you had never particularly liked sharing a bed with anyone. tolerated, sure. you shared a bed with a handful of people through college and your early twenties- hookups, situationships, partners. but you always hated cuddling while sleeping. the sensation of being touched, the sound of the other’s breathing, all too much and preventing you from drifting off.
your partners learned to accept your “no touching while sleeping” rule. you cuddled plenty in the morning, but were alone at night. when one of you went out of town you secretly relished in having the bed all to yourself.
you thought this was how it would always be. that you were just different and liked sleeping alone. that is, until you met kuroo.
in so many ways, your relationship with him was unlike anything you had ever experienced. everything was so easy, you two just fit together. you understood that he was your person. and you were surprised to find that you didn’t mind sleeping curled up against him, wrapped in his arms. his touch comforted, rather than perturbed. you had no trouble falling asleep pressed into tetsuro.
after a few months of living together, he left for a couple weeks on a jva business trip. astonishingly, when you went to lay down the night he left, you were sad to find the bed empty. you found yourself having a hard time falling asleep without him, when for so long, with anyone else, it was the opposite. a foreign feeling. welcome, but still a little hollow, especially with how long he’d be away.
each night when you go to bed, you find yourself laying there, cold and a little lonely in the big bed. turning your thoughts over and over in your head like a rounded, flat pebble. wishing you were wrapped in tetsuro’s warm, secure embrace.
I was told to write fluff by kat so the blind bby gets some fluff
"3... 2... 1! Ready or not, I'm gonna come find you kiddo!"
Almost immediately, Mal heard a muffled giggle from his adoptive son. A smile curved his lips as he pretended to have not heard the sound.
"Oh, I seem to have lost Thomas! I wonder where he could be?"
More giggling from across the room.
"Hmm, could he be behind this conveniently shaped lamp? Doesn't seem like it. Under the table? Nooo, much too obvious!"
He loved playing with his kid. It didn't matter that he couldn't see what was happening; Thomas was always loud enough that Mal never lost track of him.
"Well, I must admit, I'm completely stumped! I can't seem to find my son!"
Louder giggling now, followed by a small thump as Thomas jumped out from behind the couch.
"Boo! I was behind the couch! I really got ya this time, didn't I Da!"
Mal feigned surprise, jumping a bit as Thomas giggled even more.
"You sure did bud! But now... you're revealed your location! I'm gonna get ya!"
Thomas shrieked with glee as Mal swing him up and started tickling him, grinning.
"Alright you two, I think that's enough of that in the house."
Winter.
Her voice sparkled with amusement as she joined them, leaning against Mal as he slipped an arm around her, holding Thomas with his other arm. They stood there, and for a few minutes, all was right with the world. Mal was safe. His family was safe.
And he was overjoyed.
//boom. y'all let me know if you want to be added to the tag list ^-^''
tag list: @victory-cookies @toolazytothinkofcreativename
Synopsis: timeskip!Aone Takanobu x reader. Aone needs to make it home to you to watch Team Japan take on Team Argentina in the Olympics, but the universe has other plans!
WC: ~1.8k
Warnings: Fluff!!! Food is mentioned but not central to the story. Gender neutral reader, their hands are briefly described. One reference to an irl man
Notes: This is a very belated piece for @tetzoro’s Olympics Collab! I am sooo sorry this is so late (,,>﹏<,,) … Banners by @/cafekitsune
Despite it only being 11 am, the July sun beats down oppressively as Aone steps outside to haul another two bags of concrete to the threshold of the framed apartment building. He’s been at work for four hours already, and when he glances at the cloudless sky, he sighs. No respite in sight. Not for another five hours—when he gets to go home to you, sequestered away in frigid air conditioning all day long.
He approaches the shell of the building and deposits the bagged concrete next to eight others. Standing up, he gazes down at his palms, hands large with wide fingers and thick calloused skin. He smiles to himself thinking about yours: palm to palm your fingers aren’t much shorter, but your hands are much more elegant: narrower fingers, softer skin.
Turning around, he heads back to the box truck to restock, hauling two 25-kg bags at a time. Humidity is thick against his skin, drenching him in sweat that gives little relief. Normally he handles tasks that require more skilled labor. But, concrete is heavy and everyone on site knows he’s pure strength (hauling twice as much as Sakunami), so he agreed to lend a hand. Stoic as ever despite the discomfort, he wipes his brow on the hem of his t-shirt as he drops this round of concrete mix.
As he returns to the truck, his mind wanders to you again, directing his thoughts away from the heat. He reminds himself he has to work efficiently today in order to leave early—he has to get home to you. He made a promise, never something to be taken lightly. Luckily, he was able to arrange with his supervisor to leave a little early today, in order to make it home by 4 pm.
The day drags on under the searing sun, abruptly interrupted by a scraping noise that emanates from below the mini excavator, followed by a pop and a hiss. Despite being across the job site, Aone immediately starts running over with an idea of what just happened. The newest contractor on their team, operating the Hitachi, had ruptured the water line leading into the apartment building. The organic, metallic smell of wet dirt fills his sinuses as he drops to his knees to crank the shutoff valve closed.
His lunch feels shallow in his stomach as a wave of dread washes over him. He knows it typically takes four hours, minimum, to repair a service line break. It’s work that would need to be done before he leaves the site, yet he’s supposed to, no needs to leave in just three hours.
Wiping his brow, his focus narrows as he starts to work on the repair. After having his colleagues dig a trench around the broken section for better access, he begins to saw. Aone is never one to get frantic, but he is a little frazzled at the thought of being late to your date. Unnoticeable to anyone except himself, his hands tremble, just barely. Luckily muscle memory takes over: he cuts and cleans the pipe, installs a new fitting, and checks his work.
Striding across to the site supervisor, he gently places his hand on his shoulder to wordlessly beckon him over. After making sure the shutoff valve has been reopened, his supervisor inspects the repair, before declaring, “Nice work. You’re free to go,” with a soft, knowing smile. Aone bows, then wastes no time in gathering his things, waving to everyone else, and marching off.
He squeezes himself into the driver’s seat of his Daihatsu Hijet van and putts away towards your apartment. You always got a kick out of seeing him in his tiny van, but it was a practical choice. It allowed him to haul tools and materials, but not struggle with parking like he would with a full-size pickup.
Arriving at his destination, he unfolds himself from the van, stretching out to his full 1.93 m self. Typically a little self-conscious, this afternoon a determined Aone is less aware of the weight of his steps and expression on his face. He struts down the sidewalk, oblivious as people give him an even wider berth than usual.
He ducks as he crosses the threshold into your favorite takeout place, a family-owned restaurant a short walk from home. The owner greets him, and as Aone bows in return, she rattles off your usual order in the form of a question. He meets her eyes with a single nod as he pulls out his wallet to pay. He knew you had called in an order earlier in the afternoon, and given that this order includes your two favorites, nasu dengaku and veggie gyoza, he knew it must be yours. “Thank you Misaki-san,” he says, nearly a whisper, as she places the bag of food into his hands.
Walking past his van and nearing the apartment, he notices with a frown that because he was late, the food isn’t quite as warm as usual. He shakes his head, ridding it of the thought of the burst pipe before reaching for his keys, dangling from a carabiner attached to his front right belt loop. As soon as he opens the door, the familiar smell of home washes over him, and he’s greeted by the sight of your radiant smile.
“Welcome home sweetheart!” you exclaim, having logged off of your work laptop early and burrowed into a pile of blankets on the couch. The TV murmurs behind you, interrupted by your silhouette, already on the channel set to air the match. Aone gently sets the food down on the coffee table in front of you, and leans in to give you a quick peck. Digging in his pocket, he produces his phone to check the time: 3:55 pm.
He places a firm hand on your shoulder as he leans in again. “Gonna rinse off real quick,” he sighs into your ear, kissing your cheek in the process. You respond, “Sounds good sweetie,” as you look up at him through your lashes, giving him a small smile and nod. With a contented sigh, he takes one last long look at you, relishing in the comfort of being home—with you—before he strides down the hall towards the bathroom.
Faintly, you hear the shower turn on, but it quickly blends into background noise as your focus returns to the broadcast. After the conclusion of the previous event, the channel starts airing highlight reels from Team Japan’s previous match against Italy. Despite having grown up playing the sport yourself, you’re still enraptured by the sheer athleticism and talent of the men on your screen. Their movements are so familiar, yet so fluid and exaggerated, it’s like poetry in motion.
You’re so enthralled that you don’t realize Aone is out of the shower until he pads his way around the corner of the couch and into your peripheral vision. Donning one of his many pairs of teal athletic shorts, a white t-shirt, and white crew socks, he slowly lowers himself down next to you on the couch. Quietly, the national anthem plays in the background, familiar faces lined up on the screen.
Shifting your body towards him, your eyes meet, and an unspoken exchange takes place. He reaches forward to remove the food containers from the bag, opening them and placing them on the table. He knows to put the nasu dengaku in front of you. After you unravel your arms from the nest of blankets, he places a pair of chopsticks into your hand. “Eat,” he says gently, handing you one of the appetizers.
You gaze at him with a smile, warmth spreading into your belly, as you place a piece of agedashi tofu in your mouth. The tips of his ears pinken in the slightest before the broadcast grabs the attention of you both.
Before you had met Aone and his friends, you had no idea how small the world of volleyball really was. Sure, you had played as a teen, but attending a rural high school meant that your weak team never made it past the first round of prefectural qualifiers. He tangentially knew a good portion of the team from his high school days, and had regularly played against several of the members. He and Hinata even continue to exchange texts a few times a year.
Your eyes are glued to the screen as the camera zooms in on who you know as Tsukki, conspicuously dressed in all black, having a conversation with Yamaguchi, wearing a Japan jersey. As the shot zooms in closer, it’s evident that Tsukki knows what’s happening. He locks eyes with the camera with annoyance, looking exasperated and a little disgusted.
There was nothing he resented more than the spotlight, and yet the cameras always seemed determined to seek him out. Tobias, a German national team member, had spent several seasons on MSBY. Through Hinata, he met and started dating Tsukki, and after the press caught wind, Tsukki became a frequent target at matches.
Aone lets out a small huff of laughter after the director finally relents and the shot switches to an overview of the court. You curl up into him, placing your knees onto his lap, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders to pull you even closer. As the broadcast switches to a commercial break, you angle your head to look into his eyes, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face. A pale pink has already settled across his cheeks when he smiles back at you.
He wraps his other arm around you pulling you close, and murmurs in your ear, “Missed you.”
“I missed you too, ‘Nobu. Glad you were able to make it home in time for the match.”
“Had to make it home for you, I made a promise.”
You squeeze his arm in response, giving him another saccharine look as player introductions start. Familiar faces flash across the screen: first Tobias, then Kageyama, Bokuto, Hyakuzawa, Hinata, Sakusa. Bringing a piece of eggplant to your mouth, nestled into the warmth at your side, you settle in. The match ahead is sure to entertaining and hard fought, and you’re glad you get to watch it with your favorite person at your side.
✧ Bonus ✧
After Japan wins a tight first set 29-27, the broadcast switches to a view of the raucous home crowd. The camera pans for a moment, then zooms in on a couple. They stand with arms around each other and they’re cheering loudly—the man looks a little rabid with excitement.
“And there’s Kuroo Tetsuro, recently promoted to Chief of Marketing for JVA! And of course, by his side, is his lovely wife Aims!” the commentator explains. Recognition flashes across Kuroo’s upturned face as he sees he’s on the jumbotron, then the next moment he has his lips squished against Aims’s cheek. Flustered, she pushes on his chest and he separates himself with a huff before smirking directly at the camera.
Closing notes: Thank you so much for reading!! I would love to hear your thoughts, any interactions are much appreciated :3
If you aren’t familiar with Tobias Krick, he’s a current player on Germany’s national team. This summer, a video was making the rounds where he talks about how much he likes Haikyuu… he says Tsukki is his favorite player and shows off a plushie of him that he carries around. Idk I think Tsukki would hate it and I want to torture him so in this world they are dating! Hope you enjoy that lore
synopsis: a chance meeting, if you can even call it that, on the train. PINING! wc: ~1.9k
warnings: fem reader, alcohol mentions, like one curse word, a lil suggestive but sfw, that's it lol
a/n: thinking about people you cross paths with once who stick with you for years. (wondering who I'm that person for?)
this is my first time writing a fic!! would welcome any feedback/interaction! just pls be nice
»»————- ✧ -————««
you grabbed ahold of the flask of whiskey and took a swig, scrunching your nose as you swallowed, the alcohol burning a trail down your throat, warming your stomach. you handed it back to your friend yachi, laughing. it was friday, you were done with your college classes for the weekend, and you were on the train headed to celebrate your new friend runa's birthday. you and yachi sat in the two seats next to mai and runa, already tipsy and giggly.
yachi had booked you all tickets for a sunset cruise on the tokyo bay. since it was a special occasion, you dressed up a little nicer than usual— you wore a cropped, fitted black long sleeve shirt with a high-waisted black skirt that hit at mid-thigh, along with your favorite boots and a chunky cardigan. you brought your favorite (secondhand) designer purse, which coincidentally was large enough to hold the flask runa so thoughtfully packed.
during your ride, people filtered on and off the train, many commuting home from work. you paid little mind, absorbed in your own intoxicated world with your three girlfriends. until your microcosm got absolutely torn to shreds.
when the train was about a minute away from the stop for the pier, the four of you pulled yourselves up and wound your way through the crowd towards the door. as you waited for the train to grind to a stop, you felt like you were being watched. you slowly turned your head to the left and met his eyes.
he was staring intently, and you held his gaze over the crowd of people, dumbstruck. you looked over him— a young businessman in a grey suit with a red tie, dark messy hair, and deep honey eyes locked on yours. there was a little blue and yellow volleyball pin on his lapel. he held his phone near his waist, pointed towards his face but long forgotten, looking comically small in his large hand.
tipsy enough to be lacking some self awareness, your eyes lingered down his body. even with his suit, you could still discern his broad shoulders and toned chest. he nonchalantly leaned against the back wall of the train, oblivious to the swaying of the car, but you could feel the heat of his amber eyes burning into you. he was so so incredibly handsome. and you could've swore you saw a slight blush spread across his cheeks.
but oh god, the train was slowing down, and time slowed down too, you couldn't tear your gaze from him, a tingle in the pit of your stomach at the instantaneous chemistry, you wanted to run to him, away from anyone else, your face burning and fists clenching, but it was your new friend's birthday and you didn't want to disappoint her and you had bought a ticket for the cruise and the train was stopping at the station and oh god, it was time to go!
yachi grabbed your hand and ran out the doors of the train. you were carried along in the flow of people, like a leaf on the surface of a stream, physics dictating your movement regardless of your desires. you stepped onto the platform still looking back, holding his gaze, as if you were magnetically drawn to him.
you briefly pondered ripping your hand away and running back to the train, back to the captivating stranger. but before you could fully process all that was happening and break free from the current, your eye contact was momentarily interrupted by the closing of the doors. you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach and bit down on your lip. through the glass of the window, you saw him narrow his gaze and lick his lips, eyes still glued to you, as the train slowly started to accelerate, whisking him away.
you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. your friends skipped ahead of you, yachi and runa holding hands, while you dragged your feet along, mindlessly following them to the water. they chattered on, but forming words was next to impossible for you, mumbling nonsense to the attendant as they scanned your ticket and you got on the boat.
as you departed the harbor and distance from the encounter grew, you slowly began to reinhabit your body. returning to the present, you began to unwind and enjoy your time with your friends. there was a cool breeze but you didn't mind, warm from the whiskey you continued to pass around. the four of you were easily the most chaotic group on the boat and attracted some attention from other passengers, but paid no mind. you genuinely had fun, gossiping and taking photos with your friends: selfies on your phones and pictures on a polaroid. it was exciting to deepen your fledgling friendship with mai and runa.
as the evening went on, the sun sunk lower in the sky, painting you all in deep oranges and reds. the salty air blew through your hair, and the taste slightly lingered in your mouth. and although you were having more fun than you'd had all month, your mind kept circling back to the stranger on the train. you couldn't help but wonder, was the connection really that intense, or was it just the whiskey coursing through your veins? was he still thinking about you too?
»»————- ✧ -————««
it's a friday evening, and kuroo is exhausted after a long week working at the jva. the fivb volleyball nations league is coming up, and he's drained from overseeing all the related promotional materials, especially when it came to managing atsumu's appearances. he's a crowdpleaser, but with all his antics, it's always an effort to prepare photographers and assistants who haven't worked with him before.
he sighs and rakes his hand through his jet black hair, then walks through a sea of cubicles, politely wishing coworkers a good weekend before getting in the elevator.
he perks up slightly as he slinks out of the building and heads towards the subway station. anyone else would assume it's because it's the weekend, but really, he's just excited to get on the train.
it's been a month, but kuroo still gets hopeful every friday as he heads home from work. what if today is the day he finally crosses paths with you again? you, the spellbinding stranger, who seemed to stare into the depths of his soul. as he thinks about your fleeting encounter, he feels the twinge of regret. he knows the chances of seeing you again are slim, but what can he do if not hope?
»»————- ✧ -————««
that day four weeks ago, he got on the train and assumed his usual position, leaning languidly against the wall at the back of the car. he loosened his tie as he mindlessly scrolled on instagram: kenma's latest sponsorship, kageyama being fake deep, atsumu posting a thirst trap, the usual. but before he knew it, his attention was drawn away from his phone, and towards melodic laughter.
he looked up and through the other passengers, his vision settling on you as you passed a flask to your friend, eyes crinkled closed by a wide grin. his characteristic smirk fell off his face, his lips parted, and his jaw fell slightly open. suddenly, all other conversation was drowned out, the only thing he could hear was the pounding in his chest. you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
he couldn't hardly focus on anything else. the rest of the ride he was fixated on you. you were mostly facing away from him, but he was able to catch your face in profile when you turned to the girl seated nearest to him. he felt a little weird about how he was just staring at you, some part of him worried about being seen as the archetypal train pervert, but he simply couldn't look away.
before he knew it, you were leaning down to grab your bag and walking towards him. you didn't even notice him, too absorbed in conversation with your friends. he admired your long legs as you approached, stumbling slightly, but somehow still elegant. you settled by the door waiting for your stop, when you turned your head, agonizingly slow and deliberate, in his direction.
you locked eyes with him, and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. now that he could fully see your face, he was once again overwhelmed by how attractive you were. as the train slowed, your gaze was piercing, burning into his skin as you gazed over him.
and then the doors fucking opened. your friend grabbed your hand and you followed, looking back at him, slight shock and sadness washing over your face as you realized what was happening. your steps faltered for a moment, and he thought about going after you, but it was too late— the doors were closing.
he didn't know how, you were just a stranger on the train, but he had already begun envisioning a life with you in it: walking through the park with you, meeting up with you at his favorite little restaurant after work for happy hour, sneaking you a kiss after a deep embrace as he dropped you off at your doorstep. he licked his lips at the last thought. and then you were gone. the same train that brought you together was now responsible for carrying him further and further from you.
he reached for the railing next his head and leaned forward, supporting his weight through it and hunching his back. he sighed deeply. regret seemingly seeped into his body through his pores, and he was drained. after another stop, he opted to meander his way up the aisle, and settled in the seat you had been in. it was still warm.
the train vibrated his head as he leaned it back against the window. he closed his eyes, repeating the events of the last few minutes in his mind, trying to burn your face, the sound of your voice, into his memory, lest you cross paths again. luckily, he didn't have to try very hard. you had already made a home in the depths of his mind.
»»————- ✧ -————««
as the train approaches on this friday evening, he stares intently at the cars rushing by. he waits at the end of the platform to try to get a glance inside each car, hoping for a glimpse of you. once he gets on the train, he looks around half-expectantly, but you aren't there. part of him feels silly, so hung up on a stranger he only saw once (and one he didn't say a single word to at that). he wonders if you even remember him at all.
every friday he continues this routine, peering through the train windows from the platform, then scanning the car once he gets in. if you were meant to cross paths that day, he tells himself, you would one day cross paths again. the connection was too strong. he hopes someday to be the one next to you, sharing a flask of whiskey and laughing without a care in the world, holding hands as you get off the train, then later on that evening, once he takes you back to his apartment, him burning a trail down your throat.
All she could hear was the rushing of the wind past her ears, coupled with the occasional beat of her wings.
Why did you leave?
White hair kept flying into her view. She didn't bother to push it back again.
I'm all alone now...
The noise stopped as she glided down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet.
I don't want to be alone...
She stared down at her reflection in the lake. White hair that reached the middle of her back. Pale skin. Blue eyes flecked with crimson. Her wings folded against her back, spreading behind her as she sank to the ground.
Please...
A drop fell into the water, disturbing her reflection.
Come back...
Then another. And another.
Don't leave me here by myself...
She touched her cheek, then stared at it. Tears.
She was crying.
And then she folded over, clutching her head with her hands, sobbing.
"D-Drae... I can't do this anymore... Please.... Where are you?"
//ooooh, new character! Also oooooh, some angst! heh h e h h e h
this took a bit longer than it should've, oops ^-^''
tag list: @victory-cookies @toolazytothinkofcreativename
He felt the sun warming his face as he lay on the grass, his eyes closed. There were birds chirping nearby, under the dappled shade from the light filtering through the canopy that the trees provided.
It was peaceful.
"Hey Mal! Come look what Thomas found!" His girlfriend was calling him.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes and sat up, pausing a moment to appreciate the vibrant colors around him. And then there was a child racing towards him, holding something in his hands.
Thomas. He was an orphan. He was Malachite and Winter's adoptive son.
"Da! Lookie! Isn't it neat?!"
The child was holding a lizard, beaming as if he'd found the greatest treasure in the world. Winter was close behind him, a gentle smile curving her lips.
In that moment, he was happy.
"Yeah, that's pretty cool, Thomas."
.....
..........
But there was a problem here.
Malachite had never seen his adopted son. He'd gone blind before he even asked Winter out.
Which could only mean one thing.
This was a dream.
No matter how much he wished it wasn't.
//here's some more for Mal! @victory-cookies here ya go lol
i love a good ritual. today, i take my favorite pair of black boots into my hands. my father gifted them to me, somewhat reluctantly, for my 25th birthday. (has it really been that long?)
he later told me he wasn’t convinced that they were something i would truly utilize, concerned that they would end up in the back of the closet, accumulating a layer of dust. but he obliged.
they are my favorite pair of shoes. i wear them several times a week, every day some weeks. they have carried me across the thresholds of three different apartments i have called home. they accompany me any time i fly. they keep me warm and dry when the winter chill bites at my skin, piercing through my clothes, but not the leather of my boots.
today, i take them into my hands. i have a damp rag, once a light pink hand towel but now bleached closer to white with muddy stains that stay no matter how many times it’s washed.
today is cleaning day. tomorrow i will oil them.
today, i cradle them in my hands, one at a time as i pass the damp cloth over their surface. i wipe away dirt that has accumulated, not from lack of use, but from tramping along day after day. as i wet the leather, i notice spots that are shiny, scattered across the top of the right boot. beer someone spilled, not that i remember where or when. i just remember telling someone it was okay and trying to pat them off with a paper towel. gently, i rub in circles until the traces of alcohol un-stick themselves from my boots.
i am gratified as i work. they have served me well. i complete the ritual to show i am grateful, to keep them appeased and prolong their life.
i run the cloth over the seams, the stitching, to try to loosen any grime that has settled there. i pull the towel taut over the tip of my pointer finger, running my nail along the trough between the base of the leather and the midsole of the shoe. they are always dirtiest there. closest to the ground, hidden away, unable to be brushed off by grass, or by my cat rubbing up against them. it is my task.
i trace around the crown of the sole, shifting the cloth as i work and it dirties. as i continue and the cloth no longer accumulates grime, i stop and hold the boot into the sunbeam i sit in. i examine it, especially the toe and the heel, to look for anything i missed. i am satisfied.
i rise and take the rag to the bathroom, wetting the other half of it with warm water and wringing it out. i return, and seat myself with the other boot. i cradle it in my hands, and work until it is clean.
now, i wait. the boots must dry before i can oil them. that is a task for tomorrow. for today, they sit on carpet and rest in the sun, clean, while i depart to run errands in a pair of vans instead.
there are gardenia bushes that line the perimeter of the building i work in. for the last month or so they’ve been in bloom. gardenia has long been one of my favorite scents. (why is it always white flowers? gardenia, jasmine, magnolia.)
every day as i approach the building, i begin inhaling more deeply, hoping to enjoy the sweet floral scent for as long as possible. but every time, i can’t smell them until i’m about to cross the threshold, and even then, it’s a faint whisper compared to when i lean down and into an individual bloom.
but still, every day, it’s there, only as i cross the threshold.
