flyingwargle

[flyingwargle]

sakusa doesn’t usually indulge in extra practice, but he makes an exception for tonight.

their teammates have already left. iizuna, first to arrive and last to leave, is gone, too. it’s just him and komori, passing the ball between them in a steady rhythm. sakusa spikes the ball downwards from the heel of his hand; komori sends the ball upwards with his forearms. on, and on, and on they go, until finally, sakusa catches the ball and says, “let’s stop for tonight.”

“huh? already?” komori straightens, sweat making his forehead shiny. “is it that late?”

“we still have morning practice tomorrow. it’s important to rest.” it hasn’t even been an hour, but sakusa has homework to finish, and a night routine to follow. any slight deviation will lead to less than nine hours of sleep, which will cause him to become irritable the next day, something he’d rather avoid.

komori opens his mouth, as if to protest, but says nothing when sakusa deposits the volleyball in the bin and rolls it back into the storage. he locks it, heads for the changing room, glances over his shoulder at his cousin, who suddenly seems small beneath the overhead lights. with a shake, komori pivots and follows him, both of them toweling off before changing into their uniforms. sakusa locks the gym after them.

it’s dark by the time they leave the academy. they live in opposite directions but use the same train line, so they walk together to the station. komori, bright and chipper during practice, is subdued, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. sakusa observes out of the corner of his eye, tries to wrack his brain for what could be wrong. they secured their spot at nationals; they were both selected for the youth training camp next month; and there aren’t any major exams or projects at the moment. each day is idyllic, easy. or so he thinks.

the station appears at the end of the street. a train slows as it enters the platform, and another departs in the opposite direction. the traffic light is red, and sakusa adjusts his mask as he waits. when it turns green, he steps onto the crosswalk, listens for his cousin’s footsteps. he doesn’t hear them. “motoya?”

komori remains on the curb, head low, sniffling. sakusa reaches into his pocket for his pack of tissues, offers it to him. he doesn’t take it. “motoya?” sakusa repeats.

“sorry. i just…” komori rubs a hand over his eyes. “can i go to your place tonight?”

“oh.” sakusa lowers his hand, mask obscuring his frown. “sure. is everything okay?”

another sniffle, a staggering breath. “it’s hard being at home. i don’t want to be there right now.” sakusa tries to think about the family dinner over the summer, where he last saw his relatives. he didn’t think they acted out of the ordinary, but anything could change in a matter of months.

they wait for the light to turn green again and head into the station. komori doesn’t look at him for the entire ride, eyes low, head turned away. sakusa, unsure what to say or do, remains quiet, guides him off the train and through the neighborhood to his home. all the lights are off, as expected, and when he unlocks the front door, no one greets him.

“no one’s home?” komori asks.

“no one usually is.” his sister stops by a few times during the week, but since their parents are away on business, she stopped. he hasn’t seen his brother since he started working overseas. “the housekeeper should’ve left dinner. there’s usually enough for multiple portions."

his plate is wrapped in plastic, left on the table, while leftovers are in the refrigerator. sakusa heats them up while komori drops his bag off upstairs. they eat in silence, take turns using the bath. by night, only sakusa’s bedroom light is on, dressed in pajamas. komori borrows his clothes, as he usually does when he stays over, wearing an old tracksuit from their junior league days.

“sorry, kiyo,” he mumbles as sakusa pulls the extra futon out from the storage closet. “i didn’t mean to spring this on you.”

“it’s okay. what happened?”

“it’s…it’s my mom. i don’t know why it started, but she’s become so critical lately. she’s always comparing me and kaede with other people and saying that we aren’t good enough. nee-chan convinced her to lay off kaede – she’s just in the fifth grade – so mom has been ripping into me, more and more. i try to ignore her, but…” he hugs the plush vabo-chan on sakusa’s bed tighter. “she used to be so supportive, but now, she’s saying that i’m terrible at volleyball, that i don’t deserve to be called the best high school libero, that it’s all going to be a waste…”

the tears fall from his eyes, dripping onto the floor. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t let her get to me, but it feels like a betrayal. she convinced dad to let me keep playing when he tried to make me stop. now, neither of them support me, and i…”

sakusa stills. his aunt was their biggest supporter, had gone to all their junior league games to cheer for them, especially since his own parents were too busy. he didn’t realize when she stopped, when she stopped asking him about volleyball. “motoya…”

“sorry. i’m just making a mess now.”

“you aren’t.” sakusa sits beside him, awkwardly wraps an arm around him. “you really are the best high school libero, and our team is lucky to have you. we’re able to score because of you.” his pause is small, tone awkward when he adds, “i’m able to score because i know if i get blocked, you’re there to follow.” when his cousin doesn’t say anything, he continues. “none of this will be a waste. you’ll be scouted by the best teams in japan, and you’ll play for the best. they’re blind if they don’t recognize your talent.”

“you aren’t just saying this to be nice, are you?”

“no, i’m serious. it’s hard to ignore them since they’re your parents, but they don’t always have to be right. no one ever is.” sakusa squeezes his shoulder. “i’m here if you need me.”

komori sniffles, chest heaving through another sob. “thanks, kiyo.” they stay like that until his tears subside, and instead of using the futon, he crawls into bed beside him, sniffling as he tries to fall asleep. sakusa listens to his breaths gradually deepen, blinking at the darkness. his cousin has always been there for him; it’s time for him to reciprocate, to show him that he, too, will stand beside him if no one else will, to see the grand stage with him when no one else will.

--

inspiration: this fanart of komori crying and sakusa comforting him <3

[flyingwargle]

Best Haikyuu Fics I've Read in 2025 (Part 1)

something old; something new

You want to head out?” Shouyou asks as soon as Kageyama is redressed and refreshed as well.

“Out?” Kageyama repeats, looking slightly confused.

Shouyou gnaws at his lip, a little bit of trepidation starting to sneak in under the excitement. “Yeah. We could go watch another sport – uhh, if there’s space – or go see the village, anything! We just won, don’t you want to go feel the buzz of being a winning Olympian?”

Kageyama hums, eyes still trained on the clock, before he shrugs a shoulder. “No,” he says simply, in that usual blunt way of his, “it’s too noisy.”

-

In which it's Hinata's first Olympics and he's so ready to experience it all with Kageyama right by his side, but it seems as though Kageyama is a little over the novelty of being an Olympian.

somnambulism

“Is everything alright?” Tobio demands the next morning, when they’re making breakfast together.

Hinata blinks at him over the rice cooker. “… Yes?” he tries, looking extremely confused.

“You’re playing volleyball in your sleep,” Tobio states, deciding to just dive right into heart of that matter.

Hinata stares at him. The rice cooker beeps, and he presses the button to pop open the lid without breaking his gaze. There’s a long period of silence while the smell of freshly cooked rice fills the flat and the gears in Hinata’s head visibly turn.

“That’s kind of cool, actually,” is what he decides on, once he’s finished thinking.

Tobio nearly flings a spatula at him.

-

In which Hinata has always had a habit of sleepwalking, but has recently added sleep volleyball to his repertoire.

no time for rewrites (we couldn't help it)

"I'm not a stranger," Hinata asserts, "I'm not dating anyone right now, and we hang out all the time. I could be your rebound."

Tobio tries his hardest to wrap his head around that thought but it's all getting a little fuzzy with Hinata straddling his lap all of a sudden. "Th—that's crazy."

Hinata has that stubborn shine in his eyes, the one which always means Tobio is in trouble. "Tell me one reason why not."

or

Hinata offers to be in a rebound relationship with Kageyama to help him get over his ex. The rest is history.

shoulder surfing

It appears that the set has ended – though there’s no scoreboard so who knows who’s keeping track – and Hinata turns to his beach volleyball partner, removing his sunglasses with one smooth movement and- oh dear.

Tobio might need to go and lay down on that smooth rock a few feet away to try and calm down.

Because Hinata is smiling – bright and wide and infuriatingly perfect – and Tobio had kind of forgotten what it was like to be burnt by sunbeams.

Hinata Shouyou stands there, on the beach, with a cap that his new, shorter hair pokes out the sides of in tufts, with fitted shorts and a beautiful smile and-

Arms.

Nice arms.

Very nice arms.

-

In which Kageyama sneaks onto the beach in Brazil to watch Hinata play, and becomes just a little, just a teensy bit obsessed with his new shoulders.

No Angels Could Beckon Me Back

Hinata laughs quietly, his eyes seeming to glow in the dark as he grins in Kageyama's face. "Make me."

Kageyama and Hinata wind each other up. They sling insults, pick fights, and challenge each other every chance they get, both on and off the court. It's just how they are. It's what they do.

But when the tension between them leads to an impulsive action neither of them expected, Kageyama has to question whether this is all a normal part of rivalry, or if what's between them runs deeper than that.

Kiss With A Fist

"I thought—" Hideo stopped, gathering his words. He felt betrayed somehow. "The magazines all said they were best friends, but it looks like they don't even like each other!"

"Oh, they like each other," Tsukishima said dryly. "Just look."

Hideo and the others realized the sounds of fighting had quieted down, and as they turned to look at their upperclassmen, they were met with a surprising sight. Hinata was sitting on top of Kageyama, his hands fisted in his teammate's gym shirt, and Kageyama still had a tangle of Hinata's hair in his grasp, but they were now kissing. Passionately.

The newest Karasuno Men's Volleyball Club first years are eager to begin their journey, and especially eager to meet their new upperclassmen and idols: Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou. Upon arrival to the gym, though, they're surprised to find the supposed friends fighting and are blown away when they learn that the third years are actually dating.

It makes them wonder how Kageyama and Hinata got together in the first place...

going for gold

“What are you trying to say Hajime?” Oikawa urges, holding his breath.

God, is this it? Is it happening now? Are they doing this right now? On the cardboard bed in Block 905 of the Olympic Village? Will he finally be fiancé of Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer of the Japanese national volleyball team on the eleventh day of the Tokyo Olympics?

“I’m saying—I love you so much Tooru, I—”

The doorbell interrupts him mid-sentence and Oikawa whips his head in the direction of the offending sound.

Someone should tell Oikawa that this is only the first of a series of unfortunate events.

Share my life, it's yours to keep

But this particular quirk persists, long enough that Hajime picks up on it. At some point, Oikawa had started deliberately matching his clothing to Hajime’s own outfits whenever they went out. They are never quite the same outright, but once Hajime starts noticing it, it’s hard to not see how Oikawa’s choice of clothing complements his own, enough so that one could safely pronounce them a matching set.

Iwaizumi discovers that he and Oikawa appear to be wearing couple-clothing whenever they go out, due to Oikawa's determination to match his own outfits to Iwaizumi's. He decides to test the extent of that determination.

the boy is mine

“You do get it, right?” Oikawa asked once more. His expression was bright, like there was a joke only he knew, like Oikawa was thinking up something fucked up and all Iwaizumi could do was laugh and hang on for the ride. It was a constant in their lives, and Iwaizumi couldn't bring himself to hate it. Oikawa continued. “I don’t like it. I have to know everything you do or else I think I might go crazy.”

Or: Oikawa and Iwaizumi don't like to share.

taurean truths

Tooru licks the icing from his pointer finger and looks over his shoulder at Hajime, pouting. Coy. Twenty-eight definitely isn’t thirty—the way Hajime’s body reacts to the sight makes him feel seventeen all over again. “I really don’t know why you still play nice with him.”

Hajime laughs at that, breathy. God, he loves Tooru. “Come on, baby,” he says. It’s not just placation when he admits, “You know I don’t like him either.”

Nocturnal Creatures

“You never asked me the question,” the vampire says. “Are you that confident of yourself?”

Kuroo knows better than to engage with his prey. He’s been hunting the little vampire prince for months now; he has him under his gun. He should take the shot and leave. He should know better than to reply. He is too veteran to hesitate.

“What question?”

The vampire’s smile widens.

“Whether I let you catch me.”

*

It starts the way it ends: with Kuroo chasing a shadow.

i took the stars from our eyes, and then i made a map

"Kenma’s a grad student with the design department. I met him when I was trying to get one of them to help me add some flair to my syllabus, and he was the only one willing to help – even if he said it was just so I would leave their office in peace.”

“That’s why he looked familiar,” Daichi piped up with a snap of his fingers. “Asahi’s in the design department too, and I think they’ve worked together on some assignments.”

“Has this guy just been hanging out with everyone in our mutual circles except me?”

“Sounds like it.”

-

Or, Kuroo is an overworked, underpaid, and almost out of his mind TA. Seeing Kenma a couple times a week makes it all a little easier.

the shift

A box slams on the rest of the prep table to his right, shaking the whole thing. Underneath the label, he can see the fragmented letters of ‘Pork shoulder’. He looks around, eyes skirting over Suna, back behind him.

“Where’s the rest?” he asks, finally looking at Suna’s blank face.

“This is the rest,” Suna replies.

Osamu and Suna have had many rough shifts at the restaurant. This shift might actually tear them apart.

curry udon (and other compromises)

“We should see other people.”

Look, Osamu’s never claimed to be the most emotionally intelligent crayon in the box, but he’s aware this is a loaded statement for a breath before eight a.m. The kind of statement that requires uncomfortable, prolonged eye contact and un-fidgety hands. He holds his spatula in a death grip as he stares down Suna across the kitchen.

To his credit, Suna barely blinks as he looks up from his phone where he’s perched precariously on the back of a chair at Osamu’s bistro table. “You couldn’t wait to break up with me until after I drank my coffee?”

surfacing

Keiji’s boyfriend has been cheating on him. During their public confrontation, he ends up walking out with the other man - Bokuto Koutarou. They strike up an unlikely friendship born from the bond of heartbreak, and, eventually, help one another to heal parts of themselves they perhaps hadn't even known were broken.

Alternatively: Bokuto tries to set Akaashi up with a rebound to make up for being “the other man.” It both does and does not go according to plan.

[flyingwargle]

[flyingwargle]

Peak fan service in anime was when Furudate gave Oikawa glasses and made him analyze Karasuno vs Shiratorizawa while Iwaizumi sat there in casual clothes calling him a shitty person.

[flyingwargle]

“please, kiyoko! i don’t know who else to ask!”

kiyoko gives an unconvinced hum, phone pressed to her ear, occupied with peeling a potato. “i don’t believe a fashion designer doesn’t have access to modeling agencies who can connect you with professional models.”

“that’s not the point,” asahi argues. “it’s supposed to be ordinary clothes for ordinary people.”

“uniqlo sells clothes for ordinary people but don’t use ordinary people as models.”

“they don’t sell couple clothes!”

she picks up another potato to peel. “maybe, but why ask us? surely other couples would fit better.”

asahi makes a noise of distress. “are you kidding? is there another couple more wholesome than you and tanaka?”

“what about sawamura and sugawara?”

“did you forget how suga said he purposely made extra spicy curry for daichi as payback for ruining his socks? also, they’re in taiwan and won’t be back in time.”

“ah.”

“give you think about it? the shoot won’t be longer than a few hours, all expenses paid. i’ll treat you to dinner! if you want to make a trip out of it, i’ll find a honeymoon suite somewhere in ginza–“

“there’s no need for that.” kiyoko sighs. “i’ll ask, but i make no guarantees.”

“you’re a lifesaver, thank you!”

she ends the call. it isn’t uncommon for asahi to ask them to model for him – hinata and kageyama often model his athletic wear, and he even asked nishinoya to model some of his travel wear. couple clothes seem to be a new venture, a project he’s mentioned before, now coming into fruition.

it’s late by the time ryuu returns home, calling out a tired, “i’m home!” kiyoko meets him at the genkan, taking his bag. “thanks, babe, did i ever say i love you?”

“every time i take your bag, yes.” she smiles, gesturing at the kitchen. “dinner is ready.”

they sit with plates of curry, chatting about their day. “azumane called today,” she tells him. “he asked if we’d be interested in modeling couple clothes for him. do you want to do it?”

ryuu gives her an incredulous look. “modeling? us?”

“yes, he said we’d be a good fit. the company will pay for everything, so we just need to show up–“

“let’s do it.”

kiyoko blinks. “just like that?”

“if you want to, that is,” he adds quickly. “i’m cool with whatever you pick! we already did some stuff for him, so it isn’t like we don’t know what to do.” that’s true – ryuu was featured in the same travel wear campaign as nishinoya, and kiyoko modeled one of asahi’s dresses, a simple sundress she still wears.

“we could make an overnight out of it,” kiyoko says, echoing what asahi said. “be in the studio for half a day, enjoy a nice dinner, and then spend the next day looking at the sights before returning home. it’d be nice to get away for a bit.”

ryuu nods eagerly. “i’ll start making calls to clear my schedule!”

“wait, i should let azumane know first. then we can start planning.” she smiles, watching her husband’s blush blossom across his cheeks. always quick to jump the gun, and just as quick to reel back. it’s why they balance each other so well.

after several phone calls and schedule rearrangements, the couple is on a shinkansen to tokyo two weeks later. kiyoko watches the countryside pass in a blur outside the window, ryuu’s head resting on her shoulder, snoring gently. she reaches over to adjust the blanket around him, fixes the toque on his head before resuming her watch, their fingers still intertwined together.

a taxi awaits them at tokyo station. kiyoko pulls her drowsy husband through the crowd, who pulls their carry-on along, eventually returning to his senses as they get stuck in traffic. “tokyo’s always so cool to visit,” ryuu whispers, leaning closer to her. “you ever think we could live here?”

“i wouldn’t be opposed to it,” she replies. “i don’t mind our life in sendai, either.”

asahi awaits them at the entrance of the studio, glasses askew and hair tied into its usual bun. “kiyoko! tanaka!” he welcomes them with warm embraces. “thank you so much for coming and helping out. i’m in your debt, seriously.”

“that means you’ll treat us to wagyu steak tonight, right?” ryuu asks with a smirk.

“honestly, if that’s what you want, i’ll call around…” asahi starts reaching for his phone, but kiyoko is quick to stop him.

“we’re fine with whatever you’ve already planned,” she reassures him.

“no, seriously! if it’s wagyu you want, i can–“

“let’s save that for another day. really.”

“aw, babe, weren’t you saying it’s been a while since you had wagyu?” ryuu jokes.

her smile is laced with amusement. “don’t make it sound like we eat it every day. azumane, please, lead the way.”

cameras and lights are arranged in front of a white backdrop, several pieces of furniture pushed to the side. the couple is separated for hair and makeup, and kiyoko is shown one of the outfits to model – tanned pants, plain white shirt, and yellow jacket. she’s given a handbag as a prop.

ryuu stands beneath the lights, dressed in yellow shorts, white shirt, and tanned jacket, along with a yellow toque over his head. he turns to her, jaw dropping slightly, cheeks turning red. kiyoko stands beside him, unable to help but admire how well they complement each other. “you guys really look like a couple,” asahi remarks from the sidelines.

“i’d hope so,” she responds, glancing at her husband. ryuu is pointedly looking the other way, blushing.

“all right, time for work. let’s see…tanaka, put your arm around kiyoko. yeah, that’s it – move a bit closer to your husband, kiyoko…okay, good. look natural, okay? tanaka, why aren’t you looking this way?”

“i’m afraid i’ll combust,” ryuu intones gravelly. “my wife is too beautiful for me to lay my eyes upon.”

kiyoko giggles, moving closer toward him. “thank you, dear. you’re quite handsome, yourself.” that’s the precise moment the camera goes off, capturing the moment. while the public may only see this one image in the catalogue, the couple’s love for each other will definitely be clear for all to see.

--

inspiration: fanart of kiyotana couple clothing!!

[flyingwargle]

every writer has That One Scene that lives in their head rent-free but they can’t write it yet because “the vibes aren’t ripe”

[flyingwargle]

the front door opens. shoes are scuffed as they’re kicked off in a heap. “i’m back…” the voice is muffled, drifting off. the lights flood the apartment, but the book over kuroo’s eyes shield him from the onslaught. “bro?”

kuroo pulls the book from his face as bokuto approaches him on the couch, gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair down from his post-workout shower. “everything okay, bro?” he asks.

“just about.” papers are spread across the table like a bad conspiracy theorist, tablet cast aside. kuroo throws the book down beside him with a sigh. “did you see any good eye candy at the gym?”

“you and i both know that we’re whipped for other people that aren’t at this university.”

“you’re right. but?”

bokuto flops down beside him. “but i saw that fourth-year econ guy bench 250, and i thought, if he can bench that much, i should be able to do at least 280 before graduating.”

“good luck. you’ve got two semesters left until then.”

“you gotta come next time to spot me.”

kuroo closes his eyes. “i’ll see. these last few days have been stressful. it’d be nice to have a distraction.”

“it’s open gym tonight.” he can hear the hope in bokuto’s voice.

“maybe. i have some assignments left.”

“come on, bro! some of the guys will be there for a casual game. they miss you.”

of course they do. in fact, a lot of people miss him, like the coaches, his ex-teammates, even some independent sport journalists who latch onto up-and-coming athletes to document their rise to stardom, then brag that they discovered them first. kuroo turned his back on all of that at the start of his final year, to secure employment before graduation, or at least an internship. he still hasn’t had any luck.

perhaps it’s his own fault. instead of joining business clubs and associations, he was on the volleyball team, despite not wanting to go pro. it was mostly because bokuto begged him, and although he spent most of his time as a second-string player, he eventually became a regular. his block won them the last collegiate tournament, the title of best middle blocker, and a dozens of scouts’ attention. many of their business cards were shoved in the bottom of his sock drawer.

he still remembers the conversation he had with a representative from a sports agency, especially their dismissive laugh. you’re better off on the court than on the sidelines, kid.

what if that’s true? he definitely has a future as an athlete. but then he’d recall kenma’s smile and tsukishima’s laughs during the fated battle at the trash heap, and the awe on those kids’ faces at the volleyball gym that he volunteers at. that’s all worth something, isn’t it?

bokuto stands to head into the kitchenette. “you hungry? i’m starved.” university did his boisterous best friend well. he’s a decent cook who can mix a pretty good smoothie, and he’ll soon graduate with an education degree, future already decided with the msby black jackals.

and then there’s kuroo, who quit the team in his final year to job hunt, but to no avail. sure, he isn’t graduating yet, but knowing that every agency and company that he contacted hasn’t replied back doesn’t sit well with him.

his sigh is long and heavy. bokuto, who is peering in the fridge, looks up at him. “you sure you’re okay, bro?”

“bro, tell it to me straight.”

“i’m gay.”

“bro, tell it to me gay. should i have gone pro?”

the fridge closes. plastic bags rustle. water runs over a cutting board. “i’ll tell it to you straight and gay because i’m your best friend. first, straight – nah. i mean, you’re good, like, really good, but i don’t think the professional scene fits you.”

kuroo is silent. that is true. he never envisioned himself shining beneath the stadium lights or featured on billboards and ads. even when he was interviewed after games, it’d always be brief. he didn’t like the attention.

“gay, on the other hand,” bokuto continues, “it’s still no.”

“what?” kuroo twists around to face him. “that’s the same as being straight.”

“that’s because being pro isn’t for you. just like being straight isn’t for you.” they conducted a very scientific experiment to see if kuroo could be bi, but the results came back undeniably gay. “you wanted to do sports promotion, right? so that’s what you’ll do.”

he sinks back onto the couch. “i haven’t gotten any calls,” he mumbles. “like, none at all. i talked with the counselors and a bunch of alumni for advice on my resume and portfolio, but i never got any responses. i’m…scared that i won’t get anywhere with this.”

“you shouldn’t be. you just need that one call.” his friend turns to the cutting board. “there’s still time left, bro. plus, you played volleyball, so that gives you an edge.”

“you don’t have to have played it to know how to promote it, bro.”

“yeah, but you have a player’s perspective! that’s valuable, you know?”

kuroo supposes he’s right, but doesn’t say anything. soon, the apartment smells like yakisoba, which they eat on the couch. “come by tonight,” bokuto says through a mouthful. “play around and forget about job hunting for a while. have some fun.”

“okay. sure. you just want to play with me one last time, don’t you?”

“i didn’t say that! you did!”

he finds his court shoes afterwards and follows bokuto to the gym, where his ex-teammates welcome him with open arms. like bokuto, most plan to go pro, a few with contracts lined up already, some planning to attend tryouts. only a handful don’t plan to take volleyball further.

the semester ends, and the next begins. kuroo continues his job hunt, bokuto with volleyball and training, one whose future is secured, the other feeling himself grow nearer and nearer to the abyss. it’s one weekend when bokuto is away for games and kuroo is wallowing in the darkness of the apartment that his phone rings, and he crawls out from his blanket cocoon on the couch to pick it up. “hello?” he says, fully expecting a spam call.

“hello, is this kuroo tetsurou-san?”

his back straightens, the tone unfamiliar but professional. “yes, who is this?”

“kobayashi enya of red star sports. we recently reviewed your resume and portfolio, and we’re quite impressed with your work. we’re actually looking for a paid intern student at the moment to help us with a project, would you be interested in that?”

“yes,” he blurts out. “i’d love that, but how did you…”

“ah, we were recommended to you by one of my colleagues. we mostly work with collegiate athletes, and my colleague works closely with one such athlete. he spoke very highly of you, actually. he’s an outsider hitter for chuo university, if you know him.”

“i…might. i’m familiar with their athletes.”

“perfect. do you have time to discuss this in more detail?”

kuroo pulls himself out of his cocoon and opens his tablet, chatting for the next half hour about the internship, pay, potential job opportunities. “we’d like to see what you can do first. if we’re interested, we’ll extend a job offer to you, if that’s all right.”

“yes, of course. thank you very much for the opportunity.”

“i look forward to working with you soon, kuroo-san.”

they end the call. kuroo pumps his fist in the air, yells at the top of his lungs. he’s about to call bokuto when he sees an unread text message.

boku-bro koutarou (3:45 pm) told you to wait for that one call!!

he could never wish for a better best friend.

[flyingwargle]

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

[flyingwargle]

Fanfiction writers be like:

"here's the immensely time consuming 100K word novel-length passion project I'm working on between my real life job and family! It eats up hundreds of hours of my one and only life, causes me emotional harm, and I gain basically nothing from it! Also I put it on the internet for free so anyone can read if they want. Hope you love it!" :)

[flyingwargle]

[flyingwargle]

akaashi is a cuddler. this surprises him, but it makes sense because as a kid, he slept with a plushie of some sort – a stuffed bear named meiji, and then a stuffed penguin named tuxedo. now, he has a body pillow with a cover of msby black jackals’ #12, bokuto koutarou.

stock was very limited because management discovered the photos were altered last minute. one side showed the athletes in their jerseys; and the other side was supposed to be tease a bit of skin…but then changed to show them shirtless with photoshopped abs, smirks, hooded eyes, and flushed expressions. 

no one needs to know how akaashi waited all night to place an order. no one needs to know how he used kenma’s address instead of his own. no one needs to know how he staked his house out to retrieve the package so his friend wouldn’t know his address was implicated.

this is between him and his body pillow.

he is the sole occupant of a king-sized bed while bokuto is in osaka. on nights when the ache is particularly unbearable, the body pillow gives him reassurance, an imagined voice whispering yes, he is loved, this isn’t a dream, and he’ll see bokuto soon. it often gives him the energy to persevere, a soft and pliant substitute for the man of his dreams.

even if said man of his dreams knows nothing about the body pillow.

bokuto knows about his cuddling tendencies, always offering his arm or shoulder to sleep on during bus rides. it evolved after they confessed, expanding their boundaries to sleepovers, watching movies on the couch, lazy mornings in bed.

the sleep after bokuto comes home is always best.

he’ll be home at the end of the week. akaashi scrambles to finish everything before then, fingers perpetually curled around his ceramic owl mug while typing “noted” with his other hand to every one of udai’s panicked texts, coworkers’ comments on his appearance, and manager’s increasingly outrageous deadlines. in the chaos, he exclusively eats combini food, and his apartment starts overfilling with heaps of trash, reeking of leftover grease and increasing blood pressure.

friday. akaashi sends his final email and sinks into his chair, eyes falling shut. he hears his phone go off, reaching blindly for it. “kou?”

“hey, keiji, i just got home! are you staying late again?”

“no, i just finished everything. i’ll be there shortly.”

“great! do you want takeout, or should we eat out?”

“takeout. i want to melt onto the couch and not move over the weekend.”

bokuto’s laughter is music to his ears. “i’ll get curry, then. see you soon!”

akaashi hangs up with a tired smile, completing the rest of his tasks before shouldering his backpack to leave the office, saying goodbye to his coworkers on his way out. he’s thinking about all the different shows they can watch when he realizes something important.

he forgot to put his body pillow away. his mood immediately plummets, mind buzzing. it isn’t that weird to have a body pillow of your boyfriend, right?

right?

when he reaches for the front door, it swings open, and bokuto steps outside, arms full of garbage bags. he looks up, smiling at akaashi, who remains still. “keiji, you’re back! i’ll be quick with this! wait for me!” without another word, he scampers down the hallway, and akaashi slips inside, making a beeline for the bedroom.

the bed is made, blankets pulled tight in the corners, pillows aligned. akaashi stares at his naked body pillow, cover tangled among the pile of laundry left behind. not only did bokuto see the cover but also wash it. what the hell.

he hears the door open and close, footsteps scrambling down the hallway, faucet turning on. it turns off shortly, bokuto calling out, “keiji, where are you?” he finds him a second later, bursting into the bedroom. “welcome home! i already put in the order–“

“kou.”

bokuto stops himself. “yeah?”

“you.” akaashi gestures at the laundry. “this–“

“oh, sorry! i’ll put it away now.”

“wait.” he stops his boyfriend. “you…the body pillow…”

bokuto frowns at him. “what about it?”

“are you not…bothered by it? that i have it?”

“should i?”

the clarity in his voice unsettles him. “well, it’s…weird. it’s unbecoming of me to have such a thing, especially with such a…a revealing design–“

“at least i’m not naked.”

“i don’t think your team would’ve allowed it.”

he chuckles, stepping closer. “i don’t think it’s weird at all. i still hug that owl plush you gave me!”

“yes, but…that’s normal. this is–“

"just think of it like another plushie! what's wrong with it?"

akaashi feels the rest of his anxiety fade, overwhelmed by a wave of affection. “i suppose you’re right. thanks, kou.”

“i wish you’d asked me for it, though. management really didn’t want to sell too many, so we all have extras. i have a bunch in my closet.” bokuto tugs it from the pile, turning to him with a smirk. “should we put the cover back on?”

at night, akaashi places the body pillow in the closet before turning off the lights and slipping under the covers. bokuto immediately moves closer, lets him snuggle against him, arms wrapped around his broad body. this is a feeling no body pillow could ever replicate, and he’s grateful to have it for himself. “good night, kou,”

“good night, keiji. love you.”

--

inspiration: fanart of akaashi with a bokuto body pillow <3

[flyingwargle]

to those who've gone through and liked multiple drabbles in a row...i see you and appreciate you 💖 thank you for reading!

[flyingwargle]

tw: day after a panic attack, discussions of anxiety

suna awakens to the sound of his front door opening.

through the haze of his sleep-leaden mind, he registers how heavy his body is, swollen eyes struggling to blink through the darkness. he hears keys jangle, footsteps reverberating throughout the apartment until knocks sound on his bedroom door, along with a soft call. “rin?”

he tries to respond, but his throat is dry, so all that comes out is a faint cough. the door opens, a figure washed in shadows stepping inside, approaching to kneel beside his bed. suna rolls his head to face them, can see the concern in their gaze, the deep frown softening into a tiny smile. “hi, love,” osamu whispers. “i heard from komori that you were havin’ a rough time. didja eat?”

suna shakes his head. osamu reaches forward to brush hair out of his eyes, gentle touches that send shivers down his spine. “all right. lemme make ya some food. keep restin’, ya hear?” he doesn’t have the energy to speak, simply closes his eyes, feels osamu kiss his forehead before slipping out. the kitchen fan turns on a moment later.

after what happened yesterday, he isn’t in any condition to practice, so he stays in bed, chasing after the last tendrils of sleep, opening his eyes when he fails. a bone-deep exhaustion makes it difficult for him to sit up, let alone reach for his phone, somewhere on the nightstand, so he resigns himself with a sigh. it isn’t long before knocks echo on his door again, and osamu enters with a bowl balanced on a tray, along with a cup of water. “i made ya some rice porridge. lemme help ya sit up.”

slowly, he moves upright, leaning heavily against his pillows. osamu feeds him a spoonful of porridge at a time, quiet except for the steady rainfall that taps a rhythm on the window. “d’ya wanna talk ‘bout it?”

“not really.”

“but will ya, with someone?”

his nostrils flare. it’s good timing that his monthly therapy session is around the corner. “yeah.”

osamu feeds him the last spoonful of porridge, then moves the bowl aside. he kneels beside him again, hand in his, kisses his palm with reverence saved for a god. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t here fer ya when ya needed me.”

“you have a restaurant to run. it’s my fault. i should’ve been more careful.” he’s always been mindful of his own anxiety, has followed every plan and strategy that he and his therapist came up with to mitigate panic attacks, to the point that he hadn’t had an attack since joining ejp. but things always fall through the cracks, often in unpredictable ways, and he’s the only one left to suffer.

“it’s never yer fault, rin. don’t say that.” osamu lifts his head at him, expression fierce. “i shoulda recognized the signs earlier, shoulda paid more attention, and i’m sorry fer that. i know this won’t make up fer it, but lemme take care of ya today.”

“are you sure?” suna whispers. “what about your restaurant?”

“they can survive without me fer a day or two, but i can’t survive without ya.” osamu looks at him more critically now, frown deepening. “yer still in your practice clothes.”

“oh. yeah.” seeing that he collapsed in bed immediately after coming home last night, changing or showering were the last things on his mind.

“d’ya wanna bath? i’ll help ya wash yer hair. when was the last time ya washed it?”

“don’t ask.”

osamu helps him out of bed. with slow steps, they enter the bathroom, suna sitting on the toilet while osamu fusses with the water temperature, waiting until it’s warm enough. then, he tells him to undress and get in the tub, pulling hair products from the cabinet.

a hot bath and freshly washed hair later, they settle on the couch, weighted blanket thrown over suna’s shoulders, face pressed against osamu’s chest. in high school, when his anxiety was undiagnosed, osamu was the only one who knew how to help him through it, the others lingering on the sidelines. it worsened in his third year, pressured by family to go to university and get a job, pressured to perform well and gain attention from scouts, pressured to maintain his grades to keep his options open. through it all, osamu stayed, hand stroking his back, fingers running through his hair, whispering in his ear that everything will be okay.

suna doesn’t deserve him, this man who drove three hours at the crack of dawn to arrive at his doorstep to make him food and wash his hair. what has he given him in return? a burden that he’ll carry for the rest of his life, no matter how hard he tries to mitigate it.

“rin? what’s wrong?” osamu’s panicked voice snaps him from his thoughts. “yer cryin’.” oh, he is, swollen eyes leaking with tears again. suna makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. he cried enough last night. why won’t the tears stop?

“love, talk ta me. what’s wrong?”

suna hides his face from him. “i made you drive all the way here to deal with me. i’m sorry.”

“rin, ya didn’t ‘make me.’ i chose ta do this. an’ i ain’t ‘dealin’ with ya’ either. ya just had a panic attack in the last twenty-four hours. d’ya think i’d let ya handle the fallout alone? i’d never forgive myself.” osamu wraps his arms around him, pulls him closer to him. “if it weren’t for komori, ya would be by yerself, an’ i wouldn’t have known. that scares me, that ya’d be sufferin’, an’ i’d be none the wiser.”

“this isn’t–“

“no, don’t say that. i chose this. you’ll never let me go.” he lowers his head against his, voice soft in his ear. “so don’t be scared ta tell me when somethin’ is wrong, okay?”

suna crumbles, sobbing into his shirt, eyes and nose streaming. osamu holds him tight, strokes his back, murmurs that everything will be okay. he was there for him in high school and after, even when distance keeps them apart. he’ll always be here, and suna will never thank him enough.

[flyingwargle]

Suna: your brother's cute. i think i want to date him.

Atsumu: *thinking about the night before when Osamu was standing on his bunk and screaming that worms are just tiny, harmless snakes* good, because i'm positive nobody else does

[flyingwargle]

july. tsukishima stands in front of his supervisor's desk with his arms folded behind him. he doesn't look at his supervisor, staring at one of the many framed certificates on the wall, instead.

"and what will you be doing in..." his supervisor squints at the document. "anaheim?"

"my boyfriend would like to go to disneyland for our anniversary." it isn't necessarily a lie, but better than the truth.

"you were in america last month for...sightseeing. surely there are better places to visit?"

he doesn't respond. his supervisor looks at him a moment longer before stamping his approval. "i wish you and yamaguchi-kun a happy anniversary."

"thank you."

--

august. "i can't do this." tsukishima lowers his switch, throwing a desperate glance at yamaguchi beside him, laptop balanced on his knees. "tadashi, please."

"i haven't written more than a sentence since you last asked." yamaguchi doesn't look at him, navigating through his tabs. "koganegawa managed to knock out one of your pokémon, right? that means he's getting better."

"i am!" their third wheel and thorn at his side chirps. "come on, tsukki, i won't fall for the sucker punch strategy again!”

his teammate just so happened to have friends in california and just so happened to fly on the same flight as them. he also so happened to get a ticket for the pokémon world championships, totally not thanks to tsukishima, which is why he's at the airport with them. after the tournament, he'll take a bus to los angeles, and the couple will spend their anniversary in disneyland. whether tsukishima will be a world champion or not at that point remains unseen.

he isn't nervous yet feels pressured to do well. only the world's best managed to get here, aiming for a shot at glory. as a past world champion, it'll be embarrassing not to make it past the first day - if he makes his goal of top cut, he'll have a good reason to retire. maybe he'll coach koganegawa.

the thought leaves him when his teammate is defeated in three turns. "man, i didn't see that coming at all!" he exclaims. "one more round, tsukki!" at least he isn't easily discouraged.

it's a long and suffocating journey to anaheim. koganegawa is incessant, asking a thousand questions and taking a million pictures. yamaguchi entertains him, tsukishima simply putting on his noise-canceling headphones to review tactics over and over.

the day before the tournament is a celebration with fireworks and a drone show. tsukishima holds yamaguchi's hand as they watch pokémon silhouettes light up the sky, feeling fingers squeeze around his hand.

"you nervous?"

there's that question, again. tsukishima watches the drones spell out, welcome, trainers!  pikachu waving its paw. "i am." it comes clear and measured. "but i'll do my best."

--

the opening ceremony starts at the same time as the first round, so tsukishima says goodbye to yamaguchi and koganegawa before heading off to war.

"tsukishima-kun!"

he glances over his shoulder at tomoaki yuta, whom he battled in the japan invitationals and won in three games. "tomoaki-san."

"looks like we'll be sitting next to each other." tomoaki shows him his assigned table on his phone. "if we cross paths, i will beat you this time."

"i won't make it easy." the barest smile twitches on his face. no one in his testing group made it, but they promised to watch the livestream despite the abysmal time difference.

fortunately, he wins his match in two matches, giving him a moment to breathe before the second round. he checks his phone to find his next match, and sees...

not a table number, but the stage. his match will be streamed live.

"tsukki!" koganegawa shouts at him, seated with yamaguchi in the front row. "your match is gonna be on the big stage! isn't that cool?"

"yeah."

yamaguchi stands to face him, reaching for his hands, fingers slightly trembling. "you'll win in two games. you'll be fine."

tsukishima nods, his throat dry. yamaguchi kisses his cheek, nudges him forward when a staff member approaches him. he doesn't look back, remains tall as he takes his seat.

his opponent won a tournament in spain to get here. they put on their noise-canceling headphones, exchange team sheets, shake hands. tsukishima opens his notebook to jot down moves and abilities to keep an eye out, takes a sip of water. his eyes dart toward yamaguchi, who gives him a thumbs-up. he turns back to his screen.

the world fades when he competes, focused only on the information in front of him. it's similar to volleyball, how he needs to identify his opponent's rhythm quickly to disrupt it and gain momentum.

if he wins this, he'll gain a huge advantage by remaining undefeated.

just as yamaguchi said, he wins in two games, removing his headphones to a wave of applause. tsukishima shakes hands with his opponent, releases a relieved breath. before he can move offstage, though, a staff member asks him to stay for an interview. he nods, stands awkwardly until the caster and interpreter joins him.

"let's give it one more time for kei tsukishima!" the caster calls out. the crowd cheers again, and he bows his head, looking at yamaguchi to ground himself. "how are you feeling, moving forward while undefeated?"

"good." he tends to speak english during these events, even though his accent is strong and vocabulary is simple. "i hope to maintain it."

"could you tell us a bit about your team, and how you came up with it?"

for this, he speaks in japanese, if only to convey himself better, waiting for the interpreter to finish. the caster nods, raising the mic again. "before we let you get ready for your next match, are there any shout-outs you'd like to give?"

"yes. my teambuilding group in japan, and my boyfriend who came to america with me. they helped me prepare, and i wouldn't be here without them."

"tsukki!" he hears koganegawa from the crowd. "what about me?"

"...and a friend who came us. thank you for the support." he bows in conclusion, giving a final wave before stepping off the stage.

he hopes this won't be the last time standing in front of the crowd.

[flyingwargle]

[flyingwargle]

suna isn't here yet.

osamu stands beneath the tree with his phone in hand, message thread on screen that confirms their date today. the oppressive summer heat is beginning to wane, early autumn transforming the environment into a portraot of red, brown, and orange, but osamu hasn't changed into long sleeves yet, going with a plain shirt and vest that atsumu forced onto him. something about looking good for suna, as if his boyfriend would care.

he sends an obligatory i'm here text and sits under the tree, leaning against the peeling bark, tilting his head back to blink at the sunlight through the thinning leaves. their first date didn't go as planned, with suna's reaction to fireworks, but at least it ended on a positive note, sleeping together on the couch. they agreed to try again, this time going to a budget tour in the city, but as the minutes pass and suna doesn't appear, he starts to wonder if he forgot.

maybe something happened? it is early, and suna often sleeps in when they don't have practice. osamu is tempted to call, but doesn't want to agitate him, just in case suna is on the way. he slips his phone away, folds his arms over his chest, and tucks his chin into the collar of his shirt.

this is his favorite kind of weather - warm, but not overwhelming, with a cool breeze. the bark is rough but emits an earthen scent, the branches intertwined to create a canopy that shields him from the sunlight. a wave of drowsiness entices him to close his eyes, to rest before suna arrives.

it'll just be for a while.

--

suna will be lucky if he still has a boyfriend after today.

a red light traps him on the block. his heart pounds wildly, unsure if he's on the brink of a panic attack, experiencing an arrhythmia, or simply out of breath after running from the dorm all the way into town because it was faster than waiting for the bus.

the light turns green, and he resumes his run, his thoughts running at the same speed, apologies in different shapes and forms. i'm sorry, my alarm didn't go off, there weren't any buses this morning, so i had to run, i slept in-

none of them are excuses. he did sleep in because he didn't hear his alarm. he did sleep late because he was anxious about waking on time. he did run because the bus was delayed and the next one wouldn't come until twenty minutes later, and he'd rather move than stand and succumb to his anxiety.

he reaches the next block, and their rendezvous point comes into view. it's a tree at the park's entrance, just across the street from the restaurant, wreathed in the colors of autumn. suna slows to a walk, tries to steady his breaths. "hey," he calls out as he reaches the tree. "sorry i'm late-"

the rest of his words fall from his tongue. a breeze sweeps through his hair, blowing into his eyes as he looks down at osamu, asleep.

his head is tilted at a slight angle, lower half of his face tucked in his shirt collar. he wears a gray sweater vest over his short-sleeved shirt, arms across his chest. his legs stretch across the grass, toes in the air. in the quiet morning, his snores vibrate gently around them.

a wave of tranquility waves over suna. he calms himself, takes his phone out to snap several photos of his boyfriend. carefully, he sits down beside him, listens for any change in his breaths. when osamu continues to slumber, suna lets out a relieved breath, raising his arm for a quick selfie. it'll make good material in the future as wallpaper or blackmail.

he feels his anxiety melt away, quelled by osamu's snores, the empty street, the warm yet crisp air. suna leans against him, finds himself staring at osamu's tranquil expression, lost in the way his bangs sweep across his eyes, lips slightly parted, neck twisted at an awkward angle. affection floods him, unable to stop himself from brushing hair from his face, placing a light kiss on his cheek. i love you,  he wants to say. i love you more than words can say.

osamu stirs. raising his head, he struggles to open his eyes, blinking at suna. "rin?" he mumbles thickly.

"morning."

it takes him another moment before clarity returns and osamu lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head. "sorry, i didn't mean ta doze. were ya waitin' long?"

"uh...no." his panic returns like a punch to the gut. "i woke up late and completely missed my alarm. sorry i woke you and-"

"don't worry 'bout it. yer here now, an' we still got time before the tour starts." he pauses for a moment. "we should probably get ta the train, though."

in another moment of frenzy, they dash down the street to the train station, slapping ic cards against the reader, rushing onto the train after ensuring it's going the right way. they collapse on the seats as the door closes, breathing heavily against one another. their smiles are mirror images.

"at least we're on the way," osamu says with a breath of relief. "so it doesn't matter if ya were late or not. we'll just eat 'till we feel better."

he reaches for suna's hand, gives him a reassuring squeeze. suna reciprocates, the last of his anxiety replaced with excitement. "i like the sound of that."

--

lowkey inspired by this art of osamu sleeping <3