#volleyball scoreboard

[alphatechnocratz]

 LED cricket scoreboards ,LED basketball Alpha Technocratz

Introduction: In the heart of India's bustling capital, Delhi, sporting events come alive with the pulse of competition and the roar of the crowd. At Alpha Technocratz, we understand the importance of capturing every thrilling moment with precision and clarity. As the premier LED scoreboard manufacturer in Delhi, we are dedicated to providing state-of-the-art solutions that enhance the spectator experience and elevate the standard of sportsmanship. From cricket to basketball, football to volleyball, badminton to kabaddi, Alpha Technocratz has you covered with our cutting-edge LED scoreboards.

LED Cricket Scoreboards: Cricket isn't just a sport—it's a passion that unites millions across the nation. With Alpha Technocratz's LED cricket scoreboards, you can bring the excitement of every boundary, wicket, and runout to life in stunning detail. Our scoreboards are designed to withstand the demands of the game while delivering unparalleled clarity and visibility to players and spectators alike.

LED Basketball Scoreboards in Mumbai: In the bustling metropolis of Mumbai, basketball takes center stage with its fast-paced action and electrifying atmosphere. Alpha Technocratz's LED basketball scoreboards are the perfect companion for any basketball court, providing real-time scoring updates, player statistics, and dynamic visuals that keep fans on the edge of their seats throughout the game.

LED Football Scoreboards in Delhi: Football fever runs high in Delhi, and Alpha Technocratz's LED football scoreboards are here to amplify the excitement. With vibrant displays, customizable graphics, and user-friendly interfaces, our scoreboards ensure that every goal, tackle, and save is celebrated in style, making every match an unforgettable experience for players and fans alike.

LED Scoreboards for Volleyball, Badminton, and Kabaddi: Whether it's the lightning-fast rallies of volleyball, the precision of badminton, or the raw intensity of kabaddi, Alpha Technocratz has the perfect LED scoreboard to match. Our scoreboards are designed to meet the unique requirements of each sport, providing clear visibility, easy operation, and robust durability to withstand the rigors of competitive play.

Conclusion: At Alpha Technocratz, we believe that every sporting event deserves to be showcased in the best possible light. With our cutting-edge LED scoreboards, you can elevate the spectator experience, enhance player performance, and create lasting memories that will keep fans coming back for more. Choose Alpha Technocratz as your LED scoreboard manufacturer in Delhi, and discover the difference that superior technology and unmatched quality can make in your sporting endeavors.

Thanks  & Regards

Top of Form

[duvetchico]

collision - (smau)

a yu jimin x fem!reader college smau

NOW PLAYING ; Collision by Straykids “ did you hate me that much? you were always within my reach. where are you now? i cannot find you now. ”

synopsis y/n and jimin used to date. then y/n transferred univs. now they're on rival volleyball teams forced to share a court. jimin caught a volleyball to the head. y/n caught feelings (again). shit’s about to get athletic and emotionally unstable.

genre ; exes to lovers / enemies to lovers (but make it traumatic and horny) / college volleyball au / slowburn so slow u might scream / humor / crack / fluff / angst / lesbian screaming

warnings ; lots of suggestive / swearing every 0.2 seconds / jeno slander / offensive phrases / family stuff / lots of lesbians. like. a lot.

featuring ; aespa / xiaoting as y/n's faceclaim / kim minju / kim chaewon / huh yunjin / shin ryujin / hwang yeji / an yujin / kim minji / lee jeno / zhou xinyu

taglists are open !

status - on-going !

upd. sched - 4 chapters every after 2 days of dating 101 upd !

main masterlist. playlist. thunderspikers. blue eagles.

CHAPTERS ;

00. we broke up, she dated jeno, and now i want to kill her again

01. who tf invited them.

02. headshot (not in a cute way)

03. she looked at me. like. with her eyes.

04. lesbian activity at an all-time high

05. i could fix her (but i won’t)

06. i blocked u on everything but...

07. u got a staring problem or u wanna fuck

08. i’m legally hers

09. i can fix her (but i’m also the reason she needs fixing)

10. i hate u (but also sit on my face)

11. they’re threatening each other

12. u wanna share a water bottle or something slutty like that

13. jeno's breathing is pissing me off

14. serve the ball bitch

15. ur name on the scoreboard and in my brainrot

[rosierin]

power play | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n) could've sworn "power play" meant something else. (aka she misuses it in a sentence and accidentally exposes one of atsumu's kinks)

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was supposed to be a chill evening.

The volleyball match on TV was intense—national-level, high-stakes, and exciting enough to have the boys talking over the commentators.

Atsumu and Osamu were perched on the couch, already deep in a serious debate about serve formations. Suna lounged in his usual armchair, one leg hooked over the side, sipping from a half-empty can of Coke and muttering the occasional critique like a low-effort sports analyst.

(Y/n) sat cross-legged on the beanbag in front of them, a warm cup of tea in hand, eyes drifting between the scoreboard and the increasingly animated boys behind her.

The energy in the room buzzed���not just from the game, but from the commentary bouncing back and forth around her.

A particularly aggressive rally played out onscreen—fast, brutal, ending in a decisive spike that made Atsumu sit forward with an impressed “Oof!”

“S'about time!" he roared, throwing his arms up.

And then—completely unprompted—(y/n) turned toward Atsumu with a thoughtful crease between her brows.

“Wait—Atsumu,” she said, eyes shining with genuine curiosity. “You’re into power play, right?”

Even the world stopped to listen.

Three heads whipped toward her. At the exact same time.

Then slowly swivelled toward each other.

Then snapped back to her.

In the background, the referee's whistle could be heard.

Osamu’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Suna looked like Christmas had come early.

Atsumu looked like he didn't know whether to feel immense pride or shame.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, blinking like he’d just needed to reboot his brain.

(Y/n) blinked back, confused but earnest. “Power play? I swear you mentioned liking that once..."

Within the span of ten seconds, Atsumu went from pale, all the colour drained from his face, to a fierce shade of scarlet. The kind that crawled from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “I mean—I wouldn’t say into it, but—”

Suna was practically hanging off the edge of his seat.

Even Osamu had leaned forward, jerking his thumb towards the hallway with an impish grin. “Should we be leavin’ the room, or...?”

“I just mean,” (y/n) went on, blissfully unaware, “you’re always going on about fast-paced games and momentum shifts—so I figured power play was your thing.”

Atsumu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

He started putting the pieces together.

“What... do you mean by power play?” He asked cautiously.

She gestured innocently toward the screen. “You know. When one team’s got the advantage? More players at the net, tighter rotation, big swings—high pressure, high risk. Power play.”

She said it with full confidence. With absolute conviction and positively zero clue.

And that was what broke them.

Suna wheeze-laughed, slapping his hand against the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Who the hell told her that’s what it meant?!”

(Y/n) turned defensive. And frankly, a little confused. Very confused. "Nobody! As I said, i just assumed."

Osamu was doubled over. “There's no way," he said, shoving Atsumu’s shoulder. “Look at you—turnin’ beet red thinkin' she'd outed one of yer kinks."

“I thought she was callin’ me out!” Atsumu barked. “What was I supposed to do—deny it? Pretend I wasn’t into—ya know what, forget it.”

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide with creeping realisation. “Wait—kinks? I'm confused. What else does it mean, then?”

Suna, without an ounce of trepidation, smirked. “It’s a sex thing.”

(Y/n) went crimson. “Oh my god—really? No! I didn't—!”

Atsumu had officially recovered.

He grinned, teeth sharp, pride blooming now that the worst had passed. “Too late, sweetheart. It’s on record now."

Osamu was giggling. Actual giggling. Shoulders shaking like a schoolboy in sex ed.

“Oh, (y/n),” he said, wiping his eyes. “Bless yer little heart.”

“I swear I didn’t know!” she groaned, smacking a pillow into her own face. “I was talking about volleyball!”

“And yet,” Suna said, gesturing toward Atsumu like he was presenting a rare species, “you managed to expose this degenerate without even trying.”

"He's right," Osamu chimed in, eyebrows raised thoughtfully. "She said ya mentioned it to her once."

He tutted. "Ya filthy, filthy pervert."

The grin finally slipped off Atsumu’s face, replaced with something halfway between wounded pride and defensive panic.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger. “You all have your weird little kinks. Don’t act like I’m the only one.”

Nobody denied it.

And (y/n) cursed herself for noticing.

Her eyes flicked to Osamu—stoic, unfazed, arms crossed—and then to Suna, who just sipped his drink with that same old unreadable expression.

...Somehow that made things worse.

Her brain, against her will, began to spiral. Did she even want to know?

No. Probably not. Definitely not. But maybe...

God, her imagination was already filling in the blanks—

“(Y/n).”

Atsumu’s voice cut through her thoughts, and when she looked up, he was wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“If ya ever wanna talk strategy,” he said, all faux innocence. “Volleyball strategy, of course.”

He winked.

“Ya know where to find me.”

The boys howled.

(Y/n) groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t start.”

[knnichs]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

you get injured while playing on court, kinich just happened to be watching.

c. basketball captain! kinich & volleyball player reader

t. character(s) are in a relationship with the reader, gn!reader, fluff, no use of y/n, not proofread, highschool/uni au, wc 1.1k

m. @lowkeyren @hanniejji author notes at the end!!

It was obvious your team was winning when it came down to the basics of fundamentals—the defense was thankfully taken care of by Sethos, who had just replaced Xiangling as a libero since she, unfortunately, had decided to opt out playing in the tournament. Sethos was great, though. Being an all rounder, he is quite talented with his ball control.

But when it came to the offense, you were certainly the star when it came to your team's attacks.

You call for the set, and steadily go a few steps to the back of the attacking line. Aether gives the ball smoothly, you step forward — right, left, right — then jumping, quickly swinging your arm towards the ball as you hit the line perfectly. The referee calls the whistle before you land, and the line judge points the flag down as they face the right end of your opponent's court. A seamless play.

You got distracted looking at the scoreboard, 23-22, it was a close match and all your team needed was to win this set before you already won. As you landed from your jump, you lost balance. Eventually rolling over your left ankle, and falling to the ground.

Your teammates checked up on you, surrounding you and helping you sit up before the medic came. The match got paused as they helped you ease the pain with an ice pack, and you were brought to the benches. There, several of the other players did their best to reassure you after your unlucky landing. You don’t feel too beat up about it, you already saw this coming when you checked the scoreboard before ensuring your safety when landing. 

You had only hoped Kinich didn’t see that.

He turns the tv on and gives you the remote, two plates of stir fry noodles on the coffee table and a glass of cold water. Kinich sat right in front of you, trying to set up a comfortable place you can rest in as you recover.

“Sigewinne said it was nothing serious, I’m fine.” You repeated for… maybe the 6th time this evening. All that gave you was a displeased look from your boyfriend, and he raised the ice pack away.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be paying extra attention to you then?” 

“Wait—I was kidding. That was a joke,” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure it was.”

Kinich knew what it felt like having an injury, one during the season at that. It’s devastating—that might be too dramatic. It was just sad knowing you wouldn’t be able to compete until you fully heal. Knowing your coach, Wriothesley, and Beidou, they certainly wouldn’t allow you to play until you got the go sign from your doctor. A very much so sure, go sign.

So, until you got to go on court again, his job was to take care of you.

“Wait one moment. Stay here,” he said before disappearing into the bedroom. He comes back with a few pillows and the world's comfiest comforter (it was his blanket.)

He knew you felt the least bit sad because of this. No matter how minor the injury was, this was the first time you were competing in a mixed tournament, and the first time the boys and girls team from different schools competed for a regional game. It was true you got to play with them multiple times already — your team captains had easily gotten close with each other, so naturally, tune up games or practices with them were common.

Wriothesley cared for his team, so did Beidou, and so did your coach. It was difficult trying to convince everyone you were fine when you already struggled walking to the benches. That’s not including the exhaustion you felt mentally after you sat down—immediately curling up and letting a few tears go was not a good image for you. But your teammates were supportive, they also cared.

Maybe it was a little selfish demanding your coach to bring you back in court, but you were swayed by the overwhelming sense of guilt. That you couldn't play properly for the team, that your opponent ended up getting the point, and that you injured yourself because you got distracted.

“I mean, in the end, you tried your best.” He put the ice bag back on the table once he had noticed it might be getting too cold for you. “That’s what matters most, right?” 

Kinich hands you the glass of water. “And you shouldn’t feel that beat up about it. They all said you need to rest so you could recover faster, just do as they say.”

You paused for a moment, he took the glass from you as you finished drinking, and handed you the plate full of food. Then, the boy went to sit next to you as you laid on the couch. He shuffled around trying to find a proper position, and your legs ended up on top of his lap. 

“This might just be one of the most disappointing games I’ve ever done.”

He brings a hand to your knee, trying to reassure you by drawing figures across your skin. 

“You’ve done worse,” and you throw a part of the blanket towards him.

You take a fork full of the noodles—savory and sweet, exactly what you needed after the game. Kinich knew you always had a craving for something sweet, especially after training, when you’re tired. You two end up in a convenience store buying froyo at some point while you eat in the back of the car, just talking about what had happened.

“They all care about you. I care about you.” He whispers.

Kinich stretched a little to reach you, pressing his lips to your forehead in a kiss. One hand holding yours as you place the plate on the table again. Thankfully this couch fits the both of you, otherwise you wouldn’t be basking in the feeling of his arms slowly snaking up your sides, enveloping you in a warm hug.

“I’ll clean up your injuries for you, I’ll come to your games, I’ll sit here in silence until god knows when—I’ll do anything for you, because I love you. And I will continue to.” 

He holds your hand again, your left this time, and you notice a familiar shine through your fingers. The promise ring he gave you way back when the two of you had your first anniversary with your relationship just two years ago with your favorite color as the gem.

“So please, rest.”

lowkey based on what happened to me during training last… last last week?? please do not play while having a fever!!! ANYWAY this is my first work for this au im doing cough there will be a masterlist for that soon. i fear. after this ill be working on other volleyball stuff esp with scara & sethos i AM STUDYING SETHOS’ CHARACTER RIGHT NOW. hes so fun & silly i love him

anyway, do expect more of these kinds of fics (volleyball au & highschool au) because ive been having intense brainrot for them recently. and i think i did well capturing kinichs character here bc ,,, hes a silly man . who (in my perspective) teases people who hes close with while still being respectful. I ALSO DONT KNOW IF PROMISE RINGS ARE A THING IN OTHER COUNTRIES pardon me if its not … i thought it was cute 😝 okay thats enough yapping SEE YOU

@ staarri 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai, plagiarize,or modify any of my works.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

The Edge of the Sky

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Sister!Reader

Summary: Growing up with Rooster and Hangman, you never imagined that one day, the cocky, insufferable pilot would be the one to turn your world upside down. As the three of you push yourselves to the limits in the Top Gun program, old rivalries and new emotions collide. When a near-disastrous accident forces you to confront feelings you never saw coming, you’re left wondering: has the man you spent your whole life rolling your eyes at been the one all along?

The heat of the San Diego sun bore down on you as you leaned back on your hands, watching the Top Gun squad argue over whose fault it was that their last play had gone to hell. A volleyball spun lazily in the air before bouncing onto the sand near your feet. You could already see the smug look on Hangman’s face before you even glanced up.

"Well, well, well," Hangman drawled, stepping closer, hands on his hips. "If it isn’t Rooster’s little sister, here to grace us with her overwhelming lack of athletic ability."

You rolled your eyes, tossing the ball back to him. "I’m not the one who just got spiked on by Phoenix."

Phoenix smirked as she dusted sand off her hands. "Damn right he did."

Hangman caught the ball effortlessly and twirled it on his finger. "That was a tactical error. I was busy strategizing."

Rooster scoffed. "Yeah? Strategizing how to lose?"

"That’s funny, Bradshaw. Remind me, who’s winning again?" Hangman gestured at the scoreboard scratched into the sand. His team was up by four points, but if you had to guess, it wasn’t the game that mattered—it was the bragging rights.

You smirked, shaking your head at their antics, before standing and dusting sand off your legs. "Alright, boys, keep measuring whatever it is you’re measuring. Some of us need water before we die of heat stroke."

As you walked off toward the cooler, you felt Hangman’s eyes on you. You were used to it—he’d always been Rooster’s cocky, infuriating friend, the guy you’d grown up rolling your eyes at. But lately, there was something different about the way he looked at you. Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe not. Either way, you refused to give it another thought.

Training was brutal the next morning. Maverick was running you all ragged, pushing the limits of your speed and endurance in the air. You and Hangman had been paired for dogfighting drills, which meant you spent most of your time cursing his name as he pulled impossible maneuvers that left you struggling to keep up.

"Damn it, Hangman!" you hissed through the comms as he cut in front of you with zero warning. "A little heads-up next time?"

His laugh crackled through your earpiece. "Where’s the fun in that?"

You ground your teeth, banking hard to the right. The two of you went at it, testing the limits of your jets and your patience, until Maverick finally called for a break. When you landed, you barely made it five steps before Rooster was in your face, arms crossed.

"You realize you’re playing right into his hands, right?" Rooster said, jabbing a finger at your chest. "He loves getting under your skin. It’s his favorite hobby."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, well, unfortunately, I have better things to do than worry about Hangman’s hobbies."

"Do you?" Rooster asked, skeptical. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s got you on edge."

You waved him off. "You’re imagining things."

But Rooster wasn’t done. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Just... be careful, alright? Hangman’s a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of guy who—"

"I know exactly what kind of guy he is," you interrupted. "And trust me, I’m not interested."

Rooster gave you a long, knowing look before shaking his head. "If you say so."

A week later, everything changed.

It was supposed to be a standard training run. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then, in the blink of an eye, Hangman’s jet stalled.

"Eject, eject!" Maverick’s voice rang through the comms as Hangman’s jet spiraled. You felt your stomach drop.

And then, the parachute deployed. Hangman drifted down, landing hard in the desert just outside the airstrip. You were out of your jet before you even registered moving, sprinting toward the medics loading him onto a stretcher.

"Move!" you barked at one of the techs, shoving past them until you were at Hangman’s side. He groaned, wincing as he blinked up at you.

"Well, would you look at that," he murmured, voice rough but teasing. "Didn’t know you cared, darlin’."

Your heart was in your throat. "Shut up, Seresin."

But he just smirked. "You’re holding my hand, sweetheart."

You looked down. Sure enough, your fingers were wrapped tightly around his. You snatched your hand back as if burned, face flushing.

Rooster appeared at your side, arms crossed. "Huh. That’s an interesting reaction."

"Oh, screw you," you snapped, spinning on your heel and marching away before either of them could see the panic on your face.

Hangman, from his place on the stretcher, just grinned. "I think she likes me."

Rooster scowled. "Don’t push your luck."

The Hard Deck was packed that night, the bar alive with laughter and music as the squad gathered to celebrate Hangman getting cleared. The moment he walked in, the cheers went up, and he grinned like he owned the place.

Hangman raised his arms, basking in the applause. "Damn, feels good to be back! Miss me that much?" he called out, flashing his signature smirk as the squad clapped him on the back and pulled him into hugs. "Don't worry, your favorite pilot is still in one piece."

You were already at the bar, sipping your drink when he sauntered over, leaning against the counter beside you. "Didn’t think I’d see you over here all by your lonesome."

You smirked, not looking at him. "Figured I’d take a break from the testosterone overload."

He chuckled, ordering a drink before turning to face you fully. "So, about earlier—"

"Not happening," you cut in quickly, taking another sip.

He tilted his head, a knowing glint in his eye. "Oh, I think it is."

You finally met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t see just the cocky pilot who had been in your life for years. You saw something else—something dangerous, something tempting.

Your voice was quieter when you spoke. "What if it is?"

Hangman didn't hesitate. "Then I guess it's time I finally say it—you're the woman of my dreams."

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness, your heart hammering against your ribs. Before you could overthink it, before Rooster could interrupt with some snide remark, you reached up, grabbed the collar of his flight suit, and kissed him.

The bar erupted in cheers, the squad whooping and clapping, pounding on tables like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.

When you pulled back, Hangman smirked down at you, a little breathless. "Shoulda done that a long time ago, sweetheart."

Rooster, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, let out a long, suffering sigh. "If you break her heart, Hangman, I’ll break your face."

Hangman only grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Not a chance, Bradshaw."

[bradleysass]

spike - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 625 - w/jegulus

"Volleyball, James?" Regulus muttered, dragging a duffel bag across the sand. "You said we were going to the beach to relax."

"I am relaxing!" James grinned. He already had a whistle around his neck like some off-brand camp counselor and was drawing lines in the sand with a stick. “This is peak leisure. Sun, friends, sport—”

“Violence,” Regulus added.

“—team spirit!”

Across the court, Barty was busy cracking his knuckles like he was about to throw down in a street fight instead of hitting a beach ball over a net. Evan stood beside him in a too-sheer tank top and heart-shaped sunglasses applying sunscreen with all the urgency of a spa day.

“You good, B?” Evan asked, voice lazy. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

Barty squinted at James, who was now doing exaggerated warm-ups in his neon swim trunks. “I am.”

James waved cheerfully. “You and Evan against me and Regulus to start?”

“Sure,” Barty said, far too quickly. “I call first serve.”

Regulus turned to James. “If he concusses you, I’m not helping you off the sand.”

“You wound me,” James said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “But your concern is noted.”

The first serve was fast and vicious. Barty played like the volleyball had personally wronged him, diving and spiking with the wild precision of a man who’d waited his entire life to humiliate James Potter in sport. Which, to be fair, might’ve been true.

“I think he’s genuinely trying to kill me,” James said after the fifth spike ricocheted off his shoulder.

Regulus adjusted his sunglasses and didn’t even look up. “You did beat him at Mario Kart last week. And then gloat about it. Loudly.”

“That was Mario Kart! This is real life!”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

On the other side of the net, Evan yawned, casually serving with one hand while Barty exploded across the sand like a human cannonball. His spikes were legendary. The ball smacked into James’ chest with a satisfying thud, knocking him flat on his back.

“Oh my god,” James wheezed. “He lives for this.”

“You alright, Potter?” Barty called sweetly, leaning over the net with a grin that had murderous intent baked in.

“I think my lung collapsed,” James replied.

Barty made a heart shape with his hands. “Bless your heart.”

Regulus offered James a hand—barely. “Get up. You're embarrassing us.”

“This is abuse,” James muttered as he stood.

Barty tossed the ball in the air again, looking ecstatic. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” James shouted, charging forward.

He was not ready.

Another spike. Another dramatic collapse.

This time, Evan wandered over and squatted beside James. “I think you make an excellent target, love. Really brings out Barty’s eyes.”

“Glad I could help your relationship,” James groaned.

Regulus crossed his arms, watching Barty celebrate another brutal point with a cartwheel and a dramatic hair flip. “I hate to admit it, but it is kind of hot.”

“Traitor,” James gasped.

A few more friends trickled in—Sirius and Remus with iced coffees, Marlene in a massive sunhat, Peter carrying a Bluetooth speaker—but none dared enter the arena of death that Barty had claimed as his own.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard James had scribbled into the sand just read: Barty - 30 | James - Multiple Injuries

As the sun set, Evan draped an arm around Barty’s shoulders. “Feel better?”

Barty beamed. “So much.”

Regulus helped James limp to their towels. “You’re lucky he didn’t go for the kill shot.”

“I think he did,” James mumbled. Then, glaring at Barty’s smug grin from across the sand, he added, “Next time, we play croquet.”

“Sure,” Regulus said, smirking. “But he’ll probably bring a mallet just for you.”

[noorpersona]

Confessions: Oikawa

(This is connected to another drabble I made in my series 'Unreq Love' so here is context if you'd like the full experience: Oikawa & Bonus)

--

The gym is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the kind that settles like dust in the corners—heavy, still, waiting. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun filters through the high windows, painting the floor in long strokes of gold. The volleyball net hangs limply between its poles, no longer taut with purpose. There are scuff marks everywhere, like memories burned into the wood—ghosts of spikes, dives, the relentless rhythm of ambition. The echoes of laughter, shouting, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers still seem to hum beneath the silence, like the gym itself refuses to forget.

You spot him immediately.

Oikawa stands near the back wall, his figure backlit by sunlight, facing the net with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are drawn tight, his posture still and unreadable. He doesn’t move when you step in, but he knows it’s you. No one walks into a gym like you do—especially not after hours. Especially not him.

You take your time crossing the floor. Your sneakers squeak a little, but he doesn’t flinch. The air smells like dust and floor polish, and something sharper underneath—like endings. Like goodbye.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you say, coming to a stop beside him.

He huffs, a soft, humorless sound. “You always do.”

“Well,” you shrug, “someone’s gotta make sure you’re not brooding yourself into an existential crisis.”

Finally, he glances at you. There’s a tiredness in his eyes, something far quieter than the version of him everyone else sees. You know it well. You’ve seen it before, behind locker room doors, in the quiet of bus rides home, in the way his voice would sometimes crack when no one was supposed to hear. He looks like someone who's been chasing a shadow for too long and just realized it was always out of reach.

“I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, it’d feel different,” he murmurs, gaze shifting back to the net. “But it still hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “You gave everything to this place. You bled for it. You obsessed over every drill, every stat sheet, every match. Losing was never going to be painless.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and bitter. “We didn’t even make it to nationals. What was the point of all of it?”

You frown, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tooru, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

That earns you a sidelong glance, the barest glimmer of amusement.

You soften. “You weren’t just chasing wins. You built something here. A team that trusted you. A legacy. People are going to remember you—not because of a scoreboard, but because you made them better. You made them believe. You pushed them to be more.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his jaw tics. He always does that when he’s trying not to feel something. The weight of three years rests on his shoulders like armor that no longer serves him.

“And what about you?” he asks suddenly, turning to face you more fully. “You stuck by me through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You scoff, leaning back on your heels. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Tooru.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I followed you around like a lost puppy for three years because I enjoyed your tantrums and diva moments?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Maybe a little?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” You shake your head, but your voice loses its edge. “I stayed because you were worth it. Because you’re more than volleyball. You always have been. Even when you were too busy being dramatic to see it.”

The silence that falls between you is thick with years of shared glances, missed chances, and words left unspoken. The light shifts across the floor, turning everything gold like the last flicker of a day that tried its best.

You don’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not when he’s already unraveling.

You glance at him again, then down at your hands. Your voice comes out low, more to yourself than to him. “God, I can’t avoid this, can I?”

But it’s been sitting in your chest for too long, and something about the way the light hits his face—the rawness there, the quiet ache—makes it impossible to keep in.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “...What?”

You inhale slowly, like that’ll steady the thundering in your chest. “I said I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Since you made that dumb joke during orientation and somehow managed to trip over your own feet.”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you push through. “I thought it was just a crush. Something stupid. But it never went away. Through every win, every loss, every time you walked into a room and lit it up like you didn’t even know—through all of it, I kept falling. I knew every version of you—the charming captain, the insecure overthinker, the friend who stayed behind after practice to help pick up stray balls—and I still fell.”

You swallow hard, heart aching in your chest. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t think I had the right to. I thought I’d be a distraction, or worse—just another person you’d feel responsible for. But standing here with you, watching you look at that net like it still owes you something... I couldn’t walk away without telling you. Because it’s not just about volleyball. Not for me. Not when it comes to you.”

You take a step back, the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

You turn, ready to bolt before you make a bigger fool of yourself—but before your foot even hits the line, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

His grip isn’t desperate, but it’s firm—anchoring. When you look back, he’s already there—closer than you thought, close enough that you can see the flicker of emotion dancing in his eyes. His breath is uneven. So is yours.

His gaze lingers on your face, moving from your eyes to your mouth, then back again, as if trying to piece together something he should’ve realized long ago. You see it hit him all at once—the memories, the missed moments, the way you’ve always been right there. His shoulders loosen like something inside him’s finally cracking open.

His hand moves slowly to your face, tentative but gentle, and his thumb brushes against your cheek like it’s something fragile he’s afraid to break. His fingers tremble just slightly, and the warmth of his palm grounds you in place.

“How did I never see you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question meant for you. It’s a confession all on its own, shaped by regret and wonder.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he’s asking permission.

Then again—deeper, fuller, with the kind of reverence that comes from finally seeing someone who’s been standing in the light all along. His hand curves behind your neck, the other still holding your wrist like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for once, Oikawa doesn’t say a single word.

He just pulls you closer, holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, and lets the silence speak for itself.

In that quiet, there is no loss. No disappointment. No game that slipped through trembling fingers.

There’s just you.

And it’s enough.

[hysteria-things]

BFB

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: ever since you and nick became close, the number one rule was don’t fuck your best friend’s brother. for you (and matt), rules are meant to be broken.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, slight hair pulling, p in v, praising, getting caught

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 697

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: switched it up a teeny bit.

this song has NOTHING to do with this fic but it’s the first thing that came to mind when i got this request LMAOOO

for @idrc383 :)

the somerville high school volleyball team won the first set, the timer on the scoreboard counting down three minutes until the next one started. you are on that team.

the coach throws positives about how you guys are playing, sipping your water out of your water bottle before he disbands the team circle.

as you wait, you check your phone to see a text message from the one and only matt sturniolo.

nick, his brother, is your best friend. you feel guilty because the thing nick nags you about most is to not get involved with his brothers. you didn’t listen and have been hooking up with matt behind his back.

you look at the bleachers across from you, seeing nick talking to chris and nate. matt, however, is staring at you. a smirk is on his face as he points to his phone, indicating for you to check your phone.

the original plan for today was to hang out with the triplets after the game (that you won), so it’s not suspicious that you’re at their house. still dressed in your jersey, but the shorts are now sweatpants.

it's late now, around 9 PM, and nick’s passed out on the couch. the movie you guys were watching still plays, but you couldn’t care less about it. chris is in the bathroom, doing god knows what since he’s been in there for ten minutes.

you’re next to matt on the couch. he moves closer to you to talk in your ear. “my room?”

you bite your lip, he gets off the couch and takes your hand so he can lead you quickly and quietly.

your ass slaps against matt’s thighs each time you plop yourself on his dick, your palms gently resting on his legs. your back is facing him, and you're bouncing nonstop. one of his hands is on your mouth to muffle your moans and whimpers, while the other one is wrapped around your ponytail.

he pulls your head back, not to where it hurts, but to rest on his shoulder. this action makes your back arch, his cock hitting a new angle. you moan loudly, causing him to tug your hair harder.

“even with your mouth covered you still can’t control yourself, huh?”

“f-feels so good.” you stammer into his hand, your eyes rolling back when he hits your g-spot.

the feeling makes you bounce even harder, matt’s chuckle tickles your neck. “my good girl— shit, you’re clenching tight. you going to be a good girl and cum for me?”

“y-yes. i-i’ll be a good girl,” you whine. you’re so focused on staying quiet and the ecstasy that you guys don’t listen in on the voices outside of his door.

nick stands just a few inches away from the bedroom in the hallway, chris stopping in his tracks since his brother is in the way. “have you seen y/n? did she leave?”

chris glances at matt’s closed door. “she’s in there.” he tilts his head to the room.

nick’s unamused. “seriously, chris. where is she?”

“in there.” he repeats with a sad expression on his face. “she and matt are in there. i saw them go in after i got out of the bathroom.”

“what?”

your hips grind as you get down from your high, matt now softy thrusting up into you to get to his orgasm. you look at him with glassy eyes, leaning to kiss you passionately.

the door slams against the wall, scaring the both of you. you scurry off of his lap and onto the bed. “what the fuck?” nick says sternly.

he and chris are standing in the doorway, nick looks infuriated and chris is cringing at the sight. matt makes sure to cover you before covering himself with his clothes by laying them on his lap.

“hey guys,” he says nonchalantly.

your face is red, trying to hide yourself under the covers. how can matt be so calm about this?

you just know that you broke nick’s trust. the one rule he gave you. of course you had to be selfish and let your feelings be more important than your friendship.

don’t. fuck. your best friend’s. brother.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree

[ghostlynightpanda]

Setting the Standard

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

Synopsis: Atsumu Miya, known for his cocky and competitive nature, slowly shifts from his usual show-off demeanor to genuine efforts to impress his team’s new manager. As their relationship develops, she struggles with whether his actions are sincere or just another game.

warnings/content: Miya Atsumu x fem!reader, fluff, 9.683 words

The gym buzzed with the sharp rhythm of sneakers squeaking against polished wood, the familiar thud of a volleyball echoing through the space. Inarizaki High's volleyball team wasn't just known in their prefecture—they were a powerhouse, feared for their precision, coordination, and ruthless energy on the court.

But inside the gym, where banners hung high and sweat clung to skin like a second layer, the atmosphere wasn't always warm.

"Oi, Suna, stop dragging your feet like we're playin' in a retirement league!" Atsumu Miya barked from his side of the net, spinning a volleyball in his hands.

"Maybe if you didn't call for a set every five seconds like a spotlight-loving maniac," Suna deadpanned, not even looking up from where he was stretching.

Atsumu rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, but didn't push it further. The rest of the team barely blinked. This was just how Atsumu was—sharp-tongued, endlessly competitive, and, in the words of most of his teammates, an exhausting bastard.

But no one could deny it: he was brilliant.

He moved like the game was built for him, each set an extension of his instinct, each serve a threat to the scoreboard. He demanded perfection, and when he didn't get it—well, his temper was just as famous as his skills.

Most of the team tolerated him. Few liked him. But they accepted him, in that quiet, unspoken way athletes do when someone's skill earns them a place whether they deserve it personally or not.

Truthfully, most of them found it easier to get along with Osamu.

The calmer, quieter Miya twin was kneeling by the ball cart, checking equipment while casually dodging one of Atsumu's careless serves that had rocketed across the court.

"Ya gonna start a fight before warm-ups are done, or can we have one practice without you yellin' at someone?" Osamu drawled.

"Not my fault they can't keep up," Atsumu muttered, bouncing the ball again, shoulders tense.

Captain Kita walked into the gym then, clipboard in hand and expression unreadable as always. His presence had the immediate effect of a cold breeze—cutting through the heat, settling everyone into place.

Practice was about to begin. There was no need for a pep talk. Inarizaki didn't need motivation.

They had skill. Power. Purpose. 

What they didn't have—at least, not yet—was someone to balance the sharp edges they all carried.

But that would change soon.

Practice began with its usual rigor. Kita stood at the sideline, calling out the rotation. The team moved without needing much direction, the routine drilled into them after months—years—of relentless training.

But halfway through warm-ups, Kita raised his hand.

The ball bounced to a stop. Conversations cut short. Even Atsumu turned mid-jump, freezing in place.

"Before we continue," Kita said, his tone as calm and commanding as ever, "there's something I need to tell you all."

A few glances exchanged. It wasn't like Kita to interrupt unless it was serious.

"We might be getting a new manager."

A beat of silence followed.

Then—"Might?" Atsumu asked, tossing the ball up and catching it lazily. "What, are we test-drivin' her or somethin'?"

Kita gave him a look that shut him up immediately.

"She's volunteering to help, not auditioning for your amusement."

Several heads turned towards Atsumu with knowing smirks. He huffed, looking away, muttering something under his breath.

"She should be arriving soon," Kita continued. "When she does, I expect all of you to treat her with respect. She's not here to clean up after you. She's here to support the team. If anyone causes her to quit before she's even started—"

His eyes swept across the gym, settling briefly on a certain setter before moving on.

"—you'll be running laps until your legs stop working."

A low whistle from Ginjima broke the tension. "Got it, captain."

Kita's voice dropped a little, thoughtful now.

"I won't be here next year. When I graduate, this team is going to need someone to hold it together. Not just on the court."

The weight of his words settled like a quiet echo. Everyone respected Kita—not just because he was talented, but because he carried the team. The unshakeable presence, the calm in chaos. The idea of Inarizaki without him felt... unfamiliar.

"I don't see anyone here ready to lead the same way yet," he added bluntly, eyes sharp but not cruel. "Which means, until one of you proves otherwise, we need someone who can keep the rest of you in line."

Atsumu let out an exaggerated yawn, arms stretched overhead. "Tch. Dunno what you're talkin' about. I'm very manageable."

Osamu snorted from behind him. "Yeah. Like a wild dog's manageable."

Before Atsumu could respond with something snarky, the gym doors slid open with a quiet clack.

Everyone turned.

There you were—standing a little hesitantly at the threshold, in a neat uniform, clutching a clipboard against you chest. Your expression was open, bright, a little nervous but unshakably warm.

Kita nodded towards you. "That's her."

You stepped inside, bowing politely, your voice clear but gentle as you introduced yourself.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Y/N, your new manager—if you'll have me."

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

Kita didn't smile often, but there was the faintest, approving shift in his posture as he turned to the team. "Don't scare her off. That's an order."

The gym smelled like sweat and determination, the kind of sharp air that clung to ambition and effort. It felt oddly… welcoming. Or maybe that was just how you chose to see it. 

The team offered a mix of responses: a few nods, a polite chorus of "nice to meet you," and some curious glances. They didn't seem unfriendly—just unsure.

You could work with that.

One boy, with half-lidded eyes and a tired expression, gave you a lazy wave. "Hope you know what you're getting into."

"Suna," Kita said warningly, to which he just smirked.

Another one—tall and broad-shouldered with short hair—smiled. "I'm Ginjima. Don't worry, we're not all scary."

"Speak for yourself," a shorter player muttered under his breath.

You laughed softly, tucking your clipboard to your side. "I've managed worse. Or at least, I like to think I have."

That's when you noticed him.

Blond hair. Golden eyes. A subtle scowl like it had made itself a home on his face. He was leaning against the ball cart, watching you like he was already two steps into trying to mess with you.

You offered a smile.

He didn't return it.

"Don't mind him," a voice murmured from your side.

You turned to see a boy with the same face—but a different energy. Calmer. Colder, but not unkind. This must be the twin.

"Osamu Miya," he said, offering his hand.

You shook it. "Nice to meet you."

He leaned in a bit, his voice low. "That one's my brother. Atsumu. He's an idiot."

You blinked. "Direct."

"Just a warnin'," Osamu said. "He's gonna test ya. Push your buttons. Loud, demanding, and convinced the sun shines right outta his own ass."

You choked back a laugh.

Osamu went on, sounding like he'd said this a hundred times before. "Don't let him get away with anythin'. Or next thing you know, you're doin' his errands and cleanin' up his ego."

You glanced at Atsumu again. He was still staring. Like he expected you to trip over yourself any second now.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He narrowed his eyes.

Game on.

Kita gave you a quick rundown of your responsibilities—tracking water bottles, keeping an eye on injuries, managing towels and uniforms, updating the schedule board. Nothing too overwhelming, especially since you were used to staying organized and multitasking.

You got to work immediately, weaving around the players during drills. You handed Suna a fresh towel before he could ask. Noted a small scrape on one of the first-years and pulled out a bandage. Jotted down the updated practice match date Kita mentioned offhandedly.

Quiet efficiency. That was your strength.

And Atsumu noticed.

He watched from across the gym as you moved, graceful but grounded, all warmth with a spine of steel. You weren't fawning over anyone. You weren't flustered. You didn't bat an eye when someone cursed under their breath or bumped into you.

And when he finally walked up, cocky grin in place, spinning a ball in one hand, you barely looked up.

"Hey, Manager-chan," he said, dragging out the title like it was a joke. "Think ya could grab my knee tape from the locker room? My legs are worth protectin', after all."

You looked up slowly, smiled politely, and said:

"Sure. Right after I get everyone else's stuff. You're at the bottom of my list right now."

The smirk froze on his face.

You turned and walked off before he could reply.

The team went quiet for a second before Suna burst out laughing and Osamu let out a low whistle. "That's gonna be interestin'."

Ginjima nudged Atsumu with his elbow. "Did you just get manager-zoned?"

Atsumu stared after you, mouth slightly open, and for once in his life, speechless. But you didn't even notice the way his gaze lingered. You didn't care about his reaction. Or about him at all, it seemed.

— — — — —

It didn't take long for you to feel like you belonged.

Maybe it was because you worked hard. Maybe because you didn't treat anyone like they were larger than life. Maybe it was because you knew when to be serious and when to just let the boys be dumb high school boys.

Whatever it was—within a few weeks, you weren't just the manager. You were their manager.

They still cursed under their breath when Kita's drills got too intense, but they made sure to thank you after every match, accepted your help without grumbling, and even started competing over who could make you laugh more during water breaks.

You were part of the team. On and off the court.

And somehow, you ended up becoming the unofficial tutor too.

"I'm tellin' ya," Osamu groaned, flopping down at the desk in the empty classroom, "this teacher's got it out for me. I swear. There's no way this many trick questions is legal."

You stifled a smile, passing him a worksheet. "It's not a trick question, Osamu. You just need to actually study the formulas instead of trying to wing it on vibes."

He grumbled something incoherent in response.

Across from you, Suna leaned on his arm, lazily scribbling down answers as you explained a concept again. "She's right, you know. You've got vibes and snacks, that's about it."

"Least I ain't a roach who copies homework five minutes before class."

You laughed, turning the page in your textbook and pointing something out to Osamu. "Focus. Midterms aren't going to pass themselves."

"Yeah, yeah…"

The sound of footsteps in the hallway drew your attention.

Atsumu walked by the open door, pausing when he spotted the three of you inside. His brows knit slightly as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Since when did this turn into a cram school?"

Suna didn't even look up. "Since Osamu started failing math."

"I'm not failin'," Osamu defended quickly. "Just… hoverin' on the edge."

You smiled at Atsumu. "You can join, if you want."

He scoffed. "Tch. No thanks. I ain't need help from someone who treats quadratic equations like they're a fun hobby."

"Suit yourself," you said calmly, turning back to the notes. "But when you bomb the test and Kita finds out, don't come crying to me."

Osamu smirked.

Atsumu opened his mouth like he wanted to snap something back, but then he paused. You weren't even looking at him anymore. And that bothered him more than he expected.

Later that night, Osamu and Suna were packing up their things while you erased the board.

"She's scary," Suna said casually, bumping Osamu with his elbow. "In a responsible, 'please do your homework' kinda way. Like Kita."

Osamu chuckled. "Yah, but she's good. Real good. Kinda weird how she puts up with all of us."

You pretended not to hear that part as you grabbed your bag, flipping off the lights.

But just outside the room, you found Atsumu leaning against the wall, phone in hand, doing a terrible job pretending he wasn't waiting for something—or someone.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Lost your way to the gym?"

He glanced up, shoved his phone into his pocket. "Just makin' sure you didn't fall asleep with all that nerd talk."

"How thoughtful."

His tone was light, but something in his expression was… unsure. Like he wasn't used to being left out of something and didn't quite know what to do about it.

He walked beside you, hands in his pockets.

"Ya really like doin' all that stuff, huh?" he asked after a beat.

"What, managing? Tutoring you slackers?"

He shrugged. "Yah. I dunno. You don't get paid or nothin'. You're just always there. Like ya actually wanna be."

You looked at him. "I do. That's kind of the point."

He didn't answer right away.

"…Don't ya get tired of it? Babysittin' everyone?"

You smiled at that, a little softer. "I don't see it as babysitting. I just like helping where I can. And besides…" You looked ahead again. "You guys aren't that bad."

Atsumu didn't reply, but he stole a glance at you, something unreadable in his eyes.

He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself yet—but something was shifting.

And it had started with the realization that he didn't like the way you smiled at Suna and Osamu like that.

Not one bit.

— — — — —

Atsumu Miya was used to being watched.

Whether it was by opponents sizing up his infamous serve, coaches noting his sharp instincts, or girls peeking through gym doors just to catch him wiping sweat from his brow—he'd always had eyes on him.

He liked it. Thrived on it.

So when you joined the team and didn't even blink the first time he landed a flawless jump serve, he chalked it up to nerves.

The second time, he figured you just missed it.

By the third time—when he purposely aimed it just right to send the ball singing past the receiving line, then glanced your way to see… nothing?

He started getting annoyed.

You were talking to Suna. Smiling. Laughing. Not even pretending to be impressed.

So naturally, he doubled down.

It became a pattern. Atsumu would do something ridiculous—throwing extra power behind every serve, calling for tosses he didn't need, fixing his hair more times than seemed physically necessary—and then glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

And every time?

Nothing.

You'd cheer for the whole team equally. You'd compliment a clean receive from Akagi or a good dig from one of the first-years. But when it came to Atsumu?

You gave him a polite nod. Maybe a quiet "nice work" if he really earned it.

That was it.

No gushing. No lingering glances. No obvious signs of awe. You treated him just like everyone else. 

And it drove him insane.

"Is she broken?" he asked Osamu one day, half-whispered, after you'd walked past without even looking at his perfectly styled bangs.

Osamu didn't even glance up from his rice ball. "Nah. She just doesn't fall for bullshit."

Atsumu bristled. "It ain't bullshit."

"You fixed your hair with your phone camera during warm-ups."

"So what? Presentation matters!"

Osamu just gave him a look—the kind that said: you're making a fool of yourself, and I'm not stopping you—before taking another bite.

You weren't mean to him. That's what really messed with Atsumu. You weren't cold, or rude, or dismissive. You still offered him water after drills, reminded him to rewrap his fingers when he forgot, and even once told him his tosses had been looking tighter than usual.

But you didn't treat him like a star. You treated him like a teammate.

And he didn't know how to deal with that. Every other girl acted like being around him was a privilege. Like they had to earn his approval.

But you? You didn't act like he had anything to prove.

Which, in a completely frustrating twist of fate, made him want to prove himself anyway.

After about a week of failing to dazzle you with the usual Miya Special™—perfect serves, hair flips, smug grins, and enough shirt-adjusting to rival a modeling shoot—Atsumu realized something horrifying.

You didn't care.

Not about his float serve. Not about the way he rolled his sleeves up before practice. Not about the slightly-too-tight compression shirt he "accidentally" wore.

And he didn't get it.

Everyone cared. Everyone always cared.

But not you. You treated him the same as the other players and the same as his brother, who he was definitely better than (in his opinion). And that felt… wrong.

So he tried something new.

The next day, you arrived at the gym to find a bottle of your favorite tea sitting neatly on your clipboard. No note. No explanation. Just there.

You looked around.

Osamu was stretching. Suna was half-asleep. Ginjima waved at you. Nobody seemed to claim it.

But you accepted it with a small, confused smile and a quiet, "Thanks…?"

From across the court, Atsumu flushed and looked violently interested in re-taping his fingers.

From there, the gestures started coming.

Small things. Clumsy things. Things he clearly thought would go unnoticed but that the entire team immediately caught onto.

You: "Who organized the ball cart today?" Atsumu: (pretending to be indifferent) "Dunno. Ghost, maybe." Osamu: "You even labeled the towels with her name, dumbass." Atsumu: "IT'S CALLED BEING THOROUGH."

Atsumu casually "dropped" a bag of fresh melonpan on your desk like it meant nothing.

You narrowed your eyes. "Is this a bribe?"

He scowled. "What?! No! Just... I was there. Thought you might want it."

You took it. "Thanks, but uh… I'm allergic to melons."

Atsumu deadpanned. "Shit." 

The team took notice. Immediately.

Suna started keeping score. "Day 5 of the Atsumu courtship ritual," he murmured during practice. "New move: setting the net up early."

"I always set the net—"

"No, you don't."

Ginjima had a running bet with another second-year about how long it would take you to catch on.

Aran pretended not to hear the gossip, but his amused glances said otherwise.

Even Kita, when he overheard Atsumu volunteer to sweep the gym, blinked once and asked: "…Are you sick?"

Atsumu glared. "I'M FINE."

And you? You noticed. Of course, you did.

But you also knew better than to react too quickly to anything Atsumu Miya did. He thrived on attention. On knowing he'd gotten to someone. So, you played your part: polite, unbothered, immune.

Even when he tied your shoelaces before practice with a smug little wink. Even when he stood outside your class holding your forgotten clipboard. Even when he "accidentally" dropped his lunch tray next to yours in the cafeteria.

You didn't give him what he wanted.

Because he wasn't showing himself, not really. He was still showing off.

The tea was sweet. The bread was thoughtful.

But all of it felt like performance. Like he was still trying to win you over with the same tricks he used on everyone else. And you weren't interested in the mask he put on for crowds.

So, you kept treating him the way you always had. Kind. Firm. Fair. Unimpressed.

It drove him crazy.

And that's exactly when Atsumu Miya, king of confidence, started to panic.

It started innocently enough, as these things tend to do. Atsumu had decided that if the usual flashy displays of skill weren't working, he needed to try something smarter.

His idea?

Charm you with sheer thoughtfulness. Or at least, what he thought was thoughtful.

"Hey, I noticed ya were carrying a lot of stuff this morning," Atsumu said, suddenly appearing next to you with a somewhat strained grin, holding out his bag. "Want me to help carry that for ya?"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bag. "...It's just a few notebooks and a water bottle. I'm fine."

Atsumu's smile faltered a little. He quickly recovered, tossing the bag back onto his shoulder. "Right. Right. Well, I'm just sayin'—I can always be more helpful. Y'know, I'm good at this stuff."

"Okay, good to know," you said, already looking back at your phone to check the time for the next practice.

His attempt was so clumsy that even Omimi, who was standing nearby and pretending to be busy with his own stuff, shot a glance your way. Atsumu hadn't even tried to make it look natural.

"Yeah, no, we're good," Suna chimed in lazily from the corner, barely lifting his head. "Atsumu, you're really not fooling anyone."

Atsumu, not one to back down easily, tried again.

"So," he began a few days later, during a water break after an intense drill. "Ya thinkin' of tryin' any new moves at practice? I've been workin' on some real advanced stuff—might show ya later."

He tried his best to sound mysterious, but when you glanced up from your clipboard, his attempt at a smirk felt just a little too forced.

You thought about it for a moment. "Nah, I think I'll just watch. I'm sure you'll be great," you replied without a hint of sarcasm, but still not giving him the kind of attention he craved.

"Are you really doin' this?" Osamu asked, shaking his head as he came over to sit beside you.

"Do what?" you replied innocently, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

He waved vaguely in Atsumu's direction. "He's been tryin' to win you over since day one. He thinks you're gonna fall for this." He made a vague motion with his hand, mimicking Atsumu's gestures. "But we all know it's just Atsumu being Atsumu."

"Yeah, he's a pain," you said with a small chuckle. "But he's not a bad guy. Just really… extra."

Osamu shot you a sly look. "Extra? That's puttin’ it lightly."

You glanced over at Atsumu, who was dramatically holding up the ball as if he were preparing for a grand performance. You raised an eyebrow as he turned your way, smiling confidently like he had just unlocked the secret to the universe.

"Alright, you ready for this?" Atsumu called over to you, motioning for you to watch as he stepped into position. "Prepare to be impressed."

He launched into the air with the sort of flair you usually saw from celebrities, executing a near-perfect serve that would've made anyone in the gym gasp… if they weren't all so incredibly unimpressed.

You casually took a sip of your water bottle, completely unfazed, and gave him a small, polite clap when he finished.

"Nice one, Atsumu," you said with a blank smile, not even trying to hide your lack of enthusiasm.

Atsumu stared at you, dumbfounded. "Did… did you just…?"

You shrugged. "What? You asked if I was impressed. I said nice serve. You're not the only one who can do a good one, you know."

Ginjima snickered from the sidelines. "Busted."

That night, as practice ended and the gym cleared out, Atsumu went to extreme lengths to salvage his pride.

After a long, loud discussion with Osamu—who had pretty much given up on helping him at this point—he came up with a plan. A bold plan. A plan that, frankly, he wasn't sure would work.

He waited until you were about to leave the gym, collecting your things from the sidelines, and casually strolled over.

"Hey," he said, as if the conversation had never been anything more than totally normal.

You looked up, half-expecting another round of awkward "Hey, look at me" displays.

But this time, he seemed… different.

"I was thinkin'," he continued, scratching the back of his head. "You've been helpin' the team out a lot, so I figured maybe we could, I dunno… grab some dinner? I'll treat, since you've been working your butt off, and all."

Your eyebrows lifted, surprised by the sudden shift. He was actually asking—not performing.

You looked at him, deciding to throw him a small bone. "Dinner, huh? You sure you're not just trying to impress me again?"

Atsumu blushed, muttering something under his breath. "You're… not makin' this easy, ya know."

You gave him a friendly grin, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. "I never said I would."

The rest of the team watched the exchange from the corners of the gym, all the while silently rooting for the sheer trainwreck they were witnessing.

But for once, Atsumu didn't feel like he had to impress anyone.

— — — — —

That night, you found yourself sitting across from Atsumu at a small, cozy restaurant a few blocks from school. It wasn't the kind of place he would normally choose—he would usually go for something flashier, more attention-grabbing—but you'd picked it, and to your surprise, he'd agreed without complaint.

Atsumu fiddled with the chopsticks, clearly nervous. He was trying, but the old, cocky Miya charm was still lurking beneath the surface.

"So," he started, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight tension in his voice. "I was thinkin' about what you said earlier… y'know, that I should be less flashy. Guess I... might've gone overboard."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your drink. "You think?"

He shot you a look, and for the first time in forever, you saw him a little less certain of himself. His usual arrogance was still there, but it was cracked. "Well, yeah, I guess," he said. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I've always kinda been the show-off. Guess I didn't realize I was overdoing it."

You shrugged, setting your glass down. "I don't mind. You do you."

"But I wanna do you," he muttered under his breath.

You didn't respond right away, choosing instead to poke at your food, trying to ignore the little twinge of surprise at his words.

"Alright," he continued, trying to recover. "Let's talk about somethin' else. You're from a different class, right? Osamu always talks about how you're a genius in history or something. Got a secret for it?"

You couldn't help but laugh at how casually he asked. "A genius? No. I just study."

"Yeah, study." Atsumu tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "I can barely get through the first chapter without my brain deciding to take a nap."

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. "Well, maybe you should stop making history a competition and just focus on understanding it. That's what works for me."

Atsumu sighed dramatically, pushing his food around on his plate. "You make it sound so simple. But like, I'm more about making history than studying it." His grin was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Atsumu took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I know I'm not really your type." He said it so matter-of-factly that it made you stop mid-bite. "I know I come off as… well, let's be real, kinda an idiot sometimes."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. "Where is this coming from?"

"I've been trying too hard. I'm always trying to show off, y'know? I thought I could just impress you. But you're not the type to fall for that stuff, and I—" He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I didn't think this through."

You set your chopsticks down, considering his words. "Atsumu... you don't have to impress me. You're already you."

He paused. "And what if me isn't good enough?"

"Then you're doing it wrong," you said, your voice calm. "If you're going to be anything, just be real with me. I'm not asking for perfect serves or a flashier personality. I'm just asking for you to show up and not try so hard to be someone else."

He stared at you for a long moment, a little surprised. Then he gave a slow nod, the cocky smile returning to his face, but softer this time. "Guess I'll try that," he said, his voice almost shy now. "So… no more showing off?"

You smiled. "No more showing off."

Atsumu leaned back in his chair, clearly processing. He let out a soft laugh. "Well, this is new. Me, being the one who's tryin' to figure you out." He grinned, though it lacked his usual bravado. "You really don't want the 'Miya Atsumu Experience,' huh?"

You shook your head, amused. "I don't need an 'experience.' I just need a teammate who shows up, someone who's... not acting like they're on a reality show."

He chuckled, looking more at ease now. "Guess I'm just gonna have to stick with the basics, huh?"

"Pretty much," you agreed, your smile genuine.

The meal went by a lot smoother after that. Atsumu relaxed a little more, and the conversation drifted from volleyball to school and even to the more personal stuff—family, friends, and the things that made him tick outside of sports. It felt... oddly normal. Not like a date, but like two people finally being real with each other for once.

You even found yourself laughing at one of his ridiculous stories about Osamu stealing his socks.

At the end of the meal, Atsumu paid the bill without a second thought, though he tried to hide it behind his usual swagger.

"You know, next time, you can pay," he said, leaning back against the chair with a cheeky grin. "I'll let you treat me."

You rolled your eyes, standing up. "I'll let you buy me dinner next time when you stop acting like a drama queen every time you step onto the court."

He chuckled, tossing a couple of bills on the table. "Deal. But don't think this means you've won."

You didn't need to look at him to know his grin was back in full force, that unmistakable confidence returning. But there was something different this time—something less forced, less like he was trying to get your attention and more like he was just... enjoying your company.

As you both walked out of the restaurant, there was a strange sense of calm between you two. You weren't sure if this was the start of something else—something deeper—but it was the first time you saw Atsumu as more than just a showoff.

— — — — —

Days went by after the dinner, and things between you and Atsumu took on a quieter, more nuanced tone. He wasn't flaunting his skills in your face anymore, nor was he bombarding you with overly flashy gestures. Instead, he seemed to pay attention to the little things—things you'd mentioned casually in passing, without even realizing how much they mattered to you.

It started with a bottle of water. Not just any bottle, but one that was your favorite brand—a specific one that you liked when you were working on homework or practice. It appeared on your desk during practice, next to your clipboard, no note, no words exchanged. You paused, staring at the bottle for a second.

It wasn't the showy kind of gesture you'd grown used to—like the melon pan he thought would impress you by bringing you food. This time, though, he actually paid attention to what you liked. There was no fanfare or big entrance, just a simple action.

The next time you mentioned you had a tough test coming up, Atsumu quietly handed you a study guide he'd apparently found from a tutor he knew. You blinked, looking at the paper, then up at him. His usual confident smirk was softened, like he was uncertain whether you'd appreciate it or not.

You raised an eyebrow. "You… studied for this test?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, no. But I figured you'd want something more than just a couple of notes scribbled on a napkin." He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed him. "Just thought you might find it useful."

You couldn't help but be a little surprised. Atsumu Miya—the guy who always seemed to care more about his image than anything else—was actually being thoughtful. And you had to admit, you did appreciate the gesture. But you couldn't shake the feeling that he still wasn't being fully genuine. Maybe it was too soon to trust these small acts.

So you gave him a small nod, a quiet thanks, and went back to your work. He smiled, but it didn't have the usual smug edge. There was a subtle warmth in it that he hadn't shown before.

As the weeks passed, it became obvious to everyone else that something was different between you and Atsumu, even if neither of you acknowledged it outright.

Atsumu still acted like his usual self around the team—loud, teasing, and always being an idiot—but now, he was more mindful of you. He kept his distance, but not in a way that felt forced. He didn't crowd you like he used to, didn't demand your attention in the same over-the-top way. It was like he was waiting for you to decide if you were going to engage with him on your own terms.

One afternoon, after a grueling practice, Atsumu approached you while you were packing up your things. He wasn't as loud as usual, his voice softer, a little less confident, and his posture more reserved.

"So, uh, y'know how you said you like ramen?" He began, rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up, puzzled. "Yeah?"

He fumbled a bit before pulling out a small coupon. "Well, the place across the street's got a deal going today. I thought maybe, uh, if you wanted, we could go grab some. You know, after practice. You're always working hard and… well, I figured you'd like it."

The awkwardness was almost palpable, but for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. It just felt honest.

You smiled slightly, but you didn't jump into the invitation right away. "I've got homework. Maybe some other time?"

He blinked, clearly disappointed, but masked it with a shrug. "Right. Gotcha. Just thought it might be nice." He smiled awkwardly before stepping back, trying to act casual again.

Despite yourself, you found your thoughts lingering on him more than usual. It wasn't just the ramen invitation. It was how he'd been subtly weaving his way into your routine—quietly watching, listening, and trying to show that he cared. You'd never seen him like this before, and it made you wonder: Was he really changing, or was he playing a game with you?

You had to admit that Atsumu's recent gestures hadn't gone unnoticed. They were kind, thoughtful in their own way—but every time you started to soften toward him, a voice in the back of your head reminded you that he was the same guy who had tested you when you first became the manager. The same guy who'd tried to impress you with tricks and superficial gestures, hoping to win your attention. And now? Now, he was acting like he cared.

But was it real? Or was this just another game for him?

You weren't sure.

That night, as you lay in bed, thinking about his offer, his gestures, his almost sheepish smiles, you couldn't help but feel torn.

Was he just trying to break you—testing your boundaries, seeing how far he could go to get under your skin now that you weren't interested in his flashy exterior? 

It had been so easy to dismiss his behavior at the beginning. He was loud, cocky, too full of himself. But now… now it was harder to read him. Was he still playing games? Or was he actually serious?

You sighed and closed your eyes, knowing deep down that you weren't ready to take the next step until you figured out his true intentions. The last thing you wanted was to get hurt by someone who was still playing the same old game.

A few days later, Atsumu couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He'd been trying, hadn't he? He'd done everything right, at least according to his logic. Subtle gestures, paying attention to what you liked, being patient. He had even held back when he wanted to show off. He wasn't acting like the Atsumu everyone knew.

But you weren't giving him the time of day. You were polite, but distant. He'd seen that look in your eyes—the one that said you weren't sure about him.

So, with that nagging feeling pushing him forward, Atsumu approached you after practice, when everyone else was busy packing up or getting ready to leave.

You were just finishing up putting your things away when Atsumu stood in your path. For once, there was no teasing grin, no cocky remark—just the usual, brash Miya Atsumu, but with something more vulnerable underneath.

You didn't look up immediately, but you could feel his presence. "What's up?" you asked, a bit distracted as you zipped your bag.

"Hey," Atsumu started, his voice more serious than you were used to. "Can we talk for a sec?"

You froze, glancing up at him. There was an intensity in his eyes that made your chest tighten, as if he'd been carrying something for a while, and now it was finally about to spill out.

"Sure," you said quietly, setting your bag down.

Atsumu hesitated for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was unsure whether he should even ask. But then he just went for it.

"I don't get it," he admitted, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. "I've been trying, haven't I? I've been—well, doing what I thought was right. Subtle stuff, the little things you like, not... not showing off anymore." His eyes met yours, searching for any sign that you understood. "But... you're still acting like I'm just... another guy trying to get your attention." He looked away briefly, his frustration evident. "I'm not just messing around. You've gotta know that."

You exhaled slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the one where you had to be honest with him.

You shifted on your feet, trying to gather your thoughts. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like he was silently asking you to give him an answer.

The truth. The one thing you had been keeping hidden from him.

"I—" You stopped yourself, struggling to find the words. You didn't want to hurt him, but you couldn't lie anymore. "I'm just... not sure, Atsumu."

His expression faltered, and you felt a pang of guilt. He took a step closer, trying to read you. "Not sure about what?"

You swallowed, gathering the courage to finally speak what had been weighing on you. "I'm not sure if you're being serious. You've always been the type to show off, to get attention. And I—I just don't know if this... you, now, is real. Or if it's just another game to you."

Atsumu's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked taken aback. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if processing your words. "You think I'm playin' you?" he asked, his voice quieter now, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

"I don't know," you said softly, almost whispering, "I just... after everything, it's hard to tell. You've never shown interest in anyone like this before. You always go for the easy wins, the attention. And I don't know if I'm just another one of your... challenges." You glanced away, biting your lip. "I don't want to be that."

The silence between you two was thick, almost suffocating, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was raw, honest in a way neither of you had expected.

Atsumu finally exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "So you think I'm just messin' with you," he said, more to himself than to you. It wasn't a question, but a statement of disappointment.

"I don't know, Atsumu." You shook your head, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two. "You've done all these little things—things that are... nice. Really. But I don't know if it's real. And I don't want to get hurt if it's just a game to you."

Atsumu stood there for a moment, processing your words, his usual bravado slipping away entirely. He wasn't the cocky, showy Miya Atsumu in this moment. He was just a guy, trying to figure things out.

"I see," he finally answered, his voice quieter than usual, before turning around and leaving the gym.

You watched after him with a surprised expression, having thought he'd try to talk to you further, maybe attempt to make you understand that you were wrong. But just leaving like that? That wasn't a reaction you had anticipated.

— — — — — 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur of routine for the team, but Atsumu couldn't focus on anything. He had spent the entire evening locked in his room, the door shut tight as if the world outside didn't matter anymore. His usual cocky smirk, the confidence that defined him, had been replaced by something entirely foreign to him—confusion and frustration.

He replayed your words over and over in his mind: "I'm just not sure."

Atsumu had tried, hadn't he? He had made a real effort. But now, all of a sudden, he was second-guessing everything. Was it all just a game to him? Had he been too reckless in the past to even know how to be real with someone?

Osamu, as always, pretended to not care, but even he could tell something was off. Atsumu had locked himself away, barely responding to anyone. Osamu gave him a few hours of space—figured his brother would bounce back like usual, maybe work out his own thoughts—but it was clear that Atsumu was brooding, far more than normal.

After dinner, Osamu couldn't take it anymore. He pushed open Atsumu's door without knocking, ignoring the annoyed grunt that followed.

"Atsumu," Osamu said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Get out of your room."

Atsumu didn't even bother looking up from where he lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His arms were behind his head, his legs tangled in the sheets.

"Go away, 'Samu," Atsumu muttered, his voice flat, like he hadn't slept in days. "I'm fine."

Osamu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, unimpressed. "Yah, you look real fine. You've been sulkin' in here like a goddamn child."

"I'm not sulkin'," Atsumu replied with a sharp, defensive edge, though his tone lacked the usual fire. "Just thinking."

Osamu was silent for a moment, his gaze scanning his twin, then sighed. "You've been 'thinking' for hours. Something's wrong. I know ya, Atsumu. You're actin' like... well, not like you."

Atsumu didn't respond. The silence hung thick in the air between them, and Osamu could see how much his brother was struggling, even if he refused to admit it. Atsumu wasn't one to let things bother him, to let anyone see him vulnerable, and this was the first time in ages that Osamu could sense something was off.

Osamu leaned against the doorframe, his arms still crossed. "You wanna talk about it or do I need to drag ya outta here kickin' and screamin'?"

Atsumu let out a frustrated sigh, finally sitting up on the bed. "I don't get it, man," he said, his voice almost too quiet, like he didn't want to admit the confusion he felt. "I thought I was doin' the right thing, ya know? Like, with her. I—I've been tryin', but… She doesn't believe me."

Osamu raised an eyebrow. "Y/N doesn't believe you?"

"Yeah," Atsumu replied, running a hand through his messy hair. "She thinks I'm just playin' her. That I'm not serious, that it's just another game."

Osamu stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first, just walked over to the bed and sat down next to his brother. He could tell how much it bothered Atsumu, even if his twin wouldn't admit it.

"So, what exactly happened?" Osamu asked, his voice more patient now.

Atsumu turned to face him, his expression open for once. "I told her I was serious. That I wasn't messin' around. But she thinks I'm just... I don't know, playing some game with her. She doesn't believe I can be real."

Osamu sat there for a moment, processing the words. He could understand why you'd feel that way, considering how Atsumu had always been. He'd never shown interest in anyone for real before. His confidence, the way he flaunted his skills—those were just part of the show, the persona he hid behind.

But Osamu knew his brother better than anyone. He had seen the way Atsumu had changed around you. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, Osamu understood that Atsumu wasn't just messing around this time. He was trying.

"That's what happens when ya treat everything like a joke," Osamu finally said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "You build a reputation for being all flash, no substance. People don't know how to tell if you're serious or not." Atsumu's face twisted with frustration, but Osamu continued, not letting his brother off the hook. "You want her to believe in ya, huh? Then you gotta show her. For real. No more games. No more pretending to be someone you're not."

"I am showin' her!" Atsumu snapped, but there was no fire in his words, just a hint of desperation. "I've been trying, 'Samu!"

Osamu cut him off with a shrug. "Just keep tryin' then."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," Osamu said with a small, knowing smile. "You don't have to do anything extraordinary. You just gotta stop hidin' behind the act and show her you're serious. You wanna show her you care? Then start actin' like it, not like some show-off tryna get a reaction."

Atsumu leaned back against the headboard of the bed, exhaling deeply. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"Well, you're gonna have to figure it out," Osamu said, standing up and heading toward the door. "If you want her to take ya seriously, you've gotta start being the person you really are. And I'm not talkin' about the Atsumu Miya everyone knows. I'm talkin' about the guy who cares about her."

Atsumu stayed silent as Osamu left, his twin's words sinking in. Maybe Osamu was right. Maybe he had been so wrapped up in trying to impress you, he forgot what really mattered.

He wasn't used to this kind of vulnerability. But if he was ever going to get the chance to prove himself, he'd have to start somewhere.

— — — — —

The next day, you arrived at practice feeling the weight of everything that had happened. Atsumu had left without a word, and though you tried to put it out of your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had said something wrong, something that might have pushed him away for good.

As you were walking through the gym's entrance, you caught sight of Osamu leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, watching you as if he'd been waiting for something. You tried to avoid his gaze, but of course, he noticed.

"You're looking a little tense today," Osamu said, his tone casual but with a slight edge of curiosity. "Everything okay?"

You hesitated. There was no way to lie to Osamu—he saw through everyone's facades, especially when it came to his brother. "I—uh, yeah. I guess I just… I don't know."

Osamu tilted his head, the usual smirk on his face replaced by something more serious. "I know what happened yesterday. With 'Tsumu."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't know if you were ready to have this conversation. "I didn't mean to upset him."

Osamu pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward you, the look in his eyes softening. "You didn't upset him. He just…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Atsumu's a pain in the ass. He's always been a pest, always tryin' to get under everyone's skin. But he's also honest, in his own weird way."

You furrowed your brow, not entirely following. "What do you mean?"

Osamu's expression shifted, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by a kind of quiet seriousness. "I mean that when he's messing around, trying to get your attention, that's just his way of testing things. He doesn't know how to do things differently, not when it comes to someone he actually likes. He's used to people reacting to his tricks or his charm—because that's all he's ever done. But when he actually tries... when he's being nice, doin' little things for ya, paying attention to what ya like—he means it."

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in Osamu's words. "I… I didn't know."

Osamu shrugged, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course you didn't. You probably think he's just playin' some game, right? But if he's not showing off, if he's not tryin' to impress you with his serves or his looks, then that's him being real. And if you don't notice that, it's not his fault. But it's also not your fault. He's not exactly the easiest guy to read."

You glanced down at your feet, guilt creeping in. Had you been too harsh? Had you been too quick to judge him as just another show-off?

Osamu's eyes softened as if reading your thoughts. "Ya have to understand something. Atsumu doesn't know how to be subtle. He's got this big personality, and when he likes someone, he doesn't know how to make it easy. But if he's actually tryin' to be nice to you? You can trust that it's real. He's not doin' it to play games."

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. "But what if he just thinks I'm a challenge?"

Osamu shook his head firmly. "If he thought you were just a challenge, he wouldn't be so damn persistent. He would've moved on to someone else by now. Trust me, you're not just another conquest. You've got him thinkin', and that's something he's not used to. If he wanna impress you, it's not because it's easy. It's because he actually wants ya to see him for who he is. All of him."

Your mind raced as you processed Osamu's words. You had underestimated Atsumu, assumed he was just another player trying to win over a girl with flashy gestures. But if Osamu was right, then maybe there was more to his actions than you had originally thought.

"And you're sure about that?" you asked, still unsure.

Osamu nodded, his usual teasing grin returning. "I'm sure. Like I said, Atsumu's a pest, but he's never been anything other than honest when it counts. If he's tryin' to be nice to ya, then it's because he means it."

You stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if you were ready to believe it, to trust in Atsumu's sincerity. Finally, you exhaled and gave Osamu a small, uncertain smile. "Okay. I'll think about it."

Osamu's smile softened, and with a knowing wink, he clapped you on the shoulder. "Good. Now, go make sure my idiot twin doesn't mess up any more of his attempts to win ya over. You're the only one who can make him figure his shit out."

You laughed softly, the tension that had been in your chest easing just a little. Osamu was right—Atsumu's way of showing interest might be messy and confusing, but maybe that was just part of who he was. And if he was trying to be real with you, maybe it was time to stop questioning it and start paying attention.

The training had just ended, and the gym was emptying out. The usual post-practice chatter filled the air as players gathered their things, but you couldn't shake the thought of Atsumu from your mind. Osamu's words from earlier kept replaying in your head: "If he's trying to be nice to you, then it's because he means it."

You waited a few moments until most of the team had already dispersed, and then, with a deep breath, you stepped outside the gym, making your way to the back. You had decided it was time to talk to Atsumu.

It didn't take long to find him. He was leaning against the side of the building, his arms folded, staring at the ground with his usual smirk nowhere in sight. He looked like he'd been waiting for something—waiting for you, perhaps.

He didn't notice you at first, and when he did, his posture stiffened, and he turned away slightly, as if unsure of how to act. You stopped a few steps away from him, taking in the scene. The air was cool, a gentle breeze brushing your hair, but the silence between the two of you felt heavy, like there was more to this moment than just a simple conversation.

Atsumu cleared his throat first, breaking the quiet. "What do you want?"

You hesitated. There was so much to say, but you weren't sure how to start. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "I wanted to talk to you. About what happened the other day."

Atsumu shifted, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "You sure about that? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you already made it clear what you think."

You shook your head quickly. "It's not that. I didn't mean to make you feel like… like you were just playing around. I just didn't know if you were serious about any of this."

He straightened, looking at you more fully now. There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight, but you didn't miss it. "Yeah?" He took a slow step closer, but not too close—just enough to bridge the gap between you both, as though testing the waters. "So you thought I was just messin' with you?"

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "I did. But Osamu said something to me today. He made me realize that… maybe I've been looking at you all wrong."

Atsumu's brow furrowed. "Oh yeah? What'd he say?"

"He said that when you try—when you actually put effort into something—it's because you mean it. You're not just playing games." You met his gaze, holding it for a moment before continuing. "And I guess… it was just easier to keep my distance and assume you were playing around. That way, the risk of me getting hurt was lower. I'm sorry."

Atsumu didn't respond at first. His lips twitched slightly, as though he was trying to hide his emotions. "So, what? You think I'm actually serious about this?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less teasing.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. "I do. And I'm sorry for not seeing it earlier."

There was a beat of silence before Atsumu stepped a little closer, still keeping a bit of distance. He scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly awkward. "You know, I didn't expect you to just fall for me or anything. But when you... didn't react the way I thought you would, I didn't know how to handle it. I guess I tried harder, and..."

"And?" You encouraged him softly.

Atsumu looked at you directly now, his usual cocky smile replaced with something more genuine, more open. "And I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do things differently. I'm not perfect, but I'm tryin', okay?"

Your heart gave a little jump at his sincerity. This wasn't the Atsumu you'd seen before—the brash, overconfident one. This was someone who was actually putting himself out there.

"I believe you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wasn't sure if it was real, you know?"

Atsumu exhaled deeply, running a hand through his messy hair, and for the first time, he looked more vulnerable than ever. "Yeah. I get that. But I'm not the guy who does things halfway. So… if I'm sayin' this, then I mean it."

Before you could respond, he took another small step forward. His eyes searched yours, as though waiting for your permission, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest.

There was something electric in the air between you two—something unspoken. It wasn't about the showy gestures or his usual antics. It was about the quiet honesty that had been there all along, the part of Atsumu you hadn't seen until now.

And without thinking, you reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, giving him the smallest of smiles. "Then… let's see where this goes."

Atsumu's expression softened, and without a word, he closed the last gap, his gaze flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in.

The kiss was brief, chaste, and soft, as if both of you were still unsure of the new ground you were treading. It wasn't passionate, but it was real—no tricks, no games, just two people who had finally taken down their walls and decided to be vulnerable with each other.

When you pulled back, you found yourself smiling, and Atsumu mirrored it, his usual smirk returning but with a softness you hadn't seen before.

"So, this is what it feels like when you're not acting like a complete idiot," you teased lightly, your heart still racing.

Atsumu chuckled, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Yeah, guess I'll have to get used to it, huh?"

You laughed softly, feeling the tension melt away between you two. For the first time, things felt simple—real.

Masterlist

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[simdertalia]

🥊 🏈 ACNH Sports Stuff ⚽ 🥅

Sims 4, base game compatible | 38 items | extra swatches added by me 💗

I hope you enjoy! ☺️💗

A tip for building your boxing ring: I placed the corners and ropes and got that all lined up, before raising the platform a bit. I tried to build another one with the platform raised first, and the middle rope-only piece wants to snap to the higher floor, so make sure you do the raising after those are placed.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the 0,9 keyboard feature to raise items or lower them

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

Download below, all in a zip file or pick & choose!

Set contains: Buy: -Ball Catcher (Basketballs) | 4 swatches | 2390 poly -Ball Catcher (Soccer Footballs) | 4 swatches | 2390 poly -Ball Catcher (Volleyballs) | 6 swatches | 2390 poly -Baseball | 2 swatches | 194 poly -Baseball and Mitt | 8 swatches | 938 poly -Baseball Bat (2 items, up & down versions) | 8 swatches each | 266 poly each -Baseball Mitt | 8 swatches | 746 poly -Baseball Mitt Chair (functional living chair) | 6 swatches | 1164 poly -Baseball Stuff Cluster (all the items)  | 8 swatches each | 1202 poly each -Basketball | 4 swatches | 434 poly -Basketball Net (decor) | 3 swatches | 2359 poly -Basketball Net (wall decor) | 3 swatches | 997 poly -Bicycle (2 items, adult & child size) | 9 swatches each | 2402 poly each -Boomerang (2 items, wall item on hooks and clutter item) | 6 swatches each | 410 poly each -Boxing Ring Corner | 3 swatches | 1432 poly -Boxing Ring Drape 1 & 2 (2 items, mirrored) | 5 swatches each | 54 poly each -Boxing Ring Ropes | 1 swatch | 225 poly -Gridiron Football | 1 swatch | 1186 poly -Gridiron Football Helmet (2 items, adult & child size) | 10 swatches each | 2053 poly each -Gridiron Football Rug | 2 swatches (I made a brighter version of the original) | 692 poly -Judge's Bell | 6 swatches | 880 poly -Mountain Bike | 12 swatches | 2402 poly -Mountain Bike (wall) | 12 swatches | 2392 poly -Pennant Flag (wall) | 4 swatches | 316 poly -Scoreboard | 3 colors for frame, 4 colors for number tabs, 12 total swatches | 1200 poly -Skateboard | 8 skateboard colors, 1 blank and 4 stickers, 40 total swatches | 960 poly -Skateboard Rack (wall) | 4 swatches | 1810 poly -Soccer Football | 1 swatch | 434 poly -Soccer Football Goal | 4 swatches | 4666 poly -Volleyball | 6 swatches | 434 poly

Build: -Dojo Wall | 1 swatch |Paneling -Sumo Ring Floor | 25 swatches, goes together like a puzzle | Misc -Boxing Ring Floor | 25 swatches, goes together like a puzzle | Misc

Type “acnh sports" into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing  the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming! 💗

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

🌻 Download on Patreon

Will be public on March 14th, 2025 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness & things have been rough as of late):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet @fischottersims

CC Previously Made: -Golf Bag -Ski Rack -Surfboard -Volleyball Net (& another volleyball) -Wooden Field Sign -Desktop Mic -Handy Water Cooler -Wrestling Figure -Full Length Mirror

[alphatechnocratz]

LED Cricket Scoreboards ,LED Basketball Scoreboards , LED Football Scoreboards ,LED Scoreboards for Volleyball

Introduction: In the heart of India's bustling capital, Delhi, sporting events come alive with the pulse of competition and the roar of the crowd. At Alpha Technocratz, we understand the importance of capturing every thrilling moment with precision and clarity. As the premier LED scoreboard manufacturer in Delhi, we are dedicated to providing state-of-the-art solutions that enhance the spectator experience and elevate the standard of sportsmanship. From cricket to basketball, football to volleyball, badminton to kabaddi, Alpha Technocratz has you covered with our cutting-edge LED scoreboards.

LED Cricket Scoreboards: Cricket isn't just a sport—it's a passion that unites millions across the nation. With Alpha Technocratz's LED cricket scoreboards, you can bring the excitement of every boundary, wicket, and runout to life in stunning detail. Our scoreboards are designed to withstand the demands of the game while delivering unparalleled clarity and visibility to players and spectators alike.

LED Basketball Scoreboards in Mumbai: In the bustling metropolis of Mumbai, basketball takes center stage with its fast-paced action and electrifying atmosphere. Alpha Technocratz's LED basketball scoreboards are the perfect companion for any basketball court, providing real-time scoring updates, player statistics, and dynamic visuals that keep fans on the edge of their seats throughout the game.

LED Football Scoreboards in Delhi: Football fever runs high in Delhi, and Alpha Technocratz's LED football scoreboards are here to amplify the excitement. With vibrant displays, customizable graphics, and user-friendly interfaces, our scoreboards ensure that every goal, tackle, and save is celebrated in style, making every match an unforgettable experience for players and fans alike.

LED Scoreboards for Volleyball, Badminton, and Kabaddi: Whether it's the lightning-fast rallies of volleyball, the precision of badminton, or the raw intensity of kabaddi, Alpha Technocratz has the perfect LED scoreboard to match. Our scoreboards are designed to meet the unique requirements of each sport, providing clear visibility, easy operation, and robust durability to withstand the rigors of competitive play.

Conclusion: At Alpha Technocratz, we believe that every sporting event deserves to be showcased in the best possible light. With our cutting-edge LED scoreboards, you can elevate the spectator experience, enhance player performance, and create lasting memories that will keep fans coming back for more. Choose Alpha Technocratz as your LED scoreboard manufacturer in Delhi, and discover the difference that superior technology and unmatched quality can make in your sporting endeavors.

Thanks  & Regards

Top of Form

[sixosix]

notes wc 500; just came back from watching the battle of the garbage dump movie and i was so moved that i wrote this in one sitting… literally thats it. which means there will be spoilers!!!!! of who wins lol

You weren’t sure where you exactly stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life.

Friend? Classmate? Acquaintance? None seemed right, yet everything else was too much to describe your relationship with him. You’d been with him when he took a sudden interest in volleyball, starry-eyed by the scarce footage he could secure of the Little Giant. You’d been with him as he couldn’t even bounce back a ball for the life of him, awkwardly toppling to the side from his red arms. You’d been there to tally scores of his matches with Koji and Izumi, cheering him on even when his knees buckled from exhaustion. You had been there, you had been there—what would the point be in stopping after all of that?

“You’re my best friend,” Hinata said one day. It was years ago, back when you stayed behind to help him practice, and he grinned so widely that you couldn’t help but mirror it. But that was long ago—your relationship has changed.

Best friend. That felt much better, but it still wasn’t enough.

Hinata Shoyo was the force in your life that you wish wouldn’t ever stop terrifying you.

As the teams and the crowd dispersed, you watched Hinata stand in the center of the court, panting and dazed, his brain lagging behind. He looked stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what the scoreboard displayed. They won. Hinata’s team won.

“Oi,” Kageyama grunted, shoving his shoulder, then gestured vaguely. “Don’t keep people waiting, dumbass. The match is over.”

He stumbled backward, whipped his head around, and brightened when he caught your gaze.

“Shoyo!” You threw your arms out, a laugh blown out of you as he tackled you square on the chest. “Shoyo, Shoyo—”

He exclaimed your name in the same cadence, smile so unbelievably wide that his eyes were screwed shut. “You came! Auntie told me you wouldn’t be able to make it!”

“This is important to you. Of course I’d come,” you said, affronted that he would even believe otherwise. “I always do.”

“Yeah?” he whispered.

His chest heaved heavily, sweat trickling down his neck, and his eyes were still aflame as if the adrenaline still spiked high, but you had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze flicking between his eyes. His silent and intense gaze made you feel that flutter in your chest that you definitely didn’t want to feel towards your best friend. “Hey, is that Kuroo-san? Should I get his autograph?”

Hinata scrunched his nose at your pathetic attempt at diverting his attention. “What? Why?”

“Bokuto-san’s here, too. Do you think they’d let me?”

Hinata wavered for a moment, casting a glance at his master. “Bokuto-san’s awesome, but I should still be your #1, alright? You came for me.”

You nearly laughed. He was waving a finger in front of your face like he was scolding you, and he looked so serious, too.

“Of course, Shoyo.”

He nodded, pleased and grinning. Then he took you by the hand and zipped through the crowd toward a cheering Bokuto and a solemn Akaashi. Your gaze cut to where your hands were intertwined. Even after a victory, he was indulging in your dumb excuses, grinning at you from time to time, and let you witness this supernova of a man.

The fact that it was your hand he held first after one of the most important matches in his life made you understand where you stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life. You were special to him just as much as he was to you.

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

016 ┆world pause (1.2k words)

The boys arrived at the gymnasium, meeting their coach Mr. Jeon at the benches. 

“Are they here yet?” Jake asked while placing his stuff down behind the team bench. Mr. Jeon nodded his head as the opponent team made their way into the gym they all stood in.

Usually, in shows or movies there would be an odd chill vibe between the two teams, but that wasn’t the case in Decelis Academy.

Instead, Jake’s childhood best friend was on that opposing team—Kang Minhee. They were locked in like two peas in a pod. There was no way they’d hate each other even if one of them were to lose.

Jake’s head whipped over to the third entrance to the gymnasium with a smile. He was excited to reunite with this said friend. It had been long since their last match against each other anyway. 

“He’s like a child when Minhee appears.” Sunghoon teased while unbuttoning his uniform. Jay smiled at the boy’s words and slipped on his jersey, the number nine and his surname plastered on the back of it.

“Minhee’s a sweet guy. I don’t blame him.”

“You’re right.” 

Jungwon placed his stuff down a little later than the boys did. To be honest, he wasn’t feeling his best all day. Nevertheless, he couldn’t miss school—especially, not the game. He didn’t want to disappoint the boys. 

Never.

“You okay? You’re quieter than usual.” Heeseung said, coming to a stop beside Jungwon who proceeded to change.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” He replied and took a seat on the bench. 

“Coach will probably put you on as a starter, are you okay with that? I mean, I know what’s been happening lately.” 

Jungwon drank from his water bottle and tilted his head back to catch his breath.

“It’s okay, seriously, I’ll be fine.” The boy smiled at his friend, his dimple popping in the process. Heeseung wasn’t sure if he should take Jungwon’s words with a relieved feeling or a tense one.

However, he let it go. The game was more important to focus on anyways.

Mr. Jeon called everyone into a huddle with Jake jogging back to their side of the court and then began to explain today’s game plan. The clock on the scoreboard read 3:00 p.m. The game was set to start at 3:30. They had to get everything done quickly.

You prepared the camera for today’s game. The settings were already set to your liking due to the explanation session with Jungwon earlier. Although you were on the verge of losing your mind, you were glad he could finally be of use to this project.

You pulled out your phone to check the time and ask for permission to leave class. It was now 3:05 p.m. You were quite early for the dismissal, but all was okay. Being on time was the better option anyway.

The sounds of volleyballs ricocheting off of the net and colliding with the floorboards, shoes grazing against the polisher the janitors had used beforehand, the constant whistle blows and cheers the boys executed were all heard from behind the doors of the gymnasium. 

You opened the door with hope that a volleyball wouldn’t come flying at you this time. And to your luck, there wasn’t one.

Nobody batted you an eye either. They were all too distracted with their practicing. 

You walked through the sidelines until you reached the fellow scorekeepers, being careful to not trip over the boys’ belongings. It would be best if you stood in a safe spot and had a good angle when snapping the pictures.

Sunoo stood at the edge of the net, setting the ball to those who were lined up to hit it. His fingertips hit the volleyball briefly before letting up in precision. It was as if the spiker had a magnet in their palm that drove the ball to it perfectly.

You began to snap a few pics, not looking back at them until the end. There was no time for it anyway. This process continued multiple times without you even noticing that the boy you were looking at through the viewfinder was none other than Yang Jungwon, your worst nightmare.

He strode down the court over to the net as Sunoo set the ball towards him. Jungwon’s arms pushed back one moment and the next he was up in the air, hand against the volleyball. The impact between the two objects created a loud sound that brought you back to reality. 

Only then were you able to realize that he was the one before you while your finger pressed down on the shutter button, capturing the moment with a shutter sound right after. It felt as if your world briefly paused.

If this was what Intak meant when he said Jungwon’s spikes seemed deadly, it would only be wrong for you to disagree. They genuinely were impressive, but you couldn’t let that overshadow your hatred for him.

The boy landed on both of his feet and walked away in silence. Heeseung held out his hand from the line of boys and awaited Jungwon’s hand to clash against his own, in which it did. 

Without them even knowing, the clock had hit 3:30 p.m. in no time. 

It was officially time for the match to start. 

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @samyria @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo

© JUYEOZ

[nerokoma]

biggest fan [a.asahi]

azumane asahi x gn!reader, fluff, angst if you squint, 656 wc

the gym is so loud that asahi can barely hear himself think. he isn’t sure if the roaring in his ears is his own heartbeat or the crowd’s excited cheers, but it echoes throughout his head like a hollow cave. 

they’ve been in a deuce for a while. with the score 27-26, karasuno only needs one more point to take the set and with it, the whole match. 

asahi has become very aware of his body over the last couple rounds. the ache in his legs, the weight added to his arms, the sweat trailing down his face. he knows that his stamina is running out, but the match isn’t over yet. as tired as he is, he has to keep on pushing. there’s too much at stake to give up now. 

another couple of traded rounds have left him exhausted. he’s not sure how the freaks of nature he calls his juniors are still standing, but he’s about at his limits. as nishinoya receives the opposing team’s serve for what feels like the millionth time, asahi truly starts to feel the weight of everything on him. 

the world suddenly comes to a stop. asahi sees the ball floating in the air, just waiting for him to run up to hit the spike, yet his limbs don’t seem to be listening. 

come on, legs, just run! 

panic starts to set in as he sees the ball slowly start to move, all while his feet are still planted firmly on the ground. why won’t his legs just do what he tells them to? 

his heart drops as he’s hit with the realization that he’s not going to make it. everything the team has worked for, all the hours they’ve put in, all the tears they’ve shed, it’s all about to be wasted. all because of him. 

right before he’s about to accept defeat, your words echo through his mind, loud and clear. 

“just keep your eyes on the ball. you’ve worked so hard, love. i know you can do this, i believe in you.” 

asahi takes in a deep breath, savouring the cool air that enters his lungs. the cheers of the crowd are suddenly silent, replaced with the sound of your sweet, calming voice that has never once doubted him. as he listens to your words over and over again, he finds himself taking a step forward, and then another, and another. before he knows it, asahi has started running forward.

he begins his approach– 

just keep your eyes on the ball

–takes a leap off the ground–

you’ve worked so hard, love

–pulls his arm back–

i know you can do this

–and spikes the ball–

i believe in you

–right into the opponent’s court. 

as his feet come in contact with the ground, the first thing he hears is the muffled sound of what seems to be a whistle. he barely has a chance to register everything before he’s pulled up by his teammates, finally bringing him back to reality. the crowd’s deafening cheers become clear to him, as well as the celebratory yells of the team as they surround him. 

he glances over to the huge digital scoreboard, overcome with emotion as he reads the numbers. 

30-28

while his teammates continue to surround him in a deathly tight group hug, his gaze flits over to the roaring crowd, scanning over every face before eventually being met with the sight of you.

you, wearing his volleyball sweater. 

you, a huge sign in hand with the words “THAT’S MY ACE” written across in big, bold lettering. 

you, with a proud grin on your face as you lock eyes with him, and mouth the words “i love you.” 

in that moment, as incredible as the feeling of victory is, asahi realizes that there’s nothing more important to him than knowing you were there, and that no matter what, you would always be his biggest fan. 

[missmadella]

Where the Rain Once Fell (Iwaizumi x Reader)

Sweet and Simple :3

Summary: After a devastating loss at a volleyball match, Iwaizumi and you share a tender moment in the locker room, where unspoken feelings come to the surface. The kiss you share, charged with years of friendship and unacknowledged love, shifts your relationship.

Words: 9018

The sound of the whistle cut through the air, sharp and final.

The ball fell to the ground, and with it, so did the hopes of Seijoh’s volleyball team. The cheers of Karasuno filled the gym, but all you could hear was the ringing silence in your ears. It wasn’t the excitement of victory—it was the quiet, empty realization that Seijoh had lost. And not just lost — they’d been swept. Karasuno had won three sets straight.

The scoreboard above you lit up in cold, unforgiving numbers: 25-23. The loss wasn’t close enough to be excused. It wasn’t a fight that had stretched to five sets, giving them the chance to redeem themselves in a thrilling final moment. No, it was over. The final whistle had echoed through the gym far too quickly.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to clap or cheer for Karasuno. They deserved it, but the hollow pit in your chest made everything feel too distant. You could hear Oikawa’s voice faintly, trying to congratulate them, his words empty, like he was still trying to catch his breath.

But everything felt muted. The cheers from Karasuno's supporters, the claps and handshakes — it all faded away, like static on the edge of your consciousness.

Your eyes locked onto Iwaizumi.

He was at the back of the court, standing still. Too still. While the rest of the team began to shuffle toward the center to bow, he didn’t move. His usual fiery determination was gone. His back was stiff, and his face, while stoic, betrayed the weight of the loss. He wasn’t looking at anyone, and he certainly wasn’t looking at the scoreboard. He was staring at nothing in particular, just... blank. Like the life had been drained out of him, leaving only a shell of someone who had given everything, only to watch it slip away.

You saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists by his sides. You knew Iwaizumi too well. He would carry this, just like he carried everything else. The weight of his team’s loss. The weight of his own expectations.

The gym seemed to hold its breath, the cheer of Karasuno's fans reverberating around you, but all you could do was stand there, watching Iwaizumi from across the court.

The post-match routine blurred together. Oikawa was the first to move, his usual loud, confident demeanor tempered by the defeat. He approached the rest of the team with a forced grin, patting Yahaba’s shoulder, murmuring a few words to Kyoutani, but you could see the emptiness behind his eyes.

“Go check on him,” Oikawa said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. He didn’t look at you when he spoke, his gaze focused somewhere on the floor. “I tried. But I don’t think he’s going to listen to me right now. He... might listen to you.”

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and you nodded without saying anything. You knew what he meant. Oikawa was a great captain, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa had always shared a unique bond. But right now, Iwaizumi didn’t need leadership. He needed someone who could just... be there. Quietly. Without pressure.

You didn’t say anything back to Oikawa, just gave him a soft, understanding look before heading toward the locker room.

___________________________________________________________________________

The heavy door to the locker room swung open with a soft creak, and you stepped inside. The space felt almost suffocatingly quiet, despite the distant murmurs of your teammates talking just outside. The lights above buzzed faintly, and the distinct smell of sweat and rubber filled the air.

Iwaizumi was sitting at the far end of the locker room, still dressed in his uniform, his back to you. His posture was rigid, but not in a way that suggested strength. It was as if he was frozen in place, like he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He hadn’t changed yet, hadn’t even started to pack up his things. His bag was lying open beside him, the contents half scattered, but his gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, but there was no rhythm, no drive. Just a dull, mechanical motion.

For a long while, you just stood there at the door, watching him in silence. He hadn’t noticed you yet. You didn’t want to interrupt. The air felt too thick, the weight of the loss so palpable in this small room. The finality of the loss, the way it crushed everyone’s spirits, but especially Iwaizumi’s.

You finally spoke, softly, not wanting to startle him.

“Hajime.”

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice. The way his name left your lips was gentle, careful. There was something in his silence that made you hesitate, but you didn’t want to leave him alone.

He didn’t respond, but you saw his head drop slightly lower.

You took a few steps toward him, not rushing, not trying to force anything. You knew he needed space to process, but the quiet weight in the room felt unbearable.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”

There was a long pause before he finally looked up, but not directly at you. He was staring at the floor again, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white.

“I should’ve done more,” he muttered, the words barely audible. “I could have—if I’d been faster, if I hadn’t hesitated—”

You kneeled down beside him, slowly, gently, so as not to startle him further. You didn’t try to interrupt him; you just let him speak. This was Iwaizumi. He didn’t let himself off the hook easily, not when it mattered most.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We lost together, Hajime. We win as a team, and we lose as a team.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I promised them,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly, though he tried to hide it. “I promised the team that I’d lead them through... but I couldn’t. I failed them.”

The words were quiet, but they hit harder than anything you’d heard in a long time. Iwaizumi didn’t fail anyone. But right now, in the aftermath, all he could see was his own mistakes.

You reached over slowly, placing your hand on his.

“You didn’t fail anyone, Hajime,” you said gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You led them with everything you had. You always do. And that’s all anyone could ask for.”

His hand tensed under yours, but after a long pause, he let out a shaky breath. His gaze stayed low, but you could see his shoulders drop just slightly, as if the weight of it all was finally starting to ease, even if just a little.

He remained silent for a long moment, his breath still uneven. The tension between you was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable — it was the kind of silence that felt almost sacred, like he needed it to gather the strength to speak again, to let go of the emotions that had been weighing him down.

The faint buzzing of the lights above was the only sound that filled the space, accompanied by the soft thud of his hand loosening slightly under yours.

Finally, he spoke, but it was barely a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

"I just..." He hesitated, then continued, voice cracking under the weight of his own regret. "I feel like I didn’t give them everything. I could’ve pushed harder. Could’ve... made a better play. But I just—"

You squeezed his hand gently, cutting him off without a word. There was no need to say anything more about the match, no need to revisit the mistakes he thought he had made. Instead, you pressed your forehead against his shoulder, your hand never leaving his.

"I know you, Hajime. You gave everything you had. No one is asking for more than that. Not me. Not your team."

He inhaled sharply through his nose, as if trying to hold back the frustration that was still burning inside him. You could feel the slight tremor in his frame as he exhaled, like he was trying to release all the tension in his body. You held on to him, letting your presence be the one thing that anchored him in the moment.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, and you could feel the vulnerability in it, raw and unguarded.

"I can’t stand seeing them disappointed. Especially Oikawa... he worked so damn hard for this. I promised him, promised the team, that I’d make it through. I let everyone down."

The crack in his tone was enough to break your heart.

"You didn’t let anyone down, Hajime." You spoke as firmly as you could, feeling your chest tighten at his words. "I know you want to be the strong one, the one who carries everything, but you’re allowed to have moments like this. You’re allowed to feel this way."

He remained still, not responding, but his shoulders seemed to soften under your touch. You could sense him pulling away slightly from the intense self-criticism, even if just a little.

After a beat, you spoke again, softly but with absolute certainty.

"The team knows what kind of person you are. They know you gave your best. Oikawa, too. He sees it. We all see it. You’re not alone in this, Hajime."

His breathing slowed, the tightness in his posture loosening ever so slightly as your words sank in. For a moment, there was only the quiet sound of your voices, of your hands gently holding his, of the faint hum of the gym outside.

It wasn’t a quick fix, and you knew it wouldn’t be, but you could feel something in him begin to shift. Maybe it was just the simple fact that you were there, with him, without any expectations of him to be perfect or to fix everything. Maybe it was the knowledge that, even in his lowest moments, he didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

Finally, Iwaizumi took a shaky breath, his hand shifting under yours as he squeezed back, not in the firm, controlled way he usually did, but in a way that felt almost... tentative.

"I’m sorry." His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him before. "I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it together."

You shook your head, moving back slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were still filled with frustration, but there was a softness to them now, a slight opening, as if he was letting you in — something he rarely did.

"There’s nothing to apologize for. You’ve already done more than enough."

You paused for a moment, giving him space to process your words, before you added gently, your voice low and warm:

"And... you’re not alone. I’m here. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself."

There was a slight shift in his expression, the hardness in his eyes softening, though the exhaustion was still evident. His jaw relaxed, and after a long moment, he nodded once, slowly, as if coming to terms with the comfort you were offering him.

Iwaizumi’s gaze dropped to your hand still resting in his, his fingers gently curling around yours. The action was simple, but it felt like a promise, like a quiet acceptance of the support you were giving him.

"Thanks." His voice was softer now, less strained. "I just... needed to hear that."

You smiled softly, not saying anything more, just staying with him for a while longer. The room was still heavy, but it didn’t feel suffocating anymore. There was a sense of peace in the stillness, in the quiet understanding between you. He wasn’t alone in his frustration anymore. And that, at least, was enough.

Iwaizumi remained silent for a moment, his fingers still entwined with yours, but this time there was no urgency. No stress. His hand was simply resting there, calm, as if he was allowing himself to be grounded by the weight of your presence.

You could feel his tension slowly melting away, piece by piece, his hand relaxing in yours as the conversation shifted from the raw pain of the loss to something more vulnerable. His eyes, once hard with frustration, softened as he turned his head slightly to meet your gaze.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you now — that, even in the worst moments, you would be there, that he didn’t have to carry everything alone. And as that realization washed over both of you, a quiet stillness filled the room.

Iwaizumi’s gaze held yours for a moment, almost hesitant. There was something unspoken between you, a soft, lingering tension that wasn’t there before. His breath was steady now, but his pulse, you noticed, was still quick. It wasn’t just the match; it was the raw vulnerability he was allowing himself to show. The walls he usually kept so firm were crumbling just enough for you to see the real Iwaizumi — the one who was tired, human, and maybe even a little scared of losing control.

You could feel your heart race, just a little, as his eyes flicked between yours and your lips. He was thinking, trying to process, and maybe trying to fight the urge that was building between you.

Then, without warning, his hand shifted, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. The touch was slow, tentative, almost like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or lean in.

Your breath caught at the softness of it. You could feel your heart skip a beat, your nerves suddenly alert, as the distance between you two shrank just slightly.

"You’re not alone, Hajime," you whispered again, your voice steady but with a quiet tenderness.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looking at you, searching your eyes as if trying to decide if it was okay. And then, in that fragile space between uncertainty and acceptance, his thumb traced over your cheek, the motion slow and deliberate.

Then, he leaned in.

The kiss came unexpectedly — soft and slow at first, a gentle press of his lips against yours. It was careful, almost as though he were testing the waters, checking if this was the right time. There was no rush, no urgency, just the sweet, tender meeting of lips, full of quiet understanding.

The warmth of his lips against yours seemed to erase everything else in that moment — the loss, the frustration, the weight of everything they had just been through. All that was left was the sensation of him, his presence, and the way the kiss felt like the perfect expression of everything you had just shared.

When he pulled away just a little, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He was still holding your hand, his grip firm yet gentle.

"I don’t know what to say..." he murmured, voice low and almost vulnerable in the quiet of the locker room.

You smiled softly, still reeling from the unexpected tenderness of the kiss. The connection between you felt more real than ever, the quiet bond forming between you almost tangible in the air.

"You don’t have to say anything," you whispered back. "Just... be here."

He nodded, eyes still closed for a moment as if he were savoring the moment. His hand remained cupping your cheek, and you felt the warmth of his touch seep into you, grounding you both in the shared quiet.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For being here."

You gave him a gentle smile, the one that said everything you needed him to know — that you would always be there, no matter what.

And as you both stayed in that moment, with nothing but the sound of your breathing filling the space, you knew this wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise — a promise that no matter how hard things got, you’d face it together.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rain came down heavily now, the sound of it pounding against the pavement as you, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa made your way home. The match had ended hours ago, but the sting of the loss still hung in the air. Karasuno had won—three sets to none. The match wasn’t long, but it had been brutal. Iwaizumi hadn’t been able to shake the weight of the loss, and Oikawa wasn’t far behind him.

You weren’t on the court, but you could feel the emotional drain of the game all the same. The boys had given it their all, but it hadn’t been enough. You could see it in their expressions—frustration, anger, disappointment—and it was hard not to let it seep into your own mood.

You walked next to Iwaizumi, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His posture was slumped, his usual rigid stance dulled by the loss. He had been quiet ever since leaving the locker room, as if trying to sort through his own thoughts, but the silence was heavy, almost oppressive.

Oikawa, on the other hand, walked a few steps ahead, his usual energy subdued. Normally, he would have been teasing, cracking jokes, or trying to lighten the mood. But right now, even Oikawa seemed to be weighed down by the outcome. His shoulders were hunched, his gaze distant. He wasn’t smiling, and it was rare to see him so silent after a match.

The silence between the three of you was heavy, the sound of the rain and the distant rumbles of thunder the only noise around you. After a few moments, Oikawa glanced over his shoulder at the two of you, his usual confident grin replaced by something softer, quieter.

“So…” Oikawa began, his voice hesitant, “That was… rough, huh?” He looked between you and Iwaizumi, his tone much more subdued than usual. “I didn’t think it would go like that. We should’ve won.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond immediately, his eyes on the pavement as he walked. You could feel the tension radiating off him, but you knew it wasn’t just the match he was upset about. Iwaizumi wasn’t one to show weakness, and the loss hit him hard because he felt responsible for the team.

You gave Oikawa a small nod, glancing at Iwaizumi. “Yeah… it wasn’t what any of us expected.”

Oikawa looked like he wanted to say more, but he hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right words. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something more sincere. “I just… I know Iwa-chan’s upset, and I get it. But... don’t be too hard on yourselves.” He took a deep breath, glancing at Iwaizumi who was still walking silently beside you. “I know you’re both feeling it right now, but... you gave it everything you had. That’s all you can do.”

You weren’t sure if Oikawa believed that himself, but his words were still comforting. You glanced at Iwaizumi again, his expression unreadable.

“We’ll get better,” you said quietly, giving Iwaizumi a soft look. “It’s just one game. We’ll learn from it.”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t say anything. He was still lost in his own thoughts, his jaw clenched as he kept walking, trying to push the emotions down. You knew he was trying to keep it all together, but the pressure he put on himself was always so heavy.

Oikawa broke the silence, though his usual teasing tone was gone. “Hey, don’t let this one match define everything. We’re not just a team because we win, right?”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond, but Oikawa didn’t seem to mind. He just kept walking, his steps more subdued than usual. “I’m heading this way,” Oikawa said, glancing back at you and Iwaizumi. “You two take care of yourselves. I know Iwa-chan doesn’t want to hear it, but you did great, okay?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze flicked briefly to Oikawa before looking back ahead, not saying anything. It was clear that, even if he appreciated the sentiment, he was still struggling to accept the loss. Oikawa gave a small, almost bittersweet smile before turning down the next street.

“See you both later,” Oikawa called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the rain, his figure swallowed up by the downpour.

The two of you walked on in silence, but there was a slight shift in the air. You could tell Iwaizumi was thinking—his mind heavy with what had just happened. You stayed close, not wanting to push him, but wanting him to know that you were there.

“Are you okay?” you asked, keeping your voice quiet but warm.

Iwaizumi took a long breath, letting the rain wash over him for a moment before responding. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone flat, but there was something in his voice—something tired. “I just... I should’ve done more.”

You felt your heart ache at his words. Iwaizumi was one of the hardest on himself, and right now, it was clear that he was feeling the weight of the loss more than anyone else.

“You didn’t fail anyone,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. “We lose as a team, Hajime. No one person carries all of it.”

Iwaizumi stayed quiet, but he didn’t pull away from your touch. For a moment, it seemed like he was considering your words, his expression softening just slightly.

The walk home continued in silence, but there was something calming about it. The rain kept falling, but it no longer felt like a storm of emotions. You and Iwaizumi were just two people, walking side by side, both trying to find peace in the aftermath of the game.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rain had started off as a light drizzle, but soon it became heavier, the droplets hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, soaking through your clothes and turning the streets into a blur of gray and wet pavement. The wind picked up, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, feeling the chill creep in.

Iwaizumi walked beside you, his shoulders hunched against the rain, his expression still a little tense from the game. The silence between you two was comfortable, but the quiet wasn’t completely at ease. Both of you were processing everything in your own way.

After a few more steps, Iwaizumi glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the sky, then the road ahead.

“Hey,” he began, his voice sounding a little more concerned than usual, “your place is still pretty far, right?”

You nodded, glancing at the distance between you and your house. It was a good 20-minute walk in the rain, and by now, the storm was picking up. You didn’t want to worry Iwaizumi, but the thought of being out in this storm for that long didn’t sound appealing.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, trying to sound reassuring, but you could already feel the cold setting in as the rain soaked you through. "I can make it."

But Iwaizumi was already shaking his head, his tone firm. “It’s ridiculous to walk all the way home in this. You’ll catch a cold or something.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You’re coming to my place. It’s closer.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a little surprised by his insistence. “I don’t want to be a bother. I’m fine, Hajime.”

But Iwaizumi wasn’t having it. He stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully, his eyes locked with yours. “You’re not a bother. I’m not letting you walk home in this storm. My house is just up the road. It’ll be warmer there, and we won’t be out in this rain any longer than we have to be.” His voice was steady but not harsh, more like he was simply stating the obvious, something that had to be done.

You could tell he wasn’t going to budge on this, and deep down, you were a little relieved. You didn’t want to walk home in this weather either, especially not alone. There was something calming about being around Iwaizumi, even if you both hadn’t really talked much after the game.

With a small sigh, you nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer. Thanks, Hajime.”

He gave you a quick, quiet nod, and without another word, he started walking toward his house, his steps purposeful and strong against the wet ground. You followed, the rain drumming heavily against your jacket as you walked side by side, a few steps behind him.

As you approached his house, the sound of the rain grew louder, and you felt the cold settling in deeper. Iwaizumi’s house wasn’t far—just a couple of streets over—but it felt like an eternity as the storm raged on.

Finally, you reached the entrance of his building, and Iwaizumi quickly opened the door, ushering you inside. The warmth of the house hit you immediately, the contrast between the cold rain and the warmth of the indoors making you feel a little more at ease.

Iwaizumi slipped off his jacket and shoes, shaking his head lightly to rid himself of the rainwater, then glanced at you. “Get out of those wet clothes. You don’t want to catch a cold either.”

You glanced at your own soaked jacket and shoes, feeling a little self-conscious but thankful for his consideration. “Right… thanks,” you muttered, beginning to peel off your wet clothes, making your way toward the guest room. “I’ll just grab a towel and change in the bathroom.”

Iwaizumi was quiet as you made your way toward the room, but you could feel his eyes following you for a moment before he turned to grab a dry towel from the cupboard.

Once you were done drying off, you came back into the main room to find Iwaizumi already sitting on the couch, a towel draped over his head as he looked over at you with a quiet, soft expression. His usual tough exterior was still there, but there was an underlying gentleness in his gaze, something you rarely saw. You didn’t know if it was because of the loss or the storm, but tonight, he seemed a little more open, a little more vulnerable.

He motioned for you to sit down. “You can sit here. You look like you’re freezing.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at how kind he was being, especially considering how he was still dealing with his own frustration over the match. You moved to the couch, sitting next to him, and for a while, the two of you just sat there in silence, the sound of the rain still pouring outside.

Eventually, Iwaizumi glanced over at you, his voice a little quieter now. “You didn’t have to come here, you know. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to stay over or anything…”

You shook your head softly, your voice calm but warm. “It’s okay, Hajime. I didn’t mind. I’m actually kind of glad you insisted.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. There was a long pause before he added, “Thanks for being here… especially with everything going on.”

You felt a warmth in your chest at his words. He wasn’t usually so open with his feelings, but there was something in his voice now that made you realize how much he valued having you around, even when he was at his lowest.

“No problem, Hajime,” you said quietly, the words carrying more meaning than they would have in a normal conversation. “I’m always here.”

And for the first time that night, Iwaizumi allowed himself to relax, his shoulders lowering as he sighed softly. He didn’t say anything more, but the weight of the loss seemed to ease just a little bit, like his body was slowly letting go of the frustration.

The storm raged on outside, but inside Iwaizumi’s house, the two of you were safe, warm, and just for a moment, it felt like everything was okay.

You sat down on the couch, your phone in hand. Iwaizumi had gone into the kitchen, probably getting ready to make dinner, but you didn’t want to forget to call your parents and let them know you were safe. After all, you hadn’t expected to be staying over at Iwaizumi’s place tonight, especially not after the game.

The phone rang once before your mom picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. It’s me,” you said, trying to sound casual but knowing the tone in your voice probably gave away that something was up. “Just wanted to let you know I’m staying over at Hajime’s place tonight. It’s really raining heavily, and his house is closer.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Oh? Well, that’s very kind of him to let you stay, especially with the weather like this. I’m glad you’re being safe. You can stay as long as you need to, sweetheart.”

Your mom always had a way of making everything sound so reassuring. You could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You always say that, but we still worry,” she teased. “I’m just glad you’re not out there in the storm. I assume his parents are there too, right?”

“Yeah, they’re home,” you said, glancing toward the kitchen where you could hear the faint sound of movement. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m just going to hang out with them for the night.”

“Well, enjoy yourself then. I’m glad you’re spending time with them. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She laughed softly, a tone of warmth in her voice. “Give them our regards, and we’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”

“I will. Love you, Mom. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You hung up the phone and set it down on the coffee table, feeling a little lighter now that your parents knew where you were. The thought of staying over at Iwaizumi’s house brought back a lot of memories—of when you were younger, and your families had been close. You remembered how often you’d sleep over at Iwaizumi’s, spending the weekend with him and his parents while your own parents enjoyed some time to themselves. It felt almost nostalgic to think about it now, even though so much had changed.

Before you could dwell too much on the memories, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. You turned your head to see Iwaizumi walking into the living room, a towel draped around his neck, his hair still damp from the rain. He gave you a brief nod as he walked past you, heading toward the kitchen.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” he said simply, though there was a certain comfort in his tone.

Just as you were about to respond, you heard the sound of a door opening, followed by the voices of Iwaizumi’s parents.

“We’re home!” His mom’s voice was warm and cheerful, always a welcoming presence. “Haijime we brought some more food for dinner!”

Iwaizumi’s dad, a little more laid-back, added with a chuckle, “I’m starving. Hope you’ve got something good ready for us.”

Iwaizumi’s mom peeked her head into the living room, smiling at you as she stepped in. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! How are you, dear?”

You smiled back, a little surprised at how natural it felt to be here again, like no time had passed at all. “I’m doing well, Mrs. Iwaizumi. It’s been a while since I’ve been over here.”

“Oh, I know!” She laughed warmly, walking further into the room. “You used to stay here all the time when you were younger. It’s so nice to have you over again.”

Her words made you feel a little nostalgic, thinking back to when you’d stay over during weekends and holidays, making memories with Iwaizumi and his family. You hadn’t realized how much you missed those simpler days until now.

Iwaizumi’s dad entered the room behind his wife, looking over at you with a friendly grin. “It’s been too long, huh? Good to have you back. I’m glad you’re not out in that rainstorm. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” you said with a soft smile, feeling the warmth of their hospitality. “It’s really kind of you to let me stay.”

“No need to thank us, dear. You’re always welcome here,” his mom said, setting a bowl of food down on the table. “We’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

Iwaizumi, who had been quietly listening from the kitchen, looked over his shoulder at you, his expression softer than usual. “Dinner’s almost ready. You can sit with us.”

You nodded and moved toward the dining area, joining his parents at the table. The rain continued to fall heavily outside, but inside, the atmosphere felt warm and comfortable. There was a sense of calm now, a quiet reassurance that you were with people who cared about you.

As you all settled down to eat, the conversation drifted easily. Iwaizumi’s mom asked how things had been going for you recently, how school was, and whether you were keeping up with everything. You found yourself talking more than you expected, feeling at ease in the familiar environment.

“So, tell us,” Iwaizumi’s dad said with a teasing grin, “when’s the next time you’ll come over for one of these dinners? You’re always welcome here, you know.”

You laughed softly, glancing over at Iwaizumi, who was quietly eating his meal, his usual stoic expression on his face. “I’ll make sure to come by more often,” you said, your voice warm with sincerity. “It’s nice being here again.”

Iwaizumi’s mom smiled at you, a soft gleam in her eye. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s like the good old days, isn’t it, Iwa-chan?” she said playfully, glancing over at her son.

Iwaizumi, despite his usual gruff nature, didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a small nod, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, it is.”

The rest of dinner passed in easy conversation, the mood lightening even further. As the rain continued to pour outside, you realized how much you’d missed the comfort of being around Iwaizumi’s family. It felt like coming home, even after all these years.

After dinner, Iwaizumi’s parents left the table to clean up, and you and Iwaizumi found yourselves alone in the living room. The storm outside was still fierce, but inside, the warmth of the meal and the company left you feeling content.

You settled onto the couch again, and for a moment, everything felt at peace. The stress of the game, the rain, the uncertainties—everything faded into the background as you sat next to Iwaizumi.

The day was winding down, and though you hadn’t expected any of this to happen, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia and connection with Iwaizumi, his family, and this place that had once been so familiar.

___________________________________________________________________________

The house had settled into a peaceful stillness after dinner. The storm outside continued to lash against the windows, the wind howling softly, making the world beyond Iwaizumi’s family home seem distant and far away. The warmth from the meal you’d shared lingered in the air, the comfortable hum of the household fading as Iwaizumi’s parents headed to bed. But inside your guest room, you were far from comfortable.

You lay on your back, staring at the darkened ceiling, the soft light from the night lamp casting faint shadows around the room. The bed beneath you was soft, inviting, but it might as well have been a bed of nails given how restless you were. You shifted, tugging at the blanket a little, trying to find a position that would help you sleep, but nothing worked.

Your mind kept returning to the locker room. The sound of your breath, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the way his lips had pressed into yours—there was something undeniable about it. He had kissed you. It hadn’t been a fleeting brush or a simple show of comfort; it had been… real. It had been something that felt far deeper than a moment of weakness or loss.

You couldn’t stop replaying it. How he had hesitated at first, as though he wasn’t sure if he should, and then how he had closed that gap between you two. How soft his lips were, how his touch had been both tender and urgent at the same time. It had been electric.

You turned over onto your side, curling into the pillow and closing your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. But every time you tried to block it out, you found the memory of his kiss coming back, like it was still lingering on your lips. The thought of it sent a fluttering feeling through your chest, the kind that made your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

What does this mean? You wondered, staring into the darkness. Was it something real between you two? Or was it just a moment of comfort, brought on by the intensity of the game and everything that had happened?

You couldn’t deny the way he made you feel—how his presence, his gaze, and even his silence had always made you feel understood. And now, the kiss. It was a shift, a change. You could feel it in your bones.

Still, despite the warmth of the storm outside, despite the soft, comforting quiet of the house, a part of you felt exposed. Vulnerable.

You heard the faint sound of the rain, then the low creak of the stairs leading upstairs to the bedrooms. The house had a life of its own in the quiet, and you could feel Iwaizumi’s presence even without hearing him.

You tossed and turned in the bed, unable to push the thoughts out of your head. His words, his hesitation, the feeling of his presence so close to yours—it all lingered like an unanswered question.

The clock ticked on, but sleep felt impossible. Finally, you gave up. You pulled the covers back and slid out of bed, the cool air of the room sending a slight chill over your skin. You padded quietly down the hallway, trying not to make too much noise. Your steps carried you toward the kitchen, where you could hear faint sounds—the soft hum of the refrigerator, the steady tapping of the rain outside, and… someone else moving around.

As you rounded the corner, there he was.

Iwaizumi stood in the dim light of the kitchen, his back to you as he stared out the window at the storm outside. His figure was tense, his posture stiff, but there was something comforting about the way he stood—like he was alone with his thoughts, just as you had been.

You paused at the doorway for a moment, unsure whether to say something or just turn back. But you couldn’t leave things hanging between you two—not after what had happened.

“Hajime?” you called out softly, your voice breaking the silence.

He didn’t turn immediately. For a long moment, he just stood there, the sound of the rain a steady backdrop. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally turned around, his eyes meeting yours. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness to it now, something that had been missing earlier.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked quietly, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, stepping further into the kitchen. “No, not really.” You let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think... I think I’ve been thinking about too much.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, his voice just a little quieter now, almost like he didn’t want to admit it. He took a step toward you, his hand still resting on the counter, as though he was grounding himself in the moment. “About… what happened earlier.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just standing there in the quiet kitchen. The tension was palpable—heavy, almost suffocating—but you didn’t want to leave it there. You needed to address it.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… the kiss.” You swallowed, your hands nervously wringing together. “I don’t know if it was just because we were both feeling the loss… or if it was something more.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze softened, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to collect his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than usual, as if the words weren’t coming easily.

“It wasn’t just the game,” he said quietly. “I think… I think I’ve been feeling this for a while, but I didn’t know how to deal with it.” He let out a long breath. “It’s just hard, y’know? I don’t want to mess things up with you. You mean too much to me.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, a warm sensation spreading through you. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything that had built up to this point. The connection, the understanding, the way he always made you feel seen, even when you weren’t saying a word. The way he always had your back, no matter what.

“I don’t want to mess things up either,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. The distance between you felt like it was shrinking, the air thick with unspoken words. “But maybe we don’t have to figure it all out right now. Maybe we just take things one step at a time.”

For a moment, there was silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a comfortable, lingering quiet—a breath before the next step.

And then, as if the moment had finally reached its natural conclusion, you found yourself leaning in, just a little closer. You could feel the warmth from his body, his breath brushing against your cheek as your lips hovered only a few inches from his.

He hesitated for just a second, but when you didn’t pull away, he closed the gap. His lips pressed gently against yours, warm and soft. The kiss was slow this time, almost reverent, like you were both savoring the moment.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his. You could hear the rain still falling outside, but it felt distant now. Everything seemed to fade away except for the two of you, standing there in the kitchen, hearts racing in sync.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” he murmured, his voice low and almost hushed, his breath mingling with yours.

You smiled faintly, your heart fluttering. “Me neither,” you admitted.

___________________________________________________________________________

Iwaizumi’s eyes searched yours for a beat longer, as if waiting for you to change your mind—but you didn’t. You were still smiling, and the quiet glow in his expression told you he was just as hesitant, just as hopeful.

Without needing to say anything else, he reached out and gently took your hand. His fingers were warm, calloused, familiar. You let him guide you wordlessly out of the kitchen, the sound of the storm still whispering against the windows behind you.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft light spilling from the kitchen. Your footsteps were quiet on the wooden floors, your heart beating steadily louder in your ears with each step. When you reached his room, he pushed the door open with his shoulder and let you step in first.

It hadn’t changed much since you were kids—same posters on the walls, a few trophies neatly lined on the shelf, a framed photo of the old team in the corner—but tonight, everything felt different. Charged. Quiet. Intimate.

He closed the door gently behind you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, watching each other in the low light, as though words might ruin the fragile stillness between you.

Then he stepped forward, and so did you.

The space between you vanished like it had never been there. Your hands found his shoulders first, gripping them gently as if to steady yourself. His eyes didn’t leave yours—not for a second. His hands found your waist, sliding there slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of you with his touch alone.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft at first—barely more than a brush of lips, as if he was testing the waters. You responded without hesitation, leaning into it, your hand rising to cup the back of his neck. The second kiss came deeper, more certain, his other hand coming up to cradle your cheek as he pressed into you with a kind of quiet desperation. Not rushed. Not wild. Just full of everything left unsaid.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss stretched out, slow and unhurried. His mouth moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself back just enough to stay grounded—but you could also feel how much he wanted to be near you.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he shifted—his arms suddenly stronger around you as he swept you up effortlessly. You gasped against his mouth, one arm flying around his neck, the other gripping his shirt.

He pressed you gently against the wall, your back meeting it with a quiet thud, but the sound barely registered over the pounding of your heart. The kiss deepened as he held you there, his hands warm and steady on your thighs, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist without a second thought.

You tilted your head to the side, lips parting for him again, and he kissed you like he meant it—like this was the only thing in the world that made sense right now. His hands tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer, grounding himself in you.

He kissed you again. And again. Long, drawn-out kisses that left you breathless and aching in the best way. Your fingers played with the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up, your other hand cupping his jaw. You felt him smile faintly against your lips, and something about that tiny expression made your chest feel impossibly full.

He finally pulled back just a little, only enough to rest his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing heavier now, flushed from the closeness, from the way time seemed to stand still between kisses.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and neither of you said anything for a moment. His thumb brushed across your cheek again, eyes flicking down to your lips, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or just hold onto the moment.

You leaned in and kissed him again instead—slow, sweet, drawn out. He met you halfway this time, the kiss deepening once more, your heart thudding wildly as his hand moved from your thigh to your back, holding you close like he was scared you might disappear.

By the time he finally stepped back, easing you down and taking your hand in his again, both of you were breathless, warm, and a little dazed.

There were still no words exchanged—but none were needed.

Not now.

___________________________________________________________________________

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

One minute, you were curled up beside him, heart still fluttering from every kiss, your head tucked beneath his chin while his arm wrapped securely around you. The next, you were waking slowly to the pale morning light slipping through the curtains, the storm long gone, replaced by a gentle hush that only early mornings could carry.

Iwaizumi was still asleep beside you—his expression soft, peaceful, one arm still loosely draped across your waist. His hair was tousled, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and steady. The sight of him like that stirred something so tender in you it almost hurt.

You stayed for a moment, just watching him, basking in the quiet comfort of the room, the lingering warmth of the night before still wrapped around you like a secret.

A knock at the door startled you gently.

“Hajime?” came his mother’s voice, muffled but chipper. “Breakfast is ready!”

His eyes fluttered open slowly, and when he saw you looking at him, a sleepy smile tugged at his lips. “Morning,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

You smiled back. “Morning.”

Neither of you made a move to get up right away.

Then came another voice—his dad’s this time, teasing in tone. “You better get down here before your mom eats all the miso soup.”

There was a pause.

“…And don’t pretend like you two weren’t curled up in there. We heard you sneaking around last night.”

You felt your cheeks go up in flames as Hajime groaned and buried his face in the pillow beside you.

“Dad, seriously?”

You laughed softly, biting your lip. “Well… we weren’t very subtle.”

He peeked up at you with a sheepish grin. “Guess not.”

A few minutes later, the two of you finally rolled out of bed, changed into comfortable clothes, and padded downstairs—still side by side, fingers brushing once or twice before finally linking together halfway down.

His mom greeted you both at the dining table with her usual warm smile. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded, cheeks still a little warm. “Yeah… thanks so much for letting me stay.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “You know you’re always welcome here. Honestly, you should stay more often—like you used to when you were kids!”

His dad, already halfway through his rice, raised a brow and said with a grin, “Well, I guess now there’s extra incentive.”

You looked over at Hajime, who shook his head at his dad, trying (and failing) to hide a smile. His mother gave her husband a playful nudge.

“Oh, hush. You’re just mad because you lost.”

“…Lost?” you asked, confused.

Hajime’s mom grinned. “We had a little bet, his father and I. I said you two would finally figure it out before graduation. He said no way.”

You blinked. “Wait. What was the prize?”

Without missing a beat, Hajime’s dad sighed and handed her a folded bill across the table. “Five thousand yen. She won.”

You stared, then burst into laughter—warm and full, the kind that made Hajime laugh too, low and soft beside you. The heaviness from the day before still lingered at the edges, but it didn’t define the morning.

Because here you were—still standing, still smiling, still together.

And it felt like something good was just beginning.

___________________________________________________________________________

Time Skip – Five Years Later

The stadium buzzed with energy, a low hum of anticipation before the international match began. The lights were bright, the court polished to perfection, and the air practically crackled with excitement. Hajime stood beside you in his clean-cut Japan team tracksuit, clipboard tucked under one arm. You were both there in an official capacity now—he as a physical trainer, you as part of the staff logistics crew.

It was surreal, walking the courtside together, years after that stormy night in his childhood home. Married. Grown. Steady. Sometimes it still hit you like a wave: how far you’d come, how much had changed—yet how little had changed when it came to him.

And then… the loud, unmistakable sound of squeaking shoes and too much flair.

“Iwa-chan!”

You both turned just in time to see the whirlwind that was Oikawa Tooru striding across the court in his Argentina uniform, absolutely glowing with dramatic flair, arms outstretched like he was walking a runway instead of prepping for a world-class volleyball match.

“Ah,” Hajime sighed, but there was a faint smirk already forming.

You stifled a laugh.

Oikawa reached you both in seconds, and before Hajime could react, Oikawa threw his arms dramatically around his shoulders, squeezing him with a mock sob. “I knew it. I knew you’d be here. I felt a disturbance in the air. Like betrayal. And smug domestic happiness.”

Hajime didn’t flinch. “Get off me, Shittycawa.”

Oikawa finally pulled back with a grin and turned his gaze on you.

“And you.” He pointed an accusing finger, eyes narrowing—but not seriously. “You. Stole. My best friend.”

You blinked innocently. “Technically, he kissed me first.”

“Traitorous behavior!” he gasped, stepping back like you’d physically wounded him. “I leave him unattended for one post-game moment and boom—married.”

You lifted your left hand, wiggling your ring finger. “Still married.”

Hajime placed a casual hand on the small of your back, looking unfazed. “And happy.”

Oikawa groaned dramatically. “It’s like I’m being stabbed. Over and over. With love and commitment. Ugh.”

But then, behind the dramatics, his smile softened, even if he tried to hide it. “I’m glad,” he said a little more quietly. “You two... always fit. Even back then. I just didn’t wanna admit it.”

You reached out and gently nudged his arm. “There’s still enough of him left for you, y’know.”

“Hmm,” he sniffed. “I suppose I’ll allow it. For now.”

The three of you stood there for a moment, and something warm passed between you. Time hadn’t dimmed the bond between them. If anything, it had strengthened it in ways none of you had expected—distance, growth, and all.

“Alright, alright,” Oikawa said, straightening up. “Enough sentimentality. I’ve got a game to win and a dramatic speech planned for after. Don’t miss it.”

“You’re not gonna win,” Hajime muttered, completely deadpan.

“Iwa-chan!”

And with that, he strutted away like he hadn't just thrown emotional chaos at your feet.

You and Hajime stood there for a moment, watching him go. Then he turned to you, eyes soft and amused.

“Some things never change,” you murmured.

“Thankfully,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple.