Confession - Blog Posts

It’s Kind Of Diabolical

UA was a dream school that people all around the world tried to get into. Not only was it ranked number one in all of Japan, but the school was undefeated in all categories. Whatever category an individual could think of Dean Nezu did everything in his power to make the school the best in said category.

The 3% acceptance rate showed how picky the admissions team was.

Izuku Midoriya was considered one of the smartest students in the school. There were only two people that ranked higher than him in the entire building across all majors. Izuku was in a medical and pharmaceutical concentration of Biology and Chemistry. The double major was hell on earth, but he topped that off with a physics and psychology minor.

No one in the school, including the teachers, understood how he managed his time juggling countless classes all at once. Still, Izuku loved to learn, and he put his full effort into completing every class to near perfection. He worked very closely with his advisors Toshinori Yagi and Aizawa Shota. They complimented each other and it helped Izuku a lot with moving forward and making decisions based on their advice.

Everyone was always talking about Izuku and every move he made. Still, Izuku had something that he kept to himself. Izuku was a professional athlete.

The only reason no one knew was because he didn’t play for the college, making it significantly easier for him to keep it a secret. Well, to a degree he could hide it. He competed in high level competitions, and many were non-profit to raise awareness for important causes. His high ranking often led him to speaking in interviews about the cause.

Izuku was an angel on earth.

Katsuki Bakugo was average in school. He was naturally smart and put as little effort into his schoolwork as possible. Katsuki was a business major with two minors. One was in marketing and another in accounting. As long as he got an A in the class, he didn’t try to push himself harder. His main focus was on sports. After all, he was the captain of the football team and spent most of his free time training.

The school's meal plan was heavily abused by Katsuki as he was often seen inhaling food with his friends whenever he wasn’t in the gym or on the field. The training and consistent meal plan helped him greatly. Katsuki was well built with muscles that made half of the campus jealous and the other half lovesick.

Despite all the attention Katsuki got, he remained single. He appreciated his fans to a degree, but never engaged with them. He enjoyed the chase and the rush he got from the attention. Still, he loved playing football, and he loved his teammates. He’d never let a relationship, or other outside influences distract him.

That was until his best friend, also the vice-captain of the football team, decided it was time to flip his life upside down.

“Who’s that talking to Coach Toshinori?” asked Kaminari excitedly upon seeing a cute boy appear on the fields.

Katsuki didn’t bother looking, not interested in hearing gossip about some stranger. Kirishima on the other hand perked up when he noticed who Kaminari was talking about. “That’s Midoriya! He’s insane.”

Kirishima’s statement caught the attention of Katsuki and the rest of the team. Sero recognized Izuku as well and commented, “Yeah, isn’t he doing a double major and double minor?”

“That’s him! Mina told me that he’s already been accepted by every high end medical school he’s applied to,” revealed Kirishima, happy to say his girlfriend's name every chance he got.

Kaminari stared at Izuku from afar, letting his mouth catch flies. Once he let a couple of moments pass by, he snapped back into focus and smirked. “So, he’s smart and successful. Wait, how does Mina know him?”

“Mutual friends, apparently Midoriya is super popular. Almost everyone knows him, so I’m surprised you don’t,” responded Kirishima slowly, letting his gaze return to Izuku.

Toshinori flashed a wide smile at Izuku, ruffling the fluffy locks of green hair. The excited voices of the duo faintly reached the group's ears. Tetsutetsu chuckled to himself before jerking a thumb over to where they were standing. “Looks like he just got accepted to another school.”

Katsuki’s gaze was fierce, but he couldn’t stop the foreign rushing of his heart. There was something about this smartass chatting with his coach that irritated Katsuki. No matter how much he wanted to roll his eyes and redirect the conversation, he knew Izuku would be on his mind.

Fate had funny ways of bringing destined lovers together.

Three weeks was all it took for Katsuki cave into obsession. He hadn’t realized just how big of a figure Izuku had been in the school. After that fateful day, it seemed that anytime he’d be in the food hall or was hanging out with his friends, he’d hear chatter about the mysterious genius.

All alone in his room with thirty minutes until his bedtime, Katsuki started digging. He found some online interviews with Izuku talking about the charities he’s worked with. Then Katsuki found his social media account that talked about plans for his future, study tips, and a plethora of random school-related things.

It only took a minute of scrolling for Katsuki to realize this wasn’t Izuku’s personal account. No matter how much he dug, he couldn’t find any pictures of Izuku at these apparent parties or hangouts with his friends that Mina claimed he had.

The following morning came around and like clockwork, Izuku would become a part of his life.

The football team huddled around Coach Toshinori when he clapped his hands together with his usual blinding smile. “Look alive! As you all know, the season is starting to pick up and now more than ever, we need to engage with the public. We are the best school in all of Japan and we need to maintain that status. So, I want you to take to social media and hold mini interviews with people in busy areas!”

Katsuki shrugged, not bothered by the assignment. It wasn’t like he had any intention of being the one doing the interviewing. If he partnered with Kirishima who was more of a people person, then he could just record the interviews.

“Let’s do this Bakugo!” cheered Kirishima loudly, letting his manly persona take over.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on his phone. “Shut up Shitty Hair! Do you want to scare away everyone with your screaming?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Kirishima turned back to where people were moving in and out of shops. “Oops, you’re right. Sorry man.”

Huffing, Katsuki prepared his phone to record as Kirishima asked individuals if they’d be willing to be interviewed. Most of the time it took one look at Kirishima and Bakugo for people to say yes. It may have been the duo’s good looks, or their UA letter jackets, but people were fast to do an interview.

They had already held short interviews with ten people by the time their interest had fully worn off. Kirishima groaned, crashing on a nearby bench. “Why does Coach want us to interview fifteen people? We are going to have way too much footage,” noted Kirishima as he watched people pass by.

“Stop complaining, we are almost finished,” grumbled Katsuki, scrolling through the countless videos on his phone.

“Easy for you to say! You haven’t talked to one person,” scoffed Kirishima, failing at guilt tripping Katsuki.

Raising a brow with an unimpressed expression, Katsuki shrugged it off. “Not my problem.”

Kirishima spotted a familiar face in the crowd and his face lit up like a little kid on their birthday. “No way! Is that Midoriya? What are the odds we see him here?”

Katsuki was already handing his phone to Kirishima, not bothering to look back or wait for his friend. “Record me.”

The eagerness Katsuki displayed to interview Izuku let Kirishima know everything. Katsuki had a fat crush on Izuku. He’d never pass up a moment to record Katsuki making a fool of himself. Moments like these were rare and Kirishima usually failed to capture the moment in a picture or video.

Once the redhead caught up to where Katsuki had greeted Izuku, he caught the end of their exchange of pleasantries.

Izuku flashed a soft smile at Katsuki. “It’s nice to meet you in person! Toshinori tells me a lot about you.”

Kirishima was already recording with a bright smile. “Hi Midoriya!”

Turning his head to look at Kirishima, Izuku’s eyes lit up when he realized it was Kirishima. “Oh! Kirishima, hi! It’s been so long since we’ve last talked!”

“It really has been! I’ve been so busy with balancing school and football I haven’t been going to the parties lately,” sighed Kirishima defeatedly. He knew Izuku wasn't one to be petty but still, he felt bad about not keeping in touch with someone he enjoyed talking to.

“Nonsense! Anyway, Bakugo, you mentioned something about interviewing me?” inquired Izuku, returning to the initial reason he was approached by the hottest guy on campus.

Katsuki took a step closer to Izuku after letting his eyes trail all over Izuku’s body when the pretty boy had been distracted. Clearing his throat, trying to fight the nerves that flooded his body when he caught sight of muscular legs, Katsuki nodded.

“Yes, the football team is doing interviews with the public so we can post stupid shit to remind everyone why UA is the best.”

Perking up at the explanation of what was happening, Izuku eagerly agreed,” Of course. I’m more than happy to support UA and our football team!”

The three traveled to a more open area of the shopping center. The sun was warm on their skin and there was a gentle breeze. As Izuku and Katsuki waited for Kirishima to give them the go ahead to start the interview, Kirishima swore the scene looked like something out of a romcom movie. The school jock and nerd running into each other and having their worlds collide on a beautiful day with a cinematic breeze twirling their hair around.

Izuku was wearing a white tee shirt with the words “running shirt” on it. He paired the simple tee shirt with some black gym shorts that had white accents on the side seam. Both of his knees were strapped up with yellow kinesiology knee tape, paired with royal blue compression socks. The final addition to the horrifically discolored outfit was a pair of expensive red running sneakers.

Katsuki was in some baggy black pants, expensive white sneakers, and wore his UA football letter jacket.

Their outfits dramatically contrasted each other, but it wasn’t an eyesore like Kirishima thought it would be. Despite all of that, Kirishima cut the two’s ogling short. “Start anytime!”

Without missing a beat, Katsuki went off-script and asked a personal question. “What happened to your leg?”

Both Kirishima and Izuku seemed a bit taken aback by the question, but they quickly recovered. Kirishima knew he was going to use this as blackmail on Katsuki for the foreseeable future. Izuku on the other hand didn’t know what to expect from the interview and was happy to talk to the notorious football captain.

“I do a lot of running. A lot of cardio,” revealed Izuku, smiling shyly at Katsuki as he fiddled with the earbuds he had taken out.

Since he was a person with no filter, Katsuki dove straight into sly flirting. “Were you on your knees by any chance?”

“I actually was,” answered Izuku quickly, a bit surprised Katsuki asked the question. Still, he wasn’t too surprised Katsuki knew what to ask considering he was an athlete too.

Katsuki didn’t falter despite Izuku clearly not understanding what he meant with that question. “Oh. I picked the right guy for the interview,” commented Katsuki charmingly, his eyes looking at Izuku as if he were a meal to devour.

With the single comment, Izuku picked up on what Katsuki was indirectly saying and let his eyes widen and let out a breathless laugh. Katsuki knew he wanted to see that look and hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life. He wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but truly Izuku had him captivated. Izuku felt the exact same way.

He got me, hook, line, and sinker.

“How is your day going?” asked Katsuki calmly, reeling back into interviewing Izuku despite him not asking about UA or things about football.

Izuku pouted, looking at the hustle and bustle of the people around. “Pretty slow”

Seeing an opening to be mischievous again, Katsuki leaned closer. “Do you want me to make it faster?”

Perking up at the suggestive question, Izuku was ready to show he was just as interested. Using all the confidence training his teachers have put him through, Izuku tempted, “How would you do that?”

“How do you want me to do that?” fired back Katsuki with pure enjoyment. There was a little voice in the back of his head, wondering if the man before him was being a little shit to mess with him or if he was truly interested.

While Katsuki was overthinking everything, Izuku tilted his head down, looking up at Katsuki through his eyelashes with a shy smile. It was a very pointed look, and Katsuki felt his heart swoon. Katsuki was ready to bite those chubby cheeks peppered with the most beautiful freckles. Still, he was a college student and imagined pinning Izuku against his locker in the vacant locker room, and making those perfect lips spread to let out a scream of pleasure.

“I’m going to have to cut this video short,” half-joked Katsuki, struggling to keep his mind focused on anything but asking Izuku to date him in less than polite words.

The loud, almost manic laughter erupted from Izuku again as the implications of Katsuki’s words sank in. He was infatuated with Katsuki. There was something so thrilling about being the one that caught the attention of the untouchable football captain. In the back of his mind, he was scared this was all some elaborate prank to humiliate him, but he had to trust that Toshinori wasn’t lying about Katsuki being a good person.

It wasn’t uncommon to hear all his friends talking about Katsuki. It was close to impossible not to hear the name when football was such a major sport. Katsuki was the captain and the team's best player. Besides, Izuku often visits the games.

The only problem was he never got a good look at the blonde when their classes had no overlap and Katsuki was nothing more than a small blob down on the field.

Katsuki recalled Kirishima and Izuku’s short exchange. Kirishima mentioned something about not going to as many parties due to his busy schedule. If Kirishima equated not going to parties to a complete loss of communication, he wondered just how often Izuku attended them. “Do you ever go out to parties?”

“Maybe sometimes,” admitted Izuku slowly, raising a brow to gauge just what Katsuki’s aim was. While Izuku enjoyed some dirty talk, he had no intention of being a sex toy. He had standards and he hoped that Katsuki wasn’t just a closeted player.

“Do you ever see frat boys?” questioned Katsuki quickly, feeling anxiety bubble in his gut. He didn’t want Izuku to have his eyes on loser extras. Katsuki knew that some of the frat boys were persistent and relentless when it came to sexual endeavors. Jealousy was an ugly feeling, and Katsuki didn’t like being in a competition where he could easily lose.

Izuku stilled, a bit offended Katsuki was asking about his potential romantic interests in frat boys. How could Katsuki think he had no standards? Sure, Izuku was popular and flirty when it counted, but he didn’t think he gave off the impression he’d settle for a frat boy.

Truth be told, Izuku had a fear of drinking and drugs. He was a control freak after all.

In the end he’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice some of the frat boys at the parties he attended. No matter how many people tried to hide the parties from the frat boys, they managed to find and get into the private parties. “I do see some frat boys. I don’t go for frat boys though.”

Katsuki immediately relaxed and soon realized he had been making a lot of assumptions. Sure, he was gay, but he couldn’t just assume anyone he was interested in was. Yet, he saw Izuku standing across the field on one fateful day and decided the nerd was his. Still, he didn’t have to worry about some horny men getting their hands on Izuku.

With his skin practically itching from anticipation, Katsuki knew he needed to get a better confirmation of Izuku’s sexuality. Their not-so-subtle flirting wasn’t enough. “So, what kind of guys do you go for?”

“Literally any other kind of guy,” chuckled Izuku, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. It was clear that Katsuki was interested in him no matter what the intentions behind that interest were. Who could blame him for being flattered that Katsuki was giving him attention in a world filled with gorgeous individuals who matched Katsuki’s interests better.

Even if he was a perfect mix of calculated and impulsive, Katsuki was quick to gather the courage and make it clear where he stood. “Like football players?”

The message was direct and Izuku’s face bloomed the most stunning shade of pink Katsuki had ever seen. The shade complimented his hair and made his freckles more apparent. Still, Izuku raised a hand to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. Ignoring the adrenaline pumping in his veins, he smiled confidently. “I’ve never gone for a football player before but…”

All composure was lost, and Katsuki’s buffer vanished. “Do you like dick?”

That was all it took for Izuku to burst out into laughter. Even if Katsuki only wanted him for his body, which meant a hard rejection to an only physical relationship, Izuku had no intention of living a life without Katsuki in it. The vulgarity in Katsuki’s speech and the lack of regret in everything he said was something Izuku quickly admired. “Uh yeah.”

Katsuki couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, unable to believe that with the dumpster fire their conversation was, Izuku was still laughing and engaged. If his last question wasn’t enough to drive Izuku away, he might as well try to ask, “Can I get your number?”

Not even a second passed when Izuku threw his head back in laughter once more, fully captivated by Katsuki. He enjoyed the directness after all the suggestive language. Waving a hand, Izuku took a deep breath before shrugging and nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess you can get my number.”

Suddenly Katsuki felt like an elementary schooler. He remembered watching all his friends ask girls out and being surprised when they accepted. Now he understood how they felt at that moment. It was a pure, unadulterated sense of belonging and acceptance.

Despite the train wreck he presented himself to be, Izuku wanted to stick around.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Izuku as he laughed, raising his hand, messing with his phone to pull up contacts, and offering it to Katsuki.

Kirishima stood behind the camera, wearing a disgusted expression. Izuku and Katsuki were made for each other. He couldn’t imagine any other person in the world still giving their number to Katsuki after being aggressively asked if they liked dick.

Whatever rose-tinted glasses Izuku was wearing, Kirishima wanted a pair too.

Katsuki calmly put in his digits and his name. He knew Izuku knew his name, but still, he liked the feeling of making himself known to Izuku. As soon as Katsuki went to hand Izuku his phone, a calendar notification pinged.

“Sorry, I really must go! I’ll text you, Katsuki. And Kirishima, it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

Kirishima and Katsuki both waved to Izuku and sadly said their goodbyes. They were impressed that Izuku was able to spare them a minute in the first place with how intense his schedule must be.

Izuku walked away with a pep in his step. Kirishima had been busy sending the video to himself when Katsuki’s voice reached his ears against his will.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” sighed Katsuki, clearly admiring Izuku’s ass-sets.

Kirishima cringed, staring at Katsuki as if he’d been betrayed. “Bro, I love you… but I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

Katsuki gave Kirishima a swift punch to the arm before snatching his phone back. “Never speak of this to anyone. Let’s grab lunch… fuck interviewing anyone else.”

More than happy to stop where they were, Kirishima started walking to the one restaurant nearby he knew they both enjoyed. Katsuki smiled at his phone when he almost immediately got a text from Izuku.

Katsuki wasn’t planning on letting Izuku go after having a taste.

Hidden Beneath my Ribs

A self-indulgent bkdk fanfiction :)

It was all boiling up to this very moment. I looked up into ruby red eyes and felt my gut squeezed tight. My heartbeat was so loud, nothing but the steady thump could be heard. Then breaking through the deafening panic of my heart, a shaky breath captured all my attention.

Against my mind's better judgment, I reach out my hands to capture his big hands in my small damaged ones. He intertwines our fingers together, squeezing past my crooked knuckles. I know despite how scared I feel, I smile at the thrill he never failed to bring me.

Katsuki Bakugo was my everything. Now he knew he was. He was everything I wanted. He was everything I craved. Now he towered over me, coating my skin in goosebumps and igniting my skin.

Something possessed me, making me tilt my head. The magnetic force that was Bakugo Katsuki enticed me to come closer. He met me halfway, letting go of my hands to capture my face. His hands gently guided me to him, his thumb dusting over my freckles.

It felt like time stopped and started instantaneously. My mind went blank as all I wanted to do was indulge. He was perfect. Flawless in every way shape in form. His choices and actions have molded him into a person I wouldn’t trade for the world. His hands, his heart, his dumb spiked blond hair, his sharp eyes, and his lips. Oh god, his lips.

I cry as he kisses me. I grip the fabric of his tee, pulling him closer. I want to feel his heartbeat pounding against my chest. Our lips part, but our bodies remained pressed together. He looks at me and I feel the emotions swarming in his expression.

All I can do is cry as I declare my love like a mantra.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

In exchange for my declaration, warm, strong arms encase me as a gruff whisper reaches my ears and fills my heart.

“I love you too.”

I hide in his embrace, unable to fathom how lucky I am. I am beyond blessed to have someone so special, so irreplaceable, love me back. I’ve lived in a world where Katsuki didn’t exist and it’s a world I can’t say I’d survive long in.

I’m so overwhelmed, that my crying doesn’t relent. I’m so grateful.

“Why are you crying?” he asked in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

“Because I’m so happy.” I cry, tilting my head to peek up at his face.

I feel his heart thump, thump against my skin. His heart is beating just as fast as mine. All it makes me want to do is kiss those addictive lips again. He beats me to it, capturing me in a kiss that made my knees buckle. Still, I want more.

Green. My favorite fucking color. It took me too long to realize that I couldn't function without him. A month without him and I was falling apart at the seams. He radiates a liveliness that takes my breath away. His beauty makes it hard to breathe.

Now he was in my arms, smiling as I kissed him. His knuckles against my back, sending a chill up my spine. That feeling had never been more welcome than it was at this moment.

Everything about him was addicting. He was an irresistible craving that was always satisfied, but I still want more. Now that I knew he felt the same, I didn't have to hold back. I could love him in all the ways I wanted to. That thin line that had been holding me back was now nothing more than a memory.

Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo. Two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly. It took them three tries, but they snapped into place on the fourth. They were a pair that only fit each other and not even fate could change that.

The End! I was sad and lonely so I wrote this.

Confession

Shouta Aizawa x drunk reader

🌙Scenario/Oneshot

"Heyyy cutieee" you tell the man in the bar you’re not sure how drunk you were but sure as hell you were intoxicated with just about anything. The man chuckled and looked at you with a sly smirk. "Well, aren't you a feisty one." he said, clearly enjoying your drunken flirting.

"Yaaa I am" you hiccup leaning in for a kiss on the stranger but someone stops you, Aizawa appeared behind you and grabbed your shoulder, pulling you back towards him.

"That's enough, you're coming with me." he said sternly.

"What where are we goin?" You ask as He wrapped his arm around your waist, leading you out of the bar.

"I'm taking you home. You're too drunk to be here by yourself." His low voice stated it sounded worried but aggressive

"Mhhh do you even know wha I livee?" You laugh,He rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration.

"No, I don't know where you live. That's why I'm taking you to my place. I'm not leaving you alone in this state."

"Mhhh" you give him a hum, He’s practically dragged you out of the bar and into a taxi, making sure you didn't stumble or fall.

"You're such a handful when you're drunk," he murmured as he gave the taxi driver his address.

you start to fall asleep on Aizawa slowly playing with his hands. Aizawa noticed your head slump onto his shoulder as you started to doze off. He smiled softly, enjoying the feeling of your touch as you mindlessly played with his hands.

Aizawa's heart raced as you played with his fingers, your grip on them unyielding. He gulped as you began to kiss his fingers, soft little taps that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. He tried to remain stoic, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

"When are we getting outtt" you whined.

Aizawa tore his gaze from your wandering hand and looked out the taxi window.

"We're almost there." he replied, his voice strained. He wanted to look back at you, to watch your every move, but he forced himself to keep his eyes averted, his willpower being tested. You continue with why you were doing to his fingers giving them multiple kisses Aizawa couldn't help but gasp as your lips touched his fingers, leaving several light kisses along the digits. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a mixture of desire and confusion coursing through him.

"You..you're drunk," he stuttered, trying to regain his composure. "

You don't know what you're doing."

"Mhhh", "I know who I want to doo~" you giggle to yourself

Leaving aizawa a blushing mess furiously as your words sent a jolt of electricity through his body. But he forced himself to remember that you were drunk and not in your right mind.

"You don't," he stated firmly, even as his body ached to pull you closer.

"You don't know what you're saying. You're just drunk and talking crazy."

"Waaa I doo!" You exclaim grabbing onto the taxi drivers collar

Aizawa's eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the taxi driver and back towards him.

"No, you're not," he hissed, his grip on your wrist firm, "You're not going anywhere near any other man tonight. You're coming with me."

"Mhhh nooo" you look at him with sadness

Aizawa's heart ached at the look of sadness in your eyes, but he was resolute. He leaned in close, his grip on your wrist unwavering.

"Yes, you are," he stated firmly, "You're coming with me, and you're not leaving my sight for the rest of the night. You need to sober up and come to your senses….” Quietness filled the car ride untill you spoke up.

"This car is so boring..."

Aizawa rolled his eyes at your statement, but he couldn't help but agree with you. The taxi ride felt like it was taking forever, with the silence and the tension growing between the two of you.

He decided to try and distract you, anything to divert your attention from the boredom and the alcohol coursing through your system.

"Hey, why don't you tell me why you were out drinking tonight? Why were you at some random club anyway?" He question With curiosity.

"Trying to distract myself" you hiccup

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at your response. He could sense that there was something deeper behind your drinking, something you were trying to escape from.

"Distract yourself from what?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet persistent.

"What has you so worked up that you feel the need to drown your sorrows in alcohol?"

"Oh aizawaaa you wouldn't understand” you reply in despair

Aizawa's expression softened at the hint of despair in your voice. He had an inkling that he knew what you were going through, more than you might realize.

"Try me," he said gruffly, shifting closer to you in the cramped taxi. "I may be a jaded teacher, but I'm not completely oblivious to the troubles of life. Whatever it is you're dealing with, I might understand more than you think." he chuckles at his words.

"Uggg fine since you insist, I was distracting myself from love " you snuggle next to him

Aizawa's heart ached as you revealed the source of your turmoil. He had suspected it might be something along those lines, but hearing you confirm it made his chest tighten with emotion. He wrapped his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle closer to him.

"Love, huh?" he murmured, his voice soft.

"It can be a real thorn in the side sometimes, can't it?"

"Yes... it can... and it hurts a lot Aizawa ... it hurts so much..." you start to calm down with tears filling your eyes, Aizawa felt the pain in your words, the raw emotion behind them. He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

"I know it hurts," he replied, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of sorrow,

"Believe me, I understand. Love isn't always sunshine and rainbows. It can be messy, complicated, and yes, it can hurt like hell."

"I just wish he'd love me too..." you sigh

Aizawa's heart sank further as you voice your wish for reciprocated love. He had a feeling he knew who you were talking about could it be torshino or possibly hizashi?, it weighed heavily on his mind. He tried to maintain a neutral expression as he asked,

"This...this person you're in love with, he doesn't love you back?"

" I'm not sure... but sometimes I just feel he doesn't love me .. I just know it ..."

Aizawa felt the sadness in your voice, the uncertainty and the despair. He knew that feeling of insecurity and doubt all too well.

He pulled you a little closer, his arm tight around you in a comforting gesture.

"Sometimes our own insecurities can cloud our judgment," he said softly, "It's possible he does love you but doesn't know how to express it, or maybe you're misreading the signs."

"He's so handsome ..., he's everything to me, he's someone l'd die for..." you bite your lip holding in the cries, He tried to remain composed, but his voice wavered as he spoke,

"You feel so strongly for him. It's clear he means the world to you..."

"He does ..."

Aizawa nodded slowly, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. He could hear the depth of your feelings behind those words, the devotion and loyalty you held for this person.

"And does he know how you feel about him?" he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on your solemn expression.

" mhhh no ... I'm afraid ... he'll say no... he's very busy... he's a teacher yk ..." you laugh at the teacher comment Aizawa's heart sank even further at your response, realizing you were talking about a fellow teacher his suspensions could be true he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness mixed with a flicker of hope. He tried to sound casual as he replied,

"Ah, a teacher huh? Yep, we're a busy bunch, always grading papers and dealing with troublesome students." He chuckles

"Yes he's so cute when he's in his sleeping bag" you giggle and position yourself to say on his lap

Aizawa's breath hitched as you moved to perch on his lap, your words sending a wave of confusion and...dare he say, pleasure through him. He tried to keep a nonchalant expression, his body tensing under your touch.

"Ah, the sleeping bag," he managed to respond, his voice slightly strained. "Yes, that's my preferred napping method in the teacher's lounge."

"Yes he's so cute I love him so much" you try not to doze off his warmth Aizawa's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, he wanted to correct you, to tell you to stop speaking so honestly. But on the other hand, he couldn't deny the pleasure he felt hearing you praise him, even if you possibly mistook him for another teacher. He shifted a little uncomfortable under you, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"You... You think he's cute, huh?" he managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse.

" yes so cuteee i love him so much..." as you doze off before whispering his name "shota... mhmhm love you so much..."

Aizawa's heart skipped a beat as you sleepily murmured his name and confessed your love. A mix of shock, disbelief, and something else stirred within him it was him.. you loved him, this causing his chest to tighten as he looked down at you as you dozed off on his lap, your words playing in his mind on repeat. He sat there, conflicted and torn, his feelings a tangled mess.

(if you liked my work feel free to check out the rest on my page and follow <3!! Or click the #hotcheetos22 )

★𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Wordcount:1163

Proofread:meh

Warnings:kissing,lying and just cutness tbh

A/N:I’m so embarrassed at how long it took for me to make this...🌚.btw this is pt 3 for On camera so if you haven't read that then you should do so:)

𖦹 𖦹

The drive home wasn’t much different from the video we had just filmed.awkwardness not filling the air for a second.except for with Chris.he was almost the opposite as he just was a minutes ago.atleast he was responding to Matt and Nick though.he hasn’t even said a word too me since the video ended.

I said a few things to him but only got small hums in agreement back.nothing like how he was just acting.like a switch flipped in him. “Do you wanna sleep over y/nn?” Nick asked which broke me out of my confused thoughts.

“Uhm yea if that’s alright, nothing to really do at home anyways.”I responded, throwing a shrug at the end of sling sentence to not be boring.a sleepover would be nice.I haven’t got out of the house at night time in a while anyways.

Nick didn’t respond, simply nodding up and down and then turning to Matt and yelling to turn the music up louder.

At the house

“WAIT” Nick yelled before I went upstairs to his room so I could crash a burn. “my room is like super messy right now gimme a second to clean it”he continued.I don’t know why he all of a sudden cared about him room being dirty.I’ve seen his room messy many times before.he must have a reason thought so i just backed away and let him scurry upstairs.

Matt had already entered his room, grabbing something from the fridge and going back into hibernation.this left me and Chris in the kitchen alone.I hated the fact I knew if we were normal right now this awkward silence wouldn’t have even existed.but it wasn’t my fault.he was the one acting all weird.

He was probably just in a bad mood or something so I didn’t wanna pry, if he wanted me to know what was going on he would’ve told me.

Going through with my morals I picked up my phone and leaned on the counter, scrolling through it mindlessly, Chris doing the same already across the island from me.

Abruptly he set his phone down on the counter. “Y/n, can we talk.” he said causing me to pick my head up from my phone.

“Uh yea sure what’s up?”i replied.fully turning my body to face his.making eye constant with him was difficult,too awkward to go through with.

“I’ve been feeling these things lately, weird, complicated things”he began,pausing his sentence to think about what to say “and I don’t really understand them I guess, I’m just really confused right now and…”he trailed off.

“You know you can always talk to me if somethings going on right?”i responded.

“Yea i know that but…..it’s about you.”he answered seriously.I was now nervous.had I done something?did I upset him?was he mad at me?

Worry filled my head,causing my face to contort into one that matched how I was feeling. “I’m not mad at you or anything”he backtracked. “I just…I think I’m in love with you.” The pale boy who stood across the island confessed.I was shocked.we had been friends since 7th grade.every time people would say ‘you guys would make a cute couple!’ Or ‘I know you like eachother.’ He was always fast to shoot it down.faster than me.

He had just recently broken up with a girl, Chloe.not only did she not look or act anything like me but he would often express during late night talks how much he missed her.this crushed my heart.knowing he wanted another girl the same I wish he wanted me was demeaning to say the least.

“I don’t believe you”I whispered.it didn’t make sense.how could he go from one girl to the other in such short time. This is probably some sick joke that I’ll go home and cry about while listening to Lana del Rey at the loudest volume possible.

He seemed hurt at what I said.I didn’t want to hurt him.I would never want to hurt him.I started to silently panic.scared he might take back what he said just because my words were misconstrued. “I don’t mean it like that it’s just.weren’t you taking about Chloe like the other night?don’t you still want her.you cried for like an hour when you guys broke up.” I rambled on.

“I couldn’t give a fuck about chole, I..forced myself to love her cause I knew we would never get together.I broke up with her because of you.I’ve loved you since we first met.your the only one I want.”he passionately answered, raising his voice slightly.not out of anger but as to show how serious about this he was.he slowly made his way toward me while saying this.now he stood right infront of me.eyes searching mine for some answer of any kind.but I didn’t have one.

yes I had felt the same why he’s describing now but was a relationship worth risking a 7 year long friendship.all good things come to an end.he’s talked about how he doesn’t want to marry.then even if we did we could always divorce.he has no problem lying to girls seeing as he pretended to love chole and then told me she broke up with him.or we could just realize we’re not as attracted to eachother as we thought and slowly drift apart.I’ve only known him as a friend, a great one yes but Lord knows what he’s like as a boyfriend.he’s never even acted that way slightly towards me.I have no clue what to expect

Too many idea and worst case scenario’s.the pressure cracking down on me slowly.tears began to well up in my eyes subconsciously. He took my hands into his lightly.“You don’t make have to make any decisions right now I know this is a lot and-”the blue eyed boy began before I cut him off, grabbing his face and pressing our lips together.

He melted into the hungry kiss.hands going to my waist and placing me up and onto the counter.he situated himself in between my legs,not breaking the kiss once.I ran my fingers through his hair.normally he would be upset if anyone touched his hair but right now he couldn’t care less.we had been waiting for this kiss since we were13.

“I love you too”I breathed out once we broke apart.thankful to finally get that off my chest.

“So you wanna be my girlfriend”he asked, acting as if we were still in middle school.

“Yea”I smiled ear to ear as the words left my mouth.I could now, after all this time, call him my boyfriend.hell yea.

‿︵‿︵..••°° ☼✴️🏵️ꁞ🏵️✴️☼ °°••..︵‿︵‿

It was a regular day for the trauma dipped kids as they were sitting in the living room of class 1-As dorm just chilling out with some watching a series on the TV, some writing down some notes in his new notebook while Todoroki was making some cold soba for lunch, uraraka watching TV with Hakeeguri, Sero,Tsu, Momo.

Uraraka was trying to catch Dekus attention, but was failing miserably😞 and Tsu and Momo could see it unfortunately it was no use when it comes to him and that notebook😔, he's just too concentrated, that was until you walked into the dorms with your fine self with natural makeup on wearing a yellow super low cut hoodie top along with a couple chains and some baggy black sweatpants and grey J4s.

Everyones attention shifted to you👀 and not that your sports bra was slightly peaking out of cropped hoodie,but that:

1)you were one of the new transfer student from America for the Support department that everyone has been talking about for the past 3 weeks.

2)You were black and you don't see that many black people in Japan in general.

3) Bakugou was walking towards you and gave you a hand shake meaning you knew each other on a personal level.

Everytime he catches himself staring at your black beauty✨ he has to manually scrub his face and push his jaw away to look at the ceiling or something cause baby girl you were fine😩👌. "Hey dumbass, you brought what I asked for or did you just what to show off the shoes I bought you?" Bakugou started while analysing your outfit, "Does it really look like I would even step on this goody to shoes hero area if it wasn't for you asking for it", you sassed back.

Everyone was still in shock that you of all people were mutual friends with the Katsuki Bakugou aka The explosive tempered blonde kid in class 1-A aka the kid the won the Sports festival aka Dynamite aka Lord Explosion Murder aka I think you get the point.

"Wait a minute can we rewind back a bit here !?", Sero shouts with a suprised and confused expression that matched with most of the students in the lounge, "What you want flex tape?!", the blonde glared in the direction of the Hispanic sitting on the couch along with you turning as well.

You had violet doe eyes that so cute and adorable yet intemidating, " I just wanted to know who this chica was?", He smirked towards your direction trying to holla at you do matched his energy, "Yeah Bakugou why don't you introduce me to everyone and maybe give me his number", you turned to the blonde for him to just roll his eyes, " Chubs meet Flex tape" he groaned in irritation and you just gave him a look through your glasses.

"Hola los nombres Y/n L/n", you walked towards Sero and he shock your hand with a big impressed smile and the kissed it, "Hi the name's Y/n L/n," you translated for everyone whilst smiling, "El nombre es niña Sero", "the name is Sero baby girl 😉", Sero winked at you his hand coressing your hand in which you winked at his charm.

However everyone interrupted the moment by introducing theirselves, and you tried to make a mental note to try and remember all of them, but when it got to Deku you couldn't hold back your gasp which caught everyones attention, even though you were the centre of it to begin with 😌✨.

"So your the same Deku that literally blasted himself in the race last year but somehow Bakugou keeps talking shit about?", you questioned with a raised eyebrow in which he shyly nodded.

"What is wrong with you?!", turned to the blonde you were surprised by the shy broccoli boy, " "The Fuck?!", He glared to your direction.

"You made him seem like such a stuck up asshole", you playfully glared at the man beside you only for him to look down at your chubby self and just pull your arm to the hallway shouting to the class that their time with you was up even though there were some protest whines and complaints.

"Wow, you really want me all to your self huh?"😉 You winked at him as you went to his room but he just rolled his eyes at your flirting charm even though he like it since it always built tension that he found adorable.

Obviously he wouldn't ever say that in front of you, but he thought it'll be better that way.

You sat on his bed and opened your bag to pull out two thick silver bracelets, " the hell are those", Bakugou observed the two massive silver bands in your small hands you roll your eyes 🙄 and sighed heavily at his bluntness.

Like how can someone so smart be so damn stupid and good looking at the same time🧐.

Its what you asked for Blondes you stepped closer you put them on his wrists but he took a step back hesitantly as if an insured wolf protecting himself from further harm. "It's okay, I just need to make sure the bracelets will fit properly and if it'll need adjustments", speaking softly as to calm his nerves and you clipped the bracelets onto his wrists with his gaze on you as if making sure you don't do anything out of the question.

Whilst finishing with his right hand you brush your fingers against his skin to adjust the bracelets to not be too tight or lose and the blonde was blushing hard at the gentle care when you touch his scars and burns from his experiences and training but as well as your concentrated form only reaching up to his chest.

Before you can lift your hands from his wrists he grabs your arm taking you by suprise and you look up at him to only find him staring right back at your amethyst eyes when you into his ruby ones and just like that he tries to let go yet he still wants to have you this close to him and he wants to be vulnerable with you since your the only other person who gets his apart from kirishima. He likes you more then he wants to but he doesn't want to experience the pain of a lose again nor does he want to lose the opportunity to make you his but doesn't want to destroy your amazing friendship, but then a sudden warmth surrounds his chest and abdomen.

Your hugging him seriously hugging him out of nowhere and then your face is buried in his chest and he huggs you back with his chin resting on top of your head where he inhales the shea butter and coconut oil from the chemicals put in it. He really wanted to confess but he pulled away quickly with him covering his blushing face but not his ears.

In which you giggled at his soft side that you were so grateful that you were able to see, but a continuous beeping sound that activated the bracelets meaning that it was working perfectly fine and that it has been switched on. So... um th-they work so I did my work perfectly as expected" you awarkardly try to regain your confidence again but failed with the maroon blush on your face as you tried to shuffle out of the room but a strong arm pulled you back to have you facing Bakugou with his eyes fixed on you.

He knew he wasn't your type, and that he wasn't worthy of you, but he would be damned that he doesn't give it a try even if he loses you for admitting this disease to you, "Bakugou?", Your voice called to him confused at his actions, "I like you Y/n, since the day we were partnered together for this damn project and we started to spend time together we really made a connection and I know that you don't feel the same way, but I had to get it off my chest even if you will never think of me in that wa-

‿︵‿︵°°••.. ☼✴️🏵️ꁞ🏵️✴️☼ ..••°°︵‿︵‿

The first time I ever received a D!ck Pic

Backstory: it is 2016. we started talking on Omegle chat and moved to kik. this was the first time i ever downloaded kik. i was 11 (said I was 18, looked 11) he was 18.

*after chatting for awhile*

Me: Omg I have a really cute cat! Do you want to see it?

Him: I would love to. Do you want to see my snake? He’s in my sweatpants.

“That’s a really weird place to keep your pet snakes” me thinks.

Me: yes! I love snakes! *sends photo of my pet cat, named Poppy*

Him: *sends [NOT SNAKE] photo*

Dear osc people who love popular ships so much or ones that have a lot of basis in canon, I hope you realise the true meaning of struggling(/pos) when you slip right into being unwell about a rare pair. Please it's actually so fun. It wasn't an osc pairing to me but being the CEO of a ship for real because nobody is as loud about it as you, people knowing you as the person who is really unwell about these characters together, sometimes even people drawing the characters for you because you made them like it a lil bit and they also think you're swell so they made something for you, sharing your rare pair ideas with other people and them saying "Oh wow, I never thought about it that way before but I can actually see this!"

the only big downside is you won't have a lot of content of it but that also means less misinterpretation!!

.

The Glory of Confessions

You sat in the opposite booth, waiting for Father to tell you to confess your sins. Your oh-so-nasty sins.

The thoughts of the Father spanking you with a wooden cross, making you recite verses in The Bible, making you restart every time your pathetic voice waivered or you cried out begging him to stop.

"Begin your confession, the Holy Lord is with you child."

"Yes God. I mean Father." You begin to reach the hem of your best Sunday dress, a pastel pink with baby's breath on it, your pussy's heat making it unbearable. "I've been having very sinful thoughts, Father." You sigh, dipping your fingers into your heat, "About us. How it'd feel to be yours." You move two digits in and out of you, making sure The Father can hear just how wet you are for him.

"The Lord forgives you. I forgive you, my dear child." The Father puffs out, if you listened hard enough you can hear the subtle movement of pants being unzipped. "Tell me, what these thoughts are like, my child." He asks dearingly.

"I touch myself to the thoughts of you touching me and taking me like God says only married folk do. I dream of your cocks taste. I get soaked just being in congregation with you, I love how you have me in a chokehold. You're like my own personal God." You pause, allowing your clit to relax from a pending orgasm. You can hear The Father breathing heavily, "Father, let me help you." You plead. "Yes child, you will help your God." he responds.

His cock appears through a hidden hole, and to your surprise, his pale cock is pierced, 6 balls, A Jacob's ladder? You can see the precum leaking and the leftover saliva he left from listening to you.

You hum, you take his cock in your hand, has to be at least 7 1/2 inches, maybe bigger. You lick his tip and his cock bucks in your hand, you put his tip in your mouth and swirl your eager tongue around it; making him pant and moan.

"Yes, that feels amazing, my child." The Father rolls his hips, in turn, his cock in your hands. You decide to push your limits by taking his cock slowly down your throat, counting each piercing that passes your smeared lips. Your pussy was aching for touch but you wouldn't allow yourself to. Bobbing your head, you moan and gag around his cock, loving the salty taste.

The Father moans at your movements, loving how your pretty throat wrapped tightly around his cock. You've been so taunting lately, the cute dresses, not wearing bras, the way your pretty eyes watch his every move. That's right, He's your God. Your only God.

He cums at those thoughts, loving the way you gag to swallow every drop. You even suck till he's soft in your mouth taking every drop.

As he pulls away, you ask for a more fruitful time the next time you both are alone. All you get back as an answer is "Maybe, My pet."

St. Pattys Day Confession

You are my moon. My light in life that is nothing but a dark night. Even when I can't see you. I know you are there. There is no repaying that.

I work so hard because whenever I stop I start thinking about you and that I cant stop.

I think I'm literally in love with one of my moots, like I have a whole ass paragraph talking about them sitting in my drafts that I’m too afraid to post because It’s written like I’m talking DIRECTLY to them and I talk about stuff that only applies to them, but I don’t think they ever check my blog because I never get any notifications from them and the only reason I'm confident enough to post THIS is because I never get notifications from most of my moots

Insert Tsubasa wo Kudasai here

Ludwig van Beethoven-kun looked at the letter which he was found in his shoe locker. “Meet me at the cherry blossom tree behind the school” it entailed. This could only mean one thing and one thing only. Beethoven-kun got a bit flustered and even blushed at the idea of this happening to him. Why he of all people and who was this mysterious secret admirer of his? He stopped playing the symphony he was in the middle of writing and ran off to go to the sakura tree.

When Beethoven-kun ran to the sakura tree, gasping for breath. When he looked up, he saw… him… Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart-Chan, standing there, blushing at the sight of him. “What could this mean?” thought Beethoven-kun.

“Beethoven Senpai, you,,, actually came…” said Mozart-Chan in a soft voice. It made Beethoven-kun’s heart melt. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

Beethoven listened deeply to what Mozart-Chan had to say. He couldn’t believe that his childhood friend, his best friend whom he had walked with to school everyday, whom he had shared classes, meals, and even beds with at times when the slept over at each other’s houses.

“U-um,,, you see… Beethoven-Seonpae,., f-f-f-f-f-for the longest time now.,. ever since we were boys… I’ve felt a certain way about you… o(>︿<)o” said Mozart-chan.

“Wh-what are you saying Mozart-chan?” Replied Beethoven

“W-w-well… th-the thing is…” Mozart hesitated to say, “A-a-aishiteru… B-Beethoven-senpai!”

Mozart jumped into Beethoven-kun’s arms and they held in tight embrace.

Beethoven was shocked. He never knew how Mozart-chan had felt before. If only he hadn’t been so stupid to see all the signs. Still, he held onto Mozart-chan.”

“B-but Mozart-chan! We’re both guys!” Blurted out Bethoveeen-kun.

Mozart looked up tearfully at Beethoven-Ken, only holding on tighter.

“I know but, I can’t help it. I don’t know why… but I just do. I know society doesn’t take too kind to people such as myself, the love of my life being the person of my same sex, my childhood friend of all people! Still, please! Be by mein side! Stay with me until the end of time! Please,!!1” replied Mozart-chan, eyes filled with tears at this point, on the verge of sobbing.

Mozart’s cheek was caressed, “Mozart-chan,,,” said Bait Oven.

He then pulled his fellow composter into a tender kiss, finally giving him an answer to his friend’s love confession.

“I love you too…”

“Beethoven-Senpai… BEETHOVEN-SENPAI!!1”

Tsubasa wo Kudasai intensifies

The two shared that passionate kiss. Both affirming their mutual love for one another. Beethoven never thought he would hear those words come out of his friend ever. Mozart-Chan was afraid of rejection of his childhood best friend and possible scrutiny from what society would think of him. But none of that mattered anymore. Both of them loved each other and they made it known. They would spend the rest of their lives together. Nothing mattered in that moment except for each other and their mutual love that would bind the, until the end of time.

They shared yet another passionate kiss and cherry blossom petals fell around them…

and then they had sex

THE END

Do you dislike me?

Is the question that won’t stop pervading my heart. My senses. My rationality. Slowly disintegrating my internal defenses.

Stoic. That’s what I used to think I was. But I don’t know how I can appear that way. Whenever my gaze settles on you, I can feel all sense of logic start to decay.

I might seem like a pervert, But I’ve been looking at you. No matter how many times I try to find fault, I end up falling deeper – what a fool.

I don’t have time for a relationship.

There’s so many, too many Barriers in the way. But my thoughts of you, of us, They seem to hold far too much sway.

You’re so out of my league, But still, my delusional mind, Can’t help but imagine what it’d be like To have our fingers intertwined.

You and I can’t manage. Won’t manage. We won’t have any time.

What am I saying? Why do I assume you’ll say ‘yes?’ It’s unreciprocated, where I know you are for whom I pine.

I’m hanging on your every word. And I know this isn’t great or healthy. But I keep thinking about you, And it turns my legs into jelly.

After a year of thinking, Of squirming, All this aching and burning. I’m finally readily admitting.

I’m absolutely smitten with you.

✦•····························································•✦•····························································•✦

Waking up horny so I’m laying here playing with my clit 🥵

Would you like to help me cum? 🥺

One of my dirtiest desires has been to get my dicked sucked at work by a customer or even a worker I’ve worked around cars a lot from dealerships, car rental places or valet so really want to have a customer in a car at work and they offer to suck my dick now that I’m at resort doing valet I hope someone staying at the resort desperately wants to suck cock as much as I want mine sucked ughh it’s hard not be hard at work my cock gets hard any time I see milfs walk through here and this summer is gonna be tougher

That is a really naughty desire 😉 I hope that a lovely woman will fulfill it one day and you get to have the best orgasm ever 😘

“I took our red strings of fate and wove them into the story we share. The three sisters of fate be damned, I would do it over and over again until they have no choice but to intertwine our lives. I would fight death himself in all his forms, whether Thanatos or the Grim Reaper, if it meant more time with you. I would go through hell and back, daring everyone to try and keep me from you. If death finally comes for us both, I will cradle you in my arms and force death to make it painless, as if we fall asleep together. Even after death, I shall pester the gods themselves until they put us in the sky together as constellations, forever watching over the earth we impacted and forever together. As our story fades, and people forget the stars, I will be with you ‘til our end.”

Woah. I wrote that. Is it over the top? Yeah probably. But i like to think this is between eloping lovers, one is trying to convince the other how far they would go…

((I feel like this is Odysseus, the Vengeance arc…))

I love soulmates but also this-

hey i wanted to request a fic, but before i request i wanted to say that i really enjoy your fics. there's something about them that makes me read them even when theyre about characters i dont often care much about. also, when i write i often stick to my couple of faves, but your fics have me thinking that maybe it'd do me good to practice writing a variety of different characters.

im not as prolific as you though hahaha

ok and now for my incredibly self-indulgent request because my #1 favorite is Mr. Perfect Kita, can i request a fic about Kita wooing/asking out a Reader who is intimidated by him?? pretty please, and thank you? hehe

i also am curious if there's any character you prefer writing about compared to the rest

have a lovely day! :)

Anon, you are far too kind — thank you so much for your kind words!! it genuinely means the world to me 🥹

Also: you should totally experiment with writing new characters!! it’s legit eye opening (after writing fav positions for Hinata, I can't stop looking at him differently 😭)

Also also, but favourite three characters to write for are Tsukishima (my first love) Iwaizumi and Atsumu for sure. They've stolen my heart ughhh.

ANYWAYS ENJOY <333

--

Anon Ask: Kita

There was something about Kita Shinsuke that made your stomach twist—and not in the butterflies, schoolgirl-crush way you wished it did.

No, it was worse than that. It was the intimidation.

Because Kita was perfect. He was composed, kind, respectful, disciplined. He woke up early, always got top marks, captained the volleyball team with quiet command, and still managed to hold the door open for every single person who walked through it. He was the kind of person who turned in his assignments a week early, whose uniform never had a wrinkle, whose silences were never awkward but intentional.

And you? You were just... there. Always a few steps away. Always too nervous to make eye contact, let alone conversation.

You shared a class with him—sat three rows behind, diagonally to the left—and you could probably count on one hand how many times you'd actually spoken to him. Mostly because every time his steel-gray eyes swept past you, your breath would catch in your throat.

That expression of his—steady, unreadable, unwavering—it made your nerves twist up in knots. It wasn't that he looked mean. It was that he looked like he saw everything.

So when he approached you after school one day, just before he headed off to volleyball practice, your brain completely short-circuited.

He stopped in front of your desk as you were packing up, casting a soft shadow over your notes. When you looked up, he was standing there with perfect posture, his uniform blazer unbuttoned but still crisp, and a small box held gently in both hands.

"Hey," he said, voice quiet but clear. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

You blinked up at him like he’d spoken another language, then scrambled to nod. "Y-Yeah. Of course."

He gestured subtly toward the hallway. You followed him, still clutching your books, your heart thudding in your ears. The corridor was mostly empty now, sunlight from the high windows painting long lines across the floor.

He turned to face you just outside the classroom, gaze even but calm.

Then, gently, he extended the box toward you.

"I put together a few things you might like. I hope that’s alright."

You stared at the box, then at his face, then back again. "Wait... what?"

The box was neat, wrapped in soft brown paper and tied with twine. Inside, you found your favorite snacks, a new set of pens in the exact shade you always used, a mini notebook with the design you'd admired in the campus store weeks ago, and a little envelope with your name on it in his clean handwriting.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

I thought of you, the note read. Simple. Honest.

"I noticed you're always out of ink because you let other people borrow your pens," he said softly, watching your reaction. "And I know you get headaches during long lectures—you press your temples with your thumbs when you're trying not to draw attention to it. So there's some caffeine-free tea in there too."

Your chest tightened. Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. He’d noticed all of that?

“I... uh...”

Then he asked it. Calmly, without fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?"

Your brain lagged, your breath stalling in your throat. Your fingers clenched tighter around the box.

"Why?" you blurted. Then quickly, eyes wide, you stammered, "I mean—I didn't even know you were interested in me."

For a beat, he was silent. Then his eyes softened, his posture relaxing just slightly. His thumbs pressed gently along the edge of his sleeves.

"I am," he said. "I have been for a while. You're always thoughtful. You don't speak just to fill space. You listen. You think before you act. I admire that."

The air caught in your chest. You looked down at the box, then back up at him.

He added, voice quieter now, "You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t an accident that I asked. I see you. Even if you don’t always see yourself."

You bit your lip. Your hands were trembling slightly as you clutched the box tighter against your chest. "You're... really good at this," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"I’m nervous," he admitted, eyes flicking away for just a second. He adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder. "But I meant what I said. I like you."

Your throat was dry, but your heart was full. Full in a way it hadn't been before.

You nodded slowly, smile shy. "Okay. Yes. I’d like that. Saturday, right?"

A tiny smile curved at the corner of his mouth—small but warm, the kind that made your chest flutter.

"Saturday," he confirmed.

He glanced down the hallway toward the gym, then back at you.

"I have practice now," he said gently, taking a small step back. "But I’ll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded, this time more confidently.

He gave one final lingering look—eyes lingering not on your face but the way you held the box close to you like it meant something—and then turned and walked away, each step measured and light.

You stayed rooted in place.

Blushing, stunned, your arms wrapped tightly around the little box as if it might disappear. You stood there for what felt like ages, listening to the echoes of his footsteps until they faded down the stairwell.

And when you finally looked back at the note in your hand, reading I thought of you one more time, your heart bloomed in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t so scary after all.

Confessions: Kuroo

You knew the day was going to be shit when your coffee spilled on your white blouse before 9 a.m.

The rest unfolded like a cruel joke—back-to-back meetings that ran long, a snippy email from your supervisor that didn’t even pretend to be polite, and a presentation you’d poured hours into that got brushed aside for a 'more time-sensitive matter.' By 5 p.m., your jaw ached from how tightly you’d been clenching it all day.

So when your phone buzzed, and you saw Kuroo’s name flash across the screen, your thumb hovered over the green icon. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to pretend you were fine. But you answered anyway.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and familiar. There was a pause, like he was listening for something in the silence between you. "You sound like you had a day."

You scoffed. “That obvious?”

“You get all quiet when you’re brooding.”

You didn’t reply. The lump in your throat had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the way he could read you like this—without even seeing your face.

He waited a beat, then said, “Come out. First round’s on me.”

You started to decline—already in your sweats, already half curled on the couch—but his voice came again, coaxing.

“C’mon, I’ll even let you rant about corporate dysfunction without rolling my eyes this time.”

That got the faintest laugh out of you. And somehow, twenty minutes later, you were walking into the bar you both loved, the one tucked between a bookstore and a stationery shop, dim and warm and a little too familiar.

He was already at your usual table—second from the back, under the shelf with the crooked leg that made drinks tilt if you weren’t careful. Two pints sat on the table, and Kuroo raised one as you approached.

“Still drinkin’ like a college student?” you teased, sliding into the booth across from him.

He grinned. “Nostalgia’s a powerful thing.”

You took the glass, took a long sip, and finally sighed. It hit your system like a balm.

For the next half hour, you vented. About your boss. About the way the office printer hated you. About how you were so close to throwing your laptop out the window, and how nobody respected boundaries anymore.

Kuroo listened, as always. Interjected only when you needed him to. Smiled over the rim of his beer like he could do this for hours.

Eventually, when the flush of alcohol had softened the edges of your irritation, he leaned forward on his elbows.

“You ever think you’re just lonely?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t flinch. “I mean—you work hard, you don’t really date, you haven’t mentioned anyone in a while. Maybe it’s not just the job. Maybe it’s... everything else, too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me I'm a spinster?”

He laughed, but it sounded slightly forced. “Nah. Just saying, you deserve someone good. Thought about setting you up with a friend.”

You shrugged, looked down into your drink. “I’m not interested in someone else.”

And that was the truth. You hadn’t been, not for a long time. Not since your second year of college, when Kuroo Tetsurou sauntered into your world like he owned the place—with messy hair, too much sarcasm, and the kind of quiet loyalty that wrecked you. He was all sharp teeth and soft heart, and you’d fallen harder than you wanted to admit. But you’d also accepted, long ago, that he probably didn’t see you that way. So you tucked it down. Smiled when he dated other people. Never said a word.

Until tonight.

You hadn’t meant to get drunk. Not really. You’d planned to drink just enough to take the edge off, to let the tension bleed from your muscles after a long, miserable day. But when the bartender mentioned it was two-for-one night, and Kuroo had raised an eyebrow with that stupid, charming grin, it was all too easy to shrug and say yes.

The drinks hit harder than you expected—smoother, easier, and paired with Kuroo’s low voice and quiet laughter, it was easy to lose track. What was supposed to be one drink became two, then three, and suddenly you were warm in all the soft ways that made the world a little blurrier around the edges.

Your limbs felt too light, your thoughts too soft, and every time he said your name, it rang a little louder in your chest. At some point, you’d slumped further into the booth, propping your chin in your hand and blinking slower with each refill.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice still light but laced with concern as he reached for your nearly empty glass. “You’re cut off.”

You pouted, dragging your eyes up to meet his, but your grin stayed lazy. "Tetsu," you said, drawing out the syllables, “you’re so bossy.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your chaotic ass alive,” he muttered, even as he flagged down the bartender and handed over his card. He didn’t even look at the receipt when it came.

You watched the way his brows knit together slightly, the way he pressed his tongue against his cheek, like he was both irritated and fond at the same time. Familiar. Comforting.

He slid out of the booth and looped your bag over one shoulder, then turned to offer you his hand.

“Let’s go, before you start snoring in public.”

The air outside was crisp. Night had fallen while you were inside, and the chill that hit your cheeks brought a bit of clarity—but not much. You shivered, and Kuroo automatically shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

You didn’t argue. You leaned into his side, let his arm steady you as you walked together down the quiet street. His touch was careful, guiding. You kept catching faint traces of his cologne—clean and woodsy, something subtle but undeniably him.

“You smell good,” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

He let out a soft snort. “Thanks.”

The cab ride was even quieter. Your head lolled gently onto his shoulder. You felt warm, and his shirt was soft, and you couldn’t stop your lips from parting with sleepy little compliments.

“I like your voice,” you whispered.

He glanced down at you, mouth twitching. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”

“Am not,” you slurred. “You're very kissable. Did you know that?”

Kuroo closed his eyes for a second, breathing in through his nose like he was trying very hard not to react. Under his breath, barely audible over the hum of the city outside the cab, he whispered, "God, it's me again. Let her remember this so I can see the look on her face tomorrow."

When you arrived at his apartment, he paid the driver with one hand and guided you out with the other, keeping his hold steady on your waist. You stumbled once on the sidewalk and clutched at his hoodie.

“Easy,” he murmured, his fingers tightening just a little.

His apartment was dark and quiet when you entered. He didn’t bother with the lights—just led you toward the couch by memory, his hand never leaving yours. You swayed a little as you collapsed onto the cushions, blinking up at him.

“Always takin’ care of me,” you said, voice soft and blurred at the edges. “You’re good at that.”

Kuroo crouched to untie your shoes, brows drawn. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you upright.”

You leaned forward, still gripping the front of his hoodie, and he didn’t pull away. Your eyes met his, blurry but intent, and your lips quirked upward.

“I love you, you know.”

Kuroo froze.

The words were slurred but clear enough to punch the breath out of him.

Your voice dropped lower, more sincere. “I love you. Since the moment I saw you.”

He stopped breathing.

His hands hovered mid-motion over your shoes, his fingers curled like they forgot what they were doing. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his head to look at you.

“What?”

But your head tipped back onto the couch, your eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you,” you repeated, softer this time. “I’ve always loved you.”

“Wait—” he tried again, voice sharper now, a tremor hidden underneath.

But your breathing was already evening out, lips slightly parted, lashes resting against your cheeks. You were out cold.

Kuroo knelt there for a long moment, just staring. The words still rang in his ears, ricocheting through his ribs like they didn’t quite belong to reality.

He sat back slowly, knees folding underneath him, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Then he dragged his fingers through his hair and stood up, walking into the kitchen without really seeing.

The quiet of the apartment wrapped around him like a weight.

“…Whoa.”

--

The morning comes slowly, dragging a dull headache and a dry mouth with it.

You blink against the sunlight bleeding through unfamiliar curtains, your body heavy, brain sluggish. There’s the faint hum of a coffee machine somewhere nearby. The smell is strong and bitter and achingly welcome.

It takes you a minute to remember where you are. The couch. Kuroo’s apartment. The drinks. Your stomach twists as snippets of the night flicker back—his arm around your waist, the way he guided you up the stairs, the sound of his laugh.

You sit up with a groan, head pounding as the room spins for a second. Your clothes are wrinkled, your mouth tastes awful, and your memories are slippery at best. But when you swing your legs off the couch and catch sight of him—Kuroo, in the kitchen, hair messy, hoodie sleeves shoved up as he stirs something in a mug—you feel it.

That deep, crawling dread.

He looks over as you shuffle in, blinking groggily. “Morning, sunshine.”

You grunt, dragging yourself to the counter as he slides a mug across to you without a word. You catch it with both hands, the warmth seeping into your skin. It’s blessedly hot. And quiet.

You sip slowly, staring into the cup, your head still throbbing. The silence stretches. He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the counter and sips from his own mug like this is normal. Like you didn’t say something earth-shattering last night.

Eventually, he breaks it. “You remember anything from last night?”

You blink, then close your eyes for a second, willing your sluggish brain to scroll back through the hazy reel of the evening. “We went to the bar,” you murmur slowly. “You were already there when I came in. There was a drink waiting. A pint—of course. I think I complained about work for forty-five minutes straight.”

You pause to take a sip of coffee, your eyes still narrowed in concentration.

“I had the first two drinks faster than I should have. You were teasing me about my tolerance—"

You stop.

The cab. His jacket. His arm around your waist. The stairs.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, a spike of panic hitting your chest. “And you helped me back to your pla—OH MY GOD.”

Kuroo raises a brow, trying—failing—to hide the smirk that curls onto his face.

You set the mug down a little too hard. "I didn't mean it," you blurt, voice too high. "I mean—I was drunk. Very drunk. You know how I get, right? I say stupid things, I—"

You wave a hand vaguely in the air, flushing deeper. "It didn’t mean anything. I mean, obviously I care about you, we’ve always been really good friends, and I didn’t—"

Your words trip over themselves like dominoes, spiraling into panic as you try to claw your way out of whatever you admitted the night before. Your face is on fire, your fingers drumming anxiously against the side of your mug.

And Kuroo just watches you, quietly amused. Something fond in his eyes. Like he’s letting you run your mouth on purpose.

Then he sets down his cup, crosses the space between you, and gently cups your face in his hands.

You freeze.

“And here I was thinking I’d break first,” he says, voice low and warm.

You stare at him, mouth parted, utterly lost.

“…But you wanted to set me up…?” you whisper, your voice cracking mid-sentence.

He huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Oh, screw that. You’re mine now.”

You blink up at him, blinking hard like your brain is trying to keep up. “Wait, you mean that?”

He nods slowly, his hands still cradling your face. “I do. I meant it last night, too. You passed out before I could say anything, but I meant to.”

There’s a pause, the kind that’s too soft to be awkward—just full of all the things that didn’t have time to be said. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he adds quietly, voice going a little rough at the edges. “Guess I just needed you to drunkenly beat me to it.”

The laugh that slips out of you is half a breath and half a sob, surprised and stunned and disbelieving. “Oh my god.”

He grins, leaning his forehead against yours for a second, and the two of you just stand there, smiling quietly into each other like the world finally makes sense.

Then you squeeze his hands once, step back with a wince, and say, “I’m going to go throw up.”

He lets go of you immediately, one eyebrow lifting. “From excitement?”

You’re already wobbling toward the bathroom, one hand raised in defeat. “Alcohol poisoning.”

He leans against the counter, grinning to himself. “Yeah, that too.”

Confessions: Osamu

The shop is quiet, bathed in the golden light of the early evening, the kind that settles over wood and stone like a warm sigh. A gentle hush lingers in the space, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional click of the camera shutter. Most of the chairs are stacked, the door flipped to its "CLOSED" sign, and the scent of vinegar and freshly cooked rice still lingers in the air. You're both still inside—Osamu behind the counter in his slightly wrinkled apron, you crouched near the front display trying to get the perfect shot of a tuna nigiri against the fading light.

You’d met in college—him, a culinary student with arms always dusted in flour or sea salt, and you, a sharp-tongued marketing major who could charm a room with a smile and tear apart a branding pitch in under a minute.

You clicked almost immediately. It started with coffee-fueled group projects, late-night ramen runs, and long, quiet study sessions where neither of you said much but never seemed to want to leave. By the time you graduated, you'd both moved back home, and when he opened up his own nigiri shop, it felt natural to call you in to help make it shine.

Osamu’s had a crush on you since your second year. He’s certain of it. The first time you snapped at him for being late and then bought him lunch anyway, he was done for. But he never said anything—not when you were swamped with internship applications, not when he got too busy building his dream from scratch. He just... kept you around. Close. Safe. Until now.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ photos,” he says, voice low and amused as he leans against the counter, watching you from across the room.

“I am,” you say around a mouthful of nigiri, holding your phone up with one hand, chopsticks in the other. “I’m multitasking.”

Osamu lifts a brow. “That your fancy marketing term for stealin’ my hard work?”

You grin, chewing contentedly. “Not stealing. Quality control.”

He huffs a laugh, arms crossed, apron a little wrinkled from the long day. You’ve been at this for hours—prepping a new campaign for the shop’s upcoming anniversary special, trying to capture the perfect lighting, the perfect angle, the perfect bite. The trouble is, the food is too good. And you’re hungry. And Osamu’s expression every time you sneak another piece is too funny not to provoke.

“Y’know,” he says, walking over to the bar where you’ve made a makeshift photography studio of cutting boards and empty plates, “I could’ve just hired a photographer.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have my good side memorized.”

He pauses behind you, and you feel his gaze on the back of your head before he leans slightly over your shoulder to glance at your camera roll.

“Half these are just you eatin’ food,” he mutters.

“Well, you can tell it's good food.”

“Yer a menace.”

You laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the quiet shop. As you're reaching for another piece of nigiri, he eyes you from behind the counter.

“Oi,” he says, pointing a chopstick at you, “I said stop eatin’ 'em all.”

You pop the bite into your mouth with a grin. “Oh, c'mon. This is my payment for staying late and taking these photos.”

Osamu raises a brow. “Yeah, well, you can’t get the damn photos if there’s nothin’ left to shoot.”

You reach forward and pluck another piece off the plate just to spite him.

Osamu throws his head back with a groan, but the sound blends into a laugh—low and unfiltered. His arms uncross, one hand resting on the counter’s edge as he leans forward, shaking his head.

His smile cracks wide across his face, tugging at the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, he just watches you with something helplessly fond behind the amusement. His shoulders lift slightly with each breath, the kind of laugh that takes over your whole body before you even realize it. There’s no trace of the usual teasing smirk, no sarcasm—just the kind of joy that escapes when you stop trying to hide it.

“Hey—stop eatin’ all the—ugh, I love you.”

The words slip out in the middle of a breathless laugh, tangled in warmth and amusement, tumbling into the open before either of you can brace for the impact. His voice trails off at the end, like his brain only just caught up with his mouth—and then the moment hangs.

Still.

Your fingers hover above the plate, chopsticks clutched mid-air, and your smile falters as the weight of what he just said sinks in. The warmth still lingering in your chest twists into something deeper—sharper.

Both of you freeze, suspended in golden light and thick, heady silence. His laughter dies like a flame catching wind.

Your hand stops mid-air, halfway to your mouth. “...What did you say?”

Osamu straightens up like he touched a live wire. “Nothin’. I didn’t—I mean, that wasn’t—”

“No no,” you say, slowly lowering the chopsticks, your eyes narrowing with disbelief and something else—something softer. “Did you just say you love me?”

“I didn’t mean to say it like that!” he blurts, already rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just—ya were bein’ you, and I laughed, and it slipped out, but I do, I mean, I didn’t plan to just—shit—”

You cut off his rambling by stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him in a sudden, fierce hug.

Osamu goes completely still for a second, his breath shallow as his arms remain half-curled like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to hold you yet. Then you feel the tension give way as he exhales against your hair, and his arms tighten around you just slightly, enough to pull you flush against his chest.

You bury your face into the soft cotton of his shirt, the scent of soy and rice grounding you. “I love you too, you moron.”

You feel his breath stutter against your temple, and you tilt your head up just enough to see his eyes—soft, stunned, and a little dazed.

"Took you long enough," you add with a teasing smile.

He huffs a laugh, low and disbelieving, the sound rumbling through his chest. His shoulders sag, relief pouring through him in quiet waves. “You’re not just sayin’ that?” he asks, voice rough at the edges, like he still doesn’t fully believe he didn’t just hallucinate this entire thing.

You grin. “Would I lie to the man who makes me free food every week?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face before ruffling the back of your hair affectionately. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but his tone is nothing but fond.

He’s smiling, really smiling, like the kind of smile that lives in the corners of his mouth even after it fades, the kind you remember for days. His hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers curling through yours like he’s done it a thousand times in his head already. You stay like that for a moment—standing in the golden hush of the closed shop, surrounded by the scent of rice and vinegar and the lingering echo of laughter.

“You still owe me promotional photos,” he murmurs against your lips.

You pull back just enough to smile. “Only if I get to eat the props after.”

“Fine. But I’m writin’ you off as an expense.”

Confessions: Oikawa

(This is connected to another drabble I made in my series 'Unreq Love' so here is context if you'd like the full experience: Oikawa & Bonus)

--

The gym is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the kind that settles like dust in the corners—heavy, still, waiting. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun filters through the high windows, painting the floor in long strokes of gold. The volleyball net hangs limply between its poles, no longer taut with purpose. There are scuff marks everywhere, like memories burned into the wood—ghosts of spikes, dives, the relentless rhythm of ambition. The echoes of laughter, shouting, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers still seem to hum beneath the silence, like the gym itself refuses to forget.

You spot him immediately.

Oikawa stands near the back wall, his figure backlit by sunlight, facing the net with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are drawn tight, his posture still and unreadable. He doesn’t move when you step in, but he knows it’s you. No one walks into a gym like you do—especially not after hours. Especially not him.

You take your time crossing the floor. Your sneakers squeak a little, but he doesn’t flinch. The air smells like dust and floor polish, and something sharper underneath—like endings. Like goodbye.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you say, coming to a stop beside him.

He huffs, a soft, humorless sound. “You always do.”

“Well,” you shrug, “someone’s gotta make sure you’re not brooding yourself into an existential crisis.”

Finally, he glances at you. There’s a tiredness in his eyes, something far quieter than the version of him everyone else sees. You know it well. You’ve seen it before, behind locker room doors, in the quiet of bus rides home, in the way his voice would sometimes crack when no one was supposed to hear. He looks like someone who's been chasing a shadow for too long and just realized it was always out of reach.

“I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, it’d feel different,” he murmurs, gaze shifting back to the net. “But it still hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “You gave everything to this place. You bled for it. You obsessed over every drill, every stat sheet, every match. Losing was never going to be painless.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and bitter. “We didn’t even make it to nationals. What was the point of all of it?”

You frown, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tooru, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

That earns you a sidelong glance, the barest glimmer of amusement.

You soften. “You weren’t just chasing wins. You built something here. A team that trusted you. A legacy. People are going to remember you—not because of a scoreboard, but because you made them better. You made them believe. You pushed them to be more.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his jaw tics. He always does that when he’s trying not to feel something. The weight of three years rests on his shoulders like armor that no longer serves him.

“And what about you?” he asks suddenly, turning to face you more fully. “You stuck by me through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You scoff, leaning back on your heels. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Tooru.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I followed you around like a lost puppy for three years because I enjoyed your tantrums and diva moments?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Maybe a little?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” You shake your head, but your voice loses its edge. “I stayed because you were worth it. Because you’re more than volleyball. You always have been. Even when you were too busy being dramatic to see it.”

The silence that falls between you is thick with years of shared glances, missed chances, and words left unspoken. The light shifts across the floor, turning everything gold like the last flicker of a day that tried its best.

You don’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not when he’s already unraveling.

You glance at him again, then down at your hands. Your voice comes out low, more to yourself than to him. “God, I can’t avoid this, can I?”

But it’s been sitting in your chest for too long, and something about the way the light hits his face—the rawness there, the quiet ache—makes it impossible to keep in.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “...What?”

You inhale slowly, like that’ll steady the thundering in your chest. “I said I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Since you made that dumb joke during orientation and somehow managed to trip over your own feet.”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you push through. “I thought it was just a crush. Something stupid. But it never went away. Through every win, every loss, every time you walked into a room and lit it up like you didn’t even know—through all of it, I kept falling. I knew every version of you—the charming captain, the insecure overthinker, the friend who stayed behind after practice to help pick up stray balls—and I still fell.”

You swallow hard, heart aching in your chest. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t think I had the right to. I thought I’d be a distraction, or worse—just another person you’d feel responsible for. But standing here with you, watching you look at that net like it still owes you something... I couldn’t walk away without telling you. Because it’s not just about volleyball. Not for me. Not when it comes to you.”

You take a step back, the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

You turn, ready to bolt before you make a bigger fool of yourself—but before your foot even hits the line, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

His grip isn’t desperate, but it’s firm—anchoring. When you look back, he’s already there—closer than you thought, close enough that you can see the flicker of emotion dancing in his eyes. His breath is uneven. So is yours.

His gaze lingers on your face, moving from your eyes to your mouth, then back again, as if trying to piece together something he should’ve realized long ago. You see it hit him all at once—the memories, the missed moments, the way you’ve always been right there. His shoulders loosen like something inside him’s finally cracking open.

His hand moves slowly to your face, tentative but gentle, and his thumb brushes against your cheek like it’s something fragile he’s afraid to break. His fingers tremble just slightly, and the warmth of his palm grounds you in place.

“How did I never see you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question meant for you. It’s a confession all on its own, shaped by regret and wonder.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he’s asking permission.

Then again—deeper, fuller, with the kind of reverence that comes from finally seeing someone who’s been standing in the light all along. His hand curves behind your neck, the other still holding your wrist like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for once, Oikawa doesn’t say a single word.

He just pulls you closer, holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, and lets the silence speak for itself.

In that quiet, there is no loss. No disappointment. No game that slipped through trembling fingers.

There’s just you.

And it’s enough.

Hey so I really like your writing. Your fics are so inspiring...! Can I pretty please request a fic about Kita catching Reader off guard with a blunt love confession?? 🙏 I'd love to see what you come up with!

Aw inspiring?!! That is so sweet!! I love that I am what people were for me when I started writing (about 5 years ago!) so never give up and be proud of any work you make!! I hope you enjoy <333

--

Confessions: Kita

The thing about Kita Shinsuke is that he never does anything without purpose.

He speaks with intention, moves with care, and rarely—if ever—lets emotion get the better of him. He is dependable to a fault, calm even in the most chaotic situations, and as predictable as a rising sun. Which is why, when he turns to you one spring afternoon and says, "I’m in love with you," you nearly choke on your drink.

The two of you are sitting beneath the shade of a wide camphor tree near the back of the school, where the grass grows a little taller and the breeze feels like a secret only you two share. The breeze is soft, the air warm and sweet with the scent of new blossoms. You’d come out here to eat lunch together—something that had become a quiet ritual between you and Kita. No crowds, no noise. Just the two of you, sharing space, swapping stories, occasionally falling into long stretches of silence that never felt awkward. He always brings homemade bento boxes, neatly packed, and you bring snacks or something small to share.

You blink at him, unsure if you heard right. "Sorry—what?"

Kita is still looking at you, expression as steady and unreadable as ever. He’s holding a rice ball in one hand, his bento sitting neatly in his lap. "I said I’m in love with you."

There’s no hesitation. No blush. Just the plain delivery of truth—as if he’s pointing out the weather, or commenting on the quality of the rice today.

You nearly drop the bottle of tea in your hand. "Kita," you breathe, searching his face for a trace of humor or a tell that he’s messing with you. But he’s not. Of course he’s not.

Your heart stutters. "You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere, you know."

He tilts his head slightly. "Why not?"

"Because—" You flail for a second, grasping for something clever to say, something to make sense of the heat rising to your cheeks. "Because it’s—surprising."

Kita hums, thoughtfully chewing. "I didn’t think it would be. We spend time together. You bring me pickled plums even when I don’t ask. You save the last piece of tamagoyaki for me, even though it’s your favorite. You walk me to the gate every day, even when you’re running late. I thought maybe you felt the same."

You sputter, caught between the instinct to deny and the overwhelming realization that he’s right. You do all those things, and more. You always look for him in a crowded room. You always listen when he speaks, no matter how quiet his voice. You think about him in between classes, after practice, before bed. He’s right.

He continues, voice soft but sure. "You don’t have to say anything right now. I just thought it was time I told you."

And with that, he turns his gaze back to the tree branches swaying above you, like he didn’t just tilt your entire world on its axis. He takes another bite of his rice ball, completely composed, like he hadn’t just carved a confession into the air and left it hanging between you.

You sit in stunned silence for a moment longer, the breeze tugging gently at your sleeves. Everything feels quieter now. The breeze, the rustling branches, the distant sound of other students laughing in the courtyard—it all fades into a soft, blurred background. Your fingers tighten slightly around the tea bottle in your lap.

You steal a glance at him. He’s not looking at you. He’s perfectly calm, patient, and somehow that makes your chest ache more than if he’d confessed with nervous laughter or flushed cheeks. There’s no doubt, no need for reassurance. He meant it.

You reach over, plucking a stray leaf from his shoulder. You don’t know why—it just gives your hands something to do.

"You’re unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head.

He glances at you, eyes curious but unbothered. "Is that a good thing?"

You let out a soft laugh, one that feels lighter than it should considering your heart is still racing in your chest. "I don’t even know. You really just said that like you were telling me we had PE next period."

He shrugs. "I meant it. I don’t think it needs to be complicated."

And you know he’s right again. Kita doesn’t dress things up. He doesn’t make things harder than they need to be. He doesn’t hide behind games or fear or doubt. He just is.

You look down at your lunch, your appetite forgotten. You can’t stop thinking about the things he said. The way he noticed your little habits. The way he didn’t need you to answer right away. The way he didn’t waver.

When you finally meet his eyes again, there’s a warmth blooming in your chest—slow and full, like sunlight rising through clouds.

"I’m in love with you too, you idiot," you say, and your voice is so quiet, so soft, that you almost expect him to miss it.

But he doesn’t.

Kita Shinsuke turns to you fully then, and for the first time all afternoon, he smiles.

Really, truly smiles.

And just like everything else he does, it’s quiet, intentional, and completely disarming.

He reaches for your hand—not suddenly, not dramatically, but gently, deliberately—and your fingers lace together like they were always meant to. You sit that way for a long time, the afternoon stretching endlessly before you, the breeze curling around your ankles, the scent of spring growing thicker with each passing minute.

Neither of you says much after that. You don’t need to.

Some things are better left to the quiet.

And Kita, as always, knows exactly what silence means.

Confessions: Atsumu

You’ve known the Miya twins for as long as you can remember. They were the loudest boys on the playground, all scuffed knees and sunburned cheeks, their laughter carrying across the schoolyard like a war cry. Atsumu, the loudmouth with a cocky grin that drove teachers insane, and Osamu, the quieter one who always seemed two seconds away from dragging his brother out of trouble. You were caught in the middle—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—but you never complained. Being with them was easy. Natural. Like breathing.

“Yer too slow!” Atsumu had whined once, standing at the edge of the sandbox with his hands on his hips while you struggled to keep up. “Then go ahead without me!” you’d huffed, kicking sand in his direction, cheeks flushed and breathless.

But he never did.

No matter how many times you fell behind, no matter how many times Osamu rolled his eyes and threatened to leave you both behind, Atsumu always waited. And somehow, that pattern never changed.

Years passed. Middle school turned into high school. The three of you didn’t hang out as much anymore—between club activities, exams, and life pulling you in different directions, it was harder to find the time. But you still showed up. For them.

You never missed a game, sitting in the stands with Osamu’s mom and cheering as loud as the rest of the Inarizaki fans. You watched Atsumu serve with impossible precision, eyes narrowing with focus before the ball left his hand. You watched Osamu spike with terrifying accuracy, his smirk barely contained afterward. You were proud of them both, proud to see them rise, proud to be part of the crowd that supported them.

“Yer comin’ to the next match, right?” Atsumu asked one afternoon after practice, leaning against the fence with his bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was damp, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead, and his uniform was loose, hanging casually over his broad frame. The sun was dipping lower, casting warm orange hues across the field where a few stragglers still kicked a soccer ball around. You glanced up from your phone, pretending to be nonchalant. “I always do, don’t I?” His grin stretched wide—cocky and confident, just like always—but there was something in his eyes. Something… uncertain. Hidden beneath the bravado. “Just checkin’.” He kicked at the dirt, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “Ya don’t gotta, y’know. Betcha got better things to do than watch us all the time.”

Osamu was the one who noticed it first, the subtle shift in Atsumu’s behavior. It was after another win, and the three of you had gone out to grab a bite. Atsumu was unusually quiet, barely picking at his food while you and Osamu bickered over the best dipping sauce for karaage. “Oi,” Osamu had muttered under his breath when you went to the counter to grab more napkins. “What’s with ya?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu had mumbled, poking at his plate, but Osamu’s eyes had narrowed. “Ya never shut up. Now yer quiet? Somethin’s up.”

“Nothin’s up,” Atsumu insisted, but Osamu didn’t look convinced. He shot his brother a look but didn’t press further. Later that night, as you waved goodbye and promised to see them at the next game, Osamu lingered behind. “He’s actin’ weird,” he muttered, watching Atsumu walk ahead. “Ya notice?”

You had laughed, brushing it off. “When isn’t he weird?”

It wasn’t until you started talking about someone else—Takahiro, a guy from your class—that things started to change. He was smart, funny, and polite in a way that seemed almost too perfect. You didn’t even realize how often you were mentioning him—how your eyes lit up when you talked about how he made you laugh during group projects, how he texted you after class to ask if you understood the material. At first, Atsumu barely reacted. Just a quirk of his brow and a half-hearted, “Huh. Cool.” But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, Takahiro’s name was slipping into conversations more often than not, and Atsumu noticed. Every. Single. Time.

He didn’t say anything to you about it. But he did talk to Osamu.

“He likes her, don’t he?” Atsumu had muttered one afternoon, his voice low, barely audible as they sat in the back of the gym after practice. His knees were drawn up, elbows resting loosely on them while he picked absentmindedly at the tape around his fingers, pulling at the frayed edges like they held the answers to his problems.

Osamu raised a brow, glancing sideways at his brother. “Who? Takahiro?” His tone was neutral, but the way he looked at Atsumu was anything but.

“Yeah.” Atsumu’s jaw clenched as he peeled another strip of tape from his skin, eyes fixed on the floor. “She’s always talkin’ about him lately. Laughin’ at his dumb jokes. Her face lights up when she talks about him.”

“Since when do ya pay attention to that kinda thing?” Osamu’s tone was teasing, but there was something careful underneath it, something that probed deeper.

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s answer was too fast, too defensive. His fingers stilled against his knee, tape forgotten as he shifted, posture rigid.

Osamu tilted his head, watching his brother closely. “Right.” Silence stretched between them for a beat, thick and unspoken. “So, why do ya care?”

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s voice was quieter this time, almost too quiet. But his jaw was tight, his eyes dark with something Osamu didn’t need to ask about.

Osamu exhaled softly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Yer full of shit, y’know.” He didn’t push, didn’t ask any more questions. But his words lingered in the air, hanging heavy between them. Atsumu didn’t respond, and Osamu let it go—for now. But the silence that followed spoke louder than anything Atsumu could’ve said.

You started noticing the shift after that. Atsumu was different—quieter around you, shorter with his words. His usual sharp remarks didn’t carry the same playful edge anymore. They were clipped, like he was forcing himself to stay distant. At first, you thought he was just tired. Volleyball took its toll, and with nationals approaching, it wasn’t unusual for the entire team to be running on fumes. But this was different. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by something colder, something heavier that settled in the pit of your stomach. His eyes didn’t linger on you the way they used to, and when they did, there was something in them you couldn’t place. Frustration? Hurt? You weren’t sure, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.

It all came to a head during the next game.

It was an intense match—one where every point mattered, the air thick with anticipation. You were in your usual spot in the stands, cheering louder than most of the crowd, but this time… you weren’t alone. Takahiro was beside you, leaning in close, his shoulder brushing yours as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. You didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp and fleeting, but he saw it. He saw the way you smiled—soft and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners—and it knocked the air out of his lungs.

It burned.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling a little too tightly around the ball as he lined up his serve. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the game, but your laugh echoed louder than the roar of the crowd in his ears. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, faster, harder, until it drowned out everything else. The whistle blew. He tossed the ball, went through the motions—but his mind wasn’t in it. His focus was shattered, replaced by a tangled mess of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.

The ball sailed too far.

Out of bounds.

By a mile.

The murmur that rippled through the crowd was deafening in his ears. Atsumu’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his teeth grinding together as he forced himself to breathe through the frustration. He didn’t look at you after that. He couldn’t. But he felt it—your eyes on him, concern etched into your features, even as you turned back to Takahiro. The tension settled like a weight in his chest, suffocating and inescapable.

Throughout the rest of the game, Atsumu was off. His sets were technically perfect, but they lacked their usual precision. His timing was a second too late, his movements a little too forced. The fire that usually burned in his veins, the one that made him relentless on the court, was barely a flicker. And no one noticed but Osamu.

“Get yer head outta yer ass, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered under his breath during a timeout, his voice low enough that only Atsumu could hear. “Yer messin’ up, and I know why.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, eyes locked on the floor, jaw clenched. But Osamu wasn’t done. “If ya don’t fix it, we’re gonna lose. And if we do, it’s on you.”

By some miracle, Inarizaki still scraped by with a win—but barely. Atsumu was the first one off the court when the final whistle blew, not bothering to stick around as the team lined up to thank the crowd. His skin was crawling, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he tore off his sweat-soaked jersey and tossed it into his bag. He needed to clear his head. He needed to breathe.

And you? You noticed.

“Where’s Atsumu?” you asked, concern lacing your voice as you turned to Osamu while everyone congratulated the team. Osamu’s eyes flickered toward the gym, his expression neutral but his tone softer than usual. “Needed some air,” he muttered, his voice quiet but knowing. “Ya know how he gets.” And that was all it took.

Your chest tightened. Something told you this wasn’t just about a bad game.

“Oi, Miya!” Takahiro’s voice broke through the hum of post-game chatter as he stepped forward, flashing a bright smile. “Hell of a match out there. You guys pulled through in the end.” His words were polite, his tone smooth, but the second they left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.

Ginjima, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes, barely masking his distaste as he gave Takahiro a once-over. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something. "So, ya think—"

But before he could finish, Aran stepped in, his usual easy-going demeanor firming up as he gave Takahiro a curt nod.

“Thanks,” Aran cut in smoothly, his tone polite but clipped just enough to send a message. “Appreciate it.”

Takahiro, oblivious to the silent exchange, just smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “No problem. You guys really pulled through.”

You felt the tension rolling off Ginjima, and even Kita’s usually neutral expression was unreadable as his eyes flickered between Takahiro and the team.

You lingered with the team for a little while longer, standing by Aran as he exchanged a few polite words with Takahiro, who was blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. You nodded along, adding the occasional "yeah" or "for sure" as Takahiro talked about how intense the game had been and how impressed he was by Inarizaki's performance. But your mind was elsewhere.

Atsumu’s absence gnawed at you. The way he’d left the court so quickly, the frustration rolling off of him in waves—it didn’t sit right. Something was wrong, and no matter how much you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you, the pit in your stomach wouldn’t go away.

Eventually, as the crowd began to thin out and the post-game buzz started to fade, Takahiro turned to you with that same easy smile. "We’re all gonna grab something to eat after. You coming?"

You hesitated, your heart tugging you in a different direction. "Hey… I think I’m gonna head home," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m kinda tired."

Takahiro’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. "You sure? We were all gonna hang out for a bit."

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you replied, offering him a quick, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright… text me when you get home, yeah?"

“Of course.”

But you had no intention of going home.

As Takahiro rejoined the group, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd without a second glance. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you back toward the gym, where you knew exactly where Atsumu would be. Something gnawed at your gut, telling you this wasn’t just about a bad game. You could feel it, a weight settling in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

As you got closer to the gym, the familiar sound of volleyballs slamming against the floor echoed through the quiet night. The steady thump reverberated through the empty halls, each hit carrying a frustration that was almost palpable. Your steps slowed as you approached the entrance, the muffled grunts of effort and the sharp sound of rubber meeting wood growing louder with each step.

When you reached the doorway, you stopped, heart hammering in your ears as you took in the sight before you. Atsumu was there, just as you’d known he would be. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his hair damp and sticking to his skin. His jersey was clinging to his back, soaked through, and the gym floor was littered with scattered volleyballs, some rolling lazily across the surface after missed targets. But Atsumu wasn’t slowing down.

His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on an invisible target as he tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, body coiling with raw power. The crack of the ball echoed through the gym as it slammed into the floor, and a grunt of frustration escaped his lips, reverberating off the walls.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching him pour every ounce of frustration and anger into each serve. He didn’t notice you. Not yet.

“You're gonna break the damn floor at this rate.”

Your voice echoed across the empty gym, but Atsumu didn’t stop. He tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, slamming it with a grunt that reverberated off the walls. The ball ricocheted off the floor and hit the back wall with a loud thud. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged inhale.

“Go home.” His voice was clipped, laced with exhaustion and something sharper. He didn’t turn to look at you, eyes locked on the next ball he was already lining up.

“Atsumu,” you said softly, stepping further into the gym. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.” He tossed the ball, and another loud thwack echoed through the gym as the ball hit the floor. “Go home.”

But you didn’t move.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Your voice was firmer this time, crossing your arms as you stood your ground. But then, as Atsumu lined up another ball, ready to serve, you couldn’t take it anymore. Your feet moved before your brain caught up, and you stepped forward, planting yourself right in front of him.

“Atsumu, stop.”

His eyes widened in surprise, the ball still gripped tightly in his hand, but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, heart pounding as you met his gaze head-on.

“Move,” he muttered, his voice low, but there was no real heat behind it.

“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not moving until you talk to me.”

“Why even bother?” His voice was sharper now, but there was something raw beneath the anger. “Go back to yer boyfriend. Bet he’s waitin’ for ya.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his words. “Boyfriend? You mean Takahiro?”

“Yeah, him.” He finally turned, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt, frustration… jealousy? “Bet he’s real smitten with ya, sittin’ in the stands, watchin’ ya smile at him like that.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Atsumu snapped, his voice rising. “I saw ya. Laughin’ at his jokes, lettin’ him get close. Ya looked real happy. Real fuckin’ happy.”

“That’s what this is about?” Your voice sharpened, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’re pissed because I was talking to Takahiro?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Atsumu drawled, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he dropped the ball and crossed his arms. “‘Takahiro’s so nice,’” he mimicked, his voice going higher, mimicking yours in an exaggerated, sing-song way. “‘Takahiro helped me with my assignment.’ ‘Takahiro said the funniest thing today.’” He scoffed, his expression darkening as he took a step closer, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to jealousy. “Ya never shut up about him.”

If you weren't pissed before, you sure as hell were now.

Your jaw clenched, heat rushing to your face as your hands balled into fists at your sides. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” He let out a bitter laugh, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just sick of listenin’ to ya gush about him like he hung the damn moon.”

“Are you serious right now?!” You raised your voice, the frustration bubbling over. “You’re actin’ like a damn child, Atsumu!”

“Maybe I am!” Atsumu’s voice shot up, matching yours as his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made your pulse race. “But at least I’m not the one actin’ blind to what’s right in front of me!”

“Blind to what?!” You threw your hands in the air, voice sharp and cutting as you took a step toward him, closing the space between you until there was barely any room left. Your chest brushed his as you tilted your chin up to meet his fiery gaze. “Why do you even care so much, Atsumu?!”

“Why do I care?!” He was practically towering over you now, his breath hot and ragged as his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with frustration. “Because ya never stop talkin’ about him! ‘Takahiro this, Takahiro that!’ It’s all I ever fuckin’ hear!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t act like you don’t give a damn about me!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground even as the tension between you became suffocating.

“I don’t give a damn?!” Atsumu’s voice was louder now, the frustration bleeding into his tone as he stepped even closer, his chest brushing against yours. “You’re the one who’s been actin’ like I’m invisible! Like I’m just—just some guy while yer out there with him!”

“Then why didn’t you say something?!” You screamed, voice echoing through the gym, your frustration boiling over. Your hands were trembling now, knuckles white from how hard you were clenching them at your sides. “Why do you even care so much?!”

“Because I love you!”

The words erupted from him, loud and raw, his voice breaking as the confession echoed through the gym and filled the space between you. His chest heaved, his face flushed from a mix of anger and desperation, and his eyes—wide, vulnerable, and filled with something you hadn’t seen before—were locked onto yours.

You froze, the weight of his words crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. The world went silent, and for the first time since you’d stepped into that gym, neither of you had anything left to say.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you stared at him, his chest still heaving from the force of his confession. The air felt thick, suffocating, as your mind raced to process what he had just said. Seconds stretched on, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Then, without thinking, without giving yourself a chance to second-guess it, you stepped forward. Your eyes locked on his, your expression unreadable, and before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him down.

"You’re so fucking stupid," you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was fierce, fueled by weeks—no, months—of pent-up frustration, confusion, and feelings you had pushed down for far too long. Your lips crashed into his, and Atsumu froze for half a second before he was kissing you back with just as much desperation. His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the world around you blurred until nothing else existed.

The anger, the yelling, the unspoken words—they all melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in the heat of the moment, finally giving in to everything you’d both been too stubborn to admit.

Confessions: Iwaizumi

The overhead lights buzz faintly, casting a dim yellow glow over empty desks and scattered papers. Practice ended hours ago, but you’re still here—half because you’re sorting through lineup sheets for Coach, and half because Iwaizumi never knows how to leave when Oikawa’s still in the gym pretending he’s immortal.

It’s just the two of you now. Oikawa finally gave up ten minutes ago, muttering something about stretching at home, and the silence that follows his absence is a rare kind of peace. You can hear Iwaizumi breathing again. That quiet, controlled rhythm he always slips back into once he isn’t yelling, chasing, fixing. The gym’s been quiet, too, like it’s exhaling after hours of pounding sneakers and shouting voices.

He’s sitting across from you now, chair turned backward, arms crossed over the backrest. Watching you. Probably not even trying to. He just does that—studies you like you’re part of the game plan, like your existence needs analyzing in case it ever falls out of line.

“You should go home,” you mutter without looking up, thumbing through one of the stat sheets. “You’re gonna pass out before you make it up the hill.”

“I could say the same to you,” he fires back, voice low, tired but still that familiar gravel that’s embedded itself into the fabric of your after-practice routine.

You shoot him a look, but it doesn’t have much heat. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who’s been diving face-first into the court all evening.”

He smirks. Leans his chin onto his forearm and shrugs, like the ache in his shoulder isn’t something he’s been carrying for weeks now. You wonder if he even notices the way he favors it. Probably. He just ignores it.

“You never quit,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Neither do you.”

You don’t say anything to that. Mostly because it’s true. He sees right through you. Always has.

The silence stretches. It’s comfortable, warm in the way only Iwaizumi can make it feel. There’s no pressure to fill it. No need to perform. He’s always been like that—solid, grounded, the kind of person you could fall into without worrying if they’d catch you. And he would. Every time.

You’re not sure when you started noticing it. The way his hands lingered when he handed you a towel. The way he remembered how you liked your drinks cold, not iced. The way he always checked your clipboard before practice started, just in case you forgot something. He never made a show of it. He just… did. Like breathing.

You look up at him, and he’s already watching you.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs again. “Nothing.”

“Creepy.”

His smirk deepens. “You’re the one talking to yourself.”

“I was talking to you.”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and you hate that it’s so easy with him. So natural. Like your heart hasn’t been clenching in your chest for months now, like every little moment with him doesn’t echo louder than it should. It’s loud right now. Deafening.

You look back at the papers. “Seriously, though. You should rest. You’ve got a game this weekend, and if you overdo it now—”

“I know.”

Of course he knows. He always does. That’s part of the problem.

You press your thumb into your temple, eyes scanning over messy handwriting. Your back aches. Your stomach’s been growling since the second set ended. You know you should pack it up and go home, but there’s something sticky in the air tonight. Something that hasn’t settled.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, and before you can react, he’s pushing something across the table.

A protein bar. Slightly squished, but still sealed.

Your brow furrows. “You brought this for me?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “You always forget to eat after practice. Thought I’d try being useful.”

You stare at him. “You’re already useful. Like, medically essential. You’re the only reason Oikawa still has knees.”

He snorts. “I mean to you.”

The air shifts.

It’s subtle. Barely a tremor. But it leaves everything a little quieter, a little sharper.

You don’t answer. Just take the protein bar and turn it over in your hand. You trace the crinkled edges of the wrapper with your thumb like it’s a puzzle.

“Thanks,” you say finally, soft. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. But his eyes are still on you. Warmer now. He looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know if he should.

You try to focus on the sheets again, but your fingers don’t move. The pen in your hand feels suddenly pointless.

“You ever get tired of it?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “Doing everything for everyone else?”

He hums, leaning back. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

Another pause. His voice, when it comes, is soft. Almost too soft.

“Because I care.”

You glance up at him.

His eyes don’t waver. “It matters to me. That people are okay. That you’re okay.”

Your breath catches.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but the words knot up in your throat. They don’t come.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says it.

“I love you.”

Just like that. No lead-up. No dramatics. Just the truth, falling out of his mouth like it’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been saying it in a hundred other ways already.

You freeze.

He freezes.

It’s only a heartbeat of silence, but it stretches. Stretches until it feels like the air might snap.

He blinks. Swallows hard. “I—shit. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did, but I wasn’t gonna—fuck.”

You just stare at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of calm unraveling. “Forget I said that.”

“Hajime—”

“No, seriously. I didn’t want to make this weird. I just—shit, I don’t know. You were just… sitting there, and I—”

“Stop talking.”

He does. Immediately.

You reach for him without hesitation—close the space between you, one hand curling into the collar of his sweatshirt as you pull him down and press your lips to his.

It’s soft at first, like you’re testing the waters. But he responds almost instantly, his hands rising to your back, grounding you like always. Like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been holding his breath.

The kiss is short, almost clumsy, but it burns. You can feel every second of restraint he’s practiced up until this point unraveling between you.

When you finally pull away, breath shallow, he’s staring at you like he’s still trying to catch up. Like he’s not sure it really happened.

And then you smile, smug but breathless.

"Took you long enough," you whisper, your voice barely grazing the space between you before you're kissing him again—firmer this time, with all the words neither of you said until now pressed into the space where your mouths meet.

He smiles against your lips.

This time, he kisses you back like he means it.

Confessions: Tsukishima

By third year, you'd think you and Tsukishima would've grown out of it—that exhausting little game you two played. Bickering like it was a sport, tension so thick the rest of the team had stopped trying to intervene. Kageyama used to flinch when you raised your voice. Yamaguchi had once tried to play mediator until Tsukishima shut him down with a look. Now everyone just let it happen. It was routine. Expected. Like the sun rising or Hinata yelling.

But even routines fray when they go unchecked.

Practice had been winding down when Yachi leaned in closer, her voice hushed just enough not to carry over the sound of the guys drilling serves. You were both by the bench, pretending to organize water bottles, but really—you were gossiping.

"I mean… he’s cute," she said, trying to hide her smile behind her clipboard. "And he’s nice. The captain of the basketball team asking you out isn’t nothing—you could give it a shot, right?"

You rolled your eyes, glancing toward the court—though your gaze snagged on a tall blond figure for half a second too long. "Yeah. Maybe. He’s handsome, smart, polite."

It was a lie.

You didn’t want nice.

You wanted someone else.

Someone whose voice grated on your nerves, who always had a snide comment for everything you did, who knew exactly how to provoke you and never held back.

You wanted someone who made you feel something.

Now the gym was quiet. Yachi had left twenty minutes ago, and you were the only one left locking up.

Or so you thought.

The doors creaked.

You turned, already annoyed. "I'm about to lock up—"

Tsukishima.

He stood in the doorway like he owned the place, one strap of his bag over his shoulder, golden eyes steady. Annoyingly calm. He didn’t even flinch at your tone.

You rolled your eyes. "Forgot your headphones again? Or do you just enjoy making my job harder?"

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze sharp. Too focused.

Then he said it. Like it wasn’t the most jarring thing to say after a week full of snipes and insults.

“Don’t date him.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said,”—he stepped closer—“don’t date him.”

You stared, mouth parting. You hated the way your pulse jumped. Hated it more because it was him.

“…Are you serious right now?”

His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “Yeah.”

You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “What, you get to talk shit to me every day and then play jealous boyfriend when someone else shows interest?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Tsukishima?”

Silence.

And then, finally, something cracks in his expression. Not a smile. Not exactly. More like surrender.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered. “But you’re all I think about.”

That shut you up. Just for a second.

He looked away first. “I’m not asking you to like me back. Just… don’t date him.”

You folded your arms, heartbeat loud in your ears. “That’s a shitty confession.”

He glanced back, and for once, his smirk was small. Almost nervous. "Would you have taken it seriously if I said it any other way?"

You paused.

“…Maybe.”

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "And Captain of the basketball team? Even you know you could do better. Guy probably thinks a free throw line is romantic."

There was bite in it. Smugness too—the kind that always laced his voice when he thought he had the upper hand. But underneath the jab was something messier, unspoken. Something that sounded too much like 'I care' for either of you to ignore.

But you laughed, and as you stepped past him, you caught a fistful of his collar and yanked him down just enough to crash your lips against his—firm, unrelenting, like every argument you two had ever had boiled down into a single moment.

His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.

You broke the kiss just as abruptly, brushing past him with heat still prickling at your cheeks.

“Just take me out this Saturday, asshole.”

1/3 done

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invader zim confessions!

Вся информация в инфопосте Бот для тейков: @invavBot

Просто наброски, которые позже станут артами. У нас в ТГК переворот власти, а оттого и полная перестройка нашего Массива

Just wanted to come on here and say Jennifer Tilly was my gay awakening as a child watching bride of Chucky.

Don’t tell me I’m the only one

i’m here to confess something….

i eat up those ____ in a british school cause it’s just funny and i’d love to see my faves in the same setting as me😞😞😞

it’s a guilty pleasure of mine

confession

im watching this dudes content on youtube and he seems cool and is like an educated academic and i like the content

but he also looks so asymmetrical and it’s fucking with me so i play his videos in the background instead of watching them directly and now i feel bad about it