Explore the world, one post at a time
NOBODY ASKED BUT HERE ARE THE TOP 10 MOST UNDERRATED HAIKYUU SHIPS (in my opinion of course)
10. narikino (narita x kinoshita)
all i can think about is them dishing tea while everyone else isn’t paying attention
9. yamayama (kageyama x yamaguchi)
it has the same energy as kagehina expect less competitiony and i love it ALSO LOOK AT THEIR SHIP NAME IT’S AWESOME
8. akaken (akaashi x kenma)
imagine the pure sass that would come from this pairing
7. sugkuroo (suga x kuroo)
i!! love them!!
6. kyouhaba (kyoutani x yahaba)
simply not talked about enough i mean look at them
5. kanoyachi (kanoka x yachi)
this ones been getting a little bit more traction lately but not enough
4. yakulev (yaku x lev)
angry small and dumbass tall??? perfect.
3. tsukiyamayachi (tsukishina x yamaguchi x yachi)
one of my personal favorite poly ships it’s just so cute!!
2. oisuga (oikawa x suga)
need i say more
1. TANOYA (tanaka x noya)
absolutley NOBODY talks about this ship ever and i think it’s so cute!! totally deserves more love
Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team was many things—talented, competitive, and, above all, nosy. But when it came to you, their manager, they had collectively accepted one simple fact: you lived in oversized, comfortable clothing.
Baggy sweatpants, hoodies, loose athletic shirts—if it wasn’t designed for maximum comfort, you didn’t wear it. Even during official team meetings outside of school, you opted for relaxed attire: a sweatshirt over leggings, sneakers, and maybe a jacket if it was cold. It wasn’t that you disliked fashion, exactly. You just didn’t see the need to dress up for them.
So when you casually mentioned you had to leave practice early for a family event, no one thought much of it.
"Skipping out on us?" Oikawa teased, tossing a volleyball in the air as you packed up your clipboard. "And here I thought we were your favorite people in the world."
"You’re absolutely not," you deadpanned, adjusting the strap on your bag.
"What’s the occasion?" Iwaizumi asked, more genuinely curious.
"Wedding," you muttered. "Family thing. My parents are making me go."
Matsukawa, stretching lazily, smirked. "That why you’re sneaking off?"
"Something like that," you grumbled, crossing your arms. "They’re making me wear this stupid dress. It’s all tight and uncomfortable, and the shoes are even worse. Who the hell decided that formalwear should be painful?"
Hanamaki raised an eyebrow. "What’s it look like?"
You groaned, already dreading the memory of trying it on. "It’s one of those straight-jacket ones that make you feel like you can’t breathe. Apparently, looking ‘put together’ is more important than basic human comfort. I swear, my mom picked this just to torture me."
"Sounds fancy," Watari mused.
"Sounds awful," you corrected. "I’m gonna suffer through this thing and then burn it the second I get home."
"Bet you’ll look nice, though," Kindaichi added hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck.
You gave him a deadpan look. "If you call suffering looking nice, sure. Anyway, I’ll see you guys at the next practice. Don’t destroy the gym while I’m gone."
"No promises!" Hanamaki called as you walked off.
That was the end of it.
Practice was still in full swing when you stepped back into the gym, freshly changed and already regretting every single life choice that had led you to this moment. You had only come back because you’d stupidly left your phone on the bench, a mistake that now seemed far worse than just being phoneless for a few hours. The team was scattered across the court, finishing up drills and cooldowns, their chatter filling the space as they moved around. You had hoped—prayed, even—that you could slip in, grab your phone, and leave unnoticed. But fate, as always, was cruel.
Then you stepped forward.
And the entire gym stopped dead in its tracks.
Oikawa, who had been mid-sentence, visibly choked. His water bottle slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.
"Holy shit," Matsukawa whispered, not even trying to be subtle.
Iwaizumi, caught off guard, blinked hard, as if his brain needed an extra second to process what was happening. Yahaba, who had been chatting with Kunimi, turned so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, mouth opening but no words coming out. Kunimi, usually too lazy to react to anything, actually paused, his usual indifferent stare slightly wider than normal.
Even Kyotani, who rarely paid attention to anything that wasn’t volleyball or fighting, furrowed his brows, looking between you and the rest of the team like he had just walked into some elaborate prank. After a long pause, he finally muttered, "Why do you look like that?"
You shifted uncomfortably, hating every second of this. "My God. Can you guys stop staring?"
"We can’t," Watari blurted, sounding just as shocked as the rest.
Because, for the first time since they had met you, you weren’t wearing your usual baggy, oversized clothing. You weren’t hidden under loose layers of fabric that swallowed your frame. No, today, you had been dressed by your mother, which meant you were in something far more… put together.
The dress was sleek and form-fitting, something you never would have picked for yourself. The fabric hugged your silhouette in a way that felt unfamiliar, and you had spent the entire night feeling like you were playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. To make matters worse, your mother had insisted on makeup—subtle, but noticeable enough to make you feel even less like yourself. The heels were even worse—unsteady, impractical, and making you curse whoever thought fancy shoes should hurt.
"Why—how—what?!" Kindaichi, who had been stretching, nearly tipped over from shock.
"Is that you?" Hanamaki added, pointing unnecessarily.
"No," you deadpanned. "I’m an imposter. The real me is at the wedding, plotting my escape."
"Hah—seriously, though! You clean up nice," Matsukawa mused, looking you up and down with a smirk. "Didn’t know you had it in you."
"No one did," Yahaba muttered, still looking at you like you had just shapeshifted before his eyes. "What the hell."
"I don’t," you grumbled, adjusting the hem of the dress uncomfortably. "My parents picked this out. Not my choice."
"Your parents should pick your outfits more often," Oikawa said before immediately ducking as Iwaizumi chucked a towel at his head.
Kunimi let out a short exhale. "So that’s what was under all those sweatpants. Huh."
Kyotani just grunted, arms crossed. "Tch. Whatever. Doesn’t change anything." But the way he kept glancing at you said otherwise.
"And that’s why I dress the way I do," you huffed.
Sensing your growing discomfort, Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand down his face. "Alright, that’s enough. Stop freaking out."
"I am freaking out," Oikawa retorted. "This is earth-shattering news."
"You’re an idiot," Iwaizumi muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You love me," Oikawa shot back, undeterred.
"I don’t," Iwaizumi deadpanned.
You exhaled, already exhausted. "Okay, I’m leaving now. If anyone makes another comment, I swear I’m quitting this team."
"No, wait!" Oikawa called. "Just one picture—"
You shot him a withering glare that promised pain if he continued that sentence. He wisely shut up.
With that, you turned on your heel and left, still muttering under your breath about hating dresses, hating heels, and how you were never letting your mother pick your outfits again. Behind you, the team was still buzzing, voices overlapping as they tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Matsukawa let out a low whistle. "Damn. We’re never gonna see that again, are we?"
"Nope," Hanamaki sighed. "Should’ve taken that picture."
"So we had a hot manager this whole time?" Yahaba muttered, still looking at where you stood like he was processing a cosmic revelation.
Oikawa, arms crossed, hummed thoughtfully. "Iwa-chan, do you think we could convince her to dress up again?"
Iwaizumi didn’t even hesitate. "No."