#haikyuu ficlet

[dearsakuaka]

sakusa has never been into literature but he knows akaashi does. so, he goes out of his way to look for quotes, excerpts, and poems online to send to him. "thought you'd like this one" or "i thought of you" are his usual follow-ups. in turn, akaashi sends sakusa the title of the original works, share his thoughts and similar works, and sakusa bookmarks all of them.

akaashi doesn't learn that sakusa keeps note of everything he said until a few months passes by and sakusa quotes a line from an essay he recommended and an easy, "yeah, i remember that one. it was your favorite from that writer, no?" it makes akaashi feel seen, and truthfully, a little embarrassed that someone has been paying attention to his ramblings, even going as far as actually reading the things he recommended.

(and in complete honesty, makes his heart beat a little faster.)

it's a system that persists through the years—when baby fat is replaced by sharper edges, and the tentative nature of their relationship reaches its peak and becomes what it is now: phone calls over break, spontaneous visits when the urge to hold and be held far exceed the fatigue from a day's work, and confessions of devotion by words from people of the past when they fail to articulate their feelings on their own.

it's a system that makes the distance between osaka and tokyo just a bit more bearable.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

it's the fact that kageyama apologized to hinata for that very last toss during the interhigh match with seijoh. the fact that it wasn't the first last toss kageyama probably wanted to apologize for. the fact that whatever kageyama wanted to say both times was denied, rejected, cut off, shoved back down his throat without mercy, without kindness and consideration — they won't let him look back and linger, they won't let him regret, they won't let him bear the burden of being the one at fault if it means he thinks trusting them was a mistake.

and so kageyama swears to make a toss he won't have to say sorry for, he swears to make a toss fitting of his position as a setter, a toss that shows how much he's grown and how much he's learned and how much he trusts and loves his team, and then battle of the garbage heap happens and the lights are bright and sweat soaks his skin and each breath comes hard and fast and stabs his chest like a knife with every rise and fall but finally — finally, he thinks — the opening is right there, a sun breaking through the clouds, a moment of clarity he cannot possibly miss, so he raises his hands —

— and hinata jumps with a sonic boom that makes the ground shake, or maybe it's just kageyama's heart seeing a promise fulfilled, and kageyama, for all the things he had to carry and for all the things others carried for him, knows that he will never apologize for having faith ever again.

[femd-archive]

a/n: a lil' something, cause i've been away for sooo long...

cw: timeskip!kuroo | mommy kink | inspired on this video (nsfw link)

tetsu''s tie hangs messy on his neck as he's hopelessly moaning for the two fingers of yours that are thrusting on him like you want to get deeper. his hips move at the same time, trying to ride your fingers as his pretty cock bounces on top of his tummy.

after a long day of work, he hasn't had the chance to make a change of clothes before he gets dragged by you on the couch and ended up making out with him on top of you; your praises made him dizzy and in no time, he's naked from the bottom and taking your fingers with no complain.

"worked so hard today, tetsu. wanna ride my fingers until you cum, baby?" you coo at him as he reaches to kiss your lips once again, moaning agianst your mouth.

"y-yes mommy...please" he whines, looking at you with those pretty puppy eyes. cutie.

he shifts around on your lap until he's finally facing you. he pecks your lips shortly before hugging from from your shoulders, hiding his face on your neck and starts riding your fingers like they were your strap. the room soon enough fills with his moans as he thrusts his hips again and again, rolling his eyes back as feels you reach his prostate.

his head falls back and he supports his weight on your thighs as his hips keeps moving, dick twitching before it finally releases ropes and ropes of cum that makes your shirt dirty, but you're not complaining as you see tetsu's cute face as he cums.

he finally comes down form his orgasm, and when he's done, he flashes you with a tired grin, making your heart melt at how cute he looks. you drag him back in your arms, showering his neck and face with kisses, making him giggle.

"shower?" you simply ask.

"mmh, yeah" he simply answers.

and yet, neither of you moves from that cuddle position for the next 30 minutes.

[mari-writes]

💕

At summer training camp in her second year, Yachi Hitoka notices a small, heart-shaped Pride pin on Akaashi Keiji’s sports bag.

She spends the first two days of camp agonizing if she should say something. Is it appropriate? Would Akaashi be weirded out? How does one casually initiate a conversation with a fellow gay?

So far Yachi has only told two people: a cousin, and her former crush/mentor, the incomparable Kiyoko Shimizu. She’s chatted with people online, but always anonymously.

The thought of coming out to someone new is terrifying.

But Akaashi, and really the entire Fukurodani Volleyball Club, have always been approachable. Yachi recalls running into Akaashi and his ace, Bokuto Koutarou at Nationals. They were so kind, easing her worries and doubts during an intense match. Despite being just as tall and intense as the other athletes Yachi regularly met, she never felt intimidated by the pair.

And so, she now finds herself peering nervously around the corner of the Ubugawa gymnasium to where Akaashi, now captain of Fukurodani, stands. He’s staring down at his phone, his bag casually slung over one shoulder. The rainbow pin gleams under the midday sun.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Yachi approaches. As she does, she sees that Akaashi is smiling. It’s subtle, just a slight twitch at the sides of his mouth, but it’s noticeable. She wonders vaguely what he’s looking at on his phone.

She chides herself for being nosey.

Akaashi hears her shuffling and looks up. “Ah, Yacchan.” He politely tucks the phone away. “Good evening.”

“Hello, um, hi, Akaashi-san!” Yachi stammers. “H-how are you?” She winces at her own awkwardness.

“Doing well, thank you.” He nods politely. “And you? Are you staying cool? Hydrated?”

“I’m okay!” Yachi bows back. “But yeah, it’s so hot out today!”

“You’re not a summer person, then?”

“Not at all!” She groans. “I feel like I’m melting!”

Akaashi chuckles. “You sound like Bokuto. He abhors the heat, especially when it’s humid as well.”

Yachi grins. “How is Bokuto-san doing? He’s at Central Sports University, right?” She assumes Bokuto keeps in touch with his old teammates.

Akaashi hums. “Moving from home was a big change, but he’s happy. His new team is a good fit.”

“I’m glad.” Yachi reaches down to fiddle with the hem of her t-shirt, unsure. She feels like she’s about to dive off a cliff, not knowing if there will be a net to catch her. Her anxious gaze shifts, and now the pin is in direct line of sight, as if taunting her. How can she bring it up?

“Yacchan?”

Yachi flinches, realizing she had been staring at the pin for a few beats too long. When she meets Akaashi’s gaze, he looks uncertain. Oh no! Does he think she has a problem with it? “Sorry!” She cries, arms waving frantically. “I didn’t know what to say, because… um, I saw it and I just…”

“This?” Akaashi’s fingers wander across the bag’s canvas and to the pin’s enamel surface. He taps it with one of his perfectly filed nails, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

Yachi swallows down her fear. “Yeah! It’s nice! Um, I’d like to find one for my book bag!”

Akaashi looks mildly surprised, but his face softens quickly. “I see.”

“Haha, yeah…”

“So.” Akaashi clears his throat. “You’re…”

“Yeah!” Yachi says again hands tighten into fists excitedly. “I’m gay!” Her ears burn in embarrassment as her companion bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh at her outburst.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me, Yacchan.”

Yachi releases a shaky breath, grinning back nervously. For a while they are silent. Cicadas buzz above, gym shoes squeak on hardwood nearby. She wonders if Akaashi is feeling the same sort of content relief at finding another queer person to confide in.

“When did you know?”

“Huh?” It takes a moment for her to discern Akaashi’s question. “Oh! Um, well. Back in first year, I had a crush on someone, but at first I didn’t know it was a crush!” She recounts the clarity she experienced, when she finally understood her feelings. It was like everything suddenly shifted into focus.

It had been hard, accepting that Kiyoko couldn’t return her feelings. But she is forever grateful for the older girl—for her influence, kindness, her support when she came out.

“How are you doing now?” Akaashi asks kindly, causing Yachi to relax further.

“Well, I’m glad I know who I am! But now I basically fall in love with every pretty, nice girl I meet!” She sighs. “It’s tiring!”

Akaashi chuckles. “I suppose I can’t relate exactly. I’ve only ever had feelings for one person.”

Yachi leans in curiously, waiting for her companion to continue on his own. She doesn’t want to pry.

“I always found guys attractive,” he says finally. “But when I came out in middle school, my parents told me to keep it to myself. They said I’d ‘grow out of it,’ so it wasn’t worth acting on.”

Yachi frowns. “I’m so sorry, Akaashi-san! I, um, think my mom will be supportive when I tell her. I’ve heard her talk positively about the marriage equality movement…”

Akaashi’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m glad to hear. But remember, even if she doesn’t, you will find people who support and love you. I found that at Fukurodani. In fact,” he reaches into his pocket. “Let’s exchange numbers. If you ever want to talk, contact me. Bokuto, too. Anytime.”

A surge of affection hits Yachi. It’s overwhelming, how it wells up inside her, through her heart and into her throat. Not since Kiyoko had she felt so seen by another person. “Thank you,” she croaks, blinking furiously. (She is not crying. She’s not!) “Wait,” she says, realizing what Akaashi had said. “Bokuto… I mean, is he also…”

Shyly, Akaashi nods. “I’m sure he’d be okay with me telling you. Bokuto is bisexual. And, well…” His voice lowers slightly. “He and I… we’re together.”

Yachi feels like she might fall over at the news. Akaashi and Bokuto, two of her favorite people in the entire world, are dating? Incredible!

“That’s wonderful!” She cries, hands pulling into fists  in excitement. He chuckles, sharp cheekbones going pink. 

“Thank you. I… have to agree...”

From then on, Yachi and Akaashi grow closer. They spend time together at training camps, keeping in touch in between. They end up at the same university and often meet up to study together.

Yachi confides in Akaashi and Bokuto, who give her advice before she comes out to her mom. They encourage her to ask out a girl in one of her classes, celebrating when she gets her first date.

Over the years, Yachi meets many other queer people who become incredibly important to her. But she never loses touch with Akaashi. The connection they made that one summer day in high school remains a defining moment in her life.

She’ll forever be grateful.

//

Thanks for reading! I wanted to expand this for A03 but as usual these days, I lost the motivation. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Please REBLOG and/or REPLY if you did. 🥰❤️ Thanks for your continued support!

[koushuwu]

They’re Beautiful

time skip!Iwaizumi Hajime x afab!reader | 18+ content | 1,137 words | established relationship, kinda rough sex, kind of hand fetish i guess, very mild choking. Iwaizumi finally understands your obsession with his hands.

Iwaizumi Hajime never had the largest frame in his social circle and he was well aware of that. Yeah, he was muscular with broad shoulders and it wasn’t like he was short either, but there was always someone taller or broader than him. What he did have though, was the largest and prettiest hands that you’d ever seen; something that you’d never neglected to remind him. Truth be told, the ‘big’ part was the thing you’d told him most often, but he knew you found the pretty as well.

He never really understood your obsession with his hands though. They were just hands after all. Of course, without them he wouldn’t be able to play volleyball, something he very much loved doing. So yes of course he liked them too. But it was clear to him that it was for very different reasons that you liked them. And to a very different extend. You’d always make sure to tend to his hands after a game. You played with his fingers when the two of you were hanging out, relaxing. He even noticed you taking pictures once or twice, when he’d held your hand in his.

He didn’t really understand it. At least not until the two of you started getting more intimate. That’s when he suddenly started seeing his own hands in a different light.

He had big hands alright. He noticed it the first time he cupped your breast in his hands. The way his fingers pressed softly against your skin made his mouth dry. He’d swallowed hard as he drank in the sight. He really had big hands, he noticed again, once when he held onto your hips when you were on top of him, clothed pussy riding his jean clad thigh.

Iwaizumi started actually understanding the liking you’d taken to his hands, but he didn’t entirely get it, before that one time when you grabbed the base of his hand with both of yours, lifting it to your lips. The two of you had been intimate more than once at this point, but not once had he experienced anything quite like watching you guiding his hand to your lips. Like watching the passionate way you wrapped your lips around his fingers. Your gaze had locked on his and kept him in a delirious chokehold as your tongue swirled around his digits, effectively covering them in saliva. His cock jumped at that point. His hand looked good in yours. It looked good against your skin. It looked so utterly delicious in your mouth. Maybe he actually began to really get it.

“I bet your hands would look good around my throat,” you told him once and forcibly suppressed a chuckle when his eyes widened and his adams apple bobbed in his throat. You’d crawled up in his lap as he was sat on the bed after a shower. Both of your lips were swollen from heated kisses shared. “Do you want to try?” His eyes searched your face even as his cock throbbed underneath you. He wanted to, that much was clear, but he wasn’t just going to assume. He wasn’t like that.

“Are you—“

“Sure?” You finished his question for him. “Hajime, please. I want to feel it. Don’t be shy, you can be a little rough if you want,” you said and took his hands in yours, guiding them from your hips and up. Up. Up. Iwaizumi watched in awe as you placed his hands against your throat.

“I—“

“Hajime,” you all but whined, rolling your hips against him. And at that point, Iwaizumi’s gaze flickered to his hands as he let them slide up further against your skin. Yeah. His hands were big. And you were right. They did look good against your neck. At that moment, Iwaizumi thought he finally completely understood. They were beautiful. But not because they were his or in themselves. They were beautiful in unity with your body. As if they were made for your body. It got it. He understood. That’s how it started.

Now he had you on all fours on the bed, cock buried inside of you. His rhythm had your eyes rolling back in your head and his gaze fell on his hands against your hips. They were beautiful. His gaze flicked up to where you threw your head back against a particularly harsh thrust of his hips.

“You said I could be a little rough, didn’t you?” Iwaizumi asked. Even now, as he found it so hard to resist, he wanted to hear you say it.

“Y-yes—“ your voice broke off and a moan tore from your throat. “Haji— Please—“ and that was what it took before you felt it. Iwaizumi saw himself moving before he realized that he was. It was as if he was in a trance when his fingers threaded through your hair and pushed.

“Haji—“ Your arms gave out as Iwaizumi forced your body to bend further, face smushed into the pillow. Your loud moans filled the air around you, as Iwaizumi changed the angle of his thrusts, to go even deeper.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Look at me,” he urged and loosened his hold to let you turn your head further. You looked up at him, out of the corner of your eye, and even in this state, you couldn’t get past how beautiful he looked. His eyes were curiously fixated on his hand now resting against the side of your face.

“Hajime,” you babbled and he swore he could have cum right then and there. He didn’t. He managed to hold back, even as a low groan rumbled in his chest and he pressed down a little harder. “Harder.”

Iwaizumi obliged. Happily at that, with his gaze locked onto your face on the pillow and his hands against it. He rocked into you harder. Cock aching for release when a little cripple of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth. Iwaizumi relentlessly fucked into you, and watched up come undone by him. He watched your eyes rolling back, your tongue lolling out and your saliva slipping down on the pillow. He bullied his cock into your tight warmth until the both of you reached your climax and through it. Even then, his fingers twitched against your face.

With his thumb, he swept the drool off your chin, and he knew that he finally understood. He really did understand your obsession with his hands after all. And after that one time, Iwaizumi was never able to see his hands the same way again, because whenever he tried, he pictured them against your skin. He pictured them pushing your face into the mattress. He pictured them around your throat or with his fingers in your mouth. But he had to admit, that that truly was a beautiful sight.

tags: @prettyiwa​

[burningfairytales]

In honour of our favourite ace’s birthday, lemme dump this bit of unedited writing on you.

Happy Birthday, Bokuto!

EDIT: Now also on AO3!

They make it through the first two rounds of the Interhigh Qualifiers with ease.

Really, it’s almost too easily. Konoha is expecting something to go wrong at literally any moment.

They’re the last ones on the morning of their second day, because Bokuto insisted on checking the merchandise stand before their first match, and even though he’d whined and asked Akaashi to join him, their vice-captain had insisted that at least one of them should be with the team, and had trusted Konoha to “reign him in before he spends too much money, Konoha-san. Thank you for your hard work.”

He’s prepared to drag Bokuto to the arena kicking and screaming, which it turns out he doesn’t have to, because Bokuto is actually excited for their match, and goes willingly with one more t-shirt and two matching keychains in his hand.

(The t-shirt, of course, is as ridiculous as any he’s ever bought, with the English words ‘POWER UP’ in big bold letters on its front. The keychains are of Vabo-chan, which fine, Konoha understands, but does Bokuto really need two?)

The other shoe drops when they’re making their way down the hall and towards the arena, and really, Konoha’s been waiting for it to happen - it’s just that he’s been expecting Bokuto to go all depressed over something small again, something laughable, something to joke about with the others, maybe tease Bokuto about afterwards.

He’s not expecting to come across two players from the team they’re about to face, standing a few metres away and talking, loudly, about Fukurodani.

Or rather, their captain.

“Have you seen their captain, though? Doesn’t he feel a bit… useless?”

He isn’t expecting the way Bokuto freezes for a moment, the way his shoulders slump imperceptibly, how he seems to shrink in on himself.

“I know! He looks strong and all, but I heard he sometimes messes up the simplest of plays.”

A chuckle.

“Maybe the team would be better off without him.”

The hallway is quiet when they leave, and Konoha glances at Bokuto from the corner of his eye. And it looks a bit like someone had poured salt into an open wound or found a bruise to poke at, the way Bokuto presses his lips together, wincing at a phantom pain, like his heart is bleeding.

“Hey, Owlhead,” Konoha starts. “You know they’re just talking sh-”

“Konoha,” Bokuto interrupts, straightening. Throws him a brittle smile, his lip quivering. It’s the saddest goddamn thing Konoha has ever seen. “I’m going on ahead, okay? Akaashi was right, I should have stayed with the team. Gotta warm up and all!”

His laugh lacks all his usual enthusiasm, and he turns, making his way towards the arena.

Konoha watches him go, watches the bow of his head, the downward pull of his shoulders as if he’s carrying something heavy.

Bokuto is ridiculous. He’s too enthusiastic, gets discouraged too easily. He’s simpleminded, and a bit of an airhead, and Konoha teases him for it often - but Bokuto is his teammate. Konoha knows he can joke about it because the things he says aren’t one hundred percent true, and he’s not always one hundred percent serious.

He can joke about it because he knows that Bokuto knows that.

But that just now, that was something else.

Konoha clenches his fist. He turns on his heel, following the other two players in the direction of the bathroom. Anger tightens his chest, sizzles in his gut, hot and dizzying.

“Hey, you!” He calls, when he catches up with them. “I heard you talking shit about our captain!”

The two of them look at each other and then at him. One of the two shrugs, unimpressed.

“So?” He asks. He’s the taller of the two, probably taller than Konoha. “He just seems like a bit of an idiot.”

Konoha grits his teeth. How dare they?

How dare they?

He’s in front of them before his brain even registers the movement, grabbing the taller one’s collar and shoving him against the wall.

“You don’t talk about him that way,” he grits out. “You don’t know him.”

“H-hey,” the shorter one says, his voice suddenly small. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not like we were talking about you.”

But it is personal. It is personal in a way Konoha doesn’t deign to explain because they have no idea how their team works. They don’t know half the stupid shit Bokuto pulls, or the way he’s there for his team when one of them needs him. They don’t know that he keeps stealing their food when they go out to eat, or the ongoing prank war with Nekoma High that Bokuto puts all his effort into winning. They don’t know how he makes sure they all know that it’s not their fault when they lose a match. They don’t know how he pushes them - encourages them to try harder, give it their all.

They don’t know shit.

He considers, for a moment, the consequences of punching one of them, just for the sake of it. Considers if it’s worth the suspension that’s likely to come his way. But just as he decides he’ll just have to risk it, a voice stops him.

“Konoha-san.” Akaashi stands at the end of the hallway. His back is straight, his hands hang loosely at his side. “We’re waiting for you.” His voice is quiet; calculated. “Let’s join the others, shall we?”

With a long exhale, Konoha lets go. Takes a final look at the two and almost laughs at the relief on their faces, because really, they have no idea.

That Akaashi’s calm demeanour shouldn’t at all be reassuring to them - that the fact he keeps his hands at his side betrays his anger, because it’s likely a conscious decision, or else he would be fiddling his fingers. That his quiet is the lethal kind.

Akaashi probably took one look at Bokuto’s deflated form, came to find Konoha two seconds away from throwing punches, and most likely realised exactly what must have happened.

They don’t know that their calm, collected vice-captain doesn’t get angry - he gets even.

“You don’t know us,” Konoha repeats, this time with a smirk. “But you’re about to.”

***

He tells the others what happened while Akaashi is off in the corner warming up with Bokuto - speaking to him most likely, while doing the thing that never fails to cheer him up: spiking Akaashi’s tosses.

Komi glares daggers over the net, looking just as ready as Konoha to drag them out of the arena and settle things off-cours. Washio frowns, and Onaga keeps sneaking worried glances at their captain. Saru’s mouth is drawn downwards in an unhappy line.

Their collective anger isn’t surprising, of course. Bokuto is their teammate, too.

“Let’s show them what we’ve got,” Komi says, a fist in the air. “They won’t get away with this.”

“I have an idea.” Akaashi’s voice is quiet as he approaches, like the subtle cracking of ice before an avalanche. “It’s a bit unorthodox.”

Behind them, Bokuto is talking to their coach, but he seems at least in somewhat higher spirits than before. Konoha wonders what it would be like, to have whatever these two have going on. To know and understand each other so completely.

“Let’s hear it!” Komi says.

“It might be a bit difficult to pull off,” Akaashi says slowly, “And it certainly won’t be very nice.”

Konoha laughs. “Akaashi, haven’t you heard? We’re not very nice people.”

***

Unorthodox is a good word to describe Akaashi’s sets - none of them could be considered textbook, which makes them anything but predictable.

He dumps the ball over the net not once, but twice, sets the ball to Konoha even though the blockers are on his side, and throws him a look that clearly says, I expect you to get around that.

Konoha snorts as he jumps. No pressure or anything.

Luckily, the blockers apparently aren’t expecting that bold a move either, because they’d already taken a few steps to the other side of the net, and are scrambled to get back into position just a second too late.

He scores, and laughs at the sheer audacity.

Most notably, Akaashi lets Bokuto spike however he seems to want to, even though he would normally try to reign him in - there’s a particularly bold backrow set that Konoha has to admit is actually kind of impressive. Not that he’s about to say that out loud.

(“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls between sets, “You haven’t used a single feint this tournament. Not today or yesterday.”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess? Do you think I should?”

“I think,” Akaashi says, and his smile is lethal, “I think it might be fun.”

Konoha shudders. He really, really doesn’t want to get on Akaashi’s bad side.)

By the end of the second set, Bokuto is back to his old self, laughing and whooping with every scored point.

He does use a feint then, cheerfully tips the ball over the blocker’s hands, punches the air in victory with an emphatic, “hey, hey, hey!” when it hits the floor on the other side of the net.

Konoha catches the smile on Akaashi’s lips as he watches Bokuto - warm and proud and so full of something else, something big and overwhelming that it catches Konoha off-guard. But before he can blink, Akaashi has already schooled his features into careful indifference, turning back towards the net.

Oh, Konoha thinks, as the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Oh.

***

It’s probably the most unconventional they’ve ever played - definitely the most risky, and, dare he say - the most fun, too. He’s sure Coach Yamiji will have words with them later, but for now, Konoha doesn’t care.

They didn’t just win - to put it in Bokuto’s terms, they crushed their opponents.

***

“Konoha!” Bokuto throws an arm around him, and Konoha allows it, just this once. “Let’s go get Yakiniku tonight, to celebrate, okay?”

“Sure.” Konoha shrugs. “As long as you’re paying, Captain.”

“Eh! Uh. Hmm….” Several emotions flit over Bokuto’s face. “Okay, yeah. Sure. We deserve it. Yeah!”

And then he bounces off. “Akaashi!” He calls, “Help me pay for Yakiniku later!”

With the advantage of hindsight, Konoha supposes it’s obvious. He watches how Akaashi’s focus shifts the second he hears Bokuto call for him. How his entire body turns in the direction of his voice before he’s even finished what he’s doing, like it doesn’t have a choice but to move, the pull of Bokuto commanding its movement like some sort of gravitational force.

He sees how Akaashi’s entire demeanour changes - it’s nothing obvious, nothing someone not from Fukurodani would even notice. But Konoha, like everyone else on the team, is practised in the art of recognising their setter’s subtle shifts, and so he sees:

The small, upward quirk of his lips, his open posture, how he reaches out and lightly touches Bokuto’s wrist with two fingers - Akaashi, who never initiates any physical contact with anyone.

Everything about him becomes softer the second he lays eyes on Bokuto. The same way, Konoha supposes, reviewing these past two years in his head, the same way Bokuto is softer around Akaashi than with anyone else on the team as well.

How did it take him this long to notice, he wonders, when it’s right there, written plainly on Bokuto’s face, and in the curve of Akaashi’s shoulders.

***

On the bus ride home, Bokuto stops at nothing to point out how amazing they were today. He mentions almost every one of Saru’s spikes and Washio’s blocks, compliments Komi on his receives and recreates Konoha’s plays with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic flourish.

It’s completely ridiculous, in the way Bokuto always is, and Konoha feels his own chest with pride anyway. Komi high-fives Saru, and Onaga chuckles behind them.

Next to Bokuto, Akaashi catches Konoha’s eye and gives a subtle nod. Konoha smirks.

And this - this is why their team isn’t better off without Bokuto - not that Konoha is ever about to tell him that. Because Bokuto always tries his hardest, whether it’s during a game or off-court, whether it’s about volleyball or lifting their spirits. Because he reminds them of their strengths and still dares them to do better.

Because he is theirs, for better or for worse, and they will always, always rally behind him.

[mania-sama]

oikawa always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. from the moment he saw jose blanco when they were seven years old, he became certain that he would be a professional player. before he was old enough to understand how long it would take or how much energy it would require, oikawa was telling iwaizumi what number jersey he would wear on the national team.

iwaizumi loved volleyball. there was no question about it; he loved the weight against his fingers as he lightly tossed it in the air. he loved the green and brown bruises littering his arms, proving he fought and played well. he loved crouching on the court with five other people, waiting in bated breath to score the next point. he loved the sound the ball made when he spiked it to the ground with enough power to shake the net. he loved springing in the air and diving to the ground.

he loved watching his teammates glow with pride at every point earned, at every win. he loved having support during the hard losses. he loved oikawa, who threw himself so deeply into the sport that it made iwaizumi try that much harder, practice that much longer, want to win that much more.

but, he always knew his love came at a price.

he could see himself playing professionally. he knew that he'd only want to do it if oikawa would be on the court with him. he knew he was only as good as he was when the best high school setter in miyagi brought out his talents. he knew that, at the end of the day, his drive to be an Olympic athlete was crutched by his best friend.

oikawa had developed it alone, separate from iwaizumi. iwaizumi could recognize that, and that was what set them apart.

iwaizumi didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. he threw around ideas in his head, every now and then. he knew he couldn't do a corporate job. he'd seen the way men fell asleep in bushes and in shops, never making it home, then waking up again to return to where they worked. it sounded like hell and misery, so he threw it out immediately. he supposed he wouldn't mind traveling the world, but he didn't know where he'd get the funds for that. he didn't care much for history or archaelogy, and those master's and phd's would be what would get him places. he even settled on the military for a time, if he really couldn't figure what he wanted from life by the time he graduated.

then, like dominos, everything began to fall into place. it started like this:

in his third year of middle school, he injured his wrist. he had to see the athletic trainer twice a week, for those were the days the trainer was available to assist the volleyball clubs. his mother was a nurse, so she made sure he kept up with his ice and stretches at home. he cared for himself and the trainer cared for him, coaching him through certain workouts and tracking his progress on a clipboard. he admired the trainer for the first time in his life. not because he was caring for iwaizumi specifically, but because iwaizumi was seeing all of it work. the ice, the workouts, the way his wrist gradually heals until he feels no pain anymore. he found himself curious about the clipboard, though he never asked.

oikawa overworked his ankle and twisted it in their first year of high school. iwaizumi's injury had been minor, but oikawa's was considerably worse. he limped as he walked, and iwaizumi went online and nearly keeled over when the results told him that oikawa would die in the next twenty-four days, that his ankle would never heal properly. mother iwaizumi was far more rational, and their trainer was available four of the five days of the work week, so oikawa was functionally okay. it didn't stop bothering iwaizumi, though. he was by oikawa's side the whole time despite their new friends', matsukawa and hanamaki, teasing. when oikawa allowed him, he examined the twisted ankle, pressing his fingers against the bone, carefully tracing the slightly discolored skin.

he started volunteering at the hospital when he could, though he found he didn't enjoy the atmosphere much. he saw charts, though. he started to get an idea of what was on the paper on the clipboard. that, he enjoyed. he enjoyed seeing patients walk away with grins at good news, and he eavesdropped on nurses and doctors discussing diagnoses he didn't fully understand. his favorites were the ones of athletes, good or bad. shin splints, they said with relief. tendonitis. dislocation. a torn acl, they gasped after coming out of a screaming girl's room.

someone caught wind of his volunteering. during a training camp, a fidgeting player from a different team corners him outside. he asked if iwaizumi had anything, anything, anything at all, though preferably xanax. please, man, he begged. i know you work at a hospital. i'll pay you back. i just- i think somebody stole mine out of my bag a while ago. i can't get through this weekend. hook me up? iwaizumi denied him, told him to get help, told a trusted adult because although he knew it was "uncool" and he was a "snitch", the kid was shaking and knee-deep in drug addiction, and iwaizumi couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. his skin burned from where the guy grabbed him to plead. his tongue was dry from when he tried to gently let him down the first time. his head hurts from the idea betraying his peers, even though he knew they would cover his ass if he had alcohol on him.

they lose to shiratorizawa for the second time in high school, and oikawa tried to get himself another overworked limb. iwaizumi shouted, and shouted, and shouted, and he dragged oikawa out of the gym more nights than not. he sat with him when oikawa was determined to give himself dry-eye from watching volleyball matches all hours of the day. he kept oikawa going.

that addict player died over an overdose over the summer, the news hitting him at the same time as the rest of the miyagi volleyball community. and he started to understand. he understood the way the kid - for though he was older than iwaizumi, he was still just a kid - would react slowly to block the ball, or how he would twitch before his serve. he understood the first time oikawa hurt his ankle, how it had been nothing like iwaizumi’s wrist injury, or how taking xanax during a training camp was nothing like camping out in a basement with a couple of friends and a case of cheap liquor store beer.

on the first full day back to school in their second year, hanamaki pulled iwaizumi aside and said that matsukawa had passed out briefly on the train ride over. iwaizumi didn't know what to do, necessarily, or what it could mean that matsukawa passed out for seemingly no reason, but he decided to keep an eye out. he watched him at practice. watched the way he was slow to block, blinking blearily, swaying on his feet. it could be sleep deprivation, but matsukawa had said he wasn't tired. his second thought was of that player the year prior. he watched, and as much as it pained him, he waited. he waited until they could all get ramen together, because for one reason or another matsukawa found a reason to bail out of after-school food runs. when matsukawa got up to use the bathroom after finishing his food, iwaizuimi waited one, two, three, ten seconds to follow, similarly excusing himself. he listened to matsukawa heave and wretch, and he sat there until matsukawa came out, one hand hastily wiping his mouth. he froze when he saw iwaizumi, and it must've been something on his face, must've been the memory of how he failed to help a kid who was now six feet underground, because matsukawa broke down into tears. i can't stop. i can't, he said. i need to do this to be better at volleyball. i can't gain more weight. it'll bring me down. don't make me stop.

iwaizumi made him do one thing: see the athletic trainer. he got the athletic trainer to give them advice on a diet that would both build muscle and increase their overall health. iwaizumi sent matsukawa on his way with a detailed regimen, but he himself stayed behind with the trainer. he asked, doing his best to remain neutral: which do you think is more important? mental health or physical injuries?

after a while of deliberation, he got received the trainers honest answer. physical injuries. athletes can get severely stressed and disordered after even a minor injury.

iwaizumi nodded. how do i become an athletic trainer?

go to school, the trainer said, smiling. study hard.

taking that to heart, he left. he left with a plan: to go to university, study hard, and write a paper proving that trainer wrong. his paper would be on the psychology behind sports injuries, how its the state of an athelete's mental health that causes injuries. he would then work as an athletic trainer, and he wouldn't let a kid like oikawa overwork themselves, or kids like that player accost underclassmen and overdose, or kids like matsukawa avoid food and expel what little they consumed. because they all wanted one thing. to play better, to be better. and iwaizumi wanted to be there for them, to tell them that a game wasn't worth their lives.

he wanted to be there for the middle school kid with a wrist injury, whos only wish was to keep playing with his best friend.

iwaizumi studied hard. he researched and researched, and he kept volunteering at the hospital even though he hated the smell of sterile rooms and the miserable faces of interns and residents and the floor that housed most of the terminally ill. he shadowed the trainer as they worked with other seijoh clubs when he had the time. he worked, and he cared for oikawa and his various discreet attempts at overworking himself to death.

in his third year of high school, an acceptance letter from the university of california, his top choice of school, arrives at his front door with a full-ride scholarship.

[alieinthemorning]

Marry a Man Through His Stomach [Miya Atsumu]

Content: Fluff, Soft, Marriage

Pronouns: None

Header: @/tsumoos

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

"Is that what I think it is?" He barely toed his shoes off at the entrance before bounding his way into the kitchen, coming right up behind you to take a whiff of the pot you were stirring. "Hell yeah!"

You rolled your eyes, dishing him a small portion into the soy sauce plate you had been using. He leaned down, eagerly slurping.

He hummed, smacking his lips before looking down at you with bright eyes.

"Man, I'm glad I married ya."

It was a lunchtime like any other. You were sat at your desk, just finished with putting your materials away and finding a video to watch with your lunch. However, once you opened the lid to your bento, did someone decide to pester you.

"Oh lemme have some!" A hand reached for your food, which you quickly swatted at.

"I literally just opened this—can I have a bite of my food before ya start beggin'!" You huffed at him, taking a bite of gyoza.

"Fine, ya've taken a bite—lemme have some gyoza too!"

"Oh my—fine!" But just as you went to grab the gyoza to pass to him, a pair of chopsticks, that obviously weren't yours, snatched it up  and dropped it right into Atsumu's open mouth.  

His face went through the motions of: happy, disbelief, then finally happy again.

"Man, yer ma is a good cook."

You raised a brow, "Ma didn't cook this. I did."

"Ya made this?" He paused, taking another bite (from another piece of food he had stolen from you—the bastard) then nodded to himself. "Yeah, imma marry ya some day."

You blinked, felt the heat raising to your cheeks, then laughed.

"Yeah right!" You were sure he was just saying shit out of his ass.

"Ya laugh now, but I'm sure there'll be a ring on that finger." He tapped your left ring finger.

Then he left (making sure to swipe one last piece of food), leaving you to mull over the nonsense he had spewed.

This very quickly began to become a habit of his, pestering you for your food until you relented (which didn't take long) then commenting in someway about your alleged future marriage.

You didn't think much of it until you were making a bento for him (finally sick and tired of him stealing your food) and your mother said something to you.

"Feedin' a friend of yers?"

You nodded, "Somethin' like that..."

She hummed. "Well ya know, the way I won yer father's heart is through the stomach so—"

You whipped your head around so fast you were sure it was going to go spinning off.

She threw her head back, laughing loudly at your flustered face.

"Make sure to bring'em around soon, okay?" And she was out of the room before you could refute her.

But in the end she was right—both she and Atusmu, actually.

You had won his love through his stomach, and just like he said, you were wearing that platinum band on your left ring finger.

You fidgeted with it fondly, a small smile gracing your fingers. The smile widen as he grabbed your hand, placing a kiss right on the band.

"You know, I'm glad ya begged for that gyoza that day..."

He raised a brow, a smirk threatening to split his face. "Oh really? Yer were that eager to marry me?"

"Not then no, but later...yeah." You leaned forward, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad I said yes."

"Well, I'm happy I put the thought in yer head." He pulled you closer, "Now come're..."

I was supposed to write something else first, but then I had this thought and had to stop everything I was doing to write it. 

Anyway, I've been sucked back into the Haikyuu! Hole and Atsumu has been my hyperfixation, and there simply aren't fresh fics for him so, it's time I feed myself and the people.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[strawberrycheeks-and-glasses]

Tsukki x You Drabbles

Most people probably think Tsukishima would be the cruel and snarky jealous type or give the silent treatment and then get you home and suddenly start to devour you and remind you that you’re his and only his.

But what if he’s a sweet lil insecure baby who just needs to know that you’re there and you love him….

“Oh, hi Makoto! Long time no see!” You shout as you hug the man who called your name across the shop.

You and Kei are out Christmas shopping for your families when you ran into an old friend. You have known Makoto since grade school and haven’t seen him years after graduation. He’s grown up, a lot, you notice. Fitting well into a nice tailored suit under a long tan coat.

“It’s been so long,” he smiles at you, holding your shoulders as he takes in your adult figure. “How have you been?”

“I’m doing well, thanks, how are you? How’s the law firm?” You ask him.

Kei comes around the corner to see another man’s arms on you, glaring at you with pointed eyes from where he stops in his tracks. He’s hard to miss in the small shop and you quietly beckon him over.

“Makoto, this is my boyfriend, Tsu-“ you begin to introduce him as he walks up next to you.

“Tsukishima Kei,” he nods, stiffly to the man who was so comfortable groping you in public, but has now since stiffened at the sight of your, very tall, very muscular, boyfriend.

“N-nice to meet you,” Makoto mumbles as he offers his hand in greeting.

Kei ignores the gesture, feigning turning to browse the items next to him as you apologetically smile at Makoto on his behalf.

“Well,” Makoto recovers himself. “Sorry to have interrupted your evening, you two have a good night.”

“It was so good to see you again,” you nod to him as he leaves you and Kei alone again.

“Kei,” you whisper his name to his back that he has turned on you.

Reaching out for his shoulder to turn him to face you, he huffs and walks down the aisle without you. Biting your lip, you silently follow him, preparing yourself for what you know will be a quiet walk home.

Kei is the jealous type. He hates when men compliment you, look at you, or even breathe near you. And every time you interact with another man, you can see him clenching his jaw, and balling his hands into fists at his sides. He can’t hide it from you. Dating for two years, you’ve seen all sides of him.

He barely looks at you, let alone says a word to you. He lets you know that he’s hurt by keeping his distance. Putting up his walls that you spent so much time breaking down, that it hurts you as well. But you know it’s only temporary. He never stays upset, he just needs to process his emotions in his own way, as you’ve learned.

So you let him, as you both casually walk through the shop three feet apart. Watching him from behind as he scans the items on the shelves, not really paying attention to them, just putting on a front that he’s looking for a gift. When really you can see his mind whirling with his thoughts and insecurities.

Kei doesn’t know that you know he’s insecure. He doesn’t know that Yamaguchi once told you, what Kei thinks of himself and why he’s so jealous. He doesn’t know that you know <em>why</em> he built his walls in the first place. So he wouldn’t get hurt. So he would never again have to feel the way he felt all those years ago.

It pains you to know all this. Pains you that he’s never told you any of this himself before. But you let him know you’re not going anywhere by staying by his side, even if it’s three feet apart. You’re his shadow as he walks along, glancing back at you every so often, just to make sure you’re still there.

When you’re ready to leave the store, you silently take his hand in yours and lead him to the exit, walking down the street back to your shared flat.

While you watch him slip off his coat, and hang in on the rack, you softly run your hands downs his back. Wordlessly telling him, you’re with him.

There’s a few seconds of continued silence that fills the space around you two, then he sighs, deeply. The weight of his insecure thoughts finally lifted as you turn him to face you, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. Pulling him down to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

“I love you, Kei,” you whisper in his ear as his arms hold you close, pulling you into him and breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“I know,” he sighs, his voice so small in the crook of your neck that you barely hear him. “I love you,” he kisses into your skin.

Relief washes over you as he lets you back in. His walls coming down around you with every kiss you press into his cheeks, jaw and neck.

“Tell me again?” He breathes, running his fingers through your hair as he stares down at you with his sweet, pleading eyes.

“I am yours,” you kiss into his lips, just as you always do when he gets this way. “And you are mine.”

And just as you always do, you gently lead him to the bedroom to show him just how much you love him.

[sophistired18]

Kryk ficlet about something something nail clippings, romance, dragons, and estranged family. Pt. 1/2(?)

Let me cut your nails.

"I wanna meet your sister one day." Yaku says offhandedly as he clips Kuroo's nails on their sofa.

"What??" Kuroo jolts, moving his hand suddenly.

"Hey stop moving!" Yaku grumbles as he yanks Kuroo's hand back.

"Why did you ask that??" Kuroo asks with a mix of confusion and shock.

Yaku pauses from Kuroo's nails and lets out a sigh like it's so obvious. It's always so obvious to Yaku.

"Well, isn't it kinda like a formal standard to get to know your partner's entire family before marriage or something?" Yaku says. Like it was obvious. As if it was obvious that he was reflecting on marriage and a future with Kuroo while doing something as mundane as clipping his boyfriend's fingernails. It was obviously, obvious.

Kuroo inhales. "Yakkun. Morisuke. What the actual fuck."

"What??!" Yaku lets out defensively. Because for some reason Kuroo is the unobvious one here. "Am I wrong though?" Yaku says like he's right. He is right.

Kuroo exhales. "No, you're not wrong." Kuroo grins in a stupidly sappy way. "You're just, so unromantic."

"Excuse me? Is doing my boyfriend's manicure because he needs one, badly I might add, not the most romantic deed ever?" Yaku huffs, but his smile grows wider. "Did I need to slay a dragon to prove worthy of your love and ask for your hand, your majesty?"

"And you say I'm the drama queen." Kuroo rolls his eyes. "And honestly, you're probably one of the only people I know that could kill a dragon, so maybe yeah, that'd be very romantic of you. That'd be really hot to see now that I think about it."

"Oh so I guess I'll just find a dragon then." Yaku remarks sarcastically. "But besides that, you're avoiding my question."

"Which one? The hot dragon slaying one or the manly manicure one?" Kuroo replies with a stupid question with an equally stupid grin.

"Neither, you dumbass." Yaku gripes, before jabbing Kuroo in the side of his torso. "I'm serious. I wanna get to know your family."

"You have met my-" Kuroo starts.

"ALL of your family! Besides Kenma doesn't count." Kuroo just gives him a look. "Okay, you're right, Kenma counts, but still! You know what I mean!" Yaku finishes.

"I know.. it's just, well, it's my sister, Mori." Kuroo groans.

"Look, I know you guys aren't close, but that doesn't mean I can't meet her! I want to know this part of your life." Yaku explains. "You've met all of my family, and they love you. Don't I deserve to get to meet yours too? I'm not asking for her approval or to love me, but.. I just think it'd be nice, you know?"

"Yes, you're right." Kuroo admits. "It's just that, she wasn't really a part of my life, Yakkun. I barely know a thing about her besides the Christmas photos my mom used to send. I mean you already know how I feel about my mom, and she is well, my mom. On the otherhand, my sister?? We're like practically strangers." Kuroo huffs.

"You guys don't have to stay that way." Yaku adds.

"Mori, I can literally count on my two hands how many family dinners I've had. I can count on one hand how many family dinners I've had with her attending them." Kuroo spits.

"And I still mean what I said." Yaku spits back. "You're a grown ass man now, and she's a grown ass woman! I'm pretty sure it's not impossible for the two of you to talk to each other! Besides! For someone who's managed to connect with volleyball maniacs from all over the world that you've barely met before, I'm sure connecting with your sister is absolutely doable."

This sucks. This sucks because Kuroo knows Yaku has a point. And Kuroo knows he should stop fighting on this because it's true. He does want Yaku to meet his family. He just never really felt like he ever received any kind of approval from his sister. And for some reason, he's afraid that Yaku won't get that approval because of him. And that's not fair to Yaku. But he's also not being fair to Yaku either.

Kuroo huffs. "I'll give her a call and see when she's available."

Yaku's lips form a wide smile. "Thank you, Tetsu." Yaku sets down the nail clipper and crawls onto Kuroo's lap. "Y'know, if you weren't being such an ass about this, I might be tempted to kiss you."

"But I'm an ass about everything and you still kiss me regardless." Kuroo smirks.

"Only to shut you up, jerk."

"Then shut me up. Or I could keep goi-"

Yaku shuts him up, and Kuroo can't help but think that it's the most romantic thing.

[naofairy]

Sakuatsu | Pillowtalk | Hurt/Comfort | Post time-skip | Established relationship | Mature

(This is my first fic in English, let's go)

A game of tongues slowly faded into lingering pecks, while both he and Kiyoomi tried to catch their breaths. His boyfriend’s hand, previously wandering over his flushed skin and leaving traces of strong grips and occasional scratches, now stopped in the middle of his chest. Soft dark curls gently tickled his neck as Kiyoomi pressed three more kisses above his clavicle. Usually, Atsumu let himself melt under the familiarity and comfort of this touch, but tonight his mind seemed to find itself somewhere else. 

“Did I hurt you?“ There was a minute change in Kiyoomi’s expression, a delicate furrow of his brow that could easily go unnoticed if you weren’t as familiar with it. Soft brown eyes briefly met with expectant onyx ones.

“Nah, ‘s not that,“ Atsumu answered quietly, averting his gaze, the certainty of his voice lost somewhere in the darkness of their bedroom.

“What is it then? You’re rarely this quiet.”

There was really no point in avoiding the conversation. He could never keep his mouth shut long enough and the only person other than his twin who could effectively persuade him into opening up about his feelings was lying here beside him with still warm sheets tangled around their legs.

“Been thinkin’ for some time now… ‘S probably a bit selfish to ask…” He curled himself into the warmth of the pale chest and released a shaky breath as if his emotions could flow right out with it. “I wanna stay here. With ya.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes searched Atsumu’s face, trying to determine the meaning behind his expression.

“What exactly do you mean by that? It’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.” There was a time when Kiyoomi’s focused gaze would have felt heavy, but with years of their relationship, this sharp look, along with the present weight of his palm against Atsumu’s chest, was assuring enough.

“I know. ‘S just…” He followed the scattered moles on Kiyoomi’s chest with his fingertip. “With Shouyou goin’ back to Brazil, Kageyama movin’ to Italy, Ushijima to Poland… Shit, even Oikawa in Argentina. It’s like everyone’s leavin’ sooner or later.” 

It was almost impossible not to think about it. With how many years they’ve all spent on the court it was an expected change. They went to the Olympics, of course they were valued internationally. And while Atsumu always aimed for the sky with his dreams, he began to show more appreciation towards the permanent things in life as he got older. Like the after-training car ride home in the passenger seat, when they would listen to the latest episodes of Kiyoomi’s favourite podcasts or staying after hours at Osamu’s shop to talk shit with his brother and steal some umeboshi onigiri for his boyfriend. It granted him comfort he was scared was too easy to lose.

“I like it here in Osaka. And I love playin’ for MSBY. I love our apartment. I love havin’ ‘Samu close. Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware they’re all these great opportunities to grow, I just… Kinda feel like I wanna grow right here.” He rarely got this self-conscious with Kiyoomi. They often joked and snickered and teased, but their line of communication always remained open. However, this was different. This was about their future and he knew Kiyoomi took it seriously. He wasn’t going to hold him back from pursuing his goals. If there was a call tomorrow and Kiyoomi would want to take that spot, Atsumu would let him, no questions asked.

But here they were now, Atsumu blissed out, cuddled to Kiyoomi’s warmth and with his heart fragile and open. 

His lover’s gaze never strayed from his face.

“Okay,” Kiyoomi said and Atsumu could finally breathe again. “Then let’s stay here.”

“Wait, what?!” He sat up on the bed alarmed, the warmth of Kiyoomi’s body now replaced by the sudden increase in his own heart rate. “Yer not serious, are ya? I’m not askin’ ya to do that, though! Just sharin’ my thoughts.”

“Yes, I’m serious. I have nothing against staying here.” Kiyoomi’s expression was nothing but earnest.

“But ya don’t understand! It’s not whether ya have somethin’ against that or not. Ya have to think ‘bout yerself. Ya can’t give away yer future just ‘cause I said so.”

“I know that.” Kiyoomi sighed, slowly getting up. “But you also know how I feel about change. Do you think I’d be ecstatic to leave behind all of this for a place full of strangers in another country? I have enough social barriers as it is.” He took Atsumu’s hand in his and gave each of the knuckles a kiss. “Maybe I don’t tell you that enough but I like what we have. And it’s not as if I’m settling for less. We make a strong team. And there’s no one else I’d rather have as a setter.” 

Atsumu took a second to look deep into his boyfriend’s eyes, seeing there was no trace of uncertainty.

“Okay, loverboy.” Kiyoomi scowled at the nickname, making Atsumu chuckle. He loved how the spiker was simple in his honesty, rarely leaving space for confusion. It made something in his chest grow warmer every time they let themselves get vulnerable. “But if one day there’s a call…” He nipped at the skin of Kiyoomi’s shoulder, his voice getting muffled by the soft skin. “And ya change your mind… Then I want us to revisit this conversation.”

“I won’t change my mind. But if there’s a call, then we’ll talk and we’ll make that decision together.” Kiyoomi grabbed him by the chin so he could leave a delicate kiss on Atsumu’s cheek. “ How does that sound?”

“I’d like that, making decisions together,” Atsumu whispered, a small smile appearing on his face. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he was thankful for the reassurement. He looked into the onyx eyes, wondering how everyone could be blind to their expressiveness when they were so deeply filled with affection. “Ya know, yer the one I wanna lead my life with.”

“Is that your way of proposing?” A teasing smirk made its way onto Kiyoomi’s face.

“Oh my God, no!” Atsumu nearly yelled, his cheeks turning maroon. “Wait… Would ya actually say yes?” He wasn’t opposed to that thought. Not at all. But he felt that the right time and place were yet to come.

“You wouldn’t let me live if I answered that question right now.” Kiyoomi’s smile grew even wider as he stood up, leaving the sheet he used to cover his body forgotten on their bed.

“God, I love ya so fuckin’ much.” Atsumu chuckled.

“Well, you’re lucky that I love you too.” Kiyoomi left a quick peck on his lips. “Can we finally go shower?”

“Sure, Omi. I’ve kept you long enough.” With a big smile on his face, he joined his boyfriend behind the bathroom door.

Happy birthday, Kiyoomi

[dearsakuaka]

keiji would insist being the big spoon. bed time would definitely start out that way but through the night keiji will turn away, reach out for kiyoomi's arm in his sleep, and wrap it around himself. this will always rouse kiyoomi awake, amusing him to no end because he knows exactly how keiji is going to react in the morning.

("you always do this, kiyoomi."

"would you believe me if i told you you're the one wrapping yourself in my arms."

a frown and then, "i wouldn't do that."

kiyoomi stares.)

(he still pulls keiji close though when it happens.)

[kimbapisnotsushi]

The train station was jam-packed.

Well, no duh. The lines ferried more than two million people throughout the city each day. The trains ran from early in the morning until late at night. The whole transit system probably employed a quarter of the country. Tourists, businessmen, students, parents on a shopping trip — you could find anyone, be anyone, at the train station.

And right now, Kageyama Tobio was a runaway. 

It was the perfect place to blend in. Not that Tobio needed to, really, because it wasn’t like there were people looking for him. But the crowd comforted him like a weighted blanket; it exerted just enough pressure to settle Tobio’s nerves as he watched the hands of the clock on the far wall tick forward.

Eight more minutes. He just had to wait eight more minutes.

Bzzt bzzt. Through the fabric of his windbreaker, Tobio’s phone lit up in his pocket. His teammates were still furious with him, his parents wouldn’t have yet realized he was gone. That could only mean one thing: Miwa had finally found his note.

With a resigned exhale, Tobio answered the call.

“TOBIO!”

He winced, both from the sudden volume and the rage in his sister’s voice. “Hello, Nee-san.”

“Where are you right now?” Miwa demanded. “Don’t tell me you’ve already left the city?”

“I’m on the train.” A half-lie. He had only gotten as far as buying the ticket, but if Miwa knew he hadn’t left yet, she’d drive over and try to drag him back home. “I’m fine, Nee-san. I made sure to pack well. And I have every step of the trip planned out.”

“I’m not worried about how it’s going to go,” Miwa said tartly. “I’m worried about the fact that you left in the first place! You can’t take off like that, Tobio. What would Mother and Father say? How could you not tell them?”

They wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t tell them because they wouldn’t have cared that this is something I have to do, and they would have banned me from going anyway.

Tobio didn’t say that, though. Instead, he said, “I’ll be back before they notice anything. I didn’t want them to worry unnecessarily.”

“And it’s all right to make me worry?”

“No. That’s why I left you the note.”

“Some note,” Miwa grumbled. “Really, Tobio, what are they teaching you at school? Surely you could have done better than ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go. I love you’. That barely told me anything! I thought — ”

Miwa broke off. She took a deep, shuddering breath that crackled through the speaker.

“I was so scared I had lost you, too,” she continued. “If this is something you have to do, then fine. But at least let me know you’re safe, won’t you?”

A worm of guilt squirmed its way into Tobio’s heart. He couldn’t imagine losing Miwa so soon after — well. Sometimes he took it for granted, the extent of which she understood him. Especially since, now, she was pretty much the only one who did.

— an excerpt from You've Reached Your Destination, a fic about kageyama tobio going all the way across the country in search of something even if he doesn't quite know what he's looking for (and, in the process, learning to love after loss)

[writingmyownhappyending]

Kiss It Better

Kuroo who has a running joke with his friends, that when he tapes up their fingers, he also does a goofy little "kiss it better" routine. It started with Bokuto, who totally loved it, and then it made Kai smile, and then it even made YAKU laugh, so now it's kindof a habit.

Cut to Kuroo in gym 3, taping up Tsukishima's fingers. Which comes with a lot more flustered glances than usual, so Kuroo is a little distracted, and… muscle memory takes over. Kuroo is thinking about how soft Tsukishima's hair looks, and how pretty his eyes are, and the elegant shape of Tsukishima's hands, so when he finishes taping he says "There, all better," and then he lifts Tsukishima's hand to his lips and kisses the tips of his fingers.

Then he realizes what he's done.

Kuroo is so panicky-embarrassed that he freezes. But Tsukishima doesn't look mad, and he's not laughing either. In fact, he looks a little…undone, his mouth falling open and his face turning bright scarlet. Kuroo suspects that his own face is similarly red.

"Ah - sorry - I didn't, uh - that was - I mean. Ahem." Kuroo tries to make his voice sound normal. "Sorry about that. Muscle memory."

"I don't mind," Tsukishima whispers, very quickly, as though the words were getting out in spite of him.

Kuroo's eyes snap to Tsukishima's face. He also realizes that he's still cradling Tsukishima's hand in his own. That Tsukishima hasn't pulled it away.

"Oh," Kuroo manages to say. "Well. In that case. If you don't mind." He lifts Tsukishima's hand again, deliberately this time. Kisses each of his fingertips in turn. He hears Tsukishima take a shaky breath.

Who knows what would have happened if Lev hadn't chosen that moment to shout, "Are we playing or not?!"

The moment breaks; the electrical charge evaporates, and Kuroo and Tsukishima share a look of pure exasperation.

"I'm good," says Tsukishima, pulling his hand away as though everything was normal. "Thank you, Kuroo-san."

"You-you're welcome." Kuroo's voice is still rough. "Anytime."

For half a second, Tsukishima's eyes meet Kuroo's. "I might need help again after this game."

Then he smirks and walks away, leaving Kuroo to stand there as a dopey grin comes over his face.

"Well?" shouts Tsukishima, in apparent frustration. Only the mischievous gleam in his eye betrays his amusement - and maybe something else. "Are you coming or not?"

Kuroo shakes his head, but the dopey grin only gets wider. "Hell yes," he mutters, and then shouts it across the gym, "Hell yes!" He looks right at Tsukishima when he says it, and Tsukishima smiles a tiny secret smile.

[mari-writes]

It is Bokuto Koutarou’s straight spike, his famous “beam” that secures an important win for Japan at the Paris Olympics. 

He’s so happy, so excited, with so much adrenaline pumping through his body after realizing he’d just helped them get to the semi-finals. And so he runs and leaps into the stands, pulling himself up over the barrier to where Akaashi is watching. 

Akaashi doesn’t even get a word in before his boyfriend is smashing their lips together, dipping him low with frenzied passion. Fans squeal, cameras flash, and the Olympic broadcast has to switch to another view as the scene becomes a bit too hot for TV.

“Koutarou!” Akaashi gasps, trying to catch his breath. He slaps the other man’s arms in a weak attempt to be freed. Bokuto just laughs as he pulls Akaashi into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor.

“Sorry Keiji!” He laughs, but doesn’t seem very apologetic. He has to be literally dragged back onto the court by Atsumu and Captain Meian; all the way he is blowing kisses to his man.

Later, when the two meet up (Iwaizumi had pulled some strings to sneak Akaashi into the dorms), Bokuto admits something.

“It’s like my feet had a mind of their own,” he chuckles. “Actually, it was more like my heart had a mind of its own!”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi blinks. They’re sitting face to face on Bokuto’s small bed, knees bumping. 

Bokuto smiles. “When I made that point, the one that got us to the semi-finals… all I could think about was you. All I could think was, 'Keiji is why I'm here! Keiji is why I can experience this amazing moment!'" He grins, taking Akaashi's hands in his own. "I would have never gotten here without you.”

Keiji blinks furiously, determined not to cry. He shakes his head. "You've always been a star," he insists. "You were always going to make it here. But... I'm so glad I could be with you on the way."

Bokuto nods. "Yeah." And then, to Akaashi's surprise, he reaches into his jacket pocket. He removes something, palm slowly unfurling to reveal a small velvet box. 

Akaashi blanches. "K-Koutarou, is that…”

"I wanted to ask you then.” Bokuto giggles nervously. "But I'd already embarrassed you enough. I know you're a private person. You'd rather this just be between us." Carefully, he opens the box.

Between his watery eyes and Koutarou's hands shaking, Akaashi can't get a very clear view of the ring. But he can see that it's silver, with a small golden accent in the middle. "Koutarou,” he repeats, absolutely stunned.

"We're in France," Bokuto states, and at first, Akaashi is confused at him stating such a random, mundane fact. And then he realizes— 

"So we can actually, you know…” Bokuto swallows nervously. "That is, if you want to—mmph!"

Akaashi's lips are on his boyfriend's once again. He pushes Bokuto onto his back, the cardboard bed creaking dangerously under their combined weight. But he doesn't care. "Yes," he pants between kisses. "Yes, Kou, Yes!"

Team Japan does well in Paris. By the end, they make their friends, family and country proud. Bokuto returns home feeling satisfied by his athletic performance.

But him finally getting to marry Akaashi Keiji?

Bokuto thinks that is worth more than gold.

//

Earlier today I wrote the first version of this on Twitter on the fly. 😅 I had a spark of inspiration and thought I'd challenge myself to some "improv" writing. It was so stressful lol. This version for Tumblr is a bit more polished. Please comment and share if you enjoyed! 🥰

[koushuwu]

*:･ﾟ✧ BAD HABITS DIE HARD

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬): afab!reader, perceived unrequited love, voyeurism, f!masturbation, m!masturbation, sex toys, sexual fantasies about one another, a little bit self indulgent but who cares.

『•• suna rintarou | words: 1,6k | hq masterlist ••』

excerpt: he wasn’t going to look. he really, really wasn’t. until he caught a glimpse.

beta read by: @owoasis

it’d been a long day. a long fucking day. you’d woken up with a headache. your coworkers had been annoying and loud since the moment you sat down at your desk. your boss had been a real dick and kept piling work on your shoulders, as if you didn’t already have enough on your schedule. not to forget that you’d run out of coffee and of course you just had to forget your purse as well. it was safe to say you felt frustrated. incredibly so. and that kind of frustration needed release, otherwise you might end up taking it out on your flatmate when he woke up.

you’d been quiet when you came home, feet stepping carefully down the hall as you made your way to your room. suna had only been half asleep when the door unlocked, so it wasn’t like you woke him up when you came back. it was just that when you walked past, he stirred, suddenly aware of the insistent pressure of his bladder, urging him to rise. and suna knew that you’d had a long day when he didn’t run into you outside his room. you’d probably gone to take a nap after you’d had a really long day.

it must have been a frustrating day, he realized, when a sound stopped him dead in his tracks on his way back to his room. a sound that made his mouth feel like the sahara desert. that made his skin tingle and his ears buzz. but it wasn’t his ears that buzzed. he knew that. it was something else entirely. nailed to the spot, outside your door he looked towards the sound. blood rushed from his face when he found that the door had creaked open. shit. you couldn’t be that careless, could you? you couldn’t. right?

but apparently you were. you’d pushed the door shut behind you when you entered, but hadn’t bothered to lock it. hadn’t even bothered to check if it closed properly. you were just that fucking drained. and as you pressed the vibrator of your trusty rabbit against your clit, you didn’t spare it another glance. with your hand pressed against your mouth you angled the toy, tip prodding at your entrance and caught the broken sigh as it slipped from your lips and into your palm.

it took all of suna’s will power, and then some, to keep his breathing even. he shouldn’t have heard that. in fact, he should be leaving. right now. but he didn’t. he felt utterly enthralled. captivated. the buzz like a sirens song, pulling him in. he should leave. he should– instead, he inched closer. just– he wasn’t going to look. he wasn’t. it’s just– he hadn’t even noticed when his hand had moved, before another muffled sigh from your room had his cock jump in his palm.

the frustration bled away as you pushed the toy inside. the sigh that escaped this time louder than the last. but it was too late to worry much about. suna was sleeping anyway. he wouldn’t hear if you just kept it moderate. you’d be fine. it’d be fine.

he wasn’t going to look. he really, really wasn’t. until he caught a glimpse. it hadn’t been on purpose, he tried to tell himself. but as soon as it happened there was no going back. even with your duvet covering your body, suna clearly saw your legs bent and spread, the cover rustling and moving with every flick of your wrist. with every time you pulled the toy from your snug walls. with every time you pushed it back inside. with every twist, angling the vibrator to stimulate your clit. he didn’t have to think hard to imagine it, knowing exactly what the toy looked like. he’d been there when you bought it after all. and then there was your face. suna had never thought he’d see you make such a face. but the moment he did, he knew he was fucked, fingers already undoing his pants and reaching inside. it wasn’t like you’d ever know anyway.

your back arched off the bed when you angled the toy just right, legs tensed. your teeth dug into your lower lip as your hand fell to the sheet, twisting up in the white fabric. just a little more. that’s what you needed. just a little more.

awestruck, suna watched as your hips bucked under the covers. he really hadn’t meant to. he would never– but he did. he never thought he would. but seeing you like this. watching you bite back a whimper? he knew he shouldn’t be fisting his cock in the hallway. he shouldn’t be stroking it desperately in front of your door. he shouldn’t. and maybe he was going to regret it later. maybe. but right then and there? he squeezed a little harder as he watched you through the crack of your door. how was he supposed to stop when you were looking like that? would you look the same if it was him, pressing inside? if it was his cock filling you up, stretching you out?

just a little more. just– the sound of the buzzing toy and the wet squelches sent your mind spinning, body tingling. the toy that you’d bought that one time, when you and suna hung out at the mall. he’d picked it out, and said he’d heard good things about them. and for reasons undisclosed, even to yourself at the time, you’d bought it. muscles tensed when you thought of him. you didn’t let yourself do it too often. think of him, that is. but it hadn’t been intentional, and when he’d crossed your mind you found yourself not wanting to push the thought way. so for once, you indulged. how would it feel if it was suna? if it was his cock, plunged deep inside of you? you tightened around the toy. what if it was his fingers against your clit? his tongue even?

would you let him try if he asked? would you let him taste you? would you still hold back your voice like this? he hoped you wouldn’t. with every little sound that carried across the room, his head was swimming and he almost didn’t catch the groan that built in his chest. shit. this wasn’t good. so why did it feel so good?

thinking of him wasn’t right, and you did know that. you shouldn’t be thinking about your friend, when you pleased yourself. but it felt good. what would his lips feel like on yours? what would he taste like? you imagined he’d be a really good kisser. you didn’t know what it was, but there was just an air about him. always had been. would he caress your skin with his fingers as they traveled south to play with your clit? your grasp tightened around the toy. sweat turning your grip slippery. would he plunge them deep inside of you,

even as you pleaded for more? suna could almost hear your breathless voice in his head, telling him to hurry up. you’d never been very patient, and suna always found that endearing about you. he would let you have your way though. eventually. he didn’t wish to hurt you, but self restraint was not going to be an easy practice for him, if it was you. he already knew that he’d be aching to push inside your cunt. honestly, he was aching for it now too.

suna had always been wrapped around your finger, really. he always gave in, in the end. he’d sink inside with a wrecked groan. you could almost hear it.

he could almost hear the whimpers you’d let out when he did.

you wanted him. you didn’t often admit it. but you wanted him. you wanted him so bad, and you wanted him to use you to his heart's content. you wanted him to push you to the edge and beyond it. you wanted him to want you.

he wanted you to want him. he wanted you to want him to bully his cock inside of you until you could only cling to him and take it. he wanted to make you cum, in every possible way he could. with his hands. his tongue. his cock. everything. he wanted to feel your warmth around him. to smell your arousal in the air in sweet symphony with his own. and he wanted you to give him everything that he would give to you.

you wanted him to cum inside of you and keep fucking his seed back into your cunt, until you tipped over the edge with him too.

he wanted to see your face contorted in pleasure as the orgasm ripped through you.

pleasure crashed over you, your own half stifled cry perfectly covering the guttural sound from the other side of the door as suna followed in your wake.

the sound took even himself by surprise as he spilled into his own hand, alarm bells washing the haze of his orgasm away as he rushed back to his room. he couldn’t believe he just did that. but he did. and maybe he should have been ashamed. but when he heard you scramble from your room towards the bathroom, he couldn’t bring himself to feel as bad as he should’ve. and maybe. just maybe. maybe he found himself hoping this wouldn’t be the last time that it’d happen. and since that day, he’d stop by your door every now and then, listening for those sounds. looking for that same creaked door. he knew he shouldn’t, but bad habits die hard.