Heartbrocken - Blog Posts

꒰ HE STOOD YOU UP PT.2 ꒱

↳ note ⨾ repost! ↳ genre ⨾ angst to fluff(ish) ↳ feat. oikawa, ushijima & atsumu ↳ parts: one :: two

ʚ OIKAWA ɞ

“y/n?” oikawa whispers into the night, facing your back beside him on the bed in your shared apartment. he’s somewhat surprised you didn’t ask him to sleep on the couch, knowing he wasn’t exactly your favorite person at the moment.

then again, you weren’t exactly saying anything to him either.

you stir a little bit, probably in your sleep, but don’t reply. it is an ungodly hour, there shouldn’t be any reason for either of you to be up.

but oikawa’s been alone with his thoughts.

“y/n,” he tries again. he reaches his hand up as if to shake you awake but decides against it. he really shouldn’t disturb you; he doesn’t need another reason for you to be angry with him. retracting his hand back to close to his chest, he stares at your back and the way your body moves up and down with each passing breath you take.

“what is it, tooru?” your voice, drunk with sleep, catches him off guard, making him blink a few times and wonder if he was just imagining it. it’s not too much of a stretch, since the man has been up since seven in the morning the day before.

“i can feel you staring at me,” you huff, shuffling around into a more comfortable position still facing away from oikawa. “what is it?”

“i’m sorry,” he blurts. he swallows thickly as he listens to the sound of your breath inhaling and exhaling.

“yeah,” you mutter, bringing a hand up to rub at your eyes. “you already said that … the past million times.”

“i mean it,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowing sadly. he wishes he could see your face.

“and how is this different than the other times,” you sigh out, probably exhausted of his apologies and empty promises.

“you could leave,” he croaks, attempting to keep the air between you quiet. “it never occurred to me until tonight that you can walk out that door and never have to deal with me again.”

you pause your moments craning your neck around but it’s too dark to see. so, you turn over, now facing the ceiling. oikawa follows suit and lays on his back, only moving his head to the side to face your side profile.

“i’d deserve it,” he continues, playing with the sheets between his fingertips. “i’ve been nothing but neglectful and haphazard with you, unknowing to the consequences for my actions. and for that, i’m sorry.”

“your words mean nothing, though,” you mumble. “after so many apologies, how can i just trust you this time?”

you’ve been so hurt, so tired of being hurt by him, you can’t believe his words.

oikawa nibbles his lip, in attempt to keep it from trembling and quickly clutches your hand with his.

“i’ll make you trust me again. there won’t be a doubt in your mind about how much i care for you.”

he doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, his hand holding yours. oikawa is just about to say goodnight (with another apology probably) and take his hand from yours to allow you back into a comfortable position, when you squeeze his hand and intertwine your fingers.

ʚ USHIJIMA ɞ

the next morning, you wake up in an empty bed. with furrowed brows, you sit up, glancing around the room in search of any remnants of your boyfriend; his closet door was open, volleyball bag hanging on the hook on the inner side of the door, signaling he must be home.

it isn’t until you peel the covers off you and slide into your slippers when you hear the distant sound of clanking pans from inside the kitchen. opening the door of your bedroom, you cross your arms in attempt to keep warm as the morning chill sends goosebumps scattering along your skin.

your feet pad toward the kitchen, now following the smell of … pancakes? eggs?

“oh, you’re awake,” ushijima announces as he sees you step into the kitchen, taking note of your confused expression. whether it’s from the morning deliriousness or the fact that he’s cooking breakfast, he can’t tell.

“don’t you have practice?” you rasp, morning voice lining your tone. you clear your throat and continue, “it’s nearly ten.”

ushijima turns away from you, looking back down at the skillet in front of him. “no practice today.”

“oh.”

the air is cold between the two of you. not only is it from the weather as winter creeps closer, but the silence, too.

“i told them i couldn’t come in.”

you nod slowly at that. “are you feeling alright, toshi? you don’t have a fever, do you?”

ushijima shakes his head firmly. “no, but i’m not alright either.” he pauses his stare at the skillet in front of him to turn to you with sad, droopy eyes. “i’m sorry i forgot about last night.”

“oh.” you’re slightly taken aback by his expression. “it’s alright, tosh, you had practice-”

“i stayed late,” he mumbles quietly, lifting the fried eggs from the skillet with a spatula and places them on a plate. shutting the stove off, he turns around fully, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. “i wanted to get a few more serves in and i forgot about our date.”

his words, truthful as they are, twist your heart uncomfortable. that’s something you could always count ushijima for: honesty.

he looks over at you with his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. “how long did you wait for?”

“until they kicked me out,” you murmur your reply, twisting your arms behind your back.

ushijima sighs, lifting himself from leaning against the counter. “y/n, i’m so sorry. it won’t happen again.”

“okay, toshi.” you muster up a smile, gulping down the lump in your throat.

when he reaches you, he takes a side of your face in one of his large palms. he looks between your eyes, searching them and when he finds doubt, the crease between his eyebrows deepen. “you don’t believe me.”

“it’s not that,” you sigh, averting your gaze from his. “volleyball has been your number one priority since we met, and i love that! i love that you’re so passionate about something … it just…” you trail off, not knowing how to form your next words.

it hurts knowing i’m second to your career.

ushijima reads your expression clear as day. “i shouldn’t have made you feel this way,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, as he takes in your averted eyes and knitted eyebrows. “volleyball is my career,” he says firmly, “but you’re my priority. i’m sorry i haven’t expressed that as i should’ve.”

“you don’t have to say that-”

“i mean it. and i’ll prove it to you.”

ʚ ATSUMU ɞ

“y/n?”

the soft thuds against your bedroom door make you look up from the book in your lap. you hadn’t read much of it, the event that occurred a few hours prior plaguing your mind instead.

“come in.”

the door opens a few inches, just to allow atsumu to slip inside and shut the door closed behind him. he wears a deep frown on his usual confident-looking face as he stares longingly at you.

“yes?”

you notice he’s changed his clothes; where previously he was wearing a pair of joggers and an athletic jacket, he’s wearing jeans and a jacket better suited for the cold weather outside. you presume that he managed to snag the outfit form your shared closet when you slipped into the bathroom for a shower about an hour prior.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking down.

“okay, atsumu,” you sigh, returning your attention back to the book in between your hands, fingers carding through a page as you attempt to reread the section for about the nth time.

he gnaws on his lower lip, keeping his eyes trained on you, waiting for the possibility that you flit your eyes up to meet his once more; maybe with that adoring gleam they always have around him.

yeah, he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing that tonight.

“i really mean it,” he announces, jutting his chin up. “what i said, how i acted, i shouldn’t have done that.”

“mm,” you hum, nodding in agreement, eyes never leaving the beige pages of the book.

huffing slightly, atsumu shuffles out of the room, leaving the door opened behind him. you’re about to call out that you much preferred it being closed but atsumu soon returns with a plastic bag in hand.

“you did eat, right?” he asks tentatively, walking closer to your shared bed. he recalls your words a few hours prior but he isn’t sure if they were just a jab in retaliation of what he’d asked you to do for him.

“yes, i ate.” your tone is clipped, making atsumu flinch slightly but slumping his shoulders he holds out his arm, gently urging your to take a peak.

“well, ‘m assuming you didn’t have any dessert so…” he shakes the bag when you don’t look inside immediately.

curiosity getting the better of you, you straighten yourself up and lean over, not before scowling at the man – he has to know you’re still not pleased with him. you use a finger to pull the bag toward you, giving you more view of the contents inside,

“ice cream?”

the man bashfully brings a hand behind his neck to rub at. “i wanted to get’ya a cake but all the bakeries are closed. i had to head to the convenience store on the corner instead.”

you don’t speak as he takes out the mini tub of ice cream and spoon, placing it in front of you on the bed. with a pressed frown, rocks on his heels.

“i’ve been a shit boyfriend lately,” he declares with a look of regret. “i’ve been an ass and you don’t deserve that. all you’ve done is be supportive of me and my career and i’ve done nothing to give you the same love back. for that, i’m sorry. i’m not asking for your forgiveness now, but i’ll make it up to you, baby, i promise.”

you stay silent for a moment as atsumu searches your face, as if a look or a twitch of your lips could tell him exactly what you’re thinking. he thinks you’ll stay silent for the rest of them, stewing with his words.

instead, you pick up the ice cream, peeling off the cover and holding it out for him, as if to share. “you got another spoon?”

and atsumu’s heartbeat relaxes and the ghost of a smile reaches his lips as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, digging into the bag for an extra spoon.

PROMISE, PROMISE.

Or in which: He tells you things he doesn’t mean during an argument.

PAIRING: suna rintarou x reader

GENRE & CONTENT WARNINGS: hurt/comfort. angst. some fluff. established relationship. arguments. (he calls you clingy and insecure.) set in timeskip so pro athlete!suna. & suna isn’t good with words, so he repeats it, over and over, hoping it’ll somehow be enough.

“you’re being stupid, y/n,” he says it monotonously—uncaring.

you wince. you knew how harsh he could get, how blunt and hurtful his words could get—but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“it just made me uncomfortable seeing them touch you like that, rin. plea—”

your voice is soft when you try to reason with him, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring at you until you feel ready to be buried six feet under.

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