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— tobio forgets his jersey number but remembers the exact time you first sneezed in front of him.

ts!kageyama tobio x f!reader

c: fluff!!

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the hours between us

kageyama x reader

tw: slightly angsty

✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

you were never supposed to fall for tobio kageyama. that wasn’t the plan.

that’s what you told yourself, at least.

he was loud in the quietest ways possible. he was stoic to strangers, rudely blunt to friends, and only soft when it counted. the kind of soft that couldn’t be described as affection or comfort, but it proved itself in action. it always would.

you met kageyama in junior high, when he was gifted his famous nickname of the “king of the court.” you giggled at it, and his tendency to scowl—the kind that’d make high schoolers shake in fear—at possibly anything that seemed like a threat. or overanalyzed them. but you saw through it all. he would hesitate when raising his hand even when scribbling his notes at light speed. once, he had even handed you his umbrella on the first rainy day of spring without a word. and sometimes, when you’d tease him, he never got angry or yelled at you. just glared at you with red ears.

and, at first, it was funny. having this short-tempered setter follow you around like a lost puppy. but then, the line between an acquaintance and something more gradually blurred into something warmer, something more sincere.

he started waiting at the school gate to walk you home even though he lives nowhere near you. or buying you that exact drink you were complaining about craving that day. he’d say it was “on sale”, but you knew better. he sat closer at lunch, watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

still, you had stayed friends. mostly.

late night study sessions turned into convenience store runs. calls that he claimed were “just to double check his notes” turned into rants about life. he wasn’t very good with words, but you’d learned his nature. when things dissipated into awkward silences, or he’d gently nudge you when you hesitated. sometimes, he would even blink at your lips then blush angrily when you caught him in the act with a teasing remark.

and, just taking a glimpse at his texts..

drink water. new curry place opened up. let’s go this weekend. brazil sucks at receiving. watched a match.

yeaah.. you’re not getting rid of him anytime soon.

but even then, it never became anything more than friends. not really.

you weren’t exactly dating. you weren’t not, either. you just hovered in the liminal spaces of almost.

but then, the announcement came.

“i’m leaving.”

pro volleyball team in argentina. it was a full offer, the full ride. a dream—you’d be crazy not to take that chance. and obviously, you were happy for him. except..

“i leave in two weeks.” he had said, blank and flat.

“ah,” your stomach twisted, “that’s.. pretty fast, no?”

he nodded, no excitement or anything. just his jaw clenched and a hard, complex look in his eyes.

the packing wasn’t easy either.

he barely looked at you, didn’t utter a word—nothing more than a mere grunt whenever you’d ask questions. still, that look wouldn’t go away.

“so.. you excited?”

“mmh.”

“visiting anything fun?”

“mhm.”

“kageyama.”

“yeah?”

“..never mind.” you replied, quiet. defeated. he didn’t look back. just kept packing with an undeniably reluctant hesitation.

when he finished, he let out a quiet, almost frustrated sigh. “i’ll.. miss you.” the words sounded forced. like he didn’t know if he meant it or not.

“yeah,” you say, trying your best not to let your voice shake. “i’ll—i’ll miss you too, kageyama.”

“tobio.”

“right.. tobio.”

you don’t say anything after that, just fall into an uncomfortable, tense silence. you shift on his bed, looking around. it’s mostly empty after packing, but the lingering feeling of nostalgia stays. and you remember everything.

all the hang outs and sleepovers. even that one, small, insignificant if you will, little kiss you swore you’d never speak of again. you remember.

all of it.

it comes faster than you think.

“call me.”

“i will.”

he stands there awkwardly, suitcase in hand, eyes darting everywhere but you. it’s loud—weeping mothers saying bye to their children in college, or the obnoxiously loud phone call once in a while. but it’s all tuned out when kageyama—tobio is here.

“have a safe flight, tobio.” you murmur, hands fidgeting.

he nodded curtly, fisting the handle of his suitcase. “i.. will miss you,” he chokes out once again, yet this time it’s a little less involuntary.

“i’ll miss you too.”

he doesn’t flinch, not inherently, but his eyes widen, almost in absolute disbelief that this really is happening. he’s leaving. leaving you. you take a few, hesitant steps towards him, arms awkwardly swinging by your sides like you’re not sure if you want to hug him or not. or maybe you’re just afraid of his reaction.

then sounds the soft beep before an announcement—“tobio kageyama at gate c24. boarding has ended.”

you blink, retreating back a few steps. “ah,” you force a smile, “guess that’s your cue.”

he nods curtly, “right.” he looks at you—really looks at you—before turning away without another word. you watch him leave, noticing the tension in his shoulders. you would a joke about how he needs to let loose, but he’s gone by the time you can even open your mouth.

you didn’t even get to hug him goodbye.

the first few days without him are dreadful. he claims to text you frequently, but you’re not so sure. said the “wifi is bad” on call with him. you try not to think much of it, but it’s hard when the one you love is across the goddamn earth.

he had even joked, or so you thought, about forgetting your face. you were on call:

“you know,” he hummed, “it’s like i almost forgot what you look like.”

you just laughed nervously. “well.. you’re not that forgettable.”

he chuckles, hollow. “i miss you.” the words come out hushed, as if he’s afraid to say them. you’ve been counting. this is the fifth time he’s said it.

“yeah, i.. i miss you too.”

you can’t remember much after the call, except the fact that he seemed almost distracted, in a way. like he wasn’t completely immersed in the conversation like he usually is. you brush it off—he must be stressed, right? he’s in a new country, it’s only normal.

yet, days blur into weeks of this “weirdly distant” phase. the time distance is cruel, and it’s chipping away at every opportunity you guys can get to call. texts are shorter, calls are once in a blue moon, and his replies only come hours after you’ve talked to him. when there is a good chance, he’ll promise “next time.”

except there is no next time.

when you do finally call, his voice is more hollow, thinner, a barrier between you two. he won’t laugh at your jokes, uncomfortable silence filled only with those half-hearted “mmh”s instead of his usual irritated grunts.

it’s late one night, you’re scrolling through his instagram page, feeding a desperate curiosity. you don’t expect to see anything new—maybe the typical blurry photo of him. but then, you see it. see her.

standing next to him, smiling brightly, an undeniably attractive woman holds a volleyball in her hands. camilla, the caption writes. she’s tagged in the photo. against better judgment, you click.

more photos of them spill through, one with them both on the bleachers way too close to just be teammates. is this why he’s been ignoring you? he can’t even tell you? then another: he’s holding up a reluctant peace sign while she’s tucked under his arm. a pit—heavy and uncomfortable—grows in your stomach, and you don’t know how to stop it.

then, your phone buzzes: a text from kageyama.

practice was tougher than usual today. met a new teammate btw. she’s cool.

you stare at the message for a few moments. do you answer? how would you answer without sounding dry? “oh, that’s cool.” are you kidding?

when you don’t answer, another notification from him vibrates through your phone.

i think you’d like her.

the words slowly blur as tears form. why are you crying over him anyway? you turn your phone off and shove it under your pillow, willing yourself to sleep.

the next morning, you wake up to two missed calls and another message from him—this time, an image. kageyama is wearing his usual scowl, while camilla is holding up his phone for the picture.

he wouldn’t even take pictures with you.

you stare at it until your eyes start to burn, you close your eyes, head tipping back with a sigh. you don’t know if you want to look at the photo again or throw your phone against the wall.

it shouldn’t matter, right? he’s allowed to make friends. of course he is. so why is he looking at her like that? the distance between you stretches more and more, until finally, he calls you.

“kageyama?” your voice is softer than usual, more hesitant.

“mmh,” he hums, the reply delayed. he’s clearly distracted. you hear faint chatter in the background.

“you’re busy.” it comes out more as a statement than question.

“no,” he replies, a little too quick. “i—uh, i’m just with some teammates.”

you want to ask if it’s camilla, but that unrelenting pit grows when you hear your doubts confirmed—a clear laugh right next to his mic. a girl.

“kageyama—“

“i’ll call you back. sorry.” he whispers, rushed and slightly guilty. then, the soft beep of the line ending. you stare at the screen, your phone gripped in your hand so tightly you think you might break it.

a notification. from him.

sorry. got a bit caught up. she says hi.

you don’t reply. then, an image attached.

it’s him and her again, sitting at a table. she’s mid-laugh, holding a fry to his face, while he’s smiling faintly at her.

not you. her.

before you can even think to reply, another few messages.

oh, i need to tell you something. me and camilla, we.. mvm. sorry, i’ll tell you later.

damnit.

guys i am soooo sorry for posting late ☹️ but anyways i hope u enjoy

you don’t know what you’re doing to me

kita x f!reader oneshot

tw: none !!

・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥・❥

you don’t think much of him at first.

he’s quiet, intimidatingly so—but in the way old souls are. he’s always perfectly dressed, always prepared, always ready for whatever’s to come. he’s too calm to seem seventeen. you see him in the halls most mornings, standing just beyond the school gate in his pristine uniform, shoulders square, gaze straight. determined.

that’s kita shinsuke.

and he’s watching you like you’re something worth figuring out. it’s not rude, it’s not often either. but it’s enough for you to notice. and when you do notice—well, it’s hard not to see it everywhere.

how his gaze lingers when you’ll ask questions during class. or when he holds doors for you just a beat longer than others. how on rainy days, he’ll gaze down at your shoes like he’s contemplating whether or not to offer his umbrella.

he does, eventually.

because he’s kita shinsuke.

you’re new here. a foreign exchange student, to be exact. fresh out of your comfort zone and practically halfway across the world, but you recognize curiosity when you see it.

what you don’t know is why you’re receiving it.

kita doesn’t speak to you much. not directly, at least. you can feel him watching, though. when you laugh too loudly with classmates, when you struggle to read kanji on the chalkboard, or when you mutter apologies for accidentally knocking the lunch tray into the bin.

he’s always just a few steps away, always noticing, always.. quiet.

you don’t know he memorized your name the first time he heard it. or when he went home and wrote it out over and over in the corner of a scrap sheet until he perfected it.

you don’t know that he looked up how far your home country is from japan. that he wondered if maybe your family missed you. that he asked his grandmother what kind of foods were made where you came from, or how he tried (and unfortunately failed) to cook one of them himself.

you don’t know every time you smile at someone else, he feels a little sick and he’s not sure why. or that you’ve taken up so much space in his head he’s started to dream about you.

he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he does what he always does: observes.. silently. like you’re something fragile. or dangerous. or both?

on the afternoon of a chilly october, you’re walking home, bundled in all kinds of wool to keep you from freezing. you’re about to cross the street when you hear a soft, elderly voice behind you.

“dear? would you mind helping me cross?”

you turn around, gaze meeting a tiny old woman wrapped in a thick coat, squinting at the light. her cane trembles slightly in her grip.

“of course,” you say, immediately stepping forward to help. she takes your hand without hesitation, her fingers small and frail. as you help her cross, she talks about the weather, the rice harvest, and how her grandson always forgets to wear socks when it rains.

you smile through it all, nodding and listening. she doesn’t ask where you’re from, or fumble over your name. just.. chats.

once you reach the other side of the crosswalk, she reaches out to pat your head affectionately. “such good manners,” she coos, “you’ll make a fine wife someday.”

you laugh, cheeks warm—either from her compliment, or the chilly breeze. “that’s very sweet.”

and as she trots off down the sidewalk, you turn to keep walking as well, only to see a familiar figure standing just a few meters away.

kita—still, silent, his eyes wide. you freeze, and he doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you, at your hand, where the old woman had just held it. then back at your face. he looks almost stunned.

but then, he bows, turns, and walks away.

what was that about?

you don’t know it, but that was kita’s grandmother. and kita doesn’t know it yet, but that’s the moment he realizes—you’re it.

you’re the one. you’ve been the one.

and now, he needs to do something about it. quick.

he doesn’t sleep that night, but he tries. he goes through his normal routine: brushing his teeth, ironing and refolding his uniform, checking his alarm clock, but his thoughts keep circling.

he can’t forget how you smiled at his grandmother, how gently you held her arm, or how you nodded so patiently with every sentence she spoke.

then he starts to think of all the things he’s noticed about you the past few months after you joined. how you stack your notebooks in perfect order, how you always double-check the classroom trash bins before you leave, how you lend your eraser to other classmates who forget theirs without being asked.

you’re a good person.

really good.

he’s known for awhile, but seeing you like that—especially with someone he loves—made it real. you’re the kind of person he could trust with anything. the kind he could see beside him. the kind he could marry. the thought makes his ears burn, but he doesn’t laugh.

he doesn’t doubt.

he just lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, and quietly wonders: how do i tell her i want to marry her without sounding insane? he really doesn’t know. so instead, he decides to tell you anyway.

the next morning, you find him waiting outside the school gate. this time though, he doesn’t pretend to check his watch or fix his sleeve. his eyes are trained on you. your heart stutters a little, and you don’t know why.

“good morning,” you offer, trying not to sound as nervous as you feel.

“good morning,” he replies. then, a pause. “i saw you yesterday.”

your brows furrow, head tilting. “yesterday?” you try to recall, but nothing comes to mind.

he nods, “yesterday. i saw you helping that woman across the street.”

“ah,” you laugh nervously, “that? she was your grandmother, wasn’t she?”

he nods once again. “she likes you.”

you swallow. hard. you look up at him slowly, and this time, he doesn’t look away. even if his ears burn. he just looks nervous.

and then—“will you marry me?” he says it like he’s checking the weather or something.

you blink.

a beat passes, and you open your mouth. nothing comes out. “i..”

he clears his throat, gaze flitting away from you just for a moment. “i mean,” he starts quietly, “not now. we’re still in school. i’m not asking for anything serious. i just.. wanted to say it. i wanted you to know.”

“..know what?” you feel almost afraid to ask it, but you do.

he lets out a soft exhale, looking down at you. “that i’ve been watching you. that i admire you. that.. you’re someone i’d want to build a life with.”

you can feel your eyes starting to sting.

“that i think,” he adds, voice barely a whisper, “you might be the one.”

then, a long silence he doesn’t fill. he just stands there, the wind messing up his usually clean uniform, waiting for you to say something, anything.

you finally manage: “kita..”

he gives you the smallest, saddest smile you’ve ever seen. “it’s okay. you don’t have to make you’re mind up now.” then, as calmly as he arrived, he turns and walks into school.

and he leaves you standing there, your throat too constricted to speak, knees a little weak, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

i really enjoyed making this one actually