𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃┊rin X Reader Ft. Sae. Tormented By His Recent Injury And Decline

࣪ ⊹ 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘 — tsukishima kei.

⁰¹ — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 : the best part of me…

part i summary : your winter trip was supposed to bring you a sense of relaxation and relief after the long fall semester. however, there's a bit of trepidation about seeing your long-time crush, daichi, for the first time after he introduced his new girlfriend. yet, you quickly find yourself wrapped in a much more complicated tryst than you had anticipated.

contains : fem reader (she / her pronouns), slight angst, mentions of unrequited feelings (reader → daichi), college au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, tension (romantic and unamed sexual), eventual smut (none in this part, mdni), mentions of anxiety, fake dating, misunderstandings, reader is shorter than tsukishima, teasing, pining tsukishima

a/n : this fic is definitely my baby and I hope you all enjoy it! i plan on having two parts, but it may turn into three if I cannot fit the smut in with the plot for next chapter! also, I pictured the until dawn lodge as the cabin in this fic, but I tried to make it as vague as possible for you all to imagine <3 reblogs / tags / comments are loved and appreciated! thank you so much to sweet risu for helping me whenever I got confused <3

word count : 14.6k

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There are many instances in life–different paths to take, different decisions to make–in which you do not come to understand their meaning until after they have passed. 

Looking back, you suppose this was the start of one of those instances. 

The sting of the cold is alleviated soon after you push open the large glass doors of the metropolitan museum–though the coolness of the door’s metal handle lingers on your skin. You can still feel the grooves pressed against your palm even as you walk through the main entrance, and you mindlessly run your thumb over the small indents to soothe them away. 

It’s strange–the echoing of your footsteps, the blatant sound of your footfalls; they bounce off the walls, ringing slightly in your ears as you make your way past the exhibits. With the evening sun dwindling behind you–the day’s last rays beaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the front door–the shadows of the museum’s exhibits stretch across the hard, grey floor. Seeing a place usually teeming with gleeful families and exuberant, easily-excitable children devoid of people is almost eerie, but you find comfort in the vivid emptiness. 

The lights are dimmed as you traverse down the main hallway, and the excitement at what’s to come continues to swell inside your chest. You swiftly take a right until you spot the second door–somewhat propped open, allowing any outside viewers a peek inside the office. 

“Hey stranger,” you make your presence known, though the likelihood of surprising Tsukishima is slim to none. 

Leaning against the wooden doorframe, you cross your arms, waiting for your best friend to turn around and greet you with his usual charm of sarcasm and teasing. 

Tsukishima leans over his desk, shoving a book and miscellaneous supplies into his brown shoulder bag. The jacket he’d sported this morning–the same one he’d worn a week ago, before he spilled a splotch of coffee on the grey tweed–is already shrugged over his shoulders. It’s long, reaching down his back, framing his tall form in a way that compliments him. 

Not that you’d ever tell him that. 

“Sorry–we’re actually closed,” Tsuskishima is smug, throwing a lopsided smirk over his shoulder. His glasses fall down the bridge of his nose at the action, and he casually pushes them back into place with his pointer finger. “Didn’t you see the sign?

His attempts at teasing are lost on you; you scoff, rolling your eyes in such a manner that only comes from being friends with the tall man since your adolescent years. “There was no sign, actually,” you chide, hugging your arms to yourself. The cool chill is back–something that is not uncommon in such a large museum. Without the numerous people milling about, families having taken off an afternoon to explore and coo over the exhibits, the warmth that comes with so many bodies in a building is absent. 

Tsukishima furrows his brows as he finishes gathering his belongings. Turning to face you briefly, he grabs the gloves that hang on a small hook by the door, tugging the leather over his knuckles, pulling down until they cover his wrists. “Well, the sign is metaphorical; you can easily check our hours online. Besides–does anyone actually use ‘open’ and ‘closed’ signs anymore?” 

You shrug, lips downturned into a thoughtful look. You humor Tsukishima–your specialty. “I dunno. Small businesses, maybe. The restaurant down the street from Suga’s uses one,” you point out. 

Knowing his routine, you quickly snatch his thermos from his desk–the one he religiously uses for coffee and nothing else–and offer it to him with a supercilious grin. 

Tsukishima glares at you, though it holds no bite, before gratefully grasping the mug's handle. With a slight frown–a pout, by any other means–he opens the lid, taking a peek inside. He swirls the cup, and immediately, a woeful look crosses his features–empty. 

You hypothesize that the probable lack of coffee that usually lingers in the metal thermos will lead to a more easily irritable Tsukishima, and brace yourself accordingly.

“How do you even know that?” Tsukishima asks, astonishment evident in his tone. He doesn’t mask his surprise at the tiny bit of knowledge, though you do feel slighted by your best friend. 

“Are you really asking me that?” you retort, raising a brow in mock disbelief. Your tone is jokingly flat, as so to convey your feigned irritation. It’s notorious among your friend group that you hold an abundance of random, oftentimes useless, pieces of information. It’s a small thing, yes, but you blame it on your years of trivia night at the insistence of Yamaguchi–every Tuesday in the campus’s library and–if you’re lucky enough–you could even win a free parking voucher.

You’d won eight times throughout your tenured years at the university. 

“Okay, smartass.” With a huff, Tsukishima pulls the thick strap of the bag over his shoulder, motioning with one hand for you to relinquish your commandeering of the doorframe. Readily, you push off of it, moving to wait in the hallway as Tsukishima flicks off the light in his office with one hand, turning his back to you to close and lock the heavy door. 

“What–no ‘closed’ sign?” you bait him, though, with the lack of coffee in his cooled metal thermos, you take heed to continue with care and caution. 

“Careful there,” Tsukishima warns, ducking his head in to give you a scornful look. It has the opposite desired effect–you haven’t been intimidated by the tall man since you were years younger, and even then, it was always more of a kind of admiration. Instead, you merely grin. 

To be friends with Tsukishima Kei, you must have a certain amount of bite. 

“Alright, princess.” Your arms are still crossed, attempting to trap the body heat close to your chest. You’re becoming restless–more than ready to escape the large, echoing, empty museum, looking forward to the warmth his car will provide. “Let’s get you some coffee. Have to get you more amicable before we join the masses.”

“Princess?” he glares, adjusting his grip on the handle of his tumbler. You bite back the urge to laugh as Tsukishima seems to hold onto it like it's his lifeline–you don’t feel the need to risk your neck quite this early in the evening. 

“Well, yeah,” you reply thoughtfully. Your attention is temporarily stolen by a stray piece of thread hanging off the hem of your sweater sleeve, layered neatly underneath your coat; you pick at it, a pinch forming between your brows as the offending string snags. After losing interest in the string, you let it hang, instead deciding to eye the singular bag Tsukishima holds. “You’re taking forever to get all your stuff together–probably longer than I did. By the way, is that everything you’re bringing? You know we’re going to be gone for, like, two weeks.”

The winter trip is not uncommon; every year since your first in university, your group of friends have made an effort to get away after the fall semester had ended. This year, a large lodge cabin nestled in the mountains was calling your name, and you had only a few misgivings about attending this year. 

You did not know if you were quite ready to face him. 

“Hey–listen, you,” Tsukishima falls into step next to you, and his words are paired with wide eyes and a dismayed expression. “I’ve had it to about here today,” he raises his hand to mimic a high bar above his head, “and the last thing I need is your attitude.”

His words, while harsh, are offset by the warm, affectionate tone in his voice. He doesn’t mean the bruskness–and hardly ever does with you–and the familiar teasing banter that bounces effortlessly back and forth between you is gratifying. It has you grinning widely, knocking your shoulder against his body to pull a similar smile from him. 

“Right. Hence the…” you wave your hand around, gathering your thoughts,”...the bribery of more coffee.”

You trail off in a singsong, wiggling your eyebrows in what you hope is an obnoxiously humorous enticing manner. 

Tsukishima snorts, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. They never stay in place, and you make a brief note to remind the man to ask for more rounded temples the next time he finds himself needing a new pair of frames.

“Is that what that was? A bribery?” Tsukishima walks steadily beside you–just as he has for years, purposefully slowing his pace, shortening his strides in order to fall into step with you. The gesture, while likely unconscious after many years, is still appreciated. You doubt you would be able to keep up with him otherwise.

“Duh,” you simply state, framing your voice to emulate a sense of aloofness–as if the answer was obvious. “We have a long drive ahead of us–one that you’re soldiering, I hope you know–and I don’t feel like dealing with your grumpiness the whole way.”

“Really? My grumpiness? You’re one to talk,” Tsukishima easily bites back, tilting his head your way with a slight raise of his brow. “Also? I never agreed to drive. When did you come to that conclusion?”

You pretend as if you miss his question.

“Whatever. One of us will be grumpy by the time the drive is over,” you glance at Tsukishima with shock written across your features. “Also, you never answered my question.”

“And you never answered mine.”

Your glare is met with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk; Tsukishima is smug, and his intonation only further has the frustration prickling at your chest. 

After a few seconds of silent stand-off, you finally break eye contact. “Please drive,” you mumble, tucking your chin a bit further under the thick scarf you wear. “I really don’t feel like it.” 

You’re grateful for the added warmth of your winter clothes as Tsukishima sweeps open the front doors of the museum. Immediately, the cold welcomes you, the brisk chill causing you to shiver slightly in your coat. The sounds of the city immediately greet your ears, and if you squint, you can almost see your and Tsukishima’s reflections on the blacked-out windows of the building on the opposite side of the busy street.

“Ah–there it is,” is Tsukishima’s cryptic response. 

He turns around to lock up the museum, pulling out an old key from the front pocket of his long coat. You remember the first time you’d seen it, one instance three weeks ago. Tsukishima had been tasked with closing and locking up, just as he is now, and you recall laughing at the sight of such an old-looking key for a new, modern museum. 

You pull your attention away from the tiny key as Tsukishima turns back to face you, tucking it safely away in the previous pocket. 

“What is where?” you ask, confusion lacing your words. Another cruel breeze brushes past you, and with your hands shoved in your front pockets, you curl your fingers towards your palms–aching to return warmth to the appendages. 

“Are you that determined to ignore it?” Tsukishima pauses as he begins walking down the sidewalk, making his way steadily to the car. He always parks at the sixth parking spot down from the front door–far enough away to allow museum patrons a spot, yet close enough to not warrant a long walk. You follow him quickly, itching to feel the warm blast of heat in his car. 

As you annoyingly tug at the handle of his car, you feel the twisting of unease settling at home in your chest. You hate the feeling–you had been attempting to ignore and push it aside as much as possible this past month. Yet, with a friend such as Tsukishima Kei, you find that hiding your emotions is more difficult than not.

“Ignore what?” is your poor response. You wince as the words leave your tongue, feeling heavy, stilted, and awkward even as they meet the cold air. Heavy, stilted, awkward, and undoubtedly not believable.

Tsukishima scowls over the hood of his car at your continued tugging and pulling on the handle. Finally unlocking it, the car makes a small beeping sound, and you let out a similar noise of relief when the handle gives, and you’re able to duck your head inside.

“You’re a bad liar,” your friend states, though not unkindly. 

He settles in the front seat, pushing his keys in the ignition and letting out a sigh of ease when the warm air from the heater immediately begins filling the small space. Sinking against the leather cushions, you refrain from taking off the scarf, still feeling the lingering chill that creeps through the thin pane of the window. 

Gathering a feigned smug composure, you smirk. “Only to you,” you tease, hoping that the fondness in your tone will distract Tsukishima from his original observation of your sour mood. 

But, your wishes are for naught; you've never been able to hide anything from the blonde, and as he carefully pulls out of the parking space–one hand on the steering wheel, one hand braced on the back of your headrest–he offers you a knowing glance.

Then, after a brief moment of silence, a sigh. It’s rough–as if Tsukishima is hesitant to bring up the thoughts so obviously plaguing his mind. “It’s about him, right?”

For a moment, you’re silent. Your stomach sinks at the reminder of him–at the reminder Daichi, of your feelings, of what never was. The chill outside is nothing when compared–a pit inside you widens as it gnaws on your gut, filling your lungs with thick ice at the unpleasant reminder of it all. You find yourself unable to focus on anything for a moment as your mind is filled with memories of him–friendly memories, yes, but the once rose-colored haze they were all colored in is now gone, along with the crush that you harbored on Daichi for years. The remainder of your unrequited feelings leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, one that you have yet to replace with something sweeter, and while you're confident any romantic feelings have gone, it is still challenging to move past.

“Yeah, it’s about him.” 

The car falls quiet, and you feel a sudden surge of gratefulness for the moment of silence Tsukishima grants you. 

The state of quiescence is not unwelcome, nor is it strained; Tsukishima lets the subject teeter off the edge–though you know to expect him to bring it up again soon–and the lapse in conversation allows you time to think. 

Daichi has been a friend for years; just as Tsukishima, just as Yamaguchi. Just as Kiyoko and Yachi and Hinata and a plethora of others. Unlike Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and the rest of your friend group, your feelings for Daichi had always run a bit deeper. Perhaps it started when you were still in high school–bright-eyed, excited, and entirely head-over-heels for the captain of the volleyball team. Or, maybe it began when you entered college–on the night when Daichi, always acting as the sweet, dependent upperclassman, saw you studying in the library one evening and made an effort to join you until you'd finished.

While you do not know when your feelings began, you do remember when you discovered your feelings were entirely unrequited. It wasn’t until a few unfortunate weeks ago that a party Suga hosted resulted in your friend group being introduced to Daichi’s new girlfriend, Michimiya. 

A sweet, unassuming girl. She’s cute and acted especially shy that night. You recall how a permanent blush coated her cheeks, likely due to being under such adoring care from Daichi–an arm constantly slung over her shoulder. She had been kind to you, and it only made you feel worse when she offered you a friendly smile in greeting, accompanied by a genuine compliment of how much she adored your outfit.

You couldn’t bring yourself to dislike her. Despite the rolling of your stomach–a dark green monster perched on your shoulder–she was too sincere in her words and actions, caring and giving to a fault. By the end of the night, she had smoothly integrated into your group, and your throat felt as if it had a thick wad of cotton shoved deep inside. 

The crush started as it ended–abruptly, with little fanfare, and an exuberant amount of emotions you weren’t necessarily prepared for–or ready to face. 

You have not seen nor spoken to Daichi since that night, and you feel a strange sense of nervous suspense and trepidation at the prospect of seeing him in a short few hours. Likely, Michimiya would also be in attendance because who would go on a long post-college, trip without their new girlfriend?

You don’t know who you wish to avoid more. 

“What’s up?” Tsukishima breaks the comfortable silence. His fingers flick over the adjustments for the heater, raising it two degrees. Silently, you grin, and you know that Tsukishima picks up on your thankfulness simply by the almost indecipherable tilt of your head in his direction. You receive your own in turn: a small tug of his lips, a quirk of his mouth in a telling grin. 

“Oh, nothing really,” you tuck your hand between your thighs, crossing your legs in an effort to warm your fingers. You make your voice light–teasing and derisive. “Just doing my best to keep the impending dread at bay.”

His grin is immediately gone, twisting into a displeased expression. Then, a scowl. 

“Self-deprecating jokes don’t suit you.”

It’s a brutally honest statement, and while you’re used to hearing Tsukishima speak that way to others–his peers, other students, your rambunctious group of friends–it is rare he speaks that way to you. It has a strange feeling swirling in your chest, and all you can do is attempt to brush it off with another ill-timed joke. 

“Yeah, okay. Like you know what suits me.” To lighten his mood again, you make your tone pleasant–easy. A teasing manner to rope Tsukishima back into the playful give-and-take you so often take part in. 

However, his frown only deepens uncharacteristically, and he keeps his focus solely on the road, even while stopped at a bustling intersection. 

Tsukishima’s reaction is strange, and you decide to brush it off. 

You attribute it to the lack of coffee.

“Maybe I do,” he concedes, glancing in the rearview mirror before tapping his turn signal. As soon as the light turns green–the metal pole of the traffic light dancing precariously over the crosswalk as a gust of wind likely disrupts it–Tsukishima makes a left turn. 

You’re left in silence, mindlessly scratching over the material of your coat. Was Tsukishima implying that he knows what would suit you? Was he, therefore, insinuating that Daichi is not what would best suit you? It’s almost as if he had something else in mind–something troubling his mind? What exactly Tsukishima was referencing, you can’t fathom, yet his words bury themselves uncomfortably in your heart, and you feel an inexplicable urge to swiftly apologize for your likely crass words. 

It’s infrequent that the air between you and Tsukishima feels stilted and heavy; you can recount on one hand the number of serious fights you’ve been in–and, even less, the number of times you’ve felt awkward around him. The niggling at the back of your mind returns, and you bite back the urge to ask for clarification: what’s that supposed to mean? you want to ask, though, with the state of his mood, Tsukishima would be prone to take your words the wrong way. 

So, you let the moment taper out on its own. The drive continues languidly, and, with time, the air between you–as well as your fingers–no longer feels frozen. It’s not until three minutes later, according to the car’s lagging clock, that Tsukishima pipes up again, letting out a low sigh as you approach your apartment. 

You glance over at him in acknowledgment, knowing that words are unnecessary. 

“You can talk about it, if you want,” Tsukishima merely states. If you didn’t know him, hearing the care that bleeds through his words would be nearly impossible. “About him,” he clarifies.

Instantly, your heart lifts, and the strange pit in your stomach is relieved. Leaning your head back against the headrest, you keep your focus trained on your friend, not minding that he pointedly keeps his attention on the road, avoiding your soft gaze. 

“I know,” you say, no longer bothering to try masking the tarrying remnants of hurt.

It doesn’t feel like quite enough, but as your feelings currently stand–confused, with a mix of jittery anticipation and a lingering amount of heartache–it is all you can offer. 

Tsukishima parts his lips–as if a sentence is hanging off the tip of his tongue–before deciding against it. 

A spark of surprise comes to life inside you at his apparent hesitance. Tsukishima has never been one to hold his tongue. 

Interesting. 

Before you can speak on his odd behavior, he’s suddenly adjusting the gear shift, turning to face you with a look you can’t reasonably interpret. “We’ve arrived at your destination, Miss. Your total for this trip will be three-thousand three-hundred and sixteen yen. If you don’t mind, please don’t forget to leave a good review on the mobile app–”

Tsukishima is smirking, and you can only offer a huff of amused laughter in response as you sneer. Lightly, you punch his shoulder, noting how soft the fabric of his sweater feels under your fist. 

Before you can pull away–laughter still present in the air–Tsukishima captures your wrist, holding your hand in place. His fingers are long enough and palm large enough that he’s able to wrap the entirety of your wrist in his one hand; he’s warm, fingertips calloused as they grip onto you–tightly enough to make a point, yet loose enough that you could easily pull away if you wanted. 

Strangely, you find that you don’t.

“Ow.” Your friend is smirking; it’s a devilishly handsome look, you realize. Lips tugged up in a lopsided fashion, eyes glinting with a kind of mischievousness reserved only for you and Yamaguchi. He’s not actually hurt–a fact you’re both keenly aware of, as your tiny punch could hardly have bothered a fly–yet he’s still holding onto your wrist, and you suddenly cannot comprehend why your throat feels so dry. 

“You’re so full of it,” you attempt to tease, but your voice shakes a bit as the syllables get caught in your mouth. 

Tsukishima is simply looking at you with an unreadable expression; on the outside, he is teasing as usual. Thought, you know Tsukishima, and there’s a slight beat–barely half a second–when something else flashes across his features. In that second, his eyes narrow gently, his fingers moving to drag against your pulse point. Your breath catches in your chest at the sensation–the rough pad of his thumb barely brushes over the thin skin of your inner wrist, applying pressure to the sensitive area with no more than a blink.

The space feels hot–not suffocating, but overwhelming. It’s difficult to distinguish the abnormal barrage of emotions that suddenly crash in your stomach, pushing against your ribcage, and swelling in your heart before you can do anything to stop them. It’s humming, filling any possible crevice and corner of the car until it’s packed full–full of the anticipatory feeling, full of indiscernible emotion.

But, perhaps it’s not indiscernible. You think, if you focus hard enough, you might be able to determine what exactly it means.

The abrupt and unforeseen shift in energy throws you for a loop. You don’t know where to look, what to do, what to say. But you don’t have to make that decision; Tsukishima is holding your rapt attention, not saying anything, not doing anything, but staring at you with those inscrutable eyes. If you squint–you might be able to see what’s hidden there. 

The moment lasts only seconds–an inconsequential blip in time–yet it feels like it lasts for years.

Again, Tsukishima parts his lips–as if he wants to say something–before ultimately deciding against it.

The thick buzzing between you quickly dissipates when Tsukishima drops your wrist, looking down to pull his keys from the ignition. He clears his throat with a humorless chuckle as you come back to the moment, still wholly perplexed by what transpired mere seconds ago. 

The moment may have just ended, but with the tension hanging still thick in the air, it might as well have been a lifetime ago. 

“Want me to come inside? Help you grab your things?” he asks, running a few fingers through his hair. 

You miss how his hand shakes.

Taking another second to attempt to process what just occurred–shoving it to the back of your mind, determined not to focus too much on any underlying meaning–you let out a humorless laugh. 

What the fuck?

“Please, I’m offended,” you tell him, folding a hand over your heart. “You make it sound like I overpacked.”

Tsukishima doesn’t need to say anything. Just as with most in your friendship, he only has to shoot you a look–one of disbelief, as if to say really?

“Don’t you always?” Tsukishima pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

All you can do is scoff, opening your door in a swift movement before smoothly exiting the car. The coldness hits you, and even though you shouldn’t be, you’re shocked by the near-freezing draft that greets you. With a small, petulant glare, you press your lips together to fight off the shiver that instantly wracks through your body. 

“No coffee for you, then,” you say through gritted teeth, digging your fingers into your palms as you cross your arms over your chest. While your tone bled seriousness, you and Tsukishima know the threat is feigned–hidden behind a thinly-veiled laugh. But, after all his teasing, you think it’s the least Tsukishima deserves. “Besides, I have to overpack to compensate for your underpacking.”

You don’t have to turn around to know your friend heard you. You hear a disgruntled chuckle as if he calls out your bluff–knowing that you wouldn’t dare deprive him of coffee–but it is cursorily followed by a soft thud, then a tiny curse of ow. 

You grin, thoroughly pleased, and curiously ponder how many times Tsukishima has become overexcited and thus knocked his head against the roof of the car. Feeling a small spark of triumph alight in your chest, you allow the smugness to tug at your mouth in an undoubtedly obnoxious and self-satisfied grin. Leaning down, you press your hands to your knees until you’re peering at Tsukishima through the open door. He doesn’t bother softening his scowl at the sight of your arrogant smirk, tentatively rubbing a hand over the back of his head. 

“Forget the money,” Tsukishima glares, leaning over the middle console to meet your gaze. “I just want the coffee. I think that’s an appropriate payment for driving your ass the two-and-a-half hours.”

You gasp in faux surprise, comically clutching at your heart over your top. “My ass? Kei, you were the one demanding that I go? If I recall correctly–”

“You probably don’t.”

“Kei!” You scold him for interrupting you. 

“If I recall correctly–which I do, smart ass–you were the one pouting saying that you didn’t wanna go this year unless I came, too!” With a fond look, you think back to the evening in question, remembering how Tsukishima had lazily stretched across your couch, scowling incessantly until you’d agreed to request off work for the two weeks encompassing the vacation. 

Not even bothering to argue against your words, Tsukishima lolls his head to the side, thumping dramatically against the warm leather headrest. “Fuck you very much,” he grunts, twisting the knob of the heater up a few more degrees, making up for how the cold air filters in through your open door. 

The soothing blast of fresh hot air is almost enough to thaw your now-frozen fingers. In an effort to warm them, you bring your hands up to your mouth, cupping your palm atop your other and blowing a tepid breath onto your fingertips. 

It does little to hide the doting smile you sport. 

“C’mon, Tsukki,” you tease, reverting to the childhood nickname, aiming to get a bit more under his skin. “How’re you ever gonna get a girlfriend with that foul mouth? No wonder you’re still single.”

It’s unfortunate how your words appear to have the opposite intended effect. Tsukishima’s body relaxes in a cocky, arrogant way, eyes gleaming with playfulness in such a way that it has a hyper buzz prickling at your heart. 

“Girls tend to like my foul mouth, actually,” he taunts, and the arrogance seeps through his body, pouring into every word as he stares you down competitively. Tsukishima shifts, spreading his thighs, and you hate how your eyes flicker down to catch the slight movement. 

You hate how it makes you feel even more. 

However, before you can even respond–make an attempt to knock him down a peg–Tsukishima’s brows furrow, and he slumps in his seat once again. “And don’t call me that,” he grumbles, rolling his neck until you hear a small popping sound. 

You grin, and everything returns to normal. 

Without another word, you slam the door a tad harder than necessary, giggling a bit when you faintly hear Tsukishima protest from inside the car. 

You make your feet quick; with a bouncing step, you walk into the front doors of the apartment building, enjoying how the heat instantly warms you to your core. Despite the warmth, the cold from outside tends to linger in the doorframe, and after enough time of living inside the building, you know to hug your coat closer to ward off any further chill. 

The elevator ride to your floor seems to take forever; the excitement of joining the rest of your friends in the mountainside cabin–promptly rented for a week and a half–thrums through your veins. As you think more about it, mindlessly nodding your head along with the elevator's tinny sound as it passes the multiple floors, you can’t help how the anticipation mounts. It builds until you feel the urge to shake your hands free of the feeling, swelling incessantly with equal amounts of eagerness and nerves. The notion that, soon, you’ll be existing in the same vicinity as Daichi is almost nauseating, and you have to suck in a large breath to ease your frazzled nerves.

It hardly works. The thrumming continues. 

Three more breaths pass before the elevator door opens. You’re relieved at the excuse to move; you walk quickly, hastening into a subtle jog to help rid your body of the anxious energy that has taken up house there in the past minute or so. It helps, though barely, and by the time you reach your front door, you decide to push your worries to the side. This trip is as much for you as it is for everyone else. You refuse to let any negative emotions ruin what is supposed to be a fun getaway from the stressors of university and burgeoning adulthood. And, after the tiny chunk the luxurious rental cabin took from your modest checking account, you’re more determined to enjoy yourself. There was no way you could fathom staying at such a place on your own, yet, even after splitting the price evenly amongst your friend group, the cost for such an extended stay was enough to make you wince. 

After telling yourself that you deserve the well-needed break after such an arduous school semester, paired with Tsukishima’s convincing argument that there was no way he could go if you didn’t, you ultimately came to terms with the cons of the trip. 

After slotting and turning the key in your apartment’s door, you quickly gather your things. 

Two bags and a brewed, fresh thermos of coffee later–Tsukishima’s thermos, one of the two extras that he insists on keeping in your overflowing cabinets–you find yourself in the same position. Locking the door, you ruminate briefly on the time you’ll spend away from home, allowing an inkling of nostalgia to, inexplicably, settle in your heart for a beat too long. 

You don’t ponder too long on the feeling, similar to the nervousness you promptly decided to ignore. 

The elevator ride down always seems to go by much faster than it does going up. In seemingly no time at all, you’re lugging your things through the large front doors of the apartment building, offering a kind greeting and a wave to a familiar neighbor as you go. 

“What was that about overpacking?” Tsukishima is leaning against the side of the car as you meet him outside, suspciously eyeing the bags you hold. You huff irritably, gesturing to him the steaming coffee you have in one hand before shoving a bag into his awaiting arms. The short sound of dismay he lets out is not nearly enough for your liking, especially after seeing how his eyes lit up at the sight of more coffee, and you find yourself fighting the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him. 

“Asshole,” you pop the trunk–the familiarity of the gesture almost seeming like second nature. 

“Love you, too.” Tsukishima places your second bag by your other–next to his own. 

His hands twitch as he places them on top of the trunk, only moving to shut it after making sure your hands are out of the way. Again, his eyes fretfully dart to the thermos held between your palms, and all you can offer is a huff of laughter between cold puffs of air. 

“Come on–we’re already going to be late.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault would that be?” Tsukishima attempts to retort, not knowing that you have an answer already poised on your tongue. 

“Yours, actually,” you click your seatbelt into place, a content grin gracing your lips as you relax in the car. You kick your shoes off in an exaggerated gesture, pressing two fingers on the seat’s adjustable track to lean it back. “My class ended at two. You didn’t get to close the museum until four.”

Tsukishima scrunches his nose in distaste–whether at your words or you kicking off your shoes, you don’t know. “You’re full of spite today. Did you know that?” 

The gentle hum of the ignition is soothing, and the warmth fills the car again soon after. “Mm, it’s part of my charm,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath, happily folding your hands on your lap. “Oh, are we picking up Yamaguchi? He did know we would be late, right? Because of a certain someone,” you look pointedly at Tsukishima. 

The blonde lets out a humorless chuckle, clicking down on the turn signal as you set up the GPS. “Yamaguchi said that he would rather room with Noya and Tanaka’s hyperactive asses than ride with me. Something about my driving being crap. Plus, I still have to drop the key off at my boss’s place,” Tsukishima fingers the museum’s key between two fingers, wiggling it in front of your vision. 

After fiddling with the navigation system and entering the appropriate address, you sit back. The estimated time of arrival blinks back at you–a little over two hours and forty minutes.

“He’s got a point,” you muse, closing your eyes. “About your driving, I mean.”

You feel the soft pinch on your shoulder before you see it, whipping your head around to see Tsukishima grinning, proud. “If my driving is crap, what does that make yours?”

You click your tongue as you turn back around, facing the front. You hadn’t noticed it previously, but snow flurries settle on the windshield in a soft, white powder. You take a second before responding to admire the fresh snowfall, following the flakes’ tiny dances until they land on the windshield, destined to promptly melt if they do not get swiped away by the windshield wiper first.

“Always so mean to me,” you murmur, but your tone is lighthearted and gaze distracted. The longer you watch the snow fall–turning into a white blur as the speed limit increases–the adrenaline and excitement of the day seep from your body, replacing it with a potent kind of exhaustion. All too soon, your limbs feel heavy, and your eyelids begin to droop despite your meager effort to keep them open. 

You find that, in the still silence that follows, paired nicely with the comforting heat gathering in the car and the soft lull of the drive, you begin drifting off into a mindless, dreamless sleep.

You miss the last thing Tsukishima says before you slip off into unconsciousness. 

“You’re the worst driving partner ever.”

“You know, that doesn’t even make sense. We didn’t take turns driving, Kei.”

The look he shoots you is nothing short of hostile, yet it makes you laugh all the same. 

After a nearly three-hour drive–due to the weather and the side-trip of dropping off the museum’s key–you arrived at the cabin. At first glance, you think ‘cabin’ is too diminutive of a word; in its place is a large lodge, made up entirely of nice, dark wood and surrounded by hundred-year-old pine trees blanketed in soft snow. In the distance, the snowy peaks of mountains surround you, and you cannot help but stand in place, floored, for a few moments.

You stare in awe at the unmistakable extravagance of the place you’ll lay to rest for the coming days, one bag held slack in your hand as you take the time to appreciate the structure. There’s a large balcony that you admire for a few seconds, and you wonder how quickly you’d be able to explore it further. 

“You’ll catch flies if you keep that up.” Tsukishima stands next to you, his own bag and your second held tightly in his grip. 

Warmheartedly, you knock your shoulder against his, looking at him with a distinct unbridled excitement. “Not even your stinky attitude can bother me right now, Kei.”

Your words are true; while Kei cannot ruin the moment, the swirling, nearly all-consuming nervousness you feel most certainly can. You feel as if your insides are being eaten up, an uncomfortably warm fizzling sensation settling right at home in your gut, your chest. It’s all you can do to take a deep breath of winter air, exhaling the faint taste of pine, mint, and a trace of cinnamon.

“‘Stinky attitude’?” Tsukishima states, appalled.

You promptly ignore him. “I wonder if that was part of the downpayment,” you mutter humorlessly, curiously wondering how the owners managed to imbue a signature smell to the place. 

“What was that?” Tsukishima asks, leaving thin footprints in his wake as he turns to offer you a strange look. 

“Oh, nothing,” you sigh, heaving your bag over your shoulder to follow him. “Just living the dream.” You do not tell him how you feel agitated and almost sickeningly overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing Daichi–with a girlfriend–again; though, with the way Tsukishima looks back at you, his features softening almost unnoticeably, you don’t think you need to. 

Tsukishima slows, nearly stopping his pace altogether as he patiently waits for you to catch up. 

As you walk, there is a pleasant crunching sound–the fresh snow offering a soft give underfoot. The path from the car to the front porch is short, though, surrounded by nature and the gentle scents of wood and balsam, with the remainder of nerves unendingly tugging and pulling at your system, it feels much longer.

You let yourself savor it as if the walk lasted twenty minutes. 

The cold helps clear your mind and settle your concerns, and you wonder how much it would take to convince Tsukishima to join you on a walk later. 

You hadn’t even reached the front steps of the large wooden porch when a loud yell rings throughout the air, and a thrill of surprise rushes through you. The front door of the lodge is thrown open with haste, and only a familiar head of bright orange hair is able to quell the sudden bout of apprehension that had caused your heart to start pounding and your vision to become tunnel-like.

“Oof–hi there, Hinata,” you manage to get out. His arms hug you tight and warm, engulfing you in a soft embrace. Gradually, you relax, allowing your bag to drop onto the nicely lacquered porch wood as your fingers curl into the softness of his hoodie. You feel him grin, happy at being acknowledged and even happier to have his hyperactive embrace returned.  

“Yo!” Hinata exclaims when he pulls away, a perpetually exuberant grin tugging lopsidedly at his lips. “You guys took forever–though, you’re not the last ones to get here.”

Hinata’s words, while confusing, leave you reeling with more questions than answers. If you were not the last to arrive, who was trailing behind you? Was the object of your recent distress waiting beyond the front door, lounging on a loveseat with a girl you are not quite familiar with yet, beyond knowing she is too sweet to dislike? Or have they not yet arrived? 

Both options leave you feeling restless, and after managing to get out a pathetically halfhearted laugh, you cannot decide which one you would prefer. 

Hinata seemingly misses your uneasiness; he does not comment on it, and his long-winded greeting and explanation of how his drive up the mountain went are only interrupted by Kageyama and Yamaguchi joining you on the porch. The latter is dressed in only a thin cotton shirt, and you let out a slight sound of worry at the sight of his cheeks immediately pinkening upon walking into the cold. 

“Hey, everyone.” Tsukishima picks up your forgotten bag, and Yamaguchi is the next to pull you in for an easy hug. It is looser than Hinata’s, yet more comforting, and as you allow yourself to relax in his familiar embrace, you find that your mind is able to settle slightly. 

However, Yamaguchi soon shivers, and you think he may have only hugged you to receive a small bit of the remnants of warmth that linger on your coat. 

With a giggle at the knowledge, you pull back, noting with a fondness that the pink has quickly spread to his ears. 

“How was the drive?” Yamaguchi asks, shooting a pointed look in Tsukishima’s direction. The lighthearted banter between the two is something you’ve sorely missed, and you find yourself looking forward to seeing more of the friendly banter later. 

“Ha-ha. As if driving with these two was any better,” Tsukishima points to Hinata and a stoic Kageyama. 

Yamaguchi snickers, ducking his head as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hardly.”

“Hey!” Hinata pouts, enthusiastically bouncing and rocking on the balls of his feet. Under him, little imprints of the soles of his shoes are left as a reminder in the snow. 

“Hey,” Kageyama simply states, ignoring the impending argument and holding open the door in a silent urging. 

You look at him gratefully. 

“Kageyama, ever the charmer,” you state with a teasing hum. Tsukishima elbows you gently, and, whipping your head around, you childishly snatch one of your bags from his arm. 

Kageyama’s face breaks out into a rare mischievous smirk. “Only for you,” he keeps the door open, holding his fist out to Tsukishima in a short, characteristic greeting.  

“Guys, it’s kinda cold out here…” Yamaguchi is wracked with another shiver, and you feel a pang of concern for the man.

“C’mon, everyone. Yamaguchi’s teeth are practically chattering,” you sympathize, ushering everyone inside with a slight wave of your hands. 

If you were impressed with the exterior of the lodge cabin, the interior is enough to take your breath away. It is filled with a comforting warmth despite the large, open-air layout, dark wooden beams decorating the tall ceiling with similar thick columns gracing the broad stairs. A prominent, rustic light fixture emanates a warm glow not dissimilar to that of the brick fireplace radiating a kind of dry heat; even from the front door, you can feel the homey fire warming your fingertips, spreading throughout your chest in a thick, syrupy heat that causes your cheeks and nose to prickle as the last bits of cold leave your body. 

You take a step down to enter the main living space, eyes wide and mouth parted as you take in the grand magnificence of the place. The furniture compliments the natural charm of the cabin–understated yet unimaginably comfortable-looking, with nude colors and differing shades of tans, reds, and browns. One glance at the two plush blankets and numerous large pillows decorating the L-shaped couch, and you feel the urge to collapse onto it. The leather would feel heavenly under your fingertips, soft with a certain give to it the harder you pressed onto the cushion. 

“There you guys are!” Another excited voice. 

Having been entirely distracted by your surroundings–home, for all intents and purposes, for the coming days–you hardly noticed the familiar faces emerging from inside the rental. 

“Kiyoko!” Similar to earlier, you promptly drop your bag, rushing forward to pull your friend in for a tight embrace. 

“You guys sure did take a while,” a thrilled voice from next to you perks up–Yachi. Stretching out your right arm, you open the embrace, and the girl joins the hug, wrapping her small arms around you and Kiyoko to rock you both back and forth. 

“Sorry, bad traffic,” Tsukishima deadpans, and before you know it, the bag by your feet is quietly plucked up and placed by the foot of the stairs. 

You feel more than hear Yachi let out a huff of laughter, and the three of you only pull away to properly welcome each other. “Traffic?” she asks, not entirely believing him. You feel a huff of pride fill you; you taught her well.  

“Hello to you too, Tsukishima,” Kiyoko greets, her arms still thrown over your and Yachi’s necks. The joy of seeing each other again is palpable–it grows as you leave your arms interlocked around each other, refusing to let go and only tightening comfortably with each passing interaction. 

“She never greets me like that,” Tsukishima elbows Yamaguchi, taking on a teasing look as he blatantly points to you. 

In response, you merely roll your eyes, too preoccupied with catching up with your two friends after not having seen them lately. Due to the time commitment of final exams and the last stretch of the school year, you’ve hardly been able to meet up with your old roommates as much as you’d like, and the feeling nags at you. 

As you roll your eyes at Tsukishima, you miss the knowing look shared between Kiyoko and Yachi from behind your shoulder. 

After the excitement of finally reuniting dissipates some, your previous worries are brought abc to the forefront of your mind. “So, who’s all here?” You broach the topic of your concerns timidly, sparing a glance around the room to try and deduce the current occupants residing here. At first look, there is nothing terribly discerning, minus a coat–likely Yamaguchi’s, based on the size and color–draped across the back of the couch. The rest of the room is sparse of personal belongings, only holding the furniture that came with the place.

“So far, it’s just us,” Kiyoko waves around the room–Hinata, Yamaguchi, Kageyama, Yachi, herself, you, and Tsukishima–“everyone else isn’t here yet.”

“Namely Nishinoya, Tanaka, Daichi, and Michimiya–his girlfriend,” Hinata clarifies, though the added bit about Michimiya being Daichi’s girlfriend was unnecessary: by now, you all know who she is. 

Your body sags with relief; it is a minute action–one that is only caught by Tsukishima, his eyes having flitted to you as soon as Hinata began speaking. 

Not that you noticed, of course.

“Oh, and Suga and Asahi are upstairs. I think they were playing a game or something to decide who got the bigger bed,” Yamaguchi shrugs, though, by the way his shoulders shake slightly, there must have been something amusing regarding the two boys ‘game’. 

As your group of friends continues talking–catching up, laughing, and simply relaxing in each other’s company–you cannot determine whether the feeling that fills your chest is relief or disappointment. Did you feel eased at the notion that you don’t have to face Daichi just yet? Or are you disheartened at the knowledge that he is not yet here? 

While you are confident that you no longer have any remaining romantic feelings for the man, heartbreak is a strange thing that often lingers, and you can’t deny that some morsels of pain still remain even after your feelings have gone. It is as if an echo of something hollow pangs through your heart, leaving you with hands that feel empty and a shallow feeling causing a hole in your stomach. 

“D’you need help bringing your things upstairs?” You are pulled from your thoughts by Tsukishima, who has once again sidled himself against your side. It is not uncommon to find him lingering next to you when surrounded by your mutual friends, with Yamaguchi often next to him. 

“Mhm, yeah. If you don’t mind,” your previous thoughts have made you surprisingly docile and a bit vulnerable. You lean further against Tsukishima’s side, intrinsically seeking his familiar and comforting presence. 

Seemingly taking notice of your abrupt change in mood, Tsukishima nudges his head to the side, silently motioning for you to begin making your way up the stairs. 

“Oh, your guys’ rooms are on the second floor, near the corner with the big window. God, I’m still so jealous of you,” Yamaguchi says, motioning with his hands how to reach your bedrooms. 

In response, Tsukishima only smirks, telling him, “It’s not our fault you got the shortest stick. We all did the same thing.”

The grin on Tsukishima’s face only widens, and you are briefly grateful that, a few weeks prior, you managed to pull the longest stick out of the cup–therefore allotting you one of the three single, private rooms in the cabin. The second had gone to Tanaka, who had triumphantly rubbed it in Nishinoya’s face, with the third being drawn by Tsukishima. 

“Don’t think too much about it,” you comfort Yamaguchi, moving to rub a hand against his shoulder. In response, the man offers you a sheepish smile, nodding along with your words. 

Then, with a conspiratorial grin, you continue, “Besides, you know how Tsukki snores. You should feel lucky that you don’t have the room right next to his,” you leaned forward as you spoke–as if indulging Yamaguchi in a deep secret to which no one else had been privy. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle, more a huff of air than anything else, as he nods his head in a bashful kind of agreement. 

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna take the bigger room,” Tsukishima taunts, already poised and waiting at the foot of the stairs. Your eyes flicker down to your bags–still held in his hands. 

“Please, I’ll let you have that,” you snort, a decidedly unattractive sound, before joining him. “You need it with all that extra…” you trail off, peering up at Tsukishima and vaguely motioning to the air above your head, “…height.”

Quickly picking up on your insinuation, Yamaguchi promptly joins in on the teasing with a grin. “Hey, Tsukki?” he calls from where he’s plopped himself on the couch, legs stretched out, and arms resting behind his head. You hear the mischievousness dancing in his voice and can barely hide the giggle behind your hand before Tsukishima’s icy glare is aimed at you. 

“Don’t start, you two,” Tsukishima sighs, already exasperated, but the ball is already rolling.

“Yeah, I was actually wondering how’s the weather up there?” you finish for Yamaguchi, hurriedly quickening your pace so as to escape from the majority of Tsukishima’s wrath. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know!”

You’re left with a light feeling in your chest from the interaction, and you don’t bother waiting for the taller man. Having grabbed your bags from his hands, you make your way down the wide hallway; it follows the same open-air feel as adopted downstairs, leaving the hallway as more of a balcony, of sorts. You can lean over the side of the wooden railing, knee slotting between the similar pieces of wood that hold the railing up, and clearly see almost the entirety of the downstairs level.

You smile–it’s nice, and you can still feel the heat from the fireplace from where you’re standing. 

Tsukishima is long gone–you think you heard him shut the door to the room on the right, closest to the window residing at the end of the hall. You take the fleeting moment of silence gratefully; as much as you adore your friends, the likelihood of privacy is essentially doused down the drain the moment you’re all together. 

You’ll take any moment of alone time gratefully–and with a grain of salt. 

After admiring the view from the second floor, you push off the railing. A painful pop in your elbow has you wincing, and you extend it a few times before picking up your bags again. 

Your room is simple, understated, with a decent-sized bed in the middle, centered evenly against the wall opposite the door. A large window is perched above it, and your eyes go wide in excitement.

Little frost lines creep up the panes, surrounding the soft flakes of snow like intricate lattices. To your right is a dresser and mirror, and a plush chair sits in the corner, a thick blanket fashionably draped over the armrest. 

You think simplicity fits the place nicely–the framework of the house, paired with the natural beauty of the mountain, is already breathtaking. Elegant furniture and grand pieces of luxury are not necessary when faced with everything the cabin already offers. 

You can’t seem to stop the soft sigh that falls past your lips as you set your things down on the dresser. That feeling is still nagging at you, tugging and pulling at your heart until a crease forms between your brows. It diminishes the room's warmth, and in a semi-successful effort to distract yourself from the unwelcome feeling, you begin unpacking, carefully tucking neatly folded clothes into the dresser’s drawers, hanging the few pieces that need the special treatment in the closet. 

A knock on your door is the only thing that knocks you out of your peaceful state, and you startle only briefly before welcoming the visitors in.

“Hey,” Kiyoko rubs her hands together, folded neatly in front of her chest. 

You grin as a familiar head of blonde hair peeks from behind her–Yachi. 

“Hey, guys. I’ve missed you,” you greet them, rubbing your hands on your pants. Seeing two of your closest friends after having not for so long is therapeutic. 

For two years, in the middle of your time at university, the three of you had shared an apartment, and you hold the memories fondly, tucked away softly in your heart to reminisce on occasionally. But now, Kiyoko and some of the older members in your friend group–such as Tsukishima, Tanaka, Daichi, and Sugawara–have graduated. 

Sometimes, you find yourself sucked into an innate sense of sentimentality–you miss those days, of how simple and easy everything appeared to be. Of course, they were not, but looking back on the fun times with your friends, you don’t remember the complicated things. You only remember the good. 

Immediately, Yachi folds, darting out from behind Kiyoko and engulfing you in one of her long, signature hugs. You drop the shirt you were refolding–it doesn’t matter if it retains a few wrinkles, anyways–and return her embrace, feeling a bubbly feeling fill your heart as she begins rocking you back and forth. 

“We missed you more!” Yachi declares, still refusing to let you go. 

Not that you would let her, anyways. 

Kiyoko lets out a fond giggle from the doorframe, still lingering on the precipice. Eyes widening, you wave her over, and Yachi hurriedly begins ushering for her to do the same. Making space, you resume the group hug, sighing happily as Yachi continues laughing with glee. 

However, like all moments, it must eventually end. A sound from the hallway disrupts you–someone clearing their throat, though you are instantly able to recognize the voice: Kei.

“Can’t you see we’re having a moment?” you gently chide, though your words are paired with an unmistakably kind smile. 

Yachi’s lips purse into a bit of a pout, clearly upset over having ‘girl time’ ruined–a term she eloquently coined during your first semester in university. But, at his presence, the two girls allow you to disentangle from the friendly embrace, occupying themselves as they sit on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck, shifting almost hesitantly in the door before imperceptibly pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I just, ah, wanted to tell you guys that everyone else just got here. We’re all downstairs–if you wanna join.”

Ah. You understand his previous hesitance. 

“By everyone else, you mean…?” you attempt to pull more information out of him, though the sudden rapid pounding of your heart hints that you already know to whom he’s referring. 

“Tanaka, Noya, Michimiya, and Daichi.”

You’d braced yourself for the punch in the gut you were sure his words would bring. Your fingers find the stray thread hanging on the sleeve of your sweater again, twisting it repetitively until little red lines are imprinted onto your skin. 

“Okay, yeah. We’ll be down there soon?” you pose it as a question, looking back at the two girls now perched on the side of your bed for confirmation. 

“Yep! Definitely not now, though. Get lost, Tsukki!” Yachi animatedly points out of your room, kicking her feet back and forth as she comically shoos Tsukishima away. 

With hands held in mock surrender, Tsukishima nods in agreement, though not before letting his lingering gaze settle on you. 

“Hey, come here,” he all but demands, but his voice is soft, and he is already walking towards you. Before you can protest, he holds your wrist, stretching it out towards him, and all your worries about Daichi are gone. It’s all you can do to watch, confusion etched on your features, inscribed on your pathetically rapid-beating heart, as he twists the cuff of your sweater, deft fingers pinching at the hanging thread to remove it.

“There,” is all he states, fixing your sleeve before letting your arm gently fall to your side. You hardly have enough time to say anything before he’s fixing you with an unrecognizable look, and then he’s pulling out of the small bubble to wave ‘bye’ to Yachi and Kiyoko. 

You’re still for a second after he’s left, still reeling with what had transpired. You can’t place the strange, tense feeling burrowing in your chest–you only know it is not the same kind of nervousness you feel at seeing Daichi again.    

As if sensing your thoughts, you hear Kiyoko–or maybe Yachi–stirring behind you. Snapping yourself out of it, you turn on your heel, gracing them with a wide, hardly believable smile. 

“Speaking of…” Kiyoko begins, shoving her hands underneath her thighs. Ever cautious and cognizant of others’ feelings, Kiyoko approaches the topic tepidly, clearly skirting around the thing at the forefront of your mind. 

You let out a defeated sigh, no longer bothering to keep up the poor appearance of normalcy. Yachi tilts her head to the side, concern clearly written across her face. “How’s the Daichi front?” she asks, and while it is not with the same amount of worry Kiyoko held, Yachi’s words are still imbued with a friendly care you have come to associate her with. 

Looking at them–waiting expectantly, but still ensuring to be careful of your feelings, wanting to understand how you’re doing–is enough to have you letting out a humorless laugh. “You guys know me too well,” you decide on, pressing your hands into the back pocket of your jeans. 

You join them on the bed, and they quickly shift to make room for you in the middle. You allow them to coddle you–wrapping their arms around you, wide eyes full of understanding as they listen to you talk. You tell them how, at first, it was rough; how the feelings ate away at you, and how you’re still not sure how you’ll feel seeing him again. 

They listen, offering small interjections where needed, a comforting hand held on either side of your back as you ramble. 

You don’t stop talking until the nagging feeling is replaced by relief–the sort of relief that only comes from telling someone something that has been bothering you for a while. It feels as if a weight is lifted from your chest by the time you finish, and you don’t resist the deep breath trapped in your throat; it seems like, along with it, the superficial hurt dissipates, and only the deeper feelings remain. 

You don’t think you’re ready to face the deeper feelings yet. 

“Feel better?” Kiyoko asks after you’ve finished, dipping forward to look at you. You’re leaning forward, hands pressed to the edge of the bed for something tangible to grip on. 

“Yeah, surprisingly,” you state, and you’re relieved to hear that even your voice sounds lighter. They nod, understanding with few words–you’re not surprised that talking to them is what helped; you’re more so surprised that speaking of something that profoundly bothered you helped you feel that much better–better than you’d anticipated. 

“Good!” Yachi chimes in, and you grin at the similar relief that is present in her tone. 

“Yeah. Kei tried getting me to talk about it more with him, but it’s just not the same as talking you guys, you know? Anyways, I felt kinda bad about it all.”

“Ah–” Kiyoko hums pensively, pressing a finger to her chin as if in thought, “–the other elephant in the room.”

It takes you a moment to piece together what she’s referring to. Different ideas run through your head, and you sift through them abruptly until you’re confident you’ve combed through even the cobwebs of your mind. 

Looking to Yachi, you shake your head. “Okay, I’m…clearly lost.”

A scheming giggle falls past her lips when she nudges you, knocking you gently into Kiyoko, who nudges you in a similar manner. 

“Tsukki!” is Yachi’s exuberant, overexcited response. She looks at you as she wiggles her brows–as if she expects you to clearly understand whatever hidden meaning is lingering under the surface. 

Looking back and forth between the two slowly, you make it evident that you believe they have possibly gone mad. “What about him?” you ask, giving in after they offer no hints as to their meaning. 

“Well, something, clearly,” Kiyoko gently pushes for more, and your lips quirk at the unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome, sight of devilishness tugging at her mouth. 

“Yeah, he’s a pain in my ass. Possibly my soulmate, and still perpetually insufferable–in case you were wondering,” you grin widely as you refer to Tsukishima, allowing the sarcasm to seep between your words. 

Before they can respond–you see the excitement build in their eyes, practically becoming palpable as they simultaneously begin tugging at your shirt–a loud, all-consuming voice from downstairs is booming up the stairs. 

“Yo! Anybody home?” Tanaka hollers, and you can hear the loud smack even from your spot in your room. 

“Don’t you two have any manners?” comes another familiar voice–Sugawara.

Leaning into Kiyoko and Yachi, you all get up in a fit of giggles, looking forward to the red welt that would likely be proudly standing on the back of Tanaka’s head. The previous topic of conversation is briskly forgotten, left on the now-creased blanket decorating your bed. 

The sudden burst of noise and activity is strange in comparison to the innate quiet that loiters upstairs. Still, you bask in the familiar, comforting chaos that often accompanies your old high school friends. The nervousness that had previously reared its ugly head, making your palms sweat and your heart pound in jittery beats, has thankfully diminished after speaking to your friends, and you find that the notion of seeing Daichi for the first time in weeks does not cause the same jolt of stress that it used to. 

Their words remain as a comforting blanket as you meet them. Your greetings are brief–a small wave, followed by an acquainted side hug and few words. You turn to offer Michimiya a similar welcome and are shocked when the bright, previously shy girl from the beginning of the month hugs you with enthusiasm. 

“Oh wow,” you laugh shakily before kindly returning her embrace, “it’s a day for hugs, apparently.”

“Sorry,” Michimiya is sheepish, a blush dusting her cheeks. “I’ve just been really excited to be here and see you all again.” 

You wave your hand placatingly, already grinning as you see Nishinoya, Suga, and Asahi waving you over in your peripheral vision. “Don’t worry about it–it was a joke,” you explain, hoping to ease her worries. 

Tsukishima promptly sidles next to you, throwing a long arm over your shoulder. You glare and shove lightly at him, but ultimately end up grinning as you settle against him. 

“Yeah, don’t mind her,” he states, and you sense the inklings of a teasing joke hidden under his words. “She has a penchant for not being funny.”

You readily wriggle out from under his arm, not bothering to soften your glare. “Oh, he makes jokes. Cute,” you lean up to ruffle his hair–messing up the previously neat look he was going for. 

Just as earlier, Tsukishima manages to grasp your wrist before you can do any real damage, though, triumphantly, you note how he grumbles and goes to fix his crooked glasses. 

While you’re distracted, Michimiya watches on with a fond look, covering a shy laugh behind her hand as she makes a few connections in her head.

“There you are!” Sugawara cries behind you, and before you know it, his arms make their way around your waist in a tight embrace. 

“Hey, Suga,” you laugh, patting his hand in a friendly, affectionate gesture before he releases you. You turn to face him. “How was the drive?”

The loudness of the room makes it difficult to hear, even more so when Suga moves to collapse onto the couch in an exhausted heap. “Oh, you know,” he lolls his head to the side, grinning in that same charismatic manner that had a slew of girls crushing on him in college, “long. How was yours?”

“She was knocked out most of the drive, don’t ask her,” Tsukishima butts in–a habit he seems to excel in, especially regarding you. “The drive was fine, though. More snow than I expected.”

“You know,” you point between you and Suga, feigning a look of annoyance that has the older man snickering, “this was a conversation between Suga and me? And I don’t recall inviting you into it?”

Your argument only causes Tsukishima to chuckle blithely, purposefully knocking into your shoulder as he moves to sit next to Suga. “Nah, you love me. Actually, you don’t know what you’d do without me.” He’s teasing again, stretching his legs out and reaching his arms above his head. 

You notice how his shirt rides up ever so slightly, exposing a bit of skin and a faint adonis belt.

Heat prickles at your cheeks, filling and swelling until the strange urge to swallow thickly builds in your throat. It’s the same feeling you felt in the car, and you still have yet to place it. 

Turning your gaze away, you pretend not to notice. 

“Whatever. Even if you’re right–” you point, raising a brow as if you’re about to regale Suga and Tsukishima with a heartstopping tale, “–we all know it’s me you can’t live without.”

“In your dreams,” Tsukishima sneers, sinking back against the couch and pulling a large blanket over his lap. 

All the while, Sugawara simply looks on, his gaze flitting back and forth between you both with gleaming interest at every passing interaction. 

“Hey, what’s the situation with food?” Nishinoya bounds into the room, a baseball hat mussing down his spikey hair. He sees you and waves, the characteristic bright grin taking over his features. “Hey Tsukki, hey everyone!”

Another chorus of disjointed ‘hey’s’ follows suit, and you’re all launched into figuring out dinner. 

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Hinata’s eyes crinkle at the edges, spelling nothing but trouble. Side-eyeing Tsukishma, you see a similar look of caution cross his face: better move out of the way and prepare for the crossfire. “We gotta scavenge our own food. You know–being in the woods and all.”

“Hinata, you’re not as clever as you’d like to think,” Tsukishima chuckles, rubbing at his nose. Yamaguchi joins in on the banter, and the room becomes loud once again with the raucous clamor of numerous voices, all attempting to speak over one another. 

“We actually took care of the food for a few days,” Asahi speaks up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. A blush paints his cheeks when Tanaka and Nishinoya immediately bombard him, showering him with praise and hanging off of him, words of thanks spilling from their mouths. 

“There was a store a ways back. We managed to get a bit, but someone will have to make another trip down in a few days,” Sugawara adds, not bothering to get up from the couch as he knows Tanaka and Nishinoya are well preoccupied with Asahi. 

“Thanks, man,” Daichi claps Suga on the back, and while you’d gotten used to his and Michimiya’s quiet presence in the room, his sudden appearance so close to you has left you feeling disjointed. 

“Well, that’s enough of that,” you proclaim quietly, and Sugawara is the only one to acknowledge your words–with a kind smile and a nod. Returning the look, you smoothly make your way through the room, avoiding the others as best you can in search of the kitchen. While everyone else is distracted by catching up, you think it must be as good a time as any to try and start on a late dinner.

You’d underestimated the size of the cabin. You realize this as you walk, stepping down a small staircase–consisting of a modest five steps–to enter a large second sitting room adjacent to the living room. It has a large piano settled off to the side, and you briefly wonder if any of your friends would be able to play it. 

Trailing your hand against a wooden column bracing the small staircase, you take a moment to appreciate the space and the brief quiet, though, with the open living space, you can still hear the chatter of your friends a few steps up. It’s comforting, wrapping you in the warm embrace of friendship and familiarity–something genuine that only comes from years of knowing someone. 

There’s hardly any dust, and during your short journey in search of the kitchen, you come to the conclusion that the owners must have someone come and clean often. 

It only takes you a bit longer to find the kitchen. Like the rest of the home, it is surrounded by dark wood, complemented by a floor only a shade lighter, beams decorating the ceiling, and columns bracing the doorway. It’s large and beautiful, boasting appliances that you could only dream of cooking with at home. 

Glancing over to the counter, you spy bags of groceries–likely put there by Asahi and Suga, and you make haste to search through them, putting the groceries away in cabinets and the refrigerator as needed. 

“Oh–hey there.”

You make sure not to freeze, though you noticeably tense, and it feels as if your heart freezes in your chest. 

Biting back a wince at your obvious reaction, you take a calming breath, closing your eyes to steady yourself for a beat. While you were prepared to see Daichi again–along with his new girlfriend–you were decidedly not ready to be alone with him in any sort of capacity. You had steeled your nerves earlier, pushing down and relieving any lingering worries that came with seeing him again, but this is not what you had in mind; you did not imagine that you would be alone with him, or that you would subsequently have to deal with the emotions that came along with it. This feeling is not welcome, yet it makes itself at home in your heart.

Not wanting to appear strange, you plaster a grin on your face before setting down the bag of white rice, turning around to face the man of the hour. 

“Daichi,” you simply greet, internally hoping that your voice takes on some semblance of normalcy.  

He merely hums in acknowledgment, clapping his hands together in such a ‘Daichi’ way that, if this had occurred a few months prior, you would have made fun of him. “What’ve we got in here? Anything look good so far?”

His words should not catch you by surprise, yet you find yourself frozen for a few seconds, anyways. With your hands braced on the kitchen counter, you falter, words becoming lost on you as the time drags on. 

“Ah, well–” you take the excuse to turn around, fishing through more grocery bags. “I haven’t looked that hard yet, but I’m sure I can find something.”

“Yeah, you were always good at that,” his voice is so fundamentally friendly that it hurts. The hollow pang returns with full force, battering shallowly against your heart, bringing with it useless questions of 'what if?’ 

When you don’t respond, Daichi’s voice takes on an air of concern–a sound you’ve, frankly, gotten sick of hearing lately. “Hey–you okay? You were pretty deep in thought when I came in here.”

An unamused laugh falls from your mouth, though Daichi is none the wiser to pick up on it. 

“Oh, nothing really,” you turn to face him, a wry grin tugging at your lips, “just wondering if these beams and columns are actually here for foundational support.”

Your words earn you a chuckle. It is a deep, warm sound, and you try not to notice how his eyes crinkle at the edges. 

Another hollow pang. 

“Yeah, I doubt it.” His hands reach across the counter, attempting to aid you in putting away the groceries. 

It’s all too much, too fast. Quickly, you pull away, and when Daichi offers you another look of concern, you simply wave him off. “I’m fine–just a bit warm. I’ll see you later?”

You don’t wait for his response. 

Winding your way through the lodge, you attempt to remember how to get to the third floor’s balcony you spied while driving up. Through the snow and trees, it looked like a wonderful place to escape, and your feet seem to take you up there instinctively. 

Your friends don’t hardly notice you as you make your way up the stairs–other than waving and asking if you found anything suitable for dinner. You say something quickly to placate them before continuing, passing by the open door of your room in your efforts to find the balcony. Your thoughts are swirling almost as frantically as the snow outside, and no matter what you do, your heart refuses to slow down. 

When you reach the balcony, you are not disappointed. 

The white snow coats everything in an almost sparkling, shining blanket. If snow was not inherently freezing, you would be half tempted to lie down in the soft tufts that pile in the corners of the balcony–shoveled neatly in the corners by the railing–convinced that it would be warm. 

The instance with Daichi has left you feeling stilted; thrown off course, you do not know how to react. After speaking with Tsukishima briefly, and then later with Yachi and Kiyoko, you'd felt an intimation of relief. You wonder how fickle that relief must have been to have been shattered by a mere interaction–a brief moment alone, a few words exchanged. 

It causes a surge of embarrassment to flush through your system and, soon after, the stinging beginnings of tears. 

Your eyes burn as they pool on your lower lashes, collecting in thick drops but still refusing to fall. A swell of indignation fills your chest at your tears’ refusal to slip–it’s as if even they do not know how to react, a mirror of your own hurricane of emotions. 

With an angry sound–something akin to a broken, half-hidden sob–you wipe at your eyes. You’re incensed by your tears, filled with ire and frustration at the confusion regarding your own feelings. You’d thought that, after some time away from Daichi, after speaking with your friends, you’d finally be able to sort through and organize your whirlwind of emotions. 

Because time heals all wounds, right?

“It’s kinda cold out here, you know. Like, literally below freezing. Your snot might freeze to your face.”

Only one person can speak so bluntly, full of unbidden crass, yet still cause you to let out a pathetic snort of laughter. 

“Kei,” you acknowledge him simply, the remainder of your tears clotting in your voice.

He joins you by the railing, arms folded to relax against the wood. He leans his tall body over the balcony’s fence, and the slight flare of panic that rushes through you is quickly snuffed out when he speaks.

“Nice view, huh?” 

He didn’t have to ask the question; the view leaves you awestruck. In the distance, you can spot the snowy mountain peaks surrounding you, even through the tall pine and balsam trees that wrap around the lodge cabin. Though snow rests gently on the swinging leaves and bristles of pine, dusting white across brown pinecones, you can still see bits of green peeking out, the smell of mint and pine and cinnamon lingering in the cold air.

A puff of cool, misty air leaves your mouth as you exhale. “You think?” you chuckle humorlessly, catching Tsukishima’s frustration. 

A desperate look flashes in his eyes as he turns to you, his expression turning only slightly pleading. “Please–talk to me. I don’t know how to help you if you don’t let me.” 

His sincerity catches you off guard. Of course, you are no stranger to Tsukishima Kei’s kindness; it always manifests in small, incremental actions: waiting for you by his car, refusing to enter until after you have, slowing his pace to allow you to catch up–never willing to leave you behind.

Fixing the sleeve of your sweater when a stray thread is hanging off. Insisting that you speak to him when you really need it. 

Being able to always tell when you do.

But, similar to the awkwardness you recall feeling during the drive, it is rare that his sincerity becomes so plainly obvious. 

When it does, you know you have been remiss in keeping your closest friend in the loop. 

Guilt joins with the barrage of emotions already pounding in your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, tucking your hands underneath the sleeves of your sweater. You feel almost timid at expressing your feelings to Tsukishima in a way that you were not with Yachi and Kiyoko, and you cannot discern why. 

He waits patiently, still leaning against the railing.

“It’s just…” you search for the right words but quickly give up: there are no concrete, simple words to possibly describe what you’re feeling, “…hard.”

A beat of silence passes as you allow Tsukishima to understand your meaning, for Tsukishima to offer you the quiet you need. The air stills, and with a short sigh, your friend relaxes. 

“Come here,” he simply states, not bothering to explain himself. You feel an innate sense of déjà vu as he turns to you, but unlike earlier, he tucks you into his arms. 

Tsukishima is warm–having a tendency to run hot–and you gratefully sink into the familiar, calming embrace. However, it is different from the rest of your friends’ hugs; perhaps it is different in the way you can feel how his heart beats against your body, how you’re distinctly aware of his fingers lingering on the small of your back–acutely in tune to where his body ends, and yours begins. 

“It’s okay, you know,” he begins cryptically. Sensing this, he continues, “to be confused, I mean. And to be upset. No one ever said that this was going to be easy.”

Your hands tighten into a fist against his back, smoothing over any wrinkles that are there before likely forming more. You ache to feel the familiarity of his touch closer. “I know, but I still hoped it would be.”

You feel him grin by your ear, and it manifests into a short huff of a chuckle. “I know. But you knew it was going to be hard–seeing him.”

For the millionth time that day, there is something about Tsukishima that you cannot interpret. This time, it is in his words, in his tone. By the way his voice seems to linger on the word 'him,’ the intonation deepening into a sound you do not often hear from Tsukishima, you know he means something that he does not say.

Strangely, your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, and you curiously wonder if Tsukishima can feel it the way you feel his. His arms around you–while stained with years of familiarity–feel implicitly different, tightening slightly with an enduring touch that has you itching for something more. 

The strange, complex emotions well in your throat, stopping up the words that remain halted on your tongue. Pulling away slightly, you look up, peering at him with wide eyes, hoping a bit of comic relief will ease the blatant tension surrounding you. 

“Kei, be honest,” you begin, curling your hands into the fabric of his coat. 

“When have I ever lied to you,” he points out, and it is not a question. His eyes dart and flit all over your face, yet, before you can pinpoint what he is looking at, he has already moved on to a different feature. 

Tsukishima’s words, imbued with honesty and a hint of teasing, cause a grin to break across your face. Playfully, you swat at his chest, and he joins you with laughter of his own, still holding you in the hug. 

“Is there really snot on my face?” you finally finish, already feeling infinitely better than before he’d joined you. 

At that, he snorts, throwing his head back as he rolls his eyes. “Duh. Like, all over,” Tsukishima states, flicking your head in an affectionate gesture. 

“Ow,” you glare, bringing a hand up to rub at the tingling sensation on your forehead. 

The look that crosses his face is kind–filled with a sort of fondness you are used to, but also hiding something you are not. 

The comedic moment ends, and something else replaces it.

Once again, you are filled with that similar tension as earlier today, when he’d held your wrist in his hand–when he’d pulled the string from your sweater. Tsukishima’s small traces have lingered long after his touch has gone–you swear you can still feel them even now, remaining as imprints on your skin. Your skin remembers his touch, and, unlike usual, you wish you had more of it. 

The sudden frazzled rapping of your heart in your chest leaves you faltering; you can’t find the words yet–they’re still stuck in your throat, but for a different reason than before. The air feels charged, thrumming as if there is a current buzzing around you, filling and stretching until you feel similarly stretched thin, consumed by everything Kei. 

Frankly, you’re confused, and the unreadable expression on his face only further pushes that confusion. 

“Kei?” you prompt, hands still clutching at his back. 

Your eyes flit down to where he bites his lip–a teasing, yet slightly pained, look present in his gaze. A brief feeling of conflict fills you at the sight, and, just like all the other emotions thickening in your chest, you cannot discern what it means. 

“I, uh…” he starts off, voice tapering off. You can see him searching for the words, digging into his mind, and tasting the form of many different phrases on his tongue. 

It takes him a moment. Tsukishima internally battles with himself, tossing and turning whatever is troubling him, churning it around in his head until he’s appropriately nurtured the thought. 

Just as he goes to open his mouth, his grip on your body loosening minutely before his fingers tighten again around your waist, a loud crash interrupts you. 

Startled, you fall away from Tsukishima’s touch, darting your gaze to the balcony’s doors to spy a boggled, surprised Nishinoya and Tanaka. The duo has their mouths hanging open–uncharacteristically quiet in such a way that has concern bubbling in your throat–but then the moment passes, and a look of triumphant understanding crosses their faces. 

“I fucking knew it!”

“God, you two really left us all on edge!” 

Their excitement is palpable, and it would be contagious if you weren’t so confused. Looking between the duo with furrowed brows, you hold your arms out–as if waiting for someone to fill you in on whatever joke you’re clearly not part of. 

“What?” you ask, looking between the two. They merely grin conspiratorially, knowingly, and it has a sense of foreboding blaring red in your mind. “What are you two on about?”

Looking to Tsukishima, you notice how a flare of panic comes to life in his eyes, raising his hands in an effort to settle the two hyperactive, scheming men. “Hey, guys–”

“We fucking knew you two were together!”

“How long have you been dating! Geez, you could’ve let us in on it a while ago!”

Dating.

Together.

The words blur together in your mind, and it takes you a second to piece together the overwhelming connotation. It’s a strange puzzle–one you had never bothered to piece together. The edges are blurred–the idea of you and Tsukishima dating had only ever crossed your mind a few times: when you first became friends and any subsequent instance in which someone had mistaken you as such. The thought was something you merely brushed off, correcting people from time-to-time, until the accusations eventually stopped. 

After forming your crush on Daichi, you’d never given it much extra thought. But apparently, you were in the minority, because everyone else had. 

“Can you two please calm down–” 

“Calm down? After this bombshell? Get a grip!” Tanaka begins to scramble, running out from the doorframe and likely back to the remainder of your friends. A feeling of nausea fills you as he leaves your sight, and it’s something you can’t fight down.

“Hey! Wait up!” Nishinoya laughs, chasing after his best friend with equally frantic movements. 

You startle, protests rising and getting caught in your throat as they run off. Down the hall, you hear Nishinoya shout, “Suga! You owe me four thousand yen!” 

“Guys, stop!”

They don’t listen to Tsukishima.

There is a hustle and bustle from downstairs that you can hear even from the balcony, and with a shared, nervous look with Tsukishima, you race inside, leaning over the hallway’s railing to catch the tail end of Tanaka and Nishinoya’s explanation. 

That you and Tsukishima are dating. That your friends had been right. 

With wide eyes, you slowly, cautiously look at Tsukishima. He meets your gaze with similar shock, trepidation clear in his gaze, eyes wide as he takes in the shouts and hollers of your friends downstairs. 

Shit. 

There are many different instances in life–with different paths to take, each leading to different outcomes. 

With your friends whooping and exclaiming things like, “I freaking knew it!” and “They really were pretty obvious about it,” paired with the wide-eyed look Tsukishima shoots you, you do not yet know where this path will take you. 

ME NECESITA. ¹

PAIRING | akaashi keiji x fem!reader x kuroo tetsurō

GENRE | fluff, smut (18+)

AU | FRIENDS TO LOVERS

WARNINGS | TIME SKIP MANGA SPOILERS + NSFW! minors dni! alcohol & drinking, pwp, threesome, oral (f & m receiving), double penetration, anal, bondage, toy usage, edging, cockwarming, overstimulation, rough sex in general?? throat fucking, pet name 'kitten' is used.

WORD COUNT | 13.3k (this part 6.5k)

SUMMARY | in which it's almost a simile to compare the chase of love to dancing; at the very least, akaashi keiji and kuroo tetsurō exhibited it that way. and as the two men have a new year's resolution that must be met before the clock chimes at midnight, your movements with the music won't wait. you just need them.

BONUS | the songs used in this fic are: me necesita by PRETTYMUCH, CNCO & slow down by chase atlantic. you can also listen to the regular versions, but the slowed & reverb vers. hit different and i listened to that while writing the fic so feel free to listen for full effect while reading ;)

PART ONE [ 1/2 ] | PART TWO

KUROO GREW UP WITH A BUSY LIFE ASSOCIATED WITH VOLLEYBALL AND ACTION IN THE FREE CITY OF TOKYO. The sport was the center of his existence for as long as he could remember. Naturally, he’s expected to pursue it in a more professional route after high school. However, volleyball was fun while it lasted. It wasn’t something he could see himself pursuing for even more years into his future when it took up all his time growing up. His love never died out for the sport, though.

This is why, in the present, he works as an employee with the Japan Volleyball Association and Sports Promotion Vision in the city of Tokyo, Japan. Both branches happen to be in the same building, so he’s comfortable in his work position and office. And it also happens to be convenient for him as his two close friends from high school work at the Shonen Jump Manga Magazine company building right across the street from him, you and Akaashi.

Akaashi was a good friend of Kuroo’s in high school, although they both attended different high schools in Tokyo, he played as a setter in a team that constantly played and practiced with Nekoma, the school both Kuroo and you attended at the time. Akaashi, however, was only a year younger than you when you were third years. Still, Akaashi and Kuroo became friends as they spent plenty of time together and against each other in games.

You were a childhood friend of Kuroo’s, who’d grown up with him through middle school and high school, up until the present day where you work at buildings right across from each other. You used to be the manager for Kuroo’s volleyball team back in the day, and you’d become friends with Akaashi over the first training camp between the two teams. You’d discovered that Akaashi and you shared the same dream of working as editors with a popular Manga company in Tokyo, not expecting it to come true and for the both of you to become co-workers. Although Akaashi more or so edited, you worked on the drawings and art of the Manga.

You will never fail to admit how much you enjoyed Kuroo and Akaashi’s company on a daily basis, as you all typically went to get lunch together weekly and found yourselves catching up. They had become a huge part of your life and you could not possibly see them leaving your life either. Although you had spent more time in your life with Kuroo, up until the present you’d gotten to know Akaashi on a closer level as you became co-workers. So you would say you and the two men shared the same level of friendship.

The men would lie if they both ever said they’d not once had feelings for you. How could they not—? You could only be described as the perfect woman for both of them. They would lie if they’d not once thought about you while they’ve been in countless arms of other women. They would lie if they said they would even risk their friendship with you just to be with you.

But they’d also be lying if they said they could bear losing you. You’d become such an important person in their lives and the thought of not seeing you ever again is what drove Akaashi and Kuroo to remain on their side of the friend zone and let their feelings go.

You did say you were very close with them. But not close to the point where you’d share all your hopes and dreams... and secrets. There are things in your friendship with both of them that you’d rather keep to yourself and prefer they would not find out.

You were a chaser. You were a chaser for the thrill, for your culture, for your heart to race. You were adventurous, extroverted, and found it easy to let people fall at your heels to please you. You’re the type to strive for more when you have enough. Another quality that made both Kuroo and Akaashi swoon yet holds themselves back from you. And the way your heart races with adrenaline and euphoria is by far the best feeling you long for.

And that is what music did to you. A thrill. A mystery. A secret. It’s something that belongs deep inside you... that they can’t get to, that they can’t touch. That’s yours.

Right?

Dancing.

Yes, dancing. The Manga artist in the morning becomes a free dancer in the night.

(No, not stripping, get your head out of the gutter.)

It’s something fueled with more passion and... heat than that. The music takes your body in different directions and it’s almost as intoxicating as the feeling of being on the high of sex. It oozes confidence and adventure. Music and dance can tell a story, or exhibit how you feel with the way your body and limbs move in harmony and just click subconsciously. That’s something you can’t explain to anyone. Therefore, it’s better off if no one knows.

It was something that was yours. Only yours.

So you kept your lips sealed when Kuroo and Akaashi asked you what you were planning on doing on Saturday night to celebrate the new year.

“Mmm,” You hummed as you ate your pasta bowl. “M’busy this weekend, hangin’ out with my girlfriends.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow.

“Since when did you have female friends?” Kuroo retorted, causing you to hit his shoulder playfully.

“You guys have met F/N...?”

“You said plural, and she doesn’t count,” Akaashi added, stuffing his face with rice, glasses shifting up to his nose as his face crinkled. “Last we saw her was over a year ago, and you said you guys barely hung out anymore.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, we’d like to meet them,” Kuroo said as he swallowed his food.

“Too bad,” You say cheekily. “It’s uhh- a girl’s night thing, okay? No boys.”

“Aww,” Kuroo said as he and Akaashi frowned at you. “That is too bad. But we’re your friends too, and it’s the new year!”

“I spend New Years’ every year with you guys!” You suggest. “This time, I wanna spend it with my other friends, is that so bad?”

“Yes,” Kuroo and Akaashi state in unison.

You roll your eyes as you get up to throw away your food, going back to the table. You thought back, however, that it’s somewhat inconvenient that New Years’ will be on a Saturday night. Something tells you that Saturday night is going to be hectic… or, rather, more interesting.

“What do you two have planned?” You turn the topic to them.

“We’re…” Kuroo trailed off, looking at Akaashi. “We’re going near Tokyo tower to see the fireworks or something.”

“Or something?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, truthfully, we don’t know what we’re doing. That’s why we were hoping…” Akaashi trailed off, looking at you.

“Absolutely not,” You scoff. “You guys enjoy the fireworks. Me on the other hand, I’m getting ripped tonight— R-I-P that—!”

“God you’re annoying,” Kuroo groaned as he interrupted you.

“Rude,” you retort, standing up. “Well, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later Keiji, bye Tetsu~!”

Akaashi and Kuroo watched you walk away, missing the way your hips swayed as you did.

“Well, what are we really gonna do?” Akaashi asks, raising a brow at Kuroo who only sighs.

“Not gonna lie,” Kuroo starts. “I was hoping I’d start the new year off with a hot chick with long hair I could grip in my bed.”

“Your New Year's resolutions never fail to not surprise me anymore,” Akaashi groaned in disgust at his friend, causing Kuroo to chuckle.

“To be fair, every lonely guy in Tokyo wants sex at once that clock hits midnight— you gotta start the year off right.”

“Nope, just you,” Akaashi retorted.

“You know what, ‘Kaashi?” Kuroo suggests. “Saturday night, our first New Year’s resolution is to get laid right off the bat. I’m talkin’ hook up until the clock hits 12:00 AM on January first. What do you say?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Akaashi bluntly stated.

“C’mon!” Kuroo whined at his unamused friend. “Don’t be a pussy, let’s get some on Saturday.”

“I’m perfectly fine watching the fireworks at the new year from my apartment, thanks.”

“That’s lame and overrated,” Kuroo points out. “C’mon, you need to get laid, pal. It’s been a while, clearly.”

“What do you want me to say? Work has been hectic, especially ‘cause of the new year. Highly doubt I have the time just yet,” Akaashi rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m not doing anything Saturday night by myself— and that’s lame.” Kuroo groaned dramatically. “You’re coming with me to this bar I’ve yet to try out a few blocks away!”

“Kuroo-san, just go by yourself, alright?” Akaashi says boringly, wrapping his leftovers in a bag. “I’ll probably just stay at home and do some extra work, and see the fireworks through my window.”

Kuroo slightly pouted, seeing there’s no use.

“Suit yourself,” Kuroo nodded, getting up to throw away his trash, Akaashi following him to bid him goodbye before returning to their work buildings as lunch ended.

The rest of the workday rolled by in a blur. A hazy and blurry vision that can be permitted through Akaashi's occasional glances and longing gazes as he watched you maneuver around their office space and received New Year's gifts from the company team and your branch co-workers. Receiving multiple wishes for a safe new year's and, as much as he loathed hearing it, coworkers overstepping boundaries and asking for your plans that you have planned for the celebration. Akaashi was taken back when you brushed them off with 'nothing major.' Maybe you didn't want to spend time with them as much anymore, and he would need to accept that. But all he can do from this point on is ... watch.

Just sit back and watch, Akaashi.

“Thanks, you too!” You giggled at the roses your co-worker gave you as you were exiting the building with Akaashi.

“Happy New Year, L/N and Akaashi-san!” Your manager bids you both goodnight as you get inside the elevator, wishing him the same as he left through the staircases.

You smiled in content as the elevator closed, satisfied as you held the gifts your co-workers handed you on your way out. They were cute. Rose bunches and a bouquet in one hand, the other holding a small teddy bear and sweets, including a necklace given to you by one of your co-workers who is clearly interested in you (not that you were interested in him, though).

Akaashi looked at the gifts you received, feeling a bit guilty he’d only gotten you a card with a cute Shiba puppy on it, with a sweet and sincere note from him. Kuroo had gotten you a box of chocolates during lunch, but you already snacked on it during the rest of your day at work. He, however, treasured the red tie you bought for both him and Kuroo. It was simple red silk but it somewhat meant a lot to him.

“‘You both wear the same ugly patterned ties every single day!’ You had said. ‘Here, wear these. They’re sexy and professional.’”

He smiles, remembering you handing it to them during lunch wrapped delicately in wrapping paper, a soft red ribbon enclosing it. The ribbon had clipped a small card, with a genuine letter from you, telling them to have a safe and happy new year, and that every year you’re grateful to have them in your life.

Little did you know how much those small words in the card, or the smiley face you drew at the end of the note, did to their hearts. Your small acts of kindness and gratitude never fail to put a smile on their miserable faces dragged by daily work. You’re the light in their life, in a way. You’d always been. Every little thing about you made their hearts race.

But you can’t know that...

Akaashi swore he would wear that tie every single day starting next week. It meant that much to him. He knew it was wrong to become attached to a small article of clothing that wasn't meant in that manner. It's not as if he's fantasized about what he could possibly allow the soft red fabric to tie around your wrists as he gripped it in his hand, tugging if you misbehave—!

You let out a puff of air in the cold winter sky of the night, as your heels clicked against the pavement, walking closely to Akaashi. He radiated some warmth, along with the fur coat you hugged tightly against your body.

“So,” You broke the silence in the cool air. “Have you decided what you’re doing for New Year’s yet or—?”

“I’ll probably just finish up on some extra work,” Akaashi stated cooly, his hands in his pockets. “If I’m feeling lucky, I’ll just watch the fireworks from my window or something.”

You frowned at Akaashi, bumping against his shoulder.

“C’mon, Keiji!” You exclaimed. “It’s New Year’s! You should go out and do something fun— let loose a little, you work too hard.”

Akaashi chuckled at your pouty attitude, you were just too cute. It’s unbelievably hard to even say no to you. But Akaashi wanted you to ask him. He wanted you to make the approach for once and ask him to be with you on New Year’s.

But just you two…

“I don’t really have much else to do, so,” He trailed off.

“No!” You pouted. “You have to do something fun. Think— what is your idea of fun?”

“Watching a shark documentary,” Akaashi joked, causing you to groan.

“You’re one sad man, Keiji Akaashi,” You made fun, causing Akaashi to scoff, bumping into your shoulder. "Forget I asked—!"

Akaashi chuckled softly as he shrugged against your warm shoulder, inhaling sharply in the crisp air of the night.

“I’m serious!” You exclaimed. “I won’t hang out with you guys this time, you need to have fun without me.”

“Who said I won’t have fun without you?” Akaashi teased, causing you to hit his shoulder playfully again.

“Nah,” you laughed. “You both would be nothing without me.”

That’s true.

“Told ya!” You agreed with his blunt response, giggling.

Did he just say that out loud—?

Akaashi blushed, not saying anything afterward. He pouted mentally as he realized you both had just reached the doorstep of your apartment complex. You stopped in your tracks, facing Akaashi now, with a warm smile on your face.

“I’m being truthful, Keiji,” You murmured. “Please think of something fun to do?”

You’re so cute when you beg… you’re so cute when you pout because you can’t get what you want… You're just so cute.

“I’ll try,” Akaashi said, giving you a smile back just as contagious. Brat can't even drop it already.

You’re so innocent.

Right?

“Yay!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him, sighing as he wrapped his arms around your back, lightly breathing in your scent. Akaashi could only hope you didn’t hear his heart race against his chest. You always find a way to get his heart racing and your little innocent acts of being friendly is all he latched onto because he knew he wouldn’t be able to experience the real thing.

But he dreams, maybe.

“Don’t have too much fun without me!” You giggled as you got up the steps, waving goodbye to him as you buzzed into the complex and the door closed behind you.

Akaashi sighed as he continued walking back to his apartment complex, on his own. Feeling cold all of a sudden now that you weren’t walking by his side anymore. As he got lost in his head about you again, he sighed in defeat. Knowing fully well that he’d have to come to the conclusion that getting over his feelings for you will just have to be his new year’s resolution. Whether he liked it or not. And that's what brought him to pick up his phone and speed dial Kuroo’s number, taken back at his quick response to the call.

“Hey man,” Akaashi murmured through the other line. “I changed my mind.”

Unbeknownst to him, the guy on the other line just had the same new year’s resolution. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

Well, the realization would have to come sooner than they both would expect.

Saturday night rolled around faster than Akaashi would have liked to admit. It wasn’t like he wasn’t looking forward to it, it’s just that he dreaded even attempting to get you off his mind. He spent New Years’ almost every year with you. It just probably hurts more as he’s been thinking about you a lot more this year than the last, it’s just increasing by the year.

Maybe it was a good thing, he’d tried to tell himself. Maybe it’s for the best. He can’t risk losing your friendship, it meant more than having a romantic relationship with you. And he knew that was the right thing.

Actually, both he and Kuroo knew that.

Unlike Akaashi, Kuroo had developed feelings for you just after you graduated and basically parted ways as you’d started working different jobs. Regardless if you work at buildings across from each other, and get the chance to see each other typically during lunch or some hangouts during the weekend- you’d had different directions in your life now, and a part of him envied Akaashi for getting to work with you in the same place, every single day, practically morning tonight. That might explain his feelings, just the fact he’s adjusting to not getting the chance to see you as much as he’d like to like you both were in high school. And maybe that’s why Akaashi’s feelings grow stronger every day.

Akaashi sighed to himself as he adjusted his red tie, his breath hitching in his throat at the thought of your hands around his tie that you gifted to him not only a few hours ago.

Of course, he wore it, what did you expect of him?

He opened the door as Kuroo had knocked on it, opening it to view him typing at his phone.

“We should hurry if we don’t want to wait in line at the bar,” Kuroo said, typing still at his phone. “Apparently there’s this performance or whatever and people are lining up like crazy. And ‘cause of New Years’.”

Akaashi hummed as he locked the door. Kuroo looked up and smirked at Akaashi’s tie.

“You’re wearing it too huh?” Kuroo tugged at his own that he currently wore as well. Their clothes were different, but the ties clearly matched.

“Yeah,” Akaashi sighed. “I won’t get to see her tonight so. In her memory, I guess.”

“You’re making it sound like she died or something,” Kuroo rolled his eyes. “You’re right. It’ll be like she’s kinda with us, but not really.”

He’s not going to see you or get the chance to be with you tonight, might as well wear something that reminds them of you. Again, not because you're dead or anything.

You bit at your bottom lip as you tried your best to muster your nerves. Your thighs slightly shook from being stressed as you stood backstage, smoothing out the soft material of your tight and long red dress, looking out onto the illuminated stage in the dim-lit bar. Wincing slightly as you clenched your toes in your red bottoms.

“Oi,” Your friend F/N approached you from behind, handing you a glass of water, which you grabbed and forced down your throat, slightly calming down but … not really. She also happened to own the bar; the bar that you’re going to perform at any moment now.

“What are you so nervous about? You’ve done this before multiple times.”

You sighed at the cold sensation of the liquid, still not enough to calm your nerves. Perhaps you need to be buzzed? It is a bar after all.

Not if you want to trip on stage, you pout.

“Yeah, I know,” You breathe. “It’s just New Years’, there are more people here tonight than the other nights.”

“You’ll be fine,” F/N rolled her eyes. “Just take deep breaths and calm yourself down before you go on stage.”

You nodded as you sat down on the chair on the sides of the curtain.

“I’m gonna go out and welcome everybody, you just relax, ‘ight?”

F/N patted your back before her heels clicked on stage, the attendees of the bar erupting in cheers, howls, and claps.

“Welcome back to Opium, ladies, gents, and … thems,” F/N smirked. “The New Year is approaching in a couple of hours, let’s end the year right, eh?”

Clinks of drinks and drunk slurring can be heard among the audience, making her chuckle.

“Tonight, we’ve got a couple of performances to keep you entertained throughout the night and start the new year off with good decisions!” She giggled. “I can’t promise good decisions, you are at a bar in the middle of Tokyo, I suggest you have the most fun you possibly can.”

“Starting at midnight, you can order the new drinks from the bar! If you want my advice, don’t try the rebel vodka. You’ll be buzzed ‘till the next year rolls around,” She giggles. “Speakin’ of performances, two of my longtime best friends are performing tonight, so be loud for me, ok?”

Akaashi and Kuroo shivered in the cold night air. How much longer did they have to stand in the cold? The line was long and unbearable, they’d been standing in line for over an hour, freezing their jingle bells off. Their shoes and jackets could only muster up so much warmth, and the teeth chattering could not make patience last as long.

“Look, man, maybe we should go to some other bar?” Akaashi suggested, getting more irritated by the minute.

He stared at the large neon sign, spelling out “Opium.” It sounded intoxicating, just as much as he thought about getting drunk and maybe getting you off his mind.

“No, look- there’s not much longer left,” Kuroo shivered. “Plus, we’ve already been waiting an hour.”

Akaashi groaned as he tried to move in his place, muster up some warmth, or at least try to drown out the loud noises of the people standing in line.

“How many more we got waiting, Aone?” F/N peeked her head outside of the doors of the bar, eyes widening at the long line waiting, but a smile on her face. She’d only opened the bar for five months, but business was booming.

“Erm- A lot, boss,” The large muscular bodyguard with grey hair and no eyebrows stated with a neutral expression on his face, might even look intimidating or grumpy. “Do you want me to tell them to go home?”

“No, big guy!” F/N chuckled. “I can just smell their money, keep ‘em waiting. Maybe even ask the new guy to play some loud music outside to keep ‘em entertained while they wait. Even take a few requests.”

Aone nodded and motioned for the new bodyguard to turn on the speakers outside the bar. As F/N was about to go inside, she spotted two oddly familiar locks of black hair, standing in line, one longer and spiker than the other.

Her smile widened as she called out.

“KUROO-SAN! AKAASHI-SAN~!”

The men freezing in their spot turned at the loud yelling of their name, squinting their eyes as they tried to recognize the voice, eyes widening as F/N approached them with glee.

“It’s been a while, eh?”

“F/N!?” They both exclaimed, glad to see a familiar face, but also questioned in confusion.

What was she doing at the bar? Were you here?

“Hey, boys!” She cheered, hugging them both. “Here to see Y/N, eh~? I didn’t think she’d invite you this year but, the more the merrier!”

“We didn’t know, she said she was having a girls’ night- we didn’t think she’d be at the bar…” Kuroo explained, trailing off, confused himself.

“Girls night?” F/N tilted her head in confusion. “You think she has other female friends - other than me? Nonsense.”

Akaashi and Kuroo still remained confused, causing F/N to laugh.

“You mean you don’t-” She switched looking at them back and forth. “You don’t know that she’s performing tonight?”

“Performing?” Kuroo and Akaashi questioned in unison, causing F/N to smirk.

“Ya know what?” She smiles, wanting to leave the rest up to the imagination, knowing it’ll be priceless. “You just take a seat at my bar in the audience, and see for yourself.”

F/N mentally laughed at the fact her friend still hadn’t told her two best friends about what she’s typically up to on most Saturday nights. Pussy.

“I’m sorry, did you just say your bar?” Kuroo said in disbelief, Akaashi not processing it. “Since when have you owned a bar?!”

“Since my fiancé bought it for me for our anniversary,” She shrugged. “Alright, my tits are freezing, follow me.”

Performing? Y/N was a singer? Akaashi thought to himself, not listening to Kuroo and F/N talk. No, he shook his head. She is horrible at singing, especially when you tried to sing that one song by Red Velvet when you were drunk at his place. You practically ruined his hearing that night, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that.

“Aone,” F/N stopped in her tracks, speaking to the large bodyguard the boys following behind her at the entrance couldn’t see just yet. “Let these two in, okay? And get someone to find them their seats.”

The large grey-haired bodyguard nodded, motioning for both Kuroo and Akaashi to go inside, taking a moment to stare at them as he recognized who they are. They recognized who he was before he even had the chance to nod a simple and neutral hello. Once he guided them inside, Akaashi spoke up.

“Wasn’t that the middle blocker who used to be the Iron wall at Date Tech?!”

“Why do you think I almost shit my pants?” Kuroo mumbled as they took their seats, a really pretty waitress coming by their table and offering them tall glasses of water and four tequila shots.

Kuroo eyed her body up and down, down bad. She had curved hips, big tits, and definitely eyed him as well. Perhaps he’ll get his resolution tonight after all.

“We didn’t order these,” Kuroo pointed out with a smirk.

“Courtesy of the owner,” She winked, before walking away, glad to see Kuroo’s eyes at her ass.

Akaashi wasn’t even paying attention. All he could think about is what you would be doing… performing? Performing what? He’s on the edge of his seat, his hands gripping the glass of water until his knuckles turned white.

“Will you chill out?” Kuroo chuckled at his friend’s anxiety, taking a shot, groaning at the sharp feeling. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal. Probably just karaoke or somethin’.”

Akaashi nodded, letting out a puff of air that had more warmth than earlier. The bar door open still left the bar cold, but not as bad as it was outside. He too downed a shot, his face scrunching up from the stinging, feeling more warmth and slightly buzzed.

“Then again,” Kuroo added as he shrugged off his jacket, getting accustomed to the heat of the bar. “It’ll be amusing to see her trip on stage if she’s drunk.”

Akaashi didn’t say much to Kuroo’s words. He was just unbelievably curious. He’s barely known you to do anything out of your comfort zone. And to him, it seems as if doing simple karaoke is out of the question.

Moments later F/N stood back up on the stage and the audience at the bar quieted down.

“Alright!” She cheered. “Our first performance of the night is someone very dear to me, who comes in on Saturday nights sometimes and gets hammered off the vodka. Give it up!”

Kuroo and Akaashi looked up to the stage as the audience cheered and as the lights dim among them.

Y/N?

Your feet bounced behind the stage, taking slow breaths as you got into your position behind the curtains. You let your hands hang in the air, twisted, fingers fluttering- your back arching and your leg stepped to the side, heels clicking. You could faintly hear F/N announce you as the first performer of the night, slightly easing at the joke she left at the end. You were ready to dance. Your red dress rode up your thigh a bit as you moved your leg to the side when the stage curtain unfolded, revealing your arched backside, and the audience softly whistling and cheering in the back of your ear.

Kuroo and Akaashi’s jaws practically fell to the floor as they recognized your appearance on stage almost immediately. Eyes raking your backside with the red dress clinging to your breasts, outlining her figure, and raking the curves of your body with the most immaculate view— and your ass just perfectly shaped out.

Akaashi felt as if his eyes deceived him- well, they both felt that way- there’s absolutely no way that was you. No way. But all was thrown out the window, almost feeling like a slap to the face, the moment you spun around, your hair swaying in the air and your hazy eyes glittery with the stage lighting.

And thus, the speakers boomed with the Latin-pop music and the beats thumping into their hearts as you began to move with the music.

Tu juego me sube y me baja como te conviene...

You swayed your hips from afar, you were far from Kuroo and Akaashi’s reach, not that you even knew they were there. Part of it is what made you feel more carefree. Up until recently, you felt as if your choices were influenced by the men in your life. This was something you wanted to yourself, carefree for yourself. It wasn’t something where you would connect with the audience, it wasn’t where you would choose to interact if you did not want to. Rather, you let the music guide your moves, your breaths increasing with every hard twitch in your moves as you matched the beats.

Cerquita en donde pueda oírte y hacer que te quedes…

As your breaths increased, subconsciously, Akaashi and Kuroo did too. You were mesmerizing. Every sway of your hips, every click of your heels- mentally sent them into a frenzy. Have you always moved like that? Have you always had the flexible ability to almost look as if the music moved to you, not the other way around?

‘Cause you got me countin’ the ways…

Maybe it was the hot atmosphere, maybe it was the lyrics they couldn’t understand to save a life, maybe it was seeing you in this new atmosphere but Kuroo and Akaashi’s eyes hazed up, you had officially taken over their minds. They both wanted you just the same.

“Fuck.” Both Kuroo and Akaashi breathed out in unison, ignoring each other.

Nothing more clouded their minds than the fact they are simply lusting over your dancing as a sexual and passionate act they’d wish they knew before. They thought about the ways you could please them with every passing hot movement that emitted from your hypnotizing movement.

Can your arch her back like that if I fuck into you mercilessly?

Ah. Of course, that’s the first thing they can think of. But the heat and glow can almost radiate off your neck, your thighs, your curved tits popping into the dress and it clouded their minds. Can you project the passion and sexual tension into the real thing?

I mean, can they imagine?

Uno.

Your hips twitched to the side, the curving of your ass became more prominent, causing Akaashi to bite his lip as his eyes raked your figure from afar. He took another shot, feeling hot all of a sudden.

Dos.

You arched your back, your breasts looking more popped up through the cleavage line of your dress, causing Kuroo’s eyes to darken as he raked his eyes over your front. Kuroo took another shot, feeling his throat burn much like his desires.

Tres.

You threw her head back, your eyes darting in their direction, not actually seeing them- but time simply stopped as your eyes narrowed towards them from the side. Your chin tilted, making your jawline ready to cut into their strong gazes, just as sharp, exposing the bare skin of your collarbone, and your neck that they could feel their lips want to attack.

She come back...

They both took their last shots, feeling buzzed and hot. So hot. It can’t just be you, right?

Me necesita.

… She needs me.

Or perhaps… it’s mutual… both ways? You swayed with the music once more to the main chorus, feeling forgotten around your atmosphere of the bar, forgetting your responsibility, not even noticing the fact that the last two people you wanted to be there- subconsciously kept up with your movements.

Maybe you liked the attention after all.

“Mamacita!” Some random guy from the audience whistles, causing you to blush but groan at the same time. Men.

The song was over in mere moments- the act couldn’t go on forever, as much as they had enjoyed it and could find themselves watching you twirl not so innocently for hours. Part of it nipped at Akaashi and Kuroo, you liked doing this? What drove you to do this when you’ve shown you’re perfectly happy with your profession at work? Surely, you can’t be getting paid to do this.

Akaashi’s knuckles could have lost circulation from the way he gripped the table, needing to compose himself.

Neither of them got hard, that’s too weird for the moment. But emotionally, maybe emotionally if they had an inner dick, it’d be standing up. Much as they did now, as soon as everyone clapped at the end of your performance, your chest was heaving with breaths, Akaashi and Kuroo stood up along the audience. But they didn’t clap.

They couldn’t bring themselves to move. Their raked your breasts moving up and down as you caught your breath from the intense body movements you projected on stage, imagining quite a more erotic scenario where they’d want to see you left breathless.

And that’s when you saw them. That’s when your eyes caught both of theirs and your breath hitched in your throat. You couldn’t read their expressions through the dimmed lights- but you can clearly see that they were beyond impressed.

You didn’t know why your lips moved on their own as you smirked and sent a wink towards their way, seeing them both stiffen in their spots, before disappearing backstage.

Akaashi and Kuroo were done left speechless.

“Alright, that was Y/N!” F/N got back up on stage after you left. “No, you can’t have her number!” She yelled at the man whistling in the audience.

“Our next performer of the night is gonna play a couple of songs, and, like me, is an alumnus from Shiratorizawa in the Miyagi prefecture!” F/N announced cheerily.

“Please welcome one of my dearest friends, Semi~! And his band-that-I-don’t-know-the-name-of-sorry."

Akaashi and Kuroo waited still at their table anxiously. Akaashi’s feet bounced under the table, and Kuroo’s knees shook. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the anxiety of being caught when you had told them you didn’t want to spend time on New Years’. Maybe they should have left. Maybe they shouldn’t have stayed through the whole performance, lord knows they mentally barely handled it.

Why did you keep this a secret?

Akaashi’s eyes kept scanning the crowd for 20 minutes as they sat and waited. What… were they waiting for, exactly?

You can’t just leave, Kuroo thought. You saw them, he’s positive you did. Otherwise, why would you smirk at the audience or send a mischievous wink towards their direction? You can’t have just left after… all of that.

Then again, they don’t know what to expect of you. Maybe you’ve always been like this new mysterious… career? They don’t even know what to call it. As far as they’re concerned, they don’t even know much about you at this rate like they thought they did.

As if you could read their thoughts, they both felt your hands snake their way behind their backs, slightly rubbing at their shoulders, they could feel your breath at their neck- they could even say they smelt you as your fragrance filled their senses.

They thought they knew you too well.

“Hey, boys,” You giggled behind them, your hands remaining on their shoulders. They immediately snapped their heads to look at you, panicked expressions are written all over their faces. “Funny seeing you here.”

“W-We didn’t know you’d be here, we planned to go here but-!”

You chuckled with a smirk, causing their heartbeats to quicken, gripping their shoulders. Maybe it affected Akaashi a bit more.

“Don’t worry about it,” You assured them, moving to grab the chair on Kuroo’s right to seat yourself right in between them. “I’m glad you came, actually.”

Now Kuroo and Akaashi were speechless again.

“Really?” Akaashi asked, you only chuckled and nodded.

“I know this may have come as a shock to you guys,” You blushed. “But I’ve always done dancing- and, well, when F/N opened up her bar she offered extra cash for performances and stuff. And I hadn’t danced as well in a long time, so I got back into it. I just wanted something fun in my life other than my current job- which, I love, don’t get me wrong- but… dancing makes me feel… free. That’s all I can really say.”

Kuroo and Akaashi could only nod in understanding, they wished they had other hobbies as well besides work which only takes up 80% of their time.

“And I didn’t really tell you both since it wasn’t a big deal,” You giggled. “But, yeah…”

You trailed off, leaning on the table, hoping they’d say something…

“Y-You did really good, Y/N,” Akaashi broke the silence after a while, coughing awkwardly.

“Y-Yeah,” Kuroo stated dumbfoundedly. “You looked.. pretty … cool up there.”

Kuroo internally cringed at his choice of words. But he also did not want to scare you away. Neither of them did. What they had really wanted to say was how fucking hot and amazing you looked and danced and how you practically, cheesily, swayed your way into their hearts.

Maybe it was symbolic. Maybe it was not.

You slightly frowned, expecting bigger praises, something more than just ‘cool,’ but you knew they were awkward, so you settled for a flattering laugh and thanked them dearly. You knew they meant it, and that’s all that mattered.

“So,” you broke the awkward silence after a moment. “Who wants vodka?”

“Not me,” Akaashi shook his head aggressively.

“Ah,” you looked at the empty tequila shot glasses. “You guys are already buzzed, still— let’s have some fun! On me, okay?”

Kuroo and Akaashi’s eyes widened, but they nodded nonetheless. It’s the new year, after all— and they're celebrating it both with the one person on their minds every year.

for every reblog i’ll give you a kith on the nose <3

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

taglist form is on masterlist!

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅱ. HOUSE OF MEMORIES

Keep reading

open season thirsts [9/?] /// Iwaizumi x f!Reader x Oikawa (18+)

Request: This is cringe so i understand if u ignore this lmao. Mafia!iwakawa found out that reader is kidnapped by their enemies

A/N: Dude I write anime character reader insert fanfiction, I’ve transcended cringe at this point. BUT I hope it’s cool I angled it a bit darker bc I’m nasty and awful :.)

Setup: reader is the daughter of the former family head, Oikawa’s the current boss, and Iwa’s his right hand man. You’re all childhood friends (Oikawa was your father’s protege before his retirement).

Tags/warnings: um…mafia, kidnapping, genre-appropriate violence/blood/death/murder (not reader), yandere/possessive tendencies, patronizing treatment, restraints/gag/blindfold, mentions of crying, “princess”, ‘family’ just refers to the organization (no one is related other than reader and her father), all characters are adults

“Do you think she’ll be crying?”

There’s blood on the floor. Iwaizumi shifts where he’s crouching so that the edge of his shoe doesn’t touch it—bloodstains are such a pain to get out of leather. “What?”

“I mean, when we find her.” Oikawa nudges the body over with one hand and inspects the blank, glassy look pasted over the man’s face. “This one’s done. I think we’re good here.”

Iwaizumi straightens, throwing a cold glance down to confirm before turning back to his partner. “We should be thorough. This wouldn’t’ve happened if there weren’t rats running around in the first place—and what the hell does that mean? Why would she be crying?”

“Don’t you think she might be scared? She’s such a crybaby.”

Oikawa’s running fingers through his hair now to slick back the strands that fell out of place during the struggle, smoothing his hands down the pressed fabric of his suit to flatten out any stray wrinkles, and Iwaizumi recognizes the gestures against his will. Oikawa’s preening—freshening himself up so he looks good when they find you. God forbid the moron look anything less than his best in front of you, even though you’ve probably been tied to a chair for the better part of a week and you won’t give a fuck what they look like as long as they’re cutting the ropes off.

Not that Iwaizumi can really blame him. Yes, Oikawa’s a vain bastard, but Iwaizumi feels it too—the nervousness, this excitement at the thought of seeing you again. It’s been four months since you insisted on leaving the compound to live independently—and didn’t they tell you it was going to end badly? Iwaizumi spent weeks trying to convince you that it was stupid to play pretend at a normal life (“come on princess, you know your father wants you to stay here, you know it’s not safe”), but you just had to pack your bags in the middle of the night and leave the family behind. You’ve always been headstrong. Neither of them want you to go through any hardship, but at least this time maybe you’ll have learned your lesson. Maybe this was for the best.

Well…it’s a lot easier for him to see it that way when he’s standing ankle deep in the bodies of the people who stole you. As much as Iwaizumi wants to have you back now, it’ll have to wait until he’s sure that every single one of your kidnappers is dead.

“She’s not a crybaby. Not anymore,” he says. It’s true that you used to cry whenever you were scared as a kid, and it didn’t help that as the former boss’s daughter you had plenty to be scared of. Iwaizumi has fond memories of wiping your tears away and telling you it was going to be alright after your father reprimanded you for something you did wrong, and it doesn’t surprise him that Oikawa feels the same way. You’ve always been so hard to pin down—always slipping up, always talking back—except when you’re crying. Back then, it was the closest you ever came to relying on the two of them.

But that was a long time ago. You’ve toughened up since you were little. It’s been years since Iwaizumi’s seen you cry.

“I guess,” Oikawa whines, stepping smoothly over another man lying prone on the floor as he makes his way to the backroom where you’re being kept. “But don’t you miss it? She was so cute back then.”

“She’s still…” Iwaizumi trails off, wondering if you can hear them through the locked door between you. If your eardrums are undamaged from the gunshots (Iwaizumi made sure to use a silencer, but you’re sensitive), you’ll be pissed if you hear him call you cute. “…She’ll be happy to see us either way. She’s been here for days.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Then let’s hurry up and get it over with.”

One of the men on the ground is making a kind of…gurgling sound, and Oikawa kneels halfway down to make sure he’s not going to get back up, peeling back the edge of the bomber jacket the man is wearing and revealing a red stain spreading out from behind his ribs. “This is the last one. Still holding on, but he’ll bleed out by the time we take her out of here.”

“Stand back,” Iwaizumi says flatly, and as soon as Oikawa is out of range, a final gunshot cracks through the room to finish the dying man off.

“Oh—putting him out of his misery, are we? How generous.”

“Not generous. Impatient.”

Iwaizumi scans the room again, counting the bodies, checking for any last subtle breaths. There’s none. The door to the backroom is locked from the outside only—clearly your kidnappers were more concerned about you escaping than the possibility of anyone getting through the small army of guards outside the door. He only has to flip the lock and then the handle is yielding under his grip.

And it’s just like he pictured it. You’re tied to a chair, black cords looping around your ankles and your waist and your wrists and binding you to the wood. You look, predictably, like you’ve been wearing the same clothes for a week, but still—even with the greasy hair, even with the mussed clothing, even with your face obscured by a wad of fabric gagged into your mouth and a blindfold—Iwaizumi can’t help the rush of relief that comes from seeing you alive. And you’re safe, too. Now that they’re here for you.

Oikawa goes to you first, and Iwaizumi lets him. Oikawa’s the family head so he’s the first one who gets to touch you. Iwaizumi knows that’s how it is. Oikawa bends down next to you and when his hands go to undo the gag first instead of the ropes or the blindfold, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes privately. Fuck, how badly does the idiot want to see her cry?

The fabric is soaked with spit when Oikawa pulls it out of your mouth—you must have been trying to talk with it in. Maybe you were screaming. Iwaizumi wishes idly that he’d left some of the men outside alive—it could have been slower, he could have really made it hurt—but the wave of fury passes. It’s done. You’re fine. You’re safe now.

You open and close your jaw a bit, stretching out the sore muscles, and when you finally speak your voice is hoarse from a combination of neglect and likely dehydration. “Hajime? T—Tooru? It’s…you, right?”

“How did you know?” Oikawa pouts.

“I, um, heard the shots…I know what your gun sounds like—” Oikawa’s thumb rubs lightly over your cheek as you’re talking (probably subconscious, Iwaizumi doubts he even knows he’s doing it) and you jerk away from his hand. “Don’t touch me like that! You smell like blood.”

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Oikawa laughs softly, not moving his hand from your face. You’re still blindfolded, but he’s staring at you anyway in pure rapture. The wriggly movements of your body against the rope tell Iwaizumi that you’re waiting for them to untie you, but he holds back—considering the way Oikawa’s drinking in this image of you, it seems like he wants to savor this moment a little longer. Iwaizumi can’t say he doesn’t understand.

Really, it’s just that you’re usually so hard to pin down.

“Are you—aren’t you going to untie me?” Your voice sounds a little nervous now. Iwaizumi’s getting tired of waiting for his turn to touch—he kneels next to you, across from Oikawa, and laces his fingers into yours, pulling your hand awkwardly away from the place where it’s still tied to the arm of the chair. “—Hajime? Is that you?”

“Just give us a minute, princess,” he breathes, folding each finger down until your smaller hand is swallowed up in his grip.

“Were you scared?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi wonders if it’s as obvious to you as it is to him that part of Oikawa wants the answer to be yes.

“No, um…” You’re turning your head blindly between the two of them, obviously trying to sort out whose hand is whose—who’s touching you, and where—but does it really matter? As long as it’s one of them? “I wasn’t. Not really. I…I knew you would come.”

“Good girl, good girl.” Oikawa’s hand tilts your chin up. “Are you ready to come home then? If you can admit it, I’ll untie you.”

“Come on…” It doesn’t feel quite right to hold you hostage like this, but then again Iwaizumi’s lost his sense of what right is when it comes to you. Maybe love isn’t supposed to be this obsessive, but by now it’s been so long that neither of them can tell the difference. Can you really fault them for that?

“It’s okay, Hajime, um—I’m ready.” You swallow roughly, turning back to where you think Oikawa is stroking your face. “Tooru…can I go back to the compound? I want to…go back…”

“You want us to take you back,” Oikawa corrects, cupping your cheek, careful all the time not to let the streak of blood on his hand meet your skin. “You want to come home.”

his redemption | 01 | bakugo x reader

synopsis ⤸

after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?

chapters ⤸

next ᝰ

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, dark fic, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon

word count ⤸

5.1k

a/n ⤸

this is yet another story that originated for a different fandom, but i love this story so much, n i really want to finish it one day, so i’ve decided to rework it for bakugo. pls note that this’ll be on the darker side, so pls check the tags before you read (i’ll be updating them as i write). pls, pls let me know what you think!

reblogs, are appreciated ~

bakugo katsuki is no stranger to women, much to your dismay. 

this is a fact that you learn just a few days after moving into your new apartment block. on the first morning of your arrival, you’d exchanged introductions with the rest of your neighbours, only the angry red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro—as new neighbour denki had described him—hadn’t answered your polite knock, despite the fact that the man’s apartment is situated just a wall away from your own. you’d left with the promise to return the next day. 

come the second morning, and you had been so sure that you’d seen a man of denki’s exact description, standing out on the shared balcony, a cigarette in hand. however, by the time you’d made your way down the hall and stepped out onto the concrete, said figure had disappeared from sight, and once again, there was no answer at number 34. 

by the end of the third day, you were beginning to wonder if he existed at all. 

however, by nightfall, you are made all too aware of his presence. 

after yet another tiresome day of unpacking your belongings, you’d been rudely awoken by the sound of loud, chaotic laughter in the early hours of the morning. at first, you had  thought that you’d imagined it, considering the apartment next door had been seemingly vacant since the day you’d moved in. but when you hear the noise again, followed by the sound of a low, gruff voice—a man’s voice, you realise—you can only heave a heavy sigh. you try to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping that they’ll be quick to go to sleep, only for your hopes to diminish into thin air when you then hear a breathy moan. 

the man’s voice follows, evidently deeper than his female company, and in turn, you roll over in bed, holding the plush cotton of your pillow over your head. you aren’t sure what time it is, but you suspect that you have just a few hours to get some rest before you have to be up for work. 

however, despite your prayers—and much to both your annoyance and horror—the red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro proceeds to keep you awake until six o’clock in the morning. when you are then forced to haul yourself from the comfort of your bed, it is with an exhausted sigh, your eyelids drooping heavily. rubbing a finger under your eyes, you go about your morning routine, readying yourself to start the day with a much needed cup of coffee. 

exactly forty-seven minutes later, you are leaving the apartment, pausing to ensure that the door is locked tight behind you. but just as you step out into the hall, the door to number 34 quietly creaks open.

you glance up to see a scarcely dressed woman exiting the apartment, attempting to tip-toe into the hallway as she swings the door shut. light brown hair messily dragged into a bun, she carries her heels in one hand, purse in the other, her clothes haphazard as if she’d rushed to get dressed. she wears a scowl that matches your own, and you conclude that the brunette has indeed become the victim of a rude awakening. you watch her, a brow rising as she then turns and lets out an admirably high-pitched shriek at the sight of you stood before her, arms crossed over your chest. 

‘o-oh god,’ she all but exclaims. ‘you sure scared the crap out of me, lady!’ 

you don’t bother to apologise. 

you eye the woman with a look of disapproval, your head tilting to the left at the sound of the door to number 34 swinging open once again. 

denki had been right, you think to yourself as you take in the wild mess of blonde hair that hangs across his forehead, tousled and unkempt. and his eyes are a strikingly angry shade of crimson, you’re surprised to see that that fact is also true, your own boring into where there’s a scar that cuts through his left brow. he’s tall. much taller than you’d imagined, clad in what you guess to be a makeshift set of pyjamas—a loose tank-top and a pair of jogging bottoms, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

you blink up at him, immediately tensing as you realise that he’s caught you staring, those scarlet coloured orbs focused on you. awkwardly clearing your throat, you attempt to save face by taking a small step forward, thrusting your hand in front of his face. 

‘h-hi,’ you grimace at how your voice stutters. clearing your throat, you offer your name before forcing a small, but polite, smile, ‘i just moved in next—’

‘i know.’ 

he completely ignores the brunette as if she’s not stood right before him, and this only causes her scowl to deepen. 

your outstretched hand falls to your side, quickly realising that he’s not going to return the handshake. ‘oh... well i tried to—’

‘i know,’ he interrupts again, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. the movement has the lines of his biceps tensing, and you belatedly chide yourself for allowing your eyes to dart to the offending muscle, glaring at his skin. the man looks at you, expression bored, ‘heard you knockin’.’

‘oh,’ involuntarily, your shoulders slump, before your brows pinch together, barely concealing your annoyance. you fail to do so, it seems, as the man before you makes a little noise at the back of his throat before the reds of his eyes languidly drag down the length of your body, before trickling upwards. you grip your handbag a little tighter, teeth clenching together. ‘well, as i said, i’m—’

‘new neighbour,’ he cuts you off once more, voice now lilting upon a tone of amusement when you don’t bother to mask the glare that now mars your features, ‘i know.’ and then, to your surprise, he leans forward, offering his hand. ‘bakugo,’ is all he says as you reluctantly accept his handshake. his hand is warm, his grip burning into your skin, the length of his fingers much longer than your own. you almost relish the touch of his palm until you remember just what he had been doing that had kept you awake all night, and instead, you all but snatch your hand away. 

‘and i’m camie,’ the brunette snaps from your right. 

bakugo’s eyes flicker to glance at her, somehow appearing to have completely forgotten that she’s been stood beside you. expression bored, he hums, ‘camie? thought your name was—?’

‘wow,’ it is you who interrupts him this time. 

camie scoffs loudly. she almost looks as if she wants to cry and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, glaring at him on behalf of the other woman, who—without saying another word—rushes down the hallway as best she can without shoes on. you gawk after her, wincing when the main door slams shut, listening as the noise ricochets down the hall, an echo following in its wake. 

‘tsk,’ bakugo tuts, as if disapproving of the noise. a frown is pulling at the space between his brows when you look at him, his eyes darting to bore into yours, his expression lacking any form of remorse. 

you stare back, incredulous. and because you simply can’t help yourself, you sneer, ‘is that how you treat all women?’

bakugo doesn’t appear to appreciate your curt tone, his spine straightening until he’s standing a little taller, gaze sterner. 

‘she got what she came for.’ 

as if you could forget the way that he'd kept you awake all night. your frown deepens, ‘i’m sure.’ 

he looks as if he doesn’t know how to reply. or maybe his unnerving silence is purposely aimed your way because you’ve managed to hit a nerve. you’re not sure. 

but once you check the time on your watch, you realise that you have just twenty minutes to make your way to work. ‘shit,’ you curse softly, rushing to turn away without another look in his direction. yet when your hand curls around the handle of the entrance door, he calls out to you again. 

‘see you ‘round,’ he says lowly. your neck cranes to glance at him from over your shoulder, fighting back the urge to shudder once you catch sight of the scowl he aims at you. within the blink of an eye, he’s smirking, the whites of his teeth gleaming as the corners of his mouth stretch. unnerved, you stumble enough to lose your footing, just managing to catch your balance on the doorframe. bakugo’s eyes squint down at you, ‘you be careful there,’ he mocks, waving a hand, ‘... neighbour.’

you all but run out of the apartment block, exhaling with relief once the door slams shut. 

and all the way to work, you dawdle. 

the introduction to your new neighbour wasn’t what you’d planned at all. you’d hoped that the two of you would exchange pleasantries, maybe occasionally share cups of sugar, if needed. but after just one meeting, you already regret being so eager to meet him. 

and new neighbour denki certainly hadn’t warned you about how annoying the red eyed man is. how rude he is.  

how frustratingly hot he is. 

as soon as that thought enters your head, you shake it free. 

you remain lost in thought until the moment you reach the clinic, almost walking face-first into the glass door. huffing down your embarrassment, you hope that no one notices the way that you stumble your way through the reception and towards your office, barely remembering to breathe a morning greeting to ochaco, who waits for you at the front desk. 

the dark-haired woman scuttles after you, closing the office door as you busy yourself with discarding your coat and bag onto the two seater couch before heavily slumping in the chair at your desk. ochaco places a file onto the desk, offering an apologetic look as she watches the way that you warily eye the folder. 

‘he’s new,’ she tells you, soft spoken and smiling sweetly when you glance up at her. ‘he signed up last—’ 

she’s interrupted by the sound of the door flying open so violently that it roughly smacks back onto the wall behind. mina bounds into the room, clapping her hands excitedly, beaming. she wraps a strong arm around ochaco’s shoulder—who squeaks with surprise when she almost topples over—and squeezes. ‘did you tell her? did you, did you?’ 

ochaco points at the file on the desk, ‘i was just—’

‘oh my god!’ mina exclaims, interrupting. ‘you have got to see this new patient—i begged nemuri to let me have him, but she said some shit about professionalism—that stone-faced bitch. i mean, how the hell am i not professional?’ 

you stifle a laugh, leaning back in your chair. 

mina’s hands are snatching up the file before you can take a peek. ‘god,’ she groans, dropping the file back down so that it smacks against the surface of the desk. ‘it’s so unfair.’ 

‘i’m sure,’ you hum, ochaco giggling behind her hand. 

‘just wait until you see him. i can’t believe nemuri is letting you have him.’ 

you let the comment slide, reaching for the file and flicking the first page open. but as soon as your eyes fixate onto the photograph that is paper clipped to the information sheet, you bolt upright, slack jawed. 

mina calls your name, frowning at your reaction, and when you don’t reply, her grown deepens. ‘okay, i know he’s hot but—’

‘i know him,’ you snap at her, glowering. 

‘you do?’ mina asks, dubious. 

you drop the file to the desk, head in your hands as you groan loudly, ‘he’s my new neighbour. i met him this morning.’

the curl of mina’s grin is now mischievous, ‘oh?’ 

you grimace, ‘don’t look at me like that. he’s not hot at all. he’s such a... a... whore.’ ochaco’s eyes widen at the insult, cheeks red. you elaborate, jabbing your index finger at the file, ‘i bumped into his one night stand this morning... he didn’t even remember her name. asshole.’ 

mina snorts, ‘just your type then,’ she laughs at your annoyed expression, ochaco’s one of concern. 

‘i can’t believe this,’ you groan again, head tilted back as you peer up at the ceiling. this is just your luck. of all people, of course it had to be you to be assigned as his doctor. 

‘maybe you could ask nemuri if someone else—’ ochaco starts, words dying on the tip of her tongue at the sound of mina clearing her throat. the brunette woman swallows, stuttering as she corrects, ‘o-or maybe you could recommend that mina—?’ 

‘yes,’ the pinkette cuts her off, hand forming a fist as she grins, eyes gleaming with glee, ‘this is perfect.’ 

you lift your head to look at her, bewildered, ‘it is?’ 

‘uh, duh?’ mina looks at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. ‘i get him as free eye candy, and you get to fuck him without getting into trouble. you know, conflict of interest and all that crap.’ 

‘i’m not going to f—’ you clear your throat at the poor choice of wording, ‘i’m not going to sleep with him, mina.’ 

she almost looks offended, ‘come on. he’s hot. and he lives next door, so you know, no walks of shame.’ 

you run a hand over your face, ‘sometimes, i honestly... really question why we’re friends.’ 

ochaco titters at this and mina pretends to have not heard you. 

‘i’ll ask nemuri if i can hand him over,’ you relent. ‘if you want to deal with him, then be my guest. rather you than me.’ 

mina completely ignores the bitter bite to your tone, sighing dreamily as she stares down at the folder, the first page flipped open to show his picture. the three of you peer down at the photograph with mixed expressions of curiosity and distaste. 

‘he’s not bad looking,’ ochaco offers. 

you huff, ‘don’t encourage her. please.’ 

her smile is gentle, ‘i just think it wouldn’t be too bad if you... had some fun.’ 

‘see?’ mina’s arm is wrapped around poor ochaco’s shoulders once more, ‘she gets it.’ 

‘okay, i’m not listening anymore,’ you stand from your seat, shutting the folder with a flick of your hand and then ushering your friends to the door, ignoring mina’s exaggerated protests. you gently push them out of the office, pausing to grab at the white lab coat from the stand by the door. ‘i’m not sleeping with him and i don’t need to have fun—don’t give me that look, ochaco, you’re just as bad as—’

‘ladies,’ the three of you look to the left to see your senior practitioner standing with a scowl slanting across her forehead, heeled foot tapping against the linoleum flooring. ‘we must not be busy enough if you have time to be chit-chatting in my clinic.’

mina’s lips purse. it is no secret that both she and nemuri have a love-hate relationship, their constant bickering often subject to many jokes shared amongst the staff body. nemuri’s temper, matched with mina’s childish stubbornness is no fight that any of them particularly enjoy witnessing, especially after the time nemuri swung for mina’s head when cleaner-boy-turned-prankster sero had convinced the pinkette to jokingly lace nemuri’s alcohol with laxatives during an after-work party. luckily, she hadn’t consumed the liquid, but she had been angry enough to leave a mark on mina’s cheek for a week afterwards. 

you, on the other hand, as well as ochaco, much prefer to remain on nemuri’s good side. the woman does sign off your pay-checks, after all. 

‘actually,’ you start, faltering when narrowed sky-blue eyes glide over to you, unimpressed by your attire. heeding the unspoken warning, you quickly swing the lab coat over your shoulders, shoving your arms through the respective holes. the palms of your hands are flattening down the fabric as you dare to ask, ‘could i have a word?’ 

nemuri eyes you, a dark brow quirking upwards. 

‘please?’ you urge. 

nemuri glances at the other two women who stand behind you, and whilst you can’t see their expressions, you can already picture the annoyance on mina’s face. ‘do you not have work to do, ashido?’ nemuri barks, and ochaco is already shuffling away before the older woman’s anger can be aimed at her. 

smart. 

you hear mina click her tongue, but she doesn’t argue back, and you listen to the clacking of her heels until they quieten behind the slam of a door. nemuri’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer, and then she’s turning away, leading the way to her office. once inside, nemuri takes a seat behind her desk, the woodwork cluttered with paperwork. she points a manicured fingertip at the chair opposite, and without question, you follow the instruction. lowered into the comfortable seat, you wait for the older woman’s attention to focus on you, watching as she searches the pockets of her own lab coat. when she can’t find what she’s looking for, she grumbles under her breath, quickly giving up. 

settling back in her chair, her stare fixates onto you. 

‘now,’ she drawls, teeth bared as she smiles. ‘what can i do for my favourite student?’ 

๑

it is dark when you arrive home, soaked through from the rain that had poured from the heavens when you were just minutes away from your apartment building. 

you’re not sure of the time, but you suspect that it’s well past midnight, kicking your sodden shoes off at the door, barely remembering to shove the key through the lock. dumping your purse on the small dining table, you shrug off your coat, shoving the damp material into the washing machine, along with your stockings. a trail of water follows you to the bathroom, your fingers snatching a clean towel from the radiator. however, you don’t get the chance to dry your hair, as a loud knocking at the front door has your spine stiffening. 

exhaustion has you debating on ignoring whoever is at the door, but when they knock again, the loud thumping is now desperate and repetitive. 

‘alright, alright!’

you’re unlocking the front door, yanking it open, ready to reprimand the visitor for making such a racket. but as you pull open the door—only for a heavy weight to suddenly slump against you, enticing a winded oof! from your lips—the words die on the tip of your tongue. 

‘what the—?’ 

staggering under the extra weight, you struggle to remain upright. recognising the flash of blonde hair that tickles your cheek, you heave the man up into a standing position. 

‘bakugo? what on earth are you—?’ 

he grasps at your arms, using your shoulder to balance himself as he hauls his body to lean against the doorframe with a strained wheeze. his face is unhealthily pale and you notice the beads of sweat that have collected upon his forehead, threatening to trickle down the curve of his cheek. heavily lidded eyes blink down at you and his voice rasps as he says, ‘need help.’ 

you see it then; how he’s clutching at his ribs, his body trembling as the length of his spine presses against the doorframe. your eyes widen at the startling amount of blood that soaks a crimson stain through the fabric of his light-coloured t-shirt, the thick liquid smeared along the bumps of his swollen knuckles. your rain-soaked skin is forgotten, the towel closing over the back of his hand, adding pressure.  

‘w-what happened?’ 

‘you. you’re... a doctor... ain’t you?’ his eyes are squeezed shut, his breath wetly rattling from between his lips, the lower one split. 

you stare at him, ‘how do you—?’ 

‘help me,’ bakugo hisses, gaze smouldering as he grunts in pain when you press harder. ‘please,’ he adds reluctantly, the word forced out between gritted teeth. 

pausing to kick the door shut, you guide him into your small apartment, carefully supporting his weight as you walk him toward the bedroom, lowering him to the mattress as gently as you can. he strains out a groan of pain, eyes screwing shut, and you easily forget any form of annoyance that you’d harboured towards him, grimacing as you gently nudge his hand out of the way to peel his shirt back. 

unsurprisingly, the wound is fresh, deep enough that it’s still weeping, but not so deep that you can see fat. it’s a relief and you allow the emotion to sag your shoulders, a breath escaping you. you slide the towel over his skin once more, pressing hard. 

‘keep pressure on it,’ you order. fingers shaking, he does as you say, clamping down onto the towel that has already begun to morph into a brilliant shade of red. the sight is a concern, and you rush to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom before returning to kneel beside him, pausing to look over his prone form. he appears to have formed a fever, so you decide on opening the window, allowing a trickle of cool air to flow into the room, chilled by the rain outside. 

suppressing a shudder, you hope that it’s enough to ease his fever, your hand moving his aside to check the wound once more. it’s a few inches long, the cut clean. you can sew him up—you’re more than skilled enough to do so—but you’d much rather him be checked out at a hospital. you voice this opinion to him, only to be shut down almost immediately. 

‘no,’ he manages to gasp around a tense moan. ‘no hospital.’ 

‘but—’

‘i said,’ he hisses, head raising from the mattress to glare at you, ‘no fuckin’ hospital.’ 

you bite back a retort. it’s no use arguing with him, especially when he’s bleeding out onto your brand new bedsheets. ‘fine,’ you relent, tone brash and eyes hard. ‘i need your shirt off.’ 

he eyes you dubiously, warily. 

‘it’ll give me more space to work,’ you clarify. ‘plus, it’ll be much cleaner. it’ll decrease the risk of—’

‘yeah, yeah,’ he grunts, making a move to sit upright, his abdominal muscles tensing. only, he collapses straight back down, quickly followed by a pained wheeze. ‘i-i can’t...’ he suddenly forms a fist, slamming it down on the mattress beneath him with a frustrated curse, ‘fuck!’  

your hand closes around his, ‘it’s fine,’ you try to calm him, slightly panicked by his small outburst. you don’t think that he’ll hurt you—or at least, that’s what you hope—but the clenching of his fist and the welling of his darkening orbs has your stomach knotting with nerves. lest you allow it show, though, your expression is forcibly neutral, ‘don’t move. i’ll just use scissors.’ 

he huffs a noise of disapproval but doesn’t move, so you open up the first-aid box, throwing the lid open so harshly that it almost snaps from the hinges. grabbing the scissors, you make quick work of slicing through his t-shirt, his brows pulling together at the sound of the fabric tearing until you tug it from under his back, throwing it to the ground. he grunts as you accidentally jostle him, but you pay no mind, already reaching for the anti-septic wipes. 

‘this is going to sting,’ is the only warning you spare him. 

‘just hurry the fuck up,’ he snaps, only for the expanse of his chest to vibrate with a pained growl when you smooth the first wipe over the wound. his hips jerk upwards, head falling back against the bed. 

‘hold still,’ you snap, elbow roughly digging into the soft tissue of his hip in order to keep him still. he mumbles something under his breath but you aren’t listening, cleaning his wound with a practiced pace. as you work, you are privy to the sight of the family of scars that litter his torso. there’s one, long and jagged, that traces from his right hipbone to his navel, the edges uneven. you dread to imagine what could have caused it. there are a few smaller scars that encircle his left collarbone, splattered down to his nipple, another large one that expands across his ribs, disappearing as it curves around to his back.

you know that you shouldn’t be staring. 

he’s a patient. 

but that doesn’t stop you from admiring him. because despite the scars that taint the golden kiss of his tanned skin, and despite the fact that the heat of his blood  warms your hands as you work, congealing in a way that makes your nose crinkle, you can’t help but agree with mina. 

he really is a sight to admire. 

the blood-flow ceased, you ensure that the wound is thoroughly cleaned before proceeding to select a sterile needle, ripping open the packaging with your teeth. squinting with one eye closed, you guide the thread through the loop, shuffling closer on your knees. 

‘’kay,’ you breathe. ‘gonna close you up now.’ 

when you receive no reply, you look up, only to see that the pain has rendered him unconscious. it’s probably for the best, you conclude, pushing the needle through his skin and forming the first stitch. with practiced ease, the stitching is neatly formed in short timing, cleaned and bandaged with careful precision. 

after, you pack away the first-aid kit, careful to not wake him when you move from the bed to discard the used wipes and the bloodied needle. in the bathroom, you scrub your hands clean, drying them before returning to the bedroom to gently remove the stained towel from his curled fist. you discard the fabric of his ruined t-shirt into the bin, setting the washing machine to cycle after shoving the towel in to join your coat. 

closing the bedroom window and switching the light off, you collapse into the chair by the vanity table. tiredly, you eye his sleeping form, his skin illuminated by the dim light emitted from the lamp in the living room. a thin sheet of sweat coats his forehead, blonde hair now appearing a light brown as it is dampened. his lungs expand and deflate at a slow, but even pace, and you know that he’s out of danger, despite the pool of blood that has crusted the bedsheets. you’ll have to replace them. 

for now, exhaustion catches up to you now that your adrenaline has settled, and it only takes seconds for your eyes to droop closed. 

๑

it feels as if just minutes have passed when your eyes snap open to the sound of someone swearing loudly. 

bleary eyed, you jolt upright, double taking when you remember that you’re not alone. bakugo is now sat up, much to your surprise, however, you aren’t able to get a good look at him when he turns his head towards you. 

because there’s now another person in the room. 

hair as crimson as the blood that his friend had shed, with the red of his eyes to match, eijiro kirishima looms over his friend. he’s also tall, maybe even taller than the blonde haired man hunched over on your bed, his body equally as fit, biceps bulging as he hooks an arm under bakugo’s armpit, yanking him to his feet as if he weighs nothing. 

you are on your feet in seconds, hands reaching with the intention to push the man with the blonde ‘fro back to the mattress. but before your fingertips can even touch him, kirishima is unkindly shoving you backwards, glowering as he gives you a once-over, jaw ticking. 

‘move it, lady.’ 

‘he’s in no fit state to move,’ you protest. 

kirishima barks out a laugh, easily balancing bakugo on one arm as he rudely jabs his index finger in your face. ‘trust me, he’s had worse.’ he waves his hand, indicating that you move, ‘now be a sweetheart and move over, i need to get him outta here.’ 

you stare up at him, eyes narrowing as his frame towering over yours as he takes a threatening step closer. 

‘listen, lady,’ he seethes. ‘soon, this place’ll be swarmin’ and i need’ta get him outta here before they get here. he can’t fight like this.’ bakugo makes a noise, appearing on the brink of unconsciousness once more, head lolling against kirishima’s shoulder. you aren’t even sure how the redhead managed to break into your apartment in the first place, but you don’t need to question the mild panic that he allows to pass over his features, clearly concerned for his friend. he doesn’t wait for your reply, barging past as he hauls bakugo from the bedroom. 

you follow after them, protesting. 

‘you could re-open his wound!’ 

kirishima uses his spare hand to pull the front door open, ‘like i said, he’s had worse.’ he makes to pull his friend out of the apartment, but you halt him with a hand on his clothed shoulder. 

‘w-wait!’ 

much to your relief, he does, watching as you disappear into the kitchen, noisily fumbling around in one of the cupboards. on rushed feet, you return, pressing a bottle of pain-killers into the palm of his hand. ‘at least make sure he takes these. they’ll help him,’ you plead. kirishima eyes you, expressionless eyes critical as he silently regards you. you’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to approve, nodding once as he shoves the pills into the back pocket of his jeans. 

just as kirishima is hauling him over the threshold, bakugo manages to lift his head, eyes barely open as he looks at you. 

‘i owe you,’ he’s barely able to exhale, features twisting in pain as he clutches at his bandaged side. and then before you reply, they’re gone, disappearing out of your line of sight as the door to the apartment block closes, announcing their departure. 

for a long time after, you stand in the doorway, waiting. 

waiting for what, you do not know.

eventually, you lock the door before returning to the bedroom. the apartment is now eerily quiet as you listen to the sound of police sirens shrieking in the distance. slumping back into your chair, you rest your elbows on your thighs, pressing your face into the palms of your hands. you inhale, breath shaking as you wait until the sirens have faded into silence.

the entire encounter feels like a damned dream, but the blood-stained bedsheets are the only evidence of bakugo’s lingering presence. 

and with a chest-heaving sigh, you suspect that this won’t be the last you’ll see of him. 

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

big bro iwa who’s in love with making out with his lil sister’s pussy <3

tw incest, hajime nii is a service dom, oral <33

"S-sit shtill," he's slurring into your skin, pulling you down closer with an almost painful grip on your ass. But how can you? It's physically impossible not to squirm when big brother's got his mouth locked like a vice around your clit and all the sucking and wetness coating his chin is enough to have your thighs shaking.

"Niichan, niichan, nii~chan! I'm gonna pass ouw~ t." You're whining loudly, you know you are, but- everything's hazy and your fingers are threading through his full head of hair and you can't stop yourself from sweating and rocking back against his mouth until the friction on your puffy bud becomes too damn much.

If you could open your eyes for longer than a second, you'd be able to see the intensity in Hajime's eyes, and the absolute adoration as he watches every twitch of your brow, or how you force your own finger between your teeth to shut yourself up. You'd be able to see how his hips twitch and smear precum all over the blankets while he buries himself between your legs with a low grunt. "Pass out then," he eventually breathes, letting even the puffs tingle your clit, "I'm not done."

He loves you, you know? Loves laying you down on his bed like this whenever you come over and watching you squirm to get away. But your voice breaks as you let out a desperate squeak, and your back curls off the bed with shuddering thighs. Hajime's tongue rubs over your clit again, before his fingers scissor you open further and more wetness dribbles out of your pretty pussy.

If you're not driving him crazy up the wall, you'd be doing it to someone else. A thought makes his brows furrow, as he watches you, watches the tear tracks wobble down your heated cheeks and your body twitch every time his tongue leaves the nub with a flick. "You know- uhh, ugh- why I'm doing this?"

"Mhm, a sister's pussy is for big brother," you softly mewl, and also shake, and your hands fiddle with the strands of his hair you can read.

"Not that," Hajime nii grunts, curling his fingers deeper inside you and opening wide as his tongue goes to fuck into the drooling hole with a low groan. You taste so fucking good. He'd really stay down here for hours if he could, and it ticks him off that you start getting too overstimulated and fussy after just two orgasms. "Why am I mad?"

Your whining makes way for a beat of silence, though your pussy clenches and sucks his tongue like you never want to let him go. You might pretend to be any better off than him, but you're just as twisted. A real brother fucker, getting the sheets this drenched. It almost distracts him from your little "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." You try to right yourself onto an elbow and lift yourself from the bed, but he gets up and yanks your waist along with him so you fall back, and his biceps bulge as your legs hook over his shoulder. The sucking of your little clit has your eyelids fluttering so hard you look like you're gone. "You don't know what you're doing. Why even try to touch yourself, stupid shitty sister. This is my pussy. Mine."

"'m sorry~" you whine, and your tone says it all. You're going to cum, again, and soak his face like he wants, needs you to. Long days of work only feel earned when he can sink his fat cock into that hot, little clutch. Why don't you get that. "Ah, ah, niichan. Wan'it, wan- mh-agh, gonna cum Hajime nii~" So cute. So pretty. Your pussy's clenching against his mouth, so hot and soft on his tongue, so needy-

He lets you ride yourself against his mouth until you start wiggling, and then he clamps his lips around that little bud and sucks, hard. Until you're cumming all over him, and he places patient kisses onto your hooded nub until you stop shaking and crying. "How many times do I have to tell you? If your body feels weird, what do you do?"

"Wake up- Haj' niichan. Niichan will fix 't."

"Hey, Kook, seriously, this is not a good idea," you mutter, nervously nibbling on your bottom lip. Your gaze flickers back to your house, nervousness swirling within you.

Standing beside Jungkook and his–very scary–motorcycle, you can't help but feel a tinge of guilt tingling through you. You hated going against your parents rules...

"They won't even realize you're missing, sugar" Jungkook reassures you, his hand casually resting on your hip, his touch bringing a safe warmth to your side, making it hard to resist his proposal of a late night drive. "it's already late, and all the lights in your house are off, they won't even notice you're gone"

You glance at the familiar surroundings of your home, the huge tree in front of your window, the small but pretty fountain in your garden..., contemplating the consequences of your decision you sigh, crunching up your brows–you know that it's good to break free from the boring routines; to experience life.

Your heart races with fear, but as soon as you feel Jungkook's grip tighten around your waist, you know it's time to break free even if it was just for a few hours. With a hint of a smile and a spark in your eyes, you nod at him, signaling that you're ready and all in–at least you hope you were.

"I promise I'll take you back home before midnight" Jungkook smiles "you're not getting in trouble because of me"

"I'm super scared" you mutter, clutching your jacket tightly against yourself as you gaze at the intimidating vehicle before you

"You'll be totally fine, I promise" Jungkook reassures you, flashing a confident smirk. "I mean, I'm sure your parents-"

Cutting him off, you shake your head vigorously. "Nonono. I don't mean my parents," you clarify, pointing directly at his shiny Harley.

"Oh?" Jungkook chuckles, clearly proud of it patting the seat.

"What if I fall off and you don't even realize?" you pout, your eyes wide with worry. "I've only been on that motorcycle twice in my entire life, and each time it was only for like five minutes tops. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be on it for any longer."

You look up at Jungkook, fear evident on your face. The thought of being on that thing for longer than a few minutes makes you want to throw up.

"Fall off?" Jungkook laughs "Sugar, the chances of you falling off this thing while I'm in charge are 0." He shakes his head now looking serious "I won't let anything happen to you. If I knew this would endanger you I wouldn't let you ride it"

"You can never know, Jungkook!" you whine, bouncing on your feet with anxiety. "I mean, I've watched some videos online of people getting really hurt by motorcycles and stuff" you ramble on, but before you can continue, Jungkook swiftly shuts you up by squishing your cheeks together with his hands.

"Hun," he says, his voice filled with amusement, leaning in and placing a kiss on your pouty lips. The cute nickname and the touch of his slightly wet lips make you go weak in the knees, melting into his affectionate gesture.

"You're so cute," he sighs, patting your cheek gently, leaving a faint red mark behind by the way he squeezed them earlier

"Kook," you whine, protesting his actions, still unsure about all of this

But then Jungkook, being Jungkook, cracks his knuckles and leans against his harley. "Sugar, how about this," he proposes with a mischievous smirk. "You get on here, and I'll take you to somewhere really pretty with a nice view. We can grab some snacks too" he suggests, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"And if–at the end of the night–you decide I was just talking shit" he looks around "I'll dye the bike pink" he finishes

"Fine," you nod "and youll add cute stickers as well"

-

The wind was blowing through your hair as you desperately tried to divert your attention away from the heart-stopping speed Jungkook was driving at.

You had no idea where you were heading– Jungkook said it was a surprise. The darkness of the night made it difficult to make out anything more than a distant lights and blurry outlines of bushes anyway.

Attempting to ease your nerves, you hum softly, leaning back against Jungkook's muscular shoulder. Your eyes instinctively shut, seeking solace in the darkness, but you quickly snapped them open. Panic in you as you realized that the fear got worse when you couldn't see

So you kept your eyes wide open, stealing glances at Jungkook every few minutes. His face was concentrated, his brow furrowed as he focused on navigating his Harley through the night.

He was so handsome... features enhanced by his piercings, each one adding a certain something to him. You always liked his nose, and his lips–oh, they were just too kissable

It was only when the bike finally came to a halt that your daydream abruptly faded. Jungkook extended a hand as you hot off, your legs feeling slightly wobbly from the combination of the ride and drowsiness. "Woah there, sugar" Jungkook grinned, "you good?"

You nodded, giving him a small smile to reassure him. Jungkook held onto your hand tightly, never letting go as he secured his Harley. "We gotta walk a bit now" he said "Ever been to Namsan Tower?" One eyebrow raised as he waited for your response.

Dragging you along behind him, you hurriedly caught up, your hands intertwined as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Because it was.

"No," you shake your head, "it's a bit too far to walk, isn't it?" You nudge your face against Jungkook's strong shoulder, trusting him to lead the way as you blindly follow him

He hums "Yeah, it's a bit of a walk from yoru home, thank god your boyfriend has a bike" he teases you "It's so pretty, especially at this hour. We can pretend it's all ours for the night" he chuckles nudging your hip to get you to look up

When you do, it takes your breath away. From this point, you could overlook the entire city, lights stretching as far as the eye could see. It leaves you speechless.

"Woah" you sigh

"Pretty, isn't it?" Jungkook sighs, his arms wrapping around you from behind as both of you take a moment to fully absorb the scene

"Like you," he murmurs softly after a while.

Confused, you turn to him "what do you mean?"

Jungkook takes a deep breath, wanting to choose his words carefully "it's almost as beautiful as you, sugar" he confesses, his arms holding you even closer "I wanted to bring you here to show you just how I see you through my eyes" He nods, silently reassuring himself that he's expressing himself correctly, just as he practiced in his room before he came to pick you up

"In my eyes, you're like a million sparkling stars" he admits, his vulnerability shsining through. He hopes that his words won't seem strange or weird, but rather sincere. To his relief, you don't find it weird at all.

"Really?" you ask, a hint of shyness in your voice, your small hand gently playing with his much larger one.

His gaze softens as he looks at you from the side. "Yeah, really" he confirms, his voice filled with determination. "I can't help but think of you, all the damn time, and right now...I just...I want to kiss you so fucking badly"

"Why don't you?" You giggle "I'm right here" you nudge him playfully only for him to lean in and do just that, kiss you.

His lips are unsurprisingly soft and slightly moist as they touch yours, they feel different. It's more sensual, more longing more...loving? It's a moment that catches you off guard

Did his kisses always feel this...good?

Of course they did you shake the thought off

But thsi felt different

Jungkook breaks the kiss after a few seconds, his brows furrowed as they stare into yours

What are you doing Jeon? Jungkook thinks to himself

Why are you feeling like this? Why are you so worked up after just a kiss?

As your lips part, you're left breathless. Looking into his eyes that tell so much more than they did before.

"Kook...-"

"Wanna to grab a snack before I take you back home?" Jungkook interrupst you, clearing his throat, his smile lighting up his face as he helps you stand up

"Sure" You nod still a bit caught off guard a small smile on your face as you look around "but there's not much going on around here"

"There's a 7/11 pretty close by, I'll buy you one of those fancy ice teas you like" he nods towards the direction of the store smirking

"You think they'll have the blueberry flavour?" You ask lips pursed as you decide to ignore what just happened. Thinking about how much you enjoyed it when Jungkook passed by one night and brought one with him. You instantly fell in love with the newfound flavour.

"I'm sure they do, and if not we'll just drive to another one until we find it"

-

"You're telling me you've never had boba before, sugar?" Jungkook asks confused, his voice filled with surprise as you both stand in front of the closed boba shop

"What is it then?" you pry, taking a sip of your blueberry ice tea and gazing at him with your wide, curious eyes. Jungkook shakes his head, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"It's ice tea, or actually, you can make it with any drink, I think... Coffee too....I think," he nods, confused himself

"And then you just add flavored pearls to it. Some are apple-flavored, some cherry. Oh, I know you'd fucking love the strawberry ones" he adds, unable to resist pinching your side.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, enjoying the innocence and curiosity that always radiates from you, it made him feel like the world wasn't bad after all...

"Ah, so it's basically a drink for when you're bored?" you chuckle "so you can play with the little pearls in your mouth?" You ask

Jungkook nods, unable to hide his amusement. "Uh, yeah, something like that," he agrees, a soft smile gracing his features.

"I just thought you'd know about it since... well, I don't know, you give off the vibe that you'd like it," he explains, his voice laced with affection as he grips your hips tighter walking towards his bike with you.

- In the studio -

"Seven and eight and nine and-" Mrs. Chuu's instructions echoed off the walls, it was another solo class today, which meant all eyes—actually just Mrs. Chuu's—were focused on you.

Despite the pressure, you found these classes much more enjoyable. They allowed you to express yourself more freely, cracking jokes, and even sharing tidbits about your life, and about Jungkook—though conveniently leaving out his boxing activities, knowing it wouldn't sit well with Mrs. Chuu

As the class winds down, you let out a sigh, relieved that you could finally sit down. Mrs. Chuu starts tidying up the room, humming a tune under her breath when suddenly, she turns to you with a curious smile. "You've never told me what he does, by the way, dear" she says, "that boyfriend of yours"

Glad that she isn't looking directly at you, you bite your lip, contemplating how to answer. "Oh..." you begin, hesitating slightly. "Well, he's... uh... he's...he goes to the gym a lot" you respond, hoping she would accept that answer

Mrs. Chuu's face lights up with understanding "oh, so he's like a personal trainer?" she asks, trying to fill in the gaps.

You nod, "sorta," you reply, biting your lip as you try to maintain the act

In that moment, relief washes over you. Mrs. Chuu's assumption offers a coverup, allowing you to keep Jungkook's true job safely tucked away.

You appreciate her concern and interest, but revealing the truth about his boxing stuff would only make things worse

With a grateful smile, you start helping Mrs. Chuu in tidying up, thankful for her belief of your half lie

"So when am I meeting this handsome young man?" Mrs. Chuu asks and you almost spit out the water you were drinking. Quickly swallowing you clear your throat "uh-oh-" you struggle with your words

"Dear, he's probably wanting to pick you up sometime, and just like I know you, you won't let him" Mrs. Chuu teases, finishing up cleaning.

A lump forms in your throat as you swallow nervously. "Um... Mrs. Chuu, heh...my mom doesn't know about us yet... that's why" you manage to say, your smile awkward

Mrs. Chuu's expression shifts to surprise "Still not?" she asks, genuinely taken aback. "Are you dating a criminal or something?" She teases

A weak chuckle escapes your lips, but you choose to remain silent, not ready to say further

Sensing your hesitation, Mrs. Chuu's tone softens. "Come on, dear. He's your first boyfriend. Your mom would be delighted-" she suggests, however, your plea interrupts her sentence.

"Please don't tell her," you shriek, urgency evident in your voice.

Mrs. Chuu straightens up, her posture more attentive than before. "I wouldn't ever," she assures you, "your secrets are safe with me" she adds

"Good afternoon," a guy interrupts, walking into the studio as if he owned the place. His confident way catches your attention immediately. He looks insanely good, dressed in an all white outfit with some touches of black here and there. It's evident that he has an eye for fashion, which brings a smile to your face. His blonde hair, with just a hint of black roots, adds an extra touch of uniqueness

"Ah, Jimin-ah, you're very early today" Mrs. Chuu greets him with a warm smile. You stand there, feeling a bit awkward, observing their interaction shyly. Approaching people has never been your strong suit.

"I am" Jimin answers and then turns his attention towards you, surprising you as he extends his hand. "You must be y/n" he says, his voice carrying a friendly tone.

Your smile widens as you confirm "I am. You're Jimin?" you find reassurance when he nods affirmatively

"The one and only," Jimin jokes, his tone lighthearted.

"Hes the intern i mentioned tk you a few weeks back" Mrs. Chuu introduces him, explaining how her back troubles had limited her ability to manage things around the studio. You nod in understanding, gently rubbing her shoulder in a comforting gesture

She was really like a grandma to you, and you loved it

"I thought you said it got better? Do you need me to get something for you?" you ask, concern lacing your words. However, Mrs. Chuu quickly dismisses your offer. "No, dear, that's what Jimin's here for now" she reassures you with a smile, and Jimin joins in with a warm nod

"Oh" you nod, relieved by the reassurance. "That's good, then. I don't have to worry about you anymore?" you tease, earning a small pat on your arm from Mrs. Chuu with a disapproving look

Mrs. Chuu continues, sharing more about Jimin. "He's going to the academy too. I got him a scholarship in return for his help" she explains proudly "He's a great guy."

Jimin's cheeks tint with a blush, while you simply smile at him

-

"So, are you in my class now?" Jimin jokes, as he starts to prepare for his class of fifth graders.

You chuckle at his remark. "No, no, I just had a solo class with Mrs. Chuu. I'm sorry, I'll leave now" you apologize, thinking it's time for you to make your exit

But Jimin stops you, his curiosity piqued. "Solo? You don't go here?" he asks, genuinely surprised, referring to the fact that the academy doesn't typically offer solo classes to non regular students.

"No, I don't," you reply, shaking your head. "My mom knows some people here, so I'm able to do this. I come here every day" you explain with a smile

Jimin's eyes widen slightly, puzzle pieces slowly falling into place "Ah, I see," he says.

With a friendly smile, Jimin resumes his preparations, and you start to gather your things, preparing to leave the studio. As you take off your shoes and begin massaging your feet, a groan of pain escapes your lips when you come across a small wound you got earlier in the day from a fall. It's nothing too serious, but it feels unfortunate, especially considering you're a ballerina

"Need some help?" Jimin quickly walks over, his eyes focused on your foot as he points towards it.

You attempt to brush off his concern with a smile, but he interrupts you. "I don't accept 'no's.' Come on, let me help you. I'm good with stuff like this" he insists, his smile inviting and warm.

Without waiting for your response, he heads towards the first aid kit located at the back of the room

You glance at your phone and sigh, realizing that you'll have to send a text to Mr. Lin, informing him that you'll be walking home today. It's a fairly long walk, but you find comfort in it, and it gives you the opportunity to listen to some music and unwind

You also see some texts from Jungkook, but decide to answer those when you're out

Returning your attention to Jimin, he comes back holding a small container of cream in his hand. He places it gently on your small cut

"Thank you, Jimin," you smile, your voice filled with sincerity. His willingness to help and made you soft

"You know what?: you laugh "I actually do feel better now...thank you" you smile again

"It doesn't look as bad, but keep an eye on it. You never know what could happen," Jimin advises with a smile before standing back up. "I have around 15 more minutes until the kids arrive" he sighs, settling down on the floor to stretch

You bite your lip contemplating whether to stay a bit longer, the thought of making a new friend excites you.

Taking a deep breath, you gather the courage to speak up. "So, you're a teacher and a student here?" you ask, curiously

Jimin chuckles at your question "yes and no" he responds, his eyes lighting up. "This is supposed to be Mrs. Chuu's class, but she called me earlier to replace her because of her back" he explains, and you nod happily, delighted to have met a new friend. And as minutes pass your conversation continues, you discover shared interests, like favourite food and shows-

"No way you've watched gossip girl?" You laugh covering your mouth "That's so cool! Who's your fav? Be honest" you ask

"Mh, I always liked blair" he shrugs and you nod

"I'm basic, I liked serena" you laugh and Jimin gives you a look making you roll your eyes "she's not that bad" you defend her

-

Walking down the clean halls, Jungkook's every step echoes throughout the entire floor. Heading past various classroom doors, bits of lectures reach his ears, but his sole focus is on locating room 7—the studio where you always had practise.

Lookig at his watch he sighs–he was in a bit of a rush, hoping that you haven't already gone back home

He wanted to surprise you. He even bought some flowers and bubble tea for you to try. But he had been caught up in some last-minute stuff, making him run behind schedule.

Nevertheless, he's determined to see you, to head to the beach together and have some alone time. The thought of your smiling face and the sound of your laughter echoes in his mind, bringing a small smile to his face

As he turns the final corner, relief washes over him when he spots your street shoes at the door, signaling you were still inside

Thank fuck

Gently pushing the door open, expecting a half empty room he clears his throat, ready to surprise you when he suddenly spots you close–too close–with some guy he didn't know

His eyes narrow as he lays eyes on the scene before him. His jaw clenches tightly, waiting for you to notice his presence, and when you finally do, you...smile? "Kook!" you exclaim, walking up to him with a big smile, ready to wrap your arms around him in a warm hug.

However, your hug is stopped by the sight of the flowers and bubble tea in his hand. "You got me flowers?" you pout, looking up at him with an adorable expression "that's so cute"

Instead of reciprocating your mood, Jungkook's expression remains stern. His frown is not directed at you, but rather at the guy who had been way too close to you just a few seconds ago. His protective instinct kicks in, and he can't help but feel a bit of jealousy

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down before speaking. "Yeah, I got you flowers," he says, his voice tense. "But who the fuck is this guy?" he asks, nodding subtly towards Jimin who just laughs making Jungkooks frown deepen

You follow his gaze and your smile fades slightly as you notice Jungkook's displeasure. "Oh, this is just my new friend Jimin" you explain, "We were just talking. Nothing more," smile not really sure why he looked so mad

"Hey man" Jimin greets him only to earn a hard glare from Jungkook

He shakes his head forcing his gaze to soften as he processes your words, a friend.

"Alright, just a friend," he says, his voice now more relaxed. He hands you the flowers and bubble tea

"Thank you, Kook," you say, sincerity shining in your eyes. "I appreciate the flowers and you coming all the way here." You smile

"Of course, anything for you"

Frowning slightly you ask. "Did anyone...did anyone see you?"

"No" he simple says wrapping his arms around you protectively and staring at Jimin with no mercy

Sensing the tension in the air, you decide it was time to call it a day at the studio. Casually reaching for your bag, you shoot a friendly smile at Jimin and bid him goodbye.

Jungkook, always the gentleman, takes the bag from you as you both made your way out of the studio.

Stepping outside, the fresh air greeted you, instantly lightening the mood.

Jungkook reached out to take the flowers from your hands, offering to hold them for you while you tried your drink "So, what's the the flavour?"

"Strawberry."

-

The beach is quiet, just a few birds chirping away, as you sit perched on a rock, thanks to Jungkook being all sweet and giving you his jacket to soften up the hard ground.

Your head is resting on his shoulder while his hand is all snug around your waist. It's one of those rare peaceful moments you get to spend together until Jungkook breaks the silence

"So, that Jimin guy... he's new?" he asks, trying to play it cool but you can sense the tinge of jealousy in his voice.

Lifting your head, you flash him a smile. "Yeah, kinda... he's Mrs. Chuu's intern," you say, excitement lacing your words. "He's been lending her a hand cause she's been struggling with her back lately. Such a nice guy..."

Jungkook lets out a hum, but you can feel his grip on your waist tightening a bit "I don't get why you don't like him," you say, sitting up a little straighter "he's genuinely nice, you know? He even helped me clean this tiny cut I have on my foot earlier"

That mention of a cut catches Jungkook off guard, and his eyes widen as he straightens up as well now, lookibg at you with concern. "Cut? What cut?" he blurts out, clearly worried.

"Oh, it's nothing serious, just a little scrape. But my point is, Jimin was there for me. If I like the guy, shouldn't you too?" You quickly reassure him "if there was something to worry about, if tell you" you reassure him

His gaze softens, and he tugs you a bit closer, like he's staking his claim. "Alright, I get it," he mumbles, a hint of a scoff in his voice. "I just... don't want anyone else to take care of you like I do."

You can't help but melt a little inside at this. Despite his tough exterior, there's a softness that only you get to see, and you loved how you were special enough for him to show it. Cupping his cheek, you lean in, brushing your lips against his. "You know, Jungkook, you're the only one who I genuinely couldnt live without seeing ever again" you whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin

The waves crash against the shore, the birds continue their chriping, and here you are, locked in a moment with the boy who makes your heart skip a beat.

As you pull away from the kiss, you both exchange a knowing smile. Maybe Jimin is nice, but there's no denying that Jungkook is the one who truly makes you, feel like yourself

Peering into your innocent eyes, Jungkook can't resist leaning in for another kiss. This time more intense, with a hint of roughness, as his tongue explores your mouth. His hand firmly cups your cheek, keeping you in place, while your own hand rests against his strong chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart

Between kisses, Jungkook pulls away "You're mine," he says, his voice possessive. "And I trust you more than I trust myself," he confesses, biting his lip, clearly struggling with his emotions. "But I gotta be honest, sugar" he continues, his tone a mixture of frustration. "I don't trust any other guys around you. So... don't get mad if I feel jealous from time to time" he sighs

Cute

You can't help but let out a soft giggle, finding his possessiveness oddly cute. Gently caressing his cheek with your fingertips, you respond, "Kook... I know how much you care about me."

"But you have nothing to worry about kookie" you reassure him, your shy smile radiating warmth. "I've chosen and only you." It's true. Despite his reputation, there's a side of him that draws you in, a softness that makes your heart flutter. You feel safe in his arms, knowing that his protectiveness comes from a place of love

Jungkook's tension starts to ease. His lips curl into a smile, and he pulls you in. "I'm a lucky fucker" he murmurs, "But, don't be surprised if I occasionally get a little possessive."

You nuzzle your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek. "As long as you're not fighting anyone were okay" you whisper teasing him a bit.

-

The gym is packed, as usual, with people busily working out. Jungkook strides through the people, his gaze fixed on his phone, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face. He had sent you a good morning message earlier, but there had been no response yet. You were probably caught up in something, he hoped

Just as he's about to reach the boxing ring, Wendy, with her irritating voice and overly touchy demeanor, stops him. "JK! Long time no see. We've missed you around here" she purrs, her voice getting on his nerves

Jungkook barely spares her a glance, his eyes still glued to his phone "yeah, well, I've been working out at my apartment blocks gym. Couldn't be bothered to see your fucking face." With that, he brushes past her, not wasting another second on her

Entering the changing rooms, Jungkook finally lets out a frustrated sigh. He throws his phone into his gym bag and changes into his workout clothes, his mind still thinkingabout yesterday. You talked about everything, yet he still felt some tension

As he emerges from the changing rooms, the loud hits of gloves against punching bags fills the air, mixed with the grunts and shouts.

Each punch he throws is laced with frustration and anger. He puts his energy into his training, letting his muscles do the talking. The rhythm of his punches is like a release, drowning out the distractions of the outside world

-

Wendy's mouth hangs open in disbelief at Jungkook's cutting remark. Irene, sensing an opportunity to stir up gossip, can't help but laugh under her breath, earning a slap on the arm from her friend. Wendy's annoyance quickly turns into anger as she rolls her eyes, marching back to join the rest of her clique

"Here" Irene retrieves her phone and shows Wendy a picture–you and Jimin talking at the studio yesterday.

Wendy's eyes widen as she takes in the image, her mind immediately jumping to conclusions

"I made Joy send me this photo. She says Jimin is new, and look how close the two of them seem. It's definitely going to upset Jungkook if we show him this." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, trying to catch Wendy's interest

A smile spreads across Wendy's face as she contemplates the idea of using the photo to her advantage. "You know what, Irene? Maybe it's time for Jungkook to forget about her and finally notice me"

Irene chuckles, fully on board with the plan. "Exactly, DyDy! This is the perfect opportunity. If he sees that photo, he might just realize what he's been missing and come running into your arms." The two girls exchange knowing glances, giggling

Little did they know, their little plan wouldn't cause any harm

-

Kook🩷: Good morning Sugar take it slow today

Today 8 am

You: Morning! On lunch break right now😋

Today 12 pm

You: *Insert lunch picture* made it myself 👩‍🍳

Today 12 pm

Jungkook can't help but smile as he glances down at his phone, reading through the messages you've sent. Your way of texting was the most lovely thing ever, making his heart flutter "She's so cute," he mumbles to himself, taking a sip of water before composing a reply.

Feeling relieved that you're not upset or mad about anything, Jungkook's tension eases. He knew that sometimes his jealousy gets the best of him. But seeing your messages reassures him that you two are okay

As he hits send, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

Kook🩷: looks good, tonight my place?

Today 12:15 pm

Kook🩷: food + movies?

Today 12:15 pm

"Jeon, 1 on 1 match in 5?" Kai challenges Jungkook, interrupting his peace after reading your messages. Jungkook puts his phone back and empties his water bottle, ready to leave for the day

"Nah, man, I'm done for today," Jungkook brushes off Kai's challenge, his mind already occupied with thoughts of you. He starts taking off his shirt, preparing to head home

Kai rolls his eyes at Jungkook's response, clearly unimpressed. "Man, you've gotten weak since you started dating," he scoffs. "You used to be so reckless, always ready to beat the shit out of everyone in the ring. What happened to that Jungkook?"

Jungkook feels anger bubbling in his chest, turning to look at Kai, his eyes burning "Shut the fuck up, man. You don't want to take this any further," he warns, his voice laced with a scary edge.

But Kai refuses to back down, "Fuck, I didn't know you became such a pussy," Kai taunts, rolling his eyes dismissively

In a split second, Jungkook's patience snaps. His temper flares, and he pushes Kai against the wall, trapping him with an intense grip. "Fuck did you just call me?" Jungkook growls

For a moment, the room falls into a silence as the tension between Jungkook and Kai hangs in the air. If there's one thing about jUngkook is that he refuses to let anyone underestimate his strength or question his status in this gym

As his grip tightens, Jungkook's mind races. He knows he needs to regain control of his anger before it spirals out of hand. With a scoff, he lets lose of his grip on Kai

Kai swallows hard, his brave autitute disappearing "Alright, man, I didn't mean it like that," he stammers, realizing the line he crossed. "L-let's just forget about it, okay?"

Jungkook nods slowly "Yeah, let's leave it at that," he replies, pushing him against the wall a last time before turning away

Jungkook walks out of the building, feeling an insane amount of stress. He can't help but light up a cigarette, muttering a curse under his breath.

"For fucks sake"

With each drag, he tries to calm his racing thoughts, but all he can think about is you. Jimin and you.

He hates that he craves your presence, longing the comfort and reassurance that only you can give him

Leaning against his bike, Jungkook's mind races with thoughts of you. He needs you by his side, now more than ever somehow. He didn't know what was happening to him, he knew he liked you, but lately it's been through the roofs.

Inhaling deeply, the smoke swirls around him, "shit"

He exhales, the tension in his body releases with each drag.

His fingers itch to type out a message, to let you know he's coming over but he just can't wait one more second

Gathering his thoughts, he stubs out the cigarette withhis shoe, and takes a deep breath, getting on his bike.

-

"You're careless and selfish, you can't just be so stupid and get hurt! Ballet is your job! What will you do when you suddenly can't dance anymore? What will I do?" Your mom selfishly yells at you.

You feel like crying, but you try to hold back your tears. You know that your mom is just worried about you and your future as a dancer.

You remember the advice of Mrs chuu who always reminded you of the importance of taking care of your body and avoiding injuries

You sigh

"Look at me!" Your mom yells at you, her voice laced with frustration. You glance up from where you're sitting on your bed, trying to ignore the urge to cry

"Do you understand what a disgrace it would be if you were to injure your foot and couldn't dance again? Your whole life, you've been working towards becoming a ballerina. I've put so much money to get you to where you are. And now, with one careless mistake, you could throw it all away." She sighs heavily

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, your mother abruptly speaks up, "If you do not want to talk, that's fine," she scoffs, "but you should know that there will be consequences if you continue to make mistakes." With that, she slams the door shut, leaving you alone and vulnerable.

As you try to regain your composure, you hear a knock on the window. Your heart races as you hope it's just the wind. However, when theres another knock, you reluctantly turn around to see none other than Jeon Jungkook himself–his timing could not be worse.

"What are you doing here, Jungkook?" You ask, your voice tired and frustrated. His eyes scan your face and body, and he immediately senses that something is wrong. "Sugar, what-" he begins to ask, but you cut him off.

"Jungkook, I asked you what you're doing here, especially this early in the day! My mom was just in my room and could've easily seen you!" You panic and start to ramble "I don't know what to do! I feel like everything is just spinning out of control. I've been dealing with so much lately and it's all just piling up. I feel like I'm suffocating and I don't know how to fix it." you start crying mid sentence, too tired of having to deal with it all

Jungkook quickly moved to lock the door behind him before anyone could walk in. You couldn't help but feel irritated at his presence. "I needed to see you," he finally breathed out. You let out a sarcastic chuckle and rolled your eyes.

"Well, have you thought that maybe not everything is about you?" you accused him, feeling the frustration from your terrible day bubble up inside you. "I've had the worst day ever and you just barge in here. Can't you see I don't want you here?" you snapped. Despite your outburst, Jungkook stood there, looking at you with concern. He slowly walked towards you, his arms opening up for a hug.

"Sugar..." he said softly, "dont cry- hey" he wipes a tear away "don't cry, pretty girl" You hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in to his embrace.

As he held you close, you could feel the tension in his body. You knew he was aware of your anger, but he chose to ignore it. Sensing your discomfort, he asked, "Did you have a fight with your mom again?"

You only nod your head in response, burying your face deeper into his chest. Taking a deep breath he speaks up "I'm sorry. I should have at least sent a message letting you know I was coming over." His gentle touch pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and you felt the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

You couldn't help but feel guilty "no, I'm sorry." You needed him now more than ever.

"I need you"

Humming Jungkook squeezed your side, hugging you even closer "I'm here"

You couldn't help but smile through the tears as you felt his warmth. It was moments like these that made you realize how grateful you were to have him in your life.

As you looked up at him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and safety. “I think it's cause there's like an invisible string attached to us, and whenever I'm hurt, it pulls you closer to me” you explain and he smiles.

"You think so, sugar?" he asks softly

"I know so"

Jungkook's chest tightened at your words, and he felt a warmth spreading through him. He couldn't help but wonder if what he was feeling was more than just "liking"

Was he beginning to fall...in love with you? Looking into your eyes, he knew one thing for sure–he never wanted to let go of the invisible string that connected the two of you.

filth teaches filth

warnings/tags: minors DNI, f. reader, DUB-CON, age gap (10 years), underage (for a time), unreliable narrator, depressed!reader but we never address it, oblivious!reader, naive!reader, icky!Gojo, freak!Megumi, Royal!AU, ward!reader, adoptive father!Suguru, pseudo-incestuous vibes, obsessive!Gojo, obsessive!Megumi, sexual deviancy, hinted somnophilia, isolation, murder, forced intimacy, these tags are not exhaustive. word count: tba summary: In the ten years you've been married to Gojo Satoru, you can count on one hand how many times you've seen him. With the end of the war, your dear husband has made his way back to your side, intent on winning your affections. Well, winning them is a formality. You're his wife. There's not much you can do to escape your fate.

if all goes well, the chapters should be relatively short (~500 - 2.5k words) and not necessarily in chronological order (this is subject to change bc...I am not a good planner lmfao). it's an AU that has been heavy on my mind <3

I

II

III

IV

V

divider by @/saradika

“spare me the details”

Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn

When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.

Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.

Keep reading

Happy Iwa day! Can you please create a ‘waking up with Iwa’ drabble?

Thank you!

... dont blame me for taking this fluff and turning it into smut tho hfygusdgfd sorry sorry i am only wholesome in asks but not in writing

tw yandere, somnophilia, hate-fucking, possession, noncon

You've haven't gotten used to the achy, sore feeling of having your poor pussy stretched and abused for hours when he starts bothering you during naps too. When your brief moments of sleep get interrupted by a slow few pets along your hairline, your sides, along the curve of your ass. It'd be romantic if it was anyone else, if you didn't wish you could blink his face out of existence.

Iwaizumi's roughed up fingers toy along your slit with spit-strung lines that still leave your thighs all sticky, when you barely manage to pull yourself back into consciousness. The room is never how you left it. He can't stop himself from cleaning up in the pretense of love and care, and apart from angering you -you could help if he didn't insist on fucking you until you passed out- it at least serves as some sort of sense to tell the time.

As you try to push yourself up onto one arm, Iwaizumi grunts softly, before breathing your name. You hate how he says that too. You can tell that his first instinct is to push you back down, but instead he just dips his digit in and out of your awfully sore hole. You notice that the room is clean. The fresh sheet smell is nice, and you bury yourself deeper into them.

"Morning, doll."

You choose to ignore the wistful longing in his tone, and jerk as he strokes a particularly sore spot. "Aw, Iwaizumi, that hurts." He doesn't stop, and you swear a slight glint of enjoyment even passes over his face when his fingertips curl deeper inside you. "Aw, aw, that hurts!"

"Hm, someone's still sore from before, huh." You nod, and try to reach behind you a little to dig your nails into his forearm- but he presses your wrist to your back with a pleased hum. "Well, maybe you deserve that, doll." Tears spring into your eyes, and you glare. God, you hate him. Even if he hadn't stolen you away from your family and locked you up in his fancy prison, even if he hadn't raped you and embarrassed you and hurt you- you'd hate him.

It lingers on the tip of your tongue when he pulls his fingers out of your wet, because of his spit and the motions only, pussy and slots them between his plush lips. Olive eyes find yours as your mouth opens, and maybe he knows you, because one brow lifts. I hate you. I hate you, you think, and bite your lip hard, but it doesn't come out of your mouth. Your body refuses, and you tear up more. Last time you said it left you choking on his cock for long enough to have you gagging your throat raw.

But your tongue still brushes your teeth, and you whimper when he rolls you over. "I-"

"You love me." He pats an impatient hand against your thigh, and you lift it to make room for his narrow hips and thick thighs. "You love," he kisses your leg, "me. This gives you meaning. You're right where you need to be." Of course his cock is already hard. Of course the flushes head is leaking a bead of precum, he can't ever help himself. "My doll. My little puppet."

He lines up, and his mouth corners twitch up a little when your lip is bitten painfully tight between your teeth. You cry out a little noise at the sting, the hurt, the already raw flesh getting overabused from the second he slides in-- shudders above you like he likes it. It hurts. It really really hurts, and yet, your cunt squeezes around him as wetness automatically lubes up his thick cock. "You love this, pretty girl. If you don't yet, you will."