𝕬𝗡𝗗𝗬

Writer's note: I'm not supposed to be posting on hiatus, but I couldn't help it— this (extremely self indulgent) writing was inspired by my lovely mutual @kenyudotcom 's work linked here. I'm in no place to say this but go ahead and read their works now, they are an AMAZING writer!

otoya eita x gn!reader x karasu tabito, all three are aged up to 21+, reader has a broken family (self projection, I apologize), established relationship (otoya x reader), complex dynamics, infidelity (on all three ends since platonic betrayal counts), angsty themes, so much guilt, self-deprecation, SYMBOLISM AGAIN, allusions to physical intimacy, vague ending. I do not condone infidelity or cheating of any form, this is a purely fictional work. NOT PROOFREAD. Wordcount~ 1.2k

Eita Otoya is, contrary to popular belief, extremely self aware.

He is fully aware of how he hurts people, no matter how many times he tells himself he's honest with the people he charms. The routine had engraved itself into him long before he even became an adult— a subtle look, a casual touch, a lazy smile when it was called for, and soothing words when it was needed. Hook, line, and sinker. What happened next wasn't his concern.

You are not the type he usually goes for. You valued loyalty even with your friends (why should they be any different from a lover, in that matter?), and while honesty came a little less easier for you, Eita knew you didn't have an unfaithful bone in your body. Honesty came harder because you believed the truth was a weapon in the wrong hands, and you had seen more wars than hearths. But you wouldn't cheat, not only because it went against every single one of your moral principles, but also because it had ruined your family beyond repair.

It's still a surprise to everyone you even liked each other— the playboy and the homemaker, to use two stereotypes— but it worked out. You'd been friends before you started dating, and Eita had been a great friend. You developed feelings for him, and later, he realized you were worth staying for, too. So it had worked out for a while. Past tense. Eita lasted a whole year faithful to you before he started slipping into old habits again. Maybe he was confident, confident that you'd never leave, because you cared too much. And maybe he loved you in a way too selfish of him.

A subtle but flirty look. Soothing words. Lazy smiles. Hook, line, and sinker.

Never did he once think that it would someday catch a horrible reality that he had made for himself. Now he realizes, in the present tense, for eternity.

Honesty comes hard to you, doesn't it? So you hide it all. You hide the despair, the insecurity you felt in the relationship, just for the sake of keeping him. Eita means something to you. But Eita is a rose with venomous thorns winding through your hand, and the redness of the blood matches the petals so perfectly that one could say it was meant to be.

You refuse to cut your hand off. And in the process, skin and thorns alike turn a poisonous but delicious shade of purple.

Something like this ruined my family, you think.

It scares you how easily you fell into this rhythm, this shared beat that exists between you and Karasu. There was always a strange sort of understanding, an unspoken acknowledgement and care, even though Eita was your mutual friend. But it had been just that. Or had it, for him? You honestly don't care. Somewhere along the way, he became Tabito to you.

Blood rushing in your ears, skin burning from the weight and the sheer warmth his body exudes as he rests against you, exhausted. He turns you onto your side, and cradles you into him, pressing kisses on your forehead. Your legs tangle underneath the sheets.

"Better?" his low whisper makes you smile against his skin. You hum softly, drawing patterns on his bare back. And he thinks, maybe that's enough.

He's aware that what he's doing is an utter douchebag's move. What man sleeps with his best friend's partner? But then again, Eita wasn't any better— he cheated on you. How could he cheat on you, who had been nothing but loyal to him? Who'd been shattered into something so unrecognizable that your instinct had been to find comfort in some way, any way— in him?

Karasu may not automatically know you like Otoya does, but he understands you. And he'll be damned if he lets you feel guilty alone for making the move. So he'll accept you with open arms, hold you close, and silently give you all the love you deserve to have. Even if he doesn't deserve to be the one giving it to you. Because he knows you just enough that he knows the thoughts running in your head, as you shrink in his arms.

"I'm exactly like him, aren't I?" His heart aches at how gentle and pained your voice is. "I'm my father. Fuck, it's in my DNA, he's in my DNA—"

Tabito kisses your forehead again, cradling your head. "No, you're not. You're not your father." Another kiss. "You're you. Fucked up or not, you're still you. That's enough. That's enough for me."

He lets you cry on him, because he knows that's your twisted way of loving him— being honest with him about yourself, at last.

Otoya quietly watches the city before sunrise from the balcony. The chill in the air bites into his skin, but he quietly lets it wash over him, freeze him, hoping that it would somehow merge with the emptiness he feels inside.

So this is what he's been doing to you. For some reason, he thought it would hurt less.

You seemed more distant these days. Not asking why he came back so late. Not asking who he was with. Not meeting his eyes most times. He wouldn't have minded if it were anyone else, but it was strange from you. He knew something was up when you spent the night together— shallow, wasn't it, only to realize from that? But nevertheless, he did— something about you felt different in that moment.

He thinks he knows who it is. Because the only time you resemble a bit of your former self is when you see his best friend, Karasu. A genuine smile that could charm any person in the world with its brightness. Hook, line, and sinker. He doesn't blame Karasu for falling in love with you; it was hard not to. And he certainly doesn't blame you for going behind his back with his best friend. He supposes this is what he deserves, after all this time. If you had to cheat— it had to be something, right? Probably him. He's come home smelling of others more than you've even thought of someone else.

"Hey," your voice comes from behind as you join him on the balcony. "You're up early."

He smiles without looking at you, watching the glow of the skyline. "Kinda. Even sleeping in gets boring if you do it everyday."

You chuckle a bit at that, resting your arms on the railing. "You have a point."

Otoya shifts closer to you as you watch the sun rise over the skyline. You don't move away, but you don't move toward him, either. If he has remembered that Karasu has a sweater eerily similar to the one you're wearing right now, he doesn't mention it. Because he brought this on himself. No, present tense— he brings it on himself. You're still together, stuck in a cycle of attachment, and he cheats, and you seek comfort in his best friend. Rinse and repeat. Everyone is at fault here, but Otoya knows that at the root of it all is him and him alone.

But, as Karasu's scent tangles itself into the air between you two, Otoya can't help but hate you a little. Just a little.

“𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃” 𝐅𝐓: 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔

By the time he understands what she meant to him, she’s already gone — leaving him with nothing but memories and the quiet regret of words he never said.

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down relentlessly on the sandy expanse of the beach where the Inarizaki High volleyball team had gathered to set up their net for an impromptu game, with waves crashing rhythmically against the shore in the background as Atsumu delivered a powerful spike that sent the ball slamming into the sand, prompting laughter from the group when Osamu attempted to block it but ended up diving too late and missing entirely.

Kita worked methodically to adjust the net poles with his characteristic calm and focused demeanor, while Aran shouted instructions for plays from the opposite side of the court, his voice carrying over the sound of the surf. Suna Rintarou, however, remained seated off to the side with his knees drawn up toward his chest, a joint pinched between his fingers as he took a slow, deliberate drag, allowing the smoke to curl lazily upward while he stared out at the endless stretch of water before him. The high from the weed made the world feel somewhat distant and hazy around the edges, but the memories that surfaced were sharp and unrelenting, pulling him back to this very same beach where they used to hold bonfires late into the night, where everything had begun to unravel between him and you in ways he could never have anticipated.

He missed you deeply, the way you used to manage the team with such fierce determination, handling everything from water bottles to towels and sharply calling out reminders for them to stay focused during practices that often devolved into chaos without your steady presence. Suna exhaled another plume of smoke, feeling a tightness constrict his chest as regret washed over him once again for that impulsive shove in the gym all those months ago; he knew he should have treated you with the respect and care you deserved, recognizing now more than ever that despite all the stubborn pride and constant bickering, you two were truly meant for each other, two idiots who fought like hell but always circled back to some unspoken connection that neither could deny.

You had joined the Inarizaki volleyball team as their manager right at the beginning of the school year, armed with a clipboard tucked under your arm and a no-nonsense attitude that made it clear from the outset you were there to keep these energetic and often unruly players organized and on track, ready to handle everything from scheduling practices to tracking player stats with precision. Suna caught your attention almost immediately during that first session in the school gym, his tall frame leaning lazily against the wall with those half-lidded eyes and a perpetual smirk that suggested he viewed most rules as optional suggestions rather than strict guidelines, and at seventeen years old, you both embodied that teenage stubbornness and pride that made admitting any vulnerability feel like an insurmountable defeat. The very first argument between you erupted during a routine practice when Atsumu executed a flawless serve that soared across the net, but Suna, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, completely missed the receive, allowing the ball to bounce harmlessly away.

“What in the world were you doing, Suna? You need to stay focused and pay attention out there instead of daydreaming through every single drill,” you snapped at him without hesitation, crossing your arms over your chest as frustration bubbled up inside you at the wasted opportunity.

He turned toward you slowly, his eyebrows arching in mild surprise before settling into that familiar challenging expression, stepping a bit closer until he loomed over you with his height advantage. “Hey, relax a little, missy; it's only practice, not some national championship match where one missed ball is going to end the world, so why don't you ease up and let us breathe for a second?”

Your voice rose in response, the irritation sharpening your tone as you refused to back down. “Only practice? That's exactly the problem—if you treat every session like it's optional, then how do you expect to perform when it actually counts?” “You're wasting not just your time but everyone else's around you, and that's not how a team operates.”

Atsumu let out a low whistle from his position on the court, unable to resist chiming in with a grin. “Whoa, looks like we've got a full-on lovers' quarrel kicking off before the warm-ups are even done! You two should take it to the locker room if it's going to get this intense.”

You and Suna both whipped your heads around to glare at him simultaneously, the shared annoyance momentarily uniting you against the intruder, but even as the heat of the moment faded, a lingering tension sparked between you two that neither could quite ignore or dismiss.

That very same night marked the beginning of your shared habit of skipping classes together, starting innocently enough when Suna spotted you lingering in the hallway during math period, clearly uninterested in the lecture droning on inside the classroom. “You look bored out of your mind standing there, want to get out of here and do something actually worthwhile for once?” he asked, leaning casually against the row of lockers with that easy confidence that always seemed to draw you in despite yourself.

You met his gaze with a smirk of your own, matching his energy without missing a beat. “Bored doesn't even begin to cover it… this class is draining the life out of me, so yeah, I'm in if you've got a better plan than sitting through equations I already know.”

He jerked his head toward the exit doors at the end of the hall, a subtle invitation that you accepted without a second thought. “There's this old abandoned building just a couple blocks down the street that I've been meaning to check out. It’s got all sorts of creepy vibes and probably some cool spots to explore if you're up for it…?”

You followed him out into the afternoon sun, the thrill of ditching school buzzing through your veins as you walked side by side, chatting about nothing and everything until you reached the weathered structure with its boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint scent of decay, but that only added to the excitement as you climbed the creaky wooden stairs together, kicking at loose debris along the way and laughing when a particularly stubborn door stuck fast until Suna gave it a firm shove to force it open. The upper room revealed a panoramic view of the city sprawling out below, and you both settled on the edge of the platform with your legs dangling over the side, sharing a cigarette he'd swiped from his friends stash earlier that day.

“This is the kind of trouble I could get used to, you know—way better than pretending to care about derivatives and integrals back in that stuffy classroom,” you said after exhaling a thin stream of smoke, feeling the smoke calm your nerves just a bit.

He bumped his shoulder against yours lightly, a playful gesture that sent a small spark through you. “Coming from the girl who didn't hesitate to tag along with a guy she barely knows, if anyone's the troublemaker here, it's you for enabling all this without a second thought.” You shoved him back in retaliation, both of you dissolving into laughter that echoed through the empty space, the easy camaraderie forming a bond that would pull you into more escapades over the coming weeks.

From that point forward, teasing and picking fights became your unspoken routine, woven seamlessly into the fabric of team life, where the other members quickly picked up on the dynamic and reacted in their own ways—Osamu would roll his eyes dramatically whenever you two started bickering over something trivial during shared meals after practice, Kita would step in with a sigh to mediate and restore order before things escalated too far, and Aran would chuckle deeply, commenting that your constant challenges actually seemed to motivate Suna in ways nothing else could during games or drills.

Yet, whenever it was just the two of you without the rest of the team around, the world seemed to shrink down to a more intimate scale, filled with those reckless and utterly stupid adventures that somehow always turned out feeling exhilarating and fun in the moment, like sneaking out after late practices to wander the dimly lit streets while debating every topic under the sun.

One evening as you walked home together after a particularly grueling training session, the argument flared up over something as mundane as volleyball technique, your voice carrying conviction as you laid out your point. “You're completely off base with that serve technique you've been practicing lately!” “It’s too predictable and leaves you wide open for blocks, so if you adjusted your arm angle just a fraction, you could generate way more power without sacrificing control!”

He grabbed the strap of your backpack to pull you back toward him when you tried to surge ahead in frustration, his grip firm but not aggressive. “No, I'm telling you, I'm right on this one—go watch any professional match and you'll see players with similar forms dominating the court, so why fix what isn't broken when it's clearly working for me in games?”

You yanked away from his hold, but the proximity made your pulse quicken noticeably, a reaction you hoped he didn't catch. “Because I'm not talking about pros who have years of refinement—at our level, you need every edge, and stubbornness like yours is just going to hold the whole team back if you don't listen to reason for once.”

Suna had a habit of initiating these arguments deliberately, often poking at your meticulous organizational habits during team meetings where you'd present detailed schedules and rotations, his comments laced with just enough provocation to draw you out. “All these rigid schedules and timelines feel so unnecessary sometimes.” “Life isn't a checklist, so maybe we should just wing it more and see what happens instead of micromanaging every second.”

Your retort came swift and pointed, refusing to let him undermine your efforts. “Easy for you to say when you're the one who shows up late half the time without a plan.”

But beneath the surface of all that friction, you both recognized the underlying care in each other's barbs—he'd linger after the worst of the fights, casually bumping your arm with his elbow as a silent olive branch, a way to signal apology without the humiliation of outright saying it, and you'd find yourself thinking about him constantly, replaying conversations in your head long after the team had dispersed. One afternoon in the gym following a disappointing loss to a rival school, the accumulated tension from the defeat finally pushed things into uncharted territory when the rest of the team filed out to the showers, leaving you alone to pack away the equipment and wipe down the benches. Suna stayed behind as well, toweling off the sweat from his forehead and neck with deliberate slowness, his presence filling the emptying space.

“You were way off your game today during that match, and honestly, it showed in the final set when we could have turned it around,” you remarked while folding a stack of towels, your tone a mix of critique and concern that you couldn't quite mask.

He moved closer to help, his hand accidentally—or perhaps not—brushing against yours as he reached for one of the towels, the contact sending a jolt through you both. “Yeah, well, the coach rides everyone hard after a loss like that, but it's not like I was the only one struggling out there. The pressure gets to all of us eventually, so maybe cut me some slack instead of piling on right now.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken energy, and when you glanced up to meet his eyes, he was already leaning in, closing the distance until his lips pressed firmly against yours in a kiss that started tentative but quickly ignited into something more intense. You hesitated for only a heartbeat before responding, kissing him back with equal fervor, your hands coming up to grip his waist as he backed you gently against the cool gym wall for support. His fingers splayed across your sides, holding you steady while your own tangled into the damp strands of his hair, tugging lightly to urge him closer as his tongue sought entry and you parted your lips to let him in, the kiss deepening with shared breaths and the faint taste of sweat from practice lingering on your mouths. He nipped at your lower lip playfully, drawing a soft gasp from you that made him press his body flush against yours, the heat building until you both pulled back after what felt like an eternity, chests heaving as you caught your breath in the quiet gym.

“Don't go blabbing about this to anyone on the team. I don't need Atsumu turning it into his next big joke at my expense,” he muttered, that signature smirk returning to his face even as his eyes held a spark of something softer.

You straightened your shirt, cheeks flushed but voice steady as you fired back. “As if I'd waste my time bragging about kissing someone as infuriating as you!” “This changes nothing about how you drive me up the wall during practices!”

It happened again just a week later, tucked away behind the bleachers after another practice had wrapped up, the seclusion allowing for a quicker, more stolen moment where he cornered you against the metal frame, his mouth claiming yours hungrily without preamble, hands roaming boldly over your sides and hips while you arched into him, your back pressing into the unyielding surface as nails scraped lightly down his neck in response to the urgency of his touch. No words were exchanged afterward, just the lingering rush of adrenaline and the way he made every argument fade into the background for those brief, electric instances.

The reckless escapades with the team only intensified from there, evolving from simple class skips into full-blown days of adventure that pulled everyone in when possible. One memorable afternoon, the group crammed into Atsumu's rundown old car—you squeezed in the back next to Suna, with Osamu shotgun and Kita and Aran somehow fitting in the remaining space—and headed out to an derelict factory on the outskirts of town, the drive filled with rowdy banter and music blasting from the speakers. Once inside the cavernous building with its rusted beams and echoing halls, you all spread out to explore, climbing precarious metal ladders and platforms that groaned under your weight, hearts racing from the danger as Atsumu let out triumphant whoops after leaping from one ledge to another.

Kita voiced his reservations even as he trailed behind the group, his practical nature shining through. “This whole idea strikes me as incredibly stupid—one wrong step on these unstable structures, and we're looking at serious injuries that could sideline the entire team for weeks!”

But he followed regardless, unable to resist the pull of the group's energy, while Osamu shoved Atsumu's shoulder in mock annoyance after his brother nearly knocked over a pile of old crates. You and Suna turned it into a spontaneous race to the highest point, your hand instinctively slipping into his for better balance on the slick rungs, the contact feeling natural in the midst of the chaos. At the roof level, with wind whipping fiercely around you and the city visible in the distance, you collapsed side by side onto the concrete, thighs brushing as you caught your breath.

”You have to admit that this beats staring at a blackboard in school all day no?” Suna said, his voice carrying a rare note of genuine satisfaction.

You leaned your head briefly against his shoulder, allowing the vulnerability of the moment to show. “Maybe just this once, but don't let it go to your head… we can't make this a habit of risking our lives like this every time we're bored.”

The nighttime gatherings with the team took on an even wilder edge as getting high became a regular ritual, with joints circulating freely in the dimly lit gym after hours or out in forgotten parking lots where the risk of getting caught added to the thrill. Laughter bounced off the walls as Atsumu launched into exaggerated imitations of the coach's stern lectures, Osamu rummaged through a bag of pilfered snacks to distribute unevenly among the group, and even Kita attempted to maintain some semblance of order despite the buzz clouding his usual composure.

The beach bonfire that summer night represented the absolute peak of those carefree times, with stars dotting the dark sky overhead and the fire crackling warmly on the sand as the team formed a loose circle around it—you wedged comfortably between Suna and Aran, the joint making its way around the group while smoke mingled with the salty sea air. Everyone was thoroughly relaxed and laughing freely, Atsumu recounting a particularly embarrassing failed spike from an earlier practice with dramatic flair, while Osamu interjected corrections to the story, insisting on the accurate details that made his twin look even more foolish. Kita nodded along thoughtfully, adding his own measured insights, and Aran filled in the gaps with additional anecdotes that kept the mood light and engaging.

You leaned into Suna's side as the high settled in, warmth spreading through you from both the fire and his casual arm draped over your shoulders, a gesture that felt possessive yet comforting in the haze. As the night deepened and the conversations turned more introspective under the influence, fragments of old arguments resurfaced naturally, starting with your teasing nudge against his ribs. “Do you even remember that time after the away game when you tried to pin the entire loss on me for calling out your positioning too loudly? It was ridiculous how you twisted it to make me the villain.”

He tilted his head to look at you, his voice dropping to a more intimate level amid the group's chatter. “How could I forget? You were distracting me on purpose with all that yelling from the sidelines—if you'd just stayed quiet for once, I might have nailed that receive and changed the whole outcome.”

The laughter from the others faded into a more subdued hum as the exchange drew subtle attention, the high loosening tongues and allowing deeper sentiments to emerge. Suna fixed his gaze on the flickering flames, taking another pull from the joint before passing it along, his words coming out heavier than usual. “I can't give you everything that you might want or deserve in this situation. I really wish circumstances were different so that I could step up without all these limitations holding me back.”

You blinked up at him, the confession catching you off guard in its raw honesty, especially since you'd noticed his recent embarrassment over being short on cash from pitching in more at home, unable to cover even the small things like extra snacks or team merchandise you'd mentioned offhand. “What exactly are you talking about right now? You don't owe me anything… that's never been the point between us, so why bring it up like some big revelation?”

His eyes finally met yours, vulnerability cracking through his usual guarded expression. “You know exactly what I mean—the stuff you've hinted at wanting, like treating you to something nice after a long week or just having the means to not feel like a broke idiot every time money comes up. I'm tapped out constantly, and it kills me that I can't provide even the basics without scraping by.”

The team fell into a respectful quiet, sensing the shift toward something personal and charged, the weight of his admission hanging in the air like the smoke. A pang of empathy twisted in your chest because you truly didn't care about the financial side, but seeing his pride wounded like that hurt in its own way, prompting a response that came out sharper than intended due to your own defenses rising. “You're being absolutely ridiculous about this, it's not about money or gifts or whatever you're imagining in your head—I've never once made you feel like you had to buy my attention or approval.”

He handed the joint off to Atsumu without breaking eye contact, frustration edging into his tone. “Yeah, right, as if everyone around us doesn't pick up on how you push for more sometimes… it's obvious, and it stings more than you'd think when I have to hold back because of my situation.”

The argument ignited fully then, pulling you both to your feet with sand shifting underfoot as emotions ran high. “You're the one making it into a problem by assuming that's all I care about, if you'd just talk to me instead of bottling it up, we wouldn't be here rehashing this like idiots under the stars.”

Suna stood as well, closing the gap until your faces were inches apart, his voice low and intense. “And you're always the one escalating every little thing into a fight, maybe if you didn't push so hard, I'd feel like I could open up without it turning into an interrogation right away.”

You turned on your heel and stormed a short distance down the beach, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat in your cheeks, but he followed quickly, his hand wrapping around your arm to halt your retreat. “Wait—hold on just a second—we can't keep doing this shit every time things get real.”

Spinning back toward him, you shoved at his chest with both hands, the force surprising even yourself. “Then let go of me and stop acting like you control every conversation! “I need space when you're being this dense!”

He refused to release his hold at first, instead using it to draw you closer until your bodies collided, his lips crashing down on yours in a fierce makeout that channeled all the pent-up frustration into passion. Tongues battled for dominance as hands fisted into clothing, your bodies slamming back against a nearby piece of driftwood for leverage, the salty tang of the ocean mixing with the lingering smoke on your breaths while his fingers dug firmly into your hips and your nails raked down his neck, leaving faint red trails. The intensity eased the immediate anger, leaving a simmering undercurrent as you broke apart, lips swollen and breaths ragged, before returning to the fire where the group pretended not to notice but exchanged knowing glances.

The night wound down with renewed laughter and lighter stories, but that subtle crack in your shared armor lingered, hinting at the deeper feelings neither of you was ready to voice outright.

As months slipped by, a new complication arose when Aran's cousin, Mari, arrived in town for an extended visit and quickly inserted herself into the team's orbit, her bubbly personality and athletic background making her a natural fit at first glance as she offered to help with basic stats during practices and cheered enthusiastically from the benches. You didn't mind her presence initially, appreciating the extra pair of hands since managing the team solo could be overwhelming with their endless energy, but gradually, the dynamics shifted in uncomfortable ways as conversations during breaks began centering around her experiences and ideas. “Mari, come on, show the guys that killer serve you've been working on, it's got more spin than half our rotations,” Atsumu called out one afternoon, completely overlooking your attempt to distribute water bottles and remind them of the next drill.

You continued handing out the hydration, forcing a smile even as eyes turned toward her demonstration, with Osamu offering to share his lunch bento as they chatted about flavors, Aran patiently explaining complex plays in response to her questions, and even Kita engaging more than usual with her thoughtful observations on team strategy. Suna, who had always gravitated toward you in these moments, now found himself drawn into longer talks with her, laughing at her witty remarks while you busied yourself alone with organizing gear bags and wiping down the court edges.

The irritation built steadily over time, turning practices into endurance tests where you felt increasingly sidelined and undervalued despite pouring your heart into the role, from meticulously tracking performance metrics to motivating the players through slumps. Subtle comments from the team amplified the exclusion, like Kita's offhand praise during a huddle—“Mari’s bringing a fresh energy to these sessions that really motivates everyone”, or the way side conversations formed around her, leaving you on the periphery. One particularly stinging day, you tried to join the post-drill discussion, clipboard in hand with updated stats, but Mari stepped forward assertively, effectively blocking your path with a polite but firm smile. “It's okay, girl! We’ve got this covered for now, so you can focus on the equipment if you want.”

The team chuckled along, oblivious to the way your jaw clenched in response, the dismissal cutting deeper than any intentional slight. As the months dragged on in this pattern, the weight of being overlooked became too much to bear; the passion for the manager position that had once fueled you now felt like a burden, leading you to the painful decision that it might be best to step away entirely and seek a fresh start as manager for a rival school where your efforts would be appreciated without the constant overshadowing.

Before making it official, though, you held onto a flicker of hope that talking to Suna might change things, that perhaps he still harbored the same feelings amid the growing distance and could convince you to stay if he showed any sign of prioritizing your connection over the new distractions. Practice that day in the gym was running at full throttle, with balls thudding against the floor and sneakers squeaking sharply on the polished wood as sweat flew from determined swings, and you lingered on the sidelines, heart pounding with nerves while watching Suna execute a powerful spike before turning immediately to Mari, who clapped and leaned in to offer feedback that elicited a rare genuine smile from him.

Gathering your courage, you approached the huddled group as the drill paused briefly. “Suna, do you think we could step aside for a minute and talk privately about something important that's been on my mind? It won't take long, I promise.”

He glanced over at you with visible confusion creasing his brow, still catching his breath from the play. “What's this about that you can't just say right here in front of everyone? We're in the middle of a set, so if it's quick, spit it out now instead of dragging me away.”

Irritation flared hot in your chest at the dismissal, sharpening the edge in your voice as you pressed on. “It's not something trivial that belongs in a group setting… this is personal between us, so please, just give me a few minutes alone without making it into a scene.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of annoyance igniting as he straightened up fully. “Why does it always have to be private with you, like nothing can ever be discussed openly? If you're going to bring up whatever drama you've cooked up, at least have the guts to do it where the team can hear, because this secretive approach is starting to feel exhausting and unnecessary…”

The team began to slow their movements around you, curiosity drawing sidelong glances as the exchange heated up, with Atsumu pausing mid-serve and Osamu exchanging a worried look with Aran. Hurt welled up inside you at his words, twisting into defensiveness as you stepped closer, voice rising. “That's not fair at all—you've been pulling away for weeks now, chatting up Mari like I'm invisible, and the whole team has turned rude, excluding me from everything! I can't keep pretending it doesn't bother me when it's clear I'm not wanted here anymore!”

Suna's frustration boiled over, his tone turning aggressive as he gestured sharply. “Pulling away? You're the one who's been paranoid and snappy lately, reading into every conversation like it's a personal attack! Mari’s just visiting and fitting in naturally, so why turn it into this big jealousy fest that poisons the vibe for everyone?!”

The yells built in intensity, words flying back and forth with increasing venom. “Paranoid? Try sidelined and disrespected while you all fawn over the new girl! It’s been months of this, and you've let it happen without a single word in my defense!” you shouted, fists clenched at your sides.

“And you're being a petty bitch and dramatic about nothing! If you can't handle a little change in the group, maybe the problem is you, not us!” he fired back, voice echoing off the gym walls.

Insults sharpened further in the heat. “You're such an insensitive asshole who starts every fight and then acts innocent afterward! I thought we had something real, but clearly, I was wrong!”

The entire gym hushed then, the other players frozen in place—Osamu shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Kita frowning deeply with concern, Aran looking torn between intervening and letting it play out. Mari chose that moment to step forward tentatively, her voice soft but insistent. “Hey, everyone, maybe we should all just take a breath and calm down before this gets out of hand—“

Your anger spilled over unchecked, and you whirled on her by mistake, the words bursting out. “Stay out of this!” “It’s not your place to insert yourself when you've already taken enough from me!”

Suna's face darkened instantly at the outburst directed at her, rage flashing in his eyes as he surged forward and shoved you backward with more force than intended, your body stumbling and then hitting the hard gym floor with a thud that jarred your palms against the wood, sending a sharp pain shooting up your arms. The silence that followed was deafening, every eye in the gym locked on the scene in stunned disbelief, your entire body trembling uncontrollably as tears welled up hot and unbidden in your eyes, refusing to meet his gaze while you pushed yourself up slowly on shaking legs, wiping furiously at your face to stem the flow.

“I... I'm so sorry, that wasn't—I didn't mean to push you like that—please, let me help you up—“ Suna stammered, extending a hand toward you with regret already etching lines on his face, his voice cracking under the weight of realization.

You ignored the offered hand completely, standing on your own as your voice broke through the quiet, raw with pain. “I'm done here—I'm quitting as manager for this team effective immediately, and I'm transferring to another school where I won't have to deal with this kind of toxicity anymore.”

His mouth opened and closed several times, words failing him utterly as he desperately wanted to beg you to reconsider, to explain his side and promise to make it right, to fight for the connection he knew was there beneath all the pride and fights. But you simply turned away, snatching your bag from the bench with trembling hands and walking out of the gym without another glance back, the door slamming shut behind you like a final punctuation. The team stared at Suna in heavy silence, the air thick with collective disappointment and the undeniable truth that he had ruined everything irreparably, the weight of their unspoken judgments pressing down as they resumed practice in awkward quiet.

Which was all he remembered.

Back on the sun-drenched beach in the present, the volleyball game came to a brief halt as Atsumu tossed the ball idly to Osamu, who caught it with a nod toward their spaced-out teammate. “Suna, you planning to join us out here on the court, or are you just going to sit there staring into space all afternoon like some lost puppy?”

Suna ground out the remnants of the joint into the sand, grains sticking to his fingertips as he rose to his feet with a distracted nod. “Yeah, I'm coming now—just needed a minute to clear my head.”

it’s an easy job from a rebel group, by his standards atleast, sneak into the kingdom— do a little reconnaissance— war plans, army training, castle layout— get out, simple as that. so it’s like a saving grace when karasu accidentally stumbles upon you, the kings daughter, a defiant little princess who he finds just resting in the royal garden unguarded and you’re so easy to trick when he says he’s got the right to be here. “new hire.” he says, with an easy grin.

you’re a little naive perhaps, but a whole lot of beautiful.

he can use you, is his first thought. but perhaps unfortunately, karasu learns a lot more than just secret entrances and unguarded corners because he learns the way your laugh sounds when you’re laughing at his teasing, or the way your face pinches up at your first taste of tavern beer from over the walls, or the way your body looks outwith the finery of your royal garments, the way it looks beneath his palms….

you become a lot more than just a job for karasu, and he knows it’s dangerous, he knows it’s stupid. he knows weakness isn’t part of the business, specially not when it comes to having a relationship with a princess who’ll be married off to another royal soon enough.

so karasu gets the job done, he hands over the information and then he makes a plan, he’s done with this— he’s convinced himself of it.

he’ll crawl into the castle through the entrance that you always taught him to use; the one nearest your room, the unguarded ivy that slinks up the castle walls and then he’ll find you, he’ll rescue you, if you’ll have him that is and he’ll whisk you away from all of this. but when karasu does exactly that you can imagine his horror, his dread when the first thing he sees in your bedroom is you; in all of your silk finery, your hair twisted up in the fist of that very rebel who he just sold your kingdoms secrets to barely a week ago and there’s a blade at your throat.

your eyes widen like you’re relieved when you see him, but then as if by realisation or suspicion, they begin to glaze over.

“how did you get in here?” you say to the man over your shoulder, voice weaker than he’s ever heard it and without so much as a glimmer of sympathy, that same man shoves his knife in karasu’s direction with a smarmy chuckle.

“he charges a steep price but the information he brings back sure does pay off everytime.”

[sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader]

synopsis: headcanons of sakusa kiyoomi as your roommate.

wc: 1.2k

it will pass, you think when you ruffle their hair and let them hug you at your graduation ceremony, knowing you're gonna move abroad for college and won't be there to cheer them on in their 3rd year. you don't know that their eyes will still wander to the bench you used to sit, where you watched them while they gave it their all–for you.

it will pass, you think at the inarizaki volleyball club reunion at newly opened onigiri miya. osamu drops a plate the moment you walk through the door while cursing under his breath and suna lets out a sound between a moan and a whimper when he realizes it's you–it's really you, back in japan. back with them. fitting in between their arms as if you never left.

it will pass, you think when both of them still call you senpai despite being out of high school for almost a decade now. their voices are deeper and their hands are more calloused, less clumsy, longing eyes drinking in every syllable of their names that rolls off your tongue. there's a certain kind of devotion in their gazes. hunger, too. after all, it's you. it's always been you.

it will pass, you think, caged in between them on the couch, one hand in osamu's nape and the other on suna's thigh, pulling them closer until they're halfway in your lap, messy kisses trailed from your jaw to your collarbone, the other panting against your mouth until your lips part for him, until you don't remember where you end and where the other begins. they are so eager to please you, yet so greedy to get their fill. you let them devour you.

I'M SO HAPPY YOU ASKED

YOU'RE GOING INTO MY TAGLIST AAAAGH

But only if I'm also in your taglist 😶‍🌫️

... is this a safe place to say I don't have a taglist...? 🧍🏻‍♀️

Writer's note: Can you tell I'm more of a poet than a writer? I cannot write stories for hell as of now T-T but hey, I'm trying. NOT PROOFREAD. Thanks for reading!

multi!male!character x gn!reader. hurt with comfort. heavily self-indulgent regarding the characters. tw— heavy implication of su!c!dal thoughts.

You remember like the rocks at the riverside, who were carved upon for its life breath to flow.

The rocks line the river as if being the very being keeping its tides at bay. Strong enough to withstand the even stronger current. Nobody realizes the true nature of it all; for by the time the rocks are ground away, everyone who had borne witness is already dead.

In these rocks, you see yourself. Which is why you stand now at the riverside, gazing at the waters which lay chaos to the waning crescent's image within itself, curling upon itself, turbulent— much like the thoughts in your head. The thoughts that call shame on the winds rushing past your ears in a silent plead.

The riverside has always been a home you could only partially belong to as long as you lived. You wonder if it's time to seek sanctuary in it, too.

But it is then that you feel a strong pair of arms encircling you, pulling you into an embrace. No, not to itself. It pulls itself towards you. And you shut your eyes, because the presence is not hostile. It is someone you've always known. A silhouette in the saga you were meant to follow alone, the paradox that follows you.

He is silent as he holds you. And reality slowly hums to life as you stay there— the lulling winds are replaced by his uneven breaths, his warmth bleeds into you washing away the chill that had stuck to you like grime, and the thoughts quiet down.

All is not well in an instant. Much like how water painstakingly cuts through rock over the years, this pain too does not disappear— but it is soothed in the wake of the quiet birthed by the very act of perceiving one's soul to the truest.

"Let's go home, love," he murmurs in your ear. A part of him is afraid, you realize. Of losing you. Not to death, but to this nigh-familial darkness that swirls within a part of your soul, despite all brightness life has to offer.

You softly refuse. He listens. Even when you don't respond with words, he listens to your silence, where all that you cannot bring yourself to voice breathes quietly into the depths of his soul.

And he stays there by the riverside, looking out with you. If he cannot erase the night within you, he will keep you company through it, like a quiet silhouette who was given meaning because of your existence.

And at the riverside alongside him, you finally let out the breath you've held in for so long. For now, you are at home.

karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyū, getō suguru, fushiguro megumi, nakahara chūya, tomioka giyū, jason grace + your favs!

❛ TUTORING ❜

gender neutral reader x atsumu miya

Content: volleyball nationals were near, and with atsumu's grades not being as decent as he would've wanted them to be, his chances at participating were slim to none unless he got his grades in order, what other option than to assign him a tutor? thank god you weren't willing to tutor him.

Warnings: angsty, atsumu is down bad, atsumu is a dumbass outside of volleyball, cringy train of thoughts from atsumu, atsumu being a loser, poor wooing attempts, osamu is a menace, bad dating advice — and atsumu actually following through with it —, fluffy until it's not, it's like watching a car wreck and not being able to do anything about it, atsumu is a loser through the whole thing and acting like a dumbass, English — it's gonna be a warning in all my stuff, spare me :(

Word count: 1,967 words

Author's note: atsumu miya is a loser in my head, will always be regardless of how many fan girls he has, I can't portray him as anything but that, he's my baby but also my loser, and he shall remain a loser in my works too

Atsumu's grades were in the danger zone, and the alarm in his brain rang through vivid thoughts when the news that he wouldn't be going to the volleyball nationals if he didn't manage to regulate them at least a bit.