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shotomyheart · 3 years

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falling for you only makes me bleed

atsumu x gn reader

genre: angst

warnings: no comfort :( , reader is called beautiful

wc: 340

Atsumu never lies. He’s awful at it, really. His feelings are too loud to silence. His actions too dramatic to fake nonchalance. And when he tries to lie, his face turns red and sweat runs down his face like a damn sauna. So why is it, when the one time he doesn’t want to lie, you believe it?

I hate you.

How could you ever believe him? He hates walking behind slower walkers when all he wants to do is run. He hates plain popcorn (seriously, who eats that?). He hates losing. So why does this hurt more? He could never hate you. He can’t even make himself hate the way your back looks when walking away from him.

Two months later, eleven missed calls, five breakdowns, and one exhausted twin from hearing Atsumu’s whines everyday. Atsumu’s out on a jog on a brisk morning. The wind hits his skin without forgiveness, but he enjoys being able to feel something- anything that wasn’t the numb tingling he’s had since you’ve left.

You’re at the park, the park he jogs by. Was it on purpose? Do you want to see him?

He stumbles to a stop, not believing his eyes. It’s you, cuddled in a warm sweatshirt with a smile that radiates against the cloudy sky. You’re beautiful.

Wait.

Who is that?

Two feet away from you (he really should have seen him sooner, but his focus was solely on you for so long), a basketball player (and he only knows this because of his obnoxious red varsity jacket) stands tall and smiling back at you as he tells some boring story, Atsumu suspects.

Atsumu turns around and does what he does best: he runs away. He runs so fast the wind dries his eyes of any residue of sadness. His feet ache and he dramatically blames gravity for making him fall so hard for you.

Maybe he does hate you. The way you smile at someone else. The way you laugh at another’s jokes. But, god, he hates himself more.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydream.drabble #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #miya angst #atsumu angst #atsumu x y/n #x gn reader #atsumu x gender neutral reader #atsumu x you #atsumu drabble #hq #haikyuu #angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst

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shotomyheart · 2 years

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learning a new language (then forgetting)

oikawa tooru x gn reader

synopsis: no matter how much you love each other, your love languages don’t match

genre: angst <\3

wc: 619

warnings: no happy ending, personality specifics of reader, dumb amount of italics, no wrong party: just not a good match :(

note: this is... much more personal than it should be

When it’s good, it’s good.

You fell for his independence. The way he traveled to a new country, new culture, new life, all for his dreams, made him irresistible.

The way he first greets you, his smile bright, his eyes; unclear. He was tempting. A tempting mystery. The new boy in town. Oikawa Tooru.

Your relationship fell into each other’s arms. A perfect match of laughs, intimacy, and understanding. He held you tight. Too tight, but maybe you just need to adjust.

He showers you in jewels. Crystals shine bright against the spotlight, is what he had said. You don’t want to be in the spotlight. But sacrifices are necessary.

He takes care of you. You never have to worry about finances, what to wear, or needing anything. It’s refreshing, to an extent. It’s always good to have a backup, someone who’s willing to help when you struggle. You’re not struggling, however. He paid your rent, anyway. As well as most of your formal wear. And your groceries. He hasn’t moved in yet.

The quiet moments are your favorite. When the sun streams through the window, dancing across your skin to his. Maybe you’re talking, maybe you’re not, either way is pleasant. He kisses you lightly wherever you are nearest: top of your head, stretch, your ear, glance, your forehead, fall, your lips. He holds you tighter.

He drowns you in compliments, to anyone and everyone. Despite your wide eyes and tight grip on his hand, he continues to boast about you. It’s sweet, really. He loves you so much, he just wants the world to know it. You don’t care about what other’s know about. As long as he knows you love him, that’s all that matters.

You love him. He loves you. That should be enough.

——

“Are you embarrassed of me, or something?” His voice is straining against a yell, but he knows you hate that, he’s trying.

“Of course not. I just don’t think strangers need to know about our relationship.” You want this to work. You’re trying.

“I just want to show you off,” Tooru rubs his forehead, a headache is coming, you know. You know him so well. Which is why this conversation is pointless, because you already know what he’s going to say.

“I’m a person, Tooru, not a medal.”

——

“Please!” He’s crying. Of course he’s crying. And of course he is one of the few people you can’t stand to see crying. You match his eyes, much to his surprise.

“You’re not understanding me,” your voice is void of emotion, despite the salty tears dropping on your lips.

He can see your emotion, but he never hears it.

“Then make me understand,” he’s shaking as he holds your hands close to his heart. You don’t look.

“I just want you,” you push your head into his chest. Diving into his familiar comfort.

“You have me, I’d give you the world, if you’d just let me,” Tooru whispers in your ear, a chill travels through your body.

You take a deep breath, then separate from him. “If I wanted the world, I could take it,” your heartbeat blocks your thoughts, you can only say the truth. “I want to be with you,” your eyes meet, “I really, really do.” You take a deep breath, “I want to be with you, not be a part of you.”

He still doesn’t understand. It’s obvious, the way his mouth is slightly agape, eyes searching for hints across your face. He doesn’t understand.

You sigh.

“You want something, I can’t give.”

——

You fell for his independence. When your name began attaching to his, you lost yourself. You love him. But you respect yourself more.

You feel as heartless as he sees you.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydreaming.longer #oikawa x reader #oikawa x gn reader #toru oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa #hq oikawa #haikyuu #haikyuu oikawa #angst #hq angst #oikawa x you #hq #tooru x reader #oikawa x y/n #drabble #oikawa drabble #oikawa fanfiction #oikawa imagine

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shotomyheart · 2 years

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sleepless dreams: a poetic story

decapitalization and improper punctuation intended bc I’m lazy <3

kuroo x gn reader

synopsis: little moments of falling in and out of love

genre: fluff with angst ending

warnings: some specifics of reader (shorter, doesn’t like tea, likes hot chocolate, likes hp, idk its based on 16 yr old me lol), harry potter spoilers about fred, some hate on family guy, reader can blush, heavy angst

note: another piece i wrote (actually these are text messages i sent to my friend) when i was 16 but i replaced my crush at the time with kuroo.

honestly i don’t like this v much so i’ll probs delete it, but happy birthday kuroo!!

wc: 1.2k

him being so much taller than you, he would always want to cuddle

and he would hate your movie choices,

but you’re too stubborn to let him watch his nerd shows

but occasionally you would, because you want him to know you care about him

and you would throw popcorn at each other

and during horror movies you would hide in his chest and he would do the whole “i will protect you” thing but in reality all you wanted was to be closer to him

and he would rub circles on your hip when you’re leaning on him

and he is more of the kiss-my-hair type because of how short you are compared to him

and you would fiddle with his hands; comparing your hands to his

and you would cry watching harry potter because fred dies

and at first he will be jealous because you keep saying how much you love him

but then he realizes he’s being ridiculous because not only is he a fictional character but he’s a dead fictional character so he would bring you to his lap and would stroke your back

kissing your hair because he’s that type

and eventually he will know all the lines from harry potter because you’ve been together so often and it’s your number one and ya’ll would take turns saying lines

but then his romantic side would kick in and during ron and hermione cute moments happen he would turn you to face him and say everything ron is saying but says your name instead of hermione

and you would blush

and he would tell you not to hide your blush

but you would continue to and he would tackle you and tickle you but even if you’re not ticklish you laugh anyways because you enjoy those moments

and the first time you have a date at his house he gives you hot chocolate because he knows already it’s your favorite

but he would spill it over your shirt and pants

because he’s so nervous

and you scream from the hot liquid but you can't take off your shirt without it being weird so you start hitting his shoulder and demand him to give you his clothes

and he would grab a shirt and sweatpants

and you would wear it for your night in,

and he would comment how he likes it when you wear his clothes,

and you say, “don't get used to it”

but he just laughs and gives you a brand new cup

and he learns you like it with milk rather than water.

and every night you’d go out to his house just to hang he would give you hot chocolate but with milk

and he would always kiss your nose when you stand on your tippie toes,

because you’re trying to reach the cupboard

but he takes the advantage of your position and kisses your nose

and then gives you the mug and your nose crinkles as if you don't like the kisses but then you blush and can't help smiling and he knows you like it

and then you would go back to both of yours couch which you would always call ‘our couch’

because you two didn't often go out you would just cuddle on that grey couch

so whenever you are talking to friends or whatever you slip with the words ‘our couch’

and your friends will just laugh and point it out while you just pretend it didn't happen

but after awhile you would agree it was ‘our couch’

and you would go to ‘our couch’ and after your first date of him spilling your drink he would have the clothes in hand so you could just change in the bathroom and come back to cuddle in his clothes disregarded the previous thought that he shouldn't get used to it

but you then would realize it was you who shouldn't have gotten used to it

because after 7 months of dating, he gets a little agitated when before he thought you were cute

he would say if you didn't like his nose kisses just say so

and he would say how he wants to watch more his shows

and noticing the change you realize he should get the picks for a few days and so you let him

but after awhile it doesn't even seem you’re there next to him when he watches his shows

he just zones out casually snorting when a funny part comes up

you wouldn't cuddle anymore

you would try to

but he would remove your hand from his leg without leaving his eyes from the tv

and you would think he’s just having some bad days lately so you would give him some time

coming less because it hurt being invisible to someone you clung to only weeks before

and when you did come he would pretend you weren’t more than strangers

he would make himself tea

which is your least favorite

and he wouldn't make you some saying you could make it yourself

so you say okay and go to the kitchen but there was no hot chocolate only tea

and you’re a bit upset because he knows how much you hate tea

he used to laugh and call you cute when your nose crinkles thinking about tea

but now that’s all he drinks

so you go back to his couch

it was his

it wasn't yours anymore

it didn't seem right to claim a couch when it seemed you couldn't claim the boy you thought you were in love with

you two had said your feelings in the 5th month saying how much you loved each other

you kept your promise that you would never leave him

but without realizing it he was leaving you in the same room as you sat with him watching some shitty cartoon he loves like family guy

sometimes you would say a witty comment because that was your thing, being witty

but he won't hear and then a few seconds later he would daze over to your area of the end of his couch cuddled with a blanket and ask what you said

and you would say under your breath with defeat that it was nothing important

and instead of tackling you,

and tickling you, to interrogate you

he would shrug and sip his cuppa and you would watch how his beard has gotten a little out of hand

and his eyes look more tired

you thought it was his job

or maybe stress of college, or anything really; anything but him being tired of you

but when you see him lick his lips from the cuppa of the thing you hate most, watching a show you find no interest in, as he sits on his couch on the other end of you,

you realize he's not tired; he's exhausted

and you were his coffee keeping him up

so you say goodbye without a kiss, not that you were expecting it

and would go home trying not to cry from your revelation

and you would call him up and say your final goodbyes because you’re too much of a coward to tell him in person

and when he asked “why”

you say “because you need sleep.”

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydreaming.longer #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo x you #kuroo angst #happy birthday kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro #haikyuu longfic #hq #haikyuu #hq poetry #kuroo breakup #haikyuu angst #haikyuu kuroo #hq angst

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shotomyheart · 3 years

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GOOGLE SEARCH: can anyone love?

ushijima x reader

synopsis: ushijima has some questions for google

warnings: angst

note: a little writing challenge: drabble under 200 words @doinmybesthere

edit: i wrote another drabble that takes place during “am i in love” paragraph right here it’s fluff but hurts more when paired with this story

wc: 139

No one taught Ushijima how to love.

GOOGLE SEARCH: what is romantic love?

How to care for someone, be reliable in a new way. His parents showed him a broken version, he can’t trust that. He worries he’s subconsciously learned it anyway.

GOOGLE SEARCH: am i in love?

But he can still feel it. The heart rush, the unfocused mind. He’s not sick, he’s already checked. Twice.

GOOGLE SEARCH: how to confess my love?

He knows he loves volleyball. And in many ways, love for you feels the same. The yearning for more. The feeling of being right where he should be. The feeling that he belongs.

GOOGLE SEARCH: how to cure a broken heart?

And just like volleyball, he can lose. And he does. And he’s not so sure what to do now.

GOOGLE SEARCH: can i be loved?

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shotomyheart · 3 years

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the better man

synopsis: atsumu is distracted, but not enough

unrequited atsumu x f reader | osamu x f reader

genre: angst

warnings: sad tsumu, suggestive content but nothing too bad

wc: 442

note: inspired by this story [again lol]

“Ya shouldn’t sleep around when yer in love,” Osamu’s voice echoes against the speakers of the club. Atsumu just can’t get rid of him! He’s downed 4 shots, but Osamu’s voice stays, even as he grips another’s waist and pulls them closer. She giggles and she moves harder against his black jeans. Her movements are sloppy, but Atsumu doesn’t mind. They served as a good enough distraction.

When the night grows darker, he asked her to come over to his place, she agreed with a smile. Both pair of hands are on each other in the taxi, exploring each other with haste. When the taxi rolls to a stop in front of the small flat Atsumu owns, they climb the stairs to the door and his brother’s voice rings out again, “Ya shouldn’t sleep around when yer in love.”

But how can he not when he loves kissing her plump lips. He loves the starry look in her eye when they finally stop, only to take a breath and dive back in. He loves how she clings to his shirt and moans so prettily.

He loves so much, why isn’t it enough?

Why does he still long for your lips to be against his? Why does he often stay up at night thinking about how that day you smiled at him?

Why do you have to be Osamu’s girl?

Why does everyone choose Osamu over him? The better friend, the better student, the better son.

Atsumu is certain he could be the better boyfriend, if you just hadn’t met Osamu first.

It didn’t matter you met only a week later, as soon as you and Osamu met eyes, you were his and he was yours. Besides, even if Atsumu had tried to catch your eye when you did meet, it was too late. He had already heard how great you were from Osamu. He couldn’t betray his brother like that, not after how much and how long he talked about you for.

So he continues to kiss the stranger, hoping to find something even better under the strawberry tasting lipgloss. Maybe find someone softer under her thin dress than the look you give to him when you say you’re proud of his accomplishments. Find someone more worthy of his time than you who keeps him up all night wishing you were next to him. Find someone better than you. But it’s futile, he knows it. Because he is certain there is no one better suited for him than you.

And he thinks, for the first time in his life, he will settle for second. If he could just have someone to love.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydream.drabble #bedroom.daydreams #atsumu x reader #atsumu drabble #atsumu miya #atsumu x you #atsumu angst #angst #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #hq angst #atsumu x y/n #miya twins #female reader #atsumu x female reader

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shotomyheart · 3 years

Text

liar

warnings: angst, death, reader has a sister

a/n: yall flopped my shoto fluff so here’s some oikawa angst😈

Is he crying? No, wait, he’s in the shower.

Oikawa looks up.

When did he get here? God, his head hurts. Oh, right he was drunk. Is drunk? Was?

Oikawa shuts off the water. He stands there for a few minutes. Feeling the cold air hug him tightly. He feels like he can’t move an inch.

You.

You’d know what to do.

He feels himself smile as he staggers out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. Leaving the bathroom, he grabs his phone by his bedside and quickly scans his contact list to call you.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs tapping in anticipation.

“Hello!”

“Yn! I-“

“You’ve reached-“ your voice goes on in your voicemail. He can feel his lips mouthing the words.

Oh, that’s right. He remembers now.

The phone beeps, ready to record his message.

“You liar.” His voice has turned scratchy. No longer filled with hope. “Your machine... your machine says- you say you’ll get right back to me. You’d call right back as soon as you can! But-“ he bites his lip, “its been two weeks now...” he hiccups, “it’s been two weeks and you’re a liar! You said you’d never leave me! You said—“

“Oikawa?” His heart stops.

“Yn?” He whimpers.

“No, Oikawa. It’s their sister. You need to stop calling here.” She sounds tired. He wonders what time it is. “They’re not coming back. I just dropped by to pick up some of their stuff. We’re disconnecting their phone this week.”

She sounds just like you. Maybe he could make her say his name again. And he could imagine. Imagine it’s you.

“I’m hanging up now, Oikawa.” The phone ends with a single long beep. His eyes cast down to his phone, now in his shaking hands. Water falls on his screen.

No, tears. He can’t blame it on the shower anymore.

#daydreaming.nightmares #toru oikawa #oikawa #daydream.drabble #angst #toru oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa toruu #toruu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq angst #haikyuu angst #drabble #gender nuetral reader #gn reader

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shotomyheart · 3 years

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dreams stay dreams

mattsun x female reader

synopsis: working as a funeral director and priest isn’t exactly what mattsun had dreamed for himself

warnings: sad fic, not too much about romance but you end up with him, death (not of mc or you), not totally canon, my tenses are all over the place, mentions of drinking, mattsun can sing and play guitar bc i said so

note: this was an original piece i made when i was 15 and decided to share by replacing my oc with mattsun. bc of this, my writing isn’t the best but i wanted to share anyway

wc: 1.7k

POV: Mattsun

I always count how many flowers are in the room before anything else. I like to see how much the corpse was worth to people, how much they cared, or if they feel more guilt for not treating them better. It’s like a game, so far the high score is two hundred forty two flowers in one day. Today there are ninety-six flowers, most are violets, but some roses are spread around the room in bunches. The room has about a hundred people standing or sitting near the guest of honor. Most are crying, some laugh about good times. I, on the other hand, view others while leaning against the wall. In respect, I wear an all black suit, no wrinkles. My brown dry eyes stand out against the black atmosphere, but somehow I stay hidden amongst the crowd.

When people start to sit down, a choir softly sings songs about how great Heaven is and God will protect all that want to survive the world, not live, but survive. I believe the song was “Redeemer of Israel”.

I hum along.

I fiddle with my fingers as my father preaches to the crying children of God and tells them to rejoice in the aspect of life after death and rejoice in the temporary life the victim had.

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice. It is a common word in my household of just my father and I.

When the ceremony was over, I wait until all of the guests have left, the immediate family being the final six to leave. The wife’s tears are silent while the youngest child was coaxed by an older sibling— I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl at my angle—telling the young boy to be quiet. I wonder if the child believes if he cries loudly enough his father will wake up.

The rest of the three, presumed, siblings hold onto another, as if grasping onto the last bit of reality. When they let go of each other, their eyes seem to gloss over in a new world, one of old memories that rained in front of their views. My father watched in pity.

That was the difference between him and I, well there were many differences, he looked at people with pity and I viewed them with knowledge. Knowledge of knowing what it’s like to watch themselves fall and their dreams to crack beneath their feet. It was a remarkable sight.

. . .

“The flowers go to-”

“Ms. Jackson, I know. They always go to Ms. Jackson.” I mumble. Another family lost a member last Tuesday and preparations were always the same. I set the six tables that rounded the room. Usually there were seven, but one of them was missing or broken, I don’t recall what my father had said.

At seven o’clock exactly I grabbed my coat and threw off my black tie that my father makes me wear to work. I unbutton my collar and shake off my coat once I shimmer into my rusting, dark blue truck. When I ignite my car, it rolls into the street with rumbles and creeks echoing into the silent neighborhood.

As the street lights become brighter and the people are louder, I slide into a parking spot. The Late Pool has bright blue lights illuminating onto the pavement as I walk in. With guitar in hand, I shift my way into the back of the bar. Crowds observed my every move as I confidently stride up the small stairs onto the dirty stage. The eyes of broken hearts and mistreated wives hanging onto the sex-crazed men that haunt the streets of Manhattan chug another fizzy drink that drowns their sober thoughts.

There was nowhere else I would rather be.

In the corner of my eye there is a large window and hidden behind the sleepless city was a church peeking over roofs and the dark sky.

I called to close the shades.

Positioning myself, silence echoed and my breath could be heard a mile away, but reality was people chatted amongst themselves, kissing and dancing to toxic music and to toxic thoughts. My fears wash away as soon as my guitar sings to the crowd and the dying club music shuts off. Ed Sheeran’s “I’m a Mess” flows off my tongue, bringing a more gentle feel throughout the bar. People continue to grind and shake off their regrets of that afternoon as my voice leaves my tongue and I cry to the Heavens and my Father and my dreams of tomorrow.

When I finish, the crowd rumbles out my name with a drunken slur and a tiny bit of admiration, but that could just be my tipsy state imagining and hoping.

It is ten o’clock when I have my seventh drink and my feet start to stumble. I ask for another. The burning sensation touches my throat as it swam to my thoughts. I threw my ideas up with my vomit as I rushed to the toilet.

Inside, a young woman approached me with a solemn face. Her cheeks were puffy, but I hardly took notice. Her black dress hung loosely on her and tear stains rushed to the floor. I would have recognized her if my eyes didn’t shift every two seconds. She took ahold of my hand with a firm grip and placed my hands on her hips. A buzzing moved in my pant’s pocket, but I was focused on the girl kissing my neck. I knew my breath smelled horrible, but she continued to kiss me with a fierce determination. The bathroom was messy and the tiles were old fashioned, I was pretty sure it was dirtier than my mouth when I ranted on to my friends. The night never seems to end, we drove into a sloppy night full of hope and wishful thinking, neither of us knowing the other’s name.

. . .

That morning I woke up with a groan. My phone vibrated in my pant’s pocket a few feet away. My dark hair stuck in uncomfortable places and my eyes droop with restlessness. The girl had rushed off to the bathroom to throw up while I kept the bile from coming up my throat, instead I take a deep gulp of air. By the fifth ring, I propped my body up and grudgingly moved toward my jeans. Sliding my pants on, I pressed the answer symbol on my phone and placed it on my shoulder and my head tilted to keep it in place.

“Hello,” I grumble. The smell of throw up and beer combined made my head spin even more. There was a sigh at the other end of the call.

“Finally, Mattsun. I've been calling you all night!” The deep loud voice on the other end made me wobble on my feet. I pulled the terror from my ear before I ran into something.

“What do you want, Makki?” I kicked a glass bottle away from my path to the bar counter. A young man wiped the counters down and I raise two fingers and mouthed the word “water”. The man nods his head and grabs two glasses and fills it with ice cold water. I sit down and grabbed the glass with one hand and the other held onto the phone towards my ear again. “Cheers.” I said to the bartender. He nodded and went back to cleaning.

“Are you even listening?!” I debate on asking for a shot of whiskey instead if Makki was going to keep on screaming.

“Calm down, what is it? I'm listening now.” I took a sip of my water and let the cool liquid flow down my throat.

“You idiot! It’s your dad…” Suddenly he hushed his violent shouts and I could practically see his big brown eyes looking up at me in sadness. The woman returned and I nodded at the glass of water to her. She smiles and takes the glass, chugging it down. Her face reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place it.

“What about my father?” I returned, impatiently.

“He’s dead.”

I don't remember if I started crying there or if I cried on my way to our house.

. . .

I count the heads of the people who entered the room. Today there should be about forty five relatives and friends arriving today. When I counted up to forty two, I began my speech of life after death. After a few minutes, Hallelujah rang into my ears as the women of choir sang to the distressed. In the corner of my eye, a bright blue light shines throughout the city, it seems. I go over to shut the blinds.

It’s been a month since my father died and it’s been exactly a year since we moved from Japan to have better business. It’s been three weeks and four days since I put my guitar away and it’s been one hour since I last saw my girlfriend Y/N, the one I met at the bar and later recognized as the figure who talked to the boy at the funeral. Our relationship has been speeding into a serious relationship, and like life, I can't slow it down. She told me I need a steady job instead of the bar, and reluctantly I agreed.

The church welcomed me with open arms and black cloth. I started working a week after my father’s death, rent was calling and apparently so was God. Things change quickly here, as suppose to Japan where there was always enough time to chat a bit and talk about dreams over a bit of beer. Now I realize beer isn't solving my problems and dreams are too high in the clouds for me to reach them, and so was rent in New York City.

So when I cried to the Heavens to bless the family who lost their member (a young girl of the age eighteen, some old drunk ended her sweet life of being a child of the richest family in the area, the Parkers) I cried to God to give me a window of opportunity to leave, or even a crack in the wall. The thunder outside gave me my answer. The dead stay dead. Just as dreams do.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydreaming.longer #mattsun #mattsun x you #mattsun x reader #mattsun haikyuu #haikyuu #matsuwaka issei #matsuwaka x reader #matsuwaka x you #female reader #mattsun x y/n #mattsun x female reader #haikyuu angst #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq angst #hq mattsun

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