#knb reader insert

The delivery

The contractions had started just before dawn.

At first, Y/N thought it was another false alarm — she’d had them for weeks now — but the sharp ache that followed made her grip the edge of the kitchen counter. Akashi was already awake, half-dressed in a crisp white shirt, preparing to leave for a meeting when he saw her stiff. The look on her face was enough.

Within minutes, he had her wrapped in his coat and carried her to the car himself, ignoring the driver’s offer. The sky was barely gray, quiet but heavy with rain. The windshield wipers beat a rhythm faster than his heart.

“Breathe slowly,” he murmured, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping hers. “I’m here. Just breathe with me.”

She nodded, sweat starting to bead at her temple. “It’s okay,” she whispered back between breaths. “We’ll be okay, Seijuro.”

He said nothing, only pressed a kiss to her hand before driving faster.

Hours later, the sterile scent of the hospital clung to his clothes. Akashi had faced world championships, corporate boardrooms, and his own inner demons — but none of it compared to this.

The doctors spoke in controlled tones. Words like complications, blood pressure, monitoring kept slicing into him. His composure, usually untouchable, wavered when one nurse rushed out to call for a specialist.

He wasn’t allowed into the delivery room at first. He paced the hallway, the cold fluorescent light making his reflection in the window look foreign — sharp red eyes burning, jaw clenched.

Then the door opened, and a doctor called him in.

Y/N was pale, her breathing shallow. Her hand searched weakly until he clasped it, lowering himself to her side.

“Seijuro…” her voice trembled.

“I’m right here,” he said, leaning close. His voice cracked slightly. “Don’t talk. Focus on your breathing.”

The machines beeped irregularly. The doctor said something, but he barely heard it — his eyes fixed on her face, the same face he once saw under cherry blossoms the day he asked her to marry him.

Then, faintly — a cry.

First one. Then another.

A boy. A girl.

The doctor announced it through a mask of relief. The nurses moved quickly to check the newborns, but Akashi couldn’t look away from Y/N. Her eyes were half-lidded, exhausted, her skin slick with sweat and tears.

For a terrifying moment, she didn’t respond to his voice. And in that moment, his left eye flickered — gold brightening, red dimming. That fracture of his soul — the fear of losing another person he loves — clawed back from somewhere deep.

He whispered her name again.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Her hand rose weakly, fingertips brushing his cheek.

“You… look scared,” she murmured, voice faint but warm.

He caught her hand, pressed it to his lips. “You scared me.”

Her smile was small but certain. “You’re a father, Seijuro.”

When she said it, the tremor in his eyes settled. Both irises — the same deep crimson — shone again.

And when the nurse placed the babies in his arms, one by one, he finally exhaled.

The house was quieter now — too quiet for Akashi’s liking.

He’d arranged for the twins’ nursery to be soundproofed just enough that their soft whimpers didn’t echo through the hall, but it made every small sound from the master bedroom sharper: the rustle of sheets, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Y/N was finally home after a week in the hospital. She was still pale, her body weak from recovery, but her eyes had that same calm glow — a quiet strength that kept him grounded.

Akashi stood beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, feeding her soup with the same precision he’d once used to shoot free throws.

“Seijuro,” she whispered, laughing lightly between spoonfuls. “I can feed myself.”

He frowned, almost imperceptibly. “You’re not supposed to move. Doctor’s orders.”

Her lips curved. “Those were your orders.”

He hesitated, then said softly, “They were correct.”

The tray beside him looked more like something out of a luxury restaurant than a recovery meal — organic vegetables from Kyoto, bone broth simmered for eight hours, imported mineral water chilled to exact temperature.

He’d even replaced all the utensils in the house with BPA-free silver cutlery “for purity.”

When she caught him disinfecting the doorknobs for the third time, she sighed. “Seijuro,” she said gently, “you can relax. I’m not made of glass.”

He set down the sanitizer and sat beside her, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead. “I almost lost you,” he said simply.

Her expression softened. “But you didn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — just full of things neither needed to say.

Later that night, he checked the nursery. The twins were asleep — the girl’s tiny hand curled around her brother’s sleeve.

Y/N appeared behind him, leaning on the doorframe. “Looks like they already have your sense of teamwork.”

He turned to her immediately. “You should be in bed.”

“I wanted to see them,” she said, smiling tiredly.

He sighed but helped her into the armchair by the crib. She sat down, eyes misting over as she watched the babies. “I still can’t believe they’re ours,” she whispered.

He crouched beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “Everything that’s mine has always been yours.”

When she finally fell asleep again that night, her head resting on his shoulder, Akashi didn’t move for a long time.

He just stayed there, tracing soft circles over her hand with his thumb — the same hand that had reached for him in the delivery room.

For the first time since the day he lost his mother, Seijuro Akashi felt truly at peace.

The early spring sunlight poured through the wide Kyoto windows, scattering gold across the tatami floor.

Y/N blinked awake to the faint sound of laughter — soft, breathy, and unmistakably Akashi’s. It was rare, gentle, and only the twins ever managed to pull it out of him.

She pushed herself up slowly, her strength finally returning after months of recovery. The faint ache that had once lived in her body was gone now, replaced by something lighter — peace, maybe.

Down the hall, she found them: Akashi kneeling on a blanket spread across the living room floor, wearing a white T-shirt and sweatpants, both babies balanced on his lap.

Their little boy was tugging on his father’s sleeve, while the girl reached up and caught a strand of his crimson hair.

Akashi smiled faintly, letting her tug it again. “You’ve inherited your mother’s determination,” he murmured.

“Or your stubbornness,” Y/N said from the doorway.

He looked up immediately. “You should’ve called me. You’re still—”

“I’m fine,” she said, crossing the room with that quiet grace he loved. “You’ve been up early again?”

He nodded. “They wanted breakfast before the sun did.”

She knelt beside him, taking the boy from his lap. The baby yawned, then pressed his small face into her shoulder. She smiled, rubbing his back in slow circles.

“I still can’t believe how much they’ve grown,” she whispered.

Akashi’s eyes softened. “Every day feels new.”

For a moment, neither spoke — just the hum of the morning air and the soft coos of the twins.

Then Y/N leaned against his shoulder. “You’re doing well, you know. As a father.”

He blinked, surprised. Compliments still caught him off guard when they came from her. “I have good teachers,” he said quietly.

She laughed softly. “Flattery doesn’t suit a genius.”

He turned, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It suits a husband.”

Hours later, after breakfast, Akashi found her standing at the window. The twins were napping, sunlight spilling over the crib.

“You were right,” he said softly from behind her.

She turned. “About what?”

“That life can be ordinary and still be perfect.”

Y/N smiled. “You only just realized that?”

He slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You keep proving it to me.”

Outside, cherry blossoms began to fall. Two petals drifted through the open window, landing in the cradle between the twins.

And for a long, perfect moment, everything was still — their laughter, their breathing, the small sounds of the home they’d built together.

The kind of peace Akashi once thought he’d never find again.

★ = NSFW Content

✦ = Suggestive Content, 16+

✶ = SFW

Kagami Taiga

★ Alpha Kagami x Omega Reader Ask

✦ Party

✶ Upside Down Kisses

Kuroko Tetsuya

✶ Treble Clef

Part of the necklace series

Izuki Shun

The things you notice

Kuroko Tetsuya wasn’t used to being seen. Even now, with a girlfriend who smiled at him like he was her entire world, that old instinct lingered — the quiet feeling that he could vanish at any moment and the world would keep spinning just fine.

He didn’t think it was sad. Just... normal. That was, until you came along.

It was a slow Sunday evening, the kind that smelled like rain. You and Kuroko were sitting together in the gym after his team’s practice — the others had already left.

He sat beside you on the bleachers, towel draped around his neck, sweat still glistening on his jaw.

“You’re quiet today,” you said softly.

He blinked, turning his gaze to you. “I’m always quiet.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No, this is different. You do this thing when you’re thinking — your fingers tap against your thigh, just once every few seconds.”

He paused mid-tap. “You noticed that?”

You looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I did. You always do it when you’re trying not to worry me.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You leaned in just a bit. “You don’t have to hide things from me, Tetsuya.”

He met your eyes — steady, light blue, almost too gentle for how deep they looked. “I’m not hiding. I just… don’t want to take up too much space.”

You smiled sadly. “You don’t take up space. You make it. For everyone else.”

Kuroko’s breath caught, his heartbeat louder than the soft drizzle outside. No one had ever phrased it like that.

He reached for your hand then — a quiet, hesitant motion. You intertwined your fingers without hesitation, resting your head against his shoulder.

The gym lights buzzed softly above, casting a glow that made everything feel distant and still.

“You know,” you murmured, “when we’re in a crowd, I can always find you first.”

Kuroko tilted his head. “How?”

“Because even when no one’s looking, you’re still paying attention to everyone else,” you said, smiling. “That’s how I know where you are — I just look for the person who’s seeing instead of being seen.”

For a moment, Kuroko was quiet again — but not in the way he used to be. This silence was full, warm, safe.

He rested his chin lightly on your hair. “You make me feel visible,” he whispered.

You laughed softly. “You’ve always been visible, Tetsuya. People just don’t look close enough.”

When he walked you home that night, your hands stayed intertwined the whole way. Neither of you said much — there was no need.

Because love, for Kuroko, didn’t come with fireworks or noise. It came with small gestures — the squeeze of your hand, the way he always waited for you before crossing the street, the faint smile when you noticed his favorite flavor of milk and bought it before he could ask.

🍬 “Sweeter Than Sugar”

The locker room smelled faintly of sweat, tape, and victory. Voices echoed down the hall—Kagami’s laughter, Kuroko’s calm replies, the thud of someone dropping a water bottle. The game was over, the cheers were fading, and the adrenaline was dissolving into silence.

Atsushi sat alone on a bench near the back, his long legs folded awkwardly, his right arm wrapped tight in a sling. Someone had handed him a towel and a box of chocolate pocky; only the candy had survived his impatience. He’d eaten half already.

When you stepped inside, the door clicked shut softly behind you.

“Hey,” you said. “Everyone’s wondering where you disappeared to.”

He didn’t look up right away. “Too noisy,” he mumbled, chewing lazily. “And my arm hurts.”

You crossed the room and crouched in front of him. His eyes were half-lidded—tired, but calmer than you’d ever seen. “You broke it for a good reason, though,” you said gently.

Atsushi gave a slow blink. “Yeah,” he murmured. “For once, I didn’t just play because it was easy. I actually… wanted to win.” His voice faltered on that last word, almost like he didn’t recognize it coming out of his mouth.

You smiled. “You did win.”

He stared at the pocky stick, then at you. “It doesn’t feel like before. Usually I don’t care about this stuff, but now… it kind of hurts that it’s over.”

You sat beside him. “That’s because it mattered.”

He frowned, the motion small but childlike. “Mattering is exhausting.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “But it’s real.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The muffled celebration outside grew quieter—someone had turned the music down, maybe to rest their voices. Atsushi shifted a little closer, and the bench creaked beneath his weight.

You noticed the candy box in his lap. “Still eating even with one arm?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “It helps.”

“What does?”

“The sweetness. When I was a kid, candy was… the only nice thing. Whenever I was upset, I’d eat something sweet and pretend it fixed everything.”

You reached over, sliding one stick from the box. “Did it?”

He shrugged. “For a bit. But it never lasted.”

You snapped the stick in half and offered him a piece. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to last—maybe it was just supposed to remind you what nice things taste like.”

He looked at the candy in your hand, then at your face, and for the first time his eyes softened completely. Carefully, he leaned forward and took the piece from your fingers with a quiet bite.

The silence that followed was strangely tender. You could hear the hum of the lights, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the faint buzz in your chest that always came when you were close to him.

“Hey,” you said after a while. “You know you don’t have to fix everything by yourself anymore, right?”

Atsushi tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to quiet things down with candy or pretend you don’t care. You have people now—your team, your friends…” You paused, lowering your voice. “Me.”

His mouth twitched into a crooked smile. “You?”

You nodded. “Me.”

He leaned his good shoulder lightly against yours. “That’s nice,” he murmured. “You make things quieter too, but… in a better way.”

You felt your face warm. “Quieter, huh?”

“Mm. Like the world finally stops spinning so fast.”

You laughed under your breath. “That might be the painkillers talking.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement. “Maybe.” Then, after a heartbeat, quieter: “Maybe not.”

You stayed like that for a long time—just two tired people sharing the same breath and sugar-stained peace. His head eventually tilted until it rested against yours, and his voice came out drowsy, almost slurred.

“I still like candy,” he said, “but it tastes different when you’re here.”

You smiled, brushing the crumbs from his fingers. “Maybe it’s because it’s not just sugar anymore.”

He opened one eye lazily. “Then what is it?”

“Something sweeter.”

Atsushi blinked, half-asleep, and murmured, “You, then.”

The words hung in the air, simple and unpolished, but they made your chest ache in the gentlest way. You watched him drift, his breathing slowing, his candy box slipping from his lap to the floor.

You caught it before it fell and placed it beside him, whispering, “Rest, Atsushi. You did enough.”

He made a small sound of agreement, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and leaned fully against you.

Outside, the echoes of celebration faded into the distance. Inside, there was only the faint scent of chocolate, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the soft understanding between two people who’d found sweetness in the middle of all the noise.

Before I start, i'd lijke to say I sincerely CANNOT imagine Atsushi with a small gyal. Nevertheless if you're small/petite please feel free to read the story. I don't discriminate, even tho the description of Y/N will mainly be the one of a thick/ chubby/ fat/ slim thick/ bulky girl! Knowing Japanese beauty standards a regular sized girl would also be seen as "big".

Lots of love and please let me know if you have a request

Let's start!

Sweet enough

You always knew hanging around Murasakibara meant two things: snacks, and more snacks. The boy was basically a walking vending machine, crinkling candy wrappers faster than your eyes could track.

Today was no different. You were perched on the edge of Yosen’s gym bleachers, watching practice wind down while Atsushi trudged toward you with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. His towel draped over his shoulders lazily, and despite his height, he slumped like he didn’t have a single bone in his body.

“Ne, (Y/N)-chin,” he mumbled, holding out a bag of chips like an offering. “You didn’t eat enough today. Wanna share?”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach did betray you with a quiet growl. “You’re going to make me round like a basketball if you keep feeding me like this.”

Atsushi tilted his head, chewing lazily on the candy. “Round? You already look perfect, though.”

You choked on thin air. “…Excuse me?”

He blinked, like he couldn’t understand why you were shocked. “I mean, you’re soft. Comfy. Like a giant marshmallow. Marshmallows are my favorite.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Atsushi. People already think—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “People already think I’m too big to be cute.”

For once, the lazy amusement faded from his violet eyes. He crouched down in front of you, and suddenly it felt like the world had shrunk around his looming figure.

“Mm… I don’t like when you say that,” he murmured. His lollipop clattered onto the bench as he leaned closer, resting his huge hand on your knee with surprising gentleness. “You’re cute. And I like you like this. Don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blinked rapidly, the warmth creeping up your cheeks hotter than the Yosen heaters. “Atsushi—”

He huffed, pout tugging at his lips. “(Y/N)-chin… you’re sweet enough already. Stop worrying.”

Something in his voice made your chest ache in the best way—like caramel melting slow and sticky. Before you could lose your nerve, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Atsushi froze. Then his ears turned pink, his hands fidgeting like a giant caught off guard. “Ah… I-I wasn’t ready for that,” he muttered, lips twitching into the smallest, shyest smile you’d ever seen.

“Get used to it,” you teased, finally daring to grin. “You’re stuck with me now, marshmallow boy.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the way he tucked you into his side—massive arm curling around you with a protective squeeze—said enough.

And just like that, your insecurities felt lighter. Because if Atsushi Murasakibara thought you were sweet enough, maybe you really were.

Couple of days later

The mall food court was crowded, trays clattering, kids running around, and the smell of fried chicken mixing with sugar from the bakery. You were balancing a soda and a snack when you heard it—two girls at a nearby table whispering, not quietly enough.

“Is that her? The one always with Murasakibara?” “She’s pretty, but… don’t you think she’s, like… kinda big next to him?” “Yeah, it looks weird. He could have anyone—why her?”

The words stung, even though you tried to brush them off. You shifted uncomfortably, looking down at yourself, fighting the urge to shrink into the crowd.

And then—two long arms draped over your shoulders. Atsushi had come up behind you, leaning his full height over you like a human shield. His voice was slow, lazy, but it cut through the chatter like thunder.

“Oi. Don’t talk about my (Y/N)-chin.”

The girls froze, wide-eyed, as Atsushi bent down enough to level his violet gaze at them. “She’s mine. She’s cute. Way cuter than any of you snacks.”

The girls turned beet red, grabbing their trays and bolting without another word.

You gawked at him, cheeks blazing. “Atsushi—!”

“What?” He looked down at you, feigning innocence. “They were being annoying. I don’t like when people say dumb stuff about you.”

Your heart squeezed. He wasn’t the type to get fired up often, but when it came to you, he didn’t hesitate. You set your soda down and tugged at his hoodie sleeve until he bent lower.

On tiptoe, you kissed his cheek, soft but deliberate. He blinked, then broke into a lopsided grin.

“See? Sweetest snack ever,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest right there in the middle of the food court. You squeaked, embarrassed, but his arms felt warm and safe around you.

Win or Loose, You're mine

The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door. Too quiet. Normally Kise’s voice would bounce off every wall—singing some silly tune, calling for you, or just loudly existing. Tonight, the silence carried the weight of his loss.

You found him exactly as you expected: sprawled across the couch, still in his sweatpants and hoodie, golden hair sticking in messy tufts. His phone was face down on the coffee table, ignored for once. He stared at the ceiling like it had all the answers.

“Ryouta,” you said softly, putting the grocery bag on the counter.

He rolled his head to look at you, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, (Y/N)-cchi. Welcome home. Sorry, I’m kind of… dead weight tonight.”

Your chest pinched. He wasn’t dramatic—well, not this kind of dramatic—without reason.

You walked over, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. “You lost a game, Ryouta. Not the world.”

He sat up halfway, leaning his chin against the back of the couch. “But it feels like it.” His voice cracked a little, frustration pulling at the edges. “I worked so hard, and it still wasn’t enough. I’m supposed to be—”

“Human,” you interrupted gently. “You’re supposed to be human, Ryouta. You gave your all, and that’s amazing in itself.”

He blinked at you, lips parted like he wanted to argue, but your calm stopped him.

While he sat there, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The sound of bowls, sugar, eggs cracking filled the air. Soon, the smell of cookies baking started to push out the heavy quiet.

When you carried a warm plate over, his eyes softened instantly. “You baked?”

“I bake for my favorite people,” you teased, handing him one. “And right now my favorite person looks like he needs cookies more than anyone.”

The first bite almost broke him—he laughed through the crumbs, shoulders shaking, eyes glassy. “(Y/N)-cchi, you’re too much, you know that?”

You slid onto the couch beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Nope. Just enough.”

He leaned into you, burying his face against your neck. His long arm curled around your waist, clinging tighter than usual. The façade of Kise Ryouta—the model, the prodigy, the player—fell away, and it was just him.

“You really think I’m amazing? Even if I lose?” His voice was muffled, almost childlike.

You stroked his hair. “Especially then. Because I see the boy who works until his body aches. The one who plays with all his heart. Winning or losing doesn’t change that.”

He pulled back, eyes shining with something vulnerable and pure. Then he kissed you—slow, grateful, full of quiet emotion.

When he broke away, he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his. “Guess what? You’re stuck with me anyway.”

Y/N: as Seirin's nurse, Talents/ Specialty: ital Sight, Injury sense, Body reading.

Let's start..

The Winter Cup gym buzzed with noise, the echo of sneakers and the screech of whistles fading as the game came to a close. Seirin had won — but the victory came at a cost. Bruises, scrapes, swollen joints. And worst of all, Teppei Kiyoshi’s knee had taken yet another brutal blow.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of the locker room, her med bag open beside her. The boys filed in one by one, offering tired smiles. She checked each of them quickly, her hands steady, her voice calm as always. That calm was her armor; she couldn’t let them see how her chest burned with fury.

“Y/N-chan, it’s nothing—” Kagami started, but she fixed him with a look that silenced him instantly.

“You’re all playing like you’ve got something to prove,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “But proving yourselves doesn’t mean breaking yourselves.”

The last to sit was Teppei, lowering himself onto the bench with a small grin that didn’t fool her. His knee was already swelling. Y/N knelt in front of him, fingers working carefully as she massaged and pressed. His breath hitched once, but he didn’t complain.

“You took too many hits today,” she murmured, her hands gentle but her eyes sharp. “Hanamiya knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Teppei gave a rueful chuckle. “He always did. Dirty tricks are his specialty.”

Her jaw tightened. Once, Hanamiya Makoto had been her friend — someone she’d trusted. Now he was a stranger with a sneer, leaving trails of injuries in his wake.

When Teppei was stable, she packed her bag and left the locker room. The noise outside had dulled, but she didn’t head home with the others. She had unfinished business.

Hanamiya was waiting near the exit, leaning against the wall with that same crooked smile. His team loitered nearby, laughing and shoving each other. He straightened when he saw her.

“Well, if it isn’t Seirin’s little nurse. You looked busy today,” he drawled.

Her calm cracked. She walked right up to him, eyes blazing. “Busy because of you. Because you don’t play basketball, Hanamiya — you destroy it. Every injury, every cheap shot — you’re pathetic.”

His smirk faltered. For a moment, his old self flashed in his eyes — the boy she used to know. Then it hardened.

Hanamiya’s smirk widened as Y/N stepped into his space, the glow of the streetlight catching the sharp edge of his grin.

“You’ve always had a sharp tongue,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “But words don’t mean much, do they?”

His hand moved fast — a snap of motion toward her face.

But she was faster.

Her hand shot up, fingers closing around his wrist before he could touch her. The air crackled as the two of them stood there, eye to eye, neither backing down.

“Try it,” Y/N said evenly, her voice like ice. “Lay one hand on me, Hanamiya, and I’ll show you exactly how strong I am. You won’t forget it.”

For a heartbeat, silence pressed in. His smirk faltered, the surprise in his eyes betraying him before he sneered again, yanking his wrist back.

“You’ve changed,” he muttered.

“No,” she said, stepping closer so her words cut like a blade. “I just stopped tolerating your crap. You don’t scare me anymore — and you’ll never touch my team again.”

The sound of footsteps echoed, and Teppei appeared just in time to see Hanamiya retreat a step. He quickly closed the distance, his large hand clamping onto Hanamiya’s shoulder, pushing him back firmly.

“Game’s over,” Teppei said, calm but unyielding. “Get lost.”

Hanamiya clicked his tongue, glaring between them before stalking off with his team.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her hands finally dropping to her sides. Teppei’s eyes softened as he looked at her.

“You didn’t need me just now,” he said, impressed. “You had him cornered.”

Y/N gave a small smile, fire still flickering behind her calm gaze. “Maybe. But I’m glad you came anyway.”

The next campaign isn’t indoors this time.

It’s on a rooftop — soft sunset bleeding into the Tokyo skyline, orange and violet clouds reflected on the slick surface after a sudden rain.

The air smells clean. Quiet. Like a fresh start.

Y/N stands at the edge of the set, wrapped in a light windbreaker, watching the staff reset lights. Her curls brush her cheek, damp from the drizzle.

Aomine walks up behind her, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “You good?”

She smiles softly. “I’m okay. It’s beautiful up here.”

He glances at the skyline, then at her. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It is.”

The photographer waves them over. “Alright — last scene! Simple. Natural. Just the two of you, walking close, like you’re sharing a secret.”

They nod.

The camera clicks. They walk.

The city hums below them, traffic like a heartbeat.

She laughs quietly at something he mutters under his breath — something about how they never get normal jobs like “catalog modeling.”

He grins. She laughs again.

“Hold that,” the photographer calls. “That’s the moment.”

When it’s over, the crew packs up, the lights dim. They stay a little longer, leaning against the railing.

A breeze lifts her hair, brushing it across her face. Without thinking, Aomine reaches out — gentle — tucks the strand behind her ear.

She freezes, heartbeat in her throat.

“Why do you do that?” she whispers.

He tilts his head. “Do what?”

“Say things that make my heart race.”

He laughs quietly, eyes softer than she’s ever seen. “’Cause it’s true.”

A pause. The wind carries a faint hum of city life below them — taxis, chatter, the world still spinning.

He leans closer, voice low. “I like you, Y/N. I think… I’ve liked you since that first shoot.”

She looks up at him — eyes bright, shy, searching. Then smiles, small but certain. “I know.”

They don’t kiss. They don’t need to.

The camera flashes one last time from somewhere behind them — a candid shot, the kind that’ll end up on billboards.

Two silhouettes, close but not quite touching. Sunset light between them.

The Beauty of Contrast.