no one expected aone to be as infatuated as he is with you. after spotting the two of you out in public, his old teammates were astounded to see the two of you sitting at a restaurant’s outdoor seating. a small espresso is resting on the table in front of you, a pastry of some sort in front of him. you were reading him something from your phone, his elbow pressing against the table as his fist supports his chin.
he looked lovesick, his normally stone-cold exterior softening at the very sight of you. koganegawa quickly took a picture with his phone, slapping futakuchi’s arm with a look of amusement, “since when did the two of them start dating?”
none of the former members of date tech could answer the question, still enamored by the two of you sitting off in the distance. it didn’t help when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your knee, hand running up and down the outside of your thigh. it was gentle, slow. their eyes all widen at the sight, instantly jumping and slapping each other with excitement.
if only they could’ve heard him mutter a low ‘i love you, baby’. as he’s said it a thousand times, whispered it in your ear a hundred times, and moaned it into your lips dozens of times.
everyone may have moved on but im still thinking about the fact that aone is so so prone to put you in the meanest full nelson. he justifies it with knowing how prone you are to grab at him when hes making you take a cock that too thick, and almost too long- he doesnt want you to hurt those precious hands of yours. the ones he loves to kiss every day right before leaving for work, and right after coming home to you.
justified, because he knows if he truly admits it- he knows what it would look like if he admits that seeing you helpless, suspended by nothing more than the rocking of his hips. thighs catching all you drip down onto him, almost limp while bulging thick arms and biceps keep you up might be too shameless for someone like him.
you don't know who he is, but you know that he's safe.
you sit next to him every day on the train ride home. no name, no words spoken, but you share the same stop and he makes you feel comfortable without trying.
he's a towering, brutish bull of a man with the softest mannerisms. the way he holds his phone is delicate, though his hands swallow it up completely from sight. the way he glances around is unobtrusive. he's careful and attentive. the way he sits down is silent despite obvious signs of muscle soreness from long construction shifts. he'll fix the folds of his tattered, dusty work shirt- patient and tender, with the tips of his oversized fingers, not with his palms. he watches every person get on, sizing them up, but carries no ill-intent.
the 20-minute, crowded ride home used to be a good reason to panic, lately. but ever since he started getting on, seated in the same spot - you're no longer unreasonably anxious, or flighty, or running the worst scenarios through your head.
everything about him screams reliable. he tells you, with no words, that you're gonna be okay as long as he's around.
and after one particularly tiring day- you accidentally fall asleep before your stop.
despite trusting him -with, realistically, very little evidence for it- you wake with a start, since the first thing you see when you open your eyes is his natural scowl. upon first glance and laden with sleep, it would seem as though he's incredibly pissed off and only helping you as a social courtesy.
but he waits for you. he lingers to help you to the platform, though he's not needed, offering a hand that you almost take just because you'd feel better if you did.
"may i walk you home?"
it's the first time you hear his voice, and it shocks you how smooth and rich it sounds at a barely-there mutter.
you take a breath to answer-- but he clarifies, warm in the face and less impressive this time. cuter, though.
"i just- i would like to make sure you get back safely."
you cover a sudden, giddy smile and let him walk you home; you realize it's been a long time since somebody made you feel this cared for.
links. longer, sluttier haikyuu. my other imagines. my masterlist.
notes. god, yk, this stands as my love letter to aone. i don't write preg!reader at all but i changed it to fit better, and holy cow i think it works rlly well.
“Did you hear about aone? I heard that he started dating that one popular girl! But you didn't hear that from me!!”
– @sharkissm for my Gossip Event.
word count; 686 – f!reader
Aone did an uncharacteristic double take the first time it happened, the first time you came to one of his games and cheered for him after a successful block. You were of another world to him, so perfect in the way you were not only beautiful but also so kind and charismatic. People wanted to be around you, unlike Aone who always sat alone on the train.
So he also couldn’t believe it when you sat down beside him on the train one day, smiling so kindly and asking him if the seat was free. He nodded silently, gulping and fumbling with his fingers as you sat down. Your knee knocked into his and he almost felt like blushing. You’re just so cool.
“I watched your game the other day, it was awesome!” you gushed, flipping out your phone and showing him a video you had taken of him blocking the last point, then the camera turned to your face as you screamed in cheers for your school’s team. If he heard correctly, you even yelled his name in particular. “I would be so scared to break my fingers or something if I blocked like that.” As you said this, you held a hand out, showing off your perfect gel nails.
Aone admired them, making a sound of approval at the cool design in the school’s colours. “They are very pretty, breaking them or your fingers would be a shame.” It was said as a clear statement, and his deep voice made your eyes widen.
“Thank you,” you said softly at the compliment, eyes glittering. Surely, his eyes were betraying him because it looked like you were blushing too. “My nail artist is great…” And then you spent the rest of the train ride telling him about anything that came to mind, about your nails and your schoolwork and him.
A few days later, Futakuchi let out the biggest huh when you came to the gym doors and asked for Aone. “Class project?” he asked, somewhat protective of the big friendly giant.
“No,” you answered simply, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him as a playful challenge. “So? Can I talk to him?”
“We have to practise, princess-“ Futakuchi started, holding up his finger, only to be interrupted by a shadow behind him.
“I can take a short break.”
The captain turned around slowly to see his best friend, scrunching his nose trying to think of something to say before slumping his shoulders in defeat and stomping off. “Five minutes.”
You looked at Aone, the sparkle back in your eyes that he still couldn’t believe had anything to do with him. “Sorry. What did you need?”
Licking your lips and tucking some hair behind your ear, you asked him if he was free after practice, earning you a quick yes from Aone and a distant complaint from Koganegawa about team-building activities.
That evening you spent talking over your instant ramen cups in the closest konbibi became your first date.
And a first date eventually turned into dating.
Aone’s cheering squad was the loudest for every game, and you lavishly spoiled him with attention and care that made him feel like he was soft, not just big and scary.
In return, he gave you comfort and always listened. Whether it was seemingly meaningless yapping or serious conversations about life’s many trials, he was always there for you.
A power couple, one must admit.
Even Futakuchi admitted it after you got the principal to make all the arrangements for when they got to nationals in their third year, also making sure every student who could go, came to cheer for the Iron Wall.
And as Aone looked up at you in the stands, you cheered just as loudly as you did the first time he caught your eye, and you looked just as gorgeous to him no matter what happened. Even at night, all makeup off and bawling your eyes out over a sappy movie with toilet paper stuck in your nose to stop it from running.
Always his beautiful girlfriend, who just happened to be very popular.
takanobu as your personal diary.
wc: 1.3k, a little birdie—ahem, @s1lly-bon—wanted me to write for him. merry chrimus, babes.
with a strange pressure in the air, it’s like the universe knows something loud is coming and is politely stepping aside.
you drop your bag first. then your shoes. then your dignity.
aone is already there.
he’s sitting at the small kitchen table like a gargoyle carved out of discipline and protein powder, back straight, hands folded, eyes calm. he looks like he’s guarding a national treasure instead of waiting for you to finish unlocking the door.
you don’t even greet him.
you inhale.
“okay so first of all—”
his head tilts exactly two degrees. engaged.
“—why does that guy from my stats class think it’s okay to chew like he’s auditioning to be a sound effect for a swamp monster? like, i swear he waits until the room is silent and then unleashes it. it’s personal. it has to be.”
aone nods once. solemn. respectful. as if you’ve just disclosed a war crime.
you pace. your hands are doing most of the talking now. your voice keeps climbing like it’s trying to escape your body.
“and then my professor assigns a group project. a group project. in a class where nobody talks. so now i’m paired with chewlord and a girl who types like she’s mad at the keyboard. and guess who ended up being the group leader without consenting to this role?”
aone’s eyes soften. his jaw tightens. a pen appears in his hand. you don’t remember him picking it up.
“also,” you continue, spinning dramatically, “someone took my seat. my seat. i’ve sat there since week one. i don’t care that seats aren’t assigned, that seat is emotionally bonded to me.”
another nod. slower this time. he hums, low in his chest, like a piece of heavy machinery acknowledging input.
you’re on a roll now.
“and then i get coffee, right? except it’s wrong. wrong milk, wrong syrup, wrong vibe. it tasted like disappointment with a foam top. i paid a thousand yen for emotional damage.”
aone blinks. once. twice.
you keep going. ten minutes pass. maybe fifteen. time is a concept for other people. your voice rises and falls, your grievances stack on top of each other like a poorly constructed jenga tower of irritation.
through it all, aone takanobu does not move.
he watches you like you’re the most compelling documentary he’s ever seen.
when you finally stop, breathless, leaning against the counter with one sock half off, you feel lighter. wrung out. like you’ve screamed into the void and the void nodded back.
silence settles.
then—
“the guy,” aone says slowly, carefully, as if each word needs permission to exist, “chews with his mouth open?”
you stare.
“…yes.”
he frowns. just a little. it’s devastating.
“does he sit two rows ahead. left side.”
“…yeah.”
aone’s grip on the pen tightens. imperceptibly. but you see it.
“and he laughs before speaking. like he’s pleased with himself.”
your mouth opens.
“…yeah.”
he nods again. writes something down. you do not know where the paper came from. or why this feels like a court transcript.
“your seat,” he continues, eyes lifting back to you, “third row. aisle. near the window. you like the draft.”
“…i do.”
“you tap your foot when you’re annoyed,” he adds. “you did it when you talked about the coffee.”
you look down. your foot is tapping.
he clears his throat.
“you didn’t eat lunch.”
that one hits.
“…how do you know that.”
aone’s ears turn pink.
“you rant faster when you’re hungry.”
you laugh. it slips out of you before you can stop it, soft and a little broken, like you weren’t expecting to be known this thoroughly.
“you’re insane,” you say fondly, not meaning it as an insult, more like an observation of the sky being blue.
it’s immediate. like a building deciding to relocate. he moves closer, steps careful, gaze never leaving you, like if he looks away you might evaporate.
“i listen,” he says simply.
then, quieter, “i want to listen.”
he reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes your wrist, thumb brushing the pulse there like he’s checking if you’re real. like he needs confirmation.
“did the girl with the loud typing upset you more than the seat situation.”
you snort.
“no, the seat thing was worse. that was personal.”
he nods. satisfied.
“i’ll make you dinner,” he says. not a question. a promise carved into stone.
“you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupts, voice firm but soft around the edges when it comes to you. “you didn’t eat. you’re tired. you were polite to people who didn’t deserve it.”
you watch him move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, like a man built for battle choosing instead to wage war on a cutting board. he glances at you every few seconds. always checking. always making sure you’re still there.
it’s… a lot.
but it’s warm.
when he hands you a plate, he waits. doesn’t sit. just stands there like a knight awaiting approval.
you take a bite.
“…this is really good.”
his shoulders relax like you just told him the world is safe.
you eat. he watches. he always watches. not in a way that feels heavy—more like reverent. like you’re doing something holy by existing.
“you can sit,” you tell him.
he does. immediately. close enough that your knees touch.
silence stretches. comfortable. thick with things unsaid.
then aone speaks again.
“the coffee you told me about,” he says. “you like it?”
you blink.
“…yeah.”
“tomorrow,” he continues, eyes steady, “i’ll make it for you. before class.”
your chest does something weird. like it’s trying to fold in on itself.
“you don’t have to wake up early—”
“I will,” he says. no hesitation. “i want you to start the day correctly.”
there it is. that edge. that devotion that borders on alarming if you think too hard about it.
you smile anyway.
“you’re… really something.”
his lips twitch. almost a smile.
“you’re everything,” he says, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. like gravity. like math. like breathing.
you choke on absolutely nothing.
he leans closer, forehead resting against yours, voice dropping to something only meant for you.
“when you talk,” he murmurs, “i remember it. all of it. because if something bothers you, it matters. if someone upsets you, i notice. i don’t like it when people make your day worse.”
there’s a flash of something dark there. protective. sharp.
then it softens.
“i like being the place you put it all down.”
your hands curl into his shirt.
“yeah?” you whisper.
he nods.
“always.”
and when you start complaining again—about tomorrow, about life, about the world being mildly annoying—he listens like it’s sacred. like it’s his purpose.
synopsis: an arts and crafts workshop is the best way to destress and make bracelets with the cutest man alive.
details: fluff┊meet-cute┊strangers to friends/lovers┊timeskip!aone┊~1.3k words┊gn!reader┊dedicated to @chlosology
A few months ago, you decided to join the weekly arts and crafts workshops in your neighborhood café. It was the perfect way to destress, with the bonus of creating something beautiful by the end.
Depending on your mood, you would either go alone or invite a colleague to accompany you. Most of the time, you’d mingle with new attendees, which was what you intended to do today.
Today, however, was rather interesting.
You didn’t think that you’d spend a Saturday afternoon biting down on your lip to keep yourself from giggling out loud. The scene in front of you wasn’t exactly hilarious, but endearing seemed to be a fitting term.
Seated across from you was a huge, quiet guy who was trying and failing to keep the small bracelet beads from slipping through his fingers. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, focusing on getting the thin, translucent string through each bead’s hollow center.
You felt a little sorry, honestly, considering how much faster you were making progress—you were already about to start your second bracelet.
When his next bead clatters to the table and rolls to your space, you catch it just in time (without letting go of your own string, thankfully). You look up at your table partner and reach your hand out to him, resulting in a perplexed expression on his face.
“Your bead,” you clarify with a small smile.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and dips his head to bow. “Thank you.”
“No worries,” you respond, blushing a little when his fingers brush your open palm. “Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”
“Alright. Just let me know if you have trouble with the closing knot.” You pick out your next bead as your partner hums and nods in response.
As you look through the remaining colors in your very organized bead container (a clear sign of investment in your hobby), something compels you to ask him a question, despite having spent the past time in silence.
“What’s your favorite color?”
He jolts, clearly not expecting a question. “M-Me?”
“Yeah. I have way too many to choose from.” You push your container closer to him. “Not sure which ones to use next. Does anything catch your eye?”
“Green. And white.” He points at the different shades.
“Gotcha. Thank you!” You give him a small thumbs up before mentally mapping out a possible bracelet pattern.
“You’re welcome,” he responds softly, before returning to his bracelet.
As you lay out your beads to test combinations, you find yourself unable to fight against the permanent grin on your face. His polite and soft-spoken nature has charmed you, it seems.
Before the workshop had formally started, you had noticed him standing outside the café, looking through the windows for quite some time. At first, you thought he was waiting for someone, until you realized he was staring at the poster and the reserved tables.
(Had you not approached him personally and asked if he was interested, you wonder if he would have gathered the courage to come in at all.)
“If you don’t mind me asking,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them, “was there a reason you wanted to join this workshop?”
He pauses for a moment, surprised at your follow-up.
“Um, if it’s personal or whatever, you don’t need to answer.” You add hastily. “And, it’s okay to tell me if talking distracts or overwhelms you.”
At that, he shakes his head. “No. It is fine. You’re nice.”
Your face heats up. “Thank you.”
“I wanted to learn to be more gentle with my hands.”
Instinctively, you gaze at them. Something about it makes you feel fuzzy inside. What the hell.
“Oh, I see!” You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, bracelet-making and bead crafts can do that.”
“I…I am a construction worker. And a volleyball player too.” He continues, surprising you a little. “I’m not used to being gentle.”
His comment nearly makes you chuckle—he’s a living, breathing, gentle giant.
“Well, it takes practice,” you comment. “Any reason you’re trying to get those gentle hands?”
He looks away for a moment, sighing.
“Oh, if it’s a private-”
“I have a pet turtle.”
Silence follows as you process what he just said. Instantly, you feel your heart threatening to leap out of your chest.
“A- A pet turtle?!”
You’re aware that your voice has risen a little—in your excitement, you’re just glad you didn’t outright squeal.
“Yes.” Aone’s eyes are wide at your reaction. “She is very small.”
He gently puts down the bracelet he was making to give you a visual estimate of how tiny his turtle was.
“That’s…that’s adorable. Oh my gosh.” Your voice shakes, unable to contain your giddiness. “No wonder!”
“I don’t want to hurt her…” He explains. “So, my friend told me to try some activities to practice.”
“So, that led you here?”
He nods.
“That’s sweet. I’m glad you got here, then. Your bracelet’s coming along nicely!”
“Thank you,” he says. You’re not sure if you imagine it, but the corners of his mouth rise a little.
“You’re welcome.”
For the rest of the time, the two of you talk a bit more. You tell him about your interest in beaded bracelets, showing him how you could make more complex shapes and patterns. You share silly anecdotes from your job and how it could sometimes drive you crazy, but remain lovable all the same.
Throughout it all, he listens and responds. He may not say that much, but you can tell he cares about what you have to share.
You finish your second bracelet in the time it takes him to finish his. He still fumbled with some of the smaller beads, but he didn’t seem to struggle as much.
“I’m done,” he announces to you. “How do you tie the closing knot?”
“Ah! Okay, so watch what I do…”
You demonstrate the specific knot, and he leans forward to view it better. The proximity momentarily makes you short-circuit, but you manage. He stares for a few seconds, then hums in a mix of confusion and understanding.
Thus, you carefully watch and guide his attempt at the closing knot, forcing yourself to stop thinking about his hands. It’s not long before he succeeds, and you cheer.
“There we go! That’s a very pretty bracelet, you know?”
“I…Thank you.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s…um.”
“I mean it!” You encourage him. “It doesn’t matter if you’re artistic or not! It still came out nice, especially for your first time-”
“I made it for you.”
The words die in your throat.
“Me? Wh- Really?”
He nods. “Because…you helped me.”
“I. I have no words.” Literally. “That’s really sweet of you. But, are you sure you don’t want to keep your first creation?”
“It’s okay,” he says.
“Are you sure?” You raise your eyebrows. “Actually, you know what? Have the second one I made. Let’s trade! I can’t have you leaving this workshop empty-handed.”
You hand the bracelet with green and white beads to him. “Go on, try it!”
The two of you exchange bracelets, and to your satisfaction, they fit just right. (Well, he didn’t have to know that you were already trying to estimate his wrist size while making it.)
“Would you consider these friendship bracelets?” You ask him.
“Friendship bracelets?” He repeats, glancing at both your creations. “Hmm…yes.”
“Yay!” You raise your hands in the air. “Will you come again next week?”
His eyes widen at your question.
“No pressure, of course!” You wave a hand. “But, you’re always welcome to join us! I’m usually here anyway, if having a familiar face helps.”
He nods, a small smile on his lips. “I will come back next week.”
A small smile?
“Alright!” You grin. “By the way, with all the talking we did, I never got your name. I can’t exactly go around calling you gentle hands, can I?”
He blinks at you for a few seconds, turning redder by the second. Did I break him?
“I-It’s Aone. Aone Takanobu.”
“Aone.” You tell him your name, too. “Well then, I’ll see you around!”
do you think you could write the “jacked and kind” prompt with suna or tsukishima, it’s so cute ahhh
jacked and kind pt.1 / pt.2
m.list | rules
pairing. haikyuu x reader
characters. suna, tsukishima, atsumu, aone
note. ofc i can! i decided to use your request as an excuse to make a part 2 so i put both suna and tsukki lmao, hope you'll love it as much as the first one <3
Suna
Of course he saw the trend multiple times himself, you were well aware of it. He was the one to ask you if you wanted to do it with him, which made you laugh a bit.
“Kind? Since when?” You asked him, and it made him roll his eyes with an amused grin. You might be right on this point, but no one needed to know that he was, in fact, a real menace. “Come on, don’t be like that,” he told you and you raised your hands in the air to claim your innocence. After all, you weren’t the one who needed to make any effort for this.
Suna might not seem so jacked, but he was still a volleyball player after all. All the training wasn’t just to know how to play. You were nothing more than a feather with someone like him, but you didn’t expect to be lifted up so easily. It made you gasp in surprise, you had to admit it.
When he put you down and you walked to turn down the video, he waited beside you with his arms crossed and his stupidly annoying grin. “Didn’t think I could do it, uh?” You glanced at him before rolling your eyes, which made his grin go wider.
Yes, you knew he could do it, but you hated when he was right and so full of himself. Well, not really. It made him hot, even if you would never tell him that.
Tsukishima
“I’m not doing this.”
You knew he would say this the moment you would ask him to do the trend with you. Tsukishima wasn’t a show off, so he didn’t see why he should be doing as stupid as showing anyone he could carry you on his shoulder. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, he just thought it was stupid.
But you kept on begging him, day after day, until he finally accepted. He had nothing to prove, he was just tired of hearing you asking him this anytime you could. So he let you install your phone, putting everything as you wanted.
“Ready?” He asked, and you nodded. The moment after, you felt his hands grabbing you to carry you on his shoulder. You knew your boyfriend was tall of course, but you never realized how much until you were up there. He put you down not much longer after, and you quickly got to grab your phone.
You had a bright smile on your face that made him sigh before looking away, putting his glasses back up on his nose. Perhaps it was stupid, but if it made you so happy, it was clearly worth it.
Atsumu
“I could do it too,” he said with a pouty face while looking at your phone from above your shoulder.
It wasn’t the first time he saw you looking at this trend, all kicking your feet and all. It wasn’t so impressive, you had a boy who could do it too. Why didn’t you ask him to do it? He didn’t want to be the one asking, but he tried to leave you messages so you would ask him.
“Wanna redo it?” You asked with a little smile, clearly understanding that he wanted to show off what he could do too. He nodded and moved away from you to stand up straight. It made you chuckle, how eager he was to prove things to you.
He remained cool the whole video, wanting to be your handsome and cool boyfriend for anyone who would see this. He held you like nothing on his shoulder, putting you down after flexing his other arm to show that you weighed nothing for him.
He was clearly too proud of himself for a stupid trend, but you would never be the one to break down his joy, so you let him proudly show off while watching the video, an amused smile on your lips.
Aone
The boy was the definition itself of being jacked and kind. He was probably the sweetest person you had ever met, even if he might have scared you a bit at first, like anyone else. He was huge and impressive, never really speaking a lot. But you quickly learned to discover the cute boy Aone was really, the boy you loved so much.
He did not quite understand what you were asking him to do to begin with. Well, putting you up on his shoulder didn’t seem so difficult, but why did you want him to do this? Yet, he could never refuse you anything so he simply accepted without more questions.
Aone let you put everything in place before you walked closer to him. He waited silently the whole time, his hands resting on your hips and his eyes locked on you while waiting for you to tell him he could go.
In no time, you were already on his shoulder, his arm around your legs to keep you there safely. His eyes were never leaving you, and you didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know what to do or simply because he loved looking at you ; because yes, Aone was the type to stare.
You gently patted his arm with a smile, and he simply put you down on the floor as easily as he carried you. You couldn’t help but to chuckle a bit while looking at the video. He really was looking at you like a lost puppy ; a big puppy, yes, but an adorable one. If one thing was sure, it was that Aone only had eyes for you.
