; not as a superhero that comes in to save the day with his setter abilities, but as a desperate high school teenage boy, willing to dedicate his whole seventeen years of life to this one moment.
This one single moment that will make him feel that he’s finally, and sincerely, worthy of being yours.
𝒃lurb ﹕ banished from the gym after a flash of temper, a restless athlete wanders the school corridors where he stumbles into the sanctuary of the art room. ╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 2.3k
requested ☆
really, the only reason semi discovers the art room is because he got kicked out of the gym.
it was one of those days where the air felt itchy and wrong, and semi felt irritated and annoyed. he'd been bouncing a ball when he wasn't supposed to, hot temper flaring up at shirabu after too many sets gone wrong. then the whistle blew, loud and final, and before semi could even argue, he was handed a warning slip and told to take a walk, cheeks warm with that familiar mix of embarrassment and defiance.
the gym doors slam shut behind him, and for a few moments, semi stands there, breathing heavily and jaw clenched. he kicks lightly at the wall before forcing himself to move.
he doesn't know where to go. he would go to the music room, but he's left his guitar and home and he doesn't want to touch anyone else's. the sun is beating hot down on his skin, so he decides to go and wander the corridors.
the hallways are quiet and cool, but of course they are after school. not many people usually stayed, apart from people in clubs and such. lockers line the walls, looking empty and sad without students leaning against them, laughter and chatter replaced by the faint hum of vacant classrooms. semi shoves his hands into his pockets and walks without knowing where exactly he's going. he just lets his irritation bleed out slowly with each step.
the further he goes, the more the school halls change. sure, semi has walked past these halls many times, but he never really payed attention to them. now, that he has nothing to do, he catches how the sport posters are disappearing, replaced with student artwork taped hazardly to the walls. colourful flyers announce upcoming exhibitions and club meetings, and there's splotches of paint adorning the windows.
then his attention snags on a slightly ajar door. the art room.
semi slows. this room - he's passed it countless times and never once cared to look inside. but today, he feels drawn to it. before he can overthink it, he gently nudges open the door with his shoulder and peers inside.
the smell hits him first. it's the smell of paint and paper, and something warm, like the sunlight filtering through the windows has been trapped inside. the space is wide and cluttered, tables arranged randomly around the room. each one is a mess of brushes soaking in cloudy water, palettes smeared with color, sketchbooks left open like people had left the moment school ended. the walls are layed with murals, paper hung with charcoal sketches and paintings. in the corner are a bunch of half finished canvases on easels.
then semi spots you.
you're near the windows, back turned to him and bathed in soft afternoon light, standing in front of a canvas. your posture is relaxed but intent, brush moving with quiet confidence as you hum a familiar melody to yourself.
semi freezes in the doorway, and for the first time that day, his head is silent.
he suddenly feels too big in his gym clothes, too loud even though he isn't making a sound. semi doesn't fit here. he considers backing out, pretending he’d never wandered in, but the floor creaks under his weight.
you turn, and your eyes meet his, surprise flashing across your face before easing into something that resembles curiosity. your gaze flickers briefly to the crumpled paper in his hand, then back up.
"..uh," you say, intelligent as ever.
semi straightens like he’s been caught trespassing somewhere he shouldn't be. he lifts the crumpled slip instinctively, as if it explains his existence. "sorry," he blurts. "i didn’t know anyone was in here."
it’s a lie, sort of. he knew the second he saw you that someone was in here.
you blink, then smile a little, soft around the edges. "it’s okay. i shouldn't be surprised - i didn't lock the door." you gesture vaguely with your brush, and a streak of blue threatens to drip. you quickly angle it up so it doesn't. "are you lost?"
semi shrugs. "you could say that."
he's seen you around before. like a quiet presence, there but not quite. he doesn’t move further in, hovering by the door like a stray cat deciding whether it’s safe. you tilt your head, studying him like he's a priceless painting. the gym uniform, the way his shoulders are wound tight and tense like coiled wire.
"you’re from volleyball," you observe. "semi eita."
"unfortunately," semi replies, then winces. he isn't supposed to say that. "i mean, yeah. yeah, i am."
that earns a small snort from you. he relaxes a fraction at the sound, tension leaking out through his fingers.
"im l/n y/n. and you can come in, you know," you murmur, turning back to your canvas. "i just asked the door, and you're making it nervous." there's a trace of light humor in your tone, and semi bristles.
he takes a step inside, closing the door behind him but leaving it slightly open, just like before. his footsteps are hesitant, like he's scared the floor will open up and swallow him if he steps somewhere he isn't supposed to.
up close, he can see your canvas better. from what semi can see, it isn't finished yet. there are shapes layered over other shapes, colours bleeding into eachother to make new shades. no distinct idea as to what it is.
"what is it?" he asks bluntly before he can stop himself.
you hum, looking thoughtful. "i don't know yet."
semi frowns. "you don't know?"
"nope."
"but.. you're painting it."
"i am."
he stares at the canvas, then at the back of your head. "that seems kinda backwards, to be honest."
you grin over your shoulder. "that's what art is, semi-san."
something about that settles him, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. the itch under his skin quiets, replaced by a dull warmth. he walks over to a nearby table and leans against it, watching you paint careful strokes over the canvas with your paintbrush before dipping it into a wooden plate sort of object.
semi hesitates. he feels like he should know what it is, but..
"what's that plate thing?" he asks sheepishly. you glance at him, confused.
"this? oh, this is a palette." you lift it up to show him, and there are a bunch of paint splotches scattered all over. some small, some big, some mixed, some pure. semi nods.
your brush moves without hesitation, even when you change colors, even when you paint over something you just did. in the gym, every mistake echoes. whistles, glares, the sharp taste of failure. especially the sharp taste of failure. here, in the calm art room, mistakes just become layers.
"did you get kicked out or something?" you ask casually, brush never faltering. semi snorts.
"is it that obvious?"
you smile. "i mean, you are holding that warning slip, so yeah."
he rubs the back of his neck, hastily shoving said slip into his gym shorts pocket. "i lost my temper a little bit. coach washijo said i needed some air."
you nod. you don't question anything else, or try to bug more details out of him. semi appreciates that - he doesn't like nosy people.
"you can stay, if you want. im usually here until the sun gives up. unless you want to go back to the gym, of course."
semi looks toward the windows. the light has shifted, softer now, dust motes floating like tiny planets. he thinks of the gym, loud and sharp and waiting for him to come back improved.
"yeah." he says after a moment. "i think i'd like to stay."
you hand him a dirty rag without looking - it's stained with thousands of colours, more than semi can name. "well, i guess you can clean brushes if you're bored." there's a hint of glee in your voice.
he takes it, surprised. "you trust me with this?"
you glance at him, eyes bright with laughter. "..it’s just paint, semi-san."
just paint.
—
semi scrubs at a brush a little too hard at first, bristles splaying, and immediately eases up, muttering a quiet apology to it under his breath. you hear it and smile to yourself, but don’t comment.
"you don’t have to fight them," you say eventually, nodding toward the brushes. "they’re already tired."
semi huffs a laugh, softer than his usual bark. "story of my life."
he rinses again, slower this time, watching the pigment unfurl in the water like ink clouds before disappearing down the drain. it’s weirdly satisfying. no replays in his head, no correcting his form after the fact. once the paint’s gone, it’s gone.
behind him, you step back from your canvas, head tilted as you assess it with scrutinising eyes. there’s a long pause. semi glances over his shoulder, half expecting frustration, maybe a sigh. instead, you merely dip your brush into a new color.
"do you ever do art?"
"no way. i can barely draw a stick figure without it looking cursed."
you shrug. "that’s fine. cursed can be interesting."
he shakes his head firmly, but there’s no bite to it. "nah. i’m more.. noise than picture."
"music?" you guess.
his hands still for half a second, wondering how you know. "yeah."
you bob your head. "hm. that makes sense."
"how?" he asks, defensive reflex flaring, then immediately regrets the edge in his tone.
you don't react to it, instead shrugging. "im not sure. you just.. kinda seem like a person who listens first."
semi pauses. that doesn't sound like him.
he doesn't know what to do with that information, so he refocuses his attention back to the sink, ears tinted pink. the brush in his hand is clean now, wooden and bare, so he sets it aside to dry.
semi finishes with the brushes and wipes his hands on a new, cleaner rag. he doesn’t know what to do next, so he just stays. leans against the counter and watches.
"you don't have to stand there like you're waiting for instructions," you say lightly.
"sorry," he says automatically, then stops himself. "i mean, right. of course."
you gesture with your chin toward a nearby table, cluttered with sketchbooks. "you can look. just don’t judge them too hard - they get shy."
semi hesitates, then wanders over and flips one open carefully. the pages are filled with loose sketches, studies of hands, faces caught mid expression, with scribbled notes in the margins. they're not perfect. roughly drawn - but semi thinks they look good like that.
"are these yours?" he asks.
"most of them. that's our shared sketchbook, but barely anyone draws in it. just me, usually."
"they're really good."
you hum in acknowledgement, but there's a pleased sort of tilt to your shoulders. "why thank you."
he flips another page, then another. something in his chest aches, quiet and unfamiliar. semi closes the sketchbook gently.
"hey," he starts, unsure why the word feels important. you look over, eyes questioning. "do you ever get mad when it doesn’t turn out right?"
you consider that carefully. "sometimes," you admit. "but then i remember it’s not done yet, so im like, okay. keep going."
semi nods slowly.
outside, the sky darkens. inside, the art room hums on, warm and comforting. semi realises that he hasn’t thought about the gym in a while, and he finds it strangely relaxing.
semi shifts on his feet, glancing at the mess of palettes and paint, then back at you. the light catches the flecks of color in your hair, and for some reason, his chest tightens.
"hey," he mutters, quieter this time. you look up, brush paused in mid air.
"hm?"
he swallows, unsure if he should even say it. "thanks. for letting me.. hang out here."
you smile, like it’s just for him. "you’re welcome," you say softly. then, after a pause, you tilt your head slightly. "i like having you here. it's nice."
"i like being here too," he admits, voice rough around the edges but honest.
your smile broadens, a brushstroke of color in the fading light. you set your palette down and, without thinking, reach up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. semi flinches, then relaxes under your touch, feeling the faint warmth linger longer than he expects.
"is that okay?" you ask hesitantly, and semi nods quickly.
his eyes drift to the palette at your side. it's wooden, messy, and covered in dabs and swirls of color, some blended into unexpected shades. "that palette… it’s kind of like you," he says, voice low. "messy, but.. nice. makes everything look softer. if that makes sense."
you blink, then laugh softly, shaking your head. "that's very poetic, but i would expect nothing less from a musician. i think i’ll take that as a compliment." your eyes sparkle as you glance back at him. "maybe you’re a palette too, semi-san. all raw colors waiting to mix."
he swallows, heat rising in his ears. is he? maybe he is.
the two of you stand there, quiet, just breathing in the soft chaos of the room, the smell of paint and sun mixing. semi thinks that maybe getting kicked out of the gym wasn’t so bad after all - because he found this. found you.
and in that moment, the world outside - loud, sharp, demanding - fades to nothing. all that exists is the hum of the room, the faint dust in the light, and the small, steady thrum of something new stirring in his chest.
you finally pick up your brush again, and semi watches, an unspoken smile tugging at his lips. he doesn’t move, doesn’t need to. he’s exactly where he wants to be, part of this quiet, colorful palette of a moment.
hey i draw/paint why cant this happen to me
taglist ( to be added OR removed, fill out the tag form )
@leosxrealm
no thoughts, just alt bfs <33 he lets you dye his hair every other month, looking forward to sitting on the tiled bathroom floor between your legs while you perch on the rim of the bathtub, painting over his overgrown buzzcut. he likes to give your knees little kisses as his foot taps to some system of a down song you hum along to.
he'll happily accept your offer to do his makeup after you finish yours. you drag pencil eyeliner across his lids and corners of his eyes, smearing it in lazily until it's grey to add an even more tired appearance to his face. you finish off his quick look with a kiss to his cheekbone that leaves a dark lipstick print where your lips were.
before he goes out, he always makes sure to be wearing a piece of jewelry you've gifted him; chrome rings, matching red pendants, a little sword earring. he loves being asked where he got his jewelry because then he gets to mention you! "oh this? my beautiful girlfriend got them for me, thank you for asking."
he does not take his playlists seriously at all. he just shuffles his liked songs and calls it a day. he's got one playlist though, and its dedicated to makeouts with you. and he takes that very seriously. he loves pulling you on top of him from laying beside him. he likes to have you on top of him, thighs squeezing against his hips as you straddle him. you lean down to press your lips on his, holding his face with both hands gently while the playlist blasts over the sounds of your kisses. it always starts out gentle, polite even, but as soon as the playlists shuffles to she wants revenge, all niceties are thrown out the window. he pulls you close, and you follow his movement. your hands keep switching from his face, to his neck, to his chest, not knowing where to touch, but knowing you want to touch him. he mimicks similar movements, needing as much of you as he can get. he squeezes the flesh of your hips and lets his hands roam over your body, up his shirt you’re wearing to rub the skin of your waist and back. you need each other, and that's all you know.
probably wouldn’t even notice it in his locker for a few days LMAO
once he finds it though he feels flattered that someone went out of their way to write a note for him and make him feel special
with that being said, he then goes on to lose the note somewhere in his backpack then accidentally throws it away like 2 days later and forgets the note ever even existed
guys he cares i swear
tendou (*^^*)♡
probably initially panics at first because he thinks it’s a prank and someone’s waiting around the corner to laugh at him
after a second he reads it and has to laugh at how corny the note is (😭😭)
also extremely smiley for the rest of the day because someone left a note in his locker for the first time ever!!
after determining that the note is real and not a joke he’s set out on a mission to find who left this in his locker….. he has a few questions
semi ヾ(☆▽☆)
also panics when finding the note because he doesn’t want anyone around him to accidentally see it
would read it outside and also giggle to himself at the cheesy message
still the fact that he was left a note made his day tremendously
leaves an equally cheesy note in your locker in exchange
shirabu ( `ε´ )
honestly he’s probably irritated he has to deal with this now
would still read the note but thinks it’s more of a waste of time to bother entertaining this (╥﹏╥)
reads the note with the straightest face ever, maybe scoffs then throws the note away
never tells anyone about this encounter ESPECIALLY not tendou
better luck next time </3
goshiki ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
he is over the moon to open his locker and find this note
reads it in the bathroom and almost squeals out loud despite how cheesy the note is someone still went out of their way to leave a note
literally brags to everyone that will listen
cannot stop smiling to himself for the rest of the day (bros a cutie patootie)
; how shiratorizawa boys fell for you at first sight.
#1 ushijima wakatoshi
ushijima was mid-jog around the campus perimeter, his mind focused on his stride, until he saw you. you were standing by a duck pond, trying to explain to a group of confused ducklings that they couldn’t eat your notebook. you were gesturing wildly at the paper, your face serious and your eyebrows knit together in a way that wakatoshi found more captivating than a national championship.
he stopped running. his heart rate, usually a steady machine, spiked into a rhythm that made his chest ache. it wasn’t a slow burn at all, it was a forest fire. he watched you gently nudge a duckling away with your shoe, apologizing to it as you did. he felt an overwhelming, heavy pull toward you. he realized that you were the “strength” his life had been missing. you looked up, saw the stoic ace staring at you, and gave him a bright, unabashed grin.
“you have a very kind way of communicating with nature,” ushijima said, his voice deep and vibrating with a sudden, intense sincerity. he didn’t look away, his gaze locked onto yours with a beautiful, terrifying focus. “i found myself unable to keep running because i needed to stand near you. i’m ushijima wakatoshi. i would like you to come to the botanical gardens with me this weekend. i believe i would regret it for the rest of my life if i didn’t take this chance.”
#2 soekawa jin
soekawa was used to being the shadow, the reliable vice-captain who kept things running. then he saw you in the art gallery, standing in front of a painting of a stormy sea with a look of such profound, quiet understanding that it made his breath hitch.
he felt a deep, grounding pull in his chest. it was a slow-building, heavy devotion. he watched you reach out as if to touch the canvas, then pull back with a shy smile. you looked so humane and so lovely. when you saw him, you offered a soft, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“it is,” soekawa said, his voice low and full of a sudden, intense yearning. he wasn’t looking at the painting; he was looking at you. “but i find the person looking at it to be much more compelling. i’m soekawa jin. and i’d be honored if you’d let me walk you through the rest of the gallery—and then to dinner. i have a feeling i could look at you for a long time and never get bored.”
#3 semi eita
semi was walking through the music wing, humming a tune he was working on, when he saw you through a classroom window. you were sitting on a desk, wearing an oversized band shirt and trying to tune a bass guitar with a look of pained concentration.
he felt the air leave his lungs. the way the afternoon light hit the bridge of your nose and the sheer cool-girl energy you radiated made his heart do a violent kick-turn. he’d always thought he was the one with the “edge,” but looking at you made him feel like a nervous middle-schooler. you looked up, saw the handsome guy with the salt-and-pepper hair, and gave him a playful, rock-on hand gesture. semi’s face turned a shade of pink he didn’t know he was capable of.
“that’s a half-step flat,” he blurted out, sliding into the room like he was being pulled by a wire. he looked at you with wide, yearning eyes that betrayed how cool he was trying to act. “and honestly, my heart is currently flatlining because you’re the most incredible person i’ve ever seen. i’m semi eita. please, let me tune that for you? and then let me take you to a record store? i’m desperate for a chance to know what music you like.”
#4 ōhira reon
reon was helping a freshman find their way to class when he saw you. you were sitting on a bench, carefully repairing a torn page in a children’s book with some tape, humming a lullaby to yourself.
he felt a wave of warmth wash over him that made his knees weak. you were so gentle, so kind, and your hands moved with such grace. he felt a fierce, protective need to be the one who looked after you. you looked up, saw the large, kind-faced boy, and gave him a peaceful smile. “i hate to see stories get broken,” you said.
“you have a beautiful heart,” reon said, his voice like velvet. he sat down on the edge of the bench, his gaze heavy with a deep, sweet adoration. “and i’ve just realized i want to protect that heart. i’m ōhira reon. i know we’ve only just met, but would you give me a chance to take you on a date? i’d like to hear more of those stories.”
#5 tendō satori
tendō was humming his “break their spirits” song while skip-walking to the gym, until he saw you. you were in the hallway, reading a horror manga and eating a bag of extremely spicy chips, making the most hilarious faces of terror and delight at every page turn.
tendō felt his guess-monster intuition scream at him. it wasn’t a prediction about a block; it was a soul-deep realization that he’d found his match. he watched you lick red dust off your thumb and felt a surge of adoration so potent it made him dizzy. you noticed the tall, red-headed boy staring at you and, instead of being creeped out, you held out the bag of chips with a challenge in your eyes.
“oho! a challenger appears!” tendō chirped, though his voice was uncharacteristically thick with emotion. he leaned over you, his eyes shimmering with a desperate, sweet obsession. “you’re so sparkly! your aura is like a firework! i think i’ve just decided that i never want to spend a day without seeing your faces. can we be best friends? no—can i court you? please! i’ll be the most entertaining boyfriend in the world, i promise!”
#8 goshiki tsutomu
goshiki was busy practicing his cool landing until he saw you watching from the gym balcony. you were wearing a shiratorizawa jersey that was way too big for you, and you were cheering—not for ushijima, but for him. “nice shot, future ace!” you yelled, giving him a double thumbs-up.
goshiki’s brain exploded. he felt a surge of pride and love so intense he thought he might actually levitate. he looked up at you, his eyes wide and shimmering, and felt like he’d finally found the person he wanted to impress for the rest of his life. you laughed at his stunned expression, your eyes crinkling in a way that made him feel like he was winning everything.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?!” he shouted, then immediately turned bright red and ran toward the stairs. he met you at the bottom, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours with a raw, puppy-like devotion. “you called me the ace! nobody does that! you’re… you’re the most incredible person in the universe! please, let me buy you a juice! and then let me take you on a date! i’ll become the greatest player in japan just for you! just give me one chance!”
#9 shibata yu
shibata was in the middle of a heavy lifting session in the gym when he saw you through the open doors. you were a manager for the kendo club, and you were currently practicing your footwork in the hallway, your movements sharp and full of a fierce, beautiful power.
he dropped the weights. the clang! echoed, but he only had eyes for you. he felt a resonant respect and a sudden, overwhelming love for your strength. you finished your set, wiped your brow, and caught him staring. you gave him a sharp, confident smirk that made his soul leave his body.
“your form is incredible,” shibata said, walking out to the hall with a look of pure, concentrated yearning. he was still sweaty, but he didn't care. “i’m shibata yu. and i’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you in motion. please, let me take you to a martial arts demonstration this weekend? i really need a chance to see more of what you can do.”
#10 shirabu kenjirō
shirabu was busy being annoyed by everyone’s incompetence until he saw you in the student council room. you were methodically organizing a chaotic pile of club applications, your lips pursed and your pen moving with a cold, efficient grace that shirabu found... devastatingly attractive.
he felt a system error in his brain. he’d spent his life looking for efficiency, but seeing you do it so perfectly made his heart hammer against his ribs in a very inefficient way. he watched you snap a binder shut with a look of triumph, and he was so hooked that he had to lean against the doorframe. you looked up, saw the sharp-eyed setter, and pushed a stack of papers toward him. “can you file these, please?”
“only if you agree to have coffee with me,” shirabu said, his voice steady but his ears turning a bright, tell-tale crimson. he looked at you with an intensity that was almost a glare, but his eyes were full of a soft, desperate hope. “i don’t usually waste my time on people, but looking at you feels like a very important use of my time. i’m shirabu kenjirō. and i’d like a chance to show you i’m as organized as you are.”
#12 kawanishi taichi
taichi was in his usual state of ‘vaguely bored’ until he saw you in the school greenhouse. you were wearing a giant sun hat and were currently engaged in a very heated argument with a venus flytrap about its eating habits.
he started feeling a spark of interest that rapidly escalated into a full-blown obsession. you were funny, you were weird, and you were breathtakingly beautiful in the humid, green light. he watched you offer the plant a tiny piece of a burger patty and felt his heart do a somersault. you noticed him standing there and sheepishly adjusted your hat. “it’s a picky eater,” you whispered.
“maybe it just wants some space,” taichi murmured, walking over and looking at you with a gaze that was uncharacteristically focused and full of quiet yearning. “but i don’t. i want to be exactly where you are. i’m taichi. and i think you’re the most fascinating person in this entire academy. would you let me take you to the cat cafe downtown? i’d really like a chance to hear more of your theories on plants.”
#13 akakura kai
akakura was trying to look tough and mature like his upperclassmen until he saw you. you were in the school courtyard, trying to teach a stray cat how to shake hands, and you were offering it tiny pieces of a sandwich as a bribe.
his brain completely short-circuited, a surge of pure desperation hitting him so hard his legs forgot how to work for a second. you were so cute, so determined, and the way you cheered when the cat finally tapped your palm made him want to follow you forever. you saw the first-year staring and laughed. “do you want to try?”
“i’d rather just watch you,” akakura blurted out, his face turning a brilliant, hot red. he looked at you with such raw, puppy-like adoration that you couldn't help but giggle. “you’re… you’re the most amazing girl i’ve ever seen. i’m akakura kai. please, can i have your number? i want to help you with the cats. and i want to take you out. please give me a chance!”
#14 yamagata hayato
hayato was messing around on a skateboard in the parking lot when he saw you. you were currently losing a battle against a large, colorful umbrella that had caught a gust of wind and was trying to take you with it.
he didn’t even think. he did a perfect save maneuver, sliding across the pavement to grab the handle of the umbrella before you could be swept away. you landed against his chest, breathless and laughing, and hayato felt his heart do a series of rapid-fire blocks against his ribs. you were so bright, and you smelled slightly like petrichor.
“gotcha!” hayato grinned, but his eyes were wide and full of a sudden, desperate yearning. he didn't let go of the umbrella, or the chance to stay close to you. “whoa, you’re… you’re actually a dream. i think i just saved my own life by catching you. i’m yamagata hayato. please, let me walk you home so you don’t fly away? and then, let me take you to a carnival. i want to see you laugh like that again.”
→ the taxi’s next route is to inarizaki high, get in!
n: i was going to exclude shibata but i just eyeballed it. also, i love akakura sm, he’s such a smartie.
what i think haikyuu men with gift giving as their love language would give you. . . + fluff series (acts of service | words of affirmation | gift giving | physical touch | quality time)
semi eita :: rockstar semi always giving you backstage passes to his concerts, literally taking you around the world too. given his career, you were almost always in close competition for the position as his personal assistant with how often he brings you with him during his tours. while he loves spending quality time with you equally the same, back at the hotel room, he would come knocking at the door with a grin and huge bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes too. his just because flowers. and oh his prowess as a lyricist never falters to make you, and the whole world, swoon. not to mention, his songs are almost always written for you and about you. oh to be semi eita's muse. his dedication and pure devotion goes to you and you alone.
tendou satori :: will stand on his plan to roam the entire city of love with you. takes you out to fancy restaurants along the seine, bar hopping at deuxième, sweets shopping at south pigalle. satori is such a romantic honestly, influence of paris i guess. but even before paris, he would give you little trinkets and accessories, particularly makes you paper rings! he gifts you heaps of self-care and makeup products, perfumes from guerlain and le labo, chocolates courtesy of him of course! you had to complain about your luggage overloading just because of how much he sends you, claiming that he didn't want you to miss him too much back home so he'll just bring paris to you aka in your luggage.
oikawa tooru (azumane asahi too) :: loves it when you pamper yourself so he always initiates scheduling spa appointments, hair and nail appointments for you every month. but nothing beats the satisfaction he feels when he showers you with elaborate clothing pieces–designer or not–asking you to spin around in them like he's your personal stylist. not to mention, he loves when you two have matching outfits, not identically, but he will curate a whole wardrobe for you to match his style and oftentimes, he would sneak in handwritten notes in the bags saying "for the prettiest flower ever,"
miya atsumu, ushijima wakatoshi & kageyama tobio :: i read a hc somewhere that they're the type to literally wire you half of his paycheck as a pro player. couldn't agree more. he has a provider mindset after all. he trusts you enough to spoil yourself with his money and he absolutely prides himself for that, not condescendingly of course. other times, when he's at an away game, he would get you little jewelry pieces that he carefully handpicks himself. little did you know, he already had a band adorned with a subtle diamond glimmering in the confines of a velvet box stashed in his bedside drawer waiting to be discovered by you. he'd still get on one knee though.
He sighed after the door was locked, tired of his teammates' antics. He side-eyed you, mumbling something like, “Sorry about them,” but the tips of his ears were red, and he kept fidgeting with his fingers. He was already plotting the funeral of his stupid friend and maybe the wedding and the size of your ring; if he got a date with you the next day, maybe his teammate would live.
He tried to hide in the corner, his face as red as a tomato, and he was almost passing out. He attempted to say something impressive to you, but it came out high-pitched, so he turned to face the wall, accepting his fate.
Yamaguchi, Asahi, Lev, GOSHIKI(?), Koganegawa
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He chuckled when he saw your flushed face, as if he wasn’t the one burning. He asked if you were okay and comfortable, being a gentleman. He kept checking his watch, reassuring you, and trying to find a topic to discuss, trying to distract you from his flushed face and slightly nervous tone in his voice.
He attempted to flirt by whispering the cheesiest, most cliché pick-up line. When you didn’t laugh, cry, or seem impressed at all, his gaze fell to the floor, and he kept it there until the 7 minutes passed, regretting his choice of words, and perhaps his existence.
