summary: he has a reputation to uphold. he’s sarcastic, smug. definitely not the type to fumble over himself the moment you walk into the karasuno gym. right? [wc. 2.5k]
pairing: kei tsukishima x reader
note from sunnie: teehee surprise ending alert. this is just part of something bigger that I’ve been thinking about but I needed to post this because the idea has been driving me insane. tsukki pov.
two
The first time Kei Tsukishima sees you, he’s contemplating murdering one of his teammates.
Nekoma High School was visiting Miyagi Prefecture for a string of practice matches and had obligingly squeezed a stop at Karasuno in. He’s stretching out his long limbs, listening to Hinata and Kageyama’s endless arguing, when a wave of red tracksuits and big egos wander into the gym. Kei barely spares a glance in their direction.
But he’s really, really glad he does.
Because he sees you.
You’re trailing in after the last of the visiting team. You’re not wearing the Nekoma uniform, but you do have a trademarked red hoodie that marks you as one of their own. You’re not even looking at him, which is the worst part, because he shouldn’t be so affected by someone that’s not even paying attention to him.
You have headphones on. He wonders what song you’re listening to, and then realizes that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t even know you.
What he doesn’t expect is the way his body reacts to your presence. Heart picking up speed, a burning turns the tips of his ears a faint—faint—red. He can’t take his eyes off of you, either, which is a massive problem because he’s acutely aware that someone is going to notice and that will totally ruin the image he’s worked so effortlessly hard to cultivate.
God forbid the loud mouthed ginger realizes.
Kei shivers. Forces himself to look away. Glances back a few seconds later with only a tiny bubble of shame. You’re setting a bag down near the benches set aside for the visiting team, completely unaware of how he’s unable to keep his attention to himself.
“Tsukki!” Tadashi calls, snapping him from his—what, daydreams? He’s not sure what to call it. It’s never happened to him before. He’s horribly unaccustomed to the feeling of losing total control of his ability to not stare at a pretty girl like an idiot. “Daichi said we’re running laps now!”
“Coming,” Kei responds. He’s glad Tadashi didn’t notice his newfound problem, and even more pleased with the fact that he’s able to attach his focus to a task. Something to keep him preoccupied and not make a fool of himself.
Of course, he still finds his eyes drifting towards you while he jogs.
You linger by Nekoma’s bench, helping to fill water bottles and sort out the volleyball bags unceremoniously dropped by your team. He glimpses you interacting with Nekoma players, smiling at some while poking fun at others.
And he sees when you cross over to Karasuno’s side of the gym. He’s near the bench, folding and re-folding his towel with precision—totally not buying time to watch what you’re doing. You walk towards Kiyoko, not even sparing him a glance, but he thinks it’s better this way. If you gave him an ounce of your attention, he thinks he might despise you for making his heart flutter.
Kei Tsukishima does not experience heart flutters.
“Excuse me,” You say to Kiyoko, voice unexpectedly pleasant. You sound competent, like you know who you are and that someone isn’t totally bothersome, unlike the way he finds most people are. Or maybe he’s just biased, because you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Do you know where our scrimmage jerseys are? I didn’t see them anywhere.”
“They’re probably still in the storage closet.” Kiyoko’s even voice cuts through the chaos starting to unfold in the gym. Tanaka and Nishinoya are yelling about something—it’s become impossible for him to keep up with what they’re upset about now—and the excitement is starting to spread. “If you give me a moment, I can—”
Something happens then that throws him completely off balance.
He acts without thinking.
“I can get them,” He’s saying before the words process in his own mind. Ignoring the fact he totally outed himself as eavesdropping on your conversation, he hates the way he sounds like an overeager child. The offer just rolls so easily off his tongue, like he’s someone who routinely helps others with simple tasks. He’s not, but he thinks, subconsciously, that he wants you to believe he is.
Kiyoko picks up on this, if the subtle smile on her lips or the way her dark eyes briefly dart towards you is anything to go by.
Shit.
“Are you sure? I can get them, if you just show me where to go.” You’re talking directly to him for the first time—looking at him for the first time—and your attention is wholly too much for him to handle.
So he decides he needs to do something more Kei Tsukishima-aligned.
“Yeah,” He looks away from you, towel still held in his grip, as if this is a totally casual conversation. He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, which usually is easy for him. Except, he’s finding that with you watching, he cares a lot. “If you get lost looking for them, then everything will just take too long.”
Well, he thinks, didn’t actually need to sound like a dick.
You react to the small dig in a way that makes his heart kick up pace and realize that you might have the perfect attitude to match your perfect face.
“Really,” You hum, brows rising in an unimpressed appraisal of him. Something that looks dangerously like a challenge flashes in your eyes. And then, your lips curve into a half-smirk that seriously might rewire his brain chemistry if he looks too long. “Better hurry, then. I heard that they’re starting soon. Hate to hang around here any longer than necessary.”
You say the word ‘here’ like it leaves a bad taste on your tongue. Like being at Karasuno, entertaining this conversation is a total chore.
You’re just as sarcastic as him, and the thought drives him crazy to think you’re going back to Tokyo once this practice match is all over.
Kiyoko makes a muffled noise that might be a stifled laugh that snaps him back to the moment. All at once, he remembers where he is, that there’s a gym full of people watching, and he just told you he’d get the scrimmage jerseys so you wouldn’t waste time.
And there he was, wasting time, all because your pretty smirk matched his energy.
He turns without saying anything further, off to run his voluntary errands. From the corner of his eye, he sees you bow your head politely to Kiyoko before retreating back towards the Nekoma bench.
Tanaka comes into view, then, and he makes a conscious effort to look anywhere but you. The last thing he needed was for his obnoxiously loud teammate to notice him staring at you. Delivering the jerseys to the Nekoma side is relatively painless, too, because you’re already off helping someone tape their fingers and one of the players just takes the bag from him.
He refuses to acknowledge the seed of disappointment sitting in his chest at not being able to talk to you again.
Things go a little smoother from there. Mostly because he has the match to distract himself with—the several practice matches they run through—but also because you stay seated on the opposing team’s bench for relatively the whole time. You’re less dangerous, so far away.
It’s hours later, when everyone’s wrapping up, that his eyes drift towards you again. Like there’s a magnetic force pulling his attention in your direction and he hates it so much he’s starting to get annoyed with himself.
You’re kneeling on the gym floor, gear bags surrounding you on almost all sides as you sort through them to pack away for the trip back to Tokyo. Engrossed in your task, you—hopefully—don’t notice his staring problem. But he does admit he’s probably being a little too obvious by stealing glimpses of you whenever he thinks he can get away with it.
He’s helping to take the net down, a Nekoma player he doesn’t know the name of assisting him on the opposite end. The floor is almost ready to get wiped down, and yet both teams are mingling and talking throughout the gym. Kageyama looks like he’s trying to place a curse on Nekoma’s setter.
Through the din of dozens of separate conversations happening at once, someone calls out the name Kuroo. He knows that’s the Nekoma captain. And because he’s still watching you with the focus of a devoted man, he sees how you glance up.
He sees how you look towards the tall, opposing captain. Your intelligent eyes track the conversation between Kuroo and Nekoma’s libero—the one who called out in the first place—all while you’re still crouched in the pile of bags.
Oh. He gets it now. You like him.
Kei doesn’t know you. Not even a little bit. All he’s done is watch you from afar for the past few hours and said a maximum of twenty words, half of which were laced with thinly veiled ridicule. But he thinks he can picture it pretty clearly, how you have a crush on Kuroo.
He’s not surprised. Kuroo’s tall. He’s got that dark hair and stupidly winning grin that Kei’s certain makes him a total charmer in Tokyo. They’re qualities that Kei himself doesn’t possess, and though he’s not one to get jealous, he is faintly familiar with the burn of envy.
He finds himself mourning his chance with you before he even tried. Not that he would. He’s got a reputation to uphold. He’s supposed to be smug and standoffish and a little bit of a dick.
(Or maybe be a total douchebage. But he still has to stretch out, clean up the court, make nice with Nekoma, and go do homework, so he doesn’t want to be too hard on himself.)
This whole thought process takes place in a span of a few seconds. But he feels vindicated, all the same, because you’re still looking at Kuroo. He doesn’t notice that you don’t have the dreamy look of a teenage girl admiring her crush from afar, but he’s still reeling from the fact that you affect him so much that he’s acting out of character.
Even though his outward appearance gives away nothing that he’s currently thinking. Thankfully, his bored expression hasn’t changed once since you entered the gym, betraying none of the inner turmoil he’s currently grappling with.
“Tetsuro,” You call out, derailing his train of thought abruptly.
And. Fuck. That’s Kuroo’s first name, he thinks. You’re on a first name basis with Kuroo. This doesn’t bode well for him. The theory of you using his possible given name is tried and tested when the captain turns in your direction not even a moment later, eyes rolling and long arms thrown up exasperatedly.
“What do you want now?”
Kei’s mind does another pause and doubletake, a frown finally overtaking the total nothingness on his face before. Kuroo’s tone with you is… less than friendly. And he should know, considering his track record in how he goes about interacting with people on a daily basis. Kuroo sounds like he’d rather not have you talk to him, at all, let alone interrupt his conversation with the libero.
“Kuroo!” Coach Nekomata calls out, voice just an edge commanding that makes everyone in the gym freeze. He’s not being mean, like Kei’s heard other coaches in the prefecture can be known to yell.
But he’s definitely telling Kuroo that he better listen and listen closely.
Kei is only a little confused when your head snaps towards the coach as well as Kuroo’s. Pretty much the entire gym, save for a few Nekoma members, have stopped whatever they were doing to watch the interaction play out.
He’s just glad he’s not the only one watching you now, too. Plausible deniability and all that, he thinks.
“Yes, sir.” Kuroo’s tone is attentive, acknowledging. It’s the voice of someone who’s spent years under the tutelage of the same, steady man. The voice of someone responding to someone they admire greatly.
Someone who’s more than a little chastised.
“Don’t talk to your sister that way. She is our guest on this trip, and as her older brother you should be looking out for her.” Coach Nekomata’s voice carries throughout the gym in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if everyone weren’t so nosy. Despite the audience, the older man doesn’t even blink in anyone’s direction besides his team’s leader.
“Yes, sir.” Kuroo nods, steadfastly not meeting your suddenly smug grin. It’s at this point, and only this point, do the dots start connecting for him at the slowest rate of speed.
And then Kei’s mind blanks.
For as smart as he is, as Tadashi brags on him, it takes him entirely too long to process that Coach Nekomata is talking about you.
It helps him come to terms a little easier when you stick your tongue out at Kuroo. You don’t act like someone with a crush. You act like someone’s sister. You’re clearly taunting, and if Kei’s mind wasn’t currently melting he’d think that might make you made for him.
He’s known he’s not the only one listening to the conversation from the start, just probably (hopefully?) the only one with as much interest as him, though he may look totally indifferent. So it’s not surprising to him in the slightest when Hinata’s voice cuts across the entire gym.
“Woah, that’s your sister?!”
He’s not surprised, but Kei flinches at the sound and hopes no one notices all the same. He doesn’t like this—this odd feeling that has him twisted up on the inside, losing his cool in situations he usually wouldn’t blink at.
“Since birth,” You hum, glancing up at Hinata for a fraction of a second before switching your focus to Kuroo. Kei thinks for a moment that your attention dances over himself a beat longer than necessary, but the logical side of his brain that’s screaming to regain control tells him he’s being ridiculous. You’ve got no reason to be looking at him. Not in the way his stare kept drifting towards you all afternoon. “Tetsuro, can you come help me with these bags?”
“Just do it—” Kuroo pauses his retort, no doubt feeling the heavy weight of Coach Nekomata’s stare. You could probably ask him to carry you to the train station and Kuroo would be forced to agree, just to placate his coach. “Fine.”
Kuroo kneels next to you and aids in your task, his previous conversation abandoned. Pretty quickly, the remainder of the gym goes back to whatever they were doing before, more than a handful of Nekoma players snickering at their captain’s chastising. But he does move. He’s still watching you from the corner of his eye.
He feels a little lighter knowing that you don’t like Kuroo. And suddenly, the reason why hits in the center of his chest like a truck.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
He’s got a crush on Kuroo’s younger sister.
And you’re about to board a train back to Tokyo.
bonus note from sunnie: surprise shawty! Obsessed with the tsukki x kuroo’s sister!reader pairing and had this idea. and many more ideas. i’ll probably write some more, but enjoy this for now!
lmk what you think!
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summary: they see someone else give you flowers, pre-relationship
pairing: karasuno boys x implied fem!reader (separate)
note from sunnie: this has been sitting in my drafts for a literal year. yikes. and it's like. really long. but each secton is relatively short? also I think it's really easy to guess who my favorites are whoops.
Daichi Sawamura considers himself a chivalrous guy. He holds open doors, walks on the half of the sidewalk closest to the road, and always, always carries your bag for you whenever he walks you home from school.
He's a gentleman.
So he's more than a little confused when he sees someone else giving you flowers during the short break between fifth and sixth period.
Okay. So maybe he hadn't yet gotten around to finally asking you out. But can you blame a guy? You make him so nervous, and he's already got an entire volleyball team worth of morons to watch out for. But even if they keep him busy, he had been planning on asking you to be his, officially.
And now some guy he'd never even seen before was giving you flowers.
Daichi is a gentleman, captain of the Karasuno boys volleyball team, and—if you were to ask Asahi—downright terrifying when he was annoyed with someone. He's crossed halfway down the hallway towards you before the guy (seriously, how had Daichi never seen him before?) turns bright red, glances at Daichi over your shoulder, and takes off down the corridor with his tail between his legs.
Daichi is starting to think that maybe Asahi was right about how scary he looks, but he's got other things to worry about as his feet finally carry him to you. He's nervous, he realizes, that maybe the flowers came with the offer of a date.
He's scared shitless over the possibility that you might have said yes.
"What was that about?" He tries to sound casual, hands buried deep in his pockets so you can't see how they're clenched into clammy fists. You turn to face him, finally, when he makes his presence known.
He watches as your pretty face twists into a wince, glancing between the bouquet of flowers held in your hand, the direction your suitor took off in, and then towards himself.
The flowers aren't even that nice, he thinks bitterly. Though he doesn't know enough about flowers to say it with confidence.
"You know that second year I tutor on Thursdays?" You ask, and he feels a swift sense of relief at two things. First being that your tone isn't the dreamy one of a girl who had been just swept off her feet by a grand romantic gesture of flowers, rather one on the verge of a wince. And second, he was older than the guy.
He didn't feel the most mature after having satisfaction in that, but it helped soothe his ego.
"Yeah, of course," He realizes he needs to give you an answer. It's hard for him to stop frowning at the flowers in your hand and smile like alarms hadn't been blaring in his mind ever since he stumbled upon you.
"Well, I think he might have gotten the wrong idea." You're not even holding the flowers like you want them, and Daichi's frown morphs into a grin. He's still a little annoyed that he hadn't thought to get you flowers first, but at least no one had come in to swoop you off your feet.
"Are you going to keep the flowers?" Daichi asks, doing a horrible job at keeping his relief and hopefulness from his voice. You shoot him a glance, having no doubt caught onto his weird tone, and he's hurrying to cover his mistake. "I mean, he still might think you're interested if he sees you carrying them around all day."
He's smiling, but it's his nervous one, and he can read it in your face that you have him completely figured out.
"You're right," You say, and it's all Daichi can do to keep from sighing audibly in relief. His heart is racing a mile a minute, and he still has to survive after school practice, somehow. "Do you think I could sell them to Tanaka and Nishinoya to give to Kiyoko?"
There's a beat of silence between your question and Daichi's response where he realizes you're being serious.
His nervous smile is replaced by a genuine one as he shakes his head with a chuckle. He manages to find some of his bravery and boldly swings an arm over your shoulder to lead you towards the second year classes.
"Let's see if we can find them quick. Kiyoko'll kill us if she finds out what we're doing."
He'll bring you flowers tomorrow. Ones you won't pawn off to his teammates for vending machine money.
Koshi Sugawara is only minding his business, walking to practice after school, when suddenly you're latched onto his arm.
Not that he's complaining. He'd just been thinking about you, and what you were doing, and if he could come up with a reason to see you on the day off from school tomorrow. He's a little flustered by your sudden arrival, by your hand curled around his bicep, but he's certainly not going to pass on the opportunity to have you close.
He's mid-greeting when he finally sees it. Clutched in your hand is a bouquet of flowers, wrapped in plastic and even still with the price sticker on the outside. His face twists in confusion, especially as he finally spots the flustered look on your face and the embarrassed way you glance over your shoulder behind you. He wants to check and see what you're so clearly running from, but his mind stalls as it snags on one tiny detail.
Someone gave you flowers. A really shitty bouquet, too, but that's not exactly the point. Someone—that's not him—gave you flowers.
He hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend yet, but he did take you out to dinner last week. He's not so much worried about someone coming to steal you away from him, but he is panicking that he didn't bring you flowers when he picked you up at your house and held your hand all the way to your favorite ramen place.
Isn't that Romance 101? He should have brought you flowers.
"I don't want to seem rude," Your pretty voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he swears he could almost sigh in relief when he sees you frown down at the poorly selected bouquet someone had presented you. "But I don't want these. Some second year just asked me out and gave them to me. I don't even know his name."
Sugawara could die he's so relieved that you want nothing to do with someone else asking you out. In fact, with the way you're clutching his arm tighter than you're holding the flowers, he feels like he could take on the world.
"I can get rid of them for you, if you want." He tries to sound casual, and not like he's overeager about the idea of dumping the flowers you got from some random in the trash. You nod, handing the offending gift off, and he feels his face warm as your fingers brush his. It makes him think of your date, of how your knuckles brushed together a few times before he was bold enough to thread your fingers through his. His face is surely bright red, but there's another question he can't seem to shake. "What did you tell him? When he asked you out?"
It's not an accusatory question. Not when you didn't even try to keep the flowers, or mention the guys name. No, he has no doubt that you turned him down. But he is incredibly interested in what reason you gave him, though.
"I told him that I'm already seeing someone," Your words are far from a grand, bold statement, but they're all he needs to hear. A grin takes over his features and he feels just a little dorky about the way he stands up taller and subconsciously puffs out his chest.
He likes your answer. A lot.
He likes it so much, that he's at your house a few hours later after practice. He'd spent most of it distracted, thinking about you and your smile and why you turned down the second year.
Mostly, he was thinking about the flowers he wanted to buy you.
The bouquet is clutched in his clammy hands when you open your front door, and though it was only a couple short hours since he had seen you last, the wind is still knocked from his lungs at the sight of your smile.
The fact that you're smiling and not trying to run off is a sign that he's doing good. Much better than the second year had done.
"I, uh, should've gotten you these when we went out last week." He can't help the way he stumbles over his words. You just make him so nervous. But you're smiling, and soon so is he, as you tug both him and the flowers inside.
He's pretty sure he hears you call him a dork, but he'll take the insult as long as you say yes to being his girlfriend.
Asahi Azumane feels his chest seize the moment you walk into the gym at the start of practice.
It's not his usual panic, though. The sight of you alone is typically enough to send his weak heart into cardiac arrest, let alone if you go so far as to smile at him. The first time you spoke to him, he's pretty sure he died for a few seconds.
No. When you finally race into the gym, moments before practice is supposed to start, shouting apologies to Takeda and Kiyoko about not being there earlier to help set up the net and ball baskets, Asahi's attention snares on something you set carefully by the pile of your belongings.
Flowers.
He knows he's staring, and he knows he won't have an answer that he could choke out if you catch him and ask what his deal is, but he can't change the course of his focus. Not when you came stumbling into practice with flowers, acting so casual about it, like you got them all the time.
Oh god, did you? Sure, he made it a point to talk to you before, during, and after practice as much as he could without wussing out. He probably knew more about you than anybody else on the team, your fellow co-manager Kiyoko included.
But what about outside of practice? Really, he couldn't blame anyone for getting you flowers. You're just too pretty and too nice, and he would have gotten you dozens of bouquets—if the thought wasn't more nerve-wracking than the idea of sending a serve into the back of Daichi's head.
Speaking of his captain, he swears he hears him and Sugawara struggling to stifle their laughter. No doubt they're laughing at him, still staring wide-eyed and gaping at the flowers you had brought into practice. It takes Nishinoya yelling his name—and consequently drawing everyone's attention to him—for him to snap back to focus.
Just his luck, he catches your eye, and he feels like dying on the spot when he glimpses the grin on your face you're trying to suppress.
"Is something wrong, Asahi?" You ask so sweetly, and his face burns so red he knows there's no getting out of it. Daichi and Sugawara burst into a fit of laughter, no longer trying to hide their amusement. Even you have to turn your cheek to hide your wobbly smile, but it's no use, because he sees it anyways.
He's so embarrassed, he feels it down to his toes, and he's so relieved when Coach sends them on some warm up laps to distract himself.
Except, he can't stop thinking about who gave you the flowers. Were they a third year? Were they in your class? Did he know who they were? Did they ask you on a date?
He wanted to run laps to avoid thinking about the flowers, but for the next two hours, all he can consider is the goddamn bouquet settled against your bag on the sidelines. At one point, a stray spike from Tanaka nearly takes them out, and Daichi tells him to be careful of your stuff.
Flowers are delicate and special, Sugawara had chastised. Asahi thinks he might be sick.
By the time the gym is cleaned, cleared, and Coach dismisses everyone, Asahi feels like his heart is going to beat straight out of his chest. He's not sure he's entirely in control as his feet carry him across the gym and to you.
"Hi," He starts lamely, but he's already off to a better start than he thought he would get.
"Hi, Asahi," You smile up at him, bag over your shoulder and flowers clutched in your hands. He watches as you try and stifle a giggle, doing a horrible job of it, and gesture to the flowers as if he hadn't seen them yet. "Aren't they pretty?"
"Yeah, uh." He continues just as witty as he started. "Who—who got them for you?"
Your eyes give you away, and he watches as your stare darts to the side, lip caught punishingly between your teeth to bite back a grin. With a frown, he follows the direction your attention had been previously been pulled in.
He finds that he's looking at Daichi and Sugawara, both doing a horrible job of acting like they were busy packing their bags to leave and not watching the interaction before them unfold like it was a spectator sport.
"Daichi? Or Suga?" He asks despite the way his heart has plummeted to his feet. He knows his face is probably pale, and you can read every emotion on his face.
He's a little confused, because it looks like you're struggling to contain a laugh. One more glance to the side, and he realizes his friends are having no such qualms.
"Guys," You turn and face Daichi and Suga, frustrated sigh falling past your lips despite the way they were just twisted up in a grin. "This is so mean. Can I just tell him?"
"Tell me what?" Asahi asks despite the way his two friends boo and complain about you ruining their fun. You hold up the flowers once more, as if he had forgotten their presence.
"Those idiots got me these, but they told me not to tell you. For a prank, apparently."
For not the first time that evening, Asahi is left gaping like a fish. Daichi and Suga are laughing so hard they caught the attention of the rest of the team. He's certain his face is bright red, but he can't think past the swell of relief he's feeling. He thought he had come so close to missing his chance with you.
Really, he can only think to do one thing.
"Please go on a date with me?"
Yuu Nishinoya wants to be able to brag that he's early to practice for once. He's got fifteen minutes until he's supposed to be on the court, and he's leisurely strolling up to gym.
Oh, he's going to rub it in Tanaka's face that he was early.
Except, twenty feet from the gym doors he stops completely in his tracks. His jaw is nearly on the ground, and any relaxed composure he had managed to scrounge together flies out the window.
Because there you were. And usually, your presence amps up his outrageous energy to level eleven just to hear you giggle at his nonsense, but you're holding something that makes his thoughts tumble over the edge.
You have flowers.
You're talking to your friends, waiting after school for your study group to start. He knows your schedule like the back of his own hand, because he adores the ground you walk on.
Even if you're not actually his girlfriend. Yet, he swears. But maybe he's losing his chance, because you're holding a bouquet of flowers that he knows for a fact you didn't have an hour earlier when he saw you between classes and begged you to wait for him to be done with practice so he could walk you home.
He's got fifteen minutes until he needs to be in the gym, and now he's scrambling to find something to one-up the flowers someone got you.
He checks the front of the school first, trying to desperately remember if there were flowerbeds he could borrow (read: steal) from and give you better flowers. Surely, you'd forget all about the bouquet some loser gave you when he presented the prettiest flowers in all of the Miyagi to you.
Except, there's no flowerbeds.
He's not the least bit embarrassed when he lets out a groan so loud a few of the students lingering by the front of the school flinch. He's borderline frantic, and he's never been the best at regulating his emotions in the first place.
You don't mind when he gets worked up. You just giggle all pretty and tell him the obvious solution to his problems. You have the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to his nonsense—Daichi and Sugawara had told him as much—and genuinely seem to enjoy being around him.
You deserve flowers, from him, but he can't find a single petal anywhere.
Practice starts in seven minutes. He's considering just drawing a picture of flowers, maybe giving you an IOU one bouquet. (Is bouquet spelled with one 'k' or two?)
He's sprinting down the hallway when he finally sees the answer to his prayers.
The vending machines.
He skids to a stop in front of the drink machine, palms pressed against the chilled glass and wide eyes frantically scanning through the options available to him. He's trying to remember which drinks he's seen you order for yourself, when the spots a juice brand he's never even heard of, tucked away in the bottom left corner.
It has flowers on the packaging.
His heart is racing and he knows he's running out of time, but he thinks he might just make practice on time if buys the juice and runs, maybe he'll even have to toss it to you in a sprinting drive-by.
That's when he realizes the fatal flaw to his plan.
He's flat broke.
A very undignified scream tears past his lips before he's sprinting off again, but this time he knows what he's looking for. He takes the stairs to the clubhouse three at a time—a miracle with his shorter than average legs—and throws open the volleyball club room door so fast and loud that it bangs against the wall.
Asahi screams. Daichi shouts for him to knock it off! Yamaguchi drops the uniform he was in the process of changing into.
"I need vending machine money!" Nishinoya yells, and nobody makes any attempt to move and give him some change. But then, through panting breaths, he gets out a few words to explain himself.
Mostly, your name and flowers and need juice.
Somehow, Tanaka understands what he's saying and translates for the group. Nishinoya promises to invite everyone to the wedding when, with only a few grumbles of complaints, his beautiful, beautiful teammates did in their bags for enough change to buy the flower-juice.
He's gone the second Sugawara drops the last coin from his pocket into his waiting hand and he barely hears Daichi shouting that he has five minutes to get to the gym as he takes the the stairs three at a time down.
The rest of his journey goes without much incident—though he did get yelled at by a teacher for running in the halls, it wasn't the Vice Principal so he's not too worried.
Juice in hand, he shouts your name the second he has you in his sights. You're not far from where he saw you last, talking with your friends and still holding that ugly bouquet. And okay, maybe the flowers weren't hideous, but they weren't from him, so he'd rather choke than compliment them.
He calls your name three more times before he finally skids to a halt in front of you, bent at the waist and offering the juice like it was made of gold. He's panting, and he's a little embarrassed about that.
He's an athlete, after all. Did he really panic so much he's out of breath?
But he decides it's all worth it when you grin at him and take the juice.
"Is this why you've been running around yelling for the past fifteen minutes?" You smile, and he swears it's like the heavens opened up around him to bless him with the sight. He opens his mouth to tell you just that, but Hinata calls his name from the gym door.
It's then that he realizes his entire team his standing in the doorway of the gym, watching the entire interaction. Tanaka is giving him two thumbs up while Ennoshita tells him off for being so obvious. Kageyama is arguing with Hinata about blowing their cover.
Your friends laugh, but you're still smiling, so he can't mind too much.
"There's flowers on the package!" He shouts while running backwards towards the gym, ensuring to bring your attention to the juice.
You laugh and promise to wait for him after, and he thinks he did pretty good.
Even if he was late to practice in the end.
Ryuunosuke Tanaka thinks that if he's devoted enough, you'll just have to fall in love with him. It can't possibly be flawed logic, because it's his logic.
Which is why he makes sure to always make it to your matches on time and cheering loud. It's as if you can't get anymore perfect—you just have to play volleyball, too.
He's already planned your wedding, six different ways, during the course of the match. Your team takes it in two sets, and if Ennoshita hadn't accompanied him to come watch you play, he probably would've taken his shirt off and swung it around.
Somehow, Tanaka is riding the high of your win—for all of eight and a half minutes.
That's how long it takes for him to watch, helpless and stuck in the stands, as some guy he's never seen before—someone totally unworthy of you—steps up to give you flowers.
He's practically raging in the stands, almost ready to tear the place apart. Ennoshita tells him to knock it off, and if the crowd wasn't separating him from the loser who brought you flowers, he probably would've done something about the smug look on the face of the guy encroaching on you. With a pout so childish he probably should be embarrassed, Tanaka can only watch you show off your flowers from the stranger to your teammates.
Oh, he can so do better.
If you want flowers, he'll get you flowers. He'll get you so many flowers you'll be sick of them, and the ugly bouquet from some random will be nothing more than a nightmare to you.
And he does it, too.
For two weeks, every day, he's bringing you flowers. In the morning before classes, or after school in that sweet twenty minutes where neither of your practices have started and he's able to talk to you all smooth-like.
Meaning he can barely get a word out to you after practically shoving the flowers into your hands.
Everyday.
For two weeks.
Ennoshita tells him he's being lame, but Nishinoya is all for it, and your smile is like a shot through his heart every time he hands you flowers. It's enough to sustain him, though he has to admit his wallet is taking a beating from his show of affection.
Everything changes when they're finally able to lure Nekoma to a practice match on their home turf. Old rivalries and new egos competing in Karasuno's gym, and minutes before the match is about to start Tanaka spots something holy from the corner of his eye.
It's you. Flanked by a few of your teammates and sizing up Nekoma within seconds, but it's you. Tanaka is distracted immediately, nearly taking a set to the face instead practicing a spike like he was ordered by Ukai. Daichi shouts something about staying focused, but Noya fires back at him a plea to not interrupt true love.
Tanaka hears maybe a third of what's said, because you're standing in his gym like you're going stay and watch—and you're holding flowers.
Ennoshita shoves him in the direction of you, claiming that it's obvious he won't be able focus on the match until he talks to you. As Tanaka approaches, your friends give encouraging smiles and slip away to talk to Kiyoko.
He means to ask what you're doing here, but the words don't come out. All he does is make fish out of water faces while glancing between you and the flowers, silently asking for an explanation.
"These are for you, after you win the practice match." You tell him simply, and with the way your pretty, pretty voice hits his ears, he knows it's true. He will win, because you said he will.
"Okay," He nods, eyes wide and face flushed. He knows he sounds breathless, but he's barely warmed up enough to use it as an excuse.
"And stop giving me so many flowers. I appreciate them," You hurry to assure, though he's ready to agree to anything you say. Anything. "but I've run out of vases to put them in. I've given the last four to my neighbors."
"Okay," He nods, again. Breathless, again. He's honestly not even sure this conversation is happening, but the grin that curves your lips upwards is too heavenly to just be a dream.
"Now, go kick some Nekoma ass, Ryuu."
"Okay,"
Tanaka turns around, and finds his whole team watching for his reaction. All he can think to do—to function, really—is raise his fists in the air and yell in victory.
You giggle at his excitement. Nekoma's Yamamoto can be heard wailing. Tsukishima comments about it being a creative way to mentally break the opposing team.
Tanaka hopes you stay watching him, because he feels ready to outplay Ushiwaka.
Tobio Kageyama hates studying. It's not as fun as volleyball, and takes up too much time and brainpower. He's not good at it either, which adds another level of frustration to an already unenjoyable experience.
But he gets to see you, which makes his Ukai-mandated tutoring sessions just a little bit more bearable.
You're quiet, which he likes, but you're not a pushover. You keep him in check—which Daichi says should earn you a Nobel Peace Prize, whatever that means—and on task, for the most part.
Though, he does spend the first ten and last fifteen minutes of each study session focusing more on you rather than his notes. He watches you with the same focused precision he uses to analyze volleyball plays. Tobio feels the same way, too; like he wants to know every part of you with absolute perfection.
It's why he doesn't notice the no-named scrub approaching in the final minutes of the study session. You're packing up, chatting with him about something he can't actually hear over his internal dialogue trying to figure out a way to ask you to come to Karasuno's next tournament.
It's too late by the time he realizes that someone else has come to steal your attention away. You, as always, are polite to the interrupter. Tobio is, predictably, not.
He keeps his mouth shut, teeth practically cracking together, and glares as the nobody hands you a bouquet of flowers. Tobio doesn't expect to get so worked up as he does, but the sight of you clutching flowers someone else got you is both a shot to his pride and has something tightening in his chest.
He doesn't understand it, and he doesn't like it.
The scrub leaves, followed out by nothing less than Tobio's harshest glare. You clear your throat, and his attention is snapped back to you, still sitting across the table from him. Your pretty brows are tugged into a pout of concern, and Tobio nearly melts at the sight.
"Everything alright, Kageyama?" You ask him, carefully quiet and mindful of the fact you're still seated in the library. He nods, stiffly, ears burning and unable to meet your gaze.
"Do you..." He trails off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to find his non-volleyball confidence. He winces at his awkward tone, but you remain still, attentive. The tight thing in his chest twists a little at your care. "Do you like flowers?"
You glance at the bouquet you were just given, like it's the first time you've seen it, despite it just being handed to you. Tobio watches as you fail to hide the grimace at the flowers, and he feels his ears burn even further when he realizes relief floods through him.
"I do," You explain, but you don't sound convinced. "I'm just... not into him."
Tobio leaves the conversation there, but he's still thinking about it a week later. That uncomfortable feeling in his chest when you were first given the flowers. By someone other than him.
He comes prepared for your next study session, albeit a bit stiff.
You're waiting at your usual table in the library, and it's on awkward feet that he approaches. You glance up from your textbooks when he gets close, eyes widening in shock when you see what he's holding.
A dozen roses.
Tobio can't look at you when he shoves the flowers in your direction, arm jutting out like he's handing you a loaded weapon and not a symbol of his affection.
But you're smiling. Warm and bright and wholly unlike last week's flowers from the scrub. There's another burning feeling in Tobio's chest when you accept the bouquet.
Pride.
Shoyo Hinata doesn't really believe his eyes when he sees you walk out to meet him in front of the school at the end of the day.
He's waiting by the front of the building, where he always is on days when your clubs end at the same times and he's able to walk you to the station. It's his favorite part of the week, and the only time he's willing to leave the gym before Kageyama.
Half the team still doesn't actually believe that you let him walk you.
He's grinning like always when he first sees you come into frame, nearly vibrating in place and calling your name as if you can't see him. Your smile is so pretty it catches him off guard, distracts him from his worst nightmare cradled in your arms.
You're ten feet away from him when finally notices, and his cheering stops immediately.
"Hey! Who gave you those flowers!" It should be a question, Shoyo realizes after the words fly out of his mouth, though it sounds more like a demand to tell him. You, sweet as always, don't scold him for his outburst.
"Hi, Shoyo," You greet him first, voice kind as you come to stand at his side. He's visibly pouting at the bouquet in your arms, but he can't find it in him care. "They're from this guy in my club. He asked me on a date, but I turned him down."
He tries not to let his joy show too obviously on his face, but he knows he's too easy to read. With his nerves calmed—at least for the moment—with the knowledge that you turned down the random guy from club, he's able to act at least a little bit normal on your trek to the station.
But now? Now he's on a mission.
He tries to hold normal conversations with you, really, but he's too focused on his secret task. He still carries your bag for you, even the flowers, begrudgingly, and nods along to everything you're saying. Even if he's not paying the most attention.
And, okay, he does feel a little guilty about not giving you his full attention when he waits the week for this very limited alone time with you, but it all pays off when he spots his target.
A flower bed.
Abandoning the bouquet in the basket of his bike he'd been pushing alongside you, Shoyo takes off into the yard of some random house on the way to the station.
You're calling his name in a hiss, but he's too focused on accomplishing his task. He is slightly aware he's technically trespassing, so he's careful to only take a few. Barely enough to be missed and definitely far less than what you deserve, but at least it's something.
He dashes out of the yard just as fast as he ran in, both your and his backpacks crashing with his quick movements. He stops in front of you, all wide eyes and hopeful grins while extending his bounty to you.
Flowers. Stolen from a garden, yes, but he hopes the fact that they're coming from him might account for the fact that they're a little limp from his manhandling.
"These are for you!" Shoyo declares, running on adrenaline and determination. Where he thrives best. "Please don't turn me down too!"
For a moment, Shoyo is frozen. He thinks he might've messed things up, or been too much, like Tsukishima always tells him.
But then you're smiling, and you take the stolen flowers from him.
"They're perfect, Sho," You're always so patient with him; he thinks he might be falling in love.
Shoyo finds just enough self control to not blurt that out, yet.
Kei Tsukishima likes to pretend that he doesn't watch you.
He thinks he's pretty good at it, too, when he's spent half a term watching you from afar without being confronted about it once. If anyone where to ask him, he'd deny it anyways, but there's a smug satisfaction he gets at not being caught.
He's lingering the hallway between classes, listening to Tadashi complain about some problem or another he's running into while practicing his jump float serves. Kei doesn't really hear him, because his attention is solely focused on you.
You're a little ways down the hallway, minding your own business while selecting from the vending machine. You're not in any type of danger that would require him to watch you so intently, but his attention has barely strayed from you since the moment you walked off with a muttered be right back, guys.
Tadashi is still talking, so he misses the way Kei's focus narrows on a second year approaching you, flowers in hand like he's living in some shoujo manga. He tells himself he doesn't care, but he stands straighter and narrows his eyes while watching the exchange.
The guy says something to you, looking like he's never talked to a girl in his life. You smile back—which Kei nearly rolls his eyes at—and take the flowers offered to you with a grin. As a final nail in the coffin, the second year hands you a folded piece of paper.
As soon as the guy walks off, Kei is closing the distance between the two of you. He doesn't even care that he might be blowing his whole I don't care persona, or his I'm not always watching you like a lovesick fool bit, either.
"What was that about?" Kei tries for nonchalance but it comes out more strained that he would've liked. You don't seem to notice the difference in his tone, thankfully, but he doesn't like the way you're smiling at the flowers so wistfully.
"He asked me out." You shrugged, fighting a grin that makes him scowl even more than usual. You hold up the paper he gave you, and now that he's not watching you from across the hallways, he can see the numbers scrawled across it. "Gave me his number and everything."
"Don't tell me you're actually going to entertain him." He keeps his voice purposefully flat, devoid of emotion. You shrug again, cheeks burning, and though he keeps his face neutral, Kei memorizes the way you look all pouty and flushed.
"I don't you," You sigh. "This is the first time anyone's ever given me flowers. Why not give him a chance?"
Kei does not like this answer. But he can't voice it even if he knew how, because it's then that Tadashi has finally made his way through the crowd, complaining about how he was abandoned.
Kei drops the conversation, but he doesn't forget it.
He beats you to class the next day, like usual. His seat is next to yours in homeroom, and he's already set up for the day with notes out and headphones on by the time you enter the classroom.
He tries to act like he's not watching your every movement, but he thinks he might be a little obvious with the way he takes one headphone off his ear when you get close—the one on the same side as you.
"Tsukki, what's this?" You ask, voice delicately soft in the otherwise quiet classroom. You're not drawing attention to yourself, or him, or the bouquet of flowers he left on your desk before you arrived. It makes him a little bolder, a little more willing to be honest with you.
"Flowers." He supplies, rather unhelpfully in his typical bored tone. Your intelligent eyes snap to him, and he has to fight his own urge to look away from your stare. He's crumbling and Kei Tsukishima doesn't crumble. "So you don't have to go out with that lame second year. You're welcome."
He sees you connect the dots, then. That the flowers are from him, and that he'd rather swallow his pride and admit you being asked out bothered him enough to do something about it than watch you go on a date with someone else.
Now he has to look away. The tips of his ears are starting to get too warm for his own comfort. Hence the headphones this morning.
"Thank you, Tsukki." You cheer, settling slowly into your seat as if you'd never seen anything so pretty as the flowers he bought you. Kei shrugs, tugging his headphones back securely over his ears.
"Don't think too much about it."
Tadashi Yamaguchi considers himself lucky to just be in your presence, always.
He's watching you with a focused look on his face while you explain one of the homework problems that really tricked you up the night before. He's walking with you and Tsukki to the club room before practice, where you're go your separate way and head home for the evening, and he's hooked on your every word.
It's why he doesn't notice the newcomer until he's standing in front of you, flowers held in shaking hands.
You're wedged between Tadashi and Tsukishima, so this newcomer has reason enough to be intimated. Tadashi can only watch—in horror—as this stranger holding out flowers to you babbles through some speech about admiring you from afar and wanting to get to know you better.
Before he knows you, you're holding the flowers and the guy takes off. Tadashi doesn't know what to do, not when he sees his chance with you slipping through his fingers. It's not like he's ever made it obvious that he likes you—god, he hopes not—but you are the walking embodiment of perfect.
And someone else just asked you out. In front of him.
"That was..." You laugh nervously, looking between the flowers and the two boys flanking you. Tadashi can only stare, face burning, while he struggles to string together a sentence that doesn't sound completely lame.
"Spare me," Tsukki huffs, rolls his eyes. It snaps Tadashi from his stupor, but just before he can tell his friend off for being rude, the blond shoves his shoulder in the direction of you. "Get it over with now, Tadashi."
And that was probably the worst thing Tsukki could've said before walking off.
He's left standing still, gaping like a fish at you. It doesn't help that you're looking to him for answers, still holding the flowers from another guy.
This is the worst way this could happen.
"Get what over with?" You ask sweetly, not sparing a retreating Tsukishima a second glance and instead putting all your focus on him.
Tadashi is certain his face is red. He's probably sweating, too. There's no stopping his nervous laugh, or the uncomfortable tell that something is up by the way he rubs the back of his neck while being unable to make eye contact with you.
"I-I don't want to sound lame." Tadashi stammers, backed into a corner by his best friend. You don't waver, pretty face twisted into concern the longer he drags this out. Now or never. "But, uh, I maybe had a plan to... to get the courage to ask you... out?"
It takes a moment for his roundabout answer to process in your mind, and every millisecond that ticks by in silence only deepens the wince on his face. He's finally going to do it. He's going kill Tsukishima.
You don't say anything. Not even when you turn, walking away from him. Tadashi feels his whole world fall apart around him for the time it takes you to walk ten feet to the nearest garbage can.
You drop the flowers in the trash, and walk back to him. Now it's his turn for his brain to catch up.
"Okay," You nod, determined, standing in front of him with no flowers and every expectation. "Do it."
"Do... what?"
"Ask me out."
You're so certain in your words, tiny grin cracking your soft lips. You want him to ask you out. He's still reeling from the devastation of watching you walk away from him seconds ago, and now he's suffering the whiplash of you telling him to ask you out.
This is going way better than he could've expected.
summary: he's your roommate and finds out you have a date with someone that's not him. he doesn't cope well. setters edition.
pairing: various hq setters x reader (kageyama, kenma, oikawa, akaashi, atsumu)
note from sunnie: wrote this in one sitting if you see any grammatical errors no you don’t
wing spiker vers.
Tobio Kageyama isn't the most observant guy in the world when it comes to matters beyond volleyball.
You've known this even before you moved in with him at the start of his professional career, but you would've given him more credit than what was apparently due.
He doesn't realize you're going on a date until you're halfway out the door.
"Tobio, c'mere a sec, please!" You call into the quiet apartment. Pausing a moment, you listen for the telltale sound of him pausing the division one volleyball highlights reel and venturing to find you in your room, putting the finishing touches on your outfit.
"Yeah?" Kageyama's head pokes into your room, deep voice laced with confusion that absolutely does not lessen when he sees just what you're wearing. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Yes, Kags." You huff a half-laugh at his obliviousness. Splitting your attention between applying your makeup and him, you gesture for him to come in and sit on the edge of your bed. You can see his reflection in your vanity mirror, and he's scowling in that way of his he always does whenever he doesn't understand what's happening, but he follows your wordless command anyways. "So, date protocol—"
"You're going on a date?" He interrupts, posturing stiffening and arms crossing over his chest. "With who? Since when?"
"Uh, Hinata's one friend? That guy who was with him when we all went out after the last time the Adlers played the Black Jackals." You wave your hand through the air, knowing he probably doesn't remember the one guy from a couple weeks ago. You had barely remembered the guy, until he messaged you and asked you out a few days later. "Anyways, if I don't text you by eight, you're going to call me with a fake emergency."
Tobio is still scowling, and you're starting to piece together that this whole date idea is actually bothering him.
"Why?" He asks, totally lost. Screwing shut the lid of your lipgloss, you pause your routine to twist in the vanity chair to give him all your attention.
"In case the date is going bad and I need a get out of jail free card." You shrug. It's something you've always done, something you've always given your friends the task of, but everyone you would usually ask is busy.
It does feel a little weird to give the guy you've been hopelessly in love with since moving in together the job, but you'd rather be awkward than unsafe.
"What if you just..." Tobio's face scrunches up like he's thinking really hard about something super important. You've known him long enough to wait for what he has to say before you assign any weight to his words. "Just didn't go. That guy's a scrub."
He says it so seriously, you can't help but snort a laugh.
"You don't even remember the guy." You counter, turning back around to dig into your jewelry box. "Also, you're a grown adult. Stop calling people scrubs."
"He is one." He's quick to assure you, still stone faced and perched on the edge of your bed. Though, you realize as you sneak a peek of him through the mirror's reflection, the tips of his ears are dusted red. "You shouldn't be going on dates with scrubs. You're too good for them."
You busy hands still while digging for a pair of earrings, considering his words very carefully. There's a jagged edge to his voice, untamed and barely containing the width of what he wants to say.
Tobio Kageyama sounds jealous.
He clears his throat, and when you glance at his reflection again, his face is flaming red.
"So, stay here. With me." He offers through gritted teeth, hands clenched in awkward fists in his lap.
And then he bows.
You're smiling at his over the top actions, hand reaching for your phone to call off the date before you even process what you're doing.
"Okay, I'll stay."
Kenma Kozume paused his game the moment he realized.
You've had this date planned for a while now. Some guy that's a friend of a friend, sworn up and down to be absolutely perfect for you.
You're not entirely convinced, but you can't pine away after your roommate for the rest of your life, so you agreed to the date.
"You're bailing on me, you know that?" Kenma's whine cuts through the music that's been playing in your room since you started getting ready to go out. You ignore him, not even sparing a look in his direction as he slumps against the doorframe to the bathroom, watching you style your hair.
Kenma's been complaining about it since the moment you wrote it on the communal calendar in the kitchen. You did have to cancel your weekly Mario Party session with him, but you didn't think he'd get so whiny.
"It's one night, Kenma." You try and reason, focusing on your reflection in the mirror and not your moping roommate. "I promise the next date won't interrupt our game night."
You had meant your words to comfort him, but you're only met with a deeper groan.
"There's going to more dates?"
"I don't know!" You flush, hating how you're under such scrutiny from Kenma. You're used to his whining, even finding it endearing at times, but standing there and having him complain about you going on a date makes your heart do summersaults. It's too easy to convince yourself that he's jealous and not just annoyed about his plans changing. "We'll see how this date goes. I was just speaking, I don't know, generals. I don't want to be single forever, you know."
There's a long pause after your explanation, and you feel your face flame in embarrassment. You risk a glance sideways, only to find Kenma standing up straight in the doorframe, a determined look in his eyes.
"So if I said I'd take you on a date, instead, you'd cancel and hang out with me?"
Gone is the whiny tone he'd been complaining with moments earlier, and left only in its place is a steely seriousness you've seen from him a mere handful of times. It makes you pause, forces you to face him so you're certain you're not misreading the situation.
"I don't want a date from you just so that you can keep your plans," You counter, laying your cards on the table in a way you're not used to.
"No, a real date." He shakes his head, long hair slipping over his shoulders. It's then that you spot the flush creeping up his neck, and you're starting to believe him. "Mario tonight, but dinner tomorrow."
A beat of silence passes where your answer is expected, then—
"I'll tell him something came up."
Tooru Oikawa is not supposed to be here.
Your roommate isn't supposed to walk into the small café you're having a—pretty boring—first date with some guy you met at the grocery store. You're not sure where he's supposed to be, but it's not here.
"Ah, look who it is!" Tooru calls brightly, interrupting your date's story about his childhood. You can't help the way you threaten Oikawa's murder with your eyes as he approaches, wide smile on his handsome face as he completely ignores your date's existence. "I didn't know you'd be here, of all places."
It's a complete and total lie, of course. You'd given your roommate the name of the café as a safety measure, not having expected him to show up.
"Uh, do you know him?" Your date asks, surprisingly good natured, as Oikawa does the unthinkable.
He grabs a nearby chair and drags it to sit at the table with you and your date.
"He's my roommate," You admit, glaring at Oikawa while talking to your date. "Take a good look at him. He's about to be on the news tonight when they find his dead body."
"Your... roommate?" You're too busy trying to communicate how much you want to murder Oikawa without saying so many words to notice the uneasy edge in your date's voice.
"Oikawa, get out of here." You hiss through gritted teeth. He, predictably, smiles sweetly at you.
"Aw, but you usually call me Tooru!" He simpers, chin propped on the heel of his hand while he leans closer to you. It's purely instinct that makes you kick his shin under the table.
"You two... live together?" Your date asks, and you finally stop glaring at Oikawa long enough to give him your attention.
"Yeah, but he travels a lot for volleyball, so he's not around a lot," You explain sweetly, then turn your glare on Oikawa. "Why don't you practice that right now and get lost?"
"But I haven't even ordered yet, sweetheart."
"That's it, I'm telling Iwa—"
"I don't think I can do this." Your date interrupts your threat, and your head snaps in his direction. He's frowning, glancing at the smug look on Oikawa's face and how close the two of you are sitting to each other. "Your roommate is a pretty boy professional volleyball player? Yeah, not a mess I want to get involved in."
You're too shocked to argue against what was said, stunned into complacency as your date gets up and walks out of the café without further preamble.
It's a good minute and a half after you've been ditched by your date before you're able to look at Oikawa. He's still sitting close, still smirking at you like everything went exactly to plan.
"You..." Disbelief coats your words. "you scared off my date. On purpose."
Oikawa looks anything but chastised. In fact, you think he looks rather accomplished.
"You owe me a proper date to make up for this, Oikawa."
"Deal," There's no hesitation to his voice. He was waiting for this moment, you think. "But we're going someplace nicer than this on our date."
You nod, slowly, completely dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events.
"I'm still telling Iwaizumi that you did this."
Keiji Akaashi looks like his brain needs a few hours to reset.
You give your roommate credit. He's usually so composed and put together. Keiji is the dependable one, who always remembers your schedule and makes sure to never have guests over if you have work early the next morning and cooks extra to make sure there's some for you. He's a good roommate, and it's to no one's surprise that you fell so soundly for him over the course of living with him for months.
But it's that fact, the crucial detail that you live together, that keeps you from crossing any boundaries in your friendship.
It's also why you said yes to a blind date with your coworker's cousin.
You wait until the last minute to tell Keiji because you're a coward, and telling the man you might be half in love with that you're going out with someone you don't even know seems like unnecessary torture.
"What do you want for dinner tonight? I'll cook for us." He offers casually, as if that's not the most heartwarmingly domestic thing he could say.
You wince, busying yourself by digging in the pantry for a snack.
"I'm going a date tonight, Ji," You try to sound casual, unaffected, but you think the way you refuse to look at him might be a dead giveaway that you're anything but cool, calm, and collected. "So don't worry about me."
"Oh... kay," He mutters, processing. You don't wait to hear what else he has to say before you hightail it out of the room like a coward, hiding under the pretense of needing to get ready.
It's another hour before you see Keiji again. You spent the whole time in your room getting ready, and now it's time to make the dangerous journey to the front door and actually leave the apartment to go on the date.
Keiji's sitting on the couch, watching the news with volume down low as he casually flips through a book as if he isn't a walking dream to you. You barely make it out of your bedroom before he stands, face calm, and steps in your path to the front door.
"I need to leave soon," You squeak out, wanting to run and hide. Again. Keiji doesn't move, just stands in front of you with this typically calm expression.
"I've spent the last hour weighing my options." He says, completely decimating practically any other idea you could have had about what he was going to say. "And I've decided that I need to tell you how I feel before you walk out that door. I don't think I can handle seeing you date someone else."
You're stunned into silence, eyes wide and face aflame as Keiji confesses.
"I love you. And I know there's always the chance that you won't feel the same, but I had to try." He continues on, filling the gap in the conversation your shock left. "I couldn't let you go, knowing how I feel and not doing something about it."
You shake your head, grin threatening to crack your face in two.
"He's going to be here soon, Keiji. How the hell do I tell him I can't go because I'm in love with my roommate?"
Atsumu Miya is an absolute pain in the ass.
You've asked him twelve different times to vacate the apartment for two hours, tops, while you have a guy over. It's a study date, nothing serious, but you'd rather not have Atsumu freaking Miya around while you're trying to win over another guy.
Of course, he refused. You think he might've even enjoyed the way you complained about him ignoring your request, but you weren't too sure.
He's at least agreed to clear out of the living room—once you told him the other option was bringing the guy into your bedroom—so you're setting up your study materials when there's a knock on your apartment door.
You're barely able to stand to answer it when Atsumu comes flying out of nowhere to get the door.
"'Sup, dude." Atsumu nods his head in greeting, face set in something similar to cold nonchalance you know is completely forced.
It's then that you realize what Atsumu is wearing. Or really, what he's not. On his bottom half he has his grey Black Jackals sweatpants, his name and number printed on the side in case anyone was confused on just who he was.
But on top? Oh, Atsumu Miya isn't wearing anything.
"Put a shirt on, idiot!" You hiss, face flaming as you realize that he answered the door to let your date in while shirtless. You'd be less embarrassed if he wasn't absolutely built, but despite all his annoyances, Atsumu is unfairly attractive.
"Doesn't usually bother ya." Atsumu shrugs, smug smirk on his face as he glances your date up and down. "Ya here to study?"
"Ignore him. It's what I do," You elbow Atsumu in the ribs to force him to make room and let your date enter the apartment, and he surprisingly relents.
"When you told me you had a roommate, I wasn't expecting someone like him." Your date murmurs as you lead him to the living room. Atsumu is trailing behind you closely, and it's impossible to miss the satisfied laugh his huffs out underneath his breath.
You barely have enough time to bite back a groan.
"Trust me, you have nothing to worry about."
Atsumu doesn't lay off from there. For the next two hours, he's constantly in your peripheral vision. You hear him in the kitchen, getting snacks he doesn't even eat, he's cleaning things in the living room you've never even seen him look at before, and for the last half an hour, he's made himself comfortable on the end of the couch while loudly watching videos on his phone.
Your study date ends with nothing happening but actually studying, and you're beyond irritated with Atsumu as you walk your date to the door.
He doesn't even let you say bye to your date in peace, calling out your name loudly from the living room when you think you might get at least a cheek kiss.
The second you awkwardly wave and shut the door behind your date, you're stomping back down to the living room. Atsumu is still sprawled across the couch, looking smug as ever, and you waste no time in grabbing a throw pillow to smack him over the head with.
You get in a few good hits before he's grabbing your wrists and tugging you over the back of the couch so that you're laying atop him. Legs bracketing his hips, you're glaring down at him while he holds your arms in his hands like he got exactly what he wanted.
"Yer date was annoying," He smirks, looking too smug for someone who's hair is all mused up from being attacked by a throw pillow. "I could make a better study partner."
You jerk out of his grasp, slamming the pillow once more against his face for good measure.
summary: he has a reputation to uphold. he’s sarcastic, smug. definitely not the type to fumble over himself the moment you walk into the karasuno gym. right? [wc. 3k]
pairing: kei tsukishima x reader
note from sunnie: part 2 is here !!! i have some other stuff im working on but i do have plans for a part 3!
one
Kei Tsukishima is a coward, and he knows it.
He’s just banking on no one else on his team being able to pick up on the fact. But judging by the halfway smug look Kiyoko flashed at him when the Nekoma team filed out of the gym—taking you with them—he’s certain at least someone has figured him out.
At least it’s Kiyoko. She’s the least annoying of the bunch; the least likely to spill to the others.
So when you leave, it’s with no fanfare. No desperate confession on his part. Not even a conversation, or a wave. He does a pretty good job of pretending that he doesn’t really care, because that’s his whole thing. Forced apathy to stay a safe distance away from anything he might get too attached to. Anything that might make him actually feel something.
He puts you out of his mind, for the most part.
Sometimes, late at night when his brain just won’t shut off, the image of your lips curved into a perfect half smirk comes to life in his head. He hates it, hates the way it makes him feel, so much so that he almost snaps and talks to Tadashi about it by a month after the practice match. Almost.
He doesn’t get that far.
Yet.
When Nekoma invites Karasuno to Tokyo for an overnight training camp, he’s dreading seeing you. It’ll just make everything worse—having a fresh picture of you smirking, a new image of you smiling. Whatever effort he’s gone through to force his feelings to fade will be in vain if he shows up to the city and you… just exist.
He’s more disappointed than he’d ever admit, even at gunpoint, when he doesn’t see you at the camp.
There’s no chance he’d ask about you, but that doesn’t stop him from eavesdropping on a conversation between Nekoma’s bleached-mohawk-Tanaka and Karasuno’s baseline-bald-Tanaka about you.
They say something about how you’re not actually the team’s manager. Something about how sometimes, it’s better for you to be with the team than at home. Nekoma’s player doesn’t go into any further detail, and Tanaka proves that he has some grace by not pushing the matter. Kei doesn’t know what any of that means, exactly, but it doesn’t scare him off.
He likes you even more, he thinks. Knowing that you’re not this perfect, infallible person. That you probably don’t get along with your parents so much so that it’s better for you to just not be home when your brother isn’t there to run interference. It makes you more human, more approachable.
It doesn’t make you any less devastatingly beautiful to him, though.
Which sucks. Because he’s already finding it nearly impossible to focus, and he’d really like to find a way over this stupid crush.
He leaves Tokyo without even a glimpse of you. Which is fine. He prefers it this way, actually.
Totally.
But the real problem starts during the summer, when he finds himself back in the city for a whole week.
The first time you really see him is in the summer.
Of course, you remember him from the spring. But you spent nearly the entirety of the Karasuno trip in a borderline foul mood that kept you from interacting with the others as much as you probably would have.
On the ride home, Tetsuro had said you acted like extreme-Kenma, and when you (and Kenma) asked him what that even meant, he said you were next-level anti-social.
(You had thrown a water bottle at him, which Coach Nekomata saw and gave you his disappointed look that made you shrink into your train seat as far as you could.)
You ask Kenma about him—that smug blond with glasses on Karasuno’s bench—exactly once. You trust Kenma not to rat to Tetsuro about you asking about a boy because you’ve known him what feels like your entire life and that means you know he doesn’t care enough about why you’d want to know to mention it to your brother.
Kenma tells you his name is Tsukishima. He’s playing games while he talks, because of course, which is even better because that means he probably won’t actually remember this conversation. You don’t really ask for more details, not wanting to test your luck, but Kenma shares regardless.
“Shoyo says he’s kinda mean. And, like, did you see the way he frowned at literally everyone?”
You didn’t really need Kenma’s insider information from Shoyo—the loud ginger? with the freaky quick attack?—to know that Tsukishima is probably kind of mean and frowns a lot. But you don’t really know why you’re even bothering to ask anyways, so you leave it at that and pester Kenma with other questions.
Life moves on. You mostly forget about the tall blond who gave you an attitude you didn’t deserve but also didn’t entirely mind.
Summer break rolls around, and you find yourself tagging along with Tetsuro and the rest of the team to the training camp hosted yearly by Shinzen.
No one questions your presence. Your brother made it clear from the start that you were off limits—in more ways than one, according to Kenma—and the rest of the team simply followed his lead. You help out without being asked and give Tetsuro a run for his money, so the team doesn’t mind you joining.
And you’re glad you don’t have to fight to go with them.
Because taking on the role of Nekoma’s manager without the official title is way easier than fighting with your parents every day for a whole week.
The first day of summer training camp starts the same as every other training you’ve crashed. You’re in the gym, helping everyone prep for the long day of practice—read: wrangling Lev into his gear and shutting up his complaining about having had to wake up so early—when the final team arrives.
Of course, you had known Karasuno was invited. Tetsuro hadn’t stopped talking about finally showing up their captain, once and for all. But you didn’t think you’d care as much as you do when you catch the sea of black and orange wandering into the gym from the corner of your eye.
You pause in your attempts to straighten out the practice jersey Lev’s supposed to be wearing, letting your curious gaze wander over the final team. You hadn’t really gotten a good look at Karasuno’s players while in Miyagi, because as much as you were loath to admit, Tetsuro was right about how awful your mood had been.
Now, you’re seizing your chance to look your fill.
The tall blond—Tsukishima, if you’re remembering correctly—catches your attention, again. He doesn’t look exactly pleased to be here, much unlike his teammates. A few of which, you notice, are literally bouncing. But he still manages to keep your focus, if only long enough for you to figure out his deal.
He’s cute, you’ll admit to no one but yourself, and even that’s a stretch. You like that he’s clearly not tripping over himself to bend to anyone’s standards—but you wonder how deep that apathy really goes.
“Who’re you staring at?” Lev’s question, directed towards you, carries across the gym in a voice way louder than anything you could have expected. A handful of heads turn, you notice in the few scant seconds it takes you to process, and suddenly you have an audience—all trying to figure out who you were staring at.
All thanks to Haiba’s loud mouth.
“Lev, come here,” Your voice is deceptively calm, though no one can miss the lethal edge simmering underneath as heat rises to your cheeks. Embarrassed, the fabric of the practice jersey is pulled tight in your grip, and nothing about your current state says Lev would be safe coming close.
There’s a long pause, where he’s clearly thinking through the situation. A crowd gathers, mostly Nekoma players, but a good chunk of Karasuno is watching, too. Your brother and Bokuto are giggling together at the edge of the fray, and you know they’re betting on the odds of Lev making it out of this situation unharmed.
“... No.” Lev makes his first smart decision of the morning. So smart, actually, he takes a step away from you. In the crowd, you’re pretty certain you hear Yamamoto tell him to ‘man up and face the consequences’.
“Just come here.” You match his step backward with one forward of your own. Your lips are pulled down in a pout born of annoyance, and you’re sure your sour expression isn’t helping to convince Lev that you can be trusted. “I’m only going to strangle you with your own jersey.”
“I didn’t even do anything!” Lev argues, long arms thrown up in a defense no one actually believes, even if they didn’t hear his stupid, stupid comment about you staring. “You were watching—”
“I wasn’t!” You shout, interrupting before he can finish his thought. You’re just as unconvincing as him, sadly, because your face is burning so hot it’s practically impossible to deny the fact that you were most definitely staring at someone on one of the opposing teams. You can’t even get yourself to glance in Tsukishima’s direction, fearing that he’ll somehow know it was him you were looking at if you make any eye contact.
You’re only left with one choice, really.
“Yaku!” You call out, finding the libero at the edge of the crowd, talking in low voices with Kai not too far away. He perks up at the call of his name, and you think Lev shrinks in fear before you even do anything. “Lev says he’s probably better at receiving than you, ‘cause he’s so much taller.”
It’s a lie, but you know which buttons to push.
Lev pales. Yaku throws a water bottle. Lev screams. And you make your escape in the chaos.
You glance over your shoulder, only once, and find that Tsukishima is looking at you. He’s smirking, lips curved just sharp enough, as if he can read you and knows exactly why you panicked so hard you sent Yaku after poor Lev.
He’s smirking and you realize all at once that you’re screwed.
Night one is uneventful.
Unsurprisingly, your brother drags you off to a spare gym for extra practice. Really, it’s just an excuse to mess with Bokuto and try to block his spikes, but you go nonetheless because it’s what you’ve always done.
You’re able to think clearly, too. In this second gym with only guys from Nekoma and a handful of Fukurodani players.
Unlike when Karasuno was in sight.
You don’t make it obvious—at least, god you hope you don’t—but you’ve found yourself watching Tsukishima more often than not. So long as you thought you could get away with it, your gaze was drifting towards him throughout the day.
And on more than a few occasions, you tried to sneak a glance and met his eye already watching you instead.
So it’s almost like a reprieve, finally being in a room devoid of the blond that’s captured your attention despite your best efforts to maintain a distance.
“Bo, you’re crazy if you think I’m going to try and block your spikes.” You call out, not feeling the slightest bit guilty for making Bokuto’s expression fall. He managed to successfully rope you into tossing balls to Akaashi for him to set, with your brother on the other side of the net dutifully jumping to meet each spike.
You, on the other hand, do not possess the power to stop a hit from a top-five ace.
“But it’s not as fun with just one blocker!” Bokuto whines, arms moving exaggeratedly with his complaints. Your attention cuts sideways towards your brother, and you know what he’s going to say—and what the conversation is going to devolve into—before he actually speaks.
Might as well just wait it out.
“Are you saying I’m not enough of a challenge for you?” Testuro presses, getting as close to the net as he could without touching it, hands propped on his hips and chest puffed. You roll your eyes, wholly used to his posturing, especially when it comes to proving his skill against opponents he deems worthy.
Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Bokuto’s so easy to rile up.
“Is that why you’ve been stuffed the last three spikes? Kuroo’s too easy to play against?” Akaashi asks his own teammate, a flat insult and unexpected addition to the conversation that makes you stifle a laugh into your palm. Bokuto gasps, offended, and whirls around to glare at him.
“Shut up, Akaashi!”
If you were paying attention to your brother, you would’ve seen his attention catch on something behind you, something near the gym doors. You would’ve been able to intercept before he called out, and maybe you would’ve even prevented him from even noticing the new figure walking past outside.
But you’re not paying attention, and you’re taken by surprise when your brother shouts loud enough his voice carries through the open gym doors.
“Hey, Tsukishima! Come block a few for us.”
You almost jump at the name. It’s a tough fight against making the heat rising in your cheeks obvious. But you manage to stay neutral, if not a touch too forcibly-uninterested, and turn towards the gym doors. Casually.
He’s standing there, just outside the entrance, and you have to remind yourself that you don’t know him, no matter how much time you spent that day watching him. There’s absolutely no reason for the way your heart kicks up a beat when you meet his eyes, only for a split second, before he’s looking back to your brother.
No reason, and yet it does.
“Uh, no thanks.” Tsukishima says, voice so unyieldingly disinterested in the idea. That catches your attention, because you might not know him, but you have spent the better part of a day watching him play in match after match with his team.
And while he’s not the most flashy player, or filled with crazy skill and innate talent, you see what’s hiding underneath. You see the potential, and how if his current ability was just tested, pushed and polished, he had the ability to be something.
You’ve spent enough years watching Testuro and Kenma at practices. While you might not play volleyball yourself, you know the sport well. And Tsukishima? He has everything at his disposal to go to the next level, but you don’t think you’ve actually seen him try.
“What, are you just going to bed?” Bokuto asks, having forgotten his annoyance from Akaashi’s sleight. You cut a quick glance to the Fukurodani ace, and see he’s just as visibly confused as you are on the inside. “No extra practice?”
“We’ve been practicing all day.” Tsukishima defends. His voice sounds like a sigh, like he can’t fathom a reason why anyone would bother with refining skills after practice matches.
You can’t help it any longer.
“And you’ve been taking penalties all day.” You’re talking before you realize it, volleyball resting on one of your cocked hips as you meet his stare challengingly. You think you see something like surprise flash across his face at you directly addressing him, maybe even some color burning the highest points of his ears.
“What?” He asks, gaze cutting sideways to your brother for a split second. You know he’ll get no help from Testuro, so you continue with a shrug full of far more attitude than probably necessary.
“Nothing.” You check your nails just to spite him, like you don’t actually care as much as your interjection might prove otherwise. But, really, who is he to know exactly what you’re truly thinking? “Just, you must like running laps, s’all.”
It’s instinct, the way your eyes meet his and lips curve up into a smirk. Akaashi snorts, while Bokuto and your brother try to smother their laughter. You don’t take your attention away from Tsukishima, which is how you see his unimpressed expression melt into something almost amused.
“Well, there’s nothing like building stamina to help increase my performance.” He counters, voice flippant and light and a smug grin dancing on his lips. Oh, he’s challenging you, and you are absolutely going to take the bait. And what’s more—you’re going to win.
You can already tell he’s going to be fun to mess with.
“What’re you performing for?” You tilt your head to the side, face almost mockingly confused with knitted brows and a faux pout. “Stamina won’t matter if you don’t have the skill to make it to the next round.”
Tsukishima’s teasing grin is wiped away almost instantly. Instead, he’s clenching his jaw in annoyance at your sleight. Except, annoyance doesn’t seem like the right word. Not when you can see his blush spreading from the tips of his ears to the column of his neck.
Though you shouldn’t probably be looking so closely.
“Maybe… lay off the guy, yeah?” Testuro interrupts, no doubt sensing the building tension. You remember, then, that you’re not alone and you have to live with your brother, so if he notices the way you have some unreasonable interest in his Karasuno rival, he will be utterly impossible.
You have to back down—for now.
“He’ll survive.” You wave a hand through the air, glancing at Testuro for only a moment before fixing your attention back on the blond still lingering just outside the door. You watch for a moment as he shifts his weight on his feet, looking almost unsure of himself in a way you’re pretty certain he’s not used to. “Goodnight, Tsukishima.”
He hesitates, like he’s going to say something more. He must change his mind, you think, because he turns away and starts walking, only calling out over his shoulder.
“Night.” He says, and he doesn’t even look at you when he says it.
You don’t realize you’re smirking until Testuro fakes a gag.
“Gross.”
“Akaashi… was that flirting?”
tag list : note - I was unable to tag several accounts, though I typed all the names (and double checked spelling)
summary: he's your roommate and finds out you have a date with someone that's not him. he doesn't cope well. wing spiker edition.
pairing: various hq wing spikers x reader (asahi, fukunaga, iwaizumi, kyotani, bokuto, ushijima, osamu, aran, sakusa)
note from sunnie: some of these are very self indulgent don't @ me. also brat tamer iwaizumi supremacy. cursing in Kyotani's part because you can't convince me this guy doesn't say fuck.
setter vers.
Asahi Azumane isn't someone who can really hide what he's feeling.
You've known that since before you moved in together, of course, but now it's abundantly clear as you watch him nervous pace the length of your shared apartment.
He hasn't even been able to look at you since the moment you let slip that you're going on a date with someone from work.
"Asahi, can you help me with my heels?"
You can't miss the way his broad shoulders flinch when you call out his name, distracting him from his task of pretending to clean the same spot on the counter over and over. He nods, stiffly, and you watch with a thinly suppressed grin as he shakily makes his way to where you're sitting on the edge of the couch, strappy heels in hand.
"How—how late are you going to be out?" His voice wavers, even as he drops to his knees before you. Large hands delicately take your heels from you, and you feel your face flush from the gentleness he cradles your ankle with.
"I don't know," You hum, thoroughly enjoying the way Asahi is on his knees and putting your heels on for you. He's so reverent, even though his face is burning red and you think he might even be sweating. "Not all night, at least. You don't have to wait up for me, though."
"Okay," He nods, probably too many times for it to be just casual. His hands are shaking as he fixes the strap on your heel and moves to your other foot.
You have half a mind to call off the whole date just by the way he’s looking at you, and he hasn't even told you hates the idea of you going like you know he so desperately wants to.
He finishes his task dutifully, and you study him in silence. The slight crease between his brows, the way his long hair has hastily been tied into a knot at the base of his neck. He's grown out the facial hair recently, just enough to be more than scruff on his chin. Your face warms the longer you watch him, heart thumping in your chest as you contemplate how you really want to spend your evening.
Definitely not with someone other than your pretty roommate that puts your shoes on for you.
"Asahi," You call out, voice quiet as he finishes closing the strap on your second heel. He glances up, face hot, but makes no move to get off his knees before you. A smile quirks your lips. "Do you want me to go on this date?"
"I-I—I would never tell you what you can and cannot do!" He squeaks, absolutely crumbling the moment you put any pressure on him. His hands are raised as if claiming innocence, and you can hear the panic in his voice. "You're free do to whatever you want! It doesn't matter what I want!"
He's so unbelievably bad at lying to you, it's honestly sweet.
"But I'm asking," You press, leaning forward on the couch. You're so unused to being taller than him, you're honestly a little drunk on the power of making him look up at you. "So, do you?"
He freezes, rugged face staring at you with a wobbly confidence you've come to expect from him. You match him head on, not backing down or letting him think you're just toying with him.
"No, I don't want you to go."
He's honest. Voice more certain than you've ever heard him. You're absolutely smirking.
"Can you take off my heels? I don't need them if I'm staying here with you."
Shohei Fukunaga is a really good roommate.
He's quiet, and kind, and makes you laugh without ever really trying to. You really had no chance against falling for him, as weird as he can be at times.
But he's a good roommate, and you can't risk losing your friendship and making your living situation unbelievably awkward, so you settle for pining from afar and agreeing to host a movie date at your apartment that you really don't want to do.
And Shohei, as good as he is, gives you your space when your date comes over. It's a shared space, so you don't expect him to be invisible, but he does spend majority of the evening in his room.
You're so not feeling the guy, so you're practically looking for any reason to urge him out the door. Luckily, you're able to send a text to Shohei, practically pleading with him to help you.
What you're not expecting, in any possible scenario, is for Shohei to come into the living room and sit uncomfortably close to your date. Wide, dark eyes are pinned on your guest overstaying his welcome, and you can only watch in vaguely amused horror as Shohei makes your date visibly uncomfortable.
"Can I... help you, dude?" He asks, watching Shohei out of the corner of his eyes and sitting much more straighter in his seat.
"Nah," Shohei tells him casually. You have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud, but nothing can stop the giggle that breaks free.
What follows is ten minutes of awkward silence that makes you fall even more in love with Shohei. He doesn't move an inch from his spot beside your quote unquote date, pressuring him with just his presence to leave your apartment without being overly confrontational.
Plus, you think it's really funny.
Inevitably, your date shifts in his seat and turns to face you. The palm of your hand is smushed against your lips to try and smother your grin, but you know you're doing a poor job at it.
"I'm... going to head out." Your date says, addressing you and pointedly ignoring the steady presence on his other side.
"Okay," Shohei answers before you can even think of something to say.
"I wasn't talking to you," The guy snaps, though he sounds more confused by the turn of events than angry, honestly. Shohei, predictably, just watches as the guy stands to leave.
"Well, bye!" You chirp, jumping up to walk him to the door. It's a little awkward, watching him take off so suddenly, but you've been wishing he was out of your apartment for the past half an hour. When the door shuts behind your guest, you return to the couch where your roommate is still sitting. "Thank you, Shohei."
"Don't worry about it." He's so casual, always, but he definitely looks calmer now that it's just the two of you. It's not always the easiest to tell the differences in his expressions, but you like to think you're pretty well versed in all things Shohei. "Do you want to watch a movie with me instead?"
He's already picking up the remote, and you sigh as you lean closer to him on the couch.
"I should have just asked you to hang out, instead."
Hajime Iwaizumi is horribly stubborn.
You're not used to being the subject of his stubbornness, though. Typically he lets you do what you please, smile on your face as he takes care of the minor details.
"Not happening."
"It's not a big deal, Hajime!" You groan, stomping towards the front door of your shared apartment. You can't help but feel a little bit like a petulant child, but you've been arguing with your roommate for the better part of twenty minutes. "I can just walk there! It's not even that dark out yet."
He doesn't relent, though you didn't really expect him too.
Hajime just follows dutifully after you, tugging your coat off the hook to help you put it on like it's second nature. And to him, you think it honestly might be. He's always doted on you with a silent gentleness rare others in his life get to experience.
You're trying, desperately, to hang onto the independent front you're putting up. He's not making it easy, what with the way he trails after you out the door, a low warning humming low in his throat when you act like you're not going to wait for him to lock up the apartment. Sighing, you pause, acting like his care is some big inconvenience.
"What kind of loser date isn't picking you up with flowers, anyways?" He huffs, and you choose not to respond and he positions himself on the sidewalk between you and the traffic.
Nothing of note happens on the walk to your date, save for the fact that you spend half the trek thinking about how Hajime would make the perfect boyfriend and the other half wishing he was your boyfriend.
The problem comes at the end of your date.
You barely make it three steps outside of the restaurant before Hajime appears out of nowhere, as steady as always, if not a little irritated.
"Please tell me you didn't wait out here the whole time," Your hands are shoved deep in your pockets. You really hope you're doing a good job of hiding how much you're glad he's standing before you, but you doubt you are. Hajime's always had a certain ability to tell when you're not being honest with him, and he uses it to his advantage.
"No, there's a twenty-four seven coffee shop across the street. I figured any guy that's not picking you up probably wasn't going to drop you off." He shrugs, studying your face closely. Ducking your chin, you take the first step towards your shared apartment. He falls in step immediately, crease between his masculine brows. "Short dinner."
You wince. No surprise he picked up on it, but you hadn't been counting on him waiting for your dinner to end.
"I left early." You admit, hoping that your voice sounds steadier than you feel. You hear him hum, feel his eyes studying your profile. "I just... I kept thinking about how he didn't offer to pick me up."
"'Cause he's a loser," Hajime is openly grinning, and you dig your elbow into his arm to silently chastise him. It makes him laugh, and he grabs your arm before you can deal anymore damage. "You need to have higher standards."
You frown at him, glaring openly. You don't mean it, and from the smug grin on his face, he can read between the lines to what you really mean.
Still, you're nothing if not stubborn.
"You don't have to ruin all other men for me, you know."
Kentaro Kyotani could be described as... overly protective.
He's your roommate, one of your closest friends, and the object of your affection. Except, he doesn't know that last part, and if you plan to keep your sanity, it will stay that way.
Which is why you're going on a date. A date that's not with Kentaro.
You're not sure why you thought you'd be able to sneak past him and out the front door of your shared apartment without questioning, but you had vague plans to dart really fast with a flimsy excuse that you're meeting up with friends.
But then your date shows up early. And knocks on the door.
He might actually have a death wish, you think, as you hear Kentaro's heavy footsteps thumping towards the front door. You're half ready, hair a mess and still wearing your casual clothes, but you race to try and beat your roommate to the door regardless because you know what'll happen if you don't make it.
Except, Kentaro is a professional athlete. You never had any hope of beating him, anyways, even without his head start.
The door is propped open when you arrive on the scene. Kentaro's broad frame taking up most of the space, but even with his back to you, you can still feel his murderous intent leveled on the stranger on your front step.
"Who the fuck are you?" Kentaro's rough voice asks, no pretense of niceties spared for the hopeless guy before him.
"Ken!" You hiss, embarrassed that this is how your date is starting off. Though, you'd be lying if you said you were completely surprised. You had only been hoping that your date would arrive when you're ready to go so you could leave immediately after. "Be nice. He's here for me. We have a date."
And that gets Kentaro's attention. He freezes, spine going straight and rigid. You assume his expression looks downright lethal because you're pretty certain you hear your date gulp.
You don't get to hear anything else your date has to say, though, because between one breath and the next Kentaro slams the door in his face with a clipped, "Fuck off, man."
He turns to face then, only after he bolts the lock on the front door for an extra, unnecessarily petty measure. You'd think it funny, if Kentaro wasn't staring you down like you're his prey.
"You're not going out with him." He tells you, voice firm and decisive, as if the tips of his ears aren't turning pink. The sight of his faint blush shocks you back to reality, reminding you that it's only Kentaro, and he's not anything to be afraid of.
"Why can't I?" You fire back, attitude nearly doubling the moment he attempted to tell you what you can and cannot do. Even if you'd rather go out with him, you're still not going to let him think he can dictate your life.
"'Cause I don't like it. He looks weak." Kentaro doesn't waver. Not that you expected him to, honestly. He takes a step forward as you snort a laugh, arms crossing over your chest.
"Weak? What, is he going to have to fight to defend my honor?" Smirking, you fight against the warmth burning your cheeks as he stops only a few short inches away from you. He's so close, and tall, that you have to angle your chin up to meet his heavy stare.
"He'll have to fight me if he even thinks about touching you." And he's so serious, too. He's never been the most direct person, but you know you can read exactly what he's implying with such a bold declaration.
And you're not going to pass up on this opportunity.
"That's... unfairly hot of you to say, Kentaro."
Kotaro Bokuto has been laying on the floor in the center of your shared living room for the past fifteen minutes, moping.
Why? Well, he found out you have a date. One that's not happening for another three days.
"Ko, it's not that serious," You giggle at his antics from your perch on the couch, sitting cross legged and pretending to get work done on your laptop. Bokuto groans like you've shot him, covering his face with his arms to hide from you, while also making sure to stay in your line of sight on the floor.
"It is this serious!" He laments, sounding genuinely distraught. "I'm gonna lose you!"
"You're not going to lose me." Quick to assure him, you're already thinking about ways you can get out of this date. Your roommate is just too adorably goofy for you to put him through such stress, right?
"You don't know that!" He groans again, moving his arms so that he can glare accusingly at you. "What if you actually like this... this guy, and then you start spending all your time with him instead of me! What if he wants you to move in with him so you don't live with me anymore?"
If he weren't being so ridiculous, you might have actually felt bad for smiling while he was crashing out.
"You're getting ahead of yourself."
"What if—oh god—what if he asks you to marry him and you have ten kids together!" Bokuto gasps, pushing himself up on his elbows like the very idea has shocked so life into him. He looks so genuinely distraught, you're starting to have pity. "I wanted to take you out! He's stealing my idea."
And there's the confession you've been waiting for. It was only a matter of time, you knew, before Bokuto admitted to the feelings you've both been dancing around since you moved in together.
"Do you want me to cancel my date?" You ask, amused and feeling victorious. Bokuto sits up straight at your suggestion, golden eyes wide and head nodding rigorously.
"Yes. I'll take you someplace better." He sounds so serious you have to bite the inside of your cheek from laughing out loud. "I promise, just give me this chance and I'll prove it to you!"
You sigh, trying your hardest to hide your grin. You never really had a chance at denying his request, anyways.
"Get me my phone."
Wakatoshi Ushijima is a blunt personality you've somehow managed to make the core of your world.
It helps that you're roommates, spending so much downtime together. You've developed routines that surround Wakatoshi, whether you were aware of them or not.
Those steady routines built around him caused you to fall in love, even if you dread the thought of inevitable heartbreak.
Everything changes one calm night. You're in the kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you. He's been assigned dishes duty, like always when you cook, so you don't expect him to linger in the kitchen long.
Predictably, he's wandering in and out while you cook. Taking care of minute tasks, planning out what the next few weeks will look like on the shared whiteboard calendar hanging by the entrance to the kitchen. It's something you hung in effort to attempt to coordinate schedules with someone as busy as Wakatoshi Ushijima.
It's so normal, so routine, you don't think anything of it until he's calling out your name.
"What's this on the calendar?" His steady voice asks, something that sounds close to confusion ringing his tone. "You've marked a date for this Friday?"
"Uh, yeah." You hum, hoping you can get away with leaving it at that as you stir the vegetables you're in the process of cooking.
"With who?" He asks, and you should've known you'd never be able to get away with such a half-assed answer.
"This guy I met at a coffee shop. No one you know." You shrug, forcefully keeping your voice light. You're a little caught off guard by how much talking about going on a date with someone else with Wakatoshi makes your chest tighten uncontrollably.
There's a long moment of silence that follows your comment. Wakatoshi is still standing by the entrance of the kitchen, devoutly reviewing the calendar, and you're cooking in peace. You think that you might even be able to escape the conversation with minimal awkwardness.
But then you hear him clear his throat.
"Apologies, but I don't like the idea of you going out with this guy."
"Toshi, what?" His comment catches you off guard. You lower the heat on the stove and turn, body mostly moving on autopilot as you try and process what he said. "You don't even know the guy."
"I have feelings for you." He tells you straight out, voice as no nonsense as always. You think you might have gasped at his admission, but you also aren't sure you're actually breathing. "I would prefer you to not spend your time with someone else. Unless you don't have feelings for me, then disregard."
"Hold on. Disregard?" You raise a hand, as if you could physically stop him from continuing to melt your mind. "You're going to tell me that, and then tell me to disregard?"
"I'd like to keep any form of relationship with you, even it's just simply friendship. If me having feelings for you makes you uncomfortable, I will deal with it." He's so open, always, but the honesty in his tone is making you dizzy.
You're crossing the kitchen before you realize it, legs carrying you towards him while smiling wide.
"You are so unbelievable. I'm not disregarding anything."
Osamu Miya likes to pretend like he's so much more mature than his twin, but you know the truth.
You live with Osamu, spend enough time around the two of them to know that while they have plenty of differences, they're always identical twin brothers and can have a tendency to act like it.
Currently, you're all seated in the living room you share with Osamu. The boys are arguing over some minute detail in the trashy reality show you're making them watch while you're perched in the armchair, minding your own business as if Atsumu calling his brother a toilet head is normal.
Because it is.
"By the way," You interject Osamu's stammering to come up with another low-level insult to call his twin. "I won't be around tonight. I'm going out to dinner with this guy from work."
You keep your tone casual, hoping that the boys arguing will serve as enough distraction so that you can fly under the radar. There was no more putting off telling Osamu, you knew.
There's a moment of tense silence, and even though your face is turned towards the television, you're not processing anything that's happening on the screen. And then—
Atsumu opens his big fat mouth and laughs.
Briefly, you're stunned into horror. Osamu looks like he's still in shock, processing your abrupt announcement, and Atsumu is doubled over on the couch, holding his stomach from laughing so hard.
"Shaddup, ya moron!" Osamu shouts, launching himself at Atsumu. You're not unused to their wrestling, but you'd rather not be the reason they're grappling on the floor.
And yet.
Atsumu is quick to react to his brother's attack, fighting back before you really even realize what's happening. There's insults being thrown around as they wrestle, and you think you hear Atsumu shout something like 'yer gonna miss yer chance, loser!'
They tumble off the couch and onto the floor, and you lift your legs up off the ground to keep yourself from being caught in the crossfire.
"I've been tryin' to ask 'em, but yer always around, dickhead!" Comes from Osamu, though his words are almost intelligible as his brother shoves a palm into the side of his face to keep him from getting close.
"Don't let me stop ya, jackass!" Atsumu fires back. Their arguing is drowning out the catfight happening on the television, and you're worried they're about to slam into the coffee table.
"Would you two knock it off!" Now you're shouting, extending one leg out to poke Atsumu harshly in the side. It throws him off balance long enough that Osamu can get the upper hand, and with a few more moments of grappling he has his brother in a headlock.
Atsumu is cursing, loudly, but your protests about their volume dry out on your tongue when you see Osamu looking up at you. His eyes are filled with absolute determination, and if you were any less infatuated with him it might have been a little unnerving.
"Just stay in with me tonight." He tightens his hold on Atsumu, causing his brother to struggle and let out a string of curses. "I'll make ya the best dinner ya ever had."
You've had Osamu's cooking more times than you can count. You know it's not an offer you can just refuse.
"You didn't have to get physical with 'tsumu just to ask me out, you know."
Aran Ojiro is nothing but a devoted sweetheart.
He's smart, and kind, and totally considerate. He's also a professional athlete, which means he's beyond out of your league. You're not even sure how you managed to snag him as your roommate, let alone try to push your luck and go for requited feelings.
So, in a last ditch effort to get over your sugary sweet feelings for him, you agreed to let your friend set you up on a blind date.
"Alright, I'm heading out, Aran!" You call into your shared apartment tugging on your coat by the front door. Nerves are buzzing in your chest, and it's not at all helped when Aran comes into view.
He's dressed comfortably, clearly planning on just staying in for the evening. Immediately, you're itching to take off your nice date clothes and climb into a pair of sweats, curling up on the couch opposite him.
But that feeling is also why you absolutely need to go on this date. You can't pine away after your roommate forever.
"Have fun," Aran says, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, but the strained look on his face doesn't match his words in the slightest. You feel like there's more he wants to say, but when nothing comes, you wave once and slip out the door.
The date goes fine.
He's not a bad date at all, but he's nothing spectacular either. There's something that feels off the whole evening, and it's only when you're trekking back up to your apartment that you realize your date wasn't good because it wasn't with him.
The light is on in the living room when you unlock the front door, which catches you by surprise. Aran has a strict schedule he follows during the volleyball season, and it's past the time he usually migrates to his bedroom for the night.
But he's sitting on the couch, posture stiff and twisting to face you the moment you walk through the door.
"You're still up?" You ask, a little shocked. Aran nods, standing to slowly make his way in front of you.
"I couldn't sleep." He explains, one large hand scratching the back of his neck. "I needed to make sure you got home safe."
"You're so sweet, Aran." It's impossible not to melt immediately, so you don't fight it and smile openly up at him. God, he's ruining all other men for you without even trying.
"Can I... can I tell you something?" He sounds nervous, and instantly you're on edge. The warm feeling in your chest starts to dissipate slowly, replaced instead by a buzzing that has your palms sweating.
"Of course," You say, smiling, hope it masks the worry you're feeling well enough.
"I like you. " Aran draws in a deep breath at the same time you sharply inhale out of shock. "A lot. And I really hated seeing you walk out that door to go on a date with someone that wasn't me. Even if that makes me sound incredibly selfish."
You're quiet, processing, but you know that above all else you need to let him know he's not anywhere close to being in the wrong.
"I don't think it makes you sound selfish."
"You don't?" He sounds so hopeful, it nearly cracks your heart in two. Instead, you simply step forward, boldly capturing one of his hands between two of yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Not at all. I just wish you'd said so before I left the apartment."
Kiyoomi Sakusa is a very particular roommate.
You wouldn't say it's difficult to live with him, but it definitely took some adjustment at the beginning. It helps that you also like to keep things clean, but there's some extremes he goes to that you’re not sure are absolutely necessary.
Like the way he's particular about who comes into the apartment.
Normally, it benefits you as well. You don't like strangers in your space, or even people you know after a rough day at work.
But now, you think Kiyoomi is being ridiculous.
You've had this date planned for two weeks. Kiyoomi has known about it, you're certain, but the moment your date arrived he acted like a national tragedy was occurring.
It didn't help that he was the one to open the door, his long legs beating you in an instant. You were close behind, shoes clutched in your hands, calling out for him to just let you get the door.
You watched as Kiyoomi opens the door, takes one look at your date, and slams it in his face.
"He's coming into the apartment." He's grimacing as he turns to face you, mask pulled up over his nose. It doesn't hide the way he face is pinched in disgust. Drama queen.
"I know, we're leaving, I just need a second to put on my shoes—" You don't entertain his nonsense, but he doesn't let you finish.
"No, then you'll still have his germs on you." He shakes his head, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest. You raise your brows, trying to level him with a pointed look that doesn't affect him in the slightest.
"Kiyoomi, what?" You barely stifle a laugh, fighting against the urge to giggle in his face. "You're not usually this freaked out about germs. I hang out with people all the time."
"You don't go on dates." There's something off about his tone, and it clicks in your mind the moment he uttered the word date like it personally sneezed on him.
"Are you... are you jealous?" There's no hiding the smugness from your voice after a brief bout of confusion. It's just too good of an opportunity to pass up.
"Of course not," He's quick to defend, but not even his mask can hide the red burning the tips of his ears. "I'm just precautious."
"Uh-huh." You're grinning openly, borderline smirking. "Well, I'm dressed to go out, so—"
"If you're so adamant on going out tonight, I will take you." He nods like it's decided, like your date isn't still knocking on the other side of the door in attempt to figure out what's happening. "Get rid of the other guy while I get dressed. I'll only be a minute."
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HERE I AM 🥹 Could I have Bokuto, with the list “just friends” and the prompt “They’ve always hugged, but lately those hugs linger just a beat too long.” Pretty please! Pre-timeskip!
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blurb event | masterlist | wc: 691
in your arms
There's a running bet around the Fukurodani volleyball club that captain Kotaro Bokuto will wither away if he doesn't have immediate physical contact each time you enter or leave the room.
And, well, they have good reason for it.
"C'mere,"
"Bo, you're all sweaty." You groan, staying firmly planted in your spot on the bottom bench of the gym bleachers. Practice ended twenty minutes ago, and you're only waiting for Bokuto to finish helping Akaashi and Konoha take down the net so he could walk you home.
"Please?" He pouts, standing in front of you. All tall body and well built muscles. And he's pouting like a total baby because you refuse to hug him in this state.
Bokuto is just your friend. Honest. A really, really good friend. One that you may or may not be hopelessly in love with, yes, but that's wholly irrelevant. Because he thinks of you as nothing more than a friend and you can't let yourself read too much into what his affection means.
"No," You stay firm. Akaashi sends you a proud look over his friend's shoulder, approving of your ability to stay strong in the face of Bokuto's unbelievably adorable kicked-puppy look. "Finish cleaning up, and wipe off with your towel."
"And then?"
You roll your eyes. Of course, he'd pick up on what you didn't say but totally meant.
"And then, maybe." You can't look at Akaashi. You know you've let him down, because you absolutely just caved to Bokuto's request. At least Bokuto is happy, because he takes off at twice his usual speed with a wide grin on his face.
Your face warms and you grin uncontrollably. You think you hear Akaashi call you hopeless.
The gym is cleaned up in record time, and it seems like you only blinked when he's back in front of you, bouncing restlessly and looking oh so expectant.
"Well?" He asks, making grabbing hands at you. He's adorable, if not a bit childish, and you find it so incredibly adorable. "Please? I did awesome today. You saw!"
"You did good," You nod, standing and you can see the way he preens under your attention. It's one of the many little things he does that makes you think maybe he feels the same way about you that you do him.
So, you open your arms, telling him without words that he's allowed to hug you now.
He doesn't waste time, either. Bokuto sweeps you up into his arms without hesitation, holding you so tight against him that your feet leave the ground. You wrap yourself around his broad shoulders like it's second nature because, to you, it sort of is.
"You still smell like sweat." You tease him, and you feel more so than hear when Bokuto chuckles. You swear your heart swells six sizes at the proximity despite it's nothing new.
He doesn't let you go when you think he will, and you're not even a little bit upset about it. Lately, the hugs you share are lasting longer and longer.
"You smell like flowers," Bokuto comments, making your face burn with the heat of your affection for him. He sets you down, lets you pull out of his embrace, and you're a little embarrassed that he might be able to see exactly what you're feeling written across your face.
You're saved from having to come up with a reply to his compliment by Konoha groaning in annoyance. Twisting, you find him standing at the doorway to the gym with Akaashi, both boys watching you and Bokuto with rather bored expressions.
"Seriously, just put us out of our misery and date already," Konoha complains. You risk a glance from the corner of your eye towards Bokuto, and find his face turning a pretty shade of pink. "And don't give us that whole just friends lie."
You feel fairly chastised. It's almost too nerve-racking to think about how obvious you were probably being under the misconception that you were remotely subtle.
And that's before Akaashi gives his opinion on the matter, delivered in his usual cutting tone.
"The only ones you're convincing are yourselves, you know."
Captain of the hockey team Testuro Kuroo is determined to make you fall in love with the sport again. And no, he won’t drag your group project grade down!
taglist form | haikyuu uni
gen. disclaimer: all photos used represent outfits/poses, not reader appearance, though it's written to imply fem.
super smart super hot | da boyz (and kuroo)
1; super genius
2; cruel, cruel joke
3; definition of pathetic
4; tba...
prove me wrong! directory // haikyuu uni
part one - where it all starts
wc: 884 written part
The library is alive with the student body, ones either buying time between classes or actually studying. Some are chatting endlessly with their friends, laptops not even pretending to open, while others have headphones in and notes spread out before them, trying to complete assignments before drowning in the work.
You fall into the second category.
Chem notes litter the tabletop in the same chaotic way the information is scattered in your brain. It doesn’t help that your ex, Daisho, is lingering at a table by the exit, shooting you furtive glances he totally thinks you can’t see. You want nothing to do with him, at all, ever.
You’re not sure whether it’s the annoyance with him or your mind numbingly complex chem work that will get to you first, but you don’t want to stick around long to find out.
Trapped between glancing at your phone to see how close Akaashi is and trying to actually get work down, you don’t notice until too late when someone joins you at your table.
You know who it is immediately. It’s not to exist on a campus that values its sports teams without knowing the smugly charming face of the hockey captains.
Testuro Kuroo.
There’s other tables open, plenty of them, in fact. He doesn’t have any reason to be sitting in front of you—other than the fact that he wants something from you. A theory further confirmed when you briefly meet his eye and he’s watching you closely with a look in his eye you’re fairly familiar with.
You don’t exactly care to find out.
As soon as he opens his mouth, you attach your attention back to your work. Great. Not only do you have to worry about your ex, you now have his team captain staring holes into your uninterested face.
Kuroo lets out a puff of air, like he’s sighing out the oxygen he had inhaled to voice whatever comment you had sidestepped.
Good.
Maybe you can just dodge and avoid any conversation until Akaashi gets here. It’s certainly not going to improve your ability to focus, but between the two hockey players you know you need to abandon the idea of study in the library as a whole.
Of course, you should’ve known luife was never going to be so kind to you.
“Oh, aren’t we in the same class for that?” Kuroo tries, launching into casual small talk like you’ve given any hint that you want to talk to him. He’s pointing towards your chem work, and you remember that the tall figure that sits eight desks to the left of you and always answers the professors questions is Kuroo.
“Yes,” You answer, because you hate the awkward silence more than you hate how annoyed the hockey team as a whole makes you.
But you don’t give him any more than a one word answer. You don’t even look at him.
“Cool,” He nods, tapping his fingers restlessly against the table. He’s crashing and burning, you realize, and the thought makes your lips unintentionally curve the slightest bit upwards. “Cool, cool.”
Oh, captain is way less suave than he pretends to be. You almost snort.
“So, hey, um—” He tries again, only to get interrupted by another body joining, standing at the edge of the table.
“Sorry I took so long, I got held up.” Akaashi. God, you could kiss him. You’re gathering your supplies in a pile before Kuroo even has the chance to look at your friend. They do meet each other’s eye, much to your dismay, and share a nod in greeting. You’d forgotten, while you were cursing your rotten luck, that Akaashi and Kuroo knew each other. A mutual close friend in Bokuto, another member of the hockey team and the only tolerable one you’ve met. “Ready to go?”
Akaashi’s question snaps you back to the moment, having been moving on autopilot until that moment.
“Yeah,” You’re shoving papers in your bag in a way that you know makes Akaashi cringe, not even bothering to glance at the hockey captain who’s attention is fixed on the side of your face. “Can we stop at the dining hall?”
“See you around, then.” Kuroo calls out, finding his voice by the time you’re standing and ready to go. Now you have Akaaashi looking pointedly at you, and you’re probably going to have to endure a series of questions you don’t really feel like answering.
“Mhm,” You hum noncommittally, waving loosely without even looking at him. With Akaashi by your side, you feel a little better about passing by Daisho.
Still, you practically hold your breath until you’re out of the library.
“What was that about?” Akaashi manages to deliver the question in a flat tone that somehow screams ‘I know exactly what you were up to’ and you hate it deeply.
“Literally couldn’t tell you.” You sigh, hoping he hears just how truthful you’re being. The late fall air is crisp and wakes you up once you step out of the building that houses the campus library, but it’s not enough to smother the groan that builds up in you. “Why can’t hockey guys leave me in peace?”
“You invite chaos.”
“Shut up,” You glare at Akaashi, even if it’s a little true.
Or maybe very true.
extras from sunnie!
the kuroo vs daisho beef lives on
the moment got his phone after practice his spam texted "y/n!!!" in the group chat for like five minutes because he knew the answer to kuroo's question (from like an hour earlier) and was excited
Akaashi already has side bets with Kiyoko about y/n and kuroo
the campus updates gossip account is the bane of y/n's existence for reasons addressed later
