dearest-tobio

[dearest-tobio]

the miya household is always the go-to household for all kinds of celebrations alike. you name it: birthdays, anniversaries, friday night dinners – check, check, check.

atsumu has always grown up in a home where his mom would host the parties for all her grown-up friends, and he’d always be the type of teenager to hide away in his room until the last of the guests finally leave.

it was a silly thing to do looking back on it now, but that was the old miya household.

in the new miya household (population: you and your husband), the two of you can’t just hide away in your broom closet until the last of the guests leave — it is your apartment after all.

at first, it was the big things: msby jackal’s celebration of their first tournament win (where hinata broke a window because he claims bokuto pushed him into it) or akaashi’s job promotion party (where the champagne bottle was so unfortunately aimed that when the corkscrew came flying, it hit the other non-broken window).

two broken windows later, it eventually died down to the little things: small get-togethers, a friend too intoxicated to drive needing a place to stay, or one of your favorites: friday night dinners.

“we’re home!”

there’s the sound of shuffling keys and shoes being taken off at the doorway, rustling of brown paper bags and footsteps.

you pop your head out from the kitchen and it isn’t a surprise at all to you when you see all four of your best friends (one being your husband) standing by your door way, all adorned with cheeky smiles and chinese takeout.

you call to them, “coats here, everybody!”

hinata goes over to you first, still as sweet as ever, and gives you a tight embrace (the same one he gives you every friday night), and you take his coat with a light smile on your face.

bokuto gives you his coat next, paired with an embrace of his own, your smile widens as you immediately recognize the coat you bought him for christmas last year, well and taken care of.

sakusa isn’t wearing a coat or a jacket tonight but still, he approaches you next to the coat stand anyway, and he embraces you just for seeing you again tonight, saying “thank you for having us”.

when you married atsumu, you didn’t realize you weren’t only marrying into his family, but his friends as well.

“you guys just missed samu, he dropped by for a weekly restock.” you tell them, pointing to the plastic bag on the table filled to the brim with the onigiri you’ve learned to love so much.

shoyo plops down on his usual spot on the sofa, “man, i wish onigiri miya personally delivered to my house too.”

“not to mention free of charge.” you add – proud.

he sinks deeper into his seat, “that’s just not fair.”

you seat farthest from tv, on the edge of the table and by the armrest, a seat empty next to yours as you wait for your husband.

“sorry sho,” you shrug, not sorry at all, smug smile on your face and you say, “it’s simply the perks of having the owner of onigiri miya as your brother.”

“that is such a lie.” atsumu rolls his eyes, and he takes his assigned seat next to you, hand immediately finding yours once he gets close enough. “i am also his brother — twin, even! — and i do not get half as much the perks you get.”

“well.” sakusa sits across from you, “i can understand that.”

and bokuto, in between sakusa and hinata, nods, “yep.”

“i can’t believe i’m getting bullied in my own damn home.” atsumu grumbles, and he stabs his broccoli on his plate with a fork.

you tease him, “you can’t?”

the rest of the evening feels warm. the windows are open to let in the fresh air of the streets of japan, the hustling and bustling of the bypassers outside your apartment building easily drowned out by the warm conversation shared in the warm flat.

( “no more hoisin sauce?” bokuto asks, digging around the stack of empty paperbags, fork in his mouth as he talks.

sakusa replies, barely looking up from the movie on the tv set, “sorry, finished it.”

and bokuto says, casually, “i’ll bring some over tomorrow. you guys need a restock anyway.” )

the five of you, sat down on the living room in front of the television, sharing mindlessly stories about your day, laughter and insults and compliments shared as food is passed around.

atsumu takes the red peppers from your dish as you laugh at something hinata says, he remembers - always - red peppers make you sneeze, so it goes unsaid that he takes them.

he does this so often that sometimes he doesn’t even realize it. he does this so often that he’s probably done it over a hundred times by now — like it’s part of him, like a habit.

you take some of your chow mein and place it on his plate, he doesn’t ask you for any, but you give him some anyway. you don’t even look at him as you do so, like it’s completely second nature for your hand to give him some of his favorite noodles and you don’t even have to think about it — like it’s part of you, like a habit.

“so, what time’s the game tomorrow?” you ask, and suddenly he’s out of his thoughts and back on the living room couch.

hinata looks to you, excited, “are you coming? it’s been so long since you last came to watch us.”

“well, depends on the time,” you tell them, “i’ve got a study group tomorrow in the morning.”

“study group?”

“i know right,” your shoulders fall, “our gen chem professor had us divided into study groups so we could easily catch up on her lessons.”

atsumu shrugs, “so? ditch ‘em.”

“i wish.” you sigh, “they’re the kind of people i just know wouldn’t have let me sit with them at the lunch table in high school.”

“oh, i know those people.” shoyo shakes his head, “had those people everywhere i went in junior high.”

you look at atsumu, “but you probably could have sat with them, you’ve got an aura like that — like you could be cool — but you’re not.”

that makes him roll his eyes, “who’s not cool? i am the coolest one in this table — and for yer information, i wouldn’t sit at any table ya weren’t welcome at.”

(sakusa nods at you, and bokuto says, “same here!” and hinata says, “me too!”)

“matter of fact,” you husband, offended at your doubt for him, continues, “i would flip that goddamn table.”

(and sakusa nods again, and bokuto says, “yup!” and hinata says, “definitely!)

your face feels warm, and you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“you guys are silly.” you’re not as loud as earlier, but still, you say, “thanks.” and you bite back a smile.

“so…” shoyo grins at you, “ditch ‘em?”

“ditch ‘em!” bokuto repeats.

and for a second all of you look at sakusa, his turn to speak apparently, and he sighs, defeated, shoulders falling and he relents, and says, “fine. ditch ‘em.”

the three other guys cheer loudly and you roll your eyes.

“well, that makes four of us.” atsumu tells you, proud, “you’re outnumbered, honey.”

“fine.” you’re defeated, “i’ll ditch ‘em and come watch you guys play.” and the table erupts in cheers again, and you feel your heart become so full.

atsumu kisses your cheek and you swat him away.

“i’ll text natsu that you’re coming, she’s been pestering me over and over again when you’ll come next,” shoyo tells you, bright smile on his face.

bokuto nods, “i gotta tell akaashi too, maybe we can get everyone there like a reunion or something!”

and this makes you laugh, because, “you guys are acting like i haven’t come to watch you guys play in forever.”

and sakusa tells you, “it has been forever.”

“well, i guess a reunion or something would be kinda nice? we can have everyone come back here, bring out a few drinks.” you think out loud, relenting to the pleas of your oldest friends, and you can’t hold back a smile even if you wanted to.

“if anyone breaks a goddamn window in my home, everyone is getting charged the repair bill.”

the night ends quicker than you want it to, suddenly it’s 10 pm and the warm night starts to get colder.

“thank you for dinner, miyas.” bokuto tells you, grinning ear to ear as you walk him to the doorway, a barrage of shoes laid out on the floor, reminding you what a full house you have tonight.

you hand him his coat and his hat, and he embraces you tightly, one that you will never not return.

hinata comes up to you next, “thank you for dinner and please please please come tomorrow.”

“yes sho, i will be there.” you tell him lightly, and he embraces you as well (the same one he gives you every friday night).

the last to come up to you is sakusa, his hands already in his pockets, eyes tired and all. he doesn’t have a coat or a jacket, but he comes up to you anyway.

“thank you for having us.” he tells you, like he always does, and he gives you a short kiss on your right temple, like he always does, “it’s good to see you.”

you pat his arm, “you say that every friday night, omi.”

“what? no kiss for me?” atsumu calls from the side, arms crossed over his chest.

and sakusa replies, eyes narrowing, “never.”

(they have this conversation every single friday night.)

and just like that, all three of your guests for the night have left, leaving behind only two pairs of shoes left by the doorway — yours and your husband’s.

atsumu makes his way to you, his arms finding your waist immediately as he pulls you into his embrace, hugging you like it’s all he’s ever done correctly.

the apartment is quiet now with just you and him, and he loves this as much as he loves you.

“finally,” he tells you, smiling wantonly, “just us two.”

you smile back at him, “we have so many kids.”

and he nods, “even more tomorrow.”

your apartment, your home, it isn’t anything impressive, really. it’s not big or expensive or fancy, but for some reason, it’s always been the go-to place for everyone to have drinks at, for dinners to be shared, for windows to be broken.

“you really okay with that? the reunion thing here?” your husband asks you, his tone gentle, “its okay if you’re not, we can just cancel on ‘em. have the night to ourselves.”

you raise a brow, teasing, “and do what exactly?”

atsumu gives you a knowing grin, “i’ve got a list in mind.”

you laugh, “i bet you do.”

he comes closer to your face, “i can cross one off on it right now.”

and he kisses you then, the same way he does every single day of his life, the same way he plans to for a million years more.

you feel his smile melting into his kisses.

then he pulls away, smiling at you, voice gentle, cheeks pink, and heart full, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

you laugh again, and with the same amount of gentleness, you say back, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

atsumu knows you could never be unloved by him — you are too tangled in his mind, in his soul that you might as well take his heart entirely — it’s already full of you anyway, it has been since the day he’s met you.

“and no, we are not cancelling on them.” you tell him, pulling away, “i miss our friends and i know you do too.”

he tells you, “fine.” and he pulls you back in, nose close to yours, wide grin on his face as he takes you.

he wants to kiss you again, but to be fair, he wants to do that all of the time.

you give him a smile, “i’ll let you cross another thing off that list of yours if you do the dishes.”

and he groans, “you know omi already did them.”

“man, we have got to get lazier friends.”

“well, we can always call that study group of yours.”

(the two of you say friends, but it feels a whole lot more like family.)

together you and atsumu create a home filled with flowers, kindness, cozy pillows, and loud music. in your halls there is rest, good sex, good sleep, books, and dancing. there is space to be you, there is space to be him, there is space to be be the two of you, and there is love, there is love, there is love.

[dearest-tobio]

it says "people to watch out for" 😭

[dearest-tobio]

i needed a haikyuu poster for the new movie so i made it🫡

[dearest-tobio]

just had to add on thoughts along w this icymi:

saw a fic that said iwaizumi went to uci and i was like THAT MAKES SM SENSE ACTUALLY so zot zot 🐜🐜

dropped like a ton of references to american things here.. i've never even been to a build a bear oops

also california iwa and his energy is just immaculate me thinks

and he introduces himself as hajime iwaizumi instead of iwaizumi hajime bc cultural differences

tempted to write a short one on the first meeting between reader and the rest of the seijoh four...

“what’s your favourite moment of our relationship so far?”

you pose the question to iwaizumi against the backdrop of huntington beach. the sun dips the sea in hues of orange, a vibrant see you tomorrow to end the day. activity on the shore fades out with the waves: families packing up, surfers swimming back to land. you and iwaizumi are almost the only two left—his hand around your shoulder and your head on his chest as you both lay on the picnic blanket.

“favourite part?” he inquires back. “it’s hard to choose.”

you playfully hit his chest, shifting closer in his embrace. “oh come on, don’t give me that generic answer. there must’ve been something that stood out.”

in the brief quiet that follows, your eyes drift to the palm trees gently swaying in the wind. “well,” iwaizumi muses, “i do mean it. i don’t have a favourite part.”

his fingers reach up to caress the side of your hair: warm, tender, loving. “i loved meeting you for the first time. we were both clumsy as fuck at orientation.”

you laugh, thinking about your first day at uc irvine. absorbed in figuring out the campus map on your phone, you ended up bumping right into another student. the impact of the collision threatened to knock you off your feet—if it wasn’t for the other student’s steady grip on your hand.

you immediately uttered countless apologies, getting back on your feet and letting go of his grasp. the student shook it off. he wasn’t watching where he was going either, he claimed. you shared a smile—little did you know then, one of many more to come—before you introduced yourself to him.

he returned the courtesy, and you almost missed his name because of the way his dark spiky hair seemed to gleam under the california sun.

“hajime iwaizumi. nice to meet you.”

back in the present, iwaizumi laughs in tandem with you, a deep timbre you’ve always adored. “yeah, we were kind of stupid. great story to tell though.”

iwaizumi glances up at the seagulls flying up ahead, disappearing from his view not long after. “i also love our first anniversary. just stargazing at some random trail. and our second with the build-a-bears. and our third at the fair.”

“oh, and you meeting everyone from back home. especially those three idiots.” you laugh louder this time, recalling the first video call you had with iwaizumi’s old teammates at aoba johsai. “honestly,” he continues with apparent amusement laced in his tone, “where oikawa, makki, and mattsun are, chaos is sure to follow.”

“i loved meeting your friends!” you exclaim, beaming ear-to-ear. “can’t wait to meet them in-person someday.”

you feel iwaizumi’s chest rise and fall as he scoffs. “they’re a handful, baby. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“going back to the question,” iwaizumi continues, “do you really want to know why i don’t have a favourite moment?”

“go ahead. i’m waiting.”

“i don’t have a favourite moment…” iwaizumi pauses, and you feel his lips pressing a quick kiss against your forehead.

“i don’t have a favourite moment, because any moment with you is my favourite.”

masterlist

[dearest-tobio]

when oikawa tooru was born, the balance of the world shifted ‼️🌏💥👑🍼🏐 happy birthday to the great king himself

[dearest-tobio]

all of the summer-themed prompts seem amazing but can I get 7 + iwaizumi please🫶🏻 (I imagine it taking place in cali😎)

I really love you work btw

hello hello! thank you for the kind words :)

kind of got carried away with the idea of california iwaizumi so here you go! i also misread "sunrise" as "sunset" my bad 😭😭

send a summer themed prompt + character to receive a drabble ☀️🌴

[dearest-tobio]

“what’s your favourite moment of our relationship so far?”

you pose the question to iwaizumi against the backdrop of huntington beach. the sun dips the sea in hues of orange, a vibrant see you tomorrow to end the day. activity on the shore fades out with the waves: families packing up, surfers swimming back to land. you and iwaizumi are almost the only two left—his hand around your shoulder and your head on his chest as you both lay on the picnic blanket.

“favourite part?” he inquires back. “it’s hard to choose.”

you playfully hit his chest, shifting closer in his embrace. “oh come on, don’t give me that generic answer. there must’ve been something that stood out.”

in the brief quiet that follows, your eyes drift to the palm trees gently swaying in the wind. “well,” iwaizumi muses, “i do mean it. i don’t have a favourite part.”

his fingers reach up to caress the side of your hair: warm, tender, loving. “i loved meeting you for the first time. we were both clumsy as fuck at orientation.”

you laugh, thinking about your first day at uc irvine. absorbed in figuring out the campus map on your phone, you ended up bumping right into another student. the impact of the collision threatened to knock you off your feet—if it wasn’t for the other student’s steady grip on your hand.

you immediately uttered countless apologies, getting back on your feet and letting go of his grasp. the student shook it off. he wasn’t watching where he was going either, he claimed. you shared a smile—little did you know then, one of many more to come—before you introduced yourself to him.

he returned the courtesy, and you almost missed his name because of the way his dark spiky hair seemed to gleam under the california sun.

“hajime iwaizumi. nice to meet you.”

back in the present, iwaizumi laughs in tandem with you, a deep timbre you’ve always adored. “yeah, we were kind of stupid. great story to tell though.”

iwaizumi glances up at the seagulls flying up ahead, disappearing from his view not long after. “i also love our first anniversary. just stargazing at some random trail. and our second with the build-a-bears. and our third at the fair.”

“oh, and you meeting everyone from back home. especially those three idiots.” you laugh louder this time, recalling the first video call you had with iwaizumi’s old teammates at aoba johsai. “honestly,” he continues with apparent amusement laced in his tone, “where oikawa, makki, and mattsun are, chaos is sure to follow.”

“i loved meeting your friends!” you exclaim, beaming ear-to-ear. “can’t wait to meet them in-person someday.”

you feel iwaizumi’s chest rise and fall as he scoffs. “they’re a handful, baby. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“going back to the question,” iwaizumi continues, “do you really want to know why i don’t have a favourite moment?”

“go ahead. i’m waiting.”

“i don’t have a favourite moment…” iwaizumi pauses, and you feel his lips pressing a quick kiss against your forehead.

“i don’t have a favourite moment, because any moment with you is my favourite.”

masterlist

[dearest-tobio]

hvn't done this in a looong time and i miss writing in bits so:

send in a prompt from this list + a character and i'll write a drabble! if you're lucky it might evolve to a full fledged short story HAHAH

summer-themed prompts are from @urfriendlywriter ☀️🌴

[dearest-tobio]

my dream as a fanfic writer is to write a story which people want to talk to me about and send asks about afterwards and discuss things the characters did and the symbolism and meanings behind certain lines and I'll be all "hehe thanks" but irl I'll be in literal tears because I wrote something that means something to someone

[dearest-tobio]

japan 2-3 to germany 🥲

[dearest-tobio]

manager!reader x tsukki please

karasuno team making predictions about who will be the first one to become a dad in the future, not knowing it will be tsukki 🫢

say that theyre having a reunion and all of them goes 0_o after seeing readers bby bump, you could do the rest tbh😭❤️

currently living off my mobile data 🙏 tysm for this request

— little easter egg here if u see it

the boys were always eager to place bets on things unnecessary. who can spike the most balls, who can drink the most milk, who can shove the most meat in their mouth without chewing it. they always bargained a few yens or free food.

it had rubbed on you a few bets later.

in the night before sugawara, daichi, shimizu, and asahi's graduation day, the whole team had decided to have a sleepover inside the gym. the boys set up their futons on the court, while the girls stayed at the stage, futons side by side.

but you were all gathered in the middle, clad in mismatched pyjamas, snacks tossed around, dinner melted in your stomachs. you were guaranteed that this night would hold a special place in your heart– something to look back to when change begins the next day.

"who's most likely to...?" kageyama falls back, head on a pillow beside hinata's thigh, a finger on his chin. "go to jail?"

you and tsukishima point at hinata. yamaguchi points at yachi, and she, including kageyama, sugawara, daichi, and shimizu, point at tanaka. asahi points at noya, as well as narita, kinoshita, and ennoshita.

"this one gets breaking and entering," kei says. "tanaka-san gets harrassment. noya for disorderly conduct."

you laugh and lean your shoulder on his, reaching over his lap for a mochi. you feel his nose tickle the top of your head, but it was one of the few subtle public affections he only gives you that night. kei bites on your dessert, glancing at you as a small way of expressing his gratitude.

"okay," hinata throws another pack of chips on the futon, bouncing lightly. "who's most likely to become a parent in the next 10 years?"

majority seemed to point at daichi and sugawara. they both gasp.

"why us?"

"you parent all of us!"

"we wouldn't have to if you all acted like you were properly disciplined," daichi says, eating a chip from koshi's hand. you missed the way the tips of his ears blushed.

"i think tsukishima here would be a dad first," tanaka teases. he cranes his leg and kicks his shin jovially. "eh? since you're the first one here to get a girlfriend out of all of us."

your cheeks flush, burning when kei gives you a quick glance before shrugging. nonetheless you shrug, placing your hands behind you to lean back. "i think kageyama would be a dad first."

ennoshita snorts. "i caught him talking to a girl the other day."

"he peed himself," hinata quips. "he was asking for his pen back, i'm pretty sure he'd be asking for his dignity back, too."

"fuck off, dumbass."

"i bet a thousand yen on kageyama being the first one to be a dad!" noya slams his fist, rattling the snacks on the futon. tsukishima scoffs, however ignored by the others as they buzz in excitement. "anyone on tsukishima?"

"me and yachi," yamaguchi raises his hand, lifting hitoka's. hinata joins them.

"what about me?" daichi points to himself. "i could be the first one to be a dad. i'm your senior!"

"a thousand yen on daddy daichi!"

"noya, you can't switch your bet!" tanaka yells. "stick to kageyama. i'm going with sawamura-san."

they look at you. "oh, i'm not joining."

"i am," tsukishima says. "i'm on daddy kageyama." he winks.

"please don't lose this bet," hinata pleads to his setter, hands clasped. "i don't want to lose a thousand yen. keep it in your pants."

"shut up, hinata!"

later that night, when everyone had laughed their way to sleep, you and tsukishima silently snuck out the dark gymnasium and into the open night sky, walking towards the football field and laying down in the middle of it, damp grass tickling your backs.

"seriously though, who do you think would be a dad first?" you ask him, craning your neck to the side to look at him. tsukishima was already looking at you, glasses askew, his eyebrows raised just the slighest.

"kageyama wouldn't get a girl pregnant until he's forty." he jests. "me though..."

his tone is playful, the way his shoulders come up to a shrug. you wheeze out and laugh, clutching your chest, even though it made you blush deeply. he only wrinkles his nose at you, but his smile reaches to his eyes. "i doubt, kei. i think daichi would be first."

"why didn't you say it?"

"you being their answer caught me off guard!" you argue, hands in the air. "whaddya think, though? should we let them win this?"

"i'm kinda surprised they think kageyama would be the first to be a dad considering he literally eye fucks a volleyball," he pokes your cheek. "i don't want to let them win though."

you pat his head. "don't knock me up until we're 41, 'kay?"

tsukishima got you pregnant at 27.

and while you were both elated at the sight of two lines at a cheap stick, it was soon dropped at the realization that you (technically he did) had let them won one of the bets.

("keep it inside you until you're forty!"

"i can't fucking do that, smartass.")

you both hoped that they'd long forgotten the 11 year bet, that the minute they stepped through the door, everyone would gasp at the sight of your growing belly and coo at the thought of little blondes running around your home and into their arms.

much to your dismay, it was the first thing they brought up.

"a thousand yen!" hinata exclaims, his hand already out to accept their cash.

they immediately hand out their cash in his palm before scurrying up to awe at your belly, all bent to face it. you place your hands on top, tsukishima splaying his fingers protectively on your hip.

"it's so big!"

"honey, don't say that," shimizu swats tanaka on his head.

yachi takes your hand in both hers, shaking in excitement. "how far long?!"

you smile. "four months."

kageyama, with hinata under his arm, approaches you with a grin so condescending. "i'm going to bully your child to death," he tells kei.

"i'm going to bully you to death, virgin boy."

"i- i am not a virgin!"

the rest of the evening was spent gawping at your belly. you'd only allowed asahi, daichi, hinata, yachi, shimizu, and the godfather yamaguchi to touch your stomach.

(yamaguchi had fainted when kei announced he'd be the godfather).

and while everyone else were occupied at the sport playing on the tv, you rest your back on kei's chest, body between his legs, laced fingers on top of your stomach. it felt like the sleepover back then; and you're too emotionally over the edge that it sends an overwhelming tear on your eyes.

tsukishima cranes his neck to look down at you and wipes your tear, pushing your hair behind you. "why you crying, love?"

"nothing," you sniffle, snuggling deeper into him. though he seemed to have read your mind, and placed a warm kiss on your temple.

"hey," nishinoya stands up, tanned arms stretching. "i bet a thousand yen little tsukishima here is a boy."

you and tsukishima yell at him to stop.

but 8 out of 15 voted for a girl (ennoshita, sugawara, yachi, shimizu, yamaguchi, you, tsukishima)

7 of those voted for a boy and strictly told tsukishima to train him to play volleyball.

those 7 players paid outside the delivery room when tsukishima came out with a babygirl in his hands, telling everyone that she was hoshi, who had his eyes and hair, but had your smile that he loved and adored.

[dearest-tobio]

you fiddle with your nails as you walk home at tooru's side, the sounds of mattsun, makki, and iwa bickering further up ahead cutting through the empty streets. you’re uncharacteristically nervous, because god knows you’ve never done something like this before—but you steel yourself because it’s worth it for him.

your feelings for oikawa tooru are all consuming—strong and deep and intense. they’ve been brewing for well over two years now, nourished by the increased amount of time you’ve spent with him. they overwhelm you, washing over your being with an intensity you’ve never felt before, and they drive you to stick by his side for as long as you can—desperate and aching for the boy who puts the stars in your sky.

you know that timing is important because tooru is nothing if not driven—singularly focused on the sport that gives him the air he needs to breathe. so you wait until well after his match with karasuno, giving your all to support him and the rest of the team because volleyball has become important to you after spending so much time with them. you give it time, wait until after the team has taken the time to lament over their missed chance, and after all the third years are ready to move on to the next phase of their lives, before you finally decide to spill your guts to him.

tooru stares ahead as he’s walking, pensive and unsmiling, and you’re dying to know what’s going on in his head. his eyes are bright, a contrast to his expression, and there’s a resolute glint in his irises that has you feeling oddly shaken. when you reach his house, the rest of the group waves back at him before continuing on, and you realize this is your chance.

so, dangerously, you put your heart on the line.

you tell him everything you've ever thought about him—how you admire his drive and his passion, how you have looked up to him for years and years. how you have never felt so deeply for someone before knowing him. it comes out in a rushed ramble of words, all those nights of practicing in the mirror doing nothing for you in the actual moment. you stumble a few times, your face getting warmer with every word, and yet as each sentence falls forth you feel a weight lift from your shoulders—the flesh of your lungs clatter against your ribs, anxious and eager.

tooru inhales, gaze darting between your eyes and then flitting downwards. even in the dark of the night, you can see the pinkish hue crawling up his neck, can see the way he fidgets with his own fingers. he stares at you, lips parted as a wide array of emotions flit over his handsome features—they finally settle into a strange combination of apologetic and resigned.

and then he tells you no.

he tells you that volleyball will always take precedence, that he has already mapped out his future, which is too far away from you. he tells you about argentina and how his mind is made up. he tells you that he's flattered, that he's glad you're friends but that's all he can do right now.

“i'm sorry,” he says with a grimace. he studiously avoids looking at you, but you can't stop staring at him—your stomach sinks as he turns to head inside.

it takes you months to muster up the courage to tell him. it takes him two minutes to say no to you.

the rejection stings in a way that is unfamiliar, and you take a shaky breath as you walk down the street to catch up with the others.

the humiliation makes itself known in the form of a painful lump in your throat—unmoving and heavy. when you glance up you see that the third years have hung back, waiting for you. makki is wearing a knowing grin, but it falters when he sees your expression. mattsun, ever observant, seems to immediately understand, and he wordlessly slings an arm over your shoulder.

all you can do is awkwardly chuckle, knowing that it sounds weak and throaty as you shake your head. “i feel stupid,” you admit, voice wobbling as heat burns through your skin—unpleasant and unwelcome.

“you're not stupid,” makki mutters, hands shoved deep in his pockets as his lips slant regretfully. you stare at the ground, nodding slowly under the weight of mattsun's arm. your lungs ache, and you know that if you open your mouth, you will lose it entirely. so all you can manage to do is look up at iwa with glassy eyes and trembling lips and a rueful smile that probably makes you look as pathetic as you feel.

you don't notice the way his fists are clenched at his sides, nails digging indents into his palms. he grits his teeth, gaze flitting to oikawa's house in the background, but he doesn't say anything.

none of them speak as they walk you home, and you try your best to keep the sniffles to a minimum, too embarrassed to look at them.

you've never felt pain like this before, and it's hard to get over it because everything reminds you of tooru. it's like someone has taken a knife and carved into your ribcage, grasping your heart before taking it out crushing it between bloodied fingers. but even despite the gaping hole in your chest you know that there are expectations to be met, things to be done.

that's the strange thing about your silly unrequited love—it hurts and hurts and hurts some more until it stops one day before you can realize it. even though your chest is still bleeding you go on with life—you go to university, you get a job, you pay bills. you get up in the morning and brush your hair and drink water and tie your shoes until the wound closes itself up. you start smiling a little wider and laughing a little freer until oikawa tooru is nothing more than an old name.

and of course there are instances where you are reminded of him and what could've been, whether it's seeing milk bread in a supermarket or passing by children hitting a volleyball over a net out in the sun. you know very well that your friends are occasionally still in contact with their old captain, not that this bothers you. after all, mattsun, makki, and iwa were very careful not to bring him up around you, which you're grateful for. so even hearing the name in passing becomes easier.

it is difficult until it isn't anymore.

you've all but forgotten him now, after years and years and years—nothing more than a distant memory.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread pooling in your stomach when you walk into the restaurant on makki's birthday and see oikawa tooru sitting at the bar, drink in hand. his eyes are alight as he laughs at whatever conversation he's joined, dark hair falling into his eyes messily.

one step forward, ten steps back.

for a second you can't help but stare, breath stolen from your lungs because it feels like the knife is back and twisting itself into your flesh all over again. there is a panic rising in your throat, suffocating and overwhelming and jarring.

tooru lifts his glass to his lips, hiding his grin as his gaze lazily travels over the expanse of the room.

another surge of panic. the familiar sting of humiliation.

he pauses as he's about to take a sip, brown eyes widening when they land on you, and you see the sharp inhale he takes. his stare doesn't waver, too consumed by shock to look away.

and yet that's all you can do—tear your eyes away because you're different now and it's long gone and you know there is no point in going down that rabbit hole again.

it was a lifetime ago—it's done now.

but you will never know how long tooru thought of you after that night back in high school. you will never know that he felt sick to his stomach when he saw the way your face fell at his rejection. you will never know that he bit his tongue so hard it bled as he watched you walk away from him. you will never know that he spent countless nights in argentina wondering what you were up to and how you were. you will never know that sacrificing you for his beloved sport was the hardest thing he's ever done.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread tooru feels when he sees the way your eyes light up as you find your way over to iwa's side.

@teddybeartoji this is for you mickey ily hehehehehe

[dearest-tobio]

“i remember practicing how to ask you out.”

you laugh against tsukishima’s frame, looking up into his eyes. his contented smile instantly drops, morphing into a mock frown: “what’s so funny?”

“you?” you manage in between giggles. your fingers poke at tsukishima’s cheeks, tracing the reddish glow settling in them. “you? the high-and-mighty tsukishima kei? practicing how to ask me out?”

“shut up,” he muffles, burrowing his face in your hair. “i was nervous, ok?”

as you relish in the comfortable warmth, you take the moment to recall the day tsukishima kei, your long-time bestfriend, confessed his feelings for you.

you initially thought tsukishima was mad at you—he was equipped with an uneasy glower as he made his way towards your classroom. judging by the way your classmates dissipated at the very sight of him, the thought was a common one. no one was fond of an angry tsukishima kei.

“tsukki?” you asked, shifting from where you had been leaning on the wall. “anything wrong?”

the tall blonde remained unmoving, instead radiating wordless fury in droves. you sighed at the familiar action—this was not the first time tsukishima had gotten into a rut, and certainly not the last.

“tsukki,” you inquired further. “i’m here, if you want to talk. or not—”

suddenly, tsukishima smacked the space beside your ear, leaning his forehead to yours. after recovering from the shock of the sudden movement, all that was left in your senses was blatant confusion. “what in the—tsukishima kei, what are you doing?”

everything that followed happened in the blink of an eye.

the wall pinning. the hair-length distance. the term that came to mind—kabedon—and the realisation that dawned upon you: the blush in tsukishima’s cheeks weren’t spurred on by exasperation, but embarrassment.

“go out with me?”

of course, you had said yes to those four words. the assent had brought you here, cuddling in tsukishima’s arms. despite the eventual happy ending, you still thought his method of confessing was absolutely ridiculous. “i can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to confess by trying to kabedon me.”

“trying?” tsukishima huffs, adjusting his glasses. “that was a pretty successful attempt, if i say so.”

“mhm,” you hum, placing a hand on his chest. even with the knitted sweater tsukishima was wearing, you could still feel his heart race at your touch. “who even suggested the idea? doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

“yamaguchi. and hinata. in hindsight, i have no idea why i listened to those two in the first place. excruciatingly awkward, although—”

the annoyance splayed over tsukishima’s features reverted back into the smile he was donning earlier: gentle, feather soft.

“i’d go through all of that again if it meant being here with you.”

masterlist

[dearest-tobio]

rivals to lovers with osamu because you both own onigiri businesses and are each other’s competition in the same region/city.

your shops are like one block away from each other and there’s been a silent competition of “who can open the most outlets in japan” for the past couple of years.

before you met, you already knew of him and his business because, well, how many miyas are there? and he's an identical twin so you obviously knew what he looked like, but you only met at the olympics because you both had pop-up stalls at the arena.

you actually got a spot there first but onigiri miya got to squeeze into an extra spot thanks to atsumu and obviously, you were pissed about that.

“this damn bastard and his connections. he’s lucky he’s got a talented and famous brother or his business would’ve gone to shit years ago.”

and that’s how you met osamu.

in my head, y/n is a very confrontational and assertive person, so that brings out the competitiveness in osamu that only atsumu could bring out previously.

“your brother is obviously the better twin. he’s famous AND talented and you’re here getting upset because my onigiri business is doing better than yours.” you once said to him with a polite smile on your face. you were standing in the middle of the food street in the olympic arena with all 6 feet of the one and only miya osamu in front of you. with his arms crossed and a confident smile on his face, he stared back at you and realised that damn, he's fucked.

and obviously the two of you end up together in the end, but not before an entire arc of you two being in the frenemy zone for like THE LONGEST TIME before you finally get together.

“you stole my business, miya.” “and you stole my heart. now we’re even.”

© educatedsimps 2024. do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarise any work from this blog on tumblr or any other platforms. if you do, the simps will hunt you down. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[dearest-tobio]

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?” 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov’r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,�� He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.

[dearest-tobio]

kinda miss my old moots 🥹

[dearest-tobio]

“i remember practicing how to ask you out.”

you laugh against tsukishima’s frame, looking up into his eyes. his contented smile instantly drops, morphing into a mock frown: “what’s so funny?”

“you?” you manage in between giggles. your fingers poke at tsukishima’s cheeks, tracing the reddish glow settling in them. “you? the high-and-mighty tsukishima kei? practicing how to ask me out?”

“shut up,” he muffles, burrowing his face in your hair. “i was nervous, ok?”

as you relish in the comfortable warmth, you take the moment to recall the day tsukishima kei, your long-time bestfriend, confessed his feelings for you.

you initially thought tsukishima was mad at you—he was equipped with an uneasy glower as he made his way towards your classroom. judging by the way your classmates dissipated at the very sight of him, the thought was a common one. no one was fond of an angry tsukishima kei.

“tsukki?” you asked, shifting from where you had been leaning on the wall. “anything wrong?”

the tall blonde remained unmoving, instead radiating wordless fury in droves. you sighed at the familiar action—this was not the first time tsukishima had gotten into a rut, and certainly not the last.

“tsukki,” you inquired further. “i’m here, if you want to talk. or not—”

suddenly, tsukishima smacked the space beside your ear, leaning his forehead to yours. after recovering from the shock of the sudden movement, all that was left in your senses was blatant confusion. “what in the—tsukishima kei, what are you doing?”

everything that followed happened in the blink of an eye.

the wall pinning. the hair-length distance. the term that came to mind—kabedon—and the realisation that dawned upon you: the blush in tsukishima’s cheeks weren’t spurred on by exasperation, but embarrassment.

“go out with me?”

of course, you had said yes to those four words. the assent had brought you here, cuddling in tsukishima’s arms. despite the eventual happy ending, you still thought his method of confessing was absolutely ridiculous. “i can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to confess by trying to kabedon me.”

“trying?” tsukishima huffs, adjusting his glasses. “that was a pretty successful attempt, if i say so.”

“mhm,” you hum, placing a hand on his chest. even with the knitted sweater tsukishima was wearing, you could still feel his heart race at your touch. “who even suggested the idea? doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

“yamaguchi. and hinata. in hindsight, i have no idea why i listened to those two in the first place. excruciatingly awkward, although—”

the annoyance splayed over tsukishima’s features reverted back into the smile he was donning earlier: gentle, feather soft.

“i’d go through all of that again if it meant being here with you.”

masterlist