favorite haikyuu moments - #1

You didn’t necessarily know what your relationship with Kei was.

If it was up to labels probably friends with benefits or a situationship.

You never really knew.

Neither of you have ever brought it up. But your reasoning was solely because you liked him and you were convinced he was only in this for the sex.

A drunken night was what spurred this up and after that the you both couldn’t stay away. A booty call away, a late night text message.

You were half expecting him to come tonight but you weren’t up for doing anything. You were tired. Physically and mentally.

In a cower of your own thoughts, you confessing like a normal human being didn’t please as an option for you. So you thought pushing him away was better. You knew things would end like this. In one person getting hurt. And since you assumed he wouldn’t have feelings for you, you’d rather be the first to leave.

As you lay in your bed, the moonlight makes its way through your curtains. The chill of the night caressing your face. You felt yourself slipping away.

Yet your door opens and you already know who it is. His tall figure casts a shadow in your room. The moonlight hitting his face so perfectly he looks heavenly. He slides in behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His big hand gliding across your tummy.

“M not in the mood Kei.” You whisper.

Your heart is beating rather fast and you’re sure that he could feel it. His movements freeze for a moment but he continues.

“That’s ok.” He whispers against the rim of your ear.

You shudder, your body not knowing whether to warm up or tense. You’re a little shocked that he stays, full heartedly expecting him to leave. You cast a glance behind you and he opens an eye.

“What?” He grumbles, closing his eye once again.

“You’re not gonna leave?” Which you agree sounds terrible but you didn’t mean any harm.

“Jeez, do you want me to?” He perks up and you shake your head.

“No. Sorry. I just thought you’d want to.”

His brows furrow.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I don’t know I figured you’d just wanna have sex.”

Now he’s definitely confused and even offended.

“Is it really that weird for me to just stay over?”

You purse your lips, embarrassment getting to you.

“A little yes. You’re always gone by the morning.” You mumble.

“Because I have practice.” He says softly.

You sigh, your malicious thoughts getting to you. You both fall silent. Both of you to far in your head.

“Did you really think I just came to fuck?”

You gulp.

“Yea.”

Your voice is soft. Kei probably wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t next to you. But he does and that confirmation hurts him.

“Why?”

You’re growing a little frustrated or maybe it’s the embarrassment getting to you.

“I-I don’t know. We never talked about what we were so I just assumed you didn’t want anything serious.” You sigh.

“I do want something serious with you. But yea, we never really brought it up.” He blinks.

“Ugh you’re being confusing! How can you say all of this with a straight face.” You pout.

He sits up, looking down at you. He motions you to get up as well and he pulls you on his lap. Your cheeks are redder than ever, your eyes scanning everywhere except him.

“Look at me.” He says softly, cupping your cheek.

You meet his golden eyes, his glasses set on your table so you’re able to really look at him. Your arms wrap around his neck, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“I like you, I’ve always have.” He whispers, a faint smile on his lips.

But you’re finally able to see it. The softness and adoration in his eyes.

All of it.

Just for you.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger. He pulls away just enough that your noses graze eachother.

“I’ll take you out tomorrow after our classes. If my words aren’t enough.” He mumbles.

“It is enough Kei but I’m not opposed to you taking me out.” You smile so big and he looks relieved.

“There you are.” He laughs, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

Your husband Sukuna would never admit that if he died at this very moment, he'd die an extremely happy and fulfilled man.

Because the sight of you wearing nothing but his large black haori was probably the only taste of heaven he will ever experience in his wretched existence.

You sat near the parted shoji screen leading to his (and now yours too) personal garden, humming softly while you ran a comb through your hair. Your eyes were closed in content as you basked in the soft morning glow which did nothing but accentuate your beauty in his eyes.

You opened your eyes and noticed he was awake, gazing at you from his spot on the large futon you both shared. You smiled warmly.

"Good morning, love."

"Hm."

He, albeit reluctantly, tore his gaze away from you because he felt that if he stared at you any longer, you'll see a side of him he's too reluctant to show even you.

You smiled knowingly at him. Your attention went over to the garden then.

"I think the garden needs tending and a new set of flowers. Shall I call Aiko the gardener? I believe she has arrived back to the temple this morning after taking care of her sister during her pregnancy—"

Pregnancy

And then Sukuna had an image flash before his eyes.

Of you on the exact spot, dressed the same way in his black haori, smiling the same way and gazing at him the same way.

Except your stomach was round and swollen with his child. Of you tenderly and lovingly resting your hand against it.

Of you being completely and utterly his.

"—Also I think we should—"

"Get over here, wife."

You blinked. "What—"

"I said get over here now."

He had absolutely no intentions of letting you leave the bedroom today.

Between Me and You .ᐟ

❤︎ | While your other friends are enjoying themselves on your little camping trip, you and Kaiser were secretly fucking around (3k wc) ╰ feat. michael kaiser (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 6 | kinktober masterlist

tags - exhibitionism, car fun, fingering, hand jobs, kaiser is a bit desperate, camping trip, p in v, breeding, p*rn with plot, profanity, kaiser and reader banter a bit, friends/enemies-ish to lovers

minors do not interact

"Can you stop fucking moving for a second?"

A tone of annoyance filled his voice as he gripped your waist, effectively keeping you in place.

You two found yourselves in a rather interesting position—at the back of your friend's car with nothing else but the equipment you guys brought for the camping trip. You and Kaiser just pulled the short end of the stick hence why the others were enjoying a little bit of space in the cramped car, while you two had none at all.

"Move one more time and I swear to God—"

"What? You'll get harder?" you tease.

Kaiser clicked his tongue. He was already regretting this trip. The first half of the journey was rather peaceful as he probably fell asleep. And maybe it was because he wasn't conscious to keep his "thing" in control—combined with the fact that you had been rubbing against him this entire time—but it wasn't surprising that he was slowly getting hard.

You thought it would be funny to mess with him; you two had that kind of odd relationship anyway. So you rolled your ass against him, pretending that the road was bumpier than it actually is... until he woke up and became aware of the situation.

"I'm not hard," he denies. But the stiff feeling poking at you from behind told you otherwise.

You simply grinded your hips against him again in response—earning a low groan from him.

"Ya alright back there, man?" one of your friends asks, looking in the rear view mirror.

Kaiser breathes in. "Yeah, one of the tent poles just kept poking me and it hurt."

"Something's poking me too," you add, but Kaiser quickly pinches the side of your waist to stop your mischief.

Your friend laughs, completely unaware of what you two were doing at the back of his car. "My bad. Y'all just try your best to get comfortable, a'ight? We got about another hour on the road."

A whole entire hour.

You could either torture yourself by dwelling on the fact that your position was uncomfortable or... you could have fun. But it seems like Kaiser had the same idea as he slowly lifted up the skirt of your sundress. Your eyes widened, fully knowing that the tides have now turned against you.

"Let's see if you like it," he whispers in your ear. His breath felt warm, contrasting the chilly air of the airconditioned vehicle.

The panties you wore today matched the color of your sundress, except he can't really see it with you sitting on his lap like that. Though it hardly mattered. It was coming off later anyway.

— say all that you have to say.

contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, jr manager!reader, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with comfort, aiku doesn't understand feelings, happy ending i prommy, not fully edited as of 03/23 a/n: trying out some new headers! are these ok? are the old ones better? lmk!!

“Coach is going to murder you.”

“I’ll let you give my eulogy then.”

Sendou snorts obnoxiously as Oliver buries his face in rough hands, groaning. The gigantic weight on his chest has yet to go away and unfortunately for U-20’s captain, he doubts it’s going to dissipate into thin air any time soon. Especially with how dense the tension in the room is now, everything in the world just seems to be against him right now.

His lips tingle a bit. Oliver puts a finger on the plushness of it, feeling another warmth rush to his cheeks when his mind flashes back to last night, the little incident involving their junior manager, who was also under the title of being their coach’s niece. If word got out about what happened between the two of you to him, Oliver was sure that he’ll lose his captain position that he’s worked towards in the blink of an eye…

… all because he couldn’t contain himself.

Alcohol is a funny thing. It’ll make you feel the high of a plethora of emotions in just a few hours the longer it stays in your system, restraints against the world’s expectations gradually disappearing and an arrogant confidence growing within oneself. Oliver likes to think of himself as a rather resilient person, one that knows his limits all too well, even when drunk. So what exactly took over him in that singular moment, he doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to believe that what he did was from his own accord. That his actions were based on something other than impulse.

And he wasn’t even that drunk! He would’ve totally passed a sobriety test at the time if it was handed to him. 

The more he tries to figure out a reason for his actions, the more Oliver comes to dead ends over and over again, and he thinks his headache is now caused by his overthinking rather than the remnants of his hangover.

Oliver leans back and throws an arm over his eyes, the bright lights making his eyes pulse. “Promise you won’t tell anyone else about this? I don’t want a shitstorm blowing up.”

Sendou slyly smiles, but hums regardless. “Yeah sure. Anything for my best bud.”

And in comes the rest of the U-20 team ready to change for practice, chattering about, seeping into the locker room one by one. Oliver hears them greeting their ace and captain, but he can’t be bothered to try and put in the effort to say a polite hello back given his current dilemma that he doesn’t know is going to get worse in a second,

Sendou, always having a slight knack for a kick of drama, juts his thumb at their disoriented captain. 

“Oliver kissed (Y/N) yesterday night after karaoke, by the way,” he says casually as he examines his fingernails. “When he was dropping her off.”

Oliver sits up and gawks at the striker, Sendou only throwing a casual smirk at him—consider this payback for when Oliver whipped his wet towel at his rear yesterday a little too harshly.

all giggles & glitter │ atsumu miya

synopsis; (y/n) comes home drunk from a staff do and atsumu is tasked to take care of her.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was almost 2 AM when the apartment door slammed open with the kind of force that made Suna lift his head from his phone and sigh through his nose.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Atsumu, who’d been half-asleep on the couch with a blanket kicked halfway down his legs, jerked upright like he'd been shot. “Huh—wha’?”

From the hallway, Osamu’s muffled voice rang out through the darkness, dry and unsurprised. “Ya break that door, yer payin’ for it.”

“Oopsie…” came the sing-song reply.

Atsumu and Suna stared at the culprit.

There, framed by the glow of the corridor light, stood (y/n). Polaroid camera in one hand, purse in the other, dress slightly askew and glitter clinging to her face like it had a vendetta. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she had just committed a crime and gotten away with it.

She looked like a walking cocktail menu and a night of gossip come to life.

“Oh, great,” Suna drawled, locking his phone and tossing it onto the coffee table. “She’s wasted.”

“I am not wasted,” (y/n) declared immediately, pointing a dramatic, wobbly finger at him.

She took two steps forward and—promptly tripped over nothing.

Atsumu shot up like a bridesmaid ready to catch a bouquet at a wedding, but she miraculously caught herself—arms thrown out, knees bent, sticking the landing like a drunken gymnast.

“SEE?” she announced, chest puffed out proudly. “I'm so graceful.”

“Gracefully ‘boutta crack your head open,” Osamu muttered from his room.

Atsumu was already next to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Jesus, babe, how much did ya drink?”

“I dunno.” She blinked up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “It was fruity, though."

Suna sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Uh oh. Cocktails.”

“Where were ya?” Atsumu demanded, not letting go of her. “Ya should’ve called.”

“I texted!”

"Who?"

Suna held up his phone. “Me. She just said, ‘imwith the grils gnighttt 🥴💞”

Atsumu leaned down and squinted at the screen, lips pulled into a thin line. “That's not exactly… reassurin'.”

“She’s been out with her work friends,” Osamu added, finally stepping into the living room in a hoodie and pyjama pants, hair sleep-mussed. “Staff do, remember? Dancin’, gossipin’, the whole nine yards.”

“Danced my ass off,” (y/n) confirmed, giving a proud nod. “There was a conga line. I led it. Guys, I was majestic.”

“I’m sure you were,” Suna said, deadpan.

“I was,” she insisted, wobbling slightly. “And you'll never guess what—Sophie actually broke up with her boyfriend—which, to be fair, she should’ve done ages ago—and then Ria told me all about the Sabrina Carpenter concert she went to last week—you know, the pretty blonde girl who sings ‘that’s that me espresso.’ Oh! And I’m pretty sure Morrigan bit a guy at one point, and—”

“She’s spirallin'',” Osamu observed.

He took another look at her, scratching his head as he surveyed the damage. “Alright, let’s get ya to bed before ya end up in the damn hospital.”

“But I’m not tired,” (y/n) whined.

“Yes, ya are,” Atsumu said firmly, already guiding her toward her room.

“No, I’m not—oh my God, my feet hurt.”

Suna raised a brow, eyeing the heels she was wearing. "Not surprised wearing those things."

She gasped dramatically and pointed at him. “You—you are not helping!”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he droned.

Atsumu crouched down and tapped her calf. “C’mon, lemme take yer shoes off.”

(Y/n) placed a hand on her hip and stared at him.

“…What?”

“Are you gonna propose?” she asked, completely serious.

Suna snorted. Osamu sighed. Atsumu turned red.

“That is NOT what I was doin’!”

She squinted. “Are you sure?”

“Just gimme yer damn foot,” he grumbled, pulling off her heels while Suna continued to watch, immensely entertained.

(Y/n) wiggled her toes in relief and let out a pleased hum. “Thanks, ‘Tsum. You’re so nice.”

Atsumu froze.

You’re so nice.

Osamu clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, lover boy.”

But Atsumu was not breathing.

Meanwhile (y/n) was already tottering toward the couch, flopping down in the middle like it was her royal throne. “You guys though—“ she gestured to Osamu and Suna. “—are being mean.”

Suna tilted his head. “You wanna know what’s mean? Dragging your drunk ass home at two in the morning and expecting us to babysit.”

(Y/n) gasped. “You like babysitting me!”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“…Yes.”

“For the love of—Suna,” Atsumu cut in. “Put her to bed already.”

Suna gave him a long look.

“You do it.”

“She’s your childhood friend.”

“Yeah, which is why I know better than to let a drunk (y/n) anywhere near my bed.”

Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then just take her to hers.”

Suna clicked his tongue before pushing himself off the armchair. “Fine.”

He then grabbed (y/n)’s arm, but she clung to the couch like a feral raccoon. “No! Noooo, please I wanna hang out with you guys!"

“You can tomorrow—when you’re sober,” Suna grunted, yanking her up effortlessly, ignoring her protests.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” she whined.

“I don’t care.”

“I wanna eat something.”

“No, you don’t.”

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Osamu. “’Samu… can I have onigiri?”

“Absolutely not.”

She pouted. “What if I starve?”

Osamu gave her slow blink. “Then I’ll put it on your tombstone: ‘Drank too much, begged for rice, got denied.’”

(Y/n) scowled.

Okay, so one twin was dud.

How about—

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Atsumu. “Atsumuuu, say something.”

Atsumu panicked.

He always panicked when she got like this—when her voice went all soft and sleepy and her eyes got shiny and warm and her words came out without filters.

He never knew what to do with her when she was like this. It threw him off completely.

She was usually composed. Witty. A little sarcastic. But now she was… soft. Honest. Childish, almost. And so touchy.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and careful as he slipped his arm around her waist, gently guiding her away from Suna. “Let’s get ya comfy.”

She hummed contentedly and let him lead her down the hall, too tired to fight anymore.

Atsumu guided her up the stairs, one hand steady on her lower back, the other holding all her belongings.

She stumbled once—just a little—and he caught her easily, murmuring something soft and fond under his breath. (Y/n) didn’t quite hear it, but the warmth of his palm on her spine made her shiver.

The bedroom door creaked open, dim moonlight pooling across the floorboards. She blinked at the familiar space, like it was somehow new. Or swaying. Hard to tell.

Even so, as she stood in the middle of the room, she could tell this wasn’t hers.

“Are we in your room?”

Atsumu, already heading toward his wardrobe, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Suna won’t have ya.”

“No, I mean… why are we in your room and not mine?”

Atsumu’s hands faltered. He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Just wanted to keep an eye on ya, is all.”

(Y/n) broke into the broadest grin. “Awwww!”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but his ears turned a little pink.

A quiet moment passed. (Y/n) started humming to herself, rocking on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t quite stand still. Atsumu glanced over his shoulder and chuckled to himself.

Then he heard her yawn.

He turned back around. She was rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, voice soft and slightly slurred.

“Hey, Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so…” She squinted at him, smiling dozily. “Tall.”

Atsumu blinked. “...Thanks?”

“You ever notice that?” she asked, waddling over to him and pressing her cheek against his shoulder blades. “You’re like. So tall.”

He laughed under his breath, trying not to combust on the spot. “Alright, c’mon. Bedtime, space cadet.”

He led her to the edge of the bed and eased her down. She plopped onto the mattress with all the grace of a sleepy toddler, swaying slightly like a buoy in the ocean.

Atsumu shook his head fondly, rummaged through his drawer, and grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts at random. It was a little wrinkled, but clean.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Change into this, okay?”

She took it slowly, holding it up by the sleeves like it was an ancient relic. Her brows furrowed.

“…It’s huge.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “’Cause it’s mine.”

(Y/n) gasped like he’d handed her a sacred object. Then—without shame—she brought it to her face and sniffed it.

Atsumu turned red. “Don’t smell it, ya weirdo!”

She giggled. “It smells like you.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s how shirts work,” he stammered, waving his hands a little too much. “Jesus, yer so—”

“You’re blushing,” she said, delighted, pointing at him like she’d won something.

He dragged a hand down his face. “I hate drunk you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He peeked at her through his fingers. She was smiling at him—soft, sleepy, unguarded—and it hit him square in the chest.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “No. I don’t.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Suna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said, voice way too casual.

“DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT,” Atsumu yelled, spinning around like he’d been caught committing a crime.

Osamu’s voice followed from down the hall, dry and muffled. “I’m goin’ back to bed."

(Y/n) just giggled harder, pulling Atsumu’s shirt over her head like it was the best thing that had happened to her all night. It swallowed her frame, the hem almost brushing past her thighs like a second dress.

Speaking of...

Atsumu blinked.

Then frowned.

“Yer just gonna put it on over yer dress?”

She looked up at him, her smile dopey and innocent.

He quirked a brow, mildly concerned, gesturing vaguely at her glittery, slightly wrinkled outfit. “Ain’t that uncomfortable?”

(Y/n) looked down at herself like she hadn’t even realized. She furrowed her brows. Looked back up.

“…No?”

“Yer just gonna sleep in yer party dress?”

She squinted at him suspiciously, like she was about to be tricked. “Are you making me take it off?”

Atsumu faltered, thrown off by the phrasing.

“What? No! I just—I meant—you don’t have to, I just figured you’d wanna, y’know, change properly.” He waved a hand, flustered. “It’s fine. Ya don’t have to.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

Then he noticed the pout on her face.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Help me,” she said, tugging at the hem of her dress like it had suddenly become unbearable. “It’s itchy. Not comfy.”

Atsumu stared at her.

Like, really stared at her, and processed her words.

“Ya want me to undress ya?”

She let her arms droop by her sides in utter defeat. “Mhmm.”

His brain screeched to a halt.

Cogs turning. Morals clashing. Hormones threatening to riot.

This was a test. This had to be a test. And God—was he about to fail it?

He dragged both hands down his face and knelt in front of her slowly, like he was approaching a bomb with a pair of scissors and no idea which wire to cut.

“I can’t,” he said, voice firm but way too gentle. “Sober you would kill me."

She was giving him a look.

That look.

Eyes round and shiny, lips jutting out in the softest pout he’d ever seen in his life. She looked so genuinely pitiful, so impossibly cute—it was a miracle he didn’t spontaneously combust.

He almost caved when she murmured, all breathy and helpless—

“Please.”

His hands twitched toward the hem of her dress.

Then froze.

Then twitched again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally reciting the rules of being a decent human being. He was not gonna be that guy. He liked being alive. He liked her trusting him.

Then, like a gift from the gods—

“Atsumu, don’t you fuckin’ dare."

Osamu’s voice rang loud and righteous from downstairs, like the ghost of judgment incarnate.

Atsumu flinched like he’d been slapped by the universe.

He stood up fast, cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair like it could somehow smooth out the chaos inside his head.

“Right,” he said, a little too loudly. “Don’t ya need to do your skincare?”

(Y/n) blinked, distracted instantly. Her pout vanished. Her eyes lit up.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, “you’re right—my skin!”

She stood with new purpose, looking momentarily sobered by the sheer urgency of her nightly routine. Then she turned and scurried toward the hallway, bumping her shoulder against the doorframe on the way out.

Atsumu let out a breath as soon as she was gone.

Close call.

Atsumu sighed again and stood, shaking his head like it could somehow reset his brain. It didn’t.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the empty hallway, then rubbed the back of his neck and wandered out.

She’d been so determined about her skincare, and considering she’d just walked into a doorframe five minutes ago… she probably needed help.

He padded down the hall and stopped just outside the bathroom. The light was on, and from inside came a flurry of clinks, clatters, and a loud “ow!”

He knocked once. “Ya need help?”

There was a pause. Then a crash. Then—

“Yes please.”

He sighed again—but it was smiling this time.

Pushing the door open gently, he found (y/n) crouched on the floor, holding the lid of a serum bottle in one hand while the rest of the serum dripped in sad little globs onto the tile.

She looked up at him with watery eyes, the very picture of tragedy. “That was expensive.”

Atsumu huffed a laugh and crouched beside her. “C’mon, princess. Let’s save what’s left for yer pretty face.”

He helped her up and carefully lifted her onto the bathroom counter like it was second nature. She let her legs swing gently while he picked up the scattered bottles, reading the unfamiliar labels with mild confusion.

“Ya got a whole science lab in here,” he muttered, uncapping the cleanser.

“Uh-huh, that's what skincare is,” she said, wiggling her fingers mysteriously. “It's more than a routine. It's a ritual.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“Skincare is dramatic, if you think about it.”

He snorted and wet a cloth with warm water, gently dabbing at her face to clean off the remnants of the night. Glitter came off in waves.

“What's with all the glitter?"

“Morrigan and Ria wanted to be disco balls."

Atsumu let out a slow exhale. “Not surprised.”

She giggled, leaning forward so her forehead bumped lightly against his. “You’re being very sweet, y’know.”

“I’m always sweet,” he said, carefully smoothing a little serum across her cheeks.

She gasped softly. “It’s cold!”

He smiled. “It is. You keep it in the fridge or somethin’?”

“Apparently that's what you're meant to do,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he worked. “Don’t stop, though. Your hands are really gentle…”

He paused for half a second at that.

Then recovered. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she sighed. “Like… real boyfriend material hands.”

Atsumu’s lips quirked up. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” she said again, more sleepily this time. “You could probably get me to do anything with hands like that.”

His hand stalled on her jawline.

“…Anything, huh.”

(Y/n) didn’t seem to notice. She was in her own little skincare dreamland. “Like if you told me to… I dunno, rob a bank? I’d be like, ‘sure, as long as you apply my SPF for me after.’”

Atsumu tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway—low and warm. “Yer dangerous when yer like this.”

“I’m just relaxed,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re the one touching me... making me feel like this."

A short pause.

"Like what?"

Atsumu didn’t look up. He was too focused on the task at hand—spreading the serum evenly, making sure he didn’t miss a spot, acting like this was nothing.

That being said, he still didn’t miss the way she shifted. The way her fingers gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, twisting the fabric absently in her lap.

He didn’t tease her, though. Didn’t say the million things he wanted to. Just glanced up at her, and chuckled—soft, knowing—relishing the warm flush blooming across her cheeks.

Whatever she was thinking… he’d get her to admit it someday. When she was sober.

When he could finally ask and have her mean it.

He gently tapped her chin to tip her head up, fingers warm against her skin as he patted in her moisturiser with slow, practiced care. The act was clinical for the most part. Practical.

Until somehow, it wasn't.

Not when (y/n)'s breath hitched softly. Not when her lashes fluttered open and she looked at him—half-lidded, soft, vulnerable in a way that made Atsumu's stomach twist.

His hand lingered for a moment too long.

And then the air felt different. Thicker. Slower. A little quieter.

“You missed a spot,” she whispered, pointing vaguely at her cheek.

He leaned closer. “Where?”

“Here,” she said, tapping her face.

He raised a brow. “There’s literally nothin’ there.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, lips twitching. “You’re not the expert.”

He huffed another laugh. “Fine. Lemme just—”

He pressed his thumb gently to the spot, smoothing out the remaining product.

The silence stretched.

Then—

“Y’know,” she said, voice soft, “you’re kinda good at this. I might make you my official skincare applier.”

Atsumu grinned, stepping back and putting the lid on the moisturiser. “Add it to my résumé.”

“You’d look cute in a spa uniform.”

“Yer flirtin’.”

“I am,” she agreed cheerfully.

Atsumu shook his head, turning away so she wouldn’t see the way his ears were going red again. “Hop off the counter, you menace. Time for bed.”

“You gonna carry me?”

He quirked a playful brow. "Do ya want me to?"

Then she tilted her head, all soft and hopeful and tipsy.

“Will you actually?”

Atsumu hesitated.

Rolled his eyes for show.

Muttered something under his breath about being too nice for his own good.

And then, without warning, he bent down and scooped her up bridal style.

(Y/n) yelped, laughing as her arms flung instinctively around his neck.

He smirked down at her, trying to play it cool despite the fact that his entire nervous system was buffering. “Told ya I was sweet.”

“You’re my knight in soft cotton sweatpants,” she said dreamily.

He chuckled. “Yer heavy, is what you are.”

“Liar. I’m dainty.”

“You’re deadweight.”

Still giggling, she nestled her head against his shoulder. “You love this, really."

He didn’t answer.

Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and carried her to the bed, dropping her gently onto the mattress like she was something fragile. She bounced once and flopped backward with a laugh, limbs spread like a starfish.

He stood above her for a second, staring.

She looked… happy. Sleepy. Safe.

“Get in,” she said, voice muffled against his pillow.

Atsumu raised a brow. “You’re takin’ the whole bed.”

She peeked one eye open. “There’s space.”

With a sigh that was more resigned than annoyed, he slid in beside her, resting on top of the blanket while she curled up underneath. Her hair was still damp from the steamy bathroom, fanned across the pillow like a halo. She started talking immediately—half stories, half thoughts—just sleepy little musings that spilled out like honey.

“I wish work let us wear comfy clothes. I’d be so much nicer if I could wear sweatpants.”

“Mhm.”

“And if customers had to bring us snacks. That should be the rule.”

“Mhm.”

She turned to face him, nose nearly touching his. “I could never work with you though.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’d distract me.”

“Oh?”

“With your face.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, not trusting himself to respond.

She kept talking—less coherent now, voice softening with every word. He thought she was drifting off, but then her hand slipped out from under the covers and landed lightly on his chest.

Then her head followed.

She scooted over, tucked her face into the curve of his shoulder, and let out a little sigh of contentment.

Atsumu froze.

Fully, completely froze.

His entire body went taut like someone had just hit the pause button on his soul. His heart thundered in his ears, his brain scrambled for a single logical response, and every cell in his body screamed don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t ruin this.

And then… she started snoring.

A soft, barely audible, but real snore.

Atsumu let out a shaky exhale, blinking up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Tonight was gonna be a long night.

A very long night.

neighbour!kuroo who leaves his house running a little bit late; his tie still unbound, suit jacket hectically tugged on, and yuck, the shoe horn digging in his ankle, trying to fit into the leather shoes.

cursing under his breath at himself, stomach grumbling because he missed breakfast, only to find you sitting on the ground one door over in front of your boyfriend's home, looking worse for wear. nose running, shut eyes, shallow breaths through your mouth.

"hey, uh, you alright?"

you barely answer him, and he is a little worried, but he's also late, so his hand comes to find your shoulder, hoping the touch is light but present enough to bring you back to the land of the living.

he tries again, "should i call anybody?"

this time, your eyes flutter and your head straightens up from where it threatened to loll over. your voice stuffy and groggy, "huh? i— uh, i texted, uhm, my boyfriend. he'll be there soon."

for the life of his, kuroo tetsurou couldn't even remember how your boyfriend, his neighbour, even looked like but you were convinced that you'll be alright, and the clock's ticking and his boss will have his head if kuroo sauntered into his office again, claiming to having had to help a damsel in distress, so kuroo takes your word for what it was.

only to come home eight hours later and, to his absolute shock and horror, he finds you curled up in front of the door on the cold floor, non-moving.

neighbour!kuroo who is pissed because it was clear as day that you were sick as hell. and there you were: laboured breaths, clutching your phone to your chest like it's supposed to be a lifeline, strands of hair clinging to your skin, damp from the sweat, eyebrows twitching in your unsatisfying slumber. no sign of your boyfriend.

something in kuroo's chest twists deep, aching and painful and he wonders if you had even eaten anything in all those hours.

neighbour!kuroo who struggles opening his door with you in his arms, and he curses at himself again for not having had the bright idea of opening his door before picking you up.

whose heart squeezes when you curled against him in his arms, seeking any comfort and any warmth. whose stomach flips a bit when your face smooths out and the wrinkles of worry and pain lessen.

he makes sure you're comfortable on his couch, bundled up after hurriedly checking where he kept the spare blankets (he hasn't had anyone over for a sleepover in so long), brings you water and props you up to help you drink it, asks you about food and still cooks you the soup his mum made him as a kid when you decline in a delirious state.

the soup's missing a little salt but he keeps it on the lowest heat to keep it as warm as possible, anyway.

neighbour!kuroo who regrets opening his door hours later deep in the very evening when your dipshit of a boyfriend knocks hard (ah, so that's how he looks like), because he's had a long day and seeing the outraged look on his neighbour's face that you are 'allowing' another man to take care of you gets kuroo all pissed.

"listen, man. she's sleeping and you're being way too loud, so keep your voice down. if you want to worry now, you should've done so hours ago."

neighbour!kuroo who doesn't care enough to not close the door in your boyfriend's face.

when msby won the game against the adlers just minutes ago, the reporters pestered ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ with questions of how he was feeling, if this was the best feeling in the world, if it’d ever get old.

he learned to give a vague answer with a cheesing smile: “never gets old.”

it never got old because he had the best post-match routine.