grow as we go

Hiiiiiiiiiii! I‘m Callie she/her welcome to my sfw hq blog!

I'm also under the same name on ao3

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dating iwaizumi hajime

Things atsumu miya would do if he was your boyfriend

masterlist

i don't write: cheating, non-con, general abusive behavior, smut, or ANY kind of character death or life threatening illness (because none of that is canon i said so and i've been hurt too many times

I also don’t write yakuza aus. explanation here

iwaizumi hajime who has dimples that cut deep into his cheeks when he laughs which is actually pretty often even though he has a truly horrific snorting laugh which he hates and which bursts out of him all the time.

iwaizumi hajime who literally cannot not laugh even when he’s biting his cheek like crazy and has to fake coughing fits in every school assembly.

iwaizumi hajime who always fills up your water bottle and takes your pink litre coffee cup with matching straw to the gym because he thinks it’s cute and he lost his own bottle.

iwaizumi hajime who has glasses he’s supposed to wear and a retainer he’s supposed to wear and who in reality wears neither because

iwaizumi hajime is the most forgetful responsible - person you’ve ever met and is chronically late to everything unless it’s meeting you because he reasons that it’ll ‘be fine’ even when you’re waiting for the train half an hour after you were meant to be there

iwaizumi hajime who sneaks into school trip locations just to say hi to you from across the gallery and pass you take away coffee he bought from the cafe outside

iwaizumi hajime trying desperately hard not to comment on your halloween costume even though it makes him slightly feral because he ‘respects women dammit’ and drapes his own grandpa cardigan over you more and more aggressively the drunker he gets

iwaizumi hajime who is always the guy in the corner with a beer watching you dance and is always ready to ditch a party in favour of getting takeout and the night bus home

iwaizumi hajime who is such an unobtrusive kind of loving: the kind where he absorbs all your harsh edges and choreographs his way around you in the morning round your tiny sink and fusses over which brand of bread to buy at the super market

and iwaizumi hajime who will run around the park in the rain howling like a wild thing and barrelling into you, hair dripping into his eyes, this wild boy with his sharp white teeth and deep, deep brown eyes

iwaizumi hajime who will build you a relationship full of inside jokes and fond irritation and constant texting about picking up loo roll on his way home.

iwaizumi who looks fantastic in a suit

iwaizumi who is scared of needles

atsumu miya is the boy who always says ‘of course’ instead of ‘your welcome’

atsumu miya who gets super shy about coming into shops with you in case someone spots him hanging around the changing rooms and thinks he’s some weird guy so insists on coming into the little cubicles with you and stands against the wall with his eyes shut dramatically as you change saying ‘i’m not looking!’ every few minutes even as you remind him you are literally together

atsumu miya who always likes to find reasons to be touching you, especially if he can have his arm around you

atsumu miya who uses his height to make sure no one knocks you over on public transport

atsumu miya who gets jealous if a thirst trap happens to pop up on your fyp but it’s a funny kind of indignation not an agressive one

atsumu miya who’s a pacifist but would always gossip about people with you and would absolutely go after anyone who gave you trouble

atsumu miya who waits outside your extra credit trip to take you for dinner afterwards even though it’s in the city and he had homework

atsumu miya who loves it when you stalk yelp to find the best cafes to study in and co ordinates directions no matter how far away they are and always takes your hand ‘in case you get lost’ when really he’s just following google maps

atsumu miya who is gently encouraging when you’re tired or stressed out or pissed off and sometimes likes to pick you up and give you what he calls a ‘big squeeze’ and hug you tightly making little squeaking sounds about how cute you are

atsumu miya who lets you hug him when he’s down, and sits in your lap with his face in you neck

atsumu miya who does that thing where he holds your face with both hands before he kisses it

atsumu miya who’s a ray of sunshine with a splash of salt that makes you laugh at his dirty jokes and bad pick up lines but also cheers you immensely with his smiles, his easy, open expressions

atsumu miya who gets matching couple necklaces with you and texts you good luck on days for things you can’t even remember telling him about

atsumu miya who dances with you in smoky rooms and looks damn sexy with his shirt half open and his eyes heavy lidded but also

atsumu miya who makes tea for you and wakes up slowly and lends you his hoodies and his sweatpants when you stay over unexpectedly and says you look ‘super adorable and tiny’ and then has to run away but he still meant it as a compliment

atsumu miya who is more of a physical affection kinda guy but also tells you that you’re his very favourite person ever along with his brother in a close second place but then feels guilty and calls osamu to check he hasn’t dropped down dead from the admission

kyoutani was hunched over at the dining table when you came home, in his favourite crewneck that's stretched out and worn so it hangs off his neck. your eyes trace the smooth skin, a little possessive smile on your face when you catch site of the chain, your initial glinting in the lamplight. you slide off your shoes and murmur "i'm home," trying to peer round at what he's doing, pen carefully in hand, moving far faster than it usually does. kentarou and writing are two things that don't usually go well together- his essays are nearly always crumpled, littered with crossing outs and spelling mistakes and his handwriting is honestly the worst you’ve ever seen. he's humming slightly: a song you must have exposure-therapied him into liking.

“hi."

you come up behind him, chin on his shoulder against his bleached hairline and peer down at the writing on the table, humming as he nuzzles against you, kind of like a dog, pressing his nose into the space where you neck meets your shoulder. you try and read what he’s written until your exhausted brain supplies you with the fact that it’s in another language. it looks like…arabic?

“what’s this?” you tap the page lightly, admiring how soft his hair feels under your nails while he hums and pulls back to follow your eyes. and then his whole posture instantly changes. you can feel him tense up, and see the blush on the tips of his ears. to anyone else he just looks like he always does, but you can read the blush down his neck, the way he blinks rapidly, his averted gaze.

“It’s stupid.”

you wonder if he realises that he tugs the little gold letter round his neck as he speaks, quietly.

“It’s-uh- it’s a poem. a love poem.” he smiles, and god he looks cute and determined and you briefly wonder if it’s possible to fall even harder. “It doesn't...work as well in japanese." he presses a quick kiss to where your head rests on his shoulder. "i'll tell you what it says.” he shifts purposefully, and reads. the undulating syllables are unfamiliar to you, but kyoutani speaks fast and sure, and there is a bigger meaning hidden in the trace of his hand on the paper, the warmth of his frame against yours, something that transcends language.

love.

oikawa smiled as he handed you the last volleyball from the corner of the gym. "all done." he smiled, wide and triumphant and you huff a laugh in spite of yourself. you wheel the bin into the equipment cupboard as he gathered your binders and notes into your bag, the two of you working in tandem: in sync in a way that felt warm and well-worn. sure tooru’s great on the court, when he’s all sharp edges and glinting, hard stares. but you love tooru in the slow dusk, when cicadas are singing in the humid air, and he exists in sweatpants and freshly showered hair that dries all over the place. “hey wait” he calls out as you make to pick up your bag, “give me a second.” his whole face cracks open into a smile, and suddenly he’s sweetly clumsy, sliding in his socks around the gym. he huffs a laugh, “I owe iwa-chan so bad for this.” you catch his hand as he hurries past, “tooru, what’re you doing?” but he brushes you off laughing, asking you to wait. “babe-” you stop. he’s switched off the gym lights, and- “wow.” there are lights woven through the railings above you, glinting so everything is bathed in soft light. and it looks…beautiful. tooru looks beautiful, brown eyes reflecting the lights, looking a little out of it with a slightly doped up smile. he fiddles with something in the corner and the gym is filled, suddenly, with music. “happy anniversary.” you gasp, immediately shifting to worst case scenario, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “oh my god” you breathe, “I’m such a bad girlfriend.”

“what?!”

he rushes over and wraps his long arms around you, concern painting his features. “what? no babe. you’re the best. my best everything. best friend, best girlfriend.” he pulls you closer, and you start to slow dance to the music, swaying gently on the spot as you breathe it all in. the summer night, the way he smells sweet like the shampoo he steals from your bathroom. “you have other girlfriends?” you giggle against his chest and he rolls his eyes, swaying against the music. "i love you" he sighs, smiling as your hand snakes into his hair. "you're so sappy" you smile teasingly, and he does too, because tooru is indulgent like that. "this is me being romantic," he whines softly into your hair. "and this is me being really, really in love with you," you reply, "thank you."

he strokes your hair.

iwaizumi is a very persuasive man when he wants to be. certainly now, as he smirks and unrolls yoga mats over your living room floor (coffee table paused back against the walls) you regret giving in. both to his rare dimples and the workout set he bought you. he knew what he was doing. “please?” it was a few nights ago, and hajime sat happily with you in his lap, cheek just brushing the tanned skin of his collarbone where his sweater hung loose. you smile sweetly. “no.” he puts down his book and squishes your cheeks between his hands as, you can only suppose, a sign of affection. “I need to practice for class!” he continues, and he knows he’s already won and you know you are absolutely weak, but sometimes hajime just gets this look in his eye and he uses his I-am-holding-something-very-precious-right-now voice like he always does when it’s just the two of you and dammit if you aren’t a little bit weak. but if you think about it, neither of you has ever said no to the other. not really. this is how you end up with Hajime smirking inches from your face, double helix in his ear glinting in the candlelight as he pushes your leg to your torso asking you to relax. you are not particularly relaxed. “come on” he coaxes, gently because now he’s using his I’m-looking-after-someone doctor voice and not his normal, slightly sullen, tsundere voice. “breathe into it.” he taps on your hip to distract you and you slowly exhale. you close your eyes, smiling at the feeling of your muscles relaxing, and the steady, careful hand of your lover. the stability that is iwaizumi adri hajime is something that has guided you for as long as you’ve known him.

you notice he’s stilled, and open your eyes to him sat back on his knees, just…looking. “argh!” he pulls you in to press kisses on your hairline in mock anger to avoid the seriousness of his expression. “you’re so pretty.” he does that sometimes: hajime is surprisingly frank and honest with what he thinks. you smile softly as he presses a cheek to your head, humming.

“मैं तुम से प्यार करता हूं, okay?" he whispers, "you understand? i love you. so much”

suna‘s breath fanned out across your face, intense concentration in the crease between his eyebrows, the way his hands held steady. the eyeliner wand stroked lightly against your skin and you fought the urge to blink.

“please don’t poke my eye out,” you say and feel satisfied when he huffs a laugh. “shut up!” he wines, “I’m concentrating.” and he is. it’s adorable how careful he‘s being. suna’s eyes are right in front of yours and you take some time to look at the green in them, and the way black curved the cat like slope of his eyes so he looked older and sharper than he did without it. you looked at his skin, pale and translucent, and the concentrated look on his face as he bit his lip. “there.” he drew back and looked at you intensely, hands tilting your chin to check the symmetry.

masterlist

the basic of cuddling- pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

when you call them your husband instead of your boyfriend- oikawa sakusa akaashi atsumu kyoutani

10 thing i love about you- kuroo

random headcannons- pt 1 pt 2

arab/japanese kyoutani

haikyuu boys proposing- kuroo/sakusa/oikawa

haikyuu boys the fandom misjudged part 2 part 3

hq boy's ideal type kyoutani

event stuff! 7. "...wow" 1. the bad days 5. secrets 8. forever 20. together

opening up atsumu and suna

haikyuu boys and family

christmas with suna rintarou

Haikyuu boys and compliments

Haikyuu boys and how to love them

Things suna rintarou would do if he was your boyfriend

Haikyuu boys and “romance”

Things atsumu miya would do if he was your boyfriend

dating iwaizumi hajime

suna rintarou would know how to show you he cares.

suna rintarou would be the kid with the rings and black nail polish waiting in the hallway outside your class because your teacher keeps you late.

suna rintarou would talk quietly with a smile that curves his mouth up in the corner, huffing laughs at your enthusiasm without ever acting like it was too much.

suna rintarou would know that he had sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue and he would would understand better than anyone that everything matters.

he would sling an arm round your shoulder, or stand to shield you on crowded trains.

he’d be so so keen to prove to you that you can be a family of just the two of you, holidays would be a big deal, birthdays would be a big deal.

he‘d carry a Christmas tree home in the snow with you like you’re in a rom com and yes maybe he doesn’t have hugh grants charm or show up outside your house with a boom box but love is very little running to kiss in the rain and rather a lot of quiet evenings in and breakfasts and sitting on the kitchen counter while the world wakes up.

he‘d send you little texts throughout the day asking how you are and always reply if you wanted someone to talk to or cry to or complain to because suna rintarou will not hesitate to roast everyone who has ever wronged you just to make you laugh.

suna rintarou smiles so his nose scrunches up, the same nose that gets really red when he’s cold. keep this close. you’re the only one who knows.

despite all this suna rintarou has the resting face of someone in the yakuza and the tattoos don’t help and in public he looks very brooding and mysterious for someone who wears beanies because his head “gets cold“ and has to hold your hand really tight to tell cashiers what he wants loud enough so they can hear.

he‘s very protective, and holds your hand or slings an arm round your shoulders almost all the time. he likes the arm thing, the feeling of having you tucked against him, because then he can glare at people over his shoulder to enforce the point.

suna rintarou would cup your chin and jaw so he could kiss you sweetly, mouth closed like you’re still in high school, the kind of kiss that isn’t about sex or romance or drama. the kind of kiss that’s just all about love.

he would also call you darling in a very earnest way, or lovely, but your name is nice too.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Thank you sm annn (cries) and indeed everyone on this blog for all the support and kind words. It means the world!!!!

OIKAWA TOORU: be his brightest supporter. Show him you’re proud of all of him, not just the parts he shows you to make you like him more. Love the easy parts of this. Go to every game and sit front row, wearing his jersey if you want to see him horrifically embarrassed and far too cocky. He’ll smile extra wide, and make sure that everyone knows that it’s his s/o sitting front row. Let him pretend he’s not as surprised as he is, let him act like he really thinks all those things you shout about himself, and then watch him blush and smile sillily at nothing, shaking himself when he realises what he’s doing. See how he looks at you for every play, usually with the signature goofy smile, but sometimes deeper. When he’s about to serve and it seems like he’s trying to stare through your soul. Nod firmly. No room for doubt. I believe in you. But also know the hard parts. Be his biggest supporter on the court, but know that it won’t be the most important thing you do. Love the parts he doesn’t think are as interesting. The ugly alien shirts or the way he looks in the mornings, dishevelled and half asleep. Know he will say things he doesn’t mean, know that you will both get angry because people cross lines when they care. But also know that he will love you like sunlight, and he got damn good at seeing when he’s wrong. Support him at his highest, and when he’s sobbing on the couch holding an ice pack to a knee that won’t even let him walk up the stairs, let alone win a game. Tell him he can do it.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI: treat him softly, but don’t pity him. Learn how to have grace in your comfort, learn how to be kind and strong. Love his wit, his quiet thoughtfulness, and share yourself with him as fully as he will in time with you. Laugh hysterically at night as you stagger home, and smile at the pink on his cheeks, the way he slurs his words and sounds almost offended when you ask him if he really thinks you’re beautiful. Go to games and find him after, hold his hand in yours and let him give you his scarf as you walk to the bar and atsumu asks you a thousand questions about your enigma of a partner. Realise there’s depth in your quiet, gentle force of a lover, and enjoy the laughing and the filthy jokes over red wine and face masks and bad tv. Know he’s bad at asking for help when he wants it, and that pain is not all there is to a person, even when he’s calling at one am and his hips slipped out again and no one likes to feel useless when someone they love is hurting. It’s a hard thing to navigate, and sometimes two strong souls clash and you can’t fathom why he has to be so stubborn about his health, but try and remember that he will never shout at you, that he will always be in your corner, even if you’re wrong, that the man who bitches about celebrity gossip in a way that has you screaming is also the one holding heat packs to his wrists with his face in your neck. There is beauty and love in both those moments. But know which one is more important.

ATSUMU MIYA: let him teach you that there is profound joy in not taking things too seriously. In choosing to be kind. Let him make you laugh, and make him laugh with your own dry humour and witty one liners. Be dramatic with him and complain at length about other people and gossip like nobody’s business just for the fun of it. Let him buy you things you don’t need but want and see him be the one boyfriend who comes into the changing rooms with you and sits on the couch practically beaming and ways everything looks so sexy he’s gonna pass out. Be bold and loud and reassure each other that you’re never ever too much when someone loves you. But also be smart enough to realise that happy people have things that make them sad, and there is more to the person you love than just jokes and over enthusiasm. And love those parts of him too, look after him when he’s sad, when people snub his attempts at friendship, when his coach berates him on his reports bad writing and he has to get you to do it for him, mortified, the paper clutched in your hand. Tell him it doesn’t matter, running your hand through dyed hair, tell him to be honest. And all this will come together into something that really will feel like home, his sunflowers on the ledge of your window, his presence a bright constant, and you will never run out of things to laugh about.

That’s just unfair man. Unfair. Disgusting. Not impressed.