#i hope he gets to play volleyball forever

[portchuuya]

i just think hinata is the best character ever he’s so passionate and strong i love him sm

one thing that’s always stuck out to me is when people say the ball boy arc is super embarrassing and i think the point is that it IS embarrassing but hinata is willing to take these small opportunities, even if they are embarrassing, to help him grow.

he can challenge himself in unconventional ways because he loves volleyball THAT much. he’s so positive and sees everything as a learning opportunity - he’s bad at something? that’s just endless chances for him to improve. because of that he never looks down on anyone and sees potential in everyone

he’s so so brilliant and so lovely i love and admire him sm. best character ever we love you hinata shouyou

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He���s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[seijorhi]

the idea of oikawa not being ready when he meets his soulmate.

it isn't that he thinks you're not good enough, not pretty enough, not right for him, it's just that oikawa wasn't expecting to find you so soon.

soulmates are forever, you'll be there waiting for him when all's said and done, but his career in volleyball – it won't be. he's young, fit and hungry for it; in his absolute prime, but if he doesn't put in the effort now, give it everything, 100% of what he has... it'll slip right through his fingers.

he can't risk that.

there's a strange sort of desperation that tugs at his chest when he tries to explain, to get you to understand it. it's a sacrifice you'll both be making for the sake of the career he's dreamed of his whole life.

the way your smile slowly slips away when you realise he's not asking for you to be patient and give him grace when his focus is more on volleyball than you, he's saying he can't have you around at all, because you will distract him.

he'd lose himself in you.

it's not forever, he stresses, only a little while. you're perfect, and in a year or two when he's more settled in his role, the starting setter on the right team, heading to the championships, he'll be there to give you everything you deserve. no – more. he'll make it up to you, all he's asking for (but he's not really asking, is he) is a bit of time and space.

the light dims in your eyes, a strange, glassy look taking over, and slowly, so fucking slowly, you pull your hands from his, let them fall weakly to your side. it takes a monumental effort to not snatch them back up.

'yeah, okay.'

the expression on your face is all wrong, your voice almost robotic, but oikawa knows it's the right thing. you'll forgive him, because that's what soulmates do. you'll forgive him and then fall even more in love with him and oikawa will spend every damn day showering you in the love and affection he can. he'll drown you in it.

just give him this. let him give everything to volleyball, before he shares himself with you.

—

you're a little too good at it.

it's harder than he expected, going no contact. he was the one who wanted it – needed it, really, for this to work – but there'd been a small part of him that sort of hoped you'd ignore what he wanted and reach out anyway. he'd imagined sneaking a quick peek at his phone during a water break to see a message from you, something simple, casual, a 'hope things are good!' or 'i caught some of the game last week'. was it unfair of him to want you keeping track of him? to see how far he'd come in the days, weeks, months since he'd asked for time?

it's like an itch under his skin, and it grows. a few of his new teammates have met their soulmates, carry the marks to show for it. they're all smug as fuck about it, but the thing is whenever their soulmates are watching from the stands, they play with a different kind of fire. they're better. envy burns watching them celebrate afterwards, all hungry kisses and smiles too fucking big.

he knows you'd be there too if you could. you'd be there every damn game, all of their practices too, cheering him on. his biggest fan.

it's an ache. he goes home to an empty apartment, better than the one he had when he met you, in a nicer part of town, but no less lifeless. there's no one to welcome him home, to wrap him up in a hug, kiss him how he likes and soothe away the days stresses. no one to warm his bed, no other pussy'll ever be as tempting as yours.

i miss you.

i'm thinking of you.

would it kill you to break his rules and reach out every now and then? to give him some kind of sign that this distance was driving you half as crazy as it was him?

are you trying to punish him?

it occurs to him that you probably don't have his phone number. it shouldn't have stopped you, because it wouldn't've stopped him.

—

the first time he tries to follow your instagram you block his account.

it's irritating, until he remembers that you're probably trying to abide by his rules. he can't exactly get mad at you for that, tries not to, and instead does what any sane man missing his soulmate would do; creates a fake account, steals a picture from one of his sister's friends and uses that as his profile pic – even goes so far as to follow a bunch of your friends’ accounts too, just so it doesn't look suspicious or weird when he follows you too.

and for a little while, it's enough. he can see what you're up to, who you're hanging out with, where you're going. he'll watch all your stories, your friends’ stories, just for a few seconds of you.

(maybe strokes his cock to a few of them, cums in his sheets gasping your name.)

you're being patient, he's being good, it's only for a few more months, he can last a little longer–

there's a new post on your insta, a snap of you and some asshole with his arm wrapped around your waist, your lips pressed to his cheek.

'Happy six months, love you a little more every day!'

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Seaside Sparks

Hii, I hope you enjoy this summer romance with Lando :) I think he deserves a happy ending for this last race.

"Not again," you complained in your head as the fourth volleyball fell next to you and your friends. It was a hot summer day, and your friends had decided that the best way to spend it was at the beach. Everything was perfect: no clouds, no wind, the sea was calm. Everything was perfect, except for a group of boys whose ball kept annoying you each time they threw it at you.

"Ugh, are they incapable of playing with the ball inside the volleyball court?" one of your friends complained.

"I'll go give it back this time and ask them to try to avoid us," you said, trying to maintain the peace.

However, the ball soon left your thoughts when you saw the culprit of all the attacks; tall and handsome as hell, with curls that made you want to touch his hair and the most addicting eyes you've ever seen.

"Thanks for bringing the ball back," the boy said as he took you in, leaving him breathless. "I'm sorry for annoying you. I guess volleyball is not our thing. I'm Lando, by the way," he explained as he offered his hand.

"I'm Y/N, and don't worry about it. Just try to hit the ball away from us, or my friend will have a less friendly chat with you," you said, trying to lighten up the situation.

A comfortable silence settled between you two as you gazed at each other, only to be broken by a shout from one of his friends. "Coming! Do you wanna play with us by any chance? We are missing a player," Lando asked, wanting to spend more time with you.

"Me?" you asked, shocked. "Um, sure," you accepted, going with the flow.

You ended up having a lot of fun with Lando and his friends, and you managed to avoid the ball going elsewhere. As the sun set and everyone started leaving the beach, you and Lando tried to avoid leaving each other since you both seemed to have a connection like magnets.

"Do you want to go for ice cream? I know a place," Lando asked nervously.

"Sure," you answered, trying to hide a smile that was threatening to burst from your face.

You wondered what you were doing. You were going on a date, if you could call it that, with a stranger named Lando. You were not a spontaneous girl, but something about him made you want to get to know him, his magnetic aura drawing you in.

As you both approached the ice cream parlor, your hands brushed against each other, and slowly interlaced as blush covered both of your faces.

While you waited in line, you got to know each other, and before you knew it, it was your turn. "I'll have a vanilla ice cream, and she…" Lando started.

"Chocolate ice cream, please," you finished.

As Lando paid, insisting it was his treat, you both settled on a bench overlooking the ocean, the sky painted in vibrant hues of pink and orange by the setting sun. The gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the serene silence between you.

Lando turned to you, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the sunset. "Y/N, I know we’ve only just met, but tonight has been incredible. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this free, without the weight of expectations or the pressure of the world on my shoulders. Spending time with you feels so natural, like we’ve known each other forever."

He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze never leaving yours. "I can’t quite put it into words, but there's this connection between us that I’ve never felt before. It’s like you understand me in a way no one else does. I’d really love to see you again, maybe go on an actual date, if you’d be up for it."

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his sincere confession. "Lando, I feel it too. Today has been magical, and I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. I’d love to go on a date with you."

Lando's face lit up with a genuine smile, and he gently took your hand in his, the touch sending a warm thrill through you. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you both sat there, basking in the new and exciting possibilities that lay ahead.

The silence was broken by your giggles. "Wait, Lando, you have some ice cream on your face," you said as you tried to wipe it off. As your face neared his, your attempts were stopped by his lips crashing into yours in a sweet kiss. It might have been the first, but it surely wouldn't be the last.

The kiss lingered, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of vanilla and chocolate mingling with the saltiness of the sea air. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss, making your heart race. You felt a mix of exhilaration and calm, as if everything in the universe had aligned perfectly in that moment.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting against each other, you both laughed softly, the world around you fading into a blur. "So, about that actual date," Lando said, his voice low and filled with promise. "How about tomorrow? Same time, same place?"

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I’d love that, Lando."

As you walked back to your friends, hand in hand, the future seemed bright and full of endless possibilities. With Lando by your side, you felt like you were ready for any adventure that came your way.

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

Type Of Boyfriend They Are

Karasuno x Gender Neutral!Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Language. That's pretty much it.

Author's Note: I've been having a pretty heavy case of writer's block especially with a lot of things going on in my life right now. My mental health is a bit unstable, but I had this idea written down in my list of writing ideas and thought that it was so cute. I hope you all enjoy, and I'll probably make headcanons for the rest of the schools too!

Hope you all enjoy and I hope that you all are doing well <3

~Mod Shoyo <3

-Kageyama, Shoyo, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Daichi, Asahi, Sugawara, Tanaka, Noya

Kageyama Tobio:

He’s very stand-offish when the two of you first meet

“uh… can I help you?”

Once the two of you get to know each other though, you find out that he’s actually a closeted crackhead under that harsh exterior he has

After dating for a couple of months, he’s very comfortable with you and loves spending time with you

QUALITY TIME AND GIFT GIVING BOYFRIEND.

Whether you like volleyball or not, he’s asking you to help him practice, come to his games, come to his practice matches, he wants you to be there for EVERYTHING

If you manage to show your support by making him a sign or putting his number on your cheeks at one of his games??????

He definitely will deny it, but he absolutely adores it.

“You should do this more often, it was sweet.”

Shoyo teases you guys all the time and says that you’re the only one that brings out the rational side of Tobio

That will normally end with Shoyo getting hurt somehow, no matter how much you tell Kageyama to leave him alone

You still love him though <3

Hinata Shoyo:

OH MY GODDDDDDDDD

The absolute biggest ball of sunshine ever

Golden. Retriever. Boyfriend. 

He’s very heavy on physical touch and quality time

No matter what you’re doing, Shoyo always wants to be there just to see what you’re doing

“Ooh whatcha up to lovey?”

He’s like a lap dog. He will lay his head in your lap just so he can stare up at you while you’re doing whatever you’re doing

Whenever you show up to his games he gets SO NERVOUS???? Like his stomach issues multiply by a hundred because you’re literally in the stands to watch HIM.

In the end, he always tries his best because he wants you to be so proud of him and enjoy watching him play!!

Everyone on the team loves you, you’re literally the only person that can make Shoyo shut up for more than five minutes because he just LOVES to admire you and appreciate how perfect you are.

“You’re so gorgeous… we should like… kiss or something.”

He’s so affectionate it’s too cute.

Yamaguchi Tadashi:

Tadashi just loves when you’re being you.

He’s always sneaking glances at you and just thinking about how soft your features are and how lucky he is to have bagged someone like you.

GIFT GIVING. GIFT GIVING. GIFT GIVING.

“Hey love, I found this super cute keychain while I was at the store with Tsuki the other day and it reminded me of you!”

“I remember you saying that this was your favorite and they only had one left, so I had to get it before someone else that wasn’t you did!”

He’s just so thoughtful. He always remembers the little things.

The very first day you kissed him? He celebrates it every year by giving you a million smooches.

You only like one very specific flavor of ice cream? He will never ever give you a different flavor and goes to multiple stores if he has to when they don’t have it

He isn’t the biggest with PDA, but he will most definitely hold your hand and kiss your cheek, forehead, or your hand.

He just gets a little shy when he’s out in public with you, but only because he doesn’t want other people looking at you and thinking that they have a chance with you.

He’s so non-confrontational, but if push comes to shove, he’ll make sure that everyone knows you’re his.

He just loves you so much and he’s so glad that you’re his. Forever. <3

Kei Tsukishima:

HE’S SO SARCASTIC IT’S ANNOYING.

Likes to play this game in public where he acts like he isn’t your boyfriend

“Excuse me, do I know you?”

HE LITERALLY HELD HANDS WITH YOU WALKING INTO THE STORE?!?!??!

You can be sarcastic too, so he’s just glad that you can take jokes and rip on his teammates or randos in the street

This dude has such a killer resting bitch face when he notices people eyeing you.

Noya tested his luck flirting with you one time and, despite Noya being his upperclassman, Tsuki almost killed him with just one look

He secretly loves how much you fuss over him.

“Babe, your glasses are so DIRTY. Here let me clean them before you run into something,”

He literally stopped the habit of cleaning his lenses because you’ll just take them and clean them for him

He loves watching you fog the lenses up with your breath and wipe them with the microfiber cloth that came in his case

Even if you only look like a big blur of colors to him and you’re all blurry <3

Tanaka Ryuunosuke:

The most respectful yet horny boyfriend at the same time

“What the hell do you mean that guy cat called you?”

He says as his hand is resting on your ass, giving it an occasional squeeze from time to time.

Very overprotective, but not in an overbearing way

Despite how loud and chaotic he may be (especially when he’s with Noya) he always picks up on your small cues and knows when you’re uncomfy or feeling a little out of place

He loves to bring you up at all times

“You know that’s crazy, because my baby loves to eat meat buns and can easily smash like seven of them in one sitting. *sigh* I’m so in love.”

Daichi literally just told him what he ate for lunch today when Tanaka asked.

PDA is his JAM.

Always has a hand somewhere on you and loves how you just nuzzle into his touch whenever he’s with you

It’s everything he’s ever wanted in life and he’s so stoked that he finally has it

His favorite place is your ass though. It’s easy access and it’s very soft and comfy in his palm

Nishinoya Yuu:

SOMEONE SEDATE HIM HE’S SO ENERGETIC

The type of boyfriend to annoy you and push your buttons all day and then just lay a million kisses all over your face at the end of the day as he tells you how much he loves you

He’s so hyped up to do anything with you

He’s definitely the type to enjoy running errands with you because he pretends that you’re married already and that these errands are just married couple tingz

He loves to embarrass you in public

Yall will be at a store while you’re just looking at clothes and trying to find some new outfits before he starts yelling as loud as he can so that people from five aisles down can hear him

“OH MY GOD YOU CAN’T STEAL THAT SHIRT BABE, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?!”

You literally walk away and act like you don’t know him for the rest of the day

Nonetheless, he’s so appreciative of you and makes sure you know how much he loves you

The second that you first announced to the team that you were dating, you could’ve sworn you saw tears of joy falling from Kiyoko’s eyes

You keep him grounded and always help bring him out of the dark places his mind goes to when he messes up during games

Hearing you tell him how good of a libero he is and how amazing he is always snaps him out of things. He’d be a wreck without you

Daichi Sawamura:

The most caring boyfriend ever literally what the fuck-

He worries about your well-being all the time and isn’t afraid to show how much he cares about you no matter where you guys are

Sure, he’ll scold you for being clumsy and tripping in the gym, but also?

“Why the hell did they wax the floors before we started practicing? We’re just gonna dirty them again anyways?”

He’s such a passionate lover

“Hey, you look like you’ve got a lot on your mind. What can I do to fix that?”

SO MATURE IN A RELATIONSHIP.

He’s so good with communicating his feelings to you and wants you to know whatever’s going on with him and reassure you no matter what

Absolutely adores pressing kisses to your temples. He loves how you just stare into his eyes with the biggest smile ever and can see your pupils shift into hearts every time he does it

The two of you just make so much sense being together? Match made in heaven type of shit

His very older brother/dad morals have rubbed off on you and now you’re yelling at the boys the same way that he does. 

He always whispers to Suga or Asahi about how proud he is of you while watching you scold someone for being immature 

Asahi Azumane:

The literal definition of Cottage Core

When you hung out with him at his house for the first time, he had so many succulents and well-cared for plants

He’s so soft, he just loves you so much

He loves when you give him scalp massages after taking his bun down

Whenever you go to his house after practice, he’ll shower and have you wash his hair for him because he can’t relieve the tension he feels on his head like you do

He writes you love letters and leaves them in such random places for you to find

“Hey honey, did you leave a letter in my bento box? When I opened it, it had a little bit of curry sauce on it.”

He just blushes and giggles slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Loves to call you the cringiest/cutest pet names ever.

Honey pie, sweetums, sugar plum…

You giggle every time he says it out loud because his teammates can’t help but make fun of him whenever they hear it

They’re so cringe coming out of anyone else’s mouth. Not his though <3

Sugawara Koushi:

You will never ever catch Suga smelling bad.

Even after practice, you can’t smell that musty stench of sweat on him because it’s masked by all the deodorant he puts on.

MOST DEFINITELY smells like a bath and body works scent. It changes depending on the season and he loves smelling good according to the season

“Suga, is that… champagne toast?”

You bet your sweet ass it is.

Suga gives the most heartfelt and warm hugs in the world, it’s like hugging a warm blanket.

He’s so loving and it shows in all of his words and actions.

“Aww darling, let me wipe your nose. I told you it was going to be cold and to wear a thicker sweater when we talked on the phone this morning,”

When he says stuff like that his face is literally just >:(

His kisses are so soft. He loves to kiss your nose because of the way it scrunches up after his lips leave

“Do you not like my kisses?” Smooch. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Mwuah. “I won’t stop until you accept my kisses.”

You just keep scrunching it because you love when he kisses you. He knows that, he just loves to make it a little fake argument between you two <3

[suhkusa]

EGOIST SIDE STORY. — FOREVER

PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader

CW. fast paced, fluff with slightest of angst

A/N. alt ending for sakusa lovers (me)

-> MAIN SERIES.

Sakusa doesn’t know if you remember him. If anything, he would be more surprised if you did remember him. It was just one interaction during your high school years after all. 

YEARS AGO. SPRING NATIONALS.

“Are you alright?” 

You look up from your seat. You had come to this stupid national volleyball tournament because your friend made you, but she’s off somewhere flirting with a man from another team. You had dozed off and you didn’t even realize Inarizaki was playing their last set of the match. 

Now there was this strange man in a volleyball uniform and a mask in front of you. Oh, he said something to you didn’t he?

“Oh, yeah,” you feel self-conscious under his gaze.

He looks away for a second before looking back at you. 

“Are you from Inarizaki?” 

You nod at his question. You can feel the awkwardness oozing from your presence. You feel sorry you don’t contribute much to the conversation.

“Well if you get bored, Itachiyama’s match starts on court C in like 30 minutes,” he nods his head at you before striding off.

There was something laced in his stern voice that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Pity? Care? You didn’t really know. 

Ah. You should’ve asked for his name.

AT MSBY.

It couldn’t be. You couldn’t be. Fate was weird. You’re the girl from the Spring Tournament weren’t you?

“Y/N,” you extend your arm towards him, “Nice to meet you… Sakusa? Right?”

“Yeah, Sakusa,” he takes your hand and gives it a small shake before letting go.

He couldn’t help but watch you as you introduce yourself to every member individually. Couldn’t help how he noticed you tense and hesitated as you got to Atsumu. He tried not to think about it too much.

-

When you got too drunk and that whole thing with the guy happened at the bar, Sakusa only did what was right. Take care of you and help you.

But you looked ethereal. Honestly. Part of him feels wrong saying that. Even as you lay peacefully sleeping in his own apartment. 

He didn’t want to let himself fall for you. It felt unprofessional, and Sakusa was anything but. But he couldn’t help it.

And so any chance he’d get, he would try to slip himself into your life, little by little. Maybe you’d notice. Or if you didn’t, at least he would still get to spend time with you.

Imagine how excited he was when he found out you played the exact same games as him! 

But then you started to turn a foot towards Atsumu. Even after that fiasco of a yelling-match the two of you had? It stung a bit. He was definitely hurt. So Sakusa decided to distance himself. That was the only thing that he felt like he could do. But if you ever changed your mind, he’d be here. As a friend or whatever you wanted him to be.

Then the two of you took the fall of Atsumu’s actions together. At first he didn’t know that Atsumu was behind all of it, not until you joined a video call and ranted to him about it. He honestly just cared about you and your well-being. 

He was selfish. He was ugly and selfish because he was glad that Atsumu was finally out of your life and the two of you could go back to the way things used to be. 

“Atsumu- I mean Miya came to my house last night,” you say, your voice static-y through the phone.

His heart dropped. What happened? Did he apologize? Did you forgive him?

“Oh,” is all he can manage. 

“What? Oh?” you laugh, “Don’t worry, he just apologized and… And maybe I got emotional but nothing happened, I promise,” he can feel himself sigh in relief at the last bit of your sentence.

NOW BOARDING TO LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. 

“Is that you?” Sakusa asks.

He can hear you struggle a bit, probably grabbing your bags. “Mm, yep,” there’s moving noises.

“Well, you have a safe flight, Y/N. Make sure you text me when you get to your room, okay?” Sakusa is sad. He hopes the two of you can stay in contact. 

“I’ll miss you, Omi,” you say, and he knows you know he hates that nickname. But if it’s you, he’ll let it slide.

“What? Don’t get all sappy on me now,” he says, “I’m going to miss you a lot more, Y/N,”

Sakusa swears he hears you sniffle a bit. 

“A-Alright, I’ll see you soon, Kiyoomi,” you say one last time.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N,” he mutters, the line going dead soon after.

Fuck.

———

It’s scary how someone across the world can make you feel so loved. It’s been 2 years since you’ve left Japan. And every day since then, you and Kiyoomi have talked. Texted, called, video chatted, anything and everything.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t developing a tiny bit of feelings for him. But you couldn’t tell if he felt the same. Tones and emotions are so hard to read through a screen. For all you know, he could be acting as a friend and you’re just reading too much into it.

“I am coming to Japan,” you state, you can hear him shuffling on the other side of the call.

“Mm, hm? What?” he sounds a bit shocked, “for what?”

“The season just ended here, and I don’t really have anything to do. I’ve been homesick for the past 2 years, and I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon. Oh, I’d be there for just a week, though,”

“Ah, I see. Do you already have a place to stay? I can lend you the guest room?”

You think it over, but you don’t think you should consider the feelings you’ve been feeling towards him recently.

“We’ll see, thank you Kiyoomi,”

“Of course. When is your flight back?” 

“Next week,”

———

Next week became this week. Then this week became today. 

Apparently everyone wanted to come visit Japan because all hotels and motels were booked fully. That’s how you found yourself a taxi ride later in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s guest bedroom.

You had decided to keep your return under the wraps, not wanting any attention or big reactions, or… other people to catch wind. 

It was in the very beginning of your stay back home in Japan that Sakusa Kiyoomi proclaimed his love for you.

“I think I love you. Or well, I do love you, sorry,” he looks like he’s ashamed as the two of you sit in front of his fireplace. 

At first you just stare at him as if you two were sharing a normal conversation. But then the cogs in your brain began to turn. 

“Y-You don’t have to say anything,” he’s freaking out behind those still eyes of his. You can see it, “I’m sorry, let’s just.. let’s just forget about it,

“I love you, too,”

His head snaps towards you, “What?”

You feel tense under his gaze, unsure as to what your next move should be. 

“I- Sorry,” you scoot back, “I really do love you… You’ve been there for me for so long, even when that whole thing with him happened… I’m sorry it feels like it took me so long,”

His warm hand meets under your chin.

“Only forever, idiot,” he smiles at you. “I feel like I’ve known since the day you walked in,”

There’s tears in your eyes because you believe him. He really had been there since the very beginning. 

“Don’t cry,”

“B-But I have to leave in a week and-”

“Then that gives us a whole week to be with one another… if that’s what you want,”

A tear drips down your cheek. “Then we’d have to do long distance and I don’t want you to wait,” you look into his eyes with your glossy ones.

“I’d wait eternity for you, Y/N,” is all he says before dipping his head down to yours and welcoming your lips into his. 

You basically cry into the kiss, until the kiss gets sloppy and you’re coming onto him.

And maybe you gave all of yourself to him that night. And maybe every night after that.

The goodbye is bittersweet. You know the two of you will meet again, but are unsure when. Being deduced to only being able to communicate through your telephone is hard. Especially after all of your feelings were finally let out of the bag. The two of you know your love will keep you guys intertwined until you guys see each other again. 

When that is, is the only thing that’s uncertain.

PRESENT.

“Do you still like me?

“I think you know the answer to that, Y/N,” he says sadly, “all too well,”

A sigh escapes your lips.

“You know you shouldn’t, Atsumu,” you say, and it tears his heart apart. He thought this night

would’ve ended differently if he answered that way.

“Y/N, can’t we try again?” he pleads. Atsumu knows he’s beginning to sound desperate, but he can’t lose his grasp on you, not when he just found you again.

“Atsumu… I’m dating Kiyoomi,” 

You can visibly see his heart sink. It looks like he’s trying to find something to say, but all that comes out is silence.

You’re not sure what to do or say, letting the cool air blow against you. The awkward silence is broken when the doors behind you open.

“Y/N?”

“Ah, Omi,” you turn to face him.

“The guys wanted to take shots, did you want to join?” 

“Sure” you walked towards him before giving Atsumu one last glance back. “Did you want to join us—”

“Yeah- yeah, I’ll be there in a second,” the blonde mumbles.

You nod towards him before you latch onto Sakusa, he welcomes you into a tight hug.

“What were you guys talking about?” he queries.

“Oh, nothing, just… him stuff,” you offer a fake laugh.

“We can talk about it later if you need?”

“Yeah, that’s fine, let’s just get that shot, you deserve it after that win,” you wink at him.

As you walk off before him, Sakusa Kiyoomi gets hit with a wave of realization of how lucky he is to be with you. There’s so many ways this could have turned out, yet you chose him.

He can’t wait for you to come back to Japan, the two of you have been discussing you moving in with him and so much more.

He’s not telling you just yet, but he’s even planning a little trip for your guys’ anniversary. 

Sakusa is going to do everything in his power to make you happy. He’s waited all this time and he’s finally gotten the chance to make you happy.

To love you.

END. 

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[suw4]

Your Voice

Hinata Shoyo from Haikyuu!!

an/tw: TIMESKIP SPOILERS! im so thankful with all the love that the first part had gotten!!! so here's a treat for you. the writing might be a little messy but am hoping you like this

Masterlist | Haikyuu!! Masterlist

part1 | part2

The first-year couple sat at a nearby playground. Both of them are sitting in the seat of each swing. "I didn't know you felt that way, [N/n]," Shoyo felt guilty. He was so indulged in volleyball that he failed to focus on his boyfriend's feelings. Even though it wasn't his fault. "I didn't want you to worry. So I didn't say anything. That's why I've been avoiding watching you play,"

"Oh. I thought you were only busy with your studies..."

"I am. I mean, what else can I do when I can't play volleyball with you?" [Name] let out a dry chuckle. "Once I'm done with education, I'll find myself a good high-paying job so I can afford a hearing aid at least. I don't think I can afford a cochlear implant. That stuff is hella expensive. A little risky too since I will have to get surgery," he sighs, looking up to the star-littered sky.

Shoyo stood up and stood in front of the other. Taking his hands into his and squeezed them. "I'm sorry that you had to experience this, [N/n]. It must've been frustrating, huh?" he whispered, slowly letting go and embracing the [h/c] haired. "I'm sorry," he repeated. [Name] could feel the vibrations on Shoyo's chest. He closed his eyes and hugged the male back. "That stupid drunk driver...! If it wasn't for that idiot, you would've..." the tangerine mumbled. Aggrieved about what had happened to [Name]. Tears swell in his eyes. He felt that he could've done something. But what could he possibly have done to prevent that accident? He was only a junior high student.

[Name] parted from the hug. "Should we go home now? It's late. Your mom is most likely worried by now," he smiled softly as he signed. Reaching out to wipe Shoyo's tears. The shorter male then nodded as he let out a hum.

After a nice relaxing shower, with a small towel over his head, the [h/c] haired male entered his shared bedroom. Seeing his lover lying in bed already. Shoyo placed his phone beside his pillow and spread his arms out. Welcoming the other into bed. [Name] smiled at the sight and hurriedly climbed into his arms. Shoyo wrapped his arms around him and helped him dry his hair afterwards. [Name] laid his head against his chest. Even though he couldn't hear it, he felt it.

"I love feeling your heartbeat, Sho," he snuggled further. He could feel the vibrations sped up. He chuckled. "Are you embarrassed?" he teased, looking up at the other, whose face was flushed with light pink. "Uwah..! Why are you always so verbal when teasing me?" he whines as he covers his cheeks. [Name] laughed lightheartedly and took one of Shoyo's hands away from his face. Leaning forward to give a little peck on his lips. "Sleep," he simply gestured his right fist downwards by the right side of his head. After that, he repositioned himself. With his back against the mattress, he pulled his boyfriend onto him. Nuzzling the tangerine's fluffy locks. Shoyo exhaled in satisfaction and snuggled into the other's warmth. He bid [Name] goodnight, the other replying the same. Slowly, both of them will meet each other in dreamland.

Years passed. Shoyo had gone to Brazil to expand his skills in volleyball. During breaks, he was seen texting on his cell phone like there was no tomorrow. Refusing to remove his attention away from the screen. Oikawa, who was present, became curious and suspicious of his behaviour. Arching a brow at him, he called out. "Oii~ Hinata! What's with you and all that texting?" he asked, walking towards the said male. "Oh, Oikawa-san! I'm just texting my boyfriend,"

"Oh? Boyfriend? Since when!?" shocked, he plopped by the shorter male. Peeking over to the screen. "Since like forever! He's always busy, so you never get to see him in any high school games," he says, still replying away. The older male hummed as he watched him interact. "Oh. Quite a man you've gotten yourself!" he piped when he saw a tad bit of a photo in the chatroom However, he earned a quick glare from the other with the comment. Oikawa was slightly surprised but decided to ignore it. "Hm... How come you don't just call him?"

"He's deaf. Calls are prohibited. Anyways! Look!" Shoyo showed a picture that [Name] had just sent him. It was a picture of [Name] with Yamaguchi at the college cafeteria they were attending. Oikawa was caught off guard by this critical information about his boyfriend, but again, he decided to move on. "Ah, good for him then,"

"Mhm! I'm so proud of him! He decided to get a degree in arts in photography. There aren't many job opportunities for people like him, so..." he unconsciously showed a cheeky smile. Going back to his phone to continue communicating with his beloved boyfriend. Oikawa's expression softens. "Wow, you guys are unbelievably annoyingly cute," Shoyo laughed at that comment. "I owe him a lot. He supported me like hell. Have so much faith in me. I just want to repay him back,"

The atmosphere between them fell into a gentle breeze. It was calming. Impressed, the older male asked, "Ohh! Do you have any plans about it?" Shoyo's smile widens upon hearing that. "Yeah! I want to gather as much money as I can and get him that cochlear implant," Oikawa's eyes widened, and his back straightened. "What!?? Those things are expensive as hell!"

"I know! Once I have enough, I want to go back to Japan and surprise him with that. Now I can't wait for the day to come," he locked his phone and laid his forehead on the screen. Imagining the scenarios. He felt giddy about it. "As much as I hope for the best for you two, I don't want this to disrupt your volleyball training," the brunette says, leaning onto the palm of his hand. "It won't! I've got everything figured out!" he grinned, pumping his fist as he turned to face the older. Oikawa rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, shrimp. Now let's go eat for real!"

Two years passed, and finally, the greatest decoy was back home. His plane just landed. Stepping onto his homeland and making his way to receive his stuff. Once he walked through the gates, he took a deep breath with his eyes closed. Smells like nostalgia.

"Shoyo," a familiar gentle voice called him. He paused and turned to the direction of the sound. A clicking sound could be heard. He saw the love of his life standing there, holding up an expensive-looking camera marking him. His lips stretched into a wide, toothy smile. He started running towards him and pounced on him. Clinging onto him like a koala. [Name] let out a big laugh, locking the male tightly in his arms. "[N/N]!!!!!" Shoyo wept deafeningly. Any passerby stared at the two with a few judging and sympathetic looks.

A wave of relief rushes over him and suddenly all of his tension leaves his body. He felt lighter. A whiff of a smell that lingered on [Name]'s clothing comforted him. He smells like home.

The decoy pulled himself off his lover but his grip on [Name]'s clothes stayed. "How did you know I was coming home today?!" he exclaimed. "Oikawa-san may or may not have texted me," he giggled. "Oikawa-san? No way! I wanted to surprise you! That damn great king!! He beat me with my own boyfriend?!??" he yelled once more. At this rate, they might get kicked out by security. [Name] nudged his boyfriend. "Let's get out of here and eat lunch," he suggested, lifting a paper bag that he had with him. The volleyball player nodded and took his hand, making their way out together.

They settled down at a peaceful park. The photographer had planned a mini picnic with just the two of them. They ate with satisfaction. Shoyo leaned against his boyfriend as they watched the children play about. His cell phone beeped. He took out to see an email. His eyes widened slightly as he sat up, alerting the other. "Sho? What's going on?" [Name] asked. Shoyo's expression was full of glee. He quickly put down his bento and scooted closer to the other. "I have a gift for you!" he signed excitedly. The other male raised a brow. Shoyo then took his hands. Looking down at them and caressing them lightly before lifting them up to kiss the knuckles. "I have booked an important appointment. For you,"

"An appointment? For me?" Shoyo nodded. "I need you to clear up your schedule tomorrow because tomorrow you're going to meet your doctor to discuss about your cochlear implant," he signed each word slowly. Making sure his partner was able to understand it fully. [Name] narrowed his eyes, not believing a single word. "Are you joking with me?"

"I'm not! Look!" Shoyo picked up his phone and went through his emails. Pressing on one particular inbox and showing it to the other. It was an email from a hospital in Tokyo confirming the appointment date. [Name] read it. Reality slowly kicks in. "Shoyo, are you being for real?" his lips trembled lightly. His boyfriend nodded with a smile on his face. "Yes! I'm being so for real right now!" The [h/c] haired gazed down to his lap, clearing the lump in his throat. "Shoyo..." his voice cracked. "Thank you... Thank you..!" his tone differs every second. Filled with so much gratitude that he couldn't stay composed. Shoyo moved himself to sit right by his side and wrapped an arm around his arm. Letting [Name] lean against him. His head lying on the other. "Shoyo... I love you so much," he declared. The other hummed as he responded, "I love you too, [N/n]," The tangerine-haired then reached up to graze his knuckles along his boyfriend's cheeks. [Name] rubbing lightly against his touch. Earning for more. "I know you wanted to get them yourself but I can't let you. You've been such an amazing boyfriend to me and I just wanted to repay you," [Name] read his lips, showing an assured smile. "You're such an amazing boyfriend to me too, Sho,"

The appointment went well. The doctor was patient and nice. The doctor informed them that [Name] must meet the requirements and go through a few tests if he's suitable to get the implant. The process would take a few weeks, almost a month. The couple will have to be patient for it. While the [h/c] goes through it, Shoyo will be supporting him throughout.

The day of the surgery arrives. [Name] was already in surgery while his boyfriend waited in the waiting room. Bouncing his legs, hands clasped together. Shoyo couldn't help but worry. Anxious as hell. All of the possible bad situations came infiltrating his mind.

What if he doesn't make it through? What if he loses his ears? What if the surgery accidentally cut his ears off?!!!!? What if the surgery fails and he can't hear for the rest of his life?? That he'll be so depressed that he won't have the will to live anymore because he will never ever hear my voice again!!??

Luckily, all of his friends were there to snap him out of it. "Ow!! What was that for!?" he groaned after a certain blue-haired male chopped the top of his head with the side of his open hand. "You're freaking out, dumbass!"

"You're sweating up a pool. Stop it, It's disgusting," Tsukishima added, expressing a disgusted face. "Don't worry, Shoyo! He'll make it!" Yachi tries to comfort the male. "Yeah! Besides, he's getting an implant, not a heart surgery!" Yamaguchi tries to support the female's claims. The mention of heart surgery made Shoyo retch harshly. Almost fainting in the process. Chaos ensues. In the end, they all brought Shoyo out to ease his mind.

The doctor mentioned that it would take a week for the implant to heal, so after that surgery, the gang treated the patient for a simple outing. Nothing too extreme. For the rest of the week, they let the male rest while Shoyo was heavily treating him as if he had an incurable disease.

At last, [Name] went for his final checkup. He would finally get the final piece of his cochlear implant. There he sat on a chair--across his doctor's office desk--with his boyfriend beside him. The doctor congratulated the couple. Complimenting and praising the two for how they've handled the surgery recovery. He then pulled out a box and placed it on the desk. Sliding it towards his patient. "Here it is. Your cochlear implant!" he exclaimed with a smile on his face. "I'll leave you with it now. I have another patient to attend to so I'll leave you to it," he continued, making his way out.

[Name]'s lips trembled slightly as overwhelm overcame him. He hesitantly took the box in his hands. His heart pounds loudly. He let out a low grumble before turning to Shoyo. "Will you do the honours, my love?" he signed. Shoyo's eyes stayed glued to him and gulped afterwards. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. You've been so caring and understanding towards me. Babe, you even attended sign language classes with me. Up until now, you've helped me. Now, this is your reward. Be the one that gives me the ability to hear again. As for me, let me hear you," [Name] expressed his feelings through his words. Even though his words were slightly slurred, they hit Shoyo straight into his heart. He was deeply moved, eyes swelling up a little. "Okay. Let's do this!"

Determined, he took the box from [Name]'s lap. Taking a deep breath and out, he lifted the lid. There it was. The hearing device lying comfortably in the softness of the white cushion. "Close your eyes," he told his boyfriend who complied. He then took the devices out. Attaching them onto the side of [Name]'s head and ears.

The breeze, the sound of the air conditioner running. He hears it. A gush of wind brushes along [Name]'s skin. He gasped sharply and his eyes almost popped out. He hears his breath. His heart beating at a rapid and exciting pace. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he snapped to Shoyo. His eyes glistened. He gave him a longing look. It tells him so much. But one stood out.

Speak for me...!

Without hesitation, Shoyo parted his lips. "[Name], I love you..!" he yelled. Shocked waves filled [Name]. It was so loud that he instantly covered his ears, flinching. The other male panicked. Spouting a series of apologies while his arms flailed around. Then the sound of laughter echoed. He looked at his boyfriend was laughing with tears. [Name] sprung out of his chair, embracing his loved one. "I can hear you!" he beamed. Shoyo's heart pumped. He hugged him back tightly while his lips stretched ear to ear. Practically laughing along with his lover as well. "You can hear me!" he repeated.

"Say my name again, Sho," the [h/c] head asked, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his lover's neck. "[Name]," the other replied. This time saying it slowly and articulated each syllable. "Again," he demanded. Shoyo repeated himself once more. This time his tone was much softer. [Name] pulled away from the hug and leaned in for a sweet kiss. Shoyo didn't hesitate to kiss back, slowly wrapping his arms around the other's neck. "Thank you," the taller male breathed out. Pulling away from Shoyo's lips to kiss his forehead instead. "I love you. I love you. I love you," now kissing all over his face, earning a giggle.

The decoy cupped his face, stopping him from giving any more kisses. He gazed into his eyes with a loving expression. "[Name]. I. Love. You." A light tint of pink painted itself over [Name]'s cheeks. Bringing up his own hands and rested them over Shoyo's.

"Please. Say that again,"

[tags]: @ghostgoosygoose

[vixensbrainrotts]

hiii i just discovered ur blog and I love it and was thinking if you could write for smiley/Baji and reader that plays sports(volleyball maybe) and maybe they meet when she hits them accidentally... Feel free to ignore my request💝

Lovestruck — Nahoya <Smiley> Katawa

Content: ask-based

Tropes: Volleyball player! Reader, (kind of) loser! Nahoya (he is a loser you cant tell me otherwise)

Warnings: brief mention of fainting, cursing, (slight disrespect towards the end but idk?)

Summary: Nahoya isn’t an easy match, especially not easy to take down, but against your mighty float-serve he stands no chance.

Vixen‘s two cents: Hello! I got a new keyboard so writing feels like butter right now :) smooth. Yeah anyway sorry this took forever to write but i LOVE this request, i love playing Volleyball so im so happy that i could write about it as one of my passions. Anyway, i hope you enjoy this cause i enjoyed writing this! (Also tell me why whenever i write for Smiley he‘s always getting beat the fuck up? Lol)

Bouncing the ball on the court a few times, you smiled, hearing your teammates cheer for you, calls of „Float serve!“ and „Serve it up Girl!“ echoing through the hall. Fulfilling your little pre-serve ritual you bent your knees and crouched a little, batting the ball towards the floor with one hand three times before chucking the ball upwards. Overcome in a rush of confidence thanks to your mates, you took a short run-up, jumping and stretching in the air, swinging your arm in one powerful motion to reel up for a nearly perfect serve.

The ball cut through the air, soaring over the net. The opposing Libero sizes up, readying herself for a receive but at the last moment she decided that it must be falling into the out, leaving it be as she hears her teammates suspicion. Shouts of „Out!“ and „Leave it“ made you falter a little as all eyes were on your ball, watching it meet the ground, right inside the upper right corner of the court.

The whistle blows and the Referee gestured to your half of the court. „In!“ He gestured with his hands sticking up and you and your team, along with a few onlookers erupted into cheers. „ACE!!!“ your teammates chanted shortly, celebrating the point before returning to positions. The ball gets tossed back to you, and the whistle counting eight seconds in which you have to serve blew.

Pounding the ball on the floor, you completed your ritual again, your teammates calling „Again!“ and „Get‘em!“, and you threw the ball into the air again, winding up for another powerful blow. You hit the ball, sure that this would be another point when the referee blew the whistle unexpectedly, mid-serve. Confusion hit you, afraid you had served a foul ball, or waited too long, but when you looked towards where the ball was flying, you noticed why the whistle sounded.

There was someone on the court. Seemingly in his own world he cut the corner of the court, unaware of his surroundings, most of it shrouded by his hair. The ball was barreling towards him at top speeds, and despite the collective calls of „Watch out!“ and „Ball!“, he barely had enough time to respond when your ball hit him, violently smashing against his head and ricocheting off, rolling towards somewhere in the distance as he‘s knocked off his feet.

Guilty, you stood still in shock for a second, the hall quiet as nobody makes a sound as people looked between you, him and the ball. In a haste moment you jolted alight and broke into a quick jog over to him to see if he was alive.

—

Nahoya had simply been tasked to grab a mop from the storage room in the gym to clean up some of the mess one of his pranks had caused. Nothing more nothing less. When he entered the gym hall , his mission was clear: in, mop, out. Glancing into the hall he noticed that there was a game of volleyball going on, but decided that he could just quickly cross the court to reach his destination.

He regretted that decision now, lying on the floor, clutching the side of his head where he fell. His world was spinning, and not in the way it did when he got hit during fights. This was a wider surface area, and he felt himself get queasy as he swore that his brain was rattling from the impact.

„A— ou—o- ay??“ a voice faded in and out of his ears, eyes cracking open to look at a pair of gym shoes. „Huh?“ he grunted, trying to figure out speech again. „Oh—- od—- he— as- a—con- usion!“ his ears picked up, but the cut off words dont register fully. Instead, his eyes traced up the legs that stood before him, a pair of kneepads catching his gaze shortly before it moved further up. Entranced, he let his eyes map out a pair of (rather wonderful) thighs before the angle he was lying in forced him to look at the face of his saving grace.

„Wow..“ he whispered as he studied your features, the world behind your face blurry as you leaned down towards him, kneeling as a hand came up to his neck to check his pulse. You wove your free hand towards something, somewhere, and then he felt the world slip from underneath him, his hearing muffling as a vignette closed in around the corners of his vision. From one second to another, he went slack on the floor, everything turning black.

—

Completely panicked, you wove over some of the bystanders, asking for assistance to get him over to the sidelines for some immediate attention. In a rush, his body was lifted onto one of the spare equipment room at the side, the referee calling for your team to get back onto the field and play on, trusting you to treat the fallen boy. You were team captain after all.

His pulse was stable, you decided after a minute or two of counting and feeling the thumping on the side of his neck. Slightly relieved that you didn’t just commit murder you rolled him onto his side, shifting into stable position that aimed for him not to choke on his own tongue. You kneeled beside him, holding a damp wash cloth in one hand, a waterbottle clutched in the other.. Slowly and carefully you got closer to his face and whispered “please don’t flinch” as a quiet warning before pushing his hair out of his face to drape the cloth over his forehead.

Once the task was done, you remained sitting beside him, monitoring him for any movement or potential issues. There were a few moments of pure silence between you two which you spent just kind of observing him. You didnt think that you’d seen him before, not recognizing a haircolor as bold as orange to be very familiar to you. Your eyes traced his neat curls as they laid over his head, the coils shining slightly. The slope of his nose was oddly pretty, and you found yourself envious of the little gem that sat precious on his left nostril. His lips were full and lush, the same flushed shade as his cheeks, and judging by the twitch of his eyebrow he might be waking up soon.

His shallow breathing picked up, his nose twitching as his eyelids started to flutter, a soft noise falling from his lips. You readied yourself with the bottle of water you had picked up earlier and shuffled closer to him to ensure that he doesn’t panic too hard when waking up in the foreign space of the storage room.

„Hi…“ you carefully called out to him, hoping that your voice would serve as a smooth transition between conscious and unconscious. „please don’t scare, you’re alright…“ you continued, tapping the bottle nervously as he groaned again, eyelids fluttering open but screwing shut again due to the bright lights.

„Mmmh, what?“ He mumbled, voice gravely as he spoke. „Hi there, you’re currently in the open storage room connected to the gym so dont be confused.“ you said softly and watched his eyelids slowly crack open, now receptive to the bright overhead lights.

„Why am I on the floor though?“ The boy mumbled, raising one of his arms to swipe a hand across his face, pulling the washcloth off his forehead as he regained his bodily sensations. You cringed a little before you answered, a tad embarrassed. „Youre laying on the floor because you briefly lost consciousness-“ you were about to elaborate, but his confused grunt cut you off.

„What? Who did I lose to? Lemme- lemme rematch!“ he sounded distressed, now moving to get up- something he clearly shouldn’t do- so you stopped him before he could sit up fully. Planting a palm on his chest you pushed him back down, to which there was little to no resistance. „You lost to my serve, no rematching to be made.“ you clarified, leaning over him with the water bottle in your free hand.

„What? To you?“ he opened his eyes all the way, having adjusted somewhat well to the bright lights as he got a good look at you for the first time. His eyes widened, albeit still a little drowsy „Oh… damn Mama…no wonder I lost to ya, you could lay me down any day..“ You both gasped in synchronization as you flinched back from him, hand retreating from his chest as you stared down at him. He, likewise just as bewildered as you stared back up at you, a hand slapped over his mouth as his face transitioned into a darker, redder shade.

„Oh my god. I didnt mean- it‘s- Im so sorry.“ He stuttered out as he tried to scoot away from you to give you both some space to breathe. „Yeah, its ok, I mean its my fault really, I knocked you out, its clear that you have a little bit of a hazy mind…“ You utter down at him bashfully, a small smile wavering on your lips as you think about the absurdity of the situation.

„No no no I mean thats really inappropriate and I really shouldn’t have said that at all, I promise I don’t mean to be disrespectful but you’re so… you know? And maybe I should just shut up actually cause I think the more im talking the worse im making this all..“ He trails off as he comes to sit up fully, eyes filled with guilt as his focus darts around the room.

„Hey, hey, its alright! I mean, yeah ok maybe that was not what I was expecting but uh… you know… maybe take me out beforehand?“ you giggle as you scoot closer, taking the wet washcloth from where it lay forgotten beside him. Chuckling, you fold the cloth and set it, along with the water bottle, down next to him. „You‘re kinda cute, you know?“ you smile down at him as you stand up completely, boldly winking at him before turning on your heel to leave.

„Wait you serious? Hold on-“ he called out after snapping out of his daze, and you felt your smile widen across your face, cheeks tingling in a warming sensation. „Rest. Stay there until you feel better, they need me on the court, I’m the captain after all.“ you walk out of the open storage room, briefly throwing the boy a look over your shoulders.

„Im Nahoya by the way!“ he called out to you when he noticed your attention, and in smooth response you pulled your hair over your shoulder, revealing the lettering of your name on your jersey as you took your spot on the field. Your teammates noticed, immediately, and started giggling and whispering, teasing you about Nahoya who was now setting down at the side of the court, next to a line-judge he seemed semi-familiar with.

-

„Dang…“ Baji muttered and shook his head. „Knocked out clean with a Proxi-slap…“ he pondered, a hand on his chin as his eyebrows furrowed. „Baji-San i dint think that that‘s-„ Chifuyu was going to correct him, but Baji kept talking „That chick must have one hell of a punch then...“. Nahoya nodded, almost proud as he recounted it. „Yeah! It was so forceful i thought i was being hit by a train! You know what, it‘s sorta comparable to one of Hanma‘s hooks…“ the crowd of captains and vice captains ah-d and ooh-ed at the comparison.

„And you stayed there? Watching? They allowed you?“ Souya questioned, in slight disbelief. „Yeah! Oh my goodness you wish you could have seen…“ Nahoya swooned, fanning himself with one hand at the very thought. The surrounding members of Toman grumbled and snickered, some giving encouraging whoops to the twin.

„So a Volleyball-player…“ Pah-chin coughed, „She got—?“ „Thighs! Thighs for days oh my lord you wont believe it! And her smile! The way her hair falls, when she cheers and celebrates…“ Nahoya cut him off, a dreamy smile streatching across his face as he started to recount every thought he had when watching you.

The others shared a knowing glance and Mitsuya snickered „Damn, she‘s got you bad, huh?“ Nahoya stopped and looked at him, eyes blank as he thought for a second. „Yeahn… I guess…“ he trailed off to which Draken burst out into a loud laugh.

„She done ‘nd tamed one of the wildest guys I know, damn! You said she knocked you clean out? With a serve? You know damn well that shawty could beat ya ass!“ Draken went on, leaning onto Mistuya for support who joined the laughter.

„Hey listen! You‘ll shut ya mouths once you see all she brings! Full package I tell ya!“ Nahoya scrambles to defend his dignity (or yours, he wasnt quite sure).

„Right Romeo. You‘ve got her number then?“ Mitsuya quizzed, to which Nahoya fell silent.

„Shit.“

[sunarots]

so high school ━━━ atsumu miya

10. darlin’ ♡

Using the sleeve of your hoodie, you use the small mirror in an attempt to dry your tears from your eyes before Atsumu came back and caught you. Unfortunately for you, the door flies open with an instant complaint. "Can't do shit here. We need to- What's wrong?"

You bite your lip and try to stop more tears from flooding out at the thought, closing the sun visor and relaxing back into the car seat. Even though you may not be used to the doors yet, you couldn't deny that the seats were almost as comfortable as your bed. "Wakatoshi's moving to Poland." You can't stop your voice from breaking halfway through the sentence, a sign that you were very likely to keep crying about it until you would wake with a headache.

"Is he really? Wow, Adlers are going through it." He turns the key in the ignition and looks back to you when he catches you sniffle. "I'm sorry, it was rough when Shoyo left. Can't believe two of yer friends left. Let's go get KFC, yeah? Cheer ya up. I'll pay."

You look up from your lap, laughing through your tears when you catch him attempting to wiggle his eyebrows are you. "Thanks, Atsumu."

"Here, choose whatever music ya like." He passes you his phone, telling you to keep it unlocked before he carefully pulls out of the parking lot and turns to the main road.

You scroll through some of his Spotify playlists, trying your hardest not to laugh at some of the songs he had hidden among the regular ones. You settle for one of the Fall Out Boy songs in the album, and adding loads of random songs to the queue. "I can't believe he's leaving, too," you mumble, turning the music up a bit louder and settling back into the seat.

Atsumu glances over at you, catching the tear running down your cheek. "Aw, y/n, yer still gonna get to see him. He'll be playing volleyball, so ya can see him when he travels. It's not forever."

You know he's right deep down, but you still can't help but feel hurt that your two closest friends for the last two years have up and left so soon together, and so far away. You were happy for them, you really were, but... Wakatoshi was right, you did feel abandoned. Forcing the tears to stay in your eyes, you look back down at Atsumu's phone and start scrolling through his liked songs on Spotify. And, they were certainly something.

It went from Hollywood Undead, to Taylor Swift, to My Chemical Romance, to MARINA. He really did listen to everything.

"Your music taste is... something. You have Corpse Husband and Sabrina Carpenter in the same playlist." You turn his phone to him even though he can't look at it.

He glances over at you and turns into the gas station, turning his focus back onto the road. "Just means I have fun at any club," he defends himself, stopping the car. "Are ya coming in?"

You nod your head, pulling down the mirror and sighing at your red eyes.

"Here, take these." Atsumu pops open the glove compartment of the car, pulling out a sleek, black case. He removes a pair of gold aviator Ray-Bans, putting them over your eyes. "Problem solved. Can ya run ahead and grab some snacks for the apartment? Just anything, yeah?"

You nod your head, picking up your phone and purse from the floor. "See you in there."

You tuck your phone and purse into the pockets of your sweatpants, fixing the sunglasses over your eyes and walking inside. You lap around the different aisles, grabbing multipacks of crisps and some different types of biscuits. You pick up a packet of chilli crisps and scan over the different drink options waiting for Atsumu.

At the sound of girls squealing behind you catches your attention, turning around to see Atsumu being huddled by a group of four girls around your age. You catch a few words here and there, and Atsumu seems to be bathing in their compliments. You shake your head and turn back to the refrigerator, picking up a bottle of white peach Fanta and slowly walking towards the counter, hoping Atsumu would catch up to you before you were served.

Sure enough, he tapa your shoulder and squeezes in beside you in the queue. "Sorry."

"Oh my god, the Miya Atsumu is talking to me. Can you sign my boobs?" you laugh through your words, unable to keep a straight face. "You love being in the spotlight."

"So what if I do? It's nice having people who appreciate ya," he responds, nudging you forward in the queue towards the empty checkout. "Pump three, and all this."

Before you have a chance to reach for your money, Atsumu lifts his card over the reader. You sigh, picking up some of the snacks to carry them back to the car with him.

“What’s that sigh for?”

“I was gonna pay for that.”

Atsumu laughs. “With what pay check?”

Your jaw drops, a laugh escaping before you can trap it. “Wow, low blow.”

You catch the stares of the fangirls lingering on you and Atsumu, fighting your urge to stick out your tongue at them. Instead, you turn your back and focus your attention fully on the car in front of you. Atsumu dumps the snacks in the backseat, leaving you with your drink and crisps.

“White peach Fanta? Yer disgusting. Don’t drink that in my nice car.” He grimaces at the thought, walking around to climb into the driver’s seat.

“What? It’s nice!”

“Nah, yer gross. But those chilli crisps are nice. Can I get some?” He waits for you to nod your head before reaching over, opening the packet and stuffing a few in his mouth before pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the nearest KFC. “Thanks, darlin’.”

You raise an eyebrow, side-eyeing him through his sunglasses. “Why’d you do that?”

He hums. “What?”

“You keep calling me darling.” You sit your drink down beside him, taking a couple crisps yourself.

“I call everyone that. Why, d’ya want me to stop?” Concern washes over his expression, taking a fleeting glass at you to see if you were uncomfortable. “I don’t want to make ya uncomfortable, I can stop calling ya darlin’.”

You think for a second, giving him a small smile and leaning back against the seat. “I was just curious. You can keep calling me it.”

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summary. after your best friend reveals he’s moving out of your shared flat, you’re presented with a tough choice: let one of the creeps who are begging you to let them move in with you, or find a cheaper flat in another area of town. a do-over couldn’t have come at a better time for you, but your only option for a place to stay is with someone your best friend knew from high school, and his two teammates.

taglist (open!). @reignsaway @yuminako @thiisisntlovely @diorzs @aboutkiyoomi @spicana @bakingcuriosity @kr1nqu @savemebrazilhinata @dazqa @sereniteav @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @sleezzsister @hermaeusmorax @giocriedpower @sophosphorescent @gigiiiiislife @zazathezaer @rrosiitas @iaminyourfloors @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sillygooseymood

[afyrian]

hello love, congrats on 200 (now 300 !!) followers !! you deserve it all and every good thing ♡

i would like to request 🌾 + 👓 for tobio please (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

they suit you kageyama tobio x gn!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 600 | prompts: timeskip + glasses

    kageyama throws a duffel bag around his shoulder, his change of clothes and volleyball within. the apartment parking garage is silent besides the trickling of rain outside. it's fairly dark under the evening light, the eyewear store taking longer than he thought it would. in addition his practice running for far more longer than it normally does.

  stepping in the elevator, he adjusts his glasses. not used to the suffocating feel of the nose pieces, the way it weighs on his face. biting his lip, his mind rattles with the thought of you seeing them. would you like the way the glasses looks on him? would you compliment him for such a choice of the necessary accessory? 

  he’s never had glasses more and you’ve certainly never seen a pair on him besides sunglasses. so a part of him wants to go back down to the parking garage and hide away the glasses. the elevator doors open as his hand reaches for the buttons, however, he can’t bring himself to do it. not when you’ve always loved him for who he is.

  stepping onto your floor, he takes the long walk back to your shared apartment. every step feels like the heaviest step he’s ever taken, weights bolted to his shoe. the carpet scrapes against the bottom of his shoes, a certain musk in the air from the rain soaked footprints left behind. getting to the door, he grabs out his key, sticking it into the door and slowly turning the handle.

  entering, he looks around the living room, not seeing you anywhere nearby. setting his bag down, he anxiously calls out your name, raising his eyebrows, “y/n? you home?”

  “oh yeah! sorry, was just deep cleaning the bedroom..” you walk through the doorway and meet his eyes, mouth slightly open at the sight of his glasses, “you got your glasses?”

  “yeah, i don’t know if i like them that much. i mean you may not like them-”

  “not like them? babe they look so good on you,” you walk up to him, caressing his cheeks in your hands, really examining the glasses in front of them. they’re black, a slight blue tint to the sides, matching his dark blueberry colored eyes. 

  kageyama purses his lips, giving you a small smile. you’ve always known him to be shy about his appearance. changing his hair, wearing a new style, it’s all always worried him in some way shape or form. mostly on how he’s perceived by others, particularly you. 

  he wraps his arms around your back, fingers interlocking, barely pulling at your shirt. you’ve always liked it when he holds you so gently, not letting anything stand between you, “thanks.. are you positive? i don’t know, they just look so different.”

  “babe, they suit you. honestly, i don’t think i’ve seen anyone as handsome as you are. with or without your glasses, although the glasses do get a couple extra points,” you smile widely, fingers playing with the hair on his neck, sending goosebumps down his back.

  “okay, okay, thank you. i’m thinking of getting sunglasses in my prescription too,” kageyama shrugs, moving you close to him with his strong arms, he pulls you in for a hug.

  his head rests next to yours, body hunched slightly to account the slight height difference. nodding your head slightly, you raise an eyebrow, “how would you feel about aviator sunglasses? it think you would look downright attractive in them.”

  “well for you i would love to wear them,” kageyama shrugs into your hug, hoping you can’t see the giddy smile on his face. 

gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 a/n: thank you sm for all the love and support!! sorry this took forever but i hope you enjoyed it :D

[haikyu-mp4]

I just woke up in a sweat with the idea of a fake dating fic with Korai where he and the reader are “pretending” a little too well INCLUDING when there’s no one around

Then I saw they your requests were open and the speed at which I typed this is almost embarrassing lol

the way I saw this first thing in the morning and skipped breakfast to start drafting, I am forever thankful for how this request had me daydreaming. I'm sorry it still took me so long<3

Faking it

word count; 1116 – f!reader

Hoshiumi had gained quite the reputation as a volleyball player who can be both too prideful and too unfiltered, especially in his interviews. The Schweiden Adlers’ PR managers were pulling their hair out trying to media train him, and he was way too good of a player to let go of for something like that. Not that he was absolutely terrible with the media, but he could get a bit loud, especially when compared to his teammates, which he often was.

So when he takes you, one of his best friends since high school, out for ice cream on a particularly hot day, the paparazzi were snapping photos like crazy, and he made headlines the next day along the lines of Has the Adlers’ hothead found someone to keep him cool?

To say his managers were ecstatic would be an understatement, so when he asked them to handle this scandal so you don’t have to get involved in anything, he was met with hesitance.

“We were going to suggest, as most of the news articles seem rather positive, that the two of you should keep this up for a while. Pretending to date. Smooth out your reputation until it would be natural to find you wanted to stay friends or something.”

Hoshiumi’s heartbeat quickened, and even though his mind tried to tell him it was anger at the suggestion of involving you, his heart recognised it as the song it sang every time his eyes met yours. A distinct kind of nervousness. His fists were clenching and unclenching, trying to decide what he felt. “It’ll be up to her, but I can ask.”

The managers at hand did a little childish cheer, making Hoshiumi huff with a smile before asking if there was anything else and leaving when they confirmed no, not until he had a clear answer to their proposition.

His hands were cold. How do you ask your best friend to fake date you?

You’re in the Schweiden Adlers gym, practising spikes as Kageyama had to attend some birthday tonight instead of extra practice. In high school, you had played as the setter, and you got used enough to setting for Korai throughout your friendship. You also had a nasty float serve he liked to practice receiving, so he didn’t mind practising alone with you at all.

Not usually at least, when he didn’t have such a heavy question resting on his mind.

“You’re not dating anyone, right?” Hoshiumi asked before throwing the ball for you.

You puffed out a laugh, setting the ball and accidentally making it a bit too short. No matter, he jumped for it anyway and you heard the satisfying smack of it hitting the floor on the other side of the net. “You know I’m not,” you said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is this about those headlines?”

He laughed a bit awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Kind of, I wanted to ask you something.”

You gestured for him to throw another ball, so he followed your lead and jumped for it, noticing that this spike might have landed outside the line.

“Let’s do serve receives instead?” he suggested first, hoping to put some space between the two of you. You were the only person who could make him nervous like this.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” You shrugged, gesturing for him to move across the court so you didn’t have to move the ball basket. As he readied himself to receive, he finally felt like he was catching his breath.

He took a deep breath in as you threw the ball in the air, and he knew it would be a floater so he stepped forward. “We should date!”

“Huh?” you yelled, practically spiking the ball instead from the surprise and sending it flying right into his head because he too, had been surprised by his own words.

But as you held the ice pack to his head and the two of you laughed, he managed to explain the actual plan, and you agreed.

The only right way to start this fake partnership was movie night with any movie containing the trope of fake dating. You sat beside each other on your couch, laughing at the silly parts and pointing out things you would like to do together as a joke, of course.

Which inspired your first outings to the public. You went for another round of ice cream, and this time emphasised your laughter. You even poked his nose with your ice cream before wiping it off and kissing that spot after. The cameras were clicking and you made several smaller headlines.

As you read a sports gossip magazine one evening, Hoshiumi rested his head on your shoulder to read with you and nosed at your cheek without thinking about it. As you giggled at his reenactment of the best dramatic lines, you turned your face to his. He turned to you in response and made the mistake of glancing at your lips. Your breath hit his chin and he breathed out shakily before quickly pulling away.

‘It’s fake dating, Korai’ he scolded himself a few minutes later, angrily brushing his teeth before rolling out the futon beside your bed and going to sleep.

It mostly went well for the next week, but Hoshiumi couldn’t stop noticing that you kept faking behind closed doors. If it was natural for you to act that way, and it was natural for him to return that energy, is it still faking?

Hoshiumi’s knee bounced as he sat beside you on the park bench where his managers had arranged for paparazzi to find him with you for the ‘last stunt’ that would seal the deal and make the gossips leave him alone. You were humming under your breath and Hoshiumi clutched your hand in his as you pointed out where you theorised each passing person was going next.

You suddenly stopped talking and turned to Korai again, tilting your head. “Korai?” you asked softly. “Are you okay?” Your free hand lifted to the side of his face, affectionately adjusting some of his hair even if it was so short. He supposed the wind was doing him dirty, but all he could think about at the moment was if you were faking or not.

“I’m not faking,” he said, almost too loudly. You straightened up in surprise but clutched his hand tighter.

“What?”

“Whether I hold your hand outside, or lean on your shoulder when we’re at your place, I’m not faking,” he declared with that familiar determination.

You giggled, finally leaning back in. “Kiss me like you mean it then,” you whispered. “Because I’m not faking either.”

masterlist

[slut4msby]

the atsumu hny was super cute !!! loved It sm !! I hope you had an amazing new year's celebration!! was jus wondering if you could write something w samu or maybe Kita Shinsuke (24) rice farmer ? btw inarizaki #1 forever 💯

high school sweethearts. kita shinsuke x fem!reader

+ tags & warnings; fluff for a change of scenery & reader has a kid

+ a/n; I READ THIS AND WENT INSANE OMG I COULD TALK ABT KITA SHINSUKE (24) RICE FARMER FOR EVER. Fun little piece of lea slut4msby lore, when I first watched season 4 I had not read the manga yet and when Kita first came on screen i went insane. Also Kita and I are legally married?? My friends through a fake wedding for me because I was so in love with this man. And pls keep the Inarizaki reqs/asks/anything coming bc i am INSANE about inarizaki (i am normal i swear) <3

You couldn’t help peer out the window of your shared home with your husband. He was outside with your 5 year old son, playing some volleyball. Your son had never taken a liking to sports until your husband began cleaning out his old stuff, stumbling upon his jersey from his high school years. He would never admit and you would never bring it up but he did get emotional looking back at these days.The days where he led one of the greatest teams, not on the main roster, but he was still aware of the impact he had on the boys. He wasn’t the worst player but nothing notable, however Shinsuke had the power to put anyone at ease and you loved that about him.

Shinsuke never showed much self-confidence when the two of you had met in your first year. It’s not that he didn't have the confidence he just never felt the need to show it, and you appreciated that about him. You appreciate how no matter what Shinsuke was straight the point, you appreciated his need for routine, which has really helped your home life. You appreciate how he loves, how he cares for others. Kita Shinsuke was the perfect man.

However, despite how lucky you feel to have Shinsuke in your life. He feels even more lucky for you, he knows you are his soulmate from the day he met you in the first year. He felt as if all the work he had ever done paid off, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. At the beginning it was just a hallway class, the girl from class 1-6. Having your classes next to each other & both being in advanced classes meant the both of you would have recurring meetings. The next thing he knows, Aran had recruited you as the volleyball clubs manager as the team wouldn’t shut up about not having one. Shinsuke then began spending everyday with you, which turned to every waking second he was with you whenever he could be. He was your best friend, right?

That’s what you had thought. You would have never admitted your crush on Kita that began growing. However his admiration for you began sprouting. He loved the way you smiled, how you got along with everyone, took care of yourself and others, how you tie your shoelaces, how you set out  your notebook, how you played with your hair when you were nervous and how you didn’t seem to fear anything. Unlike him. Kita had put his feelings behind him, until he decided it was now or never, graduation. It was cliche, Shinsuke knew that. He had gotten you a bouquet of flowers, you had mentioned your favourite flowers in a passing conversation the second week of the second year. A useless piece of information, Shinsuke remembered that. Why wouldn’t he? He loved you. That day to Kita’s surprise, you said yes. You agreed to be his girlfriend.

Now, almost 10 years later. Shinsuke was your husband. Those flowers he had given you on graduation day you had pressed, they stayed on display in your kitchen, as well as a photo of you and Shinsuke the day your son was born. Now Shinsuke spent his days as a rice farmer instead of a volleyball player. However seeing him playing with your son reminded you of the man you fell in love with. 

You snapped out of a trance when your son called out to you, “Mum! Look! Dad taught me how to play volleyball like he used to.” You couldn’t help but smile, “He said I was really 

good! Mum, can I start playing volleyball! I wanna be like dad!.”

You turn towards Shinsuke, he looked so amused at the scenario. You jokingly roll your eyes at him, “of course you can baby!” You said planting a kiss on your son's forehead. “How about for now you and daddy go get cleaned up?”

“Okay!” Your son responds with a toothy smile, before your son begins pulling your husband down the hallway.

You felt like the luckiest woman alive.

©slut4msby

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - A Lot Ended, Quite Bit Started, I got things to say about it all

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Nov 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) 3 of 8 - This is just a great BL. So fun with few frills and paced nicely. Thai talent + Korean story is proving very harmonious for narrative flow. I’m delighted. I love that they don’t shy away from letting Tew be an actual violent criminal who is just gone and mushy for this one geeky cutie. Also I appreciate it when a show hangs a lantern on its own plot failing. In this case, the main character being drunk as a plot devise 2x in subsequent eps.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 2 of 10 - Love it. Love Spite and his chronic guilt over his younger brother, the golden child. Love that he is driven to repair for a past that no longer exists. Evil mom who cares more for what her son can do than that son, let alone his brother. The volleyball well…. erm. I played varsity (setter) so this is amusing to me but I’m not mad about it. 

I agree that this Not Me just sports and pulp. 

Last Twilight (Fri YT) 1 of 12 - JimmySea are back and is this... good? Do I like this? I don't have faith, GMMTV has been doing us dirty lately. But I think I like it! Why The Little Prince AGAIN? Ugh. 

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI 1 of 8 - Domundi giving us an office comedy hyung romance staring TutorYim (Cutie Pie) with NetJames (Bed Friend) and LeoTai (Friend Forever) providing support. Lets hope they stick to only 8 eps. Buckle up, I got shit talking to type.

I warned ya out the gate that this is a Cheewin comedy, so tonally it could be very OFF, and boy howdy is it EVER off. There's a place this kind of show goes where it's so cringe it's visually rotten and this one went there out that gate. Also, I'm gonna say it because no one else has, Yim is not good in this role. Comedy is HARD to do and Cheewin isn't doing this green actor any favors. He's chewing the scenery like a woodchuck after a diet.

To be fair, Tutor isn't great either, but he's been given less rope to hang himself with. Mai is currently suffering from seme obscurity: the love interest's defining characterization being = tall and handsome. (Which is not characterization... agony... glares at Cdramas.) We will see if he gets a personality, but based on past work form this director and this writer, don't bank on it.

Frankly? I'm not convinced either of them are mature enough as a pair or as actors to carry something this abrasive and to stand up to Cheewin's visual abuse of our eyeballs. I think this is going to be a rocky ride. HOWEVER, because it has tropes I'm good with (as opposed to SCOY) I'm sticking with it for now but this is gonna be ROUGH going for everyone.

Backstory: This used to be a JimmyTommy vehicle before the pair split (also prev title Middle Love). Adapted from a Y-novel. I can actually see Tommy in this role very clearly and I suspect he may have been bettern(and I am more a TutorYim fan as a pair). Also I will likely be referencing SCOY a lot while watching this because SCOY is peak Cheewin nonsense comedy but with an incredibly strong lead pair, so comparisons will be drawn.

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 7 of 12 - Sigh. Linguistic negotiation but for sad reasons? It fascinating but it hurts. Look, the cast is very good I just don’t like the premise.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) The Camp Fire ep 12 of 24 - Well that was extremely odd. I’m not sure how I feel about it. If it hadn’t had the strange framework and horror component and been just a simple BL story I probably would’ve enjoyed it. Why do the pulps always  squander their best pairs? 5/10 New installment (Friends Forever) looks terrible and not BL.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) qp 1 of 8 - House of Stars meets Boyband. I am not impressed. Thailand just needs to leave everything music related to Korea. I’m enacting a ban. The framework on this is truly awful. The talent is not talented in acting let alone dance or song. I thought about sticking with it a few more eps but i putting in on hold. It’s too wooden even for me.

@heretherebedork I depend on you to report back. This is the kind of thing only you can watch. It’s like Cupid 2023. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

A Breeze of Love (Korea iQIYI) 1-2 of 8 - previously know as Weather Forecast Love this one popped up in MDL's currently airing, and I was like, what what? Basically: Tsundere insomniac grump and his sunshine jock ex bestie (human sleeping pill) who now hates him. Basketball is involved and I love it.

It ended, are we sad? REVIEWS

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Viki & Gaga)

Yes, we sad! Ai Di and his dumb oversized sweaters and flappy flappy sleeves are EVERYTHING.

Final ep? Nice that the elder gays got screen time, more of this please? Sides dominated this finale, matched outfits and all. Also I’m living for the Bless this Mess shirt. Finally Taiwan gave us lots of biting and a counter lift. It’s like they know me!

Quick pitch for KDTM?  

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged, but that’s normal for Taiwan. It involves all the tropes under a very casual framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. Absolutely every character is queer. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs, and a KILLER side couple. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan. 9/10 HIGHLY RECOMMENDED 

Triggers for knife play, child abuse, lingering trauma. I found both platforms did not do a great job on subs, but I will give the edge to Viki for pure usability.

You Are Mine (Taiwan Viki & Gaga)

We are more disappointed than sad.

Far be it from me to extend this show, but we should’ve had 2 episodes of quality supportive boyfriends coping with family drama before the mom-confrontation climax and defense of the ESTABLISHED relationship. Baby's little speach had no power or impact coming where it did in this narrative, even though it was sweet. And while the make-out scenes were charming it mostly jsut felt like we'd squandered this pair. This last ep was good and rewatchable, but a series cannot be judged on its last ep alone.

Finally... could have used some side dishes. My vote? Lesbian secretaries!

Conclusion 

I am sorry Taiwan, you know I love you, but I have to say it: this show was a mess of terrible pacing. And not a hot mess, sadly. I should have liked everything about this: it’s an office drama, it’s mature characters, it’s grumpy/sunshine, it’s a strong power dynamic, and it’s Taiwan - which means good chemistry. YAM was all those things and yet… something went horribly wrong with the narrative structure. You tried dears, but not hard enough. 7/10 

Bump Up Business (Korea Gaga)

Well, poop. Don’t have them speak English. Also no playing drunk. Meanwhile, all the manipulative gay drama. No kiss of course.

How do I summate this?

An idol group did the best they could with a script tailored to idols but which they were not allowed to fully realize because they are active idols in the same group. Ultimately it felt a bit like OnlyOneOf were just doing one of those Kpop skits for a variety show were two of of them dresses in drag/gay/BL and "ha ha isn't it funny?" I don’t know, it was fine? 6/10

stop wasting my time, Korea

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam YT)

DNF on the advice of several of my BL spies I will not be finishing this. Apparently it pretty much ends sad. Here's an explanation.

It's Airing But...

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) 8 eps - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. I will try it when I have some time and access to my home computer.

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) 6 eps - adaptation of Harada’s manga (which I did not like) about a clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

WAITING FOR VERDICT OR TO BINGE

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 14eps - this is a horror BL with ghosts & paranormal elements in a boarding school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools. I'm holding off on this one and if told it's good I'll binge watch.

Next Week Looks Like This

11/15 Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo (Japan Gaga) - this BL movie is coming to Gaga.

11/16 PLAYBOYY (Thurs ????) 10 eps - trailer here, high heat and it's helmed by Cheewin (shudder) with screenplay by Den (Only Friends) under Copy A Bangkok. It's gonna be a shizz show people. It's predicting Thai style "dark" (War of Y) one of my least favorites. Apparently there is a "plot" but when has Cheewin ever bothered with plot? A university kid who was involved with escorts, sex-trade, porn, online hook-ups, drugs, prostitution, blackmail, revenge, and so forth goes missing. His twin (sigh) and two friends look for him.

11/17 Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 14 - high heat teaser here, based on alittlebixth's omegaverse novel #พิษเบ๊บ’ set in the world of car racing (author says show will not be omegaverse). Charlie (fresh face), a young hot nerd, approaches his driver idol (Pavel "my love" 2 Moons 2) to borrow a racing car and win one for the team. Production house is new to BL but behind the Club Friday stuff. Show stars many known actors: Nut (Oxygen), Pop (Ram in La Cuisine), Pon (Phai in Gen Y, we LOVE him), Benz (twins in En of Love: This Is Love Story).

Thailand bring the November heat, I guess?

Upcoming November BL

11/19 Bake Me Please (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - trailer here, stars Ohm (of OhmFluke) opposite Guide (bestie from IFYLITA) and possibly also Poom (well known, but not for BL). This looks like an actually gay version of Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). Still, I'm intrigued, it looks HELLA pretty.

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Weds ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). When you want your old love again, but fate sends you a reaper instead. All he can do for you is kill people. I'll likely give this a pass and wait to binge if safe.

11/25 The Sign (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk, but with a suspense and adult characters. Special investigators who loved each other in previous lives reunite in new bodies. Stars Billy Patchanon (BillySeng) & Babe Tanatat (new). Includes other SCOY favorites as a special investigation team. I may give this a try because I'm into the non-horror bits.

11/26 The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - trailer here. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. Maybe a binge for me.

11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.

11/30 For Him (Thurs ????) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer, I suspect iQIYI will scoop this one up. From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in! Maybe I'll do a trash watch?

VIP Only (Taiwan) - may be delayed/canceled

Wuju Bakery AKA Space Bakery (Korea) - this one may be DOA

A Breeze of Love (Korea) - I know less than nothing about this.

Nov 2023 line up with screen caps here. Not kept updated.

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

This is in the intro card of My Dear Gangster Oppa, I'm just amusing myself.

Thank you Keseki for givign this to us twice!

Also the tears! So pretty crying.

And, of course, my favorite the biting!

Have I mentioned recently how much I love Taiwanese BL?

(Last week)

[mylahrins]

smile for the camera

09. crush! a/n: to avoid confusion, this is a flashback chapter. a blast to the past, to when y/n and atsumu were in highschool.

it had been one week.

it had been one whole week since atsumu miya had unknowingly broken your heart.

you were first years in high school and had been dating since the start of junior high, up until last week. you had convinced yourself that it was a mutual breakup—after all that's what you led atsumu to believe. you could only hope that with time, your feelings would fade on their own.

he had his sights set on volleyball, and you were still unsure of your future.

your family was loaded, meaning you could live comfortably with ease. yet, part of you yearned for something more—to make something of yourself. so for the sake of your futures, you two broke up but agreed to stay friends.

still, you did not expect this.

here he sat, on your couch, crying in your arms about the practice match inarizaki just lost. usually, he wouldn't be too affected, he'd brush off this loss and jokingly blame it on his brother. This time, however, his performance was really bad, like beyond bad. he could hardly set, and when he did—his tosses were off course or just plain shitty. all the serves he worked hard to hone either hit the net or were out of bounds. at one point, it was so bad they had to switch him out. how could he be expected to play as a setter for nationals, if he couldn't even play in a measly practice match?

"does samu know you're here?" you asked, rubbing his back as he continued to sob. at first, he doesn't reply. instead, he calms himself down to take a sip of water from the glass you placed for him.

"i'm sorry y/n." he starts, "i just didn't know where else to go." he then chugs the rest of the water down. "if i went home, seeing samu would probably make me feel shittier."

"im sure he wouldn't make fun of you tsumu, he's not like that," you assure, taking the empty glass from his hands.

"i know he wouldn't, it's just.." the breath he takes is unsteady, "he did really well, like way better than me. i played like absolute garbage today. they switched me out, and samu stayed in." he wipes his eyes dry with the collar of his t-shirt, "they even had him try playing setter for a bit—and he was good!" he yells, exasperated.

ah, this was rare. it's not that you've never seen atsumu vulnerable, he's cried to you many times before, but this was something you've rarely heard; atsumu miya was crying about envy.

moments like these are difficult, having to find the right words to say and all. even after knowing him for so long, it's hard to figure out what he exactly needs, or even wants to hear.

so, instead of speaking, you just hold him tight. out of habit, you place a kiss on the top of his head, not necessarily as a romantic gesture, but as a familiar way to comfort him. neither of you comment on it, but atsumu's hold on you tightens.

and it's now that you realize that perhaps even after the breakup, even if you go your separate ways after high school—even if one day your feelings for atsumu fade away, you'll never be able to forget the love you had—or have for him.

after what feels like forever, atsumu lets go of you and wipes whatever was left of his tears.

"thank you."

although separated from the hug, he still takes your hand to hold, and you let him. you don't say anything as he uses your tv remote to flip through the channels. he eventually settles on a movie that's already halfway done.

even after the movie's over, and atsumu's deep asleep on your couch, you're holding his hand. even as you struggle to text osamu with one hand that his brother sleeping over, you don't let go.

you sit in the darkness of the living room, lit up only by the quiet tv, thinking about how you will probably never get over atsumu miya.

fun facts!:

➤ y/n met the hyogo boys (tsumu, samu, and suna) when they were waaaay young. she became friends with rin first because their grandparents are bffs. ➤ when they were in junior high, atsumu confessed first because samu made him (he was tired of hearing him whine abt y/n). ➤ due to y/n parent's workload, being busy making money and all, they decided it'd be best to have y/n live with her grandparents in hyogo, so she could be guaranteed a household of love. though, that's not to say she never see's her parents, she always visits them in tokyo during summer and occasional school breaks (spring/winter/fall). ➤ when y/n was gone, suna would hang out at her grandparent's house to keep them company... also free food. ➤ suna has invited his friends to y/n's grandparent's house before. ➤ atsumu thought the breakup was mutual because y/n barely reacted. she even fistbumped him while telling him it was alright. she called rin later that night and cried to him about the breakup.

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[missmiyao]

Us, Forever (Kiyoomi Sakusa)

Warning: Cheating, neglect, irresponsible drinking, toxic relationship, self-doubt, gaslighting, guilt, mentions of divorce, baby trapping, strong language, dub-con, unplanned pregnancy, smut warning.

You never understand why he accepted this marriage even though he's always blunt with his words. You didn't know him well and he definitely didn't know about you at all.

Sakura Kiyoomi, a professional volleyball player that plays in division one. He's your husband. You don't do that kind of sport so you don't know the rules well. Aside from that, you don't know him.

He's handsome and charming indeed, but he's scary and cold. He will tell everything he doesn't like explicitly. You were scared of him the first time you met him.

He simply scanned you from top to bottom. He's like a predator and of course, taller than you. Way too tall. He's 190+ cm while you are stuck at 155cm.

How can someone become so tall?

You barely reach his chest.

Nevertheless, he agreed to marry you after so many hints of hesitation were shown. You're glad that everything is over but it's just the beginning.

He rarely talks to you and he's not always at home either— your shared apartment that he bought just for you. He rarely talks but often texts about what he expects from you.

House as clean as it could be, meals, he didn't come back home or anything.

You're lucky since you noticed he dislikes getting too close with people. Hence, you know he will never cheat on you.

Though, you hope for a little romance. Three months of marriage and he never touches you. Yeah, just one shared kiss during the wedding ceremony and he hugs your waist like twice.

That's it.

You crave for more, but he is rarely even there for you to talk. Hell, it's embarrassing. Not that you know him well.

You did a little research about him and yup nothing much came out. Hence, you tried talking to his sister about what he likes.

"Kiyo? Mmm, how about you just talk to him? I know he's a little distant and blunt but he's kind, I swear." She tries to be supportive but she doesn't know what you feel.

You wanted someone that would be there for you.

Yes, Kiyoomi did say he's going to be busy for the season but still it's not going to hurt if he texted a little bit right?

*

His cousin, Motoya Komori, suggested you come with him to watch Kiyoomi's match. You told Komori you didn't know about volleyball, but he said he could teach you a thing or two.

You supposed that your husband should do that but he didn't.

"Look! Kiyo spike! His spin is nasty." You don't understand what spin he's talking about but must be about the ball. Is it that different? You can't tell but after Motoya's explanation you could see a little bit.

His team won, and you clap.

There are autograph signs or whatever is called held, and Komori told you to go and talk to your husband. You wanted to do that, but somehow he looked at you like you're his usual fan and signed the paper.

He didn't say anything even after you congratulated him. Hell, he's as silent as dead. You move to the other player, smile and get their autograph.

"Hey, thanks for coming and watching! Do you want me to dedicate my autograph to someone?" A taller man than Kiyoomi. He wore jersey number #9. You smile at him.

"Hey. The matches are great. I just came with a friend and now a little bit about volleyball. Though, I do want your autograph for myself." You tell him your name, and he grin and sign your paper.

"Bye!." He waves at you and you move to another player.

You continue to get an autograph and decide to look for Komori. He should be the one who drives you back.

*

He's not there. Fucking Komori :). He thought that you will go back with Kiyoomi but it's not simple. You're stuck, alone, hungry and penniless.

You stare at Kiyoomi, hoping he gets your signal. Tired of tiring, you texted him. He did read your text, and told you he's going to go home after je shower.

Hence, you wait.

30 minutes later, you texted him again since he didn't text you. Did he take a long shower?

He didn't reply, so you check his location. Surprisingly, he's already back to your shared apartment. You frown, deciding to just walk back home even though it's going to be a 40 minute walk.

You hold your tears, go to the toilet once before preparing to leave.

"Hey, you're that fan. Still here?" The #9 is right in front of you.

"Ah yes. I'm just about to leave." You're not going to make this awkward.

"Ah? With friends? Be careful." He smiles at you, and you shake your head.

"I'm walking back. My friend kinda lost...? And my hus—" You stop talking. Kiyoomi did say he didn't want his team to know.

"Alone? Where did you live? I can't let a woman walk all alone this late. Let me drive you. Don't worry! I'll drop the captain, his wife and Wan san." He offers.

"Sure. Thanks." You didn't think much as you accept.

You arrived home safely, waved at him and entered your house. It seems like Kiyoomi left you there and you found him inside his bedroom, sleeping like a log.

It's not like it's okay but it hurts. You don't want this.

You know that cheating is bad...

Fuck no. You can't think like that.

In the morning, you make breakfast and Kiyoomi is up.

"Morning, Kiyo. Have a seat." You said to him and he nodded, sitting down.

He seems to analyse the breakfast, before starts to eat.

"I want to talk about something." You put down your plate, staring at him.

"Speak." He replied, enjoying his breakfast.

"I know we didn't start on good terms, simply neutral. Perhaps you don't want this marriage at all but let's work together. I want to get to know you." You stare at him.

He seems normal, staring back at you.

"I'm a little busy for the current season. We can do this after." Urgh.

"It's just for a while, Kiyo. Also... I want to ask you for something." Your legs are shaking under the table and luckily he didn't notice.

"I want... You... I mean, us, had, sexual intimacy?" Your voice is too slow and he stares at you like you stab his mother right in front of him.

"I'm not ready for that." He replied. Your frown is clear to him.

"Okay... Sorry." Now you don't want to eat anymore. You feel a little embarrassed, asking that to your husband who is literally a stranger to you. He supposedly is someone that's close to you but he's not.

*

You decided that if he didn't want to give you any, you'll do it by yourself. Watching alone is not cheating, right?

You're frustrated and need to blow some steam. You're angry, a little bit.... At him. What makes him say he's not ready? Are you not that pretty? He didn't find you appealing or he's disgusted by you?

This has been going on for 6 months of your marriage. You feel like you're going insane. He avoids touching you like you're a plague and your last straw is when he just blink at you when he caught you wearing only a towel in the house.

"I think he's gay, Komori. I can't do this." You finally slipped your thoughts to his cousin. You tried calling your sister in law to drink together but she's busy.

Your mother and father in laws too. Hence, Komori is the only person who's free.

"He's straight. Get a hold of yourself!" He reminds you.

"I'm frustrated, Komori. He even refused to hug me! Did he find me disgusting?"

"You're not. Kiyo just need a little time to—"

"All he said is he's too busy! Komori, you're a player too. Division 1 too! Why can you be here for me and not him? Why..." You're drunk and sad.

"Well, I wasn't sure."

"I'm tired. If I know I'm not getting laid again after marriage, I'll never agree on this. Tch." You cover your face and Komori sighs.

"I'm sure Kiyo has his own reason."

"Yeah. Maybe he finds me ugly, stupid and dirty. He didn't find me appealing. He hates me. That's why he didn't want to do anything with me. I'm sure he is just using me to get away from other marriage arrangements from his parents."

Komori does think that's true, but he held his tongue.

"If I sleep with one guy tonight, would that be okay...?" You muttered that out and Komori feels chill on his bones.

"No. Don't think of that."

You get angry at Komori, since he doesn't approve of your way of thinking.

"But, Kiyo probably didn't do anything either! If he can handle it... Then, I'm sure you can!" He tries to assure you again.

"Hah, fuck it, Komori." You gulp another cup, before the night ends and Komori sends you home.

*

You tried everything you could to seduce your husband— based on Konori's idea. From clothing to perfume to everything.

He didn't budge. Hell. Now you're sure he's gay, but when you confront Kiyo about this he stated that he's straight and just not ready yet. Perhaps he's not interested and didn't want to hurt your poor heart.

He even pushed you away once. You beg him to do anything, but he refuses and leaves the room.

Thus, you can't take it anymore.

You start going out and be home late. You didn't cook for him anymore and never did your job as a housewife.

You start going out with your 18 years old clothing. Tight, almost bodycon, too short and accentuating everything. You put on bold makeup, do your hair and avoid Kiyoomi.

You're still going out with Komori, still. He seems to avoid staring at you for too long, and that makes you laugh.

"That middle blocker from your team is cute. What's his name?" You asked and Komori looked at you.

"Which one?" Komori sighs.

"The parted middle hair one and the serious one!" You grin.

"One is Suna Rintaro and the other one is Washio Tatsuki."

"Both are cute!" You giggled at Komori, holding his arms and clinging to him like what you always did before.

"Stop pressing your tits on my arms, idiot!" He yells, and you roll your eyes.

"Okay!"

*

You decided to support Kiyoomi's team once again. You didn't remember his jersey number or purposely forgot. So you buy the number #13 just to piss him off if he does care.

It's a tight fit and you wore a pair of very short pants down there. You swear you saw Kiyoomi flinch when you hugged his teammates.

"Ya my fans, darlin? Should wear somethin bigger in size." The number #13 said to you. Though, his eyes fixed on your boobs all the time. You felt him touching your back, all the way from shoulder to your waist.

He's too dangerous.

"A little. I like your serve. I think I bought the wrong size, silly me." You giggled at him. He grins at you, especially when you touch his chest. That definitely makes Kiyoomi stop doing what he's doing.

"I can buy ya a new one. Willin to have ma number? I can make sure ya fit." He wink at you, knowing your insinuation. You nod.

"Sure... Miya senshu." You noticed his jersey and he smirked as you called him that.

"Yer so cute." He hugs you again and you swear you felt him squeeze your hips. You tap him once, before moving to another player, Kiyoomi.

You remain silent, staring at him with a boring expression.

The paper you're holding for the sign remains on your chest. You ignore the silence and Kiyoomi before moving to the next player.

Kiyoomi never thought you would flirt with his teammates at all. He thought you're not that low, but you go lower and underground to prove to him that you're so desperate.

He thought that he should take things slow and watch you. He never thought you could feel lonely.

That's before he watches how you literally ride his own teammate in the locker room without any shame.

You cheated on him with his teammate. He's angry, really but he never rushes inside and yells at you and Miya. Miya didn't know you were his, and you never tell Miya either. But you could say you're married.

He could say you look so desperate, moaning and yelling like Miya is that good. He left, angrily drove back home and took a cold shower.

Nevertheless, he never sees you coming home that night.

And, he finally sees the divorce paper that you signed on top of the table in your room, hiding under a pile of books.

Now Kiyoomi is seeing red.

*

You never thought you would sleep with Kiyoomi's teammate. The sex is good, but the feeling that came after is bad.

It's... Depressing. It's guilt, you guess? Yes you wanted to get laid but when you cheated on your husband... You feel guilty.

The feeling of disgust haunts you when you wake up next to Miya Atsumu in the morning. You're full of his marks, bites and fluid.

You take a quick shower and leave his apartment.

You came back home with Kiyoomi sitting on the sofa.

Avoiding him like usual, that's what you do. Though, he didn't have it. Kiyoomi pulled you by your wrist and that's the first time he held you like that. The pressure though, looks like he's going to kill you.

"You're divorcing me?" He shows you the paper and your face turns pale.

"I- yeah but how did you fin—"

"You slept with Miya. Disgusting." He's angry, and you gulp

"It's my fault... I'm sorry. Just, I can't take it anymore. Sakusa, let's just get a divorce okay? You have volleyball to focus on." You pulled your wrist but he refused to let go.

"You bitch." He didn't slap you, but he threw the paper on your face. You didn't cry because you were scared of the divorce. You're scared of him.

"Sakusa—"

"We ain't getting a divorce."

"What? Why?" You feel frustrated all sudden.

"Cause I say so."

"No! Divorce me, Sakusa! I don't want to stay in this fucked up marriage!" You yell at him.

"What fucked up? Just because I didn't dick you down, you're mad and seek other men's attention? How low can you go?" He pushed you and you landed on the sofa.

"If only you dick me down early, I'll never sleep with Miya! If you ever be with me like Komori, I'll never do anything stupid! This is all your fault!"

"Cheated and blamed me? Wow!" He sounds sarcastic.

"Divorce me, Sakusa! Is it because you're gay and—"

He grabs your chin harshly and stares like a predator at you.

"Don't say that. I'm straight."

"Then why did you refuse to touch me! Am I that dirty? You never answer and you know what? Fuck you! I'll sleep around if you keep doing this to me."

"As if I'll let that happen."

In the end, he never divorce you. You wonder why, but he never say anything. He starts to treat you differently and you shiver every time he touches you.

Slowly, he is finally ready for what he was supposed to do to you for the last 7 to 8 months.

You are not ready for him though. Too big, too long, overwhelming and he dicked you down from dusk till midnight, from midnight to dawn. You cried and told him to stop, and he only gave you 15 minutes rest including a shower.

Ever since that day, he never let you go once. He starts telling his team that he's married to you and watches Miya's face turn white after he realized he slept with his teammate's wife.

In just 3 weeks, Kiyoomi knocked you up, not only one but with two babies. He's so smug about it and it makes you annoyed.

"If I fucked you earlier, you're about to give birth in a few days."

"Shut up you asshole... I- I never wanted to-"

"Sorry babe. I slept with the intention to have kids. Since you're so eager riding Miya that night, I'm sure you expect this." He chuckles at you, who's about to cry a river.

"We- no! He had a condom on and I took the after pill. Sakusa... You told me you wore one and I'm sure you are!" You're yelling at him now.

"Oh sorry. Forgot to mention the part where I tempered the condom." He's mocking you.

"I never wanted babies this early." You're about to cry and Kiyoomi sighs. He will leave you to cry since you're a crybaby nowadays.

"Nah deal with it. I need to deal with you, who slept with Miya once, for the rest of my life. You think it's not hard?" He smirks at you, and you hate his face.

"But kids are a lifetime responsibility, Sakusa!"

"Nah. We'd be great parents. I know it. You know, perhaps I should plan baby number three already. You seem cute, all crying and pregnant."

You slap his face, but he laughs at you.

"Call me Kiyo, just like you did before. Did you forget you're a Sakusa too, dear? So sweet, so alluring and so fucked up in the head." He kisses your forehead before leaving for the bathroom.

End

[angeliicheartt]

idk if i’m supposed to send the outfit idea like this, BUT can i please get 🐚 with haikyuu and a bowling date wearing this:

love uuuu!!

78 ᴛᴏ 113.

includes: koushi sugawara

fem!reader

note: 0.3k wc, fluff, i chose to match u with suga !! idrk why it just fits to me, also sorry this took me forever to complete, i hope u like it!!

you grin as koushi runs over to you, arms raised in victory for getting a spare on his first turn, his joy infectious. you laugh as he picks you up and twirls you around extravagantly. 

“maybe i outta do bowling rather than volleyball,” he jokes, as he plants your feet back on the ground. you keep your arms around his neck and his arms stay linked around your waist. “gotta go against that idea, koushi, you look much hotter playing volleyball.” you chuckle as his jaw drops dramatically.

“so i'm ugly when i'm bowling then?” he dramatizes, causing you to roll your eyes at the silver-haired boy. “you’re not saying no??” he pushes, pulling you even closer to him, causing you to giggle at the close proximity. 

your hand trail back to cup his face, your thumb gliding over his mole as you press a gentle kiss to his lips. he eagerly reciprocates, a smile forming against your lips. “you’re always attractive to me, koushi,” you murmur once the two of you part. 

“yeah?” he prompts, a grin finding its way to his soft lips. 

“yeah,” you respond, your own grin mirroring his. “now then, let me show you how it’s done.”

you part from koushi’s arms, much to his dismay, before walking up to your bowling lane, rolling a perfect strike. you turn on your heel, casting koushi a cocky smile as you grab your next ball, tossing it and knocking 9 pins down.

koushi’s lips part at the show of skill, you walk back up to him, gently closing his mouth with a hand underneath his jaw. 

“since when??” he asks blatantly, causing you to chuckle. “since when what, koushi?”

“since when are you good at bowling?” he asks ludicrously, leading you to bury your face in his chest to stifle your laughs. his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his own laughs mixing with yours.

“i’ve always been good at bowling, koushi, it’s just not like a passion,” you say after parting from his chest. he raises an eyebrow suspiciously at you before dismissing it, “hmm.. whatever you say, i suppose.” 

you smile at him before pecking his lips briefly, “now, let’s play.”

he grins down at you, “you got it, princess.”

the two of you ended up leaving an hour later, the score 78 to 113 in your favor.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @kozumesphone @comicxzzsalt @sviidoll