#haikyuucreations

[amjustagirl]

Tug of war 

pairing: miya atsumu x f!reader  genre: fluff, minor angst  warnings: none  wc: 3k+

m.list.~ taglist.~

a/n: haven’t been here in a while cos i’m still finishing my kita longfic (it’s coming along, i’ll be back soonish!) so i thought i’d drop this fic in the meantime :) this fic is a combination of the requests i got for my milestone event - (atsumu, declaration of love, childhood/best friends to lovers, argument) 

You meet Miya Atsumu when you move to Hyogo at the age of four. 

He and his brother greet you with dirt streaked faces, and you realise they’re the irrepressible Miya twins your neighbours whispered to your parents about. Twin terrors, half-feral, tearing up the neighbourhood with their mischief, driving the more judgmental neighbours to madness. You hear about a prank involving frogs and torn pink dresses, another neighbour swears she came home to see both boys hanging upside down from the tree in her front yard. Your parents should have kept you away from them but you’re their only child, more inclined to savagery than dainty tea parties, so they let you run wild, run smack into them on the playground. 

“I wanna play with you”, you shout defiantly, ducking under the slides to chase after them. 

Osamu agrees almost immediately. He’s sweeter than his twin, politer too, but Atsumu only groans. 

“A girl’s just gonna slow us down”, he whines loudly, sticking his tongue at you. 

“I’d beat you in a race”, you challenge as his eyes narrow. 

“Deal”, he answers, flying off immediately as you screech at how unfair he bloody well is. 

You lose to him, of course, and you keep losing until Osamu gets tired of your bickering and just includes you in all their games of tag and pranks anyway. You thank him with biscuits that your mama made, and instantly win his grubby little heart. 

Atsumu still resents your presence, resents the fact that his dynamic duo has now become a trio. His snarls at you are a little more restrained but he still preens whenever he outruns you, compares you to a gremlin unkindly. Still, you are undeterred.  

You pull him towards you, he pushes you away. That’s just how things go. 

He sneers at you, calls you a useless little girl despite Osamu and you ganging up to pummel him into the ground, attitude unchanged until he breaks the heads off your favourite dolls when he and Osamu pop over to play. Osamu asks shyly if you could hold a tea party with him. You know him well enough by then to discern that he just wants an excuse to stuff his face with the pastries and cookies your okaa-san made, but you oblige him anyway, seating your dolls around him in a solemn half circle. 

He holds your gaze when he snaps their plastic heads off, expects you to shriek and cry, call for your okaa-san, vow never to play with him again. Instead, there’s a gleam in your eye that sparks sudden fear, so much so that he barely registers the flash of a chubby fist until it slams into his cheek. 

“Tsumu, jus’ admit she got ya good”, Osamu remarks, amused at how his brother thrashes and kicks to no avail. 

“Never!” he yelps, squashed beneath you, cheeks burning at the indignity of being pinned down and sat on by a little girl his own age. 

You yank at his hair. “Never?” you question sweetly, fingers digging into his sides, Osamu cackling as Atsumu squeals like a pig. “You wanna admit you lost now?” 

Atsumu will never forget having to bow and apologise out loud to each maligned now-headless doll.

It’s a game of tug of war - you’ve won the first round. 

Your parents enrol you in the same elementary school, the same middle school, and out of habit you apply to Inarizaki High with your boys. Your restless energy gets channelled into student council and your studies, while the boys fall head over heels for volleyball, though you suspect Osamu’s true love will always be food. They spend hours trying to achieve the impossible, resisting the gravity of polished wooden floors in an attempt to fly. 

Still, you refuse to allow them to grow distant from you. You wait in the library until their practice ends, walking back with either or both of them. You kick their shins over bowls of steaming rice and curry to remind them about homework, begrudgingly allow them to peek at your assignments. You credit your tutoring skills with the fact that they managed to pass their classes despite their brains being filled with nothing but volleyball (and food, in ‘Samu’s case). 

Osamu reciprocates, ruffles your hair, packs you delicious bentos, tells you you’re the sibling he wished he had. You punch his shoulder, pinch his cheek, matching grin on your face. Atsumu on the other hand bickers and teases, doesn’t treat you any more than his annoying childhood friend. He wheedles you into not marking him late for class despite oversleeping half the days of the term, complains when you slap the back of his head for being rude to his fangirls and refuses to lend you his jacket when it gets chilly. 

It doesn’t even register to Atsumu that you are a girl until the Matsuri festival at the end of your first year of high school. It’s a tradition you’ve had - attending the summer festival as a trio, stop Osamu from spending all his pocket money on takoyaki and yakisoba, scout for the best spot to watch fireworks. 

But this time, your mother insisted you wear a yukata since you’re a young lady now. You listen to your mother for once. It’s a simple garment, pastel blue with pink sakura print, but it’s such a departure from your usual attire of a blouse and shorts that Atsumu’s brain short circuits when you first appear. 

You’re pretty - his traitorous mind notes, even as you complain that the long skirt impedes your movements. 

“Yer wearin’ a skirt” he manages to choke out, minutes later. 

“I wear a skirt in school”, you point out impatiently. “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies - race ya to the shrine, loser has to buy mochi for the winner!”

You take off.  Atsumu loses a race for the first time. Osamu merely chuckles to himself when he watches his brother’s brain fry itself to a crisp when you hike up your skirt to scale a tree later that night.  

If it’s a game of tug of war, he finally figures out that he has a rope in his hands in the second year of high school. 

You shriek at him when he and Osamu turn up on your front step with dyed hair. They merely laugh at you. Laugh’s on them - mere hours later, you corner Atsumu in his bathroom waving expensive shampoo and conditioner threateningly, forcing him to sit on a stool between your legs as you wash his hair. You insist he goes first, trusting Osamu more not to flee into the night. 

“Waste of money”, you grumble, rubbing shampoo into his hair. “Just cos’ you wanna look good to your fangirls -” 

“Aww, are ya jealous”, he teases, yelping as you yank at his hair roughly. 

“Don’t you call them squealin’ pigs, you nasty boy”, you reply flatly. “I know you too well - you just wanted to look cool without thinking it through.” 

“Ya admit I look cool like this!” he crows, preening until you tug his ear, muttering more complaints under your breath. 

It’s nice, for the lack of a better word, he supposes, turning to contemplate the situation he’s found himself in. It’s not unfamiliar - the three of you have taken baths together for most of elementary school, but it’s different. He’s positioned between your legs, the soft skin of your thighs warm against the sides of his arms, and he nearly moans aloud when you run your fingers through his hair, rake your nails against his scalp. 

He doesn’t say thank you when you’re done with him, just breathlessly asks if you’ll do it again for him. 

“You’re shameless”, you snort helplessly, asking him to call his brother in for his turn. 

“Is that a yes?” he asks, the funny feeling in his stomach blooming when you mumble a begrudging fine, and tell him that you’ll come around again next week, spoilt brat. 

That same funny feeling in his belly erupts into a storm when he overhears Kita complimenting you for helping the volleyball club get the practice schedule he’d applied for, growling when he hears you giggle and reply breathlessly that you’re just doing your job as the secretary of the student council. 

He corners you after practice. “D’ya think Kita-san is good looking?” 

You look at him like he’s grown a third head. Handsome Kita Shinsuke is the talk of all the girls in school, and some of the boys. You’re not blind to his attractiveness. 

“Yes”, you answer without hesitation, tacking on a sly - “of course!” 

“Whaddya mean!” he shouts indignantly, stomping his foot as you dash away laughing. 

Osamu just rolls his eyes, drags him by the back of his jacket back home. 

“Ya should just tell her how ya feel”, he says, munching on a pork bun he snagged on the way home. 

“Don’t know what yer talkin’ about”, Atsumu snaps, kicking at a pebble viciously.  

“Whatever you say”, Osamu replies, shrugging. His smile only grows as Atsumu sulks his way through dinner, only perking up when you barge into his room the next morning to shout at him for oversleeping for school yet again. 

He falls ill with a cold and is sent home unceremoniously by Kita. He hates missing any practice, even if he’s feeling unwell, but he can’t overrule his captain so he heads home. 

Osamu must have texted you, because half an hour later, you shimmy through his bedroom window, running a cool hand over his forehead before you even say hello. 

“Stupid boy”, he hears you say, watches you with bleary eyes as you grab a cold tower to press against his hot cheeks. “Should’ve stayed home if you were so ill.”

“Wanted to play”, he mumbles, shifting to lay his head on your lap. It’s the best pillow in the world, he thinks. 

“Of course you did”, you say fondly, combing your fingers through his hair, the familiar action settling his heavy breath. 

“Stay with me?” he asks, as sleep overcomes him. 

“Always”, you whisper, when you’re sure he’s fast asleep. 

He feels much better when he wakes, especially when you’re still there, head drooping, the book you were reading long forgotten over your snores. It feels right to brush his thumb over your cheek, tuck your hair tenderly behind the shell of your ear. 

He’s starting to decipher how he feels about you. He learns to tug gradually at the rope, wants to tug you over, claim his prize. 

But Atsumu is a dolt. He assumes that you’ll always have his back, be firmly by his side, and doesn't understand that he is soon reaching a crossroads where it’s all too easy for you to slip away. He’s single minded in his pursuit of throwing the ball into the sun, so the third year comes and goes, you’re still just his childhood best friend. 

You don’t say anything because it’s Atsumu. 

“You can confess to him if you like”, you say flatly when yet another one of his fangirls pester you for advice. “But don’t cry if he turns you down. He only cares for volleyball right now.”

You assume the same applies to you - and that even if he’d be interested in love, he’d be blind to you as he’s always been. It’s easier that way than to swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment. You’d rather spare yourself and your friendship that. Besides, you too are busy with club activities, homework, university applications - because like Atsumu and Osamu, you need to figure out what to do with your life. 

The dam breaks when Osamu declares he isn’t following his brother to turn pro. 

Atsumu yells, Osamu remains resolute. 

Hell, they even brawled during school hours, the hapless Ginjima sprinting over to collect you in the hopes that you could break the fight up, Suna just chortling and continuing to film when you roll your sleeves up, hop right into the fray. Your childhood repeats itself - you push Osamu back, whilst you sit yourself down on Atsumu, but you forget he’s six foot tall and you’re very much not, so he pushes you off, the fight continuing until one of them (they’re still fighting who’s truly responsible) elbows you hard in the stomach, and you fall back, winded. 

They both freeze, staring at you as you slowly rise to your feet, your expression dark and angry. 

“You guys are both IDIOTS!” you roar, resisting the urge to stomp your feet. “Go sort yourselves out like adults for once!” 

Then you storm off, and refuse to speak to either of them until they apologise. 

Osamu expresses his remorse with your favourite cream puffs, which you accept with a smile and a tweak of his nose. Atsumu on the other hand, mumbles his apologies with a nervous bob of his throat, a boyish smile breaking across his face when you punch his chest lightly, calling him silly, like you always do. 

His reaction to his brother’s decision should have clued you in to how he’d explode when he finds out you’re not following him and ‘Samu to Osaka, like you originally intended to. 

“What?” he hisses, hurt written all over his face when you tell him that you’ve accepted a place to study in Tokyo, the best university for the course you’d had your eye on all throughout high school. 

“You should be happy for me”, you state bluntly, hands on hips, thoroughly unimpressed by his attitude. 

“I thought ya were gonna stick with us, head down to Osaka together like we always planned”, he snarls. 

You recognise the four year old boy who broke your dolls out of spite. It would be easy to slap him, shock him to his senses, but you’re not sure if you truly want to anymore. Perhaps you shouldn’t rub salt in his already festering wound, but it’s been years and you are sick and tired of his greed, his need to grab and grasp even if you too, are in the wrong by breaking your promise to him. 

You deserve to put yourself first. 

“You’re fucking selfish, ‘Tsumu”. You snap, tone harsh even as he flinches back. “If you and ‘Samu are entitled to chase your dreams, then so am I. Even if that means leavin’ you, I think that’s a price I’m happy to pay.”

You slam the door in his face, refuse to talk to him until you graduate. It’s no longer a game if you refuse to play it anymore.  

You put him out of your mind. It isn’t easy when he lives right down the street but you try your best, filling your time with packing and planning and pre-reading for university, even as memories of gap-toothed smiles and dirt streaked cheeks float stubbornly through your mind. 

“I told ya he’s a piece of shit”, Samu drawls when he bangs down your door to congratulate you with his latest experiment, a match swiss roll, beautifully baked to perfection. It’s your favourite flavour, and you’re so excited you don’t even raise any objections when he suggests eating it out of the box, right on your bedroom floor. 

“I know”, you respond much later when you’ve stuffed yourself full of cake, pausing to wipe away the dollop of cream from the corner of his mouth before sighing. “Sometimes I think life would’ve been easier if it were you instead of ‘Tsumu.”

You expect Samu to tease you for your admission, or laugh. But he just flops on his belly, taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“Yer both alike in that way”, he says, dark eyes dancing with amusement. “Yer both never met a challenge ya wanted to back down from.”

Samu’s right, but then he always is. Tsumu has always desired a strong opponent on the court. You’re not much different, a moth attracted to the bright sparks of a live wire, blind to the danger it poses. You’ve been drawn to each other, challenged each other to your limits since you were mere children. It’s no different now, but you’re old enough to know better. 

“I suppose”, you muse. “But if we dated instead I think my life would be a lot calmer.”

Osamu wrinkles his nose. “It’d be like dating my sister”, he says with disgust, but lets you lean your head on his shoulder anyway. 

The last day of school comes and goes, and you graduate from high school in a swirl of pink and white petals. 

You bow to your teachers, accept their well wishes and congratulations with grace. They wave you off, tell you to celebrate with your classmates, take endless photos under the cherry blossom tree - and you do, with your student council friends, your classmates, with Samu, with Suna, even with the hapless Ginjima. But you make yourself scarce whenever you spot the familiar head of blonde at the corner of your eye, and it’s easier to tell your parents that you’d like to celebrate with them, alone. 

You’re already in your pyjamas when you hear your window rattle. Out of instinct, you slide it open. 

“Did you really climb the drain pipe?” you demand incredulously as Miya Atsumu pushes his way past you, collapses onto the floor with a dramatic groan. 

“Didn’t want yer okaa-san to start questionin’ me”, he answers with a laugh, as if he hadn’t torn a rift in your friendship with his own bare hands. 

You remember belatedly that you don’t want to see him, let alone talk to him. 

“You shouldn’t be here”, you state flatly, but he doesn’t take the hint.

He grabs your wrist, drops something cold and round and hard into the center of your palm. You gasp when you unfurl your fingers. 

A brown button. From his blazer, more likely than not. 

“Tis the second button”, he says, voice a low quiver, gaze never leaving your face. “But ya can have the rest if ya want, I saved them all for ya. It’s always meant to be yers ever since we were four years old.”

You glance up at him beneath your lashes, suddenly shy before the boy you’ve known almost all your life. Perhaps it feels different because he’s honest, vulnerable with you for the first time.

“I’m moving to Tokyo in a few weeks.”

“Osaka’s not that far away, we’d make it work.”

“It’ll be hard -” 

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He’s offering you your side of the rope. You pick it up, relish the familiar weight in your palm. 

“You’d better, or I’d sit on you again”, you say almost crossly, and he laughs, liquid honey pooling in his eyes.  

“As if I’d consider that a punishment now”, he whispers playfully against your lips, making heat rise in your cheeks, drawing you onto his lap as you exchange promises for the future. 

There is plenty to talk about, plenty to figure out. But despite the distance that will separate the two of you, you’re hopeful. He’s never given up on something he’s bent on chasing, and you’ve never met a challenge you’ve backed down from - so perhaps it’s a game worth working at, a game of tug of war where you both get to win. 

[writeiolite]

assistant

plot: ukai gets an assistant coach to help him with the workload, but you seem keen on taking a different kind of his load. it doesn’t help that you seem to know something about him, so naturally he wants to figure that out, even if it means diving deep into you....r mind! totally not your pants.

warnings: desk sex, coach kink, dom/sub themes, blowjob, face fucking, cum/spit play, cum eating, deceitful sex?, sexual tension, hint o’ size kink, smol age gap, dumbification? maybe?, girl idk

wc: 8,198

a/n: HELLO @spriteandnicotine​​ AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMMISSIONING ME!! i had lots of fun writing this (as u can fucking tell lmao the fucking .. wc....) so im rly thankful for this comm and for you!! thank u for being my friend and for keeping everyone in haikyuucreations server company ^^ i hope you enjoy reading this and thank you for being you!!

[ ! ]   if you want to use this fic in a reading video (like ASMR or smth), please dm me and get my permission first

. . . ♡ — crossposted to my AO3

“Hey, Newbie.”

A couple of heads turn, none of which are yours.

“No, not you guys. Her.” Ukai points at you with his pen in hand, but you’re too damn focused on helping Hinata learn how to set that you don’t notice. Why the second-year even needs to know goes over the coach’s head, but you were insistent. “Bring her over here for me.”

The two first years nod and Ukai watches them approach you with a small scowl. As much as he likes having an assistant coach around to help him out, he can’t figure out what it is about you (besides the obvious) that he doesn’t like. There’s something off. You — unlike the new first years — don’t treat him with the same amount of caution. It’s like there’s an extra dose of Chemical X coursing through your veins and making you act out, all too familiar with him and all too knowing of things that you shouldn’t know about.

What exactly is she hiding?

“Need something, Coach?” You’re light on your feet when you approach him, a pep in your step that makes him scowl even more. “You okay?”

“Have some respect, will you? I’m older than you,” he sighs, lips twitching. He needs a cig. “Why are you wasting your time over there? You know we need some fliers out about the upcoming game.”

Your eyebrows lift. “I thought I mentioned earlier Yachi is handling that.” Without any invitation, you lean into his personal space, pretty fingers flipping a page on his clipboard, then another, and another before you stroke up the sheet slowly. “See,” you pause to tap the ink, “I even wrote it down right here for you. You’re not getting that old, are you?”

“No.” He sits up straight and raises his chin. “You just wrote it somewhere less obvious than normal.”

“Oh,” you snicker, “sorry, I’ll make sure to leave it in the normal place next time. Don’t wanna make your hard job any harder.”

A shudder wracks his shoulders and back — did you have to remain so close to him while you said it? Why did you say it like that? It’s not the first time but he still can’t get used to it.

You stand up straight as if nothing happened, hands weaved together behind your back. “Am I good to go now? You know Hinata needs to learn the difficulties of setting so he can be a little more accommodating to Kageyama.”

“I think you need to learn to be a little bit more accommodating to your superiors,” he grumbles.

“What?” You lean in again and hell, he nearly falls off the bench when he leans back.

“Nothing. Just go do whatever it is you need to do, kid.”

With your lips pursed, you shrug your shoulders and scamper off, hopefully not realizing the cold sweat that’s building on his temple. For whatever reason, your perfume smells familiar in the best way, and the last thing he needs is for more than one thing to get hard.

Luckily for him, you don’t pester him any further that day. He ignored the seconds you stared too long and the way you lingered after practice to catch a spare moment with him. He’s glad Yachi ripped you away from the gym and and him before you could enact whatever funny ideas you had.

In short, Keishin does not trust his assistant coach.

Every single practice is another test of his patience. He still remembers when you first started working at Karasuno, wet behind the ears (though, he believes you still are) and using this job to sustain you through college. In all honesty, he doubted you — or anyone, for that matter — could handle a job and school, but you soon proved your determination within the first few weeks of working with him. Showing up on time, even early, and then accompanying the team to dinner and always providing useful strategies. You’d suggest game plans he didn’t think of like you know the ins and outs of the sport and the players.

To be fair, he vaguely remembers you saying you’re the second and third years’ senpai, but he doesn’t listen to anything that comes out of your mouth when it’s not practice time. All because after the first month at his side, things went south.

You must’ve bumped your head. It hadn’t been the first time Ukai walked you home from practice, but it surely was the last. What was once such a harmless notion quickly became something he feared, and that goes for more than walking you home. Call him an idiot but he thought it would be fine to come in for tea. A college girl living by herself in an apartment far from her campus, surely you must get lonely. He didn’t see the harm in it the first time it happened, but that’s only because the foul came after.

One invite for tea turned into two, and the two abruptly turned into Disaster. Maybe he bumped his head because he didn’t understand how the conversation suddenly surrounded his sex life.

“Do you like to be called daddy?” you spoke with a comfortable smirk, “Or since you’re a coach now, do you prefer to be called that?”

Iced tea sputtered between his lips. “Uh, doesn’t matter…” He blinked a few times and thought about it — he liked the dominance with the title, but he didn’t exactly like when his exes called him daddy. But the more the thought about it, he didn’t know why he even answered.

You hummed knowingly with a nod. “I know you pretty well. I’d say you’d like to be called coach because being called daddy by your exes didn’t always get you going, right?”

“You only know me within work,” he bit out, needing to reel the conversation back to holy grounds. It felt bad that you were right-

“Aw, don’t be like that, coach.”

-but it felt even worse that it sounded right coming out of your mouth.

“Can’t punish me for being observant,” you chimed. “Though, you’re the type, right?”

He stiffly shook his head, jaw rigid even when he said your name as a warning. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so let’s stop here.”

“Oh, I do!” You smiled at him so… purely with eyes so prying. The juxtaposition made him nauseous. “But we can pick this up another day.”

There would not be another day — not if he could help it.

Any hopes he had about this being a one-time thing were diminished when he got to work and you still were playing some sort of mind (and body) game with him. Why does your perfume smell so nice? Why are you dressed up so nicely? Why do you act so nicely and so naughty — and not in the good way?

He didn’t think he’d be so unlucky to find out.

“Hey, Coach-”

A weird chill settles into his bones.

“-did you still want me to run Friday practice?”

Right. He forgot he told the managers that. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll still be around in the faculty office if you need me. Just gotta do some errands. And for the rest of you,” he makes burning eye contact with the team, hoping they all get the message, “don’t start thinking you can slack off. I should be back periodically.”

“Yes, sir!”

Good. He trusts them enough to listen, unlike some people. And as if you can fucking hear his thoughts, you flash him a wink, one that he shoots down with a glare before leaving. Technically, you should be following him, but he didn’t have the guts to tell you you’re just as responsible for these small errands and meetings as much as he is. He doesn’t mind shouldering the work if it means getting to escape from your double-edged presence.

You like him — that much is obvious. He’s never had the opportunity to date a coworker (who the hell would when you work in a store owned by your family?) but he’d say he’s not picky. It didn’t seem like a bad idea unless you break up… but he’s not about to risk any of that with you. Someone else (someone normal)? Maybe.

Gone are the good ole days where he showed you the ropes of coaching, now replaced with terror behind those gym doors. He sighs while filing away some papers Takeda left for him, the first stack of many to sort. Hell, shouldn’t this be his job?

“The nerve of these people,” he grumbles, shutting a filing cabinet and going about the next task. There are meetings to coordinate, camps to coordinate, and even bathroom breaks to coordinate — Hinata can’t ride in a bus for more than an hour. Ugh. His work is cut out for him for the next two hours but his head is already pounding.

It doesn’t go by as fast as he’d like even when he’s sauntering from the coach’s desk to the faculty doors and chatting away in the coaches’ conference call. While you may not be the best company, he’s finding himself itching to get back to practice. Not a moment more and he’s walking back to the gym. Just for a peek.

He can hear Tanaka yelling before he even pokes his head in, prompting him to mute his mic on the call. Just cracking the door open to make sure nothing is on fire and he already feels better. It’s just another practice as usu-

“Coach?”

Dammit. He pretends he doesn’t hear — stupid choice, frankly — and moves his gaze aside. If he thought Yachi giving him away was bad, he obviously didn’t account for what would happen when he looks right at you. You’re staring back at him curiously and it looks like you might get up right when he hears his name being mentioned in the phone call.

He darts back down the walkway to the faculty office, unmuting himself and finishing his tasks for the day. By the time you go to follow him, he’s already gone and decided on coming back another time.

If only it were that easy every day.

The next practice is the same as the others — loud voices, cigarette breaks when you get too close, practicing receives, and on and on… The practice after that is the same, though, you started offering him his favorite brand of cigarettes — one that he hasn’t bought in a while but never forgets nonetheless.

He narrows his eyes at you.

“What?”

“I know you don’t smoke.”

You nod and wiggle the box in front of him to encourage him to take one. “Your break is in a few minutes, right?”

Of course, you took note of when he started going on breaks. What kind of person would you be if you didn’t? One that isn’t weirdly crushing with him? If only.

“I’ll pass,” he grunts, facing forward again to watch the scrimmage match. Takeda glances at the two of you oddly but doesn’t say anything. Damn him, it’d be nice if he would play savior for a moment and give you something to do.

“C’mon, these are the ones you like, right?” You set the box in his lap, your hand lingering there for far too long. Sure, you’re not touching him, but you’re touching the box and it’s touching him. That’s just way too fucking close.

“No.”

“Really?”

He tenses his jaw, biting back whatever end-of-the-line insults he may have. “Really.”

“Aw…” He can see you slump beside him and he’s caught between victory and guilt. Yes, guilt, because that time you sounded genuinely upset, and it goes down like bitter, faux-cherry-flavored medicine.

Taking a patient breath (saints should laud him), he pushes your hand off the box, slides a stick out, and slaps the little square back into your palm. He keeps his eyes locked on the net, convinced that if he doesn’t look at you then he won’t feel that bad.

“I knew I didn’t forget,” you mutter under your breath. It’s probably a sentence he wasn’t supposed to hear, but he did. He heard the sly smile with it too.

“Huh?” He doesn’t just look at you now, he glowers.

Maybe fear tactics will work on you.

“Hm? Oh!” You reach into your bag and pull out a lighter before leaning into him like always. “Want me to get it for-”

Nope, guess not.

“I’m taking a break,” he grumbles to Takeda, zipping across the wooden floor before things could get worse.

He should definitely say something to you. Something more direct than what he told you over tea, but what exactly would work with a lovesick girl? “You’re pretty but I’m not into you?” “I think you have a great personality but I’m not interested?”

When he sighs out the smoke, he’s disappointed that his troubles don’t go with it. Who the hell is he kidding? You’re more than pretty, your personality is more than great, the only thing “wrong” is that you’re coming off too strong before he can have a chance to get to know you how he wants. No, that sounds weird. He just wants to know what you’re hiding.

The familiar cigarette between his fingers brings back memories of an ex he had a few years ago — she always bought these for him and after they broke up he didn’t have the heart to switch to another brand for another few months. Still, he comes back to them, the comfort they bring always soothing him down when he’s stressed. It’s odd that you would mention “not forgetting” about them.

An inhale and then another sigh.

He’ll just confront you. Ask you what you know and why you’re so terribly familiar with him. And if you don’t tell him then would it be so bad to dangle a first date over your head? Probably. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done to a girl… He’d explore puppy love with you if he knew whatever secret it was you were hiding.

So it’s decided. He grinds the bud under his toe with resolve and all but marches back into the gym, planting himself beside you on the bench. While his plan is somewhat formed, he didn’t exactly know when he’d ask you about it. Maybe after pra- no, he doesn’t need another tea mishap.

“That’s it for today,” you call while standing up. Keishin’s eyebrows scrunch together as he looks between you and his watch. He didn’t think he took that long on his break. “Our practice match with Seijoh is next week so for the rest of this week we’ll just keep drilling this stuff in.” You look down your shoulder at him, waiting for any elaboration he can add.

“Right. So tomorrow…”

The rest isn’t important. Well, it is, but he could do that in his sleep. It’s all part of the routine he built up anyway, but asking you to share your secrets is taking a bit more precedence in his mind at the moment.

But he’s a grown man. He can get through another practice or two without pestering you (take notes, damn kid) and settle for the weekend. Each day passes and he nearly forgets to ask you on Friday, especially when he has yet another day filled with errands.

“Hey.” You look up from the clipboard in your lap. “I have stuff to do in the faculty office for us both to work on.”

In all honesty, he was expecting you to jump at the idea. He knows how you operate — you’d probably jump his bones if it weren’t for Takeda being around every practice. But much to his dismay (damn, is he really upset by it?) you don’t bite.

“The managers aren’t here today, Coach,” you pout. “One of us has to stay and help Takeda on Fridays.”

Blinking, he looks around the room to see that you’re right. He didn’t realize they were gone, so tunneled in on getting a chance to spill his questions to you that he didn’t bother seeing who was even present. Just his luck. “Right, don’t worry ‘bout it, I’ll handle it.”

“Oo, so manly,” you coo, licking your lips while still looking up at him from your seat. He barely sees Takeda pale in the corner of his eye, but he’s almost lost in the sight of you so low in front of him, at a very, very ironic height considering your consistently inappropriate attitude.

He almost has the mind to grab your head and-

“Shut up, will you?” He stalks off grumbling about your poor manners loud enough for you to hear. Just as he’s halfway out of the door — nearly getting plowed over by Kageyama and Hinata racing — he announces his departure to the team. “I’ll be back every now and then like usual.”

The new coaching system really is a pain in his neck. Weekly meetings and errands every Friday? It just seems like more busy work now that he’s actually getting paid to be a coach instead of volunteering after being haggled by his friend.

Whatever. The sooner he gets this all over with, the sooner he can get back to you and figure you the hell out. Flirting with him in public isn’t new, but it’d be great if you would tone it down some. He’ll have to bring that up to you later.

Except later never comes. The sun is barely on its last leg and he’s just the same by the time he finishes all that he needs to do. Again, why the hell isn’t this Takeda’s job?! He’s out of breath by the time he lugs himself back into the gym, finally here to stay rather than just peering in. Much to his surprise, it’s empty except for the aforementioned young man.

“Oh, Coach Ukai!” He jogs over, stepping around him and locking the door. “Practice ended early.”

“And whose call was that?” His eyebrow twitches in irritation.

Takeda gives him a pointed look that makes him gulp. That’s an answer in itself. The two of them saunter away from the school with the sunset basking over them. Besides the wind blowing, Keishin swears he hears the sound of the third years yelling off in the distance.

“By the way… What’s going on with you two?”

If only he had a cigarette to keep his mouth too busy to answer. “What are you talking about?”

“I-I don’t mean to intrude but I just didn’t realize you guys were dating.”

Nope, good thing he doesn’t have a cigarette — he would’ve choked. “We’re not dating…”

Takeda’s steps falter, staring at the younger man hard for him to continue his sentence. “…Yet?”

“Tch,” he dramatically shrugs his shoulders, the movement so large he does it with his arms too. “I don’t know. I need to talk to her about how she’s acting around me.”

“She definitely seems… fond of you.”

Fond is only the nice way to put it — they’ve both seen and heard your shameless acts. If only Takeda knew what you were actually capable of and how much it actually gets to the coach.

“Yeah, I know, but I’m sure it’s just a little crush. I was going to talk to her after practice today but she’s already gone.”

Takeda begins laughing as his steps pick up again. “She actually left early because I mentioned you might leave straight from the faculty office. She wanted to give you something, apparently.”

The lines in Keishin’s forehead appear from his confusion, walking alongside the other man. It’s definitely just a little girl crush. He’ll set you straight soon. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Completely unrelated… I can handle practice next Friday, by the way.”

He can’t tell if he’s grateful to be set up — would he say wing manned? — or dreading it, but his heart is racing all the same. The countdown to next Friday starts ticking with each of his steps home, each cigarette on Saturday, each customer on Sunday, and each bounce of the ball at practices on Monday through Thursday. The mental stopwatch was driving him mad.

The first thing he notices when he walks into the gym is that your skirt is way too fucking short. Be a doll and cut him some slack, won’t you? Somehow you know everything he likes and it’s killing him… But the next thing he notices when he walks into the gym is that Takeda is staring at him staring at you. The older man snickers before turning away, Keishin flushing up in pure embarrassment. He does not have a thing for you like that.

“Hey, guys.” Everyone looks over at Takeda, even you who was bending over to get something out of your bag. “Let’s get practice started so Coach Ukai can focus on his Friday errands.”

Loudly, everyone agrees, and just as Keishin is just about to approach you, Yachi gets to you first, diving deep into a conversation that he doesn’t care about. Dammit, he just wants to get this over with already — what’s it gonna take for a man to have a talk with his assistant coach around here about her crush on him?

He calls your name, hoping he can at least motion for you to follow him to the faculty office. Whatever Yachi is talking about must be monumentally important. It better earn her a Nobel Peace Prize because you actually hold your finger up to him and don’t bother looking. Just a minute. He grinds his teeth and walks off.

Whatever. He’ll play your game and get cornered by you and then he’ll ask. Hell, why does he even want to know that bad? It’s not like he actually wants to date you or something. The toe of his sneaker scuffs against the tile when he comes to a stop.

He doesn’t… Yeah, he doesn’t want to. He’s not into kids who are eager to tease and eager to please like you. Too much energy and not enough…

He purses his lips in thought while sorting through the newest stack of papers.

Not enough… what? C’mon, Keishin, there’s gotta be something little ole you is lacking.

His chest expands from the huge breath he takes in, all his troubles filling him up and taking root even when he exhales. You’re just too interesting for him to not think about — that’s all. And not in a good way, of course. He’s beginning to think about you way too much at this point; he can smell that damn perfume again like it’s ingrained into his memories.

“Coach?”

Oh, and your voice too, huh?

He glares at the paper in front of him, his back still facing the door.

“Cooaaaaccchhhh~”

“And here I thought I was imagining things,” he grumbles, turning around and dropping the sheet on the desk. It’s only now that he realizes he was reading it upside-down anyway. “What is it?”

You cock your head. “I dunno, Takeda told me you needed me here. Did I interrupt your daydreams?” That coy smile is playing on your pink lips — he can fucking see it.

“No,” he grunts while crossing his arms, “I’m working — something you should be doing too.”

Now the smile breaks out across your face. “I’m a hard worker, Coach. Want me to prove it?” You saunter forward, the only distance between the two of you being half a foot and a row of old desks.

“Yeah,” he starts, “you can do these strategy papers while you tell me why you act so suspicious around me.” He needs to busy you with something so that he can have the upper hand here. The small stack of papers needing to be filled in is perfect. You, being you, run your finger down the first sheet while locking eyes with him through your lashes.

“What are you talking about? You don’t like when I give you special treatment?”

Is that what you call it when you have him fleeing Karasuno? “It’s not about me, it’s about you,” he pushes.

Your eyes light up. “I’ll tell you if you do me a small favor.”

He knew this was a bad idea.

“I wanted to prove that I would be better than your ex-girlfriends at everything when it comes to you, so will you tell me if I was even a little bit successful?”

Yep, a bad idea indeed. If this was anyone else asking this question then maybe he’d just be put off, but instead, he’s put off by his own arousal. Why the hell are you looking at him like some unaware little girl that needs guidance and validation? What went through your head to make you look up at him with so much vulnerability that he would feel guilty if he told you anything bad? You flipped that switch in him that wants to help his juniors — the part of him that makes him a good coach but a morally terrible senior. He feels bad enough as it is — he really thought he was just having a moment of weakness by being slightly attracted to you — but now he’s left wondering if there’s a double meaning being the look you’re giving him. Knowing you, there probably hopefully is.

The silence between the two of you feels like it’s on fire, but it’s not burning away into nothing any time soon. He had hoped that maybe if he stared at you hard enough then you’d laugh it all off, but instead your lip fucking quivers and you drop your gaze. God, what’s he done now?

The breath he was holding huffs out bitterly. He’s in trouble. “How am I supposed to say no to that?” The words are muttered out half-heartedly with his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Still, your face doesn’t light up like before.

“C’mon, don’t look like that. I don’t know why you like me, but if you’re that concerned over being better than my exes then you should’ve just gotten to know me like normal. Y’know, asking me on a date and stuff. You were bold enough to ask much worse things than that.”

He doesn’t see your lips twitch in amusement, only your eyebrows furrowing more as if you’re still troubled by your own shortcomings. “So I was wrong, huh?”

He shakes his head almost instantly. The last thing he needs is for you to break out the waterworks or something. Now is probably the best time for him to be honest with you and himself. “Only a little. But I’ll level with you: I think there’s a chance for us if we go about it the right way. No weird tactics or secrets or anything like that.”

Another sigh leaves him and finally, he can feel a little bit of the weight on his shoulders ease up. It’s like he can let his guard down just a little. “I didn’t realize you just wanted to prove yourself to me this whole time, sheesh. You shoulda just said that and I’d’ve dropped some hints or something to make it bearable for us both.”

Finally, you perk up for him again, that pretty look in your eyes like he handed you a million dollars or something better. “Does that mean I had a chance this whole time?”

“A chance?” He laughs. “Kid, you cornered me in your living room asking me about my coach kink. I don’t think that has anything to do with chances.”

You deflate again.

“W-wait, wait.” He waves his hands in front of him, really hoping he can take that back. Not just because he doesn’t want to see you upset — he’s never seen you upset — but because he doesn’t want you to know that yes, he does have a coach kink now thanks to you. “I didn’t… mean it like that…? Ugh, just-” he snaps his fingers once and points at the desk “-come here.”

With confusion written across your forehead you walk around and sit where he pointed, your motions natural, he notes.

“Good, just like that. See? You’re already doing better than any girl I’ve been with in the past.” He watches you smile and his guilt almost goes away. Some part of him knows he should feel bad for taking advantage of your insecurities like this, but another part of him knows you wanted him to praise you even if it’s fucked up. He’s not the best person out there, but he’s the person you want, right? And if you really know him as well as you pretend then you’d already know that he’s not the type to shy away from underhanded tactics. You aren’t either, he knows that much.

His hands steady themselves on your shoulders, warm eyes boring into yours before the heat of his palms journeys down past your waist thighs right to your knees, spreading your legs for him to stand between them.

“Is this okay?” he asks, trying to salvage some semblance of normalcy. This isn’t even his or Takeda’s desk, but he guesses it’s as good as any. “Honestly, you’re really good looking, so you don’t have to worry about any of that stuff.” He begins to familiarize himself with your legs. “And even though you were a bit too forward it still worked to some extent. This is a one-time thing, though.”

“Just for today?” It seems you’ve finally found your voice and it holds a bit more of that confidence he’s familiar with. Of course, you’d be greedy and expect more than just today.

“You’re lucky I’m doing anything at all,” he points out with narrowed eyes, hands squeezing your bare thighs for good measure. Your knees close around him slightly. “I thought you had something to prove here.”

You tilt your chin up. “I do, but I can’t do much when you’ve got me on the desk like this.”

“Yeah?” He breathes a laugh and catches that defiant little chin in his grip while leaning in. “Would you rather be on your knees?”

He’s expecting a no. He’s always suspected you had a bratty side, or maybe that’s just his dick talking, but you definitely like to give him a hard time. This is certainly fun — coaxing you into giving him what he wants — and it’s even more fun when you pleasantly betray his expectations.

“Yes, please.” There’s that cursed look again: gleaming irises through thick lashes atop cute little cherry cheeks he wants to eat right up — the complete package. He’s starting to wonder just how indecent he really is when he gives you the space you need to settle between his legs on the ground.

Very, is the answer. Decency is the last thing in the room when his hand pets over your head gently. Your own are smoothing over his thighs, up and up so you can pull down his track pants and reveal the aching tent hiding behind them. And if decency comes last then degeneracy comes first, because something compels him to yank you forward by your hair and rub your cheek and nose against his cock, a hiss of pleasure slipping past his clenched teeth. Pleasure and relief. He didn’t realize that the only thing better than a million dollars would be feeling his assistant coach breathe deeply over his hard-on, but he sure was needing it.

And then he realizes that you’re breathing him in like your life depends on it, hands balled up around the material above his knees. You really are a naughty little girl — you wanted this just as bad and that only rings one happy alarm for him.

He doesn’t have to worry about going too far or holding back. “You’re asking for it; breathing all over me like that,” he laughs out softly, taking gooood care to guide your face up and down the heat in his crotch. You hum in approval, eyes closed in bliss and lips parting to take another breath in. “Fuck, be good and suck me off. You look like you want to, is that right?”

“Yes, Coach,” you practically sing, and you paw at his thighs while licking your lips just for him, a sight he’s seen so many times and now he can finally see it underneath him for real.

He lets go of your hair so you can straighten up enough to get busy, your hands pulling his briefs off like it’s another part of your job. Hard worker indeed, with your legs folded under you and pretty fingers running up the length of each vein like he’s seen you do with countless papers beforehand. He’s only half hard when you start, but by the time you look up at him and glide the leaking tip across your lips he’s aching. Seeing you with lipgloss after this won’t ever be the same.

You take just the head into your mouth, keeping your eyes on him for reassurance while you suckle softly. His big hand on your head is a tacit sign for you to take more even if he isn’t pushing you forward. You want to — you want to taste more of the liquid pleasure smeared on your lips and want to hear what sounds he would make. His eyebrows are pulled together sternly, but it only encourages you to take him further, tongue flat and laving over the bottom of his shaft and catching on the glans when you pull up. He twitches at the feeling and the cool air of the room, his fingers digging into your scalp just slightly.

“Am I doing well, Coach?” You ask with a honeyed voice and caramel glazed eyes. You look like you’d taste sweeter than you sound.

“Keep going and then I’ll tell you.” He pushes you onto his length how he wants, not wasting another second. The feeling of your cheeks suctioned around him is too good to pass up — he’s been needing this more than he knew. “Yeah, just like that. C’mon, you’re already taking me so much deeper than anyone else. You can do more, right?”

Your eyes water when the tip of his cock barely brushes against your throat, retreating just as fast, but it’s a hint of what he wants. He growls your name out as a low warning when you don’t take him in any deeper on your own. “Do you want me to do it for you? I don’t mind showing you how to pleasure a man.”

“Mm-mm!”

He buries your nose in his crotch anyway — if it was a no then he doesn’t care right now, and the way your eyes fall shut with those desperate gags for air filling the space between you… You’re an angel that will definitely be his undoing. The sight is too good, prompting him to do it again and again until he’s fucking your seizing throat, feeling the tight suction it provides every time he slips a few inches past your comfort zone. It feels so fucking amazing.

“You’re so good at this, princess,” he praises, almost cooing the words over the obscene sounds falling from your lips. His thighs tense when he sees your lashes clumping together with unshed tears. “Fuck, if we keep going then I’ll cum down your throat. You know how long it’s been since I could cum just from a blow job? You’re setting the standard pretty damn high already.”

As if your little moans of pleasure weren’t enough of a sign, you start clenching your thighs together, rubbing them while he uses your mouth and throat as a cocksleeve. Of course, you’d get off on this. He knew he got fucking lucky with you. Who cares if you’re hiding some weird secret when you’re this desperate to have any hole stuffed; he’s happy to be the one doing the stuffing.

“You want me to cum in your mouth, is that it?” He hisses in appreciation when you suck harder, the sloppy action losing its grip with his relentless motions. You’re a champ for trying when he’s this brutal — his exes usually just let him do what he wants but it was rare he got to fuck their faces and rarer they did anything else besides sit there. Of all people, he didn’t think you’d be the one trying your damned hardest to make him blow his load before the actual sex. Maybe you deserve a treat.

He blinks away the sweat in his eye, taking you in for a spare moment: shiny lips wrapped tight around his cock and eyes brimmed with tears but locked on him nonetheless, burning with determination and begging with desperation. You crave him at the same time that you’re daring him to give in. You deserve a treat.

His balls slap against your chin just a few more times, letting him relish in your slurpy gagging once more before he pulls out to just the tip. In perfect, almost needy synchronization, you swirl your tongue around him, ending the motion right over the hole now spurting pulse after pulse of white, gooey goodness into your mouth. You coax him on with the devilish muscle, and he nearly has half the mind to fuck your face again for good measure, the fingers of both hands twitching in your hair at the thought. It’d be nice to fuck his cum down your throat. Maybe another time.

“Don’t swallow,” he breathes, pulling out and tilting your head back. “Open.” Sure, he just came all in your mouth — that much is obvious — but the sight of it all tends to the embers in his stomach, blowing the flames alive once more. He trails his hands down to cup your cheeks, reassuring thumbs swiping away at any stray tears with so much tenderness in comparison to his previous animalistic actions. And as if to drown them out completely, he spits right into your mouth, thumbs stroking over your heated cheeks all the while.

“Good girl.” He steps back and snaps his fingers again, and this time you don’t have to see him pointing to bend over the papers. “Don’t spill any or else you’ll be writing on messy papers,” he mentions casually, running those fingers down your panty-wedged slit. You’re wet alright, pushing back into him like you knew he wanted to tease the little camel toe and darkening spot. Yet another thing he’d have to ask you about, but he settles for pulling your panties down under your skirt. There’s a brief pause to admire the swell of your ass; he really lucked out. “But I know a hard worker like you wouldn’t do that.”

His voice is almost patronizing, almost as if he knows you the way you know him. He doesn’t miss the throb between your legs while he’s bent down behind you, but he’s not going to waste another second. Your cunt matches the rest of you — wet, messy, begging for attention, and probably just as deceitful with secrets deep inside.

Don’t mind if I do… He flips the back of your skirt up and gives your ass a squeeze, almost out of courtesy. As if there’s any shred of decency left in him when he came and spat in his lovesick assistant coach’s mouth and now has her bent over for him on some poor teacher’s desk. The least he can do is warn cute little you right before he shoves his hard, fat cock into you.

Just because he’s nice like that.

“Would it be cruel if I made you beg right now? That’s what the other girls did.” It was cruel for him to add on that last line and he knows it. “You can do that for me, right? You’re pretty helpful already, sucking me off like that.”

“Mm-mmph.”

“Huh?” He leans over you as if you spoke just fine and he merely missed the words. “Speak-” he pushes the first three inches in without warning “-up.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feet stretching to put you on your tiptoes for him.

“C’mon, you’re really gonna be a brat and not answer me now?” He draws his hips back. “Tell me you’re gonna be good and let your coach fuck you with his cum in your mouth.”

“I hohua ee-”

The head of his cock smashes against your cervix with the right amount of pressure to make you see stars and a pleasing splat is heard in the room.

“Tch, now look at what you did. Don’t play with your food.” His words are tight though a clenched jaw, hips slapping against your ass quicker than he was fucking your face earlier. The following thrusts aren’t as deep as the first, but he doesn’t need to push the two of you so far to feel good. Your cunt is just like the rest of you, it turns out, and he’s addicted all the same. It feels even better when he hears the drippy slurping sounds coming from your mouth, a desperate attempt to keep yourself from drooling cum and spit over the already ruined papers.

He grins. “You’re getting paid to be fucked by your coach and you let yourself make a mess. I didn’t even get paid my first year as coach, you know that?” His thrusts get a little bit harsher with his tone as if to let his frustrations out on you. Maybe this is just what he needed — this pussy definitely makes every moment of his job worth it.

He can hear your little muffled whines through the watery puddle in your mouth just as well as he can hear the wet clicking from your pussy being slammed by him. If you’re trying to be quiet, you’re not doing a very good job of it. Or maybe he’s fucking you that hard — showing you how he really likes to be pleased and how you can really do a good job for him. Proving your worth isn’t that hard, huh? Not when you’ll so easily bend over for him with little effort on his end. The sack thumping against your clit tightens at the same time that you pulse around him fervently. He deepens his thrusts to get right where it feels best.

For the first time that afternoon, he groans loud, earning another virginal squeeze. “You cumming already?”

Like a good little girl, you nod. You wouldn’t lie to your coach.

He grazes over another spot in you — you seem to have a lot — that makes your back arch and a sharp mmph! leave your sealed lips. The suction around him gets even tighter, your womb sucking on the tip of his cock just like you were earlier. “Oh, I definitely did something there, huh? You’re making me feel so damn good, princess.”

Another splat and he doesn’t bother to hold back the grin on his face, getting liberal with the noises he lets out. Each groan is steamy, and he can feel your reaction to them. If he wasn’t holding your hips still then there’s no doubt in his mind that you’d be fucking yourself back onto him — you just seem that eager. And luckily he’s no different. Every time he buries himself deep into you he can feel that same little kiss you give the sensitive head of his cock, reminding him of how your tongue played with him moments before. “This body of yours sure does know me well,” he moans, and he doesn’t have to add on that your slutty little cunt is just like your slutty little mouth: desperate for him to fill you up so he can claim you in the most deplorable way.

It’s like you know he wants to cum in you again and you’re sucking him in that much more, making it hard for him to pull out. His fingers hurt from how hard they’re holding the bones of your hips, but the wet heat feels so good and your little moans are pushing him far past sanity.

“You wanna be better than the others, right?” You whine a soaked yes that has more pre slipping from the slit snuggly pushed against your cervix with each aching thrust. “Then let me cum in you. You’ll do that, right?”

He thought he knew you well enough that you’d say yes again, but he underestimated you. Your body begs for it before your mouth can, pussy clamping around him to trap him inside and hips trying to twitch back to meet the piston he’s created. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his little assistant coach — he was the one who trained you after all.

It’s sinful, absolutely a bad idea in every sense of the words but it’s a good feeling when he shoots his vile seed into you, grunts and moans of your name falling from his lips as you cream around him. His pelvis doesn’t stop rocking against you, displacing the mess between your legs that didn’t get deposited into your needy womb, only to cake up on the front of his thighs. The sweat on his brow does nothing to cool him in the heat of the room, steaming breaths from each of you filling the air. He barely manages to pull his fingers out of the indents he left before you’re whining again.

“You okay?” He leans forward and kisses the top of your head, leaving another for good measure while he eases his way out of you. Another whine and he’s soothing a hand up your back. “What’s wrong?”

Then he hears that familiar splat, only this time it’s from between your legs and he can’t help but smirk. “Right, I almost forgot…” He pulls your head back by your hair, taking in your blown out, half-lidded eyes and gaping mouth, chin running with cum, spit, and anything else that would be deemed the complete opposite of holy water. He watches your little pink tongue twitch in it all, teasing him. He definitely wants to fuck his cum down your throat. “Let me see you swallow, princess.”

Boy, do you make a show of it. He swears you must have heard him say it before because you roll your tongue through it all just how he likes it before trailing the tip of the little muscle over your upper lip and gulping. He almost loses the grip in your hair — the only thing holding you both together — when you loll your tongue out, showing off your hard work. Fuck you. Damn him, he really wants to fuck you again.

He unweaves his fingers from your hair, stroking over the frizzed strands and keeping his weight off of you with the other hand on the desk. It’s too warm but he doesn’t want to part from you on some tacit instinctual level. You look up at him so pretty too, mascara along your eyes bleeding like watercolors into the dewy sweat and the rest of your all too erotic expression. You only pull your tongue back in to smile up at him, angelically, as ironic as that is.

“You did good — really good,” he murmurs, one last kiss on your hairline. It shouldn’t feel so natural, but his lips are drawn to you right now. Maybe it’s just the post-sex high. Doing things out of order is okay too… God, his head is spinning. “Best sex I’ve had in… maybe ever.”

“Thank you,” you breathe dreamily, resting your head on your arms now. “I can’t wait to tell my sister about this.”

“Hm?” His hand squeezes at the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, massaging any knots away and keeping as much soft contact as possible. This is fine, right? He still needs to ask you about the way you’re acting, but he can spare you some affections and a little lip service without crossing any lines (whatever lines are left). “You guys close or something? That’s cute.” He leaves another kiss on your head. He doesn’t know what your limits are, but hopefully, he can soothe you just enough.

“No, but I know she’d lose her shit when she finds out I fucked her ex-boyfriend better than she ever could.”

Smug. That devilish smug tone and smirk you usually have are back and he isn’t sure if he missed it or not. Now his head is spinning for different reasons — the cigarettes, the perfume, the skirt… They aren’t yours.

Fuck you.

Fuck him because he doesn’t feel as mad as he should — he’s relieved, all the mysteries falling into place. He didn’t even know she had a little sister (or any siblings for that matter), but… If you guys aren’t close then-

“That makes sense,” he sighs, defeated yet glad. He really did underestimate you but now it’s like he can almost breathe again. “Wait.” He stands up straight, eyes narrowed and heart racing. “Then you don’t actually have a crush on me?”

You face him and smile. “I didn’t say that, Coach.”

And you’d never lie to your coach.

HUGE THANK YOU TO MY BETASSSS @dorkyama​​ @kingkags​​ @tamcitrus​​

{ ukai nsfw taglist — tell me if you want to be added or taken off: @hunnybby​​ @megalodon-writes​​ @revasserium​​ @vventure​​ @nixhinoya​​ @kingkags​​ @stelleum​​ @tamcitrus​​ @dorkyama​​ @loneveenas​​ @estherwritess​​ @chaoticgirl-writing​​ @ukaiscumdumpster​​ }

{ hq nsfw taglist — tell me if you want to be added or taken off: @sckusa​​​ @for-ests​​​ @ksyy​​​ @vventure​​​ @leiasfanaccount648​​​ @marshyrebelcloud​​​ @iwaizumi-chan​​​ @janellion​​​ @curiouslilbeast​​​ @tomo-uwu​​​ @samwritesss​​​ @dyosatalaga​​​ @dearest-kiyoomi​​​ @therealwalmartjesus​​​ @dorkyama​​​ @makkihoe​​​ @basicallyberry​​​ @sarcasti-cally​​​ @yams046​​​ @atsumunotsangwoo​​​ @chiibichann​​​ @namyari​​​ @kozumebri​​​ @daughter-of-stark​​​ @hakuna-your-matatas-darling​​​ @differentballooncollection​​​ @chou-maitresse​​​ @sally-wonders​​​ @kokogxddess​​​ @chaosamu​​​ @brujeriaclub​​​ @wolfblix​​​ @chaoticgirl-writing​​​ @ladyinmoon​​​ @kunimwuah​​​ @nekoma-hoe​​​ @richkookie​​​ @thenezuko​​​ @justxtulyyy​​​ @badboysdoitbetter2​​​​ @shnnn​​​ @uhlekayuh2​​​ @scrappydaisies​​​ @shotoscoldsoba​​​ @edensxgarden​​ }

[bokutosworld]

the moment they knew | ushijima, daichi, bokuto

characters: hq captains (ushijima, daichi, bokuto) with gn!reader words, genre: 1.5k words, fluff + slight angst. warnings: none! summary: in love, there’s a moment where everything falls into place and you realize that there’s no one else you’d rather spend forever with. | part one (with oikawa, kuroo, kita)

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI;

admittedly, ushijima is not the best at relationships

but you brought out sides of him that he didn’t know even existed

and because he’s so in love with you, he finds himself looking for ways to surprise you

he doesn’t hesitate to try new things because all he wants is to make you happy in the way you make him complete

When Ushijima comes home, the first thing he notices is the other pair of shoes sitting by the entranceway. He smiles as he walks all the way to the kitchen where he heard a commotion.

Though your back was turned to him, seeing you in his apartment instantly relieved him of his exhaustion for the day. He hurriedly goes over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you to his chest.

“Wakatoshi,” you turn your head back and give him a peck on his cheeks. “Welcome home.”

He shows you one of his rare smiles and reciprocates your kiss with his own. “Thank you, love.” He rests his chin on your shoulders and watches you quietly as you prep the ingredients.

“Do you want to help cook?” You were already expecting him to just hum and leave you to the dishes while he sets up the plates. So it was a genuine surprise when his hands left your body and retrieved the apron (it was a matching set to the one you were wearing) from one of the drawers.

He silently took his place by your side, and took the cutting board and the knife from your hands. You watched in awe as he skillfully sliced the onions in perfect shape.

“Do you need me to cut the carrots too?” You hadn’t noticed that he’s finished until you heard his voice close in your ears. That night, the two of you cooked together for the first time and there was something so intimate and so special about it.

“This feels nice,” you commented as Ushijima now worked on slicing the raw chicken fillet. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”

“I’ve been practicing.” His answer surprises you. You can’t help but imagine him watching cooking tutorials and the thought makes you smile.

“Really? And what exactly motivated you to learn how to cook?”

Ushijima stops and turns to you with the warmest look in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t want you to do all the cooking in the future.” He grasps and kisses the back of your hands. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as your partner if you don’t let me serve you too.”

You don’t know which of the two takes your breath away—the way he looked when he said those words or the indirect proposal he just made. Either way, you were already looking forward to the future he’d just proclaimed.

SAWAMURA DAICHI;

your friends always said that daichi seems like the type of guy you’d bring to meet your parents

they weren’t wrong. he was the best partner anyone could ever ask for

you often find yourself wondering if marriage was ever on his mind

what you don’t know is that daichi had been carrying a ring box everyday since college graduation, just waiting for the right moment

Daichi clutches the material of his coat, hugging his body tighter as he stood and waited in front of your office building. He spots you walking with a friend and his lips curl upward into a smile. When you turn to look his way, he feels like a giddy high school boy as his heart skips a beat at the eye contact.

You bid your friend goodbye and run towards his waiting arms. He grunts when you throw yourself at him, laughing as you relax in his hold and he runs his hands over your back.

“You worked hard today. Shall we get your comfort food or do you want me to cook at home and prepare you a hot bath?”

You smile as you consider your options. “I like the sound of the second option.”

He takes your hands and brings it to his lips to plant a soft kiss along your knuckles. “Let’s head home then.”

The two of you begin a silent walk to your apartment complex. Lately, he’s been busy with his police work that he’s rarely had the time to stop by You take a glance at him, trying to remember as much of his face for as long as you can. Because you never know when he’d ever have the luxury of spending time with you like this.

He notices you staring, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. I just missed you.” You mutter. “Work has been keeping you too busy. It’s like you’re married to your job and I’m just your side piece.”

He laughs loudly that other passersby have turned to look your way. He says nothing, only squeezing your hands and looks at you with a glint in his eyes.

When the two of you arrived at your apartment, you made a beeline to the living room and planted yourself on the couch. You heard footsteps nearing and stopping at the side of the sofa.

Daichi had kneeled beside your position, his face inches away from yours when he calls your name. At the sound of his voice, you open an eye and see him holding out a ring in front of you. You sit up immediately, mouth hanging open as you search for the words to say but he beats you to it.

“You said earlier that you feel like I’m married to my job, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that but,” he pauses to stop the tears that threatened to fall. “But my job can’t compare to you. At the end of the day, I’ll leave work and come home to you.”

You’re both crying messes when Daichi takes your hand and positions the ring on your fourth finger. “Will you marry me?” Of course, you said yes.

BOKUTO KOTARO;

bokuto loves with his whole heart and he treasures you like you’re his world

your steadfast feelings made him confident and assured

but whenever a fight breaks between the two of you, his resolve always crumbles

when he realizes that nothing scares him more than the fact that he could lose you, that’s when he makes a promise

When Bokuto wakes up, he instinctively reaches for the other side of his bed and his heart drops when he feels nothing. He jolts up, eyes frantically searching his room for any sign that last night was not a dream.

He’s getting ready to stand up when the door opens and he sees you enter the room with a tray of breakfast in your hands. He scrambles on his feet and you’re surprised when he takes the food and places it on his desk before his arms make their way to hug you.

“I thought you’d left me again,” he mumbles in your neck. When you wrap your arms around him, Bokuto sighs and sinks further into the embrace. “I’m really sorry.”

It all started because of a petty fight. The two of you had been so busy with your own work that neither of you had time for each other. But the one time you’d both been home at the same time only resulted in an argument that led to you giving him the silent treatment for three weeks.

And those weeks were like hell for Bokuto. After that fight, he’d immediately realized his mistake and he’d called and messaged you but to no avail. Last night, you’d finally returned and Bokuto was more than relieved to see you.

“Let’s not fight ever again.” He looks at you with pleading eyes. “It was stupid of me to blame you for not having time for me when I’ve also been so occupied.”

“Bokuto…” You cup his cheeks and he closes his eyes as your hand gently caresses his face. “I’m sorry too. And I promise I’ll never disappear on you again.”

If there was one thing that he’d realized during the time when you were away, it’s that he could never live without you. He also couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your hurt and pain so he makes a promise.

He leans so close that you could hear the drumming of his heart. “I’ll never do anything to make you sad again. When we first got together, I told you that I’d only make you happy.”

You smile as you remember that moment when he’d asked you to be his. It was one of the best days of his and your life.

“And that’s what I’ll do from now and for the rest of our lives.” He’s inching closer and closer, your lips just a few millimeters away until you say something.

“What you said just now sounds like a wedding vow.”

He laughs, surprising you when he turns and plops down with you on the bed. He’s hovering above you playfully, “Baby, wait until you hear the rest of it.”

—

📝: @markysaurs (send an ask if you want to be included in my taglist!)

[tartagliove]

sawamura daichi ✧ captain of the karasuno high volleyball team

we'll never win if we don't believe we can.

happy birthday, ian! (@katsukes) i hope you have a wonderful day and an even better year!

[shiio]

ch291 vs ch402

❝ i wanted to be able to say ‘aren't my teammates amazing?!’ just that little bit longer. ❞

my favorite hq!! panels: 1/?

[alienaiver]

Some Nekoma boys and their first kiss (with you);

NEXT. with seijoh!

Lev, Kenma, Yamamoto, Kuroo and Yaku!

warnings: none

wordcount: 1,009

content: first kisses, FLUFF, gender neutral reader, small scenarios most of all, kitten is used once (1) bcos kuroo thinks hes being flirty and smooth, pre-timeskip, high school

notes: i was supposed to take a nap but this wouldnt rly leave my head, take these crumps i hope you enjoy them!!!! i might make more with other teams they were rly cute and fun to make!!! some of the lengths r a little different bcos my idea changed from when i started to i finished!! i tried matching them up but alas, they cant be the same kdfhsjkfs have a nice day!!!

---------------------------

Haiba Lev

This dude straight up proudly admits to you that he’s never kissed anyone in his entire life, whipping out his phone to show his recent search history containing searches like ’How to kiss someone’, ’Good first kiss tips’, and so forth. You felt embarrassed on his behalf but it also helped to make you less nervous. He then leaned into his backpack that was on the ground by the bench you were sat on, asking with a big grin, “d’you want a mint as well before we do the do?” making you slap him for being so tactless on how to be romantic, followed by a giggle at his antics and a “yes.” While the mints were being consumed, Lev was telling you about the team, ranting on about what he needed to improve and how much fun he had there. Suddenly he stopped, a beat of silence before he asked carefully, “have you swallowed yours yet?”

You swallowed it on accident just because he asked which made you choke a bit. He immediately leaned towards you, his face incredibly close to your own, which made you cough a bit more. After you calmed down a bit he leaned in and kissed you, smiling brightly afterwards saying, “I bet the kiss made it all better!”

Kozume Kenma

You had been going out with Kenma for a while now but nothing had really changed. You sat a bit closer (and even cuddled sometimes!!) when he was playing video games at your house or vice versa. So one afternoon, while he was playing Pokemon on his switch on your couch you finally gathered the nerves to ask, “why haven’t we kissed yet?” Without looking up from his switch he answered with another question, “do you want to?” and you hid your face in your hands, mumbling out a very small yes. You heard him shuffle around on the couch and soon after he gently took your hands and removed them slowly from your face. His gaze was always just a little bit intense, which only served to heighten your heartbeat, as he leaned in closer. Your eyes widened and then immediately shut close the second his lips hit yours, a small peck left on them before he pulled away. He licked his lips and whispered out, “again?” to which you nodded. You hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted to try and kiss you too!

Yamamoto Taketora

Liking Yamamoto and starting to date him was a challenge on its own. You were the one confessing, which served to make him so nervous around you that for the first while after you started dating, having conversations with him could be such a chore. He kept stammering, blushing, refusing to look at you and sometimes even avoid you. So when you were at the park one day after practice and you both realized the mood was perfect for a first kiss, you ended up grabbing his cheeks forcefully after several minutes of silence and kissing him. Your teeth clashed and you both pulled back in pain. However that made him brave enough to smoothly lean down and gently peck your lips, letting out a, “I hope I didn’t hurt you too bad, sweetheart,” before blushing and pulling away again. It did get easier from there on out, though.

Kuroo Tetsurou

Kuroo had tried to give weird remarks about how he had definitely kissed someone before, wiggling his eyebrows at you during one of your study dates. With both of you being busy with your respective clubs, there wasn’t much time for you to be romantic, so they had become a good way for the two of you to hang out. You only raised an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore his antics to get the question right on the sheet in front of you. 

“Kitten, have you ever kissed anyone?”

You could feel the temperature rise in your cheeks at the question, finally realizing what it was he was trying to get at. You shook your head, adamant on not looking up at him. “Oya?” you heard him say before the screech of the chair legs indicated that he had gotten up, presumably to get close to you. “Well, are you interested in having your first kiss then?” You felt suddenly embarrassed and inexperienced in his presence, until you finally looked up at him to see his cheeks and ears burning red, a strange sort of beaming smile on his lips.

You nodded slowly and before you could even blink his lips were on yours, soft and warm. When you pulled away he started laughing a bit, “I’ll count this as my first kiss too, it was much better,” you raised an eyebrow and smiled, “what was wrong with your first one?”

“It was with Kenma when we were 11.”

Yaku Morisuke

When you and Yaku had started dating just a few weeks back, he had been a nervous and stammering mess around you. Being Lev’s study partner and friend naturally meant meeting his volleyball team and one of his favorite upperclassmen, Yaku Morisuke. There had been instant chemistry between you and it only took a few months of showing up to all their practices and matches when possible, that Yaku had gotten the nerve to ask you out. Today they had a practice match against Fukuroudani and they had lost their first set. Yaku was visibly frustrated so during their break you helped give the team water bottles, saving him for last. When you got to him you smiled brightly, handed him a bottle and said, “I know you’re gonna win this, my big strong boyfriend!” knowing it’d give him a little boost being praised, even though it also made him immensely embarrassed. After he drank his water the coach called for them to gather, “I’ll see you then,” he said, about to run when you grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss, “for good luck.” Needless to say, he played better than he felt he had in some time.

[myelocin]

synopsis: sakusa, the only constant in your life was the love that taught you two was enough. life, on the other hand, teaches you that in the unpredictability of things, a serendipity is bound to redefine the things you’ve considered as truth your whole life. 

characters: sakusa kiyoomi, you, +bonus character!

genre: fluff, a little bit of hurt/comfort, domestic/firstlove to marriage au, parenting!au, mentions of adoption, tw//mentions of abandonment & death

wc: 6.5k

a/n: um so this was a plot for makki but i am a joke, so here we have sakusa once again, and no, for once this isn’t an angst. | playlist: symmetry (JT Roach) ((atm not that edited lol))

-

“It’s cold,” you say and Sakusa’s quick to wrap his scarf around your neck.

Each time he does, you consider it as a win. Sakusa was never one to particularly prefer excessive public displays of affection, but more often times than he’d like, you always manage to catch him in moments he was feeling a little more relaxed.

Autumn, Sakusa thinks just may be his most favorite season by far. Something about the chill in the air, slightly emptier streets, and the changing colors of the leaves did just the trick to make the lengthy walks from school to train station a little more bearable.

And of course, Sakusa smiles, another reason was you.

“It’s cold,” you’d tell him time and time again, especially during the final weeks of November where the last few leaves were threatening to fall as winter slowly rolled around. He knew you kept your own scarf tucked deep inside your school bag, under the notebooks where you scrawl some notes from the board in the margins at best, and beside the empty bento box that you always share with him during lunch.

But despite that, he’d only sigh before looping the dark green scarf he washes multiple times a week snug around your neck.

“You really need to start bringing your scarf,” he’d tell you, adding some comments as an afterthought that sounded more muffled under his mask, but you’d only beam at him in response.

You know he never minded.

And you’re glad he doesn’t—because after school walks with Sakusa Kiyoomi in the late autumn, who also happened to be your first friend and your first love, was your favorite perk in the season.

Sakusa, who you’ve known for most of your life. The kid from down the block who chose to walk around the rain puddles when everyone else around his age—at the time—only sought to hop straight into them.

“Why don’t you play in the rain puddles?” you remember yourself asking, opting to stand across him from the other side of the puddle as you watched him furrow his brows together and step away from the edge where water met concrete.

“I don’t want my grandma to spend extra time cleaning my rain boots,” was his reply, and you can still—to this day—recall the determined look on Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eight year old face as nodded his head at his own answer and moved even further away from the puddle.

The two little moles above his eyebrow looked like the connect the dots, well, dots, from your activity book back home and it was then that you decided to make it your mission to befriend the cautious boy who avoided puddles because he loved his grandmother.

And it worked, you suppose, because more than ten years down the road, instead of walking around the puddles on the pavement, you spend your afternoons either watching him spike through blocks after school, or like now—tell him that you’re cold, when in truth all you wanted to do was just be warm in his warmth.

“Did you change the fabric softener?” you ask him, smelling something like peaches and cream instead of his usual scent of fresh linen.

“I did,” Sakusa hums. “Do you not like it?” he asks, but doesn’t really face you. He faces forward and watches for the pedestrian light to flicker back to green, so he watches the number count down as he waits for your response to his question.

“I like it,” you smile, pushing the fabric up against your face as you hide your smile behind the scent of peaches.

“Ah, that’s good to know,” Sakusa replies, almost immediately. He thinks about the crinkled receipt from your favorite boutique at the mall sitting between the pages of his textbook and decides that going through the awkward conversation with the salesladies gushing about how sweet of a boyfriend he is, was completely worth it.

But more so, he’s almost glad that like the receipt you didn’t see—you also don’t notice the way he’s already smiling under the mask.

-

“It’s cold,” you tell him almost seven years later, the smile on your face still as teasing as before, as you wait for him to open his arms for an embrace this time instead of just the scarf from before.

Peaches, Sakusa thinks. Your hair still smells like peaches after all these years. On the other hand, he can’t really bring himself to mind; he thinks he’s come around to realize that peaches are his favorite flavor now.

“When are you not cold?” Sakusa comments, the tone of his voice sounding a little clipped, but you only laugh in return. Despite the bark in his voice, he tightens his arms around you as you glance up, peeking at him huffing clouds into the winter air.

“What time’s the bus coming?” you ask, breaking away from him and opting to hug him from the side instead. He still feels warm, so you smile and press your cheek against the sleeve of his jacket.

“In about ten minutes,” he answers. “Could be a while though, if there’s a lot coming on and off depending on the stop.”

“Wanna wait inside the café?” he suggests, motioning towards the one right across the street.

You shake your head, letting go of his arm and wrapping your hands around his midriff instead, saying, “I’m warm right now so it’s okay.”

Beneath his mask, he smiles—and looking at him, this time you could tell. You’ve been with him long enough to notice the way the corners of his eyes crinkle every time he smiles.

Sakusa realizes he likes looking at you like that, and the moments he shares with you after every time you say you’re cold are quick to become his favorite.

You, with your sheepish smiles, fruit themed keychains, and love for the autumn weather.

He smiles, watching you as you take the seat closest to the window first before quickly wiping the seat he’s meant to take with the disinfectant wipes you keep in your bag.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, feeling his heart warm even more when you smile at him.

For him, it’s not the way you remember the little things about him, but rather, it’s the unspoken way you go on about it. The almost natural flow you pulled him into, that he just knows you outlined with nothing but consideration.

You liked jumping straight for the puddles, but he preferred watching you smile with his rain boots dry. He knew you preferred to drink your coffee with a little more cream and sugar than he did, and even if he didn’t mind sweeter drinks from time to time—he always appreciates you asking how much cream and sugar he’d like for his regardless.

And it worked the same for you, you realize.

In silence, you notice how Sakusa always spends a second longer to look at you every time you pull out the wipes you keep in your bag just for him, and feel your heart warm when he laces your hand together afterwards.

You knew well enough that he preferred to keep his hands to himself, but the exceptions he makes for you were always appreciated on your end.

“I know I can be a little much sometimes,” he told you once, some years ago, when you were at the stage in your relationship where it felt safe to be with each other in complete vulnerability.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, because the truth was you really didn’t—and still don’t—mind. “You’re just a little more cautious than some, and that’s okay.”

“You being a little more on the cautious side isn’t all there is to you, Omi,” was the last thing you said as you cupped his face in between your hands.

And to this day, you don’t forget the way his eyes soften with the thanks he whispers as he turns his head and kisses you on the palm of your hand that night.

“We should make something for dinner tonight instead of eating out,” you quip next to him. You watch the people on the streets walk when the bus slows, and blur when it picks up momentum again. You hold Sakusa’s hand in between yours, absentmindedly playing with his fingers and the sleeve of his coat.

“Sounds good,” you hear him answer, before adding, “do we need to stop by the grocery store?”

You think about it, your eyes focusing on the child outside your window, lollipop in hand and a Totoro backpack behind him, as you mentally go over what you remembered what you saw in your refrigerator that morning.

“I think we’re all good,” you say. “But we can pick up some fruit for dessert?”

Sakusa doesn’t really think about it; he just nods. He could always go for some peaches, he supposes.

When the scenery outside begins to blur again, you turn to face his hand outstretched on your lap and begin to lightly scratch his open palm, then slyly look to the side where he’s facing you, watching for a change in his expression.

There isn’t one; if anything, he stares at you with his brow raised.

“Does it not tickle?” you huff, holding his palm open and tracing over the middle with the tip of your nails instead.

“No,” he answers and you huff, pursing your lips before you ultimately decide to just lace your fingers through his instead. Sakusa squeezes your hand when you slot yours on top of his, and you turn to him, smiling.

“Love you,” you say, and even if you do so out of the blue, Sakusa chooses to smile. With his other hand, he pulls his mask down and leans towards you to press a kiss on your cheek, noticing how the skin’s a little cold compared to his lips.

“Love you too,” he murmurs and when you turn to him and give him another smile—the one that’s wide enough for him to make out the crinkling lines on the corners of your eyes, an epiphany strikes him.

He loves you.

Sakusa’s struck with the epiphany that he’s never been more in love with you than how he feels in this very moment.

But he realizes a second later, that he’s had this thought before too.

Yesterday, when he woke up before you and the alarm and spent the seven minutes before 07:30 admiring how beautiful you looked with the spilled light highlighting the plains of your face. Last month, when he came home early from practice and watched you slightly dance off beat in the kitchen to the tune of a song he recalls you singing in the shower that same morning. Seven years ago, when he noticed you always packing an extra pair of chopsticks and pieces of fruit in your bento box for you to share with him during lunch.

Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that even if the two of you were nothing short of being the personification of oil and water, as time moves forward, he only spends the twenty four hours of his day unearthing moments with you where he feels his heart so full that it seems like he can’t love you any more than he does in the moment.

Looking down at your hands where your left is intertwined with his right, he smiles. Sakusa thinks of the ring he remembers you commenting was pretty when you were at the mall a few weeks ago. He imagines how your hand would look with the ring he knows he’ll buy for you.

Then when you squeeze his hand, briefly turning at him with a smile as you point at the child outside with raccoon-themed backpack, Sakusa feels a familiar warmth flood his chest as his eyes zeroes in on you as he feels himself smile.

He wonders if the smile you have now would look the same when you see the ring he’ll hold out for you when he does so with one knee on the ground.

And even if the ground were to have puddles that day, he supposes it would be worth it.

-

It’s three years later, after a breathless “yes,” tearful “I do,” and keys to your first house where he hears you say “It’s too cold,” again.

It’s the middle of the winter when you walk out the door, meaning to stop by the convenience store nearby when you make it outside the gate of your home and see a child standing outside with a dull gray backpack and while he wears a too thin cardigan.

Sakusa sets his cup down, looks at you frantically calling him to come to the door, and grabs his coat and scarf as he makes his way to you.

When he walks out of the door and makes it in front of the gate, he sees you, squatting a little awkwardly in front of the child—who doesn’t look to be more than the age of even five— stare at you with the grey backpack pressed to his chest and a slight tremble to his form.

He recognizes the look on your face—and he knows that right at this moment your heart is already clenching.

“Where’s your mama?” you ask with a voice as gentle as your approach, and Sakusa decides to sit this one out as he stands behind you instead, leaning against the opened corner of the gate.

“She said I have to stay here,” he murmurs quietly, and when his body trembles again, Sakusa feels his fingers itch to wrap the scarf around him. You’re right—it is too cold for a child to be out in a weather like this.

“Did she go somewhere? What about your papa?” you ask again, deciding to maintain your distance when the child in front of you begins to sniffle and tear up.

“I don’t have a papa,” he whispers, then sniffles again. “But I have a mama and she said she’ll be back so I’ll stay right here!”  he finishes, puffing his cheeks in what you think is an attempt to keep the tears together.

You look at Sakusa, who stares at you looking equally unsure with what to do with the situation, but when he notices that you’re at a point where you’re at a loss of words, he chimes in for you. “How long have you been out here?”

Smiling, you shift to the side and listen as Sakusa’s voice softens when he addresses the child again. He’d make a great father, you think.

“Here since…” the child trails off, then looks up when he remembers something. “—since after breakfast!”

Your brows furrow, and when you look at Sakusa, you notice that his expression mirrors yours. “Breakfast?” you hear Sakusa repeat, then look at the watch on your wrist. “It’s already five pm.”

“Have you eaten at all?” Sakusa instead asks him, and your heart can only squeeze again when he shakes his head no.

“You said your mama just went to the convenience store, right? I’m on my way to go there so if I see someone maybe it’s her,” you say and the boy finally looks at you like he isn’t scared.

“Can you tell me your name? So she can recognize who I’m talking about,” you ask him again and he nods his head slowly before replying, “Arai Kazue,” with a small bow afterwards.

You smile; he’s still polite despite being scared.

“Do you wanna wait inside? It’s warm, and this uncle—“ you pause, gesturing towards Sakusa, “—can cook something so you can eat.”

His eyes brighten for a second, before he looked back down towards his shoes. “What if mama is on her way back, I don’t want her to worry.”

You check the time, glancing up towards Sakusa who only shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll be quick then,” you reassure him, and he bows again after a quiet thank you.

Kazue shivers again, and before you could unwrap your own scarf, Sakusa is already squatting down next to you, wrapping the boy in familiar fabric.

“It’s cold,” Sakusa says, and bundles up the boy under more layers.

-

“She’s not at the 7/11, or the two Family Marts on the other street,” you tell Sakusa when you made it home.

It’s a little past six pm by now, and you’re at least thankful that your husband had managed to convince Kazue to wait for her inside after sticking a note outside their gate that would tell the mother—if she came—that he was inside waiting for her.

“Has he said anything?” you ask, and sigh when Sakusa shakes his head no.

“Do you think….?” you ask, trailing off and lowering the volume of your voice even more when you look at Kazue sitting in the living room, a bowl of ramen in front of him as he watches the television play a show you only skipped past in that respective channel.

“That she left him there on purpose?” he finishes for you, and you sigh, suddenly feeling like your shoulders are as heavy as the weight of the possibility in your husband’s words.

“Maybe,” you sigh, not really looking forward to uncover the truth because of all the red flags already popping up in the situation. “We should just call the police,” he suggests and you nod in agreement, deciding that for the moment that really was just your only option.

The maybe, you referred to moments ago was later confirmed to just be the case because when Kazue later opens his backpack to show you the superhero he drew last night in his drawing book, a letter tumbles out before the book.

“Can I take a look at this?” you ask him, holding up the folded piece of paper with writing that clearly didn’t look like his, and he nods, before turning to face Sakusa as he flips through the pages of his drawing book.

You meet Sakusa’s eyes midway, and he nods for you to read the contents of the letter before he faces Kazue again, expression knit together like he was leaning something new.

“I’m sorry,” it reads, and it isn’t specifically addressed to anybody. “I can’t take care of him anymore,” it continues and your heart practically drops as you continue to skim through the sentences forming one after the other.

You notice the lines on the paper are smooth instead of soft; not a crinkle in the edges, or smudges on the ink. She’s been planning this, you notice, and when you look at Kazue who beams at Sakusa’s patient smile, your heart clenches even more.

“I know you and your husband haven’t had a child yet, and I don’t know if you’re even trying for one, but I know the both of you will be well enough to take care of Kazue.”

“I have no one else, and when I leave, he will have no one else.”

“He’s a kind boy,” it reads towards the end, and this is where you notice the strokes of the letters beginning to look a little more inconsistent.

“He eats his vegetables well, and he listens to his elders.”

You think about the empty bowl on your sink and remember Sakusa’s comment about how surprised he was that a child at his age actually managed to finish the variety of vegetables he knows even adults have trouble keeping down.

“I know I’m not in a good space to take care of him like he deserves, and I’m at a point in my life where I can’t continue,” you further read and your stomach drops when the next line ends.

“If you accept him, thank you, but if this situation just happened to burden you, then I’m sorry.”

Sakusa looks at you when you fold the letter back and choose to keep it in your hand instead of tucking it back into Kazue’s backpack. The zipper’s ripped off, you notice, and the straps look as worn as the scratches on the front pocket.

They must have had a tougher life, you think, and when Sakusa looks at you looking like he’s waiting for answers, you stay quiet because you don’t really know what to say.

By the time Kazue’s asleep in the guest room of your house, first you think about how plain the covers of the guest bed look next to the opened drawing book laid at the foot of the bed, all the colors of the rainbow looking like life against the white sheets behind it.

Then second, you think about the officer’s words that’s still ringing in your ear.

“We found a body by the river,” he said. “We recovered a wallet with a photo of that boy inside,” he continues, and it’s 01:09 in the morning when the weight in your heart overwhelms you and you finally begin to cry.  

-

Much like the both of you expected, the weeks after that day didn’t come easy. Kazue, much like his mother said in the letter, really is a kind boy. He listened to his elders and patiently waited for them to finish speaking before he added some comments of his own.

Even as you watched him listen to the officer scramble for words to explain the reality of his situation, he told them thank you for finding his mama before turning around and crying.

The investigation happened quickly, and it surprised you when Sakusa was quick to offer that Kazue was welcome to stay in the house during the process, seeing as none of the extended family members the police reached out to bother to respond.

“Are you looking to adopt?” was a question the officer automatically asked, and you could feel Kazue’s form stiffen in between you and Sakusa.

“We can take care of the costs for her funeral,” Sakusa instead replies, and when the officer looks at you in shock at the offer, you only nod your head.

“Thank you,” Kazue later says in the car ride home. He’s quiet afterwards, and Sakusa chooses to leave the car in silence as you continue to drive through the city, choosing to stop by the bakery on the way home to buy the cupcakes you saw doodled in the margin of Kazue’s sketchbook.

“What kind of cupcake would you like, Kazue?” you ask, turning around as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

He perks up in his seat behind you, fiddling with the buckle of his seatbelt as he puffs his cheeks and tells you, “It’s okay, I can eat whatever you pick.”

Sakusa beside you softens, then says, “You should go in with her so you can see what they have and pick out the one you like the most.”

“Can I?” he asks, looking at you, and you smile, slipping on your scarf as you push the car open. “Let’s go,” you call and Kazue clicks the buckle of his seatbelt, following in your suit.

“Make sure to put your scarf on,” Sakusa reminds, gesturing to the scarf he bought for him that morning. Sakusa smiles when he loops it around his neck, counting to three just like he taught him earlier, and tells him thank you, before opening the door and grabbing your hand as you walk to the entrance.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, Sakusa lets himself sit for a while in the moment. For now, the heater in the car feels warm against his skin, and the smile on Kazue’s face as he grabs your hand and walks into the adequately lit bakery is bright. Then he looks at you, soft smiles and patient eyes as you hold the door open for him to walk through.

Sakusa thinks it kind of looks like home.

-

“What’s gonna happen to him?” you ask Sakusa a week after Kazue’s mother was laid to rest.

You sit in your side of the bed, keeping your voice hushed despite Kazue staying in the room on the other side of the house. Sakusa walks out of the bathroom, grey sweatpants and a plain blue tee on, before he takes a seat on his side.

He thinks back to the boy, at how red his face looked as he cried into your shoulder while you carried him back to the car after the burial. Then, at the drawing of the three of you Kazue shyly presented during dinner earlier that night.  

“The police are probably coordinating with the people that will take him in,” he answers you after taking some time to think about your question.

“Didn’t none of the relatives call back? And isn’t his father already gone too?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa sighs, pressing his fingers to his temple, choosing not to look at you when he notices the urgency your tone gives away. In a way, he already knew of the question you were unintentionally leading up to.

“Kazue will probably be in foster care or the orphanage,” Sakusa finishes and beside him, you feel your heart already drop.

“Is the system going to be good for him?” you ask, turning your head so that your eyes meet Sakusa’s profile.

“I don’t know,” Sakusa answers, and truthfully, you aren’t even certain yourself if you want to know the answer.

“He’s just a child,” you say and Sakusa looks at you, sighing before he nods his head.

“Too young,” he murmurs and with that you put the book down and shuffle closer to him, watching with baited breath as you spill the thoughts in your head.

“Should we take him in?” you say quietly, and Sakusa’s eyes are quick to meet yours upon yours words.

“You mean adopt him?” he says a little quietly, the hesitation in his voice being the first tone you automatically pick up.

“I don’t want him to feel like he’s going to be left behind again,” you answer, truthfully, sighing as you recognize the undertone in your husband’s voice. Sakusa, for as long as you knew him was a man who practiced caution.

He was, is, and judging from this moment, will always be the one in the relationship to heed to practicality and reason instead of just flowing with the current. Like you’re doing now, you suppose.

“He’s been with us for less than a month, (y/n),” Sakusa tells you, his reminder not more than a whisper and it’s the softness and truth in them that finally gets you to see things from his perspective.

“The world is going to break him,” you say, and when you think back to Kazue smiling at you as he tells you thank you for the cupcakes you buy every other night—that’s when you finally feel the sadness spill from your eyes.

“He’s a kind boy,” Sakusa whispers when he opens his arms and lets you crawl into his side. “He’s tough enough to get through things.”

“The world isn’t kind,” you mutter against his chest, and despite Sakusa rubbing circles on your back to soothe the cries, he feels like he’s still at a loss for words.

Then when he goes to sleep that night, Sakusa dreams of empty sketchbooks and thin cardigans in winter weather.

He ceases to find rest that night.

-

“Why don’t you go out and play with the others?” you suggest, leaning down to Kazue’s height as you point to the playground not too far off. “Uncle Omi and I will be able to watch you from here.”

Kazue looks at you like he’s unsure of what to respond, then for a second lets go of your hand before deciding to reach forward and grasp it again.

“Last night was too rainy,” he says and you look at him, confused. Sakusa, beside you, does the same.

“Too many puddles on the ground,” Kazue explains, then looks down as he rocks himself to and fro with the balls of his feet. You smile; Kazue looks as cute in the yellow raincoat and matching rain boots Sakusa bought for him as he does wearing the raccoon themed backpack he shyly pointed to at the mall some days ago.

“Of course there are puddles, Kazue, it was raining last night,” you smile, letting go of his hand as you walk forward and lightly hop in the puddle.

Sakusa smiles as he watches you—it kind of feels like he’s looking at a page in the past.

But beside him, Kazue isn’t. Instead, he walks towards Sakusa and holds onto the edge of his coat as he continues to shake his head no.

“I know that Uncle doesn’t like when the things you have are too dirty,” Kazue begins; beside him, Sakusa looks down, eyebrows drawn together.

“He bought me these nice clothes so I don’t wan’ to get them dirty,” he finishes, smiling at Sakusa when he looks up at catches his eye.

“Thank you!” he says again, and you watch, with your heart somewhere between bursting and melting as your husband wordlessly ruffles Kazue’s hair and holds out his hand for him to take.

Your heart hurts, you realize. Because after today, Kazue would only be a name you’ll relate to your past.

“You’re going to a new home,” you had to explain to him slowly, and it hurt to tell him that because in the guest room—no his room—that he’d been staying at, were the drawings of the superheroes you’d listen to him talk about night after night, portraits of smiling faces he said were of you, Sakusa, and his mother stuck to the wall behind his bed.

For the month he’d been staying with you, the “Tadaima,” you or Sakusa would call out when you arrived would be answered by Kazue’s quiet “Okaeri,” as he met you by the genkan.

“A new home?” he’d asked, and while you excused yourself to allow for Sakusa to explain the situation, you listened from the other side of the door with your hand shaking over your mouth.

“You’ll meet your new parents that way,” Sakusa explained, his voice sounding like he was in between uncertainty and despair.

It wasn’t easy, you think, telling a child who was abandoned and lost his mother in the same day that he’d be going back somewhere unfamiliar again—but you suppose between you and your husband, Sakusa was the one better suited to explain the situation.

“I know they won’t be new parents,” Kazue replied and as you peeked back in the room you see Sakusa staring at him with wide eyes as a silent response.

“They’ll just take care of me for now, and that’s okay. I’m still lucky,” he finishes and the conversation ended just like that.

“He’s gonna be okay,” this time you tell Sakusa as you notice his expression shift in time with his hand ever so slightly tightening around Kazue’s.

You notice everything. Sakusa’s conflicted, much like you were—still are—but this, this was the best you could do for him.

Having kids was never included in you and Sakusa’s plan from the start. Life before, with the two of you had always been enough, and while the two of you never let go of the insatiable hunger for life—you knew that your thirst for it would be quenched with just the two of you.

Until life, ironically the very thing you were chasing, decided to give the both of you something it knew you would flow with.

“Always remember to bundle up, okay?” you remind Kazue when you make it in front of the entrance with who you assumed to be the caretaker standing by the door. Sakusa watches Kazue watch you, the boy’s happiness spilling as warmth into his cheeks as his lips break out into a smile as he nods along to your reminders.

“Thank you,” Kazue says again—and Sakusa internally tries to recall the amount of times he’s said his thanks to the both of you that day. He loses count after he hit fifteen.

“I won’t get these dirty because I’ll take care of them,” He tells Sakusa, gesturing to the things he has with him then gives him a smile when he squats down and faces him eye to eye.

Then when Kazue puffs his cheeks and leans forward wrapping his arms around Sakusa’s neck for an embrace, you watch, feeling the familiar throb of your heart return tenfold. You meet his smiling eyes as he opens them, and when he stretches his hand out for you, you squat down behind Sakusa and kiss Kazue’s forehead.

“Be kind, okay?” you tell him and he nods his head, the smile on his face never leaving.

Sakusa stays still, only moving when he feels Kazue part with him.

Cold, Sakusa thinks, he feels a little cold.

And it’s only thirty minutes after walking into Kazue’s new “home” where Sakusa feels the chills run through him again. He’s watching Kazue be introduced to the new children in the living room with you beside him, the caretaker’s words coming in one ear and floating out the other in seconds.

The guest room, or Kazue’s room as he thinks of it, will still have the drawings he pinned to the wall behind his bed when he comes home. He thinks of the totoro themed comforter you bought for him and the fact that it will still look as neat as Kazue left it earlier that morning.

His mind plays back dinner from the night before, and how warm his home felt when the three of you ate the dinner he cooked with the too many vegetables on the side, then laughed over the smudged chocolate frosting that you wiped on the corner of his lips as Kazue smiled at you both.

The room he sees him standing in now feels cold, and when he sees Kazue shiver and clutch the raccoon backpack to his chest he feels like the very same scene from the month before is replaying right in front of him.

Sakusa thinks he hears your voice, when you tell the woman that’s been explaining the process next to you for a little over twenty minutes now say “thank you,” and “we’ll get going now,” register in his head before he feels his feet already taking strides for him.

“Kazue,” Sakusa says, and when the boy turns and looks at him, that’s when he notices how quiet the room’s gotten.

From your spot, you look at him, unsure of exactly how to proceed because Sakusa—if anything, was never as unpredictable as this.

“We’re going home,” you hear him say, and your grip on the strap of your bag tightens.

“Home?” Kazue echoes and Sakusa’s heart clenches when he hears the yearning in the boy’s voice.

“Yeah, we can have dinner again, like last night,” you listen to Sakusa say, and your heart is suddenly overflowing with everything you’ve held back. Sakusa’s smiling again—and you know his heart is in the same state, because his voice softens even more.

“Just for tonight?” Kazue asks, a little unsure.

“Every night,” Sakusa answers, and just like that you know that when you go home that night—you truly will be home.

- “Mama, you really need to wear a scarf,” Kazue huffs as you walk with him to the entrance of your front door.

You nod at his words and wave him off with the yes, you’ve been responding to his every reminder for the past twelve years now. Kazue—your son—looks at you with the same softness in his eyes as ten years ago when he finally made it home.

“I’m serious,” he laughs, before leaning forward and letting you fasten the buttons on his winter coat.

Kazue grew up, with the roots of his personality remaining unchanged. He’s a kind boy, you think to yourself every day. When he turned seven and made Sakusa wait in the car so he could help the grandmother cross the street. When he was ten, and somehow persuaded your husband to let him keep and nurse the stray cat from your neighborhood back to health. And at seventeen—the now, as you listened to him talk about how he was going to lead his team into nationals.

“You remember what your dad told you?” you ask, smiling as he nods and points to Sakusa from inside, hollering “thanks dad!” with a laugh.

“I’d say I have the perks of having a national athlete as a father, but really, dad’s just that good of a coach.”

You smile, leaning to the side as you hear Sakusa’s footsteps grow closer and closer until you felt his presence right behind you. Leaning back to his chest, you kiss his jaw as a hello, laughing when Kazue groans at the “PDA”.

“We’ll make it to your game later, but have a good time in school,” you hear him say and Kazue nods as he fastens the zipper of his bag and waves at the both of you.

“Love you!” he calls out, walking down the steps and out the gate.

“We love you,” you murmur, your heart filling with the familiar sense of pride as you watch him leave, his dad’s jersey number on his back.

“It’s cold,” Sakusa says, then kisses the crown of your head when you turn to face him. “We should head back inside.”

Smiling, you tug the blanket closer to yourself as you answer, “It’s alright. I think I’ll stay here a bit.”

“Something on your mind?” Sakusa asks, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the bench beside you in your front porch. Like habit, he takes the scarf from around his neck and loops it around you with a smile, ignoring the way you pat his wrist as if to tell him don’t bother.

“It’s cold,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes knowing that he mostly does it now because of the sentiment it holds for the both of you.

“Home always feels warm, though,” you answer, and Sakusa only nods at your words, the corners of his own lips stretching into a smile like yours.

“We kind of went off the plan we originally had,” you laugh after some silence passed.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, tone even because he already knows the answer to the very question he posed.

“Of course not,” you smile. “I knew we never planned on having kids of our own, but Kazue’s a blessing.”

“He is,” Sakusa replies, smiling at the thought of his son.

His son, he likes to think of it. The memory of Kazue calling him dad for the first time never fails to make warmth spill from his heart.

Watching the smile bloom wider from his profile, you clasp your hand over his and watch as the light from the winter sun catches the band on his left ring finger.

His ring—the one matching the one on your left remained the same, and while your thoughts of the future are completely opposite to the ones you envisioned from before—you realize that this was the grand plan from the heavens all along.

And there isn’t one thing that you’d change about it.

So when Sakusa looks at you, saying, “We did good,” the happiness in your heart overflows and spills into your cheeks as tears.

“We did,” you respond, the sincerity in your voice assuring Sakusa that you really, truly do mean it.

-

[yaku-soba]

the infinite field of sunflowers (i would follow you anywhere)

༶•┈┈ matsukawa issei x f!reader | angst, fluff

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags / warnings: implied/referenced child abuse (reader), mostly catharsis for the author, where is my volleyball player who will drive me anywhere i want in the middle of the night and not ask questions that i cannot answer 

word count: 2.2k

summary: home is your heart and your heart is matsukawa issei, who drives you to an impossible field of sunflowers that he’d willed into existence when he was eight, at four in the morning.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“i want to run away,” is the first thing you tell him when issei picks up. and it’s the middle of the night, bordering on dawn, but at the slight hitch of your breath in your throat, shuddering over the line, he’s wide awake. 

“okay,” he says instead of hold on, what happened? - but he knows you’ll only talk about it when you’re ready. so he rolls out of bed, empties the first bag he grabs by holding it upside down haphazardly, and throws in the first few shirts he touches. “can i come too?”

you’re silent on the other end, but issei’s patient. (he’s especially patient with you. he’s used to waiting.) 

“okay,” you say when he’s already padding down the stairs, car keys in hand. 

“i’ll pick you up at our usual place,” he tells you, and scribbles a half-hearted note for whoever wakes up first in the morning. road trip w y/n brb. need the car thanks. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

he pulls up at the playground (it’s dilapidated, the way it has been since you were eight), and you’re sitting on the swing, pushing yourself off almost lazily. the moonlight lands on the harsh line of your clenched jaw and pools beneath your eyes, tracing the tear tracks issei can still see. (his heart hurts, as tender as the quiet slide of knife through fruit flesh). 

“hey,” he says (softly, because you look like you need him to be soft — and he can be soft, if it’s for you). issei doesn’t bother locking the car as he jogs out to meet you, sneakers slipping in the sand. “y/n,” he starts, then realises he doesn’t know what to say to make it better. (he can’t make it better, not unless you tell him what he already knows.) 

so he says, “wanna see sunflowers?”

you look up at him, and it’s almost like he’s looking at you, eight years-old with the print of your father’s hand like a brand on your cheek. the angle’s different, now — he’s taller. (but still useless, still helpless, still only able to watch). 

“where?” you ask, and he would give you everything. he would give you everything, if only you would let him. 

“i was thinking about osaki,” he says, “but i’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

issei watches as you mull over it. “osaki’s okay,” you say after a moment, and take the hand he holds out to help you off the swing. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you think, as issei keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, that you are being too cruel — you knew, when you’d called him those hours ago, that he wouldn’t stop you. that he would have come with you. 

you knew, and you’d called him anyway.

(you know that he would do almost anything for you. it’s terrifying and powerful and humbling.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

osaki, and the field of sunflowers that issei shows you, is beautiful. it’s morning — though you don’t know the exact time, because you’d turned your phone off right after calling issei — and the sun is as cruel and breathtaking as you feel. 

“there’s so many of them,” you tell him in wonder, wading into the field with your hands upturned, “i wonder who planted them.” was it you, you want to ask, even if it’s completely ridiculous and impossible, did you clear this field for me when we were eight? did you plant the seeds when we were ten?

issei shrugs, content with leaning against the side of the car he’d arguably stolen from his parents. “does it matter? at least it’s here now,” he answers, and you know that he’s not talking about the miraculous field of sunflowers that you still think he’d planted, or at least willed into existence when he was eight. 

you break his gaze, plucking lightly at the bright yellow petals of the nearest sunflower. “yeah, i guess.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

after himawari hills, issei brings you to a geyser. 

it defies all common sense, to you — everyone knows that everything goes down, because of gravity, but geysers go up. it’s wonderful and miraculous and you’d always thought it was a little fake, until issei had held you by the wrist (gentle, guiding), and walked you down the path and pointed out every little geyser on the way.

(you think issei is a little like a geyser.)

after that it’s katanuma lake, where you buy bentos from a convenience store and eat it by the water. it’s calming, blue skies reflected on bluer waters, and you ask issei if he thinks there are alligators. 

“i’ll throw you to the car,” he says very seriously, “i was almost a setter.” he’s obviously lying, but it makes you laugh. 

“oikawa had better watch out,” you say, and continue to leave your legs stretched out. if fate is going to screw you over, you might as well tempt it back. 

after lunch you wander around aimlessly. issei drives in the general direction of enlightenment and freedom, and doesn’t complain even when you stop him every time you see a vaguely interesting roadside shop or small town. 

you buy mitarashi dango, seaweed for you and the normal ones for issei, and come to the agreement that it’s much better than the ones you’d had in asakusa, outside kaminari-mon when you were twelve (you say it was during the school trip, when the two of you had snuck away from the group; issei says it’s when you’d talked him into running away with you for the day). 

when it hits evening, you wonder aloud if it would be too cold to sleep in the car. 

“we can cuddle,” issei says, wiggling his eyebrows. but when it becomes clear that you’re actually considering it, he puts his foot down and drives to the nearest somewhat-respectable motel, which turns out to be a run-down b&b. there’s only one room, and only one bed, but it’s still warmer and much more comfortable than sleeping in the cramped backseat would have been. 

neither of you mention it - not in the night, and not in the morning - when he sidles up close behind you and pulls you in. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

in the morning and over breakfast, you google tourist attractions on issei’s phone, ignoring the many missed calls and unanswered texts (it’s mostly makki; iwaizumi was put on mute, and oikawa was blocked a long time ago). you wonder if you even have any new notifications. probably not — turning off your phone had just been childish dramatics. it wouldn’t have mattered. 

(you always feel like you matter when you’re with issei.)

“iwashita kokeshi museum”, you say around a mouth full of rice. 

issei nods, finishing his miso soup with a last slurp. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

issei likes driving with one hand on the wheel. you learn that this is when he’s relaxed, when he doesn’t have anything weighing on his mind. 

(you wonder what he’d been thinking off when he’d first picked you up, on the way to the field full of sunflowers.)

you’ve never really spent this long in a car before, and not with issei, but this is nice. this must be how seagulls feel like, you muse, watching issei from the corner of your eyes, with the whole ocean beneath them and a wind that would carry them anywhere. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you take a gondola at onikobe resort park, and with no one else around it feels like that time you’d gotten onto the ferris wheel with him when you were thirteen, right before your father had banned you from going out after school. 

you don’t remember the fireworks anymore, only the way the light had painted issei in pink and green and gold, the way the steady clunk-clunk-clunk of the ferris wheel winding ever higher had calmed the turbulent riot in your heart. 

the first half of the ferris wheel ride had felt like a geyser. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

after lunch you tell issei that you’re okay to head back, now. it’s sunday, and you don’t want him to miss class tomorrow, because if he has to go for remedial classes he won’t be able to go for volleyball practice. 

“you’re more important,” he tells you. 

“you’re important to me too,” you say, “let’s go home.”

(for him, his family house is home. aoba johsai is home.

you don’t tell him that you’re already home. home is your heart and your heart is matsukawa issei.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

issei drives you home. 

and then he punches your father in the face. 

then he takes you home, where his parents are waiting with hot chocolate. 

at least, that’s what he wishes he could do. in reality, he drives as slowly as he possibly can without coming to a complete standstill, and watches, disgusted with himself (as he always is, as he has been since he was eight and you were eight with a red print on your cheek), as you climb the steps to the obnoxiously huge and empty mansion that he knows you don’t think of as home. 

you knock without hesitation, and when the housekeeper answers, you step in with a polite nod. and he hates that he’s just the guy with an idle car outside of your house. 

he finally drives off when you don’t come barreling out the front door after nearly half an hour. 

(he waits, but you don’t text him.) 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you don’t come to school on monday, and issei worries, even though he already has a sinking feeling that he knows what’s happened. then he remembers you telling him that you’re supposed to show up at one of your father’s business parties on monday night (and dance fancy dances with guys that aren’t him, in dresses that he knows you will probably find uncomfortable), and figures that a bastard so concerned with appearances wouldn’t dare lay a hand on his trophy daughter. 

(where it can be seen, at least.)

he won’t risk it, issei tells himself, if only for his own peace of mind. 

he texts you anyway. 

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you don’t reply, not even after monday night. he drives to your house and waits outside until your father calls the police, and then he comes back on foot. 

he contemplates the structural integrity of the huge tree that is not quite huge enough to reach the window of your bedroom. 

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you don’t text him back, but he wakes with a start a few nights later when you crawl into his room through the window. and land right on top of him, because his bed is beneath the window. which means you’re on top of him. he’s fine, this is fine. 

“y/n,” his voice cracks, and he’s so immeasurably lost, because this is exactly the kind of dream he should not be dreaming about his best friend, “what?” 

“hi issei,” you say, and you sound so strongly of relief, of freedom, that he wishes this wasn’t a dream. then you put your hands on his cheeks, and he realises - it’s warm. you’re warm. 

this isn’t a dream.

“y/n,” he tries to pull away, but you refuse to let him go (like the octopus he’d found on the beach when you were fourteen, the one he’d insisted on showing you only for you to ask him if octopus sushi was tasty), so he settles for running his hands up your arms gently (in worry). “y/n, are you okay?” 

(issei is so beautiful like this. he could light a thousand cities with his kindness, but you’re selfish, you’ve always had everything you’ve ever wanted except a home. 

you want issei to be your home.)

you laugh, and issei’s brow furrows a little more at that. 

“i’m the best i’ve ever been,” you say, still shaking with laughter, “issei, won’t you run away with me?” 

under the slanting moonlight, he sees a healing bruise on your cheekbone. there are scratches on your arms that he doesn’t think are from papercuts. 

“just for the day,” you continue, and he would give you everything-

“and then we’ll come back, and then my uncle’s taking my father to court, and he says i can sleepover with friends if i want to until it’s all settled.”

you smile, and it tastes like freedom, like the air that morning on the infinite field of sunflowers that your best friend had willed into existence (for you) when he was eight. “issei, i’m tired of running from home. won’t you run away with me?”

and issei would give you everything, so of course he says, “wanna see tokyo? maybe the mitarashi dango there has gotten better.” 

you brush your thumb over his cheek, tracing the path of moolight. “sure,” you tell him, “let’s stay in a luxury hotel this time - i’ve got my dad’s card.” sure enough, you pull something out of your pocket, and it glints like revenge, a ticket to freedom. 

he would give you everything, and you’re selfish, so you’ll let him. 

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his parents wake to another note on the dining table. tokyo with y/n, it says, brb. thanks for the car. 

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a/n: as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated!