#kageyama tobio x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yukkiji · 2 months ago

Text

between sets and secrets

a year after secretly eloping with kageyama tobio, you return to japan for an international match—only for an ill-timed jumbotron zoom to expose your hidden marriage, proving that old habits die hard when it comes to keeping secrets... especially from your brother oikawa.

the other side of the net. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. kageyama tobio x fem!reader ft. oikawa tooru, japan's national team, and seijoh vbc members

genre: fluff, romance, crack, older brother!oikawa, secret relationship, seijoh vbc always makes an appearance, siblings banter, eloping, iwaizumi being stressed

wc: 9.4k

author's note: i couldn't help myself not writing a part 2 so here it is and if you haven't read the first part yet please read it first to get the context of the story hehe

you always knew the truth would come out eventually.

not because you were careless—not exactly. not because you didn’t know how to keep a secret. and not even because kageyama tobio, your very literal husband, wore his wedding ring during official matches which, in hindsight, was probably tempting fate.

but maybe because that was just how the two of you were built.

you’d built your love on borrowed time and foreign cities—on tight schedules and layovers, hushed phone calls between time zones, and fleeting mornings where one of you was always leaving. your life together lived in the quiet places, the in-betweens. and maybe you kept it to yourselves because that’s what you had grown used to. not out of shame. never out of shame. but because sometimes it felt like things meant more when no one else knew.

your relationship was private, yes. but it was never a secret.

everyone knew you were dating kageyama tobio. it wasn’t a mystery, not to the press, not to the fans, and certainly not to the people who knew you best. he didn’t flaunt it, but he never hid it either. he’d hold your hand in the middle of the street like it was the most natural thing in the world. mention you in interviews with that same unfiltered honesty he applied to everything else (“i like when she watches my games. it makes me feel fast”). he’d stand behind you at the airport like a human shield, subtly positioning himself between you and any camera lens or overeager crowd.

he loved you in ways that were simple. consistent. certain.

but the engagement—that had been yours.

just yours. yours in the quietest, most sacred sense. a moment kept in soft candlelight, sealed between shared laughter and clumsy promises whispered in a hotel room in santorini. no cameras. no audience. just the glint of a diamond ring and the way he looked at you like he’d known, even back then, that there wouldn’t be anyone else.

you hadn’t expected a speech from him. he was never the speech kind.

but you had noticed the way he was fidgety all day—subtle things, barely noticeable to anyone else. the way he kept checking the time even when there was nowhere to be. how he seemed extra careful with your dinner reservation, how he trailed just a half-step behind you, like he didn’t want to miss a second of it. how he held your hand a little tighter when you walked along the shore after.

you’d thought maybe he was just being sentimental. it was your anniversary, after all. a whole string of years behind you, each one marked by flights, messages, short reunions, long silences, and somehow—still—constancy.

but when you got back to the room and he told you to sit down, his hand not quite steady, his voice a touch too casual, you knew.

he pulled out the ring box like he was pulling out something obvious. inevitable.

“i didn’t write anything down,” he’d admitted, rubbing the back of his neck like he did when he missed a serve or forgot to text you back during training. “because i figured i’d just… say it.”

you didn’t say anything. just watched him kneel, the air still and warm, salt-softened by the mediterranean breeze slipping through the balcony doors.

“i’ve been thinking about this since middle school,” he said, voice quiet. “i didn’t know anything back then, but i knew i wanted to be with you.”

he’d opened the box, the diamond catching the low light.

then, like he couldn’t help himself, he reached out, took your hand, turned it gently in his own, and looked at your fingers like he was already picturing the rest of your lives.

“i know it’s not fancy. but it’s yours. and i want you to wear it. because you’ve always been… it. for me.”

your throat had gone tight. not because of the ring. not even because of the proposal. but because he meant every word—and he said it in the only way he knew how: plain, honest, true.

he hadn’t asked you with a flourish. he asked you like it was the only answer that made sense.

and of course, you said yes.

he hadn’t asked you with a flourish. he asked you like it was the only answer that made sense.

and of course, you said yes.

that night with him changed everything—not in a loud, dramatic way, but in the way that mattered most. quietly, completely. like a door had been closed to the rest of the world, and all that remained was you and him. your yes wasn’t just an answer. it was a beginning. it meant you were his. that he was yours. that from here on out, there was no maybe, no almost, no eventually.

you were locked in. for good.

and just like everything that came before it—your long-distance calls, your early morning airport reunions, the barely-contained smiles exchanged across tournament hallways—it stayed yours. private. sacred. untouched.

there was no announcement. no post. no caption. just the two of you, keeping it where it felt the safest: between your hearts and the silence that knew better than to demand proof.

you wore the ring every day. slipped it on like second skin. and somehow, in all that time—nearly two years of wearing a diamond on your left hand—no one asked. no one noticed.

maybe it was because you always knew how to tuck it just so, how to angle your hand in photos, how to fold your fingers when your friends got too close. maybe it was because, when it came to hiding kageyama, you’d both become professionals or maybe—and this one made you laugh most of all—maybe your friends were just really bad at paying attention.

and so the secret held.

during those two quiet, surreal years of engagement, life went on. matches were won, seasons changed, bags were packed and unpacked in cities that blurred together. but one morning, you found yourself folding your clothes into a suitcase with more intention than usual, your heart a little louder than it had been in a while.

you were flying to denmark to visit your fiancé—who, for reasons yet unexplained, had arrived a full week earlier than planned. actually, two weeks earlier than the official schedule set by japan’s national team, who were supposed to fly out to spain the following week for their training camp.

you had blinked at his text when it first came through.

[tobio:] already here. [tobio:] in denmark. [tobio:] come if you can.

no explanation. no context. no elaboration.

typical.

and yet, even without the full story, you’d booked the flight.

you didn’t question it—not really. not after so many years of slipping between time zones just to be near him. not when it had always been like this: brief reunions in unfamiliar cities, crashing into each other like two people who had never stopped running.

you just packed. called off work. and went.

because wherever he was, that’s where you wanted to be.

you landed in denmark late in the afternoon, the air outside the terminal sharp with cold. the kind that bit at your fingers the moment you stepped outside sliding doors, your breath visible as fog. you scanned the small crowd past customs, half expecting him to be running late, maybe tucked behind a scarf or hidden under a baseball cap like he usually was when he didn’t want to be recognized.

but instead, you found him already there—waiting.

kageyama stood near the arrivals gate, hood down despite the cold, a heavy jacket zipped up to his chin, hands shoved deep into his pockets. his posture was stiff, almost tense, but it was his eyes that caught you. wide, steady, and locked on you like he’d been holding his breath since you left the plane. like he’d been standing there for hours just to make sure he didn’t miss your face in the crowd.

that was the first sign something was off.

you smiled anyway, dragging your luggage behind you, weaving through the last few arriving passengers.

“you’re early,” you said, stepping into his space.

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped briefly to your suitcase, then back to your face, like he couldn’t believe you were really here.

then, a beat late, he said, “i know.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re two weeks early.”

“i know,” he repeated, quieter this time.

you tilted your head. “why?”

his fingers flexed in his coat pocket like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how. and then, with the most kageyama expression imaginable—equal parts serious and awkward, like he was bracing for a block—he said,

“…i was going to ask you something.”

that’s when your stomach did that quiet little somersault. not nervousness. not fear. just something soft and startled.

“in my hotel room,” he added quickly, as if that clarified things. “i thought… it should be somewhere warm.”

and that was all he said.

no elaborate excuse, no rehearsed speech—just that. just him, looking at you like he didn’t know how to say everything at once, so he settled for what he could manage.

when you arrived at his hotel, it looked like every other place he’d stayed in over the years—impersonal, functional, the kind of room that held little more than a bed, a desk, and whatever familiarity came from the scent of his cologne clinging to the hoodie tossed over a chair.

you set your bag down without a word and drifted toward the balcony. it was small, the kind of space barely meant to stand in, but it opened up to a skyline painted in soft gold. denmark in winter looked quieter, somehow—like the buildings themselves were huddled together for warmth.

you stepped outside, wrapped your arms around yourself, and took in the view. the cold kissed your cheeks, but it wasn’t biting. not really. not when you felt him just behind you.

kageyama joined you a moment later. his presence always announced itself quietly—warmth at your back, the subtle brush of his hand against yours before he leaned in, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek like he needed to be sure you were real.

then, a soft kiss. not on your lips, but your temple—gentle, familiar, steadying.

you smiled, turning slightly to face him. your noses almost touched. and before the moment slipped by, you gave him a short, sweet kiss. just enough to make him blink, startled. just enough to remind him you were here.

“is there something on your mind, tobio?” you asked, voice low with amusement.

he didn’t answer at first. instead, he took your hand in his, the one wearing the engagement ring. he didn’t say anything as he turned it over gently, as though he was still getting used to seeing it there, even after all this time.

his thumb brushed over the band, slow and deliberate.

“this still feels… not real,” he murmured.

you tilted your head. “it’s been almost two years.”

“i know,” he said. “but sometimes i look at it and… i don’t know. i feel like i’m going to mess it up.”

you opened your mouth to reply, but he kept going, voice soft and steady in a way that was so uniquely him.

“but then i think about you wearing it. every day. and it’s like… maybe i’m not messing it up. maybe i’m doing something right.”

you stared at him for a moment, heart pressed up against your ribs.

his hand was still cradling yours, thumb tracing circles like it had nowhere else to be. like he was anchoring himself to you.

“i was going to ask you,” he said, eyes flickering to yours. “if you still wanted to marry me. for real. not just… secret engagement, secret ring, secret everything.”

he swallowed hard.

“i thought maybe now is the time. if you still want to.”

you didn’t say anything right away—not because you were unsure, but because your heart was trying to catch up to the softness of his words. because kageyama wasn’t the type to spill things carelessly, and when he did, it always landed somewhere deep. somewhere steady.

he was still holding your hand when he said it:

“i also… i bought the rings.”

your eyebrows rose slightly, lips parting. “you what?”

“the wedding rings,” he clarified, almost nervously. “i already bought them. a while ago.”

your breath hitched somewhere between a laugh and a question. “without me?”

he nodded, quickly. “they match. kind of. i tried not to make them weird. they’re just simple. i picked them out the same day i booked the hotel.”

he paused, eyes flicking down to your hand again.

“i was scared they wouldn’t fit you,” he admitted. “so i guessed. i based it off the engagement ring. i measured it when you left it on the nightstand one morning. with a pencil and paper. like… like a math problem.”

that made you laugh. warm and surprised and affectionate. it slipped from your chest like second nature.

he winced slightly, but there was something fond in his expression—relieved, maybe, that you hadn’t burst into flames.

“i almost asked your brother for help,” he added, quieter now.

your laugh deepened, disbelief soft around the edges. “you almost asked tooru?”

he nodded again, tragically sincere. “but then i didn’t. i thought it’d be weird.”

you grinned, leaning your head back against the balcony rail. “tobio, he doesn’t even know about the engagement.”

kageyama blinked. “oh. right.”

you shook your head, still smiling. “i love you, but you’re a terrible liar.”

he looked mildly panicked for a second, like he was processing just how thin the ice had been all along. but before he could say anything else, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

a brochure. folded. worn at the corners.

“there’s a chapel,” he said. “i found it online. it’s small. just… small. and quiet.”

your gaze dropped to the paper. a little building, tucked between old trees and red rooftops, sun spilling through stained glass windows.

“it’s not too far,” he added, watching you closely. “like, we don’t have to. it’s just—i saw it. and i thought… if we did it. if we ever did it, it should be there.”

you looked at him.

he was fidgeting again. not from nerves, not really, but from the sheer force of caring too much and not knowing how to contain it.

you weren’t shocked, exactly. but you were… breathless.

because of course he found a chapel. of course he’d been thinking about this longer than he let on. of course he wanted to do it like this—with just the two of you, no audience, no fuss. just a quiet promise in a place neither of you had ever been before.

you reached out, brushing your fingers against his wrist. “show me.”

and his eyes lit up like you’d said yes all over again.

you left the hotel with your fingers laced through his—gloved hand in gloved hand, your steps slow against the cobbled streets of copenhagen. the sky above was pale and soft, dusted with winter clouds that made everything seem quieter. more sacred.

kageyama walked half a step ahead, the way he always did when he didn’t want you to get lost, occasionally glancing back just to make sure you were still there, like you’d vanish if he blinked. he’d packed the rings in his coat pocket. no box. no ribbon. just wrapped carefully in tissue and zipped into the inside lining like a secret he was terrified of dropping.

when you reached the chapel, it was smaller than the photo had shown—but prettier. it sat tucked away on a quiet street, ivy curling around one side of the old stone, a carved wooden door standing crooked and proud. a hand-painted sign at the steps read: ceremonies welcome. bookings not required.

kageyama looked at you then, as if to say, this is it.

you nodded.

inside, it smelled like candlewax and winter dust. the light through the stained glass cast soft colors on the floor, pinks and golds and gentle greens. there were only ten pews. no altar. no priest yet. no flowers. just stillness. and you. and him.

you sat down in the last row for a moment, just to breathe.

he looked over at you, a little out of his depth, fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them now.

"are you okay?" he asked.

you turned your head and smiled. “are you okay?”

“…i think so,” he said, and then frowned slightly. “my hands are cold.”

you reached for one and rubbed it between yours. “you’re nervous.”

“i’m not,” he argued.

you raised a brow.

“…okay. maybe a little.”

the officiant came out a few minutes later—a woman with silver hair tied back in a bun and eyes that crinkled when she saw the way kageyama was staring at you like he’d been hypnotized. she spoke softly, asked for your names, asked if this was what you both wanted.

kageyama nodded so fast it was almost funny. you just smiled and said, “yes.”

you wore the white dress you’d packed on a whim, never really intending to use it. it had stayed folded in your suitcase for months—a soft thing, simple and unassuming. like hope. he was still in his button-up shirt, black slacks, and that too-serious expression he always wore when he was trying not to mess up.

and when you stood at the front, hand in hand, the officiant asked if you had any words.

you looked at each other.

kageyama cleared his throat.

“…i didn’t write anything,” he said. “i forgot. or… i didn’t think i needed to.”

you squeezed his hand. “you don’t.”

he exhaled slowly. “just… i want this. every day. all the quiet parts. all the normal stuff. you. me. everything.”

you felt the warmth crawl up your chest, soft and overwhelming.

you answered him with your eyes before you ever said “i do.”

and when the time came, with hands still slightly shaking, under soft european daylight in a borrowed chapel—

you said it.

and so did he.

then he slid the ring onto your finger, right next to the one he’d given you in santorini, and kissed you like he was promising a thousand more mornings just like this one.

afterward, you left the chapel hand-in-hand, no announcement, no confetti, just two very married people who stopped at a nearby café for sandwiches and coffee like it was just another afternoon. like you hadn’t just made the biggest decision of your life. like forever wasn’t sitting quietly on both your hands.

you leaned your head on his shoulder as you waited for your drinks to arrive, and he tapped your ring with the tip of his finger like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“it fits,” he said.

you smiled. “of course it does.”

you were still in the café, tucked into a window seat with two half-eaten sandwiches between you, his hand resting palm-up on the table like it was meant to hold yours and yours alone. the light outside had dimmed slightly, winter dusk settling over copenhagen in soft blue tones, the kind that made everything look gentler, quieter.

kageyama kept glancing down at your hand. not subtly. like every few minutes, as if the sight of your wedding ring alongside your engagement band still needed to be double-checked for accuracy. like if he looked away too long, it might disappear.

you caught him staring again and let out a quiet laugh, taking a sip from your coffee. “you’re going to wear a hole in that ring if you keep looking at it.”

he blinked, then flushed slightly, eyes darting back to his own cup. “it just looks… right,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “like it’s supposed to be there.”

your smile softened, settling into something warmer. “it is.”

a comfortable silence followed. not awkward—just the kind that came when you didn’t need to fill space anymore. when the person across from you already knew all the words you hadn’t said.

then, leaning back against the booth, you teased, “you know we’re still going to have to do a proper wedding at some point, right?”

he looked up so fast his hair bounced. “what?”

you laughed again, gently this time. “tobio, we got married in a tiny chapel in a city no one even knew we were in. there’s a very high chance my brother is going to launch himself into the sun when he finds out.”

he frowned thoughtfully, like this hadn’t quite occurred to him. “but we’re already married.”

“yes,” you said, reaching over to tug his hand into yours. “but you’re marrying into my friend group. and my family. and there will be consequences.”

he groaned softly, burying his face in his elbow for a moment like the mere idea of oikawa making a scene gave him immediate physical pain. “can we do it somewhere with no microphones?”

“we can do it somewhere with a fire extinguisher in case my brother tries to set you on fire.”

he looked at you, dead serious. “good idea.”

you squeezed his hand. “but yes, i want the dress. the cake. the dancing. and the people we love watching us do this properly. even if it’s just for show.”

kageyama didn’t hesitate this time. he nodded. “okay. if that’s what you want, we’ll do it.”

then, a pause. a softer tone.

“i don’t care how many times i have to marry you,” he added. “just as long as i always get to.”

and just like that, your heart did that quiet little stutter it always did around him. still. even now. even after everything.

you reached across the table again and ran your thumb over the ring on his hand—the one you’d slipped on just hours ago.

“good,” you said. “because the next one will need to come with a seating chart and maybe a taser for crowd control.”

he stared at you.

“…i’m serious.”

“i know.” he took another sip of his coffee. “and i believe you.”

you two spent your unofficial honeymoon like you had everything in the world and no need to tell it. it was a week of quiet joy, the kind that didn’t need documenting to be remembered. half of it was spent wandering through denmark’s crooked streets and quiet museums, sneaking kisses in doorways, splitting pastries in coffee shops, and curling up in bed while the snow dusted rooftops outside. the rest of it was in spain—sunlight, terraces, the sea humming in the distance. he wore sunglasses he didn’t need. you wore his jacket more than your own. it felt like your little pocket of time. a secret with a heartbeat.

and no one knew.

no cameras. no teammates. no siblings breathing down your neck.

just you and him, sharing the kind of silence only love could make comfortable.

well—that perfect silence was shattered, violently and without remorse, when reality hit.

or more accurately… when it rang. again. and again.

at three in the morning.

you groaned softly into the pillow, tangled in sheets with your leg draped over his hip, both of you a tangle of limbs and warmth. your ring glinted faintly under the moonlight that filtered through the blinds, the only reminder that yes, you had actually gone through with it. you were married.

and now, someone was ruining it.

kageyama shifted beneath you, groggy and frowning, blindly patting the nightstand until his fingers wrapped around his buzzing phone.

“who is it?” you murmured sleepily against his shoulder.

he squinted at the screen. “iwaizumi.”

that alone jolted both of you into semi-consciousness.

you sat up slowly, hair a mess, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like a cape. “does he know?”

“i don’t know.” he stared at the screen like it was a bomb he wasn’t trained to defuse.

and then it rang again.

“pick up,” you whispered.

“what if he’s mad?”

“tobio, of course he’s mad. you left two weeks before the team.”

“…should i lie?”

you gave him a look.

he sighed, then finally answered. “…hello?”

there was a pause—half a second, maybe less—before iwaizumi's voice detonated through the speaker like a fire alarm.

“kageyama tobio, where the hell are you?”

you winced and tugged the blanket higher over your head like it might shield you from the sheer force of secondhand stress vibrating through the mattress.

“i’m in spain already,” kageyama mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep and—let’s be honest—panic.

there was a beat of silence. and then—

“you’re what?!”

kageyama flinched and instinctively yanked the phone an inch away from his ear. you could hear every syllable anyway. so could half the block.

“iwaizumi-san, i—”

“do you understand,” iwaizumi hissed, “that i am currently in tokyo, at narita airport, with ten grown men who can’t function without labeled boarding passes and adult supervision? sakusa’s arguing with customs over sanitizer. bokuto is missing. atsumu is trying to check in his hairdryer as a carry-on.”

you muffled a snort into the pillow.

“we fly out in two hours, and you are not here, kageyama. you didn’t check in. you’re not responding in the group chat. komori thought you were kidnapped. suna said he’d give it 24 hours before calling interpol. and you’re telling me you’re in spain already?!”

kageyama cleared his throat. “i… i told you. i sent it in the group chat.”

iwaizumi sounded like he aged ten years in real time. “you sent just landed airplane emoji with no context. how the hell was i supposed to know where you were?! you could’ve landed in okinawa for all i knew!”

“i thought it was clear…”

“it wasn’t.”

you were shaking with silent laughter now, curled under the sheets, as kageyama rubbed his temple and glanced helplessly in your direction.

“i went to denmark first,” he said, tone now sheepish. “before spain.”

a dangerous pause.

“…why denmark.”

“we got married.”

the sound iwaizumi made could only be described as a full-body malfunction. a strangled mix between a gasp, a growl, and someone trying not to rupture a blood vessel in public.

“you—married—?!”

“yeah.”

another pause. and then, flat and venomous: “does oikawa know?”

kageyama stiffened like a guilty schoolboy. “…not yet.”

on the other end, iwaizumi audibly inhaled, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience he’d ever had in his life. “and when were you going to tell me you weren’t flying out with the team?”

“well,” kageyama began, “we already sent the marriage certificate to the embassy. so i thought—”

“so you had time to arrange paperwork with a foreign government but not text me you were leaving the country early?!”

“…i sent it in the group chat.”

“do you think i read every ‘just landed’ message between memes and hinata’s live-updates on his snacks?!”

there was a thump, probably iwaizumi hitting a wall—or his own forehead.

“we’re going to be teammates for a month,” he muttered. “and you dropped this on me now. at the airport. in front of god and the vending machine.”

kageyama winced. “i can send a proper message.”

“you think?!”

you finally peeked out from under the covers, gently taking the phone from his hand. “hajime?”

iwaizumi groaned. “you too.”

“we’re very happy,” you said sweetly.

“i hate both of you,” he grumbled. “but fine. congratulations. don’t expect me to babysit you through this.”

you smiled. “oh, you already are.”

there was another sigh. long. exhausted. broken.

“if oikawa finds out before i land,” he muttered, “i’m pretending i don’t speak japanese.”

then the line clicked off.

kageyama stared at the screen. “…he didn’t even say goodbye.”

you shrugged. “he’ll survive.”

“…probably.”

kageyama sank back into the pillows like a man barely spared by fate, while your hand slipped into his, both your wedding rings catching the low morning light filtering in through the window.

and that was it.

well—that was it, until it wasn’t.

because that elopement?

the quiet, sacred thing just for the two of you? it stayed hidden for nearly a year.

miraculously.

because of iwaizumi hajime. professional trainer. national team’s unofficial handler. your shared confidant. and, as it turned out, an elite-level secret keeper under immense emotional duress.

he didn’t say a word.

not even when oikawa called him three times that week alone, trying to fish for details on why kageyama was “weirdly chipper” and asking if he’d “caught a new disease in europe.”

not even when bokuto found a photo of you and kageyama in matching coats from copenhagen and shouted, “this looks like honeymoon energy.”

not even when atsumu, bored and nosy, cornered iwaizumi with a protein shake and said, “you’re acting like you’re hiding something. is it drugs or a lovechild?”

iwaizumi kept his mouth shut through all of it.

but not without consequence, because you watched the man visibly age.

he developed three new forehead lines and started carrying around a stress ball that wasn’t there before. he muttered “i need a raise” to himself a lot, and once, when komori spilled pre-game smoothies all over the training mats, iwaizumi sat down on the floor and just stared into space for five solid minutes.

the guilt gnawed at you sometimes—especially when he glared at kageyama during warmups with the same expression a war general might give a soldier who’d accidentally detonated the strategy tent.

“we should tell them soon,” you said once, watching a livestream of a match where iwaizumi could clearly be seen shouting at the bench and pointing a clipboard like it was a weapon.

kageyama had only nodded, chewing his protein bar.

you felt bad. you did.

but…

there was still something sacred about the way your marriage belonged to just the two of you. something lovely in the quiet of it. it had been a promise whispered and signed in the hush of a european winter. something selfish and soft and yours.

and iwaizumi?

he’d kept that promise. never wavered. never slipped. never cracked—not even once.

you knew it cost him sleep. and years off his life. and probably a piece of his soul.

but still.

he’d kept it.

because that’s who iwaizumi hajime was—reliable to the bone, loyal past reason, and deeply, deeply tired of being surrounded by emotionally stunted athletes. but a keeper of your secret, all the same.

he’d sworn not to say anything, and he hadn’t. even when oikawa, calling in from argentina with the energy of someone who absolutely knew something was going on but didn’t have the receipts yet, tried to dig into him like a stubborn cat clawing at a locked cabinet.

“you’d tell me if something weird was going on with tobio, right?” oikawa had asked during one of their check-ins, mid-stretching and dripping sweat.

iwaizumi had stared into the camera like he was contemplating faking his own death. “define weird,” he said.

and that had somehow been enough to throw him off the trail—for a while.

and now, a year later, here you were.

back in japan. back in a packed stadium. seated in the plush, velvet-lined vip box of one of the biggest venues in tokyo.

the crowd was already roaring, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. flags waving, chants echoing, camera lights flickering like fireflies across the arena. and there you were, seated with hanamaki, matsukawa, kindaichi, and kunimi—all blissfully unaware that they were sitting next to someone who had legally and emotionally committed herself to a man currently warming up on the court.

oikawa tooru—your brother—stood proudly on the other side of the net, representing argentina with that same swaggering confidence he carried since high school. across from him, in japan’s uniform, was kageyama tobio, stretching his shoulder like he wasn’t seconds from reigniting an international rivalry and a family feud.

“man, this is gonna be intense,” hanamaki murmured, sipping his soda. “oikawa’s looking extra dramatic today.”

“he always looks dramatic,” matsukawa replied.

“did you hear the commentator earlier?” kindaichi said, pointing to the massive jumbotron above the court. “they zoomed in on kageyama’s hand and were like, ‘is that a wedding band?’”

your body stilled. too still. the kind of stillness that made animals run.

“wedding band?” hanamaki blinked, then turned to look at you. “wait—that’s a wedding band too, isn’t it?”

your fingers instinctively curled inward on your lap, but it was too late.

kunimi blinked slowly. “…okay but who did you marry?”

there was a beat of silence before matsukawa groaned, exasperated.

“are you dumb? it’s obviously kageyama, dumbass. they’ve been together since middle school. remember when tooru found out and refused to speak for a week and a half? cold war era?”

you stared ahead, expression composed, neutral, elegant—despite the chaos brewing in the row behind you.

“wait—wait, so you’re married?” kindaichi practically screeched.

“when?!” hanamaki demanded.

“why didn’t we know?!”

“was there cake?” kunimi asked calmly.

but before you could respond, the jumbotron cut to oikawa.

your brother—sweaty, flushed, stretching his shoulders—froze mid-motion as his gaze zeroed in on kageyama’s ring, and then the camera panned to the vip box. to you.

and then he just—stopped moving.

completely.

as if time itself had paused.

his eye twitched.

iwaizumi, who you could barely see from your elevated spot, was already standing up from the team bench, shoulders squared like a man who had smelled smoke before the fire had even started.

on the court, oikawa dropped the ball he was warming up with. just let it fall. stared across the net like he was calculating the optimal trajectory for a murder.

“uh-oh,” matsukawa said.

“yep,” hanamaki muttered.

“what’s happening?” kindaichi asked.

“he figured it out,” kunimi said. “he definitely figured it out.”

and as oikawa took a step toward the net, iwaizumi appeared—not walked, not ran—appeared, grabbing him by the shoulder mid-lunge.

“not on live television,” you could imagine him saying. “please. not here.”

oikawa pointed at kageyama.

then at the jumbotron.

then—at you.

you gave him a little wave.

iwaizumi looked skyward, mouthing something that was either a prayer or a resignation letter.

and you? you just smiled.

because the truth was out. the rings were seen. the marriage was no longer a secret.

down on the court, chaos was brewing in slow motion.

oikawa, tooru, argentina’s number one, local menace and your older brother, was standing frozen in place. the warmup drill had gone completely forgotten—his arms limp, one knee bent like he’d been mid-step when the realization hit. his eyes hadn’t moved from the jumbotron in almost a full minute.

because on that screen, clear as day, were the two things he feared most:

tobio kageyama with a wedding band.your face in the vip box, smiling like you had no business being that calm while his world was collapsing.

iwaizumi saw it happen in real time.

and for a man who had taped a hundred ankles, mediated fifty shouting matches, and once convinced sakusa not to pepper spray a fan who got too close to the bench—he knew this was a code red situation.

“no,” he muttered under his breath, already walking.

by the time oikawa was marching toward the net, eyes blazing, hands clenched like he might throw the volleyball—or worse, launch it at kageyama’s face—iwaizumi was already on the court, cutting across warm-up zones like a soldier breaking formation.

“tooru,” he called out, calm and firm.

oikawa turned, wild-eyed, and pointed a furious finger across the court. “he married my sister, iwa-chan.”

“yes. and we’re live in seventy-two countries, so maybe don’t commit a felony on international television,” iwaizumi replied smoothly, one hand now gripping oikawa’s bicep like a leash.

“he didn’t even tell me!”

“neither did she,” iwaizumi muttered under his breath, tugging him away from the middle of the court.

“iwa-chan!”

“tooru,” iwaizumi hissed, low and sharp, “if you blow this up right now, you’re gonna be that guy—the guy who lost his cool on camera because of a ring. save it for after the match. yell all you want later. i’ll buy you a punching bag.”

“i don’t want a punching bag—i want to strangle tobio-chan.”

“you can’t strangle the setter from another country mid-tournament. it’s bad press.”

oikawa groaned and dragged a hand down his face like he was physically trying to wipe the betrayal off his skin. “iwa-chan, he stole my sister.”

iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “i’m pretty sure she walked, tooru. willingly.”

oikawa opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a fish gasping for one last comeback. but nothing came out.

so instead, he just slumped.

he crashed out, right there on the bench behind the court, head in his hands like he was back in high school discovering your middle school text messages to kageyama all over again.

“i’m going to be sick,” he muttered.

“you’ll be fine.”

“do you think there’s still time to annul something?!”

iwaizumi exhaled, pulling him up by the collar. “play the game first. destroy him on the court. then you can collapse in the locker room. we’ve practiced this routine before.”

“i can’t believe you knew.”

“i can’t believe you didn’t.”

“this is betrayal.”

“this is adulthood.”

“iwa-chan, my soul is cracking.”

“yeah? my spine’s been cracking since 2017. join the club.”

oikawa sulked, but he didn’t storm off the court. he didn't throw a ball at kageyama’s head. he didn’t demand security or scream into a mic. he just… went back to his team, defeated and muttering curses under his breath.

iwaizumi returned to the japan bench like nothing happened. smooth. silent. the man had the emotional composure of a seasoned trauma surgeon and the patience of a saint married to a coffee addiction.

he picked up his clipboard, scribbled something that might’ve been “kill me” in between tactical notes, and took a long sip of his water.

“sooo…” hinata leaned in from the end of the bench, eyes wide, voice hushed but clearly dying to know, “did oikawa find out?”

iwaizumi didn’t flinch. he didn’t blink. he just leaned back, set the water bottle down with a soft clunk, and said, dry as desert wind: “play the game. save the funeral for after.”

bokuto gasped dramatically. “oh my god, someone died?!”

atsumu squinted. “what kinda funeral we talkin’ about here—like actual or emotional? because i’m ready for both.”

suna, filming casually from the corner of the bench, zoomed in on iwaizumi’s exhausted face. “caption: ‘man realizes he raised twelve sons and one of them just married the other’s sister in secret.’”

“wait, hold up,” aran said, brows furrowing. “who got married?”

“kageyama,” sakusa deadpanned, not even looking up from his water bottle. “obviously.”

“wait—what?!” komori yelped.

hinata choked. “to who?!”

they all turned to look at kageyama, who was tying his shoelaces like nothing earth-shattering had just happened. like his life hadn’t just been blown open on the jumbotron in front of thousands.

kageyama looked up mid-knot. “…what?”

“bro, you’re married?!” bokuto nearly shouted. “you didn’t tell us?!”

“you guys didn’t know?” kageyama asked, blinking like they were the weird ones.

“no,” atsumu cried. “did we look like we knew?!”

“who did you even marry?” komori asked, baffled.

“his girlfriend,” sakusa said, like it was the most obvious answer on the planet.

“well, yeah, but which girlfriend?!” atsumu asked

“what do you mean ‘which’?” sakusa asked, narrowing his eyes. “he’s only had one.”

“yeah,” kageyama mumbled. “the same one since middle school.”

a pause.

“…wait.” hinata stood so fast his jersey wrinkled. “you mean—?”

atsumu’s jaw dropped so fast it was a miracle it didn’t dislocate. “oikawa’s sister?!”

iwaizumi rubbed his temples.

“i thought it was just a rumor you two were dating!” komori blurted, still visibly struggling with the mental whiplash.

“yeah,” aran agreed, frowning. “like—i thought oikawa made it up once to get under kageyama’s skin during nationals or something.”

“no,” suna said casually, still filming. “i thought it was real. i mean, you should’ve seen how kageyama looked whenever someone mentioned her name. classic pining face.”

“wait,” hinata turned to kageyama, squinting. “weren’t y’all, like… secret-secret?”

kageyama finally spoke, tone deadpan as he stood up and adjusted his knee pads.

“the world knows we’re dating,” he said, plain and matter-of-fact. “i always mention her during press conferences.”

a pause.

“…you do?” bokuto blinked.

kageyama nodded. “yeah. stuff like, ‘she helped me recover from an injury,’ or ‘she brings me food after training.’ last month i said, ‘i play better when she’s watching.’”

another pause.

“okay wow,” bokuto muttered, eyes wide. “i think i just thought you were talking about, like… a therapist.”

“didn’t you once call her ‘my most important person’ on live tv?” sakusa added, brow raised.

“he did,” komori confirmed.

“guys.” kageyama looked around at them, flat expression slowly melting into disbelief. “do you even notice anything?”

atsumu looked personally offended. “okay rude, i notice lots of things. like the time sakusa changed conditioner.”

“that was six months ago,” sakusa muttered.

“and unforgivable,” atsumu said.

“you’re literally always with him,” hinata added, pointing at kageyama. “how did we not put this together?”

iwaizumi, watching from a few feet away with crossed arms and the distinct look of someone who’d lost all faith in the team’s collective iq, let out a soundless laugh through his nose.

“you all have the memory retention of a wet sponge,” he muttered. “you’ve seen them together more times than i can count.”

suna stopped recording just long enough to deadpan, “so basically, kageyama had a girlfriend, a fiancée, and a wife… and we missed all three stages?”

“some best friends you are,” kageyama mumbled under his breath.

“we need a slideshow,” bokuto said. “like a timeline! ‘the secret love story of tobio and the one who got away but actually stayed!’”

“he married her,” sakusa muttered. “she didn’t get away.”

bokuto gasped. “even better! it’s like a plot twist!”

iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away. “i need noise-cancelling earbuds. and possibly retirement.”

and as the referee whistled for the starting lineups, the japan national team jogged out onto the court— still slightly shaken, entirely too loud, and about to play a very high-stakes match…

while one of their own had just broken the biggest news of the year without even trying.

you, on the other hand, weren’t faring any better.

in the vip box, the interrogation hadn’t let up since the moment kageyama’s wedding band hit the jumbotron in high-definition glory. your friends—hanamaki, matsukawa, kindaichi, and kunimi—had turned on you like you were the surprise twist in a murder mystery, except you weren’t even dead, just very secretly married.

“so you’re telling me,” hanamaki began, leaning in with the intensity of a seasoned detective, “you got engaged and married and never said a single word?”

“what happened to trust?” matsukawa added, clutching his chest like you’d betrayed him specifically.

“what happened to group chat loyalty?” kindaichi gasped.

kunimi just blinked slowly. “i literally stood next to you during a group photo last year. were you wearing the ring then?”

you didn’t even try to deny it. instead, you sipped your drink and said coolly, “maybe you should all pay more attention to the details.”

“we’re not the cia!” matsukawa cried. “we didn’t think we had to inspect your fingers for government-level secrecy!”

“i’m just saying,” you murmured with a small shrug, “you guys are surprisingly unobservant.”

“you literally posted a photo in santorini with a caption that said, ‘best trip ever,’” hanamaki said, squinting at you. “was that the engagement trip?”

you smiled sweetly. “no comment.”

“you smiled in the background of his press photos!” kindaichi pointed out, like the realization was physically painful. “and we just thought it was cute—not, you know, ‘secret wife’ level of cute!”

“how long?” kunimi asked, too calmly, and somehow that made it worse.

you looked up at the court, where kageyama stood in his ready position, laser-focused, completely unfazed by the worldwide bombshell he’d just dropped.

“almost a year,” you admitted.

hanamaki let out a strangled noise. “one. year.”

“how did oikawa not find out sooner?” matsukawa asked, as if that was the true miracle here.

you hummed. “because iwaizumi knows how to keep a secret. and also because we’re very good at sneaking around. old habits.”

“are you pregnant?” kunimi asked flatly.

you blinked. “…what?”

“that’s always how this goes. secret wedding, and then—bam. baby.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but the buzzer went off for the start of the match, drowning out the sound.

“oh my god,” hanamaki whispered as the teams lined up. “you’re totally pregnant.”

you didn’t confirm. you didn’t deny.

you just leaned back into your seat, eyes on the court, ring glinting under the stadium lights.

and in that exact moment, kageyama looked up—just for a second.

and he smiled.

once the game was over—japan victorious, oikawa dramatic, and the stadium still humming from the post-match adrenaline—you made your way down from the vip box, your four friends trailing behind you like a jury who had not yet reached a verdict.

“we’re not done talking about this,” hanamaki muttered as you led the group through a side corridor marked staff only.

“i feel lied to,” matsukawa added, hand dramatically pressed to his chest.

“i feel like i need to see the marriage license,” kindaichi said, half-joking. probably.

“i still feel like this is an elaborate prank,” kunimi deadpanned. “like, where are the cameras? is this a variety show?”

“you’re very loud for people who didn’t notice a literal diamond ring for two years,” you shot back over your shoulder.

“okay, rude,” hanamaki huffed.

a staff member nodded you through security with a knowing smile—apparently, “spouse of a national athlete” had its perks—and you slipped into the hallway that led to the locker rooms.

you knocked once on the door.

there was a beat of silence. then shuffling. then—

“is it her?” came bokuto’s unmistakably hopeful voice.

“don’t say it like that,” sakusa muttered from somewhere inside.

the door opened.

kageyama stood there, towel around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower, and wearing the most neutral expression he could muster.

which meant: he was trying to act normal but his ears were already turning pink.

you smiled up at him.

“hey, husband.”

“hey,” he murmured. then, after a beat, added: “they’re here too?”

you turned slightly, revealing the four trailing behind you like paparazzi with no cameras and too many questions.

matsukawa gave him a dry look. “you owe us a slideshow.”

kindaichi pointed. “and a proper explanation.”

“also, what the hell, kageyama,” hanamaki said, squinting. “you get married and don’t even blink through the whole match?”

“you’re emotionally constipated,” kunimi declared.

kageyama blinked once. “i’m fine.”

you rolled your eyes and pushed past him gently, tugging him by the wrist into the room. “we wanted to tell everyone eventually. just… you know.”

“eventually?!” matsukawa repeated. “it’s been a year.”

“yeah,” you said with a soft laugh. “and funny enough… we were gonna send out invitations. next week.”

everyone paused.

“invitations?” hanamaki asked. “to what?”

“to our proper wedding ceremony,” you said, grinning now. “for our first anniversary. nothing huge. just family, close friends…”

“you mean the second wedding?” kindaichi asked, still trying to keep up.

“more like the public one,” you corrected.

“oh my god,” hanamaki whispered. “i need to sit down.”

and as if the universe had a sense of timing, another voice echoed down the hallway:

“don’t tell me you’re also pregnant?!”

oikawa.

you winced. turned toward the source of the voice as he stormed dramatically into view, hair still damp, jersey slung over his shoulder, eyes wide with post-match betrayal.

your mouth opened. you considered lying. or deflecting. or maybe just fake-fainting.

but then you caught kageyama’s hand in yours and… sighed.

“…yes.”

oikawa screamed into his towel.

iwaizumi, appearing like clockwork from the opposite end of the hallway, placed a firm hand on his shoulder and steered him the other direction.

“not now,” iwaizumi said through gritted teeth. “not here. i swear, if you throw something again—”

“he got her pregnant!”

“you’re shouting in front of a baby.”

“the baby isn’t here yet.”

“well, it’s probably listening.” iwaizumi dragged him away like a bouncer at a wedding reception. “let them breathe. please. for once.”

you leaned your head against kageyama’s arm, both of you stifling a laugh as your friends stood behind you, stunned into silence.

finally, matsukawa exhaled. “well… at least we’re invited now.”

hanamaki groaned. “do we have to get gifts?”

“get diapers,” kageyama muttered.

“get therapy,” kunimi added, patting your shoulder.

“get me a drink,” iwaizumi called from down the hallway, voice distant but still filled with existential pain.

you looked up at your husband, your secret barely a secret anymore, your life unraveling in the loudest and most ridiculous way possible—and smiled.

“so,” you whispered, “how do you think he’s taking it?”

kageyama considered.

then, calmly, “he’s still alive. so… not that bad.”

oikawa crashed dramatically onto a bench just outside the locker room, towel thrown over his face like a fallen noble hero in a stage play, limbs splayed and sighs coming out in loud, theatrical bursts.

“i’m gonna die,” he moaned. “this is how it ends. death by betrayal. betrayed by my own sister and that guy.”

“you’re being overdramatic,” you said, crouching in front of him, patting his knee.

“overdramatic?!” he peeked out from under the towel with wild eyes. “you got married without telling me, you’re having a baby, and now i’m supposed to just go back to argentina and live like nothing happened?!”

“well… you shouldn’t book your return flight just yet,” you said lightly.

he sat up. “why.”

you smiled. “because you’re walking me down the aisle. the proper wedding’s in two months.”

there was a beat of stunned silence.

then: “i—i what?”

“you’re walking me,” you repeated. “down the aisle. at the ceremony. the one with everyone. flowers. music. seating arrangements. open bar.”

“why would you want me to do that?” he asked, still recovering.

you tilted your head, smiling softly now. “because you’re my brother. and even if you’re ridiculous ninety percent of the time, i still want you there. preferably not crying. or threatening the groom mid-ceremony.”

oikawa blinked. sniffled once. “…do i get to pick the aisle music?”

“not if it’s from your mixtape,” you said flatly.

behind you, the entire japan national team had gathered, half because they were nosy and half because they wanted front-row seats to the emotional soap opera unfolding in real time.

“can i come to the wedding too?” hinata piped up.

“same,” bokuto added, bouncing slightly. “can i give a speech? i’ve already started drafting one. it has metaphors.”

atsumu grinned. “can i mc? i promise to keep it under ten minutes.”

“that is absolutely a lie,” sakusa muttered.

“i’ll bring snacks,” komori offered cheerfully.

“you’re in the wedding party,” you reminded him.

“oh. i’ll still bring snacks.”

“i’ll livestream the whole thing,” suna deadpanned.

“no, you won’t,” you and kageyama said at the same time.

“so we’re really doing this, huh?” matsukawa said, exchanging a look with hanamaki.

“you sound surprised,” hanamaki replied. “our entire lives have been leading up to a kageyama-oikawa wedding showdown. this is fate.”

“i call dibs on sitting next to the cake,” kindaichi muttered.

“you can all come,” you said over the noise. “just… maybe no speeches from atsumu.”

“rude!” atsumu gasped.

kageyama stepped beside you then, hand gently settling on your lower back, quiet as ever. “everything okay?”

“getting there,” you said, glancing toward your brother, who was now muttering something about matching suit colors and learning how to do proper formal knots on youtube.

kageyama leaned in, voice low. “are you feeling sick?”

you blinked. “what?”

“you woke up looking pale,” he said, concern pulling gently at his brows. “and you’ve been standing a while.”

you blinked, then chuckled. “just a little queasy. probably because someone made me laugh while i was drinking juice this morning.”

he looked mildly guilty. “…you sprayed it everywhere.”

“yes, tobio, that’s what happens when someone says ‘what if our kid ends up with oikawa’s attitude’ mid-sip.”

“…i still think it’s a valid concern.”

oikawa, who had just recovered enough to scroll through airbnb listings for dramatically expensive suites near the wedding venue, froze.

his head snapped up.

“wait—what did you say?!”

you and kageyama both turned toward him slowly, caught mid-conversation, like teenagers who’d been overheard saying something they shouldn’t have.

“what?” you said innocently.

“did you just say,” oikawa stood, towel falling off his shoulders like a cape, “what if our kid ends up with oikawa’s attitude?!”

“ah,” kageyama muttered under his breath. “here we go.”

“excuse me?!” oikawa pointed dramatically, nearly tripping over his own gym bag. “my attitude is amazing. charismatic. charming. elite.”

“it’s emotionally volatile,” sakusa said from the side, not even looking up from his phone.

“thank you,” kageyama added helpfully.

“you’re just jealous,” oikawa snapped back, pacing now like a coach delivering a pep talk to an invisible team. “my personality has layers!”

“yeah,” matsukawa said, deadpan. “like an emotional onion.”

“and you willingly married someone who insults me in front of our child?” oikawa turned to you, clutching his chest. “our niece or nephew?!”

“we didn’t know you were listening,” you said calmly.

“i’m always listening!” he barked.

“which is the exact reason we got married in another continent,” kageyama muttered.

“what was that?!”

iwaizumi, still chewing his protein bar and visibly reconsidering his life choices, stepped in before anyone could escalate further.

he raised a hand with the weariness of a man who had been holding everyone’s lives together with ankle tape and sarcasm.

“technically,” iwaizumi said, voice flat, “they’re married in two countries.”

the hallway went dead quiet.

oikawa blinked once. “two?!”

“denmark,” you confirmed helpfully, trying not to laugh.

“and japan,” kageyama added, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “we filed the paperwork when we got back.”

iwaizumi nodded slowly, like a man who had already lost the will to argue. “they even mailed me copies in case someone ‘forgot where they put things.’”

“which was you, wasn’t it?” sakusa said without looking up.

iwaizumi ignored him.

oikawa groaned and sank into the bench again, dragging the towel back over his face. “so you’ve been internationally married this whole time, and i’m the last to know?”

iwaizumi sighed. “to be fair, i found out because i thought kageyama was missing and almost called the embassy.”

“you what?”

“he texted the team group chat ‘just landed,’” iwaizumi muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “just landed, he said. how was i supposed to know he meant denmark? he said nothing else.”

“i thought it was obvious,” kageyama mumbled.

“nothing about that was obvious,” sakusa said.

“it’s like you want to shorten my life,” iwaizumi added. “and now you’ve dragged me into an international conspiracy.”

“oh please,” hanamaki chimed in. “you’re the one who kept the secret. you’re complicit.”

“you think i had a choice? do you know how many ice packs i went through that week? do you know what bokuto did when he found out someone replaced his pre-workout with orange juice?”

“it was delicious,” bokuto called out from down the hall.

iwaizumi just took another bite of his protein bar and stared at the ceiling like it might grant him early retirement.

“i’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered.

and next to you, kageyama turned to you quietly, thumb brushing your hand.

“are you feeling sick again?” he asked, voice lowered.

you blinked. “a little. not bad. just queasy.”

his brows furrowed, concern flickering across his face. “do you want to sit down?”

“i am sitting down, tobio.”

“then sit more comfortably.”

you snorted, but leaned against his shoulder anyway. “you’re so weird.”

“you married me.”

you grinned. “twice.”

and technically—in two countries.

537 notes · View notes

everrinsly · 3 months ago

Text

a/n; somehow, i always imagine the boys being very flirty as they grow up hahah

a momager and her silly olympic team vibes.

the weirdo quick and the real mvp. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more olympic team shenanigans here!

more reads!

~~~~~

Even though the boys were all grown (late twenties now, by the way), you were absolutely appalled at how they still bickered like children mid-match. At the Olympics of all major events—

“Oi! Kageyama! Stop setting like you're mad at me or something!” Hinata snapped, slapping the ball down with a little too much force... right into the net.

On the other side of the court, France's setter stifled a laugh that was immediately shot down by Suna—still holding his signature pose, arms raised, hands in front of his face. His green eyes were narrowed, glinting with a lethal glare.

Kageyama scowled. “I’m not mad! You’re the one who’s late to the spike!"

“You’re the one who keeps shifting your timing!”

“Maybe because your fucking brain’s five steps behind your feet—!”

"Or maybe it's you that can't fucking count—!"

"I was calculating optimal trajectory—"

"Optimal trajectory my ass!"

"You fucking trained on sand—and you're still shitty—"

"WHA—the fuck did you just say?!"

Atsumu sucked his teeth on the sidelines. “Well, shit... here we go again.”

Komori leaned over from his libero crouch and whispered to Sakusa in the back row. “Three guesses who’s gonna fix it.”

Bokuto perked up, hands on his hips, watching the freak duo fight (just like he and Kuroo used to do back in high school). “Wait for it…”

From the bench, Iwaizumi had given up. Clipboard on the the floor. Coach was nearly hiding away in shame, muttering something to the assistant coach. Probably (most definitely) adding in an extra training schedule.

The referee on the court had already dropped the whistle from his lips, sighing like he can't be bothered because Team Japan was the root cause of all his problems.

And the jumbotrons?

The jumbotrons caught everything. The camera crew were having the time of their lives, recording the meltdown of Team Japan.

—So that’s when you stood up from your seat near the bench, clipboard in hand, eyes soft and kind.

As you jogged onto the court during a much-needed timeout call, Sakusa muttered under his breath, “And there she goes. The real MVP comes to the rescue.”

“Bet three curry buns she fixes it in less than twenty seconds,” Iwaizumi said, arms crossed, clearly already counting down.

When you reached Hinata and Kageyama, you gently pressed a hand on each of their shoulders. Slightly damp with sweat, but you didn't care. Not when you've took care of them since high school, at their very worst to their very best.

“Hey,” you voiced, all warm and calm. “What’s going on?”

Hinata looked down at you and pouted. Literally pouted. “He’s not syncing with me.”

Kageyama huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m syncing. He’s just zigzagging like a squirrel... on fucking caffeine.”

You fought a laugh. “Okay, but think about how far you’ve come. You two read each other like a book now, right? You’ve done this dance a hundred times. You’ve already got the rhythm—you just need to trust each other again.”

Their gazes softened slightly.

You smiled, giving Hinata a playful nudge. "Remember? You used to hit Kageyama's sets with your eyes closed, Sunshine."

You turned slightly to face Kageyama and patted his chest. "And you... make sure you imagine the spiker. Not just send it high and far, okay?

You leaned up to wipe some beads of sweat off each of their foreheads with your sleeve.

“Besides,” you added, “I kind of love when you pull that sneaky slide attack, so don’t make me sad, okay?”

Hinata smirked, a cute little tilt of his lips. "I can do that, sweets!”

Kageyama adjusted his uniform collar and ran a hand through his hair, grumbling, “Fine fine. I’ll fix my toss for your slide... you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Hmm... like what?” you asked innocently.

“Like that,” he murmured.

But before you could even respond, he stomped back to the net.

(They were just as adorable now as they were back in high school).

As you trotted off the court, Suna was staring at you with a deadpan look. “Must be nice having a buffoonish-ass love language.”

You giggled softly, teasing. "Wouldn't call it buffoonish if it works, Rin. Are you just jealous?"

“Hm. Maybe,” he hummed.

Atsumu let out an exaggerated groan. “Can we get a team-wide policy? No cute manager pep talks unless we all get one.”

“You want me to pat your head too, 'Tsumu?” you said sweetly, grabbing a towel and handing it to Ushijima.

Atsumu opened his mouth, then paused, a flirty smile adorning his lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no, sweetheart.”

Bokuto leaned over, buffing his chest out. “Can you pat me like how you patted Kageyama?”

“You smiled at Hinata like he invented the sun,” Sakusa added with a small scowl.

Ushijima blinked. “It was motivational. Very effective.”

“Uh-huh, damn miracle worker,” Iwaizumi muttered from behind you, voice low. "An how about you all stop crowding her now. You've still got a game to play."

Your face heated, and suddenly the entire bench was smirking.

Except for Komori, who cheerfully handed you his water bottle. “You handled that really well.”

You gave him a grateful smile, laughing softly. “Thanks, 'Toya... finally someone who's a little more gown-up than the rest of you all.”

And then, Suna appeared from behind, lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, “For the record, if you ever wanna motivate me like that, I promise ten kill blocks every set.”

“Same,” Atsumu grinned.

"You're a setter, dumbass."

"I CAN BLOCK—"

"Nah, your timing's shit—even if I count for you."

"Oh fuck you—"

“Me too, by the way!” Hinata shouted from the court, already back in position and totally recovered. “I’d fail just to get my sweat wiped with your sleeve again!”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm but heart fluttering.

“How about you all just get back out there and win,” you called, voice firm but fond.

They chorused a 'yes'—some louder, some flirter, some absolutely pretending they weren’t jealous as hell.

And as the whistle blew again and the ball flew up, Kageyama and Hinata moved in perfect sync, slamming down the point so fast it shut the opposing blockers down cold.

“Told you. Real MVP.”

530 notes · View notes

evamame · 3 months ago

Text

kageyama’s favorite food is anything you make for him. he love, love, loves your cooking. he doesn’t really admit it upfront—besides a quick nod of his head or a small thumbs up—but the way he scarfs down any meal you dish out to him tells you everything you need to know. besides your cooking, you know that he also loves those childish yogurt milk type drinks. you’ve seen him with them in his hand enough times to build a mountain out of the empty cartons, and the many instances you’ve found him cooped up at a vending machine as he smashes the buttons eagerly makes his slight obsession with the drink pretty clear. with that in mind, you’ve tried to incorporate that flavor into your dishes. his favorite thing you make for him that comes above all else is a yogurt sauce you put on meats and fish. he’ll scoop the stuff up fast, even dramatically lick the plate clean after he’s done eating despite the fact that he’s not one for grand gestures. you also add garlic to the yogurt sauce as vegetable dip, use it in puréed soups, and thin it to use it as a dressing in salads. it’s absolute culinary perfection to kageyama, and the food practically disappears before you even make it to the table to sit down and eat with him.

452 notes · View notes

offbrandkyoya · 1 year ago

Text

HOW TO GET A LOVER - kageyama tobio x reader

summary: kageyama has a crush on you and tries to win your heart with the help of his friends

pairing: kageyama tobio x reader

genre/tags: smau, high school, love at first sight? miscommunication, hard pinning, comedy, volleyball talk

warning: swearing, kys jokes, nsfw jokes

taglist: open!

note: this doesn’t follow the hq timeline

profiles

[1] freaky kageyama

[2] no name no game

[3] step 1: name

[4] cookie and milk

[5] milk chan irl

[6] date?

[7] abort mission

[8] like

[9] still step 1

[10] wait a minute

[11] secret

[12] falling for you

[13] as friends

[14] yogurt feed

[15] waste

[16] hit tweet

[17] amazing

[18] chat

[19] manifestation

[20] shoyo rescue

[21] milk chan

[22] step 2: interests

[23] oomf stage

[24] tutor

[25] yogurt chan

[26] oomf gang

[27] jellyama

[28] ice rizz

[29] steps further

[30] effing cookie

[31] pessimism

[32] Shakespeare Tobio

[33] my favorite

[34] what step

[35] movie night

[36] pause. rewind. play.

[37] gossiping

[38] which could mean nothing

[39] perfect

[40] silly love

[41] bliss

more to be added…

2K notes · View notes

gumilvr · 3 months ago

Text

˖ ֹ੭୧ breathlessly in love ⊹ ࣪ k. tobio

AUTHOR’S SCRIBBLES ! this one is for loml twin wife pookie baby girl stinker @yudaies MWAH

DETAILS ! +- 450 words, MAKING OUT! he’s down bad.

kageyama sighed but it was a pleased sigh. 9 out of 10 times, his sighs are out of frustration (and, more often that not, they are caused by hinata). but you are the exception. in a lot of things.

he felt you tuck his damp hair away, just so you could see his half closed eyes.

“is everything okay, baby?” you asked sweetly, as if you weren’t the reason of his messy state right now.

he just hummed in response, too busy trying to regain his composure.

it was supposed to be a simple date, watching movies on a laptop in his bed. he had a horrendous week and just wanted to have you in his arms on a cozy friday afternoon, after a long shower.

but before he could realize the movie was playing long forgotten in the background and you were straddling his lap. the lamp in his bedroom must have been a paid actor, as it lit from behind your head and created the illusion of an aureole. it wasn’t a dramatic effect, though: you were an angel in his eyes.

right now, however… a devil in disguise.

you leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

kageyama sighed softly. despite dating for half a year now, you still made him so soft and powerless. like now.

he closed his eyes again, breath getting stuck in his throat as he anticipated your next move.

he didn’t have to wait long. your gentle kisses scattered all over his face, blush blooming on his cheeks.

“you’re so cute” you mumbled and the corners of his lips jerked upwards. he didn’t even have the strength to fight back.

a delicate kiss finally landed on his lips, moving involuntarily; his body responsive to yours. his hands rested on your hips.

you hummed into the kiss, arms traveling to stay crossed behind his neck. opening his mouth ever so slightly, as if to sigh again, you used this opportunity and glided your tongue.

knocking the air out of his lungs, your tongues lazily danced together. he let you have the upper hand, limbs too soft to protest. your hair tickled his face gently, the smells of your perfume perfectly and his shampoo mixing together.

“yama…” you pulled away, just a little bit. a small string of saliva connected your lips, causing his cheeks to burn with a crimson red.

his chest was rising up and down irregularly, swallowing hard. he looked more knocked out than after a long match.

“hm?” he hummed, afraid that his voice would betray how whipped he is.

“i love you” you smiled and lurched forward, hugging him close. nestling your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

and kageyama just squeezed your waist, overtaken by your presence and closeness. but he didn’t mind, one bit.

300 notes · View notes

noosayog · 2 years ago

Text

[baby fever] ft. kageyama tobio

wc: 300

“Have you ever thought about having a kid?”

“A kid?” you echo.

He nods, the sunset light dyeing his face in an orange-red hue.

“Tobio,” you laugh lightheartedly. “Is this what you’re thinking so hard about?”

He looks put out by your laugh, the sure signs of a budding Tobio Tantrum. “Yeah.”

“Tobio, we’re so young! Maybe one day…”

He nods, but you’ve known him for so long, you notice the slight puff of his cheeks and jut of his bottom lip.

“Tobio, are you seriously pouting about this?”

“‘M not pouting. I don’t pout.” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. Turns his cheek away from you.

Tobio gets like this with you sometimes. And he always gets over it. So you just laugh his attitude off and continue the walk home with a sullen Tobio toddling behind you.

It’s only later that night when the two of you are in bed that he broaches the topic again.

“But the others have them already,” he grumbles against your back.

“What?” you say, turning around to face him in the darkness.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Nope. What did you say?”

He tucks his chin inward, hiding his face. “Oikawa already has kids. Even stupid Hinata has ‘em.”

“Tobio,” you sputter in disbelief. “It’s not a contest!”

“But I’m ready.” he says, blue eyes clear and sure even in the dark. “And I love you. Don’t you?” He looks at you expectantly.

“I guess I’ve just never thought seriously about it. But… I don’t not want a baby with you.” you offer hesitantly.

He lights up like a christmas tree. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I love you and…”

He doesn’t let you finish because he’s already all over you, body flipped on top of yours, hands reaching under your shirt, and lips tracing your face.

“Love you too. Love you so much…” he slurs between kisses.

And you were going to finish your thought by saying that the two of you need to talk it through thoroughly, preferably when you aren’t drunk with sleep, but his kisses are turning you into mush and now you’re feeling drunk on something else and this one’s a secret, but the image of your pouting Tobio gives you visions of a future baby who pouts exactly like their father.

#noos writes #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq imagines #hq fluff #kageyama tobio #kageyama x you #kageyama fluff #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader

3K notes · View notes

clawsdevour · 11 months ago

Text

welcome home

wc: 2.3k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, kageyama x reader, smut, hc that kags likes tits, fingering, creampie, not proofread

. ᝰ˚ ༘

Home alone in the kitchen making yourself a small midnight snack. The ambient lighting is more silent than the echoing noises of your shuffling. Washing your hands after a quick bite of your meal, you pause for a second.

Was that a creaking sound?

Staring in the direction it came from, the front door of your house. Followed by the sound of keys jingling as you watched the doorknob twist and turn open. Upon entrance, you see your husband Kageyama Tobio back home from his business trip due to his volleyball career.

His head lifting up from his suitcase, his cold beady gaze softens when he sees that you’re still up.

“Tobio.. Welcome home!” dropping the cloth you dried your hands with, running over to him with open arms.

Catching you in his warm embrace, his muscular arms tightly squeezing around you to make up for his lack of presence throughout the time he was away. He wasn’t just excited, something down there was too.

“W-Wait..” the friction as you swayed around in his arms building up his already pent up erection, coming to a sudden halt.

You didn’t realize until you saw his eyes move lower to look at the hard to miss tent sticking up from his crotch. Averting his eyes to look behind you a bit humiliated that that was his first reaction to coming back home. His stern face starts to heat up, you can’t help but giggle under your breath.

“Bring in the suitcase and take a nice hot shower, love. We’ll get to that later..” using your thumb at his chin, changing the direction of his head to look down at you. Planting an affectionate kiss on his cold but soft lips before heading back to your midnight snacking.

Doing as you said, Kageyama brought in the suitcase to the bedroom to unpack before starting a shower that dissolved all his worries now that you’re under the same roof as him.

You’re laying under the fluffy covers, waiting for him to walk out as you continue to binge watch a show you watched with him before he left home for work.

The moment he opens the door, the light hitting just right at him, slightly showing you slivers of his toned and rippling body that seemed to get hotter every time you saw it.

The towel on his waist hung low.. too low to the point it made your mouth part open with a bit of drool about to start dripping down your chin.

The steamy atmosphere slowly disintegrated from the bathroom into the bedroom air, the particles disappearing in the light. His dark black hair was absolutely drenched and dripping with water while he hand dried it with a separate towel.

It’s been so long, you never get to see him like this anymore. Rubbing your legs under the covers as you started to feel aroused, hoping it’d relieve something. Kageyama’s headed towards you, looking at the TV with the colorful lights reflecting on his freshly damp skin.

“Is this a new episode? Have you been watching it without me?” peering at you from behind. His stern dark blue eyes pierced into you, a subtle smile plastered on his face.

“Mhm.. you took too long to get back home I couldn’t wait anymore,” pouting playfully at him, chuckling as he sat on the end of the bed.

Feeling a sensation on your lower legs through the blanket, looking up you see a hand rubbing them up and down while his eyes are fixated on the screen.

“Ha. I see how it is,” he blatantly said.

Kicking off the covers, you crawled near to him. Well, more like closer to his broad and toned back and started to softly massaging them. His tender muscular skin in between your fingers that worked like magic, relieving any of his soreness.

“Does this hit the spot?” whispering seductively in his ear through a smirk. His head gradually leaned back in delight, egging you on to go deeper into his tissue.

“Yeah.. it does. Can you go a bit higher?” cooing under his breath as his lashes flutter to a close.

“Right here?” planting a gentle peck on the crook of his neck.

“Oh you wanna do this right now?” taking the damp towel off his hair whilst averting his full attention to you in the back. His dark eyes reeked of sin and need that intoxicated the eye contact between you two.

“Yeah—” cutting you off right as his lips raced towards yours.

Crashing multiple times before he’s able to slide his tongue into your mouth. Exploring each and every crevice of your being.

Kageyama’s leading and dominating kiss makes you back up onto the mattress as his stature completely towers upon you, towel somehow still clinging onto his waist as it brushes onto you.

A warm large palm slithering its way up your dainty tank top as he continued breathlessly making out with your lips. You’re whimpering into the kiss as you start to lose breath.

Detaching his plump lips from yours, making his way down to nip at the contours of your jaw and neck. His stare still lingering on your skin, watching each and every reaction.

The water droplets from his wet hair catches onto your hot complexion as Kageyama places down a kiss on every possible area of your skin, almost drowning you in his affection as you straddle his broad bare shoulders to keep yourself afloat.

His fingers caressing your tender breast, pinching and flicking your little nubs as you squirmed in delight. The towel began to release from its grip, his erection hitting the surface of your thigh.

Breaking away from your fast paced kiss that made you see stars, Kageyama throws your tank top off, leaving it somewhere on the floor. Nipping at your neck, creating red and bright pink marks moving down to your perky nipples.

Kissing them gently before latching his hot mouth onto you. His warm damp air brushed onto your skin as his heart raced and pounded like crazy. The foreign sensation makes your head all foggy while his tongue continues to play and tease at your delicate little nub.

You didn’t realize when he began reaching his other hand lower, down towards the hem of your thin shorts. His two digits gently pressing on your crotch, finding your slit admist the fabric that concealed it.

“Tobio..” whining to catch his attention.

Kageyama’s dark blue gaze averts to your flushed complexion, instantly going back head level with you just a few inches away from yours.

“Yes, love?” slender long fingers tucking strands of hair behind your ears, his pupils darting everywhere as he inspected your expression.

“Oh, well.. just miss you a lot” pulling him in for a snug hug once more, just half naked this time. Feeling him in nothing made it feel more intimate.

That was until you felt a hand slide down into your shorts, burning a smoldering heat as it pressed against your panties just right where it was damp.

“Me too,” he purred.

Putting space between you two for a brief moment, Kageyama helps you out of your shorts and underwear to keep up the pace as you two exchange more eye contact that begged for physical affection.

“..So wet?” running a hand up your slit, collecting your essence at the tip of his finger.

Biting down on your lower lip as you watched the tent that was just barely covered by his fluffy towel grow in size. Continuing with your antics, Kageyama lowers himself down onto you. His touch rubbing slow and small circles on your wet clit.

The sound of your juices melted with the audios of your sloppy passionate kiss as you whimpered with pleasure. A prodding at the entrance of your cunt, his middle finger slips in.

Welcoming his digit with a warm clench, you just slightly take a moment to breathe in that fresh air. However, Kageyama’s lips don’t stop moving with all the free reign he has over your nudr and vulnerable body.

His plump lips move everywhere, kissing every crevice he may have missed from earlier. Adding in another finger, pumping them in and out of your sopping cunt at a steady and bearable rhythm. When Kageyama started scissoring, and curling his fingers inside you, was what made you start gripping onto his shoulders for dear life trying to receive him, nails starting to create crescent marks in his tender muscles as if imprinting your marks on him.

“S-So good..” you sobbed in his ear amongst the squelching and heated atmosphere that caught onto your skin.

The pace of his plunging fingers increase to fulfill your orgasm, going knuckle deep. It felt like heaps of liquid dripped and pooled in the depths of your nether regions, inching you and edging you on.

“Fuck ..Tobio ugh!!” The more he jammed his slender but thick fingers inside out, the more your nails clawed into him to stabilize your trembling body.

Panting out all the air in your lungs the moment you creamed all over his digits. Watching as he slid them out to taste your orgasm on his tongue as a way to clean them off.

“You okay?” using his hand to caress your cheek, pressing a delicate kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah, just put it inn.. I miss you being inside me” you whimper to him with your half lidded eyes, playing with his wet locs of hair that drew towards you from above.

“M’kay, don’t whine if you can’t handle it.”

Lining himself up at your entrance, slithering through your drenched folds beforehand to collect your fluids on his girth. Kageyama’s warm and relaxed strokes drawing your patience thin.

Reaching a hand down to guide his hands to your entrance with a look of passion written all over your face. His tip enters your aching cunt as you squirm in discomfort, the more he inched the more it felt like as if he’s splitting you open in two.

“Does it hurt? Come here,” nodding while you got into his lap, tears starting to form in your eyes the more you tried to blink them away.

Kageyama’s big arms hugged you tight as your walls gradually slid down and gripped onto his cock. Your walls expand to take his shape, keeping his dick warm and compact, almost like he’s about to explode inside, while he rewards you with small affectionate pecks till you feel better.

“Sorry.. I guess it’s been a while,” he heard between sniffles.

His subtle smile as he glances down at your glossy eyes makes you know that you have all the time in the world whenever you’re with him.

“It’s okay. Don’t rush it if it hurts babe.”

Once you’ve situated his length nested inside your tight cunt, you’ve begun just to slowly grind your hips with his. However, not fully adjusted. Groaning in pain, continuing to have your walls mold to his cock while his hands linger around your bare waist inching lower to your ass.

Making the first move, you slowly rose and dropped yourself onto him. The pleasure started to wash over the pain when you realized he’s starting to hit your deeper and stimulating areas that couldn’t be reached earlier in this position.

His hands grasp onto your hips to support you as you continue to go at your own leisurely pace to get used to his dick once more. His husky moans suppressed under his breath, cursing to himself in the process as he loses himself in your addictive sensation.

“You’re doing good, love” bringing a hand to the front to rub your swollen clit as you mumble out sweet, almost melodic moans that rang in his ears.

Calling out his name in between sobs of joy, he can’t take it anymore. Kageyama just wants to fuck you till your out cold and quivering from pleasure.

Thrusting with all his might and stopping you in your tracks. Your body quaked as he reached further and into your nether regions, stimulating your g-spot multiple times.

He’s cunningly snickering under his breath watching you become a moaning mess on top of him. Your breasts that dangled and bounced in front of him with each pounding were too tempting to not tease and suck on.

The foreign sensation making its way back onto your body, licking you up and down making your chest feel weird in a content way. Sucking onto your perky plump nipple, Kageyama’s tongue wrapping around the nub with intent to overstimulate you with satisfaction.

“Wait, Love. Might, cum–”

Crying out one last moan of joy while he continues to penetrate deep into your incoming orgasm at intensive and quick speed, your vision turns white when you feel a spurt of warm liquid ooze into your swollen red cunt. His stuttering words coming to an end when all you could hear is his gasps.

Clenching your plush walls around Kageyama, a rim of white froth built up on the base of his cock when he lifts you up by ur ass. Grasping all his cum mixed with your wet juices and orgasm that started to trickle out of your pussy.

Panting as your exhausted sweaty body drifts down catching onto his muscular but tender chest that heaved up and down to catch his breath. His hands are giving you the tightest of tight hugs despite both of you being covered in a sheen layer of sweat and a mix of your essences.

“Would’ve gone easier on you if I hadn’t been away for so long.”

masterlist here

915 notes · View notes

fushiguruuzzzz · 6 months ago

Text

JUST ADD WATER .ᐟ

T. KAGEYAMA

cw: req by @cinnamxnangel for 700 event, ignore timestamps, crude language, mention of death (joking I promise they’re happy this time), possibly ooc kageyama idk i’m still getting used to him

gen tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @aldebrana

388 notes · View notes

shouyuus · 10 months ago

Text

ceo!tobio who inherited his company from his grandfather at a young age and was a little too eager to prove himself so he alienated a lot of board members in the beginning by coming on too strong with his own opinions, but is now trying to learn how to work better with others. who's terrible with paperwork but is fantastic with strategies, who's constantly frowning but will light up when he's discussing specifics to a project that he's front-lining.

who always shows up in an impeccable suit, but never anything too ostentatious -- black jacket and matching tie, a pristine white shirt, the collars pressed to perfection. occasionally, he'll pop the top button of his shirt during the summer months, drape his jacket over one shoulder as he scrolls through his phone or listens to someone babble on about a current proposal. who tugs on his tie during meetings that go on too long and absently rolls up the sleeves to his shirt when he's redlining a document, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he flips his weighted mont blanc pens this way and that.

ceo!tobio who owns a collection of fancy watches, all gifted to him by investors hoping to buy a few more shares of the company from him, but he never wears them. instead, he keeps the dinged up old watch his grandfather gave him, cleans it meticulously, gets it polished and fixed up as often as he can spare, only ever entrusting it to you, his secretary, to handle it but with strict instructions to let no one else touch it, and to make sure that the horologist cleans/repairs it in front of you so they don't mess with it, no matter how many times you've assured him that no one's going to try and steal an old, no-name watch from him when he's got a whole drawer full of patek philips at home.

ceo!tobio who's really not great at social functions and is terrible with names, so he brings you to every event as his date, if only so you can whisper the names and titles of the people he's about to meet into his ear right before he meets them, who keeps you so close to him that rumors start to spread about the pair of you, but doesn't bat an eyelash when people ask him about it, telling them in no uncertain terms that his private life, and yours, is none of their damn business, and that if they don't keep their noses out of it, they can say goodbye to whatever business they might've wanted to do with him and his company.

ceo!tobio who apologizes for staying so late sometimes and keeping you there with him, who offers to order whatever you want for dinner on the company card, but you end up having taco bell on the floor of his massive office, sitting cross-legged like a pair of teens at the park, him leaning back against his work desk, watching you with soft eyes as you tell him about the meetings he has tomorrow, who they're with, and the agendas you'd drawn up. he tells you he doesn't know what he'd do without you, and his voice is so honest that for a second you don't know what to say except to tell him that he doesn't have to worry about that for a while yet since you're not planning on going anywhere.

ceo!tobio who knows about the strict company policy on fraternization and kind of agonizes over it bc he's pretty sure whatever the hell he's feeling for you isn't just platonic, but he has your career to worry about -- he knew what he was getting into when he took over for his grandfather, but he doesn't want to drag you into the mess as well, and he thinks it might be better to nip it in the bud, but when he tries, you glare at him and say that he's being childish and is just using this as a scapegoat for not facing his feelings, and he knows you're right but he doesn't know what to do about it until you remind him, much more gently this time, that as the ceo, he does in fact have the power to change the specific wording of the fraternization policy to allow for relationships as long as work boundaries remain professional and there are no direct conflicts of interest.

ceo!tobio who doesn't know how he'd manage without you and trusts you more than he trusts himself, but he doesn't want to be the kind of ceo who bends the rules to suit his own wants and needs so he takes it to the board and gets it pushed through properly, and when it finally comes out that you two are kind of a thing... no one is rly surprised, bc c'mon anyone with eyes could've seen the way he was looking at you, and you back at him. did he think he was being discreet?

but ceo!tobio who tells you whole-heartedly that he'll take care of you if you don't want to be his secretary anymore, and that you'll be impossible to replace, but it's equally impossible for him to get rid of the thought of you and him living together, of him coming home to you every day, of him waking up to you every morning, so if you'll let him... he'd love to give you his everything for the rest of his life, all you have to do is say the word.

tagging tobio nation: @hiraethwa @hiraethwrote @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @dira333 @stunies @fennecnco - join the taglist

#⛈ monsoon season #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kageyama tobio fluff #kageyama tobio imagines #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hq!! x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama fluff #kageyama x you #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

491 notes · View notes

yukkiji · 2 months ago

Text

cross court

in a world where rivalries run deep and loyalties run deeper, a secret relationship between kageyama tobio and aoba johsai's manager tests the lines drawn between love, trust, and the net that keeps them apart

the other side of the net. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. kageyama tobio x fem!reader ft. oikawa tooru

genre: fluff, romance, crack, older brother!oikawa, secret relationship, seijoh vbc always makes an appearance, siblings banter, reader and oikawa being petty mostly oikawa

wc: 11.3k

author's note: i enjoyed writing this so much and i probably have a thing for secret relationships lol anyways this would probably have a short part 2 but that would depend if i'm up for it or if someone request hehe enjoy reading!!

you had no intention—none—of dating someone your brother had a dramatic volleyball rivalry with. not just any rivalry, either. oikawa tooru was notorious for holding grudges like sacred relics.

and his longest-standing one?

kageyama tobio.

so, really. you had no plans of entertaining anything remotely romantic with the so-called “king of the court.” but… well.

it started in your second year at kitagawa daiichi.

back then, kageyama had a reputation that preceded him. ruthless. intense. someone you didn’t make eye contact with unless you wanted to get mentally spiked. but then again, you weren’t like most people. you did make eye contact.

you did ask questions and you did catch him staying late in the gym more times than you could count.

you’d started leaving your own club duties later than necessary, your route home conveniently passing the gymnasium. it became a routine.

a glance.

a nod.

then, eventually, a quiet: “you’re late again.”

“so are you.”

one of those evenings, after another failed toss from one of his teammates, he sat down in frustration, palms over his knees, head bowed. you hadn’t meant to speak, but your voice came anyway.

“maybe they’d trust you more if you didn’t look like you wanted to kill them.”

silence.

then, miraculously—he didn’t snap. he just looked at you with those impossibly intense eyes and said: “…i don’t.”

that was the beginning.

you weren’t sure what it was at first—friendship? understanding? tension in your chest every time his gaze lingered on you a second too long?

but then, the spring tournament came. you watched from the bleachers as kageyama played like a force of nature, and all you could think was: he’s brilliant.

and when you passed him a bottle of water after the match—heart thundering, hand barely brushing his—he said it with all the softness no one ever expected from him:

“thanks… i was hoping you’d come.”

you kissed him a week later behind the gym, after both your clubs had cleared out. it was clumsy and rushed and the dumbest decision you’d ever made.

but you didn’t stop. neither did he.

you promised to keep it a secret. not just because of the school rules. but because of your brother.

oikawa tooru would throw an entire fit—not just a tantrum, a full production—if he found out.

so you kept quiet. carefully.

even after you graduated middle school, the secret stayed tucked between you and kageyama like something sacred—something too delicate to name aloud.

you thought high school was supposed to make things easier. a new chapter, a fresh start but it didn’t.

in fact, it only made things messier.

kageyama ended up at karasuno.

you, on the other hand, followed your brother to aoba johsai—because of course you did. it was the obvious choice, the expected path, and it would’ve made your parents happy. and maybe, in some part of your heart, you thought staying close to oikawa meant things would be familiar. steady.

but nothing about that decision felt steady when you realized it would put you on the opposite side of the net from him.

to make matters worse, oikawa—your overly dramatic, high-maintenance, control-freak older brother—volunteered you for the volleyball club the second week of school.

he said you were “organized” and “smart” and “his favorite little sibling.” he left out the part where he just didn’t trust anyone else to hand him water bottles correctly and somehow, by the time you could protest, your name was already printed on the club roster.

just like that, you were in.

no interview, no hesitation—just a clipboard shoved into your hands and a whistle dangling from your neck like a leash. oikawa had smiled proudly, like he’d just done you the biggest favor of your life, completely oblivious to the way your stomach dropped when you realized exactly what it meant.

you were the new manager of aoba johsai’s volleyball team. his team. the one that would, inevitably, cross paths with karasuno.

you told yourself it wouldn’t be soon. that you had time, but life had a cruel sense of humor.

“we’ve got a practice match,” oikawa had said one morning, all smug grins and dramatic flair. “against some scrappy team from the mountains. should be fun.”

you almost didn’t check the name.

you almost didn’t need to.

your fingers paused on the gym rotation board, eyes narrowing as they landed on one word.

karasuno.

your heart stuttered. not because of the rivalry. not because of your brother’s unresolved grudge or the way he’d practically spit whenever the name “kageyama” came up.

no.

your stomach dropped because just two nights ago, you were sitting beside that very same boy—tucked into the back corner booth of a quiet café two stations away, a hoodie pulled low over his head, his hand hidden beneath the table so he could squeeze yours while pretending not to know you in public.

the worst part?

you were getting good at hiding things.

texting through locked screens, sneaking out the back gate after club hours, meeting halfway between neighborhoods just to walk a few streets together and knowing exactly how long it took to get home before anyone noticed.

you kissed him behind corner stores and train station pillars. shared rice balls and silence and the kind of looks that said, i wish this was easier. he rarely smiled around other people. but with you?

with you, he softened. just a little.

and now?

now the guy you were just on a secret date with—two days ago—was standing across the gym in a karasuno jersey, casually stretching like he didn’t know your entire world had tilted sideways.

you hadn’t even had time to come down from the high of that last kiss—rushed, stolen, tucked beneath the shadows of the park entrance as he’d muttered, “be careful going home,”

and you’d whispered, “you too, tobio.”

and now he was here. on the court. playing against your team.

your brother’s team.

and you were on the sideline with a clipboard and a name tag that practically screamed, i’m not supposed to be in love with the enemy.

you felt him notice you before you even looked up.

it was like gravity—an invisible pull that yanked your eyes toward him the second he entered your periphery.

he didn’t smile. of course he didn’t.

not where anyone could see.

not while oikawa was already glaring daggers across the net, mumbling things under his breath like “king this” and “how dramatic can one toss be.”

but his eyes lingered.

just for a second.

just long enough to say:

i missed you. i’m still yours.

you swallowed hard and turned back to your clipboard, pretending to check a lineup that didn’t need checking.

because the gym lights were too bright and your heart was too loud. the last thing you needed right now was to get caught looking at the boy you weren’t supposed to know so well.

the gym break was short—just ten minutes to refill water bottles, review line-ups, and let the boys stretch before the second half of the practice match.

naturally, your team scattered: oikawa started analyzing serve patterns with matsukawa and hanamaki, kunimi flopped onto the floor and declared he might die, and you?

you slipped away with your clipboard. casually. unassuming. just manager things.

except you didn’t go toward the benches. you went around the corner—past the lockers, down the hallway, and into the half-cracked storage room at the back of the building.

he was already there, waiting.

“you’re late,” kageyama mumbled, eyes flicking up as you closed the door behind you. his voice was quiet, but his shoulders eased the second he saw you.

“kunimi kept asking for another bottle,” you whispered, stepping toward him. “he opened one and dropped it without drinking. he’s so dramatic when he’s tired.”

“you’re one to talk,” he muttered, but there was a ghost of a smile in his voice.

it didn’t matter that it was barely five minutes, that there were shoes squeaking down the hall or that someone could open the door at any second.

none of that mattered.

because you were in his arms now—pressed into the familiar warmth of his chest, your clipboard awkwardly wedged between you and his jacket, but you didn’t care. his hand slid around your waist. his forehead pressed against yours.

“i missed you,” you breathed, and his grip tightened.

“i saw you two days ago.”

“that doesn’t count.”

you stayed there, just breathing, letting the tension melt, letting your nerves still, letting yourself be selfish for once. because it wasn’t fair, being in love with someone you couldn’t look at in public. couldn’t touch. couldn’t even acknowledge.

kageyama’s hand brushed behind your ear, gentle, like he was memorizing the shape of you again. the pad of his thumb traced the edge of your jaw in the way he always did when he was thinking too hard and feeling too much. his voice, when it came, was barely audible—just a breath against the quiet hum of the old gym light above you.

"wish i could walk you home today."

it was such a simple thing.

a small wish.

a little softness you were both constantly denied.

your throat tightened, heart clenching as your fingers curled lightly into the front of his jacket.

"me too."

and then—

he leaned in.

not rushed. not hungry. not desperate. no—he kissed you like he was trying to make time stop. like this was the only way he knew how to be gentle in a world that always expected him to be hard-edged and sharp.

his lips met yours softly, carefully—almost reverent, like he was afraid you’d break if he got too close too fast. the kiss was slow, lingering, full of the kind of longing that only came from nights spent staring at your phones, rereading unsent messages.

your eyes slipped shut. your breath caught.

you didn’t even realize how tightly you’d been wound until he touched you—until everything inside you softened just enough to breathe again.

his other hand found the small of your back, steadying you against him, grounding you like he always did when the rest of the world felt too loud. he didn’t kiss like the boy people saw on the court—didn’t move with the same fierce, brutal intensity. not here. not with you.

with you, he was all caution and quiet ache. like he didn’t want to waste a single second. like he wanted to remember exactly how your lips tasted before the world tore you apart again.

you tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to feel the way he inhaled against you—just a tiny, sharp breath like your touch startled him every single time.

god, how long had it been since you’d felt like this?

not just close, but real.

not hiding behind screens or waiting for his name to pop up in your notifications, but here, in the warmth of his chest, in the steady rhythm of his breath, in the way he clung to you like the clock wasn’t ticking down.

his lips broke from yours just slightly, lingering close enough that you were still sharing air.

"don’t look at me during the match," he whispered, voice low and serious, barely more than a hum against your mouth.

you blinked up at him, dazed. "what?"

his forehead pressed against yours. his thumb ghosted along your cheekbone. "you always smile. someone’s gonna notice."

you let out the softest breath of a laugh, eyes flicking toward the door. "that’s rich, coming from the guy who glances at me every time he serves."

"i don’t—"

"you do."

his ears went a little pink. he grumbled something under his breath, looking away for half a second like he regretted saying anything. but you caught the twitch of his lips, the almost-smile he didn’t quite let loose.

"then don’t smile too big," he said eventually, a little quieter.

"then don’t look at me so much."

the words hung between you like a shared joke neither of you could fully laugh at—not when you both knew exactly what was at stake.

he kissed you again.

this time quicker, firmer, like he was bracing himself. like it had to be enough for the next few days, weeks—however long it would take before the next stolen moment.

but just as you started to lean into him again—

knock knock knock.

your whole body jolted.

you and kageyama broke apart like magnets flipped the wrong way, panic shooting straight through your chest as the door creaked open a few inches.

you barely had time to breathe.

"you two are lucky it’s me," a familiar voice deadpanned, unimpressed.

iwaizumi hajime stood in the doorway like a disappointed older sibling who walked in just as the baby set the kitchen on fire. his arms were crossed. his brow twitched. and in his hand, swinging lazily like a weapon of judgment, was a half-empty sports drink.

you froze.

kageyama did too, like someone had just hit the pause button mid-breath. you didn’t even realize how close you were—chests brushing, hands still entangled—until iwaizumi’s stare made you hyper-aware of everything.

"oh my god," you whispered, voice barely a breath, panic bubbling in your chest. "oh my god, hajime don't tell—"

"calm down," iwaizumi said flatly, cutting you off without missing a beat. his tone was dry—borderline unimpressed, like he had caught a puppy chewing on his shoelaces. he looked at kageyama with that sharp-eyed, no-nonsense glance that had made entire first-years crumble during conditioning. "i’m not gonna snitch."

you and kageyama blinked at him in unison. "…you’re not?"

iwaizumi looked like he aged five years in that single moment.

"no," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like the weight of the volleyball world rested right between his shoulders. "but seriously—just don’t get caught."

your mouth opened, ready to thank him or explain or maybe grovel—but he lifted a hand before you could say anything, like he already regretted even engaging.

"actually—scratch that," he muttered. "do whatever the hell you want. just not before the exams."

there was a sharp silence.

iwaizumi sighed again, more soul-weary this time. "i’m begging you—not before exams."

he gestured vaguely between the two of you. "if he finds out now, it’s gonna be hell. he’ll cry. loudly. like full-volume dramatic-ass crying. there will be wailing, betrayal speeches, and possibly glitter involved. and then—then i’ll be stuck dragging his sorry ass through physics review while he rants about heartbreak and how ‘his own sister conspired with the enemy.’"

you stared at him, eyes wide. "he wouldn't—"

"he would," iwaizumi said grimly. "and he has."

your stomach flipped. kageyama glanced between you and iwaizumi like he was watching a very specific nightmare unfold in real-time.

"i just want to pass my exams," iwaizumi continued, now with the dulled tone of a man who had given up on peace a long time ago. "i want to take my tests, graduate, and never hear the phrase ‘iwa-chan, i’m emotionally devastated’ ever again."

and then, like the gods of timing were playing a prank on you—

"iwa-chan!" oikawa’s voice rang through the hallway like a foghorn dipped in glitter.

iwaizumi flinched. hard.

he closed his eyes for a beat, jaw clenching, like he was preparing for impact.

"for the love of—"

he didn’t even finish the sentence. just turned on his heel and started walking, muttering under his breath with the resigned energy of someone who had seen things.

his footsteps echoed down the hallway. his sports drink fizzed softly in his grip.

you exhaled, finally. like the air had been stuck in your lungs the whole time.

"we’re so dead," you murmured.

kageyama blinked. "…he said he wouldn’t tell."

"not before exams," you emphasized, slumping lightly against the wall. your pulse was still racing. your palms still warm from where they’d held his. "after midterms, we’re done for. that was a death warning with a time extension."

kageyama tilted his head slightly. "…should we study together?"

you looked at him.

"for physics?"

he shrugged. "…for hiding better."

you bit your lip. a laugh bubbled up despite the panic. god, how were you already this deep in?

of course, the secret dates continued.

you were both careful—meticulous, even. always watching the corners, checking your phone twice before stepping out, giving enough time between messages so no one would notice the rhythm of your habits. but there were still cracks in the walls. still moments where your heart forgot to be cautious and your smile forgot to stay small.

most of your time together was now cleverly disguised as studying. technically, it wasn’t even a lie.

kageyama was brilliant when it came to numbers, tactics, movement—but throw a dense japanese lit essay or a poetic passage with five layers of symbolism at him and he’d start blinking like the textbook was personally insulting him.

so you started helping. slowly at first—quizzing him over the phone, rewriting key points in color-coded notes. then came the in-person study sessions.

there was a little café, tucked just far enough away from the school that it felt safe. it had corner booths, soft lighting, and a playlist of instrumental jazz that made kageyama squint at the speakers like it offended him, but he never complained once.

he always ordered the same drink—a tall iced matcha with half the syrup—and you'd roll your eyes when he tried to drink it in one go during breaks.

"pace yourself," you'd murmur, sliding your annotated pages across the table. "we’re still doing comprehension later."

he’d groan softly. “do we have to do the one with the girl and the moon again?”

"yes. because you missed the metaphor. again."

you teased him, but your heart fluttered every time he listened—earnest, serious, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of romantic prose and implied emotion like he did with set plays and timing.

sometimes, he'd stare at you too long while you were explaining something, and you’d pause mid-sentence.

“what?” you’d ask, trying not to smile.

“nothing,” he’d mutter, eyes dropping to his notes, ears going red.

those moments were dangerous. soft. yours.

but back at home, back at school, your brother started noticing.

it started with the smallest things—how you came home a little later than usual, how you checked your phone a few more times at dinner, how your excuses were starting to sound a little too well-rehearsed.

one particular afternoon, you were slipping your bag over your shoulder, fixing your hair in the hallway mirror when oikawa appeared behind you, sipping juice from a ridiculous star-patterned bottle.

"you're going out again?" he asked, a bit too casually.

"study group," you replied smoothly.

"at the school library?"

"nope. cafe."

he raised an eyebrow. "again?"

you blinked once. slow. neutral.

"hajime also studies in cafes sometimes."

oikawa nodded thoughtfully, then squinted. "but hajime doesn’t come home smiling like a golden retriever that just got praised for rolling over."

you froze mid-step. shit.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me." his eyes narrowed. “you’ve been coming home with this dumb grin on your face lately. and don’t even get me started on how often you hum now. you’re humming, like you’re in a shoujo manga.”

you forced a tight smile and grabbed your bag. "you’re being dramatic."

"you’re hiding something," he said, still squinting.

you just turned on your heel and walked away, throwing over your shoulder, “i always smile when i get good grades. maybe you should try it.”

but your heart pounded all the way out the door.

not because you were afraid—not really. you were just… getting tired of hiding how happy he made you. of dodging glances and walking tightropes around oikawa’s nosy instincts. still, the thrill of it hadn’t dulled. not yet.

the sun hadn’t fully dipped yet, and the sky was washed in warm gold, streaked with pale blue and lazy clouds. it was late afternoon—the kind of day where everything looked a little slower, a little softer.

you spotted him immediately through the window of the café.

kageyama was already at your usual booth, tucked in the corner by the bookshelf display, two drinks on the table—yours already waiting. he was wearing that same dark zip-up jacket, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, one hand idly spinning his pen while the other hovered over his open notebook.

he looked focused, serious, and very much like a boy trying to pretend this wasn’t the highlight of his day.

your steps picked up slightly. you didn’t even mean to—it just happened. like your feet wanted to reach him before your thoughts could catch up.

he looked up the moment the door chimed.

and when your eyes met, his entire face changed.

his shoulders relaxed. the tension left his brow. and for just a second, the corners of his lips lifted—barely, but enough.

you were halfway to the booth when he stood up, leaned in, and—

softly, quickly—he pressed a kiss to your lips.

it wasn’t showy. not even particularly passionate. just… familiar. warm. the kind of kiss that said you’re here. i missed you. it’s better now.

your breath caught, just a little.

“hi,” you murmured.

“hey,” he said, voice lower than usual, eyes scanning your face like he was checking if anything was wrong.

he always did that—looked at you like he could solve something if you just let him.

“you okay?” he asked gently as you slid into your seat.

you nodded. “yeah. just—tooru’s getting annoying.”

“more than usual?” his brow twitched.

you sighed, pulling your notebook out of your bag. “he’s watching me too closely. says i’m smiling like a golden retriever.”

kageyama blinked. “but you do that all the time.”

you squinted at him. “…you’re not helping.”

he pressed his lips together in a line, like he wasn’t sure what the right answer was anymore.

then, under the table, you felt the nudge of his foot tapping against yours—soft. subtle. like a secret only the two of you shared.

you didn’t look up right away.

instead, you flipped open your own notebook and pulled out a mechanical pencil, letting the quiet between you stretch just a bit longer. outside, the sunlight spilled gold over the sidewalks and filtered through the glass in long shadows, painting the table in warmth.

“so,” you said eventually, keeping your tone light. “how many times did you rewrite your essay after i said i’d check it?”

“three,” he muttered, barely audible.

your head snapped up. “three?”

kageyama blinked, defensively. “i didn’t want you to say it was lazy again.”

you blinked at him, stunned. “…that’s honestly really impressive.”

he looked away, pretending to be too focused on his cup. “i still don’t get why authors have to say stuff without saying it. if they mean something, why not just say it straight?”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed. not loud, but a soft, honest laugh that made him look back at you. and when he did, his expression shifted slightly. like he was seeing something important.

you reached for one of his flashcards and tapped it against the edge of your palm.

“because people are complicated,” you said gently. “feelings are complicated. not everything can be said straight. sometimes… it’s easier to just show it.”

he went quiet at that.

the sounds of the café filled the silence—cups clinking, pages flipping, a quiet indie song humming overhead. and beneath the table, his foot was still lightly pressed to yours.

then he spoke.

quiet. barely above a whisper.

“do you think… someday…”

you looked up.

he was staring at his notebook, but his voice was steadier than his eyes.

“…we could stop hiding?”

you didn’t answer right away.

your heart ached just a little at the question—not because it hurt, but because of how tender it was. how careful he was being with something that clearly mattered to him.

“i hope so,” you said honestly. “i really do.”

he finally looked at you. and when your eyes met, there was no secret. no fear.

just the shared understanding of two people choosing each other—quietly, stubbornly, even when the world wasn’t ready.

he nodded once.

“okay.”

then he nudged a flashcard toward you. “i don’t get this one either.”

you snorted. “yeah, no kidding.”

and just like that, the two of you fell back into rhythm—side by side in a world that didn’t know yet, but someday, maybe, would.

the rest of that afternoon passed in quiet comfort. your voices stayed low, heads tilted toward each other as you moved through flashcards and mock questions and little scribbled notes in the margins of each other’s notebooks. occasionally, kageyama would murmur something about the material—and every time he got something right, your eyes would light up just a little, and his lips would twitch like he was proud but trying not to show it too much.

you left the café an hour later with the sun dipping below the rooftops and the shadows stretching long down the sidewalk. his hand didn’t touch yours. not in public. but when he walked slightly closer than necessary, shoulder brushing yours on occasion, it felt like enough.

for now.

exams came and went in a blur of long nights, group reviews, and mental exhaustion. oikawa didn’t bother you much during exam week—too preoccupied trying to memorize formulas and force hajime to quiz him until 2 a.m. (which usually ended with iwaizumi throwing a pillow at him and telling him to sleep or fail in peace).

you barely saw kageyama during those days, save for the occasional text:

[tobio:] good luck on your history test. [tobio:] i’m still bad at reading. but i remembered your voice when i read the poem. [tobio:] can’t wait to see you again.

you smiled at your phone more than you probably should’ve. but you’d earned it.

because before you could even recover from the academic chaos—interhigh prelims began.

there was no easing into it this time.

aoba johsai versus karasuno.

the match was intense from the first serve.

you stood on the sidelines in your team jacket, clipboard in hand, trying to keep your expression neutral even as your heart threatened to leap out of your chest every time a certain setter lined up across the net.

kageyama was laser-focused. sharp. his sets were crisp, deadly. he and hinata moved like lightning bolts—chaotic but scarily effective. they were good. too good.

but your boys—your team—were better.

it was close. every set clawed for. every point hard-won. sweat dripped from foreheads, shouts rang across the court, and you were scribbling notes on the back of your clipboard with hands that trembled more from nerves than adrenaline.

in the final set, the score was 31-33.

match point.

the gym erupted.

your clipboard nearly slipped from your hand as the entire bench leapt up in celebration, the players pouring together at center court in a mess of cheers and fist bumps. oikawa was yelling something cocky about being the "great king of setters," and matsukawa had to physically drag him back from trying to gloat in front of kageyama.

your gaze, however, found him on instinct.

kageyama stood with his hands braced against his knees, chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. sweat clung to the sides of his face, dripping from his chin to the polished court below. his brows were furrowed in frustration—but not anger. it was that quiet, inward kind. the kind that came when you gave everything and still came up short.

hinata was beside him in seconds, clapping a hand on his back and saying something—probably encouraging, probably loud. daichi offered a short, grounding pat to his shoulder as they regrouped. the rest of karasuno hovered close, murmuring, checking in, worn out but not broken.

he nodded at whatever they said.

but then, almost imperceptibly, his head turned.

and his eyes—those sharp, storm-colored eyes—scanned across the court until they landed on you.

just for a moment.

it was fast. a flicker, a second too long to be casual, a second too short to be noticed by anyone else, but you felt it like a heartbeat skipping.

your fingers tightened around your clipboard, knuckles paling against the hard edge.

you didn’t let yourself smile.

you couldn’t. not here.

not when oikawa was still riding high on victory and your team was halfway into their loud, smug celebrations. but your expression softened all the same, the corners of your eyes easing, the tension in your jaw loosening.

kageyama saw it. you knew he did.

because his shoulders straightened—not much, but just enough. like your silent exchange gave him a sliver of peace in the sting of the loss.

he gave you the smallest nod.

you nodded back.

it was enough. for now.

“did you see that block?” oikawa’s voice crashed into your space like a cymbal. “iwa-chan’s block?! textbook? no—no, wait—legendary.”

his arm slung around your shoulders before you could dodge, dragging you into his side like a trophy he was parading around with. he smelled like sweat, gatorade, and very loud pride.

you flinched, trying not to make a face. “obviously i saw it. it was textbook defense.”

“textbook?” he gasped. “it was poetry, manager-chan. the kind that should be written into the next generation’s coaching manuals.”

“you mean iwaizumi should be written into the coaching manuals,” you muttered under your breath.

as if summoned, iwaizumi passed by with a towel around his neck and a faint smirk on his face. his eyes caught yours—sharp, knowing. the look he gave you was brief, but unmistakable: i’m watching you. don’t be stupid.

you swallowed. tried to play it cool.

“great game, hajime,” you said a little too cheerfully.

he snorted. “just don’t let your brother get too annoying about it.”

then he walked off, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

because your heart was still racing—not from the win, not from the match.

but because you’d locked eyes with the boy who was supposed to be your rival.

the boy you’d kissed in the quiet corners of cafes and study rooms.

the boy who still looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in a gym full of noise.

aoba johsai had won.

but a part of you—quiet, aching—was still standing on the opposite side of the net.

you glanced around the gym, heart pounding. oikawa was still surrounded by a cluster of fangirls, grinning ear to ear like he hadn’t just fought tooth and nail on the court thirty minutes ago. his water bottle was tucked under one arm, towel slung over the other, signing something on a notebook that didn’t belong to him.

perfect.

you shifted your eyes to iwaizumi, who had just finished speaking to a staff member. when he turned and caught your gaze, you gave him a silent, pleading look.

he sighed—already looking like he regretted indulging you—but he tilted his head ever so slightly toward the hallway exit.

just a nod.

just enough.

you mouthed a quick thank you before slipping away, heart hammering against your ribs as you disappeared down the corridor and out the side doors.

you found him exactly where you hoped he’d be: by the bike racks behind the school, tucked between the shadows of the trees and the golden wash of the late afternoon sun. kageyama stood with his back to the building, water bottle dangling from his fingers, duffel at his feet. his hair was damp, his shirt slightly rumpled, and his entire posture radiated frustration.

you stopped just a few steps away.

“tobio,” you called gently.

his head jerked up immediately, and when his eyes landed on you, something in his shoulders loosened.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. but he didn’t sound like he meant it. he looked relieved.

“neither should you,” you replied, stepping closer.

he looked down, jaw tight. “i messed up some of the last plays. my sets weren’t clean. i kept thinking—” he cut himself off, brows furrowing. “you were watching. and i wanted to win. for you.”

your heart ached.

“you did great,” you said honestly. “you were amazing out there.”

“still lost.”

“but you didn’t lose me,” you whispered, reaching up to brush his bangs away from his forehead.

he didn’t flinch away this time. just leaned forward ever so slightly.

“i wish i could walk you home,” he murmured, voice rough.

“me too.”

and then, because the ache between you couldn’t be swallowed down anymore—you closed the distance.

your lips met in a soft, steady kiss. his hands hesitated, then landed at your waist, pulling you closer like he was terrified you’d disappear. you kissed him again, slower this time, and he tilted his head, deepening it without rushing. it wasn’t messy, wasn’t frantic.

it was you and him.

but then—

“unbelievable.”

your body stiffened like you’d been dunked in ice water. you turned slowly, dread sinking into your stomach faster than you could breathe.

oikawa stood a few feet away, his jaw slack, one brow raised, arms crossed like he’d just walked in on the betrayal of the century.

“of all the people,” he said flatly, gesturing dramatically between the two of you. “him? really?”

“tooru—” you started, but the panic made your voice come out weak.

he shook his head, holding up a finger. “don’t even. don’t try to explain. don’t give me that look. i am so mad at iwa-chan right now. he knew something.”

kageyama stood there awkwardly, lips parted like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or just accept his fate.

“you know what?” oikawa sniffed. “i don’t even have the energy for this right now. i’ve already carried this team on my back all day, and now i have to carry this betrayal too?”

he spun on his heel with unnecessary flair and stalked off.

you chased after him, steps quick. “tooru, wait—”

he didn’t look back. “i don’t want to talk to you. not right now. not today.”

“i was going to tell you—”

“oh, were you?” he said, voice rising just enough to make the words sting. “when? before or after you made out with our school’s rival setter behind the gym like you’re starring in a bad romance drama?”

you winced. “please, don’t be mad.”

“oh, i’m not mad,” he said. “i’m just… incredibly disappointed, betrayed, and now i have to process it while walking home with my secretive little sister, because iwa-chan says it’s too dark for you to go alone.”

you both walked in silence for a moment.

you thought maybe he’d calm down eventually. say something snarky but forgivable.

he didn’t.

he didn’t even glance at you.

you walked the entire way home in awkward silence, your steps slower than usual, your chest heavier than it had been after finals. every time you tried to speak, he either walked faster or pretended not to hear you.

he held the door open when you reached home.

but didn’t say anything.

just trudged inside dramatically, like he was carrying the weight of the entire volleyball world on his shoulders. you stood in the hallway, clutching your bag, heart still racing.

you knew it would blow over.

eventually.

probably.

but for now?

tooru oikawa was going to be the pettiest person on earth.

and honestly? you probably deserved it.

but that didn’t mean you had to take it lying down.

it had been three days.

three whole days of being iced out at home—no good morning, no passing the rice, not even a passive-aggressive complaint about how you never close the fridge properly. it was like living with a ghost who slammed the bathroom door louder than necessary just to prove a point.

so, by the third day, you snapped.

it was during practice. the gym was hot, humid, and your clipboard was already a mess of smudged ink and sweat stains. oikawa had just breezed past you again without a word, tossing his towel onto the bench like you weren’t standing two feet away with a water bottle he asked for this morning.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath.

iwaizumi looked up from where he was adjusting his kneepads. “still not talking to you?”

you scowled. “it’s been three days, hajime.”

“he’s being dramatic,” he said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.

“he’s being impossible. i live with him. i breathe the same air as him. do you know how hard it is to eat dinner next to someone who refuses to acknowledge your existence?”

iwaizumi snorted.

oikawa—like clockwork—called for another drill. his voice rang sharp across the gym, crisp and full of authority. too crisp. too theatrical. like he was performing for an invisible audience. maybe the lingering fangirls in the bleachers. maybe the teammates pretending not to care. maybe you.

he didn’t even look at you. not once.

instead, as he passed, he tossed a smug, self-satisfied smirk your way. no eye contact. no words. just that tilt of his mouth like he was winning something you didn’t even know was a game.

that was the last straw.

you didn’t even think. your hand shot out, fingers curling around the volleyball iwaizumi was holding. he looked at you in surprise, barely having time to register what was happening before you turned on your heel, wound your arm back, and spiked it with full intention—

—the ball slammed straight into oikawa’s shoulder with a satisfying thud, hard enough to make him stumble forward.

the gym went silent.

not the kind of awkward silence. the kind where people stop breathing.

hanamaki dropped the ball he was twirling on his finger. matsukawa froze mid-sip of his water bottle.

oikawa turned slowly, blinking like he’d just been assaulted by a meteor.

“what the hell was that?!” he barked, rubbing his shoulder like it had been hit by a truck instead of a regulation volleyball.

“that?” you snapped, walking toward him, your voice trembling more from rage than fear. “that was three days of you acting like a spoiled little brat because i had the audacity to make one decision in my life without you.”

his eyes narrowed. “you hid it from me!”

“because you act like this!” you gestured around wildly. “you’re dramatic. you make everything into a production. this isn’t your court to referee, tooru.”

“i’m your brother!”

“and i’m not twelve anymore!” the words ripped out of your throat before you could stop them.

oikawa reeled, but you didn’t stop.

“you’ve been ignoring me. you roll your eyes when i speak. you treat me like i’m your problem when i’m the one who’s been covering for your team, picking up after practices, organizing drills while you lounge around on your throne.”

he opened his mouth to fire back, but you were already walking away—fast, angry steps echoing through the gym floor as you grabbed your bag off the bench.

“where are you going?” oikawa demanded.

“home.” your voice was tight. your eyes burned. “and if you’re gonna keep being like this, then maybe you should find yourself a new manager—because i’m not doing this anymore.”

that shut him up.

completely.

the gym went dead quiet, the weight of your words hanging like fog.

iwaizumi stepped forward quickly, raising both hands, like someone trying to defuse a bomb.

“okay, whoa—deep breaths. both of you.” he looked between the two of you, frowning. “this is getting out of hand.”

“she hit me with a ball!” oikawa argued, still indignant. “this is assault, iwa-chan—”

“and you’ve been a pain in the ass for three days straight,” iwaizumi snapped back. “you’re not innocent here, don’t even start.”

“iwa-chan, please, let me handle this—”

“you clearly can’t!” and without another warning, iwaizumi smacked the back of oikawa’s head with the flat of his palm.

a sharp, satisfying thwack echoed through the gym.

“ow! iwa-chan!!!”

“that’s for being insufferable.”

oikawa looked personally wounded. “i’m trying to be a good brother!”

“you’re trying to win a one-man drama award.”

from the bench, hanamaki finally broke the silence.

“…so are we still doing the drills or… should i also emotionally unpack something while we’re at it?”

matsukawa leaned over and muttered, “this is better than that reality dating show my sister watches.”

and just as oikawa turned to glare at both of them, the ball he’d been using earlier—previously balanced precariously on the ball cart—rolled off and nailed him square in the back of the head.

he yelped and fell forward with a grunt, collapsing face-first onto the court.

you paused mid-step, turning back just as hanamaki gasped, “oh my god. he’s being smited.”

matsukawa nodded solemnly. “the volleyball gods have spoken.”

iwaizumi just rubbed his temple like he was calculating how long it would take for the headache to kill him.

and though your shoulders were still tense, your hands still clenched—somehow, through the chaos and noise and sibling dramatics—you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

maybe this wasn’t over. maybe there was more arguing to come.

but right now?

you walked out of the gym knowing you weren’t the one who lost your mind in front of everyone.

that honor belonged to tooru oikawa.

you walked out of the gym knowing you weren’t the one who lost your mind in front of everyone.

that honor—undoubtedly—belonged to tooru oikawa.

and yet, even with the gym doors swinging shut behind you, the echo of raised voices and stunned silence still clung to your skin like humidity after a storm.

your chest felt tight. like your lungs were still in that room. like the words you shouted, the ones that had clawed their way out, were still lingering in the air behind you—echoing louder than the thud of the ball hitting his shoulder, louder than the stunned gasps, louder than your brother’s furious voice.

you stormed out, but the fury that had carried you out the door didn’t follow you far.

it fizzled slowly, eaten away by doubt and guilt and the quiet ache of something broken between siblings who used to be closer than breath.

you didn’t want things to end like that.

you didn’t want to walk away from the team you spent so much time managing, organizing, laughing with. you didn’t want to feel like this—that you had to choose between someone you loved and someone you were falling for.

you didn’t even realize where you were going until the school grounds had blurred behind you, until your steps grew automatic, your path familiar in the way a song plays in your head without realizing you ever pressed play.

you turned down the quiet street lined with faded shops and crooked telephone poles, past the bakery that closed too early and the bookstore that never seemed to restock. and there it was.

the café.

your café.

a little corner tucked into the edges of everything else—unassuming, warm, and private in all the ways that mattered. the kind of place no one from school would bother with. the kind of place that never asked questions. the kind of place that became yours simply because the two of you made it so.

you stood outside for a moment, the bell above the door jingling softly when the wind caught it. like it recognized you. like it missed you, too.

you stepped inside.

the air smelled like cinnamon and cheap espresso. one of the waitresses offered you a familiar smile, and you gave a polite nod before slipping into the booth in the far back—the one near the window, with the chipping tile and the scratched-up tabletop.

you didn’t even bother ordering anything. you just stared out the window for a while, watching the way the light curled on the pavement, watching the people who had no idea your world had tilted sideways.

then, with fingers that felt a little numb, you texted him.

i walked out. i’m at the café. i don’t know what i’m doing.

you put your phone face-down and rested your arms on the table, head bowed, trying not to let your emotions crawl out of your throat.

you hadn’t seen him in three days.

not since the argument started. not since oikawa started giving you the cold shoulder, and you started giving yourself boundaries. trying to prove—to your brother, to yourself—that you weren’t being careless. that you weren’t choosing recklessly. that maybe, if you just fixed everything first, it wouldn’t feel like betrayal.

ten minutes passed.

you hadn’t even touched the glass of water in front of you when the bell above the café door jingled again.

you didn’t look up at first.

but the quiet shift in the air—familiar footsteps, a presence you could feel even before you saw him—made your heart stutter.

kageyama tobio stood just inside the café, eyes scanning the tables with a kind of laser focus that made it look like he was analyzing a court mid-play. his hair was slightly damp, like he’d rushed out the moment he saw your message. his school bag slung lazily over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, posture tense but eyes—

his eyes softened the second they landed on you.

he made his way over without hesitation, sliding into the seat across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. like he hadn’t missed you every second of those three days. like he hadn’t nearly worn a hole in his bedroom floor pacing.

you didn’t speak right away.

you looked at him. he looked back. and then, quietly, carefully, he reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers brushed your skin—gentle, grounding.

“you okay?” he asked, voice soft. quieter than usual. more fragile.

you swallowed, throat dry. “i walked out. i told him i was quitting. i think i yelled it in front of everyone.”

kageyama’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded like he understood. like he was trying to meet you where you were, not just listen but hear.

“did you… hit him?” he asked, eyes flicking down, lips twitching ever so slightly.

you let out a shaky breath. “yeah. in the shoulder.”

“was it a good hit?”

you smiled despite yourself. “clean.”

he blinked once, slowly. “i wish i saw that.”

you both sat there for a while, silence stretching, but not uncomfortably. you glanced down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of a napkin.

“i haven’t seen you in three days.”

“i know,” he murmured, voice barely above the hum of the espresso machine. “i didn’t want to mess things up more. i thought… maybe you needed space.”

you hesitated. then, quieter: “i missed you.”

he reached under the table and nudged your foot with his—lightly. gently. his version of reassurance. like saying i missed you too, without needing the words.

“i just… i thought if i fixed things with tooru first, it wouldn’t hurt as much,” you admitted. “but it still does. he doesn’t understand. he doesn’t want to.”

kageyama nodded slowly, and then leaned in a little, voice even softer. “i wanted to see you anyway.”

your heart cracked a little wider.

you reached across the table, fingers brushing his, and for a moment, all the noise from the past few days—the silence from your brother, the guilt, the confusion—dulled under the comfort of being beside him.

you didn’t know how it would all end. if you’d go back to the team. if your brother would ever accept it. if the world would ever get easier.

but here, at this table, in the quiet hum of something that felt safe—

you weren’t alone.

not anymore.

but that didn’t mean everything was okay.

at home, the cold war with oikawa continued. you didn’t speak to each other unless absolutely necessary. meals were taken at different times. the house was quiet in that brittle, unnatural way—like it was holding its breath.

your family noticed, of course. your mom asked if something happened. you said you were just busy with exams. oikawa said nothing.

sometimes, though, you’d come into the kitchen and find a plastic-wrapped melon bread sitting on the table. your favorite kind. the one from the bakery across from the station.

you didn’t touch it.

just like how he didn’t speak to you the day you walked out of the gym.

tables turned, apparently.

and it made things worse—for everyone.

by day five, your absence was officially being felt. not just at home, but at practice.

which is probably why, at the worst possible time—fifteen minutes before your last class of the day ended—akira kunimi and kindaichi yuutarou showed up outside your classroom, both of them awkwardly shifting from foot to foot like they were about to beg you for your life.

and, in a way, they were.

“we snuck out of practice,” kindaichi whispered like it was a crime. “please come back.”

“yeah,” kunimi added, deadpan. “he’s making us run drills for everything. someone sneezed, and he made us do laps.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that sounds like a personal problem.”

“he was going to give us punishment laps for thinking about melon bread,” kunimi said.

“we didn’t even say anything,” kindaichi added, in full panic.

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “so what? you want me to come back just because your captain’s being annoying?”

they looked at each other. then kindaichi said, “it’s not the same without you.”

kunimi nodded once. “seriously. the team’s falling apart. and oikawa-san… he’s—like, worse than usual. and that’s really bad.”

you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, the weight of everything pressing down like a slow, relentless tide. outside the window, the sky was stained in soft gold—afternoon sun falling over the school courtyard, shadows stretching long across the pavement. the final bell echoed through the hall, and the classroom emptied around you in a dull blur of chatter and footsteps.

you didn’t want to forgive him.

not yet.

not when he had been so quick to shut you out. not when he treated you like a kid again—like you didn’t know your own heart, like your decisions needed permission. not when he still couldn’t look you in the eye after everything.

but.

you didn’t want to stay mad forever, either.

not when he still left melon bread on the table.

not when you knew—deep down—that he’d always been the kind of person to love loudly but forgive silently, only after bruising everyone in the process.

your fingers hovered over your phone screen, thumb swiping over the empty home screen.

then it lit up.

[hajime:] come to the gym [hajime:] you might want to see this

your brows furrowed. hajime wasn’t the type to be vague—or dramatic. that was strictly oikawa’s department. if he was texting you right now, then something had happened. something important.

your heart picked up, slow and uncertain. and yet… somehow, you already knew.

you stood from your seat and slung your bag over your shoulder, ignoring the worried looks kunimi and kindaichi shot your way from the corridor. their expressions softened the moment they saw your face—because this time, you weren’t walking like someone who was furious.

you were walking like someone who had made a decision.

meanwhile, somewhere in seijoh’s gym, tooru oikawa was dangerously close to losing his mind.

his day had already been a disaster. morning drills were a mess, kunimi yawned mid-serve, and makki nearly spiked a ball into the coach’s clipboard by accident. and now, as he walked back from a quick water break, hoping for at least ten seconds of peace—

he stopped in his tracks.

standing just inside the open gym doors, awkward and stiff as a plank of wood, was kageyama tobio.

oikawa blinked once.

“what the hell.”

kageyama didn’t flinch. “good afternoon.”

his voice was polite. way too polite. like he’d rehearsed this in front of a mirror and still hated every second of it. his fingers curled around the strap of his bag, knuckles white with tension.

iwaizumi, mid-serve, dropped the ball. “you came here?”

“to me?” oikawa asked, brows arching high in disbelief. “here?”

kageyama nodded stiffly. “yes. i… i don’t want to fight.”

oikawa blinked again. “are you having a stroke?”

“no.”

“is he having a stroke?” oikawa asked iwaizumi, gesturing wildly. “because there’s no way he’s saying this to me.”

iwaizumi crossed his arms and sighed. “just let him talk.”

kageyama swallowed, stiff in the middle of the gym as half of aoba johsai watched like this was the most exciting episode of a drama they’d ever seen. his fists were clenched at his sides, but his voice—while tight—remained steady.

“i came here… to talk to you properly,” he began, glancing briefly at oikawa. “i know you probably think the worst of me. and that’s fair. you’ve never liked me. we were rivals once. maybe still are. but…”

he shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the polished gym floor, then back up. “you don’t know everything.”

oikawa’s expression twisted into a familiar scowl, but he didn’t interrupt.

kageyama pressed on. “back in middle school, i didn’t… i didn’t have a lot of people. i was good at volleyball, but i wasn’t good at anything else. i didn’t know how to talk to others. i didn’t know how to listen. i pushed people away without realizing it. i thought if i was perfect at the sport, nothing else would matter.”

he took a breath.

“but then—she came up to me. just one afternoon. middle of second year. said i looked lonely and asked if i wanted one of the melon breads she was holding. she didn’t care about the rumors. didn’t flinch when i barely said anything. she just… sat with me. asked me about practice. told me to drink water even when i didn’t feel thirsty.”

iwaizumi blinked. oikawa stood a little straighter.

kageyama kept going.

“after that, she kept talking to me. asking questions. helping me with literature assignments when i didn’t understand. i thought it would stop eventually. i..."

“…i thought she’d get tired of me,” kageyama said, voice quieter now, but still holding. “i wasn’t easy to be around back then. i didn’t know how to talk to people, didn’t know how to say things that made sense. i didn’t even know how to show i cared. i was just… focused on volleyball and pushing everyone away.”

his shoulders were drawn taut, like he was bracing for impact.

“but she didn’t leave. even when i barely spoke. even when i acted cold or didn’t know what to do with her kindness… she stayed.”

he paused, eyes drifting for a second toward the open gym doors, like his mind was replaying a memory only he could see.

“she used to bring me extra melon bread after practice,” he continued, softer now. “told me i looked like i needed it. and even when i didn’t answer, she’d sit there anyway, talking about class, or her brother being annoying, or how the sky looked weird that day. it was the first time someone made space for me, without asking for anything in return.”

his hand curled tightly around the strap of his school bag.

“and i know she could’ve had an easier life if she just walked away from me. but she didn’t. she came back every time.”

kageyama glanced up again, this time with something steadier behind his eyes—something unshakably real.

“it wasn’t just about school or volleyball. she became part of my life in a way i didn’t know i needed. she helped me understand things i didn’t get. she’s the reason i’m better now—at talking, at listening, at caring. she saw parts of me i didn’t think were worth anything, and she stayed.”

he took a breath. then another.

“and when we ended up at different schools… i thought i’d lose her. but we still found ways. late night texts. study sessions in quiet cafés. sneaking time in between practices. she made time for me, even when i didn’t know how to ask for it.”

then, finally, kageyama looked oikawa dead in the eye.

“i care about her. more than anything. i know what it’s like to be left behind. to be told you’re not good enough. and i swear… i’d never make her feel that way. not even once.”

his voice didn’t waver now.

“i’m not asking you to like me. i know you probably won’t. but please—don’t make her feel like she has to choose between us. that’s not fair. not to her.”

the silence that followed was deafening. even iwaizumi had gone still.

kageyama exhaled, slow and steady, before bowing at the waist—deep and full of quiet conviction. not just to earn approval. but to show the truth of what he said. to show he meant every word.

just beyond the gym’s open doors, you stood frozen—heart tight in your chest.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. hajime had only sent you a short text and your feet had carried you there faster than you could think.

but now… standing there, with your hand curled around the edge of the wall, you knew.

kageyama tobio wasn’t a perfect boy. but he was yours.

and right now, he was fighting—for you. for this. for something real.

and suddenly, the weight in your chest—the hurt, the anger, the ache of the past week—felt like it could finally, finally lift.

you didn’t wait another second.

your footsteps echoed across the gym floor as you stepped inside, every head turning in your direction. kageyama blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting you, but didn’t move—he just looked relieved to see you there.

oikawa, on the other hand, went stiff.

you could already see the defenses rising in his eyes—sharp, overprotective, dramatic. classic tooru oikawa.

but you didn’t give him the chance to speak first.

“i heard everything,” you said, walking until you stood beside kageyama. your voice wasn’t angry, but it was firm. steady. the kind of tone you’d been practicing in your head since the fight began. “and before you go off being dramatic again, just let me say something.”

you turned to him fully, folding your arms across your chest.

“i know you care about me, tooru. i know you’ve always looked out for me—and maybe you still see me as that kid who cried when she scraped her knee or begged you to play volleyball with her in the driveway.”

oikawa’s mouth twitched at that, like he was biting back a memory.

“but i’m not that kid anymore. and you don’t get to decide everything for me just because you’re my big brother.”

the gym stayed quiet, but you heard a faint snort off to the side—hanamaki, barely holding it together.

“i get that you’re protective. i really do. but you can’t keep treating me like i’m too fragile to make choices for myself. especially when—” your eyes narrowed, a teasing smile curling at your lips “—you literally dated someone in your first year too.”

iwaizumi choked on air.

“that was different—!” oikawa started, voice pitching.

“how?” you shot back, raising a brow. “because you were older? more mature? because you thought you knew better?”

“it was different,” oikawa muttered, ears turning pink.

off to the side, matsukawa leaned into hanamaki and whispered (loudly), “does he mean the girl who dumped him after two weeks?”

hanamaki wheezed. “he cried during practice, didn’t he?”

“shut up!” oikawa barked, spinning toward them as they barely managed to keep straight faces. “this is a serious moment!”

iwaizumi stepped forward, completely unimpressed. “you’re the one who got wrecked in your own intervention, dumbass.”

you rolled your eyes with a sigh, turning your focus back to your brother.

“look, i still care about you. you’re my brother, and nothing’s going to change that. but you need to stop acting like i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m growing up, and you’re going to have to trust me a little.”

your voice softened, just slightly.

“besides, you already know the kind of person he is now. he came all the way here just to talk to you. that’s gotta count for something.”

oikawa looked between you and kageyama—jaw tight, eyes conflicted—and for once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback ready.

and maybe that was enough for now.

because the silence that followed didn’t feel tense.

it felt like the beginning of something shifting. something healing.

and even if oikawa didn’t say it out loud yet—you could see it in the way his shoulders lowered, just a little.

you were still his little sister.

but now… maybe he was starting to see you as something else too.

oikawa groaned, dragging a hand down his face like the past ten minutes had aged him a decade. “fine,” he muttered at last, voice dramatic and full of suffering. “fine. i still think he’s the worst possible person on this earth, but apparently i’m the only one here with functioning brain cells.”

you crossed your arms. “tooru—”

he held up a finger like a traffic light. “but! if i’m going to allow this absolute disaster to continue, there will be rules. strict ones. regulations, even. signed. notarized.”

iwaizumi sighed. “oh boy.”

“rule one,” oikawa declared, pacing now, “no pda. none. not even a pinky touch. i don’t want to catch you smiling too long at each other. i don’t want to walk in and find you whispering sweet nothings near the vending machine. i want professional, platonic, painful distance at all times.”

“that’s not even how rules work,” you said flatly.

“rule two,” oikawa continued as if you hadn’t spoken, “if he ever—and i mean ever—hurts you, emotionally or otherwise, iwa-chan has full license to go feral.”

iwaizumi blinked. “stop volunteering me for your revenge fantasies.”

“it’s not a fantasy, it’s a safety net,” oikawa replied, then turned to kageyama with a perfectly straight face. “you get one chance. one.”

kageyama, red-faced and stiff as a statue, gave a sharp nod. “understood.”

“and rule three,” oikawa added, holding up three fingers, “i reserve the right to revoke all of this if you so much as breathe wrong around me. if you talk too loud. if you breathe aggressively. if i even sense a smug vibe, it’s over.”

“you’re not the dating police,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“hajime” you said louder now, “do the honors.”

without hesitation, iwaizumi delivered a swift smack to the back of oikawa’s head.

“ow! betrayal!” oikawa cried, stumbling forward a step. “you’ve turned him against me!”

“he was never for you,” hanamaki muttered under his breath.

“i thought you were my sibling!” oikawa pointed accusingly at you, rubbing the back of his head.

“starting to think hajime raised me better,” you shot back with a smirk.

“what?!”

“honestly,” matsukawa chimed in, “this is giving major sibling custody battle vibes.”

“this is a mutiny,” oikawa declared dramatically. “emotional warfare. i’m wounded.”

matsukawa laughed. hanamaki leaned over to whisper, “it’s definitely not you.”

and though he huffed and grumbled and muttered something about betrayal and replacing everyone with robots, tooru oikawa couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. even if he’d never admit it out loud.

he was still sulking, of course—arms crossed, mouth twisted into the most dramatic pout known to man—but the fight had gone out of his shoulders. maybe it was the way you stood your ground, or how stiffly kageyama bowed a third time like he was presenting himself to royalty. or maybe it was the fact that everyone in the gym, even iwa-chan, had stopped treating it like the end of the world.

you turned to kageyama then, eyes soft, smile just a little victorious. “come on.”

before he could even respond, you grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the doors with purposeful strides. his bag hit his hip as he stumbled after you, caught completely off guard.

“w-wait, are we—are we going somewhere—?”

“we are leaving before he changes his mind.”

behind you, oikawa suddenly snapped to attention. “wait—wait—where do you think you’re going—”

you ignored him.

“you’re holding hands! i said rule one, no pda! hands apart! separate!”

you laced your fingers through kageyama’s, just to spite him. “tooru, you can’t stop love!”

“stop quoting dramas you don’t even finish!”

“you finish them for me!”

“that’s not the point—”

“let them go, oikawa,” iwaizumi said with a tired sigh, arms crossed.

oikawa turned, betrayed once again. “iwa-chan! you were supposed to be my moral support!”

“you’re the reason i have stress acne.”

“you have what—”

you didn’t hear the rest. the gym doors closed behind you with a satisfying thud, muffling the chaos, leaving you and kageyama in the quiet of the hallway. your fingers were still intertwined.

he glanced down at them, then up at you, cheeks pink. “…you’re really not scared of your brother, huh.”

you shrugged. “he’s dramatic. not scary.”

kageyama blinked. “he tried to kill me with his eyes.”

you laughed. “he does that with everyone. you get used to it.”

he nodded slowly, then hesitated. “…thank you.”

“for what?”

“for staying. for pulling me out. for choosing me—even when it made things complicated.”

you leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked.

“i didn’t choose you because it was easy, tobio. i chose you because i wanted to.”

his grip on your hand tightened just a little.

and in the silence that followed, your footsteps echoing through the empty hallways, it was clear: no matter how dramatic the world around you got, this—this was the steady part. the quiet certainty. just the two of you, walking forward. together.

now, walking you home without getting caught was easier—not because the secret was gone, but because the war had ended.

oikawa still glared from the kitchen window sometimes, dramatically clutching a mug like a scorned housewife. sometimes he’d text you mid-walk: “i can still see you, you traitor.” other times he’d message kageyama directly: “take the long route or take your life, your choice.”

but it was all bark now, no bite.

iwaizumi had confiscated his lecture notes. hanamaki and matsukawa muted him in the group chat for a full day. even kunimi said “you need help” once with just enough deadpan to shut him up.

but the thing that mattered most?

he let you go.

he still muttered and groaned and promised revenge in the most theatrical ways, but he let you have this. let you be happy. and for oikawa, that was a bigger sign of love than anything else.

so now—after long practices and longer walks, after midterms and missed calls, after melon bread and volleyballs spiked in anger—you walked home hand in hand with the boy who’d always waited at the corner café, the one who learned how to stay.

you laughed when he tried to hide behind a lamppost the first time oikawa waved from the window.

“he can still see you,” you said, amused.

“i panicked,” kageyama mumbled, ears pink.

and maybe that was the real ending.

not the declarations or the fights or the compromises, but this quiet moment—the two of you, the streetlamp glow, the sound of your steps in sync.

together. still. always.

512 notes · View notes

admiringlove · 10 months ago

Text

growing pains. hello everybody. welcome to the second rendition of @angstober 2024! i hope you enjoy <3

kageyama tobio was a cute kid.

he moved in when you were just three. back then, your days were filled with learning big words, your mother patiently guiding you through children's books, when suddenly, a boy with an oversized, odd-looking ball came into your world. his hair was parted right down the middle, and every day, he’d be out in the yard, chasing after that strange ball with his grandfather, completely obsessed.

you were six when he first said hello. it took him two and a half years to work up the courage, and all because that ridiculous ball of his ended up in your front yard. without asking, he came through the gate, eyes wide with panic, just as you were about to head to the park.

“who are you?” you’d asked, head tilted with curiosity, and he’d stammered out his name like he’d been caught red-handed in a burglary. then, of course, you had to ask about the ball—bigger than his head. what was the deal with that? “it’s a volleyball,” he’d mumbled, and from that moment on, the two of you were intertwined, like a mystery waiting to unfold.

for the next ten years, kageyama tobio became your favorite puzzle. you chased after him like someone chasing a wild animal, half playfully, half determined. at first, it was a game—like you were sherlock and he, your elusive moriarty. your mother had always read you detective stories before bed, so solving the enigma that was kageyama seemed only natural.

when he turned seven, he found you in his front yard, peering through a magnifying glass, completely absorbed in your detective work. for an entire week, the two of you played with that thing, examining ants at the park, squinting at the pen strokes his father made in his books. eventually, he got bored. but you didn’t. no, you kept staring—sometimes at the world, but often at him.

you never tired of anything, especially not of him. you wanted to know more, to know everything. curiosity overflowed within you, spilling out like an unsolvable riddle. and you know what they say—curiosity killed the cat.

because it wasn’t just the world you wanted to uncover, not really. it was kageyama tobio. he was the one who truly fascinated you. when you learned in fifth grade that he had a soft spot for flavored milk, that was it. it became your little tradition. every so often, you’d head to the vending machine, and without fail, you’d grab him a drink—banana or strawberry, depending on the day. in return, he’d hand you the chips his mother packed in his lunch, like an unspoken exchange, as familiar as breathing. if it were up to him, it would always be strawberry.

and that’s how it was, the two of you orbiting each other like planets—his world of volleyball, your world of endless curiosity. playful, magnetic, bound together by rituals only you two understood.

you turned eleven and discovered that liking boys was a real thing. at first, the thought repulsed you; all you wanted was to bury yourself in the pages of sherlock holmes and pretend to play volleyball with kageyama. he was a prodigy, after all, dazzling everyone with his skills. kids from other districts flocked to watch him, enchanted by his talent. thankfully, he hadn’t yet transformed into an absolute twat; his ego was still catching up with him, lingering just out of reach.

“tobio,” you said one day, scrutinizing him as he carelessly set the ball near the riverbank. your gaze was fixed on the tips of his fingers, studying them as if they were an intricate puzzle waiting to be solved. he paused, turning to face you with a look of curiosity. “don’t your fingers hurt?”

“eh?” he replied, shuffling closer. with a flick of his wrist, he held out his hand toward you. “you mean this?”

the eleven-year-old boy displayed a myriad of calluses on his hands, more than you could count. you gasped in dramatic shock, a hand flying to your mouth, and couldn’t resist teasing him about his mother not noticing how rough and unsightly they had become. his eyes narrowed in mock indignation as he yelled at you for talking trash about his mother. you quickly apologized, laughter bubbling up as you declared you would simply have to complain about his “disgusting” hands instead.

that was the essence of your friendship—something sacred, woven from playful banter and shared secrets. the two of you were inseparable, bound by the threads of childhood innocence and mischief.

now, when you think back, it’s often to those moments—him proudly displaying his calluses as you played near the bridge by the river, the sun casting golden hues across the water. you remember walking home alongside him at sunset, a flutter of fear in your stomach about the kidnappers your father had warned you about just the other day. tobio had simply chuckled, telling you that you weren’t an actual genius like sherlock, so you couldn’t possibly be a target for any kidnapper anyway.

life was so simple, so beautifully uncomplicated, until you turned fourteen.

because that’s when you realized you had indeed grown up. you were on the winding road to adulthood, and suddenly, you found yourself hopelessly in love with your next-door neighbor, kageyama tobio—your best friend of eight years. he had sprouted taller, like a young tree reaching for the sky, and his voice had deepened into a rich timbre that sent butterflies flitting through your stomach. everything felt like it was shifting beneath your feet, especially as he found new friends who flocked to him like birds of a feather, while you remained nestled in your closely knit circle, distanced from him.

how were you supposed to navigate these newfound feelings? the conditions were far from ideal. how could you possibly have a crush on him while trying to maintain the friendship you cherished so much, especially when your social circles had diverged at school? being a teenager had suddenly morphed into a tangled web of complexities, each strand pulling you in different directions.

you still managed to walk home with him every day after your club activities, a routine that felt like a comforting ritual. you were quickly on your way to becoming the head of your literature club at junior high, while kageyama had been consumed by his passion for volleyball since he was just a kid. being next-door neighbors with the love of your life was undeniably convenient; it meant he had no choice but to stroll alongside you.

thankfully, the dynamic remained blissfully unchanged. the playful teasing, the exchange of strawberry and banana milk, and the shared bags of cheese puffs, or sometimes other chips, were the threads that wove your friendship together. it didn’t matter what snack you had; all you really wanted was to watch him sip through a thin plastic straw, the golden glow of the setting sun casting a warm halo around him as you walked the quiet streets together.

you cherished these moments, especially since he never hurried you along. instead, he walked slowly, savoring the time spent together, as if he genuinely enjoyed your company. this new pace allowed you both to appreciate the little things—the laughter of children playing in the distance, the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, and the gentle warmth of the sun dipping below the horizon. it felt like a breath of fresh air, invigorating and sweet, a reminder that these small moments were treasures to be cherished.

but then you turned fifteen, and tobio transformed into someone unrecognizable. the boy who had once sparked your curiosity now seemed bitter and hardened, his heart cloaked in ego that swelled within him like a balloon about to burst. his tone had sharpened, cutting through the air like a knife, and he often wore a mask of rudeness that left you reeling. yet, despite it all, your heart still weakly fluttered whenever he was near, an instinctive reaction you couldn’t quite shake.

then it happened. one fateful day, as you walked past the gym to pick up tobio, you overheard a conversation that pierced through you like an arrow.

"aren't they your childhood friend? don't you think they're attractive, even if it's just a little?"

the words lingered in the air, but before you could savor the thought, his response shattered your heart.

"what? no! i could never see them like that. this is grossing me out. stop talking nonsense and focus on volleyball. you didn't spike this set on time!"

his words struck like a hammer, relentless and unforgiving, stomping on your heart a million times without him even realizing the damage he’d done. it was as if the boy you had cherished for so long had vanished, leaving behind only a shadow of the friendship you once held dear.

that day, you walked home alone for the first time ever, the silence of the empty streets echoing the ache in your chest. when the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you felt a weight pressing down on you. the next day, he didn’t question your absence, didn’t seem to care at all. and in that moment, you understood: you were no longer the person he had once found intriguing. you were just a ghost of a past friendship, lost in the void that had replaced your bond. he was not moriarty anymore, and neither were you sherlock.

you wondered if you ever were.

slowly, you created a chasm between him and you. it was a drift you instigated, unaware of the full weight of your decision. one by one, he lost the people he once held close, and you stood on the sidelines, a silent witness, hoping desperately that he would grasp the hint you were trying to send.

then, one afternoon, while walking home with a small paper bag of eggs cradled in your arms, you collided with him. curses swirled through your mind as you attempted to sidestep him, but his voice cut through the air, halting your escape.

"aren't you cold?"

you raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze, your heart racing with an unexpected mix of hope and apprehension. you hummed softly in response, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. he repeated his question, and you shook your head, summoning a casualness you didn’t truly feel. "just a small walk. i didn't think i'd need a jacket."

"right," he mumbled under his breath, and the silence that followed felt thick with unspoken words. a part of you longed to mention his recent benching during the last match, but the fear of misinterpretation held you back, like a weight pressing on your tongue.

"are you doing okay nowadays?" the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. you still cared, a part of you reluctant to sever the last thread binding you to him. it felt like that age-old adage—"curiosity killed the cat"—echoing in your mind, a reminder of your unfulfilled longing.

he opened his mouth, perhaps to share something profound, but then hesitated. you knew his expressions as well as the lines of your own heart; he seemed to weigh his words carefully. "i'm okay. i'm going to a high school called karasuno. you?"

the answer came too quickly, and the disappointment surged within you. "i'm going to seijoh, like oikawa and iwa-senpai," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i enrolled there because i thought you'd be going there too. so, you know, we could walk together-"

he cut you off, the sharpness of his words slicing through the fragile moment. "we haven't done that in months, who are you kidding?"

you blinked, surprise washing over you like cold water. he was right. in the span of what felt like an eternity, the simple companionship you had once shared had faded into memory. perhaps your wishful thinking had blinded you to the reality; you were no longer the two kids wandering home together.

"i'm... sorry," you tilt your head, "have i done something to make you mad?"

you thought this was what he wanted—that he didn’t care for your tetra packs of strawberry or banana milk, that he was indifferent to your presence beside him as you walked home from school. the realization stung like a bee’s bite, leaving you with the unsettling notion that your companionship was as easily replaceable as the snacks you offered. but then he clicked his tongue, shaking his head with that familiar exasperation, his voice laced with sarcasm that dripped like spicy honey, sweet yet sharp.

“no. you can never do anything wrong, am i right?”

with that, he turned and walked into his house, leaving you standing there, the air heavy with unsaid words.

months passed without a glimpse of him. it was only when you were returning home from literature club, the sun dipping below the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement, that you spotted him. there he was, in a black uniform, juggling a volleyball under one arm while the other struggled to pry a few papers from between his teeth as he rummaged through his bag.

“do you need any help?” your voice sliced through the crisp evening air, a tentative offering. he blinked, momentarily surprised, before handing you the scattered papers and the ball.

“y-yeah. i’m looking for my keys. ever since miwa went off to college, there’s no one to open the door when i get home.”

“right,” you nodded, trying to maintain the semblance of normalcy. you didn’t need to fill the silence anymore; you were both ghosts of the friendship that once thrived in easy conversation. “i can walk in with these if you want. help you put them wherever, since it’s hard to carry everything together-”

“it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone clipped, a habit you had grown all too familiar with. “i can take care of myself.”

your lips pressed together, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “alright then,” you replied, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.

but as you turned toward your front yard, the moment shattered into a sharp breath. “why did you stop walking home with me?” his voice rang out into the twilight, a challenge hanging between you like a fragile thread.

the world around you fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. the confrontation hung in the space between you, an echo of the past colliding with the reality of the present. you hesitated, heart racing, caught in the tension of a friendship unravelling, desperately wanting to answer but unsure of how to put the fragments of your feelings into words. "you weren't yourself, i guess. that, and i heard you say something about me to someone. but never mind that. it doesn't matter anymore."

“what?” he furrows his brows, confusion etching deep lines on his forehead. “what do you mean you heard me say something about you to someone? what the hell did i even say for this to happen to us?”

“didn’t you want this to happen?” you retort, your words tumbling out like a well-rehearsed line from a play. “i thought you found me gross.”

he blinks, taken aback, his surprise evident in the widening of his eyes. “when did i ever say i found you gross? what is wrong with you?”

“what is wrong with me?” you echo, the fire in your chest igniting into a full blaze. you’re not quite sure where this rage is coming from, but it feels exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “what’s wrong with me is that it was my fault for ever loving you and thinking you could feel the same because you’re a selfish prick! you’re oblivious and dense and you don’t feel the same way about me, so i left because i didn’t want to be in a place where i wasn’t needed-”

realization crashes over you like a tidal wave in mid-sentence, the weight of your words suffocating. a hand flies to cover your mouth, the confession hanging in the air like an uninvited guest. his expression morphs into one of shock, the volleyball slipping from his grasp and hitting the pavement with a dull thud.

you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, the way his world seems to tilt on its axis, so you turn and flee, heart racing as you dart into your house, slamming the door behind you. the echo of your confession reverberates in your mind, each heartbeat reminding you of what you just unleashed—a truth that feels like it could shatter everything.

you avoided him for months after that moment, but still, you found yourself at every game, an invisible presence in the crowd. you watched as karasuno faced off against kamomedai, your heart aching with every spike and serve, each point a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. tobio had transformed into someone new, shedding his egotistical shell like a snake sloughing off its skin, and finding camaraderie with teammates who genuinely cared for him.

it filled you with anger. why couldn’t he have made this change years ago? if only he had, maybe letting go of your feelings would have been easier. instead, you felt trapped on the sidelines of his life, a spectator to a story that once intertwined your paths.

“w-what are you doing here?” a shaky voice pulls you from your thoughts as you exit the gym. you turn, startled, to find kageyama tobio standing before you. his chest heaves with exertion, droplets of sweat glistening on his skin, and he gazes at you as if you were a relic he had lost long ago.

“i... came to watch the game,” you reply, shrugging, trying to sound casual. “you did good. i hope your friend isn’t injured, by the way.”

“yeah... he’s uh- hinata’s fine,” he nods, his words a soft echo in the tense air. “thank you for coming. it means a lot.”

you press your lips into a straight line, nodding, the weight of the moment heavy between you. it feels like the right time to leave, to escape the growing tension, but he continues.

“i felt the same way about you back then,” he says, and your heart drops, your feet seemingly glued to the ground. his melancholic gaze pierces through you, and the heartbreak looms overhead like a storm cloud ready to burst. “i’m sorry if i hurt you.”

“y-you what?” you whisper, tilting your head as disbelief washes over you. “tobio, you-”

“i can’t say i feel that way now. all i can focus on from now on is volleyball,” he sighs, his gaze falling to the floor, the weight of his words suffocating. “but it really was great being friends with you. i hope we can... try that again sometime.”

in that moment, something within you shatters, the pieces scattering like autumn leaves in a gust of wind. you realize how deeply you had clung to him, how he had become the center of your universe; an object of desire you could never grasp. slowly, painfully, he had outgrown you, moving forward as you remained rooted in the past, a decision you made to push him away when he needed you the most.

perhaps this was what you deserved. perhaps this was how it was meant to be—him, chasing his dreams like icarus, and you, watching from the side lines, heart heavy with the weight of unfulfilled wishes and lost chances.

#kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio angst #kageyama tobio fluff #kageyama tobio x you #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! fanfic #kageyama tobio fanfiction

633 notes · View notes