I Would Like To Tell Mattsun That Even If He Is Built Like An Asparagus And Has Early Onset Arthritis

i would like to tell mattsun that even if he is built like an asparagus and has early onset arthritis loving him has been okay i guess

picture this:

"say," he starts. "on a scale of one to ten if you were to rate how much you enjoyed loving me how would you rate--"

"a solid four," you blink. "maybe a 4 and a half on a good day," you later add with a snicker.

beside you, issei leans over to grab a pocky stick from the box in your hands. "bold of you to say shit like that as if i'm not the literal love of your life."

rolling your eyes, you turn to him after grabbing two, and make a show of biting into the biscuit as you huff. "you learned what the word literally means and have been using it wrong in just about every scenario i hope you know that."

"maybe," he shrugs, smiling in the way he savors the taste of matcha on his tongue. "but it gets your attention doesn't it?"

you nod your head, mildly impressed. "point taken."

the both of you delight in the silence offered, before issei smiles towards you, offering his words to tide over the peace in the matter. "i know you love me though," he says.

"bold of you to assume stuff like that," you laugh, but don't say anything more to argue with him. "but i'd give you a solid eight," you nod, after giving it a three second consideration.

"an eight," issei deadpans, like your words even do so much as wound him. "that's an awfully average score."

"when has our love ever been more than average?" you retort with a solid laugh. "from my point of view, eight's a pretty solid number, you know?"

"you're built like a fucking asparagus, and you complain about your joints every two seconds, but--"

"you love me," he adds, cutting you off. "you give me shark facts that i could have gone the rest of my life not knowing but--"

"--you love me the same," you finish, cutting him off as you mimic his smile.

leaning forward, issei just barely hovers over your lips as he smirks, saying, "somehow that eight feels like a ten though."

you smirk, holding his stare. "on a good day, maybe."

a second chance with iwaizumi

(comfort angst, ex-lovers)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cursing (one swear word), mention of death (hypothetical), a little steamy but nothing inappropriate

“Want to go out for dinner tonight?”

You arched an eyebrow slowly, causing one end of your mouth to flick upwards into amusement, your eyes glittering darkly.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Knowing you, Mr. Iwaizumi, I presume that this dinner is more than just a dinner.”

His jaw clenches, swallowing the hard truth. It was going to be him reconciling and apologizing for what happened two years ago.

“So you have forgotten the kind of person I am, I presume.”

This time, your jaw tightens dangerously with a look that said: the audacity. Ambitious and indomitable, you are the personification of the sea. Your eyes shimmered like pools of dark abyss. No wonder things between the two of you have been rocky ever since.

Tipping your head back just slightly, you flash your teeth in an almost sadistic smile, the tip of your tongue prodding the inside of your cheek in lazy regality.

You were tangling his mind further into knots, confused, conflicted and yet you managed to undo him until he was completely and utterly vulnerable. Glee was written all over your face while scarlet heat rushed up his cheeks.

“I will go to dinner with you.”

-

You went to dinner, but that wasn’t the important part. Not even close.

After the dinner, you both ended up in the family restroom, Iwaizumi’s hands pinned at either side of your head, the faint aroma of wine still lingered on his tongue, his green eyes burned and flickered with intensity.

You promised and promised and promised and swore and swore and sworn to yourself that all of this, this, was never going to happen again; that you were never going to stay within close proximity of your ex but here you were with his hands gripping your hips with an untamable ferocity, his breath tickling and warming your neck, sending a wildfire down your spine, igniting an inferno of blazing heat to your stomach. You shivered anyway, your body unable to contain any semblance of control.

He hesitates like he’s scared to dive into the deep, afraid to let instinct take control because he still knows you so well. Your fingers gripped his hair and you felt him move his lips up to your ear. You swallow. He’s gravity and you’re about to crash land; he keeps pulling and pulling and you keep falling and falling.

“Is this how we resolved our fights?” he manages, voice husky.

You didn’t remember and you certainly didn’t care to remember. Every crevice and valley of your brain wanted him all over again and for the first time, you let your deepest desires take over.

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

He’s silent and then slowly and gently, he brushes his lips on your jaw. It was hardly a kiss, but what’s left of his restraint snaps and you’re falling into oblivion once again.

His lips roam your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw, hands tracing paths on your body like a map, rewriting everything anew and covering all remnants of your regrets and resentment. You lean back your head and swallow hard, gasping for air. It felt like the room was spinning wildly. He was going insane, he was making you go insane. You were veering off course and no longer did you yearn for control or take back any regrets.

It was just you and him in this universe, mindlessly clinging onto each other and wisps of chaos because nothing made sense anymore and nothing mattered. You could die right at this moment and you wouldn’t feel it coming, but you would feel him, all of him, and only him.

His palm rested respectfully on your lower thigh before leaving to place it on your lower back, a growl clawing at his throat. God, you forgot how exhilarating this was. You forgot what it felt with just the two of you, the lack of barrier between you and him, skin burning, lips and tongue on fire, fingers gripping nothing but fragments of sanity and blazing skin.

You were so close to him and it closer than imagined, like he feared even light would pry you apart if it were to make space between you so he pulled you closer until your skin nearly merged with his. Your hands explored the wide expanse of his chest, perfect and so welcoming under your touch.

Slowly, he brought two fingers to your neck, feeling for your pulse. You gnaw on your bottom lip as he continues to make his way to the hollow between your neck and shoulder, his quick breathes in sync with yours.

“110 beats per minute,” he mutters before harboring his lips on that soft crevice. Desperate, you pull him closer, wanting to feel more, wanting nothing more than your bodies to blend and merge together so you couldn’t let go.

“How do you know?” You pant.

He chuckles a little, sending goosebumps that reverberated down your arms. “I’m a certified athletic trainer, I know how to look for a pulse.”

He’s blushing when makes the cocky comment. “I must be stupid to forget that.”

He grips you tighter, a hand running along the length of your spine. “No, I don’t think so.”

With the back of his hand, he strokes your cheek soulfully like you were made of glass before resting at the nape of your neck, cradling. You resist the urge to lean back and let the pads of his fingers knead your flesh.

He finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours. “I’m sorry.” He whispered those words like it was a vow and it made warmth pool at the base of your stomach. “I didn’t mean to get this carried away.”

There were possibly a million other apologies behind his voice that he wanted to declare, but the air, this moment, was too fragile, too small. It would break at too many words. It would shatter you.

Iwaizumi refused to make eye contact still shy and possessing a twinge of self control, arms still around you, and you mentally squeezed yourself smaller.

“Neither did I.”

He angles his eyes upward, almost hopeful and it disintegrates something in you. He leaned in again and you sucked in a harsh breath, a breath that felt like glass was stuck in your throat. This time he hovered over your shoulder, your hands inched up his chest where you could feel his heart palpitating.

“I hope you know,” he begins. “I was a complete idiot.”

“I can partially agree on that,” you say breathlessly and a chuckle escapes.

“I really wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, then sighed. “I’m sorry, that sounds like a lame excuse, but it really isn’t.”

You simply hum in response. “Continue.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath. “You were enough, more than enough and you deserve someone who can carry that. I know I wasn’t that kind of person for you. I wasn’t strong enough to carry you. I wasn’t enough to deserve you. Hell, I don’t even think I deserve another chance.”

You close your eyes as he makes his way to the edge of your lips, kissing you so softly you want to sink to the floor. Every word hits you like a needle.

“I also hope,” he whispered so fervently, so reverently like he was worshipping a deity, you nearly buckle. “You know how brilliant you are, how beautiful, how intelligent, how irresistible you are, and how insufferable you can be.” He laughs at the last part, a beautiful laugh that you wanted to capture with your lips, with a canvas and paint and ingrain it into your memory. It danced across your skin like a ballet routine.

“I’m sorry, I am truly, genuinely sorry. I was reckless. If only I was able to think about what I was going to say and how much it would hurt,” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have said that you were…” He pursed his lips, as if the words hurt him as much as it did to you.

You swallow nervously. Confrontation was your weakness and he could see it right through you.

“What did I say about second chances?” You asked instead.

Before he could answer, you whirled around, this time he was against the wall, your nose brushing against his and featherlight brushes of your lips on his, already trembling.

“And where did you get this confidence?” He asked with a hidden smile, already pressing your body flush against his hard chest. He didn’t have to ask that, he already knew.

A dark smirk curved on your face as you lean in closer. “I stole yours,” you whispered.

You have to come to terms that you chose the worst guy to simp for from this anime. Sakusa is an asshole, the only thing about him is that he’s pretty.

Accept it.

Sakusa isn’t an easy person to love.

He’s difficult, stubborn, his walls are sky high, he’s picky down to every last detail, and he never admits he’s wrong.

No, he’s not easy to love, but he’s worth the effort.

His heart burns with passion that’s raw, that’s so pure and runs so deep, the dig to the core never ends. He loves so endlessly, with unfiltered promises of something that lasts beyond forever.

He pays attention to every last detail, reads in between the finest of prints, his mind is always filled with you, from the bottom to the top, up to the very brim. His eyes miss nothing, and his intuition has honed itself to map you out in every way.

His smile is so pretty, so bright, that it brings the sun to its knees, with two dimples that were made for your fingers to poke. It’s beautiful not because it makes him that much more handsome, but because it’s capable of healing your soul, of erasing your pain.

His laugh is a breath of fresh air, he is boyish and he is charming under this moment of vulnerability, under the split second he bares his heart to you, letting you feel his joy with him as his hand finds its way to yours, connecting the two in the way your souls already have.

Sakusa knows he’s capable of brewing storms in your eyes, he’s well aware he can hurt. He can hurt so badly, so brutally, the strings by which your heart is attached are frayed at the edges. But he, till the day he dies, promises to stitch every tear and every rip, even if it costs him the strings of his own heart.

And Sakusa, far from perfect, far from the man he knows you deserve, far from capable, far from likable, far from desirable, is so giving, he offers you the world, the one he’s carried on his back even when the weight makes his knees buckle.

Because you, you are his one love, the one thing he has to himself, the one thing that he knows will remain his even if he is stripped of all that makes him who he is. Down to the very last fiber of his being, Sakusa Kiyoomi is yours.

His heart and mind and soul, his goals and dreams and aspirations, his past and present and future, they are all yours. They are carefully pressed to the palm of your hand, seeking shelter, searching for a place to call home so that he can take a moment and breathe.

He trusts you. He knows he’s not easy to love, but he trusts you so wholly, so blindly, it hurts. He trusts you to love him, to reach past the thorns so you can admire the petals.

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s love language is difficult to decipher, but he is fluent in you, and the words are clear, defined, immeasurable.

Sakusa is an enigma, the only thing about him that’s promised is his love for you.

Accept it <3

sorry for going completely disappearing off the earth. if you’ve stopped following me, i totally understand why.

that being said, while i have deviated from writing haikyuu fan writes, i’ve been really into a duology called these violent delights and i’m almost about done with a piece of work about that book series and i’m hoping to push it out next week or possibly even this week. so if you’re into that, i hope you’re excited :))

but this doesn’t mean that i don’t like haikyuu anymore because frankly, it’s the complete opposite of that; i still really enjoy it. i’m willing to take requests (they’ll just take longer to write because high school sucks :/) and i think it will give me more inspo for longer works. it’s just that i’ve been getting to reading published books more so that’s why this blog hasn’t been my main focus last year.

anyways so sorry the lack of activity on this blog, i’m hanging in there and i’m doing my best to nourish my creative writing but it’s very inconsistent so don’t get your hopes up too much if i push something out ;)

she’s back bitches

'tis the damn season

description: you and Atsumu revisit old feelings whenever he comes to your hometown (based on 'tis the damn season by taylor swift) paring: miya atsumu x reader genre: angst

Atsumu knew it was wrong.

He knew that he was just making things worse by stirring up old feelings again. But that didn't stop him from driving to your house late in the night.

The storm made it hard to see, and the windshield wipers on his mother's truck swung rapidly to clear off the rain.

Atsumu was lying to himself if he said he hadn't been thinking about you ever since he told his mother he'd being coming home for the equinox this autumn.

She hummed. "Make any other plans here for the weekend?"

He hated the fact that everyone else knew too.

Thunder crashed loudly as he turned onto the dirt road that your little cottage rested on.

You were a school teacher now.

At least that's what his mother told him, unprovoked. You taught elementary education in the same school that you had both attended when you were young.

When you were young.

Sometimes he had caught himself thinking about those days. Times like these, more specifically.

You were a cute kid, with a big smile that you'd grow beautifully into.

It was always perfect to him.

The porch lights were on and he wasted no time to park and hurry to the front door.

He was kicking mud up, but he didn't care about the mess. He would care in a few weeks, when he would catch a glimpse at the muck on his shoes and feel the stain on his heart ache.

He took a deep breath before knocking.

Just this weekend.

Just this last time.

You opened the door in a fluffy robe holding a cup of tea.

"Hi," Atsumu said, hating the way his voice sounded.

"Hi," you replied softly.

That voice. He missed it dearly. It just felt right, an accent similar to his own. He missed hearing all the nice things you used to say to him. Everything felt right again when he was with you.

He could never admit this to anyone-- even himself-- but when volleyball got hard, and the critics wrote filth about him, he imagined he was with you. And for that moment, he would let himself pretend that everything was okay again.

Just this weekend.

You offered him tea, and he politely declined.

The two of you made small talk as you were sitting in your living room, him on the couch and you in an armchair.

"Have you spoken to any of your old high school teammates-- besides Osamu of course," you joked a little awkwardly and he laughed good-naturedly.

"No, I haven't," he paused wondering if he really wanted to know the answer, "have you?"

You hesitated before nodding. "I had lunch with Shinsuke recently. He has been helping out at the school."

Your response hurt, and he was angry at himself for feeling that way. He had no claim to you anymore. Besides you could call it even, since he himself had a few casual flings.

Even if he only went to bed with them to try and forget the way your skin felt against his.

"That's wonderful," Atsumu said, trying his best to mean it.

Hours passed as the two of you continued to chat, and the conversation slowly turned natural again, like it used to be.

He didn't know when it happened but you were sitting next to each other on the couch now, knees touching.

You didn't flinch when Atsumu slipped and called you 'babe'. And he took that as a sign to slide his hand up your robe and kiss you deeply.

Just this weekend.

Just this last time.

You both knew he was leaving again. It didn't matter if you begged him to stay or if he asked you to wait for him.

You'd stay in bed together the whole day tomorrow and when you'd drift off sometime midday, Atsumu would force himself to leave your warm embrace and head back to Osaka.

He'd leave a polite note wishing you well, even though he knew he was the reason why you weren't.

Atsumu knew that the ache in your heart was caused by his own ache for something more. Unfortunately he was a selfish man with dreams that were worth more to him than yours.

At least he had the fairness to break his own heart as well.

This way, you could at least call it even.

you know how i said i might post a tvd fanfic? yeah, i deleted it bc there was too much overwriting and it basically unfixable at this point so i’m going to be approaching it with a different idea