a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy… but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao
genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!
pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)
warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing
word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)
enjoy!! :D
Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it’s easy to spot that he changed.
Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out.
Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight.
The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji–or, at least, that’s what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You’d be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you’d pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,
“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.
“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work–he wasn’t interrupting anyone.
“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.
“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?
Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-
“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested.
Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.
That’s how it is, huh?
This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.
It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything.
Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?
And then it was middle school.
Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi.
It’d be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.
At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.
The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You’d fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then
“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.
“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.
“What’d you get on that lit essay?”
“A 96. Why?”
“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”
A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.
Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You’d fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-
“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.
“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.
“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.
“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”
As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone–anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises.
“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.
-
“Tsukishima is really cute! And he’s smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”
“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”
“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”
“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”
“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.
That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.
-
There’s something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there’s only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.
Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least.
“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.
“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”
“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.
“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.
Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.
When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.
She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine–watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn’t anymore.
You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it’s easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?
“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light.
“Feel what?”
“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe.
You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed.
“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”
A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it’s truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.
“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.
Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.
-
A spirit can’t be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge.
For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and–volleyball notwithstanding–you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.
June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumpedafter all, the tears weren’t done falling.
The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.
“Y/N?”what the fuck?
He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.
Those fucking sports goggles.
“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.
“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height.
“Sulking?”
“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”
“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”
“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”
“Vaguely, but we were eight.”
“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”
An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It’s not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”
“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”
“He never asked.”
“Would you have said no?”
“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet.
“Should I not have asked?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.
He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.
You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain.
The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall–getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.
-
And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.
Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief.
It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishimasucksand he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclownand now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.
The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him.
It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”
He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though–you’d only notice if you really wanted to know.
Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.
“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.
“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.
“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.
“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.
Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.
“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Would you like to join me?”
“There’s a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”
You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.
-
There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were.
Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before–or was that admiration this time? The world may never know.
All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It’s just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration.
Warnings: technically childhood friends to lovers, forbidden lovers, it seems angsty but there’s a happy ending. (cause ya girl can’t do angst)
Authors Note: hi hi! This is very different from what I normally post! But honestly I really enjoyed doing it! And I think it came out pretty okay also I had to mention bokuto cause I can’t have kuroo without Bo hehe <33 this piece is for @introlovesonce upon a time collab!Thank you so much for hosting lovely!
although this piece is SFW, minors you’re not welcome here :):)
The princess that Kuroo was betrothed to wasn’t all that bad.
She had a pretty face, although Kuroo believed she’d be a little prettier if she wasn’t scowling all the time. She tended to only smile when the two of them made public appearances around the kingdom, eyes alight for commoners waving at them on the horse and buggy only to dim as soon as they entered the castle gates. He never understood why she looked at her compact mirror so much, doing it so much she almost forgot he was present sometimes, only coming to acknowledge him with a little nod when she snapped the golden compact shut. He really tried to get to know her better, all the jokes he seemed to tell only made her look more bewildered, brows furrowing up before she’d speak. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
summary:y/n and toru have been best friends since diapers, getting into all sorts of trouble along the way. it seems there’s nothing that could tear them apart, not iwa-chan, not toru’s weird obsession with aliens; even the move to tokyo couldn’t hinder their friendship. so… how would they fare upon realising that their platonic feelings aren’t quite platonic anymore?
EDIT:THE GROUPCHAT SHOWN IN THIS ONE WAS THE WRONG GROUPCHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO USE THE SEIJOH 4 SUPREMACY ONE
extra sides;
WELCOME BACK IWA’S LIL FURBABY MAPLE <3
hanae (y/n’s mother) is under the impression that oikawa and y/n are dating (only bc of how clingy they were at the hospital)
she very much approves
the second year members are—for some reason—very attached to y/n
tashi is a silent stalker
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if you do not see your name below but you were originally on the taglist, it was removed for one reason and one reason only: i couldn’t tag you.
summary:y/n and toru have been best friends since diapers, getting into all sorts of trouble along the way. it seems there’s nothing that could tear them apart, not iwa-chan, not toru’s weird obsession with aliens; even the move to tokyo couldn’t hinder their friendship. so… how would they fare upon realising that their platonic feelings aren’t quite platonic anymore?
content warnings: mention(s) of seizure, mature language, depictions(?) of a panic attack
word count:5.4K
note(s):you’ll find a few unknown names in this chapter, it’s just the names of y/n’s relatives. decided to give them some because why not? ♀️
- also, i switch between ‘hanae’ and ‘your mother’ a lot. same thing with ‘kenji’ and ‘your father’.
- if there’s any mistakes in here, my care is so far gone. at this point, when the tags are added it bugs out and i can’t edit the chapter ever again lol :> enjoy, it don’t, whatever you feel like
“You know the cashier was considering calling the cops on you.” Was the first thing you said once you emerged from the small convenience store. Oikawa whipped around with eyes as wide as saucers.
“What?Why?” The mere thought of being approached by unhappy officers sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. “I-I wasn’t doing anything!” You shrugged, readjusting the plastic bag suspended from your fingers. When you took the first couple of steps, it took him a moment to register your movement before he took up the space right beside you.
“Maybethat was why. You looked mad suspicious, Toru.” He fumbled for his words, brows furrowing with deepening frustration the more incoherent he became. Before too long, his cheeks resembled that of everlasting flames; a hue of burning red that seemed to spread across the expanse of his skin with no end in sight. Your lips twitched and curved up into a jubilant smile as the visible warmth latched onto his ears, going as far as to creep along the exposed skin of his neck.
Oikawa’s lips tightened; an attempt to quell the rising embarrassment that flooded forth.
“How on earth was I ‘mad suspicious’?” He bent his fingers as he quoted you, arching a brow smoothly, scrutinising gaze upon your face. “I was just standingthere!”
You laughed, recounting the anxiety written into the employee’s face as they served you, occasionally glancing through the large window towards Oikawa. They had even asked youforyour opinion; whether they should actually call the police or not, quickly prompting an awkward explanation that he wasn’t intentionally being suspicious, just waiting patiently for you.
Oikawa grumbled, turning away as his skin upheld its new crimson tint, his volleyball jacket suddenly becoming far too hot to handle. His fingers toyed temporarily with the zipper before pulling it down, fussing with the flaps of the jacket. The sigh that fled from his lips caught your attention rather quickly, though you dropped your gaze to the cracked pavement.
“It shouldn’t be much further.” You could sense his confusion even without looking at him. “Th-the hospital, I mean.”
“Ah, right. It’s just up ahead. I can see it.” Oikawa nodded, hands falling away from the hem of his jacket. “I, uh, don’t think you actually told me what happened this morning… after I left?” The lack of traffic alongside the road allowed his hesitant words to flow through the air easily, drawing a soft hum from your lips.
“Right, I guess I got distracted by the locker incident… thought I told you.” You knew you had forgotten something; it had been bugging you since first class of the day. “Well, when you left we figured we’d go check on him and see if he was ready to eat or at least awake.” You gripped the plastic bag tighter as the short memories faded in and out, such as your father’s bedroom door only slightly ajar.
“We went in and… I didn’t think anything was wrong at first until ‘ma came in right after.” Oikawa slipped his hands into his pockets, listening intently to your words, unfazed by the shakiness in your tone (or so he thought). His hand flexed subconsciously within his pocket, itching to reach out and grasp yours in a comforting hold. “She started panicking because it looked like he’d just been seizing, which hasn’t ever happened before… a-and then we couldn’t wake him up.”
He felt his heart leap up into his throat. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how you would have felt upon discovering your father in such a state. He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to offer any words of consolation.
“‘Ma called an ambulance and then called his parents and his sister… so they weren’t left in the dark, you know?” You lifted your head for what seemed like the first time in forever, sparing your friend a quick, pitiful glance before gazing ahead at the hospital. “Apparently an argument sparked up which was just the icing on the shit cake. But, I’d already left before all that went down; I wasn’t really interested in sitting in another hospital room for god-knows how long…” You pursed your lips, head tilted to the side as you stared ahead, taking in the slow-growing traffic.
“That sounded really bad… it’s not that I don’t want to be there with him—of course, I do—it-it’s just…”
“No, no.” Oikawa interrupted, waving his hand. “I get it. I bet your parents would understand, too. Hospitals can really take it out of a person, even when you’re not the one stuck in the bed.” He bit his tongue, hoping that the words he was mindlessly letting slip were the right ones. He assumed they were after spotting the grateful smile that wandered onto your lips.
“I know it pretty much pales in comparison, but when my nephew was in hospital for a broken leg, it was exhausting just sitting there with him for a couple of hours.” You tilted your head at the mention of said nephew. “You can bet Akiko was beyond the point of exhaustion after all that.” You grimaced, waves of sympathy emanating off of you for his sister.
“Yeah… ‘ma never really got back to sleeping properly after his first admission to hospital…” you sighed, “and that was ages ago.” Oikawa’s brows furrowed, studying the gentle way you peeked down into your bag, carefully readjusting the unhealthy snacks you had—without a doubt—slipped in. A vague curve made your lips twitch for a moment before you looked back up, the curve flattening unhappily.
You couldn’t say you didn’t feel his unmoving gaze, boring holes into the side of your head; that would be lying. You simply chose not to acknowledge it, fearing you would be reduced to a puddle of embarrassment; uncharacteristically bashful beneath his watchful eyes. With the rampant thoughts and racing voices that trekked through your mind, you would have spilled instantly. The second you met those anxious pools of earthy hues, reminiscent to that of autumnal leaves—speckled with gorgeous displays of colour—you would have lost the plot you loosely held together.
Avery awkward silence cruised into the atmosphere around the two of you, though neither you or Oikawa spoke to clear the air. He exhaled deeply, turned his head and followed your line of sight until he was staring at the underwhelming stature of the hospital, an unsettling feeling churning in the pit of his stomach.
Herefused to interrupt the quiet. As the two of you wandered through the small hospital after receiving the room number, close enough for your arms to keep brushing, he didn’t dare speak. From the slight crease of your brows, Oikawa knew you were amidst your thoughts; processing, most likely. Despite the familiarity, your current predicament seemed to require just as much processing as before.
The closer you got to the designated room, the more you began to fidget with the bag in your hand. Oikawa tipped his head towards the faint rustling of the plastic, spotting the anxiety that adorned your features. A mumble itched in his throat, momentarily stealing your attention away from the shining tiles lining the halls.
“You still breathing over there?” Oikawa quipped softly as the two of you slowed to a synchronised halt, eyeing the number engraved into the closed door. You hummed, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sorry, I-I just… you’re very quiet and I was worried…” He sputtered, fingertips grazing over his wrist.
“Mm… I’m okay… f-for now, at least.” You opened the bag and looked over the contents one last time, assuring yourself that you hadn’t missed anything. You blew out a heavy sigh, gripping onto the plastic material before gazing back up at the boy beside you. “Thanks for this, Toru…”
Oikawa’s lips parted swiftly, an onslaught of words on the tip of his tongue only to be reduced to nothing as a hand crept along his clothed forearm. His eyes shot down, staring at your fingers as they wrapped around his limb as best as they could. When you tipped your head, peeking up to check for a response, he smiled. It was a smile so familiar yet so foreign, in the sense that it was stirring about an unfamiliar reaction.
“Quite frankly, I feel you shouldn’t have more of a say in this situation than we do,” a disdainful voice hissed quietly as the two of you entered the room, “considering we’rehisblood relatives.” Oikawa flinched as your grip tightened, briefly glancing down at your hardened expression.
“He’s my husband… surely, that has to count for something?” Your mother fought back in the same hushed tone, seated close by the hospital bed with her hand tightly resting within the sickly man’s. Your grandmother sat on the opposite side of the bed, an arm propped up against the low-hanging window sill as she directed an ugly scowl towards her daughter-in-law. Clearly, there wasn’t an ounce of shame in the old woman’s body as the bitter expression remained upon her face, not once faltering when you and Oikawa entered.
“Hi,” you whispered, slowly removing your mask, “how is he..?”
Your mother turned her head and—despite the warm smile that greeted you—the exhaustion in her eyes was clear as day. She tightened her grip on her husband’s hand, lifting it only slightly for you to see.
“He doesn’t go down without a fight, you know that, sweetheart.” Her tone was shaky, gaze shifting from you to Oikawa slowly. “How was school today, you two?”
A thousand words flew to your tongue, ready to pierce the air, yet they stilled; clinging onto the very tip. An abyssal dread tore open in the depths of your stomach as you silently recounted the day and the many that came before it. There were a multitude of issues you ached to share with her, all revolving around a single person who’d brought more harm than good in only a short matter of time. The nagging guilt in the back of your mind prevented any and every word from escaping. She already had enough on her plate. It would be selfish to try and overshadow the critical condition that tied your father to his hospital bed.
“U-uh, it was alright,” Oikawa sputtered, his free hand wandering up to his nape, “there was a pop quiz in maths but I’m confident we both did fairly well.” You lifted your head as the lie fell smoothly from his lips, subconsciously squeezing his forearm. His eyes met yours sneakily for a moment before he turned his attention back to your mother, a sympathetic frown attached to his features.
“Well, that’s good… I knew I shouldn’t have been too worried,” she hummed, her head tilted back as she gazed at the ceiling, silently whispering another string of prayers; you were certain that particular lot were for your father. Her head dropped back slowly, attention switching back to the resting man. You awkwardly stood by Oikawa, cautious gaze flickering between the three women in the room as you fiddled with the plastic bag. Your grandmother was still hunched over in her chair, maintaining the same unmoving scowl as she glanced at you, not a sliver of guilt behind her thin, wrinkled eyes.
Oikawa shuddered lightly, subconsciously pulling you closer to his side; courtesy of your unrelenting grip on his arm. He never recalled the frail, old lady being so… terrifying with such little effort. From the tiny glance he shot your way, he found that it was a new sight for you as well; her crinkling features ripe with anger, blood no doubt boiling beneath her skin. When she peered away from your mother, scrutinising over the pair of you still standing idly by the door, you dropped your head.
There was hardly any room between you and Oikawa as you stepped even closer, unnerved by the silence and the thick tension that hung heavy in the air. There was a spurt of movement beside you as he readjusted, shifting his weight back and forth from one leg to the other. You were certain his thoughts were nothing more than ‘well, this is awkward…’, a cliche cough spilling from his lips in a futile attempt to clear the air.
“Here, Y/n,” he called softly, stepping away momentarily, “wanna sit?” You looked over as the boy gently tugged an empty chair back to where you stood, visibly cringing at the numbing screech while it pushed against the tile. A soft hum vibrated through your lips that twitched at the corners; seemingly contagious to him and him only as his own smile adorned his lips.
“Thanks.” You whispered, sliding your hand along his forearm as you moved to sit down, only to stop halfway through. “Oh, but… what about you? Don’t you wanna sit?” He shook his head, dropping his hands to your shoulders to gently guide you into the chair.
“I’ll be fine, strawberry,” he whispered to the back of your head, just loud enough for you to hear, “you looked tired. I wanted you to sit down and relax for a moment, at least.” You caved and nodded along to his words, grateful for his presence that radiated a soothing sense of serenity in large, comforting waves. It was just what you needed to keep from succumbing to the pressuring knots growing and tangling under your grandmother’s influence. You noted that he’d kept one hand atop your shoulder, occasionally giving it a reassuring squeeze to quell any rising nerves.
“Mama,please…” At the exasperated plea that sounded from your mother’s helpless lips, you peeked up. “We don’t need to have another argument right now… especially not in front of the children.”
Oikawa’s mind itched, an instinctive need to let one of his infamous quips slip out tickling the back of his throat. We’re not ‘children’ anymore, he would’ve chirped in any other situation. Your highschool days were nearly over; that had to count for something, right?
“I am not your mother, Hanae.” She shot back, pupils thinning even further with each slow, irate blink. “And we’ll have this conversation as many times as I please, whether these two are here or not. That is my son in that bed; my son hooked up to all of those nasty machines.” You chose to sink back into your chair, cradling the plastic bag in your lap as you patiently awaited your mother’s interjection. Usually, she’d have no qualms about biting back, one to quickly jump from one point to the next with incredible precision.
Oikawa’s brows furrowed as he peered between the two older women, stares intense enough to pierce the strongest of metals with their heat.
“So, you agree that the machines are ‘nasty’?”
“Clearly.” Her hardened stare softened when she glanced down at her son. “I don’t want him to need them 24/7 like he did the whole time you were in Tokyo. But… if it keeps him alive, I don’t see an issue with it.”
“Kenjitold you he hates them. He told you that if he were ever in this situation again…” Your mother cut herself off, sucking in a deep exhale. “Did you just choose not to acknowledge him then? You do realise that he’s the one who knows what’s best for him, right? Not you.”
“Well,clearly he’s incapable of figuring out what’s ‘best for him’! I mean, you were far from his first choice, Hanae.” You grimaced, attention immediately jumping towards your mother as she stilled, face contorted into horrific shock. “And now you’re trying to take away the only thing keeping him alive?”
“H-hey, maybe we should all calm down?” Oikawa called out cautiously, a hand hovering in the air. He visibly flinched when your grandmother whipped around, eyeing his figure up and down meticulously. “I-I mean… maybe hereandnow isn’t the best place for one of your ‘discussions’..?” He worded it carefully, eyes darting back and forth between the three ladies now staring at him, and yourself—too busy readjusting the treats in the plastic bag to notice.
He swallowed thickly, fingers moving towards the loose seams of his jacket.
“I-I just don’t think he would like the first thing he hears when he wakes up to be the most important people in his life arguing.” There was yet another silence that passed through the small room, somehow shoving away the overwhelming scent of cleanliness and leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. He watched as the old lady—once soft and benevolent—hunched forward, glaring daggers straight at his anxious figure.
“I don’t recommend getting yourself caught up in family matters that don’t even concernyou,boy.” You raised your head gradually, fingers falling away from the unreliable straps of the bag. “Last time I checked, you weren’t apart of this family. Unless there’s something else you’ve decided to hide from me, Hanae?” She spat angrily, bouncing her frustrations back towards your irritated mother. Oikawa could only stand in silence, astonished by the declaration of harsh facts. Your grandmother had always considered his family—and Iwaizumi’s, too—as an extension of her own, even without the same blood running through their veins—through hisveins.Hell, she’d always be the first to volunteer babysitting because she adored the three of you.
He didn’t know exactly what had contorted her mind, nor what had rotted the kindness in her heart and replaced it with suffocating toxicity. He could only assume it had something to do with the sickly male shifting about in his hospital bed.
“Toru’s right.” You interjected, saving your mother some breath. “And, with all due respect, I think you should watch what you’re saying.” You wanted to sink back into your chair, to hide behind the wall of muscle stood beside you; at least that’s what your rapidly thrumming heart desired. It was a wild animal, caged behind rows of fragile ribs with a burning desire for freedom; untameable.
She whipped her head around, lip curled in distaste, “I should watch what I’m saying? Where are your manners, Y/n? Speaking out of turn like that?” You bit your tongue accidentally as you looked away, slowly stepping back towards your chair. “I suppose it’s as they say; like mother, like daughter. It’s no surprise you’re taking pages from herbook.”
Why were you backing down? Oikawa’s gaze followed you in confusion as you sat once more, avoiding all contact with the others in the room. You had just harboured an admirable amount of confidence that sent a rhythm of tingles along his spine, confidence that had disappeared as quickly as it arose.
“Kenji?” Briefly intrigued, he picked his gaze up from your slouched figure and back towards the frail women, an unusual smile curved upon her lips; a stark contrast to the uncouth tones she’d thrown about moments before. The man was shifting, groaning and grumbling beneath ragged breaths. “Oh, sweetheart… I cannot believe your ‘wonderful’ wife wants to take away everything keeping you here with me…”
“Okay,mama,” Hanae called out, standing from her chair. “If you’re not doneyet,we can stand outside until you are. I’m not about to have this argument again, especially in front of Kenji after all he’s been through… I think Y/n deserves some time with her father anyway.”
“Foolish of you to think that I’ll be leaving my darling’s side.” The words she spat, full of resentment, practically bounced off your mother. Hanae was fed up, that much was true.
“Mama, come on.” The third lady who had been sitting silently in the room spoke up, hand resting wrapping around her mother’s arm, shielding whatever mottled skin was there from view. Her grip, although seemingly gentle, was tight; just shy of bruising. Without much else to say, the bitter elder got up on unsteady legs and followed the two women outside, the door closing behind them.
Oikawa stared for a moment, processing the entire situation in a devastating amount of time. His heart hurt, his head hurt. For himself, for Kenji but mostly for you.
“I-I’m so sorry about all that, Toru…” you murmured guiltily, lifting your head once more as a look of embarrassment landed upon your pained features. “I didn’t think that—“
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone copes with stress differently, I guess…” he shrugged it off as best as he could, allowing whatever anxiety remained teetering on his shoulders to slide gracefully off the side for the time being. “Anyway, he’s awake now. Let’s show him what you brought, okay? Forget about everything else for a little while…”
You shot up abruptly, eyes glazing over the man struggling to sit upright beneath several otherwise light covers. Oikawa trailed behind you as you shuffled over to the bedside, quietly calling out to your father as a means of comfort. You handed the bag off to Oikawa—who noted the way the straps were nearly severed, held together by a few loose strands of worn plastic—and grabbed onto your father’s shoulder, slowly helping him adjust to the bed.
“How-how do you feel?” You stuttered out and, by the downward pull of your brows, Oikawa could easily sense your nerves regarding his answer. Kenji blinked irregularly, trying to rid of the haze in his eyes as a hand blindly searched for yours. “I’m right here. Do you feel alright?” His hand, much larger than your own, wrapped snug around your fingers, a content hum vibrating through his body. His hum was soon cut off by a harrowing coughing fit.
You sucked in a sharp breath, pulling your hands away instinctively as the man lurched forwards, chest convulsing painfully as he wheezed and gasped. Your hands fell to your lap, a dreaded sense of helplessness fogging your mind; there wasn’t a single thing you could do to ease his pain, to make it all go away—and it hurt. It hurt, realbad. So much so, you hadn’t even registered the hand that had become attached to your shoulder, squeezing it unbearably tight.
“Hah…” He breathed out when the fit weakened. “Never felt better, kiddo.”
“You’re not funny…”
“No? I-I think I’m quite hilarious,” he grinned back weakly, resting his arm against the thin railing protruding from the side of the bed. Your eyes raked over each prominent vein that branched beneath thin, sickly skin, bulging uncomfortably in the light.
“What do you think, young man?” He called out, gaining Oikawa’s attention immediately. “I’m…-I am funny, right?” With a nervous quirk of his lips, Oikawa laughed, giving into the older man’s unspoken request to follow along.
“Funniest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to know,” he admitted, noting how you paused to glare at him from the corner of your eye.
“Don’tencouragehim,please.”
“Oh, sweetheart, relax…” Kenji wheezed, lifting a heavy hand to your head. You winced temporarily as it dropped haphazardly against your hair, rough fingers digging in as far as they could. All in a loving manner, of course. “Say, what’s in your little bag there?” You shifted away, gently placing his hand back into the bed beside his restless figure as you turned to reach for Oikawa. He carefully handed off the bag to you, his free hand tracing over one of your shoulders towards the other.
“We stopped by that little convenience store on the way here… y-you know? The one you used to take us to when we were little?” You toyed with the thin strips of plastic, lips tugging upwards as your father made a noise of excitement, fond of the distant memory. “We got you a few things…but… now that I think about it, you probably can’t even eat them, huh?”
Oikawa gave your head a sympathetic pat.
“I’m sure he’ll still appreciate the thought, whether or not he can eat them.” You smiled, subconsciously leaning into his touch as his comforting words spilled from lips to ears.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard… a more c-correct statement in my en-tire life.” Your father croaked, stuttering and stumbling over a few words and occasionally pausing to find breath. Although your lips were curved upwards into a pretty little smile, the sadness shone through clear as day. In spite of that, to maintain your father’s happiness, you slowly began to pick out each sweet treat one at a time; Oikawa noted how animated—how euphoric—you grew as the exchanges continued.
He pulled your grandmother’s chair over to sit beside you, elbows resting against his knees as he held in his chin in his hands; only to shift quickly after, seeking a more comfortable position. He leaned over his favoured side of the chair—the right side, aka;your side. Oikawa’s gaze switched frequently between you and Kenji, scanning for the ill man’s reactions to each hidden treat you removed from the bag. Each one was seemingly brighter than the last, etching one of equal width onto your own lips. Occasionally, when he wasn’t stuck in stillness by the silencing grin of adoration inching further into his cheeks, he would offer up a laugh at your father’s jokes, only to fall quiet when your elbow launched out and gently nudged him.
“You always used to get this mochi, right?” You hummed, crumpling up the plastic bag and dropping it by your feet as you brought out the final package. “Why was it always this gross off-brand?”
Kenji, feigning shock, took the small package with trembling hands, “they aren’t gross! You little monster… th-these are a delicacy!”
“Toru? You have to agree with me on this one, right?” You turned to face him, a wisp of a smile upon your face. Kenji also spared him a quick glance, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Sorry, Sir,” he sighed, cracking a soft grin as you grabbed onto his forearm with exaggerated excitement. “This off-brand mochi was the worst.” Kenji tossed his head back against his pillows, a string of broken cackles drifting into the air as you directed an ‘aggressive’ point in his direction.
“See? I was right! Your taste buds have always been messedup.”
His laughter fell into a sickening fit of coughing, soon becoming hand-in-hand with heart-wrenching gasps for air. His smile was long gone, vein-riddled hand reaching for the bed’s railing for a tiny sense of stability. Your figure went rigid, grip tightening around Oikawa’s forearm as your eyes flickered about. The same flood of hopelessness, dreaded by both teenagers, overwhelmed the room in a mere matter of seconds. Monitors beeped, a tiny red light blinked angrily, a flurry of feet stomped about outside of the door.
In that moment… every single sound… no matter how quiet or loud, how seemingly insignificant; they all merged. You wanted it all to stop, you wanted everything and everyone to just shut up. You wanted to go back to those few moments prior; where the three of you—Oikawa, your father, yourself—were all happily joking and pointing out different snacks.
Speaking of… with the arrival of the nurses, the snacks were cast aside without a single moment of hesitation, clattering to the floor and forgotten amidst the haste.
“I’m sorry but may I ask for you two to wait outside with the rest of Mr L/n’s visitors?” A nurse asked softly, guiding you and Oikawa towards the door with cautious, hovering hands.
“Y-yeah, sure thing,” Oikawa nodded, noting that amongst all the movement, you still held onto him, wide eyes flickering back and taking in the messy scene on display. “Strawberry? Hey, come on… we’d be better out here while they help him.”
“…Y/n..?” His fingers ghosted over your knuckles, cringing inwardly at the uncomfortably tight squeeze your hand had on his skin. Slowly, he pulled you out of the room, still caught within your daze. With one hand, he carefully lifted the straps of his mask over his ears, reaching over to assist you with your own. Your hands moved mindlessly, without direction; simply trailing up to meet his as they crept across your face, fixing the strange crinkles of the surgical mask.
“Y/n, hey… you can hear me, right?” He whispered, hands hesitantly finding solace against the bottom of your jaw, trying to bring your fixation back towards him. “He’ll be alright, I promise.”
You blinked once. Then twice. Then three times for good measure, gradually allowing yourself to adjust. He seemed unnerved—only slightly—when all you could offer him was a broken stare, eyelids twitching subtly as you fought the urge to blink once more. You knew that as soon as your eyes closed, no matter how long you chose to embrace the brief darkness that would follow, the second you opened them they would be lined with stinging tears. Overwhelming surges of emotion sent you into the boy’s open arms, fingers twisting and squeezing at the fabric of his shirt.
“H-he’s in so much p-pain, T-Toru…” you hiccuped, forehead pressed right into his chest. Oikawa’s hands hovered over the moving ridges of your shoulder blades before dropping down against your back, one quickly trailing up towards the back of your head. You continued to mumble and cry, a crackling voice shifting in tandem with the unsteady shaking of your body.
He dropped his head to the crook of your neck, ignoring the uncomfortable strain of his back and the slow-growing, damp patch against his chest.
“I know, I know…” He closed his own eyes, trying to blink away the few tears desperately clinging to his lashes. “God… I know, Y/n.” His gaze flickered away from the wall he stood by, soon finding the guilty honey-hued eyes watching your sobbing figure from afar. A hint of a smile, via trembling lips, danced upon your mother’s lips, grateful for his presence as he practically cradled you in his arms. In a brief matter of seconds, she lifted her mask from her chin and placed it back over her nose, entering the room with long strides.
Oikawa’s attention swiftly returned to you at the muffled gasps and intense shaking that overcame your body, vibrating through his limbs with a sympathetic ache. Despite the incessant longing to keep you wrapped in his arms, he gently pulled you out of his chest, looking down at your tear-stained face as he removed your mask. God, he hated seeing you in such a state; it was as if someone had just ripped his heart out. He fought every pull in his body, he fought the instinct to carefully cup your puffy cheeks within his soft palms.
Your weeping drew silent, though it was far from over; shoulders shifting abnormally, body still racked with unsteady shudders.
“Y/n,breathe, okay?” He whispered into the crown of your head. “I know it’s hard but I need you to focus on me, alright?”
“I-I can’t… h-he… he—“
“I know, strawberry,” he interrupted quietly, pulling his mask to his chin, hoping that the use of the cutesy nickname would ease your nerves. “But you need to be okay first… I’m right here, look at me, okay? Look at me and we’ll do this together.” You nodded shakily, following as he breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. Your hands—much smaller than his—draped weakly over his fingertips, struggling against the internal embarrassment dwelling in your system, demanding you avert your gaze. You hated the sense of fragility; the weakness that overcame you as his gaze settled and refused to move from your face.
“You’re doing so well, Y/n,” he hummed, smiling softly at you. “Don’t pay any mind to anything else, alright? Just me. Just us.”
“I’m s-sorry, I-I…”
“What the heck are you apologising for, huh?” He quirked a brow, allowing a hushed laugh to pass through his lips. When your panic seemed to calm, leaving ragged whimpers and sniffles in its wake, he frowned. “Y/n… don’t apologise… you haven’t done anything wrong.”
You didn’t respond with anything other than a quick step closer to his hunched figure, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his midsection. The floor seemed to sway beneath your feet, knees weak and wobbly urging a tighter grip on the boy you so pathetically clung to.
“Y/n…” he whispered, once again dropping his head to your shoulder, lips pulled taut as they sat against the thin fabric of your school shirt. Gradually, Oikawa backed up into the nearby wall, sliding down onto the floor with you snug in his embrace.
“I’ve got you.” His eyelids fell heavy, closing temporarily at the gradual relaxation of your limbs. One hand moved up to the back of your head, holding you even closer (if it were possible). “I’ve got you…”
extra sides;
everyone in the vbc (aside from iwaizumi) is under the impression that oikawa and y/n are on a date
when they were little, Kenji would take the trio to the convenience store every friday afternoon.
yes, he only ever eats crappy off brands
oikawa tends to make a lot of promises he can’t keep.
i am so sorry for the wait lmao <3
taglist —[]
taglist is closed! please do not ask to be added!
(i will be removing those that are unable to be tagged next chapter <3)
a/n:not proof-read either but here’s another drabble for you lovelies <3 this time…
pairing:akaashi keiji x reader
“Just can’t shake that cough, can you?” Akaashi mumbled as he entered the room, fingers looped through the handles of two patterned mugs. A pair of reading glasses—now smudged as they nestled into his hair—sat atop his head, no longer over his tired eyes. You lifted your head from the heavy blanket that cradled your warm body, half-lidded gaze catching sight of the steam that curled up from the mugs’ contents.
“I’m sorry, love…” He sat down on the couch, allowing your blanketed figure to curl around his back, an arm shifting out to wrap around his midsection happily. “I wish I could be more helpful to you, right now…”
“Mm… you’re fine…” you croaked, cringing at the itching pain in the back of your throat. “There’s not much anyone can do anyway.” His frown twitched until the curve of his lips became upturned, soft and full of adoration. Briefly averting his attention, Akaashi leaned forward and sat his mug on the small table, using both hands to cradle the seemingly small cup. As soon as you sat up and took the heated porcelain into your own hands, you noted the size difference between the two of you.
Seriously, he had made that mug look much smaller than what it was.
“It’s hot chocolate,” he explained with a quirked brow as you sniffed the steaming beverage, “blow on it a little before you drink it, okay?” A heavenly smile graced his gorgeous features as your nose scrunched, clearly in cahoots with the tiny grin adorning your lips.
“Thanks, Keiji.” You rasped, dropping your attention to the hot chocolate as you took a careful sip. He said nothing, instead producing a quiet noise meant to shush you. His hand slowly crept up to move stray strands of hair from your face, the tip of his thumb gently poking at your nose.
“You’re too warm,” he muttered, continuing to caress your heated skin as you enjoyed your beverage. “How about I put on a movie and we both get some rest? Does that sound good?” You hummed and shuffled up into a more comfortable position, allowing Akaashi to slip in beside you, an arm up on the rest of the couch.
The blanket remained draped around your body, parting at the front as you continually lifted your hands to your face to sip from the mug. Akaashi cautiously sat his own mug in his lap as he settled in, his spare arm curling snugly around your shoulders. He picked up his mug once the screen darkened, the bold, white logo reflecting within his deep, sapphire hues.
“Can we watch–“
“We binge watched all those Pixar movies last week.” He cut you off, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Let’s start this week with that new Disney movie Bokuto wouldn’t shut up about. Does that sound alright?”
“Of course,” you smiled and nestled into his side, desperately fighting off the exhaustion tugging at your body as the movie began. It didn’t help that your husband had started massaging abstract shapes into your arm with his thumb, clearly inviting you to succumb to sleep.
And as a soft melody began to play out into the darkened room, you decided you could simply drag Akaashi to bed a different night and rewatch the movie.
a/n: thought i’d give you all a little drabble to feed on while everything else is underworks <3 no, it’s not at all proof read </3
pairing:osamu miya x reader
“What ish ‘dis? What are you doin’?”
“Your cheeks are so soft…”
“Begentle at least,” Osamu huffed, gently tugging at your wrists to alleviate the painful hold you had on them. He sighed as your fingertips remained, slowly sliding your palms back to caress the supple skin.
Although completely enamoured by the man’s cheeks, you stared up into his watchful eyes. His wide, grey eyes absorbed the blueish hues of the sunlight upon slate. They held unspoken affections; silent mantras of love he would sing only within his mind whenever you were in his presence. Unfortunately, they drifted to a gradual close as your thumbs massaged slow, rhythmic circles into his cheeks—his gorgeous gaze hindered by exhaustion.
You could hear the dulcet hums leaking from his quirked lips, drawing your attention down towards the tiny smile he wore. The faint freckles that you ran your fingers over were now the last thing on your mind, your fascination with his cheeks quickly subsiding to make way for your newfound fascination with his lips.
You simply couldn’t help yourself. They just looked so soft… so kissable.He certainly didn’t complain when you lifted his chin with your hands, dropping your head to meet his lips in a chaste exchange. Despite being lip-locked, Osamu continued to hum his soft, silly tune, the vibrations urging a string of giggles from your part.
“I love ya’, darlin’…” He whispered, deciding it was his turn to fondle and fuss with your cheek. You smiled and pressed your forehead to his, brushing the tip of his nose with yours.
“Love you, too.” He closed his eyes once more, thinking you would move in for another kiss as per usual. Oh, how sorely mistaken he was. You shifted quickly, as though you were a soldier on a mission to be the biggest inconvenience possible. You moved your hands back up to his face and squished his cheeks, pushing both palms inwards with a snort.
“You look so stupid,” you snickered out, even more amused at his unimpressed expression. He sighed heavily, brows furrowed.
“Right, that’s it.” He huffed and you froze. “C’mere,you!”
if he’s honest, he doesn’t remember exactly what happened, it’s not much more than a blur of you—the color of your hair, the sound of your voice, your shaky fingers raising around his arm. he got angry, he wanted to punch the guy, he did punch the guy, and then he was being pulled away from the party and into his own apartment, just a few doors down.
you’d stumbled for his keys, reaching a hand into his back pocket where you knew he kept them, and he’d watched—a little pathetically holding his hand while he waited—and let you unlock the door for him.
and then you’d tugged him inside, told him to sit on his kitchen counter, and went rooting around in his freezer.
and now, his mind is still a little blurry, but you’re standing in front of him and cradling his hand in a bag of frozen peas, and you’re shaking your head at him and mumblingsomethingthat sounds an awful lot like a scolding.
and he hates that you look so pretty right now, that, when you’re being drenched in the yellow light of his apartment, when the moonlight can’t even reach you from his blinds, when your brows are creased together and you’re biting at your lip like you’re holding back things that are much worse than what you’ve already been saying (and unfortunately for him, he hasn’t really been listening to those things, so he knows he isn’t making it better for himself).
but you look pretty. despite everything, despite the way you sigh when you look at him, despite the fact that you’re his best friend.
“iwa,” you say, tone a little sharp. he snaps back then, gaze finding yours, and he realizes that the way you were biting your lip before wasn’t to stop yourself from saying something worse, but to hold back a smile.
