but when you do? god, it makes everything around you go still.
his real laugh.
not the huffs. not the sarcastic snorts. not the amused breath through his nose.
the real one. the one that escapes before he can stop it. bright and careless and beautiful.
and this time, it bubbles out of him fast, catching on the end of his sentence like he didn’t mean to let it out. he covers his mouth too late, shoulders jolting slightly as he leans forward, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart do something stupid.
you’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s holding back and when he isn’t. and this? this is pure. unfiltered.
a sound you want to keep hearing for the rest of your life.
he’s still laughing when you say it, soft and stunned and entirely honest:
“you have a really pretty laugh.”
his breath catches mid-laugh.
and then it hits full force. the weight of your words, the sincerity behind them. and just like that, the laugh dissolves into something quieter, more flustered. his cheeks tint pink almost instantly.
“shut up,” he says, voice cracking halfway through the word, eyes darting everywhere but at you.
you grin. “i’m serious.”
he covers his mouth with his sleeve like it might somehow hide the way the blush is blooming across his face, delicate and pink and unavoidable.
“it’s not... i don’t... why would you say that out loud?!”
“because it’s true?” you shrug, teasing, but still a little breathless. “it’s… i dunno. it suits you. 's cute.”
he side-eyes you, expression caught between offended and embarrassed and that quiet, cracking amusement you’re addicted to. “what does that even mean?”
“i mean…” you trail off, eyes on him now. his lashes, the curve of his smile, the flush spreading across his cheeks like blooming petals.
“i mean, you’re always so... guarded... or something. like, you're very serious. or stoic." you say, grappling with the right words. "and then you laugh like that and it’s just... soft? and bright. and it makes people want to hear it again. it puts me in a better mood!”
he blinks. then quickly looks away.
“…i hate you.”
you laugh. “no you don’t.”
“i might.”
you watch him try to hide the way he’s still smiling. the way the pink deepens near his ears. you want to press your thumb against his cheek just to feel the warmth there.
he exhales, shaking his head. “you’re so annoying.”
you lean in a little. “so are you. but at least you’re charming when you laugh!”
his eyes flick toward you. something unreadable behind them. and then, finally, a soft reply:
“…you’re the only one who’s ever said that.”
you blink. your chest aches.
then you say, “well, i’m right.”
and when he looks at you again, that blush still lingering like cherry blossoms in the spring, he doesn’t deny it.
You’re on the phone with your boyfriend, discussing plans for the evening while you dodge the masses of people walking past you in the afternoon rush.
“Okay, I’m almost at the metro, we should probably hang up before the signal cuts,” you tell him, looking over your shoulder before crossing the bike lane. “See you soon!”
“See you soon. Love you,” he said, hurriedly like it would mix into the static noise of the phone call but reach your heart all the same.
“Huh?” you said, raising your voice to indicate you hadn’t heard him.
“I said I love you,” he repeated bashfully, frowning at the poster on his wall.
“Ha ha!” you chanted, making some people turn to you, startled, before continuing in the direction they were going.
“Eh?”
“Made you say it twice, heard you the first time, love you, mwah!”
“Wh-“ Then you hung up with an evil little laugh.
Wearing a wide grin, which probably made you look like an aspiring psychopath, you skipped down the stairs to the metro, excited to see your boyfriend, who loves you x 2.
Tsukishima, Hoshiumi, Suna, Kenma, Osamu, Daishou, Kunimi, Iwaizumi, Kyotani, Sakusa, anyone you want it to be<3
masterlist
inspired by a conversation I had with @cottonlemonade<3
oikawa was used to being the one stared at. he lived for the gasps and the fan clubs. but then he saw you sitting on the fountain edge, trying to fix a broken strap on your sandal with a look of intense, adorable concentration.
the way a single curl of hair kept falling into your eyes, and the way you puffed out your cheeks in frustration, hit oikawa like a serve to the gut. he stopped mid-stride. his fan girls were talking, but their voices became muffled charlie brown noises. to him, the world had narrowed down to just you and your broken shoe. you looked up, caught him staring, and gave a small, embarrassed laugh.
oikawa didn’t wink. he didn’t give a peace sign. he actually tripped over his own feet approaching you, nearly face-planting in the dirt. he knelt down, his hands shaking—him, the great king!—as he offered his own athletic tape from his bag.
“i think i’ve just retired from being a heartbreaker,” oikawa said, his voice unusually thick with emotion. he looked up at you with wide, sparkling eyes that were dead serious. “because you just took mine and i don’t want it back. i know this sounds like a really cheesy line, but i’m physically aching right now. please, let me take you to get new shoes—and then lunch. give me one chance to be the only guy you look at?”
#2 matsukawa issei
matsukawa was at a convenience store, stone-faced as usual, reaching for the last bag of cheese snacks. at the exact same time, your hand landed on top of his. your fingers were small and warm against his calloused skin.
he looked over, expecting a fight, but found you instead—eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights, with a tiny “oh!” of surprise. you were wearing a soft, oversized hoodie, and you looked so cozy and kind that issei felt his soul leave his body through his ears. he didn’t pull his hand away. in fact, he leaned into the space between you, his heart hammering a rhythm that felt like a drum solo.
you pursed your lip, smiling shyly and telling him he could have them. that smile was his undoing. it was over. he was down bad. he was ready to buy the whole store for you.
“keep the snacks,” matsukawa said, his voice dropping to a low, rumbling hum that made your toes curl. he leaned against the shelf, his sleepy eyes suddenly intense and full of yearning. “but only if you let me walk you home so i can ask for your number properly. i’ve lived eighteen years and i’ve never felt my pulse jump like that. give a guy a chance to show you he’s more than just a guy in a snack aisle?”
#3 hanamaki takahiro
hanamaki was at a local fair, holding a giant stick of pink cotton candy that matched his hair. he was laughing at a joke mattsun made until he saw you standing by the ring-toss game, leaning back as you threw a hoop, your laughter ringing out like literal bells (whether it’s a church bell or a jingle bell, who knows).
the world turned into a high-definition movie. every time you moved, he felt a tug in his chest, like you were holding a string attached to his heart. you missed the shot, pouting just a little, and makki felt a protective surge so strong he almost marched over and bought the whole game booth. when you noticed him watching, you gave a little wave, your eyes crinkling in a way that made him feel like he was floating.
he walked over, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and handed you his giant cotton candy like it was a bouquet of roses.
“i don’t even like sugar that much,” makki blurted out, his face heating up to match his hair. he looked at you with such raw, honest adoration that you actually stopped breathing for a second. “but you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen. i’m usually much cooler than this, i swear. please, let me win you that giant panda—and then let me take you out tomorrow? just one chance?”
#4 iwaizumi hajime
iwaizumi was at the park, practicing his jumps. he was all sweat and muscle and intensity—until you walked by with a golden retriever that was clearly walking you. the dog lunged for a ball, and you stumbled, letting out a surprised “whoops!”
iwaizumi caught you before you hit the grass. one arm was around your waist, holding you steady, and the other was grabbing the dog’s leash. you looked up, breathless, your face inches from his. you saw the intensity in his eyes soften into something so tender it made your heart skip. you murmured a “thank you,” your hands lingering on his biceps, and iwaizumi felt like he’d been hit by a lightning bolt.
he didn’t let go immediately. he couldn’t. he felt like if he let go, you’d vanish like a dream.
“are you okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but shaking. he looked down at you, his thumb unintentionally stroking the side of your waist. “i... i’ve never seen anyone like you. this is going to sound crazy, but i think i’d follow you and this dog anywhere. please. let me buy you a drink? i’m iwaizumi hajime. and i really, really want a chance to know your name.”
#6 yahaba shigeru
yahaba was the “pretty boy” in training. he was walking through the school gates, checking his reflection in his phone, when he saw you helping a first-year pick up their dropped papers.
you were so gentle, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you spoke to the younger student. yahaba stopped. he forgot he was supposed to be the “next captain.” he forgot his hair was perfectly styled. he just felt this overwhelming, aching need to be near you. you looked up, caught his eye, and gave him a polite, dazzling smile that felt like a physical weight on his chest.
he practically floated over to you. he took the papers from your hand to help, his fingers lingering on yours, his eyes fixed on yours with a desperate, beautiful sincerity.
“you’re the girl everyone warns me about in songs, aren’t you?” yahaba whispered, his voice smooth but frantic. he was yearning, his heart visible in his eyes. “the one who shows up and ruins every other girl for me. please. give me one chance to prove i’m more than just a pretty face. i want to be the guy who makes you smile like that every day.”
#7 watari shinji
watari was at the beach, watching the waves. he liked the peace. then, you ran past him, heading toward the water, laughing as the sea spray hit your skin.
you tripped slightly in the sand and let out a little giggle, shaking your head. watari watched you, and it was like the ocean stopped moving. you were so full of life, so vibrant, and so breathtakingly beautiful in the natural light. you turned around, looking for your friends, and your eyes landed on him. you gave him a small, friendly grin, and watari felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sun.
he walked over, his heart thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“i think the ocean is jealous of you,” watari said, his voice quiet and incredibly sweet. he looked at you with such pure, honest love that you felt your own heart melt. “because i can’t look at it anymore now that you’re here. i know i’m a stranger, but... could i buy you an ice cream? i’d really love a chance to make you laugh.”
#12 kindaichi yūtarō
kindaichi was at a cafe, trying to look cool and mature while reading a sports magazine. you were the barista who called out his order.
when he walked up to the counter, you smiled and told him you liked his height. “you look like a great athlete!” you chirped. kindaichi’s brain turned into mashed potatoes. he took his coffee, but he didn’t move. he just stared at you, his face turning a shade of red that shouldn’t be biologically possible. you were wearing a cute apron, and you had a little smudge of flour on your cheek that he wanted to wipe away so badly it hurt.
he took a big gulp of his coffee, burned his tongue, and then looked at you with watery, determined eyes.
“i play volleyball!” he shouted a little too loudly. he winced, then lowered his voice, leaning over the counter with a desperate look. “and i’m okay at it! but i’d be much better if i knew you were watching. please... give me a chance? can i take you out when your shift ends? i’ll wait here. even if it takes ten hours. please?”
#13 kunimi akira
kunimi was napping under a tree on campus, his usual “don’t bother me” energy in full effect. he woke up because a petal fell on his face. he blinked his eyes open and saw you sitting on the bench nearby, sketching in a notebook.
he watched you for a while, mesmerized by the way you tilted your head and the soft focus in your eyes. he usually found everything “tiresome,” but looking at you felt like the most important thing he’d ever done. you noticed him watching and smiled, closing your book. “sorry, did i wake you?”
kunimi sat up, his eyes wide and unblinkingly fixed on you. he felt a spark of energy he hadn’t felt in years.
“no,” kunimi said, his voice soft but firm. he crawled over the grass toward you, looking up with a vulnerability that was almost painful to see. “i’m usually looking for an excuse to nap, but... looking at you makes me feel actually awake for once. it’s annoying how pretty you are. don’t make me go back to sleep yet. come get lunch with me—i think i’d rather stay awake with you.”
#16 kyōtani kentarō
kyōtani was scowling at a vending machine that ate his money. he was about to kick it when you walked up, tapped the side of the machine in a specific spot, and his drink tumbled down.
“it’s a little temperamental,” you said with a soft, melodic giggle.
kyōtani froze. he looked at the drink, then up at you. you were a little shorter compared to him, looking up with big, kind eyes and a playful smirk. he felt a roar in his chest—not of anger, but of a fierce, possessive need to protect you from everything in the world. he felt his face heat up, his scowl deepening even as his heart melted.
he grabbed the drink and held it out to you, his hand shaking.
“take it,” he grunted, then bit his lip, forcing himself to look you in the eye. his gaze was burning with a desperate sort of love. “quit staring and just take my number. i’m not as scary as i look, okay? i’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. just tell me i can see you again. well? what do you say?”
→ the taxi’s next route is to nekoma high, get in!
n: i think i used to diss yahaba before, but i’m a changed woman. i’ve decided to do 2 uploads each time as to not be choked down by the taglist.
Imagine him acting like he hates you, but actually having a diary where he writes every single interaction and daydream about you.
The gym was quiet after practice.You stayed behind, helping clean up. His bag was tossed in the corner, half-open; You didn’t mean to kick it. You really didn’t. But one little nudge and..a notebook slid across the floor.
At first, you hesitated. You’d seen it before, stuffed deep in his bag, covered in scribbles. He was the type to glare daggers at anyone who breathed near it. Which, of course, made it so much worse that it was now sitting right in front of you, wide open to a page that said, in all caps, “SHE’S DRIVING ME CRAZY.”
DAY 5: “She sat across from me again. Pretended not to notice. I definitely didn’t keep looking up at her every thirty seconds. I didn’t. She probably thinks I’m weird. (She smiled at me when she caught me. She looks so pretty when she smiles..)
DAY 12: “She asked me to pass the volleyball during warmups. Said thanks and smiled. Why did it feel like she meant it? It’s just a ball. I don’t care. I don’t care.”
DAY 19: “She called me annoying today. I pretended it didn’t matter but I thought about it all practice. Annoying = noticed. So maybe it’s fine.”
DAY 24: “She caught me staring again…her eyes are so pretty..She didn’t say anything, just smirked.. WHY DID SHE SMIRK LIKE SHE KNOWS?? God, does she know?”
DAY 33: “She tied her shoelaces next to me. She didn’t have to sit that close. My hands felt sweaty. I told her to move. She laughed. I felt in heaven..that's what heaven sounds like..right? I think it does”
You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back a laugh.
DAY 41: “She called me out in front of the WHOLE DAMN team. Said I was sulking. I snapped at her.. I felt so bad. Why am I such a dork? I wanted to apologize, I really did..Instead, I thought about her voice and angry face for the rest of the night.I wish she would yell at me more..she looked so hot while doing so..Kill me.”
DAY 49: “She shared her water bottle with me. I stared at the rim after she gave it back like some lovesick idiot. I should burn this notebook.”
At this point, your cheeks were burning. This wasn’t just a crush, this was a full-blown spiral, and you were the star of every page.
DAY 55: “She leaned close during strategy talk, her hair brushing my arm. I couldn’t focus. Coach could have benched me forever and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
DAY 67: “She looked sad today. I almost asked if she was okay. Instead, I asked if she was going to cry about losing. I’m an idiot. I wanted to take it back the second it left my mouth.”
You slapped the notebook shut, face hot. You couldn’t decide if you were more shocked, amused, or about to melt into the floor. This ‘lover’ boy, who acted like he couldn’t even stand being in the same room as you, breathing the same air, had been writing down every single interaction like a lovesick diary girl.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Your stomach dropped.
You turned slowly. He froze the moment he saw the notebook.. his notebook..
“uh.. well you see-”
“No. No fucking way. Tell me you didn’t—”
“Read it?” you blurted. Then winced. “Okay but–”
“OH MY GOD.” He launched forward, practically tripping over his own feet, snatching for the notebook. “Give it back! That’s private! You can’t just–”
You yanked it out of his reach, heart hammering. “Private? You wrote a whole dissertation about my ponytail!”
He froze. Dead silent. And the tips of his ears flushed red.
You grinned. “Day 37, huh? She tied her hair up today, who gave her the right?” you mimicked, voice high and dramatic.
“Shut up!” he groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I was–fuck..I wasn’t..”
“Oh, you WEREN’T writing essays about how you ‘hate how my laugh makes you feel lighter’?” you pressed, “You weren’t daydreaming about me in your secret little love diary?”
“It’s not a LOVE diary!” He practically combusted.
“It’s literally a love diary.”
“It’s– I..shut the fuck up! It's not.”
“If you ask me-”
“IT'S NOT., I think you need glasses or something.. or better ones”
He took the notebook back, holding it against his chest like his life depended on it, his grip on the pages almost painful.
“You could have..you know..confessed? like every other..human being? Might’ve saved you a whole notebook of tortured poetry.”
He glared at you, cheeks blazing. “I don’t like you.”
You arched a brow. “That’s funny, because according to Day 24, you really, really do.”
He groaned, pacing two sharp steps away before whipping back around. His hands went into his hair, tugging like he could physically tear the frustration out. Such a drama queen..
“You…god, you’re impossible,” he snapped. “You don’t shut up, you don’t let things go, and you always, always—”
“Always what?” You tilted your head, all innocence.
His chest felt heavier. His eyes burned into yours, wide and desperate, as if keeping his feelings in any longer would kill him.
“ALWAYS GET TO ME, OKAY?!”
His fists clenched, shaking. But he can't stop..not now.. “FINE! I LIKE YOU! I LIKE YOU SO MUCH IT MAKES ME FUCKING CRAZY! HAPPY NOW?!”
He looked wrecked, flushed, hair messy from how hard he was gripping it, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted for hours. He stared at you, like the truth had slipped out before he could shove it back down, like he already regretted it; but oh, you knew..You knew he meant every. single. word.
“...Day 60 called it.” Slowly, you let a smile curl at your lips.
“I hate you. I seriously..” He groaned, covering his face with both hands
“No, you don’t.” You laughed, stepping forward and tugging his hands away
His eyes met yours then, dark and stormy and terrified and yearning all at once.
oikawa ; talks with his hand. always moving them. even does that thing where he throws his arm across the passenger seat when backing up. doesn’t realize it, but half the time you’re watching his hands instead of listening to what he’s saying.
iwaizumi ; never lets anyone do anything if he can help it. could be something like undoing the net at the end of practice, or grabbing extra tissues at a restaurant. if he is able to, he’s going to do it himself. even if its from a ‘if you want it done right, do it yourself’ way of thinking, its still attractive how polite and otherwise selfless he is.
matsukawa ; texts back in voice memos. mentioned this in my mattsun hc post, but he basically never types. always sends long ass one to two minute voice messages, and half of it is just him thinking about what he was going to say.
hanamaki ; remembers your playlist order. he’ll ask you why you switched your number three and number five song like its the normalest thing in the world, and will go ‘fix’ it himself instead of waiting for an answer.
kyotani ; follows the sidewalk rule. used to do it because he believed it was his ‘job’ as a man, or as an elder brother and cousin, but ended up doing it so much that he does it with every single person. if they dont automatically follow what he’s doing, he’ll physically move them to the other side wordlessly.
yahaba ; always reads the instructions. he has to read the instructions out loud, then explain them, even if no one asked.it’s endearing in a control freak kind of way. that one person you know will always know what theyre doing, even if he doesnt like it.
kunimi ; falls asleep within seconds. you’ll get up to use the bathroom and he’ll wake up, have a full, conscious, conversation with you about what youre going to have for breakfast, and be asleep before you can even get to the door.
kindaichi ; checks if your cold. just sort of looks at you, then shrugs off his jacket and drops it in your lap without a word. acts like he didn’t even notice you were shivering. if you try to give it back, he’ll just shake his head and mumble something about how you probably need it more.
watari ; always sits on the floor. no matter where he is. within reason, of course. will not do this in a formal event. says it helps him stretch, but you know its because he wants someone else who needs it more to have it.
the type of boyfriend who is an absolute shithead to anyone but you. he could point out a lot of brutal things about anyone but when he looks at you, he couldn’t find himself to think of a single mean thing simply because he doesn’t find any reason to
SUNA RINTARO, EREN YEAGER, SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI, KYOTANI KENTARO, TSUKISHIMA KEI, KUNIMI AKIRA, KOZUME KENMA, SHIRABU KENJIRO, SAKUSA KIYOOMI, SAIKI KUSUO
summary : There was nothing more you hated than overly cocky guys. Especially when they had the talent to back it up.
That’s how you felt about Oikawa Toru.
quarter after one by @bokutoko
genre : written (1.2k words), ex2l, second chance, brother's best friend!oikawa, college!au
summary : you were sure your organic chemistry final was going to kill you.
and if the exam didn’t, being in an assigned study group with your ex-boyfriend would.
One Shots
desert by @showhay
genre : written (3.2k words), highschool!au, extreme pining, classmates to lovers
summary : oikawa has a fat crush on you, a human brick wall.
moonlight by @yukkiji (M)
genre : written (12k words), falling in love, argentina!oikawa
summary : years after a quiet high school connection with the ever-distant oikawa tooru, a chance reunion in san juan reignites a slow-burning love marked by moonlit motorcycle rides, quiet confessions, and a passion that never really faded.
Series
binary stars by @causenessus
genre : smau, bff2l, pining, idiots in love tbh
summary : binary stars are two stars that are gravitationally bound to each other and orbit around each other. she tried to distance herself from him, but she was pulled back like gravity.
summary : ….he has a thing for the barista at his favorite coffee shop. & he’s pretty sure she feels the same. the only thing in the way is her annoying boyfriend.
accidentally in love by @sunafc
genre : smau, college!au, rivals!au
summary : You transfer college and on your first day you get lost looking for your class, you decide to ask the pretty guy in the hallways for help. When you find out he hates you, you decide to hate him back.
nonsense by @idlerin
genre : smau, idol!au, ex2l, college!au, idiots in love
summary : you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).
IWAIZUMI HAJIME
Drabbles
a blind date by @bonniepop
genre : written, first date, s2l, college!au, matchmaker oikawa
summary : oikawa set you up on a blind date, but when you arrive at the café, the only person you recognize is iwaizumi. might as well catch up with him than meet a random guy, no ?
drunk by @shosweet
genre : written, established relationship
summary : you're drunk, and apparently the handsome stranger is ... your husband ?
linger by @eightonenine
genre : written (1.1k words), coach!iwaizumi, love at first sight, s2l
summary : your brother’s coach is hot
Series
the maneater by @eggyrocks
genre : smau, coworkers!au, e2l, dj!reader, bouncer!iwaizumi, an iconic era
summary : she dj’s at ‘the maneater’ every weekend, and she’s the highlight of iwaizumi’s bouncer shift.
bruised by @eggyrocks
genre : smau, bff2l, boxer!reader
summary : as a professional boxer, yn is used to shaking off bruises. it helps that iwaizumi’s always been there to take care of her.
MATSUKAWA ISSEI
Drabbles
photobomb by @showhay
genre : written (1.3k words), highschool!au, pining, s2l
summary : 400 selfies, one (1) matsukawa issei, and you - unaware unbothered, and suddenly the internet's favorite couple.
ask me again by @kuroos-babie
genre : written (1k words), bff2l, jealousy, confession
summary : Mattsun never liked you being too close to a guy that isn’t him, he never said why— not like you needed to ask, you just wanted hear him say it out loud
One Shots
oblivious by @takes1
genre : written (2k words), pining, highschool!au, misunderstanding, he gives her his jacket
summary : the boy's and girl's team go out for dinner, reader thinks mattsun hates her when it's the exact opposite. he just doesn't know how to express it.
KUNIMI AKIRA
One Shots
come back home by @dira333
genre : written (2.7k words), bff2l, childhood friends
summary : when you reunite with your best friend after a trip, things aren't the same anymore.
you wake up already tired, stomach unsettled, body heavy, emotions sitting too close to the surface. the sunlight through the curtains feels too bright, your pillow feels too warm, and your skin feels too sensitive.
oikawa notices immediately.
“good morning, pretty—”
you groan. loudly.
he freezes mid-step, blinking. “okay. not the vibe. got it.”
you press a hand to your forehead. “sorry. i’m just… off.”
he walks closer, slow and careful, like you’re a skittish animal he doesn’t want to scare. he kneels beside the bed, brushing hair gently from your face.
“you don’t have to apologize,” he says softly. “your body’s doing olympic-level work.”
you try to sit up, but the pressure in your back and ribs makes you wince. frustration bubbles in your chest.
“i hate this,” you mutter. “i’m starving but the thought of food makes me want to cry.”
“crying is completely valid,” he says instantly.
you glare. “tooru.”
he raises both hands. “i’m serious! sometimes I want to cry and i’m not even making a human.”
your lip trembles—part laugh, part exhaustion—and that’s all it takes.
you start crying.
not a cute, delicate cry—an overwhelmed, ugly, full-face meltdown.
oikawa doesn’t flinch.
he climbs onto the bed, settles behind you, wraps both arms around your middle and holds you tightly, letting you cry into his shoulder without a single complaint.
“I’m so tired,” you hiccup. “and hungry. and annoyed. and sad for no reason. and the cereal you bought yesterday makes me want to throw up.”
his chin rests on your shoulder as he nods sympathetically.
“okay, okay,” he whispers. “new plan.”
he slips away for only a moment before returning with three bowls.
“this,” he says dramatically, “is cereal option number one: dry, no milk, because you are a sensitive, mysterious creature.”
you sniff.
“this,” he continues, lifting the next bowl, “is cereal option number two: very tiny amount of milk. like… emotionally supportive milk.”
you choke on a laugh.
“and this,” he says, holding up the third bowl with a flourish, “is cereal option number three: absolutely no cereal because maybe we hate cereal entirely today.”
the ridiculousness of it makes your tears break into laughter, shoulders shaking as he smiles softly behind you.
he sets the bowls down and wipes your cheeks with his thumbs—slow, gentle, reverent.
“you’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “none of it’s silly. none of it’s dramatic. none of it’s wrong.”
your breath steadies.
he presses a kiss to your temple, voice lowering to that sincere tone he saves only for you.
“you’re doing so well,” he whispers. “i’m proud of you. and I’m here, no matter how many moods you go through before lunch.”
“that’s a lot of moods,” you mumble.
he laughs into your skin. “i’ll handle all of them.”
and somehow… you believe him.
Iwaizumi Hajime
you don’t even have to say it anymore—
iwaizumi can tell when your feet have had too much.
it usually starts with a slow shift in your posture.
the way you stand a little heavier on one leg.
the quiet exhale you try to disguise.
the tiny crease between your brows that shows up when the swelling starts.
today is no different.
you’re sitting at the edge of the couch, rubbing your thumb absentmindedly over your ankle when you feel a warm, steady presence kneel in front of you.
iwaizumi doesn’t ask, “does it hurt?”
he already knows.
instead he just meets your eyes, gives you a soft nod, and gently takes your foot into his hands like he’s picking up something precious.
“I’m fine, hajime,” you sigh.
he raises a brow. “your feet are swollen.”
“they’re always swollen.”
“then they always deserve this.”
you open your mouth to argue, but the words dissolve the second he slips your sock off with slow, careful fingers. his thumbs press lightly against the arch of your foot, testing the tenderness, assessing the pressure.
“tell me if I’m too rough,” he murmurs.
you settle back against the cushions, breath catching as he starts to massage slow circles into the sore, puffy parts you’ve been avoiding all day.
iwaizumi is focused—deeply, quietly focused—
brow furrowed in concentration, hands warm and steady, movements confident but gentle.
each stroke melts a layer of tension from your body you didn’t realize you were holding.
“this okay?” he asks, glancing up at you.
you nod, eyes fluttering. “feels amazing…”
he continues without missing a beat, kneading a little deeper when your breath hitches, loosening the stiffness in your ankles like he’s slowly unwinding the day out of your skin.
when he switches to your other foot, you feel your throat tighten.
“hajime… you don’t have to do this every night.”
he looks up at you with that expression he only uses when he thinks you’re being ridiculous.
“you’re carrying our kid,” he says simply. “of course I do.”
your chest warms. you reach down to brush his hair back, fingers grazing the edge of his temple. he leans into your touch for half a second before continuing, hands firm and sure.
after a long, quiet moment, he lifts your legs and settles them across his thighs, wrapping his fingers around your ankles with soft finality.
“better?” he asks.
your whole body relaxes. “so much better.”
he presses a warm kiss to the inside of your knee—barely there, just a whisper of affection—and rests his hand over your shin like he’s keeping you anchored and safe.
“good,” he murmurs. “because after today, you’re not standing for anything unless I’m right here.”
and you believe him.
Matsukawa Issei
pregnancy has shifted your balance in the smallest, strangest ways.
you don’t fall.
you don’t stumble dramatically.
you just… wobble sometimes—
a tiny sway when you stand too fast, a little tip forward when you reach, a slow lean when your center of gravity pulls unexpectedly.
matsukawa notices all of it.
he pretends he doesn’t.
pretends he’s just walking by, just standing close, just reaching for the same thing you are.
but every time you move like your body’s adjusting to its new weight, he’s there.
quietly.
steadily.
a warm hand on your hip or the small of your back, guiding you without making it obvious.
tonight, it happens in the kitchen.
you’re trying to reach a bowl on the top shelf—something you used to grab without thinking. but your belly makes the stretch uncomfortable, and the shift of weight pulls you just a little too far forward.
you exhale sharply, heels lifting off the ground for extra height—
and before you can even register it, an arm slips around your waist.
firm.
warm.
steady.
“hey,” matsukawa murmurs behind you, his chest pressed to your back. “careful.”
your heart jumps as he lowers your arm with his free hand, guiding you back to full footing. you feel the strength in him, the way his palm spreads over your belly for just a second as he steadies you.
“i had it,” you mumble, embarrassed.
“sure you did.” he says it without teasing first—just a soft truth.
you turn to face him, cheeks warm. “i did.”
now he smirks, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes. “babe… you’re growing a whole human. you don’t have to act like your balance isn’t different.”
you cross your arms. “i’m not helpless.”
“never said you were.” his voice is low, soothing, thumb brushing your hipbone. “but you are carrying extra weight. and that means I’m gonna stand behind you when you reach for things up high.”
you look away, flustered. “you don’t have to hover.”
“i’m not hovering,” he says gently.
you arch a brow.
he huffs a little laugh. “okay, maybe I’m hovering a little. but that’s because I’d rather catch you than watch you trip in slow motion.”
you swat his chest lightly. “i didn’t trip.”
he kisses your forehead instantly—calm, soft, intentionally steady.
“i know,” he whispers. “and I’m still gonna be here. behind you. next to you. wherever you need.”
you breathe out, letting your body relax against him. his arms wrap around your waist again, holding you like the precious weight you’re carrying isn’t just yours—
it’s his too.
“you scared me for a second,” he admits quietly, nose brushing your cheek.
“it was just one wobble,” you say.
“yeah,” he murmurs, tightening his hold, “and I’m gonna catch every single one.”
Hanamaki Takahiro
your belly seems to grow overnight.
yesterday your coat fit.
today it absolutely does not.
you stand in front of the mirror, tugging the zipper upward with both hands, shoulders tensed, jaw tight. the zipper reaches halfway, catches on the curve of your belly, and refuses to move another millimeter.
you exhale sharply through your nose.
hanamaki rounds the corner at that exact moment, hair slightly messy, mug of tea in hand. he takes one look at the scene — you glaring murderously at your own coat — and slowly lifts a brow.
“…you fighting it or wearing it?” he asks dryly.
you shoot him a look, cheeks warm with frustration. “it fit last week.”
“yeah,” he says, nodding at your bump, “and so did your old bras. times change.”
“not helping,” you mutter, tugging again. the coat jerks upward before immediately snapping back down.
you close your eyes, embarrassed. “i feel ridiculous.”
makki sets his mug down without a word.
he walks over, turns you gently to face him, and places both hands over yours — still clutching the zipper like you were grappling an enemy. he curls your fingers away slowly, careful not to make you feel scolded.
“hey,” he says, voice low and soft in a way people never expect from him, “you’re not ridiculous.”
“my coat won’t close.”
he shrugs. “then the coat’s the problem. not you.”
your throat tightens. he must see it, because he steps behind you, sliding his arms around your waist, gently drawing you back against his chest.
and then — without hesitation — he pulls his coat open and wraps it around both of you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your cheek.
“look,” he murmurs, holding the sides together. “perfect fit.”
you can’t help it — you laugh. soft, relieved, a tiny crack in your frustration.
makki hums proudly, swaying you just a little. “see? no need to stress. we can share.”
you look down at his arms around you, big coat enveloping both your body and your growing belly, and feel something inside you soften.
“you’re ridiculous,” you whisper.
“maybe,” he says, pressing a kiss just behind your ear, “but you’re beautiful. and this—” his hand moves to rest over your bump, thumb brushing gently across the fabric of your shirt “—this looks right on you.”
you lean back into him, letting the warmth settle into your skin, letting the embarrassment melt away.
“thank you,” you say quietly.
“anytime,” he answers, kissing your cheek. “and hey — when your shirts stop fitting, I’m wrapping you in those too.”
“taka—”
“i’m serious. I’m committed to the bit.”
you laugh again, and he smiles against your hair, holding you with the easy confidence of someone who will adapt to every change your body goes through — without ever making you feel like a burden.
Kyōtani Kentarō
you don’t realize you’re more winded than usual until it happens.
you’re halfway up the apartment stairs — the same stairs you’ve climbed a hundred times — when your breath snags in your chest.
a tight pull beneath your ribs, the baby sitting heavier today, your body working harder than you expected.
you stop.
hand gripping the railing, shoulders rising and falling faster than they should.
you mutter under your breath, “seriously…?”
kyōtani is two steps ahead before he notices you’ve stopped.
he turns.
eyes narrow. jaw tightens. his whole body shifts in that instinctive, protective way he has — but he doesn’t rush you.
he doesn’t make a sound.
he steps down one stair.
then another.
slow. careful.
his hand settles on the small of your back, warm and steady, his fingers spreading against your spine in silent question.
you shake your head slightly. “i’m fine. just— out of breath.”
he nods once, not buying it but not calling you out either.
his hand doesn’t move.
you breathe.
in through your nose.
out through your mouth.
letting the pressure ease, letting the weight shift inside you until it hurts less.
kyōtani stays exactly where he is, body angled like a shield behind you, eyes watching your face instead of the stairs.
he waits for you to set the pace.
after a minute, your breathing steadies.
you try for a smile. “okay. i’m good now.”
he studies you — really studies you — like he’s making sure you’re not forcing it.
then he reaches down.
not fast.
not dramatic.
just… gentle.
his fingers slip between yours, holding your hand in a way that’s not typical for him — soft, deliberate, almost shy.
“we go slow,” he says quietly.
your chest tightens, but in a good way. “okay.”
you take one step.
he matches it.
another.
he stays half a step behind you, hand still holding yours, his other palm brushing your lower back every few moments as if reminding your body not to push too hard.
you pause again near the top — not from breathlessness, just emotion.
“kentaro…”
he looks at you, brows slightly furrowed. “what.”
“thank you.”
he makes a soft sound, somewhere between a scoff and something gentler. “tch. ‘s nothing.”
but his thumb rubs your hand once — just once — giving him away completely.
when you reach the top step, he pulls you into him for a second, forehead resting against your temple, breath warm against your cheek.
“tell me when it’s too much,” he murmurs.
“i’ll walk every step with you.”
you lean into him, letting your weight rest where he holds you steady.
“i know,” you whisper. “and that’s why it means everything.”
kyōtani squeezes your hand again — small, quiet, tender.
and then he stays behind you the entire way to the door, matching your pace like it’s the only one that matters.
Kunimi Akira
pregnancy brain hits you without warning.
you’ll walk into a room and immediately forget why you’re there.
you’ll start a sentence and lose the ending halfway through.
you’ll put something down and then spend ten minutes hunting for it in the wrong part of the house.
kunimi notices.
he doesn’t tease.
doesn’t comment.
just… adjusts.
you stand in the kitchen staring at an open cabinet, brows furrowed, unmoving.
he walks behind you, places your water bottle in your hand, and says, “you came in here for this.”
you blink. “how did you—?”
“you left it on the couch,” he says, monotone, already stepping past you to make tea like this is a perfectly normal morning routine.
another day, you trail off mid-sentence while telling him something about the baby clothes you ordered.
kunimi waits a beat, sees your expression go blank, then finishes for you:
“—and you forgot if you picked the green set or the yellow one.”
your jaw drops. “yes.”
“it’s in the green cart,” he says, sipping his drink. “you hovered over yellow for a while.”
that night, you lose your phone.
again.
you’re standing in the hallway patting your pockets like a confused detective when kunimi taps your arm and holds it out to you.
“you left it on top of the laundry hamper,” he says.
“i swear I’m losing my mind,” you mumble, cheeks warm.
he steps closer, taps your forehead lightly with two fingers — gentle, no teasing in the gesture, just calm reassurance.
“it’s busy,” he murmurs. “you’re growing someone else’s brain.”
you swallow hard at the warmth in your chest. “that doesn’t make me feel less ridiculous.”
“shouldn’t,” he says simply. “it’s normal.”
you lean against him without thinking, your cheek brushing his shoulder. he stands still for a moment, then shifts so your bump rests comfortably against him, one hand coming up to support your lower back.
“akira…”
“hm.”
“…thank you. for handling my brain malfunctions.”
“they’re not malfunctions,” he says softly, eyes half-lidded but warm. “they’re… reroutes.”
“reroutes?”
“yeah.” he presses a small kiss to your temple. “your mind’s working on two people now. I can cover whatever you drop.”
something inside you melts at the sincerity hidden behind the deadpan tone.
“can I borrow your brain long-term?” you tease.
he shrugs, completely unfazed. “yeah. I’m not using the whole thing.”
you laugh — really laugh — and kunimi’s eyes soften, the corner of his mouth pulling into the tiniest, proudest smile before he hides it against your hair.
“just tell me what you need,” he murmurs. “I’ll remember the rest.”
Kindaichi Yuutarou
it happens on a quiet afternoon — the kind where the house feels warm and still, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft shapes. you’re lying on your side, one hand absently resting on your belly, when you feel something… odd.
not a kick.
not a roll.
a tiny, rhythmic bump.
consistent. gentle. strange.
you freeze.
“…yuutarou?” you call, voice uncertain.
kindaichi pokes his head into the room almost immediately, wiping his hands on a towel. he must’ve been cooking — he always tries to make lunch for you on weekends now.
“you okay?” he asks, already scanning your expression with quiet worry.
you reach out for him. “come here. i think— I think something’s happening.”
his eyes widen, but he doesn’t panic. he moves quickly and carefully, sitting beside you on the bed, leaning close. “is it a kick? does it hurt?”
“no,” you say, placing your hand over your bump again. “it’s… different.”
you guide his hand to rest beside yours.
for a few seconds, nothing.
then—
a small, soft bump thumps against his palm.
kindaichi goes completely still.
“did you—?” you whisper.
he nods once, slow, eyes going impossibly wide. “yeah.”
another gentle bump.
then another.
slow and steady.
you watch the realization sink into him — not fear, not nervousness — just pure, unfiltered awe. something softens across his face, like the moment has reached straight into his chest and rewired something vital.
“they… have hiccups,” you murmur.
“hiccups,” he repeats quietly, like the word itself is sacred.
he leans down without thinking, his forehead lightly brushing your shoulder as he listens, hand warm and steady against your belly. he’s always been gentle with you — but this is different. this is reverent.
he whispers, barely audible, “they’re really in there.”
you swallow past the sudden lump in your throat. “yeah.”
he shifts closer, sitting fully against you now, one arm sliding around your waist while the other stays anchored to the rhythmic movements beneath your skin. the baby hiccups again, that tiny bump against his palm, and this time kindaichi lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh — disbelieving and tender.
“i knew it,” he says quietly. “i knew they were real, but… feeling it is…”
he trails off, voice cracking with emotion he’s too shy to show fully.
you place your hand over his, fingers threading with his. “magic?”
he nods. “yeah. magic.”
the hiccups continue for another minute, and kindaichi stays there the entire time — unmoving, listening, holding you like the moment is too fragile to disturb.
when the little bumps finally stop, he exhales slowly, pressing a shy kiss to your shoulder.
“thank you,” he whispers.
you blink, surprised. “for what?”
his hand tightens just a bit over your belly.
“for letting me feel that,” he says softly. “for letting me… be part of it.”
your heart swells.
you turn your head just enough to kiss his cheek. “you are part of it,” you whisper. “every part.”
kindaichi smiles — small, bashful, glowing — and rests his forehead against yours, breathing in the quiet magic lingering in the room.
