Firecracker -a meet cute with Suna Rintaro (923 words, fluff)
It doesn’t begin with the standard hello, it’s nice to meet you.
Instead, it begins in the middle of a crowded hallway in school as you’re facing off one Miya Atsumu. The disparity in size is what makes him chortle at first, you’re dwarfed by the six foot tall blonde pain in the ass, and that is probably what makes Kita hiss in disapproval, ready to curb his wayward kouhai from courting further trouble with the discipline master.
But from his vantage point, he notices a few things.
First, while Miya Atsumu is currently holding your pencil case hostage, dangled teasingly way above your head, he’s keeping a careful distance from you. Second, you show no signs of being dissuaded by your physical disadvantage, nor are you resorting to whining to get your way - something he detests. Instead, your stance is light and casual. You’re even advancing with deliberate, sure steps towards Atsumu. Third, you’ve somehow managed to shift the terrain to your advantage, cornering Atsumu beside a study bench, his idiot teammate blind to the fact that he’s being played.
Suna does, because he observes and thinks. Like you, he thinks appraisingly. He appreciates that.
Perhaps it’s just sheer curiosity that makes him catch Kita’s sleeve before his captain darts out to diffuse the situation, or it’s his penchant for filming Miya twins shenanigans (his camera was out the minute he spotted Atsumu stealing your pencil case from your bag).
Volleyball isn’t exactly the most popular sport but handsome, charming Miya Atsumu, starting setting of the MSBY Black Jackals has his share of fangirls nonetheless. He has never given you any cause to worry, always keeping a respectful distance from them, bowing and thanking them for their support before trying his best to disappear after matches and teleport himself back home to you.
You know he doesn’t care for fame or the fans.
He only cares about playing volleyball. He only cares about you.
Still, it’s hard not to doubt yourself sometimes when you’re feeling blue. It just happens to be one of those days. You wake up to pouring rain, miss your train, get shouted at by your boss for making two typos in a presentation you only had an hour to prepare for. It all comes to a head when you rush to watch his match and watch as your boyfriend gets swarmed by his fangirls yet again.
He takes a while to notice that you’re being uncharacteristically quiet when you reach home. In his defence, he did just win a match overr EJP Raijin, so he’s busy sending triumphant selfies and taunts to Suna just to rub it in. He doesn’t have Kita keeping him in line anymore (no, the Inarizaki group chat does not count).
But he catches on soon enough when you sniffle into your pillow, pull your blanket over your head.
“Rough day?” he asks, rubbing soothing circles into your back.
He thinks he hears another sniff, the sound muffled by layers of cloth and fluff hiding you from him. Perhaps he should give you your space, let you mope and get whatever it is out of your system, but he hates even the thought of you being sad.
So he slips nimble fingers beneath the sheets, attacking your weak spot with tickles until you squeal with laughter and capitulate, throwing the blankets down while wheezing.
“Wanna tell me what’s wrong, doll?”
He listens as you whine about your day, nods at the right places, curses your boss. But he frowns when you meekly admit that you’re just a little insecure that you’re not good enough for him - not when he has fans throwing themselves at him left right and center - an exaggeration, he disagrees as you huff.
“You’re not allowed to laugh at me”, you poke his belly as he rolls over his side, raises his hands in mock defeat.
“Never”, he avers. “But seriously, ya got nothin’ to worry about.”
Unrequited love with Sakusa Kiyoomi -366 words of angst
Sakusa Kiyoomi understands the function of a human heart. He has a very clinical appreciation for it - the most important muscle in the body, pumping blood through the roadways of the body to deliver oxygen and nutrients and clear waste. That, he understands.
What he does not understand is why his heart constricts with pain every time youturn up to pick Miya Atsumu for practice. Why his atriums threaten to collapse, when you greet him with a bright smile and a chirped ‘Kiyoomi’, why his ventricles threaten to crumble when you turn away to greet your boyfriend with a hug and a tender kiss.
It’s silly. It’s awful. He doesn’t quite understand it.
Perhaps it’s because he listens to Atsumu boast about you all the time in the locker room. About how kind and understanding you are about his busy schedule, how caring you are to make sure the fridge is stocked with healthy meals for him to eat. About the dates you both go on, searching out old fashioned diners and cosy bakeries, running around furniture shops like children envisioning the home you’d like to build together one day.
It doesn’t help that you are one of the few people who respect his space yet show that they’re interested in him, dull, quiet, snappy Sakusa Kiyoomi.
But you’re in a happy relationship, and he would never disrespect that, so he just looks away and tries not to grimace when you look at Miya Atsumu as if he’s hung the stars in the sky.
“Kiyoomi?”
You call out to him, explaining that you heard from Atsumu that his favourite food is umeboshi which you just happened to have on hand, so you made him a bento box of his own.
“Thank you”, he shakily replies as you skip away hand in hand with Atsumu.
He opens the box. Perfectly cooked rice, umeboshi tucked into the very centre, surrounded by a generous helping of karaage and tamagoyaki with a side of cucumber and wakame salad. There’s a cheery note tucked into the box, wishing him gambatte!
Muscles falter. Blood vessels collapse into themselves.
He should look into replacing his heart. It seems to be failing him.
a/n:yall really like hurting omi huh. poor darling.
Miya Osamu takes his time to look up from the pot of pork belly he’s stirring over the stove. “Ya sure yer yellin’ at the right Miya, doll?” he asks, with a playful smirk that only serves to fan the flames of your anger.
“I’m pretty sure your brother didn’t knock me up cos’ I would’ve remembered that”, you spit, bunching up the hems of your shirt in clenched fists, watching with sick satisfaction as Osamu’s face blanches white, wooden spoon falling to the floor.
This is all his fault. His fault for being so ridiculously alluring and handsome that you couldn’t resist taking him into bed even though you were on antibiotics that night. His fault for peppering kisses down your neck in the morning and making you completely forget about popping by the pharmacy that day.
“Sweetheart”, he breathes as he folds you into his arms, tucks you firmly against his chest. “You’re pregnant?”
You sniffle, knocking your fists half-heartedly against the planes of his chest. The truth is - even though you’re married and you’ve always wanted kids, it’s a frightening prospect to confront. Osamu’s busy with expanding his business, you are settling down at your job, it doesn’t feel like the right time to suddenly be saddled with the responsibility of keeping a tiny human alive.
“I’m scared”, you admit, drawing comfort from the warmth from his skin, the steady beat of his heart.
He tilts your face up to him, wipes your tears away with gentle thumbs.
“So am I”, he says quietly. “But if you wanna keep it, I’m in.”
You consider it.
You imagine a world where Miya Osamu straps your chubby little baby adorned in onigiri print onesie onto his back as he serves his customers. You imagine a world where he teaches your child how to slice and dice, their expressions mirroring each other, tongues poking out in concentration. You imagine a world where you and Osamu create a life that’s half his and half yours, a miracle of its own.
Your heart swells. Your fears wither and die.
“I’m in too”, you whisper, laughing with joy as he picks you up and twirls you all around the kitchen.
a/n:as requested by jenny @fail-big. also PSA from grandma nikki: please use contraception and be safe, kids!
Argument and Breakup with Suna Rintaro -450 words, pure angst
You have giveneverything to Suna Rintarou.
Worked your ass off just so you can get into Hiroshima University, and move in along with him when he signed with EJP Raijin. Endured bouts of loneliness when he travels abroad for competitions. Supported him in any way possible - cooking, cleaning, maintaining a household just so you can be sure he gets enough rest.
You’ve done everything you’ve ever could. And yet, you must face the fact that you have to give up your place in his life.
He refuses to acknowledge it.
He refused to even tell you about the amazing offer he got to play in France, claiming when you find out about the offer from his frantic manager that it’s a non-starter, he’s never going to leave you. His mother calls you, his manager begs you - you capitulate, as you always do when confronted with what’s best for him.
“Rin”, you plead. “Take the offer. Go to Paris.”
He stares at you blankly.
“Let’s have dinner”, he says, as if you haven’t spoken. As if you haven’t brought this conversation at least ten times before. But you are tenacious when it comes to his well-being, so you set your jaw and refuse to let him run this time.
“Rin”, you say again. “Stop avoiding the topic. You know it’s for the best -”
“Absolutely not”, he snaps, chopsticks clattering against his rice bowl. “I’m not taking the offer.”
“Is it because of me?”, you ask, and his silence gives you the answer you already knew.
His eyes flash with anger, lips pursed to signal frustration. You know you’re wearing his patience down but you tell yourself it’s all for his own good. It’s like amputating an infected limb - you need to grit your teeth and slash at the ropes tethering him to you with cold efficiency, let him spread his wings and seek out a better, brighter world that you have no place in.
“Let’s break up”, you say, voice wobbling but without any room for argument.
His mouth opens and closes and for once, cool, collected Suna Rintarou loses his composure.
No, he manages to breathe, clutches at your hand like it’s the only thing stopping him from drowning. Please, he says after dinner, when it’s your turn to disregard his arguments on why you two should stay together as you pack your bags. Don’t go, he whispers as you finally slam the door.
You barely make it to the lift. You collapse into tears when you reach the ground floor. You only manage to force yourself to stagger away from the home you’ve built with Rin by telling yourself that it’s for the best.
You need to let him go.
a/n: as requested by the lovely chloe @sunasbabie - don’t come for me, y’all requested that i post it today!!!
pairing:sakusa kiyoomi x f! reader genre: unadulterated fluff wc:455 words
a/n:an outtake from my earlier work Broken Compass (read here) which covers the romance between omi and the reader here, can be read as a standalone.
You watch as Sakusa Kiyoomi slides his cufflinks into place, the finely wrought silver catching the light. The significance of them isn’t lost on him when you shyly gifted them to him. Twin compasses, echoing his words when he proposed to you.
If my heart were a compass it would be broken, because instead of pointing north, it will always point towards you.
Still, you wonder if you are asking too much of him right now, even if he’s assured you at least a hundred times that he wants to accompany you to your ex’s wedding as your plus one. You understand Omi well enough to know that he dislikes crowds and loud places, what more a wedding dinner overflowing with alcohol and volleyball players. He would not have agreed to go if not for you.
“Omi”, you catch his elbow, fiddling with the hem of your dress. “You really don’t have to go with me. It’s no problem - I can go alone, catch a cab, I’m sure there’ll be people I can hang out with anyway, it’ll be fine -”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
Of course you do - the evening would be so much more enjoyable with your own fiancee by your side. He’d whisper dry jokes into your ear just to make you giggle, rescue you from any awkward social situations with his usual complete lack of tact, and squeeze your hand to reassure you that he’s there.
You’ve never been able to lie to him so you nod.
“Then I’m going with you”, he says as if it’s a done deal.
“You don’t have to”, you protest weakly.
“No, I don’t”, he agrees. “I don’t have to, but I want to. Because it’s you.”
The simplicity and sheer romanticism of his statement astounds you, threatens to swell and swallow you whole. Sakusa Kiyoomi never fails to remind you each and every day of his love for you, slowly building up a lifetime of decisions to show that you are his choice.
He loves you. It’s always been you.
You are going to ruin your make-up if you don’t keep it together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your eyes.
You shake your head, brushing his dark curls gently from his forehead. “Nothing’s wrong, Omi”, you reply, trying your best not to cry.
He frowns slightly, snatching up a tissue to dab away your tears. “Silly woman”, he says lightly. “Getting emotional on what you should already know.”
“It’s nice to be reminded once in a while”, you say, giggling as he snorts and tugs you out of the front door into the waiting cab. You end up enjoying the party because he’s by your side.
a/n:enjoy the fluff today, will be posting heavy suna angst tmr. :)
Growing apart with Akaashi Keiji -346 words of angst
“It was my birthday yesterday.”
Akaashi glances up at you from the genkan, a shoe still on his foot, his briefcase still looped around his elbow. Shadows obscure your face as you sit at the dining table.
The lights are off. It’s dark.
‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem quite sufficient given the last two birthdays he’s forgotten, so he settles with a brief ‘I’ll make it up to you tomorrow’ instead, hoping that you’ll give him a pass just like you have twice before, and let him collapse in bed instead.
You barely acknowledge his words, only gesturing for him to sit beside you, pushing a stack of papers towards him. Even though the words on the page seem to swim before his very eyes, he can make out their meaning, their intent.
Divorce.
His bones sag into weak flesh, his blood freezes in his veins, but he manages to raise his head, meet your cold stare.
“Why?” he asks.
You haven’t fought with him, haven’t told him you were unhappy, he can’t understand why you would throw away your marriage so easily, like it means nothing to you at all. He’s not the most attentive of husbands, not the most affectionate of husbands, because surely he has an excuse, work has been taking up all his time. Yes, he could do better, should do better so surely you’ll give him another chance?
“Because we don’t know each other anymore”, you reply simply.
Even as he shakes his head to deny it, he can’t answer your pointed questions, doesn’t know your favourite tea nor the TV show you’re currently watching, fumbles when you ask him when the last time he’s been to your parents’ place for dinner, can’t even name a single one of your co-workers or more damningly, even get the name of the company you work for correct.
“You can’t love someone you don’t even know” you tell him, your tone flat, dead.
He knows defeat when he sees it. He is not too far gone that he can’t own up to his mistakes.
He picks up a pen.
a/n:reposting because the tags are being evil rawr.
You are no match for a professional athlete when he’s determined to barge into your apartment. So you can only squawk indignantly when Miya Atsumu shoulders past you, unceremoniously dumping a semi-comatose Sakusa Kiyoomi onto your sofa.
“He kept asking for ya”, the blonde idiot standing on your living room rug states, making a run for it before you can even protest.
You should leave him to suffer on the sofa - which he surely will, given the way he reeks of alcohol and fried food. He deserves it after the way he stomped on your heart, crushing it beneath his feet by claiming that you were too emotionally needy, too clingy, too affectionate - too much of everything he didn’t want. Logic dictates that you should leave him to suffer, but you are far too much of a bleeding heart, so you rearrange his limbs on the sofa, tuck a cushion under his neck.
You’re in the kitchen deliberating whether to wake him up to force him to down a glass of water when you hear him calling your name, like he has a thousand times before. Your feet answer before you even think.
“Sakusa-san”, you greet him coldly as he struggles to sit up and hunches over, knees to chest.
“I miss her so much”, he tells you, head in hands, and your heart sinks like a stone as you wonder who sheis, who he’s referring to.
You are half minded to deposit him on your front door until he replies with your name again, mumbles it again and again and again, and you realise with one look at his hazy gaze - oh, this silly man crouched on your sofa like an oversized cat is yearning for you.
You’ve heard anecdotes of the MSBY boys’ quirks when drunk. Atsumu, a natural loudmouth, gets exceedingly quiet. Loud, exuberant Bokuto, falls asleep anywhere like a log and snores like a horn. Hinata gets even more hyper, bounces off walls until Meian corrals him when it’s time to go. But you’ve never heard about Kiyoomi losing himself to alcohol, at least not until now.
Reticent, remote Kiyoomi is a complete chatterbox. He slurs his way through declarations of love to you, lamenting how huge of an idiot he was to ever let you go. You listen bemusedly as he lauds your patience with him, talks fondly of the silly things you do that make him smile, affection colouring every inflection of his voice.
“D’you think I have a chance if I beg for her to take me back?”
You pretend to think, even as you take the opportunity to force him to down a cup of water and lie back down on the sofa.
“I think she might if you ask her nicely and promise a lifetime’s supply of kisses to make amends.”
He snuffles into his blanket happily before promptly falling asleep.
Growing old together with Bokuto Koutaro -350 words of fluff❤️
“I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call the prettiest girl in the world my wife.”
You turn to look over your shoulder at your husband leaning against the counter, watching you chop vegetables with a proud smile on his face. You stifle an affectionate laugh, slapping his hands away as he steals a carrot stick from the pile.
“Kou, you do realise that we’re grandparents now right? You really don’t need to flatter me anymore.”
Your gentle giant of a husband makes a muffled whine of protest in his throat, rounding the counter to rest his chin on the top of your head, his hands on your hips.
“Tisn’t flattery”, he answers so seriously you still your movements, spin around to meet his gaze.
“No?”
“Nope”, he replies, popping the sound against his tongue. “You’re always going to be the prettiest girl in the world in my eyes.”
You lean your head against his still broad chest. You’ve had a lifetime of love with your irrepressible Kou, memories of your shared adventures still fresh in your mind - him holding tournaments with foam swords for your children to settle their fights, staying up all night crafting the most garish banners to be waved at ballet recitals and volleyball matches, impromptu date nights to theme parks that would end up with him and the children ricocheting off the walls, the result of too much junk food and candy.
And while you’ll never grow tired of him nor his unabashed love for you, you will similarly never grow out of the habit of teasing him to bits.
“You must be going old and blind”, you say, playfully prodding him with a gnarled finger. “It must be time to go get your eyesight checked. Shall I get Akaashi to go with you?”
Bokuto huffs, mouth drooping into an exaggerated pout, whining until you soothe his feelings with tender kisses and reassurances that he’s always going to be your Kou - yes, even if he is old.
You’ve had a lifetime of adventure, of love, of happiness with Bokuto Koutaro. You couldn’t ask for more.
a/n: i hope you enjoy the second part of the remixed storm chaser. part i can be found here.
Miya Atsumu has a reputation of being relentless in hunting down what he wants.
So even though Kita frowns and Osamu blows up his phone with angry texts, he makes the hour-long drive through sleepy villages and rice paddies and bamboo groves back to her family’s home.
He does not linger overlong at her front door, does not even muster up the courage to try the window to her room - he knows it’s been latched shut and will not open, no matter how much he grovels. He simply kneels by the door, leaving bunches of wildflowers, paper wrapped packages of mochi and letters written in the light of insomnia and bitter desperation.
I’m sorry, he writes, again and again, at the top of each and every letter. I’m sorry for running. I’m sorry I wasn’t fair to you, he scribbles, regretting the nights spent convincing himself that he’s too young, it’s too much to ask, even as he dreams of childlike laughter and playful banter.
I’m sorry I forgot how much I loved you.
He refuses to lose hope when his flowers wilt from being left out in the sun, when the packages of mochi returned with a polite note thanking Kita’s grandmother for her kindness, not even when his letters are shredded to ribbons. He stays until his agent calls with demands that he present himself back in Osaka before the season starts, and with a heavy heart, he packs his bags and bids Kita goodbye.
a/n: i know i promised y’all atsumu fluff, and it will be served eventually, so hope you like some osamu fluff and a reminder to indulge in self-love in the meantime
‘Yer not finishin’ yer food?’ Osamu asks with concern as he watches you play with the remaining food on your plate listlessly, a pained look in your eyes.
‘I’m not hungry’, you lie, getting up and clearing your plate.
He only frowns.
It all makes sense when he catches you staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, top pulled up to reveal your belly. He watches you pinch the soft plush of your belly that he loves so much, watches your face darken as you measure your waist, watches you wince as you slap your own butt, sighing as it jiggles as butts are wont to do.
‘Do you think I’m ugly?’ you ask, catching his eye in the mirror, voice small.
‘Of course not’, he replies immediately. ‘Yer the most beautiful girl in the world to me’.
But he can see the echoes of doubt in your eyes, the disbelief as you purse your lips in a tight line. It makes his heart clench. He loves you, all of you - soft belly, round cheeks, crooked smile, and just wishes you could love yourself as much as he loves you too.
‘What brought this on, darlin’?’ he asks, wrapping his arms around you, tucking you firmly against his chest.
You shake your head at first, refusing to give him an answer, but he refuses to relinquish his grip on you until you do, so you admit shakily – ‘I spoke to my mum today, and she said I’m looking a little chubby’.
He exhales a sigh. ‘Do ya want me to call yer mum and give her a piece of my mind?’
You shake your head harder this time. ‘She means well’, you say weakly, but your fingers are still pinching your belly hard enough to leave red, angry marks behind.
Osamu peels your fingers away, unfurling them one by one with care. ‘Hey, look at me’, he says, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze in the mirror.
‘I mean it’, he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent. ‘Yer my bestest girl, and there’s nothin’ about yer that I would change’. Then he pauses, a mischievous smile flickering on his face.
‘Except maybe yer habit of not finishin’ yer food’.
You laugh at that, turning around to poke his cheek playfully. ‘But if I finish my food from now on, you won’t get any extras’.
His laughter bounces off the walls. ‘Darlin’ that’s a sacrifice my stomach’s willin’ to make’.
a/n:thestorm chaser remix as promised, but can be read as a standalone. wherein miya atsumu learns that it’s futile to run from his fate.
(pt. ii to follow soon.)
“‘Samu - don’t ya know how to knock on the door like a decent human being? Wait what the f- ”
Crack.
He regrets ever giving Osamu the key to his apartment when he’s grabbed by the scruff of his neck and greeted with a fist to the face. “What the fuckwas that for”, Atsumu yelps, cradling his jaw, violet marks blooming on his skin. “I didn’t steal yer shit this time, so what’s your fuckin’ problem - “
“Ya fucking bastard. Did ya know - did’ya know she was pregnant?” Osamu demands breathlessly, fist clenched by his side.
For a split second Atsumu is sorely tempted to tease his twin, taunt him, ask who she is, but the fury blazing in Osamu’s eyes urges him on the side of cautiousness so he nods once.
a/n: back by popular demand, another installment of the hogwarts x haikyuu fluff series featuring the Gryffindor quidditch team and one exceedingly persistent Iwaizumi Hajime. you may want to read the installment featuring one very smug Slytherin beater Kuroo Tetsuro (here) to appreciate the first scene in this story.
“What are we doing here, Iwaizumi?”
He’d grabbed your hand on a hogsmeade weekend, asking if you had any plans. You lied, crossing your fingers behind your back, telling him you hadn’t. So you find yourself seated opposite him in Madam Puddifoot’s, smothered by pink and white frills, surrounded by porcelain teaware.
By all appearances, it looks like a date. It shouldbe a date.
