meet the club founder kawa : she/her, 20 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 infj ∘˙ romance writer ‧₊ jjk, mha, haikyuu

all you need to do to join is follow her rules

WELCOME TO KAWA KAWA LITERATURE CLUB!!!

genres include :

• the haikyuu collection

•◦ the mha collection

•◦• the jjk collection

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ requests : open

© kawaluvs — all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

pairings: Iwaizumi x reader

content: one-shot!, post-timekip, suggestive

note: I can only write 100% fluff or 100% smut. Why is it so hard for me to write tension in between???

It was your New Year's resolution to start going to the gym.

Except time got away from you, and now it was your halfway-through-the-year resolution.

But you'd actually gone. You'd talked yourself out of the lazy day, found your gym bag, located a sports bra that still fit, and walked through the door.

You walked into the gym like a lost puppy surveying the unfamiliar room.

You had TikTok routines saved. A whole folder of them. What you had not accounted for was that watching something and doing something were apparently two completely different experiences.

You made your way over to the free weights section, setting your things down and picking up each dumbbell one by one to find something light enough that you could actually get reps in. The free weight area had a long mirror running the length of the wall above the racks, and when your eyes drifted up to it you went very still.

There was a man at one of the bench presses behind you.

Saying he was hard to miss felt like an understatement. It was mid afternoon and the gym was nearly empty, but you got the feeling you could have spotted him in a packed room too. Broad shoulders, the kind of arms that made the weight he was pressing look like he was lifting a feather.

You tried not to turn around too obviously.

You stiffly walked back to your bench with the weights in both hands, eyes forward, completely normal.

You decided to start with RDLs because the girl on TikTok had made them look simple enough. You planted your feet, hinged forward, let the weights travel down toward your shins, and tried very hard to remember what she'd said about form. Keep your back straight. Or was it keep your legs straight. Or both?

You set the weights down and reached for your phone to check.

And then a shadow fell over you.

When you looked up, the same spiky haired man from the mirror was standing over you.

"Hey, sorry to bother," he said, voice low and unhurried. "Would you mind spotting me?"

"Me?" You pointed at yourself.

He looked around the empty gym, then back at you. "Don't see anyone else."

"Right!" You laughed at your own question before you could stop yourself.

You followed him back to his bench where a long bar loaded with weight plates sat racked just above shoulder height.

You didn't know the first thing about spotting someone. The vague understanding you had was that you were supposed to help if he dropped it. Whether you would actually be physically capable of that was a separate question.

He sat down on the bench, rolled his shoulders back, and ducked under the bar, settling it across the top of his shoulders against his neck. Then he stood, unracking it in one smooth motion, and lowered himself back down.

His back muscles moved in a way you were certain human backs were not supposed to move.

Or maybe God had sent this as personal motivation to start coming to the gym more consistently.

He began pressing, exhaling sharply each time he pushed the bar up, a low grunt leaving him every time it came back down toward his chest.

You were supposed to be watching the bar.

But you were not watching the bar.

You were thinking about the fact that one of his arms was probably the circumference of your head.

The set went by in a flash. He was racking the bar almost as quickly as he'd unracked it.

He reached for the water bottle beside him, took a sip, and turned to face you properly. A single drop of sweat traced down the side of his face and you made a very conscious effort to look at his eyes instead.

"You new here?" he asked. "Haven't seen you before."

"Yeah," you laughed, the awkward kind that escaped before you could curate it. "That obvious?"

"The RDLs," he said. Not unkindly. Just matter of fact.

You groaned quietly. "Was it that bad?"

"Your back was rounding," he said, grabbing his water bottle. "You're going to feel it tomorrow if you kept going like that."

"I know," he said. "Think about pushing your hips back, not folding forward."

"Sounds easier than it probably is," you smiled, genuinely appreciating the advice while also being fully aware it meant approximately as much to you as every TikTok you'd watched and immediately forgotten.

"I'll show you after this set."

He turned back around like he hadn't just said that. Like it was the most casual, throwaway thing in the world.

You stood there for a second.

He'd show you?

How exactly was he going to show you?

As you walked back to your little corner of the gym, you snuck a glance at the mirror.

He was already looking at you in it.

The corner of his mouth pulled up slightly before he looked away, repositioning himself under the bar.

You were going to start coming to this gym every single day.

After he finished racking his weights and wiping down his station, he made his way over with the same unhurried energy he seemed to do everything with.

You grabbed the dumbbells and stood up quickly, feet shoulder width apart, back straight, chin up. Ready.

You glanced back at him over your shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, the kind of look that didn't need words behind it. Asking permission without making it a whole thing.

You gave a quick nod and looked forward again as fast as humanly possible, eyes fixed on the mirror ahead while you felt the warmth rising in your cheeks.

You felt the warmth of him close in behind you, near enough that you were suddenly very aware of the difference in your sizes. One of his large hands settled against your lower back, the touch firm. The other reached around toward your hip.

And then stopped just short of it. Not quite making contact. Just hovering there.

The air between you felt considerably thicker than it had five minutes ago.

You kept your eyes forward and your grip on the dumbbells tight and reminded yourself that you were in a gym on a Wednesday afternoon and this was a form correction and absolutely nothing about this should cause your heart to do what it was currently doing.

"Okay," he said, low and even, close enough that you felt it more than heard it. "Now push your hips back."

You did.

"More."

You pushed back further and felt his hand at your lower back apply the gentlest pressure, guiding the angle rather than forcing it. His other hand finally settled at your hip, just enough to keep you tracking in the right direction.

"There," he said. "Now lower."

You lowered the weights slowly toward your shins, and for the first time it actually felt like something. Like the right muscles were doing the right things instead of your entire body just folding in half and hoping for the best.

"Hold it."

You held.

"Good. Now drive your hips forward to come back up."

You stood, and he stepped back with you, hands leaving your body as naturally as they'd arrived. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn't just rewired something fundamental in your understanding of both exercise and personal space.

"Better," he said simply.

You turned around to face him, slightly breathless in a way that had very little to do with the one rep you'd just completed.

"That actually made sense," you said.

"I'd hope so," he said, reaching for his water bottle. "I spent a lot of money learning how to teach people this stuff."

The next hour settled into a rhythm neither of you had planned on.

Him walking you through exercises, hands finding the right angles and adjusting when needed. You following him back to his bench and would stand behind him with your hands hovering uselessly in the air while he pressed weight that would have flattened you. At some point it occurred to you that he almost certainly knew you had no idea what spotting involved. That he'd known from the very beginning.

You got the feeling he just didn't mind having you around.

With every exercise the distance between you seemed to shift. His hands stayed a little longer than strictly necessary. Moved a little higher toward your ribs, or settled at your hip in a way that sat right on the border of ass territory.

Not that you were complaining.

You were having your own fun too.

You laughed a little too easily at something he said that was maybe half as funny as you made it seem, letting your hand brush against his bicep and then trail down slowly enough that it couldn't be mistaken for an accident. You felt the curve of the muscle under your fingers and wanted to gush about it, but you didn't.

But it wasn't even the touching that was getting to you.

It was the eye contact.

Every single time. Through the mirror, across the bench, mid correction with his hands still on you — if there was an opportunity to hold eye contact he was taking it, and he never looked away first. Not once. Like he had nowhere else to be and nothing more interesting to look at.

"You have plans after this?"

He'd followed you to the lockers and was now leaning his shoulder against the one beside yours.

You opened yours and pulled out the t-shirt you'd worn in to cover the sports bra and spandex situation, shaking it out and tugging it over your head. When you shut the locker and turned around he was right there, close enough that the small space felt considerably smaller.

You shrugged. "Probably just going to get some food."

"You know what you eat after a workout is just as important as the workout itself," he said. Like he was simply sharing useful information.

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "What should I be eating?"

You actually wanted to know. That was the thing. Between everything else going on you were genuinely curious.

He held your gaze for a beat in that way he had.

"If you want to come over I can cook for you." The corner of his mouth moved, just barely. "I won't charge."

The locker area hummed quietly around you.

You looked up at him for a second, weighing it, though somewhere in the back of your mind you'd already decided.

"Only if I can get a few more free sessions out of you?"

Synopsis: You and Oikawa were childhood classmates, though back then you were just the quiet, unremarkable girl while he was already the center of attention. Years later you become a successful model, becoming someone no one from your childhood would recognize. When you run into each other again as adults, Oikawa is stunned by the transformation. Used to getting whatever he wants with ease, he quickly becomes intrigued by you. The only problem is, for the first time in his life, Oikawa can’t seem to get what he wants.

pairings - Oikawa x model! reader

warnings - mdni, Lots of sexual tension, Oikawa begging, enemies to lovers, alchohol consumption, fingering, eating out, - 5.8k

This is a story i wrote on wattpad i'm sort of rewriting and putting here! The original POV was third person so apologize if I wasn't able to fix all of it!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 —> coming soon

—

Yachi and a few other models had gotten word of a party being thrown by a few well known athletes. You didn't know who they were of course. You kept yourself as far from anything athletics related as humanly possible.

The driveway curved upward in a slow, deliberate slope, trees lining either side like a barrier from the rest of the street. By the time the house came into view it felt almost hidden. Dark walls broken up by wide panes of glass that glowed from the inside. Shadows moved behind them, silhouettes layered over flashing light.

Cars crowded the road all the way down the hill.

"This place is huge," you said, craning your neck. "And only one person lives here?"

"Apparently," Yachi replied, already reaching for the door.

You huffed softly and clicked your seatbelt loose.

The walk up to the front door was short but dramatic. Music pulsated faintly through the thick concrete before you'd even touched the handle. When you pulled it open, sound and light spilled out all at once, bass vibrating up through the floor beneath your feet.

"I can't believe this is someone's house," Yachi murmured as you both stepped inside.

The ceilings stretched high overhead, lights suspended like fixtures from a club rather than a home. The space was long and open, a full bar to the left, a DJ setup to the right.

The bar ran nearly the length of the wall, stools packed tight. You leaned between two people to place an order. The drinks came heavy handed and you passed one back to Yachi. Glass met glass with a clink before you took a sip.

After a while of talking with your group and having a few more drinks than was probably necessary, someone decided to insert themselves.

You felt a tap to your shoulder, instantly twisting and batting the hand away. "Don't touch."

"Whoa." Oikawa laughed, hands lifting in mock surrender, "Didn't realize personal space rules were so strict."

"Rule number one," you said, pointing at him with the finger holding your glass. "You don't touch me."

He was wearing dark slacks, a fitted white shirt, a brown leather jacket over the top. Put together in that specific way that suggested he was aware of exactly how he looked at all times. His gaze followed the motion of your glass, lingering briefly before finding your eyes again.

"Then what am I allowed to do?" he asked, head tilting.

You finished the drink and lowered the glass. "Get me another."

The smile that crossed his face was slow and satisfied, like you'd said exactly what he was hoping for. "Anything specific?"

"Surprise me."

He nodded, already turning back toward the bar like it was decided.

You went the opposite direction, slipping into a smaller room tucked beneath the staircase. The music dulled there, lights warmer and softer. Only a handful of people occupied the space.

You dropped onto one of the long couches, head tipping back as you exhaled. The empty glass rested against your leg.

Even with your eyes closed, you felt someone's attention settle across from you.

When you opened them, a black haired man sat perched on the edge of the coffee table opposite you. Elbows on his knees, posture relaxed but attentive. His eyes were sharp and curious.

"Haven't seen you around before," he said, lips pulling into an easy grin. "What's your name?"

"y/n l/n," you replied. "And you are?"

"Tetsurou Kuroo." The grin widened slightly. "Nice to meet you."

You smiled politely back. He was charming, the kind where knew exactly what he was doing. But the flutter just wasn't there the way it was around a certain someone who was currently at the bar supposedly getting you a drink.

"Do you live here?" you asked.

"Nah." He waved it off. "Best friends with the host. We plan these things together and he never thinks to invite girls."

"Does he like men?" you asked dryly, tilting your empty glass.

Kuroo laughed, "You'd think. Girls are just usually the last thing on his mind. He really just really likes to party."

Silence stretched briefly between you.

"So," he began, "what do you do?"

"I model," you said flatly, glancing at the condensation sliding down the outside of your glass.

"Figures." He said it plainly, eyes settled on you without any attempt to look like he wasn't looking. "You're really pretty."

"Yeah." A voice came from behind him. "She's also here with someone."

Oikawa appeared from behind Kuroo with two drinks, condensation dripping down his fingers.

Kuroo blinked, then laughed like he genuinely found it funny. "This guy?"

"Not like that," you said, though your eyes moved to Oikawa briefly before moving away.

Oikawa looked at Kuroo for just a second. "Move."

It wasn't rude exactly. Just very matter of fact. Kuroo stood, unbothered, the grin still sitting on his face as he stepped aside.

Oikawa took his place and handed you the drink without a word. You took a long sip immediately.

Kuroo leaned in slightly as he passed, voice low and unhurried. "When you get bored of this one," he said, the crooked grin aimed right at you, "you know where to find me."

Oikawa watched him go. Took a sip of his own drink. Let the silence sit for exactly long enough.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying," he said.

You shook the empty glass at him.

"I just got you that," he frowned.

"And now I'd like another one."

"You should slow down."

"You should mind your business, servant."

He let out a long suffering sigh. The kind that had become so specific to you. It meant he would do it, but not happily.

So he turned back toward the bar anyway.

—

You hardly ever let yourself feel like this.

Most nights involved delicate martinis sipped slowly at nice dinners, or light spritzes handed to you between touch ups. Strong liquor wasn't usually part of your world. But you loved the way it made you feel. The way it loosened everything up until you could stand in the middle of a crowd with your arms over your head and not care even slightly who was watching.

You bumped into your friends and laughed when they bumped back. Body moving to the rhythm, unhurried and unbothered, the music doing most of the work.

A flash of familiar brunette hair caught your eye.

Without thinking you pushed through the mass of bodies toward it, laughing apologies as you went. When you reached him you grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands. "Come dance," you said, slightly breathless. "That's an order."

Then you blinked up at the tall man standing beside him. Black and white hair, wide grin already forming as he watched you.

"Sorry," you hiccuped, squinting slightly. "Did I interrupt?"

"Not at all," he said, clearly delighted. "Looks like you're having a good time."

You nod too enthusiastically. "You're the host?"

"The one and only!"

"Then you should dance with us," you said, eyes half lidded, already turning back toward the crowd. "It's fun in there."

"Yeah, let's go!" He caught your free wrist and pulled you back into the mass of bodies, grinning over his shoulder. "You coming, Tooru?"

Oikawa didn't answer. Just let himself get pulled along.

But somewhere in the middle of it he felt it. The energy you carried when you were like this. Your friends moved just as freely as you, laughter spilling over the music.

Your hands left him as you danced on your own.

He watched for a moment before his hand drifted to your waist without him really deciding to, steadying you gently so you weren't floating into everyone around you.

You barely noticed. The flashing lights, the movement, the bass pounding through the floor, it was all starting to tip from fun into overwhelming.

"It's hot," you murmured.

"What?"

"I'm hot," you said louder, over the music. "Take me outside."

He nodded, hand settling carefully at your lower back as he guided you through the crowd.

The air outside was cooler and quieter. A few people lingered near the door waiting for rides. You dropped onto the curb and folded your arms over your knees, forehead resting against them. The breeze moved over your overheated skin.

He sat beside you. Not too close.

Silence settled between you, filled only by the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.

"Was it because of me?" he said quietly.

You scoffed. "Not everything is about you. There was a before and after. You weren't the first kid." You stared ahead, voice quieter now. "It just got worse when you joined in."

"Is that why you moved schools?"

"Yeah," you said simply. "So I lost the weight. Turns out this face was under all that."

You said it the way you always did. Like the girl you used to be was someone other than yourself.

His jaw tightened. "I really didn't know. I swear."

"Obviously," you replied. "You hardly knew what you were apologizing for when you did it."

Silence again.

"Is that why you look at me like that?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm not a person," he said quietly. "You're hard to read."

You laughed softly, mostly to yourself. "It's hard to trust an apology from someone who doesn't know what they're apologizing for."

"I know saying sorry doesn't fix it," he said. The usual lightness in his voice was completely gone. "But I am."

You were quiet for a moment.

"Just promise you won't do it again," you said finally.

"You think I'd ever do that again?" A short, humorless scoff. "I'd rather punch myself in the face."

You tilted your head back to look at him properly, a slow smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. "You want me so bad, don't you."

"Yeah." His eyes stayed on yours, "I do." He held your gaze. "Give me another shot. Let me take you out."

—

The door to your apartment clicked shut behind you both while Oikawa's mouth found yours.

He pressed you gently back against the wood door, the kiss deepening as his hands settled at your waist. You felt the warmth of his body press against you. The taste of vodka still on his tongue as it moved against yours.

His palms slide upward, cupping the curve of your breasts through the dress, fingers flexing in a way that created a knot in your stomach.

The kiss lingered, his hardness present against your hip yet he wasn't in a rush to do anything about it.

Eventually he drew back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes dark met yours with a hungry look.

Then he took your hand and led you toward the bedroom. Once inside, he turned to you again, mouth smashing back against yours as his fingers began to work at unzipping the back of your dress.

The fabric slipped down inch by inch, exposing your skin to the cool air.

The dress pooled at your feet, leaving you bare except for the thin lace of your panties. Oikawa's breath hitched as his hands hovering like he was afraid to touch without permission.

Then he suddenly sank to his knees right there on the bedroom floor.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice rough with years of regret, forehead pressing briefly to the soft swell of your stomach. "For everything I ever did. Let me show you how sorry I am. Let me make it up to you."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, easing them down with enough care to keep them intact, so he could stuff them into his pocket later.

And then his mouth was on you. Hot and desperate. His tongue parted your folds to lick a slow stripe along your pussy before circling your clit.

You gasped at the contact, fingers threading into his hair as he worshipped you with long strokes, sucking gently at your sensitive clit while his hands gripped your thighs for balance.

The apology lingered in every movement, his tongue delving deeper to taste your growing arousal.

Your hips rocked subtly against his face. Your old wounds were being replaced by the building need that had been simmering since the first time you saw him the other day.

He moaned against you, the vibration sending sparks through your nerves, one hand sliding up to cup your breast and thumb your nipple as he continued taking in every inch of your heat.

His cock began straining visibly against his trousers.

The hand on your breast squeezed gently, rolling the peaked nipple between his fingers in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue, sending currents of pleasure racing through you until your knees threatened to buckle. He steadied you with both hands now, palms spanning the backs of your thighs as he leaned in further

The sounds were obscene in the quiet room. The soft, wet glide of his mouth against your pussy, his quiet groans of satisfaction, the faint hitch of your own breath each time he found a spot that made your hips jerk.

When your thighs began to tremble around his shoulders, he pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny with your slick and eyes dark with something more than lust. More like devotion.

“Tell me what you need,” he rasped, voice rough against your skin, before sinking back in with even more focus.

One thick finger slid inside you, curling gently as his mouth returned to your clit, sucking and flicking in perfect tandem.

"Oikawa—" Your hips bucked against his mouth as the climax crashed over you, thighs clamping around his head while your pussy clenched around his finger.

A broken cry tore from your throat, waves of pleasure radiating outward as he licked you through it, tongue flattening to catch every pulse of slick arousal spilling onto his chin.

His free hand gripped your ass firmly now, holding you steady as the orgasm faded.

Oikawa rose slowly, his mouth glistening as he captured your lips again in a deep kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue.

His hands traced the soft lines of your waist with growing urgency before he shed his own clothes in quick, impatient motions.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, pressing hot against your stomach as he backed you toward the bed and lowered you onto the sheets. He settled between your spread thighs, the head nudging at your entrance with a shared groan. His eyes locked on yours as he rubbed his length against your slick heat, teasing you both.

You whimpered, your hips bucking. "Please," you breathed, voice trembling, "I need you inside me."

pairings: Bokuto x reader, Oikawa x reader, Kuroo x reader

content: one-shot!, model!reader, post-timekip, fluff

note: Let me know who else you guys would like to see when I write multifics.

BOKUTO . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

You tried to hold back your smile but felt your cheeks rising anyway, warmth spreading across your face before you could do anything about it. Your eyes dropped softly to your lap for just a moment, thinking about him.

Interviewer: "Oooh! That's promising! Who is it?"

YouL "Well, all I can say is he's a ray of sunshine. I could be in the worst mood and just seeing his face fixes it."

You let that sit for a breath.

You: "And his biceps are the size of my face."

The audience erupted, a wave of laughter rolling through the room, a few dramatic gasps scattered in between.

You laughed along with them, raising a hand like you were done taking questions.

But although you'd said it to get a reaction, you meant every word. You always did. There wasn't a single thing you'd say about him, even offhandedly, even to a room full of strangers, that you didn't mean completely.

That was just what he did to you.

"You said all of this about me?"

Bokuto leaned back against the couch cushions to glance over at you through the kitchen doorway, you washing dishes with your back to him like you hadn't just described him to an entire audience.

He always played your interviews or runway clips on the TV like it was a one-man watch party. You'd come home to find him already three hours deep in clips, completely invested, like he hadn't seen all of them already.

"Who else would I say it about," you chuckled to yourself, keeping your eyes on the task in front of you.

For about two seconds there was complete silence from the living room and then "THAT'S ME! SHE'S TALKING ABOUT ME!"

He was talking to absolutely no one. Just the walls and the TV, expressing whatever energy he had left from the day.

You heard the couch cushions shift, then footsteps, fast ones, and then you were completely enveloped from behind before you'd even had time to set the dish down properly. Both arms locked around you, his chin dropping to your shoulder, rocking you back and forth with an enthusiasm that nearly took you both into the counter.

"You are an angel," he said, pressing kisses into your neck between words. "If I couldn't make you smile I'd have no purpose. I'd be utterly useless. A shell of a man—"

"Kou—"

"A hollow, joyless shell—"

"Bokuto."

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to do the dishes."

"Okay," he said. And kept rocking you anyway, whispering baby into your neck like that was a completely normal and reasonable response to what you'd just said.

You thought he had walked away, but instead you felt an arm wrap around you from behind, not harshly, just cradling your chin in the crook of his elbow and tipping your face up toward the ceiling.

"Bokuto!" You giggled, surprised, hands still sudsy from the dishes.

"How about this! Does this get your attention!"

"You always have my attention," you managed through the giggling.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say if your goal was to get him to calm down.

"ALWAYS?!"

"Kou, I am trying to finish the—"

"The dishes can wait," he said, and there was zero negotiation in his voice about it, though he was still smiling so wide you could hear it. He turned you around by your face with all the care of someone handling something precious.

When you were facing him properly he looked down at you with that expression he got sometimes, the one underneath all the noise and the yelling and the dramatic declarations. Big gold eyes gone a little soft.

"You really said that about me," he said again. Quieter this time.

Not a question anymore. Just Bokuto, saying it out loud one more time because he wanted to.

OIKAWA . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

It was a behind the scenes interview, caught in the middle of getting ready for a runway show. The makeup artist was lightly dusting powder across your cheeks when you turned your eyes toward the camera.

You: "Usually I'd lecture you about not always needing a man, but this time, I do."

You smiled to yourself like it was some enormous personal achievement.

And honestly, to you, it was.

THE Toru Oikawa was dating you. Out of everyone who practically lined up to throw themselves at him, he had chosen you. You, who had seen through the charm on day one and made fun of him for it to his face.

You'd always known being nonchalant would pay off eventually.

Interviewer: "Oooh! Who is it?"

You: "Here's some advice."

Your eyes did a quick scan of the room checking to see who was listening before settling back on the camera with a small, satisfied smile.

You: "People say you can't find someone who is smart, attractive, and respectful. But it's possible. Never settle, ladies."

Oikawa clicked off his phone and tossed it to the side on the bed.

He was leaned back against the headboard, blankets pulled up to his waist, bare chest catching the low light of the bedroom lamp.

You were standing at the nightstand taking out your jewelry, makeup already off, hair down from where it had been pinned up all evening. It fell against your shoulders and he watched it happen from across the room without saying anything.

Then he spoke, "Smart, attractive, and respectful."

You paused, earring halfway out.

"You were watching the behind the scenes, weren't you?" you said flatly.

"Never settle, ladies," he quoted back at you, in a pitch that was not even close to your voice.

"Oh my god." you roll your eyes.

"So when you said smart—" he started.

"Oikawa—" you cut him off laughing.

He smiled wide and completely pleased with himself, the way he always looked when things went the way he wanted them to. You climbed into bed and he reached for you immediately, arms pulling you into him without any pretense about it.

"Attractive though," he said into your hair, "That was the part that got me. You could've said a lot of things."

"Tooru." you said in a soft voice, trying to interrupt his absent minded speech.

He went quiet for exactly one second.

"Really sexy or just handsome?" he asked. "Because I think that's an important distinction."

You buried your face further into his shoulder and he laughed, low and warm, arms tightening around you.

He'd be bringing this up for weeks and you both knew it.

"Well, I'm glad to know it's not just me bragging about you," he said, and his voice had shifted, the teasing gone quiet underneath something softer.

You pulled back slightly from where you'd been tucked against the warmth of his chest and just looked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "What? Not surprised?"

"No," you said flatly. "Iwaizumi told me you never shut up about me." You tilted your head at him. "It sounds like you need a new topic of conversation."

"Telling me not to talk about you is like trying to breathe without air," he said immediately, "Not possible."

"That's so dramatic."

"It's so true."

You looked at him for a moment, trying to hold onto the flat expression and not quite managing it. He caught the exact second it slipped and his eyes lit up the way they always did when he felt like he'd won.

You dropped back against his chest mostly to hide your face, and he caught you easily, arms wrapping back around you with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he had won in life.

"It would be nice to hear you say it to my face too," he said again, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"Goodnight," you muttered into his shoulder.

KUROO . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

You were mid red carpet, having already answered questions about the dress, your current projects and what was next. There was always only one topic left.

You also knew the photos from two mornings ago were already everywhere. You leaving his building in his oversized t-shirt and your tall brown leather boots from the night before, sunglasses on, coffee in hand. The internet had called it chic but others speculated about who the man could be.

You: "You could say that,"

A smile broke through before you could do anything about it.

Interviewer: "Oooh! Who is it?"

You: "I don't kiss and tell, but—"

You paused just long enough to let it breathe, glancing briefly down at yourself the way you did when you were choosing words carefully, then back up at the camera with a small, composed smile that gave away considerably more than you intended.

You: "He's really charming and he knows exactly how to use it. But I like when it's just the two of us and he realizes he doesn't have to. He doesn't have to charm me or impress me."

You paused for just a second, not for effect this time, just because you were actually thinking about it.

You: "I'll tell him the most boring stories and he always listens. And he'll send me things he thinks I'll laugh at at completely ungodly hours."

The interviewer laughed softly.

You looked briefly away from the camera, just for a moment, then back.

You: "I don't want to jinx it, But I think he's the one."

The front door clicked open, the sound of the TV shutting off following right after.

His eyes glanced over toward you. You were wobbling back and forth in the entryway, trying to get your heels off, dress slightly unzipped, hair ruffled from the night, eyes droopy in an exhausted way.

You would never let anyone see you like this.

Except him.

"Tetsu, help me please," you whined, the fitted dress making it nearly impossible to bend far enough to reach the buckles.

"Y/N," he said softly.

Something in his voice made you look up.

"Hi!" Your face broke into a bright smile the second you found his eyes. "Did you watch? How did I look? Hopefully better than I do right now," you laughed, tipping your head toward your current state.

He didn't laugh back. Just looked at you.

"Kuroo? What's wrong."

"You really meant that?" His voice came out gentle. His arms stayed straight at his sides, like he was afraid that if he reached for you right now you'd somehow slip through. "You think I'm the one?"

You blinked at him.

"Yeah, I mean—" you straightened back up, completely forgetting about the heels. "We've talked about moving in together. Kids. All of that." Your brow pulled together slightly. "You didn't think I meant it?"

"It's just—" he paused, "You said it out loud. To the public."

"Because Kuroo," you said, closing the space between you and looping your arms up around his neck, "I really, really, really love you." You tilted your head up at him. "Have I never made that clear until now?"

"You have," he said. His hands found your waist, unhurried, like they always did. Then something shifted at the corner of his mouth. Not quite the usual smirk but something softer. "It's just different when you tell the whole world." He exhaled once through his nose. "Like you're claiming me or something."

"Oh yeah?" You raised an eyebrow. "And what if I am?"

He looked down at you for a moment, and the smile that came across his face wasn't the charming one he used on everyone else. It was the one you only got in moments like this.

You lifted yourself onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly.

pairings: ex!Tsukishima Kei x reader

content: one-shot!, yearning, exes who aren't over each other, reunited years later,suggestive,might be ooc

note: inspired by hoodie by hey violet. other side note, i recently finished reading the boyfriend by freida mcfadden and her writing style is so amazing i feel like i'm subconsciously mimicking it.

You and Tsukishima Kei broke up years ago.

You'd been dating in high school, but once the two of you graduated, life became too much. You'd fight often about how he never made time for you, about how you never understood his ambitions. Two people who cared about each other in ways neither of you really knew how to express, and somehow that made everything worse instead of better.

But it was many years later now, and you were in your one bedroom apartment, living alone.

You'd tried dating after him. It never really went anywhere. The spark wasn't there, and no matter how many times you told yourself it would show up eventually, it didn't. It wasn't like what the two of you had. Even through all the arguments you never really stopped loving him.

So most nights (increasingly recently) like some kind of ritual, you'd pull on the sweatshirt he never got back from you after the breakup.

It was the only thing you kept.

Everything else you'd thrown out. Gotten rid of quickly, before you could think too hard about it, because keeping any of it made you feel sick. But the idea of throwing out the sweatshirt made you feel worse. So it stayed. Folded on the shelf in your closet, then gradually migrating to your dresser drawer, then eventually just becoming a permanent part of your evenings.

You wore it most nights while you watched sappy romance movies.

Sad and pathetic, years after, you were aware of that.

It didn't help that your work played his volleyball games on the TV in the background sometimes, a reminder that his life had kept moving. He was probably fine. He probably never thought about you at all.

You'd made your peace with that. Mostly.

As you curled up on the couch, the large hood pulled up over your head and the hem falling almost to your knees, a knock sounded at the door.

You groaned. You had literally just sat down with your bowl of popcorn.

Reluctantly you pushed yourself off the couch, set the bowl to the side, and tugged the hood off your head as you stepped toward the door.

The latch clicked open.

And the person standing on the other side was the last person you expected.

"Hey," he said.

The confidence in his voice left almost immediately, his eyes dropping to the faded green fabric hanging off your frame, and for just a second Tsukishima Kei looked like he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

You were completely dumbfounded. Thoughts were racing through your head so fast you couldn't land on a single coherent one.

"What— you— here? Why??"

It came out like you'd forgotten how language worked entirely. And in the same instant, the full weight of the situation caught up with you all at once.

You were wearing his sweatshirt.

His sweatshirt. The one he'd never gotten back. You had never once considered the possibility that anyone would actually see you in it.

Especially him.

You still had no words, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"I came to get my sweatshirt," he said, pointing at the article of clothing you were currently wearing.

"Oh! Right!"

Except it didn't make any sense. It had been nearly five years. He hadn't even worn the thing when you were together. The idea that he'd shown up at your door after all this time specifically for a sweatshirt didn't hold up for even a second.

You both stood in silence.

You were completely overthinking. Do you take it off right now and hand it to him? You couldn't, you had nothing on underneath because the inside was so soft you never wore anything that would get between. But you couldn't invite him in either. Except shutting the door in his face would somehow be even worse.

"Can I come in," he said.

"S— sure," you squeaked, stepping to the side and pulling the door open wider.

His tall figure moved past you into the apartment, and you noticed immediately that he'd gotten taller somehow. Broader too. Specifically his shoulders, his chest, the way he filled out the doorframe was so ughh.

Once inside, he stopped in the space between your kitchen and living room and stood there, not quite sure what to do with himself now that he'd actually made it through the door.

"I'll, umm— I'll change," you said quickly, already shuffling toward the bedroom before he could respond.

While you were gone, he looked around the room.

The bowl of popcorn sitting on the couch cushion. Then the TV, he recognized the movie. It had come out recently, and he knew it was a romance. A particularly moody one.

His eyes moved to the kitchen next. Spotless. That was one thing that he’d always remember. You'd always been organized. He'd never once had to remind you of a deadline, a birthday, an anniversary. You just knew.

He was still looking at the kitchen when he heard the bedroom door open behind him.

He turned.

You stepped out in an oversized t-shirt, the green sweatshirt folded over your arm.

Even though it was his request, he liked it better on you.

That was why he'd given it to you in the first place, back when things were still good and you used to steal it without asking and he pretended to be annoyed about it. He'd never actually wanted it back. Not once in five years had he thought about the sweatshirt.

He'd only ever thought about you.

"Thanks," he muttered, reaching out to take it from you.

You handed it over quickly, and the possibility that the sweatshirt was just an excuse didn't even cross your mind. You were suspicious, somewhere in the back of your head, but you'd never actually let yourself believe it.

"Well, I guess that's goodbye then!" You stood there with your hands clasped awkwardly in front of you.

But he didn't move. He was running through options in his head, looking for something to grab onto.

"What movie are you watching?" he said instead.

"Umm, Eternity." You tilted your head slightly, eyes shifting between the screen and him. "Have you seen it?"

He shrugged. Threw the sweatshirt over his shoulder and pushed his hands into his pockets, pulling off aloof the way he always had. "No. But it looks good."

You genuinely couldn't tell what he was trying to do. Was he asking to stay? Or just making conversation before he left?

"Umm. Yeah…" you offered.

Silence fell between you again.

"Dammit, y/n," he said then. "Are you actually this dense."

"No," you retorted, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one side. "I just find the story I've built in my head hard to believe."

Something in his expression shifted, just slightly. "You always did have a wild imagination." A beat. "But I don't think you'd be that far off."

The way he said it made you narrow your eyes at him.

"So you actually tracked down my apartment years after we broke up and moved to different places," you said slowly, "just to use your sweatshirt as an excuse to see me?"

His eyes locked onto yours and stayed there. You didn't want to be the first one to look away, but it was getting harder to hold.

"Yes," he said simply. Still holding the sweatshirt. "I don't care about the sweatshirt. It wouldn't even fit me anymore."

"But why, Tsukki?" The sharpness in your expression softened before you could stop it, your eyebrows pulling together. "I don't understand."

He just kept staring at you, and somewhere behind his eyes you could see him starting to second-guess himself. The careful, unbothered mask he always wore was still there, but it was slipping around the edges.

Of course you had your own life now. What made him think he could just show up and walk back into it?

"Are you still single?" he asked.

"Tsukishima, what are you trying to get at!!" Your voice came out sharper than you meant it to.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and for a second he just looked at the floor like he was deciding what to say next.

Then he looked back up at you.

"I'v never gone on a date since you," he said. "I've been saying no to that stuff for years. " he stopped then started again, "It's always been you and I didn't know how to behave so I just..."

"This time around?" You quirked an eyebrow and tilted your head at him.

He looked at you like the you just speaking gibberish.

"Tsukishima Kei, you are going to have to be a lot more specific than that."

He let out a short breath through his nose. The sweatshirt slid off his shoulder and he caught it without looking, turning it over in his hands once before setting it down on the counter.

"I mean it," he cut in firmly. "I'm better at this now. Better for you."

He was looking at you with that expression you'd almost forgotten.

All these years in between then and now, you'd slowly let the happy memories blur out and focused only on the bad ones. But then his eyes softened on you, the way they used to, and you felt something kick hard in your stomach.

You'd forgotten he could look at you like that.

"It was stupid of me to think you haven't moved on," he said, "and built a life that has nothing to do with me anymore." His eyes finally dropped to the floorboards, breaking from yours for the first time since he'd admitted anything real.

"I haven't," you said, like you were running out of time to say it. Like if you waited another second you'd talk yourself out of it entirely. "You know, I cried when the smell of your cologne wasn't on the sweatshirt anymore." You let out a short, quiet laugh at yourself, because what else could you do. "That was forever ago and I still wear it even after that. So."

You shrugged once, small and a little helpless.

"You said you always hated my cologne," he stated flatly.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I did. But I still missed it because it made me think of you. No one else would wear something that awful."

He let out a stiff, breathy chuckle, like he had finally been given permission to relax. It cracked through whatever was left of the tension in the room.

You felt the corner of your own mouth pull up before you could stop it.

"I know you're probably busy after this," you said, twisting your index fingers around each other in front of you. "Fitting me into your schedule and all. But I was just about to watch a movie alone and it would probably be better if I had company."

He stepped closer, just closing the distance that had been sitting between you all evening.

"I won't make the mistake of wasting another second without you," he said quietly.

And then his hand came up, large and warm against the back of your head, and he bent down and pressed his lips to your forehead. Gentle in a way that Tsukishima rarely let himself be.

You stood very still and let him.

When he pulled back he didn't go far, just enough to look at you properly, and you tilted your head up to meet his eyes. Up close like this, he looked the same as he always had underneath it all. Older, yes. Broader, another yes. More settled into himself, of course. But still Tsukki.

You lifted yourself onto your toes and pressed your lips to his in return.

It started soft but it didn't stay that way for long. His hand was still at the back of your head and yours had found the front of his shirt.

And all you could think was thank God you still had your ex boyfriend's sweatshirt.

pairings: Tooru Oikawa x reader

content: one-shot!slight angst,jealousy, childhood friends, one sided

note: i made oikawa as a tomodachi and immediately after putting him on the island he and my mii started dating. ugh make this real life

—

You, Tooru Oikawa, and Hajime Iwaizumi had been friends for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember where it even started.

Actually, that wasn’t true.

It started the day you moved in next door to the Oikawa family.

You still remembered standing on their front porch half-hidden behind your mother’s leg while the adults introduced themselves. You’d been shy back then, clutching onto the hem of your shirt while peeking out cautiously at the boy standing across from you.

Oikawa, meanwhile, had no problem staring.

Little Tooru stood proudly beside his mom with wide, curious eyes, like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in a while. Before the adults could even finish talking, he stepped forward onto the porch, grabbed the sleeve of your shirt, and asked, “Do you wanna play?”

You looked up at your mom immediately for permission. The second she nodded, you ran off with him without another thought.

And after that it was history.

Somewhere along the way, Iwaizumi got dragged into things too, and the three of you became inseparable. The neighbors got used to seeing you all sprinting through the streets together, arguing over stupid games, scraping your knees on pavement, and getting yelled at for being too loud outside someone’s window.

But as you got older, things slowly started to shift.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi got serious about volleyball, and no matter how hard they tried to teach you, you were absolutely terrible at it. Like, genuinely hopeless. Your serves went in the wrong direction, your receives nearly took people out, and at some point both boys had silently accepted defeat.

So they started spending more time together practicing on their own.

You’d watch from Oikawa’s backyard sometimes while they worked on serves and sets for hours, completely locked in while you sat nearby doing homework or scrolling through your phone. It wasn’t intentional. Volleyball just became their thing.

Still, the friendship stayed.

Especially with Oikawa being your neighbor. There was no escaping him even if you wanted to. Every morning the two of you walked to school together like it was second nature, talking about classes, gossip, whatever happened the day before and, more often than not, volleyball.

Nationals. Practice matches. Team drama. Oikawa could somehow turn any conversation back to himself within minutes.

And even though he had this obvious charm he used on literally every girl around him, it never really worked on you. You saw right through it immediately and made fun of him for it constantly.

To everyone else, Oikawa was Seijoh’s “great king.”

To you, he was still just Tooru. The annoying boy who used to steal snacks from your kitchen and complain dramatically when you beat him at Mario Kart.

A new season had just started, and the gym buzzed with that usual beginning-of-the-year energy.

Oikawa stood near the serving line spinning a volleyball lazily in his hands when movement near the gym entrance caught his eye.

You walked in beside Iwaizumi.

His attention shifted immediately.

The coach approached you, saying something Oikawa couldn’t hear from across the court. He stilled slightly, fingers tightening around the volleyball as he watched the interaction.

What were they talking about?

Then the coach’s whistle rang through the gym.

“Listen up, everyone!” he called. “We have a new manager.”

The team jogged over quickly, forming a loose semicircle around you and the coach. A few players offered polite greetings before immediately scattering back to practice once introductions were done.

But Oikawa stayed exactly where he was.

“You’re the manager now?” he asked, staring at you like you’d personally betrayed him. “Why didn’t I hear about this? We literally walked to school together this morning! You didn’t think to mention it?”

You laughed a little at the offended look on his face and reached up to pat his shoulder. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“She's always waiting around for you to finish practice anyway,” Iwaizumi cut in casually from beside you. “Figured if she had something to do, she wouldn’t die of boredom.”

Oikawa immediately pointed accusingly at him. “This was your doing?”

Iwaizumi only shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe.”

Another whistle cut through the gym before anyone could keep talking, and the coach immediately started shouting directions for drills. Everyone scattered back into place, shoes squeaking loudly against the floor as practice picked back up.

Eventually, you fell into rhythm with the rest of them.

At first you thought being manager would feel awkward, like you’d constantly be in the way, but after a couple weeks it started becoming natural. Practice jerseys would get tossed your way after drills, volleyballs rolled back toward the cart beside you, and without even really realizing it, the team started depending on you.

Someone always forgot something. Usually water.

“Manager, do we have extras?” one of the first years would ask between drills, already out of breath.

And every single time, you’d hand one over with a sigh and a, “knew this would happen.”

You started learning how to tape fingers too. At first it was just watching videos at home or asking questions while the trainer worked, but eventually you got good enough that players started coming to you automatically whenever they jammed something or needed support before practice.

Sometimes they lingered a little too long afterward. Sometimes they stood a little too close while talking to you.

And unfortunately for everyone involved, Oikawa noticed everything.

Mostly because your attention wasn’t on him all the time anymore.

And it was seriously starting to irritate him.

It started small.

“Y/n,” he whined dramatically one afternoon, dragging himself over to where you sat beside the bench, “I forgot my water.”

You didn’t even look up from organizing jerseys. “No you didn’t, idiot. It’s literally right there.”

You pointed toward the bench where his water bottle sat in plain sight.

Oikawa stared at it for a second before clicking his tongue.

A few days later he tried again.

“Y/n, can you tape my fingers for me?” he asked, suddenly appearing beside you while holding both hands out dramatically.

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Why do you need my help all of a sudden?”

“Well, you wanted practice, right?” he said quickly. “C’mon, just help me.”

You rolled your eyes, but eventually you grabbed the tape anyway and motioned for him to sit down.

The second your hands touched his fingers, he went weirdly quiet.

You were too focused on making sure the tape stayed tight enough to notice the stupidly soft look spreading across his face, but the rest of the team noticed immediately.

But eventually, it got bad enough that Oikawa caught himself watching you more than he was interacting with you.

It happened constantly now. His eyes drifting toward you across the gym without even thinking about it. Watching you laugh at something one of the first years said, watching you smile while handing someone a towel. The annoying part was that it usually wasn’t even because someone said anything particularly funny.

That was just how you were.

Bright. Easy to be around. The kind of person that made people want to stand closer just to be included in whatever warmth you carried around naturally. Your laughter spread through the gym so easily that half the team would smile without realizing it.

And every single time he saw it, something twisted strangely in his chest.

It was sharp and uncomfortable and confusing all at once. Like his stomach suddenly dropped straight to his knees while his heartbeat sped up for absolutely no reason.

…Was he jealous?

The thought alone irritated him.

Because jealous of what, exactly?

Still, the feeling didn’t go away.

One afternoon while walking home together, he was unusually quiet. No dramatic storytelling, no complaining about practice, no fishing for compliments every five seconds. Just silence.

You glanced over at him carefully, trying to figure out what was going on. Usually his expressions were easy enough to read if you’d known him long enough, but this time he just kept staring at the sidewalk ahead like he was concentrating on every single step he took.

“What’s up with you lately?” you finally asked, nudging your shoulder lightly against his. “You’re weirdly quiet.”

He shifted slightly at the contact before forcing out a laugh. “Haha, no I’m not.”

It sounded fake immediately.

And he knew you knew it too.

Because unlike everyone else, you never really fell for the polished version of Oikawa. You could tell when he was putting something on.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s your deal, huh?” you pressed. “It’s not just with me either. You’ve been weird during practice too.”

That finally got his attention.

“Your serves keep going just a little too far out,” you continued casually, like you were listing facts instead of accidentally attacking his pride. “And your sets have been inconsistent.”

He stared at you for a second, genuinely offended.

“…You noticed that?”

“Obviously I noticed that,” you scoffed. “I watch all your games, idiot.”

And for some reason, hearing you say that made his chest feel tight all over again.

“Y/n…” Oikawa started, then stopped again almost immediately.

For once, he actually looked unsure of himself.

His brows pulled together slightly while he searched for the right thing to say, but the longer he stayed quiet, the more obvious it became that he wasn’t finding it. He hated sounding selfish. Hated sounding needy even more. But there wasn’t really a better way to explain it.

“You’ve been hanging out with everyone else instead of me now.”

The words came out quieter than usual, missing that dramatic confidence he normally carried around so easily.

You stopped walking immediately.

Oikawa took a few more steps before realizing you weren’t beside him anymore, and when he turned back to look at you, you were just staring at him with an expression he couldn’t read yet.

Then your eyes widened slightly.

“…Are you jealous?” you asked.

And somehow, you sounded way too excited about that possibility.

He groaned instantly, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t—I don’t even know!” he snapped back, more frustrated with himself than with you. “It’s annoying, okay?”

You blinked at him.

He’d never really had to compete for someone’s attention before.

People naturally gravitated toward him: teammates, classmates, girls. it had always just happened. But now suddenly you were smiling at other people the same way you smiled at him, laughing with them, staying after practice helping them, and every time he saw it, something sharp twisted in his chest.

And the worst part was realizing your attention mattered more to him than anyone else’s ever had.

You stared at him for another second before the corners of your mouth slowly started lifting.

“Oh my god,” you said softly, like you’d just discovered something unbelievable. “You are jealous.”

“Don’t sound so happy about it,” he muttered immediately, ears starting to turn red.

That only made your smile bigger.

“You think you’re becoming less important to me because I’m treating you the same as everyone else?” you asked, “I’ve never treated you differently. Why did you think you’d get special treatment?”

“I didn’t think I’d get special treatment, don’t put words in my mouth,” he shot back immediately. Then his expression softened just a little. “But now I’m the one waiting for you after practice. I miss when you’d be the one waiting for me.”

“You’re reminiscing,” you said.

“I’m not,” he replied.

You stepped closer to him. The distance between you shrank until you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes properly. "than what,"

“I just miss… you. When it was just us.” he spoke softly.

That made you go quiet.

His gaze flickered for a second, like he was trying to decide what version of himself was safer to show you.

“You’re still my best friend,” you added softly. “Becoming manager didn’t change that.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” he said, a little too fast.

The words came out before he could properly stop them.

And then, for once, he didn’t immediately joke his way out of it.

His grip tightened slightly at his side. His voice dropped just a bit, less confident than usual.

“I think what I’m feeling…” he started, then paused like the sentence itself annoyed him for not being easier. “It’s stronger than just wanting you to be my best friend.”

"Oikawa," you said softly, and this time you were the one searching for the right words.

But he didn't let you speak.

"You were always my best friend growing up," he said quickly, like if he stopped he'd lose whatever nerve he had left. "Now I have to share you, and I don't like it. I don't like that they all get to see what I do. I know it's not the same, but it feels that way."

He paused just long enough to breathe, but it didn't really steady him.

"I want to be as important to you as you are to me."

You opened your mouth immediately. "You are—"

"Not like that, y/n," he cut in fast, sharper than before. "Not as friends."

"Oikawa, listen for one second, oh my god," you said, rolling your eyes out of instinct more than irritation, but the moment you did, he went still.

You exhaled, dropping your hand slightly as you reset your tone.

"You really think I'd still be hanging around you if I didn't like you?" you said, quieter now, more steady. "I could've walked home with any other teammate, but I chose you."

His gaze flickered, but he didn't interrupt this time.

"I'm their manager at practice," you continued, like you were laying it out plainly for him to finally hear it right, "but once it's over and we leave that gym, I'm with you."

A beat.

"I'm only important to them as their manager, and they're only important to me as players."

You looked at him then, properly, making sure he wasn't missing it.

"But you're not just a player to me, Oikawa."

He was quiet for a moment.

That alone was unusual. Oikawa always had something to say. It was practically a reflex. But right now he just stood there, looking at you like he was still processing the fact that you'd said it out loud.

Then, slowly, something shifted in his expression.

"That's not fair," he said finally, and his voice came out quieter than before.

You blinked. "What?"

"You can't just say something like that and look at me like that." He turned his head slightly, like he needed a second away from your gaze. "I've been working up to this for months."

"Months," you repeated flatly.

"Months, y/n."

You stared at him. "You're so dramatic."

"I'm serious right now."

"I know," you said. "That's what's weird."

He looked back at you then, and the corner of his mouth pulled up just slightly despite everything. Just enough. The kind of almost-smile he couldn't really help even when he was trying not to.

"I really don't like sharing you," he said again, quieter this time. Less like a complaint and more like an admission.

"You're not sharing me." You said it simply, like it was obvious. "You never were."

Another beat of silence stretched between you.

He exhaled through his nose, glancing down briefly before looking back up, and this time he didn't look away.

"Okay," he said.

Just that. No grand gesture. No perfectly timed line.

Just okay, in a voice that meant considerably more than the word itself.

You nodded once.

pairings: Kei Tsukishima x reader

content: one-shot!fluff, Partial text-fic, tutor!tsukishima x reader, comforting you, just so much fluff

note: wish i had a sexy tutor to help me through finals rn

—

Math was actually starting to stress you out, which felt ridiculous because it had never been your worst subject. But lately, everything just felt off. You’d been picking up extra shifts, staying out late, barely sleeping, and when you finally sat down to do your work, your brain just wouldn’t cooperate. Now you were behind, really behind, and it was starting to show.

So you went to your teacher for help, and he recommended Kei Tsukishima.

You knew who he was. Same class, always answering questions without hesitation. The kind of person who made everything look easy and didn’t really care if anyone else kept up. You’d never actually talked to him before, though. He wasn’t exactly approachable.

You still stared at your phone for a minute before texting him.

You: hi, is this tsukishima

Tsukishima: yeah

Tsukishima: you’re the one i’m supposed to tutor?

You: yeah, that’s me You: are you free after school? maybe we could meet in the library

Tsukishima: got practice Tsukishima: i can come after

You: okay, that works You: i’ll try to start some of it so i have questions ready

You: thank you btw, you're really a blessing

Tsukishima: just don’t expect me to do all the work for you

When the bell finally rang, you didn’t waste a second. You shoved your books and loose papers into your bag as fast as you could, barely checking if anything got bent. The goal was to get to the library early, get as much done as possible, and not look completely helpless when he showed up.

You ended up at a table tucked in the back corner, right by a big window. It was quieter there and a little out of the way.

You dropped your bag into the chair next to you and immediately got to work, pulling everything out in a messy spread across the table. Homework, quizzes, half-finished notes. Some of it you understood and some of it you very much didn’t. You started marking the problems you needed help with.

You just wanted to get through it as quickly as possible. Probably the same way he did.

Because you hated sitting there and not understanding something you should understand.

At first, you were making decent progress. Your pencil moved steadily across the page, numbers and steps coming back to you in pieces.

Then it slowed.

You blinked, trying to refocus, but your vision kept going soft around the edges. Your hand paused mid-problem, pencil hovering just above the paper.

You told yourself to keep going.

Just one more question.

But your eyelids felt heavier by the second, and before you really processed it everything went dark.

—

By the time Tsukishima made it to the library, he still had that faint post-practice exhaustion hanging on him. Hair slightly damp, expression already leaning toward annoyed.

He glanced around, scanning the tables until he spotted you.

Curled up at the desk. Papers everywhere. Completely out.

He clicked his tongue under his breath, walking over and stopping beside you. For a second, he just looked at the mess: your notes, the circled problems, the pencil still loosely in your hand.

Then he reached out and nudged your arm with a finger.

“Hey.”

No response.

He nudged you again, a little less gentle this time.

“…You serious?”

You let out a quiet groan, still half asleep, barely aware of anything except the dull ache in your neck. Across from you, he had already dropped his bag into the seat, the sound soft but enough to fill the silence around you.

He slipped off his jacket, pausing for a second as a cool draft moved through the library. His eyes flicked back to you.

There was a brief hesitation before he lifted the jacket again and, almost carelessly, draped it over your shoulders. Like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t thinking about it at all.

Then he turned and walked off toward the vending machines without another word.

—

The shift in warmth stirred you not long after.

You blinked awake slowly at first, disoriented, your surroundings taking a second to come back into focus.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath, scrambling to check the time. You were late. Way past when he said he’d be there.

And he wasn’t.

Panic hit fast. You grabbed your phone, fingers moving too quickly over the screen.

You: im sorry!! i mustve fell asleep! are you still here??

When you looked up again, he was already walking back toward you.

One hand held his phone, screen still lit. The other had a small carton of milk. His expression was the same as always, flat, tired and maybe a little annoyed.

“You finally awake?” he said, stopping at the table.

He set the milk down next to your elbow. You blinked at it, then up at him. “…for me?”

He shrugged, already pulling his chair out. “You need something to keep you up,” he muttered. “I don’t feel like being stuck here all night.”

You shifted in your seat a bit more so you could sit up properly, and as you did, the jacket slipped off your shoulders and landed on the back of the chair behind you. You reached back for it and grabbed it quickly, turning toward him.

“Oh… thank you,” you said, already lifting it to hand back over.

But Tsukishima didn’t take it. He just glanced at it for a second, then back at your scattered papers like it wasn’t really worth stopping for. “Just keep it for now,” he said flatly. “We don’t have time to waste.”

You paused, holding the jacket mid-air. That felt weirdly considerate for him.

You’d barely talked to him before this, and from what you knew, he wasn’t exactly the type to do unnecessary nice things. But he was already sitting down, pulling your worksheets closer like nothing happened, so after a beat you just nodded and let the jacket fall back around your shoulders again.

“Okay,” you mumbled.

It still didn’t quite make sense to you, but you were too tired to overthink it properly.

What you didn’t realize was that this wasn’t random for him.

He had noticed you a long time ago in class. Same subject, same room, same routine. You were one of the only people who actually kept up and sometimes even answering before he did, always with your work already done way in advance.

It was annoying, in a way he didn’t really admit out loud.

Not because you were bad at it. The opposite, actually. You made him feel like he had to stay sharp, like there was someone else actually matching pace instead of dragging behind.

“This one,” his finger tapped the paper right where you’d circled the problem in bright red pen. “What don’t you get? It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“Oh—wait, I think that connects with this other thing I missed,” you said, dragging another worksheet over from the mess in front of you.

He glanced between the two pages, then back at you like he was already anticipating where this was going. “Yeah, it does,” he said after a beat, reaching over to slide the second sheet closer so he could see it properly. “You’re just skipping the step that connects them.”

“Okay, but that step is the part I don’t get,” you shot back, not even thinking about it before saying it.

He exhaled through his nose. “Obviously,” he said, and started explaining it again, slower this time.

And somehow, it didn’t feel tense anymore.

At some point, it stopped feeling like you were being tutored by someone you barely knew and started feeling like a real conversation. You’d ask something, he’d answer, and then you’d immediately counter it with another question when something still didn’t make sense. He’d pause, adjust, explain again, sometimes a little sharper than necessary, but never actually stopping.

It went back and forth like that for a while.

And somewhere in between all the circling, scribbling, and low-voiced explanations, the weird distance you’d expected faded without you noticing, replaced by something smoother. Like this wasn’t something you had to force yourself to be comfortable with anymore.

When the session was finally over, your head actually felt lighter, like someone had finally untangled everything that had been knotting up for days.

“Wow, Tsukishima,” you said, genuinely impressed, “you’re a great teacher, y’know that?”

He didn’t even look up right away, just kept gathering his papers into a neat stack like he always did. “Well, if you do well I get extra credit,” he replied dryly. “So I kind of have to be.”

That made you laugh a little under your breath as you started packing your own things up. “You better thank me then, because you’re about to get a lot of extra credit.”

You lifted his jacket off your shoulders after that, holding it out toward him. This time he actually took it, but there was a brief pause before he did, small enough that you almost missed it. Like for half a second, he didn’t really want to.

He didn’t say anything about it though.

By now, most of the library had cleared out. It was late, the sun had already dipped below the buildings.

Neither of you really said much at first. It wasn’t awkward, just calm. Comfortable in a way you weren’t used to with him until very recently.

When you reached the gate, he stopped.

“Are you walking home?” he asked, glancing at you sideways.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I take the bus. It’s just down there,” you said, pointing toward the station a short walk away. It was close enough that you could already see the sign from where you stood.

He nodded once. “Cool.”

Then there was silence again, but it didn’t feel rushed. Like neither of you were in a hurry to break it.

After a second, you glanced at him. “Do you walk home?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not far.”

You nodded, mirroring him without thinking.

Another pause.

“Well, bye,” you said after a beat, starting to turn. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

You barely made it a step before his voice stopped you.

“Wait a second.”

It wasn’t urgent. More like he’d just thought of something and said it before deciding not to.

You turned back, tilting your head slightly.

He looked at you for a moment longer than usual, then shoved one hand in his pocket. “We should do this again,” he said simply. A pause, then, “Without math, maybe.”

You tried to hide the smile that crept onto your face, but it didn’t really work. Your expression just sort of folded into something awkward and obvious instead.

“That would be nice,” you said, a little too quickly. Then, like your brain caught up, you added, “Maybe English next time. I need help with that too.”

He immediately rolled his eyes, like he regretted even opening his mouth in the first place. “Seriously, I—”

“I’m kidding!” you cut in, laughing softly. You shook your head, still smiling. “We should, though. That sounds like a good idea.”

That earned you a longer look this time, but you didn’t back down from it. Your cheeks felt warm under the streetlamp light, and you blamed it on the late hour more than anything else as you sent him one last small smile.

He clicked his tongue again, turning away like he was done with the conversation before it could get any worse. “Okay. Cool. Goodnight.”

His hands stayed in his pockets as he started walking off, tall figure disappearing down the dim street without looking back.

pairings: Hajime Iwaizumi x reader

content: one-shot!, childhood friends, reuniting

note: inspired by sabchella

—

You and Iwaizumi grew up close, your parents practically forcing it with how often they had you together. You were always doing something to get under his skin, poking at him, teasing him, saying just the right thing to make him snap. And every time he raised his voice, you would just laugh, like that was the whole point.

Back in middle school, you were a mess, honestly. Scruffy, loud, never caring about how you looked or if anything you wore matched. Half the time your hair was barely brushed, and you carried yourself like you had better things to worry about than appearances.

His friends used to tease him constantly, saying you had a "crush" on him. He hated that. The idea of you liking him like that made him cringe. He wanted someone more put together, someone polished, not someone who was always causing trouble.

Then high school came, and everything changed.

He went to Aoba Johsai. You went all the way to Nekoma.

Four years did not sound like much, but it was enough. Enough for distance to settle in, for routines to change, for both of you to grow into completely different people. Between his volleyball and your clubs, your parents stopped forcing you to spend time together, and just like that, you faded out of each other’s lives.

The first time he saw you again was at your graduation party.

“Congratulations!” a group of people called as they walked through the door, arms full of gifts and bright smiles.

“Thank you!” you beamed, moving easily between them, guiding them further into the house. The place was warm, sunlight pouring through the windows, laughter filling every corner as more people arrived. You moved naturally through it all, greeting guests, pulling them into conversation, bringing them over to your parents.

Then the Iwaizumi family walked in.

They stepped through the front door into the lively space. Hajime Iwaizumi kept his hands shoved deep into his khaki pockets, the nice shirt his parents picked out fitting him a little too well.

He did not want to be there. He would have rather been anywhere else, but his parents insisted.

They moved through the crowd until they spotted you.

“Congratulations, y/n,” came a voice from behind you.

You turned, smile already in place, and paused for just a second. His eyes met yours, and something about them felt different. Softer. Not as sharp or dismissive as you remembered.

“Thank you!” you said smoothly, not missing a beat.

“We haven’t seen you in so long. Are you doing well?” his parents asked warmly.

“Of course,” you laughed lightly. “I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

They nodded before drifting off to find your parents, leaving you alone with him.

A quiet settled between you.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low, like he did not quite know what to do with it. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, shoulders just slightly tense.

“Been a while,” you replied simply.

“Yeah.”

His eyes moved over you before he could stop them. The long dress fit you perfectly, hugging in all the right places, nothing like the oversized clothes you used to throw on without a second thought. Your hair was neat now, soft and shiny under the light.

And you were not looking at him like you used to.

No mischievous grin. No look like you were about to start something.

You just looked at him, calm and composed.

And for some reason, he did not like that as much as he thought he would.

“Volleyball going well, Hajime?” you asked.

The way his name left your lips made something in his chest tighten. It sounded different now, softer, smoother, nothing like the sharp, teasing way you used to say it.

For a second, it felt like he’d been pulled back in time. Like he was that same kid again, waiting for you to say something just to get a reaction out of him, bracing for it without even realizing.

He shrugged, trying to shake it off. “Yeah, mostly,” he said. “Only problem is Oikawa. He’s a pain in my ass.”

You let out a small laugh and it caught him off guard more than anything else.

“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” you said, smiling.

He noticed it immediately. That smile. It wasn’t mischievous or scheming like it used to be. It was soft.

“How’s he doing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“He just got recruited,” Iwaizumi replied, crossing his arms loosely. “So I’d say pretty good.”

He tried to sound casual, like it didn’t matter, but there was something just a little off in his tone. Not quite as steady as he wanted it to be.

“And you?” you asked, folding your hands behind your back, posture relaxed, almost innocent. “What are your plans?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away for a second before answering. “I’m thinking PT. Physical therapy.”

“Really?” you said, a small grin tugging at your lips. “When we were younger, you wanted to be a firefighter.”

He huffed, a familiar spark flickering back into his expression.

“Yeah, and you wanted to be a princess,” he shot back. “How’s that working out?”

“I’m working on it! I just graduated, give me a minute,” you shot back, a grin breaking across your face.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, and for a second it felt familiar again. Like the tension between you had finally cracked just enough to let something lighter through.

Then the silence settled in.

The kind of silence that made you aware of everything at once, the noise of the party in the background, the space between you, the fact that neither of you quite knew what came next.

You shifted your weight, glancing off toward the rest of the room, already thinking about slipping away to greet someone else.

“Hey—”

His voice stopped you.

You looked back at him, and for once, Hajime Iwaizumi didn’t look sure of himself. His brows were slightly furrowed, jaw tight like he was trying to force the words out properly.

“You, uh—” he started, then clicked his tongue softly, frustration flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s—”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed at himself for fumbling something so simple.

“You’re a lot different,” he said, eyes still on you, like he couldn’t quite look away. “…It’s distracting.”

You raised a brow, a small smile forming. “Oh? Well, it has been four years, Hajime.”

“That’s not what I—” he cut himself off, clicking his tongue as he looked away, clearly annoyed he couldn’t say it right. He rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders tense. “I mean you look good. It’s… nice to see you.”

Your expression softened as you watched him. “So you only care about my looks?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shot back immediately, eyes snapping to yours, a little louder than he intended.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped out. “I’m teasing you,” you said, shaking your head. “I know what you mean.”

He exhaled, tension easing just slightly, though his eyes stayed on you.

“I’m still the same person though,” you added, voice a little lighter now. “Don’t let the exterior fool you. You didn’t like it before, remember?”

“Like it?” he frowned.

“The teasing,” you said, a hint of that old spark returning to your expression. “You hated when I got under your skin.”

He paused.

Then let out a quiet huff, something almost amused slipping through.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, glancing at you again. “You were a pain.”

A small beat passed before he added, a little quieter this time,

“Didn’t mean I hated it.”

“Then why did you start avoiding me when we got older?” you asked, your tone shifting, more serious now.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened slightly, eyes dropping for a second before he exhaled through his nose.

“…Other kids were talking,” he admitted, voice lower than before. “Making fun of you for always being around me.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want you finding out and getting hurt over something stupid like that,” he added.

You blinked at him for a second—then your expression softened, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Aww, what a caring guy,” you teased lightly. “But I already knew that, Hajime.”

That made him look up fast.

His eyes locked onto yours, fully this time, not drifting, not avoiding. Just focused.

“You knew?”

“Of course I did,” you said simply, like it was obvious. “It didn’t bother me though. Because it was true.”

He frowned slightly. “That you had a crush on me?”

“Of course I did,” you laughed, brushing it off like it was nothing. “I was around you all the time. You didn’t believe them?”

He stared at you for a second, completely thrown off.

“…Tch,” he clicked his tongue, looking away again, though his ears had gone just a little red.

“No,” he admitted. “You were always messing with me. Thought you just liked getting a reaction.”

A pause. Then quieter, almost to himself, “Didn’t think you were serious.”

Your hand lifted, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Thought you were smarter than that.”

He huffed, but there was no real bite to it this time. Instead, he took a step closer, closing the space between you without hesitation.

“What about now?” he asked, voice lower, more serious than before.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “I told you,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I’m the same person.”

He looked away almost immediately, like he needed a second to recover, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.

“…Well—fuck,” he muttered, then looked back at you, forcing himself to hold your gaze this time. “Let me take you out.”

The words came out blunt, ike he knew he’d back out if he hesitated even a second longer.

You blinked, then smirked, that familiar teasing glint finally returning. “Really? You’ll acknowledge me in public?”

Normally, that would’ve earned you an annoyed response. A snap, maybe a scoff.

But instead, a slow smile spread across his face.

“Nah,” he said, stepping just a little closer, confidence settling in now. “I’ll show you off. If that’s what you want.”

Your expression softened for just a second before you nodded. “Sure. I’ll go out with you.”

He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders finally relaxing.

pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

content: one-shot! slight angst, comforting after fight, Post-timeskip

note: got this idea from a titkok comment. Abrupt ending cause I lost motivation! Sorry!

Kuroo has been distant lately. He’s been spending more and more time at work, leaving before the sun fully rises and coming home long after it’s set.

You try to pry, to figure out what’s going on, but he won’t budge. Every question is brushed off with a quick “I’m in a rush” or a distracted “can’t talk right now,” his attention always somewhere else. It’s like you’re reaching for him, only to come up empty every time.

Most nights, you’ve started going to bed without him. The apartment sits in a low, dim glow, the only sound the faint hum of something left running as you curl up under the covers. Sleep comes easier when you stop waiting.

Later, the door clicks open. He's slipping inside like a shadow, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie with a tired sigh.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, you’re already curled up, tangled in the sheets on your side of the bed. He pauses for a moment, just looking at you, like he’s grounding himself after a long day.

His hand comes up to rest on your head, gentle despite how rough his day must’ve been, and he presses a soft kiss just above your ear. Then he moves quietly, getting ready for bed before finally slipping in beside you, careful not to wake you.

This had become your routine. Day after day, the same quiet distance, the same late nights and early mornings. And slowly, without even realizing it, you’d grown tired of it.

One morning, it finally became too much.

Kuroo stood at the kitchen counter, already dressed for work, his button-up stretched neatly across his chest and arms as he packed his lunch with practiced ease. The soft clink of containers and the rustle of paper filled the otherwise quiet apartment. His movements were calm, like everything was normal.

His eyes drifted up absentmindedly, eyes meeting you.

You stood at the edge of the hallway, swallowed in one of his oversized shirts, the fabric slipping slightly off your shoulder. Your eyes were red, puffy, and glassy from crying yourself to sleep the night before.

He paused immediately.

“…Hey,” he said, softer now, setting his lunch down without another thought as his attention fully shifted to you. “You okay?”

The question was gentle, but it hit harder than you expected. Before you could even answer, your vision blurred, and your chest tightened, emotions bubbling up faster than you could stop them.

“Hey—”

He was in front of you in seconds. His hands came up to your shoulders, grounding you as he leaned down slightly to catch your gaze. “Baby, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” you sniffled quickly, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. “Just allergies! I promise.”

Kuroo didn’t move.

Didn’t even pretend to believe you.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit in that quiet, knowing way of his. The kind that always made you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be.

“…You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” he murmured, voice soft but certain.

You let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at him. This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. Not when he was about to leave, not when you were already falling apart in front of him. You wanted to be stronger than this.

“I don’t want you to be late for work,” you managed, though your voice wavered, the tears refusing to stop.

“Hey.”

His grip on your shoulders tightened just slightly, firm enough to pull your attention back to him. He rubbed his thumb across your cheek to catch your tears. His voice dropped into something more serious.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, but he waited.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he said, steadier now, a hint of that familiar confidence slipping in. “I'm your boyfriend, that's my job.”

And just like that, everything broke loose.

“You’ve just been so distant,” you choked out, the words tumbling over each other as the tears spilled freely now. “You have no time for me, Kuroo. You can’t even tell me why you’ve been so busy lately. I don’t even know what’s going on in your life anymore…”

Your voice cracked, the weight of it all finally spilling out after being held in for so long.

He felt something in his chest drop hard.

Like the ground had shifted under him all at once.

He did this. He let it get this far without even noticing, too caught up in his own world to see how it was affecting you.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered under his breath, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck before it slid down to your arm instead.

“Work’s been hectic,” he continued, quieter now, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your sleeve. “We got a new sponsor, and it’s like everything just blew up overnight."

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself.

“But that’s not—” he stopped, jaw tightening slightly before he corrected himself, “That’s not an excuse.”

His hands shifted, sliding from your shoulders to gently cup your face, finally coaxing you to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time it landed heavier. “I’m so beyond sorry.”

His thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away the tears you hadn’t managed to stop.

“I didn’t realize I was making you feel like that,” he admitted, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “And I hate that I did.”

He leaned his forehead lightly against yours, staying close, like he didn’t trust himself to put any space between you right now.

“I don’t want to come between you and work,” you said quickly, words rushing out between shaky breaths. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m making you choose. I’m not. I just… I just want some time with you too.”

Kuroo’s expression softened immediately, something almost pained flickering across his face as he listened. “Hey… hey,” he murmured, thumbs brushing gently under your eyes again, “You’re not doing that. Not even close.”

He peppered kisses along your forehead like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d been gone. They trailed down to your cheeks then your nose.

“I’m calling in sick,” he said suddenly, pulling back just enough to reach into his pocket for his phone.

“No! Don’t do that!” you stammered, grabbing his arm before he could unlock it. “That’s a terrible idea, Kuroo! They need you.”

“But you need me more,” he replied without missing a beat, one brow lifting slightly as he looked down at you. “It’s not fair for me to leave you like this, is it?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as you looked up at him. “Well… of course I want you to stay,” you admitted softly. “But I don’t want you putting your job at risk.”

Kuroo huffed out a quiet breath, his free hand coming up to rest over yours where it clung to him. His thumb brushed over your knuckles softly.

“Y/n,” he said, gentler now, but firm in a way that left no room for doubt. “I’d rather be here with you anyway.”

He squeezed your hand lightly, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

pairings: katsuki bakugo x reader

content: mdni one-shot! mechanic!bakugou, aged up, raw, car sex, fingering

note: this is kind of ahh

The bell above the shop door rang out sharp and sudden, cutting through the heavy air of the garage.

It smelled like oil, burnt rubber, and metal that had been worked too hard for too long.

“Shop’s closed.”

The voice came instantly—low, rough, and already irritated.

Across the garage, half-hidden under the car, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t even look up at first. A wrench clinked against metal, followed by a sharp tch under his breath.

You strutted over towards the voice, the concrete floor cool under your shoes, the sound echoing just enough to give you away. Your fingers laced behind your back. "ahem"

“If you heard me, then get out,” he said finally rolling from underneath the car. Red eyes flicked up—quick, sharp, assessing. They lingered for half a second longer than necessary.

“Umm, well, your buddy Midoriya told me you could help me with my car,” you said, holding up your keys, letting them jingle once in the silence.

“…Yeah?” he replied flatly. “Then your car can sit outside ‘til morning.”

You tilted your head, stepping just a little closer—testing, "Seriously? Cmon. Unless you're offering me a ride home, you gotta help me."

“…The hell kinda logic is that?” he muttered, though there was less bite to it now. He lifted himself off the ground, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag as he walked away from you.

Your hand rested on your hip, head tilted and eyes lower to gaze at the man. A desperate look spread across your face.

His gaze dragged over you once, quick but thorough, before he clicked his tongue and held his hand out. “Keys.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed the keys into his palm.

He caught them easily, already turning away.

“It’s not, I promise!” you hurried after him, sticking close as he walked out toward your car parked just outside the shop. “It wasn’t starting,” you explained quickly. “My fuel gauge hasn’t been working right, so I might just be out of gas—but the towing guy said it could be my battery too.”

The night air hit cooler out here, mixing with the lingering heat that followed him out of the garage. Gravel crunched under your shoes as you caught up beside him.

He ignored your rambling completely, like none of it registered.

With a sharp movement, he popped the hood of your car, a faint hiss of steam curling into the cool night air. His red eyes narrowed as he leaned over the engine, scanning everything with sharp precision.

Circling around the car, he unlocked the driver’s side and slid into the seat effortlessly. He turned the key once, twice, and the engine groaned weakly before dying completely. Bakugo’s jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Get comfy,” he said, voice flat but not unkind. “I’ll need to roll this inside.”

You nodded, stepping back toward the shop and finding a seat to the side, perching just enough to watch.

Outside, he shifted the car into neutral and began pushing, gravel crunching under the tires. The car moved with surprising ease, his strength making it look effortless. Once it was inside, he let it settle and rolled up his sleeves.

The fabric stretched over his forearms as he leaned over the hood again, flexing slightly with every movement. His biceps and the lines of his chest were partially visible through the low-cut collar of his shirt.

You couldn’t help noticing how the muscles in his arms flexed with every movement. “Damn,” you muttered under your breath, and he shot you a glance sharp enough to make you jump.

“What was that?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips. “Talking to the car, or me?” He leaned a little closer over the hood.

You grinned, leaning forward in your seat to get closer. “Maybe both,” you said teasingly. “But you’re definitely the main attraction.”

Bakugo snorted, wiping his hands on a rag before adjusting a cable. “Figures you’d find a way to flirt while I’m fixing your dumb car,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. His red eyes flicked to yours, sharp and amused.

The two of you sat in a kind of quiet rhythm, broken only by the whir of a drill and the sharp clank of metal tools hitting the floor. Every so often, you’d glance up at him, eyes flicking across his arms, the line of his jaw, the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead. He noticed it immediately.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” he muttered, voice low but edged with teasing, glancing up from the engine.

“Just admiring your work,” you said, smirking, letting your eyes linger on the way his hands moved over the engine.

“Tch…” he muttered.

"I’m only impressed”

He straightened, leaning over the engine again, though the way his chest shifted and his eyes kept finding yours betrayed that he wasn’t fully focused. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to help you."

Bakugo straightened fully, wiping his hands on a rag, but he didn’t move away from the hood. You leaned a little closer, smirk still tugging at your lips, letting the warmth of him brush against your arm.

“Admit it,” you whispered, voice low and teasing. “You like me staring.”

He froze for just a fraction of a second before a smirk spread across his face. “…Tch. Maybe I do,” he admitted, leaning in slightly over the hood so the distance between you shrank. The heat of his body pressed closer, his scent sharp with sweat and something uniquely him.

You tilted your head, daring him silently, and he noticed. His hand moved suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek in a way that made your heart skip. “You’re pushin’ it,” he muttered, voice rough, but his smirk betrayed him.

Before you could respond, he leaned closer, lips hovering just near yours, eyes locked onto yours with a dangerous intensity.

“Can’t let you get away with this.”

You didn’t hesitate, letting your own grin widen as you closed the last bit of distance. His lips finally met yours in a quick, heated brush, hands gripping the edges of the hood for balance while yours found his shoulders.

The kiss was sharp, teasing, but with an unmistakable pull that made it clear neither of you wanted to stop.

He pulled back for a moment, lips barely an inch from yours, breathing a little unsteady. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, but the grin on his face said he liked it.

You grinned, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “You knew that the second I walked in,” you whispered back.

He leaned in again, this slower, letting the kiss deepen before he pulled back with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I did.”

He stood up fully, grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Go ahead,” he said. “Try starting it now.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, the leather cool beneath your thighs, and turned the key. The engine roared to life, smooth and steady. A wave of relief hit you, and you let out a small laugh.

“See?” he said, leaning over the driver’s side door, arms crossed and smirk in place. “Told you I’d fix it.” His red eyes met yours in the dim light of the garage, proud and smug and ridiculously attractive.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” you said, your tone light and teasing. “Guess I owe you one.”

“Guess you do,” he replied, leaning a little closer, crowding your space.

You hopped out of the driver's seat, leaning against the side of the car, "What kind of payment do you take?"

"Your tone implies you’re not paying cash..." he trails off, stepping closer.

“Nope. Not cash,” you said, your grin widening as you backed yourself against the car door, letting him crowd you completely.

His hands found your waist, pinning you gently against the car as he leaned in, breath warm against your neck. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured, lips brushing just under your ear. “You’re worse than the damn engine.”

“Yeah?” you whispered, tilting your head slightly. “But you fixed the engine, didn’t you?”

He laughed, a low, rough sound that sent shivers down your spine. “True,” he muttered. “So what’re you gonna do to thank me properly?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I think I’ve got a few ideas,” you whispered back, lips just brushing his.

Bakugo’s grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as he finally closed the distance, kissing you deeply this time, slow and deliberate. The engine purred steadily in the background, mixing with the sound of your breathing.

“Still think you’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips.

“Good,” you whispered, pulling him in for another kiss. “Because I think I'd like some fixing too.”

His hands began to roam the skin of your thigh, lifting it up around his hips and your skirt moving along with it. The other moving to cup the back of your neck and tilting your head back slightly as he nipped at the exposed skin, your throat releasing a slight moan at the sensation.

Your hands began to travel up his shirt, feeling the muscles you were admiring before.

A small groan escapes him and he brings a hand to remove your shirt from your body, throwing it to the floor.

“Not so fast,” he murmured. “We’ve got all night.”

“Please,” you whine. “cmon.”

Bakugo just smirked, nipping at your collarbone as he began lifting your shirt over your head. He unhooked your bra with one hand and tossed it aside. “Patience,” he murmured. “Or I’ll make you wait even longer.”

You whined at his words, arching your back as he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Bakugo,” you moaned out, your hips moving against his on their own. “Please.”

“Please what?” he growled, his free hand moving down to cup your ass, squeezing hard.

“Please stop teasing,” you begged, your voice breathy and desperate.

“You're one to talk about teasing,” he said, finally pulling down his jeans and boxers.

He ran his large index finger over your clothed wet clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. “Already so wet for me,” he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Just for you,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he said, finally hooking a finger into your underwear and pulling them down your legs.

He positioned his fingers at your entrance, teasing you for a moment before slowly pushing them in, a loud moan escaping your lips.

He curved his fingers in, reaching a spot no one has ever touched this way before. You saw stars.

“Bakugo!” you cried out, your hands gripping the car door handle for support.

“That’s it,” he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit. “Let me hear you.”

His other hand came up to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. His red eyes were dark with lust, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough and low.

“Yes,” you moaned out, your hips moving against his hand. “Don’t stop.”

“I don’t plan on it,” he said, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his fingers never ceasing their movements.

His lips were demanding, tasting of sweat and metal and something distinctly Bakugo. You kissed him back with just as much fervor, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair again. He added a third finger, stretching you further and causing you to gasp into his mouth.

“Ready for me?” he asked, pulling away from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

You nodded, unable to form words at this point.

He chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent shivers down your spine.

He slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty, which infuriated you. His fingers lifted to his lips, taking a lick of your sweetness, "Not bad," he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

He positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock.

“Bakugo,” you whined, your hips bucking against him.

“So impatient,” he tsked, but he finally pushed in, stretching you in a way that was both painful and pleasurable.

You both let out a groan as he bottomed out, staying still for a moment to let you adjust.

“Move,” you begged, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Gladly,” he said, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into you.

You cried out, your head falling back against the car with a thud.

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust. The car rocked with their movements, the metal groaning in protest.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, surely leaving bruises for tomorrow.

“Bakugo!” you cried out, your nails digging into his back.

“Say my name, again” he demanded, his angle changing slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

And you did. You said his name until your throat was raw, your body convulsing around him as you came hard.

You were basically being lifted onto the hood of the car. Now, with each thrust, the car shifted.

"Fuck," he groaned, hardly able to hold himself back anymore. His thrusts were becoming uncoordinated and sloppy. You knew he was close.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.

“Shit-- I’m close--,” he warned, his movements becoming even more erratic.

“Let go,” you breathed out, your hands coming up to cup his face. “I want to feel you.”

With one final thrust, Bakugo followed you over the edge with a loud groan, his hot cum filling you up.

Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath.

He was looking down at you with a smirk. “Told you I’d fix your car.”

You laughed, a breathy sound in the quiet garage. “And told you I’d thank you properly.”

He leaned down, giving you a soft, lingering kiss. “Best damn payment I’ve ever received.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. “Round two in the office?” you whispered against his lips.

pairings: katsuki bakugo x reader, izuku midoriya x reader, eijiro kirishima x reader

content: mdni one-shot! suggestive. pro-hero!bakugou, pro-hero!midoriya, , pro-hero!kirishima, post-timeskip, slight angst, reader is drunk and thirsty, groping, cunnilingus

note: happy birthday to me :b. i'v never written smut so give me grace

BAKUGO

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was a busy hero. Even on days like your birthday, he was still needed by the citizens of Japan.

That morning, you sat on the couch watching some random show, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Katsuki walked behind you, his large hand settling on top of your head before he pressed a quick, surprisingly gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’m out. Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone,” he said, already heading toward the front door.

“How late do you think you’ll be?” your voice came softly from the couch.

His hand was already on the handle, twisting it open. “Shouldn’t be too late. Wait for me.”

You nodded, sinking back into the plush cushions as the door clicked shut behind him.

Your day went on like usual. You got ready, went to work, collected a few gifts and half-hearted “happy birthdays” from coworkers. You went out for a couple drinks after, but didn’t stay long. It just didn’t feel right celebrating without him.

By the time you got home, it was already pushing 8 o’clock.

You kicked your heels off the second you stepped through the door, letting them scatter somewhere to the side. You were exhausted—ready to collapse into bed—but Katsuki had told you to wait, and as much as you complained about him, you didn’t want to mess up whatever he had planned.

You changed into something more comfortable, grabbed the biggest blanket you could find, and wrapped yourself up tightly before flopping onto the couch. You turned on a movie—then another, then another—anything to keep yourself awake.

But hours passed.

No texts. No calls.

You had messaged him a few times, but there was no reply.

Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, and eventually, without even realizing it, you drifted off.

—

It was well past midnight when the front door finally opened.

Katsuki stepped inside, boots heavy against the floor. The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the TV still playing whatever had been left on.

His eyes landed on you immediately—curled up on the couch, swallowed by a blanket.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath.

The frustration wasn’t at you. It never was. It was at himself.

If he hadn’t gotten stuck on that last job… if things hadn’t dragged out… he would’ve made it in time. Could’ve grabbed your gift. Could’ve been here before the day ended.

Instead, he was late. Again.

He walked over, careful despite the weight of his steps, and crouched beside you for a second before scooping you up into his arms like it was nothing.

You stirred slightly as he carried you to the bedroom, your face instinctively pressing into his chest.

“Damn, you’re out cold…” he mumbled.

He tried to lay you down gently, but your arms wrapped around his neck before he could pull away.

“Katsuki…” you mumbled, still half-asleep.

His expression softened instantly.

“I’m sorry, baby. Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, his voice rough from the long day but softer than he’d ever admit out loud.

“Mm… where’s my gift?” you slurred, eyes barely fluttering open.

He clicked his tongue, looking away for a second. “Couldn’t get it. Place closed before I got off. Just go to sleep.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, expecting that to be enough.

It wasn’t.

“Y’know I’m not materialistic…” you mumbled, a sleepy little laugh escaping as you tugged him closer.

“Oi! Don’t start. I’m gross right now,” he protested, trying to pull back until he noticed how your shirt had shifted, thin fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the warmth underneath.

He paused.

“…You doing this shit on purpose?” he narrowed his eyes.

You just smiled lazily, clearly too out of it to even answer, your hands still trying to drag him down with you while you pressed soft, clumsy kisses along his jaw.

He let out a slow breath, something shifting behind his eyes before a smirk tugged at his lips.

“…Tch. Fine.”

His hands planted on either side of you, caging you in as he leaned down.

“Guess this’ll be your gift,” he muttered, voice low.

He pulled off his gloves and threw them to the side. Then his calloused hands ran up the smooth skin of your stomach, fingers grazing against your ribs before reaching your breasts.

You hummed softly, beginning to relax into the mattress at the feeling of his warm touch against you.

"You like that?" his voice was so sultry, like music to your ears.

"Mhmm..." you only hummed, trying to enjoy simply the touch of his fingers as they softly cupped your tits. But the feeling of his thumbs swiping over your nipples made your breath hitch.

You wanted more.

With a light press of your fingers to the nape of his neck, you urged him to lean down. The second his face got close enough to yours, you lunged forward, catching him in a desperate kiss.

Your lips parted in sync, tongues sliding together with practiced ease. But you had another need, one that was now pressing into your thigh.

He didn't seem to mind, though, as he grinded against you, the feeling of you and the light friction causing him to let out a deep guttural groan.

The kiss was sloppy, all tongue and teeth, something about it being so late, so sudden.

"Katsuki, need you s'bad." you groaned against his lips, hips rolling up to meet him.

He broke the kiss, leaning up just enough to look down at you, crimson eyes watching you with that intensity that always made your stomach flip.

"I know you do, birthday girl," he purred, one of his hands coming to trace along the skin of your hip under your pajamas.

He slowly slid down the fabric of your shorts, along with your panties, until they were completely off.

He paused for a moment to admire the view. He always did this, always took a second to look at you as if he were memorizing every dip, every curve.

"So fuckin' perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before leaning down.

But instead of kissing you again, he went lower.

His tongue traced a hot, wet path down your stomach, making you squirm. He bit down gently on the soft flesh of your thigh, earning a little squeak from you. Then he settled between your legs, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

His tongue was hot and insistent against your clit, circling and flicking in a way that had your back arching off the bed. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping tightly as you tried to ground yourself.

He slid two fingers inside, curling them and rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Ah—! Katsuki, please!" you cried out, hips grinding down against his face. He growled in response, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

He didn't let up, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push you closer and closer to the edge.

"Taste so good," he growled into you, sending vibrations through your clit. "All mine."

It was all too much. The pressure in your lower belly tightened, a coil of heat ready to snap.

"cum for me, baby, wanna taste you," he mumbled against your clit

That was all it took.

You snapped, back arching and a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm washed over you. Your thighs trembled, clamping around his head as he continued to work you through your high, lapping up your release.

He didn't stop until you were a whimpering mess beneath him, gently pushing at his head from oversensitivity.

He finally pulled away, a smug smirk on his face. His chin was glistening with your arousal, and he wiped it with the back of his hand before crawling back up your body.

He captured your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Told you I'd give you a good birthday present," he grumbled against your lips, grinding his hard clothed cock against your sensitive core.

You could feel the heat of him, the thick, heavy length pressing against you. You were so empty, clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you up.

"Please, Katsuki," you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

"I'm not even close to being done with you yet,"

MIDORIYA

You walked out of your bedroom with one of his T-shirts hanging loosely off your frame, the fabric nearly swallowing you whole. You rubbed at your eyes, still half-asleep, looking more like someone who had just been dragged out of a nap than someone starting their day.

“Good morning!”

Izuku’s voice was bright—way too bright for this early—but that was just how he was. Always warm, always a little excited, especially when it came to you.

He stood at the stove, carefully flipping eggs in a pan, completely focused on not messing them up. But your attention wasn’t on the food.

It was on him.

His chest was bare, freckles scattered across his skin, and his sweatpants sat low on his hips like he hadn’t even thought about fixing them after getting dressed.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile, completely unaware of the way you were looking at him.

You stepped closer, slow and quiet, hands tucked behind your back.

“Do you remember what day it is?” you teased, rocking slightly on your feet.

He turned fully this time, eyes lighting up instantly.

“Of course I do! It’s your birthday!” he said, like there was no world where he’d forget. “I’ve actually have this whole day planned—”

He cut himself off, cheeks flushing a little as he realized he was rambling again.

“I mean—um—it would be criminal if I forgot,” he corrected, scratching the back of his neck with a shy laugh.

You hummed, stepping even closer until you were right behind him “Mm… good,” you murmured, eyes flicking up and down his toned back.

He swallowed, posture going just a little stiff.

“Y-yeah… I, uh—wanted to make you breakfast first, and then I thought maybe we could—”

Your hands wrapped around his torso, fingers slowly tracing over the firm lines of his abs before slipping down and hooking into the waistband of his sweats.

“You should eat first, that’s important—” he started, trying—really trying—to stay on track.

But the second your fingers brushed back up his chest, slow and absentminded like you weren’t even thinking about it, his words faltered.

His breath hitched.

You stepped closer, chest nearly brushing his, your grip tightening just enough to keep him from stepping away.

He didn’t actually want to move.

That was the problem.

Izuku swallowed hard, his hands hovering awkwardly on the counter like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet. His whole plan for the day—breakfast, gifts, everything he’d carefully thought out—was slipping through his fingers way too fast.

“You’re not being fair…” he muttered, voice quieter now, softer.

He turned suddenly, finally meeting your hungry gaze head-on. Your fingers were still tracing along his chest but he caught your hands this time—pulling them away and lacing your fingers with his to stop you.

Not that it helped much.

“…You’re gonna ruin the whole schedule,” he mumbled, though there was no real protest left in his voice.

Then leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first like he was still holding onto that last bit of restraint. But it didn’t last long. The second you leaned into him, pressing closer, something in him gave way.

The second you tilted your head, giving him better access, the control in him snapped.

Izuku lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the counter, the cool surface making you gasp into his mouth. The eggs were forgotten, the plan forgotten—

You hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping firmly as he leaned in again, kissing you harder, deeper. The small sounds you made only egged him on, his breathing heavier now, more uneven.

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against yours, green eyes half-lidded and glassy.

“You’re impossible…” he breathed out, thumbs stroking along your skin like it might ground him.

You only giggled in response, looking down at the tightened spot in his pants and urging for the next step. “I need you, Zuku.”

You pulled him back into another kiss. The counter was hard beneath you, but you barely noticed. Not when he was pressing against you like this, all warmth and tension and barely contained want.

His hands slid higher, fingers curling into the hem of your (his) shirt, bunching the fabric up until it was discarded somewhere in the room. The sudden rush of cool air against your skin made you shiver, but it was the way he looked at you that really made your breath catch.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?” he murmured, mostly to himself, but the words sent a thrill through you anyway.

Then he leaned down, teeth grazing your neck, and any thought of answering dissolved into a needy hum.

One of his hands slid between your legs, slow and deliberate, and your breath hitched.

His fingers traced along the damp fabric, light enough to make you squirm, before finally pressing down.

"This wet first thing in the morning?" he questioned before moving to the waistband of his pants to pull them down.

He finally yanked his pants off, revealing the fact that he wasn't wearing boxers this morning. His cock springing free from its restraint. The tip was swollen and already leaking. He moved back towards you, fisting himself at the base before rubbing the tip through your slick folds.

“Please don’t tease me,” you whined out. The feeling of him sliding against you but not going in was maddening.

He chuckled at this, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “After all that teasing you did to me?” He then pulled your underwear to the side and pushed inside.

The stretch was divine. A soft gasp left your lips, back arching as he slid deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully seated inside you. Your walls fluttered around him, adjusting, and he groaned low in his throat, fingers digging into your hips.

“God—so tight…” he breathed out, like he couldn’t quite believe it even after all this time.

You just whimpered, legs tightening around his waist, urging him to move.

He started slow—deep, deliberate thrusts that had you seeing stars. Each drag of his cock against your walls sent sparks up your spine, and you couldn’t stop the needy little sounds spilling from your lips.

“‘faster—” you gasped out, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make him hiss.

"Would you be mad if my birthday gift to you was me filling you up? Wanna see you with my kids so bad—," he groaned with each thrust. The new information making your walls spasm. This was the fastest he’d ever lost control.

You bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and he jerked, hips snapping forward involuntarily.

That was all it took.

The rhythm shattered, replaced by something frantic, desperate. He drove into you, the kitchen filled with the sound of skin slapping, your breathless moans, and the rough, broken sounds he was making.

“Izuku—oh god, right there—” you cried out, head falling back as he hit that spot inside you that made your whole body light up.

He shifted, angling his hips just right, and then you were gone. Your orgasm hit you hard, waves of pleasure crashing over you as your walls clamped down around him, milking him for all he was worth.

He followed right after, burying himself deep inside you with a hoarse cry, spilling into you with a shudder.

You lazily lifted your head to breathily say, "That would be the best birthday gift ever, actually."

KIRISHIMA

He was halfway out the door, already in a rush like usual, one shoe barely on and keys in hand, when you stopped him.

“Wait!”

You shifted on the couch, blanket slipping slightly off your shoulder as he turned around, red eyes landing on you immediately.

“Yeah? What’s up?” he asked, already walking back a step, like he wouldn’t just leave if you needed something.

“I actually needed to tell you something,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “A few of the girls invited me out to celebrate my birthday… so I might not be home when you get back.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s awesome!” Kirishima grinned, big and bright, like this was the best news he’d heard all morning.

“Have fun, okay? Don’t worry about me,” he said, smiling down at you. “I’ll still make dinner or something—so when you get back, you’ve got food waiting.”

“You’re the best! Have an amazing day at work!” you beamed.

Kirishima’s grin came right back just as bright. “You too! Have fun tonight!” he shot back, giving you one last look before heading out the door, it shutting behind him with a solid click.

—

You were right.

You weren’t home when he got back.

In fact… you were way later than he expected.

Kirishima had already packed your dinner up neatly, sliding it into the fridge with a little note on top—something simple, but very him. He’d tried to keep himself busy after that, but eventually ended up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, TV playing some show he wasn’t really paying attention to.

Every few minutes, his eyes flicked to the clock.

Then to the door.

He wasn’t going to bed until you were home.

“C’mon… shoot me a text or somethin’,” he muttered under his breath. Right as he was about to check his phone again—

The door swung open.

And there you were.

Teetering forward, barely catching yourself on the doorframe, balance completely gone.

“Yo—!”

The bowl of popcorn was abandoned immediately as he shot up from the couch, crossing the room in seconds.

“Hey—hey, I got you!” he said quickly, grabbing your arms before you could tip any further. His grip was firm but careful, steadying you like it was second nature.

One of his hands moved to your back, keeping you upright while the other adjusted its hold on your arm.

“You good? You hurt anywhere?” he asked, voice gentler now, eyes scanning your face just to make sure.

Then he smiled again—smaller this time, but just as warm.

“C’mon, birthday girl. Let’s get you inside before you fall over on me.”

“Kir-i-shi-ma!” you sang, words stretching out unevenly as you grabbed onto his biceps, using him to keep yourself upright.

“What a voice you got there,” he chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained by how giddy you were.

“I’ve been waiting to see you all day…” you mumbled into his neck, your words a little slurred as you leaned into him, pressing soft, uneven kisses along his jaw.

“What’ve you been waiting for?”

“For you…” you said, voice softer now, still tinged with that giddy edge. “For your big, strong arms around me…”

“Alright, alright, let’s get you to the couch. You’re gonna fall over if you keep this up.”

He carefully guided you the few steps over, slowly letting you sink into the cushions. But even then, you weren’t letting go.

“Nooo—don’t leave me,” you whined, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “It’s my birthday…”

“I’m not leaving,” he promised softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

Once you were settled, he made a quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a tall glass of water and two painkillers. He placed them on the coffee table in front of you.

“Here. Drink all of that,” he said gently. “And take these now, before you wake up feeling it tomorrow.”

You blinked up at him, still half-dazed and smiling wide. “You’re so good to me…”

“Someone’s gotta be,” he teased, kneeling down in front of the couch to look you in the eye. “Hey—you remember what you asked me for your birthday?”

“…A kiss?” you guessed, face lighting up like you’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery.

He leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on your lips. "That's my girl."

"Oh.." you said, somewhat disappointed, "I don't think that's what I was imagining..."

“Wait… what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Then what did you imagine?”

“Something… a little more,” you said, your words still slightly slurred, but the heat behind them was unmistakable. Your hand, which had been resting on his shoulder, began to trail down his chest, your fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

“I was thinking of something that would really… celebrate.”

Kirishima’s breath hitched. Your touch, even through the fabric, sent a jolt straight through him. He watched, mesmerized, as your hand continued its downward journey, stopping right at the waistband of his pants.

“Oh,” he breathed. His red eyes, which had been soft and amused just moments ago, now held a dark, predatory glaze.

A slow, sharp grin spread across his face, all sharp teeth and confident swagger. “You want something… harder, then?”

You just bit your lip and nodded, your gaze locked with his.

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

With a movement that was both swift and deliberate, Kirishima shifted.

“You’re drunk… are you sure, baby?” he asked, voice softer now, a little more careful as he looked down at you.

You shook your head, a small, stubborn pout on your lips. “I’m hardly even drunk anymore,” you mumbled.

Then you tilted your head up at him, a lazy smile spreading across your face. “…unless you count being drunk on you.”

He surged forward, one knee coming to rest on the couch between your legs. He caged you in, one hand braced on the back of the couch above your head, the other still holding your hip.

“Drunk on me, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your entire body. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I can work with that.”

“Is this more like what you had in mind?” he growled, his hand sliding from your hip down the curve of your thigh, squeezing firmly.

You whimpered, arching into him, your hands coming up to tangle in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes…” you breathed.

“Good,” he grunted, satisfied with your answer. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his red eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound.

He peeled off his shirt that was restricting for the both of you. You ogled at the sight of his toned, sculpted chest and stomach, the way his muscles rippled with every move.

“Like what you see, birthday girl?” he asked, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

You nodded, unable to form any words, your eyes wide and transfixed. You reached out, your fingers tracing the defined lines of his abs, feeling the hard muscle beneath your touch. He shuddered, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

“You keep touching me like that, and I’m not gonna be able to hold back,” he warned, his voice strained.

“Then don’t,” you whispered, your gaze meeting his. “I don’t want you to.”

That was all it took.

With a guttural growl, Kirishima crushed his lips to yours. The kiss was nothing like the gentle one from before. His tongue delved into your mouth, dominating, tasting, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

His hands were everywhere, roaming your body, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your core.

He pulled down his pants revealing his hardened cock. He was big and you couldn’t help but stare. You wanted him. All of him.

He then ripped your dress right off of you.

He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, teasing and tasting. You cried out, your back arching off the couch, your hands fisting in his hair. He was relentless, his mouth and hands driving you to the brink of insanity.

“Eijiro…” you gasped, your voice a breathy moan.

He lifted his head, his red eyes locking with yours. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name. You got that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

He lined his dick up with your hole, the tip just barely breaching your entrance. He teased you, moving the head of his cock along your slick folds, making you whimper with need.

“Eijiro, please…” you begged, your hips bucking, trying to get him inside you.

“Patience, baby,” he chuckled, a dark, predatory sound. “Good things come to those who wait.”

But he was done waiting too.

With one swift, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. A sharp, piercing cry tore from your throat as he stretched you, filled you completely. He was so big, so thick, it was almost too much.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still, of giving you a moment to adjust.

You could only nod, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling with a mixture of pain and pleasure. The feeling of being so full, so completely possessed by him, was intoxicating.

He began to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, then faster, harder, driving into you with a rhythm that stole your breath.

“You feel so good,” he grunted, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he pounded into you.

You yelp in pleasure, "You're so deep-"

He let out a low, guttural sound, a growl of pure, masculine pride that vibrated through your entire being. “Yeah? You like that, baby? You like feeling me deep inside you?”

All you could do was moan in response, your head thrown back, your eyes squeezed shut. The world narrowed down to the feel of him moving inside you, the sound of his ragged breathing, the grip of his hands on your skin.

He shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit that spot deep inside you, the one that made you see stars. You cried out, your body convulsing, pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

“Right there?” he asked, a smirk in his voice. He knew damn well he’d found it.

He hit it again, and again, and again, driving into you with a ruthless precision that had you seeing white. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions.

“Come for me, birthday girl,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Come all over my cock.”

His words were your undoing.

His hand reached for your breast, cuping it within his large hand as he thrusted into you. You shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of euphoric bliss that left you breathless and trembling.

He followed you over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep inside you with a final, powerful thrust as he came. He collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and spent.

For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, the only sound in the room your combined, ragged breathing. The intensity of what had just happened left you in a daze, a blissful, satisfied haze.

He finally rolled off you, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his side. He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead, a stark contrast to the raw, primal passion he’d just shown you.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, his voice soft and content.

Synopsis: You and Oikawa were childhood classmates, though back then you were just the quiet, unremarkable girl while he was already the center of attention. Years later you become a successful model, becoming someone no one from your childhood would recognize. When you run into each other again as adults, Oikawa is stunned by the transformation. Used to getting whatever he wants with ease, he quickly becomes intrigued by you. The only problem is, for the first time in his life, Oikawa can’t seem to get what he wants.

pairings - Oikawa x model! reader

warnings - Lots of sexual tension, reader glow up, Oikawa begging, enemies to lovers -eventual smut, angst in the beginning, warnings will be more specific each chapter - 5.8k

This is a story i wrote on wattpad i'm sort of rewriting and putting here! The original POV was third person so apologize if I wasn't able to fix all of it!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 —> coming soon

—

In junior high, you weren't labeled as the most beautiful girl, not even close. Being called all sorts of names youde go home and cry about. You also didn't have many friends, because standing next to you came with consequences.

On the opposite side: Tooru Oikawa was everything junior high seemed to worship. A year older and effortlessly popular. You couldnt help but watch him from across hallways.

Sometimes, both your eyes met.

Each time, your heart leapt, clinging to the idea that it meant something. A glance held too long.

But you soon learned, far too quickly, how cruel admiration could be.

The night before, you were hunched over your desk, the sound of your pencil writing sounded through your bedroom. Then the crinkling of your paper when you erased.

In the dim light of your room, it didn't seem so bad. Awkward, maybe. But it got the job done.

By morning, your hands were shaking when you slipped the note into his desk.

you never even got the chance to walk away.

When Oikawa slid into his chair, pulling a notebook out of the desk , the folded paper slid out and fluttered to the floor. One of his friends bent down before he could react, scooping it up with a grin already spreading across his face.

"What's this?" he called, waving it between his fingers.

Laughter rippled outward as he skimmed the words, loud enough to draw eyes from down the hall. Oikawa turned then, taking the paper from him, his expression unreadable as he read it himself.

His gaze lifted.

It found you instantly as you tried to sneak out of the room.

His friend snatched the letter back, holding it high. "Everyone! Loser y/n gave Oikawa a love letter!"

One by one, heads turned until there was nowhere left to look but at you.

"I—I…" The words tangled in your throat. You had never been looked at like this before. Not all at once.

"What made you think someone like him would ever like someone like you?" the boy said, stepping closer so that you could feel his breath. you stared at the floor, your confidence collapsing under the weight of his voice.

"I don't know," you whispered.

"Oikawa!" he called over his shoulder. "Come look at this."

Oikawa approached slowly, his eyes sweeping over you in the same way everyone else's had. For a second, you were the only thing he was focused on.

"Do I even know you?" he asked.

He raised the letter until it blocked your view of everything else.

Then he tore it in half.

The sound was sharp.

"Don't waste your time writing letters," he said flatly. "Use it to fix your face."

The tears came hot and humiliating as they slid down your cheeks.

you turned and ran.

Not to the bathroom—you couldn't bear the thought of seeing yourself. Instead, you ducked under the nearest stairwell.

The boy you thought was kind, gentle and perfect, he had never been any of those things.

Curled up on the cold floor, you pressed your hands to your face and wondered how a single piece of paper cause this amount of pain.

7 years later —

Yachi’s voice cut across the studio, bright and unmistakable.

You turned just in time to see her weaving through racks of clothing and light stands, her steps quick and familiar. You both worked together often and the early mornings and late wrap-ups had drawn you both close.

“Your haircut looks nice,” you said as Yachi reached your, her fingers immediately lacing together in greeting.

“Thank you!” Yachi beamed, twirling a strand of her freshly cut hair around her finger. “The director doesn’t like it that much, though.”

“That’s because he has no taste,” you replied easily.

You both laughed as you drifted toward the catering table together. It was barely seven in the morning, the studio still humming with quiet setup noises—coffee machines sputtering, assistants murmuring to one another while trays of breakfast were laid out.

“By the way,” Yachi added casually as she reached for a pastry, “someone asked me about you.”

Your hand paused halfway to the table. “Who.”

Yachi didn’t seem to notice the shift as she moved along the spread, loading small plates. “Uh… Tooru Oikawa? He said you two went to school together!”

The name landed like a sudden drop in her stomach. Your mouth tightened slightly as you looked down at the table.

“How did he reach out to you?”

“I was scrolling through my Instagram message requests,” Yachi explained, eyes wide with innocent excitement. “And there was a blue check mark—and it was him!”

“Don’t talk to him,” You said immediately, your tone firm enough to cut through the noise of the room. “And don’t tell him anything about me.”

Yachi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Is he an ex?”

“Worse,” you said, the word clipped.

“Worse?” Yachi leaned closer, curiosity lighting up her face. “Like academic rivals? Or right-person-wrong-time trope?”

“No—no,” you said with a quiet laugh, nudging her lightly with your shoulder. “You watch too many dramas.”

You both laughed, but the smile lingering on your face didn’t quite reach your eyes. After a moment you exhaled softly, glancing around the room before stepping a little closer to Yachi.

“I don’t even know how you’d describe what we were,” you admitted quietly. “But I’ll tell you—only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

Yachi nodded eagerly, leaning in. “Promise.”

“He rejected me,” you said under your breath. “Pretty badly.”

Yachi pulled back immediately, her eyes widening as her lips formed a small pout. “Rejected you? YOU??”

“I wasn’t always a bad bitch, Yachi,” you replied dryly, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. “Believe it or not.”

“Well, you couldn’t have been far off,” Yachi said sincerely, clearly meaning it as encouragement.

You let out a quiet breath, shaking her head slightly. “It was bad.”

“How bad?” Yachi pressed.

You scanned the room one more time before answering, lowering your voice even further.

“Bad enough that I had to move schools.”

Yachi gasped loudly before she could stop herself.

“Keep it down,” you hissed, quickly grabbing her wrist.

Embarrassed, Yachi clapped a hand over her mouth before stepping forward and pulling you into a tight hug. “You can trust me,” she murmured. “I won’t say a word. I’ll even delete his DM.”

You relaxed slightly in her arms, returning the hug for a brief moment before gently patting her back. “Thank you. Now—back to work.”

You nudged Yachi away, watching as the younger model straightened up with a determined nod.

Yachi had always looked up to you—often jokingly calling you her model mom. Somewhere along the way, you had slipped into the role of a steady, almost motherly presence without even realizing it.

Today’s shoot coated the entire set in shimmer and light, every camera angle carefully designed to make your skin glow. It was an ad for a new lip gloss from a high-profile brand.

“Perfect—hold that—”

The final shot echoed through the studio, and just like that, the tension in your shoulders loosened. You stepped off set, lifting your hair away from the back of your neck, fingers pressing lightly into the warm skin there. The heat from the lights still clung to you, heavy and suffocating, leaving a faint sheen along your collarbone.

You barely had a second to breathe before your manager appeared at your side, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with her. The sudden movement made you yelp softly, stumbling half a step to keep up.

“y/n,” she started, her tone too casual to actually be casual. “You’d tell me about any big life changes, right? Like… family stuff. Or a boyfriend?”

You let out a short laugh, brushing her off with an easy wave of your hand. “Me? Boyfriend? Pft. You know me better than that.”

“Then… do you know anything about a Tooru Oikawa?”

Your eyes rolled instinctively, your fingers catching a loose strand of your hair as you twisted it around them. “I’m hearing that name everywhere lately,” you muttered. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“I got an email from his manager,” she said, already swiping through her tablet. “Honestly, I don’t even know why they’re contacting me about this, but… they requested you. Specifically. For a shoot next week.”

Of course he did.

A familiar knot twisted low in your stomach, tight and unwelcome. Even now, after all this time, he still managed to show up exactly where you didn’t want him to.

“I… can’t do a shoot with him,” you said, quieter this time.

Your manager didn’t even hesitate. Her smile stayed perfectly in place, polished and professional under the bright studio lights. “This could be huge for you. Like—huge. Your career could skyrocket from this.” She tapped her screen once. “I already took the liberty of booking you.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, dragging a hand through your hair as you looked away. There wasn’t really a choice anymore.

“Okay… fine,” you said after a moment. “But just the shoot. I don’t want lunch, I don’t want conversation. Just the shoot. Can you tell them that?”

She nodded immediately, fingers already flying across the screen. “Consider it done.”

Then, without missing a beat, she glanced back up at you. “Now go fix yourself up. We have a brand dinner tonight—nice place, so look the part.”

“You know me,” you called over your shoulder, your voice steady—even if your stomach was anything but.

It felt like impending doom was pressing down on you. Today was the photoshoot with Tooru Oikawa—the man who had been at the root of some of your worst childhood memories.

You were shooting the new men's and women's sports collection: sports bras, track suits, and—unfortunately for you nerves—shirtless male models. Saying you were nervous was an understatement.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, glancing out the car window as the black vehicle wove through the city streets. Your manager drove steadily.

Once you arrived, your chest felt heavy, every inhale a struggle. You walked toward the set with your posture perfectly straight, attempting to exude confidence even as each step felt like it was breaking you down.

And then you saw him.

Oikawa sat off to the side, makeup artists fussing over the soft waves of his hair, the faintest smudge of powder along his jawline. Even then, you noticed how effortlessly composed he looked.

"y/n!! You're here!" he exclaimed, standing up and gesturing toward you. Some of the makeup artists groaned, shaking their heads at his theatrics.

"It's great to see you. Thanks for coming. Wow..." His eyes flicked to your chest, lingering just a moment too long, and shivers ran down your spine. "...you've really grown into yourself."

"Well, it's been seven years, hasn't it?" you said.

You began moving past him, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

"Feeling some tension here," Oikawa said lightly, eyes meeting yours. "Don't worry—I'll try not to be too distracting."

You yanked your wrist free and glared. "Use your brain," you spat, unable to hide the pent-up rage from your younger self.

He froze, blinking. To him, the past confessions and teasing had been insignificant. But now, seeing you, he could sense the weight in your posture.

You changed into a tight green sports bra and matching track pants, the iconic Adidas logo emblazoned across the waistband. Oikawa was fitted into green shorts with the same design.

You were positioned in front of the white backdrop. Cameras clicked and lights flashed. He couldn't stop looking, scanning you carefully—not crude, but curious, impressed by the transformation from the timid girl he remembered to the confident, striking woman before him.

"Oikawa!! Pay attention!" the photographer barked.

"My apologies, sir!" he said, snapping his attention back to the camera, though a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes.

During the entire shoot, Oikawa couldn't take his eyes off you—and he didn't even bother pretending otherwise.

Everyone noticed.

"Pay attention, Oikawa!"

"Eyes forward!"

"Pick your jaw up off the floor!"

The director's voice echoed more than once, and each time Oikawa laughed it off with a bright apology and an exaggerated bow. You found it distasteful. Familiar. Like junior high all over again—him treating attention like a game and her like an object in his line of sight.

When you were finally given a short break, Oikawa leaned against a rack of clothes, arms folded, gaze fixed openly on you.

You stood with another model, laughing softly at something she said. The woman was stunning but Oikawa barely registered her presence. Eyes locked on you.

The green sports bra cut just right, showing a hint of your cleavage, and your track pants hugged your waist perfectly.

"She's gorgeous," he murmured under his breath, not even realizing the words had escaped.

Once the shoot ended, everyone filtered into the dressing rooms. Oikawa changed quickly, smiling and waving at people as he passed. "Thanks, have a nice day!" he called out, his voice cheerful and easy, hiding the calculation behind his eyes.

He lingered near the door to your dressing room, pretending to adjust his bag while scanning for you. Voices echoed inside, so he waited patiently, leaning casually against the wall.

Ten minutes later, a group of female models left, chatting. "Thank you! See you soon!" someone called. That was his signal.

You stepped out, bag slung over your shoulder, and froze when you saw him.

"Oikawa, what—" you started, voice tense.

He smiled, taking a step closer, but not blocking your path entirely. "I want to talk to you," he said, his hand brushing briefly against your arm—not enough to trap you, but enough to make you hesitate.

"And this is the way you went about it?!" you snapped, glaring at him.

"Look," he said, holding up his hands, palms out. "You don't owe me anything. I just... couldn't ignore it anymore."

"Ignore what," you asked coldly.

"You," he said honestly. "And the fact that I was awful to you."

That made you pause.

Oikawa ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping for once. "Back then, I thought I was untouchable. I laughed at things I should've shut down. I let people say things because it was easier than caring."

He glanced down at you. "That doesn't excuse it. But I want you to know—I've thought about it."

You scoffed. "Convenient timing."

"What can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything!" His eyes softened, pitiful in a way that tugged at your chest. "I even brought the torn note home and taped it back together."

"You kept the note? Why?" you straightened in your spot.

He said with an awkward laugh, "I don't even know! I don't have a good answer."

"How do I know you're not just saying all this because I'm attractive now?" you crossed her arms, trying to maintain some authority.

He didn't respond immediately. For once, he actually thought before speaking. "Of course not! I'm not that shallow anymore." he said finally. "It's because I was a jerk then—and seeing you now just made it impossible to pretend I wasn't."

You realized how close he had leaned. His breath brushed against your cheek. You couldn't meet his eyes anymore, heart thudding in your chest.

"...I'm not asking for forgiveness," he added quickly. "I'd settle for neutral. Barely acquaintances. Just... not enemies."

Noticing your hesitation, he leaned a little closer. "C'mon, please?" he murmured, voice soft, almost begging, his lips brushing near the edge of your neck.

You stepped back slightly. "Fine," you said, just enough to create distance.

"That's settled then," he said, heat in his voice, breath sending a chill down your spine.

"Under one condition," you said, pressing a finger lightly against his chin, holding his gaze.

His eyes lit up. "I'm listening."

"You do what I say," you said calmly.

He blinked. Then grinned. "Like a dog"

"What- no."

He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll be your dog. I play fetch pretty well! You could say I do it for a living," he said, waving his hands innocently, trying to charm you.

"You are so weird. Now I just feel bad for you," you said, folding your arms, smirking at him. He looked so desperate to win you over, and you realized you had all the control now.

"Ok," you said, already walking away. "Have your manager send mine your number."

"Deal," he replied, watching you leave, his eyes tracing you up and down one last time before you left his view.

pairing: Oikawa x reader

content: on and off relationship, exclusive?, mostly angst, happy ending

note:

—

You and Oikawa had always had a complicated relationship.

You were together but not really. Something that existed mostly behind closed doors and late-night conversations. No one really knew about it except Iwaizumi, who had figured it out months ago and decided it wasn’t worth the headache of asking questions.

And honestly, the secrecy probably wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that you argued constantly.

Usually about the same things.

You hated how he let girls confess to him for way too long, standing there soaking in the praise like it was sunlight. Sometimes he’d even flirt back a little just to keep up the image everyone had of him. You’d call him inconsiderate, and he’d shrug it off, saying you shouldn’t care because you weren’t even dating.

He, on the other hand, gets irritated when you skip his games. You always had some excuse—homework, a family thing, a friend’s birthday. And every time you'de make some passive comment about how you had more important priorities than watching a guy you weren’t dating play volleyball.

You’d get annoyed by his mixed signals. In private he was affectionate—touching your waist, brushing your hair behind your ear, whispering compliments like they were secrets meant only for you.

But at school he barely acknowledged you.

Every single problem between the two of you could have been solved if you’d just put a label on whatever this relationship was.

But neither of you wanted to face that conversation.

Oikawa didn’t want anything getting in the way of volleyball—even if a part of him wanted you there cheering for him more than anyone else. But he would never admit that.

And you refused to acknowledge how hard you’d fallen for the school’s most infamous heartthrob. You were stubborn, and the last thing you wanted was to become another girl orbiting around Tooru Oikawa.

So instead, the two of you stayed stuck in this weird in-between.

Between arguments, you and Oikawa had a pattern.

After a fight, neither of you would talk for days. Sometimes it stretched into a week or two, both of you too stubborn to reach out first. You would tell yourself you needed time to cool down.

But the truth was that everything felt off during those days.

Oikawa wasn’t doing much better.

Iwaizumi would notice it first—the way Oikawa became more irritable at practice, snapping at teammates or missing sets he’d normally land perfectly. His focus slipped just enough to make it obvious something was wrong, even if he refused to talk about it.

But eventually, like always, something small would pull you back together.

Maybe it was a casual message late at night. Sometimes he’d suddenly show up at your door with that stupid, charming smile like nothing had happened. Or when you’d “accidentally” run into him after school.

And just like that, the tension would melt.

The sweetness would return.

For a little while, things would feel easy. Like maybe the two of you had finally figured things out. But as time passed, the same frustrations would slowly creep back in.

And before long, the cycle would begin again.

This particular argument started because you’d gone quiet.

You were both sitting on your bed watching a show on your laptop, the screen balanced between your legs. Oikawa lounged beside you, leaning toward your side of the bed with his elbow propped against the mattress, his head resting lazily against his hand.

You sat against the headboard, a pillow behind your back, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

You hadn’t said anything in a while.

At first Oikawa didn’t think much of it. But then he started sneaking glances at you, trying to see what had you so distracted. Eventually his curiosity turned into annoyance.

The movie paused abruptly.

You looked up.

Oikawa had sat up straight now, his brows furrowed.

“Why are you so quiet?”

“You’ve barely said two words since I got here,” he said, tilting his head. “Do you even want me here?”

You shrugged slightly, eyes drifting back to your phone.

“If you want to go, you can go.”

You hated yourself a little for saying it like that. For always playing this stupid game instead of just saying how you actually felt.

“But do you want me to leave?” he asked, leaning closer.

His eyes locked onto yours so intensely it almost felt like a challenge. Like if you looked away first, you’d lose.

So you didn’t.

You just stared back in silence.

Eventually he broke first, rolling his eyes dramatically and dragging a hand through his hair.

“God, you’re seriously impossible.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yeah!” he snapped. “You invite me over and then sit there acting like I’m some annoying guest. What’s your problem today?”

“I—”

The words got stuck.

That familiar tightness in your chest returned, like it always did when you tried to say something real. Like your feelings were slamming into a wall inside your ribcage and couldn’t break through.

“What?” Oikawa pressed impatiently. “Spit it out already!”

Your frustration finally boiled over.

“Fine! I’m annoyed!”

“About what?!”

“You act like I don’t exist all day at school,” you blurted. “But the second you get to my house it’s suddenly ‘you looked beautiful today,’ and ‘you smell nice,’ and ‘I’ve wanted to hold you all day.’”

Your voice shook slightly as the words tumbled out.

“Do you even mean any of that?” you continued. “Or are you just sweet-talking me like you do everyone else?”

Oikawa froze.

For a moment he just stared at you, clearly trying to process the sudden explosion.

“You’re mad because I compliment you?” he said slowly.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

“Oh my god, you don’t even understand. That’s why I never say anything!”

“Then explain it!” he shot back, throwing his hands out dramatically. “I’m not a mind reader!”

You threw your hands up in frustration.

“You only say those things when we’re alone!” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Never at in public. It doesn’t even feel real sometimes. It feels like you’re hiding me.”

Oikawa’s brows furrowed.

“Like I’m hiding you?”

“Yeah! Like you’re embarrassed of me!”

“What?!” he scoffed.

“Like it’s embarrassing for you to say those things to me where anyone else might hear.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me,” he said. “We’re not dating. That’s the kind of stuff couples do.”

“Well why not?!”

The words came out before you could stop them.

Both of you froze.

It was the first time you’d ever actually admitted something you wanted from him.

Oikawa blinked at you like his brain had short-circuited.

“Why... aren’t we?” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softer now but still firm. “Why not?”

You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

“We make out, we cuddle, you cook for me, we fall asleep together watching movies… but we’ve never gone on an actual date. Not dinner, not the movies. Nothing.”

Your chest felt tight again.

“Why?”

Oikawa looked genuinely thrown off.

“I… didn’t think that’s what you wanted,” he admitted.

In reality, he’d never let himself think about whether it was what he wanted either.

You stared at him.

“Why do you think I’d be doing all this if it wasn’t what I wanted?” you said, your voice cracking slightly.

Your anger softened as the realization of what you were saying sank in.

“I wouldn’t be yelling at you to understand me,” you murmured, quieter now, “if this wasn’t what I wanted.”

“You just never express your feelings to me,” he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. “Half the time I have no idea what you’re actually thinking.”

You blinked at him, brows knitting together in offense.

“Well I am right now,” you shot back quickly, almost defensively. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, you know.”

Your chest tightened.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Is there something wrong with me?” you asked quietly. “Something that makes you want to keep me private? Like you don’t really want to date me.”

For once, Oikawa’s usual confidence cracked.

“No—no! Of course not!” he said immediately, sitting up straighter.

“Then. Why. Not.” You leaned toward him as you said it, emphasizing each word. One hand pressed into the mattress beside him to hold yourself up, the comforter bunching beneath your fingers.

The distance between you shrank.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as his eyes drifted around your room—your desk, the posters on the wall, the messy stack of books by your nightstand—anywhere but your face.

When he finally looked back at you, the expression there was different. Less playful and flirtatious.

It made your stomach twist.

“Because I can’t put you before volleyball,” he admitted quietly. “And I don’t want to disappoint you.”

For a moment you just stared at him.

“I’m not asking to be put before volleyball,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I’m not stupid, Tooru. You tell me how important it is to you all the time.”

Your voice softened without meaning to.

“I just want to be another important thing in your life. Alongside volleyball.”

The space between you felt smaller now. He was close enough that you could see the faint tension in his jaw.

Slowly, his hand drifted across the mattress until it rested over yours. His palm was warm and rough from years of setting and serving.

“You are important to me,” he murmured.

You looked down at where his hand covered yours, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric beneath them.

“It doesn’t feel like it when I’m getting pushed to the side most of the time,” you said, your voice flattening again despite yourself.

Oikawa’s brows pulled together.

“Well if you want to be that important to me,” he said slowly, his thumb shifting slightly against your hand, “then I want to be that important to you too.”

He leaned forward a little, eyes locking onto yours again.

“I want you at my games,” he said. “I want you cheering for me loudly. And wearing my jersey, obviously.”

You huffed quietly.

“I would already be doing all of that if we made it official.”

“Then why haven’t we made it official?!” he burst out suddenly.

“I don’t know!” you snapped back at the exact same volume.

The words hung in the air between you. Neither of you spoke.

Your eyes drifted down to your hands again. Oikawa’s was still there, resting over yours. Slowly you turned your palm upward beneath his. Your fingers slid between his, lacing together.

His hand tightened instinctively.

“You’re really sweet to me,” you admitted after a moment, your voice much quieter now. Your thumb brushed slowly over his knuckles. “And I hate having all these stupid arguments.”

You exhaled softly.

“But I can’t give you the same commitment and energy I would if you were actually my boyfriend.”

Oikawa watched you carefully, his usual cocky expression gone.

“Then I’ll take you on dates,” he said.

Your head lifted to catch his expression. It was real, like he truly meant it.

“Real ones,” he added quickly. “Dinner. Movies. Whatever you want.”

His fingers squeezed yours.

“I’m sick of these fights too,” he admitted. “And when we go days without talking I end up feeling like crap.”

“You really mean it?”

The way you looked at him—soft, hopeful, a little vulnerable—made something in his chest twist painfully.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting your eyes again. “Of course I do.”

A familiar confidence crept back into his smile.

“I mean, I’d love for everyone to know this beautiful, gorgeous, unbelievably stunning girl is mine.”

You rolled your eyes automatically at the dramatics, but warmth spread across your face anyway.

Before you could think too hard about it, you shifted forward onto your knees and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

Oikawa didn’t hesitate.

His arms slid around your waist instantly, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. One of his hands settled at the small of your back, firm and grounding, while his face buried into the curve of your shoulder.

You could feel his breath warm against your neck.

For a moment neither of you moved.

Then you murmured quietly against his ear...

CHAPTER 1 : ONE-SHOTS

✎𓂃 MULTI-CHARACTER :

Birthday gifts

✎𓂃 MIDORIYA :

Rewind

✎𓂃 BAKUGOU :

Dirty work

CHAPTER 1 : ONE-SHOTS

 ✎𓂃 MULTI-CHARACTER :

Borrowing their shirt without asking

Talking about them during an interview

 ✎𓂃 OIKAWA :

Best friends little sister

We almost broke up again

Oikawa's childhood friend becomes the manager

✎𓂃 IWAIZUMI :

You realize your feelings too late

When did you get hot?

Gym crush

✎𓂃 TSUKISHIMA :

Picking up your drunk boyfriend from a party

You fall asleep at your tutoring session

Your ex comes back for his hoodie

 ✎𓂃 KUROO :

Opposite crowds

I'm here to make you feel better

CHAPTER 2 : SERIES

✎𓂃 OIKAWA :

Pose for me : You and Oikawa were childhood classmates, though back then you were just the quiet, unremarkable girl while he was already the center of attention. Years later you become a successful model, becoming someone no one from your childhood would recognize. When you run into each other again as adults, Oikawa is stunned by the transformation. Used to getting whatever he wants with ease, he quickly becomes intrigued by you. The only problem is, for the first time in his life, Oikawa can’t seem to get what he wants.

pairing: Iwaizumi x you

content: fluff, somewhat angst, one sided, childhood friends, high school

note:

—

When you finally realized how you felt about your best friend, Hajime Iwaizumi, it was already too late.

For weeks something had felt different. Every time he stood a little too close or called your name across the gym, your chest would tighten in a way it never had before. You caught yourself worrying about things you’d never cared about before—fixing your hair before you saw him, practicing makeup you barely knew how to use, trying to look like someone worth noticing.

But none of that mattered now.

You had known this moment was coming, deep down. You just never did anything to stop it.

That morning, your close friend had pulled you aside with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

She told you she liked Iwaizumi.

And the tightness in your chest twisted into something worse.

You had never told anyone about your own feelings for him. To everyone else he was just your childhood friend who had grown up next door.

So bringing it up now would’ve been terrible timing.

“That's great,” you managed to say, even though the words scraped painfully out of your throat.

“I’m going to confess today!” she squealed. “We ride the same bus, so I’m telling him then!”

Her hands squished her cheeks as she giggled, kicking her feet against the floor at the thought of him accepting.

And what made it worse was that you thought he might.

When you first introduced the two of them, it had been harmless. The three of you hung out together all the time. But slowly things shifted.

He stopped asking you to hang out alone as much.

You’d see them talking together in the hallway, or you’d watch him greet her first after volleyball games.

“You should,” you said, forcing a smile.

After all… you wanted your friends to be happy.

At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But that thought shattered the moment you found yourself running through the rain toward the bus stop you knew he used.

You hadn’t even bothered opening your umbrella—you were running too fast.

Rain soaked through your hair, flattened the careful style you’d spent time on earlier. Your makeup was probably ruined too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

When you reached the bus stop, your heart dropped.

They were already there.

He was standing close to her, smiling down while she smiled softly back.

“Must be too late,” you muttered under your breath, stopping a few feet away from the shelter.

Your friend noticed you first. She waved cheerfully.

Then Iwaizumi turned.

You never really noticed how handsome he had become until moments like this. Growing up he had always been just as messy and scruffy as you were. But somewhere along the way he had grown into himself.

He raised a hand and motioned you over.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up.

Right as you reached the bus stop, the bus he usually took pulled up behind you.

But he didn’t seem in a hurry to get on.

“I’ll take this one!” your friend said quickly. “See you two tomorrow!”

She hopped onto the bus, giving you both a quick wave before the doors closed. The bus pulled away, splashing rainwater along the curb.

Now it was just the two of you.

“Well…” you started awkwardly. “Congrats.”

“Congrats?” he repeated, brows furrowing. “For what?”

“Getting a girlfriend,” you said flatly, unsure if he was pretending not to understand or genuinely confused.

“We aren’t—she’s not my girlfriend.” His expression softened slightly, like he almost wanted to laugh.

“What? But—she told me she was going to confess. Did she not?”

He shook his head.

“She did,” he admitted. “She’s nice and all, but she’s not really my type.”

The way he said it was so straightforward it almost sounded like he had been intentionally hiding information from you.

“But you two were smiling at each other!” you protested, more heated than you meant to sound. “She wouldn’t be that happy if you rejected her!”

Iwaizumi glanced out into the rainy street for a moment. The roof of the bus stop kept him dry, the only thing separating him from the downpour you had just run through.

“Well,” he said after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, “I told her I liked someone else.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Who?”

He looked back at you then.

“You might know her,” he said casually. “She’s loud. Kind of a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Your brain immediately started running through names—anyone but yourself.

“Especially when she does stupid things,” he added, glancing down at the umbrella still clenched in your hand, “like running through the rain without using the umbrella she’s carrying.”

You froze.

The pieces clicked together slowly.

You stared at him, still trying to convince yourself he meant someone else.

It took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was talking about you.

“No—but—what? I don’t understand,” was all you managed to say.

Iwaizumi looked at you like you had just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“What’s so confusing?” he asked, leaning down slightly so he could look you in the eyes, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets like the whole situation was obvious.

“You two have gotten so close recently!” you blurted, frustration bubbling out faster than you could stop it. “I see you walking together all the time, and at your games you’re always looking around like you’re searching for her! What was all that about then?!”

For a second he just stared at you.

Then he huffed out a short laugh.

“Idiot.”

He straightened up again and reached over, his large hand landing on the top of your rain-soaked head. His fingers caught a damp strand of your hair, absentmindedly twisting it around his finger.

“Did it ever cross your mind,” he said slowly, “that I might’ve been looking for you?”

You blinked at him.

“And I walk with her because you’re always late,” he added bluntly. “She finds me in the hallway before you even drag yourself outta bed.”

Your brain struggled to catch up.

He clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed.

“I keep looking around at my games because you always sit somewhere different,” he continued. “Sometimes you’re behind the bench, sometimes you’re halfway up the stands waving your arms like an idiot.”

“And walking with her?” he scoffed. “Half the time she’s just asking me about out next plans, as a group.”

He tugged lightly on the strand of hair still looped around his finger before letting it fall.

“I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out for months,” he said.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you standing there completely soaked.

“…Instead you show up drenched and crying.”

His hand moved again, flicking lightly against your forehead.

You hadn’t even realized tears had started streaming down your face until the motion made your vision blur. Instinctively you tried to wipe them away, dragging the back of your hand across your cheek, but it didn’t help much. Rainwater clung to your skin just the same.

“You’re seriously a pain in my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” you let out a small, broken laugh, the sound tangled with the tears you were trying to hold back.

Before you could step away and pull yourself together, Iwaizumi grabbed you and pulled you in close. His arms wrapped firmly around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t hesitate for even a second about the rain soaking into his uniform too.

Your forehead pressed against his chest, and for a moment all you could hear was the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath the damp fabric.

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way you’ve been acting lately too?” he muttered above you.

That made you look up at him immediately. Your chin rested lightly against his chest as you searched his face, trying to read whatever was going on behind those sharp eyes of his.

“Usually you don’t care this much about how you look,” he continued. “But lately you’ve been wearing more makeup… actually doing your hair instead of just brushing it and running out the door.”

He paused, his brows knitting together slightly as he studied your face.

The rain pattered steadily around the bus stop, hitting the pavement in a soft rhythm. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, and it was the only other sound between you.

“Doing it for someone?” he asked.

You sniffed, glaring weakly up at him.

“Don’t tease me,” you said bluntly, even though you both knew he already had the answer.

A small huff of amusement left him.

“You’ve always been obvious,” he said. “Ever since we were kids.”

“Well one of us had to be,” you shot back quietly, “when you’re serious half the time.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“…Isn’t it a good thing I’m serious right now?”

He loosened his arms just enough to pull back and look at you properly.

The moment he did, a wave of self-consciousness hit you like a truck. Your mascara had to be smeared all down your face by now, mixed with rain and tears. Your uniform clung heavily to your body, soaked through, and strands of hair stuck to your forehead in messy curls.

You felt ridiculous.

“Yeah,” you said softly, looking down. “You always keep me in check after all.”

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue quietly.

“Don’t feel like you need to dress up for me every day,” he said.

His hand moved to your head again, fingers warm even through your wet hair as he gently pulled you closer.

“I liked you before you started getting all dressed up.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your wet forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at you again.

Synopsis: You go back in time over and over to save the love of your life, Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya’s match against Todoroki during the sports festival left you frozen in your seat.

The fight itself was overwhelming. Ice tore across the arena in massive, jagged waves while flames roared hot enough that even the distant stands felt the heat. The stadium thundered with thousands of voices, cheers and shouting echoing through the massive structure as the two of them clashed in the center of it all.

But it wasn’t just the battle that held your attention.

It was him.

Midoriya stood there bruised and shaking, yet somehow more determined than ever. There was nothing guarded about his expression—every emotion he felt was written plainly across his face as he shouted to Todoroki. His voice carried across the arena with a kind of conviction that made your chest tighten.

It didn’t feel like he was just trying to win. It felt like he was trying to reach him.

You didn’t realize where your feet had taken you until you spotted him again later.

Midoriya stood near one of the stadium walls, slightly hunched over as he muttered to himself. His fingers twitched in small motions like he was replaying the entire fight step by step in his head.

You hesitated before speaking, “Um… Midoriya?”

Your voice was quiet, but it caught his attention immediately.

He turned, green eyes widening the moment he saw you.

“H–hey!” he said quickly, already flustered. His hands hovered awkwardly before clasping together in front of him. “What’s up?”

You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure how to explain the feeling sitting in your chest.

“How do you do that?”

“D–do what?”

You looked down at your hands, fingers folding together as they twisted nervously. “You’re… really inspiring,” you said quietly.

The words felt strange leaving your mouth, but once they started you couldn’t seem to stop them.

“When I get overwhelmed, I just shut down. Everything feels too big and I freeze.” You glanced up for a second before looking down again. “But you don’t do that. You take all that emotion and turn it into something else.”

You searched for the right word.

“You control it,” you said softly. “How?”

Midoriya stared for a second before letting out a small, nervous laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

“I—I don’t know!” he admitted. “I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

The honesty in his voice made a faint smile tug at your lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “That was a weird question.”

“No!” he said immediately, shaking his head so fast his curls bounced. “Not weird at all!”

You hesitated before speaking again, your voice quieter this time.

“I just… feel weak sometimes. Because I feel things so strongly.” The moment the words left your mouth, Midoriya’s expression softened.

“Empathy isn’t a weakness,” he said earnestly. His voice carried the same sincerity it had during the match, and it made your chest tighten all over again.

“If anything, it’s a strength,” he continued. “For me, I just want everyone around me to do their best.”

After that day, something shifted between you.

You slowly became someone he started noticing without meaning to. His eyes would drift toward you across the classroom or the training field before he even realized what he was doing.

And sometimes—when you weren’t paying attention—Midoriya would catch himself watching you with quiet admiration.

Once everyone moved into the dorms, the distance between you disappeared almost completely.

Study sessions that started as quick homework help stretched late into the night. The common room lights would dim as most of the class headed to bed, leaving only the two of you sitting at the table with scattered notes and open textbooks.

Midoriya’s eyes would light up whenever he started talking about pro heroes. His hands moved excitedly as he broke down fighting styles and strategies, his notebooks spreading across the table—pages full of messy handwriting, arrows, and diagrams connecting different techniques.

Somewhere along the way, your friendship began to change.

Your shoulders brushed when you sat too close on the couch. Sometimes you’d both reach for the same notebook at the same time, pulling back with awkward little laughs.

Neither of you said anything. Because saying it out loud meant risking everything. So you both stayed quiet.

Until the day everything fell apart.

Your arms wrapped tightly around him. Midoriya’s body felt frighteningly still against you. His messy green hair was even more disheveled now, strands sticking in every direction like the fight had torn straight through him. His costume was ripped, the fabric darkened by dried red stains.

Your hands trembled as you pulled him closer.

“Izuku…” your voice cracked.

Tears blurred your vision as they slid down your cheeks and fell onto his face, tracing through the grime and blood left behind by the battle.

His body stayed limp in your arms.

Your chest hurt so badly it felt impossible to breathe.

“You idiot…” you whispered, voice shaking as you pressed your forehead to his.

And then in a single instant, the world vanished in a blinding white glow.

You stopped counting after the first few attempts.

Days blurred into months. Months turned into years. Every reset dragged you back to the beginning, and no matter what you tried to change, fate always pulled you back to the same moment.

Back to the hospital.

Back to the quiet room that smelled like antiseptic.

You would sit beside his bed with your fingers twisted tightly in the sheets, knuckles white as you listened to the steady beep of the monitor.

But this time was different.

You sat alone in your bedroom, the faint blue glow of a hologram lighting the dark. The recorded message flickered softly in the air as All Might’s familiar figure smiled proudly from the projection.

Your acceptance letter to U.A. hovered beside it.

Your hands trembled slightly as you stared at the screen.

This time, you had a plan.

You would reject U.A.

If you never stepped inside those halls—never met Izuku Midoriya—then maybe the chain of events would finally break. Maybe removing yourself from the story would be enough to change fate.

Even if it meant disappearing from his life completely.

If it meant he lived… it would be worth it.

You watched the calendar like it was counting down to something inevitable.

Every morning you checked the date. Every night you stared at it again before going to sleep, your stomach twisting as the numbers crept closer and closer to the day burned into your memory.

The day he always died.

You waited for the news alerts. For the sudden flood of headlines. For the story that would spread across every screen about a U.A. student killed in battle.

But nothing came.

The day passed quietly.

You sat there staring at the calendar long after midnight, half-expecting something terrible to happen at the last second. Your chest stayed tight, your body braced for the moment the world would prove you wrong again.

But next day arrived and he was still alive.

You covered your mouth as the first sob slipped out, your shoulders shaking as the realization finally sank in.

You cried with the thought, "I had saved him".

Now that the inevitable day had passed without incident, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore.

You carried a journal with you everywhere, filled with every detail you had recorded over countless loops. You knew which events to avoid and which paths to repeat. But now, forging your own way felt like watching yourself move through someone else’s body.

So you did what you had always thought you’d never do. You let yourself step into a normal life. You continued your education, far from U.A., far from heroes. You took a dull office job with predictable hours, your daily life steady and unremarkable.

And yet, you remained a devoted fan of the hero Deku, following every story, every mission, every battle from a safe distance.

One warm morning, you walked into your usual coffee shop. The familiar smell of roasted beans washed over you. As you approached the counter, opening your mouth to order, “My usual—,” a sudden crash made you spin around.

Your heart jumped into your throat. A massive villain had just slammed through the front window. The glass shattered like ice, scattering shards across the floor.

And then you saw him.

A blur of green hair flying through the air. Full of power and energy, moving faster than your eyes could fully process.

He was here. And he was fighting. Right in front of you.

You helped usher civilians toward the back of the coffee shop, guiding families and startled bystanders out of harm’s way. Your hands shook slightly as you moved, but you didn’t stop—you couldn’t. Every second felt urgent, like every action mattered.

Eventually, the chaos settled. The villain had been subdued, the crowd was safe, and the distant wail of sirens marked that help was on the way. But even as the adrenaline began to fade, your chest still raced. Your heart pounded so loudly you felt like he could hear it from across the room.

Your eyes darted around, searching, desperate. And then you saw him. Izuku. His green hair was a little tousled from the fight, his uniform smudged but intact, eyes scanning over everyone to make sure no one was hurt.

“You alright?” His voice was gentle.

His green eyes scanned for any sign you were hurt. “I saw you helping people earlier… that was really brave. But next time please make sure you stay safe too, okay?”

“I… I’m fine,” you whispered. “I just—wanted to help.”

He offered a small smile, and in that moment, it wasn’t just the aftermath of the fight making your heart race.

It was him.

He continued to stare at you, tilting his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite place you. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Have we… met before?”

You quickly lifted your hands, shaking your head. “Oh no, no! We’ve never met!” Your voice wavered slightly, betraying the calm you tried to show.

You couldn’t possibly force your way back into his life. It felt selfish.

“I… I should go! Thank you for protecting the city! I’ll be off…” You turned to leave, But then a hand grasped your wrist.

Right as he realized what he was doing, he yanked his hand back, “Oh! I’m… I’m sorry! That was rude! I just… I really, really feel like I know you!”

“Deku… sir…” you mumbled, watching as his hand slowly released you, the warmth fading away and leaving a strange ache in its place.

He shuffled a little closer, green eyes earnest and intense. “Please… can we talk a little more? I need to… I need to figure this out!” His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides.

He hasn't changed.

“I… okay,” you whispered, unsure how else to respond.

“I know this might be a little… unprofessional, but can I get your phone number?” His words tumbled out fast, a nervous energy beneath his usual earnest tone.

“We both have to go, so we can’t really talk now but maybe we could go to dinner?”

Like a date? you wanted to ask, but you restrained yourself.

“Yeah… sure,” you managed softly,

You both exchanged numbers, fingers brushing briefly in the transfer.

He grinned that signature smile of his. Bright enough to make your chest flutter.

“Thanks! I’ll text you!”

Before you could say anything else, he leapt off into the distance, leaving you standing there, heart racing and cheeks warm.

Later that week, you found yourself getting ready for dinner with him.

You hadn’t meant to dress up so much. But somehow you still spent extra time fixing your hair. The dress you chose was long and soft, fitting just right.

Maybe you had tried a little harder than you meant to.

Your small heels clicked softly against the pavement as you walked down the street toward the restaurant he had chosen.

When you first looked it up, you’d been surprised. It wasn’t some casual place or fast food spot—it was actually really nice.

Which only made the thought creep back into your mind.

This really feels like a date.

By the time you reached the entrance, your heart was already beating faster than usual.

He was waiting just outside.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he instinctively took a small step back. His eyes widened slightly as he took you in, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“You look beautiful.”

The second he said it, he looked a little startled by his own honesty.

“Ah—! I mean—” he started to stumble over himself.

“Thank you…” you said quietly, smiling despite yourself. A blush spread across your cheeks as you glanced down toward the ground.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to recover, but the soft pink tint on his own face didn’t go away.

“Um—anyway!” he said quickly, straightening a little. “I already got us a table! Follow me.”

He held the door open for you with that familiar, earnest smile before guiding you inside.

This really felt like a date.

He pulled out your chair for you, waiting until you sat before gently pushing it in. The small gesture made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

You felt like a teenager again.

Like the first time you had ever laid eyes on him.

He was older now. The soft roundness of his face had sharpened a little, and faint lines of stress sat around his eyes in a way they hadn’t before. Being a pro hero had clearly taken its toll.

But the passion in his eyes hadn’t changed at all.

The conversation flowed easier than you expected.

He asked about the usual things: your job, where you went to university, where you grew up.

Each question sounded casual, but you could tell he was searching your face while you spoke, like he was trying to connect some invisible thread in his memory.

“You’re a pro hero, Mr. Deku,” you said lightly, trying to wave it off with a small smile. “I’m sure you see thousands of faces. Maybe I just look like someone else you’ve helped before.”

He didn’t look convinced.

Instead, his shoulders dipped slightly and he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the table.

“I’m sorry if I’m… intruding,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to pry into your life or anything. I know we just met and I’m acting like—like I already know you. That’s probably weird.”

Your head snapped up.

“No! Not at all!” you said quickly—loud enough that a couple nearby tables glanced over.

Your face heated instantly.

You shrank a little in your seat before admitting, “This is actually kind of embarrassing but… you’re my favorite hero.”

His head shot up.

“You— you’re a fan?”

You laughed softly at the word.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little.

A fan.

If only he knew how much more than that you had been.

“If I knew you… I think it would’ve come back to me. I’m sorry.”

He let out a tired breath, resting his hands against the table like the thought alone had drained him.

Without really thinking, you reached forward and placed your hands over his, gently holding his calloused fingers within your softer ones. The contact made him still.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “I really don’t mind at all. I got to meet my favorite hero after all.” A small giggle slipped out of you. “Honestly, you should probably be charging me for a meet and greet.”

You began to pull your hands away but his eyes suddenly shot up to yours.

Before you could react, his hands closed around yours again, pulling them back toward him and leaning forward across the table.

“I—You—!” he stammered, eyes wide like something had just struck him. “We went to the same high school! You went to U.A, didn’t you?”

The sudden movement and intensity made you scramble for an answer.

“I—no!” you blurted quickly. “I’m quirkless.”

The lie left a bitter taste in your mouth, but how could you possibly explain that what he was remembering was a distant life you had lived through again and again?

“But… we…” His voice faltered.

Slowly, he pulled back, confusion spread across his face.

You rubbed your own hands together, watching him carefully, trying to read whatever thought was passing through his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know how I’d forget something like that, but we…” His hand lifted to his chest, pressing there like something inside him hurt.

For a moment he just sat there like that.

Then he looked up at you.

His eyes were more sincere than you had ever seen them, almost pleading. There was something mournful in them, like he had lost something important but couldn’t remember what it was.

“I feel like…” he said quietly, voice strained with confusion, “like we were important to each other.”

You tried so hard to swallow the truth.

Your chest tightened as the urge to tell him pressed against your chest. There was no simple way to explain it. No version of the story that didn’t sound completely insane.

Yet the words crowded your lips, desperate to be spoken.

You opened your mouth to speak— but he spoke first.

“I love you—”

Your eyes widened instantly. Your mouth stayed open, jaw slack.

His own eyes went just as wide, realization hitting him half a second too late.

“I sound crazy,” he muttered quickly, covering his mouth with his hand. “But I just—remembered so many things. I’m not sure how I forgot them.”

Your heart pounded violently.

“Izuku— I mean—Deku!” you rushed out. “I can explain. It’s going to sound crazy, and you’re probably not going to believe me…”

He didn’t interrupt.

His eyes stayed locked onto you, waiting.

Because that feeling inside him was overwhelming. Like his ribs were too small to hold his heart.

Like if he didn’t grab you and pull you into his arms right now, something inside him would break.

“I did go to U.A., but…” You rubbed the back of your neck, searching desperately for where to start. “I’m not quirkless.”

“I lied.”

His brows furrowed, but he didn’t look angry. Just confused.

“My quirk is… complicated,” you continued quietly. “I can go back in time.”

Silence fell between you.

“So… I went back,” you said, voice trembling slightly. “Over and over again. For what felt like years.”

“Why?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Your eyes dropped to the table before slowly lifting back to him.

“Because in my first life… my original timeline…”

Your throat tightened.

“You die.”

The words hung in the air like shattered glass and Izuku froze..

“…What?” he whispered.

“In the first timeline, we met at U.A.,” you explained softly. “You were becoming a hero. You were amazing and brave.” A small sad smile tugged at your lips. “You saved everyone… except yourself.”

His hand slowly slid away from his chest, but the ache there only seemed to grow.

“And when you died,” you continued, voice cracking slightly. "I went back the longest I'v ever gone back before. Over and over. I thought if I changed things… trained harder… got stronger… stayed closer to you… I could stop it. But every time ended the same”

His chair scraped faintly as he leaned closer without realizing it.His heart thudded painfully in his chest, paranoid you could hear how loud it was.

“I’ve lived through our first year at U.A. more times than I can count.”

“And this time?” he asked hoarsely.

Your lips trembled slightly.

“This is the first time I had to live life without you. We never officially met like we did before, until now, that is.”

That seemed to shake him more than anything else.

“So this is my first life without you too?” he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

Izuku suddenly stood so fast his chair nearly tipped. The next second he lifted you from the chair and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

Like he had been holding himself back for far too long.

His face buried into your shoulder, grip tightening like if he let go you might disappear.

He felt the tears before he even realized he was crying.

You felt them too—warm drops soaking into your shoulder as his arms tightened around you.

“We must’ve really liked each other,” he hiccuped through uneven breaths. “Because I could feel it right when I saw you… even though I’d never met you.”

Your own vision blurred as you held him tighter, your fingers running slowly up and down his back in soft, calming strokes.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sniffles. “I had to. I couldn’t watch you leave me anymore.”

The words seemed to hit something deep inside him.

“I—I won’t ever again!” he said quickly.

He pulled back just enough to grab your face gently in his hands, his grip careful but desperate as he looked straight into your eyes. His thumbs trembled slightly against your cheeks.

“Don’t leave me alone in this timeline,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Let this be the final one.”

For a moment you just stared at him, overwhelmed by how sincere he looked.

“Yeah,” you nodded softly within his grasp. “I’d like that.”

He then leaned in.

His lips met yours softly at first. But the moment the kiss settled, it deepened. You felt like home to him.

His thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away the tears that still clung there.

You melted into the warmth of it.

For so long you had carried the memories alone. Lifetimes of watching him laugh, fight, smile and sometimes fall.

But now he was here.

Alive.

Holding you.

Kissing you like he’d been waiting just as long.

And for the first time in what felt like endless timelines, the future didn’t feel like something you had to fight alone.