♡𓈒summary: the day before spain u20 plays against blue lock, you spent some time with bunny and reminisced about your chance encounter with him. however, this was cut short when sae arrived prematurely. harsh words were exchanged.
♡𓈒characters: sae, bunny
♡𓈒pairing: itoshi! reader x bunny iglesias
♡𓈒content: suggestive, flashback to the time you first met, rin mentioned, violence but not extreme takes place, harsh words exchanged between all parties, implied but not explicit intimacy, google translate used (apologies to my spanish audience), angst between reader and sae (sae is an ass true to himself), translations in italics in after any spanish words/phrases/sentences. reader feels inadequate to carry the itoshi name
this was a request!
his reaction made you question your decision. you wanted to tell your brother you were dating his worst enemy but the one time you brought it up he became openly hostile. but you still loved your brother, sae, and hoped that he'll understand that these are the matters of the heart and he can't do anything thing about it.
ding!
a voice note from bunny
v/n: aterrizo en Tokio en unos 30 minutos, mi amor I'm landing in Tokyo in about 30 minutes, my love. I hope to see you before my game against Japan. Me apoyarás, ¿verdad? You'll be routing for me, right?
you felt a mix of emotions: happiness that you were seeking your long-distance boyfriend but also nervous because unlike being in Spain there is a higher chance that sae will see you two and find out about your little secret. big secret.
you arrived at the airport and waited for him near the terminals. he was pretty easy to identify: very tall man with white hair and a scar on his face. when you caught a glimpse of him you ran up to him. he spotted you and let go of his suitcase to greet you with open arms. you practically jumped on him, and he caught you twirling you around like those romance movies. putting you down and hugging you so tightly.
"I missed you, mi Vida" he whispered in your ears. "did you miss me?"
"yes" you whispered your voice muffled.
two years. two beautiful years with him went by so fast.
you were in Spain for some exchange programme and touring the city on your own. you were drawn to this little bakery. the smell of fresh pastries stimulated your senses, and you wanted to try some. the bakery was small, with pastel pink and white wallpaper, the quiet, cozy atmosphere, a huge juxtaposition of the wild city life of Madrid.
something caught your eye. the one Spanish delicacy that you had been wanting to eat for a really long time but in all the restaurants and cafes, they were either sold out or had long lines of people waiting to buy.
finally
you approached the front and pointed at the pastry, when a deep voice spoke behind you in a language you just started learning.
" Yo no elegiría eso si fuera tú"
you turned around to place a face to the voice, and you were met with a white-haired gorgeous man. but you were slightly annoyed.
"excuse me?"
he tilted his head. "ah, claro. I see" he continued, "¿eres turista? are you a tourist?"
"Sí" you knew what he said this time. every Spanish person you met asked you that.
"I said I wouldn't choose that if I were you"
"why not??"
"thats my favourite flavour"
you stared at him and swiftly turned, practically yelling at the poor lady. "I want that" aggressively tapping at your preference.
he came up next to you. " vengo aquí todos los días. me conoces. tomaré el último." I come here every day. you know me. I'll take the last one.
"NO WAIT, POR FAVOR—" you stumbled around the very little Spanish you knew. but it was futile. you lost the weird game. and ultimately embarrassed yourself by causing a ruckus in the small bakery.
flustered and upset, you left in a hurry, carrying whatever dignify you had left.
you sat by the nearby bench, sulking at your loss.
"you cryin?"
you looked behind and let out a deep sigh. "leave me alone"
but he didn't leave you. he sat next to you and ate the pastry in your face. your blood was practically boiling now, but you had already drawn enough attention to yourself. you stood up and walked to your hostel.
"awh ¿a dónde vas? where are you going?" he said while getting up and following you.
"I said leave me alone" you blurted out. "déjame en paz"
but he wasn't going to leave you. he practically followed you back to your hostel.
"mi nombre es Bunny Iglesias"
"I don't remember asking"
"thought you should know"
his audacity?? it made you let out a soft chuckle.
"oh?"
"oh callarse la boca" shut up
and since then you've been hooked on his weird charm and days turned into months. then years.
the memories of the past two years flickered through your mind. the chaotic tours of Madrid, and the play fights that always ended with you laughing too hard to stay upset at him. the nights spent tangled in his bed together, his arm around your waist, his lips against your shoulder as you fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.
you'd never felt more alive than when you were with him.
the house was empty, only your giggles filling the quiet atmosphere.
"oh so this is the house that sae's money could buy.."
"sort of..."
you guided him to your bedroom, giving him a quick house tour.
you were alone with him, in an empty house. you had all the time in the world. he walked around your room, touching anything and everything.
"bigger than i expected"
"granted we always video call each other, so it probably feels small in that perspective"
he walked up to you. "you said we're alone?"
"yeah. sae is at some interview luncheon thingy and rin is at blue lock hq"
"mhmm nice"
he kissed you. you kissed him back. you flipped it on him and pushed him onto your bed.
he placed his soft hands on your skin. you had his scars memorised and traced his scars over his shirt, with your manicured nails. bunny shivered under your touch. you kissed him again passionately, smiling against his lips.
bunny's hand found your waist and brought you closer to you, intertwining your fingers as he looked at you with that annoyingly charming grin that had somehow ruined every other man for you.
everything felt right. it was just you and him. no more hours spent staring at each other through the phone screen.
"I missed this, bunny. te extrañé," you admitted quietly.
"yo también te extrañé, mi vida. i missed you too" he said.
you were both like animals in heat but then—
"where the hell did you take my car??" someone's voice echoed in the hallway.
you froze. was that sae? you'd always dreaded the day you would have to come clean to sae, but today?
you and bunny looked at each other. “sae” you say in hushed unison
“oh my what a predicament we gotten ourselves into” bunny said in a casual but slightly amused manner
“shut up, you need to hide”
“hide? now why would i do that?"
but before you could act sae was at your doorway, mouth agape.
you let out a fake laugh “hi sae”
“long time no see” bunny was too calm for the current situation.
this was the most emotion he had ever shown in such a long time. his face twisted from pure shock to a calm aggitation.
sae turns to you. “explain yourself, name”
“I−”
he then turns to bunny “what the hell are you doing with my sister. is this some sort of game you're playing??”
“sae it’s not−”
“shut up"
“and you get out” pointing at bunny
bunny answered calmly with a smile on his face. “your sister invited me in so I don’t answer to you”
“don’t piss me off. I don’t care if she invited you. I live here too and I have the right to kick you out” pointing at the door. “now, get the hell out. do i have to walk your suicidal ass out. don't test me." sae's voice was cold and controlled, not a single raised his voice. just a calm fury in his eyes was worse.
but bunny wouldn't move. sae inched closer to him. you promptly got between them. "sae stop. I invited him in not you"
"get out of my way"
"no. what are you gonna do?"
bunny pulled you behind him, positioning himself face to face with sae. "bunny no. don't."
"you worry too much mi Vida"
sae stomped up to him, pulling him by his collar.
“sae stop it what is wrong with you” you held him by the wrist of his hand that had bunny propped up.
sae grabbed a hold of your wrist with his loose hand, a subtle flash of this immense rage overpowering him, causing him to grip your wrist tighter and tighter. but you wouldn't let go.
“I told you to shut up”
bunny did the exact same and grabbed sae's wrist.
“don’t talk to her like that” he continued "let her go"
sae let you go, evidence of his grip now imprinted on your wrist
he turned his attention back to bunny “leave”
for someone about 10cm shorter than bunny, sae met him at his level and aggressively dragged him out of the house.
you protested, pushing and shoving at sae to stop. you even wanted bunny to fight back. but he wouldn't. he stopped you from protesting. he didn't want you to fight. he didn't fight sae himself either. "it's okay my love. it'll be okay."
"do not call her that"
sae practically threw him out. bunny almost stumbled onto the pavement. you wanted to run to him and help him, but sae shut the door.
you were staring daggers at sae. you wanted to lounges at him, punch him, kick him. but you couldn't. with his athletic build, he'd easily overpower you.
“how long” he asked voice flat with disgust.
“two years”
sae sighed (lmao pun intended) and looked at your anger flushed face. "this is stupid"
"you're too dense to understand any emotions, sae. what is wrong with you. gosh, i wish you never left for Spain those years"
"is that so? i wish i never came back to you mediocre excuses of siblings. at least rin has the decency to be something but you? you're still useless and insignificant after all these years"
those words hurt like a knife. you weren't as successful as him or rin — you weren't naturally gifted with football skills like all your other siblings. you tried to cover that skill gap with your academics. your parents still loved, celebrated your smarts with you and even bragged about how successful you were, putting you on par with your brothers, but you couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was silently comparing you to your brothers.
tears threatened to fall and there was a lump in your throat. you took shallow breaths to avoid breaking down in front of him.
sae realised what he said. he didn't know if he meant it or not. but he had the two cents to know what he said did in fact hurt you.
you stormed back into your room, and the floodgates opened and you cried all the feelings of being unworthy of the family name spilled in hot tears and ugly sobs, body shaking and gasping for air.
the sound of your ringtone catching you offguard with bunny's name flashing.
you answered.
he mirrored the same tone he said it in two years ago "you cryin?"
in the midst of your sobs you chuckled lightly "no, there's—" sniffle "just something in my eye"
"don't be sad, mi Amor" his voice is soft "odio cuando estás triste. me dan ganas de morirme. I hate it when you're sad. it makes me wanna die."
"don't say that. I hate it when you say that."
"I know. we'll get through this, ¿me oyes? you hear me?"
he gave you a sense of comfort and relief. just like he always did.
sae, on the other hand, was standing in the hallway in front of your bedroom. he knew he had hurt you but his ego was so big he didn't want to admit he was wrong for what he said.
so he left it at that.
just like he always did. "I wish I never left for Spain."
a/n: took me long enough. bunny is such an interesting character to write about ngl, felt angsty, still love sae though. i would heavily appreciate feedback for this.
english is my first language but bear with me i may make so mistakes because I'm relearning the ropes of creative writing (last i did it was in high school)
synopsis: oikawa proposes, but you didn’t even know you were dating | includes: fluff, crack, use of pet names, reader being and oblivious idiot, miscommunication, friends to fiancés, oikawa is dramatic, kissing, mentions of anxiety | masterlist
You don’t realize you and Oikawa are were dating until he proposes to you.
It’s blazing in Italy, but the sun is setting and the wind has started to pick up, the sea breeze adding a nice, cooling comfort. Oikawa is on his knee, in the sand, looking like he’s about to throw up. His pupils are dilated, and his cheeks are the deepest shade of crimson you’ve ever seen them.
At first, you think he’s joking around, trying to claim the attention you didn’t give him today from bystanders. But then his eyes start getting watery— like real tears were forming— and you realize he’s dead serious. Oikawa’s a bad actor. Even he, despite his over the top personality, wouldn’t be able to bring tears to his eyes on command.
“Toru, what?” you whisper shout, not believing what’s happening at all.
The ring box starts shaking in his hand. He’s actually nervous and waiting for your answer. “Just say yes for the public. If you want to turn it down, please do it in the hotel room,” he begs just as quietly.
You give the public the answer they crave. Oikawa forces a smile onto his face and places the ring on your finger. When he stands up, he’s still jittery, but he hugs you tight anyways. Cheers erupt from the small crowd around you. An older lady exchanges phone numbers with Oikawa to send him pictures she took of the proposal. Everything feels weird, and stupid, and exactly how you pictured a proposal from Oikawa to be. He holds your hand as he leads you away from the crowd and in the direction of your hotel.
Neither of you exchange many words. Oikawa is too caught up with self-deprecating thoughts, already preparing for you to take off the ring and reject the proposal the second you guys close the door to the hotel room. You, on the other hand, are contemplating your relationship with Oikawa up until this point. He seemed so serious. Either he’d learned to act overnight, or you actually just got proposed to.
Both of you are so in your own heads that it feels like no time has passed when Oikawa shuts the door with a soft click. The silence between the two of you is deafening. You have no idea where to start, and Oikawa is hoping his relationship with you isn’t ruined forever.
“Listen, I thought we were ready for this, but if you’re not comfortable I completely understand. I still love you so much, and I still want to be with you… if that’s what you want of course!” Oikawa says in one breath. He’s wringing his fingers and popping his knuckles through his entire monologue. It’s a dead giveaway he’s anxious.
Your hands reach out to his, calmly brushing your fingers over the backs of his hands. “Hey, calm down,” you soothe. He lets out a nervous breath at the contact. While the gesture is meant to be sweet, it sends Oikawa’s nerves haywire. Now more than ever he wants your honesty (even if he frequently complains you’re too harsh). “Why are you so freaked out right now? It was just a joke, right?” He’s silent for too long. “…Right?!”
“Well…”
“Toru, you did not just propose to me,” you say in bewilderment, eyes blowing wide. “Are you serious? You want to marry me?”
“Yes?” he responds as if it’s the dumbest question in the world. He flips your hands so now he’s holding you. The man is still trembling, but holding you helps. He feels like he’s grounded on this planet again at least. “You’re literally my dream girl. You’re so patient. Not even Iwa puts up with me as much as you do! And besides that, we’ve been dating for three years now. It’s only natural that—“
“Pause. We’ve been together three years?” you interrupt.
Now it’s Oikawa’s turn to be bewildered. His jaw drops, “The betrayal! I’ve dedicated my time, heart, and milk bread to you, and you don’t even know how long we’ve been together?” Always the most dramatic in the room.
You just roll his eyes at his typical antics. “Toru, I’m being serious right now. Since when were we ever dating?”
The theatrics die in his throat. His brows furrows as his eyes become clear and he tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean? I asked you out the night we went to the aquarium and then that fancy restaurant,” he recalls. “You were wearing a deep red dress, and I only remember because my heart was in my ass… Also, you need to wear that dress more often. I think it’s the most turned on I’ve ever been while you wear fully clothed and not teasing me.”
“You asked me out that day?”
“Yes?” Now you’re both confused. The date is still a fond memory for the two of you, but Oikawa has a very different recollection of how it ended. “I asked you to be my girlfriend over desert.”
The realization hits you instantly. “Oh. Oh no.” You remove your hands from Oikawa and sit down at the edge of the bed in the middle of your room. Your head drops in your hands out of embarrassment as you come to the conclusion the two of you have been in a three year long miscommunication.
“What?” Oikawa asks frantically. He follows you like a lost puppy and sits down right next to you. “What’s the matter?”
“I thought you meant girl-friend, as in friend who’s a girl,” you admit. Your hands don’t come down from your face, but you spread your fingers to peak at Oikawa. You regret it immediately when your eyes meet his intense ones. “I didn’t know you meant girlfriend girlfriend.”
Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “Now, why would I ask you something stupid like that?”
“I don’t know! You always complained about girls liking you, so I thought you were asking me to be your friend since you had no other female friends.”
“Baby, you met my family, and I’ve taken you on family vacations,” Oikawa points out gently. He removes your hands from your face and just holds them again. The contact brings him more comfort than your words ever could.
“Iwa has too though.”
Oikawa nods his head in begrudging agreement. “Ok, yes,” he laments. “But we literally celebrate an anniversary! And we have date nights at least once every other week!”
“I thought it was a friendship anniversary.”
“A friendship—“ Oikawa cuts himself off with a deep breath before he can find it in himself to call you an idiot. “Ok, whatever. Iwa’s met my family and been on family vacations, and you thought we were celebrating a friendship anniversary. What about the fact we kiss?! And we’ve literally had sex… multiple times!”
“Friends with benefits…?” you try to justify sheepishly.
The answer to Oikawa’s original question, the proposal, is long forgotten. You’re both staring at one another like you hardly know each other. Then, out of nowhere, Oikawa laughs at the absurdity of the whole situation. You’d really spent the past three years thinking his romantic gestures were just friendly.
Oikawa’s eyes soften. “Baby, you went to all of my home games and even made the time for me to fly you out to my games across the world. We live together,” Oikawa pointed out. “We’ve spent so many late nights giggling and talking about our futures. We’ve cooked together. I’ve taken care of you when you were drunk. I’ve even let you do your skincare routine one me, and you know I don’t play about my skincare!” He paused when he saw you chuckle. A small smile came onto his face at the combination of your amusement and the memories flooding his brain. “I call you ‘baby’ like it’s the name on your birth certificate because for me, it is. How could you possibly be just a friend to me?”
“I’m not just a friend,” you grin. “I’m your girl-space-friend.”
“Oh, shut up,” Oikawa mumbled, rolling his eyes. Even so, he couldn’t help the genuine surge of love that washed over him as he stared at your smiling face. His hand came up to you cheek, thumb gently stroking the flesh there.
“What? Do I have something on my face?”
Oikawa’s hit with the sudden realization that you probably had no idea what his look of love was. Knowing you, you’d probably assumed he was thinking about how good of a friend you were to him. “No,” he finally answered after a moment too long of silence. He leaned in closer so that his forehead rested against yours. “This is how I look when I’m thinking about how much I love you.”
You smile at him. Softly, you plant a peck on his lips. Not because the circumstances felt opportune or because Oikawa initiated it. Because you simply wanted to and you could. “I love you too, Toru,” you mumbled. You don’t realize it, but your pupils have dilated and you’ve got this soft look on your face that instantly turns Oikawa to mush.
He shakes his head. “No, baby. I mean I love you love you.”
“I know,” you reply. “I love you love you too.”
Another silence follows, but this time it’s comfortable. All the memories of the last three years come to the forefront of your mind. There’s laughter, and messes, and arguments, and kisses. But all of it feels right. It feels like your average day with Oikawa. Your heart is happy, and so are you.
“I’ll do it,” you finally answered.
Oikawa’s brows furrow in slight confusion. “Do what?”
“I’ll marry you,” you inform him.
He doesn’t hesitate to crash his lips onto yours, wide smile on his face because he’s overjoyed that you actually said yes. Then he remembers the exact conversation you’ve been having for the past twenty minutes and he pulls back. You didn’t even know you guys were dating. There’s no way you just agreed to this engagement.
“Are you sure?” he asks cautiously, hoping fate isn’t cruel enough to rip this joy away from him. “I mean, I have sort of been in a one sided relationship the past three years. I’m perfectly fine if we take another year or two for you to know me as your partner as opposed to your friend.”
You roll your eyes at the suggestion. “I already know how you are as a partner. You’ve been mine for the past three years. If anyone should be worried, it should be you,” you remind him. “Besides, I am more than happy to legally bind you to be my best friend for the rest of our lives.”
For Kuroo and/or Oikawa, can I request for one where their partner is so loud about how much they love everything about him (and doesn't get embarrassed about it)?
Maybe not an over-the-top partner, but the one who would give them a kiss for every kill block/service ace after a match. idk? haha
I love the trope where the "flirty" confident guy goes blue screen when they get an unexpected affectionate compliment and stuff 🤭 but it's also really flustering when it becomes a game of trying to out-flirt each other lol
That was so long my bad ahdksdbwjsb
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Getting Out Flirted!
Kuroo Tetsuro x reader, Oikawa x reader (separate)
just pure fluff loll
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Kuroo:
Ever since you’ve started dating Nekoma’s volleyball captain, Kuroo Tetsuro, he would just not stop flirting with you. Sure, you liked it, but it’d catch you so off guard sometimes. Tetsuro just wouldn’t stop whispering smooth comments in your ear and passing notes with those stupid chemistry pickup lines he loved so much. So you hatched a plan.
Nekoma had a practice game today against Fukurodani. You debated on whether using spikes or kill blocks was the better option, but eventually settled on using kill blocks. During the game; you sat on the bleachers attentively. You usually pay attention to games, but you were unusually locked in. With your yellow notebook in your lap and pen in hand, you created a tally for every kill block Kuroo successfully accomplished. By the end of the three sets, he had scored six points for the team solely from blocking. Perfect.
After the end of the game, the players were cleaning up the Nekoma gym and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. You approached Kuroo while he was talking to Bokuto.
“Kuroo~~!” You said in that sweet, singsongy voice of yours.
Kuroo smiled as he saw you. He wiped the sweat off his forehead before flashing you a smile, “Hey [Name]. Enjoy the game?”
“Mhh… yeah.” You nodded. Time to strike.
You stepped forward, not caring about who was watching (okay, maybe you cared a little bit, but you were already committed). Before Kuroo could react, you brushed his messy hair out of his face and leaned in. You pecked his right cheek (one), then did the same to his left (two). At this point, he was visibly flustered with some red on his cheeks, so you continued on.
“H-hey! [Name]!” Kuroo yelps, embarrassed.
You kiss his forehead (three) and pull slightly back, “What?”
“I– uh, what’re you doing?” He glances around. Kenma is giving him a tired glance, which only fuels his embarrassment more.
“What? Can I not kiss my boyfriend?” You feign ignorance. Continuing, you kiss him on his nose; both the high and low points (four and five, respectively).
Kuroo stammers, “I guess–” He doesn’t protest and lets you continue your assault in front of Bokuto; who's just smirking at him now.
And finally, for the finishing touch, you kiss his lips (six). Once you had done that, it seemed like Kuroo… stopped working. He was frozen in front of you; face burning up (and not due to the intense practice match he just played).
“Oh? So I flirt with you suddenly, you can’t take it? There’s a little taste of your medicine, Tetsuro.”
Oikawa:
It was a well known fact in Aoba Johsai High School (and maybe even all of Miyagi) that Oikawa Toru was quite a bit of a flirt. Before your relationship, Iwaizumi used to smack him in the back of the head for flirting with girls before a game. But now, if a fangirl so much as approached him, Oikawa would flash that dashing, charming smile of his and proudly proclaim his relationship status as ‘taken’. And if you were nearby, he would immediately seek out your presence, put a hand on your waist, and introduce the fangirl to you. Sure, it was a bit embarrassing at times, but you didn’t mind.
That was just the tip of the iceberg. In your relationship so far with him, he’s always been the flirt. He’s never failed to make you flustered or blush or even giggle (yes, giggle). At the expense of your pride, you’ve been reduced to a blushing schoolgirl. But that was going to change. So you hatched a plan to use at the next tournament.
It was the first tournament of the year with the new team and Oikawa as captain. So naturally, they all played their hardest in the first match. Seijoh defeated the first school in straight sets and your boyfriend was in top form; so why not give him a little reward?
You texted Toru to meet you outside the building, telling him to get some fresh air. Even though they won in straight sets, that match was intense. The setter eventually found you outside, where you were looking at something on your phone.
The moment you looked up, there was a mischievous smirk on your face and Oikawa knew something was up. Oikawa continues walking up to you, while you remain glued to your spot. He gives you a smile; a genuine smile (not a fake one he gives to the cameras) as he approaches.
You two are standing face to face; with maybe half a foot in between your bodies. There's a towel thrown lazily around his neck as he looks slightly down at you. It’s silent for a moment, and you can sense that Oikawa is probably going to say something– so you beat him to it.
You lean in, wrapping your arms around Oikawa’s neck and start peppering kisses all over Oikawa’s face, “One…” You mumble in between kisses. “Two…”
Oikawa isn’t moving at all. He’s stunned. You continue kissing him all over; making sure not to leave an inch of his face untouched. Slowly, you can sense his face getting warmer and warmer and redder and redder. Cute. If this was what Oikawa felt every time he reduced you to a pathetic schoolgirl, you were starting to understand why he kept flirting with you.
Finally, when you reached the amount of points he scored today, you let go of his face. You usually don’t do things like these, so of course Oikawa would be stunned.
You let go and step back, feet hitting the concrete beneath you,“And… I’m done.”
For a moment, it was silent. Then out of nowhere, Toru; ever so prideful, covered his face. He then let out a suspiciously flustered groan and crouched down, “You don’t know what you do to me, [Name]...”
You can only laugh, “‘S just a taste of your own medicine, Toru. Stop flirting with me so much if you can’t handle the same treatment back.”
His reaction just made the interaction all the more fun. Oikawa could tell you were getting a kick out of this, “It’s only okay when I do it…” He weakly protests.
You lightly tease, “Well you can’t hog all the fun, can you?”
“But…” Oikawa looks up at you with eyes that could only be described as ones wet puppies possess.
“Hm.” You crouch down in front of the brunette and flick his forehead playfully, “Get up.”
Oikawa pouts and looks to the side, deciding to look at a tree instead of at your face (since he isn’t sure if he could handle looking at you right now), “You don’t know what you do to my heart… [Name]-chan.”
You’re about to reply, but suddenly, there's a voice around the corner.
“Oi! Shittykawa!” The voice is slightly rough and pissed off. It could only belong to one person; Iwaizumi Hajime.
You turn your head around, still crouched in front of Oikawa, “Oh– hey Iwaizumi-san. You need Toru?”
“Uh– yeah. Coach ‘s looking for him. I was worried when I couldn’t find him in the building.” Iwaizumi replies.
Oikawa is still covering his face with his hands.
“The hell happened to him?” The setter’s childhood friend asks, curiously. He helps Oikawa up.
You smile coyly, “Don’t worry about it.”
Oikawa can’t get another word out before Iwaizumi drags him back into the building, leaving you with your thoughts (and prayers– because if there’s one thing about Oikawa Toru, it’s that he always comes up with counter attacks).
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a/n: hi anon! so sorry that it took me this long to write your req, but im here now lololol. Also sorry if this isn't 100% what you had in mind </3 I still hope u enjoy regardless! Anyways happy late birthday to Oikawa Toru MLLLL!!
synopsis: other than being the captain of the volleyball team, tetsuro kuroo was a total nerd, a total nerd crushing on a girl totally out of his league! meanwhile, this girl, reader had absoluty zero intrest in him, or at least that's what it looked from outside
anyone who spoke to tetsuro kuroo for more than two seconds knows that other than being a 6’2 volleyball pro— he was also a huge nerd, especially when it came to chemistry. he took honors chem last year, and now he is in ap chem, and a stem club.
that ap chem class, and stem club, is where he met the sweetest, and by far most gorgeous, stunning girl he’d ever seen on the face of this planet— reader— she was totally his type.
so, kuroo being kuroo, he started flirting with this girl relentlessly after finding out she didn’t have a boyfriend or a significant other. though he was somewhat of a stereotypical nerd, he’s proven to be quite the flirt, and quite charismatic as well. still, despite his efforts, this beautiful, as well as way too out of his league girl, has not fallen for him just yet. kuroo's convinced she’s playing hard to get, kenma thinks he should let it go. but, along with being charming, he was also persistent.
“hey, reader,” kuroo called out as he stumbled out of the stem club, quickly catching up to reader, who was walking a few feet ahead, her bag slung over her shoulder as she stared down at her phone.
she lifted her head and turned to look at kuroo, hearing scurried footsteps approaching her from behind. a deep sigh escaped her glossed lips as she stuffed her phone into the pocket of her blazer. “what’s up, kuroo?” reader asks in somewhat of an exasperated tone— it was clear she was already tired of non-stop, flirting behavior.
“ah, c’mon, gorgeous, stop actin’ like you hate talking to me so much.” he chuckled quietly as he gently nudged her shoulder, starting to walk in sync beside her. “if you hated me so much you would’ve cursed me out by now..” he adds in a teasing tone, his head tilting in her direction.
“... ‘m just polite— i don’t like ya.”
“mmhm! sure ya dont, beautiful…” he reaches out and snatches her bag from her, yanking the leather strap over his arm to rest it on his shoulder. he didn’t care for the weight, he was strong, and he didn’t mind the frilly, quite feminine, keychains hanging off the side either— he just wanted to carry her bag for her.
reader was used to his quote on quote, chivalrous, behavior by now, so she let him. what does it matter if the physical weight on her shoulder is lifted for a few minutes? not like she’s admitting she has any romantic feelings for the guy…
“anyways, you headed home or stopped by somewhere first?” kuroo questioned with a light-hearted sigh as they descended the stairs, arriving on the first floor.
“i wanted to stop by the convenience store down the street.” she mutters, whipping her phone out to type something out— send a few texts or something. she was decently popular so it didn’t exactly surprise kuroo that she was shooting off a new text every two seconds.
“sounds good.” he hums in understanding, continuing to walk beside her. “let’s go then, i’ll walk ya.” he offers, though it sounds more like a statement.
“you’re far too desperate for your own good, you know that, right?” she comments bluntly, not looking up from her phone as she insults him so easily.
kuroo barks out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement as they leave the school building, cold air brushing against their skin. she wasn’t a mean person by any means, and kuroo knew that— he also knew that he was probably irritating her quite a bit at this point. he didn’t even mind her insults. he never took anything she said to heart.
“what kinds of snacks do you want to get?” he asks as they start to walk down the street, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
“i ran out of these spicy chips i eat at home— and i wanted some peach iced tea too.” reader explains, finally putting her phone away for good to give kuroo her full attention. he perked up like a dog when her eyes met his for the first time this whole day.
even sharing a class, a lunch period, and an afterschool club, she barely looked in his direction— even though she was aware of his feelings…
their relationship dynamic, if you could call it that, was quite strange. tetsuro's feelings were quite clear to everyone, including reader, yet she refused to acknowledge them out loud— not to herself, or her friends. they would often ask why she voluntarily hung around him if it was clear that he liked her. she never had an answer for them.
she didn’t even have an answer for herself either. why did she let him hang around her so often? she didn’t need him to accompany her to this shop, and she didn’t need him to carry her bag, or walk her home— but she let him anyway…
“you want some sour candy too?” he asks as they enter the convenience store.
“mmm…” reader hums in consideration, thinking for a moment before nodding. “yeah. those sour watermelon candies. they should have some here..” she creeps to the back of the store, searching around for the three food items she had come here for.
kuroo quietly lingers behind her while she picks out two bags of spicy chips, a bottle of iced peach tea, and the sour watermelon gummies he reminded her of.
after a few minutes of wandering around the store, they found their way to the cash register. kuroo pulled his wallet out of his bag before reader could even turn towards her bag. he didn’t need to pay, but he wanted to— you know, to be a gentleman, and all that crap…
“don’t you have any other girls you might be interested in?” reader questions with a deep sigh as they leave the convenience store and start to head in the direction of her neighborhood.
“nah, just you.” he confesses with a matter-of-a-fact shrug, adjusting his grip on her bag. he was now holding his school bag, her school bag, and the plastic bag of snacks they received from the convenience store.
“don’t you think pursuing someone who doesn’t reciprocate your feelings is kind of useless?” she murmurs, her head tilting slightly to the side as she stares up at him.
“nah.” he repeats, shaking his head again.
“even if you don’t feel the same way, that doesn’t affect how much i care about you.” he states bluntly, as if what he was saying was completely normal, and not a top-tier confession from a teenage boy.
though reader had quite the sea of admirers, she hadn’t ever had a boy speak about his feelings for her so bluntly before. she’d never had someone feel so… confident to care about her, not like kuroo.
a light flush appeared on her cheeks as they continued to walk toward her house. she looks down at the floor, avoiding his gaze while also making sure he couldn’t see the gentle blush that had now tainted most of her face.
within a few minutes, they come to a stop, now in the middle of a basic suburban neighborhood, in front of reader's house.
“thanks, tetsuro.” reader mutters, taking her bags back from him before turning toward her front door. he lets her take the bags with no comment, but he pauses when he realizes that she had addressed him by his first name.
“y-yeah, no problem—” tetsuro quickly clears his throat, turning his body to her, his gaze quickly finding hers. “have a good evening, aight, reader?” he calls out when she opens her front door.
reader pauses, not moving for a brief second before she turns back around to face him once again, making eye contact again. both of them don’t speak for a few agonizingly long seconds, instead just staring at one another.
“if you don’t have some stupid volleyball crap this saturday, you can take me out, alright?” reader calls out, the flush on her face returning, though she tried her best to keep her expression totally neutral. “like, on a date.” she clarifies after clearing her throat.
he sputters, caught off guard by her sudden offer.
she’d been so cold the whole day— not just the whole day but the last few months… and basically since she met him. why would she ask for a date out of nowhere like this? but he quickly snapped out of his own thoughts, realizing she was offering him a date, a real date! he didn’t think this would come so soon!
“y-yeah!” he chirps in response, taking a large step forward out of excitement, unable to contain himself properly. “i don’t have anythin’ this saturday! i’ll swing by here at around 2 if that’s good for you?”
reader hesitates for a brief moment before nodding again, “mmhm, 2 is good for me.” she murmurs before walking into the house and slamming the door shut behind her.
kuroo stands there for another few seconds, now just staring at the door as he finishes processing what just happened. then it clicks for him— he has a date… he has a date with the girl he’d been crushing on for months!
“hell yeah!” he exclaims in excitement, quickly pumping his fist into the air like an overexcited little kid who was just promised ice cream.
but he couldn't bring himself to care about his childish behavior. all he could think about was how excited he was at the fact that he now had a confirmed date with reader. he knows he has to plan out the most jaw-dropping date ever too— he has to impress her!
plagiarism, feeding work into AI & reposting of content not allowed without permission (@keniscrepes)
divider credits to @cursed-carmine
note: I intended this to be only one part but, part 2?
Tags: Fluff, and the feels,reader is implied to be shorter than Karasu and the same age as him, friends to lovers, inspired by the song: ‘Toothbrush’ by DNCE
WC: 4k
=
Karasu:
You guys were childhood friends and it was super common for you to crash at his house when you both were still young, his family super inviting and kind towards you. He used to tease you (he still does til this day) as you both tumble in the grass, knees scraped but the biggest smile on your faces.
You both went to the same primary, the same high school so it was bittersweet when he left for Blue Lock. You knew you wouldn't be seeing him for a while and something in your chest ached. You were happy for him, of course you were, it was his dream since he was young, when his eyes hadn’t narrowed down condescendingly out of habit and when his smile was still wide and toothy.
High school goes by in a blur of stressful exams and friends, your life feeling seemingly mundane without Karasu’s familiar teasing and consistent pestering. You get an occasional text from him with a funny selfie of him and sometimes, that was enough to get you through the day.
The next time you see him it was in a large stadium where the overhead lights glared and crowds of excited onlookers cheered. You pick him out of the eleven players that walk out the waiting tunnel, his spiky purple hair neat and sharp, eyes narrowed. You take in a sharp breath, Karasu looked…sharp, defined. More confident.
Your throat is rough and raspy when Blue Lock closes the game with a heart-hammering last minute goal, the score shifting to a satisfying 4-3 as the crowd erupt.
Karasu turns on his heel, cobalt eyes scanning the crowd before you both lock eyes and he smirks, mouthing a found you as you feel your face heat up. You meet him at the vip tunnel, your hands clammy as you clutch your phone, watching players sift into the locker room with happy noises.
Karasu detaches from his group, striding to you quickly, his gaze softening just a fraction as you take him in. Really take him in.
He’s grown a tad bit taller, shoulders more defined and silhouette bulkier. Your throat dries as he tilts his head slightly to the right and your heart melts.
“Hey.” Karasu whispers, his voice smooth and breathy and you smile.
“Hey.” You reply, the silence stretching between the both of you teetering between awkward and comfortable, not able to start a conversation after being away from each other for so long.
“You did well.” You rasp, finding your voice first and you see his ears redden as he looks away shyly. He thanks you, his accent smoothing your nerves as you hesitantly reach him for a hug, the touch foreign but not uncomfortable.
“Is it bad to say I missed you?” Karasu admits, chin on your hair and you laugh into his shoulder, eyes crinkling because no matter how long he’s been away, he’s still the same, slightly awkward and adorable in your eyes.
“I missed you too Tabito.” You whisper and you feel his grip tighten slightly, unwilling to part from you, though he knows he has to soon before his teammates come looking for him.
When you part from his embrace your heart is heavy. You miss him, more than you’d admit.
“Catch you some other time?” Karasu asks and you nod, smiling softly. You hear someone call Karasu’s name and the boy visibly stiffens as he turns on his heel, walking back to the locker room with a wave.
“Yo Karasu, why were you gone for so long? We thought you died from a heat stroke.” Otoya calls as he steps into the locker room, immediately ridding himself of his sweaty shirt as he tosses it at Otoya’s direction with a huff.
“Mind ya own business ninja.” Karasu mutters and Otoya fake gasps with a hand over his heart. “Is it a girl? Is the great and mighty Karasu Tabito in love?” the green haired boy sing songs and Karasu turns away without another word, ears burning.
“It’s definitely someone important if Karasu doesn’t snap back.” Yukimiya smiles and Karasu can’t find the heart to fire back because you are important to him, more than you think you are.
“Yeah it’s a friend, so what?” Karasu snaps, Otoya and Yukimiya visibly perking up.
“Oooh Karasu~! You got to let me meet them!” Otoya calls and Karasu immediately groans.
No way on earth was he letting his friends meet you.
=
You feel your phone vibrate on your desk one night, a week after the U-20 game. You rub your eyes tiredly, setting down your pen before picking up the device to see who was calling this late at night.
It’s Karasu.
You answer instantly, phone pressed to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Karasu greets and you smile, happy to even hear his voice again.
“Hi, why are you calling this late?” You ask, taking a sip of water. Your eyes wandered away from your textbooks as you pad to your bed, flopping onto it.
“Why are you still awake to answer my call then?” Karasu shoots back and you groan. It feels like Karasu had forgotten that while he was doing grueling drills and kicking a ball around on a grass field, others had graduated and started college.
“College? I have assignments Tabito, unlike you.” You snide and you hear him scoff from the other side of the line.
“Well, I'm here to tell you that I have a two week break before I go back again and I’m asking if you want to hangout?” Karasu offers and your stomach flips excitedly, you didn’t think it would be this soon.
“Of course! I didn’t think you’d think of me that much Tabi.” You tease, the nickname rolling off your tongue so smoothly.
You hear Karasu sputter for a second before his tone is smooth again. “I know, i’m so kind.” Karasu replies and you roll your eyes.
“Meet ya at the ramen shop we used to go to?” Karasu asks and you hum, yawning.
“Sure. See you.” You say and Karasu chuckles, the sound even through a screen making the butterflies in your stomach flutter more.
“See you.” he replies as the line dies and you place your phone on your chest.
To say the next two weeks was eventful was an understatement.
When you meet him at your agreed spot, hands in your jacket, he looks so suave, coat fluttering gently in the wind and you can’t seem to find any words to compliment him.
Two more men flank either side of him and you stiffen. You have to admit that they do look good, the one with the green streak in his platinum hair visibly straightens up when he sees you.
“Yo is that them? Ooh Karasu you have good taste!” The boy says and you see Karasu flush a slight pink as he swats at his friend.
“Tabito!” You call and his head snaps to where you are, a soft and easy smile forming on his lips.
“Hi. Sorry, my friends wanted to tag along. Hope ya don’t mind.” Karasu greets and you smile back, waving shyly at the two boys.
“This is Otoya and Yukimiya.” Karasu introduces and you greet them both with a slight bow. Yukimiya smiles and adjusts his glasses as Otoya leans on Karasu, waving his hand with a “sup.”
It wasn’t exhausting as you find that the three boys were close, even though they met in the facility, they’ve been attached at the hip. You find it easiest to converse with Yukimiya (aside from Karasu), who was polite and friendly.
Otoya was more outgoing and you sigh as he flirts with a random girl in a Donki Donki of all things as you laugh as Karasu drags him away, apologizing under his breath. Yukimiya sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“He’s always like this.” Yukimiya tells you as Karasu whacks Otoya on the head.
“Eita STOP flirting with every female you see please.” Karasu hisses and Otoya whines pitifully, as if the mere thought alone stings him.
The day ends when Otoya and Yukimiya part ways with you and Karasu, Otoya going to meet up with the other Blue Lock boys to party and Yuki reluctantly tagging along to prevent the ninja from hooking up with some rando.
“Have a goodnight you two.” Yukimiya calls and you wave at him as they disappear into the crowd.
Karasu sighs tiredly, feeling more exhausted than when he played a full 90 minute match. “Finally, peace and quiet.” He grumbles and you laugh. You end up back at his house, his mother and sister happy to see you.
The rest of the two weeks were spent lounging at home or hanging out with Karasu. It was easy being around him, the conversation flowing smoothly like how it was before he left and you think you can get used to this.
Before long, he has to pack up and head back to Blue Lock and you don’t miss the opportunity to hug him again, pressing your nose into his shoulder and taking in a breath of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something you cannot name. Karasu reciprocates the hug, of course he does. It’s soft and warm and everything you hoped it is and it leaves you warm even after he’s parted.
Another year passes and you move to France for your degree. You feel grateful to be able to further your studies overseas and you push yourself harder, the feeling of failure too heavy for you to swallow.
Your dorm room is cramped and you silently wish you could get an apartment of your own as you stare blankly at your textbooks, drumming your fingers on the table.
A month passes before Karasu calls you again.
A distinct ringtone sings from your phone as you scramble to pick up the device, swiping right on the answer button before your brain caught up.
“Tabito?” You call and he answers with a short laugh.
“Hey. Miss me?” He replies and you could die of relief at the sound of his smooth voice.
“Yeah.” You admit.
Rooming with Karasu was better than you expected.
The thought didn’t even fully register in your head before you had agreed to his offer. You found out he moved to France a while ago to play for P.X.G and (by the grace of whatever force that had heard your cries) have an empty apartment.
It was convenient, his house was a 10 minute walk from your university and he made a good roommate, leaving early in the morning and late in the night due to practice and matches. You split chores and it was quiet.
You push down the warmth in your heart everytime he comes home with a gruff “M’home.”
Surely you didn’t see him as something more.
Surely.
“Yer eyes are gonna dry up with how close yer face is to that screen.” A low voice murmurs beside your ear and you flinch, fingers momentarily stopping and resting at your keyboard. When you turn around, Karasu is behind you, his large frame towering over you and casting a shadow.
You can’t seem to retort or find it in you to say something snarky because
Karasu’s hair is down.
The dark purple locks aren’t held up by Karasu’s ridiculously strong hair wax. Under your warm yellow desk lamp it seems to shine, the locks looking incredibly soft to touch and you almost reach out before Karasu snaps you out of your trance.
“Hellooo? Are you still there or have yer died and a ghost is possessing ya?” Karasu calls and you blink, shaking your head in an attempt to clear whatever scandalous thoughts that lurk there.
“Sorry..” You mutter sheepishly, looking away because you think that if you even stare for a fraction longer, you might spontaneously combust. Karasu leans closer, pressing his chest to your chair, his arms on either side of you and somehow, effectively caging you in.
“Ya need to rest. You’ve been studying from dinner til now and that’s not healthy.” Karasu says and his voice is low and gentle and you have to will yourself not to lose your shit infront of your what, bestfriend of fucking forever. (you’ve forgotten when it had stopped being casual to you)
“Can’t. Assignment’s due tonight.” You manage to force out, still refusing to look at Karasu, who scoffs and mutters something under his breath about universities torturing young people for a piece of paper (and he unfortunately, is right).
“I-if it makes you feel better, break starts tomorrow so I can sleep in.” You wince internallyat your embarrasing stutter and at that very moment, wished the floor would gobble you up because at that rate, suffering in hell would be easier than fighting the walking embodiment of your lust.
Karasu hums, seemingly accepting the fact that you will not be getting any sleep tonight and releases you, standing straight back up and running his hand through his hair (and the action alone is so hot that it burns itself into your memory and you know you will be replaying this moment for a long while) before walking away, hopefully to not bother you with your studies anymore.
The moment the door clicks shut you breath a sigh of relief, slumping in your chair, face in your hands as you fought the urge to scream, from embarrassment and fluster.
Maybe it isn’t casual after all.
Karasu wakes up before the sun can become a nuisance. He yawns and stretches, joints popping satisfyingly as he blearily reaches for his phone at the nightstand, one hand rubbing at his eyes while the other scrolls through messages.
His eyes lands on one.
DictatorJulien: @Everyone no practice today, coach says day off.
Karasu groans in relief as he drops his phone on the pillow beside him, his hand going back up to rake through his sleep tousled hair. He subtly wonders if you are awake yet, another yawn escaping him as he opens his bedroom door to see yours, thankfully closed.
A small, genuine small forms on his face as he hums, flopping on the couch before swearing under his breath. He left his phone in his room.
When your door finally creaks open an hour later and you stumble out, Karasu short-circuits, staring at you with wide eyes and his lips slightly parted.
You‘re clad in nothing but an oversized shirt that hangs over your frame, exposing smooth collarbone and a shoulder and sleep shorts. Your hair is wild, sticking up in every direction imaginable and your face is contorted into something soft and vulnerable and thought enters Karasu’s mind with so much clarity that he stops breathing entirely for a moment.
I love them.
“Tabito?” You call and Karasu remembers that his lungs require oxygen for him to go on with his life and he turns to look at you.
“Mornin sleepyhead. Thought I had to give you a kiss to wake you up.” Karasu drawls and you sputter, not used to his teasing early in the morning. Your face heats up and you don’t notice when he stands up and walks towards you. Karasu has to use whatever self control he has left to not rest his hands on your hips. Instead, he shoves a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants as the other goes to flick at your forehead.
“C’mon, lets get breakfast, m’hungry and Hugo is inviting us to breakfast.” Karasu says before padding to his room and shutting the door, presumably to change.
You are left standing in the living room, brain still too sleep-addled to process everything at once. You waddle back to your room and shut the door, bringing a pillow to your face and letting out a strangled scream.
Karasu isn’t doing that great either.
The moment he shuts his door, his hand starts trembling as he covers his mouth with a palm, internally panicking cause what do you mean he’s in love with his friend???? He takes his time to quickly send a message that you were both probably going to be late before carelessly tossing his phone onto the bed before taking the coldest shower he will ever take in his life.
When you open your door, you are dressed in something soft and warm, the weather starting to get a bit chilly. You stuff your hands into the pockets of your coat as Karasu strides over to you from his spot on the couch.
“Yer look good.” Karasu says gruffy and you mutter a shy thanks. Karasu then does something that makes your heart stop.
He steps closer. So close that you can smell his cologne and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You feel your breath hitch as he extends his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, never breaking eye contact, his cobalt gaze piercing, as if he could read your very soul.
Karasu then blinks, as if broken from a trance and takes a step back the back of his neck burning.
“Sorry. Didn’t know what came over me.” Karasu says and you smile, soft and gentle.
“Thank you Tabito.” You reply and he huffs, playing with the house keys in his hand in an attempt to calm his thumping heart.
By the time you both reach the spot, you spot two striking figures that you’ve only seen in matches on the TV when you weren’t buried in work.
Julien Loki and Vivian Hugo.
The two men were dressed impeccably, Hugo leaning back on his chair as Loki stands up to cleanly dap up Karasu and shake your hand, what a gentleman he is.
Breakfast goes smoothly, much to your surprise because usually the universe hates your guts and likes to embarrass you at the worst moment possible. But the food is good and Hugo and Loki make good company. You soon come to find out that Hugo is actually a huge chatterbox behind his mask of nonchalance.
“Hugo get off-” Loki says exasperatedly, attempting to push the larger frenchman off him, but Hugo doesn’t budge.
“It is destiny to lean on your arm Julien.” Hugo says simply and Loki groans. Karasu laughs and it isn’t one of the condescending laughs that he shoots to the enemy team on the pitch or when someone says something incredibly stupid that you start to wonder how that person is allowed to be in public. It's something genuine, gravelly and honest and you can't find a sound more handsome than this.
Months pass by in a blur, PSG wins the Ligue 1 again (to no one's surprise) and you finish another year in your degree, a step closer to graduating.
You and Karasu get into a comfortable rhythm, late night talks where Karasu’s voice turns soft and honest and you feel the ache in your chest more and more with every night he opens up to you. If he’s feeling a bit brave, he’ll come lay his head on your lap as you murmur soft comfort into his ears, your voice alone soothing his anxieties as you run your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp.
It’s the other way sometimes, when days are harder and the syllabus even harder, leaving you exhausted and burnt out. You’d lean against Karasu’s shoulder and he would wrap his arms around you gently as you cry into his shoulder. He whispers soft nothings into your hair, his deep voice usually lulling you into a dreamless sleep.
During these moments is when you both reflect on your feelings in the dark, unable to voice them out to the other, the words choking in your throats.
Karasu can’t find the courage to tell you, his head clouding with thoughts of not being good enough and that you deserve someone better and every festering thought breaks his heart more and more. Karasu fails to notice how you don’t shy away from him and instead sometimes seek him out, even unconsciously.
It takes a lot of goading from Otoya, Yukimiya (who were in different states but couldn’t take anymore of Karasu’s sad wet pathetic late night musings) and surprisingly, Hugo, who clocks Karasu’s infatuation with you the second you both arrive into the cafe that day (no one knows how he gets it so fast).
“It is destiny Karasu. You both are practically made for each other.” Hugo says one day at practice when he sees Karasu smiling at his phone, presumably a text from you.
“C’mon bro, the worst they can say is no right?” Otoya pleads and Yukimiya has to agree with Otoya this time because he is sick and tired of seeing Karasu pine over someone who CLEARLY reciprocates his affection.
“Hell, even Yuki here sees it and he can’t soon!” Otoya sighs and Yukimiya resists the urge to send a bomb all the way to Spain.
When Karasu confesses to you, it isn’t anything grand or over the top, instead it’s in the comfort of your own home, quiet and intimate.
You were standing on the balcony with a can of coke in one hand, taking small sips of it. It was a tiring day and you were so mentally exhausted you spaced out, staring into the city, lights blurring into each other.
Karasu approaches calmly, his hair unwaxed and his posture relaxed. He stands next to you, staring into the city along with you for a while in silence, trying to calm his racing nerves.
“Hey.” Karasu starts, and you turn to face him.
‘I’ve wanted to say this for a while now but couldn’t find the right time or words to do it.” Karasu says as your breath hitches and he swallows.
“I can’t help but feel like I can do everything in the world when you’re around and I can’t help but feel something for you. Yer so special, so extraordinary and I really can't stop myself.” Karasu continues as he steps closer into your personal space. You both are so close that you can hear the tremor in his usually steady voice.
No way this is actually happening right now.
“I love ya and I,” Karasu stops as he chokes on a breath and you stand there rigid, heart hammering in your chest and the unpaid butterflies in your stomach are threatening legal action against you for keeping them there for so long.
“Hope ya stay. And be my partner.” Karasu whispers.
“I…yeah. I would love that.” You reply a moment later because there is so much to say but the words won’t come out and you are trying not to cry at this point. Karasu looks at you in disbelief before a smile appears on his lips, the smile you love so much.
“C-can I?” Karasu asks so gently, his trembling hand cupping your cheek as you shut your eyes and press against him. It feels so perfect when your lips slot against his and you feel everything click into place. Karasu’s other hand rests on your hip and it covers your whole side. You feel happy and warm and at peace.
When you both part, Karasu looks at you with so much love in his gaze that you can’t resist giving him a peck on his cheek, which makes him blush a pretty soft pink.
“I love you too Tabito.”
Nothing much changes between the both of you but the additional affection you recieve is a well adapted change.
You now recieve a soft kiss on the crown of your head whenever he comes home from practice, still sweaty and tired. You’ve migrated from your own bed to his in a few weeks, his warm body so comforting in nights where it’s cold.
Karasu also becomes incredibly smug whenever someone asks him if he has a partner and always, if the opportunity arise, flexes you to his peers (who are sick and tired of his shit but whatever makes him happy they guess)
Safe to say, you are happy
Divider by @/cursed-carmine
Beta read by my goat @rukaihh
if this goes well, i might write the same trope for other boys (drop who you want in the comments)
The love Zanka felt for you manifested itself in many ways, but he felt it most intensely in his stomach.
It had nothing to do with disgust. Quite the opposite. It was the absolute, overwhelming, and suffocating purity of the adoration he felt for you that made his stomach clench violently every time he tried to hold your gaze for more than three seconds.
"Zanka, please, look at me," you pleaded, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall of his room.
The poor boy clung to Assistaff, nervousness beginning to take hold of him. He kept his eyes fixed on the gray floor, rubbing the back of his neck with a trembling hand, his cheeks flushed a deep red.
"I can't," he replied, his voice choked with emotion, clearing his throat to try and regain his composure. "I'm... I'm trying to meditate. Don't distract me."
"I'm just asking you to say good morning to my face, not give me a lecture," you sighed, taking a step toward him.
That simple step was a error. Your proximity carried your scent, and when Zanka made the mistake of looking up to check how close you were, his eyes met yours.
It was immediate. The warmth in your expression and the sparkle in your eyes hit him like a raging beast. His chest tightened, his heart leaped violently, fueled by a devotion so dense it couldn't fit inside his body, and his stomach protested instantly at the emotional overload.
Zanka squeezed his eyes shut, clutched his stomach, and took a deep breath.
"Again?!" you exclaimed, going after him as he headed to the bathroom.
When you found him, he was leaning against the sink, inhaling and exhaling sharply. You stopped at a safe distance, rubbing your forehead in frustration, though a part of you couldn't help but feel a deep tenderness at the absurdity of the situation.
"I'm sorry..." Zanka managed to stammer, his breath coming in short gasps. His face was pale, but the blush was still there, spreading to his ears. "I swear... it's not because of you. I mean, it is because of you! But not like that."
"Zanka, I understand you're intense, but this is ridiculous," you said, slowly approaching and offering her a clean handkerchief. "You're literally lovesick."
"Don't say such embarrassing nonsense out loud!" he protested, snatching the handkerchief without looking at you, his gaze fixed on the tissue. "It's just... when you look at me like that, with that face that's so... so perfect... It makes me feel all flustered."
"Sure," you laughed, taking another step forward.
Zanka tensed completely, shrinking into himself as if expecting an imminent impact.
"Don't come any closer!" he warned, his voice trembling noticeably. "I'm still nauseous. If you hug me or anything, I swear I'll die right here. My heart is going to explode."
"Okay, I won't come any closer," you conceded, raising your hands in a gesture of peace, keeping a distance of two meters. "But you're going to have to get over it eventually. We're a couple, Zanka. We're supposed to look at each other, hold hands... maybe kiss."
At the mention of "kiss," Zanka let out a stifled sound, like a tire losing air. He covered his face with both hands, desperately trying to suppress the new wave of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
"One step at a time," the boy murmured from behind his hands, his voice muffled and utterly defeated.
You smiled gently, crossing your arms and contenting yourself with observing the top of his head. He was the proudest and most disciplined warrior among the Cleaners, but when it came to you, he was nothing more than a helpless wreck, overwhelmed by a love so great that his own body couldn't find any other way to express it.
summary : you were on a mission with team akuta. After a long and rough mission, everyone was completely exhausted, so they went to book a near-by hotel. Unfortunately, there was only 1 bed left. Funny enough, you're enemies with zanka, you two hated on each others throat..but after this night..that enemies thing between you two? Slowly turns into something blurry..
pairing : Zanka Nijiku x g/n reader
trope and rating : Enemies to Situationship/ with benefits | sfw, suggestive fluff
A/N : HIII this is my first fanfic that i have written, so sorry if it's not good since my first language is not english! i would be super grateful if you guys could give me some feedback! ( IK 1 SINGLE BED THING IS OVER USED IM SORRY I RAN OUT OF IDEAS!!!)
The silence in the hotel lobby was heavy, the rough mission has left everyone covered in ash and grime with their muscles trembling from exhaustion.
Enjin stood by the front desk, his eyes scaning through the exhaustion state of his team. He held up three keys
"Alright listen up."
"Rudo's already falling asleep on his feet. So he's coming with me. Riyo, you can take the small room at the end of the hall."
He pauses for a bit, before looking at you and zanka
"Which leaves you two with room 067. only a single bed though, so try not to kill each other, okay? We don't wanna deal with you two's usual throat ripping routine tonight."
Zanka let out a irritated, sharp click from his tongue before snatching the keys. You didn't say anything but gave zanka a glaring look, why the hell do i have to share a bed with HIM!? WHY NOT RIYO? You thought in annoyance.
The walk to the room was suffocating with silence, neither of you spoke, just wanting to get over this. Zanka is walking two paces behind you, you could feel his eyes just burning into the back of your head with frustation and anger. Every time you brushed his shoulders through the elevator, he would stiffen like a statue with a irriated click from his tongue.
He was trying so hard to look mad and project hatred..but the way his breathing hitched every time you glanced back at him tells another story.
When the door clicked behind the both of you, not even 3 minutes in and you had started to bicker with zanka on who goes to shower first. You gave up after 10 minutes in defeat and let zanka shower first.
"COME ON!!! it's been 40 minutes and you still haven't finished! Are you taking a spa day in there or something????" you raised your voice, annoyed and still covered in grime and ash.
"CALM YER ASS DOWN WILL YA? YER NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO IS COVERED WITH GRIME AND SHIT!" he shouted back while the hot water was running, he might use all the hot water, you deserved to suffer with cold water...or not.
When zanka finally stepped out, he wore his casual outfit with a towel slung over his shoulders. Without a second thought, you sprinted to the bathroom, almost making him trip over and fall face flat.
"WATCH WHERE YER GOING!"
After you two had showed, now.. the single bed situation..You sat on the bed, slowly sinking in the cheap mattress, before zanka opened his mouth.
"i fought harder today.. so yer sleeping on the floor."
what kind of mindset is he having?? you also worked hard today too!!
"No way!! You're unbelievable!" your hand balling into fists so tight your knuckles turned white.
"I wouldn't have to act like this if ya didn't completely scramble my brain every time yer near me!" his voice dropped to a rough, strained octave
You froze. "What?"
"Ya heard me!" he growled, "Yer ass is always in my way! Ya always do this to me! Pushing my buttons and drivin' me insane!!" Zanka leaned closer to you, his chest nearly brushing against yours to bark the words at your face.
"Then shut up and do something about it then!" you finally snapped and yelled back out of frustration and tiredness.
Zanka froze, his jaw tighten as he stared down your throat, then to your lips, his breathing coming in short and uneven rasps before pulling you in for a kiss.
The kiss was messy , loud and fueled by months of rivalry that had finally boiled over. Zanka's hand gripped your waist so tight it left indents through your shirt. He groaned into your mouth with a low, defeated sound, his lips slid from your mouth down to your jawline, caught against your neck, biting just a little too hard...leaving you multiple hickies soon tomorrow.
The next morning came, you blinked your eyes open, your body aching from the mission, slowly realizing you couldn't move. Zanka's heavy arm was slung around your waist, his face buried into your shoulder, wow..he looked peaceful in his sleep.
You slowly rises up, waking into the bathroom, looked toward the mirror sink. A bright, blooming purple mark above your collarbone along with multiple marks on your neck, scattering everywhere.
oh god..we actually did that. You heart did a sudden panicked flip, then you actually panicked out loud, waking zanka up and also make him panic too because he also got purple marks
Eventually, the panic slowly calms down to a tense unspoken agreement. Shirts and uniform were buttoned to the top, doing everything just to hide those purple love marks you two did last night. You both walked out the room seperately and refused to make eye contact for the rest of the day. Never bringing up what happened last night ever.
Not until three weeks later...in the dark corner of the equipment shed after another brutal mission, and again...two weeks after that in zanka's room while the cleaners's headquarters are dead asleep.
There were no confessions, labels or romance. By day, you were still enemies with him, snapping and bickering at each other in front the team. But the moment after a mission left you two exhausted, muscles sore and running on empty, the walls came down.
It became a secret between you and zanka, a midnight routine with no labels and confession, just a breathless way to relieve each other's stress before going back to normal lives like nothing happened.
summary ☞ What was supposed to be a harmless dinner at her house with her boyfriend turned out to be a cold war between her boyfriend and her brother.
word count ☞ 1.7k+
warnings ☞ fluff, set before timeskip, hinata!reader, reader is implied to be tall, ragebaiter tooru, ragebaited shoyo, natsu and hinata's mom appearances, shoyo's dad is out of the picture, use of YN.
mene's notes ☞ also wrote this in just one day. someone pls hand over my prize. leave a comment and a reblog! based on this req
dividers by ☞ @cursed-carmine, @cafekitsune
To put it quite frankly, YN didn't meant for a family dinner to become a minefield.
She and Tooru had been dating for a while now, having met through her little brother only a few months prior. Hinata had begged her to cheer for his team at one of his matches, one against one of the favorites to win, he had said. And she had made it her mission to clear out her schedule for that day to hear the end of his endless pleadings.
And Tooru— only being true to his charming exterior— had shot his shot as soon as he saw it coming. He hadn't hesitated one second. He went and took his team to victory with three sets up their sleeves against Karasuno. And once he saw her hanging around the loser team, he'd made sure to bag himself a date with her. She was pretty, pretty funny and pretty kind. She was what Oikawa liked to call “Two Pretty Four Me”. It was supposed to be a pun involving numbers and— whatever. She knew what she signed up for when she confirmed a second date.
The news of the great Tooru Oikawa being tied down by Karasuno's 10’s sister spread like wildfire. Not that he or she tried to hide it. No, he made it his mission to show her off his Two Pretty Four Me girlfriend in any possible way. And when Iwaizumi had voiced his content regarding his relationship, that's where Tooru knew she was it.
The news reached her mom pretty fast, too. Not from her. It was the ultimate game of Chinese Whispers.
Shoyo found out about it from Sugawara, who was told by an old friend from Seijoh. Hinata had then complained about it to team and to Natsu, who was so overjoyed at her older sister dating, that finally told their mom. What caused this chain? Just Oikawa and herself holding hands outside his school. Nothing too crazy, if one really stopped and thought about it.
But exactly like Natsu, Mrs Hinata was absolutely over the moon. Had been begging her oldest to let her meet him as soon as word of it reached her— much to Shoyo's whinings.
And that's the story of how Tooru Oikawa found himself in a house full of gingers.
He was tackled down by a very excited Natsu before he could properly take off his outside shoes. Not even two minutes in the Hinata's house, that he was already being talked his ear off by her younger sister. Who was quite set on not letting his legs free.
Luckily for him, her mother had swooped in and gently tugged the grinning girl away, awarding her with the task of calling YN down. She ushered him inside wordlessly, leading him to the lunch table, already filled to the brim with plates and pots.
He smiled and settled in the seat the woman had gestured him, subtly taking in his surroundings. Warm–toned walls decorated with tons of family pictures. Mrs Hinata cradling a baby YN in her arms, a slightly older YN holding newborn Shoyo up like he was a lion cub, and then finally the three siblings playing in a garden.
Hurried steps came from the stairs, followed by heavier ones running down the stairs. “Natsu, come on! You know you gotta wash your hands before dinner!”, scolded softly a female voice.
At last, YN made her appearance in the kitchen, chasing after a giggling Natsu.
“Only if you make me fly!”, bargained Natsu, holding her arms up for you to pick her up.
“This is the last time today, agreed?”
And once Natsu’s request was accomplished and her hands had been washed squeaky clean, she sat the little girl down and went to claim her own seat beside Oikawa. He was already looking at her with a tiny fond smile that widened when she leaned over to press a brief kiss on his cheek to greet him.
“Seems like you got your hands full”, he muttered for her to hear, wiggling his eyebrows.
She scoffed lightly and folded her arms over the table. “Don't flatter yourself. You're definitely worse than my nine year old sister”
He seemed ready to argue with that, but Shoyo's arrival had totally made his thoughts steer left. His smirk grew mischievous in a second, glancing over at him with his deep–brown eyes shining with mischief. Shoyo replied with a frown and a glare of his own, plopping down on the chair right across the Great King.
Their mother turned to him, oblivious to the tension between the two boys. “Oh, Sho! You're here!”, she clapped her hands satisfied and started filling out Natsu's plate. “Let's dig in before all this food gets cold! Tooru, don't make compliments!”
He chuckled and picked up the chopsticks by his plate. He snapped them in half, and placed various dishes in both his and his girlfriend’s plate. She thanked him softly and glanced up at her brother, too busy glaring daggers at her boyfriend to serve himself.
“Sho, eat”, she nodded to him, and he only grumbled in response, filling his plate while still watching Tooru's every move closer. She could feel him growing amused by the second.
Mrs Hinata leaned in slightly, her warm brown eyes sparkling with interest. “So Tooru…”, she set down her cup. “How did you meet YN?”
He grinned charmingly. “Oh, well, you see. It was when I demolished Karasuno at our last match—”
“—That’s not how it went!”, scoffed Shoyo with his mouth full of gyoza.
“Shoyo, don't talk with your mouth full”, scolded him his mother.
If Tooru was greatly amused before, now he was dying to see him lose his calm.
He chuckled lowly and leant his elbows on the table, glancing up at him from his plate like a predator would. “Was it not?”, he feigned confusion. “What happened really, then? ‘Cause I remember clearly is hitting exactly four aces in a row”
Shoyo stabbed his gyoza with his chopsticks. “And you failed to save three balls spiked by me”, he narrowed his copper–eyes.
“Did I?”, he feigned surprise. “Sorry, it's like my mind only remembers how satisfying it was being congratulated on the win”, he replied politely, though his growing grin said otherwise. “Again, I'm terribly sorry”
In an attempt to ease the tension, she cleared her throat and moved her mother's focus over to her. “After the match—”
“Being acclaimed by my fans was the best feeling I’ve— Owie…!”, she kicked his shin under the table.
“—Tooru didn't waste a second and asked me out”, she finished telling the story of how they met with a smile.
Tooru pouted lightly at her, looking like a kicked puppy, before nodding at what she said. “Imagine my surprise when I found out she was Hinata's sister!”, he exclaimed.
“Shrimp’s sister!”, he added nodding. “I wouldn't have ever bet on it! Aside from the bright orange hair, they don't look alike at all!”, he chuckled along with their mother.
“I get that all time. You wouldn't believe it!” she smiled at him. “Sho had the misfortune of taking after my family, you see. We're all on the shorter side”
Dinner went on like that. Her mother and Natsu were oblivious to the jabs being thrown around the table, but she wasn't blind to it. Shoyo had accidentally snapped his chopsticks in half at least two times. He tried to make Tooru lose his temper with little jabs and make him look bad in front of their mother. But it was of no use. Oikawa was the ragebaiter master. No one could keep their cool around him when he was in one of his witty moods.
But what really made Shoyo fume, with the dramatic add of smoke coming out of ears, came right after dessert. Mrs. Hinata had long ago tucked Natsu in, her curfew ticked at 8pm. While they had moved to the living room, opting for the plush sofas instead of wood chairs. Easy chatter had fallen over them. Though, she and Tooru mostly kept to themselves, laughing and muttering things under their breaths, pressed up against each other.
Their mom sneaking glances at them, warm joy blooming in chest watching her oldest so in love with a good guy. Beside her, Hinata wasn't as slick and subtle as his mom. He was eyeing with a deep frown plastered on his face how close the Great King was sitting to his sister. Every once in a while, he averted his gaze from the disgusting PDA to the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds when his mom would shoo him away.
What he didn't expect, though, was for her to propose that he stay for the night. His head snapped to gawk at her, messy orange strands falling on his face sculpted deep with betrayal.
“B–but— Mom! No! You can't do that!”, he complained openly.
Hope returned to his face when YN agreed with him. “Yeah, mom, Sho’s right. We don't have a spare bed for Tooru”
Mrs. Hinata waved both her children off. “There's enough room in your bed, ain't there, YN–chan?”
The world suddenly crumbled down on Shoyo. He was dreaming, was he? “Must been a nightmare…”, he shivered.
She, on the other hand, gaped at her mom. “You… Trust us to sleep in the same room? In the same bed?”
The reply put a pleased grin on Tooru's face. “Of course! He's a good guy. If anything happens, then let it. You're old enough to make your own decisions”, shrugged her mom.
Then, with a huff she stood up and slipped in her pantofles. “Well then, sweet dreams, children”, she wished, disappearing down the corridors a few seconds later, only the sounds of her slippers sliding on the floor audible.
Tooru burst out laughing, right in Shoyo's face, doubling down with laughter. “You should see your face right now!”, he wheezed and jumped to his feet. “A 'thanks' is due, Shrimp. I had fun poking at you tonight”
It's true. He looked like his soul had left his body.
Satisfied by the effects of his words, Oikawa turned to her and offered her his hand with his usual charming grin. “Shall we then, Two Pretty Four Me?”
Shoyo was way too dumbfounded to retort to that. Wordlessly, he watched his sister lace her fingers with his opponent’s and make their way up the stairs towards her room with their joined hands swinging.
Dinner had been a cold war, that unfortunately Tooru Oikawa, the Great King, had won hands down.
SYNOPSIS: Oikawa Tooru has spent years perfecting his image. Unfortunately for him, you're one of the few people who can tell when he's lying.
WORD COUNT: 6.3k
The media zone after Aoba Johsai University’s latest victory was louder than usual. The arena lights were still blazing overhead, casting everything in a sharp, almost theatrical glow. Cheers from the remaining fans echoed faintly from the stands while reporters, camera crews, and student journalists crammed into the designated area, hungry for content.
Oikawa Tooru stepped into the chaos like he owned it.
His brown hair was perfectly messy in that effortless way only he could pull off. Sweat still clung to his skin, but somehow it only added to his charm. The moment he appeared, smiles and cameras turned toward him. He flashed his signature bright, dazzling grin and raised a hand in that princely wave he’d perfected over the years.
“Hello, hello~ Did you all miss me?” he called out playfully, voice carrying easily over the noise. Several fans screamed his name. A few reporters laughed. This was Oikawa’s domain. The spotlight, the adoration, the carefully curated image of the charming, untouchable star setter.
He moved through the line with practiced ease, giving polished answers and flirty compliments that made people blush and cameras flash faster.
Until he reached you.
You stood calmly in your usual spot, microphone in hand, notepad ready, expression composed. As one of the top court reporters covering the collegiate league, you had a growing reputation for asking questions that actually mattered. The kind that cut past the fluff and forced players to think. You didn’t do performative banter. You didn’t entertain the show.
Oikawa’s eyes lit up the second he saw you. His grin turned sharper, more interested.
“Ah, there’s my favorite reporter!” he announced loud enough for the nearby microphones to catch. He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head with exaggerated charm. “Ready to make me look even better than I already do? I trust you’ll go easy on me today.”
The people around you chuckled and murmured. This was the expected script. Oikawa flirts, reporter melts or plays along.
You didn’t.
“You usually handle making yourself look good all by yourself, Oikawa,” you replied, voice steady and dry, with just the faintest trace of amusement.
A ripple went through the crowd. Someone let out a surprised laugh. Oikawa’s eyebrows rose, delight flashing across his face. He wasn’t used to pushback. Not like this.
He recovered smoothly, of course. “Ouch! So cold today. What did I do to deserve such treatment from you?”
You didn’t smile. You simply lifted your microphone and asked your first real question.
“In the second set, you changed your tempo dramatically on the quick attacks. You slowed things down right when their blockers were starting to adjust to your usual pace. Why make that shift instead of pushing through with your standard serves?”
Most reporters would have asked how it felt to win or what his emotions were after that final point. Not you.
Oikawa started with his default charming response, flashing that million-watt smile. “Well, I just wanted to keep the game interesting for everyone watching! A little suspense never hurts, right? Gotta give the fans a show—”
“That’s not what happened,” you interrupted calmly, not rudely, but with quiet confidence that made the entire media zone pay attention.
The noise level dropped. Cameras zoomed in. Even some of the other players lingering nearby turned their heads.
You continued, eyes locked on his. “You hesitated. Just for a second. That’s rare for you. Their middle blocker was reading you differently than expected, and it threw you off. Why didn’t you adjust back to your stronger serve immediately?”
For the first time in a long time, Oikawa Tooru was visibly caught off guard.
His perfect smile faltered. Not by much, just enough for those who knew how to look. The playful mask slipped, revealing a flash of something real: surprise, maybe even a hint of defensiveness. The crowd perked up. Phones were recording. This was gold.
Oikawa let out a soft, breathy laugh, trying to regain control. “My, my… you really don’t let anyone hide behind pretty words, do you?” He ran a hand through his hair, still smiling but with sharper eyes now. “Let’s just say I was testing their defense. Seeing how they’d react.”
You held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “Thank you for your time.”
As he moved on to the next reporter, the charm snapped back into place like nothing happened. But you noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. The way his laugh sounded just a touch more forced.
By the time you left the arena that night, the clip had already gone viral.
“Reporter shuts down Oikawa’s flirting”
“She actually made The Great King pause”
“Finally, someone who doesn’t fall for Oikawa’s charm”
The comments were relentless:
“The way she cut him off… queen behavior”
“Oikawa trying to flirt and she hit him with volleyball analysis instead”
“This rivalry is everything I didn’t know I needed”
Iwaizumi Hajime, who had been watching from the side with a few teammates, later found you near the exit while you were waiting for your ride. He had his hands in his pockets, looking vaguely amused and exhausted at the same time.
“You really went for the throat today,” he said, voice gruff but not unkind. “Most people just let him run his mouth.”
You shrugged lightly. “I’m here to talk about volleyball, not his fan service.”
Iwaizumi snorted. “Good luck with that. Shittykawa doesn’t like losing control of the narrative. You’ve probably just made yourself his new favorite target.”
You smiled faintly. “I can handle it.”
As Iwaizumi walked away, shaking his head, you checked your phone one last time. The internet was already shipping you two aggressively.
You had disrupted Oikawa Tooru’s perfect performance.
And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.
Oikawa Tooru was not used to being thrown off balance.
He had spent years perfecting his public persona: the charming captain, the flashy setter, the media darling who could flash a smile and win over an entire press conference. Yet that one interview with you kept replaying in his mind. The way you had calmly cut through his polished answer. The way you looked him in the eyes and called out the hesitation no one else had noticed.
It was irritating.
It was intriguing.
And Oikawa decided, almost immediately, that you had just become his new favorite challenge.
The following week’s games and practices were electric with extra energy. Word had spread fast across campus and online. Fans were showing up earlier just to see if “the reporter who doesn’t fall for Oikawa” would be there. Your segments were getting more views than ever.
Oikawa leaned fully into the game.
During the next home match against a strong rival, he played exceptionally well. His play was full of beautiful sets, powerful serves, and plenty of dramatic flair for the cameras. But every time he rotated near the sidelines, his eyes would flick toward the media area, searching for you.
After the victory, the mixed zone was packed tighter than usual. Security struggled to hold the line as fans and reporters pressed forward. Oikawa made his entrance with his usual theatrical wave, but the moment he spotted you, his entire demeanor shifted into high gear.
He headed straight in your direction, ignoring a couple of other reporters calling his name.
“There she is again!” he exclaimed brightly, stopping right in front of you with that heart-stopping smile. “My favorite serious reporter. Did you enjoy the show I put on today? I made sure to add extra flair just for you~”
The cameras around you went wild. People laughed and whispered excitedly.
You remained professional, lifting your microphone with a steady hand. “In the third set, you avoided using your jump serve even though their back row was clearly having trouble reading it earlier. Why the sudden change in strategy?”
Oikawa placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Straight to business again? You wound me. No ‘Congratulations on the win, Oikawa’? No compliments on my perfect form?” He leaned a little closer to the mic, voice dropping playfully. “You always look so serious. Is that stern expression reserved especially for me? I’m flattered.”
A few people in the crowd actually cooed. Someone shouted, “Get a room!”
You didn’t blink. “Answer the question, Oikawa.”
His grin widened, eyes sparkling with genuine delight at your refusal to play along. “You’re no fun at all. Fine. I wanted to keep them guessing. Can’t let the opponent get too comfortable, right? Plus, variety is the spice of life!”
You tilted your head slightly. “Or you were already thinking three steps ahead to the next match and didn’t want to reveal too much too soon.”
There it was again, that brief flicker. Oikawa’s smile stayed perfectly intact, but his eyes sharpened. For someone used to people hanging on his every charming word, being read so accurately was new territory.
He recovered with a soft laugh. “Dangerous. You’re really dangerous, you know that?” He winked. “Keep looking at me like that and I might start performing even better just to impress you.”
The entire media pen erupted in cheers and laughter. The shipping intensified on the spot. By the time the interview ended, new clips were already circulating with captions like “Oikawa trying so hard” and “She’s immune and he’s obsessed.”
Iwaizumi was waiting for him in the locker room later, arms crossed and wearing his usual deadpan expression.
“You’re really going all out with the flirting, huh?” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa walked in. “She’s not impressed, you know.”
Oikawa dramatically flopped onto a bench, towel over his head. “Exactly, Iwa-chan! That’s why it’s fun. Everyone else just giggles and agrees with whatever I say. She actually pushes back. It’s refreshing!”
Matsukawa and Hanamaki, lounging nearby, exchanged knowing looks.
“She’s got you figured out,” Hanamaki teased. “That’s why you can’t stop thinking about her.”
“I am not thinking about her,” Oikawa protested, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. “I’m simply… engaging in healthy competition. Intellectual stimulation.”
Iwaizumi threw a water bottle at his head. “Just don’t let it affect your playing, dumbass.”
You tried to stay above the growing frenzy.
Your editor was thrilled with the increased engagement. Your mentions were flooded. But you kept your approach the same: professional, sharp, and uninterested in Oikawa’s charm offensive.
During a mid-week practice you attended for a feature story, Oikawa made sure to pass by your spot on the bleachers multiple times.
“Taking notes on my perfect form again?” he called out during a break, wiping sweat from his brow while striking a pose. “Feel free to stare as much as you want!”
Iwaizumi groaned loudly from the court. “Focus, Shittykawa!”
You looked up from your notebook, unfazed. “Your form is good, but your footwork on that last approach could be cleaner if you want more power on the serve.”
Oikawa’s eyes widened in mock betrayal. “Even my technique gets criticized? You really are heartless!”
But later, when no one was watching, he adjusted his footwork exactly as you had suggested during the next drill.
The dynamic was becoming a strange kind of battle: him trying every flirtatious tactic in his arsenal, you remaining calm, professional, and slightly amused by his efforts.
And underneath it all, something quieter was starting to form.
Because every time you refused to accept his polished answers, Oikawa found himself giving slightly more honest ones. Not fully. Not yet.
But the mask was beginning to slip and he wasn’t sure how he felt about you seeing what was underneath.
The online buzz had reached a fever pitch.
Every sports forum, campus group chat, and volleyball Twitter account was talking about the growing “Oikawa-Reporter” saga. Edits, memes, and slow-motion clips of your interviews dominated timelines. Some fans shipped it enthusiastically. Others accused you of bias or chasing clout. A few jealous comments questioned whether you were “distracting” Aoba Johsai’s star player.
The pressure was starting to feel heavy.
You caught the first real crack one evening after an optional evening practice.
Most of the team had already left. The gym lights were dimmed to half, casting long shadows across the court. You had stayed behind to finish writing notes on a separate piece about the team’s defensive rotations when you noticed movement on the far side of the court.
Oikawa was alone.
No bright smile. No theatrical flair. Just him, quietly tossing a ball to himself and setting it against the wall with focused, almost frustrated precision. His usual playful energy was gone. In its place was a quieter, more intense version. With his shoulders tight, brow furrowed, like the weight of being “Oikawa Tooru” had momentarily slipped off.
You hesitated, then approached the edge of the court.
He noticed you immediately. For a second, he looked almost startled, like you had caught him doing something forbidden.
“No cameras tonight?” he asked, voice lighter than his expression. He caught the ball and spun it on his finger, trying to slip back into his charming mask.
You shook your head. “Off the record. You don’t have to perform right now.”
Oikawa let out a soft chuckle, but it sounded hollow. “Everyone wants the performance. That’s what they come for.”
You leaned against the padded wall. “You don’t act like that when the cameras are off. Not completely.”
He was quiet for a long moment, dribbling the ball lightly between his hands. When he finally spoke, his tone was more guarded than usual. “That’s because you’re not filming me right now. No audience means no need for the show, right?”
You studied him carefully. “Do you ever get tired of it? The constant act?”
Oikawa’s smile returned, but it was smaller. “It’s what I’m good at. People like the charming captain. They don’t want to see the version that overthinks every set or gets frustrated when things aren’t perfect.”
It was the most honest thing he had ever said to you.
Before you could respond, he bounced the ball once and flashed a brighter grin. “But enough about that. Are you finally admitting you’ve been watching me that closely?”
You sighed, the moment slipping away as he rebuilt his walls. “Goodnight, Oikawa.”
The rumors escalated quickly after that.
Articles started appearing with headlines like “Is Oikawa Distracted by Romance?” and “Reporter’s Tough Questions Affecting Aoba Johsai’s Star Setter?” Someone leaked old clips and twisted them to suggest bias. Your credibility was questioned in comment sections. Even your editor pulled you aside and suggested you “dial back the intensity” with Oikawa for a few games to let things cool off.
So you pulled back.
In the next two matches, you kept your interviews shorter, more neutral, and less probing. You let other reporters take the lead. Your questions for Oikawa became standard and safe.
He noticed immediately.
His on-court performance stayed strong because he was too talented for it to slip noticeably, but something was off. His post-game smiles looked more forced. During one interview with another reporter, his answers were charming but hollow. His eyes kept drifting toward where you usually stood.
In private, he avoided you.
If you were near the gym after practice, he would suddenly remember something urgent he needed to do. No more playful flirting when passing by. No more dramatic declarations. Just polite distance and that polished, empty smile.
Iwaizumi cornered you one afternoon outside the athletics building, looking irritated.
“He’s being even more annoying than usual,” Iwaizumi grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Won’t shut up about you during practice but then avoids you like the plague. Whatever you did… it’s messing with his head.”
You frowned. “I’m trying to protect my job. The rumors are getting bad.”
Iwaizumi sighed. “Yeah, well… he’s not good at handling people seeing through him. Give him time. Or don’t. Either way, he’s sulking like a loser.”
The tension finally boiled over during a standard press conference after a mid-season win.
You were assigned to ask a question. The room was full. Cameras everywhere. You kept it professional but couldn’t resist digging just a little.
“Are you playing to win,” you asked clearly, “or to maintain your image as the perfect star?”
The room went dead silent.
Oikawa’s smile froze. For a moment, something sharp flashed in his eyes. Posture was controlled, but real irritation broke through the charm.
“Is there a difference?” he answered, voice still smooth but edged with something colder than usual.
The fallout was immediate.
Media outlets exploded with takes about Oikawa’s “attitude problem” and your “provocative questioning.” Social media was split between defending him and praising you for “finally exposing him.” Your professionalism was questioned again. His perfect reputation took a small but noticeable hit.
That night, Oikawa finally confronted you.
He found you packing up near the team bus after everyone else had left. No audience. No cameras. Just the two of you under the parking lot lights.
“Why do you always push?” he asked, voice lower and more serious than you had ever heard it. “Why can’t you just let me be… me?”
You turned to face him. “Because that’s not really you. You’re performing all the time. And I’m tired of interviewing a character instead of the actual player.”
Oikawa stepped closer, frustration clear on his face. “I am answering you.”
“No,” you said quietly but firmly. “You’re performing. There’s a difference.”
The words landed hard.
Oikawa stared at you for a long moment. The usual charm was gone. In its place was something raw and vulnerable. There was a crack in the armor much wider than before.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the Great King had no quick comeback.
The silence between you felt heavier than any spotlight ever had.
The tension had been building for days, and it finally snapped during a major press conference before an important inter-university match.
The room was packed. National sports outlets had sent representatives. Cameras lined the back wall. Coaches from both teams sat at the long table alongside key players. Oikawa was in full media mode. He was smiling, waving, and answering questions with his trademark wit and charm. But anyone paying close attention could see the tightness around his eyes.
You were assigned a question slot near the end.
When your turn came, the room quieted expectantly. Everyone knew the history between you two by now.
You kept your voice professional but direct. “Oikawa, there’s been discussion lately about your playing style. Are you playing to win the match, or are you playing to maintain your image as the flawless, charismatic star setter?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Oikawa’s smile stayed fixed for a second too long. Then something in his expression shifted. The charm cracked, revealing the sharp edge underneath.
“Is there a difference?” he replied, his tone still controlled but noticeably sharper than usual. “People expect a certain standard. I give them what they want. If that helps the team win, then everyone benefits. Isn’t that what matters?”
The room erupted into murmurs. Cameras flashed rapidly. Reporters scribbled notes furiously. You held his gaze steadily, refusing to back down.
A follow-up question from another reporter tried to smooth things over, but the damage was done. Oikawa’s answer that was overall defensive, and slightly bitter was already being clipped and shared.
The fallout was swift and ugly.
Headlines the next day read:
“Oikawa Tooru Snaps at Reporter: ‘Is There a Difference?’”
“Charisma Cracking? Aoba Johsai Star Shows Frustration”
“Reporter Crosses Line with Provocative Questions”
Your inbox flooded with messages. There were some supportive, many critical. Your editor warned you to be more careful. Comments under every post questioned your professionalism, while others accused Oikawa of being arrogant and fragile. The perfect golden boy image he had spent years building had taken a visible hit.
For the first time, Oikawa looked genuinely rattled in public appearances. His smiles were a little too bright, his jokes a little too forced.
Two nights later, he found you.
It was late. The gym was almost empty after a recovery practice. You were reviewing footage on your laptop in the small press room adjacent to the court when the door opened.
Oikawa stepped inside, still in practice clothes, hair damp. No smile. No theatrical entrance. Just him, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“Why do you always push?” he asked without preamble. His voice was quieter than usual, but laced with frustration. “Every single time. Other reporters let me give them what they want. Why can’t you do the same?”
You closed your laptop and turned to face him fully. “Because those answers aren’t real, Oikawa. You give people the version of you that looks good on camera. The charming, untouchable star. But that’s not all you are.”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You think you know me so well after a few interviews?”
“I know you’re performing all the time,” you said calmly. “Even right now. You’re scared of letting people see anything less than perfect.”
Oikawa’s jaw tightened. He took a step closer, eyes intense. “You have no idea what it’s like. Everyone expects me to be ‘Oikawa Tooru’ the genius setter, the pretty boy, the one who never fails. If I show weakness for even one second, they tear it apart. So yes, I perform. It’s easier that way.”
The raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard.
You softened your tone slightly. “It might be easier, but it’s also lonely. And it’s not fair to you… or to the people who want to see the real version.”
He stared at you for a long moment. The usual walls were down. What remained was someone tired of carrying the weight of his own image.
“You’re annoying,” he muttered finally, but there was no real bite in it. “You’re really, really annoying.”
A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “I know.”
Oikawa ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. For the first time, he looked at you without any performance. Just tired eyes and quiet vulnerability.
“But you’re also right,” he admitted softly. “And I hate that.”
The air between you felt different now. Charged. Heavier. The flirtatious game had shifted into something more real, more dangerous.
Neither of you knew what to do with it yet.
Oikawa turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Next game… don’t hold back on the questions. I can take it.”
Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his words and the unsettling realization that you were starting to care about what lay behind the mask.
The loss tasted bitter.
Aoba Johsai had controlled the first few sets with their usual dominance, but their opponents mounted a fierce comeback. Miscommunications on the court, a few mistimed sets, and one crucial service error had cost them the match. The final whistle brought a heavy silence over the arena that usually roared with cheers for Oikawa Tooru.
In the locker room, the mood was subdued. Iwaizumi gave a quiet pep talk, but even he looked drained. Oikawa sat in the corner, towel over his head, saying very little. For once, he didn’t try to lift the team’s spirits with jokes or bright promises. He simply stared at the floor, replaying every mistake in his mind.
You had stayed behind long after most media personnel had packed up and left. Something told you not to rush out tonight.
The main gymnasium was nearly deserted. Only the emergency lights and a few overhead lamps remained on, casting a soft, golden hue across the polished wooden court. The air still carried the faint scent of sweat, rubber, and polished floor wax. You walked slowly along the sidelines, notebook tucked under your arm, when you spotted him.
Oikawa sat alone on the far bench, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together tightly. His usual perfect posture was gone. He looked smaller somehow. With his shoulders curved inward, hair disheveled from running his hands through it repeatedly. The larger-than-life star setter had disappeared, leaving behind a young man carrying the weight of expectations on his back.
You approached quietly, your footsteps echoing softly in the empty space. He didn’t look up right away.
You chose not to sit too close. Instead, you settled on the same bench but left a respectful distance between you. No microphone. No recorder. No notepad in hand.
“That one actually hurt, didn’t it?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper.
Oikawa let out a long, shaky breath. A bitter, tired chuckle followed. “Hurt is an understatement.” He finally lifted his head, eyes meeting yours. They looked exhausted. “I kept seeing the plays over and over in my head. That last set… I hesitated again. Just like you called me out on before. I knew what I should do, but I second-guessed myself.”
He stared out at the empty court, the net still up, the lines still marked from the battle that had taken place hours earlier.
“I hate losing,” he continued, voice rough around the edges. “But what I hate even more is knowing that tomorrow, every article, every comment, every fan post is going to talk about how ‘Oikawa finally cracked under pressure.’ How the ‘charming genius’ isn’t as perfect as everyone thought.”
You listened without interrupting. For the first time since you’d started covering him, there was no performance. No dazzling smile. No flirtatious deflection. Just raw honesty.
“I built this image for a reason,” he admitted quietly. “The smiles, the teasing, the larger-than-life personality… It protects me. If people are too busy laughing at my jokes or blushing at my compliments, they don’t look too closely at the mistakes. They don’t see the nights I stay up practicing until my hands hurt or the pressure I put on myself to never be second best.”
He turned his head toward you, eyes searching your face. “But you… you never let me hide behind any of that. You always push. You always see it.”
The silence that followed felt intimate, almost sacred in the quiet gym.
“You don’t have to be perfect all the time,” you said softly. “Not with me.”
Oikawa’s expression softened in a way you had never seen before. No charm. No mask. Just vulnerability.
“You’re annoying, you know that?” he murmured, but there was a faint, genuine smile tugging at his lips now. It was small and tired, but real. “You’re the only person who refuses to accept the version of me I show everyone else. Every interview, every time I try to charm my way through an answer, you call me out. It’s infuriating… and kind of refreshing.”
He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to stop performing. It’s been so long that I’m not even sure where the act ends and I begin anymore.”
You shifted a little closer on the bench. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But you can start by not pretending with me.”
Oikawa turned to look at you again. The air between you felt charged with something new. Somehow it was deeper than the playful flirtation that had defined your earlier interactions. This was real. This was scary.
For a long moment, he simply studied your face, as if seeing you properly for the first time.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he whispered, almost to himself. Then, softer. “But maybe that’s exactly what I need.”
He stood up slowly and offered you his hand. When you took it, he helped you to your feet but didn’t let go immediately. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, sincerity ringing clear in his voice. “For sitting here with me instead of interviewing me. For seeing me… even when I’m not at my best.”
You squeezed his hand once before releasing it. “Anytime, Oikawa.”
As the two of you walked out of the quiet gymnasium together into the cool night air, the usual sparkle in his eyes was still dimmed by the loss. But something new had taken root there. The trust, vulnerability, and the first fragile threads of something that felt a lot like the beginning of real feelings.
The flirtatious game was slowly evolving.
And for the first time, Oikawa didn’t seem afraid of what might happen next.
The championship semi-final was the biggest game of the season so far.
The arena was completely sold out. National broadcasters had their best crews on site. Scouts from professional teams filled the VIP sections. The pressure was immense, and everyone knew it. Aoba Johsai faced their strongest rival yet. A team known for aggressive defense and psychological warfare.
Oikawa played like a man possessed.
His sets were sharper than ever, his serves devastating, his leadership loud and commanding. Yet beneath the brilliance, you could see the difference. He wasn’t just performing for the cameras anymore. There was real fire behind every move. The kind that came from someone who had finally started facing himself.
Aoba Johsai won in four hard-fought sets.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as the final point landed. Fireworks of confetti exploded from the ceiling. Teammates mobbed each other on the court. Iwaizumi slapped Oikawa on the back with a rare proud grin. But even in the celebration, Oikawa’s eyes searched the sidelines until they found you.
The media zone was absolute chaos. More cameras than usual, more reporters, more tension in the air. Everyone wanted a piece of the victory and everyone wanted to see what would happen between you and Oikawa.
He made his way through the mixed zone with his usual bright smile and victory waves, but when he reached you, something shifted. The charm was still there, but it felt layered with something deeper now.
You stepped forward, microphone steady despite your racing pulse.
“Oikawa,” you began, voice clear and professional, “who are you playing for today?”
The question was simple on the surface, but everyone in the press pen felt the weight behind it. This wasn’t a standard post-game question.
Oikawa looked directly at you. Not at the cameras, not at the audience, but at you. For a few seconds, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath.
Then he answered, voice steady but carrying real emotion:
“Someone who doesn’t let me lie.”
Silence.
Then absolute chaos.
Reporters murmured loudly. Cameras zoomed in aggressively. Whispers turned into excited chatter. The answer was vague enough for plausible deniability, but everyone who had been following your story knew exactly what, who, he meant.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks but kept your composure. “That’s not a standard answer.”
Oikawa’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. It was not the flashy one he gave fans, but something softer, more personal. “It’s the correct one.”
The press pen exploded with questions. Everyone tried to follow up at once. “Who is that someone?” “Is there something going on between you two?” “Care to elaborate?”
Oikawa simply laughed lightly, the sound warm and tired after the intense match. “That’s a story for another time.”
But his eyes never left yours.
Later that night, after the celebrations had died down and most people had gone home, he found you again.
You were sitting on the steps outside the arena, reviewing some notes under the streetlights, when Oikawa appeared. He had changed into a simple hoodie and sweats, hair still slightly damp from the shower. No entourage. No fanfare. Just him.
He sat down beside you without asking, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched.
“You really asked that in front of everyone,” he said, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his voice.
“You answered in front of everyone,” you countered.
He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the night sky. “I’m tired of pretending all the time. After that loss last week… and then today…” He glanced at you. “You make me want to be better. Not just the version that looks good on camera.”
Your heart fluttered at the quiet admission.
Oikawa turned to face you more fully, his usual playfulness tempered by sincerity. “This is going to make everything more complicated for you, isn’t it? The rumors, the questions, your job…”
You nodded. “Probably. But I can handle it.”
He smiled with that soft, real smile again. “You always do.”
For a moment, the two of you simply sat together in comfortable silence, the distant sounds of the city humming around you.
Then Oikawa spoke again, voice lower. “I’ve spent years controlling how people see me. But with you… I don’t want to control it anymore. I want you to keep seeing the real me. Even the ugly parts.”
The confession hung between you, heavy with meaning.
You turned to him. “Then keep showing me.”
He looked at you for a long moment, something tender and warm flickering in his eyes. The flirtatious tension that once defined your relationship had transformed into something deeper and something real.
Oikawa gently bumped your shoulder with his. “You’re still annoying.”
You smiled. “And you’re still dramatic.”
“Perfect match then,” he teased lightly.
The night air felt lighter as you sat together, the chaos of the championship semi-final fading into the background. The line between public and personal had blurred tonight.
And neither of you wanted to go back.
The weeks following the semi-final were a beautiful kind of chaos.
The rumors exploded again, but this time the tone had shifted. Instead of pure scandal, there was genuine curiosity and excitement. Clips of Oikawa’s “Someone who doesn’t let me lie” answer circulated endlessly. Fan edits became more romantic. Even some analysts began commenting on how Oikawa seemed more focused on the court lately.
You and Oikawa found a new rhythm.
Publicly, you remained professional during interviews. Your questions stayed sharp and insightful. He still answered with charm and wit, but there was a new layer of honesty beneath the performance. The flirtation didn’t disappear, it simply evolved.
Privately, things felt warmer. Real.
One quiet afternoon after practice, you were sitting together on the bleachers overlooking the empty court. Oikawa had his head resting against your shoulder, eyes half-closed in exhaustion after a long training session. Iwaizumi had already left, muttering something about “finally shutting up about her” as he walked away.
“You’re going to make my job harder,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair.
Oikawa hummed contentedly. “You already make mine harder.” He tilted his head to look up at you with a playful grin. “Seems fair, don’t you think?”
You laughed. “Fair? You’re the one who decided to confess on live television.”
“Technically, I was very vague and mysterious,” he protested dramatically. “You’re the one who keeps looking at me like you can see through my soul. That’s way more dangerous.”
The easy banter felt natural now. Though it was still teasing and sharp, but wrapped in real affection.
He sat up properly and turned to face you, expression growing more sincere. “I used to think being seen meant being exposed. Like any crack in the armor would destroy everything I built. But with you…” He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t mind being seen. It’s actually kind of nice.”
Your chest felt warm. “You’re getting dangerously good at real answers.”
Oikawa’s smile turned soft. “Only for you.”
He leaned in closer, voice dropping. “You never fell for the charming, perfect Oikawa Tooru. You saw through all of it. At first I thought that was annoying. Now I think it’s the reason I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He paused, eyes searching yours.
“I want you to stay,” he said simply. “Not as my reporter. Not as my challenge. As you. With me.”
It wasn’t the most flowery confession in the world, but it was pure Oikawa.
You smiled, leaning your forehead against his. “I’m staying.”
The final home game of the season brought everything full circle.
The media zone was buzzing as usual. When Oikawa stepped up for his post-game interview, the air crackled with anticipation. You stepped forward, microphone in hand, trying to maintain your professional expression despite the warmth in your chest.
“Any final thoughts for the season?” you asked.
Oikawa grinned, the familiar playful sparkle back in his eyes. “Do you want the real answer or the one that sounds good for the cameras?”
The press pen chuckled. Everyone knew the history.
You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Try the real one.”
He looked straight at you, ignoring everyone else for a moment.
“I usually do now,” he said softly, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
The answer was simple. But the way he said it, the quiet intimacy behind it, made the entire zone react. Whispers, camera flashes, and happy murmurs filled the space.
You couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your composure. “Good answer, Oikawa.”
He winked at you, the charm returning but now mixed with something deeper. “Only the best for my favorite reporter.”
As the interview wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, Iwaizumi walked past and shook his head with a fond, exasperated sigh.
“You two are disgusting,” he muttered, though there was a small smile on his face.
Oikawa laughed brightly and slung an arm around your shoulders once the cameras were mostly gone. “Jealous, Iwa-chan?”
“Shut up.”
Later that night, as the two of you walked across campus under the streetlights, Oikawa’s hand brushed against yours before intertwining your fingers.
The relationship wasn’t perfect. It was still full of teasing, sharp questions, and dramatic flair. But underneath all of it was something solid with the quiet joy of being truly seen.
Oikawa squeezed your hand. “Still annoying?”
You squeezed back. “Always.”
“Perfect,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Karasu Tabito spills the beans that he has a girlfriend! a.k.a. you! ★ ﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚
You could consider yourself the happiest girl in the world right now. You were snug in bed, your belly full of all the exquisite cuisine Shibuya had to offer, and most importantly… you had your boyfriend (mostly) all to yourself for two weeks after not having seen him since he vanished past the gates of Blue Lock.
Said boyfriend currently had his face shoved directly into your stomach, snoring away like a dead man. You would have let him sleep, but the sudden, aggressive pinging of your phone—and the absurdity of the reason why—made you change your mind.
“Tabito,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.
“…”
“Baby,” you whined, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge.
“Yeah, babe,” he groaned, shuffling his face upward and burying it right into your chest, making you giggle at the ticklish friction of his ridiculous, spiky hair.
“Do you know an account named… ‘nowyouseeme_otoya’?” You pursed your lips, staring down at your screen. “I recognize him from the U-20 game. The one you were talking to on the field. He keeps sliding into my DMs.”
Karasu lazily shifted, shoving his face deeper into your cleavage as he tried to take a sleepy peek at your phone.
“Agh… wait, lemme look,” he grumbled, twisting and turning against your chest to get a better line of sight on the screen. He only stopped when you playfully pinched his cheeks to hold him still.
“What’s he texting you? I’m meeting up with the gang tomorrow, so I’ll beat him up for you.” He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the harsh light of the screen as you navigated to your requests.
“Here, look.” You dimmed the brightness so it wouldn’t blind him and began gently scratching his scalp with your left hand.
“Mmm… love when you do that,” he moaned, melting into your touch for a brief second before snapping back to reality.
“Hey, focus.”
“Yes ma’am. Jeez god forbid a guy misses his girl.”
You kissed the top of his head in response.
“‘Are you a defender? Because I’ve been trying to get past your security all day. 😎’” Karasu read aloud, letting out a physical groan at the secondhand embarrassment. “I need to get that dude some help, this has to be some sort of humiliation ritual I don’t know about.”
You laughed, scrolling down. “Wait, there’s more. He sent me this the other night.”
“God, do I even wanna see it?”
“Yeah, you do.”
You flashed the phone closer to his face.
“‘Hey, quick question. Do you think this green hair goes better with the home kit or my new Travis Scotts? Need an expert opinion. Hairs natural btw.’” If Karasu could throw up from cringe right now, he absolutely would have.
“Babe, you gotta block the guy. I know he’s my homeboy, but shit, this is bad.” He winced, aggressively grabbing the sides of your phone to press the buttons. “Screenshot that. Send it to me right now. I’m putting him on blast in the group chat. Yuki and Reo are gonna have a field day with this.”
“Should I really?” You sighed, tracing a line down his arm. “Isn’t he your friend? I don’t want to leave a bad impression.”
Karasu placed his hands on either side of your body, pushing himself up into a half-plank. He looked down at you, his eyes softening as he littered your chest with warm, lazy kisses, slowly migrating his way up your neck toward your lips.
“C’mon, he’s not gonna think that. He probably saw your post about the match and wanted to see if he could get his foot in the door. I literally told him my girl would be there to watch, but his single brain cell definitely didn’t believe me.”
“Let him know I’m happily taken tomorrow, yeah?”
“Course, baby. Now c’mere… it's been too long since I had you like this.”
—
The next afternoon, amidst the flashing lights and deafening noise of a busy Shibuya arcade, the group finally managed to locate Nagi, who was half-asleep but still managed to find the arcade before them. With the mission a success, they decided to stay and mess around.
“Yo, Eita,” Karasu pestered, hovering right over Otoya’s shoulder. “You’ve been sliding in my girl’s DMs. You know that, right?”
Otoya didn’t even flinch. He just shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes glued to the claw machine currently gripping a plushie man with a football for a head.
“Check out my ‘flow’,” Otoya said with deadpan seriousness.
Right on cue, Bachira and Aoishi pressed their faces obnoxiously against the glass, their breath fogging up the view.
“You got this!” they both cheered, their voices muffled by the machine.
“STOP SHAKING THE GLASS, YOU MORONS!” Karasu berated them, grabbing them by their collars to pull them back.
The claw shook violently from the impact, dropping the football-headed plushie right before the prize chute.
"Ah," Otoya deadpanned, staring blankly at the glass. "My flow was disrupted by the negative aura of a single man. Cruel."
"Your 'flow' was already dead, you clown!" Karasu snapped, crossing his arms and towering over him. "Did you hear a word I just said? Stop dodging the question. You've been sending my girl your garbage pick up lines."
The arcade went dead silent for a solid few seconds before Chigiri paused his game of Punish Nagi: Darts Edition, turning around slowly. "Wait. Back up. Your what?"
"My girl," Karasu repeated, raising an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Karasu has a girlfriend?!" Isagi blinked, clearly bewildered, looking between Karasu and Otoya as if expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out. "Like... a real one? An actual human girl who willingly spends time with him?"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean, Isagi?!"
Reo immediately scoffed, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "I can’t believe it. You didn’t even say a single word? Definitely not BON."
"Extremely stingy," Yukimiya chimed in, adjusting his glasses with a disappointed shake of his head. "A gentleman shares these milestones with his compatriots. Keeping her a secret? That’s low awareness, Karasu."
"Nagi, look," Bachira grinned, shaking Nagi’s shoulder aggressively. "The crow found a sparkling object and kept it all to himself!"
Nagi, who was currently leaning his entire body weight against a Taiko no Tatsujin drum machine, didn't even look up from his phone. "What a hassle... Is she going to feed him? If she feeds him, maybe he’ll stop yelling so much. Loud crow."
"I’m not stingy, you mediocre lot! I told Otoya at the U-20 match, but his half cell brain was too busy thinking about chicks to process it!" Karasu pointed an accusing finger at the green-haired boy.
Otoya finally turned around from the failed claw machine, a lazy, mischievous smirk spreading across his face. He pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. "Oh, wait. That girl who posted the stadium vlog? The one who finally viewed my story last night?"
Otoya tapped a few times, then held his screen up, turning it around for the entire group to see. It was your Instagram profile.
"Hold on, let me see," Chigiri muttered, stepping closer. The moment his eyes scanned your feed, his jaw dropped slightly. "Wait... she’s actually really pretty. Karasu, how did you do it?"
“I just do princess.” Karasu scoffed.
"Let me look!" Bachira shoved his face right next to Chigiri's, his eyes going wide. "Whoa! She looks so fun! Look at her smile! Karasu, she looks way too happy for a gloomy bird like you!"
Reo leaned over Otoya’s shoulder, squinting at the screen, and honestly looked a little offended. "Okay, first of all, she’s clearly out of your league. Look at this picture of her at the cafe."
"She’s really pretty..." Isagi murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, genuinely impressed. "And she was actually at the U-20 game supporting you? Man... that’s awesome."
Otoya sighed heavily, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I know, right? I hit her up with my best lines. Basically an act of public service. I was brightening her day."
“You didn’t brighten up anything.” Karasu spat back.
The entire group was officially glazing you, nodding in collective agreement that you were too good for the sharp-tongued analyst standing before them.
Karasu stood there, letting them finish their little symphony of compliments. He didn't even look mad. In fact, a slow, and smug, shit-eating grin spread across his face. He hooked his thumbs into his pockets, leaning back and looking down his nose at all of them.
"Are ya done?" Karasu smirked, his Kansai dialect dripping with arrogance. "Finished admiring? Because honestly, all I'm hearing is a bunch of mediocre, single talentless hacks crying from the bench."
"What did you say?!" Reo snapped.
"You heard me," Karasu chuckled, practically vibrating with pride. "You lot can call me stingy all you want, but the reality is just that my taste is as elite off the pitch as my scanning is on it. Of course she's cute. She's my girl.”
He stepped up right into Otoya's space, flicking the boy's green fringe. "And as for you, 'Ninja Boy'—stop using your Gemini AI on a girl who sees a real man every single night. It’s getting tragic."
“Man, guys always switch up after getting cuffed.” Otoya huffed, pushing Karasu away.
"How trashy." Nagi mumbled from the floor, finally looking up.
"Incredibly trashy!" Isagi agreed, though he was still half-smiling.
"A true villain," Bachira laughed, jumping onto Karasu’s back and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Introduce us, Karasu!"
"Get off me!" Karasu swatted at him, though the smug grin never left his face. "No way in hell am I letting you weirdos anywhere near her. Come on, we're leaving. I've gotta text my girl and tell her that Otoya’s officially a nationwide laughingstock."
you and oliver are on a date. what could possibly go wrong? nothing, actually. at least in your books!
oliver x player! gn! reader
word count: 1.1k
warnings: author’s first posted fic; hardly beta read; author hasn’t read an actual oliver fanfic in literal years; oliver’s a playboy and you’re a player; almost certainly ooc
you never thought you’d see someone that appeared as… mature as oliver jump out of his seat like you told him you won the lottery and he’s getting a cut. he stared at you wide-eyed for a moment and covered his hand with his mouth.
you’re just grateful the two of you decided karaoke was the best place for a date so there’s a modicum of privacy. the date hadn’t even gone far at all. he was supposed to go first, but his song was playing futility in the background as he started to almost double over in laughter. he even started to pace around the room
‘is this guy fucking crazy?’ you briefly wonder. all you did was clarify what you wanted out of the relationship. something casual, no strings attached. non-exclusive so you’re both allowed to see other people despite dating a bit. he was fine with that.
in fact, oliver was so fine with it he damn near shed a tear before pulling you by the waist towards him and giving you a chaste kiss. oliver grinned, smiling into your mouth before breaking the kiss. “then we’re perfect for each other, sweetheart.” he had said.
no, what got mr. chucklefuck going was what you said next. you had put your hands on his shoulders, leaning back slightly so you could see oliver’s face properly before speaking, “you’re some kind of professional football player, right?”
oliver gave you a sly grin and held you firmer in his toned arms. “‘ya got that right.” he looked you over again, chuckling before asking, “why? does athletic guys getting sweaty on a pitch do it for you?” damn right it does, but that’s not why you’re asking.
apparently you have a clear type and it’s solely comprised of football players, and you’ve been with enough that you knew it was better if word about you didn’t get out. it’d be a nightmare if some of them found out they were going out with the same person…
so, bashfully, you mutter, “i mean… kinda, but honestly i’m asking because i want you to keep us on the down-low. you’re not the only football guy im dating…” now, you’re proud of your ability to score hot guys, but it’s a bit embarrassing to admit it aloud, so you whisper the last bit, “by a long shot.”
unfortunately for you, oliver heard everything. he’s still confident, raising an eyebrow and smirking like he knows your entire deal. “i see, i see, so how many are you dating? two or three? don’t worry, baby, i won’t tell.” he gently held your chin to guide your wandering eyes back to him.
you pouted at him a bit before racking your brain for a headcount of how many players you’ve bagged. apparently the way your eyebrows furrowed was cute enough for him to kiss your forehead. “it’s really okay, baby, i’m not upset.”
well, good—not that you cared, if he did get upset you wouldve just got up and left. you wave him off, “no, it’s not that, i just… kinda don’t know how many?” well, that caught his attention. what do you mean you don’t know?
“no, wait, this is serious…” you mutter, before fucking finger counting. “there’s hugo, reo, sei, mihya, lexi, sae, bunny, ichi, rinnie…” you’re at nine fingers now and oliver’s jaw has fully dropped. he pulled away from you, now carding his fingers through his hair in what seems like shock.
that’s how you got here, staring at this buffoon laughing and pacing in the damn karaoke room. it was almost scary. then, suddenly, he snapped to his senses and whipped towards you while pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“band for band!” he showed you his phone, practically shoving it in your hands. “let’s see who has the most huzz.” you have half a mind to slap the shit out of him…. but when else are you going to be able to go band for band with a guy like him? so you say ‘fuck it’ and give him yours so you could see who has the most huzz between the two of you
.
.
.
oliver won by a small margin. he’s talking to exactly three more people than you. whatever. it’s not like you cared… you’re totally going to beat him by next week… oliver is patting his own damn back right now, saying something along the line of how he ‘knew he hadn’t lost his touch.’
you aren’t going down easily though. you give him a shit-eating grin like you’re the won who won this dick measuring contest. “sure, you’ve got more huzz than me… but do they all know each other like mine do? are any of them best friends, enemies, on the same team, or…” you drew this out, like you sensed it was the killing blow, “brothers?”
he silently stood up, looking despondently out of a window that wasn’t there. you could swear wind was blowing against him and the world suddenly went grayscale. you did it. he may have won the battle but you’ve won the war.
because, no, oliver aiku wasn’t crazy enough to simultaneously date multiple egotistical maniacs who knew or were related to each other in some way; he wasn’t even slick enough to make sure his huzz didn’t know who each other were.
oliver’s finally turned to look at you after spending a minute brooding. the wind you swear is there has picked up and leaves are somehow being blown in the background. there are shadows over his eyes.
his voice was low and his tone was serious, “teach me your ways.” he whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he asked, “there is much for me to learn…” you simply nodded, understanding how desperate of a plea it was.
the two of you spent the rest of your date comparing notes on how to ‘best get the huzz.’ at one point oliver clapped the back of your shoulder and hugged you to his chest like you were family. you hugged him with the same intensity “you, y/n, are a brother… you’re invited to the group chat.”
“this… this is a group chat only the best of players can enter.” he was serious still, pulling away from the pact-like hug to enter your number into the gc. “wait!” you held his wrist to stop him. there was a flicker of betrayal in his eyes at the thought of you not wanting access to his elite-tier player gc.
your face was serious and your body was breaking into a cold sweat. “let me look through the numbers in the gc first. i can’t have them knowing about each other prematurely.” oliver could’ve sworn he fell in love.
tags: gn reader, fluff, whipped Hugo, mutual pining, idiots in love, reader and Hugo are both undercover freaks, yearning, reaaaally awkward and cringe, suggestive at the end! not proofread
Author's notes: wanted to write for toooooo long guys I'm drooling over this man. gulp... we love nerd Hugo
“It’s a script of our destinies. I’m just writing what we’re meant to be.”
“Sooo... a fanfic?”
“Yes.”
Hugo’s eyes were burning, already reddish from staring on the bright screen of his laptop; back was hunched in such a concerning curve; knuckles cracking for the nth time in the evening.
And now his gaze pierced holes in the document, thinking how to go from one scene to another.
“I’m stuck,” he admitted in defeat before slumping on the couch.
“You should take a break,” Loki looked at his friend with concern, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, or you’ll get the ao3 curse!” Charles chimed in with a giggle.
“I won’t post it on ao3–– wait, how do you know about ao3?!”
It was supposed to be a chill evening, hanging out at Vivien’s, had it not been Vivien himself turning everyone in his business (they should've known better than interrogate him in the first place).
He was... an interesting case. Being able to go on long rants about his “one and only” but refusing to do straight action, he made sure to annoy his friends enough. How could one be so straightforward about someone’s fate, yet fear to follow own?
But he was so brave in his writing...
Hugo was rushing through busy streets of Paris; hurried steps clicked against the pavement. Just another day, that seemed to prepare nothing for him. He simply basked in the beauty of this world: fresh air, rustling leaves, people that made this view so bright. Albeit he was in a hurry––how could one not be at least a bit distracted by this harmony? This absentminded atmosphere had to stop once he met a force making him stumble.
He stumbled across y/n, who was unfortunately swept off their feet, landing on the ground and scattering their pile of stuff.
“Pardon,” Vivien muttered before crouching to help them. Their hands accidentally touched which made him lift his gaze, now mesmerised by their beauty. Golden rays of sunlight cascaded an elegant shadow on their skin. Glint in the eyes tantalizing him. The same clumsy rush in their movements. Oh, they were so lovely.
“You read too much shojo manga,” Loki said and was met with glare. “By the way, did you gift y/n these matching keychains we got you from Japan?”
Silence.
“I don’t think they even know what fanfiction is,” Hugo confessed almost shyly.
“Are they basic?” Charles gasped histrionically.
The rest of the evening was spent unsuccessfully stalking your social media to find at least something remotely tied to fandoms.
Love’s a strange thing. One could stay in his room, totally lovestruck and inspired, savouring the fruits of sympathy that seemed like had no bounds. Another could go insane while sharing the same feelings.
“Hugo surely hates me!” you fell face down on the bed with a loud thud, burying your face in the pillow with exasperated groan.
Your friend choked on their drink.
“W-what made you think like that?!”
“He barely pays attention to me! Like, he’s constantly in his books or that damn laptop! And when he finally spares me a glance, he looks like–– I can’t explain it! You just must be there! Like I didn’t even do anything for him to start beating this keyboard!!!”
Your friend patted your back sympathetically, desperately trying to come up with something and stifling a giggle.
“You don’t get it.” You got sour. “We don’t even fit each other... he looks so fancy, serious, and smart, and I’m just...” you glanced at the opened ao3 page on your computer before blurting out, “you know.”
Vivien’s main curse as a writer was miscommunication trope.
The sea shore mirthful as e’er flicked and changed its shape under the playful flow of waves rushing and pulling away, so inconsistent in its nature. Y/n stood out of the horizon as a lone pawn of destiny, only the strands of their hair weaved in the breeze. What were they supposed to do? Where would this road lead them?
Hugo was almost kicking his feet under the desk, the image of you made him feel all giddy inside, like you were here with him. Though, you lingered near him, chatting with his teammates, which made him steal some glances from time to time, sighing melancholically. Yeah, he promised to actually make a move, but—
You looked back at him! What should he do?!
He immediately closed the cursed tab, made his trademark nonchalant expression even if all his thoughts squealed.
You glanced at his monitor and immediately turned away, before long you excused yourself and went away.
“Strange...” Vivien came back to the matter of the heart only to see the bright text on the search page.
How to deal with stab wounds
His research for shuake fic…
“Fuck...”
Needless to say, you almost shat your pants.
“If there’s a screen, ao3 will be seen.”
“Hugo, for the love of God, don’t encourage this behaviour”
A self-ordering kiosk in the crowded cafe was now showing a randomly opened fanfic, all thanks to Chevalier’s restless hands (as long as he promised to change it back). It was so unserious, even Loki couldn't stay serious and scold him (which is why he decided to go to the employee and order like a normal person).
So, these two stayed alone.
“Look, Hugo, it’s one of your fics!” Charles tapped at the name of the work, glanced behind and blurted out, “Y/n is coming!!”
“Where??” Vivien turned back and noticed your silhouette emerging at the entrance. “Charles–– wait”
Yet Charles disappeared out of the vicinity of the kiosk. The same kiosk you seemed to approach.
Hugo looked around in panic––there was a free kiosk in the right! He swiftly stepped aside, put a serious facade, and acted like nothing happened.
You walked over to the kiosk completely oblivious before you realised that there wasn’t familiar menu.
“I didn’t know it was updated,” you muttered to yourself about the updated menu chapter index! Though, you had to take an order, so you skimmed over the other free terminals... and there all were busy, including the one in the right. “Oh, hi, Hugo”
“Y/n,” he greeted you, and then had the nerve to use his acting skills and ask in such sincere confusion at the sight he was impartially guilty of, “do you need help?”
Help with fanfiction or order, you wanted to ask but prevented yourself from making such a joke because you believed his act––what would he think of you if he found out you’re into this? So, you wore the same mask of bewilderment and said,
“My terminal is malfunctioning...” you turned to the kiosk and mumbled “to yourself” something like, “What is this...” while hiding the fact that you were eagerly rereading the updatedtags.
So, as a proper gentleman, Hugo stepped in.
Right behind you, dangerously close, almost breathing in your neck, enveloping you in his warmth as he reached for the screen; though, what was really malfunctioning was your hammeringheart.
It was so intimate.
You’d love to pretend a little longer, pretend that you weren't interested in this, pretend that it's okay to stand that close, roleplay this quiet love.
Oh, how Vivien wanted to…
Lean on the terminal in front of him, slide another arm around their waist till there's no inch of not feeling each other, of not drowning in each other. Don’t resist this urge to nuzzle in their hair, inhaling guiding odour like memorising it. Startle and fluster––do everything but let them be his. And then have the nerve to, if not devour the ear shell in such sensual proximity, whisper teasingly, “Up to a little reading session, mon chou?”
But he wasn't suave enough. Plus, he was in public.
In fact, his fingers, now sweaty and clumsy, accidentally slipped.
1-20 of 284,714 Works in Mutual Pining. How ironic.
“Oops.”
Mistake was felt like it electrocuted him.
Hugo grew to abhor himself in record time.
And your shy lack of commentary didn’t help much, in fact, it made him antsy and certain that you were “the normal one.”
To be fair, you didn't even want to question if he knew what he was doing. As long as it lasted.
As long as he acted so confident about something he didn’t even give a clue.
“The case is much harder than I thought.” He bluntly gave up under his smart facade. “Let's just call staff”
Why did he step in then??? Not that you didn’t like that––
“Oh, okay...”
You reluctantly parted, trying to shake off the dusty fluster of your faces but keeping zoning out to replay whatever happened in your heads, until employee’s irritated voice returned you back to reality.
“You think it's very funny to do for the nth time?”
Now it was embarrassing to stay in the cafe (and in each other’s presence, too, thinking, “I’m too weird for them!”)
You lost all hope. This whole crush thing didn't progress even a little, to be honest, Hugo only distanced himself from you. Not that you resisted this: moreover, you understood all the “signs” and tried not to bother him.
Though, you couldn't try and not visit his practice under the excuse of meeting his teammates. Maybe it wasn't that bad, was it?
It couldn't have been worse!
Not only Vivien’s performance was worse than ever (due to his distraction sitting nearby and overruling his mind), when it ended and you were chatting with Julien, he could’ve only curtly greet you and hurry to the locker room.
Loki sighed at the sight of you watching his disappearing back (oblivious of his ears turning the same colour as his hair and of this mutual belief that you didn't like him), expression funny,akin to sad puppy’s, yet still disappointing. He had to do something.
The thought that only reinforced once he noticed his friend staring in his wallet with a mournful look.
“Is that—”
“Are you widowed?” Chevalier peeked over Hugo’s shoulder
Your photo. In his wallet.
Loki switched his gaze from the wallet to his friend sighing.
“Shhh… don't mind him he's a soldier who misses his wife.”
So now you weren't at the stands, or anywhere near the pitch, “doing work” on your laptop because ao3 was down for maintenance. And ignoring annoying messages.
Charles: HEEEYY
[missed call]
Charles: CMON ANSWER ME
Charles: y u so sour
Charles: is it hugo
You: no
Charles: yup its him
Charles: [sent 1 file] dont be sad
You: im not in the mood for your pranks rn
Charles: ITS NOT
Charles: just trust me
Curiosity took over you, and you clicked on the file attachment.
You: wtf is this
You: charles dont ignore me now
Anything was better than doing your work right now. Especially distracting yourself from your failure of a crush. And to be fair, you wouldn't find Chevalier’s work… so good?
Yes, it was unnecessarily dramatic at times and stupidly romantic. But it was so sincere, you doubted it was really written by him.
Especially when you got to the…
“Don’t you sense this, too? How everything in our life is put in order, so harmonic and beautiful. Birds are chirping and flying, blessing our ears; flowers bloom and wither; stars and other space objects follow their destined orbit, adorning our sky. Everything that follows such beauty forms our world.” Hugo reached out to hold their hands with reverence, “And I’ll be a fool if I don’t try and follow this flimsy but vivid feeling from above and from my ever-beating heart. I love you, and if I’m not fated to have your love, at least you’re fated and allowed to get every bit of me till there’s nothing left from the prodigy you’ve known.”
“I wish he loved me like that,” you almost sniffled.
As silly as it sounded, you were fully engrossed in reading this gem (to the point where you completely lost the flow of time) until you felt scorching breath on your neck, heavy hand on your shoulder, and notorious voice.
“What are you reading?”
Fuck.
Your heart hammered like crazy, cheeks started to heat up with shame. You slowly turned your head and unfortunately, your suspicions came true.
It was Vivien. With no sense of privacy.
You leapt out of the seat to face him and hide the embarrassingly bright monitor behind your back. However, maybe it wasn’t the best decision as you were practically trapped between Hugo and the table.
“I’m s-sorry! I-I swear it’s not mine!!” you started desperately apologising and excusing yourself, already making peace with the fact that you were doomed.
But he stayed unfazed. Not a muscle twitched, let alone his gaze didn’t yield nor looked away, which not only intensified your excuses and made you feel all tingly. Because he knew it wasn’tyou. But how could he admit that it was his?! So, he decided to do the safest choice.
“And who else could write that if not you?”
Turn the tables.
To be fair, there was something cute in the way you got nervous and flustered, all from his actions alone. It only spurred the urge to grab your cheeks, kiss you senseless––
“Charles! H-he sent me this!” your trembling figure attempted to turn around and reach for the mouse behind you before you were impeded: Hugo put his palms on the desk behind you, “accidentally” sliding his arms along the sides of your waist. Simply put, he successfully seized you.
It was kind of hot––you mean, how could he?! Your dignity and this whole crush thing were on stake!
“Charles? Have you seen the way he does his English homework?” He didn't relent.
In fact, he leaned dangerously closer, not twitching a muscle on his face, as if on purpose.
“He probably used chatgpt or something!” you blurted out, knees about to give up from this proximity. It was so humiliating. “I beg you, Vivien, please, believe me...”
You made peace with everything: he was about to laugh in your face, tell his teammates about it, or in the best case, find you weird and never talk again. But still, it hurt to realise that. Stupid Charles...
“Fine”
“S-seriously?!”
“But only if you answer me honestly,” he made a dramatic pause to keep you antsy and let the words set in. “Did you really like reading this?”
Pause.
There was no point in lying (not that you could), now that you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. He could already figure it out.
“Y-yes... I mean, it’s w-well written and––”
“Good.” He interrupted you, sliding his hand over yours gripping the table. “Because I wrote it.”
You were silent, trying to find an ounce of joke in his words. But when you found none... the truth settled in. Your crush... was writing fanfic about you and him?
“H-Hugo, you sick bastard!” You swatted him on the shoulder, sighing in relief yet still nervous in the aftermath. “I was about to cry that you’ll make fun of me for the rest of my life!”
It was cruel to play with your heart like that!
“Hey... I thought the same about writing it,” he confessed sheepishly, finger on your hand trailing light patterns.
“Really?” You looked up at him, and he blushed (not that you were any better, trembling and stuttering like that).
He nodded. “I didn’t know you were into... fanfiction in the first place.” He trailed off, “So, as my apology, I want you to add a little bit of touch to my work…”
And now was the time to pull his trick.
With newfound confidence, Vivien seized you by your waist until your bodies were pressed flush against each other, until you could feel every muscle of his wide frame. His other hand, once resting over yours, sensually and slowly trailed a path up your arm to cup your face with newfound confidence, making sure to leave shivers. All at his mercy, flustered, not knowing where to put your fidgety hands, and probably lightheaded—gladly, he’d hold and support you till you’re a numb sack, overflowing with feelings. He tilted your head, forced your gazes to meet, and whispered in your ear, voice dropping an octave,
“So tell me, please, are you submissive, mon chou?”
Better than any fanfic.
phew I'm tired and I have exam tomorrow in the early morning but now it's like middle of the night and I haven't even taken shower wish me luckkkkk
♯┆ enjin and you started fake dating to mess with some cleaners for a quick laugh but somewhere down the road the line between a fake relationship and a real relationship got blurry
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: a little teasing, some sprinkles of angst but a happy ending
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ notes: requested by a lovely anon
♡ comments and reblogs appreciated ♡
Enjin and you started the whole fake dating thing as a joke to mess a little with the other cleaners for no other reason than a few laughs on your end.
It all started on a Saturday afternoon in the common room when boredom struck, and Zanka brought up how Enjin never dated anyone because he's too busy brooding. Enjin rolled his eyes at that comment and lazily slung an arm around your shoulders without any warning, but you let him pull you closer.
"Well, actually, I'm taken." He announced, loud enough for whoever else was there to hear, a broad grin plastered on his face when he squeezed your shoulder, hoping you'd jump in on the improvised joke.
You played along on instinct and leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh. "Stop being so clingy in public, babe," you mused and playfully tried to get out of his grasp.
The look on Zanka's face and hearing how Gris dropped his sandwich somewhere in the back was very well worth it. From then on you two kept the little act up. You'd hold hands during briefings, Enjin would steal bites off your plate at meals, and you'd call him ridiculous pet names just to watch the others cringe and leave the two of you be—it was just a silly joke.
Until it started to feel like it was no longer just fun for either of you.
The first time you noticed the shift in dynamics was when Enjin took a hit that was meant for you during a harmless mission that turned serious—he didn't even think about it for a second. It wasn't fatal but was deep enough that the blood soaked through his jacket. You sat with him as he got patched up at the medical bay, your fingers trembling much more than they should when you reached to hold his hand.
After that the fake dating stopped feeling entirely fake. Enjin's hands would linger on you even after everyone left and it was just the two of you. You'd catch him staring occasionally out in the yard, something unreadable in his eyes as he took another drag of his cigarette. The jokes between you became different, and you started to wonder where the line had blurred—when pretending had become true feelings.
It all came together three weeks later in the hallways just outside the dorms. You had followed Enjin towards his room and stopped right outside his door—you needed to draw the line after Semiu teasingly asked when the wedding was, and it became much too real for you. In front of her, you laughed it off while Enjin stayed quiet the whole way back.
"We should probably stop. It's getting a little...weird," you mumbled with your arms crossed, trying to physically draw a line as well.
"You think so?" Enjin asked as he leaned against the doorframe, mirroring the way you crossed your arms in front of your chest.
"Mhm, yeah," you confirmed and nodded. "It's starting to feel a little too real... To me, anyway. "You didn't intend for your voice to sound so small, but it couldn't be helped.
"It stopped being a joke to me a while ago." He said flatly; a lopsided grin slowly formed on his lips.
"What?" You couldn't help but be dumbfounded by how flat he said it, unsure if it was yet another joke or not.
"I went along with it because it was funny at first." Enjin ran a hand through his blonde hair as he spoke, looking a little annoyed by himself. "But I kinda like how no one thinks they have a shot with you now... because you're mine."
The words landed somewhere between your ribs and got stuck in your throat. You really wanted to believe him, given how natural his fake boyfriend performance had become, but the doubt crept in the moment your head caught up with your heart. "You're only saying that because it's easier to lie than to admit what a mess this is," you mumbled, somewhat annoyed by the fact that he couldn't take you seriously.
Enjin's expression warped into frustration at your annoyance, almost making him look hurt. "You really think that low of me? He asked defensively.
"I don't know what to think! We started this to mess with people, Enjin. But it also messed with my head."
He sighed heavily and stepped closer, crossed arms bumping against yours ever so lightly. "Because I don't do this—mess with someone like that." His words were honest, no sign of doubt in his golden eyes.
You simply stared at him, searching his face for his usual smirk, the deflection, or the moment he cracked and admitted that this was all a joke too. But it never came. Seconds felt like hours when you eventually met his eyes before your gaze drifted to the scar at his temple that you'd traced once while playing a couple and had wanted to trace again ever since while cradling his face.
"If you're lying, Enjin—" You broke yourself out of that haze, threatening him with empty words.
He simply shook his head and gave you a lopsided smile, seeming more honest than ever. "Wouldn't lie about something like this," he stated with a much gentler voice than what you were used to. His hand came up slow enough for you to lean away if you'd wanted to, and his fingers brushed your cheek before tilting your chin up.
Your face heated up before he even moved when he leaned in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth, just to see your reaction. When you didn't move away, the next kiss was bestowed right upon your lips—nothing scandalous, just lips locking for mere seconds before he pulled back.
"Still think I'm lying?" Enjin asked with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing very well that he broke your no-kissing rule just to show you that this was no longer just a charade.
You exhaled a shaky laugh, the feelings of his lips still lingering on yours. "You're impossible, idiot."
"Yeah," Enjin grinned and raised one brow playfully. "But I'm your idiot, if you want me."
You didn't need to be told twice, curling your fingers in the front of his shirt to pull him closer again, craving another kiss from him, which he gladly provided. He couldn't help but let out a small sound of approval, one hand sliding dangerously low on your back as he pulled you impossibly close while losing himself in the kiss.
"So... we're done pretending? You asked as you smiled up at the man, one finger jabbing his chest right above his heart.
Enjin's thumb traced your bottom lip as his eyes lit up with something that resembled relief. "Been done pretending for weeks. Just needed you to catch up." He mused and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
꒰ ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅɪᴇ — ꜱᴇQᴜᴇʟ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ finally together!!! everything is good now, right? RIGHT?
being together with enjin changed absolutely nothing and somehow, it changed everything.
you still stole food off his plate and he took the last drag from the cigarettes you shared. still called each other names. still shoved you when you annoyed him a little too much and you bit his shoulder in return.
the cleaners barely noticed a difference at first. and let’s be honest if gris wouldn’t have told semiu and semiu wouldn’t have told riyo etc etc, then no one would’ve a clue.
except for the little things.
suddenly enjin reached for your hand whenever you sat down next to him. in return you leaned against him. then the ridiculous golden shine in his eyes whenever he looked at you. and them forehead kisses. all the fucking time.
disgusting behavior honestly. you two should be ashamed for that constant pda.
riyo threatened to throw up at least twice a day. follo awww’ed awfully often and zanka approved a lot of your relationship.
however. oh. now it comes.
the biggest difference was terrifyingly small for you, because you suddenly cared what enjin thought of you. as a woman.
that was so fucking stupid. actually really stupid because this was enjin. your enjin.
the very same enjin who once held your hair back while you threw up behind headquarters after bad alcohol.
enjin who knew exactly how disgusting your period cravings got. and who had heard you complain about period shits with the passion of a dying soldier.
you once yelled “I THINK MY UTERUS IS DETACHING” while lying face down on his bed and he’d answered, “damn. can i have your boots if you die?”
huh? your feet were small and delicate. the fuck did he want with your boots? absolute weirdo question.
what you wanted to say was that there was never shame between you. until now.
because now he kissed you and fucked you and ate you out daily. now he looked at you like you were so damn beautiful and with so much love.
so, for now fucking reason your brain decided that meant your period was suddenly horrifying.
that led to your current situation. you were curled in your bed with a heating pad while contemplating death. your cramps felt demonic and your asshole hurt and you had bled through your pad.
“stupid fucking uterus,” you muttered miserably. “come out and fight me, you little bitch.”
a sudden knock echoed through the room and you froze. of course it was enjin. duh.
“alive in there?”
normally you’d yell something dramatic back, but today. you just couldn’t. shame crept up your neck.
“hey, you ignoring me?”
“no.”
“you sound weird.”
“i’m dying.”
“that’s not specific enough.”
you groaned into your pillow and felt very unfortunate for how well your wonderful boyfriend knew you. because the door opened and there he was. carrying food in one hand and immediately narrowed his eyes at you sprawled dramatically across the bed.
“whoa,” he said. “you look terrible.”
“thank you.”
“you smell like pain.”
“that’s because i am pain.”
enjin snorted softly and sat beside you. you liked how the mattress dipped and his warmth and familiar scent wafted to you.
it was comforting. also made it worse.
suddenly you became hyper aware of everything. the blood. oh fuck, did you smell? the cramps. your hair that clutched for dear life on one side of your skull and stood in every direction possible on the other side.
enjin reached over automatically to press his palm against your forehead. no fever - that relieved him.
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
you hesitated. and nope. you didn’t hesitate. even when you just blurted out bullshit you didn’t hesitate.
“you okay?”
“yeah.”
“you’re being weird,” he told you for the hundredth time.
“i’m not.”
“you are. haven’t insulted me once which is pretty insulting.”
pouting you pulled the blanket higher over yourself. “it’s just my period.”
“that’s it?”
“what do you mean that’s it?” you frowned.
“i thought you were dying.”
“i’m dying.”
“you say that every month.”
“because every month my organs attempt mutiny.”
your man relaxed instantly now that he understood. usually this would’ve been the part where you launched into graphic descriptions about cramps and blood clots while he listened with horrifying calm.
now you were pretty quiet and pouting.
“something’s off here,” he huffed.
“no.”
“yes.”
“nothing’s off.”
“you haven’t talked about period farts once.”
you looked offended. “why would you even notice that?”
“because usually you announce them like natural disasters.”
“thats slander.”
“you once called yourself ‘the crimson shotgun.’”
“okay, but that one was hilarious.”
enjin grinned, but it faded when he saw that you still looked so uncomfortable. emotionally. yeah, and he thought he might understood.
“oh.” he blurted out and you looked away. “oh fuck seriously?”
“don’t.”
“you think i’m gonna find you gross now?”
“i don’t know!”
the words exploded out of you before you could stop them. your face burned immediately afterward.
“i mean it’s different now.”
“how?”
“because we’re together.”
“okay?”
“and what if you suddenly realize i’m disgusting?”
enjin stared at you in pure disbelief. then he additionally laughed in pure confusion about what’s going on inside your head.
“baby,” he cooed and you shot him a glare. “i’ve seen you puke in an alley.”
“that was before.”
“you once farted on my leg and blamed the bed.”
“that was ONE TIME.”
“you clogged my toilet twice.”
“you promised never to bring that up again!”
once you feel better you’ll beat the ever loving shit out of him. what the fuck?
enjin was fully grinning now. all while you hoped another pit would open and you could jump in head first.
“you literally drooled on my chest this morning. again.”
“stop talking.”
“and now period blood is where you think i’ll draw the line?”
you covered your face with your hands and he gently grabbed your wrists to pull them down. his expression softened - SOFTENED - when he saw your embarrassment.
“ohhh. you’re serious.”
yeah, no shit dude. your eyes stung and your lower lip wobbled dangerously.
“i just…” you muttered weakly. “i know it’s stupid.”
“it is pretty stupid.”
“thanks.”
“but not because of you.” his thumb brushed your cheek lovingly. “you think i started loving you after we got together?”
oh man, he was so cute. and now he leaned in like he was about to tell you a little secret.
“i loved you when you were gross too.”
a giggle bubbled from your throat despite yourself. “that’s not romantic.”
“it’s true though,” he hummed, happy with himself. “you think some blood’s gonna scare me away after surviving your cooking?”
“okay, fuck you.”
“there she is.”
you shoved his shoulder weakly and he caught your hand. he even kissed your knuckles. he was so sweet.
“you wanna know the real difference between us being friends and dating?” he asked.
you mumbled, “what?”
“back then i had to pretend not to stare at your ass.”
you gasped loudly. enjin laughed right as you smacked him with your pillow.
“there she is!” he wheezed again while dodging another hit. “that’s my girl!”
the full realization hit him two days later. the problem with dating your best friend was that suddenly you became aware of things that never mattered before.
for you it had been periods.
for enjin it was the horrifying realization that he might actually be a disgusting man.
like said, the thought hit him two days later while pulling on socks with holes big enough for three toes to escape through.
he stared at them. his toes stared back.
then slowly looked around his room. clothes pile in the corner. three empty bottles near the wall. a shirt hung from the lamp because apparently the drawers were too civilized.
and what was up with the plate over there? hmm?
“OH NO!” he yelled into the empty room
your words replayed in his head. again and again. he loved your voice, alright? but that was just fucked.
‘what if you suddenly realize i’m disgusting?’
at the time he’d laughed because the idea of you grossing him out was ridiculous. but now his brain had cruelly turned the mirror around.
what if he was the gross one?
what the fuck brain? what was your problem?
with growing horror enjin realized that your friendship had erased every normal boundary between you years ago. another horrified scream erupted from his throat as memories filled his head.
he’d walked into the bathroom while you showered to piss because “you’ve seen me half dead before, this ain’t intimate.”
you once brushed your teeth while he sat on the toilet arguing with you.
he burped directly in your face at least twice a week.
one time he woke you from a dead sleep by accidentally ripping ass loud enough to shake the mattress. you’d thrown a pillow at his head without even opening your eyes.
“NO!”
he thought about… showering. to be fair he showered, technically speaking. maybe not with the frequency expected by civilized society.
the pit wasn’t exactly full of luxury hygiene standards, okay?
sometimes missions ran long and then the exhaustion hit harder. other days he washed the important parts and called it a successful day.
to be fair, you never cared before. hell, half the time you smelled equally awful after missions.
but now you were his girlfriend. his actual girlfriend. woah.
suddenly enjin became deeply aware that you were also insanely pretty. like… distractingly pretty. the kind of pretty that made his chest ache unexpectedly when sunlight hit your face.
which raised one devastating question: why the hell were you dating him?
“damn,” he muttered, staring at himself in a cracked mirror later that evening. “she could do way better.”
“talking to yourself now?”
enjin let out the most embarrassing shriek known to mankind and jumped at the ceiling. all while you stood in the doorway holding snacks, looking pleased with yourself.
and so gorgeous which was unhelpful. he quickly wiped his mouth.
“your room smells horrible,” you added.
his soul briefly left his body. this was it. you’d leave him for someone clean like… gris.
“what smells horrible?”
you sniffed dramatically. “smells like wet socks and regret.”
“wow. okay.”
you grinned and wandered inside anyway, immediately climbing onto his bed like you belonged there. okay, okay. you did belong there.
that should’ve comforted him. instead he became hyperaware of every single thing around him.
there was a boxershorts on the floor. why was there a boxershorts on the floor?
and another sock - fuck no.
“don’t look around too hard,” he said quickly.
you blinked. “why?”
“no reason.”
“enjin.”
“nothing.”
your eyes narrowed instantly. your face inched closer as you inspect his expression. then you gasped. “oh my— are you embarrassed?”
“no.”
“you are!”
“i’m literally not.”
“you just kicked something under the bed.”
“was a spider.”
the fuck?
you burst into laughter and snorted right into his ear. usually enjin loved your laugh. right now it made him want to evaporate, because you kept looking around his room with visible amusement.
“you live like a divorced raccoon,” you informed him.
“that’s harsh.”
“there’s a spoon in your toolbox.”
“yeah.”
“why?”
“emergency soup.”
you stared at him before you laughed even harder. enjin groaned dramatically and flopped face-first onto the bed beside you.
“stop judging me.”
“i’ve known you for years.”
“exactly. so mind your business.”
“you used motor oil as hair product once.”
“that was one time.”
“you own one towel.”
“one good towel.”
“it’s crunchy.”
“that means it’s experienced.”
you wheezed laughing while enjin grabbed a pillow to hide his face. and suddenly he remembered exactly why he fell in love with you. because even now, even while roasting him alive, you looked at him with so much affection it hurt in his chest.
it didn’t change the insecurity in him tho. especially later that night.
you stayed over, curled against his chest while half asleep. one of your legs tangled with his under the blanket. hmm, he loved that. was so comfy and warm.
you were his home.
his brain meanwhile couldn’t stop yapping about every gross habit he had.
for example yesterday. he had walked into your room and thrown himself on your bed without asking, because “our relationship status didn’t magically make me polite.”
he also had burped a couple of times earlier.
his arms tightened around you. please don’t leave me.
since you got a sixth sense apparently your voice filled the silence. “what’s wrong?
“nothing.”
“you sound thoughtful.”
“that’s insulting.”
“it’s accurate.”
enjin sighed then muttered into the darkness, “what if you realize i’m gross?”
you went completely still against him. your head snapped around and your neck cracked a bit. “huh?!”
he immediately regretted speaking.
“nothing.”
“no, repeat that.”
enjin stared at the ceiling with deep suffering.
“you got weird about period stuff,” he grumbled. “now i’m thinking maybe you had a point.”
you blinked at him. it took you a few seconds to connect the dots. then you stared at him horrified.
“umbra,” you whispered.
oh no. no no no no.
you only used that nickname and voice when emotionally devastating honesty was incoming.
“i watched you pull glass out of your own arm with kitchen tongs once.”
“yeah?”
“you ate noodles off my stomach after i spilled them.”
“in my defense—”
“you literally walked into my shower to pee because you said and i quote, ‘steam helps me piss.’”
“that was scientifically sound.”
“you own socks that look legally deceased.”
enjin groaned loudly while you started laughing into his chest. you robbed closer and kissed his chin. fuck, you were so adorable.
“you know what changed after we got together?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“nothing important.”
his chest tightened. you poked his cheek gently.
“you’re still my gross weird little raccoon man.”
“little?”
“don’t ruin the moment.”
“and you’re still disgusting too.”
you gasped dramatically. “i’m beautiful.”
“you clogged my sink with food once.”
“that was a plumbing issue.”
“you threatened your uterus with violence three days ago.”
“it started it.”
enjin laughed helplessly. do you had any idea how much he loved you? or did you just waddle around thinking you’re only a little loved by him?
oh. he also got a sleepy kiss.
when you settled back against him afterward, mumbling, “you’re the prettiest boy ever actually,” enjin genuinely thought he might combust on the spot.
he learned a valuable lesson this night: love wasn’t becoming cleaner or softer or more presentable. it was just finding someone who looked at all your ugly little human parts and stayed anyway.
to be fair you were never and never would be a normal couple. after the two incidents your relationship somehow made both of you worse.
one of your friends wanted to speak to you individually? not a chance.
somehow you managed to even annoy zanka. zanka! who looked up to enjin so much.
the most unbearable moments was when the two of you fought. because shouldn’t you be still in the honeymoon phase??
“move,” you snapped.
“no.”
“you’re crushing me.”
“you’re dramatic.”
“your elbow’s in my rib.”
“build character.”
at the moment enjin was sprawled fully across you on the couch in headquarters while you attempted - and failed - to shove his heavy body off. he only grinned wider, cheek squished against your shoulder.
“you smell nice,” he hummed happily.
“that’s because unlike you i bathe.”
“cruel.”
“you literally used my shampoo and then said, ‘our scents should unify.’”
“that was romantic.”
“that was psychotic.”
from across the room riyo looked genuinely exhausted. “you two were easier to deal with before dating.”
“no we weren’t,” both of you answered immediately.
you paused and looked at each other at the same damn time.
“actually true,” enjin admitted.
“yeah,” you nodded thoughtfully.
the tension you had carried before had exploded into the open constantly.
enjin needed to touch you all the time. his hand on your knee. an arm around your waist. his thumb brushing over your wrist. his body had finally stopped pretending not to reach for you.
you were just as bad.
you stole his clothes constantly, because they smelled like smoke and enjin. and when enjin was on a mission without you you sniffed them.
also, you sat in his lap automatically during meetings because there weren’t enough chairs (sure, sure). your lips were fucking unstoppable when it came to smooching your man left and right.
disgusting behavior. soulmate behavior.
everyone suffered, because you were so awfully cute with each other. especially semiu. when was it her turn?
“you’re smiling at her again,” she huffed one afternoon.
enjin blinked. “huh?”
“you’re doing the thing.”
“what thing?”
“the stupid thing where she talks and you look at her like you’re gonna lick the ground she walks on.”
you nearly choked laughing. meanwhile enjin looked offended.
“i don’t.”
“you absolutely do,” you wheezed.
“no, i don’t.”
“you’re doing it right now,” semiu pointed out.
riyo and rudo made gagging noises in the background, like some haters. enjin flipped them off without looking away from you which only made everyone groan louder.
it wasn’t even your fault. you refused to take accountability.
cards on the table. there was something terrifyingly natural about loving each other. your bodies had figured it out long before your brains did.
you fit together so easily. so beautifully.
sleeping especially became dangerous. before dating sleeping together meant tangled limbs and accidental violence.
now it was still violence, but also those soft moments.
let’s get back to the first night after you two got together. enjin woke up the next morning and yes, you were next to him. not unusual. but you were kissing his shoulder and neck sleepily. man almost had a heart attack.
you didn’t even remember doing it.
“you kissed me while being unconscious,” he accused over breakfast.
you blinked. “what?”
“tiny little kisses.”
“shut up.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re lying.”
“i’ve witnesses.”
“you absolutely do not.”
“so fucking cute,” enjin threw up his arms.
but then you saw the little smile on his face, the way the tips of his ears tinged pink. it was so adorable.
enjin had been always beautiful. enjin in love stole your breath away.
you threw bread at him instantly for making you feel so fuzzy and having your stomach full of butterflies.
enjin looked unbearably smug the rest of the day.
the real problem was that both of you kept forgetting you were allowed to act like a couple now. years of friendship didn’t disappear magically overnight.
so sometimes your brains short circuited. one night you were relaxing on his bed when he casually stripped naked in front of you to change. dick out and everything.
you glanced over. you gasped. then you suddenly realized: oh no. he’s naked. he’s hot. why is he so hot? does he know he’s hot?
enjin noticed your staring. “why’re you looking at me like that?”
you looked away violently. “no reason.”
“baby.”
“shut up.” ugh. the nickname. you started to like it.
“oh shiiit,” he laughed. “you’re flustered.”
“you’ve muscles unexpectedly!” you gestured wildly. “and other things.”
“unexpectedly?!”
“you usually look homeless!”
“that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
he looked ridiculously pleased about it which was unfortunate. because then he started flexing on purpose and his dick did that thing. the twitch.
“wow,” you deadpanned. “now you look homeless and stupid.”
enjin tackled you onto the mattress immediately. you screamed laughing while he trapped you underneath him. no fucking care for his nudity.
“take it back!” he shouted.
“never.”
“you wound me.”
“you’ll survive.”
he grinned down at you and that playful moment turned into something completely different. his forehead rested against yours automatically and your smile turned softly.
for seconds you just stared at each as this feeling - this special feeling - filled you. the awful, beautiful realization that somehow the person you laughed with hardest was also the person you loved most.
enjin’s thumb brushed your cheek. “you know what’s weird?”
“what?”
“i thought getting together would change us more.”
“me too.”
“but it’s kinda like…” he huffed a laugh softly. “like we were already doing this.”
your chest hurt immediately, because he was so right. the love you had for each other always been there - buried underneath bruises and jokes and late night conversations. underneath shared cigarettes and bloody missions and sleeping shoulder to shoulder because the world felt less cruel that way.
you’d already built a life around each other long before kissing and sex got involved. now you just got to say it out loud.
unfortunately emotional moments never lasted long between you. right after enjin kissed you sweetly his stomach growled loud enough to shake the room.
you burst out laughing instantly. “hello to you too!”
“i’m being vulnerable here.”
“you sound possessed.”
“feed me.”
“you’re huge. why are you always hungry?”
“growing boy.”
“you’re almost thirty.”
“and still growing.”
you laughed so hard your stomach hurt while enjin buried his face dramatically into your neck. he tried then to eat you as he bit your neck and pulled on it.
let’s be honest. this was love too.
it wasn’t just pretty honeymoon moments and sweet gestures. it wasn’t just kisses and holding hands and whispered promises at 3am.
it was moment like this. ridiculousness and the comfort behind it. that you could sit together in silence without it feeling heavy or awkward.
home wasn’t the cleaners headquarters. home was enjin now.
later that night rain hammered softly against the windows while the two of you lay tangled together in bed. your head rested on enjin’s chest while you soothingly caressed his tattooed skin.
rain was still bad. but it was better for him now. at least a little bit.
after a moment you spoke up, “do you think we were always gonna end up like this?”
enjin didn’t answer immediately and you had to look up to him. because maybe… no. absolutely not.
“yeah,” he said simply.
that answer felt bigger than anything else. the gravity of this single word was so intense that you hid the tears in his neck. your throat tightened embarrassingly fast.
“you sap,” you muttered weakly.
“you’re literally crying.”
“no i’m not.”
“there are tears on my neck.”
“that’s your problem.”
he laughed quietly, before he pulled you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. loving him was naturally like breathing and you had to crawl completely on top of him. something he approved of so much.
after all, everything finally made sense. every fight and laugh. every almost. every stupid little moment that led here to this very moment.
soulmates weren’t always soft. sometimes they were loud and messy and smelled vaguely like smoke and bad decisions. they argued over everything and nothing and emergency soups.
sometimes they burped in each other’s faces.
they fell in love so slowly neither of them noticed until it was already stitched into their bones, and that was the most beautiful part.
you and enjin never became different people after falling in love. you just finally realized you already were.
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