synopsis: other than being the captain of the volleyball team, tetsuro kuroo was a total nerd, a total nerd crushing on a girl totally out of his league! meanwhile, this girl, reader had absoluty zero intrest in him, or at least that's what it looked from outside
anyone who spoke to tetsuro kuroo for more than two seconds knows that other than being a 6’2 volleyball pro— he was also a huge nerd, especially when it came to chemistry. he took honors chem last year, and now he is in ap chem, and a stem club.
that ap chem class, and stem club, is where he met the sweetest, and by far most gorgeous, stunning girl he’d ever seen on the face of this planet— reader— she was totally his type.
so, kuroo being kuroo, he started flirting with this girl relentlessly after finding out she didn’t have a boyfriend or a significant other. though he was somewhat of a stereotypical nerd, he’s proven to be quite the flirt, and quite charismatic as well. still, despite his efforts, this beautiful, as well as way too out of his league girl, has not fallen for him just yet. kuroo's convinced she’s playing hard to get, kenma thinks he should let it go. but, along with being charming, he was also persistent.
“hey, reader,” kuroo called out as he stumbled out of the stem club, quickly catching up to reader, who was walking a few feet ahead, her bag slung over her shoulder as she stared down at her phone.
she lifted her head and turned to look at kuroo, hearing scurried footsteps approaching her from behind. a deep sigh escaped her glossed lips as she stuffed her phone into the pocket of her blazer. “what’s up, kuroo?” reader asks in somewhat of an exasperated tone— it was clear she was already tired of non-stop, flirting behavior.
“ah, c’mon, gorgeous, stop actin’ like you hate talking to me so much.” he chuckled quietly as he gently nudged her shoulder, starting to walk in sync beside her. “if you hated me so much you would’ve cursed me out by now..” he adds in a teasing tone, his head tilting in her direction.
“... ‘m just polite— i don’t like ya.”
“mmhm! sure ya dont, beautiful…” he reaches out and snatches her bag from her, yanking the leather strap over his arm to rest it on his shoulder. he didn’t care for the weight, he was strong, and he didn’t mind the frilly, quite feminine, keychains hanging off the side either— he just wanted to carry her bag for her.
reader was used to his quote on quote, chivalrous, behavior by now, so she let him. what does it matter if the physical weight on her shoulder is lifted for a few minutes? not like she’s admitting she has any romantic feelings for the guy…
“anyways, you headed home or stopped by somewhere first?” kuroo questioned with a light-hearted sigh as they descended the stairs, arriving on the first floor.
“i wanted to stop by the convenience store down the street.” she mutters, whipping her phone out to type something out— send a few texts or something. she was decently popular so it didn’t exactly surprise kuroo that she was shooting off a new text every two seconds.
“sounds good.” he hums in understanding, continuing to walk beside her. “let’s go then, i’ll walk ya.” he offers, though it sounds more like a statement.
“you’re far too desperate for your own good, you know that, right?” she comments bluntly, not looking up from her phone as she insults him so easily.
kuroo barks out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement as they leave the school building, cold air brushing against their skin. she wasn’t a mean person by any means, and kuroo knew that— he also knew that he was probably irritating her quite a bit at this point. he didn’t even mind her insults. he never took anything she said to heart.
“what kinds of snacks do you want to get?” he asks as they start to walk down the street, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
“i ran out of these spicy chips i eat at home— and i wanted some peach iced tea too.” reader explains, finally putting her phone away for good to give kuroo her full attention. he perked up like a dog when her eyes met his for the first time this whole day.
even sharing a class, a lunch period, and an afterschool club, she barely looked in his direction— even though she was aware of his feelings…
their relationship dynamic, if you could call it that, was quite strange. tetsuro's feelings were quite clear to everyone, including reader, yet she refused to acknowledge them out loud— not to herself, or her friends. they would often ask why she voluntarily hung around him if it was clear that he liked her. she never had an answer for them.
she didn’t even have an answer for herself either. why did she let him hang around her so often? she didn’t need him to accompany her to this shop, and she didn’t need him to carry her bag, or walk her home— but she let him anyway…
“you want some sour candy too?” he asks as they enter the convenience store.
“mmm…” reader hums in consideration, thinking for a moment before nodding. “yeah. those sour watermelon candies. they should have some here..” she creeps to the back of the store, searching around for the three food items she had come here for.
kuroo quietly lingers behind her while she picks out two bags of spicy chips, a bottle of iced peach tea, and the sour watermelon gummies he reminded her of.
after a few minutes of wandering around the store, they found their way to the cash register. kuroo pulled his wallet out of his bag before reader could even turn towards her bag. he didn’t need to pay, but he wanted to— you know, to be a gentleman, and all that crap…
“don’t you have any other girls you might be interested in?” reader questions with a deep sigh as they leave the convenience store and start to head in the direction of her neighborhood.
“nah, just you.” he confesses with a matter-of-a-fact shrug, adjusting his grip on her bag. he was now holding his school bag, her school bag, and the plastic bag of snacks they received from the convenience store.
“don’t you think pursuing someone who doesn’t reciprocate your feelings is kind of useless?” she murmurs, her head tilting slightly to the side as she stares up at him.
“nah.” he repeats, shaking his head again.
“even if you don’t feel the same way, that doesn’t affect how much i care about you.” he states bluntly, as if what he was saying was completely normal, and not a top-tier confession from a teenage boy.
though reader had quite the sea of admirers, she hadn’t ever had a boy speak about his feelings for her so bluntly before. she’d never had someone feel so… confident to care about her, not like kuroo.
a light flush appeared on her cheeks as they continued to walk toward her house. she looks down at the floor, avoiding his gaze while also making sure he couldn’t see the gentle blush that had now tainted most of her face.
within a few minutes, they come to a stop, now in the middle of a basic suburban neighborhood, in front of reader's house.
“thanks, tetsuro.” reader mutters, taking her bags back from him before turning toward her front door. he lets her take the bags with no comment, but he pauses when he realizes that she had addressed him by his first name.
“y-yeah, no problem—” tetsuro quickly clears his throat, turning his body to her, his gaze quickly finding hers. “have a good evening, aight, reader?” he calls out when she opens her front door.
reader pauses, not moving for a brief second before she turns back around to face him once again, making eye contact again. both of them don’t speak for a few agonizingly long seconds, instead just staring at one another.
“if you don’t have some stupid volleyball crap this saturday, you can take me out, alright?” reader calls out, the flush on her face returning, though she tried her best to keep her expression totally neutral. “like, on a date.” she clarifies after clearing her throat.
he sputters, caught off guard by her sudden offer.
she’d been so cold the whole day— not just the whole day but the last few months… and basically since she met him. why would she ask for a date out of nowhere like this? but he quickly snapped out of his own thoughts, realizing she was offering him a date, a real date! he didn’t think this would come so soon!
“y-yeah!” he chirps in response, taking a large step forward out of excitement, unable to contain himself properly. “i don’t have anythin’ this saturday! i’ll swing by here at around 2 if that’s good for you?”
reader hesitates for a brief moment before nodding again, “mmhm, 2 is good for me.” she murmurs before walking into the house and slamming the door shut behind her.
kuroo stands there for another few seconds, now just staring at the door as he finishes processing what just happened. then it clicks for him— he has a date… he has a date with the girl he’d been crushing on for months!
“hell yeah!” he exclaims in excitement, quickly pumping his fist into the air like an overexcited little kid who was just promised ice cream.
but he couldn't bring himself to care about his childish behavior. all he could think about was how excited he was at the fact that he now had a confirmed date with reader. he knows he has to plan out the most jaw-dropping date ever too— he has to impress her!
plagiarism, feeding work into AI & reposting of content not allowed without permission (@keniscrepes)
divider credits to @cursed-carmine
note: I intended this to be only one part but, part 2?
synopsis: after your situationship shows up to a halloween party with another girl, you decide to move onto better (and bigger?) things.
wc: 1.6k
part 1 || part 2 (coming soon!)
“you’ve got to be kidding me.”
your jaw drops as you watch miya atsumu walk into aran’s halloween party. suna follows your gaze to the door, quirking an eyebrow when he spots the obnoxious yellow mop of hair.
atsumu looks smug as can be, with a small crowd of people gathering around him as he entered. he always seemed to have a gaggle of admiring fangirls following him everywhere he went. and although on a normal day that would’ve pissed you off, that wasn’t the source of your skyrocketing blood pressure today.
he was donning what might be the world’s most hideous orange jumpsuit. he had purple eyeshadow packed in the shape of a bruise right above his eyebrow, and fake blood in the form of a cut on his cheek. for the cherry on top, he had one of his hands cuffed in a pair of handcuffs. and who was holding onto the other cuff? none other than the girl he told you not to worry about.
shimada mei was parading atsumu around by his handcuff like she owned the man. and god, did she look the part. mei was sporting the obvious counterpart to atsumu’s costume, a navy blue sexy police officer romper with a matching badge. her zipper was zipped halfway down her chest, shorts riding up her ass. but you’d be lying out of your ass if you said she didn’t look good. and atsumu looked like he was right where he wanted to be, much to your dismay.
suna turns to you with a questioning look.
“wasn’t he supposed to be-“
“yes.” you cut suna off, not wanting to hear his commentary.
he’s referring to how atsumu was supposed to match costumes with you. he was supposed to be the magician to your bunny - supposed to be wearing a sexy white button up and red cape to match your white corset and ridiculously short skirt. instead him and his new girlfriend seemed to be too far up each others asses to even acknowledge you.
not that you had any claim over miya atsumu. not technically, anyways. he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he still hit you up in the middle of the night texting you for hours on end. you weren’t in a relationship, but he still asked to go on spontaneous drives with you, stealing kisses at the local convenience store while picking up snacks. you two weren’t exclusive but he still kept a possessive hand on you when you were talking to other men. the list could go on and on, but clearly none of it mattered, because at the end of the day he came with someone else when he promised to come with you. dick.
you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until suna elbows you sharply.
“they’re coming this way,” he jerks his head in their direction, and you come back to reality as you realize that he’s right. the it couple of the night is beelining straight towards the drinks - right where you and suna happened to be standing.
“oh god, gimme that-“ you snatch suna’s red cup out of his hand, chugging the rest of the mysterious tasting liquid in it. said man rolled his eyes as you wipe his drink clean.
“was that necessary?” he sassed. you nod vigorously.
“i need all the liquid courage i can get to face piss-hair and his girl,” you spat bitterly. “and what the hell do you put in these drinks?”
he shrugs in response.
“little bit of this, little bit of that.”
you don’t have time to ask him what that means because mei’s annoyingly smooth voice interrupts.
“tsumu, what do you wanna drink?” you watch as she stares up at him with big eyes, hand laying on his unfairly large bicep. your unfairly large bicep. he smirks down at her.
“anything you make is good enough for me baby, just don’t leave me waiting for too long.” he sells it with a wink. you think you feel your drink coming back up. she leaves with a giggle, hopefully to make some rancid concoction that will leave both of them hunched over a toilet by the end of the night.
“damn. they might as well sit you down in a chair and label it ‘cuck’ while they’re at it,” suna whistles. you turn to him and give him the nastiest glare you can muster up.
“hold this,” you shove the cup back into his hands. “and i swear to god if you record what comes next i’m gonna shove your face into the cabinet and slam the door on your head.”
suna lets out a laugh at that.
“bunny really doesn’t suit you, maybe you should switch costumes with mei.”
you respond by sticking up your middle finger as you stomp towards an unsuspecting atsumu.
“hi baby!” you exclaim, sickly sweet sarcasm dripping from your voice. atsumu turns to you with a jolt. “funny seeing you here!”
the blonde at least has some decency to look guilty, red creeping up his ears as he sheepishly lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck. you try not to get distracted by the ridges of his incredibly muscular arm. are those fake tattoos?
“i just loveeeee your magician costume!” you continue gushing sarcastically, imitating mei’s sweet little act from earlier. atsumu’s face shifts slightly from discomfort, clearly not used to being called out.
“look, about that. i’m sorry i bailed on our costume,” he apologizes. you only grow more irritated.
“that’s all you have to say? you didn’t even so much as give me a heads up!”
“in my defense, up until a few hours ago i was plannin’ to come as a magician,” he put his palms up. “but then mei called me, sobbing about how her ex-boyfriend dumped her and how she had to go to this party to make him jealous. and she had this costume lying around.”
“right,” you scoff, “and like the slut you are, you let her bring you here and parade you around like her little boytoy? and more importantly humiliate me?”
“no need for the name calling, sweetheart,” atsumu narrows his eyes. “and i called ya to give a heads up, but you didn’t pick up.”
you glance down at your phone screen to see that he had called you. 20 minutes ago.
“seriously? you couldn’t respect me enough to follow through with a commitment you already made, or give me more than a 20 minute notice?” you can’t believe his audacity. was this really the same atsumu you had been fooling around with for the past few months?
“i told ya, she was upset about her ex and needed me. besides, you have other friends here, like rin and samu,” he argues.
“oh because she seems sooo sad about her ex,” you drawl sarcastically. this seems to set him off. atsumu’s eyes turn cold as his tone shifts into something lower - meaner.
“listen, darling,” he sneers, as a pit begins to form in your stomach. “i don’t care how butthurt ya are over a stupid costume. we aren’t exclusive, and never were. i don’t owe ya anything, and mei needed my help so i gave it. don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be and go back to sunarin.”
you fight the tears welling up in your eyes as mei returns, handing atsumu a matching cup. she turns, noticing you blinking furiously.
“is everything alright?” she asks innocently. you see straight through her bullshit. clearly atsumu doesn’t, or doesn’t care to, because he takes one glance at her big eyes and flawless face and melts his icy expression. somehow that hurts more than any of his words.
“everything’s great darling, especially now that you’re back,” he teases. “let’s try these drinks?”
you turn, humiliation burning at your eyes from being forgotten and ignored. you ignore suna’s concerned inquiries as you return, gradually picking up the pace until you’re practically flying out the door of the house. the disrespect was unbelievable, coming from someone you had liked for so long now.
it wasn’t easy to sneak into your heart, but atsumu had made it look effortless. it was so easy to talk to him, to be physical with him, to be passionate around him. you almost forgot that the two of you weren’t dating because he was just so damn good at making you feel so damn good.
and to throw it all away in one night. a night that was supposed to be fun.
you reach the outside of the house, far enough away at this point to fully let loose the tears. they streamed down your face, quiet, broken sobs accompanying them as you continued running further.
any dream you had of being atsumu’s girlfriend - crushed. and he didn’t even give it a second thought. in fact, he was having the time of his life with some perfect girl, while your heart was breaking-
THUD!
you stumble forward into the stranger, losing your balance from the sudden collision. the heel on your boot twists, sending you hurtling towards the ground. you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact. however, before you can hit the ground a pair of arms steadies you by the waist.
“easy, there.” a man drawls, all too familiar of an accent. you let out a sigh of relief and slowly open your eyes, before doing a double take at the person currently holding you against his chest.
“now what the hell did my dumbass brother do to make a pretty girl like you cry?”
faded photographs from february 及川 徹 ﹕ oikawa tooru
content. timeskip! oikawa tooru (20), plays for the japan national team. angst. exes to lovers. slight chatfic.
authors note. was listening to laufey the entire time i was working on this . . . (⋟﹏⋞) i miss my boyf (tooru). i also wrote this on the tumblr app + didn’t beta read it, so if there’s any mistakes: please disregard them!
word count. 2.3k
nostalgia hurts worse than any other pain.
you know that because, as you stand in the subway station, people rushing from point a to point b, you feel an indescribable ache in your chest. one that you know cannot be fixed with an antacid or an ibuprofen.
oikawa tooru is plastered on the wall in front of you, promoting some cologne you’ll never be able to afford. his hair is perfectly gelled, his skin flawless and shiny. but his smile, his wide, flashy smile — it isn’t quite real. it doesn’t reach his eyes the way that it should.
behind you, the train whirs to life and rockets down the tunnel, leaving you behind. you can’t find it in yourself to care, too entranced by the advertisement. even though it’s only been eight months, he’s so . . . different.
you don’t even know how to accurately describe it. like, it’s not just how he looks, but also the air around him. you’re not even looking at him in person and you can tell at least that much.
you miss him, you think. just a little bit, just in moments like this. you’ll never admit it out loud. you were the one who broke things off; if you go back now, it’ll just make you look like a gold-digger.
your neck hurts from looking up for too long, but you ignore it in favor of keeping your eyes on his. you’re so proud of him — more than he will ever know. you don’t even realize you’re crying until a light breeze sweeps through the tunnel, chilling your face. you sniffle, wiping the tears from your cheek as fast as you can.
how embarrassing; crying over your ex-boyfriend in the middle of the subway station. you wrap your arms around yourself as a singular shiver runs down your spine.
you need to turn around and get on the train. you need to go home and feed your cat. you need to shower and do some of the homework that’s in your bag. you need to—
“holy shit. y/n?”
the unmistakable voice of matsukawa echoes throughout the tunnel, shaking you to your core. what is he doing here? at this time of night? god, you hope he doesn’t bring up tooru.
you wipe at your cheeks again, this time as discreet as possible, and turn to the brunette with a practiced smile. “hi, matsukawa. funny seeing you here.”
if he notices your glossy eyes, he doesn’t show it. instead, he smiles back at you, laughing. “yeah. small world.” he pauses, glancing over at the large picture of oikawa staring down at you two, then shakes his head. “uh, how are you? it’s been a while. like, what, seven months?”
“something like that,” you nod politely. “i’m good. school is busy, but that’s not new.” you shrug, pressing your lips together. “how are you? how’s t— um, how’s everyone else?”
“we’re good, yeah,” he nods back. his tongue darts out to wet his lips — a nervous tic of his. “iwa’s still in california, partying it up. makki just started a new job . . .” he trails off, eyes darting to the advertisement. “shittykawa’s still annoying as ever.”
you laugh, ducking your head as you do so. “makes sense,” you say softly, smiling. “is iwaizumi coming back for christmas break at all? i assume not, since most school’s are already out.”
“ah, yeah. he wanted to, but . . .” he shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. “money.”
once again, you nod.
“he misses you, you know.”
“iwaizumi?” you ask, brows furrowing as you tilt your head. matsukawa shakes his head, and your smile slowly fades as you realize who he’s talking about. “oh.”
“you should—” he cuts himself off, shoulders rising as he takes a deep breath. “you should call him. or text him. or anything. he—”matsukawa chuckles, “he never shuts up about you.”
“mattsun,” you say, almost like a warning. “he doesn’t want to hear from me. i— i broke up with him.”
“yeah, because you wanted him to focus on his career,” he says, brows pinching together. “as you can see by the giant poster of his face, he’s doing pretty good for himself. he made the national team — youngest to ever do it. he has sponsors and he’s the number one setter in the country.”
you bite the inside of your cheek. you’ve though about it a couple times; reaching out to him. to say congratulations, to send him a snapchat flashback of a fond memory, just to say hi.
the sound of the next train pulling up vibrates through the air, and you glance over at the tracks, then back at matsukawa. “i’ll— i’ll think about it, okay? it was good seeing you, mattsun. let me know if you need anything.”
12:51 pm | you -> tooru. i ran into mattsun yesterday. he told me i should text you, so umm here i am, texting you. hi. read.
you’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you actually took matsukawa’s advice and texted tooru, or the fact that he left you on read.
truly, you should have just ignored matsukawa. said hello, and walked out of the station before he could say anything else. you would have had to walk home, but who cares? that would have been infinitely better than this.
you feel like a second year again, stomach churning as you pace outside of the gymnasium, grip tight on your camera, trying to work up the courage to talk to the captain of the volleyball team.
after staring at your phone for three minutes, waiting for a little bubble to pop up, you groan and flip your phone over — face down, so you don’t have to see your reflection.
you busy yourself with homework instead. chewing on your bottom lip, brows pinched together; you drown out everything else and, by the time you finish your assignments, it’s nearly 4 o’clock.
you pick up your phone on instinct, then drop it when you see a notification from tooru. he texted you back. two hours later, but still.
2:58 pm | tooru. -> you sorry i was at practice can we talk in person? at that cafe you like?
3:00 pm | you -> tooru. right now?
3:00 pm | tooru. -> you yeah if you’re not busy
3:03 pm | you -> tooru. okay yeah. i’ll be there in a bit
3:03 pm | tooru. -> you great
as you gather yourself together, you try not to think about how tooru remembered your favorite cafe. eight months isn’t a long time, and by no means did you forget anything about him, but it still makes your heart flutter a bit.
the walk to the cafe is short and uneventful. you can’t calm your nerves, no matter how hard you try. you tell yourself that tooru isn’t a stranger; you’ve spent countless nights with him, talking about anything and everything under the sun. he’s funny, and he’s smart, and he’s thoughtful, and he’s—
standing outside of the cafe, staring down at his phone. you feel like you can’t breathe. you feel like you’re going to throw up. or cry. or both.
he’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, probably because he just got done with practice. his glasses sit low on his nose, his hair is messy, stray pieces framing his face. it’s all so painfully him.
you open your mouth, to call out to him, maybe, but you can’t speak. what are you supposed to say to him? sorry i broke up with you so i wouldn’t get in the way of your career. i’m still in love with you, by the way?
before you can form your next thought, there are big, brown eyes staring back at you, accompanied by a soft smile. he brings his hand up and gives a small wave, then jogs over to where you stand.
“you came,” he breathes out.
you bite the inside of your cheek. “you asked me to.”
he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “do you wanna go inside? they have cranberry scones, since it’s almost christmas.” he pauses, shrugging. “or we could go on a walk. it’s up to you.”
“a walk sounds nice,” you say with a nod. he turns back the way he came from, and starts walking down the sidewalk. “so, um, how have you been? i saw your ad for that cologne. it’s all over the subway station on third street.”
he glances over at you, his cheeks link. “ah, yeah, that. my coach said it’s good that i have brands wanting to work with me, but . . .” he sighs. “i don’t know. i’ve been okay, though. what about you?”
“good. i’m— i’ve been good. thanks.” you’re making a point not to look at him. you can feel him look back at you every so often, but your eyes are glued to where the soles of your shoes meet the pavement.
a silence falls over the two of you. not exactly awkward, but not comfortable, either. you sneak a glance over at him, studying his side profile. his eyes are forward, his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. has he been working out more? his arms look huge, even under his hoodie.
“i missed you,” he says suddenly, avoiding your eyes. “i feel like i went through the five stages of grief when you broke up with me. i was—” he laughs, “i was really pissed off at first. at you, at myself, at everyone. and then it finally hit me.” he stops walking, just ahead of you, and turns around. “why didn’t you just tell me you thought you were holding me back? that you broke up with me because you didn’t want to be a burden?”
you blink at him, taken aback. you knew he was going to have questions, you just didn’t think he’d start asking them five minutes into seeing you after eight months.
“i . . .” you start, but don’t finish. you have no idea what to say. what does he want you to say? what will give him closure? “i just— i didn’t want to . . . i didn’t want to be any trouble. and i didn’t want to—” you sigh frustratedly. “—hold you back. volleyball is the most important thing in your life, and—”
“and you,” he interrupts, brows furrowed. “you and volleyball are the two most important things in my life.”
you roll your eyes. “you’re twenty years old, tooru. i appreciate the effort, but you don’t mean that. i’m replaceable. the love you feel for volleyball, however, is not.”
“you made a decision for me without even asking about how i‘d feel about it!” he exclaims, almost incredulously. “i love volleyball, yeah, but i loved you, too. and that wasn’t going to change just because you thought it would.”
loved. past tense. tooru doesn’t love you anymore. what were you expecting? for him to wait eight months? it was a pathetic wish.
you look back down at the ground, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a lame effort to not cry. “i think . . .” you mumble hesitantly. “i think this was a mistake.”
“what?”
“i shouldn’t have even texted you in the first place.” you shake your head, voice cracking as you speak. “i’m . . . i’m sorry, tooru. okay? i’m sorry for breaking up with you, and for suddenly texting you eight months after, and i’m sorry that i wasn’t the best girlfriend, and i’m sorry—”
he cuts off your cries by wrapping his arms around you, warm fabric pressing against your tear-stained cheeks.
there is no doubt about it now: you missed him.
your fingers clutch the back of his hoodie, bunching the fabric in your fists as another sob escapes you. it’s humiliating. dramatic, too. but tooru only tightens his hold, one hand settling on the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
“i think you’re making a scene,” he murmurs into your hair; you can feel him smile against you.
you let out a wet laugh. “you’re so annoying.”
“there she is.”
when he leans back — slowly — to look at you, his glasses have slipped down his nose. you reach up to fix them before you can stop yourself.
“sorry,” you whisper, pulling your hand back. “muscle memory.”
“i wanna get back together,” he blurts out, like he can’t keep the words in. his eyes go wide as he processes what he said, and then he blinks. “uh, i mean. do you . . . want to? do you— do you still . . . love me?”
it would be easier to lie. to make a joke, deflect, tell him you’re not sure. easier to protect yourself with distance and pride and all the same things that got you here in the first place.
instead, you nod once.
his eyes squeeze shut immediately, muttering something that sounds suspiciously close to thank god. then he opens them and says, “okay. great. cool. amazing.” he smiles nervously. “can you tell i’m trying to be normal about this?”
“you’re failing.”
“i know.”
you laugh again, and this time it feels like a weight off your back. like something unclenching in your chest.
“can i kiss you?” he asks. when you simply blink at him, he laughs. “i’m trying out the whole healthy communication thing.”
you reach up, take his face in your cold hands, and kiss him first. he makes a startled sound against your mouth before melting into it completely, hands finding your waist like they still belong there.
when you finally pull back, after a moment or two, both of you are smiling so hard it hurts.
“does this mean you’re my girlfriend now? or do i have to make a grand gesture?”
you hum, tapping your chin. “how grand?”
“i’ll get down on one knee right now,” he says, backing away and maneuvering into a lunge. you giggle, shaking your head, and he stands back up, laughing as well.
“i’ll be your girlfriend again.”
for once in his life, oikawa tooru is speechless.
it lasts three whole seconds. and then he scoops you off the ground in one smooth motion, spinning you despite your shrieked protests.
“now who’s causing a scene?” you shout, squeezing your eyes shut. “toor— tooru, haha, put me down!”
You’re 12 the day you arrive at Camp Half-Blood—the same day as Satoru.
Your satyr had escorted you safely to the top of the hill with little to no fanfare.
Satoru arrived a few hours later, being chased by a pride of chimeras and a flock of harpies.
His clothes were singed from the flames of the chimeras, his shirt in tatters from the claws of the harpies.
He was a sight to behold—his arrival came with a powerful storm, lighting striking along the border of the magical barrier around the camp, thunder claps booming in the distance.
His hair was blown in all directions by the wind, creating a halo of white around his head. He would’ve looked almost angelic—if he weren’t running for his life.
The lightning from the storm somehow avoided his path, like it was trying to help him get to the camp, like it wanted him to live.
You watched as a harpy dived towards him—claws spread, talons sharp and deadly—ready to grab him. He let out a last burst of speed—bolting within the barrier of the camp.
He subsequently collapsed, the break for the camp draining all the energy out of him. He was quickly transported away by a group of counselors and you were taken to the Hermes cabin, to await claiming.
You heard a few whispers that he was being fed ambrosia—the food of the Gods—to heal him from his injuries. You felt a twinge of jealousy twisting in your gut, why did he have to get all the glory?
The next day at lunch you see Satoru again. You were both sitting at the Hermes table—as you hadn’t gotten claimed yet.
You’re impatient to know who your godly parent is. The Hermes cabin is way too crowded. And it’s clear that Satoru is too—he had ripped off all his bandages and dumped his whole plate of food into the fire—in hopes of pleasing his patron.
After lunch the Hermes cabin was going to train sword fighting. You and Satoru went along with them—still being unclaimed.
The training arena is a flat pit of packed sand and dirt. There’s a rack of various wooden weapons and shields on the side.
You hold a wooden sword up, it’s a little heavy and you’d never used a sword before.
You stand in front of a dummy—your arms shaking as you try to hit its midsection—your swings unsteady at best, downright quivering at worst.
You look to your right and see Satoru striking smoothly and efficiently at his target, like a damn cobra.
Of course he’s a natural. He distributes his weight perfectly, chopping off the straw head of a scarecrow.
You’re pissed, this kid who had arrived the same time as you was already showing you up. Even his entrance was more dramatic than yours—the sound of thunder as his back track.
The head counselor of the Hermes cabin yells at everyone to get into pairs for sparring.
Being the two newest, you have to pair up with him. You dread it, he is going to demolish you. You’d seen the way he lopped off the head of the dummy.
You plant your feet into the ground, holding your sword directly in front of you, like it would do anything to protect you against Satoru’s hits.
He strikes first, advancing forward on his toes. You immediately back up, deciding to stay defense and run from all his blows.
“Stop running and fight me,” he taunts. “Or are you too scared?”
“There’s an obvious gap in skill here, what am I supposed to do?” You whine, your arm narrowly avoiding a jab from his sword.
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”
“Eat dirt.”
And surprisingly he does—abruptly stopping to bend down and grab a handful of dirt. He shoves it into his mouth and you swear you see the tail end of a worm squirming as he swallows it down.
After swallowing a mouthful he gags and spits whatever’s left of the dirt onto the ground. “What the fuck, why’d I just do that!?”
At that moment, you’re enveloped in a pink haze—hiding you from view for a few moments.
When it clears, everyone had stopped their sparring and turned to stare at you.
You look down at yourself and gasp. You were wearing a delicate pink gown with sheer sleeves that hung past your wrists. You touch your hair, it was longer than before and braided with pink and white flowers. Your feet which were once in ratty old sneakers are now covered in ornate gold sandals.
One of the other unclaimed kids scoffs, “Charmspeak, daughter of Aphrodite.”
Finally, you succeeded at something—getting claimed. And you’d done it before Satoru.
You’re triumphant, who knows when he would be claimed, if he even is claimed.
The counselor sends you off to be with the rest of the Aphrodite Cabin. They aren’t susceptible to your currently uncontrollable abilities.
Their current activity: Tending to the strawberry field.
You’re glad to leave behind the sand and dirt of the sparring arena and join your half siblings in the beautiful fields of fruit.
————
Satoru is claimed the next week during a game of capture the flag.
There’s another thunderstorm hovering over the camp—reminiscent of the one when he had arrived.
The air is thick with the static of electricity, he can practically feel the tips of his fingers tingling—like they’re expecting something.
A demigod from the Ares cabin is currently pursuing him, thirsty for blood and victory.
They’re isolated in the forest, with only the sky and the birds to bear witness, circling each other like sharks around a fresh kill.
The other kid lunges, aiming to knock the shield out of Satoru’s hands. Satoru dodges, aiming a well timed kick at his opponents bare leg.
But the Ares kid is faster and he side steps, swinging his metal spear at Satoru’s neck—forgetting his own strength.
Satoru’s breath hitches, his hands coming up, expecting pain and maybe death.
A flash of light.
Suddenly both Satoru and his opponent are knocked away from each other by a powerful blast. The spear goes flying into the air, embedding itself into the thick trunk of a tree.
Satoru had been saved by a strike of lighting.
He sits up slowly, rubbing his head. The other camper is wide eyed, looking at something above Satoru’s head.
Satoru looks up and sees a hologram of a lightning bolt floating above him.
Just then a group of campers rush out of the trees and see him, there’s a collective gasp and hushed whispers.
“Son of Zeus.”
A/N: Prolly gonna turn this into a full, fleshed out fic
years ago, high school sweethearts oikawa tooru and his classmate-turned-wife married too young. though they loved each other deeply, their different dreams—his volleyball career in argentina and her design career in london—pulled them apart. after a quiet divorce, each took one of their twin daughters to raise, believing it was the best way forward.
neither expected fate to intervene—until the twins meet by chance at a summer volleyball camp in japan. realizing who they are, the girls decide to switch places, determined to know the parent they’ve never lived with and secretly hoping to bring their family back together.
when the truth finally comes out, oikawa and his ex-wife are forced to reunite for the first time in years. between rekindled memories, laughter, and the undeniable bond of their daughters, they’re faced with a question they thought was long buried: was their love truly over, or had it only been waiting for the right time to begin again?
starring. oikawa tooru x fem!reader
genre. fluff, romance, crack, mild angst.
author's note: trying to write a chaptered fic to try and go back into my roots in writing stories in chapters hehe plus if you guys want to be tagged, just inform me
satoru "if you see my girl yelling at me, its bc i deserve it, dont help me i'm exactly where i wanna be" gojo + suguru "starts a problem on purpose to make sure my girl still toxic and in love" geto
sunfish boyfriend who threatens to kill himself if he doesn't get enough attention.
"babe would you still love me if i was a worm?"
"...do i really have to respond?"
"oh... i see how it is. so you hate me? you don't like me anymore? fine, I'll just go kill myself since you hate me so much. go find another boyfriend then, see if i care!"
he's crazy dramatic. like, so dramatic that the stars themselves are shaking in the sky. you thought his dramatics couldn't reach the sky? well you're wrong.
"babe what are you doing?"
"you looked at him too long... you're thinking of another man aren't you? what do you want me to do? kill myself? maybe i should, I'm shaking and you're laughing. I'm crying here and my beloved doesn't care. life has no meaning if you're- wait why am i even sad? you always do this to me! bullying! evil person! evil i say!"
he has two moods and that's sassy and sassy squared. if he doesn't show it through his words, he shows it through his expressions. he's like... an annoying cat that hits over furniture when mad.
"bro can you NOT mess up my bed?"
"no."
"look i said SORRY-"
"SORRY ISN'T ENOUGH. YOU BETRAYED ME!"
"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WAS YOUR CAKE!"
you don't know how you put up with him to be honest. what about him is there even to like? not his personality obviously. it's just so foul, evil. like he's trying to suffocate you in your sleep. man I can't stop thinking him like a cat sitting on your chest...
"do you love me?"
"get off me- you're heavy!"
"i said, do you love me?"
"yeah yeah i do! now get off!"
can you imagine? ugh, the tragedy. that is until you see his face staring intently at yours at 3 in the morning. that gorgeous shiny face that basically radiates sparkles and rainbows.
"you're handsome."
"𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾, my love. does that mean you'll agree to never talk to another man again?"
"...no."
you think you'll end up dying of high blood pressure because of him.
cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. rumors. punching(?. a little blood. lemme know if i missed anything!
wc. 5.3k
an. i changed the dividers (｡•̀ ,<) lemme know what you think<3
Emi wore a satisfied smile as she paced with her arms behind her back like a proud army general.
"So. Since I basically did all the work, it's safe to say I'm the MVP in this situation. I expect you to take me to a Korean BBQ or an all-you-can-eat as a thank-you. Either is fine."
Kuroo snorted. You rolled your eyes affectionately.
Emi scrunched her nose like she'd just realized something.
"Wait... If the three of us go, I'll be third-wheeling the entire time. Forget about it."
"It's okay," Kuroo said, chuckling. "You guys can go. I don't wanna get between a girls' outing. Girls are scary."
You sighed and gave your friend a fond, grateful smile. "Thank you, Emi. You're the best."
A mischievous glint crossed her eyes, and in less than a second, she threw her arms around your face, rubbing her cheek against yours like an elated kitten.
"There she is~ My soft Y/N. Thank you, Kuroo, I missed her~"
Kuroo let out a small laugh through his nose. "I missed her too."
"You guys are having too much fun with this," you groaned.
"Of course we are~ You're so cuteee~"
Kuroo raised a brow. He wasn't sure if he should be jealous or just weirded out.
Then the bell rang.
And as you said goodbye to Emi, your eyes lingered on her.
You really looked at her this time. The kind of look that made everything else slow down for a second.
Her uniform was a little rumpled like she'd slept in it. Her hair wasn't done the way it usually was, no clips, no little ribbons. Just messy.
And those eyes—
Unfocused, ike she'd dropped into a darker thought without meaning to. Red-rimmed like she hadn't slept at all.
She looked… tired.
Not just sleepy, but worn. Like her night had been long and unforgiving.
Your stomach twisted.
"All good, babes?" you asked, gently.
"Yeah... it's just…"
She glanced at Kuroo, then back at you. That alone said enough.
"Hebinuma?" you asked, your voice sharper now.
She didn’t answer right away. Just gave you a weak little smile—the kind that tried to be reassuring but never made it past her lips.
"It's all good, Y/N. Don't worry."
But you knew her better than that.
You knew the way she got quiet when she didn't want you to fight someone. When she was trying to protect you instead of the other way around.
And you hated that she thought she had to.
You weren't stupid. You half-expected Hebinuma to retaliate after what happened on Monday.
But if she was taking it out on Emi—
That was a whole different kind of war.
"We'll talk about it at lunch, alright? Rooftop."
"It's not necessary, I—"
"See you at lunch, babes."
You turned without giving her a choice.
Kuroo followed close behind you like a shadow, silent.
But from the tightness in his jaw, you knew he noticed too.
Your fingers curled into fists inside your blazer sleeves.
You already knew Hebinuma's M.O.
Whispered rumors. Smiles with knives behind them.
You just didn't know yet what she'd said, or what she'd done—but you had a feeling this time, it wasn't going to be as easy to get her to stop.
You tried to shake it off as you headed to your next class, but the pit in your stomach wouldn't quit. Emi's expression was making you nervous. And if Hebinuma was involved again, it meant things were already worse than she was letting on.
You didn't like walking into situations blind. You liked knowing where the punches were coming from.
So, when you ducked into the girls' bathroom before going to class, you weren't expecting to find answers—
But you sure as hell weren't expecting this either.
"...I mean, c'mon, how else do you explain it? She's dumb as bricks, a problem kid, and suddenly top of her class? Does so good she gets transferred to Class 5?"
"Guess tutoring her came with extra credit."
The words hit you like ice water down your back.
"Yeah, and extra trouble. I bet she's just using him. Poor Kuroo."
"Why would he screw around with someone like her?"
"Yeah, I thought he was responsible, more mature than that."
"Well, you can't blame him. I bet Y/n forced herself on him or something."
"I know right? What a little slu—"
Your steps echoed too loud on the tile as you entered the bathroom. The girls looked up, faces blanching just a little when they saw you—but they didn't bolt.
Not yet.
The silence that followed was somehow funny.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," you said coolly, leaning against the edge of the sink. "I was just starting to enjoy the fucking fanfiction you're writing about me."
One of them tried to scoff like she wasn't scared.
"If it's not true, then why so defensive?"
You smiled. The kind that didn't touch your eyes.
"Sweetheart, if I were being defensive, you'd be on the floor."
That shook them. Not completely—but enough.
"I—I'm just saying, it's suspicious. The way you suddenly got all smart? Sounds like a setup to me."
"Oh, so I can't study hard and get laid? Damn. Set the bar a little higher for yourselves—maybe you'll have both too."
They blinked, caught off guard. The other one opened her mouth, probably to say something even dumber.
You stepped forward.
"I don't care what you say about me," you said, voice low and razor-sharp. "But the second you drag Kuroo into it, we've got a problem."
They didn't reply.
"You wanna hate me? Fine. Get in line. But the next time I hear you dragging his name through your pathetic little tongue—"
You leaned in close, gaze flat, unblinking. Then slowly, almost gently, you raised your hand and pressed a single finger to your lips.
"I'll give people an actual reason to talk about you next. These rumors will make sure your dentist gets a bonus this month."
"We— we didn't start them," one of them stammered.
"I know, love. I know exactly who did. But you're spreading them. And that's enough reason to beat the shit out of you too. So keep your mouth shut before I punch it closed."
That was the last straw.
They practically scrambled past you, one of them muttering, "Let's just go before this bitch goes crazy…" under her breath.
Everyone knew it—your punches were somehow infamous. And you and the guys were the only reason why no other school ever touched a hair on a Nekoma kid's head. Even rival schools avoided causing problems when they saw the uniform.
They weren't about to be next.
You didn't follow them. Just let the silence settle.
And then stared at your reflection in the mirror, jaw clenched.
You didn't care about rumors. You never did—at least, not when they were about you.
But you were a little scared Kuroo might.
It was the first time the locker room felt tense before a practice.
The air was thicker than usual—shirts half-on, sneakers squeaking against the tile, the usual chatter muted into uneasy glances.
Kuroo was mid-change, shirt in hand, when Yaku spoke—too casual, like he didn't realize he was lobbing a grenade.
"They're saying she's fucking with you for grades, man. That you're—what was it?—letting her 'suck her way to straight A's.' "
The words landed with a dull thud.
Kuroo froze, shirt bunched around his elbows. For a moment, he just stood there—chest bare, breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. Then, slowly, he pulled the shirt over his head. Deliberate. Like forcing his body to keep moving would keep his mind from spiraling.
Kenma looked up from his phone, voice flat. "The internet says stupid stuff every day. Doesn't mean it's true."
"No," Yaku added, watching Kuroo's back carefully, "but it does mean people are talking. And if the principal catches wind of it..."
Kai let out a low whistle as he laced up his shoes.
"Nekomata might hear of it too."
"He won't." Kuroo's voice finally cut through—quiet, but heavy. It didn't have its usual edge. It wasn't enough to shut anyone up.
No one argued. But the silence that followed was loud in all the wrong ways.
Yamamoto shifted beside his locker, scratching the back of his neck.
"Not that it's any of our business, but, uh... you like her, right?" he asked, tentative.
Kuroo blinked, like the question had caught him off guard. Or maybe like he couldn't believe it needed to be asked.
"I mean, for real. It's not just... a thing."
Kenma, still scrolling, glanced up again. "He cried about her on the train, Tora."
"Bro." Kuroo groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Yaku snorted.
"You what?!"
"You little snitch," Kuroo muttered, voice muffled through his palms.
Kenma shrugged, like it wasn't news. "Just letting them know it's serious. Might be good if the school knew that too."
Kuroo exhaled slowly and sat on the bench, elbows on his knees. The room moved on around him—laughter, chatter, the shuffle of shoes and bags—but he didn't join. He just stared at the floor, quiet, distant, like he was watching something fall apart in slow motion.
Serious?
That wasn't even close.
He hadn't even told you yet—not the full weight of it. Not how serious he really was about you.
But now, people were dragging your name through the mud. Twisting everything into something cheap. And that—
That made his blood boil.
Not just because they were talking about you—though that alone was enough to push him close to the edge.
But because they were talking about him, too. About who he was. What kind of captain he was. What kind of man.
And the worst part?
He did care. More than he wanted to.
He hated that it mattered. But it did.
He knew how fast things could spiral when it came to reputations, especially at a school like Nekoma. A captain entangled in scandal, even just rumor-level bullshit—it wasn't a good look. If the administration started asking questions, if Coach Nekomata caught wind of it...
That thought made his chest tighten.
He admired Nekomata too damn much.
That man had believed in him. Pushed him. Trusted him. Kuroo had spent years trying to live up to that trust—on the court and off it. And now this stupid rumor had the power to smear all of that.
He wasn't afraid of being misunderstood by random classmates.
He was afraid of disappointing someone who mattered.
You wouldn't care. He knew you wouldn't. You never seemed to care about rumors, not the ones about you at least. As long as they were nice to Emi, most people in Nekoma were safe from your fury and your fists. Even the ones who whispered of you.
If it were reversed, you'd punch someone in the teeth and tell them to choke on their own gossip.
And maybe that was the part that got under his skin most of all—that you would throw a punch for him in a heartbeat, tear someone down with that sharp tongue of yours, just so they didn't talk about him anymore.
But he didn't want that—not this time.
He didn't want to see your knuckles bloodied, or your name crawling through whispers and smirks in the hallway because of him.
And there was also the weight of his own shallowness pressing on his shoulders.
You didn't care about your image. You never had.
But he did. And that difference between you—that you were willing to be hated and he wasn't—it made him feel like a coward.
You weren't bulletproof, even if you acted like it.
But he definitely wasn't.
And the fact that he cared about some stupid rumor made him feel weak. Selfish. Small.
He wished he could be more like you—unbothered. Untouchable.
But he wasn't.
You inhaled the smoke deep into your lungs, let the wind steal it from your lips as you exhaled.
You'd missed the rooftop. Missed the loud crowd of boys too. But Emi was nowhere to be seen, and that made your stomach twist.
"So let me get this straight," said Taiga, popping his gum. "They're saying you fucked your way to a better GPA?"
Kiba narrowed his eyes. "Who exactly said that? Give me names. I'm not asking twice."
"It's Hebinuma," you said simply, lighting a second cigarette, and holding the flame a little longer than you needed to. "Classic Hebinuma shit. Whisper campaign, fake sweet voice—and I think she's harassing Emi again. With the pictures."
"Not the fucking pictures again," groaned Taiga, leaning in. "Didn't you make her delete that shit when you beat her up in first year?"
You shook your head. "Don't know if she really has them this time. But Emi's not answering my texts. Anyone heard from her?"
Kiba shook his head, slow. "She's spooked. And if she's spooked, it ain't good."
"Oh, hell no." Taiga turned to the others. "Y'all remember when she pulled the same stunt with Sato's cousin? Almost got the girl expelled. The teachers called CPS."
Inuzuka nodded solemnly, Junpei, on the other hand, didn't even look in Taiga's way. His jaw tight as he stared at a spot on the floor, eyes narrowing like he was thinking about something and his thoughts were too loud to hear the conversation at hand.
Kiba cracked his knuckles. "We gonna pull up or what?"
You exhaled, smoke drifting slow and steady. "Not yet."
Taiga tilted his head. "Yet?"
"If we move too fast, she'll know we're onto her," you said. "Let her talk. Let her dig herself deep. Then we bury her."
That made him grin. "It's kinda cool when you get all schemy."
You smirked, but it didn't reach your eyes.
"She messed with Emi," you said. "She dragged Kuroo. This is personal now."
"Is it true, though?" Junpei's voice came out too sharp.
His gaze flicked to you, then snapped away like it burned to hold. His posture was locked tight—arms crossed, shoulders drawn in—like he was trying to contain something ugly.
Anger, maybe. Or jealousy. Probably both.
"You with the nerd?"
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
You nodded, calm. "We're dating. Yeah."
"You? Dating?" Taiga whispered with a crooked grin. "That wasn't on my bingo card."
"Yeah, well, add it then," you snapped defensively, a little sharper than you meant to.
Junpei muttered something under his breath and stood, movements jerky. The scrape of his chair echoed against the rooftop concrete.
"This is some bullshit," he spat. Bitterness dripped from every word. He didn't wait for a response—the door slammed behind him before you could even open your mouth.
Inuzuka, always the little bitch, followed after him without a single word.
You watched them go, brow raised, then looked to Taiga and Kiba for answers.
Taiga snorted and looked away.
Kiba, easier to break, sighed under your stare.
"I don't think he ever got over you," he admitted.
"Bullshit. That was forever ago. And it was once," you said, frowning.
"Yeah, well. I don't know." Taiga stood up, smiling. "But he's been like this ever since the rumors started. All pissy and weird," he added, mockingly. "Dude's acting like someone stole his bike."
"Well sounds like a him problem." You stretched your arms overhead, the weight of everything still thick on your shoulders. "I've got my fair share of shit going on. Let me know if Emi shows up or texts back."
You stubbed your cigarette out against the concrete with a practiced twist of your boot, the embers dying without a fight. Grabbing your bag, you stood, the familiar heaviness settling back in your chest like an old friend.
You needed to find Kuroo.
He was probably still at practice—but you had to see him. Had to know if he'd heard. What he thought. What he felt.
And what the hell you were supposed to do next.
You found him behind the gym, the quiet sound of water hitting plastic the only sign of his presence. He lifted his water bottle to his lips just as your gaze found his, and he looked up before you even spoke.
You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall with a playful smile, but the edge of concern was still there in your eyes—no matter how hard you tried to hide it.
"Aren't you supposed to be playing?"
He smiled, lifting his bottle with a casual shrug. "Water break."
The air between you thickened, heavy with things unsaid. You sighed, tilting your head slightly as your gaze searched his face.
"You heard, didn't you?"
He nodded, his expression unreadable at first. Then, finally, he spoke. "Yeah. Team told me."
"I didn't do it for grades," you said—too fast. "Not that it matters, 'cause—well. It's true. I did get better because of you. And we are fucking."
A dry laugh slipped from his lips. He looked... tired. Not angry. Just a little worn down, like the weight of everything had been sitting on him since morning.
"I know you don't care about rumors," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze drifting to the ground. "But... I kinda do."
You knew it—of course you knew it—but hearing it out loud still added a layer of complexity to the situation you hadn't anticipated.
"Right," you murmured, your voice softer now. "You want me to fix it?"
He looked up then, meeting your eyes with that sharp, perceptive gaze of his—like he already knew where this conversation was headed.
"Does it involve you beating people up?"
"...Dumb question."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again before glancing away. But when his eyes returned to yours, there was something gentler in them. Resignation, maybe. Understanding.
"Then don't," he said, low. "It's fine."
You stepped closer, heart drumming. Both his and Emi's dismissal bothered you.
It hurt for them. And it was your fault.
Why were they trying to protect you?
"It's not fine," you said firmly. "It affects you... Then I gotta fix it."
He looked at you—really looked. Like he did the first time he touched you softly. Like he was seeing past your walls, past your usual sharp edges, down to something raw and unguarded.
It made your chest tighten.
"I just... If you beat them up, you kinda confirm it. And I don't want people thinking that's all this is."
Without thinking, you reached up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
"You think I'd let people reduce you to that? Some idiot with a good dick and answers to a math test?"
He raised a brow, lips quirking into a half-smirk. "I mean... I am both of those things."
"Yeah, but you're also way more." You said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world. No hesitation. No bullshit.
Then you got on your tippy toes and pressed your lips to his. Soft, steady.
And when he kissed you back, it was slower than usual. Deeper.
Like he needed to believe you. Like he was searching for reassurance in the way your lips met his.
You let him take the lead, let him pour whatever worry or doubt he had into the kiss—and you gave it back, steady and sure, hoping it was enough.
It lingered, soft but weighted, until the sound of footsteps echoed from the gym.
You stepped back, instinctively raising a hand to your lips.
Yaku's head popped out.
"Oi, we're startin'—Oh. Hi, Y/N."
"Hey, Yaku. Practice going alright?"
Your voice came out gentler than he expected. Yaku raised a brow, clearly surprised, but just nodded—something like quiet understanding flickering in his eyes as he glanced between the two of you.
You turned back to Kuroo, your gaze steady.
"I'll fix this. Won't punch through it, just... Don't let it mess with your head. Keep the blood flowing." You winked, and the smile he gave you was a little steadier this time—lighter. "See you after practice?"
He nodded.
You turned to Yaku. "Good luck at practice."
"Thanks. Bye, Y/N."
As you walked away toward the school gates, your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Kenkiba: We found Emi. She's at the karaoke.
You didn't even hesitate. Without replying, you turned on your heel and began walking, your steps purpose-driven, each one taking you closer to whatever came next.
Manekineko Karaoke was a worn-down joint tucked between a dentist office and a pawn shop, with faded idol posters on the glass door and a neon cat sign that flickered like it had asthma. It was nothing special, but it was yours. Cheap, close-ish, and full of booths with busted mics and shitty acoustics that never stopped your crew from screaming their lungs out on bad days.
Taiga found it first, back when he got dumped and tried to drown his heartbreak in three straight hours of UVERworld. The staff didn't card, didn't care who came in or how loud you were, and they had decent fries. It became the spot—a place for hiding, healing, or hiding the healing.
Your boots thudded against the pavement as you crossed under a viaduct, hoodie pulled low. The 40-minute walk gave you space to think, but not much comfort.
Rumors weren't new to you. You'd been called worse than a grade-chasing slut in far less creative ways. What scraped at your nerves now was that Kuroo seemed to care, and how exactly was Emi involved.
Sweet, soft Emi who didn't lie unless to save her life (or yours) and didn't have the stomach for fights.
Hebinuma knew exactly where to stab. She never aimed to kill—just to make it bleed slow.
That thought made you pick up your pace.
By the time you reached the karaoke, the sky was softening into early evening gold. The guys were already outside, loitering by the railing.
Emi was there, clinging to Kenkiba's arm a little too tightly, her smile small and her eyes unreadable. Her usual brightness was dimmed—like someone had unplugged a light behind her ribs.
But your gaze locked instantly onto Junpei.
Taiga and Inuzuka were hauling him out between them like dead weight, arms slung across their shoulders as he mumbled into the collar of his shirt.
"C'mon man, it's like 5 p.m. still..." Inuzuka grunted, sweat clinging to his brow.
Inuzuka rarely talked, but when he did, it was with a quiet disdain—like he'd already figured out how the scene would end and wasn't impressed.
He was Junpei's ride-or-die, had been since middle school, when Junpei moved in next door and taught him how to shoplift.
They'd been sprinting barefoot, running from cops through rice fields ever since. But lately, even Inuzuka seemed worn thin with his bullshit.
Kenkiba spotted you approaching, relief flooding his face like he'd been waiting for backup.
"Oh, Y/N. Help us out with him, would you?"
You didn't move.
"Who let Junpei drink?" you asked, voice flat, your expression twisting in disgust.
Taiga shot you a look, frustration crackling in his jaw. "Hah?! What are you on? He was like this when they got here."
"Yeah, Y/N," Kenkiba added quickly. "You know we don't let him."
Inuzuka let out a long sigh. "I tried to stop him. But I'm not his babysitter. Let him fuck himself up if he wants."
You rolled your eyes, approaching.
It wasn't exactly a secret that Junpei had a problem.
His dad owned a liquor store, the kind where you could slip a bill across the counter and walk out with a bottle of shochu and no questions asked.
Alcohol had earned him his spot in the gang years ago when he'd rocked up to a fight against a group of fuckers three years older than the rest of you. Buzzed out of his skull and still knocking a dude's tooth out with a tire iron while laughing his ass off.
But these days, it was less cool and more... sad.
Junpei's feet stumbled to a stop when he heard your name. The guys thought it was just the alcohol slowing him down and gave him a gentle push. But he didn't budge. His head lifted. His eyes locked on you.
There'd been one time.
A night when you were bored, and he was kinda charming—in that cocky, dangerous way that made girls overlook the stink of liquor on his breath. He wasn't ugly, and you were curious—but once was enough.
You'd seen the red flags even through the haze, decided he was more trouble than he was worth, and moved on like it never mattered.
You thought he had, too.
He hadn't.
"...Fucking hell," he slurred. "There she is. Queen bitch herself."
You narrowed your eyes, unmoving.
"You think you're better than everyone, huh?" he sneered, barely upright now, spit gathering in the corner of his mouth. "Fuckin' that nerd. Used me once n' tossed me. Typical."
Your jaw flexed. Patience running thin.
"Women like you..." he said, pointing at you lazily. "They'll ruin your fucking life. Can't trust any of 'em. Only out for themselves, only ever fucking to climb. Used me, and now she's got her claws in that poor idiot, Kuroo."
Then his hand swung toward Kenkiba, who stiffened under Emi's hold.
"You better watch out too. Especially with these two—Emi and Y/N? They're just a couple of sluts."
Alright.
"Oh, now you fucked up," Taiga deadpanned, ducking under his arm and letting go of him at the exact moment you moved.
Practiced ease.
Your fist cracked into Junpei's face like thunder.
It was a perfect punch—your father taught you how to rotate from the hips, how to square your stance, how to find the angle between pain and power.
But in your anger, you misjudged the follow-through. The crack of your knuckles against his chin was clean, sharp—satisfying. But the skin split open across them, and you could feel you'd fucked up a finger or two, the pain blooming hot and fast.
Junpei crumpled to the pavement, stunned into silence. Unable to stand.
"Knock out~" whispered Taiga with a smirk. Inuzuka elbowed him.
Blood smeared faintly across your knuckle, and your chest heaved.
"You piece of shit," you spat, flexing your hand and wincing slightly at the sting. "You don't EVER talk about Emi like that, you hear me?! Call me whatever the fuck you want. I've heard worse. But say her name like that in front of me again and I'll fucking kill you."
You turned your glare on Kenkiba, still frozen, Emi gripping his sleeve.
Your voice didn't rise. It dropped, dead serious.
"And if I ever hear you let anyone talk about her like that in front of you," you growled, voice low and deadly, "I'll kill you too."
Kiba blinked.
Then nodded.
No one moved for a beat.
Then, with a collective sigh and the clumsy coordination of boys who'd done this a dozen times before, they went about the business of dragging Junpei's limp ass off the ground.
"Jesus, he's heavier than he looks," Taiga muttered, rolling his shoulder.
"Fat with disappointment," Inuzuka deadpanned, grabbing Junpei by the collar and hauling him up like a sack of rice.
Kiba stepped in without a word, and between the three of them, they propped Junpei up and shuffled him toward the railing, depositing him gently against the wall like setting down a drunk friend at a festival.
Junpei groaned low in his throat but didn't stir.
Emi let out a shaky breath.
You turned to her, your voice still edged but quieter now.
"Has Hebinuma been bothering you? Yes or no."
Emi hesitated. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her cardigan, knuckles white. Then, with a reluctant nod, she spoke.
"Yeah... Not directly, but the whispers are hers. Same crap as last time, just louder."
Of course it was. That snake didn't have the guts for a frontal assault—just the poison to slip under skin and rot you from the inside.
"And the pictures?"
She hesitated again before nodding, avoiding your eyes. "She sent them to me yesterday. Just sent them... To remind me they exist I guess..."
"Fuck, man. Where does she fucking keep them?" Taiga muttered, joining the conversation.
You sighed, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.
"Can you hang in there for a little while?" you asked her, tone surprisingly soft. "I'll handle it. Just not with fists this time."
Kiba cocked a brow. "Since when do you care about that?"
You didn't look at him. "Just trust me."
His frown deepened. Kiba had always been your watchdog, ready to bare teeth for you even when you didn't ask. Especially when it came to Emi. But after a beat, he exhaled through his nose and gave a short nod.
Emi nodded too, quicker. "I can handle it," she said, then looked at you with the ghost of a smile. "If you're handling it too."
You met her gaze. "I am."
The promise sat heavy between you.
You turned to Kiba. "Can you walk her home?"
"Obviously."
Then to Taiga and Inuzuka. "Can you two take him?" You jerked your chin toward Junpei, who had slumped over against the wall like a passed-out raccoon.
"I don't care if he drools on your jackets. Just make sure he doesn't choke on his own tongue."
Inuzuka gave a slow shrug and a click of his tongue. "We got him."
"Yeah," Taiga added with a grunt, already moving to lift Junpei again. "We'll dump him on his front porch and ring the bell. Let his old man deal with him."
Inuzuka turned to you, honest. "I'm sorry about him, Y/N."
You gave a short nod, flexing your bruised hand once before tucking it into your hoodie pocket.
"I gotta go back to school," you said, already turning toward Nekoma.
Emi blinked. "You're going back?"
You just nodded.
Didn't say who you were going to see. Didn't have to.
"Stop dodging my texts. I worry about you."
Emi snorted, but her eyes were warm, her smile fond.
"That's rich coming from you, bitch."
You walked off without waiting for goodbyes, footsteps steady as you descended the narrow stairwell. The sky above was deepening, the early gold fading to bruised lavender.
Your hand throbbed, blood sticky on your knuckles.
But your thoughts were already somewhere else. All the way back to Nekoma. Back with him.
Kuroo was leaning against the school gates when you got back. Long legs crossed at the ankle, earbuds in, his phone in one hand. His bag sat at his feet, hair damp and messy from a rinse after practice, collarbone peeking where he'd unbuttoned the top of his shirt. He looked like he'd been there a while.
He looked up the second your boots hit the pavement.
Relief flickered across his face, then settled into something gentler. Softer.
"You're late," he said, voice casual.
"Sorry," you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. "Shit came up."
He pushed off the gate and started walking beside you like it was second nature, hands shoved into his pockets.
"How's Emi?" he muttered, already knowing what the 'shit' was about.
"Better."
"The rumors?" he asked quietly, not looking at you.
You exhaled through your nose. "Still flying, apparently. I'm still trading blowjobs for extra credit."
Kuroo gave a small shake of his head. "People are idiots."
You didn't say anything. The silence stretched between your footsteps, broken only by the soft scuff of your boots and the squeak of his sneakers.
After a beat, he glanced down—and stopped walking.
"What the hell happened to your hand?"
You froze.
You shifted to hide your knuckles, but not quick enough. He caught your wrist before you could hide it, fingers wrapping gently around it.
Your knuckles were split open, dried blood flaking at the edges. The base of your middle and pointer finger was starting to bruise.
"It wasn't because of the rumors," you said quickly. "I promised I wouldn't fight over that shit. And I didn't."
His eyes flicked up to your face. "But you still hit something."
"Someone."
He didn't ask who. Didn't press. Just looked at you for a long moment—eyes sharp, mouth set—and exhaled through his nose like he was counting backwards from ten.
"Come on," he murmured, thumb brushing lightly across the bruised skin. "Let's clean this up."
satoru gojo is the firmest believer in “happy wife, happy life.” the most unshakable. the hottest. he could be waist-deep in an existential crisis and still be like, “well. as long as my wifey is smiling.”
it’s a religion to him. a sacred vow. a life mission. if you're happy, he's happy. if you're not? well. nothing on this planet will know peace until you are.
it doesn't matter how unreasonable you are being. you want boba at 3 a.m.? he is up, wallet in hand, calling every store in the prefecture and weighing the pros and cons of teleporting to tokyo. you suddenly decide you want to switch meals at the restaurant, even though he was craving what he ordered? done. he'll swap with a smile. even offer you a bite like it was his idea all along. you want the pink cup and not the blue one even though they’re literally identical? absolutely. he will throw the blue one in the garbage. permanently banned.
and if you’re being a little difficult on purpose? poking the bear just to see him pout? he eats it up. you roll your eyes and mutter, “i'm not talking to you,” and he gasps like he’s been stabbed, clutching his chest like a drama queen. “my wife is ignoring me?? my sweet angel? the love of my life?? what did i do?”
(he knows what he did. he laughed when you tripped up the stairs. it was objectively funny. he paid the price.)
he brings peace offerings. your favorite snack. your favorite drink. kisses your forehead and goes, “is it working? are you smiling yet? do i get wife points?” he's literally whining because you're not looking at him. even worse if you are but you're doing the squinty eye thing. the judgmental one. he melts.
satoru will cancel meetings, skip training, straight up dodge calls from the higher-ups if you so much as pout. if you say, “toru, you're pissing me off, stop doing that,” he smiles like he just got a love letter. if you say, “i don't feel like cooking,” he's already tying an apron around his waist and muttering, “say less, princess.”
he doesn’t care if anyone calls him whipped. he knows he is. proudly. happily. he wants to be whipped. he wants to be the poster boy for “husband of the year” with a little sticker that says “will do anything for kisses.”
because at the end of the day, nothing—literally nothing—makes him feel stronger, happier, or more invincible than seeing you spoiled, smiling, and just a little smug about it.
cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. angst. hurt/comfort. smut. p in v. unprotected sex. creampie. lots of dirty talking. absolute filth but kinda cute(?. lemme know if i missed anything<3
wc. 5.6k
an. enjoy! as usual, comments are appreciated<3
Tuesday painted the sky outside your window gray—not stormy, just... blank. The kind of sky that felt like waiting. Another day you had to skip. You had half a cigarette left and no lighter, which somehow felt symbolic.
"Come to me when you're ready to actually talk feelings..."
You weren't ready. And you couldn't blame him.
You couldn't blame him for wanting more—wanting something real. For having the spine to say this isn't enough when it would've been easier to keep things messy and half-lit like you always did.
He had self-respect. He knew what he deserved. And deep down, you admired that about him.
And you wanted him. God, you wanted him. Not just in your bed, not just in passing—you loved him. You didn't know when it started, only that it had sunk in slowly, like ink through paper. But when he asked for your honesty, for something real, the words just wouldn't come.
You didn't know how to say I love you without feeling like you were standing on a ledge with your chest cracked open. You'd never been taught how.
It was like trying to have a conversation in a language you'd only just started learning—fumbling for the right words, terrified of saying the wrong ones.
And now here you were, half a cigarette in hand, no lighter, and no clue how to stop ruining things before they could ever really begin.
Then your phone buzzed.
Emi <3: sorry babes, had 2 give u a lil push (˶ > ₃ < ˶)♡
: ???
Before you could type out a proper what the fuck, there was a knock on your door.
And you knew. You just knew.
That knock wasn't generic. It wasn't a neighbor or delivery guy. It was three short raps, one beat slower than the others.
The same rhythm he’d used a hundred times before. He'd come over so many times it became second nature. Familiar. Specific... Him.
Your chest tightened painfully, like something inside you had braced for impact without warning.
You opened the door.
And there he was.
Kuroo Tetsurou's tall frame stood in your doorway like a memory come back to make you suffer, looking thoroughly unimpressed. His arms were crossed. His shoulders slouched. There was no smug glint in his eyes—just quiet frustration and something heavier under it, like disappointment dressed in black and red.
You stared.
He stared back.
"What are you doing here, Tetsurou?" you asked, voice dull. Tired. Like you were already too exhausted to handle whatever this was going to be.
He shrugged slightly, but it was half-hearted.
"Emi came up to me today... With that mutt of hers. What's his name again? Ki... something?"
"Kenkiba," you muttered, a half-smile twitching at your mouth despite yourself.
"Right. Him." He squinted like the memory annoyed him. "He was giving me the stink eye the whole time she talked. Didn't blink once. I thought he might bite me."
You huffed out a scoff, dragging a hand down your face.
"Sounds like him."
Silence bloomed for a second—thick and humid. Not hostile, just... heavy.
"She told me not to give up on you," he said softly after a beat.
Your throat tightened. Closing around words you weren’t ready to speak. You looked away from him.
"And?" you asked, voice thinner than you meant.
Kuroo tilted his head. His gaze swept over your face like he was trying to read something in between the fine lines of your exhaustion.
"Still figuring it out," he said simply.
The honesty made your stomach twist. You’d missed that. His way of speaking plainly, even when the truth was sharp.
You sighed, long and quiet, and stepped back. "Come in, make yourself at home. You know where everything is anyway."
Kuroo didn't say anything. Just stepped inside like he always used to do—quiet but present, all warmth and height and gravity. The air felt heavier with him in the room, but it wasn't unpleasant.
It was familiar.
And dangerous.
He glanced around your tiny entryway like it was both a crime scene and a memory. His fingertips grazed the edge of your shoe rack like touching it might tell him if things had really changed. You didn’t move. You barely breathed.
You weren’t ready for this conversation.
But you’d left the door open anyway.
The living room was dim, cozy in that lived-in way—shadows pooling in corners, the soft hum of the TV playing some sitcom rerun you hadn’t bothered turning off. A half-finished drink sweating on the coffee table. Folded blankets no one used. Familiarity buried under the dust of everything you hadn’t said.
Kuroo sat opposite you at the dining table, fingers idly drumming against the wood while you picked at a loose thread in your sleeve. A glass of water for each of you.
His eyes flicked toward your couch, then quickly away.
You broke the silence first, eyes still fixed on the thread in your sleeve.
"How was practice?"
Kuroo leaned back slightly in his chair. The sharp tension that had hung in the air earlier began to loosen a little.
"Yaku lost a bet to Lev."
That got your attention. You raised a brow, lips twitching.
"Had to wear one of Lev’s hoodies for the whole practice," Kuroo continued, almost fondly. "Looked like a pissed-off gremlin drowning in beige fleece."
You snorted, the image so vivid you could practically see it.
"He threw his shoes at you?"
"Twice," Kuroo said with a weary sigh. "Once for laughing, once just because I was there."
A real smile curled on your lips this time. Small, but it warmed your face.
"I like Yaku."
"He likes you too," Kuroo replied. "In a scary, sorta fan way. He’s rooting for you. And, weirdly enough, also slightly afraid of you."
You were about to fire back something snarky when—
Creaaak.
The door to your dad’s room swung open, slow and yawning like it resented being disturbed.
It was like the sound and smell of conversation had dragged him from his nap. You stiffened, eyes flicking to the hallway.
Kuroo went still.
It hit him all at once—how quiet this house had always been. Empty whenever he came over. Just the two of you. Always careful. Private. The unspoken rule had been: no family, no interruptions.
Now there were footsteps. Heavy ones. Presence.
This wasn’t just anyone stepping into the room. This was your father—and it was the first time either of you had ever been this close to the other's home life. Kuroo felt it like a shift in pressure, like the air had gone thick.
He sat up straighter, instincts clicking into place like armor.
Your father emerged from the hallway, slow and deliberate. He shuffled out in sweats and a grey tank top that had seen better days, scratching his belly like a bear half-disturbed from hibernation.
Kuroo shot up from his seat. His posture went ramrod straight and his eyes widened.
The man was huge. Not just muscular—solid. Towering. Heavy hands, boxer's shoulders, a chest like a steel barrel, and a scowl carved into his face like a statue’s that had never known joy. He looked like he could knock out a grown man with one hand and still make it home in time for dinner. Kuroo felt like a goddamn pair of chopsticks next to him.
And the look your dad gave him?
Like he was already imagining what it'd feel like to snap him in half and make a wish.
"Dad. Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuroo Tetsurou. Dad." you introduced lazily. Too casual in his opinion.
Kuroo scrambled to his feet and bowed, polite and slightly terrified. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Your dad grunted. Not a word. Just grunt.
"He's my tutor," you said, arms folding across your chest.
Another grunt. Slightly lower.
"And the guy I'm in love with."
Silence.
Your dad’s eyes flicked wider—just a twitch—but in his world, that was basically a scream. He looked at you, then back at Kuroo, who was now staring at you like you’d grown a second head.
Did you want him to die? Because he was pretty sure that's what you were going for.
Then your dad squinted. His chin tilted up ever so slightly as he peered at Kuroo through his lower lashes, expression calculating now. Something in his gaze sharpened—predatory, maybe. Appraising.
Kuroo could see the resemblance.
"Are you the guy my daughter cried herself to sleep over the other day?"
Your eyes flew open, panic shooting through you.
"Da—"
"What do you do for a living?" he cut in.
You blinked. Panic changed to cringe.
What the fuck was that question?
Kuroo stammered. "I—I'm a student, sir."
"And?"
"He's the captain of the volleyball team," you said quickly, rubbing your temples in secondhand embarrassment.
Your dad's brow twitched. He didn't say anything, but the surprise was there—buried beneath his blank expression.
"And top of his class," you added.
"Top of your class?"
"Top of my class, Sir."
Your dad grunted again—less annoyed this time. Thoughtful, maybe.
Then, without another word, he reached out and grabbed your glass of water off the table, downed it in two massive gulps.
You scowled. "I was drinking that, thank you."
If he heard, he ignored it. He wandered into the kitchen and the faucet creaked awake as he filled the glass under the sputtering tap. His free hand patted at his pockets.
Then, without so much as a glance, he tossed something in your direction.
You caught it mid-air, reflexive.
Your fingers closed around the shape before your brain caught up. The feel was familiar—rectangular, thin, slightly glossy. You looked down and gasped. Audibly.
A pack of cigarettes.
But not just any. The cigarettes—the most expensive ones the local konbini carried, the ones you only ever admired from behind the counter like they were luxury perfume.
"I saw your report card, kiddo. You've been doing great," he muttered, not looking directly at you as he set the glass back down on the table with a clink. His eyes flicked to Kuroo next. "I guess I gotta thank you for that too. Though I assume since you play sports, you don't smoke."
"No sir."
"Good. Maybe you can get her to quit that bullshit too."
You rolled your eyes, a wry little grin tugging at your mouth.
"What will you give me when I don’t smoke and still do well in school?"
"Good point," he murmured, almost to himself.
Then he looked at Kuroo, giving him a jerk of his chin.
"Sit down, son. This ain't the military. Just don't make her cry again or I'll make you wish it was."
Kuroo nodded so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.
"Yessir."
He sank back into his seat with zero resistance, spine still straight as a rail, like he didn’t trust gravity not to betray him.
Your dad grabbed his battered bomber jacket from the hook by the door, slinging it over one shoulder. It looked too light for the weather, but that was just how he was—too stubborn to feel the cold.
"I’m going out. Go ahead and have dinner without me," he said gruffly, hand already on the knob.
Then his eyes slid to Kuroo. A pause. Then back to you.
"Behave."
You raised a hand in a lazy salute, leaning back in your chair.
"Have fun~"
He grunted once—final, almost fond—and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked into place with a soft metallic snick.
Silence.
Kuroo let out the longest exhale of his life.
"Are you insane?! He could've killed me with a flick of his pinky."
You burst out laughing. The sound cracked out of you, light and sudden.
"But he didn’t. Relax—he’s harmless."
"Uh, yeah. I don't believe you."
"Tetsurou."
"Y/N."
You sighed, brushing a hand through your hair.
"Follow me, please."
You stood and padded toward your room, feeling his presence shuffle behind you—socked feet brushing over the floor, quieter than usual. When the door clicked shut behind him, you went straight to your bag, kneeling beside it with shaky fingers.
Not from fear.
But from the crushing awareness that you’d said it.
That you loved him.
Out loud.
In front of your dad. Like a lunatic.
Your hands trembled as you pulled a box of chocolates from your bag and turned, holding it out.
Kuroo blinked down at the box like it had materialized out of nowhere. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced between your face and the glossy packaging, confusion shifting slowly into something quieter. Curious. Guarded. Like he was afraid to hope.
You cleared your throat and dropped your gaze to the floor.
"I, uh..." you started, voice barely above a whisper. "You said... you wanted, like—a cute confession. Like in the movies. With chocolate... And a letter... n' shit."
He stared at you, eyes unreadable. You kept yours fixed on the floor like it might open up and swallow you whole.
"So," you said quietly, forcing the words out before they slipped away, "here’s the chocolate."
Kuroo looked down at the box in his hands, fingers twitching like he didn't know whether to laugh or hug you.
You kept talking, like if you stopped you'd fall apart.
"I… I didn’t write a letter because that’s stupid, and I’m not good at feelings. You know that. But I thought maybe you’d… I don’t know. You’d get what I meant if I just… if I just showed you."
Your breath hitched. The pressure in your chest was building—tight and relentless behind your ribs.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Tetsurou," you said, finally looking at him just to look down again, running away from the intensity of his golden, honeyed eyes.
You blinked rapidly, trying to keep it back, but the heat of guilt and shame stung anyway. The tears came fast—hot, unwelcome, and traitorous.
"I just— I didn't want to fuck it up. That's the only thing I knew from the start. That if I let it get serious, I'd do something stupid and mess it all up. And then you'd leave. And I thought it'd be easier to keep it simple and just not... not feel so much."
Your voice broke and you squeezed your eyes shut.
The tears spilled over.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," you said again, softer now. A whisper, like the truth had grown too heavy to speak at full volume.
Kuroo’s voice met you like a steady anchor—
"But you did," he said softly. Not sharp. Not angry. Just real.
You looked up slowly, the shame burning hot behind your eyes.
He was already watching you.
"I know," you whispered.
He took a breath. Slow. Full of something more than just oxygen.
Then came that smirk—that lopsided, him kind of smirk that made your heart stumble. The one you'd missed like hell.
His golden eyes scanned your face, and he still hadn’t let go of the chocolates. They hovered between you like a fragile offering. A truce.
"You really thought I meant the chocolate part?"
You let out a wet, broken laugh. "I panicked."
"God," he muttered, stepping forward.
Then he kissed you.
Warm hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing over damp cheeks as his mouth found yours—soft and grounding. Not desperate. Not hurried. Just full. Steady. Like he was trying to tether you to him, to the now, so you’d stop spiraling through everything you’d been afraid of.
You clung to his shirt like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Your lips parted beneath his with a quiet, gasping sob.
"I’m sorry," you breathed into him. Again and again. Each one more cracked than the last, as his mouth moved from yours to your cheek, to the corner of your eye.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"
"I know," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "I know."
He kissed the top of your head, fingers trailing down to your hips, grounding you with quiet presence. Holding you there. Steady.
"I love you too, by the way," he said. Soft. Firm. Impossible to mistake.
You froze.
"It was quite ballsy to say it in front of your dad," he added, voice nearly a whisper.
You looked up at him, nose pink and eyes red and blotchy. "You love me?"
"Yeah," he said like it was obvious. "Why else would I put up with you acting like my feelings were a math problem you could ignore into submission?"
You shoved his chest, still crying but laughing now too, emotions a tangled mess in your throat.
"You're such a dick," you sniffled.
"And you are too," he said, pulling you into another kiss. "Now shut up and let me hold you before I cry too."
You kissed like you had all the time in the world.
No more frantic hands or clashing teeth. No power games. No pretending you didn't care.
It was just you, and Kuroo, and the quiet press of his lips against yours.
You felt him sigh into it, like kissing you brought him some kind of peace. Like it was relief. Forgiveness. Home.
His lips trailed along your jaw, slow and reverent, rediscovering you inch by inch—re-memorizing every part of the map he’d gone too long without touching.
"I missed you," he breathed, voice cracking like the words were breaking out of him whether he wanted them to or not. A truth he needed to say aloud.
You hated how much that made your throat close up. Your hands curled around his shirt, pulling him closer without even realizing it. Not desperate. Just... greedy. Needy.
Because you'd missed him. Because you loved him. Because you needed him. And he felt so fucking good—solid and warm and real—breathing against your mouth like he needed you just the same.
"Tetsurou..." you muttered, tugging at his hair, breath skimming his cheek. "You make me so fucking soft, it’s disgusting."
That got a low laugh from him, warm against your skin. "Guess we're both disgusting, then."
But you weren't. Not with how his hands moved—gentle, steady, worshipping. Hands sliding up under your shirt, fingers slow and sure as they brushed across your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breast. Not groping. Savoring.
Not with how gently he pushed you onto your bed. Soft like a whisper, smiling into the kiss when you pulled him by the collar of his shirt on top of you like you couldn't be apart from him for longer than strictly needed.
Not with how you kissed him back, mouth parting with quiet need, teeth grazing his lower lip like a silent promise. He tasted like the ghost of salt and sweetness. Like missing someone so badly it hurt.
You kissed him harder. Deeper. Tongues tangling like you were trying to swallow each other whole. When you ground your hips up against him, you felt how hard he already was, thick and twitching against your thigh.
He groaned into your mouth, hands sliding down to hook under your thighs.
"You’re shaking," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear—almost shy, like he didn’t want to scare you off with how soft you suddenly felt.
"I know," you whispered, breath hitching as your hips rolled against his. "I just don’t know how to do this when it feels this fucking real."
He brushed his thumb along your cheek, down to your jaw, tilting your face up before dipping to press his mouth to your collarbone. Each kiss was barely there at first—featherlight—until his teeth scraped your skin and he growled against it.
"Then don’t think," he said, voice rough. "Just let me make you feel good. Let me ruin you a little more."
You exhaled hard, like you were exorcising fear. Then you nodded.
Clothes came off slower this time, but not without heat. He stripped you like he wanted to remember how every inch of you felt beneath his hands.
His mouth left a trail down your chest, sucking your nipple into his mouth until your back arched off the bed. You whimpered, and when you tugged his hair, he groaned—eyes fluttering shut like the sound of your need physically hurt him. He didn’t tease—he devoured.
"Look at you," he rasped, forehead pressed to the center of your chest, voice breathless and thick with hunger. "You’re so fucking beautiful like this. I like it when you're all tough and bratty—but this?"
His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick folds as he kissed your sternum.
"This is gonna fucking ruin me."
You swore under your breath, face burning, but you didn’t stop him. Your legs opened wider—offering, surrendering.
When he finally pushed into you, it wasn’t exactly gentle, but it was sweet. Slow, deep, intentional. A filthy stretch that filled every inch of you and made your mouth fall open in a raw, aching gasp.
"Oh—fuck—Tetsurou—" you choked, nails clawing into his back, dragging down his sweat-slick skin.
"You feel that?" he groaned, cock grinding in deep with one thick, steady thrust. "So fucking deep… Christ, you’re gripping me."
Your walls clenched reflexively around him and he stuttered forward, a broken sound ripping from his throat.
You whimpered, eyes rolling back as your legs locked around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer.
"You feel... you feel so good, I can’t—"
"You can," he muttered against your mouth, voice wrecked. "You’re fucking perfect around me. So wet—fuck—so wet for me I can hear it. Just take it. Let me give this to you."
He was right. You could feel it—could hear it—the obscene, slick sound of him fucking into you, each thrust louder, wetter, drawing filthy friction from your swollen, aching cunt. You were soaked, stretched around him so perfectly it felt like your body was made to be ruined by his.
His hips moved in long, grinding thrusts—intentional, filthy in their closeness. His pelvis dragged against your clit just right, every stroke hitting that spot that made your voice break, made your moans crack into desperate little gasps of his name.
"Tetsurou—please, don’t stop—"
It wasn't about power tonight, or payback, or pushing limits. It was about closeness. Forgiveness. The way your hands trembled in his hair as he kissed your tears away. The way you clung to him like he could patch up everything you didn’t know how to say.
"I’ve got you," he panted, one hand gripping your thigh, the other planted beside your head. His hips slammed deeper now, still controlled, but with a force that made the bed creak. The air was sticky with sweat and sex.
"Not going anywhere. Gonna make you come—hah, fuck—gonna come so hard you forget what you were crying about."
You whimpered something wrecked and incoherent, and his rhythm faltered for a heartbeat.
"Say it again," he gasped, fucking you harder, faster. "Say my fucking name while I make you come."
"Tetsurou—please, please—fuck, I’m gonna—"
He caught your face, fingers firm on your jaw as he kissed you like he needed your breath to survive.
"Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me have all of it."
And you did. You came with a sob into his neck, shattering around him, nails digging into his back as your body locked down on him, trembling so violently he had to pin your hips to ride it out. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way you pulsed around him, hot and wet and pleading.
He cursed—loud, low—and shoved in deep. Once. Twice.
Then he followed with a strangled groan.
He buried himself to the hilt, cock throbbing in thick pulses as he spilled inside you. His mouth was at your throat, panting, praising, kissing the slick skin beneath your jaw.
"Fuck—fuck—" he groaned. "You feel too fucking good—I can’t—can’t let you go—"
You held him like an anchor, legs still trembling around his hips, breath shallow and stuttering.
His cock twitched inside you with aftershocks, and he didn’t pull out—not yet. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, one hand stroking your thigh like it was the only way to keep breathing.
Every thrust, every kiss, every shaky breath felt like a thread stitching two bruised hearts back together.
You stayed like that for a while—tangled, breathless, still joined at the hips as the air slowly cooled around you. His weight pressed into you, grounding, comforting. Like he was trying to hold every broken piece in place with nothing but skin and closeness.
Your hands combed through his damp hair, fingers lazy and loving, like you needed something—someone—to hold onto.
Because you did.
"You’re everything I was scared to want," you mumbled into his hair, voice low and raw, scraped clean by everything he'd just pulled out of you.
He smiled—not smug, just soft—and pressed a kiss to your neck.
"You’ve always been mine," he murmured. "You were just too damn stubborn."
He rolled to his back, bringing you with him, bodies still warm and sticky. You settled on his chest, legs tangled with his, cheek resting over his heart. It was still beating hard, like maybe he hadn’t quite come back down yet either.
His fingers lazily traced shapes on your hip while your hand lay flat against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall.
You weren’t used to this.
The silence that didn’t need to be filled.
The peace after the wreckage.
But you were quickly learning to crave this part just as much as the rest of him.
He shifted slightly, the arm around you tightening—not possessive, not afraid. Just anchoring.
"Your dad really threw me under the bus, huh?"
You snorted softly. "Yeah. He has a gift for timing."
"He said you cried over me..." His voice was quiet, careful.
You paused, then sighed. "I did."
He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he couldn’t quite face you yet. "I cried too. The day at the beach."
You looked up at him. "You did?"
He gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Got on the train home, sat down, and just—bam. Tears. Like an idiot." He finally glanced at you, lips tilting into a crooked smile. "I didn’t even make it one stop before some old lady handed me a tissue."
You couldn’t bring yourself to laugh, even though he grinned like he wanted you to. The moment felt impossibly softer as your fingers curled gently in the hair at the nape of his neck.
"I’m sorry," you murmured. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like that."
"I know." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I get it now. Why you pulled away. I wish you hadn’t, but... I get it."
A beat passed. Then a little fire reignited in you, sparked by the memory of a certain someone perched all too comfortably on his arm.
"You’re lucky you’re cute, though," you grumbled.
He raised an eyebrow, smile faltering slightly. "Yeah?"
You squinted up at him. "Otherwise I’d still be mad about you flirting with Hebinuma like it was your fucking job."
His grin returned in full force. "Okay, in my defense—"
"There is no defense."
"—I never touched her."
"You didn’t need to. You let her touch you. Let her put her dirty paws all over you."
He laughed. "Alright, alright. Guilty as charged. But, for the record..." He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dropping into a teasing whisper, "You made it so easy to make jealous~ You looked so pretty... all mad and possessive like that."
You tried to roll your eyes but ended up burying your face in his neck instead. "Ugh. That’s disgusting."
"You love it."
"...Maybe."
He kissed the top of your head, fingers smoothing gently down your back.
"Don’t gotta pretend anymore, y’know. You can just be soft with me."
You let out a slow breath against his skin. "You make it really hard not to be."
"Good."
"I can say cheesy shit and not immediately shove you away to preserve my street cred."
Kuroo gave you a dangerous grin. "Oh really? Try."
You hesitated. "Don’t laugh."
"I won’t."
You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. "...I... I like you."
He snorted immediately at how absurdly difficult that had been for you—especially considering you’d just said you loved him.
"Fuck you! You said you wouldn’t laugh!"
"I’m sorry!" he cackled, then tackled you with kisses, smothering your face as you flailed, trying to push him off, while he sang in a childish voice like he was teasing you at recess. "You like me~ You like me~ You liiiike me~"
"I’m gonna punch you in the ribs."
"You liiiike me~"
"I’LL BITE YOU."
He rolled onto his back, still grinning like a fool, pulling you with him so you ended up half on top of him again. You let your head drop onto his shoulder with a long, dramatic sigh.
"You’re the worst," you muttered.
"You’re in love with the worst, then."
"...Unfortunately."
He turned his head to look at you, gaze soft—like you were the only person who had ever mattered. His thumb brushed your cheek, grazing the skin beneath your eye.
"I love you too."
Your breath caught a little.
"I know," you whispered.
He kissed you again—slow, unhurried. Like he had forever. Because maybe now, he did.
No more pretending.
No more hiding.
No more guessing.
Just his fingers tangled with yours, your limbs intertwined beneath the sheets, the distant hum of the street outside, and the quiet, sleepy freedom of knowing you could love each other out loud now.
And god, did it feel good.
You nestled closer into Kuroo’s chest, and he let out a little hum of satisfaction, arms tightening around you like you were something precious. You were still a little sweaty, tangled in the sheets and each other, but neither of you moved to clean up just yet.
He kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—small, lazy things, like he finally had the time to show you how much he liked having you like this. All his.
You tilted your head, catching his mouth with yours, slow and indulgent.
You shifted slightly, letting your leg hook over his thigh again, the closeness grounding you. "You really cried on the train?"
"Like a baby."
"...Fuck. That makes me wanna cry all over again."
He smiled, and this time, it was quieter. Realer.
"Don’t. I’ve got you now. And if you cry again, your dad will kill me... Speaking of your dad killing me—we should probably get dressed before he gets back."
"I kinda don’t wanna move, though," you groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"We also have to clean up. And you need to pee. Friction during sex pushes all kinds of bacteria into your urethra and you could get a nasty UTI—"
"Tetsurou. I know. You say it every time."
"It’s ‘cause every time, you don’t wanna let go! And seriously, your urethra needs—"
"I’ll go if you stop saying urethra."
"Real mature, Y/N. It’s simply a body part. Nothing to be ashamed of," he mocked with that signature grin.
You groaned and stood up, tugging on the long t-shirt you used as pajamas.
When you came back, he’d put on pants and even made your bed. He was scrolling through his phone, looking as beautiful as usual.
"Don’t leave yet..." you murmured.
His eyes lifted, widening slightly.
"You wanna... cuddle with clothes on or something?"
His surprise melted into a sly smile, but there was a warmth behind it that was unmistakable.
"Cuddle? With clothes on? We’re moving a little too fast, Y/N. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet," he teased.
"Shut up."
You flopped next to him, your arms immediately winding around his torso, pressing your cheek to its rightful place on his chest.
"Wanna watch the first season of Death Note?"
"I can’t, unfortunately. I gotta get home—and I doubt your dad would let me stay. But maybe..."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe you could come home with me tomorrow. After practice. I know it’s not a Thursday but..."
The unsure way he said it hurt you. Like he still didn’t quite believe he could ask for things—didn’t trust that you’d say yes.
You hugged him tighter, arms looping around his waist, and pressed a kiss over his heart without even thinking. It caught him off guard.
You didn’t notice. You were too busy leaving more soft kisses along his chest, murmuring apologies into his skin.
"Thank you. I’ll be there," you whispered.
Your voice was the softest he’d ever heard. And somehow, it made something settle in him. Like everything was finally clicking into place.
He hugged you back with a labored sigh.
Like he could finally stop holding back.
Like he could finally hold you how he’d always wanted—without worry.
For the first time, you walked him to the door and said goodbye with a long kiss, followed by many smaller ones he scattered across your face like the first one wasn't enough.
"See you tomorrow. Stop skipping class. Things are getting a little harder lately, and if you miss too much you could fail the exams."
"I guess you'll have to put me up to date with the contents."
"Thursdays after class?"
"After practice." you corrected. He smiled.
"After practice."
You watched him go, your hand lingering on the doorframe even after he disappeared down the stairs. For a long moment, you didn’t move—just stood there with your lips still tingling and your heart still echoing with his laughter.
Something in you had finally unraveled tonight. Not in a bad way. Just… looser. Lighter. Like you could finally breathe.
You shut the door softly behind you, the apartment unusually quiet as you padded back into your room. Kuroo’s scent still clung to your sheets—warm laundry and a hint of sweat—and you smiled into your pillow before flopping down on it like some idiot in love.
Because maybe you were. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was dangerous.
But it felt good. And for now, that was enough.
But peace, as always, was temporary. The whispers crawling through Nekoma’s halls were growing fangs—sharp with rumor, slick with malice. And somewhere in the dark, a ghost stirred, reanimated by a snake with a grudge.
And this time, she wasn’t coming for you directly.
cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. angst. jealousy. mentions of bullying. mentions of fights/bruising. arguing. hate-kissing. suggestive. smutty. lemme know if i missed anything<3
wc. 5.8k
an. i love y'all <3 i'm so sorry about last week's chapter TTvTT i swear we'll have a break from the angst soon. i loved your comments sm tho i appreciate you so much(♡)
When your alarm went off the day after the beach, you didn't even look at the screen. Just slammed your hand down on it, rolled over, and buried yourself deeper into the blankets.
The air felt too cold, or maybe it was just your skin, stretched too tight from keeping yourself together.
Your dad knocked once before cracking open the door.
"You goin' to school?" he asked, voice rough from sleep, like gravel under boots.
You didn't answer. Just curled in tighter on yourself, face hidden in the dark cocoon of your bedding.
He paused. Then just closed the door and walked away, heavy steps fading into the distance.
He didn't ask again. It wasn't the first time you'd had a rough day and decided to sleep it off before going back to school. That tough girl image of yours took its mental stability to keep, so whenever you were feeling a little out of your game, you always chose to avoid school altogether. Too dangerous to show up to a hostile place without a hostile mask to hide behind.
But this time, that hostile, untouchable girl who smirked at chaos and could spit teeth like words was gone. You couldn't find her. Couldn't even imagine putting her mask back on.
You always kept in touch with Emi, though, even on your worst days. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little protective of her. And without you around for the scary dog privileges, she'd have to either stick to Kiba and the rest or expose herself to bullies and mean bitches who wanted to retaliate against you but didn't have the balls to pick a real fight.
The worst one of them was Hebinuma Mizuki from class 3. A sensitive topic for Emi you had to fix more than once in the past.
So you texted Emi with all the strength you had left.
: Not going to school today. Stay out of trouble for me babes.
Emi <3: eh??? wdym???
Emi <3: i need 2 kno about yesterday! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ did u tell him u like him or what???
Reading that hurt. You put the phone away before it buzzed again.
Emi <3: did he fuck ur legs out and that's why u won't come 2 school? (≖⩊≖)
Emi <3: wait, r u actually sick? want me to go care for you babes? (ㅅ' ^ ') (ㅅ' ^ ')
You stared at the messages for too long before replying.
: I'm okay Emi. See you on Monday. Stick by the guys.
Emi <3: did Kuroo do smth 2 u? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
Emi <3: if u don't answer i'll make the guys beat him up (ง •̀_•́)ง
: I'm fine, Jesus. Just fuck off.
Emi <3: fuck u </3
: Sorry babes. See ya Monday.
Emi <3: </3
You dropped the phone on the bed. The silence that followed was loud, thick. You wandered to the kitchen like a ghost and tried to avoid looking at the couch.
You failed.
That damn couch. A place of memories—too good, too vivid. A blur of messy hair, clever eyes, and long limbs draped in teenage carelessness.
Your stomach turned. You grabbed the ashtray and a fresh pack, and took it all to your room.
The smoke felt hollow that Friday.
And when Sunday came along, you hadn't said a word to anyone since that last text. You hadn't even put on real clothes.
And then, the doorbell rang.
Your dad answered it, and his gravel voice softened just a touch.
"Shiromaru," he greeted.
You didn't need to see her face to know Emi blushed.
"Good morning, sir."
"You alright? That girl still bothering you at school?" he asked.
"No, sir. Not since Y/N beat the crap out of her."
He looked toward the hallway, where you were standing in the shadows.
"Good," he said. "Look after your friends, kiddo."
You nodded faintly, and then he was gone, headed off to a fight—or whatever it was he did in his spare time.
(Probably debt collecting, although you knew better than to ask.)
After saying goodbye with eyes that lingered just a little too long, Emi entered the house, her expression changing from cheerful to stern in two seconds flat.
She stepped into the hallway, all electricity and fight in her pink jacket and messy space buns.
"I brought you cheap beer and rented the first season of Death Note," she said, lifting a konbini bag. "Also, I need to yell at you for ghosting me. I get that you have these days but a text or a call wouldn't hurt, you bitch."
As soon as she saw your face, something in her switched. The light dimmed.
"Got any cigarettes?"
You just nodded and she breezed past you, right into your room like she belonged there.
(She kinda did.)
"Good. I'm staying over."
"What about school?" you asked, voice scratchy.
"My uniform's in my bag. I don't think your dad cares. Oh also," she glanced over her shoulder with a wicked little grin, "he gets hotter every time I see him, What's up with that?"
You wished you could snort, play along, curse her off—but you didn't have the strength in you. You simply walked up behind her and rested your forehead against her back.
Emi stilled.
"Hey..." she said softly. "Does this one have anything to do with the volleyball captain?"
You didn't answer. You couldn't.
Your throat burned.
Then you shook your head. Once. Then again.
And then the sob broke out of you like a dam cracking wide open.
Emi turned and caught you in her arms.
"Babes..." she whispered, pulling you tighter. You clawed at her jacket, hands shaking, knees buckling. She fell with you onto the floor, cradling your head against her collarbone like you were something fragile.
"I fucked it up," you gasped between sobs. "Of course I fucked everything up, I—"
"What happened? You're okay. Tell me what happened."
"I... I rejected him."
You couldn't see the way her eyes widened. She stopped for a second, then continued running her hand down your back as you cried.
"I—he was so—he looked so fucking sincere, Emi. I could've just—just kissed him, said yes, anything—but I got scared. I got so fucking scared and I spat on his feelings like a piece of shit."
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop. And Emi, for once, was quiet.
Then—softly, "You are a piece of shit sometimes."
You laughed through your tears, a horrible wet sound.
"But you're my piece of shit," she continued. "And you can still fix this."
You shook your head.
"I don't know if he'll want to see me again. I don't even know if I deserve it."
"You don't have to know right now," she said. "Right now you just get to cry. I'll carry your pride for a while, I bet it's too fucking heavy."
Your whole body heaved. You wept like a child, for the first time in maybe forever. For the part of yourself that thought love was too dangerous. For the part of yourself that wished it wasn't.
Emi held you for what felt like hours. She didn't complain when her legs went numb from the awkward position. She didn't care that her pretty clothes were soaked in tears and spit and snot. She held you tighter whenever a particularly violent sob tore through you, and caressed your back gently when the storm seemed to calm.
You didn't notice the door creak open.
Your dad stood frozen in the doorway, broad shoulders stiff, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it was holding him upright, and there was a crease between his brows like he couldn't quite process what he was seeing.
He blinked at the two of you, his gaze snagging on your trembling form. The fists he'd taught you to throw were balled against Emi's jacket now. You were crying so hard you couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, your whole body convulsing in helpless sobs.
You weren't yelling. You weren't fighting. You weren't lashing out like you always did when something hurt.
You were... breaking.
And he didn't know what the hell to do with that.
His mouth opened, then closed. He took one step forward, like instinct kicked in—fix it, patch it up, say something—but the moment his boot hit the floorboard, he froze again. Panic flickered across his face, subtle but raw. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to do something, anything—but nothing about this moment was in his wheelhouse.
He looked between you and Emi, and Emi—bless her—met his eyes with calm certainty and gave a single, firm shake of her head.
And something in him seemed to deflate. His jaw clenched. He gave a slight nod, like a huge wolf backing out of a place that suddenly wasn't his territory anymore.
Then, quietly, he shut the door and walked away.
And you? You couldn't stop thinking about Kuroo. His voice an echo in your head.
"You think this hasn't already fucked me up? You think I haven't already let you get under my skin?"
He'd opened himself wide for you—heart in hand—and you'd slammed the door in his face and pretended it didn't matter.
You hadn't even kissed him goodbye. Not even a half-assed hug or a brush of your fingers. You just left him standing there in the dark, sand clinging to his shoes and love still lingering on his tongue.
You wanted to tear the memory out of your head with your bare hands. Wanted to reach back in time, scream yes, scream wait, scream I didn't mean it like that.
Throw yourself into his arms. Bury your fingers in his hair. Press your mouth to his and say everything you didn't let yourself say.
That's how it should've gone.
If you weren't so fuckin—
"Stupid..." Your voice cracked. "I'm so stupid."
Your breath hitched again, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over your cheeks. You bit your lip so hard it might've drawn blood, but you couldn't stop the ugly, shaky sob that followed.
Emi sighed, long and soft. But not annoyed.
"No, you're not," she said gently. "And that somehow makes it worse."
You hated that she was right.
Because you weren't dumb. You knew what he meant when he looked at you like that. You'd realized when his feelings started to change. You knew how much it cost him to put himself out there. To ask for something real.
And you still shut him down, because you thought it would keep things simple. Because you were scared. Because it was easier to pretend it didn't mean as much as it did.
It meant everything. And you'd thrown it away.
"I messed it up," you croaked, rubbing at your face uselessly. "I fucked up everything."
"Yeah," Emi said, not unkindly. "But you're not done yet." She shifted, legs twisted awkwardly beneath her. "Just... Can we switch positions? My ass fell asleep."
Again, it made you laugh through the tears—a short, wet snort that turned into another sob halfway through.
You nodded and finally pulled away, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your sleeve.
Emi settled against the edge of your bed, stretching her legs out with a dramatic groan and patting the spot beside her.
"C'mon. We're both a mess. Let's be a mess together."
She cracked open a can of Asahi Super Dry—half-warm, with a 50% off sticker slapped on the side like a badge of shame—and took a long, bitter swig.
Then she looked at you.
Really looked at you. Like you were a wounded dog on the side of the road. Like it broke her heart just to see you breathe.
And for once, you didn't look away.
You felt like roadkill. You deserved to.
"Okay..." she started. "Now... Why did you reject him? I thought we'd established you liked him back so... Why?"
"I just... panicked. I thought it would be easier if I kept it simple, if I didn't let it get serious." Your voice cracked on that word. "He looked... crushed. And I knew I was hurting him. I knew it and I still did it."
"You didn't mean it..." Emi said quietly.
"That doesn't fucking matter..." you sighed. "He meant it. And I threw it back in his face because I'm too fucking scared to want something good."
You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest. Your voice dropped to a rasp. "I've been wanted before. Not like that. Not like him. God, Why does he even want me in the first place?"
"Because you are way more lovable than you give yourself credit for."
You rolled your eyes at her, and her jaw tightened. Used at you flinching at affection, but still frustrated you couldn't see yourself through her eyes.
She just sat beside you, her knee touching yours, grounding you.
"'I want us to mean something.' That's what he said. And the worst part?" you whispered. "I wanted to say yes. I wanted it. I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt. I still do. But I looked at him and I thought... 'He's going to get sick of me. He's going to see the mess I am and he's going to leave. So I'll do it first.' "
You rubbed your palms against your face, smearing the tears across your skin like warpaint. "I didn't protect myself. I just proved I don't deserve him."
"You're allowed to be scared, babes," Emi said softly.
"No, not like that. I hurt him, Emi." Your throat tightened again. "And he didn't even fight me on it. He just... believed me. Like he didn't expect anything more from me. Like he knew I'd run."
It made you feel sick. Not from pity, but from the sheer, unbearable truth of it.
You had been everything he wasn't—cold, dismissive, cruel. And he had looked at you like you were still worth wanting. Even as you threw him away.
You heard the front door creak open again.
Boots. Heavy ones. Then came a knock—two short taps, and the door eased open an inch, enough to let in the hallway light.
Your dad stepped in halfway. Held something in his hand. The plastic crinkled.
He stood there in the doorway like a man about to walk into a minefield. His face was blank, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked from you to Emi, then to the floor, then back to you. He held out the plastic convenience store bag stiffly, like it weighed more than it did.
He cleared his throat. Opened his mouth.
You knew that look. That little twitch of his jaw, the faint furrow between his brows. He was about to try and say something.
Something sincere.
And it was going to be hard for him.
So you cut him off.
"Thanks," you said softly, standing up and walking his way. "Appreciate it."
He blinked. The words died in his throat. You met his eyes—just for a second—and gave him the faintest nod. Not dismissive. Just understanding.
I know, Dad. It's okay.
He hesitated. For a second, it looked like he might say something anyway. But then his shoulders dropped, just a touch, and he handed over the bag.
Inside were two taiyaki ice creams.
Chocolate. Your favorite.
Emi's too, probably just a lucky guess.
He didn't say a word as he turned around, boots thudding gently down the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind him.
You stared down at the bag for a moment, throat tightening again.
Emi shifted next to you. "You okay?"
You nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Your voice cracked anyway.
Kuroo didn't expect you to show up to class. Not really.
Still, when he walked in and saw your seat empty, something in his chest twisted. A part of him had hoped—stupidly—that you'd stroll in late, toss your bag down like nothing had happened, maybe shoot him a look, say something cocky and half-dangerous, like you were daring him to still love you.
And God, he would've.
In a second.
But instead, there was just the empty desk—the same one you'd sprawled across last week, chewing gum and tapping his pen while he tried to write, just to dodge his eyes and pretend you weren't smiling when he finally looked up.
Now you were gone.
And he was doing the one thing he swore he wouldn't: waiting for you to come back.
But you never did.
It was like you'd flipped a switch.
Back to your old self.
Bloody-knuckled. Skipping classes. Laughing too loudly with the other delinquents in the courtyard like nothing had ever happened.
But he saw it—every time your eyes met across the courtyard, or during passing period when you pretended not to flinch.
That mask.
The one you wore so damn well.
And the crack in it.
He could always tell when it did. That half-second flicker in your gaze, like your heart stuttered. Like maybe you were sorry. Like maybe you wanted to say something. Like maybe you still felt it, too.
He hated it.
Because he still did.
Still loved you, like a fool with no survival instinct.
And just when it started to dull—when he could almost convince himself it didn't ache every time he heard your laugh or every time Yaku asked if you were coming to class, when he could almost push you out of his thoughts—
Still, something about her scratched under his skin.
He'd heard the rumors—and remembered that one time he asked.
"Bitch had it coming."
And somehow, that stuck with him more than any answer would've.
Because if there was one thing he knew by now was that nobody got under your skin without earning it.
She'd been circling ever since you'd vanished. Suddenly, she was all about school spirit, popping up outside the gym during practice. Offering water bottles with a sugary smile and leaning too close when she talked to him, giggling like she couldn't help herself.
It was annoying. He knew what she was doing.
But he let her do it anyway.
Yaku noticed first.
"You sure Y/N's okay?" he asked, tossing him a towel during water break. "I haven't seen her in class since Thursday."
"I don't know," Kuroo muttered, drying his neck. "Why don't you ask her? You two get along."
Yaku raised a brow. "You get along even better."
Kuroo didn't respond.
"I think it's because of Hebinuma hanging around you so much," Yaku added, not looking at him as he stretched out his legs. "Maybe that's why she won't talk to you anymore. Y/N hates her guts. Always has."
Kuroo cracked a humorless smile. "Interesting theory."
But he knew better.
It wasn't Hebinuma.
It was the beach. It was the silence. It was him avoiding you out of pride and pain. It was you avoiding him right back because you were too much of a coward to face him head-on after he'd laid himself bare for you and got nothing but sand in his teeth for it.
He knew you hated Hebinuma. Of course he did.
Still didn't stop him from letting her hover. Didn't stop him from letting her touch his arm when she talked. Or fake laugh at his dryest jokes. Especially when he could feel you watching.
Especially when he wanted you to watch.
It happened right after practice, one lazy Friday.
Hebinuma had "accidentally" waited until practice was over, until the sun was casting long shadows across the front of the gym. She bounced toward him with that same cutesy walk, giggling about how she'd love to support the team, maybe become their new manager—
And then, Kuroo felt it.
Like static electricity on the back of his neck.
He turned.
You were standing a few meters away, bag slung over one shoulder, hair a mess like you'd just fought someone and won. A faint bruise blooming along your jaw, and your eyes—
Murderous.
It was the look of someone who'd come to apologize. Someone who'd worked up the nerve, finally. And walked right into a punch to the gut.
You looked at Hebinuma like she was trash on the sidewalk.
Then you looked at him.
Like he was worse.
He arched a brow. A challenge, maybe.
You just sighed. Disappointed. Furious. Tired.
Then turned without a word, slipping a cigarette from your blazer pocket, exhaling smoke into the sky like you needed somewhere to put the quiet fury.
Hebinuma kept talking, oblivious or pretending to be, tugging at his sleeve as she rattled on about her "manager application" and how Coach Nekomata was being soooo picky.
Yaku wandered over, towel draped around his neck. Watched the scene like a car crash. Then muttered behind him, just loud enough:
"Are you trying to piss her off?"
"Maybe," he answered.
And it kept happening.
Hebinuma showing up during lunch with bentos "for the team," but handing his first. Laughing too loud at things he didn't say, brushing imaginary lint off his uniform.
Always conveniently when you were close enough to see it.
Kuroo never stopped her.
Didn't really encourage it either.
But he let it happen.
Because he knew what it looked like. Because of the way your jaw would tense when you saw it, because of the way you'd flick your cigarette a little harder or shoulder past him in the hallway with an empty glare ahead.
Because it felt like punishment. For both of you.
Because he didn't know how else to make you feel it.
And maybe, deep down, he wanted to see how long it would take before you snapped.
Because that tension—him pretending he didn't care, you pretending you didn't hurt—it couldn't hold forever.
And Kuroo, for all his logic and control, knew one thing for sure:
The longer you stretch a spring, the harder it snaps.
"How dare he?!" You paced like a caged animal, fury coming off you in waves.
Emi leaned back against the wall, dragging deep on her cigarette, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, he lost points from me too, hanging around that bitch."
"How fucking dare he?!" you snapped again, spinning toward her, jabbing the air with your finger. "You know what? I'm glad it's her. If it was any other girl, maybe I'd be sad. But this?" You scoffed. "This just pisses me off. And I can deal with angry way better than I deal with sad."
"We know that." Emi took another drag, exhaling smoke through her nose. "Wait... So you're not scared they'll actually date? Everyone thinks they're already a thing. Maybe they are."
You shook your head, taking one last hit of your cigarette before grinding it out under your boot like it owed you something.
"Nah. Tetsurou is smart. Way too smart. He probably sees right through her..." You hesitated, then started pacing again. "But the fact that he does see through her and still lets her do her little act? Still lets her put her hands all over him? That pisses me off even more."
"So? What're you gonna do?"
You stopped. Crossed your arms. "...I don't know."
Emi rolled her eyes, tossed her cigarette to the ground, and grabbed your shoulders.
"You talk to him! March up and say, 'I was scared. I was a coward. Please forgive me. I love you.' Then you date him. Boom!" She spun away, arms wide like she was directing a play. "Jesus, I'm glad you're not all sad and mopey anymore, but these fights you've been picking lately? They're scrambling your brain."
"I hate being in love, dude. That shit's gross. Makes me all sappy and soft."
"It also makes you cuter~"
You grunted. She just laughed, slinging her arms around your neck and rubbing her cheek against yours like an annoying cat.
"I'm joking~ You've always been soft and cute." Then she shoved you away with a grin. "Now go. Do the one part of a relationship you've been avoiding like a complete dumbass: communication."
You sighed, dragging a hand down your face before heading toward the gym.
It was Monday now, and almost two weeks of this stupid dance was enough. Enough missing him. Enough pride swallowing. Enough pretending.
You waited for the final bell. Waited for that slow burn of guilt and longing in your chest to get hot enough to move you—but not so hot it turned into something reckless.
You were ready to talk. To say something. Anything. Mostly sorry.
You were.
Until you saw who he was talking to.
Hebinuma fucking Mizuki again.
Your skin crawled the second her voice floated toward you. Your blood turned to boiling tar.
You didn't hesitate.
"Tetsurou," you called out, voice sharp like a whipcrack—more warning than greeting.
Both of them turned. You walked straight up, eyes locked on her like a loaded gun. Hebinuma flinched.
"Don't pet every stray puppy you see," you snapped. "That one's got mange."
Kuroo blinked like he had to double-check what you just said. Hebinuma did too—twice—then plastered on a tight, fake smile.
"Oh, L/N-san. No need to be so hostile..." she cooed. But her jaw was tight. One eye twitched. Sweet as arsenic.
"Hebinuma," you said flatly, folding your arms. "That one's off-limits."
She blinked—slow and fake, like a dumb deer. Then you saw it—the flicker. That glint in her eye.
"I didn't know you two were..." she started.
"We're not." Kuroo cut in—too fast.
Your jaw locked tight.
Hebinuma smiled, sharp now. "Be careful, Kuroo-san. Her and her friend—"
"What's that about my friend?" you snapped, stepping forward.
She flinched, but kept going.
"I'm just saying..." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with mock innocence. "Being seen around girls like her could tarnish his reputation."
The fury in your chest flared red-hot.
"Worry about your own business," you growled, "and get the fuck out."
Her voice shook a little, but again, she continued. She seemed braver than usual—like she thought Kuroo might protect her.
(She was wrong.)
"Ah, L/N-san... Why are you always so mean? We used to be good friends in junior high~"
Your voice sliced through her fake sweetness.
"I was never your friend, you nasty bitch. Don't tie my name to yours. And take a few steps back before I catch mange, too."
Her smile cracked. Red bloomed across her cheeks—anger or humiliation, maybe both.
She opened her mouth, but you were already moving in her space. Eyes narrow.
Nose inches from hers and heat rolling off you like a flame about to catch.
"Scram," you said, low and deadly. "Just seeing your face pisses me off. Or do you want a little reminder of first year?"
Her pupils shrank.
There it was—fear.
But instead of answering, she looked at Kuroo like he'd save her, like he might step in.
He wasn't even looking. One hand was pinching the bridge of his nose like you were giving him a headache.
(You were.)
She shook her head with a huff and stomped off, perfume lingering like rot under flowers.
You turned to Kuroo with a smirk tugging at your lips.
He didn't return it.
Still rubbing his temples, he looked at you like you'd just insulted his mother in front of a teacher.
"I was looking for you," you said casually, ignoring the thundercloud over his head.
You jabbed a thumb toward where Hebinuma had vanished. "Since when do you hang out with bishoujos? That's not like you."
"What are you doing here?"
Your smirk faded. And you nodded slowly toward him. "I get it, you're pissed."
"Yeah! I'm a little pissed," he snapped. "She could've been Nekoma's manager."
You frowned. That's not exactly what you were thinking he was pissed at.
"You guys don't need a manager. You're cool. You've always handled it."
"What would you know?"
"Whoa. Attitude." You raised both your hands like you were surrendering. "Sorry I scared your little fan. You wouldn't want her around anyway if you—"
"My what? Wait. Are you jealous?" His eyes widened, faking surprise. "Is that why you barked at her and scared her off?"
"Not entirely," you shrugged, smug.
"You're not even denying it."
"I don't share, Tetsurou."
"You can't monopolize me."
"I can try~"
"I don't get it," he muttered. "We make out, we sleep together, we do everything couples do—but when I actually ask you out, you reject me. Then you show up and threaten a girl who breathes near me. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?"
He moved closer without thinking. You didn’t move back. Not even an inch.
You crossed your arms, glaring off to the side. "Honestly? She's just a bitch. That's ninety percent of it. But yeah, her batting those fake-ass lashes at you and putting her hands all over you? That did set me off a little."
Your fingers twitched as you glanced toward where Hebinuma had left, jaw clenched. "I'm getting pissed again. I might go back and—"
Kuroo's hands gripped your shoulders, firm and sudden, shaking you just enough to snap your eyes back to his.
"Stop. Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Trying to punch your way through every emotion."
"I don't do that."
"You do."
"I don't—"
"Fuck's sake!" He groaned, dropping his head like you were physically draining his soul. "Why do you even hate her so much? What did she do?"
"She's using you," you snapped, not really answering the question. "She knows I'm into you, and she's gonna use you to piss me off."
"Well, joke's on her, then. You're not that into me anyway. You rejected me, remember?"
"She's using you," you repeated.
"And you're not?"
You froze.
You could've apologized right there. That was the whole reason you came.
But the image of Hebinuma touching him—her claws on his arm, her voice in his ear—was still stuck behind your eyelids.
"Okay, well, she's using you in a gross Machiavellian way. I'm using you in a cute Ayn Rand way."
"You hate Ayn Rand," he snapped.
"Exactly," you muttered.
He stared. "You know what? It doesn't matter. You're giving me a migraine. Just... leave me alone."
He turned on his heel, the movement sharp.
Your jaw locked. You threw a silent apology to Emi and stepped forward, forcing the words out.
"She's a bully. Hebinuma."
He didn't turn. But he paused.
"She used to bully Emi in junior high. Still spreads rumors about her. Just 'cause she's a gyaru. Just 'cause she's jealous. I know she looks sweet, but she's poison."
Your voice had dropped—lower, honest. It hurt to say, to tell on Emi. But it was the only way to reach him.
You exhaled sharply. "Ask Kenma. She tried to make his life hell in his first year too—for a while. I bet he could smell her a mile away and that made her uneasy. Good luck he didn't give a fuck... Ask him if you don't believe me."
Another pause. He stopped. Shoulders tense. Then turned—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, jaw ticking.
"I also thought there was something off about her. She's fake."
You scoffed. "Then why would you even consider letting her hang around you like that? Are you trying to piss me off?"
He rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.
"Not everything is about you, Y/N."
"If it's about you, I want it to be."
That stunned him. Just for a moment.
"Let's do it," you said. "The dating thing. The... feelings n' shit."
He turned the rest of the way. His brows drew together sharply. His mouth parted, then clamped shut again—like he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or scream. Like he couldn't believe your audacity.
"That's your confession?"
You stepped closer before your brain could stop your feet, pulse punching behind your ribs. "Take it or leave it."
His eyes flicked over your face like he couldn’t decide where to settle—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again.
"Okay. I refuse then." His voice was low—dangerously low. “You show up, bark at some girl like I belong to you—and then what? Drop half a confession like it’s supposed to fix everything?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The air between you buzzed, charged and heavy. His chest rose and fell, uneven. The heat building between you turned suffocating.
His gaze dragged back to your lips. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
"If you think that’s how you make it up to me for breaking my heart, think again. I want an apology. A real one. Then a cute confession. Like in the movies. With a letter and chocolate and shit."
"Am I a clown to you?" you hissed, lip curling.
"Oh, shut up."
You grabbed his tie at the same time he surged forward, and the kiss landed like a spark in dry grass.
Instant. All-consuming.
You gasped into it, hands fisting his shirt like you'd been drowning and just found air again. He groaned, hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there, mouth hungry against yours.
Tongues clashed. Teeth grazed. You didn’t even know what the hell you were doing—just that you had to. That his mouth was fire and yours was gasoline.
You kissed like enemies. Like neither of you wanted to give in first, breathing each other in like poison you couldn’t help drinking.
His breath hitched when you tugged at his tie and bit down on his bottom lip—not enough to hurt, just enough to piss him off. He shoved you back a step, crowding you against the brick wall behind the gym. His lips chased yours again, hungrier, messier. His hands slid under your shirt, palms hot, fingers splaying across your spine like he needed to hold something solid or he’d fall apart.
He pulled back just enough to growl, "I’m still mad at you."
"I know," you whispered. "I'm mad at me too."
Your hands tangled in his hair, dragging him back down. You were breathless. Shaking. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
He kissed you like a grudge—like he didn’t know whether to devour you or destroy you. All frustration and bruised ego and unspoken need.
The kiss slowed—only slightly. Still desperate, still angry, but now there was something else slipping between the cracks. Something vulnerable.
He broke away again, panting. His forehead pressed against yours. His hands were still on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go, even if he knew he should.
"I want more than this," he said, voice raw and breaking.
You shut your eyes.
"I’m trying," you said, barely audible. "I came here to try."
Your lips were swollen. So were his. Your whole body thrummed, screaming at you to pull him back, to fix it the only way you knew how.
But he didn’t kiss you again.
He stepped back—like it hurt to do it—and dragged in a breath.
Then he looked at you. Long and hard. Like he was reminding himself of the reason he was so mad at you.
"I’m not your outlet," he said hoarsely. "You don’t get to use me every time you’re bored or jealous or scared to feel something real. Come to me when you're ready to actually talk feelings…"
His voice cracked. Just barely.
"Figure your shit out. I'm tired, Y/N."
And just like that, he turned.
You didn’t stop him.
Your breath left you in a slow, broken exhale. Your mask slipped. Shoulders sagged.
i'll keep every promise (if it's a promise with you) | oikawa tooru x reader
oikawa tooru has a bad habit of breaking promises and running from his first love.
or: the four times oikawa breaks his promises and the one time he keeps one
( a / n ) - oh my god this is my magnum opus... my baby.. its a little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff and a little slice of life. u go through ages 6 to 28 LMFAO. iwaizumi + you + oikawa were such a fun trio to write for and i hope u guys enjoy !!
gn! reader | 2k words | happy birthday OIKAWA
Oikawa Tooru has a guilty conscience and a bad habit of breaking his promises.
For every promise made and every promise broken, Tooru repents: 200 yen slid in a saisen-bako, a ninety degree bow, two wishes at a shrine. An offering to counter every promise he breaks, ample water to wash away his sins, and apologies written on wood.
( Iwaizumi has made the grand suggestion of: Maybe not breaking your promises? on several occasions, but Tooru can’t help it. )
He’s broken four promises and made eight wishes so far: four on blue Tanzaku and four atop Ema boards, followed with a prayer and an offering if the promise broken was particularly heinous or particularly his fault.
He breaks his first promise at six years old– one made with you and Iwaizumi when the three of you were four and freshly neighbors. It was Tooru’s birthday, and he had promised this:
I swear that I will take us all to the Ryokan before I turn six.
It’s a small promise: one that neither you nor Hajime had expected him to follow through with. But Tooru believed it, and Tooru had tried. He takes every single chore and odd job in the Oikawa household, scraping together a two-year-old Ryokan trust fund with mismatched coins and crumpled bills. He saves his allowances and puts everything in a glass jar next to his bed, and dreams.
Two Julys pass. Oikawa blows out four candles and then five, the jar gets bigger, you start Elementary school, and you and Hajime forget about the Ryokan. And then, on the third July, when Tooru turns six, you and Iwaizumi find Tooru mumbling about a broken promise— courtesy of his failure to take the three of you on an all inclusive trip to that Snow Monkey Ryokan that Iwaizumi wanted to go to.
So he apologizes through prayers at a shrine and two wishes under a red Torii gate. It’s a thirty five stair climb to the neighborhood shrine: Hajime and Tooru race up and you come last, but the view is gorgeous and Tooru feels considerably less guilty.
It is 100 yen for each wish on a colored paper strip. Hajime says they’re called Tanzaku. Hajime drops one coin, Tooru drops four, you drop two. Seven thunks, four wishes.
Tooru gets the honor of tying your tanzaku on bamboo branches as the tallest of your trio, and with it, the honor of reading your wishes.
Iwaizumi’s wish is messy and scrawled on bright red— Tooru tells him to Please work on your handwriting, but it’s legible and all well wishes for volleyball and you and Oikawa and cicadas.
Tooru’s got two wishes— a cyan one and a turquoise one, but he only lets you and Hajime read the cyan one. His cyan one is a little neater than Iwaizumi’s and reads:
Sorry I couldn’t take us to the Monkey Ryokan.
He hangs the red one on his tippy-toes. Cyan next. Hajime cheers a little when Tooru hangs turquoise next to your pink one, and then asks:
“Whaddya need two wishes for anyways?”
He shrugs.
“Guilty conscience, maybe?”
You’re thirteen when Tooru promises that he is going to ask you out in two years. Tooru is not allowed to date until he’s in high school, so he tells you under a blanket of stars that when the two of you are a little older, he will ask you out properly and maybe take you on a date.
He walks you to school every morning. Hajime comes too, but the pink skies before the sun rises are for you and Tooru. Moments before you make it to Iwaizumi’s block are moments that Tooru gives you his scarf, and then his gloves, and when the wind bites at your cheeks too hard his jacket is draped over your shoulders. On rainy days, Tooru holds the umbrella and laughs as your fingers brush and your cheeks flush. Some mornings he brings you toast: and tells you in hushed whispers to eat it before Iwa-Chan sees.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk you home after cram school and volleyball practice. Hajime’s house is first— so Iwaizumi bows first, heads back inside first, waves goodnight first. When the door closes and the light turns on, the black sky and twinkling stars are for you and Tooru. He always says Good Night saccharine sweet with a smile like the sun that makes you feel like you really can’t wait to turn fifteen.
Oikawa blows out fourteen candles. The three of you graduate in blue and walk home like usual. Summer passes, another July goes by, Oikawa blows out fifteen candles, and high school starts.
You learn several things in your first year at high school: you really like the student council, Hajime is actually pretty smart, and Tooru is afraid of commitment.
Tooru is popular: he is athletic and tall and the Volleyball Club’s golden first year. He smiles at the girls in his class, he slings arms around their shoulders, he winks when he passes by the student council room, and he preens a little and shines a lot.
Oikawa is fifteen when he goes on his first date with a girl from another school: and when he tells you and Iwaizumi after he gets home, he plays dumb as Hajime gives him a look and takes you home, overhearing Iwaizumi’s apologies and your crestfallen voice as you say something about a promise.
Oikawa’s chest hurts that night so he walks to the shrine with 200 yen in his pocket and a sorry scrawled on two pieces of colored Tanzaku.
Oikawa turns sixteen and goes to the shrine again.
This time, it’s a broken promise with a girl in his class. She was popular– she smelled like cotton candy and reminded Tooru of strawberries and daisies, so when she asked Tooru out, he had said Sure, and he had smiled like she was the sun.
But he’s a bad boyfriend– a terrible boyfriend– because he’s only there when it’s convenient and he ditches her for volleyball practice and maybe sometimes he catches himself thinking about a certain childhood friend when she holds his hand and buys him milk bread at lunch.
She was sweet and she was terribly pretty, but he doesn’t feel anything when she kisses him or when she rests her head on his shoulder.
Iwaizumi asks him what he’s running from after practice one day. Tooru knows Iwaizumi is asking why he is running from you.
Tooru is a little scared of how you make him feel too much. Oikawa likes being in control and Oikawa likes stability, so when he realizes that his heart thumps erratically whenever you’re around and he finds himself all consumed with thoughts of you and a burning desire to please you; he rejects and refrains. And runs.
His girlfriend dumps him after a few months. Tooru says sorry, removes her phone contact, and faintly remembers a promise he made with her four weeks ago.
I swear I’m not in love with someone else.
from: tooru (23:20)
shrine time!!! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶
from: hajime (23:21)
You broke another promise?? Ur a piece of shit lol
from: tooru (23:22)
iwaaa chan U￣ｰ￣U ur so mean !
from: you (23:24)
bro . don’t tell me it was about ur ex
ur a manwhore !!!!
from: hajime (23:25)
Average Shittykawa moment
from: tooru (23:25)
i can’t help it !! (✿ ♥‿♥)
everyone wants a piece of me !!!
ill pick u guys up and we’ll go to the shrine and ramen after plsss ☆
from: hajime (23:26)
Ur treat?
from: tooru (23:27)
iwa-chan’s treat !! i’m going through a nasty breakup, remember ? \_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯
from: you (23:29)
hajime we know his address we can burn his room down
from: tooru (23:30)
OK FINE my treat! it’s on me!!! everyone say thank you tooru !!!
from: hajime (23:31)
thank you tooooruuu chan (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
tooru and y/n reacted with: Scared !
from: tooru (23:32)
um please don’t do that ever again
Oikawa’s fourth promise is one to himself and one to Seijoh.
We will make it to Nationals.
He doesn’t leave his room for a week when he breaks it. He’s inconsolable. He says he’s sick: he’s got a bad fever, it’s contagious, he’s bedridden, he’s fine. But the lights are never on in his room, his curtains are always drawn, and you know that Tooru devoted everything for a chance and a dream and a volleyball.
He comes to you first. He’s standing in your doorway and there are bags under his eyes and he says, Hi, and then, I’m fine. He tries for a smile— and then you give him a look, and suddenly he’s in your arms and sobbing.
He cries for two hours. Tooru ugly cries– his chest racks when he sobs and his arms are tight around you and digging into your back. Oikawa Tooru is not weak: but he is not a prodigy.
He falls asleep in your bed with his head in your lap and your hands in his hair, but his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s shifting a lot and he’s probably having a nightmare. You call Hajime before gently shaking Tooru awake.
He blinks up at you— all puffy eyes and tousled hair and swollen cheeks, but he sees you and he softens.
“Wanna go to the shrine?”
Iwaizumi still grumbles the whole way up the thirty five steps, but he’s quiet as Oikawa slips two coins into the saizen-bako. Hajime wraps an arm around your shoulder as the coins rattle in the box and you know he’s upset too— his hands are slightly shaking and he keeps sniffing. Nationals might have been Oikawa’s dream but Iwaizumi was also a dreamer, and sure, Oikawa was going to go, but they were going to go together.
Tooru hangs two Ema boards and for the first time, he bows at the Honden. Two claps. Head down and hands together as he prays. Iwaizumi joins him: and you watch as Oikawa apologizes to him and Hajime shakes his head- because it was Hajime’s promise too.
Oikawa is twenty-eight and on a plane when he finally keeps his first promise.
It’s a small promise: but a promise nonetheless, one that he made before he left for Argentina. He tells you he loves you at the airport but he has his boarding pass in one hand and his passport in the other. And you tell him you love him too, but also that he’s being unfair, and no you won’t go out with him. And Oikawa knew you would say that, but he still finds himself making a promise– a promise you laugh at because Oikawa Tooru never keeps his promises.
If we’re still single in ten years, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to ask you out.
You cry, and Tooru wraps his arms around you and cries too— and then Iwaizumi’s there, and Iwaizumi’s crying, and you don’t know which part of you is Oikawa or Iwaizumi. Oikawa leaves for Argentina with a heavy heart but a hunger for the future.
In the ten years that pass he plays a lot of volleyball. He tans a lot. He learns some Spanish. He tries beach volleyball. And then, he buys a plane ticket on his birthday.
from: y/n (21:12)
happy birthday tooru !! me n hajime r having an honorary drink for u. hope ur having fun in argentina!!! hajime and i say te amo !!!!
from: tooru (21:15)
i’d like a hot sake plssss thank u!!! ( ˙▿˙ )
from: y/n (21:15)
LMFAO. no. me and haji r drinking ASAHI DRRRRRRYYYYYYYY for u
bro also hajime got BUFF wat the hell
hope ur tanning good in argentina
from: tooru (21:16)
well tell BUFF iwa chan that ill be there in 5 and i want a HOT SAKE and also YES i tanned good SO EYES OFF IWAIZUMI
from: y/n (21:17)
?
what?
ur funny lol
…
TOORU?
Tooru is twenty eight and might retire soon. Thirty five stairs is too many to climb and keeping promises is far more fun than breaking them. So he taps your shoulder, hands Iwaizumi your bouquet, and takes your cheeks in his palms to tilt your chin over.
note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works + the synopsis for each fic belongs to the author who wrote the fic
kuroo tetsuro
taste test - kaientai
synopsis: when you taste the same thing as your soulmate, things get interesting
red all over - meldve
synopsis: you are trapped in an elevator with your work rival, kuroo. what else could go wrong?
your name - tsukisemi
synopsis: kuroo finds you really cute, too bad you keep giving him a fake name every time you come into the coffee shop he works at
public transit - orphan_account
synopsis: your heart pounded, knowing you were being touched, and he was watching you.
but when he loves me - sweetcandyliar
synopsis: there are so many ways that kuroo tells you he loves you.
somewhere only we know - wanderwithme (wanderlustt)
synopsis: four times kuroo proposes to you - and the last time he does
meeting the boys - orphan_account
synopsis: in which no one really believes kuroo could get a girlfriend as incredible as you
落葉 | rakuyou - deltachye
synopsis: maple leaves are most beautiful in which they have died, falling slowly, waiting patiently to be reborn
riverbank - itsleese
synopsis: you're reminded of the little boy you loved way back then, the riverbank you played at together. maybe you should go see it?
caring cats - haikyuu_philia
synopsis: nekoma is family
disrupted meetings - sansos
synopsis: dr. tetsurou kuroo’s research group has transitioned to hosting meetings online. what could go wrong?
cat ears - just__j
synopsis: kuroo approaches you, captain of the girls club, with a proposition of a bet for the losing captain
kozume kenma
change the channel - alkale
synopsis: "i want to buy your game from you"
kodzuken does not have a girlfriend - bunnytime
synopsis: it has been a running joke that kodzuken lies about having a girlfriend for years now. needless to say, his fanbase is convinced he doesn’t really have a girlfriend
second place - yourqueenhasarrived
synopsis: kenma forgets your anniversary and once again pushes you aside for his gaming career. how much can you take?
an inconvenient crush - the_only_iris
synopsis: kenma has had the biggest crush on twitch streamer, (y/n). what happens when their paths cross?
learning process - nomazee
synopsis: you and kenma always had an interesting dynamic. kuroo found it nice for everyone involved
thank you for being a friend! - heichoe
synopsis: ”if it helps: when you gave kuroo head in high school, he said it was great"
yaku morisuke
who dares speak aloud these words (intended for the heart to speak) - sunmoonstarsrain
synopsis: yaku bursts into her life like a hurricane, even whilst akaashi lingers on like the memory of a summer breeze
artists eyes - teapots_and_teacups
synopsis: yaku was used to being ignored on the court
if only i were selfish - this noodle writes
synopsis: yaku was anything but a selfish man, but being selfless had cost him you once before. so, when he gets the chance to see you again, will he finally be selfish enough to try?
note: as you can tell, i'm trying a different recommendations style- what do you think? do you think i should switch back to the first one or is this one better? would love to know your thoughts
cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. smut. dry humping. dirty talking. power struggle. both you and kuroo are kinda feral. lemme know if i missed anything ;3
wc. 5.6k
an. i blame this on sir mix-a-lot and my instagram fyp. enjoy<3 comments are appreciated <3
And when I catch a little kitty lookin', oh, so tough
Bring hot water 'cause I might get stuck!
Nekoma wasn't huge, but it wasn't some tiny rundown school either. It wasn't a prestigious rich-kid academy like Fukurodani, but it wasn't a dump. You'd call it perfectly average—just balanced enough to create a decent social jungle. The school had its fair share of quiet nerds, top-ranking students, sports freaks, and, of course, the so-called delinquents, as adults liked to whisper whenever they saw kids with piercings, dyed hair, or a cigarette hanging from their lips.
You? You belonged in the latter category.
Which is why, during lunch break, you and your bestfriend Emi had a cigarette and a canned coffee for lunch, tucked into a secluded corner she'd found and claimed after a teacher caught you smoking behind the gym a week before and threw a fit about it, forcing you to find a better place.
You leaned against the sun-warmed brick, one boot crossed over the other as the late morning light sliced through the cracks between the buildings. The sky was too blue for how shitty the day had started.
"Inukai-sensei scolded you again? What a drag." Emi's voice broke through the idle silence, syrupy with a mix of concern and genuine amusement. She had her eyes closed and face looking up into the sky, bathing in the sun like a happy cat.
You nodded in response.
"Another lecture about skipping class and how I could amount to more and to 'please think of my future' and yeah... The usual." You waved a hand in the air as if you could swat away his voice. Just retelling it made your skin itch with anxiety. You patted your blazer for your cigarettes.
Emi let out a thoughtful hum. And opened her eyes to study you with a tilt of her head.
"Well, he's right. You used to get really good grades in first year..."
You shot her a disgusted look, scrunching your nose.
She laughed, brushing you off. "Hey, I'm just saying. Why waste your time with us anyway? Why don't you listen to Inukai-sensei and get your grades back up?"
"I just don't get the point of chasing 'academic success' All that effort just to end up working in some office that'll suck me dry and bury me under unpaid overtime like the rest of this country?" You scoffed, still patting your pockets. "Bullshit... Where are the fucking things?"
Emi rolled her eyes and reached into your bag, retrieving the familiar box with a practiced flick of her wrist. She stole one for herself, already slipping it between her glossy lips.
Emi was loud, pouty, and wore trouble like lip gloss. Shiny, sweet, and impossible to ignore, she floated through the chaos of Nekoma High with a glossy grin, a one too many questionable friends (one of them being you). The perfect image of a bleach-blonde puppy pretending to run with the big dogs.
But underneath the fake lashes and the too-short skirts, she was pure heart: loyal, messy, a little reckless, and your best friend.
She loved too fast, forgave too easily, and stuck to your side like her life depended on it. In a city full of knives disguised as smiles, Emi was an open wound— raw, real, and stupidly brave. A rare trait in Nekoma. You'd landed more than a few punches to protect her, and you were willing to land many more if it meant she was out of harm.
"You sound like such a snob, Y/N."
You snorted as she handed over the box.
"Thanks, babes," you whispered as you took it form her hands, pulling a cigarette out of the box. "Call me whatever you want. As long as I pass and graduate, the rest is useless." You bit down on the filter of your cigarette, patting your pockets again, this time in search of your lighter.
"Sure, sure. You've gotten enough lectures today. I've got my own problems anyway." Emi sighed, reaching into your left pocket and fishing out the lighter. She lit her own cigarette before handing it to you. You gave her a grateful nod. "Yasuo broke up with me. What's up with that?"
You didn't really hear her. Your lips parted just a little, cigarette hanging forgotten between your lips. Your gaze was already drifting toward something—someone—far more interesting.
Kuroo Tetsurou, striding across the schoolyard.
Broad shoulders, long legs, the kind of posture that said I know exactly who I am.
His hair was a wild mess—bedhead in the most deliberate, devastating way, like he'd rolled out of someone else's bed and still looked hotter than anyone had a right to. It was all jagged spikes and volume, practically defying gravity, but somehow it worked for him.
Too well.
Next to him walked a shorter guy with a slouched posture and his eyes glued to his phone. But your eyes? Locked on Kuroo like a heat-seeking missile.
He turned his head slightly, talking to his friend with a lazy grin. You caught a glimpse of sharp, narrow eyes and a grin that looked like trouble.
The kind of cocky smile that said he knew exactly what you were thinking and was daring you to think it louder.
Your heartbeat stuttered, then picked up like it was trying to break free from your chest.
Fuck, he was hot.
The kind of hot that made you want to do something reckless.
Like ruin your academic record.
Or make it better.
Or crawl into his lap and ask him to tutor you in anything but math.
Eureka.
"Very cute," you muttered under your breath and lit up the smoke, eyes raking over him like he was your next bad decision wrapped in a school uniform.
(He was.)
Emi's voice rose in protest beside you. "Hey! Are you even listening to me?"
You crushed the flavor capsule between your teeth, a little too hard.
"Who's the hottie? Never seen him before..." you murmured, half to yourself, half to Emi—afraid that if you took your eyes from him, he'd vanish.
Emi's annoyed pout was immediately replaced by a curious squint. "Eh?"
"The tall one, next to the blondie," you pressed with a jerk of your chin in his direction, your body practically leaning forward like gravity itself was pulling you toward him. "You know him?"
Of course she did. Emi knew everyone.
She followed your line of sight—and her face lit up with recognition. "Oh! I do, he's the captain of the volleyball team... Tetsurou! Kuroo Tetsurou. He's in Class 5, I think."
"Kuroo Tetsurou-kun, huh?"
You rolled the name over your tongue like candy, savoring every syllable.
"Class 5... so hot and smart. I like."
You needed him.
Biblically.
You didn't notice Emi's wide-eyed stare as she put two and two together, looking between you and Kuroo with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"Wait—seriously? Him?" she spluttered.
You shot her a glare, brows raised.
"Don't get me wrong," she rushed, "he is hot. And he does sports. And he's like, top of his class, I'm pretty sure. Pretty good catch... for a good girl."
You scoffed. "Pfff. Who's the snob now?"
"I'm just saying. I don't think he'd mingle with the likes of us. You could have any of the guys if you wanted."
You made a face like you'd tasted something sour. "The guys have no brains. And even less charm. Brain-eating bacteria would starve up there."
She blinked. "Brain-eating... what?"
You shrugged, lighting your cigarette with a smirk.
"Besides, it's the chase that's exciting. He looks like a tough cookie. I like that."
Emi snorted. "Girl, if he's a cookie, you're a box of cheap cigs. You two don't mix."
But you weren't listening anymore.
Your sights were set, your interest fully piqued. Your mind was already spinning a thousand possibilities.
And right now? You wanted Kuroo Tetsurou under you.
Or on top of you.
Or really anywhere he wanted to be. But that was beside the point.
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing on him like a predator sizing up prey.
You took another drag, eyes back on Emi. "But no pain, no gain. Whaddaya think?"
"I think you're insane," Emi said, laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I love it when you get that crazy look in your eyes. It means a shitshow's about to happen."
"Thank you, babes."
"You know it. Always got your back."
"If you need someone dead, you know who to call." You winked, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.
"No new info there." She took her final drag, then ground the cigarette out under her shoe.
She turned back toward Kuroo and his friend. "Okay, but real talk—how're you gonna pull this off? You need a plan."
You mirrored her movement, flicking away your cigarette and pulling a tissue from your blazer pocket to pick it up.
"I'm working on one. Step zero is in motion." You handed her the crumpled tissue. "Pick up your butt or the teachers will know we smoke here now."
"Oh shit, you're right." She bent to grab the butt, mumbling as she moved. "You see? You're smart—Eh? Where are you—"
When she looked up, you were already walking.
Purpose in every step.
The distance between you and him closed with every beat of your heart, Emi's voice fading behind you as she scrambled to catch up. The sun hit your back. The breeze lifted your hair. And in your head?
You were already imagining his hands on your waist, his voice in your ear, the way that smirk might look beneath you.
He looked even taller up close.
Even hotter.
And you needed him like your lungs needed that next hit of nicotine.
The two boys stopped talking, eyes flicking up as you approached.
Kenma scrunched his nose immediately, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke before he could.
You looked up at Kuroo with a tilted head and a smirk.
"What's your name?" you asked, even though you already knew.
Conversation had to start somewhere.
You caught it—a flicker. His pupils dilated. A split-second widening of the eyes before suspicion slammed into place.
Cute.
Kuroo was already analyzing you. Running the odds.
He couldn't quite place what your intentions were, but something about the way you looked at him told him it couldn't be anything good.
His eyes narrowed, as though trying to peel back the layers of your carefully crafted nonchalance.
He didn't trust easily, and people like you... well, you had a way of being unpredictable.
Kuroo knew you, or at least he had heard of you.
You were infamous in ways that made most people wary, always getting into fights with girls and boys alike, to the point that more than one person he knew was outright afraid of you.
Still, for some reason, the teachers—despite the rebellious streak you wore like armor—seemed to favor you. They kept trying to pull you out of whatever bumpy road you'd decided to drive down, but he couldn't see why.
You were... trouble. Big trouble.
But despite that, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. And damn it, he couldn't help but wonder if it was curiosity or something deeper that had him paying more attention to you than he probably should.
You were also lowkey hot to him—highkey, super pretty. But way too much trouble to pursue.
So, what the hell were you doing right in front of him?
"Kuroo Tetsurou," he answered, tone neutral.
"Nice. I'm—"
"Y/N," he interrupted. "Most people know you."
"Most people know about me." You caught the way Kenma cringed at your words. It made you smile.
There was a moment of silence between you, where you took your sweet time examining his features. His eyes flickered, maybe to keep his cool, maybe to hide the fact that he was intrigued—his eyebrows raised, like saying 'So... what do you want?'
But he was fronting. Freaking out on the inside. Still trying to make sense of you. He wasn't sure if you were about to punch him, kiss him, or just walk away. The worst part? He couldn't figure out which one he hated less.
Your unassuming smile made it hard to read you, but there was something in the way you looked at him he liked. Your eyes looked curious. Like a dog sniffing a possible friend.
Or a prey.
"Would you tutor me?" You saw Kuroo's eyes snap to Emi, whose jaw hit the floor the moment the words left your lips.
He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah, tutor me. My homeroom teacher has been giving me shit about grades, and I'd like to graduate."
He shrugged. "Naturally."
Oh, so he was a smartass.
"Would you?"
"Why me?"
"Aren't you in class 5? That means you're smart."
He wasn't budging. His expression remained unconvinced, the flicker of suspicion in his eyes never fully disappeared.
And then there was the look on Emi's face, like she was questioning your sanity. Yeah, that confirmed it—he was right.
This was bullshit. There had to be more to it than just grades.
"I'll pay you."
Both Kenma and Emi looked at you with wide, unblinking eyes. Kuroo's lips curled into a sly smirk.
Now he was really curious.
He leaned in just a little, intrigued. "How much?"
"1000 yen." Emi's eyes almost popped out of her head. Why were you willing to pay him?
"3000 yen." Kenma's face shot to Kuroo, equally shocked. Why was he raising the price?
Your smile grew. Why was this kinda hot?
"Are you trying to scam me, smart boy?"
"Pfft, that's a miscalculation, considering you'll be taking away my study time to help you out."
You raised an eyebrow.
He looked down at you like he didn't regret this conversation anymore.
And you looked up at him like you were about to set his entire world on fire.
"2500." You offered your final bid. His smirk widened.
"Y/N!" Emi whispered in urgency.
"Done."
Your smile grew. "Okay. Thursdays after class."
"After practice," he corrected, voice smooth.
You shrugged. That worked for you.
"Can I go watch?" you teased, flashing a cheeky grin.
"I'd rather not." His smirk deepened as a pout tugged at your lips. That look suited you.
"Fair. See you Thursday, smart boy~" You waved a hand at both of them as you turned to walk away.
Kuroo watched you go, still wearing that crooked grin—but now, there was something else behind it.
Interest. Amusement.
A flicker of intrigue he hadn't expected to feel on a Monday.
You'd crashed into his day like a storm in lip gloss and leather, and now he couldn't stop wondering what the hell you really wanted from him.
Kenma nudged his elbow. "You're actually gonna tutor her?"
"She's paying," he replied, though his gaze was still on your retreating figure. "And she's... interesting."
"Interesting's one word for it," Kenma muttered, unamused.
Meanwhile, Emi was dragging you down the school grounds back to your little corner like you were a possessed doll, whisper-screaming at you in complete disbelief.
"What the actual hell was that?!"
"What?" you said, feigning innocence as you pulled out another cigarette, mostly for effect. "I got a tutor. Aren't you proud of me?"
"You just offered to pay the guy to spend time with you—and called him smart boy, by the way. That was a little cringe."
You exhaled with a grin, smoke curling past your lips. "And he didn't say no."
Emi looked like she wanted to peel her own face off, but she wore a shocked smile.
"You're insane," she whispered, like she couldn't believe you.
But you? You felt electric. Buzzing with adrenaline and reckless possibility.
Being honest, even you couldn't explain what had you this hooked in the first place. It wasn't like you to flirt, let alone sleep around—especially not with some guy you'd just met. You weren't even that experienced, really. Just good at faking it when you had to. You knew how to make guys back off, not draw them in. And you liked it that way—especially with a friend as stupidly pretty as Emi.
Someone had to be the one with teeth.
But the second you laid eyes on Kuroo, something unfamiliar ignited in your chest. Hot. Sharp. Wild. It didn't feel like danger, not exactly—but it burned just the same. And without thinking twice, without looking back, you lunged toward it like instinct. Like hunger.
You weren't chasing chaos for the thrill this time.
You were chasing him.
And there wasn't a single part of you planning to stop.
When Thursday rolled around—and after confirming to Emi three separate times that yes, you were going to pay him, and yes, you were trying to fuck him—you actually paid attention in class. Took notes, too, so you didn't show up to tutoring empty-handed. Half-assed, sure, but it was something. You even waited for him outside school like you said you would.
The spring wind clawed at your jacket as you leaned against the weather-worn "Nekoma Metropolitan High School" sign, flicking ash from your cigarette like you weren't freezing your ass off. Rust crept along the metal edges, and the chain-link fence behind you rattled every time the breeze picked up. You looked every bit the part of a stray dog waiting to be fed—eyes sharp, restless, scanning for the only person you'd follow home.
You caught sight of him leaving the gym, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and a little more tousled than usual from practice. Of course he wasn't alone—Kenma trailed behind, glued to his phone, already scowling once he noticed you.
Kuroo slowed when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face. He clearly hadn't expected you to follow through on your offer, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or concerned. But once it was clear you were serious—and once you confirmed the study session was happening at your place—he tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder and followed you through the alley-strewn veins of Tokyo.
Your apartment complex looked like it had seen better decades.
Rusty stairwells, cracked concrete, the faint smell of piss, mildew, and something metallic hanging in the air like a permanent tenant.
Neon light from a busted sign across the street flickered through your broken blinds.
The building groaned when the wind pushed through its joints, and the elevator had been broken since forever.
Kuroo took it all in with that quiet, unreadable look you'd noticed he got sometimes—eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
He didn't say anything. That was somehow worse.
Inside, the place wasn't much better. Cigarette smoke clung to the yellowing walls.
A stained countertop, three empty ramen cups, a crumpled paper bag, and a scrawled note waited:
For your tutoring and anything else.
I have a fight today. Grandma's at the pachinko.
Behave.
It was scrawled in your dad's sloppy, half-illegible handwriting. Kuroo read it, then blinked slowly like he wasn't sure if he was impressed or deeply concerned.
You grabbed the bag, tossing the note into the dented trash bin with a smirk.
"A fight." he muttered, still processing as he followed you down the hall. His gaze drifted around your room like it was offering up pieces of you without permission—band posters, a half-broken fan, a low table in front of a dusty floor TV.
"My dad's a boxer," you explained, toeing off your slippers and throwing your bag onto the bed.
Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "And your grandma's a—"
"Pachinko enthusiast," you finished, grin crooked. "So we've got the place to ourselves until at least nine."
You thought he'd get the hint. His Adam's apple bobbed—nervous? Excited? You couldn't tell. But when he sat down cross-legged at your low table and pulled out his books like he was actually here to tutor you, you almost groaned aloud.
"So," he said, pulling a blue folder from his bag, "let's see what you're failing."
"You actually got my report card? That's commitment." you said, raising a brow.
He ignored your teasing as he flipped through the papers. "You're not failing anything, surprisingly. But your chem grades are garbage."
You flopped dramatically onto your bed. "I'm struggling."
"I see that," he muttered, pulling out a notebook. "Come on."
You sat up with a groan and dragged yourself to the table, grabbing a pen. He didn't look at you when you settled beside him, but you caught the slight shift in his posture when your knee bumped his. He cleared his throat and started explaining covalent bonds.
You half-listened. You watched his mouth move instead.
His voice was smooth, confident. He was focused, leaning over your textbook, one hand pointing at a diagram, the other scribbling notes with clean, sharp handwriting.
He smelled like cheap body spray, shampoo and faint sweat from practice.
Your hand slipped onto his thigh.
"Tetsurou-kun," you said, all syrup and heat, "you can't seriously think you're here to actually study, right?"
He froze. Swallowed. Then, to your shock, lifted his gaze with forced calm. "What am I?" he asked. "Some common whore you're gonna pay to fuck?"
The words cut sharper than you expected. Your smile faltered. You hadn't meant it like that. You weren't sure what you'd meant, actually. Suddently this whole thing felt a little shittier.
Your fingers twitched where they rested against his thigh, but you didn't pull them back.
"N-no," you muttered. "I just—" You exhaled, frustrated. "I didn't think this far ahead, okay?"
He watched you. Read through you. His expression softened a little, the edge in his voice gone. But he still didn't touch you.
You were about to say something else—maybe change the subject, maybe apologize—when he talked again, teasing.
"You actually want to learn this or not?"
You blinked, thrown off. "Huh?"
He held up the notebook. "Chemistry."
You stared at him. Then, grudgingly, nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
You leaned in, this time actually paying attention. Took notes. Bit your lip when he smirked at your compliments and felt your stomach tighten every time he laughed when you cursed at the confusing parts.
"Not gonna lie, you make this sound way easier than the teacher. What the fuck," you grumbled.
He seemed to like the praise, smiling beside you while he continued to explain.
His voice settled into your ears like warm honey. When you answered his questions right, he smirked. When you got one wrong, he nudged you with his knee and explained it again, slower this time.
You hated that he was good at this. That he made you want to keep going just to see the way his eyes lit up when you understood something.
Eventually, the lesson became background noise. Your focus shifted to the way his knee brushed yours, to the way he stole glances at your thighs like he didn't want to be caught but also didn't care enough to stop. To the way his fingers moved—long, elegant, tapping the page as he talked, not realising he was doing it.
His mouth, his voice, his brain—God, this was so much worse than you'd planned. He was actually hot and smart.
You were openly staring at his lips when he finally noticed.
"What?" he asked, brow arching.
"Nothing," you said, leaning back with a slow smirk. "Just wondering how you make covalent bonds sound hot."
That got a laugh, rough and short. But his ears were a little pink.
"Thought you liked ionic bonds more," he teased with a raised brow.
"Don't get me wrong, ionic bonds are cool. Covalent bonds are... hot."
"That's a new one," he said, voice low. "Gonna start rating chemistry terms by sex appeal now? Want me to whisper 'intermolecular forces' next?"
You snorted. "Don't tempt me. I might actually learn something."
"Blasphemy," he said, mock-scandalized. "You learning? In my presence? Next thing I know you'll be asking about valence electrons like you mean it."
You sat up, leaned in, and closed the book between you with a soft thud.
"Okay, I was good. I listened. Took notes. Didn't even flirt for twenty straight minutes." You raised a brow. "Now, when are you gonna stop pretending this is actually about chemistry?"
That wiped the grin off his face—but not entirely. It curved at the corners, wry and knowing. His gaze didn't leave yours. You saw the fraying edges of restraint, the tension vibrating between you.
"Isn't it?" he asked, the words almost gentle.
But his pupils blew wide when they dropped to your lips. You caught it. And still, you didn't move. You weren't about to force it. A single "no" or even a flicker of hesitation from him and you were ready to throw in the towel, swallow your embarrassment for the rest of the session—maybe learn some more chemistry and then avoid him for the rest of your last school year. Hopefully, the rest of your life.
You let the silence hang a beat longer.
"Look..." you exhaled. "I'm not really good at this. I just pretend I am."
That caught him off guard.
He could tell—you were slick, but he was smart. Sharp enough to see through you and that overconfident persona you put on, but he hadn't expected you to admit it. Not like this. Not in your room, with his textbook sitting closed between your thighs. At least, he knew he wouldn't have.
You saw the shift immediately—his breath catching, his posture tightening ever so slightly.
"Huh," he said after a second. "Guess I'm not the only one bluffing their way through this study session."
"So you're saying you don't get turned on by covalent bonds?"
That earned a soft huff. He leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice low.
"Depends. Are you offering to share some electrons, or...?"
You laughed. His hand moved slowly, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. And when he looked at you this time, it wasn't with that usual playful glint.
It was something raw. Like honesty.
"I like you," you admitted, tilting your head slightly. "But I don't really know what I'm doing."
"Good," he murmured. "Then we're even."
Then, slowly—finally—he leaned in to meet your lips.
Soft at first. Testing. But when you answered back—with a hunger he didn't expect—the leash snapped. His hand slid behind your neck, anchoring you against him as his mouth claimed yours. His tongue licked into your mouth with filthy, unhurried precision, dragging a whimper from your throat.
He kissed like he meant it. No fumbling. No hesitation.
You gasped when he tugged your hair just enough to tilt your head back, and the gasp melted into a moan when his other hand traced up your spine, pulling you closer—guiding you over to sit on his left thigh. Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching him like he was the only thing holding you up.
"You're all talk," he muttered against your lips, grinning when you shivered after a well-placed flex of his thigh. "But so am I."
You squeezed your eyes shut—dazed, aching, and a little embarrassed.
"...Shut up," you breathed, your usual sass caught somewhere between your throat and the pounding in your chest.
His smile turned downright wicked. His mouth dragged along your jaw, down your neck. You squirmed, knees bracketing his thigh as his hands slipped under your shirt, palms hot and rough against the bare skin of your back and waist.
"You don't have to act tough," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "I think I like you more like this. Messy."
His mouth dipped to your collarbone, kissing and biting the sensitive skin. Every nerve in your body lit up.
Your head tilted back to give him more space, heart thudding so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Your tough-girl act had fully melted now, replaced with the kind of hunger you'd been feeling since the first time you saw him—the kind of hunger you didn't know how to fake.
"God," you gasped. "You're not supposed to be good at this..."
He chuckled low in his throat, kissing a line down your chest. "Top of my class, remember?"
"Smart boy..." you growled—but it came out more like a broken, desperate plea. "If you don't—"
He cut you off with another kiss, deeper, devastating. His hands dragged up your stomach, slow and sure, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra with maddening patience.
You tried to shove him gently back, straddling his lap like you could wrestle some control back—but the second his dark, hungry gaze locked onto yours, you felt your composure crack.
"You sure you're inexperienced?" you asked, trying to tease—but your voice betrayed you, too breathless to land the hit.
He didn't even dignify it with a real answer. Just kissed you again, harder—tongue sweeping into your mouth like he fucking owned it. His hands clutched your hips like he was trying to brand himself into your bones, and after a small, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, you pulled back with a narrowed look, silently demanding a response.
He just shrugged. That maddening, smug little shrug. Like he hadn't just made your whole body tremble.
"I'm a fast learner," he said, trailing his mouth down your throat, voice dropping lower.
A shiver went up your spine as he bit down at your pulse point, and you whimpered, threading your fingers into his messy hair and tugging.
Still, you didn't stop him.
Didn't want to.
This was what you wanted, wasn't it? To see if all that cocky arrogance and big-dick energy were just a front.
And judging by the thick length of him, already hard beneath you and pressing snug under your embarrassingly wet core...
You might've bitten off more than you could chew.
Kuroo unbuttoned your shirt slowly, peeled it off your shoulders, and tossed it aside—then paused for just a second.
His gaze was scorching.
Starving. Almost reverent.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed. "What a pain in the ass."
"Huh? Which one is it?" you whispered, smirking—until his mouth latched onto the top of your breast, sucking hard enough to make you tense a little. It burned in the best way—lingering and possessive.
He unclasped your bra like he'd done it a thousand times, and the second you were bare in front of him, his hands were everywhere—palming your tits, dragging his thumbs over your nipples until they were tight and sensitive. Squeezing. Claiming.
Then his mouth followed.
Hot. Wet. Perfect.
His tongue circled a nipple, then flicked it—slow at first, then rougher—and you arched with a soft, broken moan.
"Oh my god," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled. "You're dangerous."
He laughed against your skin, biting just enough to make you jolt.
"Top of my class," he muttered again—infuriating, smug, hot as hell.
You rocked down harder, grinding against the hard bulge in his pants, and his breath stuttered. He gripped your hips tighter—bruising—guiding your movement with a low, wrecked groan.
"Fuuuck..." he breathed. "Do that again."
You did—and something snapped.
His hands shot down to unzip your skirt, and you let him, lifting your hips so he could drag it off and toss it somewhere on your floor, leaving you in nothing but lace panties. Bare thighs. Wet as hell.
He didn't even strip off his shirt, still fully clothed—his mouth just went right back to you, trailing down your chest with a reverent slowness that made your pulse jackhammer. You felt his lips, his tongue, worshipping every inch like it meant something, while little groans and moans escaped his lips as you rode him over his pants.
His lips were swollen, your skin flushed, legs wrapped around him as he rolled his hips into yours, pressing you harder against his thick cock. His hands moved over your body like he owned it—confident, thorough, maddeningly slow.
And every time you thought you had control, he took it back.
Faster.
Rougher.
More deliberate.
His grip bruised. His tongue fucked into your mouth like he was chasing a high. Your panties were soaked, clinging to your folds, and your clit throbbed with every subtle shift of your hips against him. You didn't even care how obvious it was.
You wanted him. All of him.
Every time you rocked down onto the thick bulge in his pants, you could feel the friction spark—sharp, maddening, electric. The tension inside you built in waves, tightening with each grind, pressure curling low in your belly, spiraling toward something reckless.
You were right on the edge, strung so tight you felt like you'd snap if he so much as exhaled too close.
And the worst part? He was trying to keep quiet.
You could feel him trying—holding back. Swallowing grunts. Burying moans against your skin.
But they kept slipping out.
Low, desperate sounds tearing from his throat with each drag of your body against his cock. His breath caught every time you moved—hitching, stuttering, wrecked. You could feel it vibrate in his chest, in his mouth, in the fists he clenched on your hips like he was trying not to beg.
Oh you could only imagine he was a loud fucker.
Those sounds were unraveling you faster than anything else.
And still you kept grinding. Kept chasing the friction.
You were dizzy with it. Hot and wet and aching. So close you could barely breathe.
"Don't stop," you whispered—your voice low, needy. "Just... don't stop."
He froze.
Just for a beat.
Just long enough to make your heart lurch.
Then he leaned in, lips ghosting over your throat, collarbone, jawline.
"Oh, I'm not stopping right now," he said, voice rough like a sin. "I'm just choosing when."
You scoffed, tried to grind again—but his grip locked you down, holding you in place like you weighed nothing.
"God, you're..." He cut himself off with a ragged breath as his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties—just barely. Teasing. "Didn't know you were this fucking greedy."
"I'm not," you argued. "But you are. You're so—fuck—you're cocky."
He laughed—quiet and mean—and you felt it echo through his mouth as it dragged over your bare tits again, tongue leaving wet, hot trails.
"If I keep going..." he murmured, lips ghosting over one aching nipple, "...I'm not going to stop."
You looked down at him, lips parted, chest heaving. "That's not a problem."
But he just stared at you—hungry, calculating. Controlled to a fucking fault.
"You're paying me to tutor you," he said.
Calm. Dangerous.
Like a warning—or like a reminder.
To you.
To himself.
Maybe both.
"And you think this is a game."
Your stomach flipped.
You didn't know if it was the way he said it—so calm and knowing—or the fact that he was absolutely right.
And then he leaned close, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot and voice fucking lethal.
"I'm not going to fuck you just because you're good at pretending you want me."
Your whole body locked.
Then his hand slid up between your legs, pressing against your clit—hard enough to make your spine curve, but still not enough to finish you.
"I'm going to make you mean it."
You moaned, hips bucking—but before you could chase it, he was already pulling away. Already lifting you off him.
Gone.
Just like that, the warmth of him was gone.
He stood, chest rising and falling, one hand dragging through his hair like he needed air.
The other palmed his cock through his pants—thick, straining—not even trying to hide it.
"I'll see you next Thursday," he said, voice maddeningly even. "For chemistry."
Then he smirked.
And walked out.
Left you half-naked, flushed and aching, sitting on the floor of your room.
Ruined.
Fucking prick.
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