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slowwalkersyap · 21 days ago

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call it a freak occurrence, an alignment of planets, or even mercury in retrograde, but osamu has no freaking idea how he ended up here.

or more specifically, here in 2012.

less than a minute ago, he was in his bed, ready to go to sleep next to you and all that, and now, well now, he’s definitely not where he’s supposed to be.

by the looks of it, or from what he can remember, he stands in front of the old inarizaki high school building, just a few steps away from the entrance gate.

how long has it been since he's last been here? maybe 5 or 6 years? he's lost count, or more accurately, he can't really remember.

osamu's confused. he's definitely dreaming, that's for sure. he can't remember getting out of bed or making plans of coming here, and even if he did, he would never come back here without you.

he shakes his head, "this is a weird dream."

osamu opts to look around the place, nothing much to do since it looks as deserted as it feels, but he takes one step too far to the right, and something crashes into him.

“sorry! i didn’t see where i was — samu?”

and it’s you — but then again it's not you. because the 'you' he knows is older, just as old as he is, a bit taller than the one standing in front of him, and definitely wouldn’t be here right now — it’s younger you.

“how’d you get here so fast?" you ask him, eyebrows knitting together as you take a step closer, "and what happened to your clothes?”

osamu swallows, unsure of what to say, of what to do, so he takes a step back, distancing himself away from your questioning tone.

you narrow your eyes, “what happened to you?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not—"

“quit running from me!” an all too familiar voice interrupts him, yours and his attention coming to the source of the sound, and his eyes widen as much as yours does.

it's him — osamu miya, 17, ashy grey hair, in his inarizaki uniform, chasing his breath as his running comes to an abrupt stop in front of you — its younger him.

osamu's taller than his younger self, a whole lot taller that it makes a striking difference, his once grey hair now a stark black as he's let it grow out over time, and instead of an old uniform, he wears an onigiri miya shirt with a pair of black trousers.

he looks like himself but then again he doesn't.

“what the hell." you say aloud, being the first to speak after a very long minute.

younger osamu takes a step closer to you, eyeing the stranger in front of him with a glance that's almost threatening to be a glare, "who's the scrub?"

"he's..." you don't know what to say, "i don't know."

osamu, the original one as he likes to name himself, feels very much like the villain here, and to that, he scoffs.

how is he the villain here?

yeah, he gets how a grown man approaching a bunch of kids in a school campus is sketchy, but hey! he didn't ask to be here. he doesn't even know why he's here. heck, how can he even be sketchy one of the kids in question is literally a younger version of himself?

osamu takes a deep breath, already peeved and ready for this dream to be over, but no matter how much he tries to pinch or will himself awake, it seems like he's stuck here for the time being.

so he looks at you, you and your confused look matched with his younger self's unrelenting glare, and he takes the time to explain what he thinks might be going on here.

( the only sane conclusion, omitting the fact that he's probably just dreaming all of this, time travel! )

“i don’t trust him.” his younger version tells you, although by the way he keeps his annoying gaze on him, osamu has a feeling that he wanted him to hear it as well.

you pull on younger osamu's arm, “i kinda do.”

and he turns to you, “he’s a stranger!”

“technically, i'm you.” osamu interrupts, shrugging, and this earns him another glare from the younger version of him.

he rolls his eyes, “alright, where's tsumu? i'm gonna kill him for pulling such a stupid prank.”

“tsumu should be in the gym with kita right now.” osamu looks back to the campus, then he turns his head to look at you, and then back to his younger self.

he finishes, "he stayed behind on purpose."

“yeah...” there's a slight dash of pink on his younger version's ears, “how'd ya know that?”

and osamu grins, thought it’s too small to actually tell, “i remember today.”

that's why this place feels so familiar.

it isn't just the place or the weather. it’s this specific day.

he remembers asking atsumu to stay behind so he can walk with you alone, he remembers making jokes and chasing each other around the empty streets, and he remembers how it felt to kiss you before running home.

he remembers today.

osamu looks at you, “i kissed ya for the first time here.”

he says it so casually, like he's kissed you a hundred times over to even be ashamed or embarrassed about it.

you snap your head to the boy next to you, “you were gonna kiss me!”

and he yells, defensive, “what — no!”

osamu turns to you, now an amused smile on his face, “and you punched me in the gut.”

“you punched me after i kissed you?!”

“must be because you were so bad at it!”

it goes on like this for another second or two, just two flushed and flustered kids bickering and yelling, and osamu almost feels too old to be involved in it.

you look at him again, “so — uhm — if there’s a samu in the future, is there a me?”

and for the first time today, osamu smiles, one that you easily recognize, “there is.”

“do we stay friends?” this time it's the younger version of him who asks this, standing next to you tightly as if he's almost embarrassed to ask the question.

osamu takes a second to pause, “no.”

the minute feels longer again.

osamu's stirring awake, he knows this because he feels it, something like a yawn coming up in the back of his throat or a hug coming around his chest to pull him away from his sleep.

he's waking up soon, but this — the school, the memory, you and the younger version of him — it still feels way too real and vivid.

“i have to go.” he tells you specifically.

and all you do is nod, unsure of what to say.

“don’t screw things up.” he looks directly at his younger self this time, “if i wake up, and i'm not married anymore, i'm gonna come back just to kill ya.”

he takes one last look at you standing next to younger him, both a bit flushed after you both seemed to have spotted the gold band he wears on his ring finger.

and he blinks, and he's gone — just as fast as he got there, he's back to where he started.

cold comforters, sunlight peeking through his hooded eyes, and the gentle stroking of fingers tangled in his messy morning hair.

he opens his eyes to the bright sun, a cluttered apartment bedroom with socks and shirts on the floor, college books stacked on a study table, and an apron dangling on one of the door hooks.

2018.

he turns to his side, finally seeing you after a cruel amount of time, and the first thing he does is pull you into a quick kiss.

“hello.” you smile, pulling away from him, “you were talking in your sleep.”

osamu stirs, disturbing the heavy comforter as he does, and he yawns before blinking away the last of his drowsiness.

“i say anything interesting?” he looks at you, turning on the cold pillows.

you nod, laughing lightly, “i punched you in the gut apparently.”

he quirks a brow, “oh, is that why my stomach hurts?”

and you smile, “ah well you know me, i've got a strong punch.”

for a second, his hand greets yours, him gently lifting up your fingers to see the matching ring he has with you, and he smiles timidly once he sees it there.

“something wrong?” you ask, and osamu pulls your hand closer to his face to kiss on the back of your fingers.

and all he tells you is, with a gentle smile on his face, “i'm just checking.”

#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : inarizaki #recs : osamu #recs : time travel!au #trope : established relationship

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slowwalkersyap · 21 days ago

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We love a clumsy loser yk

sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.

he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.

(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).

(not that he’d ever admit that).

despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:

he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).

so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.

or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.

that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.

sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.

the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.

he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.

he memorized it.

and still, he messed it up.

the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.

“sorry … for this.”

his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.

on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.

you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.

you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”

you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.

it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.

“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”

you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.

“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”

sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.

his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.

“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.

he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.

the truth is — it is a bad date.

he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.

it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.

you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.

he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.

but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.

he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.

don’t say stupid things.

“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.

you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.

“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.

sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.

you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.

“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.

he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)

you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)

you give him a look.

listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.

he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.

he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)

you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.

you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.

“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”

and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”

you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”

he frowns at that.

“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”

his frown falls almost immediately into something else.

one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?

were you trying to kill him?

“heads or tails, omi.”

he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”

you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.

you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”

sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.

he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”

you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.

“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”

sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.

his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”

you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.

you fall back against his shoulder, “ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”

there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.

his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.

sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”

and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.

“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”

he walks faster.

“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”

“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”

he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.

you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?

maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.

and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?

#never thought i would call sakusa a loser #but here we are #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : sakusa #recs : miscellanous #recs : first date

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slowwalkersyap · 21 days ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋆˙⟡

miya atsumu x f!reader

atsumu apologizes to his brother for a years-old argument — only to get ambushed about his feelings for you.

part eight of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

The night before Atsumu's first game of the season, you found him pacing outside of your open bedroom door.

"Tsumu?" you called out to him from your bed, eyes focused on the book of short stories you'd been annotating for the past twenty minutes. Your roommate's head popped in almost immediately.

"Yep?"

"I've seen flies more restless than you are right now," you joked, closing the book and pushing your hair back with your reading glasses. "Everything okay?"

His fingertips drummed against the doorframe in thought. "Are ya busy? Can I get yer advice on somethin'?"

"Sure," you replied, propping yourself up against your headboard. Meanwhile, Atsumu sat himself down backwards in your desk chair, his bleached hair still damp from a shower, a towel slung over his shoulders.

"So you know how my first game is tomorrow," he began.

"Yes," you drawled bemusedly. "I've only bought the tickets, put it on my Google calendar, and agreed to wear one of your old jerseys."

"Right," Atsumu breathed, glancing over to where the jersey in-question now hung on the door knob to the bathroom. You'd even steamed it for good measure. "Well, normally I'd be super pumped the night before. I'd blast music, hype myself up in the mirror — "

"Ogle yourself in the mirror," you corrected.

" — but I don't wanna do any of that right now." His tone was clipped. Confused, even. "All I feel is this growin' pit in my stomach. Like I'm about to yak at any second."

"Okay," you said with a nod, tracing your fingertips along the spine of your book in search of the right words to say. "Anything in particular you're worried about?"

Atsumu folded his arms across the back of your chair, brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, for one, it's my first game since my coach kicked me off the team for a month. So there's a lot at stake."

"That makes sense," you reassured him. You knew Atsumu had been putting in extra hours since his forced hiatus from volleyball, but he'd never really admitted to you how he felt about it. "Are you nervous that you might not play as well as you used to?"

"Kinda," he said, scrubbing his hair out in frustration. "I just, I feel really shitty about the way I used to treat my teammates when they were havin' an off-day. I mean, I was a complete ass. I just assumed they weren't workin' as hard as I was, or didn't care as much as I did, until..."

"...until it happened to you?"

"Right." Atsumu's throat bobbed. "There was this one time, back in high school, when I called Samu a piece of trash for not hittin' my serves the way I wanted him to. Told him if he couldn't score, he had no business bein' on the court."

"Well, I'm sure he took that very well," you drawled. Atsumu chuckled.

"It was by far the worst fight we'd ever gotten into," he admitted. He could still remember the way Osamu's foot had collided with his spine, the vitriol they'd spat at each other in the middle of the stuffy Inarizaki gymnasium.

"Does wittle Atsumu never make any mistakes?!" Osamu had hissed, fists clenching his t-shirt as he pummeled him to the ground in pure, unadulterated contempt.

"What's wrong with callin' a piece of trash a piece of trash?!" he'd sputtered back, fingernails digging into Osamu's wrists hard enough to draw blood.

Back then, Atsumu had never hesitated to berate his brother for playing like shit. Now, Atsumu didn't have much room to talk, and Osamu hadn't said a damn thing about it.

"I know we haven't played together since high school," he murmured, fiddling with the loose threads on his towel. "I just...I feel bad for givin' him so much grief, ya know?"

Your eyes softened at his confession. "Well, have you ever considered apologizing to him?"

"What? No," Atsumu scoffed, as if you'd just suggested he dive off a steep cliff. "We don't do that sorta thing."

You snorted. "Okay. What do you do after an argument, then?"

"I dunno. Avoid each other until it blows over. Play Winning Eleven once it does."

You rolled your eyes. "Well, maybe you should try talking to him about it for once."

"Because it'll clear my conscious?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," you snapped. "Seriously, have you always been this conflict-averse?"

Atsumu hummed in deep introspection. "Well, I'm sure if ya asked all the girls I've dated before — "

"Okay," you interrupted him before he could say anything else. It didn't stop the flicker of jealousy from unfurling in your chest. "Why don't you just stop by Onigiri Miya before it closes and talk to him then?"

"What, tonight?"

"Would you rather spend the entire night wanting to hurl?"

"Fair point," Atsumu said, standing from your desk chair. He glanced down at you — in your reading glasses and matching pajama set — and felt his lips tug into a slight smirk. "Have I ever told ya that ya look like a hot librarian when ya wear those?"

"Many times, Tsumu," you deadpanned. "Now go."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And get me a salmon onigiri while you're at it!"

He winked at you before closing your bedroom door, his teasing smile lingering in your mind long after he'd left.

"Thank ya, come again!"

Osamu waved goodbye to his last customer of the night, the door jingling behind them as they left. He shucked his gloves into the trash can and sighed, turning towards his employee with a weary smile.

"Why don't ya head out early? I got it from 'ere."

"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly, eyeing the front door like it might open again at any second.

"Positive. Ya got that test in the morning, right? Be sure to get plenty of rest — and take that bento box I made for ya in the fridge."

He wished her goodnight, making sure she got to her car safely before closing the back door to Onigiri Miya and bolting it shut. He hadn't even made it back to the dining room before the front door jingled again.

"Sorry, we're closed!" Osamu hollered from the kitchen, already grabbing the roller mop.

"But yer sign's still on!" a familiar voice called back. "False advertisin', much?"

Osamu poked his head out just in time to catch Atsumu crouching behind the display case like a street rat in search of its next meal.

"The hell ya doin' here?"

"Y/N wanted salmon onigiri," Atsumu said flatly.

Osamu tightened his grip on the mop, resisting the urge to smack his twin brother for the dozens of health codes he was violating right now.

"I'll make ya both a to-go box. Just — get yer grimy hands off the display case."

Ten minutes and two salmon onigiri later, Atsumu wiped his mouth with a paper napkin while Osamu balanced the cash register across the counter. Behind a mouthful of rice, Atsumu asked, "Do ya remember that big fight we got into back in high school?"

"Ya mean the one that got both of us suspended for two days?" Osamu scoffed. "What about it?"

"Well, I've been thinkin' about it lately, and I just wanted to say...ya had every right to kick my ass."

Osamu paused in the middle of counting bills. A second passed. Two.

"I'm sorry," Osamu managed, stifling his laugh. "Are ya tryin' to apologize to me right now?"

"Don't get used to it, jackass," Atsumu glowered. "I've been torn up about it ever since my coach put me on mental health leave. I thought, 'Well, shit. Now I really don't have the right to tell other people that they suck at volleyball.'"

Osamu blinked. "What a heartfelt apology. Thanks."

"No, that's not — " Atsumu cursed under his breath. He really was conflict-averse, wasn't he? He took a deep breath and tried again.

"What I meant to say was, I was way too hard on ya back then, and I'm sorry." After a moment, he added, "It only took me gettin' dumped and put on volleyball leave for me to realize I was kinda bein' an ass."

His brother's lips pulled into a slight smirk as he said, "Kinda?"

"Okay, a complete ass. There, ya happy now?"

A chuckle rumbled out of Osamu as he considered his brother's half-baked apology.

"For what it's worth, I shouldn't have kicked ya so hard. Ma thought I went and paralyzed ya."

"Please. Ya weren't that strong," Atsumu scoffed.

Osamu merely hummed, continuing to count. The sound of him parsing through the worn paper bills reminded Atsumu of you, flipping through a library book at the end of a long day. A small smile flickered across his face at the thought.

"Did Y/N put ya up to this? This whole attempt to clear yer conscience?"

"Why? Ya don’t think I would've come here myself?"

"Honestly? No."

He might as well have kicked Atsumu in the back all over again.

"Ya have been kinder ever since ya started livin' with her, though," Osamu admitted. "She makes ya better."

Atsumu shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, well, she tends to have that effect on people."

Osamu noticed his subtle change in demeanor and asked, "Somethin’ goin’ on between the two of ya?"

"What? No," Atsumu said, although the way his ears turned bright red revealed otherwise. "What makes ya think that?"

"I dunno. Maybe the fact that ya drove twenty-five minutes the night before a big game just to buy her food?"

"I came here to apologize!"

"Only because she sent ya here!” Osamu argued. "Seriously, Tsumu. Ya never liked goin' out of yer way for others. Not for me, and certainly not for yer previous girlfriends. But here comes Y/N, and suddenly, yer watchin' The Bachelor on Monday nights. Drivin' halfway across town to replace her book. Sayin' sorry for things I thought you'd never admit to!"

"So what if she makes me want to be a better person? That doesn't mean she'll like me back!" Atsumu snapped. God, he hated how pathetic — how vulnerable — those words had sounded. Osamu blinked back in surprise.

"Besides," Atsumu grumbled, tearing the corners of his used napkin. "She's too smart for me."

Osamu's shoulders sank.

"Come on. Ya may be jack shit at apologies — " Atsumu cut his brother off with a glare. "But she seems to really care about ya. Didn't she plan a whole bar crawl for ya a while back?"

"Yeah, but she practically threw me at another girl," Atsumu lamented. “I think she wants one of those Timothée-Chalamet-type men. The kind that watches foreign films and is good at crossword puzzles. I'm shit at crossword puzzles."

"Well, maybe she just doesn't know that yer into her like that. It wouldn't hurt to just ask her out and see what happens.”

Atsumu pressed his forehead against the countertop, wishing he could just melt into the floorboards and call it a day. After a while, though, he asked, "Do ya really think she'd say yes?"

Osamu smirked. He'd never seen Atsumu so worked up about someone other than himself before. It was strange. Refreshing, honestly.

"Couldn’t tell ya. Twin telepathy only goes so far.”

"I wanna yak just thinkin' about it," Atsumu groaned, raking a hand through his hair. Is this what healthy communication felt like? Endless nausea? "Ya comin' with her to the game tomorrow night?"

"Yep. Suna's comin', too."

"I swear to God, if either of y'all embarrass me in front of her — "

"I told him to leave the giant cardboard cutout of yer face at home."

Atsumu's face twisted in disgust. "Y'all still have that thing?"

"We may or may not have put it in our front window to scare off loiterers," Osamu said. Atsumu's jaw went slack. "What? It's technically my face, too."

"I hate that yer roommates," Atsumu drawled, tossing his trash away and retrieving the extra takeout bag for you. He lifted it in farewell before heading towards the front door. "Thanks for the food...and for hearin' me out."

"Don't mention it," Osamu replied in earnest. "And this goes without sayin', but yer secret's safe with me."

Atsumu merely nodded before pushing the door open, climbing into his car, and driving off in the direction of campus. Only when he was out of sight did Osamu release a long, exasperated sigh.

He didn't know if Atsumu would ever muster up the courage to ask you out. Hell, he didn't even know what you'd say. All he knew was that his brother had willingly apologized to him for the first time in twenty-two years — and you were the reason behind it.

Chuckling to himself, Osamu pushed the cash drawer shut, crossed the dining room, and locked the front door. He turned off the neon OPEN sign and got right to cleaning.

For his own sake, he hoped you'd stick around.

And for Atsumu's sake, he hoped you'd one day say yes.

a/n: eeek next chapter is college gameday, y'all! osamu, suna, y/n and the volleyball gang all in one place!

i have the rest of the story outlined as well, so many thanks for all of your patience as this slow burn keeps on burnin'. i do hope it'll be worth the wait! ‪‪♡

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : inarizaki #recs : atsumu #recs : pining!au #trope : roommates to lovers

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slowwalkersyap · 22 days ago

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Come back home - Kunimi Akira

You come back to Japan with nothing but a backpack worth of stuff.

Even your toothbrush is the cheap kind you bought somewhere, the toothpaste travel-sized.

It’s been years, and the city is still as overwhelming as it was when you left.

Somewhere in this country, your mother waits for your phone call, believing you hundreds of miles farther away than you are.

Somewhere in this country, a different person picks up their phone.

“Want to get coffee?” You ask, breathless from your own feelings.

“Are you paying?” Akira asks back.

You remember your childhood well, your knees pressed against his under the Kotatsu, his sister's hands in your hair.

She liked to dress you up, like a doll, and parade you around the living room, asking her brother again and again what he thought of you.

“The lipstick leaves stains,” he complains every time, picking up the glasses filled with apple juice to take them to the kitchen. “On my hands, too.”

“One day you’ll be glad they do!” His sister snickered once and you blushed under her gaze, knowing her eyes were telling secrets you’re still too young to know.

“Your hair is different,” you greet Akira, his sight surprising enough to steal your breath.

He falters visibly, his shoulders hunching forward as he registers your words.

“Bad?” He asks, his mouth not quite forming a pout.

“No, not bad-” You’re looking for words, and the wrong ones slip out. “It makes you look attractive.”

“Oh,” his lips form the word almost without a sound, his mouth perfectly round.

“Right,” you hiccup, turning on your foot. “Shall we get coffee?”

There’s a picture frame in your mother’s place, neatly tucked between a few others on the living room wall. It shows you in a white dress, a flower crown sitting a little lopsided on your head, your wide smile with the tooth gap hidden behind a handful of wildflowers that you’re holding, your other hand tucked into Akira’s, his eyes wide as he looks at you.

You’ve looked at this picture often, wondered if he’d been struck by emotion once, or if he just spotted a ladybug on your ear.

It’s the only testament to a game you played almost daily in those early years, dozen of weddings officiated in his backyard, his sister dressed up as a priest.

He’d never once complained.

Akira doesn’t ask why you're back. He doesn’t even ask why you left.

His knee presses against yours under the too-small table, and his eyes crinkle slightly when he tells you a funny story from his College days.

He works at a bank now, a fact that leaves you slightly untethered.

“It’s not my dream job,” he marks as if noticing your unease. “But I don’t live for my work, I work so I can still enjoy my life. I still play some volleyball on the side, just because I enjoy it, not to win some prize for it.”

Akira’s quiet for a moment. “Last week, we played Beach Volleyball with Kageyama. Do you remember him?”

“Sure,” you say, because he’s still a bit of a sore spot, one of the biggest fights you and Akira ever had. “How was it?”

“He didn’t try to beat us into a pulp,” Akira jokes lightly. “He brought some friends from his team, and we made sure the teams were well mixed. It was fun.”

Quiet settles over your table. His knee presses into yours.

“Where are you living?”

“Not sure yet,” you admit. “I need to find a Hotel for tonight. Mom wrote me her new address, but I have to look it up first.”

“I have a spare room. My sister uses it when she needs to get away from the kids. Don’t tell her I told you, though.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You?” His eyes remind you of chocolate when he looks at you now. “Never.”

“Kindaichi,” Akira introduces a boy to you. “He sits next to me in Class.”

“Hi,” you smile at the boy with the weird hairdo. “Nice to meet you.”

“H-Hi,” Kindaichi stutters before turning to Akira like a helpless little puppy. “She’s pretty,” he whispers much too loudly.

“Who?” Akira asks.

Kindaichi points at you as if you’re both blind and deaf.

“Thank you,” you offer as politely as you can when Akira turns to look at you as if checking Kindaichi’s statement. He doesn’t add anything to that, and you’re not sure if it hurts or if you’re just too used to it by now.

“Are we doing our homework together after school?” You ask, folding your hands behind your back. “Or are we playing something first?”

“I want to go to Kindaichi’s first. He’s got a PlayStation.”

You turn to Kindaichi, who blushes furiously. “Y-you c-can c-come too.”

If Kindaichi ever feels like a third wheel, he doesn’t mention it. But you don’t suppose he does.

It’s mostly just you and him, talking, Akira sitting by the side, listening.

He’s not much of a talker, never has been. You wonder if he prefers this, others leading the conversation without him having to work for it.

Only once does he lose his cool.

You never figure out what triggered it, but Kindaichi ends up with a black eye, and Akira’s hand is bruised for a week.

The boys don’t talk about it, though you suspect it has something to do with you.

How else could you explain Kindaichi keeping more distance from then on, no longer blushing when you talk to him?

Akira still uses the same shower gel.

You press a dollop of it onto the palm of your hand, sniff it like one would with good wine or pretty flowers.

It’s been years since you’ve sat close enough to notice his scent, no longer the three of you trying to fit onto two seats at the back of the bus or napping on your bed after a study session.

You barely remember what you used back then. Something flowery, maybe? Or did you use the strawberry-scented perfume Akira’s sister gifted you, claiming she was too grown up for such a sweet scent? You wonder if he notices a difference, if he can tell that you’re no longer the girl he knew. You wonder if you’ve changed at all.

There’s no second toothbrush sitting by the sink, no sign of a possible girlfriend, but the box of pads by the toilet, though you heavily suspect they’re his sisters.

Half of you knows why it still matters to you, but the other half decides to ignore it.

“Is it really okay for me to stay here?” You ask when he leads you into the spare bedroom, makes you help him put on fresh bedding.

“Your mother raised me well,” he jokes. “Don’t think I don’t know what she’d say if she knew I’d let you stay in a Hotel instead.”

“She’d be furious that I didn’t call her first.”

“You think so?” He seems surprised. “I think she would understand.”

Your mouth opens in wordless surprise. Akira turns away before you can gather yourself, and the moment is lost again.

“I have an early morning tomorrow,” he claims moments later. “Will you be okay on your own? I’m sorry I can’t offer more entertainment.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, watching his retreating back.

He’s grown into himself, you realize once more. The boy you used to love is now a man.

“I don’t want you to spend time with Kageyama,” Akira tells you pointedly one day, the hot summer sun burning holes into your back.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he’s quiet even when he’s angry, too lazy to fully sound out his vowels. “He’s an asshole.”

“He’s not,” you defend him. “He just thinks a bit differently.”

“What,” Akira scoffs, “Are you in love with him now?”

“What? No! I’m just saying-”

“You can decide.” Akira folds his arms in front of his chest. “Decide who you want to be friends with. Me and Kindaichi. Or Kageyama.”

Your mouth opens in wordless surprise, a flame of hurt bursting into a wildfire in your chest.

“I can’t believe you’re this awful,” you tell him, straightening. “What has he ever done to you? Volleyball isn’t that important.”

“So you’re choosing him?” Akira’s eyes glint with an unknown fire.

“I’m not choosing anyone,” you tell him hotly. “But if I had to, I’d choose the person who doesn’t make me choose.”

“You’re a fake friend,” he hisses.

“And you’re an asshole, Kunimi.”

He stumbles back as if hit, and you wonder what hurt him more, the insult or the use of his last names after years of knowing him.

You don’t stay long enough to figure out.

You can’t sleep.

Jetlag has never been a thing you believe in, and it’s coming back to bite you.

Or maybe it’s the place you’re staying in, Akira so close and yet so far away from you.

You slip out of your room, past his closed door, and out onto the tiny balcony, your face reaching for the moon.

How can it be that you’ve grown this old and stayed the same age still?

How can a heart hold onto a person after all this time, all this distance?

You only notice him when it’s too late.

His face is pale in the moonlight as he takes a seat next to you on the cool floor. He’s not looking at you.

“Did I wake you?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he claims, knocking his shoulder into yours. “Tell me, how was life for you?”

You let your head rest on your knees.

“Different and yet still the same. Did you know you can never get rid of yourself, no matter how often you move?”

“Hmm, sounds sketchy, but keep going.”

You laugh, the sound familiar but unused, a child’s laughter in a grown woman’s mouth.

“I missed you,” you admit. “I kept turning to look for you in conversations. Because you always used to sit by my side, even when I didn’t want you to.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Even after all this time.”

Silence settles between you like a blanket.

You’re back under the Kotatsu at his home, but there’s just you and him this time.

“Did you ever love me like that?” You ask, hoping he will understand without you having to explain. It’s a memory so ingrained in you, you don’t know how to conjure it in someone else.

“I married you, didn’t I?” Akira asks back, his hand gentle as he reaches for yours.

His touch is warm, his shoulder steady as he stays by your side.

“I’m sorry,” Akira declares in your doorframe, his shoulders hunched forward. “What I said about you and Kageyama.”

You stay at your desk, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Why did you say it?”

“I don’t like him,” Akira drags his socked feet over your carpet. “I don’t like it when you like him more than me.”

You blink. “Are you jeal-”

Akira shrugs. “You’re my best friend,” he points out. “I don’t have that many that I can just go around and start sharing them.”

“Right,” you bite your tongue. “Right.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Not that easily,” you admit. “But you’re on the right track.”

“Good,” Akira finally allows himself to step into your room and drops onto your bed. “I heard Kageyama’s not coming to Aoba Johsai with us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, me, Kindaichi, and you, right?”

Akira lifts his head when you stay quiet for too long. “You’re coming to Aoba Johsai, right? We talked about this.”

“I,” you rub your nose awkwardly, “I got a scholarship.”

Akira straightens. “To Aoba Johsai?”

“Shiratorizawa. I’m taking it,” you rush to add before he can talk you out of it. “I even get to spend a year in a different country, it’s all paid for.”

“But-” Akira starts, clearing his throat. “I thought we’re best friends.”

“We are. But we don’t have to be in the same school for that, right? Like, we haven’t been in the same class for years, and it’s fine.”

“Right,” he says, though he sounds unsure. “Nothing will change.”

You wake with a start, the unfamiliar surroundings confusing you.

It takes you a while to figure out where you are and why.

The apartment is quiet. You are alone.

There’s a note on the kitchen table. Akira has left for work, promising to return.

You make yourself breakfast. Call your mother. Write something like a plan on a piece of paper you find in the trash can.

And then you open the door to Akira’s bedroom, feeling only half-guilty about snooping around.

His bed is made, the room clean. Nothing is out of order.

Akira has always been too lazy to make a mess, so this doesn’t come as a surprise.

You’re not sure what you’re looking for, so you just open his windows to let fresh air in, stopping by the picture frames hanging above his bed.

There’s one with Kindaichi and what must be the Aoba Johsai Team. You recognize Oikawa easily, though most of the other boys are unfamiliar.

There’s another one, with Kageyama and Kindaichi, arms thrown over each other's shoulders, all three of them glaring into the camera. Neither of them has ever learned how to smile properly.

And there’s one more, sitting right above his head.

You recognize it easily, the picture burned into your mind.

You can still feel the weight of the flower crown in your hair, the scent of the flowers in your nose, Akira’s sticky fingers in yours as you hold his hand.

Your hands don’t shake as you take the frame off the wall and slide the picture out.

There’s a note on the back of it, the place and date written neatly in one corner.

You add to it, leave it on the kitchen table before you go and pack your things.

“I’d say yes if only you’d ask me.”

Akira is the only one accompanying you to the airport.

You bid your goodbyes already, asked your mother not to stay up this late. She’s not getting any younger, and you know she gets headaches if she misses too much sleep.

Besides, you wanted to savour those last moments with Akira, hug him one last time in the crowds.

His eyes are dark as he follows you around, one hand on your suitcase in case you forget it.

“You can come visit me anytime,” you promise. “It will be fun.”

“Sure,” he nods. “And you’ll be home for the holidays.”

“I think,” you admit. “It depends on how much work we have to get through. First Semester is tough, I’ve heard.”

“But you’ll write.”

“I’ll write,” you promise. “And you’ll write back.”

“Course,” his voice breaks awkwardly, and he clears his throat. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you more.”

“I doubt that,” he confesses, barely loud enough for you to hear. “You’ll have a new best friend in no time.”

“No one can take your place, Akira.”

He’s quiet after that, all his words spent on what he’s already said. He hugs you once more and leaves without once looking back.

You’re glad he doesn’t. You don’t want him to see you cry.

Your phone rings on the train, the sound pulling you out of your reverie.

Angry stares remind you that you’re back in Japan again, and you rush to silence it, your heart skipping a beat when you check the Caller.

“I’m on the train,” you whisper as you pick up, sending apologetic glances around.

“Come back home,” Akira says. “Please.”

You freeze, stunned.

“You promised to say yes,” he adds when you don’t answer. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out of your promise already.”

“That’s not the question I meant,” you hiss. “And you know that.”

“You know me. Have I ever done the unnecessary? I didn’t think I needed to ask.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I am,” Akira admits. “Especially when it’s about you. I realised that too late. So I’m asking you, and I mean it this time, so listen well… Will you come home to me?”

The train slows just as a single tear runs down your cheek. You get up from your seat, phone pressed against your ear, and stumble toward the exit.

The name of the stations blurs in front of your eyes, and you have to blink to catch it.

“Yes,” you answer, like you promised. “Will you come get me?”

“Always.”

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#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : seijoh #recs : kunimi #trope : best friends to lovers

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slowwalkersyap · 23 days ago

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Are you kidding it was so sweet and perfect I loved it 🫶🫶🫶

May Recs

Haikyuu !!

Tip jar, bokuto.k @haikyu-mp4

Love notes, suna.r @causenessus

Tutor, akaashi.k @neoheros

Scary, miya.a @neoheros

Lovesick fool, oikawa.t @alpali

Wrong place right hands, akaashi.k @yukkiji

Curse, kuroo.t @neoheros

Bad mood, miya.a @neoheros

Husband!kageyama.t @seumyo

Everything is romantic, kuroo.t @twilightsumu

Streamer girlfriend, hinata.s @mainblogonly

Confessions, kageyama.t @noorpersona

Confession, akaashi.k @kirakeiji

Horrible night, kageyama.t @neoheros

BTS

Something about you, j.jungkook @ahundredtimesover

Idol!exboyfriend yoongi @muniimyg

reckless, j.jungkook @sparklingchim

44 notes · View notes

slowwalkersyap · 23 days ago

Text

May Recs

Haikyuu !!

Tip jar, bokuto.k @haikyu-mp4

Love notes, suna.r @causenessus

Tutor, akaashi.k @neoheros

Scary, miya.a @neoheros

Lovesick fool, oikawa.t @alpali

Wrong place right hands, akaashi.k @yukkiji

Curse, kuroo.t @neoheros

Bad mood, miya.a @neoheros

Husband!kageyama.t @seumyo

Everything is romantic, kuroo.t @twilightsumu

Streamer girlfriend, hinata.s @mainblogonly

Confessions, kageyama.t @noorpersona

Confession, akaashi.k @kirakeiji

Horrible night, kageyama.t @neoheros

BTS

Something about you, j.jungkook @ahundredtimesover

Idol!exboyfriend yoongi @muniimyg

reckless, j.jungkook @sparklingchim

#Tried to be more active this month even if i have exams lolol #monthly recs #recs : bts 🕺#recs : haikyuu !!#recs : smau #recs : suna #recs : atsumu #recs : akaashi #recs : bokuto #recs : jjk 💜#recs : myg 💜#recs : kageyama #recs : kuroo #recs : hinata #recs : oikawa

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slowwalkersyap · 23 days ago

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Tip jar – Bokuto x reader wc 2102 – f!reader requested by @helpwhat for A blast from the past, now hiring! edition<3

The cloudy weather left the cafe in an evening dusk, painting the tables in shadows from the windows and anyone who passed by outside them. You sighed heavily, leaning on the counter beside the register with your upper body and watching mindlessly as the two young adults in the corner studied silently, sharing a pair of AirPods. It wasn’t exactly a crowded cafe in the evenings.

However, you couldn’t help but glance at the clock every three minutes, frustration sinking through your skin at the thought that your favourite customer might not come.

And like the sunshine on a cloudy day, Bokuto entered. In a way, you felt his presence alone cast the cafe in a golden glow, while Bokuto could swear that was your smile’s doing.

He sauntered right over to you, where you now leaned on both arms, where you had been practically napping before. “My favourite barista!”

“My favourite customer,” you answered, and it was so sickly sweet with affection that the words felt thick on your lips. “Almost thought you wouldn’t be here today.”

“That’s why you looked so bored, eh? Too little vitamin B,” he joked, pointing both thumbs at his head and making a point of flexing his arms. It could have made him look like a jackass, had it not been paired with the goofiest, brightest grin.

You should have denied it, should have at least shrugged or made a sound of doubt, but all you could do was chuckle warmly as if he had you all laid out. “Slow days are the worst. You’re a welcome breath of life.”

Bokuto slipped a coin into the tip jar and fake coughed as if to cover up the sound, a habit he picked up despite the guaranteed glare it would bring from you. Sometimes he would make a joke of it like that, or yell what’s that! and pointing over your shoulder before you hear the telltale clink of the coin hitting the glass. Other times, he would keep eye contact, watching you observantly to see if you’d stop him. You knew there was no use, but the feeling of him challenging you to try made you even more flustered.

You shook your head and turned to the blender, whipping up a no-sugar smoothie for the athlete and taking deep breaths when he couldn’t see.

On his way out, after those students had taken their leave and you had mostly finished cleaning up, Bokuto left carrying the garbage bags. It was routine that he helped you with those when he could, knowing you didn’t like going into the alley.

Your pulse was still running a marathon by the time you left, and you held a hand to your chest, just below your collarbone, in an attempt to get a handle on it. As if you could grab your heart and squeeze it, tell it to quiet down lest Bokuto hears it call for him to come back.

Pining couldn’t even begin to describe this.

Bokuto was a regular at your cafe, and you felt like perhaps, just maybe, possibly, he was kind of, sort of flirting with you. Every time you were on your way to work lately, you’d mentally declare that today was the day you’d ask him if he was free sometime for a date. And then every time you saw him enter the cafe, your temperature would rise, and the idea would simply evaporate from your mind.

It was an endless cycle, but you couldn’t give up now! So on this particular day, when the sun was already shining from the second you stepped outside your door, you decided it was time. Your hair looked a little extra nice, and you had put on a cherry lip balm that gave your lips a slightly red tint. It felt bold. It felt dangerous. It felt right.

Until Bokuto came in, holding the hand of a little girl who looked so much like him that the smile was wiped straight off your face. That could be marked as the first time in history that Bokuto’s smile had lessened your mood.

Oh my gosh, was he a father this whole time? What if he has a partner?!

Despite your swirling thoughts, you gritted your teeth together and nodded in greeting. “Welcome in, what can I get you two?”

You had to admit, the girl was adorable. She had the chubbiest cheeks and still hadn’t stopped smiling. As she noticed you looking, she tucked her face into Bokuto’s pant leg and squealed. Bokuto easily lifted her up with an unnecessary groan, and the way he sat her on his hip looked so natural that you could swear your heart was slowly breaking.

“Well, I would like my usual,” Bokuto said while giving you a knowing gaze, as if the two of you had a secret code. You smiled kindly and put in his order like second nature. “And you, little owl?”

The girl tilted her head, looking at the overhead display, probably unable to read much of it yet. But she pointed at a strawberry drink you recently introduced for summer. “Bink.”

“You want the pink one?” you confirmed with her, and she nodded eagerly. “With cream?” She nodded eagerly. While you got started on the drinks, you bit harshly into your trembling lip, wondering where you went wrong, thinking this man had returned your affection.

It was a drowning thought, one that choked the air from your lungs like the deep ocean, until a familiar clink brought you back to the surface. Curiously, you turned your head to find Bokuto handing the girl another coin, glancing at you before telling her, “Here you go.”

She giggled, and you moved to the espresso machine so you could watch them while working. A chubby hand pointed at you, and you felt very alert.

“Look, there’s a pretty girl!” she yelled, making Bokuto look around wildly until his eyes found you. It was cheesy, so silly in a way only Bokuto could execute. He gasped, free hand covering his mouth, his eyes not leaving you for a second as the girl threw the coin at the glass. It hit the edge of the glass before falling in, leaving two clinks. Bokuto grinned at you with a hint of red in his cheeks, something sparkling in his eyes. Something that felt like a conversation you hadn’t had.

Bokuto turned back to her, ticking her sides and saying something about being so sneaky. Your heart felt warm watching him play along with her antics, but it was more like a fever warmth knowing he was probably someone else’s.

So as you handed off the drinks, you wiped your hands on your apron and glanced to see that no other customers were lined up yet. “I didn’t know you were a dad, she’s such a nice girl.” As you said that, you lifted the drink into her hands when Bokuto seemed to realise his hands were full. He hummed a thanks before his eyes widened comically.

Then the shock turned into humour, and every laugh came from his stomach to embrace the whole cafe. “Oh no, I’m not. Just a proud uncle.”

The relief that washed through you was just as overwhelming as the previous ocean, but so much nicer. It was probably visible, the way your smile finally seemed to fall into place more naturally. “That’s good,” you sighed, taking a couple of seconds to relish in that feeling before you realised what you practically admitted. “That you’re proud, I mean!”

Somehow, he looked like he was holding back from saying something, but as another customer opened the door and the familiar bell rang to signal their entrance, Bokuto and his niece kindly said their goodbyes.

Bokuto was at a loss. His friends kept saying that he couldn’t just ask you out right away, giving him all these tips instead of letting him jump right into it. While his huge crush on you was old news to the Black Jackals, the topic still came up at least once a week. Atsumu was the one who said he should play the uncle card, but you hadn’t thrown yourself at him like it was predicted.

“I’m telling you it isn’t working, Tsum-Tsum! I feel like I should just ask her out normally.”

Atsumu groaned. “You have no style, Bokkun. The longer you spend in the flirting stage, the longer the relationship lasts.”

Sakusa had to listen to this shit every week. Atsumu would give some stupid advice, Hinata would cheer Bokuto on, it wouldn’t work, and then the cycle would repeat. He was tired of it. “Bokuto,” he said. The sound of his unhappy voice finally pitching in made everyone else shut up. “You’re her customer, she won’t ask you out. Go back there, stop playing games and leaving her coins with hearts drawn on them, and ask her the fuck out the way you want to.” With that said, Sakusa finished tying his laces and picked up his bag, briskly exiting the conversation, but not without adding, “And stop listening to Atsumu, he has no game.”

Bokuto took a deep breath. This was it. He would follow his own instincts and just ask you out. From the first time he stopped by your coffee shop on his way to pick up Akaashi from the train station, he had been so enamoured.

When he stepped inside, the bell ringing over his head was so familiar that it felt encouraging, like this inanimate object had been impatiently waiting for him to ask you out.

He made sure to come at the end of your shift, so there would be fewer customers and he could still help you with the garbage, even if you rejected him. “My favourite,” his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he forgot to finish the greeting. “...y/n.

You blinked in confusion first before looking down at your hands, ears burning at him just calling you his favourite. “My favourite Bokuto!” you followed his lead, making him feel less weird. “The usual?”

He nodded with a small sound of agreement. “How was your day?”

You moved around to prepare his drink, not thinking much of how Bokuto kept tapping his finger impatiently on the counter. “It was okay, or it was kind of great for a while. This group of four older women came in and all ordered different pieces of cake with their coffees, and they spent hours talking about their lives and sharing the cakes. It was so wonderful to witness,” you recapped with awe, sounding so amazed that Bokuto could swear he fell in love.

Forget pining; his heart might never recover if you reject him at this point.

“That sounds amazing,” he agreed eagerly. “What cakes did they get?”

You glanced at him with a warm smile, the roses in your cheeks looking like they melted into your skin from loving kisses. Bokuto was thinking of kissing those cheeks, still tapping the counter impatiently and forgetting any sort of script he might have made up in his head beforehand.

While the ingredients were in the blender, you walked over to the glass display and pointed at the ones the women had earlier, Bokuto leaning down a bit to see which ones your pointed to. Theb, at the same moment, the two of you looked up, eyes meeting and sending you into a flustered silence.

Bokuto, on the other hand, couldn’t hold it in anymore. “We should have cake sometime. Together. Talk about our lives. And anything else.”

Deciding there was no need to hold back now, you jumped with happiness. “Yes, please, can we do that?!” you answered, making the last few customers turn around in their chairs to watch the exchange. You couldn’t care less.

While you finished making his drink with a giddy smile, the two of you discussed the details of this date. He even let you do the cleaning first, so he could bring the garbage with him. As the sun set and cast the cafe in an orange glow, he was on his way out when something kind of Sakusa-shaped itched in his mind. That was terrifying in itself, but he remembered the words ask her the fuck out the way you want to. He turned back to you, making you straighten up immediately in curiosity. If he caught you silently celebrating, he didn’t mention it. “By the way, I really like you. Like really really like you.”

The best way to do things is to be yourself.

masterlist

thank you @cottonlemonade for helping getting me through<3

#i love him #if you couldn't tell #recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : fukurodani #recs : bokuto #recs : mutual pining!au #recs : barista!au #trope : strangers to lovers

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slowwalkersyap · 23 days ago

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love notes. | suna r.

she's always looking for new art. he's sending her pictures of romantic street art he finds in cities on away games. they say if you fall in love with an artist, you'll be in their art forever. she's the inspiration behind the love notes he's leaving on walls and sending her pictures of as if he's just stumbled upon them. he's the one she's thinking about everytime she's behind a camera.

suna x f! reader

COMPLETED haikyuu smau

taglist: CLOSED

playlists: 1 ( made by me </3 ) | 2 ( @eggyrocks's SUPERIOR playlist )

warnings & notes: language, alcohol/drinking, lots of written parts probably, extreme extreme pining, boths sides are in denial about how the other party feels about them, college timeskip, msby is a college volleyball team bc i said so and the team is slightly altered, timestamps don't matter, hurt & comfort having to do with family issues, comfort comes from found family <3, suna is a loverboy, miscommunication, friends to lovers, everyone's probably ooc. you can blame the horrors of my past relationships and zodiac sign. i know very little about photography and graffiti but i'm trying my best

THE EXHIBITS: coffee enthusiasts | ride or die bros for life

table of contents: (💌 for any chapters with written content <3)

part one: i know a guy (💌) part two: backstabbing bitch part three: rinnie poo (💌) part four: the "i'm disappointed" card part five: fire extinguisher man part six: rowdy teenagers (💌) part seven: there's life in these walls (💌) part eight: if you're willing to listen (💌) part nine: for as long as you'll have me (💌) part ten: connected the dots part eleven: would you light a building on fire for her? part twelve: support small businesses day part thirteen: big spoon deity part fourteen: one step forward, two steps back (💌) part fifteen: middle school boys locker room core part sixteen: remember in the morning (💌) part seventeen: sorry omi / the incident (💌) part eighteen: making mac and cheese at two in the morning? (💌) part nineteen: unspoken confessions (💌) part twenty: epilogue (💌)

moodboards: love notes, suna, y/n, suna & y/n

extras: kenma photography refs, suna & y/n sending each other tiktoks hc

thank you for reading love notes <3

#recs : smau #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : inarizaki #recs : suna #recs : photographer!au #trope : friends to lovers #recs : mutual pining!au #recs : college!au

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slowwalkersyap · 24 days ago

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akaashi doesn’t want a tutor. he needs one, but that doesn’t mean he wanted one. he’s not even sure how it was recommended to him in the first place, weren’t his grades good enough?

his pencil bends under the force of his thumb at the thought, holding back the urge to roll his eyes at whoever the teacher thought would be suitable to explain english literature to him.

english literature. to him of all people. his pencil bends a bit harsher this time, teetering on the edge of snapping in half.

gosh - he hated english literature. not because he failed at it, but because he loved reading enough to understand that this class would do nothing but destroy his creativity and make writing feel like a chore.

so between all that, and the fact that he’s been needing to clock more volleyball hours for the upcoming nationals, he guesses he can understand why a tutor was brought up to him.

“sorry, i’m late!” you walk up to his seat, apologizing, and the second he sees you - the pencil in his thumb breaks.

you?

you smile, shy, maybe polite too, “ah shit, terrible first impression huh?”

on the contrary. you’ve been making impressions left and right to akaashi, and none of them he’d ever use the word terrible to describe.

so, maybe he had a little crush. not that he’d ever tell you about it, but what are the chances that the one person he found a bit more lovely than the rest would be the person to tutor him.

“it’s fine,” he tells you, curtious, “i really didn’t wait long.” he smiles, lying.

you nod, appreciative of the fact that he was being so nice about it, you introduce yourself, he tells you his name, and you briefly mentioned how pretty it was before he tells you if you’ve ever heard yours.

you smile at him, “flattery will get you nowhere.”

“it wasn’t my intention,” he tells you, but you don’t miss the tiny glint in his eyes as he does.

you grin, laughing the small banter away, and you sit next to him, eyeing the broken piece of pencil in his hand but you decide to not mention it anyways.

you look to him, “well, we better get started or we won’t get anything done today.”

akaashi has a better look at you now, especially considering how you sat so close to him that he could just reach out and push your hair away, not that he would, but he could, and that made it unexpectedly difficult to concentrate at anything other than you.

akaashi thinks, not for the first time, how pretty your eyes are, and that thought is shortly followed by a smile, everything about you was lovely.

“where do we start?” you ask him, eyeing his notebooks, and you grin, “the sooner we begin the faster we could go home.”

he frowns for a second - hoping that you don’t notice, and he glances at the book he kept by his side, “i’m having a lot of trouble actually.”

it’s not like he was lying, he hated english literature, but it’d be wrong of him to admit that he only said that because he needed help in freaking english.

“well, that’s okay too,” you smile that same politeness, akaashi finds it charming, “i don’t mind staying for how long.”

he doesn’t mind too, not when you stared at him so intently with those eyes of yours, and he thinks about how inconvenient it was for him to get stuck with you as a tutor since he’s sure he won’t ever get to focus on his textbooks as much as he’d like to focus on you.

really, how inconvenient. he thinks, a relentless smile on his face.

#recs : haikyuu !!#recs : written fic #recs : fukurodani #recs : akaashi #recs : pining!au #recs : tutor!au

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slowwalkersyap · 24 days ago

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I love the "is mean to everyone but her" trope

when it comes to his sport, there’s not a single doubt at all that atsumu miya can sometimes be a little bit (read: a whole lot) scary.

the way he sets and serves in the middle of the game, telling his teammates whenever they’re off or screwing up, and not once batting an eye or feeling bad for it after the fact.

miya atsumu’s famous temper, be it you on the other side of his spike or one of his teammates — if you screw up, he’s going to let you know it.

“will you please go and kiss him or something so he can be nicer?” hinata runs to you the second he’s subbed out of the ongoing match, sweat falling from his temple as he does.

you hand him a water bottle — it’s supposed to be for atsumu, but it doesn’t seem like he’s stepping outside of the court anytime soon.

it hasn’t been a while since hinata’s joined atsumu’s team, hasn’t been a while since he’s had the chance to get used to him being a whole different person on the court, and it certainly hasn’t been a while for atsumu to know hinata enough to be nice to him.

“i told you, he’s going to be like this until you learn all of his quirks.” you give him a sympathetic smile, scooching a bit to the side so he can sit next to you.

“those aren’t quirks.” his eyebrows furrow, chest heaving lightly as he chugs in the drink.

hinata is out of breath, “those are terrible little evil rude things that make him mean.”

and he mutters under his breath, “he reminds me of kageyama.” immediately shuddering at the thought.

“oh, you’ll be fine.” you smile lightly, offering the little consolation you can, “he’ll warm up to you.”

and hinata buries his face in his palms, the sweat in his hair beading down all the way to his neck, and it won’t be a while longer ‘til he’s called back in the game.

he looks at you, “tell me what to do to get on his good side — you’re the only one on his good side right now.”

“if i tell you what to do, you’re never gonna figure him out on your own.” you tell him, patting him gently on the back.

his muttering grows louder.

(you don’t really hear much of what hinata’s been mumbling, but kageyama’s name was brought up a lot in his fit of complaints, and the relentless ‘this is like first year all over again’ and ‘why are setters so mean’ a bit louder than the others. )

when hinata’s finally called back in, you try your best not to look so amused at his sudden jump, and you’re unsure of what atsumu’s said to him, but whatever it was, it really got to him.

you wave to him one last time, “you’ll be fine.”

and he groans, “you’re just as mean as he is.”

you give him a thumbs up with a cheering smile, shoulders rising in amusement as he runs back on court right after slapping himself in the face awake.

you go back to focusing your attention on atsumu, someone who hasn’t once taken his focus off of the competition, and you think about how you’re very lucky to never have been on the opposite side of his murderous glare.

whatever atsumu has for his sport - for volleyball - he takes it seriously, and there’s nothing in this world that you’d ever admire more.

the game lasts another round or two, you do your best to watch it all the way through, and as much as you love cheering for atsumu and his team everytime he plays — you’re ecstatic when the match is finally over.

the court clears out, and you leave your things on the bench as you make your way over to atsumu, sweaty and panting after three consecutive matches.

“hi.” you kiss him lightly, pulling away as quick as you leaned in, and you smile, “great game.”

“right?” he beams a proud smile, “i feel great.”

he throws his right arm over your shoulder, the two of you make your way back to the seats where you left your things, passing by a few of his teammates who tell him a mixture of quick “good game”s and “great sets back there”.

“i’m really glad ya made it.” he kisses the side of your head as you walk.

and you smile, “me too.”

his hair is slicked back with the dampness of sweat, jersey clinging to his back, and you hand him a towel to help with all of it.

his breathing is ragged and as much as you know that he’s had fun today, you also know just how tired he must be after rallying.

you look over to the team on the other side of the court, noticing the shared glances they shoot over at atsumu, slightly amused by the fact that they resemble a bunch of groupies looking up to someone they idolize.

“that other team looks at you like they’re gonna kiss the ground you walk on.” you laugh lightly, careful to point as you say this.

atsumu grins at you, though it’s clear he’s not really interested in that.

you lean back against the wall as you wait for him to finish cleaning up, smiling, “which is insane cause you were terrifying in there.”

this time atsumu looks at you, a white towel in his hand as he wipes away his sweat, and he scoffs.

“i am not terrifying.” he tells you, crossing his arms.

and you give him a look, “yes, you are.”

“i was being so nice in the court.” he defends, voice heightening a bit as a laugh threatened to bubble up his throat.

you look unconvinced (you are), and atsumu shakes his head as his scoffing is riddled with lines of laughter.

“i smiled at their setter.” he proudly tells you.

and you raise a brow, “show me the smile.”

atsumu gives you a look followed by the roll of his eyes, he puts the towel down on the bench, and he looks at you with a sigh.

he smiles, though it’s not one that you recognize, it’s really more of a smug smirk than anything else, and if he’d ever have shown that to you, you’d be unsure how to feel.

“tsumu.” you blink.

and he says, “what?”

“that’s terrifying.” you tell him bluntly, the edges of your lips curling upwards as you try not to laugh.

and atsumu scowls, though the laughter bubbling up his throat easily pushes it away.

however atsumu looks at his competition, how he talks to them in court, you’re very glad you never get that from him.

even in the rare occasion that the two of you argue or fight, he’s never been one to ever seem that irritated to you.

the other team watches as you and atsumu join together in a fit of laughter from afar, talking amongst themselves about how the irritable and smug setter they’ve just faced off of in court is a whole new different person around you.

atsumu walks to your side, his bag swung over his shoulder, and he links both of your arms together.

“let’s go home.” you smile at him, liking the closeness between the both of you.

atsumu may be scary on the court, he may even be intimidating outside of it, but whatever aura that is that envelops him when he’s alone or when he’s with his friends - it all fades away when he’s with you.

apparently, you’re on his good side, which makes a lot of sense since he is your husband.

“can we go get frozen yogurt?” he smiles, using his free hand to tap on his tummy, “i’m starving.”

“sure,” you nod, laughing lightly, “let’s go get frozen yogurt.”

atsumu shoots you another smile, thankfully a whole lot different from what he apparently shows on the court, and he places a quick kiss on the side of you head as the both of you continue to walk.

“we’re inviting hinata with us.” you follow up, keeping a small smile and your glance ahead.

he raises a brow, “what - why?”

so you look at atsumu, “he’s scared of you.”

and he laughs, yelling, “i didn’t smile at him!”

#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : inarizaki #recs : atsumu #trope : established relationship #recs : married!couple

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slowwalkersyap · 24 days ago

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There was nothing more you hated than overly cocky guys. Especially when they had the talent to back it up.

That’s how you felt about Oikawa Toru.

The ace in the volleyball team, the ace in his studies, the ace with the ladies. His whole presence was infuriating to you.

You had to admit yes, you had no reason to hate him. But you were a little hater at heart. So of course when you catch his attention. He is not leaving you alone. “There’s my favorite girl! How’ve you been hm?” He quips, taking the empty seat right next to you. You glare at him with at least what you think is the most deadliest look ever. But to him you look so adorable he bites his lip, trying to stifle a laugh.

“What do you want shittykawa.” You grumble and his face pales.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been hanging with Iwa-Chan.” He blinks and you blink, your face contorting in anger once again.

“Who the hell even is that!” He visibly looks relieved and sets his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Anywho, how do you feel about coming to one of my games. I’ll dedicate all my killer serves to you.” He winks and you look disgusted.

“I’d rather die.”

He pouts.

“When are you gonna stop acting like you hate me.”

“This isn’t an act.” You mutter.

He grins.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re mad.”

“Don’t you have a bajillion minions to tend to? Leave me alone.” You roll your eyes.

“Who needs them when I have you!” He smiles and he means it. But you’ll never know that.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

When you’re gone for a week. His demeanor begins to diminish. At first he just thought you were avoiding him. But now he was worried. And it was starting to affect his volleyball playing.

“I thought this girl hated you anyways. Why do you even like her.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms.

“You don’t get it.” Oikawa sighs.

“Just admit it, you like the chase. Once you get her you’ll get bored and dump her like you do with the rest.”

“You make me sound like a terrible person!”

“You are.”

“Am not!” Oikawa says, sticking out his tongue.

Oikawa sighs once again as he’s on his way to his first class, he had a routine. He grabs a coffee, pops his head in your class, teases you to no end, then goes to class.

Hes about to walk past your class until he sees you peacefully sleeping on your desk. He blinks, watching from the outside as your chest rises and falls. His heart beating a little faster. He walks in, squatting in front of your desk. He knocks on it a few times and your eyes drowsily open.

“Class is gonna start soon sleeping beauty.”

You look a little dazed, you don’t even look that mad at him. His cheeks flush up at how pretty you look. His face inches away from yours. His hand shoots out to your face.

“You’re drooling.” And Oikawa giggles, completely enamored with you.

You push his hand away but he quickly holds it. But what shocks him the most is you aren’t letting go. However you snuggle back in to your arm.

“It’s my first day back. Go away.” You grumble. Which doesn’t even sound like it has any malice intent behind it.

He gulps, not used to you ever being this…normal with him. He holds your hand for a little longer, basking in the moment.

“Fine. Only because I think my heart is going to explode.” You send a glare at him but to him it’s just a meaningless pout.

“See ya later cutie.” He winks at you.

He completely fawns over that interaction for weeks. His volleyball team is tired of hearing it at this point. “Yet she still hates you.” Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“I’m getting closer! I feel it.” Oikawa clenches his fist, a glint in his eye.

“You’re so delusional.” Iwaizumi laughs and Oikawa crosses his arms.

When Oikawa is leaving school he sees you sat on the grass, sat under a tree. He immediately perks up, walking over to you.

“Hey~” He smiles and you narrow your eyes at him but they lost their full emotion. He plops down next you, your hair blows with the wind and he sighs, lovesick.

“Stop looking at me.” You pout, your cheeks heating up.

“I can’t.” He smiles and you huff, yet you look conflicted. And that worries him. He’s about to ask what’s wrong but your words cut him off.

“Why do you even like me—or keep talking to me.” You cast your eyes to the side, picking at the grass.

He’s taken aback.

“I don’t know, I like the way you make me feel.”

“You mean you like the chase?”

He groans.

“Are you sure you don’t talk to Iwa-Chan?” He throws his head back, your blank face answers his question.

“No it’s not the chase. I just, I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never felt this way before.” He blushes but you’re still not convinced.

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and he pouts.

“You don’t give me the chance to!”

Which he is right. You pull your knees to your chest, your red cheeks on display.

“Why do you hate me.” He asks and you answer without missing a beat.

“Because you’re cocky. You’re not humble and you get everything served to you on a silver platter. It’s irritating.”

He frowns at that because you’re completely wrong and he lets the hurt be evident on his face.

“That’s not true…” He seems small and you look at him skeptically.

“Ok maybe I do like to gloat. But I’ve earned it. I worked very hard to get where I’m at.”

It’s silent.

All that’s heard is the wind rustling the leaves above.

“Sorry.” You mumble and he blinks at you.

“Guess I misunderstood you.”

You still don’t meet his eyes but he brightens at that.

A chance.

“That’s ok. Can we start over?” He wiggles his brows and you roll your eyes. Yet a smile cracks onto your face.

“Yea, we can start over.” pt 2

#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : seijoh #recs : oikawa #trope : classmates to lovers #recs : highschool!au #recs : pining!au

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slowwalkersyap · 24 days ago

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Guys.,,,, I didn't know that by changing my name....it would break all the links 💔💔💔 I have to to them all again

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slowwalkersyap · 24 days ago

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We love a meddling third party

wrong place, right hands

it was just a writing exercise–something silly, something private. a pretend love letter for a class project that was never meant to be seen. but when it ends up in the hands of the very person it's about, everything changes. sometimes, love has a funny way of delivering itself.

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader ft. kotaro bokuto

genre: fluff, best friend!akaashi, bokuto is super supportive of the two, friends to lovers

wc: 1.5k

author's note: i love my boy keiji sm huhu and this is one my favorite drafts; good thing that i finally got the chance to post this

it was supposed to be harmless.

something private. something silly.

a writing exercise for literature—a pretend love letter, meant to test tone and form and emotional honesty without being real. the kind of thing you write while chewing your pen cap, giggling under your breath at the absurdity of pouring out fake feelings onto a blank page. the kind of thing you submit, laugh off, and forget about.

only you didn’t turn it in.

you kept it. folded it twice and tucked it into the back of your folder, marked not for submission. it felt… too honest. too specific. even if it was just a joke. even if it was meant for no one’s eyes but your own.

you didn’t even sign it.

but you described him. clearly. unmistakably.

you’d written about his voice—the one that lingers in your head long after he reads passages aloud in class. about the way he tips his head when he’s thinking, how he pinches the bridge of his nose when bokuto’s being dramatic, how his hands are “embarrassingly elegant” and distractingly expressive when he speaks.

and now?

now that folded page was sitting in the very capable, very real hands of akaashi keiji.

he read it in the gym.

in front of the team.

you didn’t even know it was missing until bokuto shouted something across the court about “keiji’s secret admirer,” and you looked up, heart seizing, just in time to see your best friend unfolding your handwriting in the middle of practice.

he didn’t laugh.

he didn’t share it.

he just read it—brows drawing together, quiet as the world moved around him—and folded it again like it was something precious.

you ran before he could see your face.

he found you afterward. of course he did.

you were leaning against the locker room wall, arms crossed tight over your chest like you could physically hold in the embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. akaashi stepped out of the gym, hair still damp from a quick rinse, a folded paper in his hand.

the paper.

he looked at you.

“this isn’t for class,” he said softly. “is it?”

your mouth opened. closed. opened again.

you weren’t sure if your soul had already evacuated or if it was still making a run for it.

“what gave it away?” you asked weakly.

he glanced down at the page again. “well, the line ‘you look prettiest when you’re annoyed at bokuto’ felt… oddly specific.”

you groaned and buried your face in your hands.

“of course you recognized yourself. of course you read the one thing i didn’t mean for anyone to see.”

akaashi’s voice was gentler now. “bokuto found it under the bleachers. he thought it was part of someone’s homework and handed it to me. didn’t realize it was about me until…” he trailed off.

you peeked through your fingers. he was holding the page like it was fragile. like it mattered.

“you weren’t meant to see it,” you said, voice muffled through your palms. “it was… it was supposed to be a joke. a fake letter. i wasn’t even going to turn it in.”

“still,” he murmured. “you wrote it.”

there was a pause.

you nodded, slowly.

“i did.”

akaashi keiji has always been calm.

not just quiet—but calm. in that rare, grounding way that makes people lean toward him without realizing. like he carries gravity in his chest and people orbit it instinctively.

he’s been your best friend for years.

the constant. the person you text when your umbrella breaks, when your brain won’t shut up, when you need someone who won’t try to fix you but will listen. he’s been the voice of reason during bokuto meltdowns, your late-night study partner, the first person to notice when you were upset even when you smiled through it.

he was your lighthouse.

and you… you tried your best to stay afloat. to be steady. to look like you had it all under control.

but he was holding that letter now. holding it like it was something more.

his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“can i be honest?”

you looked up, startled.

he’d stepped closer.

not close enough to touch—but enough that you could see the tiny droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair. enough to notice that his eyes weren’t sharp like they sometimes were on the court. they were soft. searching.

“i liked it,” he said.

you blinked. “the letter?”

he nodded. “i liked that you notice when i get annoyed. that you remember what i wore the day of our midterms. that you like how i read out loud, even when i think i sound like a textbook.”

there was a tiny smile tugging at his mouth now.

“i liked that it came from you.”

you stared, heart hammering.

“and if i’m being really honest…” he hesitated, then gently reached out, his fingers brushing your sleeve. “i’ve been wondering if you’d ever say something.”

“say what?” you asked, breath barely there.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the hallway.

“that you like me,” he said simply.

the words cracked something open in you.

“i didn’t think you noticed.”

“i noticed everything,” he replied.

you were still processing—still somewhere between panic and floating—when an unmistakable voice echoed from inside the gym.

“whaaaaaaaaat?!”

bokuto slammed open the doors with the force of a gale, arms wide, socks squeaking against the polished floor as he launched into view.

“no. way.” he pointed, bouncing. “no. way this is happening. finally.”

you flinched. akaashi didn’t.

“how long was he—?” you began.

“the letter,” bokuto shouted, positively glowing. “the letter was real?! i knew it! i knew you two were in lo—”

“please,” you moaned, face in your hands again. “please let me evaporate.”

“i read it too,” bokuto beamed. “it was so good! so romantic! the part where you said he has ‘hands like he plays piano in another life’? art. masterpiece. i cried. internally.”

you looked at akaashi in horror. “you let him read it?!”

“i did not,” he said dryly. “he took it out of my bag when i was showering.”

bokuto did a twirl. “i had a feeling! my otp! blooming before my eyes!”

you groaned into the wall.

“i’m never writing anything again.”

“noooo,” bokuto said. “you must write more. you’re a poet. the youth needs your words.”

“she’s exaggerating,” akaashi said mildly, lips twitching.

“she’s not! that letter was amazing. i’ve been shipping you two since junior high!”

“you’ve been what?” you gasped.

“shipping!” bokuto declared. “like ‘relationship-ping’? keep up!”

you stared. “you cannot be real.”

“i’m the captain of love,” he said seriously. “and i demand a kiss. for proof.”

akaashi, impossibly, didn’t roll his eyes. he just looked at you again.

“ignore him,” he said gently. “unless…”

he trailed off.

you met his eyes.

unless.

unless you wanted it too.

and then—slowly, so slowly—you felt his hand reach for yours. fingers threading together like it was something you’d done a hundred times already.

he stepped closer.

and then, soft as a secret, he kissed your forehead.

your knees nearly gave out.

it wasn’t loud or showy. it wasn’t something made for bokuto’s theatrics.

it was quiet. intentional.

like he’d wanted to for a long, long time.

“i was right!” bokuto screamed from behind you. “love is real! i’m telling the whole team. i’m putting it in the group chat.”

“please don’t,” akaashi said, still remarkably calm, though his hand tightened slightly around yours.

you were still frozen, your forehead tingling, breath caught in your throat.

“are we… dating now?” you asked, stunned.

akaashi tilted his head. “we can take it slow. one step at a time. but yes. if you want to.”

you nodded.

“i want to.”

he smiled—a real one, warm and unguarded.

“unless you regret writing the letter,” he murmured.

you looked at him.

at the boy who’d been your constant.

at the boy who noticed everything.

and you said, with a quiet kind of certainty—

“no. i’m glad it ended up in the right hands.”

bonus scene

“hey,” bokuto said proudly, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders as you sat together on the bleachers, post-practice.

“i still think you should’ve made out.”

“bokuto,” akaashi said.

“just saying! that forehead kiss was like, pg. come on. spice it up for your number one fan!”

you reached over and lightly smacked his arm.

he grinned.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” he added, nudging you. “if i hadn’t picked up that letter—”

“i know,” you sighed.

“wait,” akaashi said slowly, turning to him. “why were you under the bleachers?”

bokuto paused.

then looked away. “…that’s not important.”

akaashi stared at him.

you leaned into akaashi’s side, watching bokuto whistle innocently as he swung his legs over the edge of the bench.

“god help whoever he ends up dating,” you muttered.

akaashi smiled again, softly, and brushed a knuckle over your temple.

“let’s just hope they’re patient.”

and maybe—just maybe—romantic enough to write something silly and private that turns out to be everything he was hoping to hear.

#recs : written fic #recs : haikyuu !!#recs : fukurodani #recs : akaashi #trope : best friends to lovers #recs : highschool!au

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