freshlyboughtgoldfish

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Ao3 does not need an algorithm, you're just lazy

Ao3 does not need a 1-5 star rating system, you just want to bring down authors writing for FREE

Ao3 does not need automatic censorship, it is an archive, therefore anything can be posted

Writing or reading about something illegal does not mean the author nor the reader condones it, if that were true, you could never read a story involving anything negative

Purity culture is ruining fan culture and you all are fucking annoying

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

this was so good!!!

“Things They Didn’t Mean”

They didn’t mean to hurt you — but they did. And you started changing because of it. Now they notice… and it’s already different.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

“Watch what you eat,” Ushijima says, voice low, neutral. He’s looking at your tray like it’s offended him.

You smile—a practiced, automatic thing—and laugh it off. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

He nods. Just once. And that’s the end of it. To him, anyway.

The next day, you bring a salad. You poke at the lettuce with your plastic fork, chew each bite like penance. He glances at your lunch, says nothing.

The day after, it’s just fruit. You peel a clementine slowly, fingers sticky with juice, and avoid his eyes.

Then you stop bringing your usual snack. The one he used to reach over and steal a bite of without asking. The one that always made him smile—subtly, but still. Now your bag is empty. So are you.

By the fourth day, Tendou corners him by the gym doors. “Hey, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice too light. “You realize she’s barely eating, right?”

Ushijima blinks. Still, silent. His gaze drifts toward you—sitting against the wall, water bottle untouched, your eyes vacant in a way he can’t quite name.

That evening, practice ends. The sun is low, gym almost empty. You sit alone on the bleachers, staring at nothing, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve.

He approaches without a word, sits beside you like it's instinct. In his hands: two onigiri, wrapped carefully.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, eyes on the rice, not you. “I just… I care if you're healthy. Not thinner.”

You don’t respond. Your fingers twitch toward your bag, but fall short. He places one onigiri in your lap, the other in his own hands.

You pick at the rice. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you’ve forgotten how to be hungry.

He doesn’t speak. Just sits with you, quiet, steady. Watching. There’s guilt in the way his shoulders slope. In the way his chopsticks pause every few bites, waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

You finish half. It’s the most you’ve eaten all week.

He nudges the second one a little closer. Not pushing—just offering.

“Please eat,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “With me.”

And you do.

For a long time, he says nothing else. But his silence is kind now. Careful. And when he finally looks at you, it’s with eyes that say he’s sorry in all the ways words can’t.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The words slipped out of Shirabu’s mouth like a diagnosis—clinical, cold, final.

And the worst part? You weren’t even fighting.

You had just spilled tea on your notes—weeks of lectures and scribbled diagrams now soaked through and curling at the edges. You laughed, a little sheepishly, brushing at the mess with your sleeve. “Well. That’s my sign to take a break, I guess—”

He didn’t laugh.

He stared at the papers like they’d personally offended him. “You’re not cut out for the kind of future I want.”

You blinked. “…Future?”

He nodded once, distracted, eyes already flicking back to his laptop. “Medicine’s not for people who lose focus. Who make little mistakes.”

You smiled, like it didn’t sting. Laughed, like you hadn’t heard that same voice in your own head on bad days. “Right. Of course.”

That night, you stayed up redoing your notes from scratch. And the night after that. And the one after that.

You started waking up before him. Stopped doodling in the margins of your med books. Stopped humming when you cooked, because every second needed to be productive. Coffee became a meal. Sleep became a luxury.

You didn’t complain. Didn’t cry. Just… shifted. Quietly. Carefully. Willfully.

The version of you Shirabu fell for—the one who teased him while quizzing him on anatomy terms, who wore fuzzy socks to study groups, who once made him a human heart out of Jello just to prove a joke—she was slowly fading.

At first, he liked the change.

The silence. The discipline. The way your pens were always aligned now. The way you never interrupted him mid-sentence anymore.

But then… He noticed.

You never touched him just because anymore. Never made dumb puns over dinner. Your shoulders stayed tense even in your sleep. The music in your world had gone quiet—and he hadn’t realized how much he loved its sound until it disappeared.

One night, he came home late from the library and found you at your desk, fast asleep. Your glasses were still on. Your hand was stained with blue ink, fingertips trembling slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. There was a cut on your thumb from a broken pen. Your lips were dry. You looked pale—drained, like all your color had been slowly siphoned away.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart sinking.

And when he touched your hand, you didn’t even stir.

He sat down beside you, swallowing guilt like poison. “I didn’t mean for you to become someone else,” he whispered, the words raw and foreign in his mouth. “I just wanted you with me. I didn’t realize I was asking you to lose yourself.”

His voice cracked. For the first time in years, he cried.

Quietly. Beside you.

Because you were still there. Breathing. Trying. But something in you had cracked.

And he had been the one to make the first fracture.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

That was the last thing he said to you that day. You had just finished gushing about your favorite show—something about parallel universes and time loops and a sad, smiley villain who reminded you of him (your words, not his). You were laughing, hands moving, eyes bright.

And he had sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered: “Are you done yet?”

You blinked. Laughed it off. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond. Just went back to scrolling.

After that, you didn’t talk about your favorite shows anymore. Stopped sending him memes. Stopped rambling in long voice notes that always ended with you laughing at your own jokes.

He noticed, of course. But didn’t say anything.

Yamaguchi did.

“She doesn’t text you stuff anymore, huh?”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were tracking my notifications.”

But later that night, alone in his room, he opened your chat. Scrolled through the silence. Past the last thing you sent—a meme, three weeks ago. A stupid one, about dinosaurs and headphones. He hadn’t even reacted to it.

The empty space beneath it felt louder than any rant you used to send.

The next day, he walked past a store on the way home and froze. In the window: a little keychain of your favorite character. The one you wouldn’t shut up about for two whole weeks. The one he pretended not to care about but secretly knew the name of.

He bought it.

He didn’t even think. Just… did.

The next morning, he dropped it on your desk before class. No warning. No note.

You blinked, staring at the tiny figure in your hand. “What’s this for?”

He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “So you’ll annoy me again.”

You stared at him for a beat, stunned. Then your lips twitched.

You didn’t say anything. But that night, he got a message.

[you]: i just rewatched episode 8 again and i need you to understand how emotionally devastating that scene was. also this keychain is SO cute i might cry.

He read it three times. Smiled. Just a little.

(Translation: I forgive you. I missed you too.)

SUNA RINTARO

He had said it offhandedly. Barely looking up from his phone.

You had just sent him a selfie—your hair a little messy, eyes a little dull, but your smile was there. Honest. Tired, maybe. But still you.

And he said: “You look tired.”

You blinked at the screen, lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then replied, “Yeah. Been a long day.”

After that, you stopped sending selfies. Started fixing your hair more before calls. Wore cooler tones. More neutrals. Nothing bright. Nothing bold. Started double-checking the lighting. Your angles. Yourself.

One day you joked, “Better not look tired again, right?” But your voice was too quiet. The kind that curls at the edge of something fragile.

Atsumu noticed it first.

“She doesn’t send you stuff anymore, huh?” Suna didn’t answer. “You told her she looked tired, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. But his thumb froze over your chat. Unread messages: none. The last picture you sent had disappeared after twenty-four hours. You didn’t save it. And you hadn’t sent another since.

The silence in the thread felt heavier than words.

So he stared at his camera for a long second, then sighed and snapped a picture. No filters. No angles. Just him—messy hair, hoodie hood half-on, eyes barely open.

He sent it with a message: “This is how I look when I actually look tired.” “You always look like someone I wanna keep looking at.”

You stared at the screen. Chest aching. Then, finally:

[you]: you're still bad at words. [suna]: yeah. but i’m trying.

And he was. In his own way—awkward, quiet, a little late.

But trying.

(And somehow, that was what mattered most.)

OIKAWA TOORU

You didn’t mean to bother him.

You had only sent three messages. Short ones. Thoughtful, even.

[you]: hey, u free later? [you]: you okay? you’ve been quiet today. [you]: let me know if you need anything. i’ll leave you be. promise.

And then it came. His reply.

Flat. Dismissive. Laced with exhaustion and that familiar edge he gets when he’s overwhelmed.

[oikawa]: you’re really needy sometimes.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Then you smiled. The kind of smile you force when people are watching. “lol sorry. my bad.” One last message. That was all.

And then you stopped.

You stopped texting first. Stopped sending him memes you knew would make him laugh. Stopped double-texting, triple-texting. Stopped reaching out at all.

You gave him what he seemed to want.

Space.

He noticed by dinner.

By the time the team wrapped up practice, Oikawa was already scrolling through your messages, rereading old ones like a lifeline. There were no new ones. No “I miss you.” No “Goodnight.” Just… nothing.

He opened your chat three times that night. Typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted again.

What was he even supposed to say?

Iwaizumi noticed the silence too.

“She’s not needy,” he said while they packed up. “You’re just used to being worshipped.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

Oikawa Tooru had always been admired—on the court, online, in every room he walked into. He thought love looked like attention. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d treated your warmth like a reflex, not a choice. Until you took it away.

Until your silence said everything.

So three nights later, he was standing in front of your door.

A hoodie pulled over his head. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked small. Not in height—but in guilt.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

You opened it.

Your eyes were tired. Guarded. The space between you filled with things unsaid.

Oikawa’s voice was low. He didn’t even try to smile.

“…I miss your ‘needy,’” he said.

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“I miss you.”

Still, you said nothing. Just looked at him like you weren’t sure if this was another performance or the real thing.

“I don’t want space,” he continued. “I want your clingy texts. I want the memes. The constant check-ins. The way you send me random thoughts at midnight.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I want everything. Even the parts I didn’t appreciate.”

Silence.

Then he looked up, eyes raw.

“I only push away the people I care too much about,” he whispered. “And that’s you.”

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

For a long moment, you stood there. Then, slowly—quietly—you stepped aside.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He just walked in, shoulders trembling slightly.

You closed the door behind him.

And neither of you said another word. Because this time, he would show you through presence what he failed to express in words.

He came back.

And he didn’t let go.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It was just a bad game.

He was frustrated. Quiet. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

You knew how he got. You didn’t say anything.

You just reached out—softly, gently—for his hand. Not to fix him. Just to say I’m here.

But he pulled back like your touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-air. Then you let it drop, your voice a quiet crumble. “…Sorry.”

That was it.

You stepped back. Gave him space. And from that day on, you stayed there.

You stopped reaching for him. Stopped brushing your fingers against his sleeve when you passed by. Stopped fixing his hair when it curled over his forehead. Stopped lacing your fingers through his on long walks.

You hesitated now—every time. Your hands hovered near him, never landing.

And Kiyoomi… didn’t notice.

Not at first.

But Komori did.

He waited until the locker room was empty, then slammed his locker shut louder than necessary.

“You told her not to touch you,” he said, arms crossed. “And now she doesn’t. Happy?”

Kiyoomi blinked, confused.

“She flinched when you brushed her arm, Omi. She flinched. That girl used to hold your hand like it was second nature.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Komori left. Kiyoomi sat down, heart unsettled, brain replaying every tiny moment—your hands curled into your lap, your stiff shoulders, the way your gaze flicked to his fingers then away.

It was true.

You were gone, somehow, even while still beside him.

That night—no, early morning—he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at his phone screen in the dark, thumbs hovering. Then:

[sakusa]: i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.

No typing bubbles appeared.

He didn’t expect them to.

But the next day, he found you outside the gym, hugging your arms to yourself, pretending not to see him.

He walked straight to you.

You looked up, cautious.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just reached forward—and for once, it was him who was shaking—and took your hand. Both of his around yours, like anchoring something fragile.

You looked down at the connection. Then back at him.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I want you close,” he said. “Even when I’m upset. Especially then.”

Your lip trembled.

He held your hand tighter.

And in that quiet moment, on the edge of hurt and healing, you let yourself believe him.

Because sometimes, people push away what they need most. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get the chance to hold it again.

KENMA KOZUME

You used to sit beside him.

No words. No noise. Just quiet company while his fingers danced across the keyboard, headset snug over his ears.

You liked being close. He never complained—until one night, between matches, he muttered without looking at you:

“You’re kind of distracting when I’m streaming.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp.

But it stuck.

You blinked. “Oh.”

And after that… you stopped.

You stopped bringing snacks and dropping soft kisses to his temple when he won. Stopped curling up next to him. Stopped humming under your breath or watching from the corner of his screen.

You stayed in your room more.

Quiet. Out of sight.

Invisible.

Kenma didn’t notice at first—too busy adjusting his settings, managing collabs, climbing ranks.

But Kuroo noticed. Over Discord, mid-game, as Kenma sat in silence between rounds, Kuroo muttered:

“She doesn’t bug you anymore, huh?”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“You look kinda lonely now.”

The words landed like a delayed hit.

Kenma glanced to the side—out of instinct—at the space where you used to sit. Empty. Still.

He stared longer than he meant to.

His fingers paused over the keys. The stream kept running. The chat wondered what happened. But Kenma didn’t move.

Later that night, he found himself in front of your door. A bag of your favorite snacks in hand. Slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

He knocked once. Soft.

You opened the door, eyes tired. Surprised.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held out the bag.

“…What’s this?” you asked quietly.

“Peace offering.”

Your brow arched. “You said I was distracting.”

He looked down, fingers flexing.

“I know,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

You stayed quiet.

So he stepped forward, placed the snack gently beside his controller on his desk, then turned back to you.

“Come sit with me?” he asked. Then, even softer: “I miss your noise.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in days, your lips curved—just slightly.

He held his hand out toward you.

And this time, when you took it, he didn’t let go. Not even when the game started. Not even when chat noticed.

Because he wasn’t playing to win anymore. He just wanted you back beside him.

Even if you distracted him. Especially if you did.

MIYA ATSUMU

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You didn’t even realize it was happening—until your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you saw the way Atsumu’s expression tightened, not with concern, but irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for your drama right now.”

It hit like a slammed door.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then you nodded.

"Sorry," you said, voice barely there.

And after that—you stopped.

You stopped venting. Stopped opening up. Started smiling too wide, laughing a little too quickly.

"I’m fine." "Just tired." "Nothing big."

You said it so much, you almost believed it.

But Atsumu didn’t.

Not at first—he was too wrapped up in training, in pressure, in exhaustion and ego. But Osamu noticed.

“You broke something, y’know,” he said one night, tossing a towel over Atsumu’s head. “You might wanna fix it before it stays broken.”

That’s what finally made him pause.

And that’s what led him here— To the empty gym hallway, where he found you sitting against the wall, knees to your chest, eyes blank.

You didn’t notice him at first. Didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch.

He walked over, crouched down, and gently rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“…I’m the drama,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not you.”

You stayed quiet.

He clenched his fists. Loosened them. Then tried again.

“Please don’t hide your feelings from me. Ever.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked away, eyes burning, lip trembling—but still, you said nothing.

So Atsumu pulled you into his arms.

Held you there. Not asking for forgiveness, not rushing it—just there.

“I was stupid,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was tired and selfish and I made you feel like too much.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re not too much. I was just too stupid to handle someone real.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

But your hands slowly—finally—gripped the back of his jersey.

And that was enough.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let go first.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settles in your chest and makes everything feel heavier. You forgot to do something small — misplanted a row of seedlings in your shared garden, or maybe you overslept and missed breakfast with him.

He didn’t yell. He never did. Just that calm, steady voice:

“That’s not very disciplined of you.”

No anger. Just disappointment. And somehow, that was worse. It clung to you for days.

You started fixing your posture more, triple-checking tasks, waking up earlier than needed. No more lazy mornings. No more spontaneous dancing in the rain or lying in the grass just to feel the sun. You stopped being soft. You started being… correct.

And he noticed. How your laugh faded. How your hands trembled when you thought he was watching.

It was Aran who quietly pulled him aside one afternoon. They were harvesting. The sun was warm. But Kita felt cold at the words:

“She’s not blooming anymore. She’s surviving.” “You’re so focused on raising standards… you didn’t see her lower herself.”

That night, he found you tending the garden. The same bed you both built together. The soil was dry. The petals curled inward. And so were you.

He knelt beside you silently, heart heavy.

“Discipline matters,” he started. “But so does grace. I should’ve given you more of it.”

You didn’t look at him. Your fingers kept digging gently through the soil.

So he did something rare. He placed his hand over yours. Soft. Still. Sure.

“You don’t need to be perfect… to be precious to me.”

Your breath hitched. And when you finally looked up — eyes glassy, dirt smudged on your cheek — he smiled, just barely.

“Let’s grow softer things. Together.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You’d tried something new. Maybe you curled your hair, tried eyeliner, wore that outfit you weren’t sure about but finally had the courage to put on. You didn’t expect a grand reaction. But you didn’t expect that either.

“You look weird.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like a volleyball stat: flat. Unthinking. Unfiltered.

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Went to the bathroom that night and wiped it all off. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

But the next day, you played it safe. No more makeup. Neutral clothes. You toned it down, layer by layer, until it felt like you’d erased something. And he didn’t even seem to notice.

But others did. Sugawara asked Kageyama during practice, teasing but genuine:

“What happened to all those selfies she used to send you? I kinda miss the glitter.”

Kageyama blinked. Paused. Scrolled through his phone that night. Through bright lipstick, messy buns, silly filters, captioned doodles. Gone, now.

And then it hit him.

You’d stopped sending anything. Stopped showing anything.

He found you that night, seated quietly on the porch or your shared bench near the gym.

“Hey…”

You looked up. Tired. Dull.

He sat beside you, awkward fingers twitching on his knee.

“You’re… not weird. I mean, you are, but like. Not—bad weird. Like… your kind of weird. And I liked that.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared ahead.

So he added, softer this time:

“I’m stupid with words. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to disappear.”

You swallowed. He turned slightly, desperate and clumsy:

“Please don’t change for something dumb I said. I didn’t realize how much I loved… all of that. All of you.”

You turned to him. Eyes glossy, voice small:

“Then why didn’t you say that sooner?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he reached into his pocket and held out the phone screen — a selfie of you from a month ago.

“I saved this one. I liked your smile here the most.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

It was something small. You tripped on a stair and instinctively, he caught your wrist, pulling you close before you fell.

Someone whistled. A teammate teased: “Ooh, Daichi, playing knight in shining armor?”

He panicked. Embarrassed. Tried to play it cool. So he shrugged and muttered,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

Laughed it off.

But your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You’d never expected him to take responsibility for you. You weren’t asking to be saved. But you’d thought — maybe — it was okay to lean. To trust. To fall near him.

After that day, you stopped doing that.

You handled everything alone — even when your hands shook carrying too much, even when your emotions threatened to spill.

No more late-night texts. No more spontaneous hangouts. No more quiet moments walking beside him.

You avoided everyone for a while.

Until Suga found you missing again from another group outing and went straight to Daichi.

“She knows she’s not your responsibility, Daichi. She just thought… you gave a damn.”

That silenced him.

That night, he went up to the school rooftop — the place you always went when you needed to breathe. You were already there, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the sky.

He didn’t speak. Just sat beside you. Let the silence ache between you both.

Then finally, barely audible:

“I wanted to protect you. Not push you away.”

You didn’t look at him. You just said, hollowly:

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But he shook his head gently.

“No, you don’t. I didn’t say that because I didn’t care. I said it because I was scared of how much I did.”

You blinked, eyes burning.

“You’re not my responsibility,” he whispered again — but this time softer, reverent. “You’re my person. That’s… different.”

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Haikyuu boys react to you wiping your kisses off of them

ft. Suna and Sakusa.

an: its fathers days so I didn’t have a bunch of time to write, but there will be more next week. Tell me if you want to see any other boys. I’ve got Iwaizumi, Kageyama, and Kuroo up next.

Suna:

You walk up to him all dressed up and ready to go to a work function. He’s still in bed sleepy after a late night with his team. 

“Hey baby, I’m about to go, love you”

You lean down and cup his cheek before wiping it off of him with your thumb. 

“Love you too-“he gets interrupted by your touch. “Hey!” He suddenly snaps out of his slumber and grabs your wrist “What was that? Baby… what?”

You try to pull away “Rin, I have to go, and I had lipstick on, I don’t want to stain you.”

“Stain me all you want. I don’t care” I pulls your head down, gently so he doesn’t mess up your hair, and plants a fat kiss on your lips. 

He pulls away looking very smug with himself. He’s got lipstick smeared on his lips. 

“Ehg… Suna!”

“Next time don’t wipe it off.”

Sakusa: 

You were washing your face when Kyoomi walks into the bathroom and just hovers behind you. 

That in itself was not very strange, sometimes he wants to be near you without touching, or he just wants to make sure you’re ok. 

You finish washing off your face and grab a drying towel to dry off your face. You lean in to give him a quick peck before lightly scrubbing off the residue with the towel. 

His eyebrows pinch together as he looks down at you. 

“Are you sick?” He asked softly 

“Um no? Am I warm?” You grab his hand and press it to your forehead 

“No, you’re not warm, and you don’t look sick.” He gently cups your face and he tilts your face so he can better examine you. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yeah” you laugh lightly and let him inspect you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You wiped your kiss off me.” He sounds slightly wounded “you never do that.”

You kiss him again and while it off with a small smile. 

“Wh- Stop.” he grabs your hand after you give him another peck to prevent you from wiping it off “what if I wanted to keep that, darling?” 

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Atsumu bursts into the room 

“[Name]! Are you seriously gonna marry my brother?! I thought it was a joke!” He yells at you after he comes barreling into the room. 

It was the night before you and Osamu were going to be married. You open your mouth to respond before Osamu comes barreling into as well but unlike his brother he has his eyes set on Atsumu. 

Osamu lunges and takes Atsumu down and tries to pin him to the ground. And Atsumu in a panic starts yelling.

“I mean I like you, and I’m excited to have a sister but like… you’re gonna have kids!! He can’t be trusted around kids!” 

Osamu pushes and shoves Atsumu while they writhe together on the floor. 

“Shup your trap Sumu!”

Atsum yelps as he feels and elbow dig into his kidney but doesn’t relent. 

“He made me eat worms, and he chased me with wasps. And you think that’s an appropriate man to be raising kids with???” He gets out while trying to get his twin off of him. 

“Sumu, I like your brother, he’s such a great guy and I’m excited to marry him.” You say gently like you’re trying to calm a feral cat. 

“He tried to stab me with knives! He can’t be that nice.” He pants, finally extracting himself from Osamu’s grip. 

He gets off the ground and dusts himself off dramatically and makes his way to the door. He gives you a pained look. “Well if he makes you happy…” he says reluctantly. “Just know that if he gives you a gummy worm don’t believe him.”

And with that his gives Osamu a solid kick in the side before bolting out of the house. You watch your fiancé chase him out of the house and hear a car peel out of your driveway. 

Osamu comes back in and collapses down next to you. 

“So did you actually feed him worms?”

“…he was a very gullible kid. I got him like 4 times.”

“…that’s… oh…”

inspired by this ticktock. Here

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Atsumu is an octopus. He will not let you go once he has you for cuddling. He’s basically your alarm clock after his morning practices. He comes home dramatically. And by that I mean that he’s loud. He’s running into stuff and setting his bags down. 

Thankfully he comes home around 8 am so he’s usually not waking up your neighbors. When he eventually manages to come into your shared room, he crawls on top of you. Like fully pressing his weight on you like an oversized puppy. 

It’s an uphill battle trying to get him off of you so you can get ready for the day. The fact that the two of you have two very different schedules makes the time you do get to spend together precious. Even so. He’s a pro athlete, so he weights a lot.

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

“What are doing at my house-“ you pause before asking, with even more concern “How did you find my house?!”

You rub your hands on your face before placing them on your hips. Here you were at 10pm on a Wednesday night in a t-shirt and shorts looking at the volleyball team you manage publicly for. 

“Happy Birthday [Name]!” Hinata shouts happily. 

“Yeah! You always do cool stuff for our birthdays! So we thought we should do something nice for you!” Bokuto adds on happily. 

Meian catches your gaze apologetically “I swear on my life I tried to get them to do this earlier in the day,” he glances over at the rest of the team “they didn’t listen”

You snort “I guessed that much” you lean against the doorframe and look at the gathered team. 

“So… like I get wanting to do something nice, but again… how did you get my address?” You ask quizzically. 

“Kuroo gave it to us!” Interjects Bokuto, his hands in his hips proudly. 

“Oh, he did now?” You resist the urge to rub your face in exasperation. 

“Well we have something for you!” Says Atsumu, hoping to bring the conversation back to you. 

“You do?” You try to not let the concern of whether or not it’s going to kill you bleed into your voice. 

“Yup!” 

Then they pull out a cake. Your hands fly to your mouth in shock. 

“Who- who made this?!” You giggle “it’s… oh my god. I’m speechless.”

“We ordered the cake itself from a bakery but we did the frosting ourselves” says Sakusa. “We didn’t poison it. Hopefully.” 

He gives the team a side long glance as if he’s not too sure of the words himself. 

“Happy birthday [Name]!” Barnes says, the rest echo him. 

After chatting for a while, you remind them that they have some interviews later and that you’ll flay them if they aren’t on time. They leave once they see you yawn once of twice. 

You take a picture of the cake before cutting yourself a piece. You post to your PR page as you eat the cake. 

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

when you and Bokuto get a dog, he cracks open windows just enough so that the puppy can stick their nose out and sniff the outside world. And when the dog grows up at sits at the windows expectantly, waiting for you to open them for him.

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

To start off this blog I want to do a continuation of a short sentence I wrote

Ushijima was a stoic man. When you met him for the first time you thought he was a bit cold. He was a bit standoffish and his bluntness was a bit shocking.

But what changed your opinion was when you were at a bar. Some of your friends had invited you out, they had also invited some of their volleyball buddies out with you. That included Ushijima. Honestly you were a bit shocked that he would come but that wasn’t the point. 

You and your friends were having a great time, dancing and talking. But there was this one guy. He wasn’t part of your group but he just wouldn’t take the hint. Despite saying that you weren’t interested. 

Eventually it had come to a head when he had had you cornered in the bar, asking very invasive questions and pressing you for your number. That’s when Ushijima walked over and pulled you into his side. 

“She said no. Back off”

And the guy did. That experience really opened your eyes to the way he communicates with people, the way he cares about people. 

He always had his eyes on every person he goes somewhere with. But what really got you interested in him was the way he interacted with kids. 

Before the two of you started dating there was one event that solidified your decision to ask him out, a lost kid. The two of you had started to hang out a bit more one on one, and this particular time you were at a park together. When the two of you heard a kid crying. 

The poor kid couldn’t have been older than five. And the way this man perked up was adorable. He straightened up almost immediately and he head swiveled to find the crying child. 

When he did finally find the kid, he crouched down a few feet in front of the him and held his hand out to him. He calmed the kid down and placed the kid on his shoulders. 

Together, both you and Ushijima talked to the kid and got his mom’s phone number and walked around the park until you reunited the kid and his parents. 

After the two of you had kids together, his soft spot for kids got even softer. He insisted on taking care of the kids when they woke up in the middle of the night, determined to keep you comfortable. 

When the time came for you to go back to work, he insisted on being the parent that the school would call when the kids were sick. He organized your birthday, and parents day with the same care and practicality that he ran his team on the court. 

If you thought the way he interacted with you was sweet, the way he interacted with your kids was practically tooth rotting. 

He proudly brought his kids to practice and showed them off to his teammates, (he was very careful to keep them out of the public eye however) and happily took them out to lunch whenever he found the time. 

You and Ushijima had no secrets between the two of you, he believed that it was the foundation of a healthy relationship, so while he never hid stuff from you, he also didn’t tell you certain things. Such as (in no particular order):

Whenever his kids had a bad day he would take them out for a treat. Or when he’s proud of something they’ve done recently. (The most recent one was when one of his girls punched a boy in the face for picking on one of her friends because “that how boys show they like a girl”)

Staying up past their bedtime to watch a new movie that came out, because his kids begged him to, and how is he supposed to say no to the puppy eyes? (You found out about that one pretty quick when you walked in on them sleeping on the couch)

Playing volleyball with one of the kids when they were four and accidentally knocking them over with it

Teaching them how to swear. (This one was not him, it was his teammates and he was livid. His teammates were not allowed to see his kids again until they had sent you a written apology and cookies)

He’s the parent to convince whenever they want something or to go to the store. He loves his kids dearly, but he also does not let them do stuff he knows would annoy his S.O. deeply. 

So again, Ushijima is the pushover parent. He loves his family so much. 

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

Welcome

This is blog 2.0. So my phone kinda blew up. My battery started leaking and eventually just killed my phone. And for some reason I did not have any of my passwords saved. So I lost access to my email, and because of that, I lost access to my tumblr account! Anyways.

@toomanygoldfish was my old blog so here’s a refresher on me. Hi! I’m Mani. I write for Haikyuu but will occasionally reblog some other fandoms. My whole blog is SFW and I am 18+. However I am still in really intensive classes so my writing will often take a back burner compared to my school work. I love talking to people so feel free to send anything in my asks.

Masterlist:

my old masterlist

Character Drabbles:

Ushijima w/ his kids

Miya sibling shenanigans

octopus atsumu

Anything Else Written:

When you and Bokuto get a dog

MSBYs managers birthday

wiping off kisses pt.1

dividers by @uzmacchiato

[freshlyboughtgoldfish]

that’s me! Hi!

Masterlist and Navigation

Hi! This is my blog Toomanygoldfish. Just a quick refresher on who I am, and what my blog is. I am Mani. I am older than 18 and I love cats. My blog is sfw, and any comments/asks that aren’t will be deleted. All of my written work is Haikyuu, but I might reblog something else from time to time. The ones with * next to them are my personal favorites, and one with a # next to them are some of my least favorites.

Cat or dog series:

Kyoutani

KurooTetsurou

Kenjiro Shirabu

Suguru Daishō

Sō Inuoka #

Tobio Kageyama*

Akinori Konoha

Asahi Azumane*

Terrushima

Saeko Tanaka

Character Drabbles:

Iwaizumi garden*

Noya scars

Noya ice skating

Iwaizumi lockscreen*

Ushijima marks*

Iwaizumi London fog*

Bokuto cuddles #

Sakusa backpack clutter*

Oikawa sleep talks*

Hinata getting worse

Kenma cafe barista

Oikawa injury

Goshiki dreams

General Drabbles/ Two characters:

Haikyuu as things I’ve done*

Unplanned ceremonies # Haikyuu thoughts

Sentences HCs

Atsumu

Ushijima

Yachi

kageyama

noya

kita

Oikawa

sakusa

tsukishima

saeko

Ushijima

Requests are open. I am also making a tags list, so send me an ask or comment here. I only put my writing here, so any polls, random tidbits, or anything else is still buried in my blog. I will update this list as I write more.

The dividers are made by @ohmarigold