yien !

ᝰ.ᐟ Profiles ...

Group chat name: The hotties

۶ৎ Containing... You, Akaashi, Yamaguchi, Yachi and Kiyoko

Group chat name: Never-ending nonsense

۶ৎ Containing... Kita, Rin, Aran, Osamu and Atsumu

[No ending image cuz I ran out of images allowed gn... ]

haiba alisa was a walking skyscraper of confidence, a shimmering monument to the haiba genes that decreed every member of her bloodline must be at least fifty percent legs and one hundred percent dramatic. to the average passerby in tokyo, she was a poised, ethereal beauty with eyes like emeralds and a laugh that sounded like expensive wind chimes. she carried herself with the terrifying grace of a panther on a runway, projecting an aura of “i have never been embarrassed a single day in my life.”

in reality, alisa was held together by scotch tape, shoujo manga delusions, and a level of yearning for you that could power a small metropolitan city for a decade.

she prided herself on being the “cool” one. while her brother lev was a literal golden retriever in human form, crashing into walls and shouting about volleyball, alisa liked to think she was sophisticated. she had a routine. she would find you, she would lean against a wall with a practiced, nonchalant tilt of her head, and she would toss out a playful jab about your messy hair or your questionable choice in snacks. it was a foolproof shield. as long as she was teasing you, she was in control. as long as it was a “joke,” her heart wouldn’t actually eject itself from her ribcage and go skittering across the pavement like a panicked crab.

but today, the shield had a hairline fracture.

it started at the small cafe near the train station. you were sitting across from her, squinting at a menu, the afternoon sun catching the bridge of your nose and making your eyes look particularly warm. alisa was halfway through a sentence, probably something about how your new hoodie made you look like a very cozy potato, when you looked up.

usually, you laughed along. usually, you’d fire back with a quip about her height or her flamboyant fashion sense. but this time, you didn’t. you just looked at her, truly looked at her, with a softness that felt like being wrapped in a cashmere blanket that had been sitting in the sun.

“actually, alisa,” you said, your voice dropping into a register that made her toes curl inside her fashionable boots, “i was thinking earlier… that shade of green really suits you. it makes you look absolutely radiant. i’m lucky i get to sit across from you.”

the world stopped. the clinking of ceramic cups faded into a dull hum. the air in the cafe suddenly felt as thick as honey.

alisa’s brain, usually a high-speed processor of witty comebacks and modeling poses, hit a catastrophic blue screen of death. the “cool girl” facade didn’t just crumble; it disintegrated into fine dust. her pupils dilated until her eyes were mostly black, and a flush started at the base of her throat, racing up her neck like a wildfire until her ears were glowing a vibrant, radioactive crimson.

“i—” she started. her voice cracked, an octave higher than usual. “the—green? lucky?”

she didn’t look at you. she couldn’t. if she made eye contact with you right now, she was certain she would actually liquefy and seep into the floorboards. instead, she became intensely, violently interested in a napkin. she began folding it. then unfolding it. then shredding it into microscopic confetti with the precision of a master surgeon.

“alisa? you okay?” you asked, leaning forward.

she recoiled as if you had just brandished a holy cross at a vampire. “fine! spectacularly fine! flourishing! i simply remembered that i have a very important appointment with… my dog—uh—brother! goodbye!”

she bolted. she marched with the stiff-legged intensity of a toy soldier, her silver hair whipping behind her as she fled the cafe. you were left holding a half-finished latte and wondering if you had accidentally insulted her ancestors.

three hours later, alisa was face-down on her bed, screaming into a pillow.

“he’s a menace,” she muffled into the fabric, her legs kicking rhythmically. “he’s a biological weapon designed to dismantle my entire personality. who allowed him to have that voice? it’s illegal. it’s a felony. i’m calling the police. i’m calling the prime minister.”

she rolled over, staring at her ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. her heart was still doing a drum solo against her sternum. the way you had said radiant… it felt like you had reached into her chest and manually recalibrated her soul. she felt like a puddle of melted strawberry ice cream. she was completely, utterly, and embarrassingly leveled by twelve words and a sincere expression.

lev poked his head into her room, chewing on a meat bun. “hey, sis, why is your face the color of a fire truck? did you get a sunburn indoors?”

“leave me to perish, lev,” she groaned, throwing a stuffed lion at him. “i’m undergoing a spiritual transformation. i’m becoming one with the floor.”

“did y/n say something nice to you again?” lev grinned, dodging the lion. “you’re so easy to read. you look like you got hit by a bus made of sugar.”

“out!” she shrieked, burying her face back in the pillow.

the problem was that alisa didn’t just like you. she was submerged in you. she was at the bottom of the marianas trench of affection, and she had no intention of swimming back up for air. every time you texted her, she stared at the notification for ten minutes, composing a response that sounded “breezy” before deleting it and sending a single emoji because she was too overwhelmed to function. she had a mental gallery of every time you’d pushed your hair back or laughed so hard you snorted. she was a goner. a total, absolute goner.

the next morning, she tried to reset. she spent an extra twenty minutes on her eyeliner, telling her reflection that she was a queen, a goddess, a woman of substance who would not be rattled by a simple compliment.

she saw you near the school gates. you were leaning against the fence, checking your phone. the sight of you made her knees feel like they were made of jelly, but she steeled herself. she would be casual. she would be aloof.

“morning,” she said, gliding up to you. she managed to keep her eyes fixed on a point approximately three inches above your left ear. “did you manage to survive the cafe? you looked quite lonely after i had to depart so suddenly for my… international business meeting.”

you chuckled, and the sound sent a physical shiver down her spine. “international business meeting, huh? is that what we’re calling ‘running away from a compliment’ now?”

alisa’s resolve flickered. “i didn’t run. i sashayed. there’s a difference.”

you stepped closer, invading her personal bubble with the casual ease of someone who didn’t realize they were currently standing in the center of someone else’s entire universe. you reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear. your fingers brushed against her skin for a fraction of a second, but to alisa, it felt like a lightning strike.

“well, you’re still looking radiant today,” you said softly. “even if you can’t look me in the eye.”

alisa’s brain didn’t just short-circuit this time; the entire power grid blew out. she froze. her eyes drifted down to your chin, then to your shoes, then to a particularly interesting pebble on the ground. she felt the heat rising again, a tidal wave of pink crashing over her cheeks.

“i have to go to class,” she squeaked. “class is… happening. in the building. with the books. farewell, y/n.”

she spent the entire first period hiding behind her textbook, her face still smoldering. she couldn’t focus on math. the numbers on the board were just spinning into the shape of your smile. she was a high-fashion model who could walk in six-inch heels without breaking a sweat, yet she couldn’t handle a boy telling her she looked nice without turning into a vibrating heap of nerves.

it was pathetic. it was wonderful. it was the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced.

during lunch, she tried to hide in the library, tucked away in the back corner of the fiction section. she figured she was safe there. she could sit among the dusty books and pretend her heart wasn’t trying to stage a coup.

then, the chair next to her pulled out.

it was you. of course it was you. you were like a heat-seeking missile for her sanity. you set a small container of strawberries on the table between you.

“i brought these for you,” you whispered, mindful of the library’s quiet. “since you didn’t get to finish your snack yesterday.”

alisa stared at the strawberries. they were bright red, plump, and perfect—much like her face at that exact moment. she dared to sneak a glance at you. you were watching her with such genuine, unadulterated fondness that it felt like a physical weight on her chest. it wasn’t a joke. you weren’t teasing her. you really, truly liked her.

the realization hit her with the force of a freight train.

her hand trembled slightly as she reached for a strawberry. “you’re… you’re really quite persistent, aren’t you?”

“only for the things that matter,” you replied, your voice a low, steady thrum.

alisa finally looked at you. her emerald eyes were wide, watery, and shimmering with a vulnerability she usually kept locked behind seven layers of sarcasm.

she didn’t look away. she held your gaze for three whole seconds, a personal record, before her courage buckled and she hid her face in her hands, her muffled voice escaping through her fingers.

“you are so unfair,” she wailed quietly. “how am i supposed to stay cool when you keep saying things like that? you’re ruining my reputation. i’m supposed to be the mysterious one. i’m supposed to be the one making you blush!”

you reached over, gently pulling her hands away from her face.

“i think i like this version of you better,” you said. “the one who gets flustered because she knows how much i care about her.”

alisa let out a tiny, high-pitched noise that sounded suspiciously like a teapot coming to a boil. she leaned her forehead against your shoulder, hiding her face in the crook of your neck.

“if you tell lev about this,” she muttered into your shirt, “i will move to another country and change my name. i will become a goat herder in the swiss alps. i will never be seen again.”

you laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“your secret is safe with me, alisa.”

she stayed there for a long time.

as the bell rang for the next period, she finally pulled back, smiling properly for the first time that day. she leaned in, pressed a lightning-fast kiss to your cheek, and spun away.

“see you after school!”

you watched her go, touching your cheek where her lips had been.

she might have been the one falling apart, but you were already just as gone.

n: 😝😝 happy valentines day boy @kkenaori - will post more later !!

alisa’s taglist

@katzline @forgottensniper @fiannee @eri0-0 @lazyruinsperson

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

​if you were to peel back the layers of yamaguchi tadashi’s brain, you wouldn’t find thoughts of volleyball rotations or jump-float serves. instead, you’d find a high-definition, 4k cinematic montage of you simply existing.

​there you were: breathing. there you were: blinking. there you were: drinking a juice box like you were personally inventing the concept of hydration. to yamaguchi, you weren’t a human being; you were a walking, talking religious experience, and he was the most devout, floor-scrubbing monk in the temple of your presence.

​he was so far gone that he’d spent the last twenty minutes staring at the back of your head in the library, wondering if your hair follicles knew how lucky they were to be attached to your scalp. his heart performed a frantic, uncoordinated tap dance against his ribs every time you shifted in your seat. he was a puddle. a stain. a mess of a boy who would happily walk into a sliding glass door if you happened to smile in his general direction.

​“yamaguchi.”

​the voice was sharp, clinical, and sounded like it belonged to someone who enjoyed when it rains on parades for sport.

​yamaguchi jumped, his pencil flying out of his hand and clattering across the library table. he turned to see tsukishima watching him with an expression of profound, soul-deep exhaustion.

​“stop it,” tsukishima deadpanned. “you’re emitting a physical aura of desperation. it’s making my eyes itch.”

​“tsukki! i’m not—i wasn’t—”

​“you were staring at y/n’s ears. you’ve been staring at them for twelve minutes. they’re just ears, tadashi. they filter sound. they aren't magical artifacts.”

​yamaguchi leaned in, his voice a frantic whisper. “but they’re so... symmetrical, tsukki! and did you see how he brushed his hair back? it was like watching a swan take flight. i think i forgot how to use my lungs for a second. i’m dying. i’m actually, medically passing away from how much i love him.”

​tsukishima adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses in a way that screamed i’m surrounded by idiots. “you’re embarrassing. just go talk to him instead of vibrating into the floorboards.”

​“i can’t! if i go over there, i’ll forget the japanese language. i’ll just stand there and make a noise like a broken microwave. i need... i need a plan. tsukki, help me. you’re smart. how do i get him to notice me without me accidentally spontaneously combusting?“

​tsukishima stared at his best friend. he saw the sweat on yamaguchi’s brow, the way his hands were trembling, and the sheer, unadulterated yearning in his eyes. it was pathetic. it was gross. it was deeply inconvenient.

​“fine,” tsukishima sighed, leaning back. “if you want to be a functional member of society, you need to stop acting like a kicked puppy. people don’t like puppies that cry all the time. you need to be... aloof. a mystery.”

​yamaguchi blinked, his freckles dancing as his face scrunched in confusion. “aloof? like... like a cat?”

​“sure. don’t go to him. make him wonder why you aren’t there. ignore him. but do it with finesse. if he says hello, give him a one-word answer and walk away. it creates intrigue. right now, you have the mystery of a glass of water.”

​yamaguchi’s jaw dropped. “ignore him? tsukki, that’s—that’s like asking the sun to stop being hot. i can’t ignore him! what if he thinks i hate him? what if he moves to another country because he thinks his presence offends me? i would have to follow him to the airport and throw myself onto the tarmac!”

​“it’s called ‘the push and pull’, tadashi. look it up. or don’t. but stop looking at his ears. it’s creepy.”

​yamaguchi tried. he really, truly tried.

​for the next twenty-four hours, he attempted to apply tsukishima’s brand of psychological warfare. when he saw you in the hallway, instead of his usual “good morning! i hope your day is as spectacular as your face!”, he tried to look coolly indifferent.

​he saw you approaching. his heart rate skyrocketed to a level that would concern a cardiologist. be a mystery, he told himself. be a riddle wrapped in an enigma. be a cat.

​“hey, tadashi! did you finish that history assignment?” you asked, your voice like a choir of angels singing specifically to his soul.

​yamaguchi felt his knees turn to jelly. his brain screamed TELL HIM HE IS THE LIGHT OF YOUR LIFE. instead, he channeled his inner-tsukishima.

​“no,” he grunted. he didn’t even look up. he kept walking, his heart breaking with every step.

​he made it three feet before he collapsed against a locker, clutching his chest. that was horrible! i’m a monster! i’m the villain of this story! he looked back and saw you standing there, looking slightly confused, tilting your head in that way that made him want to write a five-volume series of poetry about your neck.

​he spent the rest of the day in a state of mourning. tsukishima’s advice was poison. it was radioactive. it was the worst thing to ever happen to him.

​but then, he remembered one tiny, throwaway comment tsukishima had made while they were leaving the library: “if you’re going to be a loser, at least be a loser who listens. people like it when you remember the stupid stuff they say.”

​that. that was the one useful thing.

​yamaguchi didn’t need to be aloof. he was incapable of being aloof. he was a golden retriever in a human suit. but he could listen. he listened to you like you were delivering the secrets of the universe.

​so, he scrapped the mystery act. he threw the “push and pull” into the metaphorical garbage fire where it belonged.

​the next morning, he arrived at school early. he was carrying a small, brown paper bag, and his face was the color of a ripe strawberry. he waited by your locker, shifting from foot to foot, looking like he was about to face a firing squad.

​when you walked down the hall, his soul basically left his body. you were wearing that one sweater—the blue one that made your eyes look like someone put a star in them—and he felt a physical ache in his chest. he was so hopelessly, violently in love with you that it felt like he was constantly carrying a heavy backpack full of bricks, but the bricks were made of gold.

​“oh, hey tadashi! you okay? you seemed a bit... short yesterday,” you said, reaching for your locker handle.

​yamaguchi took a deep breath. he didn’t run away. he didn’t act like a cat.

​“i'm so sorry!” he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. “i was—i was trying something i saw in a movie and it was stupid and i hated it and i never want to not talk to you because talking to you is the only reason i enjoy having ears!”

​you blinked, a slow smile spreading across your face. “it’s okay, tadashi. i figured you were just having a weird day.”

​“i was! a very weird day! but…” he reached into the bag, his hands trembling. “last week, you mentioned that you were sad that the convenience store stopped selling those limited edition peach gummies. the ones with the sour sugar coating?”

​your eyes widened. “yeah? i haven’t been able to find them anywhere.”

​yamaguchi held out the bag like it contained a holy relic. “i... i went to five different stores last night. the one near the train station had two bags left in the back of the shelf. i bought them for you. because you said you liked them. and i like... when you like things.”

​you took the bag, your fingers brushing against his. the contact sent a literal jolt of electricity through yamaguchi’s spine. he was fairly certain his DNA was being rewritten in real-time.

​“tadashi... you went to five stores for me?” your voice was soft, warm, and sugary.

​“i’d go to five hundred,” he whispered, then immediately turned bright red. “i mean—i just—i remember you said you liked them. and i wanted you to be happy. your happiness is... it’s kind of my favorite thing.”

​the silence that followed was thick with the kind of sweetness that causes cavities. you looked down at the gummies, then back up at the boy in front of you—the boy whose freckles were highlighted by the morning sun, whose eyes were wide and honest and overflowing with a devotion so pure it was almost overwhelming.

​you didn’t say anything, you didn't laugh.

​instead, you stepped closer, entering his personal space until he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo—mint and something warm, like home.

​“that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you said softly. you reached out and tucked a stray strand of his dark hair behind his ear. “you’re really something special, tadashi.”

​yamaguchi felt like he was floating. the lockers, the hallway, the floor—it all faded away. there was only the warmth of your hand against his skin and the way your thumb brushed his cheekbone. he felt like a plant that had finally been given sunlight after a thousand years in a basement.

​“i... i really like you,” he stammered, his heart doing a backflip. “not just a little bit. it’s a lot. it’s an embarrassing amount. it’s ‘i-have-a-drafts-folder-full-of-unsent-texts-about-your-smile’ amount.”

​you chuckled, a rich, melodic sound that made his toes curl. “i think i’ve got a few of those drafts myself.”

​yamaguchi’s brain short-circuited. “you... you do? for me? but i’m just... me. and you’re... you’re you.“

​“and ‘you’ is exactly who i want to go get lunch with today,” you said, sliding your hand down from his cheek to take his hand. you interlaced your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “if that’s okay with you?”

yamaguchi didn’t respond with words. he couldn’t. his throat was tight with a mixture of relief and pure, unadulterated joy. instead, he squeezed your hand back so hard he was worried he might break something, but you just grinned and pulled him toward the classroom.

​he walked beside you, his chest puffed out, his head held high, feeling like he had just won every championship in the history of sports. he looked down at your joined hands and felt a surge of triumph. tsukishima was wrong. he didn’t need to be a mystery. he just needed to be the boy who remembered your favorite candy.

​as both of you passed tsukishima in the hall, the tall blonde looked at your joined hands and let out a long, suffering sigh.

​yamaguchi didn’t even notice. he was too busy memorizing the way your thumb was tracing circles on the back of his hand, convinced that this was the single greatest moment in the history of the universe.

​he felt like he could fly. he felt like he could bench press a mountain. he felt like, for the first time in his life, he didn’t have to be anything other than the boy who loved you—and that was more than enough.

​you leaned over, whispering into his ear as you reached the classroom door. “by the way, tadashi? your freckles look really cute in this light.”

​yamaguchi just became a human supernova. he stumbled over the door frame, nearly taking you down with him, but you caught him, laughing against his shoulder. the vibration of your laughter against his skin was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt, a physical tether that grounded him even as his heart soared somewhere past the stratosphere.

​he let you lead him to his seat, his hand still firmly anchored in yours, refusing to let go until the very last second when the bell rang. even then, he spent the entire lesson staring at the side of your face, his heart overflowing with a devotion so loud he was surprised the teacher didn't tell him to keep it down.

​he was whipped. he was a goner. he was completely, utterly yours.

​and as he watched you scribble notes, he realized he didn’t mind being a puddle at your feet—as long as he was your puddle.

n: hœhœhœ someone motivate me ;(

tadashi’s taglist 1/2

@lsirria @the-bloopsters @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @rabbitcola @katzline @asthmaticasma @meonelixir @xiansoria @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @michexoxo @depressinglyobsessed @keiob @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @suha-reads @adagio4strings @sillylule @seravalanko @fiannee @forgottensniper @eri0-0 @olliesoxenfree @windsblow @starzlytoetsie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @bigdaddyyaoii @lilith-dear @applepiblog @thecranberrypineapple @lazyruinsperson @iquitfindingausername @lily-cheese-xoxo @sevikas-butch @allyium @iits-yueehuaa

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !