[HIATUS] fic recs

You didn’t know how long you’d been awake, just that the light creeping in through the window was gray and cold, that strange shade that comes just before sunrise. It felt too early, and yet too late. Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before. You remembered lying there, turning from one side to the other, tangled in sheets soaked with quiet, bitter tears.

The confrontation with Seungmin kept playing in your head over and over, like a broken reel. His voice, raised. Yours, breaking. His lies, half-formed and crumbling the moment they left his lips. And then the door, slamming shut behind him. The silence afterward had been deafening.

You sat up slowly, careful not to make too much noise. The last thing you wanted was to wake Minjoon or Iseul, not yet. You needed a moment. Just one moment to yourself. Some air, some quiet. Some clarity.

Your feet hit the cold floor, grounding you instantly. You moved on instinct brushing your teeth, washing your face, tying your hair back. Each motion was mechanical, like your body remembered how to go through the motions even when your mind didn’t. You tugged a hoodie over your tank top, one of Seungmin’s old ones that still smelled faintly like his cologne, and padded softly toward the nursery.

First Iseul.

You peeked into her room, and there she was, your baby girl a bundle of calm in her crib, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her tiny fists twitched now and then, as if she were dreaming. You stepped in just long enough to check her temperature with your palm, to make sure she hadn’t kicked her blanket off. Satisfied, you backed out slowly.

Then Minjoon’s room.

He was on his side, one leg flopped over his stuffed tiger, his chubby cheek pressed into the pillow. The nightlight cast a faint orange glow across his small face, and you felt your chest twist in that quiet, aching way it always did when you looked at him. So small. So unknowing.

So safe, for now.

You shut his door with the care of someone handling glass, and only when you were back in the kitchen did you finally exhale.

You brewed your coffee in silence. No background noise. No morning show, no baby monitor, no cartoons. Just the drip, drip, drip of the machine and your breath, slow and steady. You sat down at the kitchen table, wrapping both hands around the mug like it was the only warmth left in the world.

Then you opened your phone.

You didn’t plan to. At least, you told yourself that. But your fingers moved like they already knew where to go. The browser opened. You typed in her name.

Madison Lee.

You stared at the results, heart thudding a little too hard, a little too fast. The headache throbbed behind your eyes, but you ignored it.

Her LinkedIn was the first link. Clean, professional. UCLA graduate. Top-tier agency in L.A. Negotiated major sports contracts, specifically with international athletes looking to transition to the MLB. All of it lined up.

You moved to her Instagram next. Public profile.

Your breath caught the moment her photos loaded. She was beautiful sharp-jawed, clean lines, bright white teeth. She wore heels and tailored blazers like armor. Her captions were neat, professional. “Proud to represent some of the best in the game.” “Another day, another diamond.” Posing with athletes. Posing at dinners. Posing at events.

You scrolled faster.

The deeper you went, the more your stomach curled in on itself. There was one photo, taken two months ago that made your blood run cold. It was from a private dinner, tagged in Busan. Madison was smiling, wine glass in hand. The caption was simple: “Celebrating hard work paying off.” The comments were vague. But one of them… one of them was from Seungmin’s teammate.

“You two make a good team.”

Your throat went dry.

You stared at the comment for far too long, your mind rushing to connect dots that weren’t supposed to be connected. You remembered Seungmin’s deflections. The way he tripped over his words. The quiet “it wasn’t like that” before you’d even asked him what “that” was.

You hadn’t accused him of cheating, not then. Not even now. Not really. But somehow, he had still gotten defensive. Still shaken. Still ready to deny something before you could name it.

And now this.

The way he never told you about her. The way he downplayed everything. The way he didn’t mention the U.S. deal until it was practically out in the open, a secret dragged into the light by a journalist.

And this woman. This sleek, powerful, picture-perfect agent. She was everything Seungmin never mentioned.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You told yourself to stop. Told yourself to close the app. To let it go. But your heart had a different plan. Your fear did. Your instinct, the one you had learned not to ignore since becoming a mother.

You clicked on Madison’s tagged photos.

One showed her seated next to Seungmin at a conference panel, his body angled slightly toward her. Another, taken from behind, showed them walking together through an airport terminal, not holding hands, but close enough. Too close, maybe.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your vision blurred and you blinked, chest tight.

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands when a tiny voice broke the silence.

“…Mommy?”

You froze.

Minjoon.

You turned slowly, eyes finding his small figure at the edge of the hallway. He stood there in his blue dinosaur pajamas, rubbing one eye with his fist, his hair a messy puff. His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“What you doin’?”

You blinked again, your phone dropping face down onto the table with a soft thud. The sudden reality of his voice so innocent, so real was like cold water down your back.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood, wiping your face quickly with your sleeve, hoping he hadn’t noticed your red eyes.

“I’m just… having coffee, baby,” you said softly, crouching down to his level. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head. You nodded, reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was warm. Solid. Comforting.

He looked at you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with a curiosity you didn’t know how to protect him from.

“You sad?”

Your heart splintered.

You didn’t answer him. You just pulled him into your arms and held him close, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Mommy’s just tired.”

He didn’t respond. He just curled into you the way he always did when he knew something was wrong silent, present, offering comfort in the only way a two-year-old could.

You held him like that for a long time, your coffee growing cold on the table behind you. Madison’s face still staring out from behind the locked screen of your phone.

But in that moment, none of that mattered.

Because your little boy was watching.

And you didn’t want him to learn what it looked like to fall apart.

Not yet.

The knock-off hotel alarm clock glowed dim red in the half-dark, the numbers shifting sluggishly from 5:41 to 5:42 while drops of water slid from Seungmin’s hair and pattered onto the threadbare carpet.
He had taken a five-minute shower on the coldest setting the rusty pipes could manage, hoping the bite of frigid water would shock the exhaustion and the shame, out of him. It hadn’t. His head still throbbed, his eyes still burned, and every breath still tasted like the silence that had filled the house after he slammed the door.

He toweled off in jerky, impatient motions, the towel snagging on the thin chain of the wedding band he’d looped around his neck at some foolish hour of the night. Too raw to keep it on his finger, too terrified to take it off completely.

The room smelled like industrial soap and last night’s cheap coffee. His duffel bag lay open on the bed, half-packed: a spare pair of jeans, two t-shirts, a hoodie that still smelled faintly of your laundry detergent. He shoved his travel-size toiletries kit on top, then hesitated, palms braced on the mattress, head hanging.

Go home, he told himself.
Say you’re sorry, really sorry, no excuses, no half-truths. Just beg her to let you talk.

But every time he tried to picture the conversation, Madison’s name pushed in like static.

Three months of avoiding her calls, her emails, her marketing decks promising “seamless transitions” and “lifetime earning potential.” Three months of pretending he could outrun that night in the Los Angeles hotel bar, pretending the almost-kiss hadn’t happened at all.

It had happened. Quick, sloppy, drunk on victory and adrenaline after scouts bought a round of champagne. She’d leaned in, laughing at something he barely remembered saying, and before he could dodge, her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. He’d flinched back so fast he nearly toppled his chair. She’d apologized smooth, professional, but the gleam in her eyes told him she wasn’t sorry at all.

He should’ve fired her on the spot.
He should’ve called you from the lobby, confessed everything.
Instead he buried it because you were six weeks postpartum, surviving on ninety-minute sleep cycles and sheer determination. He told himself you didn’t need another worry. He told himself it was one slip. It would blow over. He could fix it later.

Only later never came. And the silence turned into omission, and the omission into a lie so sprawling he’d lost track of all its edges.

Seungmin scrubbed both hands over his face, then yanked the zipper of the duffel shut. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed his phone and room key, and headed for the door.

The screen lit up just as his fingers closed around the handle.

Madison Lee – Incoming Call

The name glared at him like a warning flare.

His thumb hovered over Decline.
Then stupid, reckless curiosity he hit Accept and lifted the phone halfway, not bothering with the speaker.

“Seung? You finally picked up.” Madison’s voice was syrup-smooth, a practiced mix of concern and authority. “I was starting to think you’d ghosted me for good.”

“It’s six in the morning,” he said, voice rough.

“In L.A. it’s one p.m.,” she answered breezily. “Look, I know things exploded online yesterday. I wanted to check in, see how you’re handling the press.”

Press. As if the fallout were a headline problem and not a marriage imploding.

“I’m fine,” he lied. He rubbed the knot forming at the base of his skull. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Seungmin.” The shift in her tone was almost imperceptible, businesslike turning coaxing, coaxing turning possessive. “We had momentum before you went dark. The Padres and the LA Dodgers both asked for new videos. If we get them preseason tapes this week, your offer numbers stay strong.”

“It’s over, Madison.”

A pause, a single beat where he could almost hear her recalibrating.

“Over?” she echoed, polite disbelief layered over steel. “The KBO is wrapping. You’re twenty-six, you’ve got prime velocity, and you’re about to start losing leverage. Over is not a strategic—”

“My marriage might be,” he snapped. “The contract can wait.”

Another pause, this one brittle.

“You told me she supports your career.”

“She does.” His throat closed. She did. Before I broke it. “But she also deserves the truth, and I haven’t given her that. I’m not signing anything until I fix what I can at home.”

“Seung—”

“She’s more important than baseball,” he said, and the second the words left his mouth he realized how painfully, perfectly true they were. “And she’s definitely more important than a contract built on secrets.”

Madison exhaled, an annoyed puff disguised as a sigh. “I understand you’re emotional right now. But you need to think long-term. Opportunities like this don’t sit on shelves.”

That familiar, silky persuasion the same tone she’d used that night in L.A. before leaning in. Guilt flared hot in his chest.

“This call is over,” he said, and hit End before she could respond.

For a moment he stood motionless, phone slack in his hand, heart hammering. Then he shoved the device into his back pocket, yanked the door open, and stepped into the hallway.

6:07 a.m.

The corridor smelled of disinfectant and stale cigarettes. His sneakers squeaked on the cheap vinyl tiles as he jogged toward the elevator, duffel thumping against his hip. In the chrome doors he caught his reflection, hair still damp, eyes rimmed red, hoodie askew. He looked like a man who’d spent the night running from ghosts and found them all waiting in the morning.

No more running.

He thumbed a rideshare request with shaking fingers. Twenty-four minutes to the house. Long enough to practice the apology again and again until the words stopped sounding useless.

But words, he knew, wouldn’t be enough. He would have to show you, prove with every action that the silence was finished, that the truth, unvarnished and ugly, was finally on the table.

The elevator dinged. He stepped inside, pressing L, knuckles white around the strap of the duffel.

As the doors slid shut, he whispered into the empty space, half-prayer, half-promise:

“Please let me still be her home.”

He rehearsed the truths, over and over, until the rideshare pulled to the curb in front of the house quiet, blue-gray in the dawn. Lights were off except one faint glow in the kitchen window. He imagined you there, a mug between your palms, the kids still asleep upstairs.

Please open the door, he prayed silently, stepping onto the walk.
Please let me tell you everything.

The sun hadn’t fully risen when Seungmin stepped inside your home.

The door creaked slightly as he opened it, just enough for the morning light to creep over the threshold and land across the living room floor in narrow slants. He held his breath for a beat as he closed the door behind him, the silence of the early hour wrapping tightly around him like gauze. There was no welcome. No warm light. No scent of breakfast or soft hum of music like there used to be when things were okay.

But the house wasn’t silent.

The first sound that hit him was the tiny, sharp cry of Iseul raw and distressed, unmistakably the kind of cry that had lasted more than a few minutes. It had that edge to it, the exhausted kind that said she had been fighting sleep for a while now. The second sound, softer, more familiar, was the rustle of Minjoon on the couch, feet kicking at the blanket around him as his favorite cartoon played on low volume. The third sound unspoken, invisible was the throb of emotion in his own chest.

Seungmin set his duffel bag quietly by the door, his movements slow, deliberate, like approaching a wound he wasn’t sure how to treat. His eyes found you immediately.

You were pacing the living room, hair pulled back hastily, dark circles beneath your eyes, one hand clutching Iseul against your chest while your other rubbed her back in practiced, instinctual circles. Your lips moved every now and then hushed words, gentle reassurances, but your eyes looked blank. Not empty. Just… spent. Like a body operating entirely on instinct. On routine. On the kind of fatigue only a mother running on fragments of sleep could understand.

He wanted to crumble then and there. He didn’t deserve to walk into this into you, carrying the weight of everything on your own again. And still, you did. You always did.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the stillness.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up right away.

But when you finally did, your eyes flicked to him in a way that made his heart ache. Not startled. Not angry.

Just… tired.

“Iseul’s been crying for over an hour,” you said, your voice thin. “She keeps waking herself up.”

He nodded, already moving toward you, his arms out. “Let me.”

You hesitated, gaze locking with his for a fraction of a second longer than he expected. Not because you didn’t trust him with her. But because this was the first time he was this close to you in days physically, emotionally. After everything. And he knew you were wondering whether you’d even be able to stand it.

But finally, wordlessly, you passed Iseul into his arms.

The baby girl fussed as the transfer happened, her cry catching in her throat, but the moment she settled into his chest, the crying slowed. His hand cradled the back of her tiny head, and he swayed slightly on instinct, rocking side to side in that barely-there rhythm she liked. Her hiccuping breaths began to slow.

“She missed you,” you whispered, voice fraying around the edges.

Seungmin pressed a kiss into Iseul’s forehead and closed his eyes.

“I missed her more,” he whispered back.

He glanced at Minjoon, who hadn’t moved from the couch but had clearly noticed his dad’s arrival. The little boy looked over with sleepy, cautious eyes, milk bottle in hand, stuffed tiger tucked into his lap. His cartoon was still playing in the background, but Seungmin could see the tension in his small shoulders.

Guilt rose again like a wave.

“Hey, Min,” he said gently.

Minjoon gave him a half-hearted smile but didn’t speak. Seungmin wanted to go to him, to kneel down and wrap his boy up in his arms too, but this moment wasn’t about repair with the kids, not yet. First, he needed to repair what had been broken with you. The children needed stability. Trust. They would get that once he gave it to you again first.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, finally looking at you again. “Please?”

You looked at him then, really looked. The dark shadows under your eyes, the exhaustion carved deep into your features, the subtle bite of suspicion still lingering behind your gaze, it all told him exactly what kind of damage he had done. You didn’t nod right away.

You looked back at Minjoon. At the clock.

Then back at him.

Finally, you said, “Okay.”

-

He followed you to the bedroom after he handed Iseul back to you, now dozing lightly against your chest, still sniffling now and then. You laid her down carefully in her bassinet by the window and checked twice to make sure her pacifier was in place before turning back to him. You sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, unmoving.

He stood for a long moment, unsure where to begin. The truth was ugly. The silence, worse. But nothing could be worse than watching the way your fingers were trembling now as you waited.

So he sat, hands resting on his knees, and breathed once before diving in.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But he saw your shoulders tense.

“I know,” you said after a pause. “I never said you did.”

“I know,” he said back, guilt crawling into his voice. “But I acted like someone who did. And I need to tell you why.”

You looked away, staring out the window.

He continued.

“Three months ago… after a showcase game, Madison tried to kiss me.”

You flinched this time subtle, but real.

“I didn’t let her,” he said quickly. “I swear. I pulled away, told her it was inappropriate. But I didn’t fire her. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t come clean, and that’s where I screwed everything up.”

You inhaled sharply, but still said nothing. Your silence screamed louder than anything.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought I was protecting you. You were still recovering, you weren’t sleeping, the kids were barely giving you a moment to breathe—”

“And you thought I couldn’t handle the truth?” you interrupted quietly, looking at him now, eyes sharp. “You thought I’d break?”

“No,” he whispered. “No, I just… I thought if I told you, you’d see me differently. Like I’d let it happen. Like I’d opened that door. And I didn’t. But I—, I still didn’t tell you. And that’s just as bad.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy.

“I felt like I was being pulled in two,” he went on. “One side of me wanted that contract—so badly. I wanted to prove I was good enough. That I could play with the best. But the other side of me…”

He trailed off, voice cracking.

“The other side of me didn’t know how to chase that dream without hurting you. And instead of being honest, I started lying by omission. I thought I could balance both. But the second I hid Madison’s attempt to cross a line, I was already letting it fall apart.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and he could see the pain etched deep into your features.

“She wasn’t just your agent, Seungmin,” you said, voice shaking. “She was part of a secret you were keeping. That’s what hurts. Not the kiss that didn’t happen. Not the job offer. It’s that you made choices without me when we promised to do this—life—together.”

His eyes welled up. “I know.”

“Do you?” you asked. “Because you left. You didn’t talk. You didn’t fight for us last night.”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “I was ashamed. I kept thinking… if I didn’t say anything, maybe it would fix itself. But I’ve been lying to myself too. And I can’t anymore. If you hate me, if you don’t forgive me, I’ll accept that. But I had to tell you. I have to be the man you and the kids deserve.”

You didn’t respond right away.

You stood up slowly, walked over to the window, and wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked out at the pale morning sky. He didn’t follow. He just waited.

Finally, you said, “I don’t know what this means yet. I don’t know what comes next.”

Seungmin nodded slowly, his voice almost a whisper. “Whatever you need. However long it takes.”

He stood, stepping closer, slowly, like you were a cliff edge he was terrified to fall from.

“Let me help again,” he said, gently. “With the kids. With the house. With you. I don’t want to be a visitor in this family. I want to come home.”

Your breath hitched.

You turned toward him, tears brimming now, but still not falling.

“I want that too,” you whispered, voice cracking, “but I need to believe you again. That’s going to take time.”

He nodded, one tear finally slipping down his cheek.

“I’ll wait,” he said, softly but with conviction. “I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

And for the first time in days, maybe longer, you nodded back.

The off-season came with quieter mornings, slower afternoons, and a noticeable shift in the atmosphere of the house. Not peaceful, exactly because healing wasn’t immediate, and the weight of everything that had happened still lingered in the walls like a draft you couldn’t quite seal up, but there was space now. Space to breathe. Space to try again.

And for Seungmin, that space meant relearning his role in his own home.

He was always a good father. Attentive when he was around, gentle, patient. But “when he was around” had become a luxury during the season. Days blurred into flights, games, hotel beds, away stadiums, and practice fields. FaceTime calls with Minjoon that ended with the toddler smashing the screen in frustration because it wasn’t the same as a hug. Missed milestones, first steps, first words that you had recorded and sent to him with a bittersweet caption and a quiet ache behind your smile.

But now, the Lotte Giants were done for the year. The glove had been hung up. And for the first time in months, he wasn’t just a guest who dropped by with gifts and apologies. He was home.

And he was trying.

You noticed it right away. The way he hovered behind you during breakfast, watching how you made Minjoon’s pancakes into small shapes to make eating fun. The way he squinted when you measured out Iseul’s formula and checked the temperature of her bottle on your wrist. The questions that followed you around the kitchen like a soft echo:

“Do we cut the apple slices like that so he doesn’t choke?”
“How many ounces is she drinking now?”
“Does Minjoon still hate that one blue cup?”

There was hesitation behind all of it, a nervous energy that said he didn’t want to screw anything else up. Not even the smallest task. And even when you didn’t answer too tired, too wary, too heart-heavy, he found ways to try.

It was endearing, if not occasionally clumsy.

One particular night, you had just put Iseul down in her crib after a feeding, and the house was finally quiet except for the faint sound of Minjoon’s toothbrush scraping across his tiny baby teeth. You leaned against the hallway wall outside the bathroom, arms crossed loosely, head tilted as you listened.

Inside, Seungmin was kneeling on the bath mat in his hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, watching Minjoon brush his teeth with great concentration.

“Okay, buddy,” he said gently. “That’s good! You got the top teeth. Now get the bottoms. Can you say bottoms?”

Minjoon garbled a half-word around the toothbrush and grinned.

“Yeah? Okay! Cool. Um—after this, what do we do next?” Seungmin asked, clearly unsure but trying to make it sound fun. “Do we put your pajamas on now?”

Minjoon frowned like Seungmin had asked if he wanted to eat spinach for dessert.

“No,” the toddler mumbled, pulling the toothbrush out dramatically. “Mommy do face.”

Seungmin blinked. “Mommy… what?”

“Mommy,” Minjoon repeated very seriously, pointing to the towel hanging on the hook. “Mommy wash face. First. After brush. Then jammies.”

You bit back a laugh and pressed a hand to your mouth.

Inside the bathroom, Seungmin stared at the towel like it was a final exam question in a language he didn’t study.

“She washes your face?” he repeated. “After brushing?”

“Yah,” Minjoon replied, nodding with the unwavering confidence of a two-year-old whose world made perfect sense.

Seungmin let out a soft, amused huff and reached for the towel. “Okay, okay, little boss. Face wash it is.”

You heard the soft sound of water running, then a wet towel being wrung out. A moment later, the giggle of Minjoon as Seungmin dabbed the warm cloth over his cheeks.

“Is this how Mommy does it?”

Minjoon nodded again. “Warm, warm.”

“Warm. Got it. Anything else, Mr. Routine Expert?”

“No soap,” Minjoon added decisively.

“Noted,” Seungmin said, and your heart ached just a little. He really was trying.

The small exchange warmed something in your chest that had long been locked in ice. It didn’t erase the tension. It didn’t undo the past few weeks. But it added a softness to the air. A reminder of who Seungmin used to be and who he was still trying to become again.

He carried Minjoon out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the toddler now wrapped in spaceship-themed pajamas, holding tightly to his little stuffed tiger. When he saw you standing by the wall, Seungmin gave a sheepish shrug, like he’d been caught cheating on the test by asking the kid for the answers.

You smirked, arms still folded. “You let him boss you around?”

Seungmin met your eyes, and for the first time in days, his smile came with no walls. “If it means doing it right… yeah. I’ll take the help.”

Your smirk faltered slightly as your gaze lingered on him holding your son with such care, with such openness. You nodded, voice quiet. “That’s good. He’s… routine-oriented. He likes things a certain way.”

Seungmin shifted Minjoon in his arms and gave you a slow nod. “Just like his mom.”

And the look you gave him in return wasn’t soft, exactly. But it wasn’t cold either.

Progress, in its rawest form.

He carried Minjoon off toward the toddler bed without another word, and you heard him whispering a story about a dinosaur who played baseball and forgot his bat. It was silly and charming and full of nonsense, but Minjoon was giggling by the end of it. It filled the quiet of the house in a way that you had missed more than you’d realized.

You stayed leaning against the wall long after the house had gone quiet again. Long after Seungmin had tiptoed back down the hallway and passed you with a tentative glance. Neither of you said anything. He didn’t try to reach for your hand. He didn’t try to fix everything all at once.

But that night, he didn’t sleep on the couch.

Not because everything had been healed.

But because you’d left the bedroom door open.

-

The room was dim, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the early winter wind tapped against the windows rhythmically, brushing dried leaves along the glass like it was trying to soothe the tension inside.

You were propped up against the headboard, knees tucked under the blanket, phone in hand but not really reading anything just scrolling through article titles, social posts, bits of news that couldn’t quite penetrate the fog in your head. Your mind was elsewhere. Stuck somewhere between the memory of Madison’s name on that leaked article, Seungmin’s broken explanations, and the sharp echo of your daughter’s cry the morning after it all came crashing down.

Beside you, Seungmin sat on his side of the bed, legs stretched out under the covers, a respectable distance between your bodies as if he was afraid even the smallest touch might rupture the fragile stillness you’d managed to build over the last few days. He’d just come out of the bathroom in his familiar gray cotton pajamas, towel drying his damp hair like he always did before bed. It used to be a comforting routine, watching him pull the towel away from his head, ruffle his still-wet hair, and crawl into bed beside you with a sigh of relief and whispered complaints about practice. But now, even that normalcy felt like borrowed nostalgia.

He hadn't said anything yet, and neither had you.

But he was watching you.

Not the way he used to, when he'd sneak glances because he couldn’t help it, because loving you had always come as naturally as breathing, but in the way someone watches a candle flicker in the wind, terrified of the moment it might go out.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low. Raw. The weight behind it made you stop scrolling before he even finished the sentence.

“What happens next… with us?”

You didn't move. Not right away. Your thumb hovered over your phone screen before you let the device slowly drop to your lap, its glow disappearing into the folds of the blanket.

He turned more toward you, though he didn’t close the space between you. His gaze dropped briefly to his hands fingers fidgeting, like he needed to do something with the nervous energy. When he looked back up, he exhaled through his nose and said, “Because I can’t keep pretending like we’re okay when we’re not. And I know it’s my fault that we’re not.”

You swallowed, jaw tightening.

“I was wrong not to tell you,” he continued, his voice thick. “About the MLB talks. About Madison. About… everything. I just—” He paused, eyes glossing over for a second before he caught himself. “You’d just had Iseul. You were barely sleeping. You were already carrying everything. I didn’t want to add more weight to your shoulders.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” you finally said, voice hoarse and sharp around the edges.

He nodded quickly. “I know. I know that now. I was trying to protect you, but I wasn’t honest, and I made it worse. And when everything blew up, I—” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I’ve never been this scared before. Not even when I tore my shoulder. Not even when I thought I’d never pitch again. This… you and me… the kids… this is what matters.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy between you. His words hung in the air like a trembling branch.

“I don’t want Minjoon and Iseul to grow up in a broken home,” he added softly. “I know I’ve already cracked the foundation, and maybe you’ll never be able to forgive me for lying, but if there’s any way to fix what I’ve broken, I want to try. I need to try. Because I don’t want to lose this.”

Your chest ached at his words. There was desperation in them, but there was something else, too earnestness. A sincerity that you recognized. A part of the man you married that had been buried beneath months of silence, distance, and secrecy.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the blanket sliding with you, and looked at him for a long time.

“You weren’t just protecting me,” you said, voice quieter now. “You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d leave you if I knew what she did. You were afraid to look like the bad guy, even if it was just a kiss that she tried. You didn’t cheat, Seungmin, but you lied. You let that woman stay in our life after she crossed the line, and then you covered it up like it wouldn’t matter.”

He winced at your words. But he didn’t deny them.

“And what hurt the most,” you continued, blinking back the sting behind your eyes, “was that you made that decision alone. You stopped trusting me to handle the hard things with you. That’s what broke me.”

The room went silent again.

You looked down at your hands, turning your wedding ring absentmindedly on your finger.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered. “I don’t have the answer. I know I love you. I know I don’t want to lose what we built. I don’t want our kids to feel this tension either. But I can’t just… go back to normal like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Seungmin said, voice low and steady. “I just want a chance to rebuild. Even if it takes time. Even if it’s slow. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. Then, after a long pause, you slowly shifted your weight and lay back against the pillow, turning to your side to face away from him.

“Then don’t leave again,” you murmured. “Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m angry. You stay.”

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it.

And after a minute or two, the bed shifted gently as he lay down too. Still not touching you. Still giving you space. But he was there. In the dark. Quiet and present.

It started with a note.

Folded twice, written in Seungmin’s tidy handwriting, and left by your favorite mug on the kitchen counter one early, quiet morning. You found it while reaching for your coffee, your eyes still heavy from sleep and your arms sore from holding Iseul during one of her longer crying spells the night before.

You stared at it for a long second, cautious.

Then you opened it.

“Take the morning off. Dress warm. No kids. I’ll handle breakfast, diapers, tantrums, and all. Please. just trust me.
– S.”

You blinked at the page. Once. Twice. Your first instinct was suspicion, what was he doing? What did he plan? Could you trust it?

But it was followed, surprisingly, by a quiet sigh of curiosity.

It had been weeks since he started rebuilding slowly, like a man afraid of stepping on glass. Weeks of learning the kids' routines, of showing up even when you were too angry to acknowledge him, of sleeping on the edge of your shared bed and never asking for more than what you were willing to give. You saw it in the way he watched you with exhausted, apologetic eyes. You saw it in how he parented: fully, wholly, learning how to care for Minjoon and Iseul like he should have all along.

Maybe… maybe he was ready now to do more than apologize.

You moved through the motions of the morning cautiously, your heart beating too loudly for the silence of the house. The kids were already downstairs with him, Minjoon’s giggle echoing faintly from the living room, Iseul’s soft baby babble cooing in between. You trusted him with them, of course you did. It had never been about the kids.

It was about you.

You took a shower. Got dressed in something warm, a long wool coat, scarf, your gloves tucked in your pockets. Then, stepping carefully through the kitchen, you spotted another note next to your keys.

“There’s a driver waiting. Just follow the instructions. I’ll see you soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, but curiosity won out.

The driver was polite, quiet, and refused to tell you where you were headed. You stared out the window as the city passed you by, watching the buildings give way to open spaces, the grey of winter brushing along every surface like a forgotten memory. Thirty minutes later, you pulled up to an empty baseball field.

A public park, technically, but the field was immaculately maintained. You stepped out of the car slowly, hesitant, confused.

And there he was.

Standing near the pitcher’s mound, bundled up in his hoodie and warmup jacket, hair ruffled by the wind. A single bench sat nearby with a small thermos of coffee on it. Yours. The same hazelnut syrup you loved. The same milk-to-coffee ratio he had memorized long ago.

He waved when he saw you, and you didn’t wave back. But your feet moved anyway.

“What is this?” you asked, as you came to a stop a few feet away.

Seungmin’s breath fogged in the cold morning air. “A place I come to when I need to remember who I am. And… who I could’ve lost.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

He took a deep breath. “This is the first field I ever threw a ball on. Before the scouts. Before the league. Before the Giants. My dad used to bring me here. Just me and a bucket of balls. He’d stand where you’re standing now and say, ‘Show me who you are, Seungmin.’” He chuckled softly. “I never knew what he meant back then.”

Your lips parted slightly, but the words still wouldn't come.

“I lost myself this season,” he said quietly. “In the pressure. In the silence. In trying to be everything for everyone except the people who matter most. I thought I could control it all what to hide, what to protect you from. But the truth is, I was afraid. Of failing. Of losing you. Of not being enough for the kids.”

The wind blew gently, carrying the soft scent of pine and earth.

“I’ve been talking with the MLB agent,” he said, not flinching this time. “Madison was out of the picture the moment she crossed that line. But I should’ve told you. I should’ve come to you first. I didn't, and I will always regret that. I’ve declined their offer. Formally. I told them I wouldn’t uproot our life, not without your trust. Not without your voice in the choice.”

Your eyes widened. “You… declined it?”

“I did,” he nodded. “Not because I’m giving up on my dream. But because I forgot the first dream I ever had, us. This family. You and me. Minjoon, Iseul. I don’t want to go anywhere they can’t follow.”

You felt your hands tremble slightly in your pockets.

“I’m not trying to win you back with some big gesture,” he continued, stepping a little closer. “I’m showing you that I meant it. When I said I’d do anything to rebuild this. I’ll work as hard as I did to become a pro. Every single day. I’ll be here. Not just for the kids. For you. Because I love you.”

Tears welled up behind your lashes before you could stop them.

The wind, the cold, the weight of everything, it all collapsed into that one still moment. And you realized: he meant it.

Not just the words.

The action.

The choice.

For so long, you had been the one to make the sacrifices. You had been the one to carry the weight of parenthood, of loyalty, of silence. And here he was finally choosing you, even if it meant risking his own legacy.

“I hate that it took this for you to get it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “But I believe you.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t touch you. He waited.

And then you took a step closer. Just one. But it was enough. Enough for him to know he was forgiven, if not fully, then at least with the promise that one day, you would be.

And for the first time in a long time, you saw your future again.

Together.

-

The house was still when you both got home. Not quiet in the lonely way it had been in the days after the team dinner no, this was a different stillness. The kind that settled after a storm had passed. The kind that let you breathe again without choking on the silence.

Minjoon was fast asleep in his little bed, the soft hum of his nightlight casting gentle blue shadows on his blanket. Iseul had tired herself out after a long afternoon with Seungmin’s mom, and she lay curled in her crib, the tiniest fist tucked against her cheek, her chest rising and falling peacefully. You stood for a long time in the doorway of her room, your arms folded against your chest, watching the little miracle you had brought into the world, twice now and wondering how your life had shifted so drastically in such a short time.

Seungmin stepped behind you, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was warm, grounding. When you turned your head just slightly and caught his eyes in the soft light, something unspoken passed between you mutual exhaustion, yes, but also something tender. Fragile. Real.

When you both made your way to the bedroom, neither of you turned on the main light. Just the small lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in amber glow. You took off your coat slowly, the weight of it replaced by something heavier in your chest. You felt raw. Exposed.

Seungmin changed quietly into a plain white T-shirt and sweats, moving through the room with an uncertain hesitance, like he didn’t want to do anything to break the calm that had settled between you.

You slid under the covers, and after a moment, so did he. For the first time in weeks, the distance between you was gone. Your bodies weren’t pressed together, not yet, but there wasn’t that cautious gap anymore. You were facing each other. Close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Seungmin looked at you the way he had when you were young and newly in love like you were both everything and the thing he could never quite believe he deserved.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “About rebuilding. About choosing us.”

You nodded, your fingers curling into the blanket. “I know.”

He reached for your hand beneath the sheets, and this time, you didn’t pull away. Your fingers threaded together with his slowly, and a soft breath left him relief, maybe. Or hope.

“I don’t deserve how much you’re still willing to give,” he murmured.

“You broke my heart, Seungmin,” you said softly, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. “But you’ve always held it, even when I didn’t know you were.”

His eyes welled, and before either of you could say another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t perfect.

It was real.

Warm and aching and full of tears that escaped down both your cheeks. His hand cradled your face gently, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held too tightly, and you kissed him like the ache in your chest could be healed by the shape of his mouth. It was the kind of kiss you give when words have run out, when all you have left is the truth inside your chest and the hope that the other person still wants it.

And then, suddenly, you broke away sniffling, crying harder now and smacked his chest with the side of your fist.

He blinked. “W-What—?”

You hit him again, softer this time, frustration and heartbreak rolling off you like a wave.

“You gave it up,” you cried, your voice cracking. “Your dream. You gave it up, Seungmin. For me.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, mouth parting in protest. “But I thought—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you snapped, even as more tears ran down your face. “I was mad you didn’t tell me, I was hurt, but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to give up everything you’ve worked for. You love baseball more than anything, and you were finally about to reach that next level. And you just—” Your voice faltered. “You gave it up like it didn’t matter.”

He sat up, slightly, hand still gripping yours as he searched your eyes. “It does matter,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But you and the kids… you matter more.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you let go of that dream,” you whispered, tears falling silently now. “You’ll regret it. One day, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually you’ll look at me and wonder what could’ve been. And I can’t live with that. I won’t.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Just the sound of both your uneven breaths, the way your hands trembled together.

Then he reached for your other hand and held both in his, warm and steady.

“If I call them,” he asked gently, “if I tell them I made a mistake, if I take the offer… would you come with me? Would you follow me?”

The question hung in the air like a single note.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding with something new and terrifying. You opened your mouth and closed it again, trying to form the words. You imagined the move. The packing. The loss of familiarity. The kids adjusting to a new world. You imagined yourself in a place where you knew no one, far from your support system, away from the life you built together.

But then you imagined him on the mound, beneath the bright lights of a stadium you’d only ever seen on TV. His name on a jersey that echoed the legacy he’d worked so hard for. And you standing in the stands with Iseul in your arms, Minjoon bouncing on your hip, cheering for their father.

You saw it.

You saw him.

You saw you, a different you, maybe, but a braver one.

And you nodded.

“Not at first,” you said, voice soft and sure. “I’d stay here with the kids while you got settled. But I would come. Once we’re ready… I would follow you.”

Seungmin stared at you for a long moment, something deep in his chest breaking open with relief, with emotion, with love that hadn’t diminished despite all the cracks.

He leaned forward slowly, brushing his forehead against yours. “That’s all I need.”

And in that quiet, broken, slowly-mending space, the two of you sat, still holding hands, tears still drying on your cheeks and for the first time in weeks, you felt something other than fear.

You felt hope.

//

masterlist.

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"rin, i gotta ask you something," you say, tone flat.

he hums in response, sounding half asleep.

"i'm serious," you reiterate.

he mumbles into your neck with his eyes closed. "'m here. go on."

"do you see... you know us.. going anywhere?" you ask.

the silence between the two of you is deafening. he's not saying a word and you can't tell if he has fallen asleep.

you break from his grasp, sit up on the bed, and turn to look him. he's staring at you wide-eyed. his mouth is slightly agape and his eyes hold deep contact with yours trying to figure out what to say.

"listen y/n," he begins. "you're a great girl. hell, one of the best i've had in my bed. but y'know me..."

i'm just good in bed? that's it? that's all i am?

"right," your features fall and suna's still trying to read you.

suna now sits up in his bed. "listen i like what we have right now. we're good you know? nothing too serious."

"right," your voice is curt. you hop out of his bed and begin to change out of his clothes into your clothes. "listen i gotta go um i have an early day tomorrow."

clearly, i got too comfortable with him. i should've known.

"u-uh okay," he stutters. "don't you wanna stay the night? i can wake you up in the morning?" he starts to quickly put a shirt on, trying to match your speed of changing clothes.

"no it's okay! i've overstayed my welcome," you laugh but it dies in your throat.

before he can say anything in response, you're completely changed and you're leaving his bedroom, seeing yourself out. "see you suna."

days pass and you've dropped all contact with him. his words are burned deep in your heart, knowing what he meant. you were just a good hit and dip for him and you were foolish to think you wanted to have something serious with him.

suna, on the other hand, has noticed your lack of communication and you blowing him off every chance you get. he assumed it was just a small thing. that was until he showed up to a a miya twins rager with no sight of you. a couple of girls had noticed he was by himself and threw themselves at him in hopes of achieving a one night stand with him but he wasn't reciprocating it at all.

the only thing on his mind was you.

he opens his phone to scroll up, reading back at the texts between the two of you.

before this lack of communication phase (that's what he tried to convince himself) , there was the playful banter between the two of you which had him smiling unconsciously. but now it was always 'hey can i come see you?' and a 'sorry not today i'm busy' in response.

his heart cracks at your normal excuse for avoiding hanging out with him. he stands in the corner of the excessive party trying to figure out what went wrong. you both were going so strong so what happened?

and then he remembers your question the last time the both of you were together.

"do you see us going anywhere?"

and what did he say in response?

basically, you're great in bed and that's it.

fuck, he probably made you insecure as hell. no wonder you don't want to see him.

he wants to slap himself. he's been hopelessly and madly in love with you for months but it's scary to make a move. he's scared of how much control you have over him and how much he's willing to sacrifice for you. he would burn the entire world down if it meant you would choose to love him.

but he fucked it up already.

you're at home in bed, preparing for your upcoming exam when your phone dings off.

rin: i'm on my way to ur house.

rin: we need to talk.

rin: please.

your heart starts to palpitate faster. you're playing all of the worst case scenarios in head.

he's probably caught on to the fact that you've caught feelings for him and he's coming to formally end it with me.

i don't blame him.

it was supposed to be no strings attached but clearly, that was the one thing i couldn't adhere to.

y/n: i'm home you can come over.

it's probably our last time together. i can kiss everything we had goodbye.

the doorbell rings and you make a quick attempt in front of the mirror to look at least somewhat presentable in front of him.

you open the door and you're greeted with a crazed look in suna's eyes. and all of a sudden, his lips are on yours. before you have time to even react, his hands begin to roam your body and you feel yourself succumbing to his touch. you've missed this.

but it comes crashing down on you.

"you're a great girl. hell, one of the best i've had in my bed."

you lightly push him off and try to brush it off.

"what happened to hi? hello? my name is?" you make an attempt to laugh which doesn't stick.

seeing as he doesn't make a funny comment in response, you know something is serious here. "listen y/n-"

"wait let me say it before you do," you interrupt and he tilts his head in confusion.

"okay?" he replies with a tilt of his head

"we should end this now. we can't see each other. i feel more than i thought i would've felt for you and you're obviously not looking for something serious and you're only looking for a quick fuck right? if we keep this going, i'm gonna spiral and i don't think i can handle it so it's better if i just leave now so i can lose my feelings for you and we can forget this all ever happened."

"no bab- y/n," suna stops you from looking away by trying to hold your cheek but is completely shut down when he sees you step back as he tries to reach out to you.

"shit this isn't how i wanted this to go down fuck,” he runs his fingers through his hair. "i said some shit to you and it wasn’t my proudest moment i know. i definitely hurt you in the process."

"i like you. i’ve liked you for a while now. i just have always had a tough time coming to terms with feelings and how i've felt about you."

his breath shudders and you feel your body tightening up.

never in a million years did you think that the suna rintarou would be confessing to you. in the flesh.

"i want, no, i need you to know that the way i worded myself was wrong and i genuinely really like you and not just for your body. you’re funny and smart and spontaneous. i like you for you and what i said that night must have hurt you in more ways than i could imagine. i’m sorry."

he stared at the wood floor with his head down, too embarrassed and ashamed to even look at you. "just please give me a chance… please. please let me take you out on a date and let’s just start over. no sex or anything. just you and me on a date. how does that sound?"

you’re still a little bit hesitant. you know he’s trying to fix his mistakes but it doesn’t diminish the fact that what he said to you actually hurt you. really badly.

"i, um, i need time rin," you reply in a low voice. "i appreciate, you know, what you’re saying to me but it doesn’t erase the fact of what you said before… i just need time."

he nods his head in acceptance.

"i will wait for you. no matter how long it takes, i will wait for you."

atsumu miya

atsumu miya is a coward.

almost everyone except him knows that he really likes you and you really like him.

yet you both continue to play this stupid game of stolen glances and secret steamy sessions in the bathroom.

at first, you thought it was kind of fun! the whole thrill of secretly seeing one another. however, every time you brought up the topic of "what are we," atsumu skillfully avoided the topic.

now it’s been five months of this strange casual relationship and the both of you have and you and atsumu had gone to a party together. you were a slight bit tipsy and you weren’t feeling too great.

in search of atsumu, you look through the entire house until you stop by the front porch where you see a familiar blonde making out with a woman standing against the wood pillars with one of his hands lifting up her leg sliding his hands up and down her thigh.

"y/n, i’ve been lookin’ for ya everywhere. sheesh, you’re a runna-" osamu stops mid-sentence when he sees you standing completely still with the view of his brother making out with some girl. osamu’s eyes widen and he immediately goes to break the duo.

"atsumu! at least have a little bit of respect what the fuck?" osamu looks at atsumu but clearly he's drunk. the other girl dashes off inside the house, leaving you, atsumu, and osamu on the porch together.

"what’s your deal, samu? i was tryna-" atsumu slurs.

"atsumu, you're seeing y/n aren’t ya? why the hell are ya in the corner making out with some skanky ass cheerleader?" osamu is holding atsumu by his shoulders, trying his best to talk some sense into him.

at this point, you’ve sobered up and you’re about to answer osamu’s question until atsumu is one step ahead of you.

"samu, we’re just fucking around man. you know it’s nothing serious. she’s really good in bed you should give her a try."

what the fuck.

your heart shatters. completely.

osamu’s too dumbfounded to even respond. he himself can’t believe his brother just said that. about you, especially! about the girl he’s been pining for since what seems to be forever. about the girl he rambles about every chance he gets. there’s no way he just said that about you.

slap.

atsumu’s cheek is red and stinging and it causes him to slightly come to his senses. you were standing in front of him with tears brimming and eyes all red and face looking flushed.

what was y/n doing here? she wasn’t supposed to see me like this? wait then who was i kissing?

"don’t ever talk to me again miya. i never wanna see your face again you asshole," you speak with the utmost determination.

atsumu is being held up by osamu and he’s trying to form the words to get you to stop leaving.

right then, he passes out.

the next morning, he wakes up with the worst possible hangover known to mankind. he sits up on the couch of what seems to be samu’s house. shit, what even happened last night?

"good mornin’ you fuckin’ baby," atsumu hears his brother’s voice in the distance. atsumu turns his head, squinting to see his brother cooking something up in the kitchen. "i’m makin’ ya nana’s hangover soup. eat ’sum will ya?"

"okay," he replies, head in his hands. "last night feels like a dream. i can’t even remember what happened.

osamu stops chopping the green onions and points at him with the knife. "ya don’t remember a single thing ya said last night? not a single thing?"

atsumu tries to rack his brain for a bit of an idea of what happened last night but it all feels like a blur. he remembers chugging some alcohol he had found in the cupboard and talking to some cheerleader and then his blood runs cold.

he remembers the heartbroken look in your eyes holding, trying to keep your tears at bay.

"where's y/n? i remember her being upset for some reason..." atsumu trails off.

"you were such a bitch to her last night. i was this close to disowning ya as my brother," osamu began. "ya hurt her. real bad. and i don’t think there’s any way to recover from this one."

"what the hell even happened last night?" atsumu pleads osamu to tell him.

as osamu recaps the events of last night, the sense of dread in atsumu starts to slowly swallow him.

i said that? to the girl i’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months? what the fuck is wrong with me?

"drink yer hangover soup and then figure out what the hell you want to do, ya fuckin’ jerk."

on your side, you haven't left your bed since you woke up. you've been watching your comfort show for the past couple hours in hopes of forgetting the sight you saw yesterday. you thought that atsumu would've at least sent a text to apologize but it was 12 pm in the afternoon and there was no contact.

your phone pinged and you scramble to get it, thinking it might've been him. your heart drops when you see it's actually a text from his twin instead.

osamu: can u come by? i feel bad abt what happened last night & wanted to treat u to some ramen

the thought of osamu wanting to do that was really nice especially with everything that atsumu said but you really wanted to inquire on the whereabouts of his twin.

y/n: you have nothing to apologize for lol ur brother is a bitch

y/n: but yea i'll pull up for some ramen dinner! when do u want me over

osamu: 6?

y/n: i'll c u then

six o'clock comes around and you find the door to osamu's apartment already open.

"samu? your door was open so i let myself in," you yelled out into the apartment. you couldn't hear his response which had you slightly confused. "samu? you here?"

as you turn after closing the door, you falter.

"hi."

it was miya atsumu. in the flesh.

all the gears start clicking in your head. osamu set you up and now you're stuck in the same room with your least favorite person in the world.

"is samu here? we were going to have dinner," your voice completely curt, shutting down any sense of emotion.

"he's not because he wasn't the one texting you," he explains. "i was. it was the only way i knew you weren't gonna ignore me."

"right."

atsumu walks towards you to get closer to you but his heart crumbles when he sees you take a step back to maintain the distance between the two of you.

"please," he begs. "i found out what happened last night and you know i would never talk about you that way."

you scoff. "oh really? that's surprising considering how you were auctioning me off to your brother."

"you're right. it was wrong of me. i never should have disrespected you like that. i'm sorry."

you sigh. "listen, i don't want to talk about this anymore. you and i? we aren't friends anymore. in fact, i don't even know you. we are strangers. i don't want to associate myself with such a scumbag. i can't do this right now."

as you're walking away to the door, atsumu decides to push his ego down with the following words. "i'm a coward!" he says louder than normal.

you stop moving to the door, face looking away from him. he took this as his cue to keep going.

"i'm a coward. you are the best thing that's happened to me and i don't know why i can't fucking accept it. you're all i think about it twenty four seven and i can't imagine a world without you in it. i like you so much to the point you infiltrate my whole soul. so please..."

your heart softens at the words. if only he had said these words before.

he pauses before he finishes. "i want you. i need you."

"that's not enough."

"please let me prove myself to you. let me take you out. let me treat you the way you deserve. let me do it right this time. let me do us right this time. let me fix my mistake. please, i'm begging you. give me a chance."

he comes over to you and holds your hand daintily in his. you look him in the eye for the first time that night and you can see his eyes have glossed over. this is the most vulnerable you have seen and you feel your heart beating loudly in your chest.

even after everything, you know you still love him. you feel it within.

you kiss his cheek and his eyes widen in surprise. "you get one chance. don't fuck this up."

"that's all i need pretty girl."

© tetsumie 2024 all rights reserved

It had been a mistake.

Jake knew he wasn't the type of man to take a bet. During his university years, nonetheless! But the effect of alcohol, his aversion to confrontation, and his friends' rowdiness pushed him to keep at the lie.

One year ago, he drunkenly confessed to you at a party, and you gave him a chance. Twelve months into dating each other, his friends drunkenly told you the truth, and you cut him out of your life without so much as a tear.

Tonight was the first time you've voluntarily spoken to him. He didn't care that you only did it because you needed his help. He would have learned every skill under the sun if it meant you'd talk to him again—plumbing, repairing, installing, modifying, you name it.

Tires screeched over the white line and stopped. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, unfazed as the cold air hit him until he reached the door of the animal shelter you worked at.

The lights were on inside.

He breathed through his mouth because that was the only way to accommodate how much air he needed.

You were inside, waiting for him.

A moment passed after he knocked. You opened the door carefully, peeking over the door frame not because you were cautious of the visitor but because you weren’t ready to face Jake yet.

His hair was disheveled, and his small eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He did not wear enough for the cold weather, but the shelter was warm enough, so you tried to stop worrying about him.

Veins ran softly along his hands and arms, parts you’ve let touch you all over, inside and out. His limbs used to be confident and bashful, playfully reaching for your waist and shyly searching for your face.

Jake wouldn't dare to touch you now, not even to shake hands, not without your permission. He pulled at his fingers and watched you intently. His gaze traced your face, and his downturned eyes mimicked a dog on its death bed—timid, wishful, pleading.

"Hey," he greeted. "Is everything okay?"

You stared at him, subconsciously reminded of the first time you invited him to accompany you during a day shift at the shelter. Biting back a sob at the question, you shook your head and opened the door wider for him to enter.

“He’s back," you said. "Pluto is back."

Pluto was the golden retriever you and Jake fostered over the summer last year. He was adopted, returned, and adopted again after almost making it to his euthanasia day. It has been months since you last saw him so you thought he had found his forever home.

But, this afternoon, he surrendered again because the parents couldn’t handle having him and more than three children in the home.

You kept him company for most of your shift to ease his anxiety, but when it came time for you to close up and leave, he refused to enter the cage.

You attempted to lure him with toys and treats to no avail. It was as if he knew it would be over once he was locked up behind the metal bars.

“That’s...” Jake swallowed the frustration. He stopped hearing news about Pluto after you broke up. He had no idea it was given up once already. “That’s horrible.”

“I know. My coworker said she tried to convince the mother to bring Pluto home, but...” You trailed off in exhaustion. You rubbed your eyes and sunk your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you for help if I hadn’t run into a dead end. I don’t know what to do.”

"No, don't even–" he waved his hand dismissively with a soft chuckle– "don't even apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

You smiled. He always told you that. You couldn't remember a time when he was mad at you and demanded an apology, even when some of your decisions had been questionable.

If he was ever upset, you remembered all it ever took were hugs and kisses to make him feel better, the things you give your pet dog to brighten your day and theirs.

Sometimes, you wondered if he was easy or if it only worked for you because he was in love with you.

He told you otherwise, though. After dumping him, he spent two months pestering you however possible with a variety of apologies and only ever one confession: I love you. I love you more than anything.

He stopped after you snapped at him in public, practically humiliating him for your subconscious fulfillment.

You had given him everything—all of your firsts, all of your mind, and all of your body. He had deserved it. He stopped bothering you afterward, which was understandable.

A dog beaten and bruised enough would never return.

“Let's see what I can do," Jake said.

You pursed your lips and gestured for him to follow you.

The shelter remained the way it had been since the last time he visited. White ceiling lights, disorganized papers on the reception table, stacked metal cages, dirty food trays, narrow spaces, a dirty whiff of air, and abandoned pets everywhere.

He didn’t expect otherwise. There were never enough donations or government funds to make it a better place. People wouldn’t even do that for other people, let alone animals.

Jake spoke to the animals along the way, ignoring the ones asleep and cooing at the ones who jumped to greet him. As you led him to the back of the shelter, a sullen mass of fur curled up in the corner came into view.

"Pluto!" he exclaimed with considerate joy as he crouched with open arms. "Do you remember me, sweet boy?"

Pluto remembered. It got up from the corner and pounced on Jake, scraping its paws on his shoulders for a hug and licking his face. He laughed and rubbed its back, letting the affection attacks continue as Pluto pleased.

It got distracted when you also neared. Barking once for good measure, it bounced between your feet and Jake’s embrace, reliving how it used to be when he was still living with you both.

“He looks healthy," Jake said.

“He wasn't abused, just abandoned," you clarified.

"Same difference."

You peered at him like a hit dog about to holler.

In the depths of your conscience, you admitted that you were the one who gave up. Maybe you were well within your right to, or maybe you didn't believe in clarification and second chances.

You tried not to think about it too much. It made you feel bad.

"Where is his cage?" Jake asked offhandedly.

You motioned your chin toward the corner without thinking. You’ve already placed a cartoon blanket inside as a makeshift bed, and the dog bowl was filled half way with dry food.

“Alright, buddy,” Jake said, hopping onto his feet. “Let’s get you inside so we can go home.”

Pluto jumped up to meet Jake’s knees. He played with the dog, swinging his hands around its peripheral vision and playing bitey. You discreetly reached for the cage to open it. When he noticed, he stopped to hold Pluto’s face in his hands before lifting it up by its paws.

Jake was always the good cop. You made Pluto wait for dinner, didn't let it jump on your bed, and never fed it food under the table. Jake was easier. He took it on morning jogs, ran with it when it had zoomies, and sometimes cooked it a small plate of steak.

A little affection and a wide-eyed gaze could go a long way for Jake, but not so much for you.

You always knew the dog liked him better than you. You didn’t realize it would be easy for Jake to pick it up. However, just as you thought your ex-boyfriend would succeed, Pluto dropped its whole weight onto the floor and refused to budge.

Jake yelped at the sudden pull. His feet stuttered to balance himself, forcing him to release Pluto onto the floor. Not giving up, he shook his hands and reached down to try and pull it up again. The dog still wouldn’t budge.

Deciding to try another approach, instead of pulling Pluto up by its torso, Jake thought he could begin with its front legs. Once he gets them through, the rest should follow.

"Come on, buddy," he encouraged. “I know it's scary, but you gotta sleep somewhere warmer than the shelter hallway."

Pluto began to whimper when its front legs reached inside the cage. It used them to support itself, weighing itself down onto them to avoid being pushed inside wholly.

You furrowed your brows as you listened to Jake’s fading encouragement. He was a mirror of who you were a few hours ago when your shift began. He wasn’t growing impatient, only frustrated that this was how it had to be for a beloved pet.

Your shoulders sunk in defeat when you noticed droplets on the floor. Jake paused when you curled a hand around his arm and gently pulled him away.

“Let’s stop. He’s scared,” you said. “He peed on the floor. I’ll go get the mop.”

He glanced at the floor, but he was trying to see if you touched him again. And then he looked up at you, nodding in grim agreement. When you released his arm to clean the floor, he rubbed the spot with invisible desperation, trying his best to somehow keep your hold

"What do we do?" he asked, pressing a firm hold over where you touched him. "Shit, I feel horrible."

"You and me both." you sighed as you watched Pluto shrink into a corner. “I'll stay over with him."

"At the shelter?"

“It's not any worse than my apartment," you said. “Actually, I might be safer here with all the animals around. They’ll look out for me."

He wanted to protest. This was less about safety and more about comfort.

You looked exhausted, and he knew why. Midterms were happening left and right before the winter break, so you must be burning the midnight oil already. You’ve also got a difficult job to juggle with your classes.

He used to have to pull you away from your desk and trap you in his arms to get you to sleep.

Regardless, you needed to sleep somewhere soft and warm, and the animal shelter didn't have anything remotely similar to that besides the furry babies.

The furry babies and him, he supposed.

“I'll stay with you," Jake said.

You shook your head. This would ruin your plan to get over him, which has been going on for over half a year yet has garnered no real progress.

You still thought about him day and night, seeing him in the shadows of your once-shared apartment and whispering his name into your pillow. You blocked and avoided him because you knew he could lure you back so quickly because you had unfortunately been in love with him the entire time.

“It’s fine. You should go home,” you said. “I’m sorry I called you up so late.”

"No, I don't mind," he protested. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway."

He visibly gulped, swallowing any sentiment because you’ve rescinded his right to love you. And you bit your tongue to keep the fight and the cries in because it wasn’t easy to look at him and not do something.

You couldn't kiss him, you couldn't fight him, and you didn't want to hurt him.

"Do whatever you want," you muttered.

Jake watched you leave the room. He heard cabinet doors opening, and he moved against the wall to sit down. He reached a hand out, his palm facing skyward, and he gently lured Pluto onto his lap. When you returned, it was with two thin blankets, one for yourself and one for them.

You reached for the cage to take the food bowl out and closed the door, locking it. You sat next to Jake, across from his side, and wrapped the blanket around you.

"What are we going to do now?” You eyed the dog.

"What are the protocols?" he asked.

"We hold and look for housing," you said. "But–" you reached out to rub Pluto’s head–"he's getting old. It took long enough to find a family who's willing to adopt him, so there's no guarantee we will be able to find anything before he's put on the euthanasia list."

As Jake ran over what you said in his head, you took a small handful of dry food to feed Pluto, who released itself from pressing on Jake’s chest to eat. You smiled at its eagerness, but your brows were furrowed with unspoken sorrow.

It seemed you could already predict Pluto’s fate, but you needed to device a course of action for good measure. Anything to make sure you didn't give up immediately, even when there was nothing you could do.

There was nothing worse than being at the bottom. Knowing that after taking so many turns, you ended up at the dead end you were meant to reach anyway. Looking at you was almost like looking at himself—both of you have exhausted all your resources.

But Jake was known for going above and beyond. At least for you, he would.

“I can adopt him."

You perked up slowly in bewilderment. The reason why you two decided to foster Pluto back then was because of a dual income. If it was so affordable to own an old dog, you would have done it already.

"You live on campus. The dorms don't allow pets," you said. "You also don't have money. What are you gonna do if he gets sick?"

“I’ll move out. I’ll get a second job and pick up more shifts at the current one,” he said with a shrug. “There are cheap places to live, and I’m sure Jay will be willing to help me if it comes down to it.”

"Jake–"

“If push comes to shove, I’ll move back home,” he said, his voice slightly louder to drown out your worries with his optimism. “Let this be the last disappointing thing I do to my mom!”

You wanted to hold his face and talk him out of it. His optimism was both a friend and a foe. Sometimes, it pushes him to do amazing things, but mostly, he ends up embarrassing himself.

No, your coworker wouldn’t want to talk to you after being denied their vacation time over yours. No, your mother already thinks you buy enough unnecessary things; she won’t appreciate this. No, that won’t help anyone like you think it would.

You’ve often had to be his voice of reason for the most trivial things. It usually worked. His brain fries and he turns all putty when he’s being held, but he’s extra impressionable in your hands. He’d agree to anything just to keep you talking.

“You’re going to struggle," you warned.

“I'd rather that than have you feel guilty that you couldn't do more for our dog."

“You don’t know that I will,” you scoffed with a brief glare.

His eyes were on you. It has been on your since the moment you saw each other.

“I know you will. I know you," he retorted.

He was right. No matter how much you played up the role of a bad cop, or the nonchalant pet owner, ultimately, you cared. Maybe not as much as he did, maybe not as much as he could, and definitely not as openly as he could. But you loved the dog. 

It was your dog. It was you and Jake’s dog.

Pluto stayed with you for a few of the happiest months of your life. The months when you woke up seeing Jake and went to sleep talking to him. Losing the dog is a significant progression to an end.

"This isn't about me." You shook your head. “Don't do this for me.”

“I can’t not,” he said. “I want to."

“Why?" It came out before you knew it. It was a trap.

The room went quiet, accompanied only by the sound of chewing and the impossible thoughts of escaping such silence. You focused on the food disappearing from the metal bowl, doing your best to keep away the tremors from knowing his eyes were on you, from already knowing his answer to your question. 

Something has to happen when the food is gone. 

A distraction, an apology, a reconciliation, a blackout.

"Because I love you."

A confession.

You dropped the bowl and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Heat released from all corners of your body, traveling to the base of your neck where it pulled at your nerves, souring all the way up to your tear ducts. He kept saying that; it was the last thing you wanted to hear from him. 

His breathing quickened at your dismay, and the corners of his lips arched down in shame. He looked away from you at Pluto’s head, wondering what about his affection was so genuinely sickening that you had to reject it with so much force.

If it was about his bet with his friends, he had already attempted to explain that multiple times.

“I'm sorry I kept the bet from you. I really am. I will never deny that it was a terrible decision, that I was drunk when I first confessed to you," he said defensively, a whimper catching in his voice. 

“Won’t you just–“ you rolled your eyes– “just stop. Stop explaining it to me.”

“No! I need you to understand that I never lied about how I felt after!” he exclaimed.

It never changed. His story wouldn’t have a contradiction even if he tried to rip it apart on purpose. He lied to you because he was drunk, he pretended to be your boyfriend, and then he ended up becoming it. His friends told the same story, and he repeated it multiple times. You’ve heard it all.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it with intention. When he realized his eyes had begun to cry, his voice and movement followed. Looking down at the floor helplessly, his shoulders hunched up as if to shrink small. 

You blew air into your cheeks and bit the inside of your lip. Seeing him cry made you cry. You never wanted to hurt him again. You didn't think that you could, and oh, how you were proven wrong. 

“How come you don’t believe me?” he asked, his voice timid as a child wronged by his parents. “I fell in love with you. You have no right to take that from me.”

Feeling a sob come up, you dropped your head and stared at the floor. Goosebumps lined around your heart, suppressing its beating with unease. That was the problem. He told the truth, which was the problem because you couldn’t handle it.

"Do you know how I felt when I found out?" you asked. "I wasn't angry, or frustrated, or even sad. I was just disappointed that it made sense."

Jake wasn’t a man of your caliber. Even when he first confessed to you, you mistook it as an act of aggression. Hence, you double-checked with him the next day through text; surprisingly, he didn’t deny it.

He was a great boyfriend. He was kind and supportive, handsome and strong, charming and considerate. The whole nine yards. He stumbled once in a while, but he never did anything wrong.

It was both agony and relief when you discovered that he initially stayed for a bet. While it was hurtful to know you and him would have never happened otherwise, it fulfilled your growing itch that needed a reason to feel bad. While you lost the love of your life, the loss helped you make sense of a greatness you didn’t think you deserved, all by forcing you to let go of it.

Jake didn’t do anything wrong. He couldn’t if he tried. It was just easier when he didn’t love you back. Because then you wouldn’t feel like you were taking up too much space, and your inferiority has a reason to exist. 

“It was hell to hate myself,” you said. “If I made it seem like you never loved me at all, then all the pain wouldn’t be for nothing.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was tearful, and he played with Pluto’s fur so his hands wouldn’t claw at his skin to peel himself to death, knowing that you felt like hell when you were with him. “Did you always feel like that?”

You went around the answer but remained truthful. Yes, you felt like that all the time. No, it had nothing to do with him. 

You told him how great he was, how you appreciated everything about him. The fact that he remembers every little thing, how his voice is soft, and his willingness to always be the bigger person. 

Self-hate was an accumulated skill that can never be unlearned and only worsens. He was in the wrong position when it decided to show itself. 

You simply didn't love yourself enough to have him. That was it. 

Irregular drops of tears rolled down his face. He began to hiccup away the knots of air stuck in his throat that were supposed to be violent sobs. He looked everywhere but at you, and his hands curled and uncurled to catch pressure in the air.

He suffocated with every word you said. It didn’t matter that you admitted he wasn’t the reason; he was horrified that you thought his love would be better stored anywhere else than with you, his keeper.

For six months, he stayed cooped up inside himself, uncomfortable but unwilling to burst just in case you would come back to drain his soul out of him. He would return to where he belonged, through your mouth into your skin.

The dog on his lap had become a nuisance, but he kept it there. 

Jake pushes nothing away. He stretches and pulls until someone snaps him in half to stop him.

"Please don't be upset," you whispered after cutting yourself short. “I'm sorry for everything. It wasn't your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” he said. “The mind is–is a weird thing. It’s a weird thing. Sometimes you can’t help it. I understand. It’s not your fault, either. I don’t want–“ he pursed his lips, his hair shaking with his head– “I don’t want you to blame yourself. It hurts knowing you did something–something bad. I don’t want you to–uh,” his voice became smaller, “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Scooting to sit next to him, you took off his glasses and set them on the floor next to you. You pulled at the hem of your sweater to wipe the tears around his tired eyes. You cleaned him and yourself, wetting your sleeve with mutual suffering.

“What do I do?” he asked, leaning his head against the wall with a faint shake. “I miss you.”

“I'm sorry," you said, disarming your mind. 

“I won’t say anything. You don’t have to believe I love you. We can just be friends,” he bargained. “I just want to be around. Please let me.”

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you pressed closer against his side and smiled bitterly at the notion that you’ll never find someone like him again. That was why you gave him a chance a year ago, but instead of his dashing looks and fit physique, it was his extraordinary affection this time. 

Who else would love you enough to pretend he doesn’t love you at all? It’s just him.

“I should probably go see a doctor, huh?” you joked, wiping under his eye with your thumb. “They can help me come around.”

Jake raised his hand. It shakily hovered around your wrist, waiting for permission.

You pushed the back of your palm toward it, allowing him to engulf your hand with his, and then you brought it to his face, holding him gently. He smiled a little; he couldn’t help it upon the familiar, long-awaited touch.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

You glanced at his lips. Stained with tears, like it was rained on. You nudged his nose with yours, and you kissed him. He shuddered. His mouth was metallic and sour; you realized there was a canker sore in his mouth. It must be painful. He kissed you anyway, resting his whole life on your lips. 

Pulling away, he bumped his forehead against yours, his features softening in relief. 

It was always the same confession. He never deviated from it.

I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than me.

“Do you want to take care of Pluto together?”

Your eyes followed the trail that Tetsu's hands traced along his thighs as he settled them on his knees before crouching in front of you. "You doing okay here baby?" He lifted one of his hands and his fingers traced gently down the expanse of one of your arms. You watched as it followed your stretched out limb, tucking under the rope tied to your wrist, tied off to a small ring on the wall, your other arm stretched out similarly in the other direction. "Nothing too tight?"

You shook your head lightly. "'m okay, Tetsu." You wanted to press your thighs together, the exposure from this position sending heat into your center, but were quickly reminded that you couldn't thanks to the gentle straps but firm metal bar between your ankles.

"You're such a good girl, baby." Tetsu's praise caught a whimper in your throat. "You know you can tell them to stop at any time."

You nodded at him, you knew what you were getting into. Knew what you signed up for. But as soon as he left the small room, knowing what you signed up for didn’t prepare you for the feeling of cold hands brushing against your inner thighs and you jumped slightly in response. They weren’t Tetsu’s, the pads of his fingers much too soft. But you didn’t have to guess who it was for long.

“Kuro thought you might be nervous.” Kenma’s voice was drawn out in a whisper, his attempt to soothe your nerves as he rubbed small circles into your skin as he trailed his hands across your bare thighs. “Little jumpy?” You nodded lightly, it wasn’t like you could deny it, you knew he could see the slight shake to your limbs as you stood there, on display. “It’s just me.” His fingers were trailing along your waist now, brushing lightly against your body through the fabric.

“Just a little scared Kenma,” You admitted, it was less worrisome, having Kenma in here, it wouldn’t have been the first time he saw you like this. He’d accidentally walked in on you and Tetsu one too many times. And although he’d never touched you, when he rounded your body, to crouch down into your sights, you weren’t as nervous.

“Do you want me to help you relax?” His hand had trailed along with him, now softly cupping the side of your neck as his thumb brushed against the skin of your jaw. You watched his eyes carefully, taking note of the way they seemed to zero in on his thumb, where it was tracing the outline of my bottom lip. Like he was enthralled by it. You nodded lightly. His fingers were quick to press into the small space between your lips. “Here, get them wet for me?”

You were obedient, parting your lips further for him to slip two of his digits into your mouth. His fingers were cold as they slipped across your tongue, pressing down as they went. “Hey look at me.” You hadn’t realized your eyes had been focused on his wrist until you had to pull them back up to meet his eyes. He eased his fingers to your throat and you couldn’t help but gag, squeezing your eyes. “Shh. Relax.” He kept his fingers there until you opened your eyes again, watery vision as you looked up at him. “There you go.” He cooed, his other hand caressing your cheek as he pressed his fingers a little further.

You whined lightly at the feeling of your drool collecting on his fingers, dripping to his palm. Your legs shifted slightly as you felt a wave of excitement course through you when he flexed his fingers in your throat. Your eyes widened when you realized he’d caught the movement. “Does the thought of your throat being fingered turn you on? Bet you’d be okay if no one even touched you.” You shook your head suddenly, the wetness pooling between your thighs starting to control your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Kenma laughed a little bit as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, “I’ll make sure you get touched.” You opened your mouth to question him as he rounded out of your sight again, but his wet fingers pressing between your folds silenced you quickly, words turning into a soft moan. “Look, you’re already wet, what are you worried about?”

“Kenma,” you moaned his name as his fingers pressed in slowly. Breathless pants leaving your lips as he pushed in to his knuckles, fingers spreading inside of you.

“Just tryna stretch you out.” You could hear your pussy getting wetter as he played with it. He moved his fingers skillfully, poking and prodding, stretching you as you let out breathy moans. “You gonna relax for me?” He paused as if checking something, “it’s already been four minutes, I’ve only got three left. You wanna cum for me.”

You nodded, the tightening in your lower abdomen already building. His fingers angled deeper, pulling a small cry from your lips. “Please, Kenma, wanna.” You gasped lightly as his fingers picked up their pace, pressing roughly against a spot that was making you see stars. The brush of his thumb against your clit had you jerking against your restraints, a moan falling from your lips.

“Just relax.” He soothes, thumb working at a slower pace than his fingers as he brought you closer and closer to falling over the edge. You tried to ignore the soft shake in your legs as your stomach curled, the constant brushing of Kenma’s fingers driving you dizzy. “Cum for me now.” He muttered softly, sounding as dazed as you felt and your body complied with the request. Your limbs tightened and you clenched around him, whiny moans falling out of your mouth before you relaxed.

Kenma pulled his fingers out and you could feel your own wetness drip to your thighs. “Want a taste?” You nodded your head as he came into view again, holding his glistening fingers in front of your face. “Lick.” You licked a long stripe off the back of his fingers and was surprised when he leaned forward, his tongue mimicking mine on the other side. He parted his fingers, his tongue slipping through and pressing against yours. His fingers slipped down to grip your jaw as he kissed you more firmly and you moaned slightly into the kiss.

He was gone as soon as he was there, his mouth parting from yours and leaving your lips to chase after him. “Tastes good baby. You have nothing to worry about.” He pressed a small kiss under your ear. “Just relax.”

Kenma’s voice was still echoing in your ear as you heard the door open again. The bickering was an immediate giveaway to who the boys were. There was a sound of a smack and you twitched before realizing one of them had hit the other.

“Dumbass! Did you just hit me?” It was Tobio’s voice, astonishment clear within it.

“Pause and enjoy the view for a minute.” Shoyo responded, quieter than he’d been a moment ago.

“Idiot.” Tobio grumbled, and you felt his hands on your hips, rubbing into the joints softly. “We only have seven. We finish early, then enjoy the view.” There were some grumbles from Shoyo, but nothing you could properly make out.

Shoyo’s hands were on your wrist then, undoing the tie to one of my arms before working to the next. “What are you-” you watched his fingers work quickly, confused as to why he was starting to untie you. “What are you doing?”

“Repositioning.” He joked lightly, he pulled your wrists together in front of you, tying them together. Tobio was undoing the bar on your legs, leaving the cuffs on your ankles but removing the bar.

“Come here.” Tobio didn’t give you a chance to react, turning you and pulling you into his chest. Both of their hands were on you, easily pulling you up into their arms. You gasped as Tobio slung your knees over his arms, grip on your hips still. “Hinata, help me out.”

Shoyo’s chest was pressed against your back and you could feel his hands under you. You didn’t realize what exactly he was doing until Tobio’s hips bucked up into yours. You cried out, head falling back against Shoyo’s shoulder as Tobio entered you in one swift motion. The stretch had his name falling from your mouth as a moan.

“Fuck she’s tight.” Tobio’s voice had dropped in both tone and volume. “Shoyo, you gotta feel.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shoyo was mumbling and Tobio had barely backed his hips away from yours when Shoyo jerked his hips up. Shoyo wasn’t as long, but he was thicker and stretched you even more, forcing another moan out of your lips. “Oh fuck, you’re right.” He pulled back and Tobio took his place. “Fuck she feels so good.”

You were at a loss for words, your jaw dropped open, head draped backwards over Shoyo’s shoulder. The boys picked up a pace, one pulling out just for the other to push in. It was dizzying, the constant feeling of being full. Not even a second to breathe. You couldn’t even try to lift your head and they didn’t seem to mind, talking to each other more than you.

“She looks so pretty like this, huh?” You were vaguely recognizing Tobio’s voice as his grip on your hips tightened. His voice sounded strained and you couldn’t blame him, your own voice was strained as whiny moans left your throat.

“You sound like you’re gonna cum, Kageyama.” Shoyo teased, but his own voice was breathy and interrupted by a moan.

“Shut up.” He growled back through gritted teeth. “Of course I am, you fucking feel her, she’s squeezing like her life depends on it. Feels amazing.” Shoyo gave a short laugh. “Act like you’re not.” His irritation at Shoyo was matched with a particularly rough thrust and you let out a shocked squeal, nails digging into your own hands.

“Put those fingers to good use.” Shoyo mumbled, his hand pulling on your wrists and directing your fingers down between your body and Tobio’s. “Rub your pretty clit, yeah? Make yourself cum?”

You nodded along, twisting your wrists to obey. Your fingers brushed over the bundle of nerves and you squirmed, the jolt of electricity that shot through your body making you moan.

“Fuck, yeah.” Tobio mused as his thrusts got sloppier. “Squeeze like that again.” It felt like all the breath was knocked out of you when you felt Tobio pull out just as Shoyo thrusted back in. You could feel Tobio’s cum splatter over your fingers, your pussy, your thighs and, you were sure, Shoyo’s cock too.

“Messy, Tobio.” Shoyo teased, but he was quick to follow, his head barely out before ropes of it landed on your thighs and Tobio’s hips.

“See, now we can enjoy the view.” Tobio laughed as he watched your back arch off Shoyo’s chest, the ginger’s fingers joining yours as he tossed you over the edge. You whined as they let you down, still coming off of your high, legs shaky and bending under you.

“Better down on your knees?” Shoyo asked as they lowered you until your knees hit the ground. You nodded along, dazed from the tingling feeling in your body. The boys left as they came, still arguing.

You were still on your knees when the next two walked in, Keiji was the first to come into sight, but Koutaro was right after. Koutaro’s hands were on your face immediately, always excitable and still high off adrenaline.

“You’re so pretty.” He whined, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. You wrapped your lips around his thumb lightly, tongue swiping at the pad of it and he groaned. “I don’t want you for only seven minutes.” Keiji chuckled and laid his hand on Koutaro’s arm.

“Be grateful for what you get, Bokuto.” Keiji was just as imposing as Koutaro like this. They both towered high above you and you couldn’t help but look up at them with wide eyes. “She isn’t yours so be gentler.” You swallowed hard. Gentler. Not gentle.

“I wanna feel your lips, let me feel your mouth?” He rushed out the question, asking permission hopefully as he looked down at you. You felt compelled to nod your agreement.

“You wanna pull it out for him?” Keiji asked, pointing his question at you. You were nodding as you lifted your hands; licking your lips as you quickly pulled Koutaro out of his pants.

Your thighs clenched at the sight of him, immediately pressing your lips just under his head, kissing the sensitive skin and licking. There was a sharp hiss of breath that Koutaro let out as he stifled a moan. You were encouraged by the muffled noise and his head tilting back. You wrapped your lips around him easily and he cursed as you moved your mouth further down, lapping your tongue along the shaft as you went.

His hand found your hair easily, a small tug pulling a muffled whine from you as you lowered your head more, your tongue pressing against his balls as his cock laid across your face. Koutaro groaned, his head tipping back as you repeated the action. You squeaked when he suddenly tugged on your hair, pulling you back towards the head of his cock.

“Oh baby, please, suck it.” He requested his voice whiny as he did so. It didn’t feel like too much of a request though, definitely not one you could say no to, as he tugged your lips forward. You allowed it anyways, wrapping your lips around the tip and sucking on it.

Koutaro’s hips twitched forward. You gagged as his cock suddenly tapped the back of your throat and Keiji was quick to snatch the wrist that was holding your hair. “Careful I said.” Keiji chastised, helping pull you off Koutaro so you could cough a bit. “Gentler.” Keiji guided your head back forward, slower this time.

You let Keiji set the pace, delicately running your tongue along Koutaro’s length as you bobbed your head. Your hands wrung each other in your lap, twisting in their binds as you itched to reach out for Keiji’s cock as well. You didn’t have to wait for long. Keiji seemed to want to feel your mouth as well. He guided you back again, much to Koutaro’s whining dismay.

“Look, start slow.” Keiji had pulled out his cock, bringing your lips to it, easily pressing his cock between them. He wrapped his hand around your hair with Koutaro’s hand and pulled your head forward gently. You treated his cock with the same care you’d treated Koutaro’s. Tongue lapping at the skin as you sucked.

“Then you pick up the pace a bit.” Your eyes widened in surprise when Keiji’s pull on you picked up the pace. Keiji was careful despite the speed change, careful to mind your gag reflex and he dragged your mouth along his length. “Then you can be less gentle.” He let Koutaro’s hand take over.

Koutaro’s pull on you kept the speed but his roughness pulled Keiji’s cock deeper into your throat. You gagged and Keiji moaned in response. You tried to relax your jaw, letting the two hands in your hair guide you. Desperately, you wanted to feel them cum down your throat. “Ugh I wanna feel her now Keiji.” Koutaro whined and Keiji laughed in response.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He let you be pulled off his cock, smiling at the way you gasped for proper air, spit coating your lips and connecting them to Keiji. Spit strings that quickly connected Keiji’s cock to Koutaro’s now too. “Remember-”

Keiji’s reminder for Koutaro to be gentle fell on deaf ears. Koutaro pulled your head towards him at the same roughness you’d left Keiji’s at. Your gagging started immediately, tears welling in your eyes as Koutaro’s moans filled your ears. “Fuck fuck fuck, feels too good, can’t.” Keiji rolled his eyes but didn’t seem to stop Koutaro once he started to buck into your mouth, meeting it halfway.

Your nails were digging into your thighs and you whined in protest, wondering if this was really the ‘gentler’ version Keiji had requested of him. Your head was dizzy, time lost amongst your focus to keep your mouth open.

“Fuck I wanna cum.” Koutaro whined it and Keiji clicked his tongue in disappointment at the way Koutaro’s grip on you loosened then.

“You’re gonna make a mess.” You squeaked around Koutaro’s cock as Keiji pulled you forward suddenly. His hand on the back of your head bringing your nose to bury into Koutaro’s pubes. Koutaro groaned loudly, a string of curses accompanying the feeling of his cock twitching at your throat. His cum was hot as it slid down your throat.

You coughed and gasped when the two of them released your head, letting you pull back to suck air into your lungs. “Wha-” you coughed again, your voice gravelly from the use of your throat, “what about you?” Your question was directed to Keiji, who hadn’t cum yet.

He chuckled a little bit as he tucked his still-hard cock away. “Out of time, next time.”

He pulled a dazed Koutaro out the door behind him as he left. You were still panting and trying to recenter your vision when the door opened again.

“Iwa-chan it’s our turn.” You heard Tooru’s voice before he appeared in front of you, dragging Hajime along with him. Hajime grumbled something and you looked towards him, you noticed that his cheeks were tinted pink and his eyes wouldn’t focus on you for more than a few seconds. “What did you say?”

“I said this isn’t necessary.” He grumbled louder, locking his eyes on Tooru rather than looking at you. “Let me just-”

“But Iwa-chan.” Tooru drew out the last vowel, pouting at the other man as he rounded his way behind you, out of your sight. You gasped when Tooru’s hand wound around your front, cupping your jaw and pointing your face to look directly up at Hajime. You could feel Tooru’s breath against your ear, letting you know that he’d placed his face just beside your own. “Look how pretty and willing she is to thank us.” You nodded your agreement to the words, finally seeing Hajime’s blush in full view as he looked down at your face.

The forced pout on your lips, put there by Tooru’s hands made his cock stir in his pants and he groaned a little. Tooru smirked behind you, knowing he’d won out. He was quick to pull you to your feet, you shrieked suddenly as Tooru dragged you off your knees and to a standing position.

“The two of you…” Hajime clicked his tongue at you both in disappointment, he shook his head a bit and replaced Tooru’s hand on your jaw with his own. You tried to turn your head when you felt Tooru push your legs open, but Hajime turned your head back forward. “Look at me instead.” He brushed along your bottom lip, pulling on it.

You gasped when you felt Tooru’s cock pressed into you. Hajime pressed his thumb between your lips as Tooru’s hands tightened their grip on your hips. “Oh, fuck, cunt is so tight.” Your eyes rolled back as Tooru bottomed out. “Sure you don’t wanna try her out? Who knows if you’ll get another chance.”

Your cunt squeezed a bit at Tooru’s words, the way he talked over you. Tooru chuckled at your reaction. “Not enough time.” Hajime lifted your chin, to take in the way your face contorted. “You can take him alright?” You nodded dazedly… the drag of Tooru’s cock along your walls made your breathing getting heavier as Tooru kept on. Steady and moderate in pace but nevertheless, intoxicating.

“God you squeeze me so good.” Tooru groaned and he wrapped his arm around your waist, fingers feeling for your clit. The small cry you let out was quickly silenced by Hajime covering your mouth, your muffled noises being swallowed by his palm.

“Shhh.” He mumbled, dipping his head to press kisses down the front of your chest. His mouth easily closed around one of your nipples. You sighed against his hand, your eyes fluttering as you took in the feeling of Hajime’s soft tongue against your skin.

Tooru’s hand wrapped into your hair, gently tugging your head back up, effectively pulling your mouth away from Hajime’s hand. “Wanna hear you.”

You whimpered, hips twitching against Tooru’s hand. Your moans and whines filled the small space. Hajime lifted himself from your chest just as Tooru’s pace picked up. Hajime’s hand took the place of Tooru’s, keeping your head tilted up as you looked at him, pleasure taking over your features. “Ask him for it.” Hajime whispered against your cheek, thumb brushing against your other cheek.

Your head spun, the blush was still on the tops of his cheeks and you were confused about how he could command you and still be blushing over seeing you like this. You panted against Hajime’s skin, feeling your insides twisting up under Tooru’s care. “Ma-make me cum, please.” You pleaded, sniffling as Tooru delivered rougher thrusts.

“Any other requests?” He teased, fucking his cock deeper into you. You moaned the form of his name as his fingers pressed harder on your clit. “I think your cunt has a request.” He groaned and you whimpered under his touch. “Squeezing like it wants to be filled up.”

“Please,” you begged without thinking, body clenching as he fucked you towards your orgasm, “wanna cum,” you babbled, eyes crossing as Hajime pulled back to catch your eyes, “cu-cum inside.”

Hajime gripped your jaw, pinching your mouth open again, fingers pinching your lip, tugging on it and triggering a whine of protest from you. “Desperate, cute.” he muttered, eyes caught on your lips. He kept his eyes there, ignoring the way Tooru’s groans filled the space along with your own noises. Watching the way your lips formed your cries as Tooru pushed you over the edge. His eyes found yours then, desperate himself to see the way your eyes widened when you felt Tooru’s cum flood your insides.

Your body shook as Tooru pulled out, his cum spilling onto your thighs quickly. Your legs shook under you, barely able to hold your own weight. Tooru and Hajime’s hands kept you upright for the moment. A sudden banging on the door caught all three of your attention.

You couldn’t turn to see the door opening, your legs giving out and the boys letting you fall to the floor. You sucked in a sharp breath as your knees hit the floor, your hands barely catching yourself as you heard the mix of voices.

“Times up.” You recognized the accent and you knew who it was.

“Wait your turn.” Tooru snapped back, you could hear the irritation in his voice and it was followed by a quick smack.

“They did.” You watched Hajime’s legs disappear from sight and towards the exit.

“Ya get yer ass outta-hey!” another smack sounded in the room. “Omi-omi he deserved it.”

“Shut up, god.” Kiyoomi scoffed as he shut the door, locking himself and Atsumu in the room with you. “How messy.”

“Hey princess.” Atsumu crooned as he trailed his fingers along your jaw, crouching in front of you. He chuckled as he moved to sitting in front of you. “C’mere.” he manhandled your body easily into his lap. “Y’all stretched out fer me?”

You gasped and whined at the way Atsumu seemed to slip right into you, his cock tapping against your walls. He groaned and pulled you closer to him, your chest easily colliding with his. Your breathing came out in pants as you squeezed around him. He seemed to waste no time, wanting to make the most out of the moment.

You latched on to his biceps as he leaned backwards a bit. “Relax.” Kiyoomi’s voice sounded from behind you, unfortunately having the opposite effect when you felt him tap against your already full hole.

“Wa-wait.” A moan got caught in your throat when you heard Kiyoomi spit, the cold of his saliva hitting against your opening and making your cunt squeeze.

“Fuck, and ya say we’re messy.” Atsumu laughed from under you, groaning and eyes rolling at the way your cunt milked him. “Can ya hurry it up, I wanna feel her cum.” Kiyoomi grumbled something under his breath but before you could try to decipher it, he was pressing his tip in next to Atsumu’s. You whimpered, your head falling against Atsumu’s chest as tears caught on your lashes. Atsumu was hushing you as you did, one hand holding the back of your head to his chest as Kiyoomi stretched you out further. “S’okay, we got ya.”

Your head felt like it wasn’t getting enough oxygen, stars in your vision as Kiyoomi lifted your head from Atsumu’s chest. One of them was talking but you couldn’t hear it. Two different hands wrapped around your throat, both with different owners, only encouraging your brain to shut down. It was the first thrust that brought you back.

The moan you let out was broken and half a sob as the two men worked in tandem to fuck you up and down on their cocks. The pain of the stretch was slowly giving way to nothing but pleasure as they fucked you up into the stars. You were sure that Tooru’s cum was being fucked out of you, coating both their cocks but you weren’t sure they cared.

You could barely focus on getting air into your lungs. Atsumu’s hand moved from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head down to look at his face. He wore a large smirk, enjoying the way that your eyes stayed unfocused, lust blown pupils trying desperately to drink him in. Your lips were parted in a permanent whine.

Tsumu’s thrusts were shallow, his cock pressed against the front wall of your cunt, the friction shoving every other thought out of your head. Kiyoomi on the other hand, his were mean. His cock knocked against the deepest parts of you, gliding along Atsumu’s cock, drawing whines from both you and the other male. Kiyoomi’s grip on your neck tightened for a moment, tilting your head back so you could see his face.

You were fucked out, words that you didn’t even know you were speaking coming out as incoherent babbles. Your body shook and shivered as they fucked you past overstimulation into another orgasm without warning. Your cry was loud and echoed around the room as you fell onto Atsumu’s chest.

Atsumu’s own moans pitched up slightly just moments later and Kiyoomi’s hips stuttered against you. You protested softly as Atsumu and Kiyoomi pulled out of you as gently as possible, the feeling of their cum already present, flooding out of you and down your thighs. Kiyoomi had you turned around towards him in mere seconds.

“Clean me up, yeah?” Phrased as a question but given like an order, you obeyed immediately, tongue falling out, lapping against his soiled cock. You whined at the mix of tastes, Tooru’s, Atsumu’s, and Kiyoomi’s cum all having been mixed around inside of you with your own. You nearly moaned when you picked up your enthusiasm, tongue curving over Kiyoomi’s length, scooping up all the mess you’d left behind as quickly as you could, leaving his cock covered instead in your own saliva.

“C’mon up ya get.” Atsumu mumbled, arms hooking under your armpits, lifting you to shaky feet. He kept you upright and steady, truly the only thing keeping you from falling to the floor as the door opened again. “She’s a li’l shaky on her feet right now.” Atsumu chuckled as you felt another pair of hands mimic Atsumu’s grip, your body being passed like a mere toy among them. You whimpered as your knees buckled under you, but your body stayed upright thanks to the flexing muscles around you.

“Li’l shaky on yer legs there?” You looked up into a nearly identical face, immediately your brain processed that it was Osamu’s arms around you now as Atsumu and Kiyoomi left, closing the door behind them. His voice was slightly deeper than Atsumu’s accent heavier as his hands turned you to properly face him. “Look at this mess.” He chuckled, his fingers scooping the mix of cum from between your thighs. You whimpered when his fingers bumped your clit, body twitching.

Your lips were still parted, panting to breath, when Osamu’s fingers came up to them. He smeared the mix of cum on your lips and tongue, feeding it to you. He sucked in a sharp breath and cursed when your lips obediently wrapped around them and you sucked.

Osamu was the same as his brother in the way that he wasted no time to manhandle you into the position that he wanted you in. His arms hooking under your legs and pulling you up so that your hips lined up with his. Your gasp at the sudden movement only spurred him to move faster, his cock bumping against your entrance.

You bit into your lip to hold your cry in when he bottomed out in one movement. Dropping you down the length of his cock. You were sure that it bumped against your cervix and you couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut and whimper at the feeling.

“Easy now.” Osamu cooed in your ear as he repositioned his hands on your hips. The action caused you to bounce slightly and you gasped at the friction, your eyes rolling.

You almost didn’t notice the second pair of hands on you from behind. Fingers, brushing your neck as they unwrapped your arms from Osamu’s. “Share, ‘Samu.” Rintarou’s voice graced your ears just before his face as he tugged you back. You could feel your body leaning back, it changed the angle that Osamu’s cock nudged against your insides and you moaned obscenely. “See, look how pretty she is.” Rintarou’s finger cupped the back of your neck, dropping your body back slowly, your hips staying pinned to Osamu’s. “Look prettier with my cock in your mouth.”

Your eyes widened when you felt Rintarou lower you completely horizontal. You were suspended completely in the air between the two of them. The panic you should have felt disappeared completely when Osamu rubbed his thumb over your clit. Your mouth dropped open in a moan that was cut short as Rintarou glided his cock in easily.

Both men above you groaned when both your cunt and your throat tightened away from them. Their hands tugged on your body, easily finding a jerky pace that was each of them selfishly trying to pull you back to themself. Your body shook in their hold, wet gags and obscent squelching noises from both your filled holes as they used you.

Osamu’s thumb dancing over your clit and Rintarou’s cock blocking your airway had your head swimming, the sounds of their moans and praise coming to you like you were underwater. Words garbled and obscured by pleasure.

You only came back to your senses when Rintarou flooded your throat, pulling out so the last bit of it leaked onto your lips. You gasped in air around the cum you tried to fully swallow, desperate to breathe again. It was only then that you could hear.

“Look she squirted all over you.” Rintarou teased you as he tilted your head to watch the way Osamu continued to fuck into your cunt, eyes focused on how you swallowed him.

“Shut yer trap Rin, can’t cum when yer yappin’.” Osamu’s voice was strained, his jaw clenched as his hips staggered in their pace. You hadn’t even noticed that you had cum, but his chasing of his orgasm had you feeling the aftershocks of yours.

You were sure you were crying, but your mind was too far gone to even mind. You missed the feeling of Osamu cumming inside of you but knew he had when he pulled out and you felt it flood out of you. A string of curses filled the room from Osamu’s foul mouth. He let you down easily, rubbing circled into your shaky legs as he helped you down to a kneeling position, where you were most stable.

You panted, your body shaking and overstimulated as you tried to ground yourself again. You jumped when you felt fingers on your shoulders, your nerves fried and screaming.

“Hey, hey now.” Tetsurou’s voice graced your ears again and you whimpered in response. “Calm down, I got you.” His hands soothed over your hair as he leaned your body against his own. “You okay?”

You nodded, sniffling slightly as his fingers brushed away your tears. “Mm’kay Tetsu.” Your voice came our hoarse, words slurred. Your fingers itched towards him, and his belt.

“Easy,” he chuckled, pulling your hands away and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed, okay?”

“What about you?” He was pulling you up into his arms gently and making his way towards the door.

“Tomorrow, baby.” He mumbled into your hair. “You took care of them so well.” He praised, watching as you hummed in response, exhaustion taking your body over. “Let me take care of you now.”

a/n in honor of the launch of the @the-all-stars-network please consider joining us!!!

TAGLIST -

@intergalacticrory @tsukiran @awkwardaardvarkforever @all-in-the-fandoms @mightyknight501

@pearl-blue-musings @qichun @megumuro @s0uldarling @samus-onigiri-stand

@seiri-ously @deepenthevoid @starlitsawamura @albakugo @winniethepooh-lover

“You want me to do what?”

The laughter following your boyfriend’s statement makes your cheeks flush, almost embarrassed for asking. However, truth be told there was just something about the idea of Karasu chasing you, his identity “concealed” before fucking you in the woods behind your home. In the moment you had, shrugged it off as a joke, that you hadn’t been serious upon your boyfriend’s reaction. However, he knew better than that, knowing just how serious you had been. And if Karasu was honest with himself he couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed at the idea. He just needed to find the perfect time to execute his plan.

You had been alone that night, Karasu having told you he was too tired to drive back from practice and he’d be crashing at Hiori’s. So why was it that you had gotten a notification that there was movement in your back ring camera? Brushing it off as the stray cats you and Karasu fed, grabbing a bowl of food and taking it outside, only for the door to slam shut behind you. Panicking, in nothing more than your house slippers and one of Karasu’s jerseys, you try the doorknob. Locked. Sighing, at least you both kept a key hidden by the front door, before you could go anywhere you felt a hand curl around your throat. Ice flooded your veins as a muffled voice met your ear.

“Don’t you know never to come to the door when you’re all alone pretty little dove.”

The grip on you was lose, allowing you to easily break free. Adrenaline surging, your feet carrying you before your brain could catch up, fight or flight kicking in. Making your second mistake of the evening, you ran into the woods that bled into the back of your shared home. Running through the wooded area as fast as your feet would carry you, dodging between trees as you tried to put as much distance between you and the mysterious figure as possible. Once you were sure you had done just that, you pressed your back against a tree, concealed from sight as you caught your breath. Hand over your mouth to muffle your shaky breaths as to not draw attention to yourself. However, it seemed there hadn’t been enough distance, watching as the figure walked past the tree you were hiding behind, mask concealing his face as his voice rang out once more.

“Haven't you ever watched a scary movie, dove? Don’t you know you never run into the woods?”

The voice carried through the night, but now that your heart wasn’t racing in your ears from fear, you quickly recognized the voice. Karasu? Your heart now raced for a different reason, realizing he had set you up. Telling you a lie earlier to catch you off guard, to make this feel more real. Karasu was nothing if not thorough, putting his all into all he did, this was no different it seemed. You werent sure if your relief outweighed your fear anymore though. Karasu was a professional athlete, body honed after years of training. And one thing you knew for certain from watching his games was that he was fast. Incredibly so. Which meant the chances of out running him were slim to none. But that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

Your feet slam against the ground as you ran in the opposite direction of his footsteps. Karasu’s ears perked immediately, the sound of branches snapping under your feet alerting him to your location. He was quick to turn on his heel, long strides having him caught up to your form within moments. Large hands reaching out to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, knowing if it weren't for the mask you would feel his breaths on the back of your neck.

“Gotcha, sweetheart.”

He purrs, hands roaming your body, one settling around your throat while the other pushed the hem of his jersey up past your hips. He groans upon realizing you were in nothing but a cute pair of panties underneath, taking advantage of your state of undress as he slides his fingers past the waistband of your panties. His eyes rolling back in his head upon being met with your drenched cunt, sliding two fingers past your entrance with ease from the sheer amount of slick that seeped from your opening.

“God.” He groaned, dragging out the word, fingers delving deeper into your cunt. “You're fucking drenched. You this wet from being fucking chased by a stranger? God you're such a good little slut for me, baby.” He slid his fingers from your walls, the pads of his fingers circling your clit, relishing in the delicious sounds he pulls from you. Eventually he pulls away fully, swiping a foot under your own sending you to the ground below. You squeal form your loss of balance, just managing to catch yourself on your hands and knees. Karasu was quick to drop to his own, a strong hand finding purchase on your back, forcing your back to arch and expose your ass to him. He tosses up the hem of his jersey, hooking two fingers in your panties to tug them to the side. You let out a shiver as the cold autumn air hits your now exposed cunt. Karasu lands a harsh slap to your ass, followed by three more in quick succession, using your distraction from the sting as a means to lower the sweatpants from his hips. His cock springs free from the material, slamming the entirety of his length past your velvety walls with ease due to just how wet you were for him.

“God, princess you’re sucking me in like such a good fucking slut.”

He groans, his setting a steady pace, a thumb parting your folds so he can watch his cock disappear inside you with every pass of his hips. With one hand he grabbed you by your arms crossing them using them as handlebars to pull you back on his cock, only to bounce you back with every harsh thrust. He picks up speed, allowing you to hear all the filthy noises he was making while pounding into you with abandon. He let out a strangled groan, your velvety walls suffocating his cock as he fucked you. He wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of adrenaline from you earlier chase or if he was just so into the way this scenario allowed for him to use you completely in a way he never had, but he could feel himself losing control. Releasing the grip he had on your arms, he lets his hand come down on your ass once more, taking pleasure in knowing your skin would darken from the blood rushing to the impacted area.

“God, dove, so fucking good.” He droned, gripping the flesh of your ass to force you back on him. “This fucken pussy drives me insane, tryin’ to fucken milk me for all I’m worth, isn’t that right my pretty little dove.”

He continues his assault, missing the feel of your skin under his mouth but god if you were this wet from him fucking you with a mask on, who was he to complain? He never knew he would be so into it, but he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t the hottest sex the two of you had ever had. Karasu’s hand wrapped around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he fucked up into your cunt. Karasu’s much larger frame always made it so easy for him to manhandle you into whatever position he pleased. He kept with his brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the woods. Groaning, the feeling of your slick against his thighs as your cunt gushed for him was sure to drive him mad.

“God kitten, you feel how fucking wet you are? So wet over getting fucked by someone whose face you can't even see.” He groans, laughing sadistically, the sound being muffled by the mask that still covered his face. “What a good girl you are, doing so well for me. Such a good fucken kitten”

He used his free hand that wasn't wrapped around your neck to reach around to rub harsh slow circles into your clit. The movement of his fingers in time with the thrusting of his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the rough terrain of the ground below digging into your knees adding a delicious mix of pain into the pleasure you were receiving, making your head fuzzy. After a few moments of his ruthless attack on your poor cunt, he slowed his movements to a halt, grinning beneath the mask at the delicious whine it pulled from deep within your throat. He kept his movements slow, dragging his cock in and out of your cunt slowly, allowing you to feel every inch and vein of his dick. His movements were so incredibly frustrating just enough to keep you on the edge of what you needed most. Eventually, his movements stopped altogether, pulling out of your cunt, rewarded with a desperate whimper from you. At this rate he didn’t even need to ask, begs and pleas falling from your lips in a desperate scramble, needing so badly for him to make you cum.

“Please Tabito.. please, wanna come, please.. I don't care baby just need to come all over your cock, need to feel you come inside my cunt want you to breed my pussy Tabito.”

Your pleas were like music to his ears, pulling a groan from him. You felt the world shift, him easily manhandling you to lay on your back beneath him. “I wanna see that beautiful face, when you cream all over my cock, dove. I want to see every face you make while I fuck you baby. I want watch you go dumb on my cock like the slut you are. Wanna watch you come undone on my cock.

He growled, your tear-stained cheeks and completely fucked expression had him wasting no time slipping back into the drenched walls of your pussy. He ripped the mask off with one hand, throwing it god knows where as his hips resumed their abuse on your cunt. Two large hands found the backs of your knees, forcing them to your chest so his cock could reach even deeper inside of you. Your cries muffled as he finally kisses you, tongue invading your mouth instantly. The kiss is desperate, filled with need, his thrusts were getting sloppy, letting you know it wasn’t just you who was reaching the precipice of orgasm. Karasu gripped at the plush of your thighs, being sure to hit every single nerve and spot inside your cunt. He could feel the clenching, the want, the desperate need for you to come all over his cock.

He attacked your neck, leaving kisses and bites along the surface area of your exposed skin. He lets out a breathy chuckle, seeing the way you had thrown your head back, making a sad attempt to meet his thrusts with your own hips. You sob, moaning almost embarrassingly loud as he hits every spot, angling his hips just right in the ways only he knows how to. His ministrations finally being enough to throw you over the edge. He feels your thighs clamp shut over his hips, body violently shaking with cries as you came. Walls clamping down on him in a vice grip, eventually hurtling him towards his own release. So lost in pleasure as he paints your walls white in his cum, he is barely aware of the added moisture from you having squirted all over him. He slows his hips, riding out your highs until the point of overstimulation, a shudder wracking his spine as he stills. His head dropping into your neck as he catches his breaths, a breathy laugh leaving him.

“Who knew all it would take for you to do that was to chase your horny ass through the woods, little bird.”

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

three years ago, you and your husband spent your entire wedding night setting down rules.

you clad in a white dress that had wrinkled by the time the filtered sunlight had streamed through your window, and him in an expensive suit he didn't give a shit about — his heterochrome eyes had met yours in a careful dance.

"i know you didn't want this. me neither." your legal husband sighed, a broad hand sifting through his dual toned hair as regret interwove into his low decibles, "and i know i cannot make it any better but—"

he sled the piece of paper that you both had spent hours perfecting towards you. the white sheet against the mahogany table, such a striking contrast — and, there was fine-print with two blanks for yours and his signs at the very bottom.

"so this is... final?" dragging the sheet towards yourself with your index, your gaze ran across the rules that you both had thought would make this 'marriage' thing work.

"hm." he nodded, "technically, this is a legally binding document."

your eyes shifted over the words, taking in the phrases you were to consider your holy commands from now on.

there were four simple rules, to be specific:

1. don't interfere in each other's sex lives. 2. don't get caught up in any scandals. be careful. have affairs in private. 3. pretend to be the most perfect couple on camera. no matter what it takes — lies, pr, more lies. whatever. 4. kiss, kiss, don't fall in love!

your brows knitted together, a frown across your painted lips as you read the sheet again and again, and then, once more for good measure. "you want me to be nothing more than a trophy wife, right..?"

"yes," the ex-captain huffed, looking from you to the sheet he had co-authored, "and i promise to be nothing more than your legal husband."

"I'll do my part, you do yours." oliver gave you a re-assuring smile, the kind that made your stomach coil inwards at it's polite implications, "and none of us fall in love with the other."

hopefully.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

being the only daughter of a high-ranking national sports committee member, the starstruck fans and fame-hungry reporters had chalked up your and aiku's pairing to the fates.

"the pro-player and the daughter of the sports committee member," they had discussed in loud whispers, "no wonder they're getting married. so romantic!"

"he was such a womanizer before he met her, you know? who knows what he's like now? probably the same." one school-girl probably had scoffed on the subway, and another had retorted, "that's because it's true love, idiot. people change for love."

"how did they never get caught, though?" others had asked, "it's like their marriage came out of the blue. but well, i guess — when it's fate, then, it's fate!"

well, what they all didn't know was that 'fate' was your father and aiku signing a bunch of paperwork in an office a few days before your wedding ceremony, binding you both to this twisted relationship. not so romantic now, is it?

but eitherways, both of you did your part diligently — that's how this had worked out for so long. this arrangement had worked more than well enough for the past three years.

during his matches, you were dressed in his jersey, his number, cheering his — no, yours — family name as loud as you could. after the same match, aiku would come running upto you and hug you till you felt his tensed muscle slacken against yours like he wanted to hug you. you didn't quite miss the way he whispered against you, "sorry for making you do this, ma."

in the interviews afterwards, he would call you his lucky charm. he would laugh, the sweat beads trailing down the planes of his handsome, perspired face, "what can i say? it's probably my girl that makes my game."

'his' girl? right.

when on a pre-planned date night, he would catch your smaller palms in his, and hover his lips over your skin — fooling the world into believing his lips ever touched yours. next morning, you'd find your faces plastered in the morning tabloids.

oliver aiku was such a good actor, it was sickening.

during every red carpet, you and him were dressed in complimentary suits and dresses, smiling up at each other as if you weren't stuck in whatever the fuck this relationship was.

and when the interviewers would ask him one fine evening, "mr. oliver, you're presenting the award this time, we've heard."

"hah, yes but have you seen my wife yet?" he would gush expertly — somehow even turning his nose and ear tips appear red on command, a pro liar. "i am afraid i wouldn't be able to remember my lines on the stage if i look at her."

and you would look on from the side-line, amazed, because how could that man lie so easily? lie to everyone — the media, his friends, to himself? how could this man tell the cameras you were the very thing he adored, and then go home just to fall asleep after a simple goodnight?

most importantly, how could you ever trust such a big liar? a liar who could even make you believe for a fleeting second that he loved you (even though, according to rule number #4, that was prohibited.)

how, oh how, did oliver aiku make you feel so utterly stupid? how did he even fool you into thinking he may love you?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

3rd of december, 1:06 a.m. incident: my husband comes back from a long night.

"aiku..?" a soft sigh of his name tumbled past your lips, your eyes narrowing at the figure standing at your shared bedroom door in the middle of the night.

it was one in the morning, and you were sure under that once-crisp linen shirt lay foreign lipstick stains and faint whispers of feminine perfume. it was normal — this was normal — your husband getting home late at night after being with another woman. this was normal. and according to rule number 01, you weren't supposed to care about it.

and yet, your mouth grew drier as the same husband walked into the room in the dark — agile footing easily navigating through the learned pathways.

"aiku?" you tried again, this time a bit louder as you sat up on your shared bed. the fabric shifted under your hips, your eyes trying to trace out his outline in the comfortable darkness.

at the sudden sound, the man jumped. flicking on a light with a quick click of his finger, he stared at you all wide-eyed, "you're still up..?"

you nodded and the man cocked an eyebrow, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

well, who was supposed to tell aiku that it was the third anniversary of your 'marriage' — or rather, the contract? who was supposed to tell him that you had stupidly cooked a meal and thought you two could celebrate this utterly dogshit arrangement of yours? who was supposed to tell him? definitely not you.

after all — according to rule number 03 — you didn't need to behave like the perfect wife when the cameras weren't rolling. and according to rule number 04 — no falling in love.

so instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line, "jus' couldn't sleep." forcing your lips into a smile, you asked, "you were out late. had fun tonight..?"

aiku shrugged, "eh, nothing special."

and despite rule number 01 still in effect, you bit out a meek, "jessica?"

you had heard the name slip past his lips once late night and immediately associated the name with a beautiful, striking woman — a woman aiku could possibly love. not you.

"nah..." aiku hesitated for just a second, and some selfish part within you wondered if he was about to lie just to keep your heart. if he was about to say 'i saw nobody' just to make you feel like you meant something to him — but the man crushed whatever hope you had under his boot, turning it to ash and soot. "it was crystal, actually."

crystal..?

pulling his closet door open, he didn't even bother turning to look at you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

crystal...?

"yeah, right." at his casual demeanour, at his absolute nonchalance at whichever woman he was currently seeing — you brought your knees up to your chest, a disgusting pang in your ribcage that traveled down your spine and to your toes, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" shimmying off his shirt, you watched your husband flex his well-trained muscles involuntarily as he searched for another shirt in his closet, "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

"no."

aiku glanced back, the muscles in his shoulders shifting at the action, his eyes narrowing just a little bit, "sure?"

"mhm." you nodded, trying to take your position back on your usual side of the bed, "anyways, eat up if you get hungry. i'm... off to bed. goodnight."

"g'nite."

this was normal.

and according to the rules you both had set, oliver wasn't breaking any. then, why did you have that death grip on your sheets as you heard him close the door to the shower? why did you still cling onto the name 'crystal' like it was your very last thought before death?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my husband's busy (again.)

"'m not sure if green is my colour." you confessed as you gawked up your own reflection in the humongous fitting room.

"oh no! you worry too much, madam." the manager of the clothing studio grinned, fanning a hand at you as if it would make your worries disappear, "you look phenomenal!"

still looking at your reflection in the mirror, your brain tried to scramble helplessly for any excuse for you to not go to the charity ball tomorrow. flimsily searching for your salvation, your eyes drifted to the man seated on the sofa behind you — busy sifting through his phone, unbothered to your very presence.

he didn't care for you — he never did — but maybe, he could validate that green wasn't your colour. maybe he could give you an excuse to not go to that charity ball... because it hurt to see your husband pretend he loved you in front of the cameras, it hurt to know that he could love you that way if he wanted to and he just didn't want you.

biting down whatever traces of self-esteem left within your system, you called out for him, "does this look... okay?"

at the mention of his name, he lifted his gaze from his phone to you. taking in your figure once, twice — he nodded satisfied, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

a soft ping! of his notifications drew his gaze back to his phone screen. your fist tightened, nails digging into the soft skin as you went back to being ignored. there goes your excuse to skip tomorrow night.

it would always be some event — a charity ball, a reunion, a sports meet, a fucking conference or whatever — and you had to doll up just to smile up at him. it didn't matter if you didn't feel like going, or if it was a pain, or if that shade of green didn't go well on you.

it didn't matter, as stated by rule number 03.

"—and not to mention that green is really mr. oliver's colour." the same manager prattled on, cashmere words as she tried to persuade you.

your eyes still bore against the man as if the staring at him would be enough for him to understand your grievances and bail you out from this hell. but ofcourse, oliver aiku was only the perfect husband on camera.

the woman concluded with a well-practiced, corporate smile, "—and you both have to match, right?"

ofcourse, you both had to fucking match — courtesy of rule number 03 yet again.

even after moments of heating staring, your husband was more busy on his phone than you.

"i guess if he likes it." you finally shrugged, losing your resolve to the 2v1 match going on in the fitting room right now, "we'd take this, then."

"wonderful choice, madam!" and with that the woman clapped, happily guiding you to a private room so that you could take the dress off.

as you followed her, you looked back at oliver once more — as if you'd catch him staring or something equivalently stupid. instead, the man stayed engrossed on his phone — furiously typing.

probably texting jessica, or crystal, or whoever was interesting enough for oliver aiku to fuck into rented hotel sheets — whoever it was that wasn't you.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: WAG duties.

here you were, sitting in the same spot in the VIP seating area as you had for three years.

his jersey number proudly flashing on your back, you brought your hands up to your mouth to cheer and clap as oliver defended yet another goal, "go, baby! you're doing so well!"

you knew the camera was on you — it was half of the time. the audience ate up every crumb of your relationship online. so, you just smiled, clapping proudly.

honestly, it wasn't hard to fake the genuine enthusiasm every time he skillfully stole the ball from the opposing team — you were proud of him. after all, three years of being someone's greatest supporter eventually becomes a habit, not a chore.

"didn't you get super lucky with oliver?" someone next to you mumbled.

snapping your head towards the sound of the voice, you saw a pretty redhead — oh, chigiri hyoma's sister.

you frequently ran into the woman on and off the field, and had struck up some semblance of friendship with her.

"hah, nice seeing you here, koyuki." you hoped that the laugh didn't sound as strained as if felt in the back of your throat. chasing the pathetic laugh with a practiced smile, "sure did get lucky, but why do you ask?"

"ah, nothing." the redhead grinned, a teasing lilt to her carefree voice, "just that it's been three years and aiku still tries to catch a glimpse of you whenever he defends. if that isn't love, i don't know what is."

love? love?? LOVE???

"oh?" eyebrows bunching together, perhaps you were taken aback with what a good actor oliver was. you were always so caught up in giving the right reactions for the camera, that maybe you didn't see how well he played his side of the loverman role.

but even as koyuki pointed it out, you were too hesitant to actually check for yourself. what if she was wrong? what if you actually saw him looking at you? what if you fell for the elaborate act like a fool yet again..?

so, still focused on the woman in front of you, you spluttered out a pathetic script, "i mea—mean, yeah he just absolutely spoils me."

"i can see that." the woman laughed, "but you're always there to support him too, so I'm sure you spoil him back just as much."

"m-yeah..?"

you spoiled him? no, obviously not. because that wasn't mentioned in any of the rules, was it?

at the stutter in your words, koyuki jutted her bottom lip out, a sorry expression on her face, "oh come on now, don't give all the credit for your marriage to aiku. it takes two to make it work."

"hah," you nodded, coughing up yet another laugh to mask your half-baked lies, "yeah, i guess it does—"

"—i just really, really hope," the redhead cut you off, clasping her nimble fingers together, "that someday I can find a love as adorable as yours."

and at her words, you couldn't help the slight waver in your smile, couldn't help as your eyes drained themselves of any tangible emotion, "o-of course, you will. don't you worry."

"a love as pure as yours"? funny. cause you were yet to find that kind of love three years down the line.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 02: through his eyes.

3rd of december, 1:03 a.m. incident: shit, my wife's still up.

oliver aiku had made the genius decision to avoid you the entire day before, even going out of his way to make sure he didn't step inside your shared apartment before the clock struck twelve.

a simple man may question his actions and ask 'why?' and the answer was as simple as it came: oliver aiku knew it was your — technically, his too — anniversary.

oliver had woken up by the reminder on his phone that read "anniversary.", he had driven and got you a bouquet of flowers, he had even contemplated asking you out for dinner. and then, he had chickened the fuck out. oliver aiku had chickened out for the third time in the row.

see, the first year, he avoided doing anything because it was the first year. the next year, it felt even more awkward cause he hadn't even wished you on the first anniversary so why on the second? he had planned for the third, and that... also went to shit.

truth be told, oliver didn't want to seem like the fool who was holding onto a fake relationship by remembering or bringing up pointless things like this. cause that was just pathetic, right?

so, of course, he did the smartest thing a man could do — avoided you like you were the fucking plague. even if it meant sitting the entire night away in his car and waiting for the perfect time to return back home.

"aiku?" at your sudden chirp, oliver almost felt a wayward shiver run down his spine. flipping on the switch with a practiced flick, he found you sitting up in your shared bed, "you're still... up?"

and though oliver knew there was no way you knew he had been waiting in his car, his heart genuinely caught up a wicked pace. trying to distract himself — and perhaps, you — he undid the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

as you gave him a smile, the man knew something was off. shit.

you spoke so softly, looking so beautiful even in the absolute middle of the night, "jus' couldn't sleep... you were out late, have fun tonight?"

"eh," aiku tried his best to appear nonchalant, trying to be truthful amid the chaos of his mind, "nothing special."

he hoped, he stupidly hoped that you'd say goodnight and go to sleep. instead, you further enquired, "jessica?"

and despite being a sharp man who could lie to god while looking in his eyes, aiku turned his back to you — scared he may fumble in front of you that he hadn't seen another woman for the past three years. he started softly, "nah..."

opening the door to his closet, he tried to think of another name — any name. oh, what was that thing sendou was talking about a few days ago? crystal chandeliers? crystal? cry—

"—stal, actually." the pro-player lied through his teeth. rummaging through his closet, he tried to distract you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

"yeah, right." and oliver aiku almost confessed all his sins just at that 'right'. but instead of further grilling him, you just said, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" peeling the familiar shirt off of his body, for a moment, the man believed that you knew what yesterday was. but how could you? you had never been more than what he had asked of you — you had never been more than a contract, a trophy wife.

eitherways, he asked — to confirm. "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

but your answer was swift. a straight, sweet blow: "no."

and despite the answer, oliver allowed himself to glance back just this once, "sure?"

"mhm. anyways, eat up if you feel hungry." you nodded, shifting to go to sleep, "I'm off to bed. goodnight."

oliver turned his face back to the closet door, mumbling out, "g'nite."

as the man closed the door to the shower, he clenched his fist and unclenched it. what was he even so frustrated about? he had set the rules with you, didn't he? and you weren't breaking any of them.

you were the most perfect trophy wife, after all, weren't you?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my wife's dad sucks.

oliver aiku was sure he could rip his hair out right now.

aiku: listen, she has nothing to do with it. aiku: i said i don't feel like taking her to the charity ball. dad 2: Why not? Did she say she doesn't wanna go? aiku: for the last time, i said i don't wanna take her. dad 2: Did she do something to trouble you Mr. Oliver?

jesus fucking christ. oliver aiku could really rip his hair out right now.

as dense as he'd like to believe he was as behaving like an actual husband, aiku could still see that you truly did not want to go to that stupid charity ball. the entire ride to the fitting, you had been sitting far too still in your seat — asking him questions like, "is it important for me to go?"

you never asked for anything from him.

each game, you showed up. each event, you dressed to the nines and put on that painfully pretty yet fake smile. each day, you put up with him. and however bad of a husband aiku may be, he didn't want to discomfort his own wife for the sake of some stupid rule, or the sake of that old man who happened to be your dad.

you distant voice kissed his ears, "'m not sure if this shade of green is my colour."

your statement was followed by some candied prattle by the saleswoman, but aiku was too busy re-reading your father's heinous texts to actually look up and check for himself.

dad 2: If she has inconvenienced you in any such way, please let me know.

"—aiku?" and the soft sigh of his name past your heavenly lips, oliver's gaze immediately shot up. you met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, "does this look okay?"

'okay'? you were beautiful beyond words.

hair hastily tied up, makeup not yet glam enough, dress not fitted to your measurements, only held up by clips — and yet, aiku almost lost his breath when looking at you.

thumb still hovering over the virtual keyboard, he took in your figure once, twice and nodded — all but dazed, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

he was about to say something more when another stupid ping! brought his attention back to his phone.

dad 2: Or you can reprimand her yourself, if you'd like. We have no objections to it.

'reprimand'?? what the actual fuck did that old geezer mean by that?

aiku felt his fingers gliding furiously across the keyboard, words nothing if not laced with the absolute venom in his system — because nobody talked about his wife like that.

aiku: listen here. aiku: i don't need your input on how to treat my own fucking wife. so, if i hear one more word out of you, just know that i will make you regret it. aiku: that's all. take care, dad.

aiku shut his phone, tearing his gaze away from the screen to where you were standing only to find you already gone.

he was late, like always.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: scatterbrained on the field.

oliver aiku knew nothing more than the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the blood that roared in his eardrum, the thoughts that bolted through his brain, the overhead lightings that blinded him when he jumped up to defend the incoming attack — oliver aiku knew nothing more than the ball and the field in front of him.

atleast that's what he had always felt when he played. keyword: had.

but lately, his brain was scattered — thoughts a jumbled incoherent tune that only sung to rhythms of your name. every time he closed his eyes, every strained breath, every involuntary flex of his muscles — you were there. you were there in the very fiber of his being.

so, ofcourse, when he defended yet another goal and the ball was expertly deflected off-field, he didn't care about the cheers of his name, didn't care about the teammates that whooped and ran to their spots, didn't care about anyone or anything that wasn't you.

lifting his gaze straight at the VIP box, his eyes frantically searched for you. and there you were — wearing the jersey that he had brought for you, smiling so wide as you clapped and aiku swore for a second, he froze.

no, ofcourse, his body kept moving — muscled thighs sprinting across the field like it was second-nature and eyes scanning for constant threats, oliver aiku was still in the game physically. but mentally? my god, weren't you the prettiest thing he had laid his eyes on?

stealing scarce glances away from the soccer ball, the man found you talking to a familiar redhead. you laughed at something she said, and oliver felt a feverish pang run it's course through his chest. did you ever smile at him like that? or at all, for that matter? did he—

"—AIKU. WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING FOCUS?" his teammate yelled, and the ex-captain's gaze tore back into the field instantly. his teammate ran across the field, chasing the opposing team as they brought the ball into oliver's side of the court, "AIKU, DEFEND. FOCUS."

focus..? focus?? what was that?

because even as the man shielded the defense line with his hulking body and fast-paced thoughts, he couldn't help but steal a glance at your still-conversing self.

what was a fucking match when compared to his wife, anyways?

30th of june, 2.23 a.m. incident: AITA for kissing my wife on my birthday?

oliver aiku was about to lie through his fucking teeth, and it was about to be as pathetic as he could get. but fuck it, how many more years of heartache should he have to endure without giving it a shot?

"a-aiku..?" your voice was so soft, that aiku couldn't help but walk onwards, backing you into the room even despite his clenched fist and trembling calves.

a soft thump! indicated the back of your legs hitting the bed — or wait, was that the sound of his heart dropping into his stomach..?

another soft hiss past your lips, "hey..?"

"need you."

frankly, aiku himself didn't know what the fuck he was on about. thank god, you cut him off.

"—aiku, listen." your eyes were frenzied, and aiku swore he saw your gulping harshly in the darkness, "you're drunk."

he was not... but he was pretending.

oliver aiku had come up with the most perfect plan. he would pretend to be drunk on his birthday and kiss you. if you slapped him, or threatened to divorce him, he could always blame the alcohol.

"no." he purposefully slurred, using his hazed state to bring up a careful thumb to your bottom lip. under his soft swipe, your lips wobbled and aiku felt his knees almost give up whole. keeping up the act, he pathetically worded, "'m not."

"you are." you pushed his hand away and aiku found himself yearning for your touch — even if was to push him away. you repeated, "you're drunk."

you sounded so scared, and aiku almost forgot his well-rehearsed script. as he stared at you, he started considering that perhaps this wasn't the smartest of ideas. but well, he didn't come this far to only come this far, so, instead he brought up the hand to your cheeks daringly.

you didn't slap his hand away, or flinch. so, he softly planted his calloused hand against your soft cheek and bet his sanity on a losing match, "so what?"

okay... maybe he did come this far only to come this far.

"you'd—" your words fell down in sordid syllables, and he took the soft parting of your lips as an invitation to bend forward. your eyes widened at his action but fuck it. here goes nothing. yolo or whatever. "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

and he truly meant it. if kissing you once meant he would have to give up his sanity — oliver aiku was ready to trade. he was ready to go ahead and trade everything unholy and sinful he was for you. he was ready.

drawing closer, your warm breath fanned against his face and the man couldn't hold back physically. bringing up another hand to your waist, kneading the skin under the luxurious silk dress you had wore for his party, the man delved in to devour you.

his lips against yours in a lewd dance, and oliver almost fucking gasped from how sweet you were. despite dreaming on and on about this exact scene, he could have never assumed how fucking sweet you'd be. how he'd be able to taste the flavour of your gloss, how he'd be able to sync up his ragged breathing to yours, and how instead of pushing him or kicking him in the family jewels — you'd kiss back.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 03: through their eyes.

wrapping your shaking hands around oliver's neck, you found yourself pressing your body against his muscled ones. tongue against his, eyes clenched shut at the taste of whiskey in your mouth and his large palm on your skin.

the man pressed against you harder, his body heat almost setting you ablaze — and you let him, pressing against him with just as much fervour.

"a-aiku..." your serrated words got lodged in the back of your throat as the man kissed down your jaw— his actions so primal, unrelenting. you gasped at the soft nip of his teeth against the column of your throat — the action so dangerously intimate. straining, you repeated his name, "aiku...?"

"keep sayin' my name." his heterochrome eyes flicked up to yours, and the man lost all cognitive senses to come back and kiss you on the lips again. his actions were rough — depraved. and even when his lungs ached for oxygen, he used up the last in his body to utter out, "say my name."

"mmph— aiku..!" your kiss-bitten lips against his, the strings of saliva between you two. you repeated, chanting the word like a mantra, "aiku, aiku, a-aiku—"

"—fuck." his broad palm pulled up your dress, bunching up the fabric at your waist to expose your naked thigh.

what was happening? all you could feel and touch and know happened to be oliver aiku.

were you actually kissing him? was he actually kissing you? or was this another stupid plan of his... were there paps to catch this and post about it tomorrow?

at the absurd thought, you pushed him away.

the man looked far-gone. his pupils blown wide, cherry-red lips swollen, and spit drabbling down his jaw — in fact, oliver looked at you as if you had committed blasphemy. his words wobbled, "w-what?"

"why are you kissing me?" and you're sure you meant it genuinely, but the words came out so horrified. wiping your lips frantically, your unsteady gaze scanned the room, "why...? i-is there someone in the room?"

"huh?!" oliver's jaw slacked open at your question. were you drunk? he spluttered, "what..?"

"why are y-you... kissing me, aiku?" you asked, words tattered and confidence lost, "have you lost your mind?"

"i—" he stepped back, horrified he may have done something wrong. his tongue felt thick in his mouth, voice uneven, "di-should i not have kissed you?"

"the rules." your eyes widened, "we... you're not supposed to kiss me."

"but i just did."

"that's what i'm asking," your voice shot up a note, gaze growing hazy at the implications of him toying with your heart yet again, "why did you?"

"we are married." and you swore, you heard the tiniest twinge of disappointment woven into his fact-like statement.

"we are pretending to be married." you bit back, eyes clenching shut at his flimsy excuse.

"s-still married."

"still pretending." your eyes shot opened, the whites now tinted red, you spit, "i'm just your trophy wife, right?"

and at the phrase, aiku sifted his palms through his already tousled hair. eyes frantic, words maddened, "what... what if i don't want that anymore? what if i-i... want you."

what? how drunk was he?

"i want you." he repeated, and you couldn't decide whether the phrase was a curse or a blessing. he stepped closer, if that was even physically possible — hysterical, "i want you."

he wanted... you?

the same man that had ignored you for the past three year wanted you?

a/n: my fucking god, I LOVEEEE pathetic men hahaha. no smut in this one guys cause i was too consumed writing the mutual pining. tagging: @heartbingers @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @adollsdarkdiary [just tagging the people on my last oliver post.]

-

“That’s our sister,” Tsumu comments on the high-pitched wailing coming from the kitchen. “Just ignore her.”

“She’s not that bad.” Samu tries. “Just don’t look at her too long.”

The wailing stops abruptly, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone snuffling loudly.

“Samu? Tsumu? Are you home?”

Red-rimmed eyes peer into the hallway, silver braces glinting in the dim light. Your hair’s a mess that might have been pigtails sometime before. 

“You look like a gremlin.” Suna points out. He half expects you to cry again. Instead, you kick him in the balls.

-

“Uh, sure.” He manages to pull himself out of the memory, the pain still fresh in his mind even if it’s been years. “She could just ask herself, she’s got my number.”

“Ah,” Osamu chuckles half-heartedly. “I didn’t like her last boyfriend. She’s still mad about that.”

“Boyfriend?” He hears himself ask, mind going a little frayed trying to picture you with a boyfriend. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know him, but he was Nekoma’s Captain when we went to Nationals? Black hair that made him look like a Rooster?”

A chill runs down his back. “You let your sister date Kuroo Tetsuro?”

“Hey now, it’s not like I got anything to say in that matter. You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I do-” He mumbles, mind already drifting back.

-

“Why would I do that?” Gremlin asks, nose pointed to the sky. The braces look almost cute on you when you smile like that, a little arrogant and so very pleased with yourself. The new set of pimples across your nose ruins the look a little bit, but there are more important things to think about.

“Come on.” Tsumu whines. “It would be so funny! You just have to ask him out on a date.”

“Nah.” You blow a bubble with your chewing gum, clearly feeling very important. It’s rare that your brothers ask you for help and you like to lord your power over them. 

“If you do it, I’ll ask Kita-san to let you train with us for one day.”

Your eyes light up at the prospect, even as both Samu and Tsumu groan in annoyance. The girl's Volleyball Club isn’t to be messed with, but you’re as competitive as your brothers. There’s a long-standing battle of who’s best and you’ve gotten better since you got into High School, yearning to show off.

He can’t quite understand why, but he respects it. You’re one of the youngest in your Class, born on the last possible day to make it into one school year below your brothers. Maybe it’s because you’re born prematurely. Tsumu calls it your obsessive need to be part of absolutely everything, Suna thinks you’re obsessed with proving yourself. 

“Fine.” You huff. “So I ask the Basketball Captain on a date and then I just stand him up?”

“Yeah!” Tsumu nods eagerly, Samu a little preoccupied with his Bento. “I’ll even toss to you during training if he accepts.”

Midorima-san does not accept your confession. But Suna gets to be there, phone ready, when you kick him in the balls. Midorima-san screams like a little girl.

-

“Anyways.” Samu pulls him out of his reverie again. “I’ll text Kita to let her know you’ll pick her up from the train station.”

“Hold up.” Suna puts his phone between his ear and shoulder, trying his darned best to save both his dinner and his last remaining brain cells. “Why do I have to pick her up and why can’t you just tell her yourself?”

“Dude, keep up. Mom would kill you if she knew the Gremlin had to take an Uber in a foreign city when you’re perfectly capable of picking her up. Who raised you?”

“True.” He huffs, wrinkles his nose at the perfectly burned rice on his plate. Oh well, Take-out it is. “And Kita?”

“I told you she’s still mad about that Kuroo thing. She could never say no to Kita.”

“True,” he repeats, an acid taste on his tongue. He used to hate that, how Mr. Perfect could make even you swoon, the Gremlin, the monster every boy at school secretly feared. 

“So, what did you do? That made her so mad?”

“Ask Tsumu about it, I have to work.” The call disconnects with a dissatisfying click and Suna grunts, orders Pizza, and calls Tsumu. He’s invested now.

-

Five days later he’s as well informed as he can be.

You’re arriving at exactly 5:24 p.m. and you broke up with Kuroo over both his workaholic tendencies and a job offer too good to decline.

Samu and Tsumu decided to throw a party at the news which didn’t go over well with you, even though you did decide to get drunk with them - Tsumu woke up with half his eyebrows shaved off and Samu still misses a box of his favorite cookies that he swears you took.

You like Tamagoyaki for breakfast and you’re here to decide between three different offers for three different teams, all Division 1 of Japan’s V.League. You’re a Libero now and a pretty good one too.

-

“Why are you crying?” He asks, offering you a Chuupet. You like the pineapple flavor best and that works out okay because it’s his least favorite flavor. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and stare down the roof. He can hear Tsumu somewhere below them, yelling some curse words into the wind. He’s probably fighting with Samu right now.

“Did you get asked out by someone ugly?” He asks, taking a seat opposite to you. “Do I have to beat someone up?” 

“Kita-san is leaving after this year.” You point out. It’s a fact and you don’t sound too upset about it, yet it feels like you’ve dropped red-hot coals into his stomach, the acid bubbling from the heat.

“Uhuh.” 

You pull your knees up and he averts his eyes, lest someone accuses him of looking up your skirt. It’s not his fault you never seem to remember that you’re not wearing shorts.

“Kita-san told me that Tsumu’s going to be Captain next year.” You mumble into your arms. “And he asked me what my plans are.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think?” Your voice is sharp now, the usual sting of your words a welcome sensation. This is the you he knows well, unbothered if your truth makes others uncomfortable.

He leans back as far as he can, lets his eyes rest on your shoulder, the smooth curve of your neck. You’ve grown a few inches since you came here and it suits you well. 

“You want to be better than Tsumu.”

You snort, hit his thigh with your fist. The touch lingers even when you take your hand back.

“Kita-san said I can never be better than Tsumu.”

Suna’s never moved this fast before. His head almost knocks into yours.

“He didn’t!” His voice is almost shrill, his chest tight with a weird sensation. You seem calm, brows arched.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” You tell him, too calm. You’re the most dangerous when you’re calm. “I’ll never be an Original. Tsumu will keep playing, Samu won’t. If I keep playing, I’ll be just like Tsumu. If I decide to do something else, no matter what, I’ll be just like Samu. It just sucks so much!”

“Be a Libero then.” It’s a slip of his tongue, nothing more. But your eyes are big and bright and he wants to forget the way you looked before, desperate and desolate, so he keeps talking.

“You’re tall for a Libero. You’re average for a Setter. You’ll always be at the back of the Court and always wear a different shirt. Tsumu’s receiving sucks anyway. You’ll never be Captain, so you’ll never have to argue with him who’s been better at that. You can keep playing Volleyball and do your own twist of it.” He shrugs. “Just… Just an idea. I mean, you can do what you want. It’ll always be original. You’re the Gremlin after all.”

He forgets how to breathe when you pull him into a sudden hug. You’ve never been one for cuddling, never been into touch that doesn’t lend itself to violence.

But it’s nice, how you fit right in his arms, like you’d grown just for that purpose.

-

“Suna!” It seems that he might have been able to forget quite some things, but not your voice.

“I’m here!” He lazily raises his arm, counting on his height. There are too many people on the platform right now, the bustle making it hard to spot you.

But then you step out from behind a gaggle of businessmen and his mouth runs dry.

It should be illegal to wear shorts this… well, short. Your legs are way too long to be real. You could probably break a watermelon between your thighs. Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Hey Stranger!” You greet him with a grin. Where you used to have braces is now a perfectly white set of teeth in a perfectly formed mouth. Oh, wait, no, there’s the dimple and the slight curve to the right. He feels a little faint and curses the fact he’s not had dinner yet.

“Hey.” Should he move to hug you? Offer his hand? Slap you on the back?

You take that decision from him, knock your left knee into his right like you used to do back in High School. “What’s up with you? Did you forget how to talk?”

“No, I’m fine. Just tired. How was the train ride?”

“Long. Boring. Are you hungry? Can we go eat before we drop off my stuff or do you have a ‘No girl stuff in my car’-rule like Tsumu?”

“Tsumu’s still single then?” He asks, directing you toward the exit. “Both’s fine with me. We can order take-out. What are you in the mood for?”

“You eat take-out? How shameful.” You wrinkle your nose at him in mock disgust. Would it be weird if he leaned in and bit into it, dug his teeth into your skin? Probably.

“You gonna rat me out to Samu?”

“Probably.”

“I’m letting you stay in my apartment.”

“I said probably. My Silence is expensive.”

“Hey, Suna!” A familiar voice yells over the crowd. He turns, surprised to see Komori.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nohr got a craving for that one Pork Belly Dish, so I drove over to get it for her. Is that your friend you mentioned? Hey, I’m Komori Motoya.” 

There’s that familiar tightness again, building up in his chest as he watches you chat with Komori. It’s Highschool all over again, how you swooned over Kita, had private discussions with Aran or the fact that you regularly went over to Ginjima’s place for some kind of secret meetings. 

It’s not that he dislikes you having friends. Or that he hates the fact that his friends like you too. But he’s him and that’s Komori, the nicest guy that ever decided to play Volleyball. Well, at least Komori’s not single.

“Oh, hi Suna.”

“What are you doing here?” 

Washio furrows his brows at his less than friendly tone.

“Wow, I know I messed up a little today, but are you really still mad about my Block?”

Your eyes are on him too now and he swallows the bile down yet again.

“Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“When are you not?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. It still stings, but less so when you knock your knee against his again. “You’re both on his team then?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Miserable is our Middle Blocker. I’m the other Middle Blocker and Komori is our Libero.”

“Oh, a fellow Libero.” You grin easily. “I’m here to check out a few teams in the area. We could get together some day, maybe? When the Grump’s not so obviously hangry?”

Washio laughs. “Sure. Sunday works well for me. What do you think Komori?”

“I’ll talk to Nohr and let you know, but I think I’d be fine with Sunday.”

“Don’t I get asked too?” Suna grumbles and you elbow him. “Pork Belly?” You ask him instead, nodding at the take-out containers both Washio and Komori carry.

“Sure.” He agrees, because at least that will get him out of this conversation.

-

It’s almost time to go home and he’s still in possession of his second button.

Suna refuses to give it up and both Samu and Tsumu seem to think it’s hilarious.

“Hey.” In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, you weedle yourself under Tsumu’s left arm, press yourself into him as you peer up at Suna. “What are you guys doing after School?”

“Mom’s making Hot Pot!” Samu decares from your other side, finishing off the rest of the Yakisoba bread you had brought in as a present. You got all of them graduation presents. A book for Ginjima, new shoes for Tsumu - though you declared that you wanted his old ones - a mixed bag of Chuupets for Suna. All of the pineapple flavors have been taken out and while he should find it annoying, it’s a little too endearing to him.

“You’re invited, by the way.” Samu points out. “But Mom said it’s okay if you can’t come. Your parents probably planned something for you too.”

“Not sure.” He mumbles, fiddling with his second button. 

“Oh, we’re going soon, right?” Samu flings the wrapping paper of his bread into the waste basket at the door and pulls at Tsumu’s arm. “Come on, you still need to confess to that girl from the Crafts Club.”

“What?” Tsumu looks at him like he just declared he’d start playing Basketball from now on. “Yeah, come on.” Samu tugs again. “We’ll get back to you later.”

 And just like that, it’s the two of you, the air around you growing dense with unsaid things. 

“You still have your second button?” You ask, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” With one last tug, the string gives away and he holds it in his hands. The button’s not even that big, he thinks as he rolls it between sweaty fingers. Just a tiny thing made from plastic that holds so much meaning.

“Were you planning to give it to someone?” Your voice sounds weird. He can hear his pulse in his ears, way too loud and way too fast. He’s going back to Aichi in a few weeks, doesn’t know much about his future but the fact that he’s got into College there, will have to get into their College Volleyball team if he wants to make it Pro. And even then, nothing’s sure. Not if he’ll make it Pro, not if his team will win the important matches. He could be doomed to be average for the rest of his life, living from the memories he made right here, in those last three years.

When he looks up, you look different than before. 

You’ve got the Miya Gene of Stubbornness, and are the worst of all three when it comes to not letting go of your dreams. You’ve managed to turn around and beat everyone’s expectations in the last year alone, making it from an average setter to an extraordinary Libero. You almost won the Nationals last year and there’s word of it being a sure win the next time around.

It’s not a conscious decision, but it feels right. To open his mouth and say “No. I’m not giving it to anybody.” To fling that damned button out the window. 

Still. He’ll probably never forget the way your mouth curved at the sight, like you were trying to hold something inside that was trying to burst out of you. 

He misses your graduation because of a stubborn cold. He watches most of your matches until he gets so busy with training and College and just, life, that he falls off, little by little. 

Soon enough you’re nothing but a memory and he’s probably less in your head.

After all, you’re dating Kuroo Tetsuro and making a name for yourself, aren’t you?

-

His heart is a traitorous thing, it seems, but at least it calms down over Pork Belly. You’re eating on the Couch you’re going to sleep on later, your legs familiarly thrown over his. Keeping Up with the Kardashians plays on TV, but it’s basically background noise now as you talk, laugh, and wave your chopsticks around.

It’s like old times, hanging out at your house after school. Any second now, Samu’s going to come in from the kitchen with his second helping. He can almost hear Tsumu’s nagging voice in the background, telling you “Shut up! I didn’t sound like that.”

“Hey, Gremlin.” Your head snaps around at the nickname and his mouth runs dry.

“What?”

“‘s nothing.” You mumble into your dish. “Just not used to getting called that way again.”

“Oh.” He’s suddenly not hungry anymore but stuffs his mouth nonetheless to think of a comment.

“You want me to stop? It was a stupid nickname, really.”

“Nah.” You shake your head and dig your heels into his thighs. “It’s okay. I am a Gremlin.”

“You totally are. Like, you didn’t even bring me a present. Didn’t your Mum teach you about housewarming gifts?”

“I totally brought you a gift!” You jump up and pull something from your suitcase. He recognizes it by sound alone, the crinkling plastic wrap a tell-tale sign.

“You bought me Chuupets?” He laughs, his heart tightening when he realizes that you pulled all the pineapple flavors out. 

“Samu said you’re still eating them.” You point out, handing them over in a way that tells you this is just as awkward for you as it is for him.

“Course. What do you think of me? I don’t change like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“Okay.” He claps his hands on his thighs and sits up, grabs his phone from his pocket, and connects it with his TV. “History lesson. I’ll catch you up on what happened in the years since I graduated.”

“Oh wow, are you going to let me write a test on that too?”

“Only if you keep asking stupid questions.”

-

His alarm goes off way too early for the late night he’s had. 

You just kept swapping stories, drunk on nostalgia. 

The girlfriend he had in College, the most awkward affair of his life to date. “She was obsessed with my hair.” He spilled what he hadn’t even told Samu, “Cut off a few strands of it and kept it in her purse for personal reasons.”

How you got to play for the Tokyo Tigers and your awful first date ever with a guy who thought he could get free Onigiri through you. 

“Kicked him in the balls for that.” You said, grinning smugly. He couldn’t help the “That’s my girl,” that slipped out of his mouth. But you smiled like you agreed.

“Morning Gremlin.” He calls out as he moves toward the bathroom. Your head pops up, dried spit sticking to the side of your face, hair sticking out in odd angles.

“Bathroom’s mine.” You declare with something like a war cry. He’s got a headstart, but you still beat him there, your body trained by years of living with the twins. 

“What the f-” You kick him in the shins and slam the door in his face when he goes down. Long-forgotten memories of sleepovers resurface. What does it say about him that he’s still grinning when you step back out?

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, your hair less messy, your face void of spit. He focuses on your eyes because your sleep shirt is a little too revealing for this early hour.

“Nah, it’s good. I like being heckled right after getting out of bed.”

You snort. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten way better! I bet I’m better at cooking than you.”

“I’ll let you try.” The Challenge lights a familiar fire in your eyes. He’s going to have to come up with excuses to eat out if he doesn’t want to turn into a sore loser.

-

“Morning loverboy,” Komori greets him at training.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suna’s probably never been this diligent with his stretches before, but it’s a welcome distraction now.

“Nohr said she could do Sunday, by the way.” Komori’s not letting the topic go, however, and Suna can’t even blame his stubbornness. He’s grown up with Sakusa, after all. 

“Great.” If negative excitement is a thing, he’s projecting it right now.

Training goes smoothly, however, which he’s thankful for. 

It’s hard enough to deal with Komori’s excitement - he’s been trying to set up Suna since before he met Nohr, his enthusiasm only intensified by his own personal happiness - and Washio’s weird sense of humor on any day, but he doesn’t dare imagine what it would be like if he sucked. They’d probably tell him that he’s lovesick or something equally stupid.

“So, your girlfriend-” Washio starts when they gather for a quick break.

Suna barely avoids choking on the sip of water he’d just taken, can’t even be happy about narrowly avoiding death when a smug smile appears on Komori’s face.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” He points out hastily. “Remember the Miya-Twins? She’s their little sister.”

“Ouch.” Komori pulls a face. “That must have been a rough childhood.”

“So you’re not with her because they’d kill you if you’d try?” Washio asks and Suna’s glad his mouth is empty this time. 

“No, I’m not with her because I’m not with her. We’re just friends. She’s the Gremlin, okay?”

“The Gremlin?” Washio’s brows furrow in the same way they do when he thinks about Bokuto. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suna points at his shin, the darkening spot on his skin.

“She kicked me in the shins today because she wanted to use the bathroom first.”

“She’s a guest. Of course she should get to use the bathroom first.” Washio points out. Suna grunts in annoyance and turns to Komori.

“Don’t ask me for help there, I always let Nohr take the bathroom in the morning.”

“Yeah, because you’re whipped.”

“And you’re not?” Washio’s eyebrows are now doing the “Coach is saying something but I sense he means something else”-Dance.

“Weren’t you listening? She’s the Gremlin. There’s nothing there between us!”

“Good.” Washio puts his watter bottle down with a nod. There’s something there, maybe in the sound of plastic hitting the floor, or maybe it’s in his voice, but the knot in Suna’s stomach pulls taught to the point he’s afraid he might vomit any second. “That means I can ask her out.”

-

Suna’s good at what he does, because he’s not only observant but has a Poker Face to match it. He’s a strategist, plays the long game, all of those things.

So the fact that he did not see that coming from a mile away should scare him way more than the prospect of you dating Washio. 

Oh god, what if you date Washio and it works out? And you move here? And he has to see you every time they do teambuilding stuff like movie nights or Karaoke sessions? 

His mind races with a speed formerly unknown. His face is completely blank, at least he’s still got that going for him, but his mind is tormenting him with a terrible picture of you and Washio at the altar.

“I mean, you can ask her out, but I can’t tell you if you’ll have a shot with her or not. Remember Kuroo? They broke up recently.”

Washio nods slowly. He doesn’t know that “recently” is a very vague description. He’s not so sure about the timeframe himself, but it sounded like a few months have passed since that incident. Not that Washio has to know that.

“Can you give me her number?”

“Only if I want to get neutered in my sleep. But I’ll tell her you asked for it and offer her yours.”

Washio nods even slower and Komori’s face looks like he’s doing his best to hold back diarrhea. 

“Well, do that, and if she’s not into it, I can still ask her properly on Sunday. She’s staying till Wednesday, right?”

“Right.”

“All right Boys, get back into position.” Coach yells from behind them. Suna’s never been more glad to get back to training.

-

Suna spends Friday and Saturday evening sightseeing with you, which is in itself an exaggeration. He’s never been one for sightseeing like the typical tourist.

“Okay, stop. And don’t smile, this background is serious.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t look around - you’ve learned from your previous mistakes. When he flips his phone around, you can see yourself leaning against the railing of a footbridge, behind you the central landfill.

“The Gremlin in its natural habitat.” He teases. You punch his shoulder as hard as you can.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oh, come on,” He slings his arm around your shoulder. “You get to take one of me next. How about the mural with the poop emoji? Will that suffice?”

You lean your head back to look up at him and your face is so close now that your breath washes over his face. Your lips open and close as you speak, but there’s an odd noise in his ears. 

Pain erupts from his cheeks as you pinch and twist them.

“Ouch, what the f-”

“You were zoning out completely. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Oh, good call.” Suna turns away to regain his composure. “Take-out or do you want to actually sit and dine.”

“Or we could cook?”

He pulls a face. “Do we have to?”

You laugh. “I could teach you a few things. Mom wouldn’t let me leave for college without knowing how to feed myself. And Samu asks me to help him every chance he gets. Cheap labor, you know.”

“So you’re saying that your cooking is better than Takoyaki from a street vendor?” He points at the sign he’d noticed a few seconds ago. Your confidence falters. So it is still your favorite food…

“What if, and hear me out, we get Takoyaki, enjoy your weird little poop emoji mural, and drop into a Konbini on the way back. By the time we’re home, you’re going to be hungry again anyway.”

“I’m not Samu, I don’t eat that much.”

“No? Well, I do. And I’m your guest, so what I say goes.”

Suna laughs along, ignores the tingling that erupts whenever you knock your shoulder into his as you walk. It’s nice, to be like this with you. Relaxed, at ease, no dangerous thoughts rolling around in his brain.

-

It’s only when you’re pushing the shopping cart down the aisle that things change.

Your phone rings and you pull it out, frown at the display.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Can you pick up some more rice and vegetables? I only need five minutes.”

“Sure.” Suna keeps his face neutral as ever, but he’s seen the caller ID. It’s Kuroo.

“Hey Tetsurou, what’s up?” He can hear your voice as you walk away from him. You sound too friendly for a chat with your ex-boyfriend. He desperately wants to hear more, but he’s not a creep, so he pushes the shopping cart away from you, down another aisle. 

By the time his mind clears a little, he’s far far away from the produce aisle and staring at an assortment of Shochu. He picks up two bottles at random and drops them in the cart before making his way back to where he was supposed to be going.

-

Suna’s not sure what wakes him. 

He knows it’s a Sunday because his body, conditioned by years of training, tells him to stay in bed. His head feels a little fuzzy, telling him he drank too much last night, but it’s Sunday, so that doesn’t really matter anyway.

His blanket must have slid off during the night, so he pats around, eyes closed. What he finds instead is a face and his eyes snap open to dawny morning light and your annoyed grumbling.

His heart, usually a rather chill fellow, thrums in his throat. He’s frozen in place, his hand still somewhat cradling your cheek. His mind unhelpfully supplies him with the information that your cheeks are warm and soft, fit perfectly into the palm of his hand.

He tries his best to block out this information in favor of checking if he’s still wearing clothes.

He couldn’t… he wouldn’t… You blink and he goes completely still.

“Suna?” You ask. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

“I…” He manages before his voice gives out. 

This is both his biggest nightmare and his sweetest dream. If only he could convince himself that it’s not real, he could slip back into his dreams and consider it private. 

Something on his face must have tipped you off. This is worrying, because since when can others read his face?

You pull his hand from your face and slip out from under the covers. You’re wearing boxer shorts and a tank top, reasonably dressed for what he feared might have happened.

“You have not changed at all.” You say, your voice way too calm to be harmless. He’s not sure what he’s done, but he’s going to regret it.

“What do you mean?”

You stop at the door and level him with a look he’s only ever seen directed at people you never want to come across, ever again. This isn’t going well for him.

“You’re the king of mixed signals, Suna. And I’m sick of it. Make up your mind.”

“Where are you going?” He follows you, a little less balanced than you.

“Out.” You pull clothes over your sleepwear, drag your hair into something resembling a messy bun. “I need some fresh air.”

“Look, whatever happened-”

“I know.” Your voice is as hard as steel now. “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.” 

The door clicks shut behind you with a sound of finality.

-

You're still not back when Suna drags himself out of bed hours later.

His head hurts and his mouth is dry in a way that even three glasses of water cannot seem to fix. He calls you over the first cup of coffee, but you don’t pick up. 

Five unanswered calls and plenty of messages later he’s ready to call the police. Sure, you’re one to hold a grudge, but accidents happen.

The thought of you hurt on the side of the road, will not leave his mind. His hands shake as he moves through his contacts, his first instinct as always to call Kita. 

He doesn’t get that far, however. 

“Why are you calling?” He asks, his voice doing some weird thing he’s not exactly proud of.

“Your friend.” Washio’s voice is serious in a way he hasn’t heard before. “She’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a door closing. Suna can’t help but picture it. You’re probably on Washio’s Couch right now, the massive green beast he helped carry up the stairs a year ago. He’s probably made you a decent Lunch or a cup of coffee that does not burn away your stomach lining. You’ve probably told him everything already. Whatever. It’s not like he can fall any deeper in Washio’s eyes.

“Suna?” That’s Komori’s voice. It sounds like he’s on speaker phone now.

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather do this in person, but you’re both stubborn as hell. Everyone can tell that you like her.”

“I don’t-”

“Lying about has got you into this mess, you could be honest for once.” Komori’s voice stays the same, friendly and light as ever, even as his words pack a punch.

“It doesn’t matter.” Suna presses out. “I’m not good enough.”

He didn’t mean to say those last few words. It seems as if the truth is like a Chuupet, slippery in his hold - but a lot less sweet.

“I think she’d disagree.” Washio grumbles along with his deep voice. “Apparently you’re totally her type. Snarky assholes who don’t know when to stop teasing and stuff like that. Trust me, she’s not stopped talking about it since we picked her up.”

“How- How did that work out anyway?”

“Sakusa’s on Atsumu’s team, remember?” Komori explains. “I think she just needed someone to vent who’s not her brothers. Someone who knows the current you. Nohr is currently with her and they’re talking to someone called Kita on the phone.”

Suna flinches. It would have been less painful for him if you’d called the twins.

“I’m not sure if you know.” Komori starts again after a few seconds of silence. “But she doesn’t have an offer here. I’m not… I’m not telling you more about that, but I think you guys should talk. And be honest for once. You’re both grown ups, for goodness sake.”

“Sure.” He huffs. “Like she’s going to listen to me now.”

“Get over here.” Washio declares. “I’ll send her down as soon as you’re here. It’s on you to get her to listen, though.”

-

“Never have I ever served a ball into someone’s head.” Suna declares confidently. 

“It was on purpose.” You point out as you down your Shochu. 

“Tsumu?” He asks. You grin smugly. 

“A Lady doesn’t tell.”

“You’ve never been a Lady.”

“I totally am!”

“You totally are not! You’re the Gremlin.”

“Well, at least I’m one of a kind.”

“That you are.” The words weren’t meant to come out this soft. But your eyes seem to mirror his sound, now pools of warm liquid that seem to pull him in.

…

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in my school.” You drink right after you say it, but he’s too far gone to complain about you breaking the rules as he downs his own shot.

“Who?” You ask, giggling. You’re swaying in your seat, barely able to hold yourself up. 

“You should get to bed.”

“Not without knowing who you’ve had a crush on.”

“You should get to bed first.” He gets up, utterly convinced that the Shochu won’t have any effect on him until he can barely keep upright without the Couch cushions stabilizing him. He pulls you up all the same, dragging you across the room. “Come on.”

“I sleep on the Couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Who did you have a crush on?”

“Who did you have a crush on?” He asks back. “Kita, right?”

“Everyone had a crush on Kita.” You brush it off. “Whataboutyou?”

He pushes you onto the bed, giggles when you bounce off the mattress. It looks so soft and he lets himself fall too, lands a bit too close to you to be comfortable, his head knocking against your shoulder as he tries to wriggle away. He can’t look at you properly in this position.

“The teacher.” He declares with all sincerity he can muster while going cross eyed looking at you. You’re so close now, he can count your lashes. One, two, three…

-

Your eyes narrow the moment you spot him.

You turn back towards the still open door but Suna’s faster, grabs your arm to pull you back.

With everyone else, he’d feel bad about this, but you’ve kicked his ass enough times. You respond in kind, gift him a few more bruises on his shin and pull him down into a headlock. He’s not fighting it. At least you’re not pushing him away, right?

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your knuckles are no longer rubbing over his head, but rather brushing through his hair. Are you aware of that?

“I want to talk.”

You huff, let go of him. He grabs your hand before you can step away, drags you down the sidewalk by your hand. Your fingers intertwine as you fall into step with him.

“I’ve had a crush on you.” Suna points out when the park comes into view. “I don’t know when it happened, but I had a crush on you. In high school.”

“I know.” You point out, your grip on his hand neither tightening nor loosening. “Everyone knew.”

“Excuse me? I have the best poker face in the prefecture.”

“Oh please, you suck.”

“You suck!”

“Suna!”

“Rintarou.”

You stop, suddenly breathless as you gaze at him.

“What?” You ask, your voice raspy.

“You should call me Rintarou.”

“No.” You glare at him. “No, we’re not doing this. You can’t push me away and pull me in right after just to push me away again.”

“I know.” He looks down, surprised to see that you’ve still not pulled your hands apart.

“Tell me one thing.” He purses his lips, tries his best to make his words sound less pathetic than they are. “You could have had Kita. Or Ginjima. Even Midorima-san was kinda impressed with you. Washio has the hots for you too. Why would you even care about little old me?”

Softness washes over your face. You’ve never looked this good.

“I’m the Gremlin.” You tell him. You obviously are, in your layered slept-in clothes and your messy bun, your tendency to kick his ass even when he’s not asking for it. “You like me for what I am. I like you for what you are.”

And there’s a truth to that he hadn’t considered before.

You’ve been at his side for long enough, know how he acts after a loss or a win. You know he can’t cook for shit, have seen him block, have heard him snore.

A strange lightness takes hold of him. He feels like giggling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You nod. 

He leans in, heart beating in his throat again, but for different reasons this time. 

His lips brush yours, the softest of touches he’s never thought possible. 

When you respond it feels like coming home.

-

They’re almost too heavy for the swings, you’re on his lap on the tiny set.

“So, Kuroo?” He asks when everything else has been talked about, over and over and over again.

Your head’s a comforting weight on his shoulder. He could get used to this, being so close he only needs to lean down a little to kiss you.

“We’re still friends if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, but good to know.”

“Since when are you jealous?” You furrow your brows at him. He looks away.

“Rin.”

“Yes, love?”

“Since when are you jealous?”

“Since you fancied Kita, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you said you loved me, so jokes on you.”

You straighten up and glare at him.

“I told Kuroo that I wanted to try, one last time, to get with you. He was the one who got me interviews in this prefecture. So if you have a problem with him helping me-”

“I don’t have a problem with that, I just-”

“You think he’s better than you and wants me back eventually?”

“It sounds awful when you say it like that.”

You laugh. “You’ll have to work on that. It’s cute now, but your jealousy won’t be cute forever.”

You kiss the comeback from his lips. His stomach grumbles loudly.

“Lets get back to the others.” You pull him up from the swings. “It’s time for dinner anyway.”

“Do we have to? We could just go home and have fun instead.”

“Suna Rintarou. Your friends just helped you get over yourself and you want to repay them like that?”

“You’re only here until Wednesday and you want to spend time with my friends instead of with just me? Shame on you.”

“We can call in sick tomorrow? How does that sound?”

“Oh, you are a dangerous influence.”

-

Rintarou hollers loudly as the ball connects with your outstretched arms and soars through the air. Nohr claps exitedly next to him.

“That was a good one.” He calls out. “The Fans are going to love this.”

“How many followers do you have now?”

“About 500.000 and counting. Tsumu is still salty about it.”

“How many does he-” Nohr interrupts herself when Komori drops on the chair next to her and passes her a cup of soda. “Thanks, Baby.”

“Get a room.” Rintarou teases, already zooming in on you as you prepare for another receive. 

“I bet they’re going to win. Who dares to go against me?”

“I will. We have a strong Offense on the other side and the Game just started. Loser has to pay Dinner?”

“Deal.”

…

Your expression is thunderous when you exit the changing rooms.

“Hey Gremlin,” Rintarou calls out to you, watches as you part ways with your teammates and march over.

“You played good.” He points out and leans forward, softly bites your nose as a way of greeting.

“Not good enough.” You knock your head against his shoulder. “And it was the last game of the Season. This sucks so much.”

“I know, I know.” He rubs your back, pulls you closer even. “But it wasn’t your fault. Number seven messed up a lot of the blocks. You couldn’t do anything about that.”

“I know.” 

“You wanna go out with the Guys? Or go straight home and pack for tomorrow?”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you stew on the decision. There’s no formula on how to feel better after a loss, no other way to go over this than to listen to what your body and your mind tell you.

“Can we get drunk?” You ask finally. “At that bar that serves fried chicken? We don’t have to leave that early for Osaka, right?”

“No, we can get drunk. Do you wanna take some stupid selfies and send them to Tsumu?”

“Yeah.” You nod, press a kiss to his chin. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great. Also, we have to pay for Washio’s dinner.”

“No!” You whine. “You need to stop betting on me. Rin!”

He laughs. “You say that now like you’re not going to bet on me during my next game.”

“That’s different.” You point out and take his hand. “I only take bets that I’ll win.”

“Ah, what’s losing one bet or two if I’ve got you?”

“Sap.”

“Gremlin.”

“Yours.” You grin, smug about it.

“Mine.” He agrees.

Atsumu groans, his head tipping back against the wall of the locker room. “I was only having a little fun.”

“A little fun,” you reply, nodding along, “right, and that’s why Bokuto is off sulking in who knows where!”

“C’mon!” Atsumu protests, leaning forward, staring at you desperately, “I made a comment on the color of his shoes! How was I supposed to know that was gonna set him off?”

You can feel a headache begin to set in and you sigh, pointing towards the door of the locker room.

“Just go warm up, okay? I’ll try and find Bokuto.”

Atsumu nods, and has the grace to look at least a little apologetic as he pats your shoulder and leaves.

You follow him soon after, out of the locker room. Bokuto’s sulking most likely meant he wasn’t going to perform as well. You knew about his bouts of being discouraged, had seen it during the occasional game when something would set him off. People are milling about, and you quicken your pace, turning a corner to finally find Bokuto sitting on a bench.

“Bokuto!” you call out, the relief in your voice clear.

The outside hitter looks up at you, a pout on his face. 

“You ready for the game?” you ask, putting on a wide smile to try and make him feel better.

“Do you think they’re ugly?” 

“W- what?”

“My shoes,” he says, pointing at them, “do you think they’re ugly?”

You have half the mind to tell him that they’re just shoes and that he should grow up, but the look of utter despair on his face has you holding back. A quick glance down at his shoes and from what you can gather, they look relatively… normal. You were definitely going to kill Atsumu later.

“They look fine,” you say, pausing when you see his frown deepen. Your fingers tighten around the clipboard clutched against your chest and you put on a cheery smile, voice pitching up. “I meant they look totally great! And they really suit you!”

Bokuto makes no attempt to move, simply stares down at his shoes and traces one of the stripes absentmindedly. You’re at your wits end, growing antsy as you check your watch and realize there’s only 10 minutes before the game starts.

“I could get you some new-“

“You doing okay?”

A voice breaks in through from behind you and your head turns, brows furrowing when you see an unfamiliar man. The lanyard around his neck has a card attached to it, bold letters spelling out VIP . 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto sits up, his eyes lighting up for a moment, “do you like my shoes?”

You stare at the pair of men, bewildered. The man, Akaashi, pats Bokuto’s shoulder and lowers his voice to whisper some words to the pro-volleyball player. In what you think might be the quickest change of mood from Bokuto yet, the volleyball player stands up and gives a hearty laugh, his chest puffing out. 

You’re even more stunned when he pats your back happily and jogs off in the direction of the court.

“How did you do that?” you blurt out, eyes flitting towards the man who was now standing beside you.

“I used to play with Bokuto in highschool,” Akaashi replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Fukurodani. I was the team’s setter so I had to get used to Bokuto's little slumps.”

Huh. That did make more sense. You narrow your eyes, examining the man a little more. He’s handsome, sure, his glasses sitting on the slope of his nose as he shifts on the spot. Akaashi stares back down at you expectantly.

“Uh- well, thank you,” you say, holding your hand out and giving him a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get him onto the court at all today.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his hand shaking yours. 

You introduce yourselves and he follows you onto the stands, both of you overlooking the two teams as they line up on the court. Nervousness makes you restless, your teeth biting into your lower lip as you watch the players get into position. You really wanted the Jackals to win.

“Relax,” Akaashi murmurs, his head lowering to speak directly into your ear to help you hear better over the roar of the crowd.

Your eyes meet his and he stares back at you intently, his hand squeezing at your shoulder gently. You think some sort of magic might be laced into his words with the way your body loosens slightly, your tense shoulders dropping.

“Thank you,” you mumble, giving him a faint smile.

Akaashi smiles back and squeezes your shoulder one more time before his hand drops away. You nearly protest against it, wanting to feel the heat of his body near yours again, but you can’t because you’ve only just met the man and you aren’t that desperate.

The game goes perfectly well, thankfully, and you’re up on the tips of your toes cheering for the Jackals as they shake hands with the other team. Your previous nervousness has all  melted away, leaving only a feeling of pure giddiness. Akaashi claps with you, his reaction much more toned down compared to yours.

“You can come down with me,” you say breathlessly, flicking through a few pages on your clipboard to find the schedule for the post game press conference.

Akaashi nods, his eyes drifting over you for a moment. “Yeah, I’ll come. I need to congratulate Bokuto anyways.”

You beam up at him and against better judgment, hand him a copy of the schedule before giving him a wave and disappearing off to meet the team. Akaashi watches as you flutter away, skirt swaying, the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. 

- 

“No talk of shoes, okay?” you warn Atsumu as you had him a bottle of cold water. “We can’t have Bokuto breaking down on national television.”

“You worry too much,” Atsumu complains, pressing the bottle of water against his flushed cheek.

“My job is on the line!” you argue, giving the man a glare.

Atsumu only gives you a pout and you thank Meian when he comes to get his teammate, grateful for the captain’s unwavering leadership.

You slip into the conference room before long, making sure to give the Jackals an encouraging smile and a thumbs up before you sidle up to the wall, watching as the various reporters ready their questions.

A few bottles of water sit on a table beside you and you reach for one, twisting at the cap. The stupid plastic burns across your skin harshly, making a glare settle on your face as you narrow your eyes at the bottle of water. You try again but to no avail, the cap latching on stubbornly tight. A soft curse gets muttered under your breath before someone’s hand reaches out, grabbing the bottle of water from you.

You blink in surprise when you realize it’s Akaashi, his hand twisting at the cap effortlessly and breaking the seal. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“That’s the third time today,” he whispers back, his eyes glimmering with mirth, “should I keep sticking around for more of your thanks?”

A smile pulls at your lips and you glance up at him to find him smiling back. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” you mutter, elbowing him in the side lightly.

Akaashi hums in response, his warm hand grasping at your elbow to hold you in place. You freeze for a moment, surprise flitting across your face but then you lean into him slightly, avoiding his eyes as you press into his side. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with you, his eyes trained on the little notes you scribble on paper as the players speak.

To your relief, Atsumu manages to steer clear from the topic of shoes, answering the reporters’ questions thoroughly with a bit of humor thrown in, to lighten the atmosphere of the press conference. You find that you can’t really be all that mad at the man, he knew how to get the job done when it came to it.

The press conference comes to a close half an hour later and Akaashi trails after you as you usher the men back into the main foyer.

“Good job everyone,” you announce before flicking through a few pages of your clipboard. “The Chairman has been impressed with your performance this season, so he’s personally sent a congratulatory cake.” You stare pointedly at Atsumu and Bokuto. “Please make sure to not make a mess.”

The men are gone in a rush before you can say anything else and you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“You gonna let me get in on this cake thing?” Akaashi asks, raising his brows.

“You’re welcome to join,” you reply, shooting him a smile as you try to not sound too eager. “You do have VIP status, after all.”

Akaashi smiles back and you think it might be a miracle that your legs haven’t given out under the soft gaze he sends you. 

Thankfully, Atsumu and Bokuto don’t make a mess although you do spot them bribing Hinata to bring them a few more slices, the orange-haired man utterly oblivious to the fact.

“Hey,” Akaashi murmurs, stepping in beside you as you finish off your piece of cake. “You’ve got a little something.” He motions to the corner of your mouth.

“Oh!” you flush with embarrassment, wiping at the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “Gone?”

“Just a little more,” he says, watching as you try and fail to get rid of the chocolate icing that’s smudged over your lips and the corner of your mouth. “Just- here, let me.”

You freeze when he reaches out for you, his thumb swiping over your lip and skin gently, cleaning you up.

“Napkin?” you ask weakly, offering it to him so he can clean his thumb.

“No need.”

Akaashi keeps his eyes on you as he licks the pad of his thumb, your hazy eyes following the motion of his tongue, a rush of heat pooling in your lower stomach.

“Do you-” you begin, clearing your throat when you hear how airy your voice has become, “do you do this often?”

A smile pulls at his lips and he leans in a little closer, his breath fanning across your skin as his mouth opens to murmur something into your ear.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

You jolt, half-lidded eyes snapping open when you find Bokuto slinging his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. Irritation flashes through Akaashi’s eyes but it seems to fade when Bokuto begins to speak animatedly, detailing the past events Akaashi had missed.

Part of you would’ve liked to speak to Akaashi more, but you can’t find it in yourself to fault Bokuto, deciding to busy yourself with getting another slice of cake. A heavy arm slings itself around your shoulders and you roll your eyes when you realize it’s Atsumu, the wide grin on his face making you feel uneasy.

“Saw you getting real chummy with Bokuto’s friend,” he whispers conspiratorially, trying to swipe at your cake slice. 

“I was being friendly,” you retort, glaring up at Atsumu.

“You look like you wanna fuck him.”

“Your observations are not appreciated,” you grit out, trying to squirm away from under him when he steers you into a corner.

“Good news is, I think he wants to fuck you too,” Atsumu says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ Why are you doing this?” you groan, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Because you, my lovely manager, deserve happiness!” he says cheerily.

Your eyes narrow, taking in the smile on Atsumu’s face, suspicion flaring. “What did you do?”

“What?” Atsumu’s smile falters. “Nothing. Why do you always assume I did something?”

“Because you usually do something, Atsumu,” you reply exasperatedly, trying to peek out from behind him to catch another glimpse of Akaashi.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, moving to the side so as to block your view of Akaashi.

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, peering up at him. 

He beams at you, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear. “Just make sure you take charge. Guys like that sort of thing. Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him. My advice is foolproof .”

Was the advice really foolproof if the fool himself was giving it to you?

You shoot Atsumu a skeptical look, waving him off before he puts any more ridiculous ideas into your mind. 

As the night passes, the amount of players reduces, deciding to make their way back home. Atsumu shoots you a wink in passing and you glare back at him, fighting the urge to swat him.

“Heading home?” 

You blink up to find Akaashi standing beside you, his brows raised.

“Yeah,” you say, a wistful smile coming across your face, “it’s been a long day.”

“I could drive you home?” Akaashi offers, falling into step beside you as you both exit the volleyball stadium.

You had been planning to just catch an uber or something, but when Akaashi stares down at you like that , his gaze soft and lips looking sickeningly inviting, you nod immediately.

A few stolen glances later coupled with you biting back an inappropriate remark at the way his lithe fingers wrap around the steering wheel, you find yourself standing opposite Akaashi in the open doorway of your apartment.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” you say, peering up at Akaashi.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Akaashi murmurs, his hands shoving into his pockets.

Akaashi shows no signs of leaving however. Silence passes over you as you both just stand there, staring at each other. Your gaze dips down to his shirt, trying to stop Atsumu’s obnoxious voice from blaring through your normally rational decision making.

Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him.

Eyes flitting up again, you decide to take your chances. Your hand curls into Akaashi’s shirt, yanking him towards you, lips crashing onto his. Several seconds pass and Akaashi stands there limply, his lips unmoving and non-reciprocating. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, feeling utterly mortified as you let go of him. “Atsumu said you wanted to fu- I mean- he said guys liked that sort of thing!”

At the same time, Akaashi begins to speak. “Bokuto said you weren’t interested.”

“ What? ” you sputter, eyes widening. Frustration sets your nerves alight and you fish out your phone, dialing Bokuto’s number, ready to give him an earful. 

“Hey,” Akaashi says, plucking your phone from your hand and setting it down onto a nearby dresser, “think you could do that after I kiss you?”

Your flurry of movements pauses, breath hitching when he steps inside your apartment, the door shutting behind him softly. He smiles down at you, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering as he spins you around, pushing you up against the door gently, “y-yeah, I can do that.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours. One of his hands slips up higher, smoothing over the length of your neck to cup your cheek.

You let out an incoherent noise, managing out a jerky nod. Akaashi laughs, tilting your head to the side as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, heart racing uncontrollably in your chest as he drags his lips across your skin, planting another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His glasses dig into your skin but you can hardly find it in yourself to care, pulling him closer desperately when he slots his lips over yours. Akaashi kisses you heatedly and you whine, arms wrapping around his neck to return his kisses eagerly. His tongue gently parts your lips, hands slipping back down to squeeze at your waist and move you flush against him.

A few stumbles later and you’re pushing his chest, watching as he falls back onto the couch. Akaashi grins, his thighs spreading invitingly as he gets comfortable.

“Come sit on my lap, baby.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You scramble up onto his lap, straddling his hips, lips finding his again. Akaashi groans when you run your fingers through his hair, hips rolling across his lap as he spreads his fingers over your skirt, groping at your ass.

“So- so you do wanna fuck me?” you ask breathily, unable to resist yourself from leaning forward and stealing another kiss.

“I thought I made myself obvious,” Akaashi replies, his hands slipping under your skirt to feel the warm, bare skin of your thighs.

A soft hum leaves you, fingers tracing across his cheek before reaching out to take his glasses off, setting them down. You smile down at him hazily and Akaashi smiles back, maneuvering your body so that you’re laying down, head nestled in the cushions.

You bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, sighing softly when he undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling it apart. Akaashi’s eyes darken when he sees the swell of your breasts in your bra, his hands reaching out to grope at them greedily. You fumble around, unclasping your bra, tossing it behind you.

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips before kissing down your body.

You gasp when his tongue swirls around your nipple, squirming underneath him as his hot mouth envelops it, sucking and licking, even nipping gently making your body twitch. Back arching, you moan, fingers tugging at his soft hair. Akaashi lets out a hum, mouth opening wide to suck your breast into his mouth, groaning when he feels your hips buck underneath him.

“ Fuck ,” Akaashi hisses, his fingers rubbing at your clothed cunt, panties utterly drenched, “you’re dripping. How long have you been like this?”

You flush, looking away. Akaashi clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin to turn your gaze back onto him.

“Tell me,” he coaxes, rucking your skirt up before he tugs your panties up, watching the hard press of the fabric outline your puffy folds.

“Maybe- maybe since you opened that water bottle for me,” you mumble, blinking up at him innocently. 

Akaashi’s grip falters, his brows shooting up in surprise. Your cheeks are hot, eyes dropping to find his cock straining against his trousers, the bulge making you lick your lips.

“That long?” he whispers, leaning in.

“Mhm,” you nod, arms looping around his neck to pull him into a sloppy kiss, tongue and all.

“If I knew it was that easy, I would’ve done it the moment I saw you,” Akaashi smiles, his nose nudging against yours as he continues to rub your pussy through your panties.

“Shut up!” you laugh, pushing at his chest.

He laughs with you, smacking a quick kiss to your cheek before slinking down, pulling your thighs apart. A contented sigh leaves you when he licks up over your ruined panties, mewling softly when he pulls them to the side to get a glimpse of your slick pussy.

“Such a pretty pussy. All of you is so pretty,” he murmurs, pulling your panties off. 

You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

Akaashi’s mouth encloses around your clit, sucking with fervor. You let out a strangled moan, fingers fisting his hair roughly, thighs twitching. 

“A- Akaashi,” you whine, hips rolling up to meet his mouth needily, “ hah- oh fuck!- ”

His nose nudges into your clit when he stops suckling on your clit, licking up a wide strip along the length of cunt, a low moan slipping out of him as he watches your cunt clench and flutter around nothing.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasps, arms curling around your thighs, thumbing apart your folds to press his tongue in deeper, licking over the velvety flesh of your cunt.

You moan again, breath catching in your throat when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles into the sensitive bud before his tongue presses into your aching pussy, thrusting in and out of you. He makes an obscene sound and you tug at his hair roughly, pushing his face deeper into your cunt, squealing when he shakes his head, tongue swiping all over you.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, beginning to chant drunkenly, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Akaashi grunts into your pussy, spreading apart your folds against to spit on your cunt, his tongue swirling around your swollen clit before sucking it into his mouth. He suckles on it hard ; the sensation making your toes curl and eyes squeeze shut tightly. 

“Gonna cum?” he asks, a hoarse laugh leaving him when you push his head back down.

You nod rapidly, hands squeezing at your breasts, pinching and tugging at your own nipples. Akaashi slips his fingers up past your chin and your mouth opens obediently, hips rolling up as you suck on his fingers. 

A whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your clit, his tongue laving over it again as he sucks desperately, driving you further and further to the edge.

“Cum on my tongue, baby,” Akaashi whispers, “wanna watch you cum all pretty and needy.”

You don’t need any more encouragement, back arching as your body draws taut. You cum with a cry of his name, squeaking when he licks over your oversensitive pussy, thighs clamping around his head while your fingers tangle in his soft, black hair. 

Akaashi pulls away with one final suckle to your clit, peppering kisses up your body before slotting his lips over yours again. You whine softly, cupping his cheek to return his kisses feverishly, feeling the press of his clothed cock against your inner thigh.

“Take your clothes off,” you say softly, pecking his lips sweetly.

You squirm out of your skirt and top when he gets off of you, watching with hazy eyes as he pulls his shirt up over your head. The flex of his biceps has you letting out a low whine, fingers slipping between your thighs, unable to help yourself, rubbing your clit unabashedly.

Akaashi doesn’t miss the movement, shooting you a lazy grin, his hand smoothing over his trousers, squeezing at his bulge.

“Enjoying the view?” he murmurs, unbuttoning his trousers, “hm, baby?”

“‘m enjoying it a lot,” you reply airily, entranced by the motion of his hand as he grasps himself through his boxers.

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes his boxers down, tongue feeling heavy as you watch the bob of his cock, heavy and thick. The hardened length twitches when he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his cock, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“T-taste?” you mewl, slipping off the couch and crawling towards him, “wanna taste, ‘kaashi.”

“Needy baby,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face.

Your eyes flutter shut when he bends, meeting his lips in a short kiss. Akaashi presses the head of his cock against your lips soon after, a moan slipping out of him when he sees the way his pre-cum spreads across your lips.

You lick your lips, mewling at the taste of his pre-cum, mouth opening wider, tongue lolling out.

“Want it,” you whisper, fingers digging into thighs, “please?”

“‘m gonna give it to you,” Akaashi rasps, grasping the base of his cock to smack the head of it against your tongue a few times. “Go ahead, pretty.”

You hum happily, mouth wrapping around his cock, hand curling around the base of it. Akaashi groans, his head tipping back as you squirm on your knees, fingers finding your slippery clit again.

“Just like that,” he whispers when you begin to bob your head, tongue swirling around the head of his cock, suckling gently.

Akaashi’s thighs twitch, the hand tangled in your hair tightening when you shuffle closer, mouth stretching open to take more of him into your mouth. 

You suck and lick, practically dripping onto the carpet beneath you as you hear the grunts and groans that leave Akaashi. He sounds pretty, the little airy gasps and stutters of his breath giving you the encouragement to try and take him deeper, your nose pressing into the black tufts of coarse hair at the base of his cock, before you pull off with watery eyes.

“I might have a hard time letting go of you after this,” Akaashi says, watching as you blink up at him with starry eyes, stroking his hand over your hair as you mouth lazily across the length of his cock. 

“So don’t,” you whisper, laving your tongue across the head of his cock, tasting his pre-cum.

You land a soft kiss to the tip, tilting your head to kiss at his heavy balls. Akaashi stops you before you can suck them into your mouth, dipping his head down to kiss you instead.

“‘m gonna cum if you do that,” he whispers against your lips.

“That’s sort of the point,” you smile, hand stroking along his length.

He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you up onto your feet. His throbbing cock presses against your stomach as you wind your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Akaashi gropes at the fat of your ass appreciatively, both of you standing together as you makeout languidly. 

You pull away for air soon after, hands roaming across his firm chest, eyes growing hazier with the way the muscles of his abdomen flex under your touch. A glob of pre-cum beads at the tip of Akaashi’s cock and you grasp his hand, rocking up to kiss his cheek before pulling him after you.

“Wanna ride my cock?” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe gently when you lead him into your bedroom.

“Y- yeah,” you reply airily, crawling up onto his lap when he sits down, his back against the headboard of your bed.

You rock your hips, grinding your cunt against his hot length, mewling softly when the tip of it nudges against your clit a few times. Akaashi catches your chin, pulling you forward for another filthy kiss, his hands smoothing up and down the length of your back.

“Sink down on it, baby.”

A soft whimper escapes you at his low voice, hands gripping his shoulders as you rise up onto your knees. Akaashi wraps his hand around the base of his cock, holding it for you. His head tips back, a guttural groan leaving him when you sink down on his cock, your nails digging into his skin.

“ Oh- ” you whine, “‘kaashi- hah- ”

“Keiji,” he replies, fingers dimpling the fat of your hips, trying to gain some semblance of control with the way your cunt’s clenching around his cock, “call me Keiji, baby.”

You let out a dazed sigh, rolling your hips and whining again, your own head tipping back.

“K- Keiji, you feel so good.”

Akaashi moans appreciatively in response to your words, landing a spank to your ass to urge you to move. You hiccup, cupping his cheeks, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as you roll your hips one more time and begin to rise and fall on his cock.

He keeps his eyes on you, letting out soft pants as you mewl and whimper out his name, hips swaying back to meet his thrusts when he begins to move his hips too.

“Good girl,” Akaashi whispers, head dipping to suck your breast into his mouth, “gripping me so tight, baby.”

“Keiji,” you mewl, dragging out his name in a needy call.

“‘m right here, pretty,” Akaashi murmurs, arms wrapping around your waist more firmly. 

You squeal when he lifts you up and begins to drop you down onto his cock himself, his face pressing into your chest, leaving desperate, heated open-mouthed kisses against your sweaty skin as he makes you take his cock.

“Oh fuck-,” you begin to gasp out, eyes squeezing shut, “ oh fuck! ”

“Take it,” Akaashi hisses, hands drifting down to grip the fat of your ass tighter, “fucking take my cock, baby.”

A surprised squeak leaves you when he lays you down, his cock pushing into you almost immediately after. Your legs wrap around his hips, hand reaching for his as he fucks his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing lewdly throughout the room.

You scrabble at the bedsheets, trying to find some purchase as Akaashi drives his cock into you harder and faster.

“Gonna make me cum,” he grunts, face pressing into the crook of your neck, his body dropping to be flush against yours, hips rolling to a slow grind.

“‘m gonna cum too,” you say weakly, eyes fluttering as he mouths at your breast lazily. 

Akaashi peers down at you when he pushes himself up, bullying his cock into your cunt, balls pressed snugly against your ass.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks softly, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You’re a terrible influence,” you sigh, giving him a dazed smile as you pull him down for a kiss, “but yes, you can.”

Akaashi grins, mouth slotting over yours again, thumb rubbing at your clit. He groans when he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering jerkily when you dig your heels into the backs of thighs, forcing him to push his cock in deeper. 

“Brat,” he hisses, head dropping forward as he lets out a low whine, cock jerking inside of you as he cums.

You squirm, back arching as his thumb rubs harder, thighs twitching as you fall apart on his cock. Akaashi pants against your chest, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a few more whines, thick cum filling you up.

He rolls off of you so as to not crush you with his weight, running his hand through his hair. You curl up into his side, leaning forward to kiss his jaw.

“‘m gonna go clean up,” you whisper.

Akaashi nods, patting your hip affectionately, his eyes trained on the sway of your hips as you disappear into the bathroom.

You tug on a fresh shirt and a pair of panties, crawling back into bed to find Akaashi’s pulled his boxers back up over his hips, the manga volume you had been reading last night in his hand.

“It’s good,” you inform him, pressing into his side, head resting on his shoulder as you look over the little panels of drawings.

“I’d hope so,” Akaashi says, his hand rubbing at your side absentmindedly.

“Why?” you ask, brows furrowing.

“I happen to be the editor.”

You stare at him blankly, eyes flitting from his towards the manga. “No way.” You snatch the manga from him, flipping through towards the large page. His name is there in the little lettering, plain as day.

Editing: Akaashi Keiji

He smiles at you, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing several kisses here and there.

“Well,” you say, setting the manga down and wrapping your arms around his neck, “now you have to tell me what’s to come.”

“My lips are sealed,” Akaashi replies, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Keiji!” you whine, pouting up at him.

“Not happening, baby,” he says, shaking his head before leaning forward to kiss the pout off of your mouth.

You let out an irritated huff, pushing his head away when he tries to kiss you again.

“Look at that,” he muses, “you get all sulky like Bokuto.”

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

in fact, you don’t even end up here until two in the morning, and now—at quarter to three—neither of you seem willing to put the conversation to bed.

you’re sitting on the sofa with your legs slung over katsuki’s lap, and he’s mindlessly kneading at the skin on your thighs. he’s definitely not drunk, but after snagging three consecutive days off for this whole ordeal—a miracle, really—he had a drink or two (or three) at the reception, and so yes, he has a bit of a buzz going on. but, he’s not any less him.

“katsuki,” you drawl—tone vaguely similar to that of a parent scolding their child. “stop it, his vows were not cheesy.”

“yeah they were,” he mutters. he’s still in his white button up and black dress pants, although the tie and suit jacket that went along with them are long gone. “almost as cheesy as the fuckin’,” he pauses to lean his head back against the cushions. “tears running down his face.”

and well, it was a beautiful ceremony—an outdoor event that unfolded beneath the pinky-orange sky and the warmth of the evening sun.

candles lined the aisle, and a slew of white roses adorned the archway at the end of it—details that you know izuku didn’t have much to do with, but that he visibly adored no less. he was as happy as you think you’ve ever seen him. in a way, you envy the outward tenderness of his affection.

“i thought it was cute,” you respond. “you can tell that he’s in love.”

having already changed into pyjamas, your thumb and index finger tug and fiddle with a loose thread on the sleeve of your (katsuki’s) shirt, and you find yourself wondering if the possibility of him crying at your ceremony is one that exists.

“yeah, that’s enough love for me.” he turns to you—scarlet gaze lidded with what could be fatigue, the lingering effects of rum, or, a little bit of both. “don’t think i’m cut out for this wedding bullshit.”

he means this wedding guest bullshit, surely.

“well,” you bend your knees, planting your feet flat against his thighs, which prompts him to slide two fingers beneath the silver jewelry wrapped around your ankle. “then i guess now is a bad time to tell you that i caught the bouquet.”

it was an honest mistake. you intentionally placed yourself at the very back of the group, primarily to avoid any potential scuffles, but lo and behold— izuku’s wife has quite the arm. you had to catch it simply to prevent being hit by it.

but apparently your boyfriend didn’t notice the dishevelled bundle of foliage in your hands upon returning to the table.

“you wanna trophy or somethin’?” he deadpans.

“uh, i believe it’s called a ring,” you hum playfully—half poking fun at him, and half hoping that you feel his palm heat up against your skin. he’s pretty easy to read, so long as you know what to look for.

but he doesn’t have much of a reaction.

whatever’s playing on the television is in the midst of bathing him in a blue-ish hue, and so you can’t really make out any of the finer details of his face—the crease between his brows or the sharpness of his jaw. but, you know that katsuki’s wheels are turning. you can feel it in the absentminded graze of his fingertips along the back of your thigh. it’s as if he’s getting a feel for the idea of marriage for the first time, tossing and turning it around in his head. has he really never thought about it before?

“that superstition is bullshit,” he blurts out after a minute or two of silence.

“marriage?” you furrow your brows at him.

katsuki mirrors your look with triple the sass and a little scowl to boot—crease now very, very visible. “no moron, the bouquet toss. jesus, denki sat next to you for twenty minutes and was able to kill that many of your brain cells, or what?” he asks—smirk threatening the corners of his lips. “i thought i told that dumbass to stop flirting with you.”

“don’t worry,” you laugh a little even though you know you shouldn’t. “he won’t remember flirting with me.”

“good,” katsuki mumbles.

you watch quietly as he turns to the television. the shitty comedy movie you’re watching continues to paint him in various colours—a muted orange that softens his features, and a shade of royal blue that makes the scar on his face appear a deep purple.

he’s pretty, you think. in any and every colour.

“so,” you begin, redirecting your gaze to your nails in a painfully obvious attempt at avoiding his. “do you not want to marry me?”

it’s a lighthearted question. some casual late night conversation. you’re going to take his reply with a grain of salt regardless of what it is.

but again, in the blurry background of your vision, you see katsuki with that same look on his face—confusion and bewilderment all wrapped into one.

“did i say that i didn’t wanna marry you?” he asks.

and well, no. however, his apparent distaste for all things wedding related can be interpreted as such—can’t it?

“i read between the lines,” you chuckle and swing your feet onto the floor—sitting back upright.

“well don’t,” he grumbles. you can feel his eyes on you as you stretch your arms out above your head, and when you stand up and start shuffling away—you think you can feel a hole burning into the back of your skull. “hey, get your ass back here.”

“katsuki, i’m tired,” you groan over your shoulder, already knowing that he’s right there behind you.

“listen to me,” he insists, but his voice is soft, light—as if he’s well aware that the topic isn’t. then, he reaches out and tangles his fingers in the excess fabric of your shirt, pulling you flush against the eternal warmth of his chest. he ducks down a bit, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “i’ll give you that ring when i’m damn good and ready, alright?”

you wiggle in his grasp, turning yourself around to face him as his rather interesting choice of words begins to settle.

“what ring?” you smile up at him, and again—he’s easy to read so long as you know what to look for, and so as you watch the tips of his ears flush red, you think you’ve got him all figured out. “baby—”

katsuki’s palm gently greets your face before you can start doting on him. he pushes lightly—using just enough force to get his point across.

“yeah, yeah. save it for later,” he advises, and you swear your heart leaps into your throat at the all but confirmed meaning of those words. “since you’re so good at reading between lines and shit,” he adds.

and even at a time like this, he’s as smug as ever.

but you’re happy—so incredibly happy. of course you are. knowing that the picture perfect images of katsuki as your groom will eventually leave the confines of your mind is all you really wanted. still, there’s a small part of you that feels guilty for even bringing it up in the first place, because you’ve completely eliminated any element of surprise. is he upset about that? it doesn’t look like—

“what, no i love you? no you’re the best boyfriend ever?” his voice fills your ears—extinguishing the prior thought. “can make you wait longer, y’know.”

“shut up,” you curl into his chest, breathing in the faint scent of cologne that’s lingering on his shirt—the same one he’s worn on every date he’s ever taken you on. “you know how much i love you.”

“yeah, ditto.”

and katsuki wants to argue that point further, but he doesn’t.

he’s never been the best at expressing himself. he knows this, and he knows that you do as well. his affection isn’t like izuku’s. his tenderness doesn’t come in the form of words.

instead, he weaves it into everything he does.

it’s in the way he sleeps—always with an arm or a leg or some part of his body touching yours, and always with you positioned further from the door. god forbid soembody enter your home, he needs himself to be the first (and last) person that they encounter. it’s in the way he eats, too—because despite his relentless appetite, he always makes sure you’ve had your fill before he thinks about going back for seconds. above all, he holds you with a tenderness that even izuku couldn’t match. he holds you so close, and he holds you so tight—like the thought of losing you is one that’s forever on his mind and always scaring him shitless.

and so, while he knows better than anyone that he can’t gaze too far into the future, he did.

he bought a ring eight and a half months into your relationship, and has been waiting for a time that the larger part of society would deem acceptable. having to work beneath the scrutinizing eye of the public is shitty, but the way he sees it—there’s no title or piece of paperwork that’s going to change what you mean to him anyways.

Cold.

You felt cold in ways you never thought were possible.

It wasn't just the icy fingertips that once felt soft against your skin but were now nothing but brutal, driven by a fury you had an inkling was caused by you.

More specifically, the cold thing inside your chest that was supposed to be called your heart.

The metal was cold too, sharp and unrelenting, held against the smooth curve of your throat with an imminent threat to slit right through the flesh.

But there was something about the look in his eyes that made you stop - just for a moment. It made you think to yourself.

Did you really create this monster?

His voice was crisp, disdainful eyes staring down at you with the intent to make you feel worthless.

Humiliating you.

Hurting you.

"You don't get to walk over me."

Like the ice that meets the warmth of everything but itself, Minho's eyes began to glisten in the dark of the night, the occasional clank of the metal lamp hanging from the ceiling hitting the wall behind it as the wind blew - almost like it was making the lamp dance to its tunes.

The way Minho thought you made him dance to your tunes.

"You don't get to use me."

For a fleeting second, his eyes softened when he felt your fingers reach for his hand, his head dipping to look at the place you touched him. But the delicate whimper that sounded from you made him push the knife further up against your throat.

"Pathetic," he spat, inching closer and watching in fascination the way your watery eyes twinkled with a challenge that you wordlessly put forth before him.

"Just like your father," he taunted with a scoff. "It's in the blood."

Your hand didn't leave his. It only slid along the length of his arm, grabbing onto the material of his black leather jacket in an attempt to ground yourself when flimsy black circles began to darken your vision.

"So weak. I don't even understand what I saw in you. I was a fool."

His resolve was breaking, but so was your capacity. The unforgiving winter probably numbed your skin, causing you to miss the sluggish movement of the dark maroon blood trickling down the length of your neck.

He was slowly killing you. Just the way he dreamt of doing.

"I should've known," he pressed, "should've known that you could never be mine. That you never wanted to be mine."

For a moment, you contemplated showing him a sign. Maybe the slightest shake of your head, or a weak squeeze on his arm. Just to let him know that he had gotten it all wrong.

But what was the point?

He didn't love you.

And even if he did, it probably wasn't enough considering the lack of reluctance when it came to holding a knife against your throat.

If he didn't love you, what was the point in fighting? What was the point in salvaging something that had no hope? Why were you even thinking of making him understand you?

It's not like he would understand you.

It's not like he ever understood you.

"Maybe..." his voice dipped. "Maybe if I had just killed you when I had the chance to..."

Minho let himself glare at the blood that he had drawn from your precious skin. Soft skin that he once worshipped and praised and left feather light kisses on until the moon fell asleep. He couldn't help but feel angry.

"...then I wouldn't have found it so difficult to kill you now."

Minho wanted nothing but to read you like a book, the way he desires to be read. The silent longing that reflected in not just your gaze but also in his. The little twitch of his little finger each time he physically itched to just reach out and hold you.

For a fraction of a second, his resolve deflated when your bloodshot eyes fluttered up to meet his.

He wished to understand.

He wanted to understand you the way you understood him.

But he couldn't.

"Why?"

For the first time since the moon hid its shame behind a dark curtain of clouds, the knife fell from his hand, clattering onto the cement and splattering the few drops of your blood that he had painted it with.

"Why can't you love me back?"

You do.

There was no turning back to the man that you had once given your heart to. Not when he didn't take a moment to crush it beneath the weight of his anger. His resentment.

You do love him.

But there was no point in letting him know.

Not when he let someone else take your place in his life.

"Is it because of your father? He can't stand you falling in love just because his partner betrayed him? Does he not want you to be happy?"

"It's you."

Minho paused mid-step, his fist clenching by his side.

"Me?"

"It's because of you."

Painfully slow, he turned to look into your eyes again.

"Do you really resent me that much?"

Your head dipped back to rest against the dirty brown leather couch that he had you pinned to mere moments ago, feeling drained and overwhelmed. You didn't think he'd corner you this way, you didn't think he could manipulate you into coming to meet him.

"I used to love you," you croaked, raising a dirt-covered palm to put pressure on the open wound over your neck. "I really did."

"And now?"

He let his guard down for a moment. He let the hope that he had been suppressing shimmer in his tear-filled eyes. He let you see a part of him that he didn't want you to see.

"Now? I hate everything about you."

He regretted it.

Minho regretted being naive, being indecisive, and vulnerable. He hated the fact that he allowed himself to appear weak before you.

Maybe the moon was afraid, hiding its face from a man whose eyes had darkened dangerously under the flickering yellow light of that godforsaken lamp that swung to the beat of the piercing winter breeze.

Maybe the moon simply didn't want to witness the way the love that it once would shine its light upon is now drowning, suffocating in the depths of misunderstanding, a place so deep that even if it tried, the light could never reach it.

With barely a moment to take it all in, Minho had his hands wrapped around your neck once again. He felt the warmth of your blood smear all over his skin, trickle down the side of his wrist, stain him, break him.

"Do it," he heard you rasp, cutting off all supply of air with a grunt as he tightened his grip on you.

"Kill me."

"Don't tell me what to do," he spat, eyes trembling with fury. A teardrop fell from his right eye, splattering onto your cheek and making your scrunch your eyes shut in agony. He watched your face redden, the way three veins that led all the way to your neck stood up with the pressure that he had on your throat.

"You don't even deserve to live after walking all over me," he snared, inching closer and letting you feel his breath hit your face.

"All those nights when it was just you and me. You didn't deserve it. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve to be loved. You're just another product of your father."

He heard another whimper float towards his ears.

"Kill me."

"I said don't tell me what to do!"

The silence that followed his booming voice made your ears ring. Just a few more seconds and you'd slip into unconsciousness. You were sure of it.

So you willed yourself to open your eyes.

To take in his features for perhaps the last time.

What you didn't expect was to see him crying.

A strangled sob that he tried to stifle, a few tear drops collecting at the tip of his sharp nose, threatening to drip off and fall onto you.

"Minho."

"I'm so fucking done with you," he wept, letting go of your throat with one last push and turning to face the other side.

"I don't want to see your face ever again," he spoke under his breath, his head held low.

And maybe you had misunderstood him. You knew you were about to risk your life meeting up with him, you knew that it could possibly be him that could take your life, but he didn't.

You could see the tremble in his clenched fist. The resentment that he held for himself. The way his stature questioned his motives.

How could he even think of taking your life?

How could he?

"Minho..."

Your voice broke halfway through, weak hands grasping - clawing - at your neck in an attempt to find relief from the pain. Lightheaded and faint, you fell to the floor when you stood to follow him, the hope that was once dead now having life being blown into its nostrils.

He didn't move away from you.

He gave you one last chance.

Yet, no more than a second after you touched the back of his leg, a loud gunshot sounded, the immediate splutter of warm blood hitting the side of your face, stinging you with the force.

Your hands that were reaching out for Minho covered your ears, falling to your side with a trembled gasp.

Soon, another figure slumped beside you, the dust from the ground flying delicately in the air and giving him an eerie glow under the light of the metal lamp.

"I told you not to meet him."

A distant voice, cold and emotionless. It made you scramble around to look for the source but your movements paused when your eyes landed on the man that you loved.

Minho lay on the ground, a puddle of dark blood pooling around him. His fingers twitched ever so often, jet black hair dancing softly with each tremor that ran up his spine.

"Father," you whispered dreadfully, defeated and betrayed eyes lifting to lock with the man that shares your blood.

"I... I asked you for time, how could you do this?"

The tall man lowered his arm, the glint of the silver gun catching your attention.

"We don't feed dogs that bite us."

Your father recognized the pathetic quaver in your voice as a sign of defeat, a humorless laugh spitting past his lips.

"M-Minho," you pleaded with the man who was fighting against death right before your eyes, reaching out and pulling him over to face you. A thin stream of blood smeared the pale skin of his cheek a bright right, a single tear trickling down his temple that you swiped away gingerly.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, holding onto your hand and gazing up at you with a light daze in his watery eyes.

"Stay with me, please," you begged him, unable to stop the tears from falling, hoping that you could heal him miraculously - if not magically - with the love that you so wished you had admitted to him.

"You know I love you, sweetheart," he smiled sadly, wincing when a painful shock caused him to jerk to the side.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Minho."

The man in your arms looked past you for a moment, gathering up the last of his energy to raise his arm up and bring your head closer to him.

You let him, aiming for a kiss to the top of his head, one last kiss goodbye, when the click of the weapon behind you made Minho's fingers curl into your hair.

"Neither do we raise unfaithful dogs," you heard the man speak lowly, Minho's eyes trained on the man that had no hint of remorse on his face.

Another gunshot echoed through the dark, cold night.

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Angst for Minho is like the skz version of angst for Yoongi lollll, it fits so well. I hope you like this one!!

Request 2/30 :) Go ahead and request soon before all the spots are taken!

— It’s no secret that Minho is a secret softie. Although, it’s easy to forget when Minho tends to move in silence rather than outwardly expressing his love for people, the way Felix or Jisung do. Since Minho is an introvert, he likes to clean up after you when you’re in a hurry or send photos of your favorite flowers whenever he comes across them while he’s out for work. You learned this about him before you two even started dating, and of course, it’s something you’ve understood about him.

You were not much of a PDA type of person yourself, but sometimes you couldn’t help but ask yourself if maybe you were doing something wrong. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself wondering when Minho will cling onto you the way Jisung clings to his partner or kiss you the way Hyunjin smothers his partner in kisses before he has to start practice. At first, it only crossed your mind now and then, not bothering you as you quickly pushed it away, reminding yourself that if Minho didn’t want to, he didn’t have to. Suddenly, it was every other night that you’d lay in bed, wondering if Minho didn’t like you enough to be that way. As much as you tried, the thoughts wouldn’t go away.

Again and again, you told yourself Minho was just not the type of person to be affectionate in public, exactly the way you weren’t. So why was this bothering you so much? Soon enough, you found yourself talking to Jisung about this, explaining that you didn’t even understand why you had suddenly grown to crave some physical affection from your boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he didn’t show you he loved you. Minho always verbally reassured you he loved you and had a healthy sex life that left you both more than satisfied. So what the hell was the problem?

Jisung only quelled your confusion a tiny bit, replying that it was probably that “some people just want to feel the love sometimes,” along with a simple shrug. It made sense! Or, at least, you certainly tried to convince yourself that it did in your head. You never brought it up to Minho when you had these thoughts. You didn’t think it would change much anyway. Minho was a person who kept to himself, and you didn’t was to force a change onto him.

After almost two months of feeling this way about your relationship, you decided to distance yourself from the group to figure out if you were just jealous of how the other members were with their partners. You stopped accompanying Minho to practice as often as you used to. It made you feel guilty when Minho told you the boys asked about your absence, but you figured sooner or later you’d be able to go back since you would have figured your little situation up. Since you and Minho had been in a relationship the longest, you had essentially moved into the dorm with them, the other group members eventually inviting their partners to stay over whenever they wanted. You tried for it not to affect you, but you couldn't help but feel envious of the other couples whenever you caught Felix and his partner making out on the couch when they thought they were alone or when you’d see them walk out of their rooms with their boyfriend’s shirt on while you woke up in your PJs.

You virtually moved out after that last one. One by one, your belongings started to disappear around the dorm. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by any of the boys, but none of them asked about it. You’d still go over anyway; you just had to check that none of the other couples were home while you were there. Minho always liked to cook with you. He loved seeing how happy it made you to know you were involved in his hobbies, but eventually, he stopped cooking around you and suggested you watch movies with him. Most of the time, this consisted of him typing away on his phone on one end of the couch as you cuddled into a pillow on the other side.

You stopped hanging out around the dorms as much after you noticed that he was never paying attention to the movies anyway. Either way, you still had your dates together. You two often tried out new restaurants without hiccups, but on the days that Minho invited you to company events, you always hesitated to accept. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want to go, but more so the fact that you’d be around the others. The Stray Kids’ members were not the most gracious drunks. It usually led to them being tucked away in a corner dry-humping their significant other. That part wasn’t what bothered you. It was more so all the flirting that happened before that.

Minho noticed all of this, of course. He caught how you’d stare too long at Seungmin’s arms whenever he held his partner and how your smile would falter when Changbin would yell about how cute his spouse was. More than anything, Minho was perplexed by this. You both made it clear that neither of you minded the lack of public displays of affection, no matter how big or small. Minho had never seen you so upset, and it bothered him. Your thoughts and feelings meant everything to him, and the fact that you hadn’t brought up what was bothering you and instead decided to stop seeing the rest of the boys broke his heart.

It had been about a week since Minho last saw you in person. The heaviness that had taken residence on his chest had only gotten heavier since then. He didn’t know what to do at this point. Every phone call he had with you kept getting shorter and filled with awkward silences. He could feel you slipping from him and was currently pacing in his dorm living room, panicked. “I’m going out! I’ll be back in a bit!” he yelled to his dorm mates. Before Jeongin could reply with a quick ‘ok,’ Minho was out the door and over in the other member’s living room.

Minho felt the last bit of his broken heart shatter when he laid his eyes on your crying figure in Jisung’s arms. He stood frozen as you pulled away from Jisung and walked into the kitchen as quickly as you could with blurry vision. Jisung talked in a hushed tone to not wake the sleeping members, “you need to talk. I’ll let you guys have some privacy.” Before Jisung had even turned his back fully on him, Minho was making his way into the kitchen.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, standing behind you as you wiped your eyes with a napkin. He merely watched as your body slowly stopped trembling, “I’m sorry.” He heard alarms go off in his head as he heard you sniffle, “I don’t know why I’ve been feeling like this. I tried not to be annoying. Instead, I tried to suppress these feelings, but I still can’t stop them from appearing. I feel our relationship is falling apart because of me, and I don’t know how to fix it.” Minho felt his heart break all over again when you turned to look at him with wet eyes and trembling lips, “I think we should break up.”

The man unexpectedly pulled you into his arms, surprising you both with his actions, “please, don't say that,” he whispered into your shoulder as you broke down again into his chest. You never wanted to do this; Minho was your person, and you couldn’t ever imagine losing him, much less over something like his ways of saying I love you. Minho felt his throat close up as he felt your arms wrap around his torso, finally hugging him back. He tried to blink away the tears that had begun to build up in his eyes, “can you please tell me what this is all about? I can’t lose you, y/n.”

Minho pulled himself away from you, grabbing a napkin to wipe your eyes and nose, “please, baby. You know you can talk to me about anything.” His hand coming up to bring your gaze to his, “are you calm enough to talk?” He watched your face as you took a deep breath, nodding your head, “please don’t laugh at me.” He snorted at your request, amused with how cute you could be in a moment like this. “I can’t promise I won’t,” he smiled down at you as you whined, burying your head into his chest again. Minho had never seen you like this. He knew you prided yourself on being able to handle situations maturely and didn’t ever think there would ever be a day when you’d be cuddling yourself into him.

He didn’t mind this change, of course. Although your hugs were far and few, he enjoyed every single one. He patted your head as you looked back up at him, “okay, baby. I’ll try not to laugh.” He felt a vibration run through his chest and heard you mumble something. His eyebrows scrunched as he chuckled, “you’re going to have to bring your head up if you want me to actually understand you, yknow?” He felt you sigh into his chest, letting your arms fall to your side as you looked up, “I want you to kiss me.” Minho had never been so confused in his life.

“I do kiss you, y/n,” he deadpanned.

“Not the way the other members kiss their significant others,” he heard you trail off as you looked at your hands. So that’s what this was about; he was right. Minho let out a sigh as he unwrapped his arms from you, bringing them both up to cup your cheeks. He noticed how your ears had turned warm as you closed your eyes. A smirk spread across his lips as he brought them closer to yours. He felt your breath fan against his lips as he closed his own eyes, abruptly moving to kiss your forehead instead. He laughed as you lightly punched his chest, whining at him for being such a tease.

He threw his head back as he let out a loud laugh, “I’m sorry, y/n. You're just so easy to tease!” Minho pulled you back into his chest when he noticed your pout, his heart bursting as he wondered how you could be so cute. He moved your hair out of the way as he smiled down at you, “what’s this about?” He kissed your forehead again, this time much more tenderly, as he waited for your response.

“This, I guess.”

His head tilted to the side as he tried to decipher what you had meant, “me teasing you..?” He felt bad as you sighed into him again. “I just,” he watched as you tried to formulate the sentence in your head, “I’d like it if you showed me you loved me in this way more often.” Minho smiled sadly as he listened to you, “baby, why didn’t you just ask me instead of trying to break up with me?” He felt guilty as he realized that he should’ve asked you what was wrong instead of staying quiet this entire time. “I don’t know. You had always expressed that you aren’t too fond of public displays of affection before we started dating,” he watched as your eyes began to water again, “and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or like you had to change something just to make me happy.” Minho looked away as his eyes welled up with tears again, taking one of his arms off you to wipe them away.

“I’ll always be willing to try something if it means it’ll make you happy, y/n.”

He smiled as you whined again, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks, “stop being so sappy! It’s making me cry!” Minho wiped your tears away as he leaned in again. His breath hitched as he closed his eyes first, this time. He let out a whine of his own as he slowly kissed you. He pulled back in shock and embarrassment, feeling his ears turn hot from what had just happened. It was now your turn to laugh at him, finding it cute. “Please don’t tell anyone about that,” he pleaded as a Han Jisung burst through the swinging door. “Maybe she won’t, but I definitely will!” Jisung doubled over in laughter as he pointed at Minho. He yelled out as he chased Jisung through his house, not caring about the other members sleeping.

The next time Minho met with you is during a practice he invited you to join. As soon as you stepped through the practice room door, he picked you up bridal style, carrying you around the room as he clamored on about how much he loved you as the other boys laughed. Once he felt satisfied, Minho placed you down, pulling you closer to him. “Min, when I told you I wanted PDA this is not what I meant,” you laughed. “Oh, then what about something like this?”

Before he could let you process his question, his hand was bringing your chin up to kiss him. He felt you smile into the kiss as he heard the rest of his group members cheer from behind you, his heart fluttering in his chest. He felt his body get hot as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. “Min! Not here!” You yelped as you pulled away, swatting at his shoulder in the process. He laughed as his ears burned a bright red, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“I wanted you to be cute!” “I am being cute, y/n!”