Someone Give That Boy Some Multivitamin Gummies Or Smth

someone give that boy some multivitamin gummies or smth

even if Jannik hadn’t withdrawn, he probably would’ve caught pneumonia after being on that boat 😭😭

  forty, love ᵕ̈       tennis au!miya twins x gn!reader       ( pt. two ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : what to do when two  ⋮⋮  fellow pro tennis players are ⋮⋮  interested in you ? you compare ⋮⋮  their stats , of course !

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦❕     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # ~4.1𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 ( wow )     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 ( all characters are 18     or older during all events of the story !! ) ,     𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

🧺 extensions  ⋮⋮  prev  ⋮⋮  series masterlist  ⋮⋮  next ( coming soon ! )  ⋮⋮

🎶 on shuffle " yeah x10 " - trent reznor & atticus ross ( challengers movie soundtrack )

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i locked tf in for this one ... ( also thank you ree for helping with the smau stuff i ' ve never done myself prior to this lolll ) ”

atsumu and osamu are neck-and-neck in a tie break. the crowd around you grows frustrated in a twisted type of voyeurism as the two tennis players are almost equally matched in the masterful way they return the ball to each other.

it's still only the first set but it feels like you've been sitting there watching 100 tennis matches–and in a sense, you have been.

as the ball gets traded between the miya twins on each side of the net, the countless times you've seen the two passionately rally tennis balls with their rackets cycle through your mind. they overlay the sight in front of you, almost like a flip book–one that eventually lands on a page from a long-gone time.

a time when the twins used to play alongside each other on one side of the net.

،   の   ✧   後    🌱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 …

after winning the match that made your young pro-athlete career those many years ago, you remember you took your new trophy with you to sit in on a certain mens doubles match a few hours later that same day.

there were a few hours to kill between when the cameras flashed in your face as you held your trophy and when you'd have to deal with it all over again that night for the winners' banquet. so, you decided to take up the two twin brothers' offer from the previous day to watch them in action.

slipping into a secluded corner of the stands, you were just barely able to catch the last few sets of their game since yours had overlapped slightly time-wise. but even in those few sets, you found yourself drawn to how the two ruled the court.

looking at the scoreboard, it seems like they breezed past the first set, had faltered and lost the second, but were definitely back on track to secure the third when you had arrived.

under the searing afternoon sun you noticed how atsumu always donned a certain smirk on his face before serving. this smile somehow shone brighter than the rays of light beating down on him and his sweat-drenched shirt.

and not too far from the blonde and closer to the net, osamu continuously provided ample support whenever atsumu's serves were returned, no matter how powerfully their opponents hit them back. he had a show-stopping habit of leaping into the air to reach the tennis balls whenever they were returned up high. volley after volley, osamu's usually bored expression would turn to one that was laser-focused on swatting at his neon green targets with his racket so the balls would quickly crash onto their opponents' side.

in this way, the twins weren't ones who waited for the ball to hit the court. they always had the ball in motion. it was like they were so in-tune on some deep and unspoken level, and you hadn't seen doubles partners play in any way like it.

'maybe it's because they're brothers,' you thought to yourself as you found yourself more invested watching a tennis match than you ever had before, 'maybe it's because they're twins, at that!'

either way, the miya twins secured that third set, and despite the annoyance of your manager as you were completely oblivious to their calls and texts telling you to start getting ready for the winners' banquet, you intently watched every moment and every point as they finished off their match by winning the fourth set.

you earnestly joined the audience in the stands as you applauded the two, watching them drop their rackets and excitedly embrace one another in a tight hug upon realizing the match was now over. they were winners.

the trophy gets brought out, and you get a great view of their faces lighting up in celebratory smiles, holding their shared trophy between them for the cameras.

the image of them both–hair sticking to their foreheads and dripping in sweat yet still grinning impossibly wide–as they clutch their new trophy and both kiss it at the same time, was one that would be burned into your memory for years.

but at the time, the moment passes as quickly as it came before they go to pack up their duffels on the sidelines. you take this as your queue to leave and finally catch up on the notifications from your manager. but just as you stand up from your seat, atsumu spots you in the crowd, and you see his jaw drop.

immediately and without risking to glance away from you, he aggressively swats at osamu's arm next to him to get the gray-haired one to look at where you stood, too. osamu reluctantly follows his brothers gaze, and you see the frustrated expression aimed at his brother quickly melt into one mixed with shock and admiration as he locks eyes with you.

(unable to fight the small smile that tugs at your lips upon seeing their ego-boosting reactions again) you nod at them in acknowledgment, give them a small wave, and go to pick up your trophy as you leave while they flash those winning smiles right back at you.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the banquet a few hours later was held in a classy venue, with winding spotless marble staircases and chandeliers in every room. when your ride pulled up in front of the building, you stepped out onto the ostentatious red carpet that was laid out for all the tournament's victors to waltz down. you could hear the buzz of chatter and crystal glass clinking inside. the louder it grew, the more your hands gripped at the shiny handles of your award as you entered the hall.

a worker directed you to a table where all the winners were asked to place their trophies for a round of pictures that would take place before dinner started. just as you go to set yours down, two similar and familiar faces entered through the banquet hall doors.

the voice of the tournament employee started to sound more and more tuned-out as you watched them step into the hall. the miyas were clad in clean and simple dress pants and blazers. osamu's outfit was on the more, of course, grayer side than atsumu's (and defiinitely more of atsumu's dress shirt buttons were unbuttoned than that of his brother's).

osamu held in his hands the brothers' trophy from their match earlier that day, and a different worker suddenly approached them, kindly gesturing to the table you were standing right next to. they were probably asking osamu to place the trophy down on the table–something you were still yet to do.

you quickly look back at the worker talking to you, apologizing for "spacing out" before carefully positioning your prize in the spot where they needed it. you feel a presence come up next to you, and look up to make eye contact with the two twins.

"long time no see," atsumu teases as his brother sets down their trophy next to yours.

"nice trophy ya got there," osamu adds on. a light-hearted scoff escapes you before you attempt to congratulate them on their own win.

"thanks! congrats to you t–"

"l/n! i've been looking everywhere for you!" your manager suddenly appears and interrupts you, "there are some photographers who're asking for your picture. right this way, please..."

as your manager nudges you away from the award table, you glance back to give the two brothers an apologetic smile. they wave you off and soon you lose sight of them as the crowd in the room gets between you.

and that's how it went for the first half of the evening: looks here and there exchanged between you and the miyas, but always getting whisked away by the crowd to each take pictures with so-and-so or do another interview with whatever news outlet.

until finally, all the trophy bearers are called up to take one big picture together, and you find yourself standing next to the doubles partners once again. osamu is right next to you, and atsumu next to him. the moment after all the athletes have clobbered their big trophies in their grasp to hold up for the cameras, you start getting bombarded with flashing lights.

as you try to maintain your smile for the pictures, you catch in the corner of your eye osamu leaning closer to you, and he whispers, "ya looked great out there"–he pauses and smiles again at the flash of another camera–"and you're lookin' great now, too."

"lay off the gorgeous singles winner, would'ya 'samu? you're ruinin' our photos right now," atsumu smoothly joins in on your brief hushed conversation.

your smile begins to resemble a more genuine one at the interaction, and you're hoping the photos of you don't show the blush dusted on your cheeks once they get released to the press.

again, you don't get to talk to the twins much throughout the rest of the event. but during dinner hour–while them and their team are off somewhere else in the venue doing some p.r.–you successfully managed to slip a napkin with your number scribbled on it into the cup of their trophy as you pass by.

that night at your hotel, two new numbers popped up on your phone.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the sound of tennis balls making contact with hardcourt echo through the darkness of night.

a few weeks later you're practicing late-night at a hotel court for your first grand slam appearance. for you recently, it's been nothing but nonstop training and drills. you were aiming for the final. sure, you could tell yourself to make it to at least quarter-finals, or even be satisfied at seeing yourself at semi-finals.

but no, your mind was set on the final. hell, your mindset was to win overall.

you got ready to practice your serve for another time, following the neon green ball as it went from the palm of your hand, to spinning in mid-air, to crashing against the wires of your racket–

your phone emits a small beam of light from where it laid on the bench in your peripheral vision. you wondered for a split second who could be texting you at this hour.

watching as your serve hit the exact corner you were aiming for, you decided you could give yourself a short break to check.

you reach into your duffel and fish out your towel, and you pat your neck and arms dry as you unlock your phone to open up the sudden set of notifications accruing on your homescreen,

it was the miyas.

ever since they added your number from the winners' banquet napkin, the three of you have had a shared groupchat you used to stay in touch. you had discovered pretty early on that the twins were very different, even if it's in how they text.

recently, however, on account of your intense grand slam preparations, you haven't been very active in it. but out of nowhere, here the two brothers are blowing up the chat. as you caught up on the messages, you pick up on an interesting amount of typos–more than usual...

at the mention of bottles, you immediately caught on. a small laugh escapes you as you type back to voice your suspicion, and atsumu almost instantly replies back to confirm it–that they've had a few drinks tonight.

you shake your head at the bench. it was almost midnight. and they want to see you this bad?

you debate for a moment how much you really wanted to see them again.

they were definitely staying at some different hotel than yours, as they were going to be at the upcoming tournament as well to compete in their usual doubles bracket. you had no idea where or how far their hotel might've been, though. how would they even get to your hotel from theirs anyway? how long would you have to wait for them out in the dark? you could probably fit some more drills in that time instead.

after thinking about it for another minute or two, you sigh and look up at the moon in the dark sky, too exhausted from the hours you've already spent on the hard court to really think of an excuse not to have them visit you. a small break right about now couldn't hurt.

besides–other than catching sight of them on tv or on online tennis news articles–the last time you saw them was at the winner's banquet, and you really wouldn't complain about seeing their faces in person again.

so you tell them what you're up to at your hotel, and you're met with eager replies back in the groupchat: atsumu suggesting they join you in your practice, osamu saying they have a driver that can bring them to you.

a sudden surge of energy enters your system realizing you're about to have them right in front of you again. you bounce your leg against the court impatiently to try and let some of it out.

you start thinking back to the last time you were face-to-face with them, and you can't help but cringe a little, recalling how you were more of a flustered mess than you might've wished in front of them.

you internally cursed the effect they have on you.

and yet, here you were giving in to see them. but if you were going to have to face them again, you concluded you'd need a bit of liquid courage pumping through you yourself...

around 20 minutes after you seal the deal and send your hotel's address to the two brothers, you hear footsteps approaching where you were sat at the court bench.

and then there they were–casually in t-shirts and shorts they were probably about to wear to bed–in front of you. you hear the clink of bottles as atsumu drops the duffel on his shoulder onto the court.

"be more careful with that, would'ya 'tsumu?" osamu hisses while landing a quick blow to the side of atsumu's arm.

you already find yourself giggling in their presence again and barely a minute has passed by. but what can you say? both on and off the court, the two were so interesting for you to watch.

after atsumu does in fact fail to open some more bottles with his racket and osamu instead opts to use the cap of one bottle to open two others, the three of you then start rallying in a friendly 2-v-1.

with the twins opposite you across the net, tennis balls start to get lazily passed over the net using one-handed forehands and backhands (you each had an occupied hand holding your drinks, after all). though you three aren't giving it your all, a steady and precise rhythm of clicks still start to ring out like a metronome with each pass of the ball, accompanying the catch-up conversation that you share on the court.

a few rallies in–and a drink or two more–atsumu suddenly poses a question mid-rally that catches you off-guard.

"hey, say if you had to date one of us, which one you would pick?" the blonde shouts across the court, almost causing you to miss your return on the ball. you question if this was atsumu, or the alcohol talking.

click!

skeptical, you shout back, "i'd go out with whoever actually liked me, obviously."

click!

"but what if we both did?" you barely catch osamu add on, as his words are more mumbled and almost slurred before you see him hurriedly take another swig from his bottle.

you can hear the joint-confession in his words, and your other hand goes to give you another sip from your own bottle to calm your nerves.

click!

"is it normal for you both like the same girl?" you tease.

click!

"nah, not really, actually," osamu calls back.

"so what, should i feel honored or something?" you can't help but sarcastically throw at the two.

click!

"of course. you're hot and talented," atsumu reasons, dropping his description of you like it's the most normal thing to say in that moment. you feel your face start to heat up–and it definitely wasn't the alcohol making its way through your system.

click!

"oh, is that all i am?" you feign offense, and for once both brothers mistakenly go to return the ball, when they usually are so coordinated only one ever has to take initiative. you loved messing around with them.

the ball falls between their two outstretched rackets, and atsumu curses under his breath as osamu goes after it as it starts bouncing away. after retrieving it, he tosses it to atsumu to serve it over and start up another rally.

click!

"'s not that," says osamu, "we've both gotten to know ya, you're great all-'round."

click! click! click...

"but based on what you've gotten to know 'bout us," atsumu speaks up in the pause of conversation, "who would'ya pick?"

click... click... click–

you suddenly give it your all and crash the ball hard onto their side of the court, downing the rest of your bottle right after, "let me think that over."

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the three of you had stopped rallying, opting to hanging out on the bench and just talking about life. the few bottles from the miyas' duffel were about halfway through and it was close to about 2 in the morning now.

the sound of tennis balls and rackets making contact was now replaced with hushed giggles, the sound of tennis balls lightly being dropped against the court surface and being caught again once they inevitably bounce back up, and the whirr of rackets being twirled by absent-minded hands.

all these sounds muddle together in your ears, an internal tell-tale signal to you that you were very tipsy.

since you were asked the question, the notion of getting with either of the miya twins has been floating in your mind. other thoughts came along with it, too, and the alcohol was not helping to push those curiosities of yours away.

as always, these two made it so easy to cave into your wants of selfish self-satisfaction. but this was a much-welcomed respite from the otherwise constant pressures and grueling day-to-day of going pro so young on the tennis court.

that you could be sure of, sober or not.

... so you figured your future and more sober self in the morning can't get that upset for what you were about to try.

"i think i know how i can figure out an answer to your question from earlier," you find yourself humming while atsumu was on your right, attempting a racket trick on the bench, and osamu was to your left, on the ground leaning up against the bench and bouncing a ball between the court and the palm of his hand.

"which one?" atsumu questions with a quick glance over to you as he tried balancing the middle of his racket on one finger.

"who i'd go out with," you nonchalantly shrug as you hear the wires of your racket slice through the air when you quickly spin it in your grasp.

"really?" osamu cranes his neck back to look at you, hand still trading contact with the ball between his hand and the court.

you look between them, the blush from the alcohol clearly visible on their faces–one you can certainly feel is shared on your own facial features, too–before looking back down at your racket, "i dunno, i just think i need more... stats to compare."

"what d'ya mean?" atsumu now puts down his racket in his lap and asks. you bend down and use your racket to slice the tennis ball out from under osamu's palm, directing attention to the racket by tapping it against the ground.

you ask osamu, "heads or tails?"

a beat of expectant silence passes by the three of you, as the brothers wonder what you're getting at.

"...tails," osamu finally replies, and it almost sounds like he utters his words on bated breath as he looks at you. (or maybe that was just your ego getting to your head.)

you twirl your racket one more time and let it clatter to the ground. the sound reverberates in the now completely-silent space, as the miyas are frozen in place as they scan your every move.

heads.

you look at atsumu, and mustering up all the confidence from your inebriated system, you reach your hand up to lightly hold his jawline. his skin under your fingertips runs soft as you dare to start leaning in closer, and closer, and at the moment your lips brush the slightest bit, you feel his breath hitch.

for a second, you reconsider if now was the time to settle into desire, if this may all just wind up being a big mistake–

but then atsumu quickly gets fed up, and he finally closes the gap between you. before you know it, your eyes flutter closed as you get lost in how his mouth feels on yours. his kiss is relentless, leaving no room for you to catch your breath as he constantly makes sure you can feel as much of him against your lips as you can. it's like he doesn't want you thinking about anything but him, not on his watch.

yeah, this is definitely not a mistake.

after a few moments, you hear shuffling and the bench creaks under a new weight on your left, and suddenly you feel a hand on your left thigh–osamu's, no doubt.

you carefully pull back from you and atsumu's kiss, catching how atsumu's eyes remain lidded as his body involuntarily tries chasing after you, both of you letting out soft pants to try and breathe in much-needed air.

you turn your head to face osamu, and you follow how his eyes trace over your face and his teeth subtly gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip in an anxious state of anticipation. you take it as your sign to start leaning in towards him–your fingers still lingering on atsumu's face as you do so.

osamu's kiss is much softer, but deliberate nonetheless. he isn't afraid of pulling back a little bit, but it isn't long before he takes the initiative to gently trap your bottom lip between his teeth now and then, forcing content sighs out of you–this in itself almost eggs him on further to toy with you more.

and then the skin under your right hand's finger tips disappears, a pair of lips start to kisses your jaw, and a pair of hands starting to wander along the right side of your body.

now both miyas are all over you, their possessive hands almost competing in grasping at more of you than the other. that, combined with the feeling of lips on yours at the same time as lips trailing along the side of your neck, made your head buzz.

you felt giddy–you've only ever seen them playing on the same side of the court. but right now, they were opponents, but instead of fighting over some glass trophy or medal, they were trying to win your attention.

finally needing air, you pull away from osamu. when you open your eyes to see his face, his lips are swollen and even in the dark of night you can catch a glimpse of his pupils appear blown out.

those same eyes flick over to glance at his brother on your right, and before you can follow his gaze, osamu's going in for the left side of your neck.

in the dark you can feel every touch–two varying paces of lips working against your skin, bleached and dyed hair brushing along the underside of your jaw. there's hands on your thighs, hands on your waist, hands peeking just under the hem of your shirt, hands threading through their blonde and grey hair–

your phone starts to ring.

"oh shit–" you quickly stand up from between them, stumbling a little from the imbalance that comes with your current tipsy state. you feel around for your phone on the ground and by the time you locate it among the mess of duffels and rackets and empty bottles, you see a missed call and texts from a member of your team. they're wondering where you were, and telling you to wrap up and head to bed if you haven't already.

"s-sorry," you stutter out at the two boys, picking up your racket from where you left it on the ground and fumbling with the strap of your duffel, "i gotta go–thanks for... the drinks."

and all osamu and atsumu can do is dumbly nod as you leave them at the bench–lips slightly parted and hair messes, with star-stuck looks from them that you've grown quite accustomed to.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (2/30 at the time of publishing) : @zumicho , @liillyliilly (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

  stickers ᵕ̈        boyfie!akaashi keiji x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : where does he   ⋮⋮  get them from ?

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛     ♡ # 1.4k 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

akaashi always handwrites you notes on special occasions. the first one you had the pleasure to receive was for your one-month anniversary. you had seen his handwriting on the assignments you’ve worked on together or the exams he’s gotten back, but that was the first time you saw his written words dedicated to you.

you’d be lying if you said that first note didn’t make you tear up a little bit.

he always uses a black, fine tip ballpoint pen when he writes his notes to you. his handwriting is practiced and wispy—you can tell each stroke flows through to the next yet it’s not rushed, it’s careful. you know that because his words indenting ever so slightly through the paper they’re written on is evidence he’s a little heavy-handed as he translates his words to you through ink. it shows he really means those words you read off the page.

and another charming detail about your ever-growing collection of “keiji notes” is that they have stickers on them. small ones, blink-and-you’d-miss-it ones. in the margins, or in the corners, or even right by where he signs his name—laying claim to the inky confessions precededing it.

but for the life of you, you can never seem to find where he keeps them. the stickers, that is.

you’ve been together for a little over a year now—a year filled with many, many stickered notes—and yet you’ve never seen a single sticker sheet in his possession.

not in his bag…

nor his locker…

not in the drawers of his room’s desk…

nowhere!

and other than where he kept them, you had plenty of other questions. how many did he have? where’d he get them from? when did he get them? you spend so much time with him yet have never seen with your own eyes him buying them.

it was like a special mystery to you; something yet to be discovered in you and akaashi’s relationship that kept it fresh as long as it remained a secret. to preserve this little bit if whimsy, you never voiced out your curiosity. a silly part of you was convinced if you dared to even mention the stickers, next thing you’d know, they’d stop appearing in your precious notes from akaashi.

so you let it be. you accepted it without asking your questions—occasion after occasion, note after note…

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

that was until one day: a friday night in winter as soon as school got out for the week, when the two of you were at a local corner store, splurging on snacks for a cozy night in with akaashi at his house. you had lost him in the fluorescent-lit aisles in your excitement to assemble the ultimate date night feast for the two of you.

after you’re finished carefully selecting the ramens and drinks and chips you concluded would perfectly accompany the queue of movies you and akaashi had picked over the past week’s lunch breaks, you start to roam the aisles to reunite with him.

peeking over the mountain of cheap treats you have balanced in your arms, you finally spot him in the very corner of the store, intently looking over a section of an aisle, “keiji, i’m ready to check out now!”

hearing your voice, he quickly turns around and you catch a sheepish smile creep onto his face as he leaves what he was checking out to make his way over to you. he immediately starts gathering some of the food items you have piled up in front of your face in his own arms to help alleviate your load.

with each new small snack pack akaashi took on, you get a clearer view of which aisle the two of you were standing in—it was the stationary aisle.

you look further down to where your boyfriend just was. he was looking at the corner store’s sticker sheet selection.

so that's where he gets them from.

“you think we’re really going to finish all this?” akaashi’s voice snaps your attention back to him. now with his own arms holding up a dozen or so items, he starts heading toward the self-checkout.

without getting a moment to further think about catching your boyfriend red-handed (sticker-handed?), you start trailing close behind—pointing out something along the lines of how he always pays for your date night food expenses, and so he could simply ask you to return some of the items back onto the shelves if he was so concerned.

and as the items get scanned (beep… beep… beep!) and akaashi packs them into the provided ‘thanks for shopping with us!’ plastic bags (all for him to carry out the doors of the corner store himself, so that you don’t have to worry about lifting a single finger), he defends himself with something that sounds vaguely like, “you’re too cute for me to resist. that’s not my fault!”

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

you both make your way back to akaashi’s place under the street lights, alternating between periods where you can see each others faces lovingly looking at each other and small stretches of time where you have to rely on your voices to communicate that same emotion.

akaashi always had a way with words, written or otherwise. he’s quiet with his volleyball teammates or when he’s in class. with you, however, he makes sure your voices always mingle in his ears no matter what—always asking you to elaborate on things to hear your voice more or telling you about all the mundane things about his day that reminded him of you.

but while he thought he may have diverted your continuously flowing conversation away from the corner store sticker incident, he thought wrong.

“how many stickers do you have?” you quickly ask in a hushed voice as soon as your back-and-forth banter reached the smallest lull, beating akaashi to the punch with one of the questions that have been floating in your mind for so long.

“hm?” his voice perks up.

“stickers. like the ones on the notes you give me…” you trail off, as it feels weird acknowledging the childish touch to the heartfelt paragraphs you’ve been receiving for so long.

you’re both passing through between street lights, but you can almost hear akaashi’s smile grow in the dark as he asks, “you saw me in there looking at them?”

“yes!” now you’re in the light, and his smile is in fact there, making your heart skip a beat. but you push that thought away—he can’t charm his way out of this one—as you push him further, “now tell me! how many do you even have?”

“hm…” the rumble of his hum slices through the chilly night air as he thinks, “i have a few holiday ones, for when i write cards for the team—santa hats, birthday gifts, volleyballs, stuff like that."

“the stickers i get don't look like that,” you comment questioningly.

akaashi agrees with you with another calm hum, “yeah, well… i only really started buying the cuter stickers when– when i started going out with you, so—"

you feel your face warm up despite the cold breeze gliding past the two of you going down the street, “you still haven’t answered the question: how many?”

your boyfriend sighs and shakes his head lightly, “fine, let’s just say i have enough to keep making you notes for the rest of our lives. does that finally answer your question?”

very much delighted at his answer, the corner store bags clutched in akaashi’s hands rustled as you suddenly fling your arms around his shoulders once you reach the next street light.

akaashi lets out a huff at the sudden embrace but when he turns his head to face you, you can clearly see his smile hasn’t faded away one bit—just as content with the notion of his answer as you were.

“you really mean that?” you tease in a whisper, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

“of course i mean it,” he whispers back. he means it like he means every word he’s written to you on the page. he means it like every moment of every day he spends with you.

you lean in for a soft kiss, feeling your smiling lips against one another. akaashi’s hands are still occupied with the bags, so your arms hug him tighter and closer before you two finally pull away.

“where do you keep them?” still so close that your lips brush against akaashi’s as you speak, you try to question even further.

“oh, i can’t tell you that.”

“why?”

“can’t have you finding them and spoiling them for yourself. some of those will be for our wedding one day, after all.”

what i would give to see challengers for the first time again

yum ˚. ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

toast, part 3 by h0mec4fe

i was so hype to make myself a frozen piña colada bc it’s hot as shit rn but i forgot that i ate the rest if the pineapple in my fridge 😭