Apr 2, 2025
Here we go with the first commission. I absolutely LOVED the idea, it was sooo much fun to draw it!!!
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Here we go with the first commission. I absolutely LOVED the idea, it was sooo much fun to draw it!!!
❝ LATE NIGHT DANCING. ❞
⊱┊synopsis. dancing and being in love—two things that are best when done together.
⊱┊pairing. kageyama, kita, suna, atsumu & akaashi x gn!reader
⊱┊tags. fluff, unedited, romantic relationships
⊱┊note. this piece was commissioned by sy! if you're looking for more like these, my commissions are open :-)
KAGEYAMA TOBIO ;—
it’s late, and you’re huddled next to kageyama, bridgerton playing low in the background. the sound of violins cuts through the quiet, delicate and swelling. on screen, kate dances with anthony in the middle of a ballroom. “just keep looking at me. no one else matters.” anthony says, pulling kate closer.
you glance over.
kageyama’s lips are pressed together in a flat line, eyebrows furrowed, so immensely deep in concentration. a soft laugh escapes you.
“what?” kageyama whips his head towards you. “is there something funny i missed?”
“no.” you shake your head, but an idea’s already blooming in your head. “dance with me.”
he blinks. “what?”
“you heard me.” grinning, you’re already up, hands outstretched towards your boyfriend who’s still frozen in place. “come, my lord.”
“but i don’t dance.” his tone is blunt, like’s it’s not an excuse, but a fact. he takes your hand and stands up anyhow. “i can’t.”
“well, neither can i.” you shrug. guiding one of his hands to your waist, you slip the other into yours.
his posture is stiff and awkward. his back is too tense, arms too limp, feet too far apart.
“left foot first,” you whisper.
he takes a step.
you wince when a sharp pain is felt on your left foot.
“sorry.” he winces too. “i stepped on you, didn’t i?”
you giggle as he turn red. “maybe a little.”
you think he’d pull back from that little incident, but he doesn’t. after a quick look to the tv, he adjusts his grip and straightens his back. you catch the way his eyes flicker between the tv screen and your feet, locked in the same focus like when he’s reviewing footage from his volleyball games.
you laugh, soft and breathy. “you know i’m just doing this for fun, right?”
“I know,” he mutters, brows still pulled together in focus. “but… you know… just in case you feel like dancing again. i wanna be good at it. for you.”
you pause, blinking up at him. he’s not even looking at you. your heart flutters and a smile tugs at your lips. “wow. that was actually kind of sweet.”
kageyama scoffs, ears tinged red. “shut up.”
“no, what? say it again. i think i might cry.”
“i’m not gonna say it again.”
“you’re blushing.”
he groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “i’m never dancing with you again.”
you laugh, wrapping your arms around him, still swaying in place. “that’s fine,” you murmur, pressing your cheek against his. your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “i have this one to hold over your head for all of eternity.”
“hey!”
KITA SHINSUKE ;—
ramen might be the best invention to ever grace this planet.
that’s the thought that crosses your mind as you fill a pot with tap water and set it on the stove. you’ve just turned the knob when you hear the slow shuffle of feet down the hallway. a quiet thud. then a pause. then more shuffling.
kita appears in the kitchen doorway, hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep. his white shirt—once crisp and tucked neatly into the waistband of his pants—is wrinkled and and hanging crooked on his frame. there’s a faint crease on his cheek where it was pressed into the couch cushion, like a stamp of proof he’s been knocked out and dead to the world for a while. you’re almost certain he’s still a little drunk—atsumu had insisted on buying rounds for the old gang after his big win.
“hi,” he says, his voice raspy and low. a lopsided smile tugs faintly at his lips as he walks up behind you and slides his arms around your waist.
“hi,” you say back, somewhere between fond and amused. kita rests his head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “i thought you’d be out longer. you snored for a solid twenty minutes.”
he hums. “didn’t mean to pass out. i wanted to eat ramen with you.”
“sorry i didn’t wake you. you looked like you needed it.”
he murmurs something in return that’s too incoherent to fully comprehend.
the water starts to boil. kita watches silently as you rip open the ramen packet and slide the noodles into the pot.
then, without warning, he turns you in his arms, guiding you to face him. his eyes are soft and still hazy with sleep, and he smells like a mix of his cologne and the sake he’s been nursing until about an hour ago. the corners of his mouth quirk up just slightly as he takes you back in his arms and starts swaying you both side to side.
you raise an eyebrow. “what are you doing?”
“dancing,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
you glance at the stove. “but the noodles–”
kita turns your chin back toward him with a finger. “we have–” he holds up three fingers, “three minutes.”
you laugh—a real, unrestrained belly laugh. it’s rare you get to see him like this. kita’s always composed, so deliberate in everything that he does, in a quiet, matter-of-fact kind of way. so seeing him like this, unguarded and a little silly, feels like catching a rare celestial event.
he grins as he moves with you, steps slow and uncoordinated, like he’s making them up as he goes. there’s no music, just the gentle hum of the stove and the bubbling of water cooking your noodles.
“shin,” you murmur.
kita only hums in response.
“i think you might still be drunk.”
he shakes his head. “am not.”
you nod solemnly. “riiight. whatever you say.”
he blinks. “...okay. maybe just a little.”
you laugh again and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself melt in his hold. you catch yourself thinking how it’s ridiculous, really—how soft this feels, how sappy and sentimental it all is. and maybe, just maybe, there is something better than ramen.
and it’s the three minutes you spend waiting for them to cook.
SUNA RINTARO ;—
“that is so not happening.”
you glance over at suna from the other end of the couch, where you’re propped up against a cushion with your feet on his lap. “what’s not?”
he doesn’t look up from his phone. “the dancing. at the wedding.”
“oh,” you murmur, a beat or two too late. you try not to seem too disheartened by averting your gaze back to your phone screen, although you’ve stopped scrolling since a while ago.
you knew he’d say that. of course he would. he’d hate it—being at the center of attention, looking dumb in front of people he barely knows. dancing? in a room full of prying eyes? that’s basically his worse nightmare.
“i didn’t say you had to,” you add.
you feel suna shift under your legs. your gaze is still fixed onto your phone. “why do you want to anyways?” he asks. it’s not sarcastic, nor dismissive, only pure curiosity.
“i don’t know. i just thought it’d be nice. dancing together.” you shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant. as if the rejection didn’t hit you as hard as it did. “even if we suck at it,” you add.
“i don’t suck at anything,” he says almost immediately.
you huff a soft laugh. “yeah. right.”
he doesn’t respond, and you figure that’s the end of it.
a few days later, you’ve just come out of the shower only to find your bed still empty. it’s the night before the wedding, and you were hoping he’d already be half asleep under your blanket instead, you pad around your apartment to look for suna—intent on getting his stubborn, nocturnal ass to sleep.
you find him in the living room, where the lights are off and the tv is on. a paused youtube tutorial is frozen mid-step, meanwhile suna is posed awkwardly in the middle of the living room with a slight frown on his face. his phone lies face down on the couch, music playing softly from its speakers—a slow, classical song that sounds suspiciously like it belongs in a wedding playlist. he then shifts his weight from one foot to the other while counting under his breath. he pauses for a bit, then starts all over again.
you lean against the doorway, stunned into a few minutes of silence. “you’ve been practicing,” you finally whisper.
suna jumps at your voice, turning around too fast. “what- no! i mean, not really, i was just-”
“rin.” you smile, feeling as soft as putty as you walk over to him.
he says nothing but exhales through his nose. rubbing the back of his neck, you catch his cheeks turning slightly pink.
you step into his arms, one hand slipping into his while the other rests on his shoulder. he lets you, though his fingers twitch a little nervously in yours. you take a step, and suna follows suit. a little stiff, you admit—it’s obvious that he’s never done this before. but he shadows your movements in such concentration, it makes your chest ache. like he’s afraid of getting it wrong. like he wants so badly not to.
“you said you wanted to dance, didn’t you?” he mumbles, eyes trailing up to finally look at you after a few minutes of just watching your feet.
you smile and nod.
he swallows, but there’s a soft smile on his lips now that he’s seen yours. “just… don’t tell the twins.”
MIYA ATSUMU ;—
“so, what, ya drink coffee now?”
you and atsumu are walking side by side, passing dim shop windows and humming vending machines on the way back to the station. his hands are in his pockets, while yours are wrapped around a cup of coffee he insisted on buying for you even though you said you didn’t want one (you very much did).
you roll your eyes, sipping your latte. “you act like i’m still eight.”
he laughs. you never thought you’d miss the sound. it used to be the most obnoxious sound that annoyed you throughout high school. “well, you act like yer still eight.” he nudges you with an elbow.
you shake your head, hiding your grin behind another sip. atsumu’s grinning, too—stupid in that way it always is. like he knows he looks good and he’s weaponizing it.
this is familiar. too familiar. the rhythm of your footsteps, the lazy back-and-forth, the way he keeps looking over at you like he’s memorizing something. but there’s something in the air tonight, and you can’t quite put a finger on what. like there’s just a weird little itch in your chest you don’t feel like naming.
a song plays faintly from a corner store across the street, and just as you’re mid-sip, he grabs your free hand and spins you. no warning. just laughter and cold fingers and the kind of chaos that’s always followed him around.
“atsumu!” you stumble, catching yourself against his chest. your latte magically somehow is still in your head.
he just laughs. “c’mon. dance with me.”
“what? no way!” you exclaim, bewildered. “people will stare at us.”
“let them.” he’s still grinning. “live a little.”
your first steps are hesitant. he spins you again, then grabs your waist, which sends shivers up your spine. you can feel him watching you. his gaze soft, unreadable. the space between you narrows with every quiet turn.
then, it starts to rain.
you groan. “seriously?”
atsumu’s already pulling off his jacket. “here.”
“no, it’s fine, let’s just get somewhere dry, and–“ you stop mid-sentence when he steps closer and drapes the jacket over your shoulders.
his hands linger for a beat longer than necessary. you look up into his eyes, but his expression is unreadable, like there’s something he’s holding back.
“tsumu?”
he swallows. “i’minlovewithyou.”
the words come stumbling out his lips too fast. quiet, just above a whisper, but no hesitation. like he’s been holding it in all night but the rain pulled it out of him.
“what?” you ask. you’re not quite sure why you do, because you heard it clear enough the first time. maybe you simply want to hear him say it again.
“i wasn’t gonna say anything. but then you smiled that smile you do, and then it started raining. and i just really want to kiss you. and…” he laughs, breathless. “fuck it. i love you.”
you don’t speak. you just lean him and kiss him.
his lips are soft, and a little wet from the rain. they part in surprise, but he melts into it like he’s been waiting for this—you—for a long, long time.
when you pull back, you’re both blinking. soaked. grinning.
you tilt your head. “not bad.”
he squints at you. “not bad?”
you smile, a little smug. “maybe a solid seven?”
“you’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it—just that grin again, a little crooked, a little too fond.
you shrug. “guess you’ll just have to try again then.”
and he does.
AKAASHI KEIJI ;—
you’re still getting used to the new apartment.
it’s only been a few days since the move, and everything’s still kind of a disaster. cardboard boxes are stacked like makeshift furniture against the walls, your mattress is just there on the floor like it gave up halfway through the day, and there’s one lamp plugged in by the couch casting this weirdly dramatic glow over the chaos.
you and akaashi has been unpacking bit by bit, and while akaashi’s set on setting up the kitchen, you’re crouched on the floor digging through a box labeled record player, vinyls, & cds.
“you kept this?” you ask, holding up the record sleeve—chet baker sings, corners soft with age, the title barely visible in the warm light of the single lamp.
from the kitchen, akaashi glances up from where he’s organizing a spice rack. he walks over when he sees what you're holding. “you got it for me,” he says, “couldn’t leave it behind.”
“i thought you said you didn’t like his voice.”
“i said he always sounds like he’s about to fall asleep,” he corrects, gently taking the sleeve from your hands. “but… i like how it sounds when you sing along.”
“oh.” you look at him, startled. “well that’s awfully sweet.”
“you’re dramatic,” he mutters, but he’s already removing the record player from the box it resided and setting it up on another box closer to a power outlet.
the room fills with soft crackle when he puts the vinyl in. ‘there will never be another you’ spills into the apartment, and fills the room with breathy vocals and smooth trumpet.
“dance with me,” you say.
akaashi turns to face you, a susupicious look on his face.
“just do it.” you motion him over.
you grab his hands when he gets close enough, stationing them on your hips. yours snake their way up around his neck, finding comfort at the base of his neck where hair meets skin. you sway together to the beat, slow and sure.
you rest your cheek on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“this might be the most romantic thing we’ve ever done,” you mumble into his shirt.
akaashi hums. “that’s a little concerning.”
you laugh, nudging your forehead into his neck. “hey, don’t knock it. we’ve got music, lighting, ambiance…”
“boxes.”
“okay, yeah. boxes.”
he pulls back slightly just to look at you. “you okay?”
you nod. you’re not even sure what okay means right now—everything’s still a mess, and you don’t know where your toothbrush is—but he’s here. warm, steady, holding you like you’re both exactly where you’re supposed to be.
“yeah,” you say quietly. “i’m really glad we decided to move in together.”
his thumb brushes gently over the back of your hand. “me too.”
neither of you say anything else after that. you continue to sway, between cardboard boxes and tangled bedsheets, letting the song play out—crackling, warm, familiar. the apartment still smells like a mix of dust and fresh paint. the curtains aren’t up yet. but the music curls around you both like a promise, soft and steady. like it’s always belonged there.
like you do, too.
HELLOOOOOO Bunnyboy Oikawa here to tell you I am opening Haikyuu commissions !!!!!!!!! 🩵🩵🩵🐰
Some more info and examples down below 🫶
Hello everyone! As you all know, I have been reblogging my commissions post non-stop for the past few months but to not avail. I haven't received a commission since January, and it's partly my fault for not being as active on this platform as I used to be. However, that wasn't due to my lack of passion for writing, but rather just a hectic schedule since I was preparing my dissertation for my graduation.
It has been three months since I finished my studies, and don't have a stable income--so earning a living through writing is my only way at the moment and here I am giving tumblr a second chance.
I have shared my very first gig on Fiverr, with extra packages of course, but since I have a rather impressive following on here--I am offering anyone who orders from me and reblogs this gig a character playlist + a free moodboard for your characters as a little extra :)
Please check out my fiverr gig here and if you're not interested in that, then here's my commissions post.
I will be waiting!
[REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! 💗]
🍙 COMMISSIONS OPEN 🍙
hi! i’m opening commission slots for the month of august and september! send me a DM if you’re interested. thank you so much for the support! 🥰
more information: queenkeiji.carrd.co
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additional notes:
>NSFW preferred, word p*rn is my area of expertise, but I'll also accept SFW comms.
> if your OC description is fairly simple it will be priced as 10$ per 1k!
> I also write for AOT, CSM and Demon Slayer though I forgot to put them in there 💕
> From mentioned shows, I'm pretty sure that I'd write for all characters so don't be shy to ask!
An example of what my icon commissions look like! A lovely pretty timeskip Asahi with the agender flag, drawn for @yayumecreates !! This is the first I’ve had so I still have plenty of space for them, please DM if you’re interested :D
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