#Hq!! X reader

[shouyuus]

if... if it's still open for requests, i wanted to request a short drabble of akaashi? maybe something to do with rain :) happy birthday!! -- @anonymilk

30 under 30 bday event! (now closed!)

even the rain

akaashi; fluff; thank u for requesting bby!!!! i hope u like this u__u u know i love a good rainy day fic!!!

─── 京治 IT IS RAINING WHEN he kisses you for the very first time, under the awning of a corner store, a steaming hot pork bun caught between your fingers, the wax-paper crinkling as he slips the bun from your hand, if only to keep it from dropping onto the rain-slick pavement.

“A-Akaashi-kun?” his name tastes like salt and scallions.

He pulls back with a sheepish grin, eyes flickering down to the bun, the marks of your teeth and his caught one next to the other in the fluffy white dough.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“Ah — I wasn’t —” you press your lips, feeling a blush tickling at your cheeks as you scuff your feet. “It’s fine,” you finally manage, glancing back up only to look away again as he catches your eyes.

“It’s just… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, and… it seemed like a good time.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage.

The sound of an umbrella rustling makes you look up again; Akaashi offers you a grin as he hands the bun back to you.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home. Eat up, before it gets cold.”

You take the bun between your hands, feel the warmth seep into your fingertips as you both step out into the rapidly darkening street.

“Once we get there,” you say after a few minutes of walking in companionable silence, “can we try again?”

“Try… again?”

You turn towards him with a bright blush, offering him the remaining half of the bun.

“Yeah. That’s what people do when they walk their girlfriends home, right? Kiss them goodbye?”

Akaashi blinks at you for a second before reaching out to take the bun, letting out a soft laugh. He casts his eyes up toward the storm-ridden sky and smiles.

“Yeah, we can.”

final wc: 321 || be part of my taglist!

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @dira333 @stunies @fennecnco @simpingdailyforthem

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[bokutosbabe]

We've Already Done It In My Head ;)

( kissing with the haikyuu boys )

a / n — was listening to guilty as sin? by taylor swift and knew i had to write something for my boys

content — haikyuu! boys x GN! reader, some suggestive parts, some characters repeated,

synopsis — just kissing with the haikyuu boys <3

✿.｡. “ without ever touching his skin, ” .｡.✿

Always feels like the first time

they're always so giddy to give you a kiss, whether it be a small peck or a full make out session, they are always bouncing up and down in excitement. while they're always the most excited to kiss you, they're also so insanely clumsy about it too.

you couldn't keep count of how many times the two of you had clinked your teeth together, accidentally headbutted each other, and even accidentally bitten each others lips.

maybe it wasn't always the most picture perfect kiss, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

after all, people do say they wish they could experience their firsts again, and you get that anytime you're around them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ HINATA SHOYO, shohei fukunaga, YAMAGUCHI TADASHI, asahi azumane, TOBIO KAGEYAMA

Always turns into a make-out session

if there was one thing that was 100% certain in your life, it was that you could never kiss them in a purely innocent way. you could be in a very - and i mean VERY - public place, and if you want to give them a small peck?

nope, it's turning into a whole pda session. sometimes you don't mind, but other times you're a little embarrassed because of their boldness.

even while you're at a big event, they have to have their hands on you at all times. "you look so good right now." ignore. "wanna kiss you so bad." ignore. "wanna go to the bathroom?" ignore, ignore, ig-freaking-nore!

if the two of you can get through the whole evening without a big display, maybe you'll reward him when you get home ;)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ATSUMU MIYA, korai hoshiumi, BOKUTO KOTARO, hinata shoyo

Always ends up in you getting what you want

it's not nice to manipulate people, especially not by kissing them until they can't tell you no. your boyfriend was a meanie. nothing more and absolutely nothing less.

all you wanted was to watch a rom-com for your weekly movie night, but nooo, they wanted to watch some boring history retelling film. you weren't sure if they really wanted to watch it or if they were only putting it on to piss you off.

so, of course, what else were you supposed to do besides slide yourself onto their lap and start kissing them until you could slip the remote from their hands and into yours.

" i hate you." he grumbled as you switched from the boring documentary to one of your favorite rom-coms of all time.

" no, you love me. " "...sadly."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KEI TSUKISHIMA, suna rintaro, OSAMU MIYA, TETSURO KUROO, yaku morisuke

Always gives the perfect kisses

they're literally a perfect specimen, it's really unfair.

you're sad? they're always there giving you small kisses on your head, forehead, and of course your lips. you're in the mood to just be hateful? he's there rubbing your back and kissing your temple while nodding along to your words.

there is no place in the world where they won't fit in perfectly.

and you're just lucky enough to be part of it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ AKAASHI KEIJI, koshi sugawara, KITA SHINSUKE, toru oikawa, HAJIME IWAZUMI

✿.｡. “ how can i be guilty as sin ? ” .｡.✿

thanks for reading!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[chimielie]

oh my god, they were roommates

part 2 to and they were roommates. no cws, just silliness.

you're not talking to tooru.

he's not sure how you manage it so effectively. you eat all your meals in your room while he's home, except for when you manage to sneak from there to the door while he's in the bathroom. his only clue that you've gone out is that you leave your bedroom door open when you do, really hammering home how empty his life suddenly is.

"even when we're in the same room," he sighs, resting his cheek on his fist. "it's like trying to grab a fish out of the water. i turn around or blink and poof! gone!"

"your sleeve is dipping into your drink," says his date. "and i really think you need to discuss this with your roommate. at home. alone."

tooru waves goodbye forlornly as they stand up and walks out of the restaurant, leaving behind a half-eaten ball of rice and a broken man.

"you are like a sad, sad," akaashi says, pausing to really linger on the word sad, "wet cat. please stop bringing your dates here to mope about—to them. you are forming bad associations between our business and your terrible romantic etiquette."

akaashi keiji is a mangaka now, or an editor for one, anyway; he works at onigiri miya (tokyo location) on the side because it's the only way he routinely leaves the house; tooru brings his dating drama here to brighten up what must surely be a terribly boring life.

"what would you do without me, akaashi-kun," tooru stretches his arms high with a languid sigh that makes akaashi worry that he has comprehended none of his words. "wouldn't you be so miserable if you didn't have me to bring romance and excitement to your life?"

"i have a boyfriend of several years," akaashi says, which is rude to remind tooru of while he's in such a vulnerable state. "i have plenty of excitement with him in my life."

"inconsiderate!" tooru snorts. "please break up with him to show me solidarity."

"i will not be doing that." akaashi picks up the nameless and now-vanished date's plate and takes a bite out of the leftover food.

"understandable," tooru nods, "that's very reasonable. i just don't know what to do, or how to fix it, or what i did wrong."

"you come in here every other night to whine about what you did wrong."

"do not."

"do too," akaashi sticks out his tongue at him. there's a grain of rice stuck to his lip. "you spent several months going out on dates trying to make your friend-turned roommate jealous—during which, I'll note, you basically exclusively talked about the person you were and continue to be obsessed with—then initiated... romantic physical contact, then ran away. because you have the attachment style of a stray cat."

"ah, akaashi-kun," tooru says. "are you saying i get around?"

"i am saying you are lurking outside the window and begging for attention and then biting the hand that feeds you when you get it.”

“oh.” tooru is quiet for a moment. “can i get the check?”

“it’s on the house if you’ll just go home and talk to your roommate and never come back here with another date.” akaashi says, finishing off the onigiri.

“deal.”

your room is empty, your bedroom door ajar when he comes home. mournfully, tooru sits on the bed, reminiscing over the hours he'd spent gossiping with you here.

he'll just wait for you to get back. when he used to take you dancing—with your other friends, but you'd wind your arms around his neck and he'd run light hands over your waist, your hips, and you would look at him like no one else even existed—you always wanted to leave before midnight. it's ten-forty-nine now, according to his watch, so he's sure you'll be back before long.

you get home at two-oh-four. you had never seen the point in staying out longer when going home and chatting over a bowl of cheesy noodles with tooru was so much more appealing—you didn't want to dance with anyone else anyway. now, though, you don't want to be home, and you have something to prove. to who, you're not sure, but you find yourself staying out later and later.

even though you always return home alone. you'd thought about really upping the ante, about moving on as abruptly as possible, but you couldn't. it felt like going too far in this petty revenge game. after all, you still—

you stop short, dropping your shoes on the floor. the devil is in your bed, lying on his side, knees tucked to his chest to fit his absurdly long frame. his breaths are even and deep, his face peaceful.

"oh, tooru," you sigh, and climb over him to tuck yourself against his warm side.

you blink your eyes open slowly, sleep still gleaming in the corners of your vision. there's a weight on your hip and something that smells really, really good surrounding you, nearly lulling you back to sleep.

"oh, please don't," says a voice you haven't heard in days. "my arm's circulation has been completely cut off. i may never serve again."

you jolt away from the soft source of warmth, which you realize belatedly is oikawa's chest.

"what happened?" you say, swiping at your face with the back of your hand.

he looks frustratingly perfect as always, brown hair rumpled, eyes soft like you aren't in the biggest spat of your friendship.

"i was waiting for you," he admits, leaning on his side and casting his eyes down, his lashes shadowing his high cheekbones. "because i wanted to apologize, to be clear. i must have fallen asleep, and then i woke up, and it was like—"

"yes," you cough. "i see. um."

"i'm sorry," he says. "hey, look at me. i'm really sorry."

"for what, oikawa?" you laugh nervously.

"for being stupid," he rolls one shoulder in a shrugging motion. "for trying to make you jealous and instead just being, like, a complete fucking clown during all of it."

"make me jealous?" you say, blinking at him.

"please don't look at me like that," he says, scrubbing over his face with the hand that's not propping up his head. "it-you make me nervous."

"we've been friends for years," you say, still apparently lost. "how can i make you nervous?"

"you always will," he laughs, but it's strained. "look—i like you. probably more, but i'm trying not to scare you—any more than i already have, i mean. i'm not sorry for kissing you, is what i mean. i should just—i should probably go."

"wait," you say firmly before he can untangle himself from your sheets. putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing yourself up to meet his lips, which are soft and dry and parted slightly with surprise.

the kiss is warm and lingers, even after you pull away. tooru stares at you with dazed eyes that make you shy, dropping your own. his voice is quiet but hopeful, contrasting his words in tone when he speaks.

"what the fuck?"

[19calicos]

i know where to look — kuroo tetsurō ˎˊ˗

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ✴︎ to be loved is to be known. ⋆⋆⋆

— on kuroo’s 2am walk home from a late night study session, yn and their skateboard crash right into his head heart.

status: in progress!

content: university au, meet-hurt LMFAOOO, slowburn, toothrotting fluff, some angst, gn skater! yn with they/them prns, whipped lovesick dork! kuroo, ooc writing sorry, ignore time stamps, this fic is self indulgent

warnings: language, bad grammar, injuries from skating, ooc writing sorry, weed + cigs + alc, self sabotage, descriptions of social anxiety, overthinking, usage of kms and kys, trust issues, yn's parents divorcing is mentioned, yn is so avoidant and in denial im sorry

tags are added as story progresses, please check individual chapters for cw.

disclaimer lol i’m not a fan of tv girl at all sorry but just hearing the “you know where to find me and i know where to look” snippet is so soft and sweet to me cuz to be loved is to be known (ty twitter) so here i am w this kuroo smau 🗣️

( 𖦹 ) denotes written content!

the cast: skater cat fan club + stupid bitch syndrome havers

table of contents:

1 ⊹ call an ambulance! ( 𖦹 )

2 ⊹ build something up

3 ⊹ literally everywhere…

4 ⊹ a cat named ube ( 𖦹 )

5 ⊹ helmet hair

6 ⊹ clocked

7 ⊹ tech deck master

8 ⊹ shadow the hedgehog

9 ⊹ happy community day! ( 𖦹 )

10 ⊹ exposure therapy + delusion

11 ⊹ a hundred not-dates ( 𖦹 )

12 ⊹ who wont slime

13 ⊹ on the kitchen floor ( 𖦹 )

14 ⊹ (it was tails)

15 ⊹ so in hindsight

16 ⊹ under familiar lights ( 𖦹 )

17 ⊹ tba

taglist: closed! (50/50)

extra: moodboard | everyone’s decks | yn style guide

[uwurakax]

-> HAIKYUU x SMAU TEXTS; she's busy

summary prank texting the hq guys "she's busy" ♡

featuring oikawa tōru || kozume kenma || miya atsumu ♡

notes im tired, ive slept for like 3 hours in two days and this was funnier in my head lol ♡

-> idec if im late to this lmaoo, might do more + bllk bois <-

the goddamn loml ♡

he is kenough ♡

my beebee ♡

© uwurakax — please don’t repost or share outside of tumblr

[heartkaji]

★ “HEY, WHATS YOUR SNAP ?”

୨ৎ notes : how haikyuu boys slide into your snap dms 💘 kinda ooc cuz i made them text like stereotypical fboys 💯

୨ৎ includes : atsumu miya, suna rintarou ( only those two cuz i only discovered how to upload more than 10 images after making this 💔 )

★ ATSUMU MIYA ?!

★ SUNA RINTAROU ?!

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[tetzoro]

MSBY BUSINESS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : kuroo goes out with the guys to give them his proposal.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : f!reader, alcohol mention, kuroo is tipsy + silly , fluff ! — WC : 2.6k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : the next installment for the all star project ! just something fun and silly hehe enjoy ! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

ᯓ★ masterlist

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“hey sweetheart.” kuroo slurred into the phone. you could hardly suppress your giggle. he was still out with some of the guys from MSBY, trying to secure them as players for the all stars match.

“hi tetsu.” you smile, folding the last of the laundry away. kuroo had begged you to come with him tonight, but you figured the deal would go better if it was kept just between the guys. besides, you had your own stuff to do and drinking on a thursday night was not on your list.

“you sound so pretty.” he dramatically sighs into the phone, the noise so loud you pull it back from your ear for a second. whenever kuroo drank too much, he’d exaggerate everything, especially with you, behaving like a toddler who needs your undivided attention.

“thank you.” you walk towards the living room, debating if you should start getting ready to pick him up. “are the guys taking care of you?”

kuroo wasted no time in gathering the guys for tonight’s meeting, wanting to jump on the project as soon as possible. only a week or so after the proposal had been approved, he set up a time to talk to them. MSBY would have a big pull for this match, especially because they were centralized right here in tokyo. but getting the bulk of the olympic players was on the table, as well as a few stars who moved out of the country to follow their dreams in volleyball.

“yeah i guess they are.” he mumbled, bokuto shouting something in the background. “but i want you to come take care of me.”

“well-“ you start before you hear bokuto shouting some more at your boyfriend. kuroo yaps back at him, the two bickering as kuroo sets the phone down for a minute.

“fine!” kuroo scoffs. “bokuto says hi.”

“hi bokuto.” you laugh.

“no!” kuroo groans. “don’t pay attention to him, pay attention to me.”

“i am, don’t worry.” you coo softly. on that note, you decide to get him. “why don’t i come get you?”

“you’d pick me up?” he sounds surprised. 

“duh.” you roll your eyes, grabbing your coat and keys.

“guysss.” kuroos voice sounds further away from the phone. “my amazing girlfriend is coming to pick me up so i gotta go.”

“hold on, don’t go running off yet.” you laugh, “i’ll be there in 15.”

“okay, fine.” if you shut your eyes tight enough, you could practically see the pout on his face. “drive safe.”

after exchanging your goodbyes, or as kuroo insists — see you soon, you quickly get into the car and head over to where he said he was going to be for the night.

the drive over was seamless, city lights blurring past you as you made your way to him — your heart. music filled up the car, your favorite playlist spinning through the songs that you hold dearest to you.

pride swelled in your chest the closer you got to the bar. judging by the way kuroo’s voice sounded — and the fact he was drinking a smidge more than usual — tells you that maybe the deal went off without a hitch.

but who were you kidding, of course it did. kuroo was a man that would go after whatever he wanted, not stopping until he achieved it. and bokuto, atsumu and sakusa couldn’t pass up this opportunity even if they wanted to, their pride couldn’t handle it.

excitement fills you as you get to the parking lot, finding a suitable spot before heading inside. you couldn’t wait to hear how the night went, ready to hang on to every word kuroo told you.

as soon as you walk in, you hear a shout of your name. in a blink of an eye, bokuto is running towards you at full speed and your eyes widen as he sweeps you up off of the ground in a bone crushing hug. 

“it’s been so long!” bokuto roared, holding onto you as your arms are stuck by your side, unable to bring them up and properly hug him back.

“oi!” kuroo quickly zips towards you both, his brows furrowed as he makes his way over. “put my girlfriend down!”

“but-“ bokuto looks at you and deflates, reluctantly letting you down. 

“and it hasn’t been that long, you saw her 2 weeks ago.” kuroo slinked around a pouting bokuto and next to you, his face flushed as he presses his lips against your forehead, arm quickly wrapping around you. “hi sweetheart.”

“hi tetsu.” you beam up at him before looking back near bokuto as a flash of bleach blonde hair caught your eye. atsumu bounced over with sakusa shuffling behind. you exchanged greetings, kuroo wearing a proud smile as you did. 

“how are you guys getting home?” you asked, looking concerned at how atsumu was swaying side to side, the effects of alcohol clearing weighing on him. you whisper over to kuroo, “how much did you let him drink?”

“what? we were celebrating!” kuroo cheers, bokuto and atsumu enthusiastically agreeing.

“to answer your question, a lot. but then again miya can never hold his liquor.” sakusa sighs, ignoring atsumu making an offended noise of protest. “unfortunately, i’ll be the one driving them home.”

“good luck.” you offer him a sympathetic smile, your hand squeezing kuroo’s side. “i’ll take this one off your hands, though.”

“appreciate it.” sakusa nods. as much as he oozes annoyance around these two, you know better. the fond look in his eye tells you all you need to know about how he truly feels about his teammates.

“oh wait! i saw your interview with nagi.” atsumu speaks up, interested to hear more. “he didn’t give ya much to work with, did he?”

“he didn’t seem interested in talking about how they’re preparing for the next olympics.” you shrug, feeling kuroo’s gaze on your face. “some of them are more open to it than others but i guess we’ll find out with the rest of the world.”

“i wonder if they’ll do another blue lock project.” kuroo wonders outloud.

“y’know, i thought training camps were already fun enough but blue lock sounded like a paradise, i wish they did it for volleyball.” bokuto looks off into the distance, probably imagining how it would play out in his head.

“imagine if we got to do that before the last olympics? we definitely would’ve beaten oikawa.” atsumu joins in, looking off in the same direction. 

“did you guys actually read the interviews? it sounded like hell. sharing that space with people you hardly know for days on end, not seeing the sun—“ sakusa started. 

“alright, alright, i hear ya.” atsumu’s face morphs into a scowl, crossing his arms and looking like a dejected kitten.

sakusa gave him a smug look before side eyeing bokuto who started bobbing his head along to the music playing overhead at the establishment. “did you idiots forget that we have practice tomorrow?”

bokuto and atsumu freeze, clearly answering his question by the dumbfounded look on their faces.

“see?” atsumu practically screeches at sakusa, who only took a slight step back with the raise of his eyebrow. “i told ya kuroo was a con man! made us drink all this stuff just to get us in on whatever scam he’s trying to pull.”

“what?” bokuto’s eyes widened, turning to face kuroo. 

“hey, you guys were the one to order the sake bombs. plus, you already agreed to doing the match so,” kuroo said, a smirk lining his lips in victory. sakusa shook his head as atsumu kept babbling about how kuroo was going to take all their money next. 

“alright!” you bounce on your heels, taking this as your cue to go. “well, i’ll be taking him home now, goodnight guys.”

bokuto’s confused look melts into a frown, throwing you and kuroo into a hug before whispering to him, “i’d let you steal my money anytime kuroo.”

kuroo laughed loudly, atsumu looking on in horror as sakusa realized he could enjoy this little ploy on the way home, an evil glint in his eye as he looks at atsumu.

“goodnight guys.” you wave as they exchange their goodbyes. with your hand still wrapped around kuroo, you guide him towards the door. it’s a quick walk to the car, but kuroo starts walking towards the drivers seat. “just what do you think you’re doing?”

“opening the door for the most beautiful person in the world.” kuroo says, unlocking it and swinging it wide open with a soft expression. he was such a dope when he was tipsy. 

“thank you tets, but i think i’m the one that needs to help you get in the car, not the other way around.” you giggle, opening up the passenger seat. kuroo sighs in defeat and jogs over to his side. he gives you a kiss on the cheek before he slides into his seat.

“all buckled up and ready to go.” he nods with a little thumbs up. you close the door and make your way to the drivers seat, settling in before turning the car on, casting him a glance — eager eyes already set on you. 

“so, how’d it go?” you smile before putting the car in drive, getting on the road back to your shared apartment.

kuroo excitedly fills you in on everything. how he barely finished his proposal before bokuto was already signing everyone up. sakusa looking mildly interested at the prospect of ushijima showing up — asking if he joins that they play against each other. atsumu casted kuroo sketchy looks until the two drinks he had caught up with him, going on and on about how kuroo needs onigiri miya to work the event too if he really wants it to be a success.

and then the sake bombs came out. you’re not entirely too sure if kuroo is telling the truth when he says bokuto was the one who suggested it but you go along with his story anyway.

once he’s finished with his tale, the ecstatic buzz in the car settles and he’s quiet. you quickly look over to check on him and see him dozed off, head resting against the chilled window — the sign of a successful night you suppose.

after a bit, you stopped at a red light, having time to properly cast your glance over to kuroo, who was still peacefully snoozing. the color kisses his skin, waves of scarlet and maroon flowing over his features. the warm glow suited him, red was always his color.

only a few more turns and you made it back to the apartment, throwing the car in park and swiftly exiting the car to make your way to the other side.

“tetsu.” you whisper, crouching through the passenger door as soon as you open it, face close to kuroo’s as you prod him awake.

“hi baby.” he smiles, eyes still shut but he had the sweetest smile on his face. you couldn’t help but melt a little at the sight.

“come on mr. con man.” you giggle, tugging on his sleeve. “let’s get you to bed.”

“just let me sleep here.” he nestles deeper into the seat.

“you’d make me sleep inside all by my lonesome? wow…” you playfully sigh, feigning a step away. kuroo’s eyes bolt open, hand reaching out for your waist.

“never.” he smiles, getting up and haphazardly throwing his arm around you. “take me to bed, please.”

“well, since you asked so nicely.” you shake your head softly, overly fond of the man you’re half carrying into your apartment. 

“my savior.” he giggles, slightly tripping up the steps.

“you’re ridiculous.” you tease, smiling as you enter your shared space. “now get changed and go to bed.”

“im on it, boss.” he gives a lazy salute before stumbling into the bedroom. you shake your head with a smile, following him in there. 

the house was just as you left it an hour ago, the empty laundry basket still sitting on the bed. as kuroo undresses, you take the basket off, holding it as you watch him.

“don’t be a perv.” he teases, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders before unbuckling his belt and doing the same with his trousers.

“why not? you do it all the time.” you smirk back, holding the basket just a little higher. he gets the message, bundling his clothes from the day into a ball and tossing it toward the hamper.

it lands in perfectly.

“score!” he cheers, throwing his fist victoriously up in the air, pride shining over his features. “i still got it.”

“easy tiger.” you roll your eyes, as you put the basket down. “lets get you to bed, okay?”

“okay.” kuroo moves so he's behind you, arms wrapping around you tightly, ready to wobble over to your bed like a penguin. 

“i still need to change, tetsu.” you try to move but his hold on you is surprisingly strong for his current state.

“let me help then.” he purrs in your ear, pressing his lips against your ear. a shiver runs down your spine as his fingers run along the hem of your shirt, sliding under it and smoothing his hand along your skin. 

“nuh uh, you need to sleep tonight if you’re gonna get up for work in the morning.” reluctantly, you grab his hand and pull it away from you, freeing yourself from his clutches.

“but—“ kuroo starts, looking absolutely pitiful. “i just wanted to help you get ready for bed. no funny stuff, promise.”

“yeah?” you raise a brow as he vigorously nods his head. “somehow i don’t believe that.”

“rude.” he pouts and looks away, nose high up in the air as if you’d ever question his integrity. you just roll your eyes.

“come on, you need to brush your teeth.” you take his hand and pull him with you, flipping on the blinding light.

“you’re so bossy sometimes.” he stands behind you in the mirror, looking at you through the glass with a smirk. his arms wrap around your waist, kissing your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. “i like it.”

you just laugh, your palm reaching up to gently pat his cheek. the two of you quickly do your nighttime routine, full of kuroo stealing glances in the mirror and trying to wink at you with a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“i’m going to go change but lie down, okay?” you say after you both finish and walk back into the bedroom. kuroo turns around and quickly pulls you in for a minty fresh kiss, letting himself melt into it for a moment before he pulls away.

“okay.” kuroo smirks and lays down on the bed, propped up on his elbows as he watches you get changed. “hurry up so i can hold you.” 

“now look who the bossy one is.” you roll your eyes, changing out of your clothes and into one of kuroo’s old shirts before slipping into bed with him.

in the blink of an eye, kuroo scoops you in his arms, tangling his limbs with yours and burying his face in your neck. 

“i love you.” the sound is muffled but you hear him loud and clear, heart swelling at his proclamation. 

“i love you.” you whisper back, kuroo’s soft snores already filling the room as he dozed off once again, more than content to be in your loving arms after the next step of his plan had gone off without a hitch.

your fingers weave themselves into his hair, lightly brushing out the strands as you feel sleep trying to claim you as well. but there’s a nervous pit in your stomach that evades you from giving into your slumber, something that’s telling you things are going to be changing soon. now that the ball is officially rolling, you hope it doesn’t topple over everything you and kuroo have built together over the last two years.

thank you sm for reading ᰔ — next part

[revasserium]

hello sry just thinking about leaving hickies on timeskip!hinata's thighs, pinning him down by the hips, not even letting him take off his shorts and he could push you off if he wanted to, right bc he's definitely stronger than you but he doesn't bc he's too busy whining, his arm slung over his eyes, muscles flexing, hips jumping when you get too close to the very obvious tent in his shorts, him peering down at you across the length of his body, cheeks flushed such a pretty pink, his hair still a lil sweaty from a casual game of pickup in the afternoon --

his skin tastes a bit like sweat, but you don't care, not for all the gaspy little noises he's making at the back of his throat, or the way he threads his fingers through your hair, or the way he can't seem to figure out if he wants to pull you closer or push you away.

you sink your teeth into his aching muscles, hear him moan out your name in that broken, pitched voice of his, begging for something, anything --

"anything?" you lick your lips and pillow your cheek on the tight corded muscle of his thigh, admiring the angry little rings of red blooming along his skin.

"b-baby please --"

"please what though, shou?"

"please -- i need --"

"need...?" you walk your fingers up his thighs to tease at the hem of his shorts as he keens, his hips kicking up again as you barely brush your lips over the tip of his tent.

"need you -- your mouth -- your hands -- anything, please!"

and you'd think about denying him just a bit longer, see how long you can edge him, but you decide -- in the grand scheme of things -- he deserves a lil break.

after all, he's got a match tomorrow, and you giggle to yourself, thinking already of the comments his teammates might make, the questions they might ask about the very, very obvious hickies now littering the length of his thighs.

[ktsumu]

when you meet his family (cousins, parents, sister, brother, and brothers*) warnings: drinking

-

Right from the first night you kissed him, Issei's dreamt of this going every way possible.

He's thought of it being a mess, defending your honour after a misunderstanding with a cousin or something, taking your hand and squeezing it before waking up with a shiver.

He's thought of it going fucking fantastic, with his mom liking you a bit more than she probably likes him, calling you one of her own and ushering you out of his grasp to ask what wine you like.

And he's though of it going neither way, sat in the middle of neutrality, where they simply decided you were a fine choice for their fine son and that was going to be that.

He didn't cover this.

It's not that he didn't cover it, actually, it's that he can't categorize it. It doesn't fall into any of those three categories he so meticulously dreamt up— you don't fit any of them.

It was decided you'd finally meet his family at his sister's engagement party. He remembers explaining the game plan over a lunch date— all the attention's on them, so you won't have to be as nervous. Good, yeah?

(You snorted, telling him sure, whatever and asking what he was gonna order.)

You both prepared for this like you're in the finals, drew up your game plan on a locker room whiteboard and put your hands in the middle. You wore your finest backyard BBQ-appropriate attire and told Issei to at least add a belt, rolled your eyes when he said he liked your Sunday best.

He told you didn't need to worry about that, that you'd look 'fucking hot' in anything, but you ignored him entirely.

(He didn't mind, 'cause he got a good look when you you were walking away.)

He doesn't even know why he was nervous, now.

The two of you set foot in that house for maybe ten seconds before being overwhelmed with the love inside, warm hands patting his back and names he's heard a million times introducing themselves to you for the first.

He found himself watching how his people swooned over you, gushing over your name and how it suits you— he thinks he remembers doing the same, at least once.

He found himself watching you from across the room as you left his side— divide and conquer, 'Sei —with his mom, grinning as you whirled your head around to decide who you'd answer to first. Grinning as he punched his cousin's gut, the one hanging off of his shoulders and asking how much he paid you.

("Nothing, dickwad."

"Bullshit. How?"

"Magic. You'll never know.")

He found himself relaxing his shoulders when you all went outside, taking a bottle from someone tall enough to ruffle his hair and taunt about how big he's gotten, taking a drink when you met his eyes.

You smiled, and all the worry he's had for the last week disappeared in one fell swoop.

He introduced you to his parents, his sister, her fiancé— his sister was half in the bag and said something about how he talks about you more than anything else, but it wasn't anything you didn't know.

His dad clapped him on the shoulder and pointedly said he's glad he's settled down, but no one can hold him to the man he was in university.

He's pretty sure his mom wanted you to stay the night.

He introduced you to his little brother, who— for the first time that evening —looked up from his phone to blink twice and say you were a stunner. Call me if Issei does you wrong, too.

(He flipped him off and nudged you the other way.)

The wad of cousins that are around your age told you all about a childhood with Issei, of his darkest secrets, raised brows all around when you simply said he told you already.

Safe to say they approved.

Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

Judgement day was more of how he introduced you to his boys more than anything else. Because he knew that, if anyone was gonna be scarily honest, it was gonna be them.

Makki knew you already— he's around Issei's apartment too much not to know you. It helped to have someone in your corner in talking you up to Tooru and Hajime.

Iwa greeted you with a warm handshake, already armed with harmless questions. He knew where you were from, but he asked you like Issei didn't spill everything after a week of knowing you. He knew how you met Issei, but he asked you like he didn't.

Tooru hugged you, and his questions had an intense lean. Why Issei? What'd you see in him first? If you could pick one thing about him that you love the most, what is it? And don't say anything below the belt!

(That was the end of the onslaught. Hajime grabbed him by the scruff and told him to just stop talking.)

Now it's nearing seven, and the party's winding down.

There's a fire burning and everyone's figuring out a way to crowd around it. His backyard's never been big, but his family's never been either— crammed together shoulder to shoulder, hands on someone's knees when they laugh.

You're off with his sister again, figuring out how much you have in common while Issei prepares to have you stolen away from here for the rest of his life. He doesn't really mind it.

He's slumped back in a lawn chair he used to nap in when he was a kid, paint peeling and the wood probably too old for him, a bottle of beer in hand that he swirls nice and slow. Makki and the others sit on either side, legs kicked up with twin drinks. Makki kicks Issei's to bring him back.

Brothers.*

"So," he drawls.

"Better be good, Makki."

"Good?" Makki shares a glance with Iwa and Tooru—they look equally as buzzed, equally as pleased. "I think you're set for life, man."

There's a quiet laughter amongst the three of them, Tooru even nudges his shoulder when he looks back at him, hanging off of Hajime's neck. The four of them are rarely serious, which is how Issei knows so well when they mean something.

"Think so?"

"Know so. That's your fucking match, dude."

Hajime scoffs from the side. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Issei snorts, taking a slow drink. "Still bitter and single, I see."

"I just congratulated you five minutes ago!" he defends, hiding behind the mouth of his bottle. "Fuck,"

"It's okay, Iwa, you'll do great when you learn to talk to people at the gym!"

"I don't even wanna hear it from you Tooru—get off my fuckin' back,"

"Girls, stop fighting."

Chatter drowns into the back of his mind when you walk into it, just a simple look making you rule it alone. You're smiling at him. The smile that he finds so easy to stare at, one that is unequivocally yours.

He offers you one back— his is more crooked, but that's just how it is. He never really noticed until you told him how much you love it, now he tries a little harder.

"You know," Tooru's singsong tone brings Issei back to the bubble, "now that you've introduced us all, that'll should you guys, next."

Issei follows his finger to where your hands cradle your sister's engagement ring, entirely not your style but still beautiful. He grins, because he knows enough to know you'd like something else.

"Uh, okay, slow down maybe?"

"Why do you take everything so seriously, Iwaa?"

The thought makes him feel wonderfully sick. Butterflies, thunderstorms, whatever else in his gut. The sight of a ring near your hand makes him grin.

"Yeah," Issei agrees, head tilting as he watches you come back to him. "Guess it will be."

(The three of them share a look.)

"What're you guys talking about?" you ask, taking the hand that lures you into Issei's lap. You settle into the spot you've practically molded for yourself, arm reaching around to comb your fingers through the curls on the back of his head. "What'd I miss?"

Issei leans back to get a good look at you. "Nothin,' just catching up."

You scan over the four of them— they've all got that look that says they're up to no good, but you think that's the effect of the group.

"Uh-huh."

Issei can't categorize tonight into one of his three genres of dreams he's had. It's not that it wasn't amazing, it's that it was more than that.

He hadn't thought about bringing you home, and leaving a piece of you there. He hadn't thought about bringing a piece of it home with you. He can feel it in his lap, and he wants to ask you right here.

Makki huffs a laugh, giving Issei a little wink behind your back.

"So," he drawls, "I forget—what'd you see in him, again?"

"Oh, not this."

[shouyuus]

─── 飛雄 HE LIKES TO HOLD YOU, sling his arms around your shoulders, press his knee to your knee, crowd into your personal space; he likes to nose into the hollow of your neck, the warm, soft spot behind your ear, even if it makes you squirm away from him, he'd just pull you back and grumble at you to stay still, to stay close.

because he'd always want you close, wouldn't he? always want you within arm's reach, because tobio is nothing if not needy, nothing if not persistent in his petulant want for closeness, for the satisfying friction of skin on skin, for the warm tingle of goosebumps that chase up the length of your arms whenever he presses his lips to your cheek, your neck, the bare skin of your shoulder.

and he'd drink in the way you laugh, the tiny puff of breath before your gasping inhale — his name falling from your lips like a wish or a prayer.

"t-tobio!"

"what?"

he revels in the flush working into your cheeks, his eyes half-lidded in the starveling dark of this izakaya the jva's booked out for the night, the two and a half beers he's had fizzling in his stomach just enough to make his body feel light, to tug at the dwindling edges of his self-restraint till it's fraying. he pulls you into his chest, biting down a smirk at the shiver that shakes down your entire body as you peer up at him with dark, curious eyes.

"people... people will see!"

tobio frowns in earnest then, cocking his head as he weighs the implications. he blinks down at you.

"so?"

but before you can protest again, he bends down to catch your lips in his, humming against your lips, satisfaction unfurling in his chest as he feels you go molten in his arms. he pulls back to trace a thumb along your bottom lip, a dull pounding at the back of his mind, telling him that maybe, just maybe it's time to beg off from this party. he shoves the nagging feeling away for the comfort of pressing his forehead to yours, tracing a finger along the plush of your cheek.

"'s not like people don't know you're mine."

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ mornings don't feel the same without you | iwaizumi hajime

wc: 3.0k

summary: ​​hajime thinks that it's been a long time coming for him to wake up with this realization.

contains: implied f!reader, lingerie, use of slut (teasingly/jokingly, not to reader), lots of suggestive stuff (touching, implied sex), so much love!!, hajime is also a wee bit sentimental here, established relationship

a/n: not a lot of plot, just a lot of love! haven’t written hajime in a while, but he’s on my mind all the time. these are the songs that inspired me: lights down low, never had you, it’s you, and forever right now. 

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas) + the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—good health, good job, good relationships; all on equal footing, in no particular order. The routine he’s built is deliberate and filled with purpose, a system diligently followed to keep himself running. 

He firmly believes that if you want to live the life you want, you have to start with yourself. A simple choice, the first step. 

And Hajime’s chosen the mornings, an old conscious effort to wake up at 6:00 on the dot now transformed into a natural rise to the softness of daylight. 

You call him a creature of habit, one that leaves no day to rest, even on Valentine’s Day. 

Sunlight trickles between his curtains, ripples of translucent white highlighting the tip of your nose. He sees you through a sleep haze, olive eyes blinking awake like the leaves on your bedside, ready to tickle your cheek and wave when you turn the other way. 

It suits you, he thinks, to be touched by light when you don’t know it. 

You’re warm under the palm of his hand, bare flesh a soft place to rest between him and your hip bone. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the faint thump of your heartbeat, almost in tandem with the small puffs of air hitting his chin. 

He sighs, the corners of his mouth curling in contentment. 

A good life. 

Evidence of last night is strewn across the room—the red tulips on your bedside and his slacks hanging off the bed. The shirt he’d worn lies atop the dress he slipped off you, half of your black two-piece set caught in it.

The memory replays vividly—bites to his neck down to his collarbone, a pull of his hair and his lower lip caught between yours. You handle Hajime roughly because you know he can take it, know that it gets him going the more you want him. 

But with you, he takes his time—runs his fingers over every area he’s grown fond of (which is everywhere, really). He strips you down slowly, unwrapping you like a gift labeled: handle with care, open gently. 

Then, he savors it—you.

The wrapper lies next to his head, half-tucked underneath his pillow, a piece of elegant black lace you know drives him crazy. 

A perk of celebrating Valentine’s Day two ways is that one half belongs to him and the other to you—a team effort to make the day as special as it can be. 

He shifts, hand sliding up to rest on your waist. The movement causes you to stir, digging your cheek deeper into your pillow as you scrunch your brows—a sign of you coming to wake. 

Hajime immediately shuts his eyes, feigning sleep. Last night was all his—flowers, a nice dinner, and the dessert that came after it. This morning is yours, with only one instruction for him: sleep in. 

How upset would you be if he ruined your surprise? 

The bed dips on your side, no doubt you reaching for the bedside to check the time. Even with his eyes shut, he has your mornings memorized. A whispered ‘shit’ almost makes him break into a smile, but he reigns it in, expression neutral and breathing steady. 

You move again, his hand still on your waist as you turn once more, to what he can only assume is to face him. There’s a momentary pause that makes him worry you’ve found him out, but he feels your fingertips run over the crease between his brows, smoothening it out the way you always do. 

(He has a terrible habit of frowning in his sleep, he’s learned.)

It makes him nervous the longer you linger, the tips of your fingers sliding down the bridge of his nose to rest on his lips, running over it once, twice. Then you sigh, inching closer before gently nudging his nose with yours.

The small peck you land on his lips almost makes him break, but he holds it in, letting you sneak away (albeit badly) for whatever it is you’re planning for today. 

(The bed dips too deeply, comforter rustling as you untangle yourself from it. You stub your toe on the edge of your bedside table and attempt to muffle an ‘ouch’, even though he can hear you—pretty clearly actually. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from chuckling.)

If it were up to him, Hajime would just keep you here, no sneaking around or stubbed toes, no surprise or anything—just you, wrapped in his arms, under his sheets. 

.

Just as he’d promised though, he did sleep in (if an extra 20 minutes of forcing his eyes shut counts as that). 

The flowers on your bedside are gone, and so is his shirt—the sheets beside him crinkled in the shape of your haste to get up from it. He yawns, running a hand through his hair to fix up the mess you made of it last night. 

As part of his routine, Hajime stretches, first with his neck—side-to-side, up-and-down—then with his back, twisting left and right. Next, he changes, puts on a pair of gray sweatpants that you claim must be a staple in his wardrobe (you say he looks like he could fuck you up, its hem hanging dangerously low to reveal the grooves of that deep v-line leading to his pelvis).

After pushing aside the curtains for sunlight to stream through, he cleans the room, picking up the mess of clothes on the floor and making the bed; you usually do this, because you’re particular with the pillow placements, but he’ll take over for now. 

This should buy you enough time, right? An extra 10 minutes for your planned surprise.

He takes a breath, doing one last scan of the room before stepping out. 

As soon as he gets into the hallway, he smells chocolate. 

Each step he takes is consciously softened as he carries his weight, carefully making his way to the sight of you, back towards him in nothing but his t-shirt hanging temptingly high to barely conceal black lace. You seem focused, entirely preoccupied with the kitchen stove.

A familiar feeling settles into his stomach, warm and soothing, one he’s been having more and more around you lately. The corner of his lips curl up. 

For Hajime, the best way to start the day is with the morning light and you.

He sneaks up behind your back, peeking over your shoulder at the chocolate pancakes you seem to be slowly ladling into the pan. And just when you’ve formed a figure he can only assume is a heart, he takes a step closer, hands resting on your hips as he scrunches up the fabric between his fingers.

“Morning,” he whispers, chin resting on your shoulder as his lips brush the side of your neck, soft and ticklish; you shiver, just a little bit. 

The greeting comes out rough, husky, and you lean into him, your hand coming to rest over his, hiking up your (his) shirt to reveal a slight peek at the black lace hugging the curves of your buttcheek. 

“Morning.” you chuckle when you hear his breath hitch. The pancake in front of you gets flipped to the other side. 

“How’s your head?” he moves to peck your temple. Hajime knows you get the worst hangovers no matter how little you have to drink, and last night was by no means little.

You groan, turning off the stove, letting the residual heat cook the pancake through. 

“Terr–” 

As you turn to him within his arms, you pause, blinking uncontrollably at the presence of Hajime’s bare skin in front of you. Your eyes go wide, zeroing in on the full chest beneath your palms, the cuts of his shoulders, and his arms. Oh—

“Slut.” your brows furrow, lips pouting as you stifle a smile. 

Hajime laughs, olive eyes crinkling as he holds you closer, hands coming to clasp at your lower back. 

“Put on a shirt, you know I can’t focus like this.” 

He knows, because you say this almost every morning, every time. 

“I would,” remnants of his amusement linger on his lips, hand reaching to squeeze your butt as he narrows his gaze mischievously, “but someone stole it.” 

You giggle, arms coming up to wind around his neck, fingers playing with the shorter strands of his hair. Then, you tiptoe, white fuzzy slippers slotting itself between his matching green ones as you tilt your head up for a kiss. 

As it is, Hajime’s liking how this surprise is going. 

He leans in, eyes falling shut as he presses against you. His hand cradles your jaw, callused skin tickling you ever so slightly as he guides your head to turn the other way. Hajime can hardly stop whenever you get him started like this, your lower lip already caught between his teeth. 

But you nip it, right as his other hand crawls underneath your shirt, pulling away as he tries to chase for more. The frown on his face is hard to miss. 

“Gonna get dressed,” you smile amusedly, feigning innocence.

“Isn’t this already too dressed?” he raises an eyebrow, tugging at your (his) shirt. His fingers trail lower, hooking themselves into the lace of your underwear. 

“Don’t be a flirt,” you scrunch your nose, “I feel gross.” 

He squeezes your hip, “I’m gross too.” 

You give him a look. 

He gives you one back. 

If Hajime had the words, he’d tell you you’re the furthest thing from gross, making him breakfast in his clothes and that pretty black number you know drives him up-the-wall crazy.

This is the stuff of his dreams. 

But then you give him those eyes, and you know just as well he’s weak to that too. So he sighs, loosening his grip so you can slip away. 

“I’ll make you eggs!” he calls out as you disappear into the bedroom. 

Your breakfast spread for him is set up on the counter, the chocolate heart pancake on the pan the last needed addition to complete everything. It’s sweet, how you prepared a full-on chocolate feast for him: hot chocolate with chocolate heart pancakes, and butter also in the shape of a heart. The tulips he’d gotten you rest prettily inside the vase he remembers from your first anniversary pottery date.

He feels especially sentimental today taking everything in, noticing how the mug that holds your half-finished coffee matches the one that holds his hot chocolate. 

In the little over two years that you’ve been together, you’ve assimilated yourself into his space so naturally that it feels like you’ve always just been here—that it feels right how all your chips fill up the entire bottom shelf of his pantry because you love snacking on them whenever, wherever.

He cracks in two eggs. 

The throw on his couch matches the pillows all because of you, and bottles of your daily vitamins sit perfectly beside all his supplements in the spice-rack turned morning-essentials-rack (one of your so-called organization hacks). 

The pan sizzles, edges of the eggs turning crisp—just how you like it (lately, it’s how he’s been liking it too). 

When you step out of the bedroom, Hajime’s begun plating your food, pouring in another batch of coffee and preparing a bowl of fruits. 

(Today, it’s strawberries—one of your favorites. He made sure to stock up on that for today.) 

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—

He prides himself on his routine and the stability of his day-to-day: the mornings, with you raiding his closet and stealing his clothes; the late afternoons, when he picks you up from work and you crash his place because it’s begun to feel so much more like home. 

The evenings cap the day off perfectly, with you tucked under his chin and your leg slung over his hip. It’s too warm, but you get cold easily and he doesn’t mind the warmth when you’re pressed up skin-to-skin. 

And when he sees you in his sweatshirt—the one paired with the sweatpants he’s wearing right now, he smirks knowingly, setting down the utensils with a dopey smile on his face. 

This is good. 

—his life that you now also fit into. 

“Sorry you had to prep the rest,” you pad towards the counter, taking a seat on the stool as he waves it off and sits beside you, “thank you.” 

Without even a word, there’s a painkiller sitting on the palm of his hand, open and waiting for you already. 

You stare at him, puppy-dog eyes and everything, pouting as your fingertips graze his, “I love you.” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes jokingly as he hands you a glass of water, his cheeks already dusted peach.

Shyness still hits him when you’re so vocal like this, but Hajime has known he’s loved you since that day at some outdoor concert you dragged him into. The forecast was gloomy but you’d insisted it was an experience he shouldn’t miss, so he agreed—packed an umbrella and wore a jacket with a hood even, just in case. 

But there you were, in the middle of the downpour, dancing under the rain, and when you’d beckoned him closer, you had that same look on your face. 

“Love you too,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing his lips against it, “happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” 

Breakfasts with the two of you are usually rushed, but work for him today isn’t until noon and you have an entire day off to pack for a two-week business trip you’re set to leave for tomorrow.

So, this is nice. You both have time.  

You’re talking about all sorts of things—some work gossip, that nice old lady who lives a few units down from him; there’s the whole itinerary for your business trip too—meeting here, meeting there. An extra hour to kill to maybe sightsee. Evenings are usually free, and so on. 

But as he’s chewing on half of the chocolate heart pancake, he just can’t, for the life of him, stop thinking. 

The more he hears about your schedule for the upcoming weeks, the more he’s realizing that this is the longest time you’ll be apart.

And he wonders, what’s that gonna be like? 

Most of your clothes will be gone from his dresser, his bathroom counter half-empty without all your skincare. No overheating at night without your arm wrapped firmly around his spine. Just one mug during breakfast, not two, and only a single pair of green fuzzy slippers pacing around the rooms. 

It’ll be a little like how it was before you.

And he hates how that’s even a possibility.  

He takes a sip from his mug.

“So, Oikawa’s taking me out on a date. Is that okay with you?” you lean against your palm, elbow supported on the counter. 

He nods, humming as he sets down the hot chocolate. 

“Hajime.” you hide your smile. 

He snaps out of it, “Hm?” 

“So you’re okay with me going on a date with Oikawa?” 

His knee-jerk scowl is much more like it. 

“That fucker asked you out?” 

You laugh, shaking your head while taking his hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Just seeing if you were listening.” 

A pause, then a squeeze. 

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking?” 

He tilts his head slightly; one look at you and you draw it all out of him. There’s something about this—breakfasts in his kitchen, with you wearing his clothes and the morning light streaming in. You share a joke or two (or five), a few teasing touches here and there, the mood relaxed and just overwhelmingly nice. 

Hajime is so authentically himself when he’s with you that he doesn’t want anyone else knowing the parts of him that you do—

Everyone would be surprised to find that his typically uptight self is surprisingly funny when he’s let loose; he’s made you laugh a good number of times to prove it, too. 

The boys would never let him live it down if they saw him peach-faced at the tiniest bit of your affection; and they’ll tease him for eternity if they find out that the reason he taps out so early during ‘boys’ nights’ is because he still gets so excited to cuddle in bed with you. 

This is the kind of day-to-day he wants, and he knows you’re the key to all of it. 

—so, Hajime chooses you, much like he’s chosen the mornings. 

“Move in with me,” he tells you simply, two fields of olive green sincerity. 

The words flow out of him with an intensity uninhibited, something you don’t get from him very often. Your expression shifts, breath on hold and—

“When you get back.” he follows up quickly, giving you space to consider it first, “What do you think?” 

All logic is telling him he should be nervous, that this is the defining moment of another goal he’s been working his ass off to reach, but somehow, with his hand in yours, this feels easy. Comfortable in all the good ways because loving you has always been just that. 

“Sex last night was that good, huh?” 

And this—there’s never been a problem with this too. 

He snorts, cheeks turning a deep peach. 

“Just realizing that mornings don’t feel the same without you,” he admits, pulling you closer. You hop off the stool and inch closer, standing between his legs as he rests his hands on your lower back.  

“Flirt.” you scrunch your nose, squeezing his waist. 

You say that, but he sees how your smile reaches your eyes; how it glosses over when you catch his gaze. 

“Okay, muscle boy,” your hands settle on his shoulders, fingers splayed out over every dip and curve, “better do all the moving then. Want all my stuff here by the time I get back.” 

.

And he does—

When you get back, he’s contacted his landlord to get you on the lease. Your clothes are all in his (or now your?) apartment, some still in boxes but the essentials already organized in the closet now split to house both of your things. 

There’re pieces of you everywhere now, not just touches like a person half-there. A lot of the big furniture is still at your place, but that’s really just because he wants to leave that part up to you. 

—after all, it’s your home now too.

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for loving hajime as much as i do 🥹 lights down low used to be a normal soft song for me before, now it belongs to him bc of u + @soumies @mysugu bc this is kinda really so self-shippy and every time i think of seiwa i think of you both 🥺 + @ktsumu for requesting this! i know it only slightly follows the prompt but i hope you enjoy my spin on it anyway 🥺

a/n: i don't think any amount of fic can express how much i love him 🥹 but i hope this comes close 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[kyoghurts]

tsukishima x reader: from cat skeptic to cat luvr over the course of five months.

"i don't like cats."

you gasp incredulously, a classic pose of a hand on your mouth and wide blown eyes, "we need to fix that!"

tsukishima kei grimaces, "i don't need fixing."

"yes you do. how else are you going to take care of my- ehem, our children then?"

"excuse me?"

"you're excused."

"what child…ren?"

you’ve never revealed even the slightest of hint about owning…five cats into the one year of friendship and two months of dating (and counting) you both have. at the very least, he knows your fondness for cats. if the times you’d stop at your tracks to pet a street cat whenever you’re on a date with him, or buy cat-related things like plushies or keychains (and perhaps even jewelries) weren’t obvious enough.

okay, he might’ve guessed that you do have your own cat, but he’ll never cling onto assumptions that quickly.

but wow, it’s not just one cat but five???

four months: he finds himself utterly stuck at the doorway with you when he hears the soft ‘meows’ echoing until he feels something rubbing on his leg, there are three cats, which you tell him that they’re the most affectionate out of all of them. he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say in response to that information—so he nods rigidly instead, earning him a teasing snicker from you.

four months and two weeks later: he’s still not used to the feeling of being greeted with such hospitality by the three cats, but he lets them anyway (only for a couple of seconds, until he clicks his tongue and holler his presence for you to greet him with a kiss on the cheek)

a day later: you caught him trying to pet one of them but flinching once he sees you in his peripherals.

(that same day: you took it upon yourself and teach him where they like to be spoiled the most. and then he tries it out for himself, before you see a hint of amusement flash across his face as they purr under his touch.)

a week later: two cats have been quietly observing tsukishima from afar. he sees them looking up at him but rarely approach like the rest.

he supposes they're the stoic type, but that doesn't really make any sense, more so when he sees them so clingy to you the next day.

when he asks you about it, you could only giggle at his confused face.

then another week passes: kei has made some progress with the three affectionate cats, though the two still remain elusive. you find it amusing how his stoic nature contrasts with his awkward attempts to bond with your feline companions. one evening, while you're both lounging on the couch, the two reserved cats sit a few feet away, watching your boyfriend intently.

"why do they keep staring at me?" he asks, sounding mildly annoyed but also genuinely curious.

"they're just trying to figure you out," you reply, snuggling closer to him. "they're probably wondering why you haven't fully embraced their cuteness yet."

he scoffs, "i'm not sure i ever will."

you giggle and decide it's time for some intervention. "you know, you could always bribe them with treats. they love those."

he raises an eyebrow. "bribery, huh? sounds like cheating."

"it's not cheating if it works," you say with a grin.

a few days later: kei arrives at your place with a small bag of cat treats. you discreetly watch from the kitchen as he awkwardly approaches the two stoic cats, kneeling down and holding out a treat in each hand. the cats, curious and tempted by the smell, cautiously approach.

"come on, it's just a treat," he mutters, almost to himself.

the cats finally take the treats, and he looks mildly triumphant. you smile, feeling a surge of affection for him.

"see? not so hard," you tease, walking over to him and planting a kiss on his cheek, flushed pink and demure.

a month later: tsukishima kei has slowly but surely won over the two more reserved cats. you come home one day to find him sprawled on the couch with all five cats nestled around him, either lounging on his lap or snuggled up against him. you can't help but laugh at the sight.

"looks like you've finally been accepted into the family," you say, leaning against the doorframe.

he looks up at you, a rare, genuine smile on his face. "i guess i have."

you walk over and join them on the couch, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. as you lean your head on kei's shoulder, you whisper, "i knew you'd come around eventually."

he wraps an arm around you, what was once a grimace, is now replaced with a soft expression. "yeah, yeah. don't get used to it."

you chuckle, knowing that despite his words, he's already gotten used to it. and so have the cats.

i need a cat and tsukishima in my life.

[chimielie]

cw: and they were roommates

oikawa has another date tonight.

you’re well used to it, the parade of people who he’s gone out with blurring together after years of friendship. especially now that you’ve moved in together and he bothers you every time someone says yes, like an excited puppy with a bone. and who wouldn’t say yes?

you’re lying on your bed, idly scrolling past cat pictures and outfit inspiration, while he blows in and out of your room, begging your opinion on every item in his closet. you don’t know why; you’ve gone through the whole thing a million times at this point and he always chooses just-slightly-too-tight jeans and a button-up open one button too far.

you’ve had nightmares about his collection of silky shirts. nightmares. only occasionally featuring the triangle of exposed chest.

“what about this one?” you roll to your side, blinking.

“i haven’t seen this one before,” you say thoughtfully. “do you still have enough money for rent? i swear you cycle through more clothes than i do in a year in a week.”

“shut up, do you like it?” his ears are burning red, and you smile. you like making him blush.

that’s a dangerous thought, so you turn your attention to his outfit, and—oh.

the new shirt is a cool, pale blue, complimenting the pink hues of his skin perfectly, looking like ice caps on winter waves. it’s tucked loosely into black pants, followed by black boots, laced up and tied with a perfect knot.

he looks like a million bucks.

“it’s perfect,” you say, after a beat too long of drymouthed silence. “um—when do you leave?”

he shoves the sleeve of the shirt up and checks his watch in one smooth motion, and you’ve seen his forearms a billion times, but encased in blue silk you kind of want to bite them? what a bizarre impulse.

“now,” he says, tone rising in panic. “shoot, i was gonna brush my teeth—how’s my breath?”

“how am i supposed to—” you start, but then he’s crossing the room, and you’re sitting up, spine straightening in confusion, and then he kisses you.

one long, hot press of the mouth over yours, his lips soft and open but claiming in a way that sucks every thought out of your head.

the silk of his shirt is cool in contrast to the heat of his skin, too.

“it’s—still fine,” you stammer when he pulls away. “minty. um.”

“perfect,” he says, adjusting his collar like he hasn’t just thrown your world off its axis. “see you later!”

you wave vaguely at his back, still scrambled as he exits your room, though not without turning to shoot you a cheeky wink and a peace sign. once you hear the front door slam shut behind him, you jolt out of your frozen state to fall back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, just one thought running through your mind.

“what the fuck?”

part 2 here.

[19calicos]

street style – oikawa tooru ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

tell me, lately, do i drive you crazy?

he's out in shibuya in his best clothes every night hoping to spot them, just so he can prove that he's more than a bad outfit turned into a viral meme.

status: in development, coming soon

content: streetwear photographer! yn x influencer! oikawa, gn reader with theythem pronouns, both yn and oikawa are internet famous, slowburn, strangers to one-sided enemies to lovers, university au, oikawa chasing yn, sassy but down bad oikawa

warnings: language, kms/kys/die jokes, usage of weed + alc + cigs, stan twitter and the damn internet lmfaooo, some miscommunication, fears of perception + social anxiety themes, feelings will be played with

tags are added as story progresses, please check cw on individual chapters!

( ✶ ) denotes written portions.

say hello! – cuntology degree havers & tofu not tooru

table of contents:

1 ₊⁺ an ultimatum

2 ₊⁺ tba

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[uwurakax]

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♡ 𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼 a surprise pregnancy throws you in for a loop when your rising star boyfriend starts to kick off his career. not wanting to hold him back, you leave without saying a word. six years later, fate brings you back together again, but with still sour feelings, how will you navigate keeping things civil all while all eyes are on him?

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