#lyditriestowrite

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Time of your Life pt. 3 (Atsumu x f!reader)

Link to pt. 1

words ⋟ 18.5k

rating ⋟ E (18+, minors DNI) 

tags ⋟ multipov; post timeskip/aged up characters, romance, fluff; smut, mentions of alcohol, we like’em a bit dense, confession, comedy

a/n ⋟ Should I divide this in parts to help with readability? Let me know!

a/n ⋟ Hey! It’s been a while! (*laughs in pain). It only took me 4 years, but I’m finally back with the third and final part of this story c: I’m sure that the few who read the first two parts have already forgotten everything about it and I apologise, especially to that kind person who commented that they would have liked to see how Atsumu & the reader’s relationship would evolve. But better late than never, right? Right?? Anyhoo, if anyone ends up reading this, I hope you enjoy it. Despite all the writer’s blocks and difficulties due to my brain not. fucking. working. I had lots of fun writing this and if I can share even 1% of it, I can consider myself happy.

The horror story in the fic is inspired by this traditional tale: https://journal.rikumo.com/journal/2016/10/27/rikumo-folktale-the-faceless-woman

Banners are from Unsplash

Masterlist

1. Monkeys and pillows (You)

You wake up while dreaming of six monkeys sitting on your chest.

“Hmm… so heavy…” you murmur, slowly opening your eyes. Light floods the room, bathing the volleyball posters, reflecting off the bright white walls, and spreading across the blanket covering your body.

You hear the sound of breathing, a slightly ragged sound that definitely doesn’t belong to you. Looking down, you realise that the weight you’ve been feeling is Atsumu’s arm and leg wrapped tightly around you.

When the body pillow is an actual body.

You observe his face. He’s sleeping soundly, his forehead smooth above his thick brows, his jaw relaxed, leaving just the smallest gap between his lips. Your eyes drop to his chest, rising and falling in steady waves.

You don’t know how long you lie there, basking in his warmth, but eventually, begrudgingly, your reverie is disrupted by the unreasonable requests of your bladder. You roll your eyes. Just a little.

Carefully, you try to free yourself from Atsumu’s grip without waking him, your arm sliding up as you wiggle your legs, but your attempt fails, and he stirs under the covers, opening his eyes with a low groan.

“Oh, g’morning,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse, rumbling from deep in his chest. He shifts his leg away as he readjusts, but his arm remains, squeezing you a little tighter.

“Good morning,” you reply, suddenly feeling your whole body go stiff. Memories of last night flash through your mind and heat rushes to your face. The situation is way too awkward. “Can I use the shower?” you ask hastily.

Atsumu blinks a couple of times. “Sure.” Despite his agreement, he doesn’t move.

“I need you to…” You explain the rest with a glance at his arm, holding your breath as you wait for him to release you.

“Huh?” He follows your gaze. “Oh!” He looks just as surprised as you before finally moving aside, accidentally bringing the covers with him. 

His eyes flicker toward you — just underwear — before he quickly sits up, suddenly wide awake. “I’ll lend you some clothes.” His voice is casual, but you can feel the heat lingering where his gaze trailed.

As he gets up, it’s your own gaze that betrays you, flickering to his half-naked form. A pair of boxers is all that covers his absolutely and unfairly god-like body. Then, your eyes drop to yourself, and finally to your dress lying forgotten on the floor.

“Thanks,” you hardly manage to say as your brain short-circuits.

Atsumu starts rummaging through his wardrobe, packed with hoodies, tracksuit trousers, and shorts, but also elegant shirts, jackets, and jeans. “No problem,” he says as he opens a drawer, clearly struggling to find whatever it is he’s looking for.

At last, he emerges with a plain black T-shirt and a pair of black tracksuit trousers with neon green accents. As he hands them to you, you get up, flashing him a small smile before tiptoeing to the bathroom opposite his room, quickly disappearing behind the door.

2. Cakes and misunderstandings (Atsumu)

An hour later, breakfast arrives scattered in several carefully packaged boxes that Atsumu spreads all over the kitchen table. He’s sure you’re going to love it — he’s picked out all kinds of cakes for you to try.

When you sit at the table, you choose the chair directly across from him, and while he dislikes the fact that you’ve put an entire table between the two of you, he’s glad he has the excuse to get a good look at you. Even though the clothes he gave you were the oldest ones he could find — worn briefly in high school before he outgrew them — you still look somewhat small in them. The seams of the sleeves fall far past your shoulders, and he noticed when you stepped into the kitchen how the ends of his trousers pooled at your feet. He won’t lie, seeing you in his clothes is kinda hot.

He’s just about to make a comment, something that would probably make your cheeks flush a little, when you speak up.

“So…” You steal a glance at him before dropping your gaze to the shortcake on your plate, your fork gently prodding at it. “What are your… plans?”

Atsumu, having just stuffed an entire pancake into his mouth, chews quickly and swallows before replying. “I’m going to hit the gym,” he says, already running through the exercises he needs to do. Today’s leg day. You never skip leg day. He grins, patting his thighs. “Gotta keep these beauties in shape.” 

He was expecting a smile or maybe a chuckle from you, but your expression remains serious. Did he say something wrong?

“I see,” you finally reply, your gaze slipping away from his once again.

Breakfast is… awkward, to say the least. You make small talk, but it’s stiff, and as soon as you finish eating — after he refuses to let you help with the clean-up — you’re quick to stand up, grab your things, and head for the door.

He offers to give you a lift back to your dorm, but you decline, insisting it’s not necessary. Something about the way you leave feels off. You were polite, too polite, and you seemed… distant. Atsumu gets a strange feeling in his stomach, but he wouldn’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s just the food sitting weird.

3. Spatulas with a dash of counsel (You)

“Okay, so, to sum it up: you’re telling me that you had your first one-night stand, it went great, but now you think you’ve caught feelings for the guy?” The sceptical voice on the other end of the phone belongs to your friend Mao, also known as the Great Saintess of Patience and Support. Her tone is warm, if a bit sceptical.

“I know it’s stupid…” Sitting in your desk chair, you fight the growing temptation to forget everything and wrap yourself up like a human burrito under the comfy aquamarine blanket that’s lying on your bed.

“No, it’s not stupid, just…” You hear a familiar series of thuds and knocks in the background — Mao must be cooking. “What’s so special about him? It’s not like you to fall this quickly.”

“Oh… I don’t know… He’s really fun. Somewhat sweet despite the rough edges. He’s really handsome, but that’s not the point… And…” You stare into the void as images of last night flash through your mind again. Heat rises to your face. You’re really glad your roommate isn’t there to witness it. “He’s quite… uninhibited?” You practically choke on the last word, and Mao bursts into laughter on the other end of the line.

“I see. Well, I’m happy for you,” she says with a residual giggle. “But then, what’s the problem?” Another thump, this time louder, makes you wince, and you pull the phone away for a moment.

“Well, I tried asking him what his intentions were, and he said he had to go to the gym.” A distinct lack of enthusiasm colours your voice.

After that, a snort echoes through the phone. “Sorry. It’s just—” Mao takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Couldn’t you have clarified that you meant ‘plans regarding me’ rather than his schedule for the day?”

“No way! I was so embarrassed already!” You say, kicking your feet in the air to try to get rid of some of your nervous energy.

“But why?” Your friend asks.

I just want to be a warm, cosy burrito. “It’s just confusing… For a one-night stand, it felt impossibly close to dating.” You sigh. “I know I don’t have any experience with this stuff, but I never imagined this kind of situation would feel so…” You trail off, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“So?” Mao’s curiosity practically seeps through the phone.

“Intimate,” you finally say.

“Ah, I see.” Mao’s tone softens, and a faint noise comes through the phone. She’s probably chewing on her spatula again — she has a habit of nibbling on things when she’s deep in thought.

“I should let you get back to what you’re doing,” you say with a sigh.

“Oh, don’t sound so gloomy! Just find an excuse to talk to him again and see how it goes.”

You thank your friend, promising to buy her lunch next week, then hang up, mulling over her words.

“Well,” you mutter to yourself, “I guess I should give his clothes back at some point.”

Once the call is over, the room fills with silence, except for a quiet sniff of contemplation.

4. The wiser twin (Osamu)

“You didn’t even cook breakfast for her?” Osamu glares at his twin, his lips pulling into a deep frown.

“Uh?! You know I don’t cook.” Atsumu’s eyebrows knit into a tight scowl.

Osamu sighs, shaking his head as he starts tidying up the mess Atsumu, predictably, left behind. “And then people ask me why you don’t have a girlfriend…” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Atsumu grumbles, finally grabbing a few paper plates and tossing them into the bin.

“Nothin’.” Osamu wipes down the glassy surface of the table but freezes when he hears Atsumu mumble, ‘Should I have made her breakfast…?’. He turns, fixing a sharp look on his brother. “Are you sure you don’t want to date this girl?”

“What? You know I don’t do dating.” Atsumu scowls as if the mere suggestion offends him.

Osamu exhales heavily, and Atsumu’s expression twists into a really, really ugly one.

“Don’t sigh at me like that!” he snaps.

“Then why are we even talking about this?” Osamu rolls his eyes and starts washing the cutlery.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu mutters, fiddling with the empty takeout box.

Osamu sighs again, summoning the last of his patience. “Because you’re worried she might hate you now, aren’t you?”

“Huh? No.” The scowl flickers back onto Atsumu’s face. “It’s just…” he shrugs, “it felt like she was running away from me.”

“So you did do something bad.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No…?”

“Did you make it clear that it was just a hook-up?”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

At this, Atsumu averts his gaze, suddenly finding an exaggerated amount of interest in the kitchen bin. “I might have… got a bit carried away.”

Osamu’s eyes narrow. “Is she the girl who couldn’t open the beer keg?”

“What? No! How did you—?” Atsumu’s confusion is so comically genuine that Osamu has to fight the urge to tease him until he storms off cursing. Something tells him that if he doesn’t give his twin a push now, this tiresome conversation will have been all but pointless.

“Akaashi told me. You invited her to dinner, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” Atsumu blinks, and Osamu can practically hear the gears running behind his twin’s eyes. “Oh… Fucking Bokkun and his big mouth.”

“That might have been a bit much for a hook-up.”

To that, Atsumu doesn’t respond.

Osamu sets the cutlery aside and turns to face his brother. “Okay, let’s focus for a moment. You say you don’t do dating.”

“Exactly.”

“And that you’re not actually interested in her.”

“Y-yeah.”

There it is: hesitation.

“So why didn’t you just invite her to your dorm room or something? Why go to a restaurant first? Why bring her here, of all places?”

“I don’t know…”

Osamu pinches the bridge of his nose. This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey! It just… I don’t know, felt right, okay?”

Sometimes, Osamu wonders how he and Atsumu are even related. His brother is so. dense.

Osamu wipes his hands on a towel and leans back against the counter. “Y’know… if you’re so worried about it, you could always text her. I assume you have her number.”

Atsumu scoffs. “Yeah, but no. What would I even say?”

Osamu sighs. “That’s your problem to figure out. You’ve been moping around the kitchen for half an hour, ‘Tsumu. If it’s just a hook-up, why do you care what she thinks?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks so lost it’s almost comical.

Osamu shakes his head, tossing the towel onto the counter. “You’re hopeless.”

“Oi!” Atsumu bristles, but his anger fades quickly, replaced by something that looks like confusion.

Osamu smirks. “Alright, my job here is done. Figure out the rest of your love sickness on your own and leave me alone.” With that, he strides out of the kitchen, leaving Atsumu standing there, frozen like a raccoon that was just caught stealing fried chicken from the trash.

5. Lifting the weight (Atsumu)

If there’s one thing that’s sure to clear Atsumu’s mind, it’s lifting weights. He’s always liked training: gaining control over your body, pushing it to the limit, seeing the results on the court and out. And that’s why he’s at the gym, warming up with a light jog before moving over to the other machines.

Training clears his head. That’s the rule. That’s how it’s always been. So why is he still thinking about you?!

His movements are mechanical as he heads to the bench press, briefly using the bottom of his white T-shirt to dry his face.

I’m not hopeless.

Atsumu launches into a mental fight with his brother, seething through a clenched jaw. He’s clever, hot, and determined af. How could he possibly be hopeless?

“Good morning!”

Saying hello is one of Atsumu’s closest friends, Aran. He’s also his gym buddy.

“Hey!” The familiar face cheers Atsumu up a little, helping him leave his inner quarrel behind and finally return to planet Earth. “Help me do some reps?”

“Sure,” Aran replies, his customary smile a comforting sight.

“Have you watched the last episode of Robot Wars? Dead Metal was on fire!” asks Aran, his smile that of a kid who just discovered dinosaurs.

“Good, he’s one of my favourites,” Atsumu replies distractedly.

“No, I meant he was literally on fire.”

“What?”

A couple of people turn, and Atsumu realises he has maybe raised his voice a bit too much. Aran laughs, leaving Atsumu without an explanation. Then he grabs his towel and quickly checks his phone while Atsumu begins his warm-up set.

He makes sure to perform each movement with precise form: elbows slightly tucked, wrists straight, and a controlled rhythm.

Once he’s done, it’s time for the real thing. He plants his feet firmly on the black rubber tiles of the gym’s floor and grips the bar, which Aran has made heavier as per instructions.

Breathe in… Lower... Push… Breathe Out. One.

Breathe in... Lower… Push... Breathe Out. Two…

“Woah, you’re going all out today.” Aran follows his movements with caring focus, just like he did back in high school. Atsumu couldn’t ask for a better training partner.

Each rep feels heavier, but he pushes through, just like he always does, until the set is finally complete. He then exhales sharply while Aran helps him rack the bar.

“Good job,” Aran says, but Atsumu responds with a big sigh.

“Something on your mind?” Aran asks as they switch positions. His voice is calm, reassuring.

“Nah. All good.” Atsumu waits for Aran to warm up, then positions himself behind him for support. His hands are ready, part of his brain is also ready, careful to follow his partner’s movements, but there’s another part of his stupid, wet thinking mass that’s annoyingly lingering somewhere else. 

Love Sickness. Those were Osamu’s words.

Does he really like you? Sure, you’re cute, with your timid smiles and carefree grins. A bit awkward, too, but Atsumu can’t bring himself to dislike that, especially since it makes you endlessly funny to tease. In fact, you’re probably one of the most expressive people he’s ever met — and he’s quite sure he’s just scratched the surface.

He finds himself thinking that you’re also pretty, remembering the way you glanced at him during adult Jenga, or when you lay bare on his dorm’s bed. You are, in fact, unexpectedly hot.

Atsumu is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses the moment Aran finishes his set, shiny sweat collecting at his temples.

Ffffffuck.

The next time he sees that devil of a twin, he’s putting him in a chokehold. This is all his fault, planting weird ideas in his head.

Atsumu finishes his training session long after Aran, sweaty and tired, but somehow still annoyingly restless. After downing nearly the entire bottle of his electrolyte drink — the plastic creaking as if in pain — Atsumu heads to the changing rooms for a much-needed shower.

It must be a lull period because the rectangular room is completely empty. He takes the opportunity to blast music from his phone at full volume as he undresses. Singing to himself, he struts butt-naked to the showers.

“I’m a pop, pop, pop, take a shot, yeah~”

Turning the water scalding hot, Atsumu lets it rush from the top of his head down to his feet, watching the droplets stream down his hair. Steam quickly gathers at the bottom of the stall.

“Filling up my truck, yeah, you want that ride~”

He’s just started soaping up when memories of last night sneak on him. You, straddling him on his bed… And not that wreck of his dorm bed — his real, I-grew-up-in-this bed. Your voice trembling against his ear... Your gaze locking with his as you lowered yourself onto him…

Atsumu curses under his breath, trying to fight the sudden, irresistible urge to just rub a quick one out.

His hand drifts downward, sliding easily over lathered skin, until the sound of someone entering the shower stall next to him snaps him back to reality.

I need to calm the fuck down, he thinks with a frustrated smile just as his shower neighbour starts whistling. The guy is tone-deaf as hell, but, apparently, he likes Atsumu’s playlist, because, very badly but very surely, he’s whistling along with Maniac.

Atsumu spends the rest of the day lazing around in the fraternity hall, chatting idly with one member after another, unable to muster the motivation for anything productive.

He watches as Suna records a video of Hoshiumi mid-outburst, listens to Semi’s guitar practice flow through his open door, and takes a call from Oikawa, who apparently just got back from yet another trip to Argentina. Naturally, he wants to show him all the photos he took with Iwaizumi — who obviously went with him — and brag about how cool he looks in his tan.

Atsumu’s lucky it’s Sunday.

He’s just stretched — quite noisily, some might say, though he’d disagree — when he notices Kita peeking out from the corridor.

“Oh, you’re back?” the fraternity boss asks, his eyebrows barely rising as he steps into the hall.

“Kita-san, hey,” Atsumu waves sluggishly, instinctively straightening his posture a little.

“I was making the rounds to finalise the list of people joining next week’s camping trip. I need to hand it to the university representative by tomorrow morning.” Kita’s lips tighten ever so slightly. “You haven’t confirmed yet.”

He steps closer, standing in front of the couch, and, not for the first time, Atsumu wonders how someone shorter and leaner can make him feel so damn small. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Ah, right.” Atsumu considers refusing outright, but then an idea pops into his head. “Lemme see who’s coming,” he says, reaching out as if to take the list, only to stop at the last second, opting to wait patiently instead.

Kita hands it over, his gaze even sharper than usual, but he says nothing.

Atsumu skims through the names.

“Oh.” A smile tugs at his lips as he hands the list back. “Count me in.”

6. The best spot (Shōyō)

I’m so excited!

It’s Hinata’s first time camping, and he’s itching to get to today’s destination. He’s basically bouncing off the walls. He can’t wait to set up a tent, hike through the woods, stargaze, and, most importantly, eat delicious campfire food. He made sure that there would be some veggies and fruit aside from the meat. We bought so much meat. His mouth starts watering just at the thought.

As he approaches the big bus parked near the college entrance, his eyes skim over the small crowd already gathered next to it. There are all kinds of people there. Some dressed casually, some who seem ready for a climb, some whose logic he can’t really get. Why wear loafers to go camping? Then, finally, he sees you.

“Y/n!” he calls out, cheeks rising to his eyes.

“Shōyō!” You say with a beam, and the moment he reaches you, you pull him into a tight hug. He’s always liked your hugs. They used to fluster him back in high school, but he’s got more used to them as time went on.

When you pull away, you chuckle. “I see you’re definitely ready to go,” you say, eyeing his overstuffed bags.

“Yeah! Oh, is your bag heavy? Let me take that,” he says without waiting for your reply, knowing full well you’re going to refuse, but after a bit of back and forth, you finally surrender and let him take your duffel bag with a grateful smile.

“Should we go grab some seats?” you ask.

“Yeah! Where’s Bokuto?”

“I haven’t seen him y—”

“GOOOOD MOOORNING!!!” A familiar voice cuts you off as Bokuto suddenly appears behind you, slinging an arm over your shoulders and flashing his usual shining grin at Hinata.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble, a small chuckle tinting your voice. “Did you sleep well?”

“Absolutely,” Bokuto replies, puffing his chest. “I’m so ready for this!”

It’s not long before your bags are safely stowed in the bus’s storage compartment, and you hop on, scanning for free seats.

Hinata and Bokuto immediately start bickering over who gets to sit next to you, and Hinata smiles when he sees the way your face lights up in response. In the end, he wins, an overexcited “yes!” escaping his lips. As he takes his seat, Bokuto trudges with a pout to the one behind the two of you, his head popping up between your backrests.

“Hey, why’s Tsumtsum sitting all the way to the back?” He suddenly asks.

You all turn toward the last few rows of the bus, which are filled with equally energetic students. Well, aside from Kita-san. He looks as composed as ever. Hinata sometimes wonders what it would be like to be inside his head, but he always quickly shakes the thought away.

“He’s with his fraternity mates,” Hinata explains. “I’m sure we’ll have time to talk once we get there!” Turning back, he rummages through his backpack for some snacks — healthy ones, of course — but his movements slow when he notices the way your gaze lingers on Atsumu. Suddenly, he’s reminded of how he found the two of you at the restaurant last weekend. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is he’s feeling, but he has the nagging sense that something is slipping past him.

7. The worst spot (Atsumu) 

Why is she sitting so far away?!

As Suna tries to show him some video about paramedic monkeys that he can’t be bothered to pay attention to, Atsumu takes out his frustration on the fox keychain hanging from his backpack, absentmindedly fiddling with it between his fingers.

He couldn’t just ask you to sit with him — that would’ve drawn way too much attention from his mates and totally hijacked his plan of playing it cool — but he had at least hoped to find some strategic positioning that would still let him speak with you. The two of you haven’t spoken since that day, after all. The day you’d left his house like your feet were on fire.

His mates, however, were obnoxiously insistent on claiming the back-row seats, and Kita strictly forbade anyone from wandering around while the pullman was moving, so in the end, Atsumu didn’t get a single chance to talk to you. Meanwhile, Shōyō and Bokkun hogged you all to themselves.

He twists the keychain, the metal clinking softly in his hands.

He’d thought he’d at least meet your eyes here and there, even by fucking accident, especially with how often you turn around to talk to Bokkun, but your gaze has been frustratingly elusive the entire trip.

Maybe waiting for the right ‘casual’ opportunity wasn’t such a great idea, after all.But it’s not like he’s going to chase after you. That’s not his style. He’s the one being chased. Usually.

8. (Un)clearing your head (You)

Ahh. This is amazing.

The moment you step off the bus, your lungs fill with crisp, untainted air, so fresh it almost tastes delicious.

More than a hill but not quite a full mountain, the place chosen for the trip overlooks a vast prairie. All around you, brightly coloured leaves swirl in the breeze, their hues setting the landscape ablaze.

You don’t think you’ve ever been anywhere this beautiful.

And the smell! Oh, the smell. The rich scent of earth and vegetation tickles your nose, and you feel one with nature. For a while, you just stand there, taking in the breathtaking view before you.

It’s almost enough to make you forget that Atsumu is here.

Almost.

To be honest, if you had known he was coming, you probably would have stayed home. It’s been less than a week; of course your feelings are still all jumbled up. And you have no idea how to act around him.

Should you be friendly? Ignore him? Either way, you’ll have to pretend nothing happened, right? Isn’t that what you usually do after a hook-up? Not that you would know.

You shake your head and turn back toward the bus, helping the others unpack and deciding that you’ll just have to see what Atsumu does and adjust accordingly. He’s surely more well-versed at this kind of thing than you could ever be.

The camping site looks cosy: fiery trees surround it, creating a natural sort of shelter. There are a few camper vans, what look like restrooms to the right, and a small hut where the staff must be staying.“Okay, everybody. Let’s set up the tents before the sun sets. Then we can start on dinner,” Kita-san says, his face unperturbed. He has a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. He looks really organised.

9. Falling into place (You)

“So… is there an instruction manual, or do we just wing it?” you ask, rustling one of the tent bags open.

“We don’t need that!” Bokuto puffs out his chest and smiles, opening a bag himself.

You look around, wondering where Shōyō went, and are met with the bustle of people setting up tents, gathering firewood, or placing the endless boxes of food near the barbecue area.

“Hmm, okay then.” You’re not too sure about your camping skills, and to be perfectly candid, the same applies to Bokuto, judging by the confused look on his face as he stares at the piece of tent he pulled out of the bag. But hey, what’s the worst that can happen?

Famous last words. 

It’s been several minutes already, but what you have in front of you looks less like a tent and more like a tangle of poles and plastic that has been trampled on by the Huns’ army.

“I know I’m not an expert in this… but are you sure you’re putting the poles in the right way?” You ask, watching Bokuto trying to force a pole through one of those sleeve thingies. You helped assemble them, but Bokuto took over the threading — at full speed, of course. Judging by the state of the tent, there’s no way he’s doing it right.

You grab a crumpled section of plastic fabric, holding it up as you try to figure out the right order for the poles. Despite tilting your head and squinting your eyes, your grasp on the whole thing doesn’t improve. With a sigh, you decide to just wing it and attempt to thread one yourself.

Unsurprisingly, you must have chosen the wrong opening, because as you slide the pole in, it bends at an alarming angle and then pops loose. You hastily raise your arm to cover your face, already bracing for the inevitable smack, but instead of feeling a lash on your skin, you hear a low thud.

When you open your eyes again, an arm is stretched out in front of you. A rather big arm, in a red T-shirt. On your left, Atsumu is smirking.

“Are y’all trying to kill that tent or what?”

From behind your raised arms, you stare at him, then at his arm, and finally back at him again. Then you finally lower your arms, and the feeling of having put your face in front of a blast furnace makes you realise that you must be blushing.

As Atsumu takes the pole in hand, Bokuto huffs. “We have everything under control!”

Not even a second passes that another pole comes loose, and the sound of plastic fabric is accompanied by your hopeless exhale. 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Atsumu shoots you a wink as he steps around the pole he just saved you from. “It still won’t hurt ya to receive some help, will it?” He says, looking at Bokuto again, hands propped on his sides.

Bokuto grumbles a reluctant ‘yes’ with slouching shoulders. You nod, taking a small step back as you watch Atsumu set to work.

His movements are fluid, practised. He must have done this before. He slides some poles off, spreads the fabric properly, and starts sliding them in again.

You end up waiting on the side, since you don’t really know what you could do now. Your eyes trail after Atsumu’s every movement like in a trance.

He must have somehow noticed how you shifted your weight from one foot to another or how you started torturing your nails because he asks for your help here and there, clearly more for your sake than his. Still, with his guide and everyone’s work, the tent is soon set up, straight and solid-looking.

You’re a bit reluctant to believe this was done with the same pieces you were working with earlier; it looks too different, but it’s probably just your hurt ego talking.

On the other side of the tent, Bokuto narrows his eyes, looking deep in thought for some instants. You’re starting to worry he’s actually upset when he straightens up and grins at Atsumu.

“Thanks, Tsumtsum!” He beams. He says something else as he storms off, but his words fly away with him, making it impossible for you to understand them.

After following the receding form of your friend, your eyes set on Atsumu, and you find him already looking at you with relaxed amusement spreading across his face.

“As frisky as always,” he comments with a smirk.

“Yeah.” You try to maintain eye contact, you really do, but it seems that gravity afflicts your pupils too. “Thanks for your help,” you add, now looking at your shoes, your voice coming out annoyingly weak.

“No problem.”

Despite not seeing his face, you can hear Atsumu’s smile in his voice, and your lips naturally mirror his emotion, curving up in a small smile.

“Oh,” you jolt then. Only now do you remember how he saved you from the pole earlier. “Is your arm alright?!” You step forward, almost tripping on a bag that must have certainly been there before you, but that you hadn’t noticed at all.

Atsumu takes a couple of steps toward you, too. As you reach him, you hover your hands over his forearm, not daring to touch him, but once he understands what you’re talking about, he lifts it for you to scan with widened eyes. There’s a diffused red line on his skin, surely the work of the pole running amok.

“Oh,” you say, deflating a little. “I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “No worries. It takes way more than this to defeat me.” His eyes are briefly lost somewhere far away. “My brother definitely made sure of that…” he mumbles.

Then he moves closer, just enough for your personal space receptors to start going off like alarms in a plummeting spaceship.

You have no choice but to raise your gaze, meeting his eyes. His beautiful, chocolatey hooded eyes that always so easily set on yours.

It’s overwhelming, as if you’re a dandelion, fragile and lost in the shadows of Yosemite’s towering sequoias.

Atsumu, instead, feels like the epitome of stability, strong and deeply rooted.

You inhale deeply.

He opens his mouth, ready to say something, but a voice tugs at him from behind you.

“Miya! What’re you doing? We need a hand over here!”

Atsumu looks beyond your shoulder, brow furrowing and shoulders falling just a little. “Ahh,” he sighs, giving you a long look, “Gotta go.” And just like that, he’s jogging past you.

You barely manage to murmur a weak “bye” before you find yourself alone in front of your now perfectly built tent.

As if your eardrums had just popped, you gain consciousness of the leaves rustling under the gentle push of a light breeze and of the rhythmical songs of the crickets.

You shake your head, trying to clear your dazed state, and start bringing the backpacks inside the tent. As you set the last one of them down, the expression Atsumu had just before leaving flashes before your eyes. You wonder if he felt the same reluctance when he walked away.

10. Python on the cob (Osamu)

Osamu loves grilling. Give him anything and he will make it just right. Juicy ribeye steak, savoury pork ribs, crispy grilled bacon, spicy grilled sausage, sweet corn on the cob, caramelised bell peppers, tender grilled zucchini, crisp charred broccoli, golden-brown eggplant slices… and the list could go on.

“Smells delicious!” A fairly high-pitched, more than moderately enthusiastic voice reaches him. He raises his head and sees Hinata walking towards him, plate in hand and nose up, following the scent of meat like a character from a kids’ cartoon.

And behind him, there’s you.

You remind him of some animal of prey, careful about your surroundings, about where you place your steps, about the sudden noises that burst around you. Maybe a deer. Or, well, a doe.

“It’s gonna taste great!” Hinata says, turning toward you and bumping into someone who was passing by. “Sorry!” He does a little bow to an annoyingly tall guy with near-white hair and an intimidating face. Osamu recognises him as one of the previous members of the famous Dateko Iron Wall, if he’s remembering right. The guy looks kinda out of place to Osamu, but strangely enough, responds to Hinata’s apology with a little bow accompanied by an unexpected, even if small, smile. Once they’ve split up, Hinata looks back at you.

“Osamu is a great cook,” he grins just before stopping in front of the grill Osamu is working on, shifting his big smile from you to him.

“Only the lean parts, right?” Osamu asks.

The tangerine-haired boy nods enthusiastically. “Thank you, Osamu-kun! I’ve been waiting for dinner all day!”

The cook’s lips quirk up. He will never admit it, but, just like his brother, he’s kind of susceptible to compliments. However, he soon puts his lips back into place and puts himself to work, filling up Hinata’s plate with some juicy chicken thighs, steak, corn on the cob, caramelised bell peppers and roasted Brussels sprouts.

Beaming at his plate, Hinata thanks him again and dashes toward another food area. Osamu could swear he saw him struggling to keep his drooling in check.

After someone like Hinata, the hesitation in your steps as you come forward is impossible to miss. “Hi,” you greet him with the hint of a smile.

He still has no idea how you and his brother ended up spending a night — no, two nights — together. You look so shy and he… well… he’s ‘Tsumu, his devilish twin. You must have some hidden side to you, that’s for sure. Who knows, maybe he’ll get to see it if you and Atsumu become a thing.

“Good evenin’,” Osamu replies with a cordial smile. “What’re ya eating tonight?”

You fill your plate with grilled veggies and corn — seems like meat’s not really your thing.

“By the way,” you blurt out as he’s putting the food on your plate, and you speak so quickly that he almost doesn’t catch it, “I tried your onigiri last weekend. They were amazing.”

He can see a bit of shyness melt away as your lips curve up in a genuine smile.

Osamu’s eyes light up. “Thanks, they’re not that hard to make, but it’s still easy to mess them up.” He explains how you need to properly cook the rice, wet your hands and use a bit of salt when shaping the onigiri, and be careful when you add the filling. While he’s explaining, he sneaks an extra serving of corn onto your plate.

You listen intently, seemingly interested and not just trying to be polite. If Atsumu was here, he would start teasing him, calling him a food maniac. It’s entirely possible he would get jealous too, which probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“And if it seems like too much work, you can always come by our dormitory,” he winks, “I make them at least twice a week.”

You don’t look like you’ll ever just pop there, but you do look tempted. “Oh,” you say suddenly, leaning to the side and looking past the grill at the lower part of his body. “Is your leg okay? I heard you got hurt.”

Osamu briefly looks at his leg, then sets his eyes on you as he crosses his arms, tongs still in hand. “‘Tis but a scratch,” he declares, puffing his chest slightly.

You make a small inhale and freeze, mouth agape. You stare at him for a couple of seconds, a serious expression on your face, until a smile starts creeping through and you burst into laughter. “You’re a Monty Python fan too?!”

He raises his brows in response, an imperceptible assent that seems to make you quite happy. It looks like you have good taste, differently from his brother. 

“I would have never guessed,” you say, still chuckling.

“Not many know about it,” he comments casually, shooting you a smile. It’s always fun to subvert expectations.

He lets out a little hum, uncrossing his arms. “My brother does, but he’s not much for puns and the like.” He starts to tend to the food again; he has no intention of burning any of it.

“Oh, really?” you reply, your smile cracked. As quickly as you opened up, you seem to close up again, your hands tight on the plate you’re holding.

“Yeah. His taste is usually questionable,” he states, noticing the way you tighten your lips, “but sometimes even he can get it right.”

He shoots you a lopsided grin, hoping you’ll get the hint.

A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“He can be a little slow, though… So you might want to give him a little nudge.”

At those words, you flinch. “I what…?” You must be wondering how much he knows. About you and Atsumu. About that night, and the one after.

With impeccable timing, Hinata comes back to the grill, two full plates precariously held on his palms. “Y/n! Are you ready? We got a spot over there,” he nods toward a trunk laid on the other side of the bonfire. 

“Sure,” you reply, your prey-like look reminding Osamu of the first time he saw you.

11. Memories (You)

The camp at night is beautiful. You’re sitting on a tree trunk repurposed as a bench, taking in the scene around you.

The bonfire paints its surroundings with a golden light, starting from the people gathered around it and stretching to the trees. Above, the stars twinkle in endless clusters, much brighter than what you’re used to.

Groups of people are scattered around, some talking animatedly while others quietly chew on their food and others gulp down their beers.

A guy you recognise from last week, but whose name you don’t know, is sitting on a log, a guitar resting on his lap. He seems to be playing the acoustic version of a popular song, even though you can’t seem to remember its title right now. Around him, people sway to the rhythm or attempt to sing along, some with more success than others.

“Aren’t you eating that?”

You turn as your heart clenches in your chest. You could swear he was not there a moment ago. Does he have some sort of teleporting ability? What would be his hero costume…? Wait, that’s not the point. You’re just glad your reflexes were too slow to scream. Gathering the attention of the entire camp is the last thing you want.

“No,” you finally reply, glancing at Atsumu and then at your plate. “Your brother gave me way too much food.” You tried to eat that last corn on the cob, but you felt that if you had, you’d have exploded.

“Ah, yeah, he’s just like a granny,” Atsumu chuckles. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his half-smile as he leans toward your plate, casually extends his arm, and picks up your leftovers, his movement careful.

“I’ll take it, then.” He says, already munching at it.

You chuckle, the idea of Osamu in a pink apron and a curly grey wig popping into your mind. Then, you gather the little courage in your body to turn to your left.

You’ve thought of this before, but Atsumu looks kind of cute when he eats. His usually sharp cheeks puff out, round like a hamster’s.

“No, really.” Atsumu insists after swallowing his first bite. “He even nags like one!” His voice turns whiny as he puts on a serious face, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes.

“Stop drinking or you’ll get a belly!” He waves the half-eaten corn in the air.

“Eat your veggies!” He moves it again, and you start worrying he’s going to drop it. 

“Always make sure to stretch properly!” He gives the corn an angry bite.

You chuckle at his impression, knowing full well it’s probably at least a tad exaggerated, but you like that side of him. Atsumu is a bundle of energy, emotions, and tomfoolery. If you had someone like him beside you, you’re sure you’d never get bored.

Wait, what am I thinking?! Heat comes rushing to your cheeks.

You’re conflicted. A part of you wants to run away and feels overly conscious, stiff, awkward. But the other… the other wants to keep talking with him all night. Probably more.

You simply love the way his emotions spill so liberally across his face. The way his voice swings from high to low, and then to high again. The way he laughs with his entire body.

“‘Samu plays the ‘mature twin’ act, but he’s no better than me.” Atsumu glances in his twin’s direction, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “There was this one time he, Suna, and I got completely wasted and—”

You raise your brows in a jokingly judging look.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I do it every day,” Atsumu complains, and you laugh, nodding for him to continue.

“It was all because ‘Samu had just been dumped and needed to drown his sorrows for a bit. He’d been a moping mess all week.” Atsumu sniffs. “Anyway, we got thrown out of the party we went to because our friend’s parents came home a day early and made a scene, so we ended up at a park nearby to sober up.” 

You glance at Osamu, still working the grill and chatting with a guy you saw sitting with him earlier on the bus. The just mentioned Suna, perhaps.

“At some point, with full seriousness — he looked like fucking Ushiwaka, for fuck’s sake — he says ‘I’ll be back soon.’” Atsumu tosses the corn leftovers into the bonfire. “And since he’d been complaining about wanting ice cream for like half an hour, we thought he was just going to the konbini down the road.”

Atsumu turns to you, catching you watching intently as you listen.

You smile, fondness seeping through, and shiver slightly. Maybe you should have worn a thicker sweatshirt.

“Are you cold?”

“Ahm,” you start, only to momentarily get lost in his eyes, “a little?”

Atsumu gets up, shrugs off his varsity jacket, and drapes it over your shoulder. Before you can even mutter a ‘thank you’, he’s already sitting again, picking up where he left off as if nothing happened. “So, the konbini, right? Turns out, he was not there. We spent ten minutes looking for him before we finally found him on the opposite side of the park, cap in the dirt, screaming at someone.”

“Did he get into a fight?” you ask, somehow feeling a little concerned even if everything’s said and done already.

“That’s what I thought! I was already gearing up to throw a couple of punches if necessary. He’s my brother, after all.” Atsumu shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a helpless what-can-you-do expression. “But turns out, there was no need.”

You glance in Osamu’s direction before huddling into Atsumu’s jacket, pulling it close with both hands. Your stomach, very maturely, does a somersault.

“So, what happened?” You ask after a beat, meeting Atsumu’s eyes.

“Oh, you’ll never guess who he was talking to.”

Curious, you wait for him to continue.

Atsumu looks at his brother, then at you, and smiles a smug smile. “A tree.”

Your head twitches slightly. “What?”

“I shit you not, it was a fucking tree. ‘Samu went on rambling for, like, twenty minutes.”

You laugh softly. “And what was he saying?”

Atsumu shrugs again. “Something about his girlfriend regretting leaving him ‘cause he’s a great cook.” He chuckles. “The rest of it was pretty much incomprehensible, to be honest.”

You both burst into laughter, and you can’t help but imagine the scene in your head. Osamu tends to have a serious demeanor, but after seeing him drunkenly dance at the party and now hearing this, you can’t picture him as a serious guy anymore.

Atsumu scoots closer and takes his phone out of his pocket, a conspiratorial look on his face. “I actually have a video of him. Suna recorded the whole thing, of course.”

Then he nods toward his twin. “You see the guy next to ‘Samu? The one with those sly eyes? That’s Suna.”

Atsumu turns towards you again, but in the movement, he gets closer than he was before. Seeing his face this so close, you stiffen slightly, your heartbeat picking up just a little.

You bite your lower lip. Atsumu’s eyes widen. After what feels like an eternity, you both shift back, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air.

Atsumu’s quick to recover, going back to what he was saying. “He’s a phone addict. And films everything.” He steals a glance at you before looking back to his phone, his right leg bouncing a couple of times. “We used to fight a lot, my brother and I. Suna filmed every single fist fight we had,” he says with a chuckle. Then he scrolls through his gallery, which you don’t look at, trying to be respectful of his privacy — not that he seems to care. “Found it!” He turns the phone toward you, only to hold it to his chest a moment after.

You exhale through your nose, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “What?”

Atsumu’s usual carefree demeanor is replaced by an air of seriousness you’ve never seen before. “This is a secret,” he warns you, lowering his voice. “If he finds out that this video exists and that I showed it to you. I’m dead. Like, 100% dead.”

Despite your best efforts, you burst into laughter.

“What?” Atsumu asks, his brow furrowing, though a smile tugs at his lips.

With great effort, you stifle your laughter, forcing your face into something resembling seriousness, even though your lips twitch and amusement shines in your eyes.

He can be so childish.

Clearing your throat, you try to match Atsumu’s solemn expression. “Alright, I promise to keep it a secret.”

“To keep what a secret?”

A wince propagates between Atsumu and you, followed by a synced sharp inhale, and Atsumu’s jacket almost falls off of your shoulders.

Osamu is standing right behind you: arms crossed on his chest, lips tight, and brows raised in a scolding look.

“Nothing! Don’t put your damned nose where it doesn’t belong,” barks Atsumu. It would almost be a convincing lie if only his voice hadn’t risen in pitch in what can’t be described as anything but comical.

Osamu squints. “Lemme see.” He leans forward, reaching for Atsumu’s phone. As the two fight over it, you are reminded of Jake and Ray, your grandma's border collies. They got along really well, but give them only one toy and they would be at each other’s throats in a nanosecond.

In the end, Osamu is the one to pull through. His gaze zeroes in on Atsumu’s phone screen; silence falls — at least in your little bubble — as the three of you freeze in place. Then, his eyes curl downward. “I knew you were up to something.”

“What? When?” Atsumu asks.

Meanwhile, your focus keeps bouncing from one twin to the other.

“You two lovebirds kept throwing glances at me,” Osamu scoffs. He gives you a brief stare before turning his burning gaze to his brother. “And you kept staring with that obnoxious smirk of yours,” he adds, making a face that’s nothing short of disgusted.

Lovebirds. He just called you lovebirds.

Does he really know what happened between the two of you? The conversation before was a little weird and… You chew on the word in your head as the two twins bicker. The contrast in expression is almost too stark to be believable. Osamu’s face is barely moving, an indifferent air not-so-subtly mocking Atsumu, who, on the other hand, seems to be trying to showcase the entire range of micro-expressions on his face.

“Hey!” Bokuto calls. “What’s happening here?” Shōyō adds, both of them suddenly appearing in front of you, their curious faces staring at you and the twins. The firelight wraps around them, casting a halo-like glow. It’s not an unfitting look, to be honest.

“Atsumu was up to his usual bullshit,” Osamu explains, tone flat.

“Oh, Atsumu again?” Shōyō asks. Coming from him, the epitome of innocence, the words are much more cutting than they would have been if spoken by anyone else.

Atsumu gets up with a scowl. “I wasn’t doing anything!” He shoots a glance at all the men present, then at you, and seems ready to storm off when a voice interrupts the skirmish.

“It’s story time!” Shouts the guy with the guitar. “Gather around the fire!”

He looks thrilled, while you’re pretty sure that at least three people just sighed beside you.

Shōyō summons a blanket and lays it in front of the trunk-bench, and pats the spot next to him. You step forward, ending up seated in front of Atsumu, while Bokuto perches himself on Atsumu’s right, legs crossed, looking impossibly tiny for someone his size.

Osamu leans down, his face a little too close to your ear. “You will forget about whatever he told you, understood?” His voice is downright frightening.

You twist towards him, and you really shouldn’t feel as scared as you are. He’s not a serial killer, after all.

He must notice your apprehension because he quickly softens the blow with a wink, leaving you there with a faint, dumb smile as he placidly walks away.

“I heard Kita-san is really good at telling horror stories.” Shōyō whispers, pulling you away from the ‘threat’ and back to him. It’s really cute how he looks both excited and concerned, just like he was when you watched horror movies on Halloween when you were still in school.

“Oh, yeah, me too! I can’t wait!” Bokuto says, propping his elbows on his legs and cradling his chin in his hands. He looks adorable.

You have a look around. The other campers are gathered all around the fire, some sitting on logs, some on a blanket, a couple on foldable chairs, while others unceremoniously sprawl on the grass.

As soon as the murmuring fades, a warm voice hums in your ear, “Lean back on the trunk.”

Okay, what right does Atsumu have to send shivers down your nape just because he talked?! You turn slightly, glancing at him from the side. “Won’t it dirty your jacket?”

Atsumu’s look is that of a science professor who just had a parent call the Earth flat. “Come on,” he prompts.

And so you lean back. As slowly and hesitantly as physically possible, but you do lean back. You kind of wish you had one of those beers they were passing around earlier. Your back meets the curved surface of the trunk, and immediately after Atsumu’s knees press lightly against your shoulders.

“See? It’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, swallowing some non-existent saliva and turning back toward the fire. You hug your knees and rest your chin on your crossed arms. It almost feels as if you’re embraced in his hug, and a small, private smile blooms on your face.

Suddenly, you can feel Hinata’s stare boring a hole in your direction. You shamelessly — well, not exactly, since you do feel ashamed — keep your eyes set in front of you, ignoring his muted question and hugging your knees a little closer.

“The story I’m about to tell you took place a long time ago, out in the fields of Tamba-Sasayama,” Kita begins. His voice is composed, just a hint above a murmur, and everyone around the bonfire stills and leans forward, captivated by his flame-enlightened face.

“There was an old man, a merchant of fine silks and rare dyes. He had travelled all day to reach the city, hoping that on the morrow he could sell his wares and gather enough ryo to earn himself and his family a few sacks of rice and fresh fish for another week.”

Kita pauses, looking around the circle and meeting the eyes of his audience.

“The sun had set long ago,” he continues, “but the moon was kind, its full shape lighting his way and allowing him to tread with steady steps along the muddy road that led to the city.”

Tonight’s moon is kind too, you think as you glance at the bright circle. 

“It was humid. Vapour rose from the waters of the moat that bordered the road. At last, the merchant saw lights in the distance, clustered together atop a dark curve, the small hill of Tamba-Sasayama. ‘I’ve finally arrived,’ he said to himself with relief.”

Kita’s voice drops lower, and he stares intently into the fire.

“However, the wrinkles of his relieved smile smoothed away as a faint sound called for his attention.” Kita pauses, letting the ominous sound take form in your minds.

“It came from the moat, where a lone figure was looking at the water. A woman, he realised — a young woman from a good family. Her elegant kimono stretched over her legs, and a pin with an elaborate higanbana gleamed under the moonlight.”

At the mention of the woman, you and a few people around the fire shift in your seats. Everybody knows that, in horror stories, women on the side of the road are never a good sign.

Atsumu also moves, placing his elbows on his thighs and lowering his head close to yours.

“Got cold feet?” he teases you.

You don’t reply, because there’s no way you’re going to disturb Kita’s storytelling, but you glance at Atsumu briefly with a feigned scowl.

“She was sobbing, poor thing.” Kita continues. “‘Young lady!’ the old merchant called. ‘Are you here all by yourself?’ But the girl didn’t reply, her weeping making her shoulders tremble. The man stepped closer, worry creasing his face that had seen too many suns.”

Okay, you do feel a little queasy, but that’s normal. The only problem is that when something suddenly brushes against your neck, you let out a muffled gasp.

You turn around, only to find Atsumu mischievously giggling. You roll your eyes and give him a weak jab to the shin. He fakes being hurt, a whispered but dramatic “Ow!” following the definitely earned revenge.

“Shhh,” someone chides from somewhere on your right. An embarrassed smile crosses your lips, and Atsumu unapologetically giggles behind you.

Your pointy elbow is about to get to work once again, but Kita’s voice quickly brings you back into the story.

“‘Young lady!’ the man called again. ‘It’s all right. Please, stop crying. Do you live in Tamba-Sasayama? I’m heading there; I can accompany you home.’ His heart ached at the sight of the girl, and his voice was soft with kindness.”

“The girl continued to sob, though a little less harshly now, and rose slowly to her feet.”

Shōyō starts shifting in his seat — he’s always been a bit of a scaredy-cat, after all — so you give him a gentle pat on the knee, a reassuring smile playing at the corners of your mouth. He returns the smile with soft eyes.

“The man smiled,” Kita continues. “‘There, there, let’s take you home,’ he said. The young woman finally turned away from the moat, facing the old merchant, but he could not see her face, for she hid it behind the embroidered sleeve of her kimono. His heart ached with pity at the sight, and he stepped a little closer, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.”

Damn, why are you so tense? The eerie atmosphere Kita has conjured is really beginning to seep into your bones.

“‘Don’t hide, young lady. You’re safe,’ the old man reassured her, and he felt relieved to see the girl stop sobbing. But then—” Kita’s voice drops to a whisper, “she made a strange sound: low and breathy, almost guttural, and let her sleeve fall from her face.

“The old merchant looked at the oval, but where two eyes, a nose, and a mouth should have been, only a smooth, pale surface shone under the dainty light of the moon.”

A couple of gasps echo across the fire.

Kita, with a calmness that seems to multiply everyone’s disquiet, continues. “‘Young lady?’ the old man said, his voice trembling, but all he heard in response was a low, dreadful murmur, a sound too strange to belong to a human throat.”

“And so he ran. He ran as he had not run in numerous years. His knees ached, his feet slipped on the muddy road, but still, he ran.

“Finally, the lights of Tamba-Sasayama drew closer, and he spotted one light dimly shining nearer than the others. It belonged to a soba stall. The old merchant did not have time to wonder why a stand would be open at such a late hour. All he did was rush there, desperate for help.”

Atsumu’s right leg bounces a few times beside you. Is he getting jumpy, too?

“There stood a man, slender, with sharp features. ‘Good sir, I need your help!’ the merchant gasped. ‘I was— I was walking here and that lady— that lady… You must help me!’

“The man said nothing, and only stared at the old merchant. But his eyes were devoid of any human warmth, dark like water in the night.”

Kita pauses a little longer, and everyone’s breath stops together with him.

“He handed the old merchant a plate. ‘Here, have some soba,’ he said. The man did not want to eat, but he would never have refused such a kind offer, so he accepted the plate.

“However, when he looked into it, what he saw wasn’t delicious, steamy food, but a face. A face with an unnatural, disgusting smile. A face that looked just like that of the man he had just met.

“As the old man stared at the plate, horrified, the seller let out a raucous laugh. Reluctantly but inevitably, the old merchant looked up, and what he found was a smooth, pale, featureless face.

“And suddenly, the light of the stand went out. “The old merchant frantically looked around, searching at least for the kind light of the moon, but even as he looked up, only darkness remained.

“Darkness, and a low, breathy, guttural sound.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your imagination running wild as you try to figure out what happened to the old merchant.

Suddenly, a real low, breathy, guttural sound, echoes not far from you.

Several screams follow.

Then, a full, proud laugh.

The guy who was playing the guitar earlier stands up, laughing his ass off as he soaks in the furious stares of the people he just nearly scared to death — you included.

You’re not entirely sure — shocked as you were during the cacophony of screams — but you think you heard one right behind you that could, probably, have belonged to Atsumu. It was so high-pitched, though, so you can’t say for sure.

“So? How was it?” Suna joins your little group, now standing in a disorderly line to get some marshmallows to roast over the fire. He shoots an especially inquisitive look at Atsumu, who snorts.

“Good. Kita-san hasn’t lost his touch.” Atsumu crosses his arms, legs slightly apart in what looks like some kind of power pose.

“And you weren’t scared?” Suna asks.

“Of course not,” Atsumu scoffs.

Suna smiles — a lopsided grin with narrow, predatory eyes. “Are you sure?” he prompts.

As Atsumu starts grumbling about his friend being annoying, Suna pulls his hand out of his trouser pocket and shows him the screen of his phone, although it kind of looks like he’s pointing it at you more than at him.

The screen shows a photo of Atsumu mid-scream: eyes wild, mouth gaping, shoulders practically up to his ears.

Bokuto and Shōyō burst out laughing.

Bokuto slaps Atsumu on the back with such force that you wince along with him.

Shōyō tries to hide his silly little smirk behind his hand, but it’s useless: his chest is shaking with laughter. 

Atsumu looks like he’s about to kill someone.

Suna carries the same smug expression cats have when they push a cherished mug off the table. He glances at you. “Did he annoy you? He has the habit of taking it out on others when he’s scared.”

Well, Atsumu did, in fact, annoy you by trying to scare the life out of you during the story. Unnervingly, all it does is make you shift your shoulders slightly at the memory of his touch.

The “which” in your original is what creates the tangle — it forces the sentence to fold back on itself right at the moment when you want it to land.

“I did not!” Atsumu lies, blatantly.

The corners of your mouth twitch. At least he’s spared you the need to reply.

The queue slowly shortens as everyone receives fluffy white marshmallows and sticks to brandish.

“Suna really had to go and take a photo,” Atsumu grumbles behind you.

“Well, I suppose that his making-memories mania doesn’t always work in your favour,” you say, glancing at him briefly, the amusement in your voice unconcealed.

“Hey,” he pouts. “You were scared, too.”

“Well, yeah, but at least I admit it,” you reply with a chuckle, this time without turning around.

“Oh, shut up.” His words might sting, if only the voice behind them weren’t so affectionate.

Then he wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms and blocking your movements.

“‘Tsumu?”

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“I can’t move,” you say after a nervous swallow.

He hugs you a little tighter and sways you lazily from side to side. “That’s kind of the point, y’know?”

Eyes blinking, heat rushing to your cheeks, limbs tightening, embarrassment and an electrifying jolt shoot through your body, and a silly smile unfurls on your face. You feel so happy that you stop struggling and give in to his hug — not loose enough to lean your head back, but relaxed enough to let your shoulders drop, sinking a little further into his embrace.

Atsumu’s silence betrays his surprise, and for a moment, all you can hear is his breath close to your ear.

And that, to your utter dismay, awakens thoughts that are definitely not suitable for the situation. “Does your brother also have compromising videos of you on his phone?” you ask, in a hopefully smooth attempt to distract yourself from Atsumu’s warmth.

“Of course not,” he replies smugly. “I made sure to delete them all,” he adds, his brain-to-mouth filter clearly malfunctioning.

“So there were compromising videos of you on his phone,” you tease.

There are only a couple of people ahead of you now, so Atsumu’s arms loosen and he releases you from his embrace.

“Nothing embarrassing. But there was no way I could leave such a weapon in his hands.”

“You say they weren’t embarrassing and then call them a weapon…” You tsk. “You do realise you’re contradicting yourself, right?” you chaff.

In response, Atsumu darts ahead and swipes the marshmallows and stick that one of the students was handing to you.

“Too slow,” he grins.

You shake your head and wait patiently as the student gives you a fresh set of snacks before following Atsumu back to the bonfire.

12. Conundrum (Bokuto)

Something’s weird today.

Firstly, Bokuto’s stomach is upset. And his stomach is never upset. Well, aside from that one time Hinata gifted him a 1 kg bag of gummy bears, and he ate the entire thing in one go.

Secondly, Akaashi hasn’t been able to chat all day because he’s had back-to-back meetings since that morning.

Thirdly, Atsumu seems to be glued to you today. But didn’t you guys only meet last week?

It's weird. Atsumu always spends times like these arguing with his brother or talking about volleyball with him and Shōyō. Or playing Don Juan with the prettiest girls. Was it the Don Juan? He’ll have to ask Akaashi later.

Oh, and Atsumu even hugged you, like, a moment ago. It’s not like he’s ever been shy with girls — or boys — but this feels different.

“If you keep staring like that, I’ll catch fire,” Atsumu suddenly says, forcing him to abandon his reflections.

“I wasn’t staring!” Bokuto squawks.

Everyone around him bursts into laughter, but luckily Atsumu doesn’t ask him why he was staring. Bokuto’s not good at lying, and even he knows that it’s best not to bring up stuff like this.

He focuses on you now, but you’re sitting way too close for him to get a clear look without arousing suspicion.

Maybe Shōyō knows something. He should ask him later.

13. Here comes the tickle monster (You)

Leaving Atsumu’s butterflies-in-the-stomach-inducing actions aside, you can say that the evening is going really smoothly. Everyone’s chatting amiably, small groups forming, then disbanding, then forming again, their composition and topic ever-changing.

You’ve been involved in a lively discussion about which anime song is better, another about the raccoon that stole all the marshmallows during last year’s trip, and now you’re talking with Yukie, who’s meticulously recounting to you how, during a volleyball-slash-socialising trip they made to Argentina this summer, Atsumu ended up locked in a locker room with Oikawa for the whole of three hours. And since Shōyō has repeatedly told you about Oikawa’s temper, and you already had a taste of Atsumu’s one, you can definitely imagine the kind of conversation the two of them might have had.

The chat’s all good and well, but every now and then your attention is temporarily grabbed by Shōyō and Bokuto, who are confabulating behind one of the now cold grills. They keep shooting glances at you and putting so much effort into being secretive that they stand out even more than usual. They might as well be whistling and kicking rocks.

It’s right when you’re giving one of your quick looks that Atsumu does one of the stupidest things he could have ever done.

“What are you girls talking about?” He asks as he crouches behind you and presses his index fingers in your armpits. Despite the three layers you’re wearing, you jump on the spot, your head moving up and back and hitting Atsumu right on the nose.

“Ow,” he whines, pulling back.

You can’t believe it’s the second time Atsumu gets hurt because of you. A hissed “shit” escapes your lips. You frantically twist in your seat, eyes wide and brows waning. “Are you hurt?”

Atsumu’s holding his nose with one hand, an impossibly sweet chuckle tinted with pain resonating behind it.

“Are you alright?” you press, feeling your entire body itch to get closer and check it out for yourself.

“Hmm… I’m wet,” he replies.

What?

Then he moves his hand away, a half smile somehow still on his face.

“Is that blood?!” You’re lucky you’re sitting because you can swear your knees just gave in. “Tissues,” you say, thinking out loud and getting up to look for your bag. “We need tissues. I’ll be right back.”

You run toward your tent, bee-lining between people walking unbearably slowly and bags that some idiots have left right in the middle of the path between the tents.

It’s only when you find the packet of tissues and turn to head back to the bonfire that you notice that Atsumu has followed you as he does his best to keep the blood from dripping down on his clothes.

“Here,” you hand him a couple of tissues — have your hands always been this clumsy? — and watch apprehensively as he cleans himself up and makes little cones of cotton that he composedly sticks up his nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh.

Atsumu chuckles. “No worries.”

“Should we have someone look at it?”

“Nah, it’s already happened a couple of times,” Atsumu shrugs. “But if you ruined my perfect nose, I won’t forgive you.”

“Well, it’s kind of your fault, too, you know?” As guilty as you feel, you’re also a bit pissed. You got so scared.

“What?”

“Who the hell goes and tickles someone out of nowhere like that?!”

Atsumu’s response is a roaring laugh, and what seems to be an owl flies away in all haste.

“Still, I couldn’t have known you would have backflipped like that,” he chortles.

His lazy gaze sets on you, insistent, silent, somewhat loud, too. He must be thinking of something, something he doesn’t care to share with you. There’s a certain sparkle in his gaze, a certain tension in his lips.

You don’t really know why, but you feel yourself flushing all over.

“We should go back,” you say, your voice frustratingly wavering, and head for the bonfire without waiting for a reply.

Your movement, however, is stopped by Atsumu’s grasp of your wrist.

“Don’t.” His request is simple. Gentle. And anxiety-inducing.

What is it that he wants? How can you be chill about this whole situation when he keeps looking at you like that? Really, it’s so hard to figure him out.

“Come with me.”

It’s his turn now to go on without waiting for a reply, and he simply pulls you along with him, head fixed straight ahead and mouth uncharacteristically silent.

He follows a trail that seems to border the back of the camp, a dirt road lightened here and there by soft, round lamp posts.

You’re so hyperaware of your wrist it might as well be on fire.

After a couple of curves, the road opens to a lake. It’s the one you saw on the map earlier, the one that wraps the southern part of the forest like a nest. The moon is full, so bright it’s almost blinding, and for a brief moment you’re reminded of Kita’s horror story. You rid your mind of the thought with a shake of your head.

You’re too busy watching your steps to properly observe the lake at first, but once you reach one of the worn-out piers, its wooden beams creaking under your steps, you finally take in the sparkling pool of water. Moonlight breaks on the surface and scatters around in a lovely glow.

Atsumu walks until the end of the boardwalk and then sits down, pulling you down with him and almost making you fall.

“Hey!” You complain, trying to wriggle your hand out of his grasp for the first time since he took it.

Atsumu smirks and uses your precarious position against you, leaning on his knee and bringing his other hand across you. He’s painfully close, and with the way he’s pinning you down, you have nowhere to escape.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” he teases. You have no idea what kind of face he’s talking about, but you have barely parted your lips to say something back when his own press against yours.

For fuck’s sake.

You really want to be mad. To ask him why he’s doing this. To understand if, despite his words that first night, he is, in fact, toying with you.

But you can’t.

You can’t think because kissing him feels amazing, and even your encumbered brain has to let. fucking. go. for once in its wet, electric life.

Your free hand nestles in his hair, pulling him close, making you both lose your balance and fall back on the wooden beams.

They’re rough and a bit wet. It doesn’t really matter.

Atsumu chuckles and props himself on his elbow, apparently bent on not leaving your lips for even the briefest of moments.

Saying that this doesn’t hypercharge your body with exhilaration would be a big, fat lie.

It’s almost as if both of you were scared that if you let go, it will all be over. You never thought you would feel the want to be closer to someone this much. And you’re not talking about the kissing. Well, that too.

Yet, your body betrays you by reminding you that you need to breathe properly every now and then. The audacity.

After you break the kiss, Atsumu rolls and lands on your side, sort of mashing your hand under his nape and soon turning his head to look at you.

The sound of breathing. A fresh whiff of wind. Crickets. You are aware of it for the whole of a second before you’re drawn to his eyes once again.

Oh, the way he looks at you. There’s something in his look that strips you of all your defences, leaving you completely vulnerable in front of those big chocolatey eyes. Despite your self-consciousness, there’s a feeling of comfort too, the desire for him to never stop.

Atsumu inhales sharply, then lets the air go, his eyes momentarily lost somewhere downward.

“What if—” he says as he looks up. “What if we met again?”

“Met?”

“Yeah. Out. Just the two of us.”

Okay, if this isn’t a ‘speech 100’ example, you don’t know what is. What does he even mean?

“You mean like…” You hesitate. “Where?”

Atsumu’s thick eyebrows fall heavy on his eyes, and he turns to face the glittering sky. “I don’t know. Dinner? Cinema? There’s an amusement park I’ve been meaning to check out.”

He’s driving you crazy. This sounds a lot like dating. But it can’t be, can it? “Like, on… dates?”

Atsumu looks startled, and you mentally punch yourself. You just fucked up, didn’t you? He turns to you again, a small smile softening his features. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

What?!

If you were anyone else, you’d probably mock yourself for being this disbelieving, but your incredulity seems to shoo away whatever hesitation was in Atsumu, who gives a carefree laugh. 

“Yeah, real dates. With you,” he says with a teasing smile. As you proceed to clumsily freeze in place, he starts to laugh even harder. “You really are dense sometimes, you know that?”

He sits up and brings a hand across your body again, his chest hovering over yours, his face mere centimetres away. “Just say yes.”

Your heartbeat sounds like the kick drum of a metalcore song. Well… There are worse ways to die.

“Yes.” You finally, somehow, get the sound out, despite your throat feeling as narrow as a straw, and a rosy sense of relief stems from that single, short word.

“Great,” Atsumu replies, a silly smile on his face as he once again drops on you, ready to hinder your natural breathing rhythm once more.

14. The pancake betrayal (Atsumu) (Roughly a month later)

“Are these… pancakes?” You appear from behind the corner of the corridor, your hair still a little wet.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?” Atsumu smiles, tapping the pan’s lid with a spatula.

“No. I mean. Yes, but… have you—” you glance around — “made them yourself?” 

Atsumu realises that you must be looking for any traces of takeaway boxes.

“Don’t worry, they’re edible,” he chuckles, turning back to the pan. The pancakes are ready, and they look absolutely great. “I had ‘Samu teach me.”

“You did?” You ask, your voice high-pitched in surprise.

“Well, apparently it is not acceptable to order takeaway for breakfast when you’re with your boo.” Atsumu pouts.

You don’t reply, so he turns to see what you’re up to, but he’s stopped in his tracks as your arms suddenly latch onto him. “This is really sweet,” you say, hugging him from behind. Your arms gently hold him close as you lean with one cheek on his shoulder. It feels warm.

Did you just call him sweet? Like, for real?

He tries to turn again, but you resist. “No.” Your hug tightens. “Don’t move.”

“The pancakes are going to get cold.”

“Just a moment,” you lull him, your voice dreamy.

If he’s being sincere, he doesn’t want you to let go. You are so soft against his back, and your fingers are tenderly pressing on his chest.

You make a little happy hum. “Okay. We can eat now.” You release him from your embrace and start to step away. “Do you need help with anything?”

The sound of the spatula falling on the metal of the pan weakly resonates through the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Atsumu replies. “Come here,” he murmurs. Then his left hand latches into yours, pulling you close, while the right one rises to cup your face.

Oh, those eyes. Those eyes that are looking right at him, as if slowly making their way into his soul.

In fact, forget that “as if”.

Atsumu leans down, his hand never leaving your face, and with an impatient movement pulls you closer.

Your surprise escapes in a giggle, but your voice quiets down the moment his lips touch yours. The silence is followed by your body melting in his half hug as you happily reciprocate the kiss.

It’s sweet. Cute. Comfortable.

It’s also not enough.

Atsumu’s thoughts shift. More precisely, they go somewhere else entirely. He grabs the small of your back, pulling you even closer, and you hum questioningly, your eyes opening just briefly before he presses his lips on yours once again.

You pull away for a moment. “What about breakfast?”

Atsumu pulls you closer once more. “Later.”

You chuckle. “Weren’t you the one worried the pancakes would get cold?”

Atsumu moves his hands to your hips, his fingers sinking softly. “I can make them again,” he says, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. “Now kiss me.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, but with a bit too much enthusiasm, and your lip catches between your teeth.

“Ow,” you whine quietly.

His face contracts and he retracts a little. “Ah, sorry! Are you alright?!”

You chuckle. “Yeah, no biggie.”

“Let me see.” He places his thumb on your lip, gently pulling it down, and closely examines the flushed, rosy skin. “Yeah, seems alright,” he says, now calmer.

“I told you,” you chuckle in response.

“Still...” His thumb slides down to your chin and keeps you in place as he places a soft kiss exactly where you bit your lip.

The way your breathing deepens sends sparks through his entire body, and he goes back to kissing you for real. His tongue slides ever so lightly on the centre of your top lip, prodding you to part your lips for him.

It’s fucking hot. Like, literally, but also… you are so fucking hot.

As you continue kissing, barely taking the time to breathe, he feels the pressure in his pants rise, and it’s not long before he pulls you even closer, making sure that you are aware of it, too.

“Oh, ‘Tsumu,” you murmur.

“If you’re asking me to stop and talk about breakfast again, I’m going to hoist you up and take you upstairs.”

You chuckle. “I have no intention of stopping you.”

He kisses you again and smiles against your lips. “Good.”

This time it’s you who pulls him closer, crossing your arms behind his neck and pressing your plush body against his.

You kiss, lick, suck, bite so much that your lips get scalding and swollen, and Atsumu wonders if this was the actual, true reason why he was put on this Earth.

His hands are impatient, tracing lines along your body and stopping here and there so that he can feel all of you.

You press yourself against him, the gaps between your bodies closing as your chest heaves against his.

Ah, I can’t wait any more.

Atsumu grabs you by the thighs and hoists you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask, giggling.

“We’re going to my room.” He replies matter-of-factly as he starts moving, eliciting a squeak out of you.

“Weren’t you only going to do that if I told you to stop?” Your question is accompanied by a wide, absolutely beautiful grin.

Atsumu stops in his tracks and raises his gaze, waiting. It’s very amusing to see you still, hands on his shoulders, your nose scrunching as you try to figure out why he stopped moving.

Then, with the worst acting skills that he’s ever seen, you exclaim, “Oh no, stop! What about the pancakes?!”

Both of you burst into laughter. Luckily, you didn’t choose acting as your career. He’s afraid no amount of practice could help.

As he starts walking again, a silly smile on his face, your legs tighten around his waist.

He only lets you down once you’re in his room, and places you right in front of the bed.

He’s conflicted. There is so much he wants to do and so little he can do right this moment. If only I could clone myself.

His thoughts are interrupted by your hands reaching for his hoodie and pulling him close. Between kisses, Atsumu realises how assertive you’ve got now that the two of you are an item. He loves it.

With his lips on yours and his hands happily grabbing your ass, only one part of him is fussing, but very soon, as if reading his mind, your hand starts wandering south, offering relief to his starved state.

Up and down, slowly, you caress him through the fabric. He lets out a little moan in your mouth. You moan back, your voice a hair-raising blend of satisfaction and lust.

So fucking hot.

Atsumu brings his hands closer, brushing your sides with the pads of his fingers before letting his palms rest against your chest, the softness making his brain short-circuit.

As his hand goes down, reaching where it’s warmest, your chest heaves and your tongue gets sloppy.

Atsumu smirks against your lips.

Then he starts lazily sliding his fingers, up and down, up and down, in sync with your movements, relishing in the little sounds you make until your clothes start to feel like an insult to reason. He breaks contact, quickly removing his hoodie and t-shirt by pulling them from the neck, followed by his pants, all haphazardly thrown on the floor. Then he pulls your clothes off too, leaving you — almost — splendidly naked.

“This goes off too,” he says, pulling at your bra hooks and swiftly getting rid of it.

He makes you sit on the bed and kneels before you, grinning at the way your eyes set on his. There’s a strange pride raising in him as he notices how you’re unable to pull away from him.

You whimper softly when his mouth reaches your chest, enveloping the most sensitive part in a wet embrace. He flicks his tongue, relishing the way your body responds to his, then sucks, then moves south, placing gentle kisses and letting himself melt into your softness.

And this all while his left hand rests on your hip, his thumb brushing against your iliac crest, and his right hand tasting the softness of your other breast.

You’re a beautiful mess.

You’re very sensitive there, he knows it well, and the way you react to his ministrations has his buddy down there push harder against his boxers. He would definitely lie if he said that what he’s doing, he’s doing just for you.

Slowly, you lean forward, brushing his shoulders with your hands, and then slide them down along his arms, tracing his muscles with your fingers pads and finally reaching his hips. A hand moves on to his boxers and cups his length. “What about you?” You ask, your voice just a murmur.

His eyes flutter shut as he leans into your gentle touch, and he turns a little to meet your lips, kissing you deeply. Then he takes your hands in his, getting up and pressing his body against yours slowly until you’re lying on the bed.

You’re both on your knees, one impatient body in front of the other.

His gaze falls to your hand as it slides under the elastic band of his boxers. It’s so warm, but not as warm as you are where his own hand goes to rest.

“Ahh,” he sighs at the matching contact.

You lean into him and meet his lips, and he happily reciprocates the kiss, waiting for your bottom lip to be caged between his teeth before he slides his finger inside you. Your moans crack as he skilfully finds your magical spot, and seeing how you melt under his touch, how your legs grow weak, sends a heatwave across his body.

Isn’t it ridiculous how good it feels? His boxers already down his thighs, you circle the tip of his cock with your thumb, slowly. Atsumu cups your face with his free hand and slides his own thumb along your lips, and you part them, rounding them in an “o” and sucking his finger.

It might be an innate extra sensitivity, or it might be the countless hours spent examining every single sensation in his digits as a way to improve his grip on the ball, but he loves this. He’s kinda tempted to have you suck all of his fingers, one at a time, for like, a really long time.

His train of thought is interrupted when you start sliding your hand up and down along his cock, your movements deliberately slow, sensual. You stop here and there, too wrapped in your own pleasure to focus as he starts increasing his pace. He makes sure not to miss a beat, relentlessly hitting your sweet spot, forcing you to break the kiss and lean on his shoulder, hot moans only partly muffled by his naked skin.

Your voice comes out in waves — louder, choked, louder again.

As you reach your ecstasy, your grip on his cock tightens, and Atsumu manages to hold himself back by a hair’s-breadth.

You leave the crook of his neck to meet his gaze with heavy lids, trying to find a regular breathing rhythm again, and he would let you if only he didn’t feel like he’s about to explode.

“Turn around.” He says, voice coming out low, husky.

He jumps off the bed and positions himself behind you, sliding your underwear down and gently but firmly pressing your back so that you lean forward and expose your perfect curves. With a hand on your ass, Atsumu leans forward, his mouth close to your ear. “You ready, peach?”

Your skin covers in goosebumps. “Yeah,” you reply weakly.

He stands back up and draws his hips near yours, aligning himself to you as he takes in your tempting curves.

Then, he’s finally inside you.

You’re tight, as expected after reaching your high, so he moves slowly, a hand on the small of your back and his fingers lovingly tracing a line along your spine.

Holding back from just thrusting his hips all the way takes Atsumu more willpower than he’d like to admit, but he’s soon rewarded for his patience, your walls relaxing and inviting him in a scalding embrace.

His hands gather at your hips, keeping them in place as he starts to pound into you, his fingers sinking in your soft skin.

It’s noisy. The smack of his hips against your ass echoes in his room, accompanied by what can’t be other than music to his ears. He loves to hear you moan. He loves your voice, and he loves the idea of being the one who’s making you lose yourself in bliss like that.

He slows down a little, taking in every small sensation: his feet pressing on the floor, his legs and glutes tensing up at every thrust, his chest heaving, his palms warm against your skin, his lids heavy, his skin hot.

You turn your head back a little, meeting his eyes, showing him a weak smile through shallow inhales and exhales. Atsumu smiles back, his eyes glued to yours until your arms give in and you fall to your elbows, face resting on your forearms as he starts to pick up the pace again.

Your plush body, your wavering voice, the way you take him in so well… it’s inebriating, and Atsumu lets it all wash over him, soaking in the lust that flows between your bodies and hearts.

You start tightening, your voice rises in pitch, and he groans, doing his best to keep doing exactly what he was doing until now. “‘Tsumu,” you call. Your voice is kind of whiny, kind of desperate. It’s the type of voice that makes him feel like there’s no limit to what he can do, and what he wants to do right now is give you exactly what you want.

You reach a hand back, looking for his. He grabs your forearm and takes a firmer grasp of your hip with his other hand, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. “Yeah, go ahead, peach, cum for me,” he coos.

And just like that, with revering compliance, you reach your second high, and Atsumu feels stupidly proud. He does not, however, give you a little break, as he should have, because he’s darningly close to his own climax, and when you turn your face toward him, a tired, content smile on your face, Atsumu burns in your incandescent embrace. His whole body contracts as he gives his last sloppy thrusts, a low “fffuck” accompanying his movements until his muscles finally decide to let go.

Your breathing is heavy and fills the room like a soothing haze.

Slowly, your lungs and hearts find a calmer rhythm.

Atsumu chuckles as he pulls out.

You turn, sitting up. “What?” You ask, your brows just a little knitted over your serene eyes.

“Nothin’,” Atsumu says as he cups your face. “ Just though it’s not a bad way to start the day,” he explains, a cheeky smile on his face.

You roll your eyes dramatically, your hands going to rest on his sides. “Well, I can’t disagree with that,” you say while averting your gaze.

Then, a chuckle spreads between the both of you, followed by Atsumu leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I’ll have to take another shower,” you say when he straightens up, your tone a mixture of complaining and teasing.

Atsumu takes your hand in his. “Together?”

A little pause, a grin, and then you’re jogging toward the bathroom, pulling him along with you.Not bad at all, Atsumu thinks before closing the door behind him.

15. The inexplicable mood of the setter (Bokuto)

“Watch out!!!” Bokuto’s serve very nearly crashes against Atsumu’s head.

It’s a matter of centimetres, and his heart skips a beat as he imagines the setter’s skull crack like the eggshells he broke at breakfast this morning.

Another beat is then lost at the anticipation of Atsumu’s reaction. He’s not exactly renowned for his patience and Bokuto hates it when people yell at him. But no yelling follows. Atsumu shouts “All good!” and resumes whatever weird routine he’s been practicing this week. It has something to do with counting steps and giving a specific spin to the ball. A new kind of spin, apparently.

“Well, would you look at that,” Meian comments, coming near Bokuto. “Who gave him the happy syrup today?”

Bokuto really needs to find out why his captain uses weird expressions like that. He feels a bit shy asking him directly, though.

Hinata draws close too, a low hum making his presence known. “I also heard him singing earlier.”

“Doesn’t he always sing?” Bokuto asks. He can distinctly remember Atsumu singing while tying his shoes. Or while going over the next match schemes. Or while showering.

“Yeah, but he’s doing it more,” Hinata explains.

The three of them stand there, staring at their setter, just like those meerkats Bokuto saw in a documentary he watched with Akaashi the other day.Soon enough, they are called back to their duties by Sakusa, a tsk following his reprimand.

16. Unwavering support (Atsumu)

Just as Atsumu was about to fall asleep, an obnoxiously loud ding scares the shit out of him. He forgot to put his phone on silent mode. Again.

With a groan, he turns, pulling the covers with him, and extends his arm, blindly looking for the damn thing.

It takes his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the outrageous brightness of the screen.

dickhead > congratulations

“Uh?” Atsumu sinks in the bed again, phone in hand.

Atsumu > what for?

dickhead > for finally getting a girlfriend

“Uh??” Atsumu groans.

Atsumu > wth? what do you know?!

dickhead > shōyō and bokkun wrote to ask why you’re in such a good mood lately. both of them. independently.

dickhead > i-dont-do-dating, my ass

Atsumu groans again. He’s not sure how he feels right now. He’s partly annoyed that he didn’t even get to announce the thing himself. And did he really show his good mood that much? Is he really so easy to read? And why does his brother have to give him shit for every single thing?!

At the same time, he also can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. Not only did he get a girlfriend — a funny, cute, hot girlfriend. He got a girlfriend while his brother is all alone with his onigiri. Ah! Sometimes life is fair.

Atsumu > at least i’m gettin some action 😎

dickhead > ur a clown

Normally, Atsumu would feel offended, but today he doesn’t care. He’s the winner.

17. Good News and friends betrayed (You)

“So, to what do we owe the honour?” After taking a sip of her drink, Mao, with a knowing look, eyes the several dishes of fuming food spread out on the table.

“You ordered so much stuff!” Shōyō says in awe, his fork hesitating midair as he tries to figure out what to try first.

“Well, it’s been a while since the three of us went out like this.” As you try to figure out how to best phrase what you’re going to say next, your fingers find harbour in your napkin.

With a raise of her brows, Mao prompts you to continue.

“And I had something I wanted to share with you both.”

Shōyō’s attention, before resting on a plate filled to the brim with fries, turns to you.

Ah, those impossibly round puppy eyes.

You inhale deeply, and then release the air forcefully, trying to make your unnecessary anxiety follow the flow outside your body.

“Atsumu and I are dating,” you say in one breath.

“Uh?!?!”

You already knew Shōyō’s reactions can be… intense, but this one was so loud that most of the people sitting around you turned their heads, and you futilely try to sink into the wooden chair.

“How?!” Shōyō asks.

“Well…”

“Congratulations!” Mao chimes in. She’s a lighthouse in the night, and you’re going to fucking moth your way to her.

“Thanks,” you say, your eyes grateful. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably still be second-guessing every single thing.”

“No, no, no.” Shōyō is not going to have it. “You need to explain. When did this even happen?”

Well, you guess you kind of owe him an explanation. “We met at that party you invited me to and…” This is so hard. “You know how I told you I had met a friend and talked with them and that was why I kind of disappeared that night?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it was actually— I was actually talking with him.”

You know he would never speak in those terms, but you could take a photo of Shōyō right now and caption it ‘the audacity of this bitch’.

18. Taking it like a good sport (You)

“So? Did it go well?” Atsumu asks with his eyes closed as he rests his head on your lap.

He’s sprawled on his dorm room bed as you rest your back on the wall, a pillow softening its hardness. It’s fairly quiet, except for the strumming of a guitar somewhere down the corridor.

“Yeah. Shōyō was a bit shocked at first, but he seemed alright.”

“Shocked? Why would he be shocked?”

“Well…” you make an embarrassed smile. “He said he thought I was into another kind of man.”

“A different kind of— What kind of man was he talking about?!”

“Someone reliable. A bit more serious. And humble.”

“The hell? I’m super reliable! I’m the most reliable guy out of the entire team!”

A laugh makes its way through you, making Atsumu’s head bob on your lap.

“What?!” he says, offended. Or, well, he’s just acting offended, right?

“You really went and threw the humble part out of the window, didn’t you?” Atsumu lets out a displeased groan, but you ignore it and continue, “Well, at least we’re done sharing the news.”

“Well…” Atsumu’s voice comes out so high-pitched he might as well have been Spongebob.

“What?”

“There are a couple other people who will probably make a fuss once they know, but I don’t really want to have a one-on-one with them.”

“Is it really such a big deal?” you ask, amused.  As you wait for his answer, your focus shifts to Atsumu’s scalp, and you stroke it gently.

Atsumu leans into your touch and then reaches a hand behind your neck, making you lean forward.

It’s absolutely ridiculous that you still haven’t gotten used to the way he kisses you. Is he going to take your breath away for the rest of your life?

You stiffen lightly as you realise the implications of what you’ve just thought and shoo the thought away with a quick shake of your head.

“Hmm,” you say as you try to put some space between the two of you. “‘Tsumu, I need to go in, like, 10 minutes.” You barely get the words out before Atsumu pulls you closer and deepens the kiss, shamelessly ignoring what you just said.

It’s only after he’s got your chest heaving that he reluctantly lets you go. “Don’t go,” he pleads.

You remember for a moment your new year’s resolution of becoming more assertive.

You also remember that you have an early class tomorrow and you should already be in bed — your bed — sleeping.

Oh well, isn’t youth supposed to be the period of fun and bad choices?

“Okay,” you say, and lean forward again, letting yourself fall into another breathtaking kiss.

19. Clever intuitions and wild guesses (You)

“I knew it!” Bokuto exclaims, triumph clear in his voice. Despite him being at the opposite side of the table, the vibration when he lowers his fists is so strong it travels all the way to you.

“Well, it’s not like they were hiding it well,” Osamu comments, his gaze never leaving his food. The way he eats almost looks…. religious.

“I actually knew it,” Shōyō chimes in, a chirpy expression on his face. He can get competitive about the strangest things.

“What? You did?” Asks Bokuto. Indignation creeps in on his face, and takes a hold of lips and brow.

“We just wanted to wait for a little bit before telling everybody, but Shōyō’s my best friend, so…” you leave the phrase hanging.

Bokuto mulls over it for a moment, then smiles. “So in the end, my theory was correct.”

“Uh?”

“I did notice, of course, that the two of you were spending a whole lot of time together during the camping trip,” he says, smugness tinting his features. Is he really trying to imitate Sherlock Holmes right now?

The space between your eyebrows creases. “Wait… Is that what you guys were talking about behind the grills?!”

“What?” says Bokuto.

“You noticed?” says Shōyō.

“Well, you kept staring at me,” you reply with a small shrug.

You look at your two friends blushing like idiots now that they know they did not, in fact, go unnoticed, but soon enough your attention is solicited by someone else.

Oikawa, who’s been introduced to you a couple of weeks ago, but already acts as if you’ve known each other since forever, props himself with his elbows on the table, squints his eyes, and stares at you in a way that makes you freeze on the spot. “But y/n-chan, did he coerce you?” he finally asks.

“Did I what now?” Atsumu asks, his voice squeaky.

Meanwhile, your confusion evolves into a laugh.

“It means you forced her,” Oikawa replies, his tone condescending as he leans his head a bit to the left.

“I know what it means, idiot,” Atsumu glares at him. “Of course I didn’t. Who do you take me for?” he adds.

Oikawa ignores him with practiced indifference. “So?” He asks you with a slight wiggle of his brows. “Did he?”

You notice movement to your left and instinctively reach your arm in front of Atsumu, stopping him from climbing over the table and punching his friend in the face.

“I bet on blackmail,” chips in Osamu.

“Blackmail?” Shōyō asks, shocked.

“I bet on a scam,” says Oikawa.

“That would be you,” retorts Iwaizumi.

He’d been so silent until now his reply is all the more cutting, and the whole tableful burst into laughter.

“Iwa-chaaaan!” whines Oikawa.

“Serves you right!” exclaims Atsumu, scolding Oikawa with a mocking look. He looks stupidly childish, and you’re half-rolling your eyes half-chuckling when your gazes meet and he blows a kiss in your direction.

“Aww, look at her smiling,” Oikawa comments, skillfully shifting the attention back to you.

Your smile vanishes as overconsciousness arises. Sly bastard.

“Well, that smile definitely rules out blackmail,” Oikawa announces, shooting a knowing look at Osamu.

“I swear, if you keep up with this bullshit, I’ll whack you on the face,” threatens Atsumu.

“Not my beautiful face!” squeals Oikawa, who’s promptly made fun of by the entire table.

This is definitely going to be a lively night.

20. Up and down and up we go (Atsumu) (About four years later)

Today’s a special day, and Atsumu feels hyped.

He also feels like he might need to puke, but he immediately pushes that feeling back to oblivion. He has no intention of screwing this up.

It’s alright. He’s got this.

He takes a big breath in and then lets it all out, finally having a proper look around him. Trees are in flower, the sun is finally starting to properly warm up the air, and the lake is calm. Some ducks float here and there, looking for fish or doing that funny thing they do when they clean their feathers. And on the dock, there’s you.

It’s that dock. The one where he asked you out exactly four years ago. You’re sitting at the end of it, shoes at your side as you splash water with your feet. It’s a beautiful day. No more than you, though.

Atsumu reaches you slowly, his trepidation soothed by the serene view. Everything feels just right.

“I’m back,” he says, quietly, so as not to startle you. Not this time.

“Hey!” You turn and beam a smile at him. That’s definitely a good start.

“Sorry for the wait. I got stopped by two guys with absolutely no sense of direction.”

“And they asked you?” You chuckle.

“Why not?” 

“Poor guys, they must be in a pit somewhere by now,” you tease.

“Hey! What are you talking about?” Atsumu knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he would never admit it.

“May I remind you that we are both completely inept at giving directions? Last time someone asked for our help, they literally waved goodbye mid-explanation because they were getting even more confused.”

“That’s their problem, not mine,” Atsumu scoffs. “But anyway, turn to the lake and close your eyes,” he asks, nonchalantly placing himself behind you.

“What? Why?” you ask, a suspicious but intrigued smile warming your face.

“Just trust me, will ya?”

“Okay, okay,” you say with a chuckle. “You better not push me into the lake. It’s way too cold for that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, making you snort because you know very well he’s not only dreamt of it, but he has done it on more than one occasion.

He checks that you are still and not peeking, then takes an envelope out of his jacket and places it on your lap.

“Okay, you can open your eyes again.” As he says that, Atsumu takes off his shoes in a swift motion and sits next to you, dropping his feet into the cold water.

You lower your gaze, look at the envelope, and then turn toward him, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“An envelope, duh?” Atsumu baits you.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” you say with a slight, playful roll of your eyes.

“It’s a gift,” he concedes.

“But we’ve already exchanged gifts this morning.”

“Yes, but this is for a different reason.”

Your confused reaction is way too adorable. 

“Come on, open it,” he prompts.

You shoot him a you-didn’t-have-to smile and carefully open the envelope, taking off the two pieces of glossy paper inside it.

“Are these— yeah, they’re tickets for that amusement park we went to on our first real date!” Your eyes scan through them excitedly. “When are we going?”

Atsumu nods toward the tickets. “Look at the corner,” he says. “There,” he adds, leaning close and pointing at a small, black text.

“Lifetime access,” you mumble. The space between your eyebrows creases. With an uncertain smile, you turn toward him again, a silent question lingering in your gaze.

“So?” Atsumu asks, a sly smirk covering up the clench in his stomach. He’s quite positive you’ll say yes. You must say yes. You two are doing great. There’s no reason for you to not say yes.

“Are you…” You start to reply but seem to lose your words as different feelings fight to emerge on your face. Excitement, incredulity, joy, doubt… “Is this your way of asking me to—” You halt mid-sentence.

To think that you would let doubts get the best of you in a moment like this. Atsumu bursts out laughing, his hand automatically reaching for his belly as he shakes in amusement. He has to let it all out before he regains some composure, and he turns to you, who patiently waited for him with an unsure expression.

“Okay,” Atsumu says with a big, I’m-gonna-focus-now breath. “I’m asking you what you think I’m asking you.” He turns a little more to face you better and examines your face. A loose strand of hair sways in front of you, and he catches it and gently tucks it behind your ear. Then, with his hand cupping your cheek, he grins so wide that he can feel his cheeks pulling. “What do you say about spending the rest of our lives together?”

He thought his words would have dissipated any hesitation you might have had, but you remain frozen for some long seconds, to the point Atsumu thinks he might have broken you or something. He’s about to wave his hand in front of you when you finally beam him a wide, toothy smile. “Yes! I do! I think I do!”

“What do you mean, ‘I think I do’?!” he complains.

“No, I do! I just do!” You look like you’re about to cry. It’s very funny. You look happy. Atsumu feels happy too. So much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then you basically charge at him, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Atsumu returns the hug with equal strength, and you start laughing.

“What is it?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t know. I’m just… I didn’t expect this. But it feels — it feels right.”

Atsumu chuckles. It seems that great minds truly think alike. He leans left and pulls you with him on the creaky wooden beams of the dock, making your feet raise mid-air and shoot water droplets everywhere. Then he loosens his hold just enough for you both to lie on your backs. You move your head close to his, knocking it lightly and chuckling. After a deep breath, you both turn to look at the immaculate blue sky, silly smiles still on your faces.

Atsumu might not know a lot of things, but of this he’s sure: a whole life with you by his side will be a damn good life.

With a satisfied sigh, he turns and gives you a kiss on the temple before caging you in the tightest hug he’s ever given.

The End

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Time of your Life pt. 3.1 (Atsumu x f!reader)

~ a/n: I'm reposting the story split into 5 parts to improve readability! ~

Link to pt. 1 / Link to full story

words ⋟ 18.5k

rating ⋟ E (18+, minors DNI) 

tags ⋟ multipov; post timeskip/aged up characters, romance, fluff; smut, mentions of alcohol, we like’em a bit dense, confession, comedy

1. Monkeys and pillows (You)

You wake up while dreaming of six monkeys sitting on your chest.

“Hmm… so heavy…” you murmur, slowly opening your eyes. Light floods the room, bathing the volleyball posters, reflecting off the bright white walls, and spreading across the blanket covering your body.

You hear the sound of breathing, a slightly ragged sound that definitely doesn’t belong to you. Looking down, you realise that the weight you’ve been feeling is Atsumu’s arm and leg wrapped tightly around you.

When the body pillow is an actual body.

You observe his face. He’s sleeping soundly, his forehead smooth above his thick brows, his jaw relaxed, leaving just the smallest gap between his lips. Your eyes drop to his chest, rising and falling in steady waves.

You don’t know how long you lie there, basking in his warmth, but eventually, begrudgingly, your reverie is disrupted by the unreasonable requests of your bladder. You roll your eyes. Just a little.

Carefully, you try to free yourself from Atsumu’s grip without waking him, your arm sliding up as you wiggle your legs, but your attempt fails, and he stirs under the covers, opening his eyes with a low groan.

“Oh, g’morning,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse, rumbling from deep in his chest. He shifts his leg away as he readjusts, but his arm remains, squeezing you a little tighter.

“Good morning,” you reply, suddenly feeling your whole body go stiff. Memories of last night flash through your mind and heat rushes to your face. The situation is way too awkward. “Can I use the shower?” you ask hastily.

Atsumu blinks a couple of times. “Sure.” Despite his agreement, he doesn’t move.

“I need you to…” You explain the rest with a glance at his arm, holding your breath as you wait for him to release you.

“Huh?” He follows your gaze. “Oh!” He looks just as surprised as you before finally moving aside, accidentally bringing the covers with him. 

His eyes flicker toward you — just underwear — before he quickly sits up, suddenly wide awake. “I’ll lend you some clothes.” His voice is casual, but you can feel the heat lingering where his gaze trailed.

As he gets up, it’s your own gaze that betrays you, flickering to his half-naked form. A pair of boxers is all that covers his absolutely and unfairly god-like body. Then, your eyes drop to yourself, and finally to your dress lying forgotten on the floor.

“Thanks,” you hardly manage to say as your brain short-circuits.

Atsumu starts rummaging through his wardrobe, packed with hoodies, tracksuit trousers, and shorts, but also elegant shirts, jackets, and jeans. “No problem,” he says as he opens a drawer, clearly struggling to find whatever it is he’s looking for.

At last, he emerges with a plain black T-shirt and a pair of black tracksuit trousers with neon green accents. As he hands them to you, you get up, flashing him a small smile before tiptoeing to the bathroom opposite his room, quickly disappearing behind the door.

2. Cakes and misunderstandings (Atsumu)

An hour later, breakfast arrives scattered in several carefully packaged boxes that Atsumu spreads all over the kitchen table. He’s sure you’re going to love it — he’s picked out all kinds of cakes for you to try.

When you sit at the table, you choose the chair directly across from him, and while he dislikes the fact that you’ve put an entire table between the two of you, he’s glad he has the excuse to get a good look at you. Even though the clothes he gave you were the oldest ones he could find — worn briefly in high school before he outgrew them — you still look somewhat small in them. The seams of the sleeves fall far past your shoulders, and he noticed when you stepped into the kitchen how the ends of his trousers pooled at your feet. He won’t lie, seeing you in his clothes is kinda hot.

He’s just about to make a comment, something that would probably make your cheeks flush a little, when you speak up.

“So…” You steal a glance at him before dropping your gaze to the shortcake on your plate, your fork gently prodding at it. “What are your… plans?”

Atsumu, having just stuffed an entire pancake into his mouth, chews quickly and swallows before replying. “I’m going to hit the gym,” he says, already running through the exercises he needs to do. Today’s leg day. You never skip leg day. He grins, patting his thighs. “Gotta keep these beauties in shape.” 

He was expecting a smile or maybe a chuckle from you, but your expression remains serious. Did he say something wrong?

“I see,” you finally reply, your gaze slipping away from his once again.

Breakfast is… awkward, to say the least. You make small talk, but it’s stiff, and as soon as you finish eating — after he refuses to let you help with the clean-up — you’re quick to stand up, grab your things, and head for the door.

He offers to give you a lift back to your dorm, but you decline, insisting it’s not necessary. Something about the way you leave feels off. You were polite, too polite, and you seemed… distant. Atsumu gets a strange feeling in his stomach, but he wouldn’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s just the food sitting weird.

3. Spatulas with a dash of counsel (You)

“Okay, so, to sum it up: you’re telling me that you had your first one-night stand, it went great, but now you think you’ve caught feelings for the guy?” The sceptical voice on the other end of the phone belongs to your friend Mao, also known as the Great Saintess of Patience and Support. Her tone is warm, if a bit sceptical.

“I know it’s stupid…” Sitting in your desk chair, you fight the growing temptation to forget everything and wrap yourself up like a human burrito under the comfy aquamarine blanket that’s lying on your bed.

“No, it’s not stupid, just…” You hear a familiar series of thuds and knocks in the background — Mao must be cooking. “What’s so special about him? It’s not like you to fall this quickly.”

“Oh… I don’t know… He’s really fun. Somewhat sweet despite the rough edges. He’s really handsome, but that’s not the point… And…” You stare into the void as images of last night flash through your mind again. Heat rises to your face. You’re really glad your roommate isn’t there to witness it. “He’s quite… uninhibited?” You practically choke on the last word, and Mao bursts into laughter on the other end of the line.

“I see. Well, I’m happy for you,” she says with a residual giggle. “But then, what’s the problem?” Another thump, this time louder, makes you wince, and you pull the phone away for a moment.

“Well, I tried asking him what his intentions were, and he said he had to go to the gym.” A distinct lack of enthusiasm colours your voice.

After that, a snort echoes through the phone. “Sorry. It’s just—” Mao takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Couldn’t you have clarified that you meant ‘plans regarding me’ rather than his schedule for the day?”

“No way! I was so embarrassed already!” You say, kicking your feet in the air to try to get rid of some of your nervous energy.

“But why?” Your friend asks.

I just want to be a warm, cosy burrito. “It’s just confusing… For a one-night stand, it felt impossibly close to dating.” You sigh. “I know I don’t have any experience with this stuff, but I never imagined this kind of situation would feel so…” You trail off, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“So?” Mao’s curiosity practically seeps through the phone.

“Intimate,” you finally say.

“Ah, I see.” Mao’s tone softens, and a faint noise comes through the phone. She’s probably chewing on her spatula again — she has a habit of nibbling on things when she’s deep in thought.

“I should let you get back to what you’re doing,” you say with a sigh.

“Oh, don’t sound so gloomy! Just find an excuse to talk to him again and see how it goes.”

You thank your friend, promising to buy her lunch next week, then hang up, mulling over her words.

“Well,” you mutter to yourself, “I guess I should give his clothes back at some point.”

Once the call is over, the room fills with silence, except for a quiet sniff of contemplation.

4. The wiser twin (Osamu)

“You didn’t even cook breakfast for her?” Osamu glares at his twin, his lips pulling into a deep frown.

“Uh?! You know I don’t cook.” Atsumu’s eyebrows knit into a tight scowl.

Osamu sighs, shaking his head as he starts tidying up the mess Atsumu, predictably, left behind. “And then people ask me why you don’t have a girlfriend…” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Atsumu grumbles, finally grabbing a few paper plates and tossing them into the bin.

“Nothin’.” Osamu wipes down the glassy surface of the table but freezes when he hears Atsumu mumble, ‘Should I have made her breakfast…?’. He turns, fixing a sharp look on his brother. “Are you sure you don’t want to date this girl?”

“What? You know I don’t do dating.” Atsumu scowls as if the mere suggestion offends him.

Osamu exhales heavily, and Atsumu’s expression twists into a really, really ugly one.

“Don’t sigh at me like that!” he snaps.

“Then why are we even talking about this?” Osamu rolls his eyes and starts washing the cutlery.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu mutters, fiddling with the empty takeout box.

Osamu sighs again, summoning the last of his patience. “Because you’re worried she might hate you now, aren’t you?”

“Huh? No.” The scowl flickers back onto Atsumu’s face. “It’s just…” he shrugs, “it felt like she was running away from me.”

“So you did do something bad.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No…?”

“Did you make it clear that it was just a hook-up?”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

At this, Atsumu averts his gaze, suddenly finding an exaggerated amount of interest in the kitchen bin. “I might have… got a bit carried away.”

Osamu’s eyes narrow. “Is she the girl who couldn’t open the beer keg?”

“What? No! How did you—?” Atsumu’s confusion is so comically genuine that Osamu has to fight the urge to tease him until he storms off cursing. Something tells him that if he doesn’t give his twin a push now, this tiresome conversation will have been all but pointless.

“Akaashi told me. You invited her to dinner, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” Atsumu blinks, and Osamu can practically hear the gears running behind his twin’s eyes. “Oh… Fucking Bokkun and his big mouth.”

“That might have been a bit much for a hook-up.”

To that, Atsumu doesn’t respond.

Osamu sets the cutlery aside and turns to face his brother. “Okay, let’s focus for a moment. You say you don’t do dating.”

“Exactly.”

“And that you’re not actually interested in her.”

“Y-yeah.”

There it is: hesitation.

“So why didn’t you just invite her to your dorm room or something? Why go to a restaurant first? Why bring her here, of all places?”

“I don’t know…”

Osamu pinches the bridge of his nose. This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey! It just… I don’t know, felt right, okay?”

Sometimes, Osamu wonders how he and Atsumu are even related. His brother is so. dense.

Osamu wipes his hands on a towel and leans back against the counter. “Y’know… if you’re so worried about it, you could always text her. I assume you have her number.”

Atsumu scoffs. “Yeah, but no. What would I even say?”

Osamu sighs. “That’s your problem to figure out. You’ve been moping around the kitchen for half an hour, ‘Tsumu. If it’s just a hook-up, why do you care what she thinks?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks so lost it’s almost comical.

Osamu shakes his head, tossing the towel onto the counter. “You’re hopeless.”

“Oi!” Atsumu bristles, but his anger fades quickly, replaced by something that looks like confusion.

Osamu smirks. “Alright, my job here is done. Figure out the rest of your love sickness on your own and leave me alone.” With that, he strides out of the kitchen, leaving Atsumu standing there, frozen like a raccoon that was just caught stealing fried chicken from the trash.

Link to pt. 3.2

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Last Slice (Oikawa Tōru x f!reader)

Tags: post timeskip, romance, confession

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Oikawa’s had a light interest in you for quite some time now. Will he finally act on it?

a/n: This was supposed to be for a request, but I never managed to complete it the way I intended to and I most likely never will (╥_╥) I do, however, like the intro I wrote, so I thought I'd share it instead of letting it rot in goog docs. I hope you enjoy ☆ ～('▽^人)

Masterlist

A sweet strawberry scent. A sonorous laugh. A kind smile.

Oikawa Tōru had almost forgotten what it felt like.

When he first met you, it was at Matsukawa's birthday party. He already knew that his friend had a younger sister, but he would have never imagined her to be that cute. You were nothing like your brother: you were an excellent student and had this serious air around you, as if you were the oldest sibling, but once you lowered your walls, you showed a warm, kind side that could have melted tungsten.

It was no surprise, really, that Oikawa had immediately taken an interest in you.

He had tried flirting with you a little — not too seriously, if he had to be honest — but you had always kept your distance. You did get flushed, though, so he wondered what the reason was for your resistance. He wasn't used to being rejected. Not even as politely and indirectly as you did.

Then you’d gone studying abroad, and he had almost forgotten about you, if not for the occasional look at the photos you rarely posted on your Instagram account. Once, Oikawa saw this pic where you were grinning brightly while surrounded by flaming orange leaves. He had stared at it for a bit too long and wondered who you were looking at to be making that kind of expression.

You had studied, you had worked, and you had finally decided to go back to your home country.

And so now you’re back. 28 years old, two years younger than him, all grown up and somehow even prettier than you used to be.

You’re also sitting across from him in the bar Matsukawa has chosen for your ‘Welcome back’ party.

“Cheers!” As soon as the first round of beers arrives, your brother is happy to celebrate with a toast.

"Cheers!" Oikawa makes sure to prolong his eye contact with you while clicking the glasses, but your cheeks remain their natural shade of pale pink. Are you not shy around him anymore?

He observes you as you chat with his friends. Iwaizumi would probably call him a stalker or something if he wasn’t busy with work today.

"So? How is it to be back? Do we all look like Ken Watanabe now?" Oikawa asks.

"You mean Jackie Chan?" There it is, your laugh, your cheerful, boastful laugh.

"Did you tell her the story, Mattsun?" Oikawa asks, remembering his times in Argentina with fondness.

"Of course. She always asked me how you were doing, and I had to come up with something or she would get mad." Matsukawa smiles slyly as he says that, and you flinch, punching him in the arm soon after.

"Stop spitting nonsense!"

Oikawa smiles to himself. Knowing that you were asking about him makes him a little happy.

"But y/n-chan, wasn't it weird to be overseas for so long? Did you get some strange habits while you were there?" Asks Hanamaki.

You gladly reply, your stories engaging and your face merry. Oikawa can't help but stare at you, at your bright eyes, at your round cheeks.

He realises he wants to talk to you more, just you and him. But how? He can’t really suggest accompanying you home with Matsukawa around. Luckily, the little group ends up at his house, where a second round of drinking starts. Oikawa looks at his empty couch, a couch he spent so much money on, while you all sit on the floor. Empty beer cans decorate the matching small table.

He finally realises that the only chance for him to be alone with you is to make his friends pass out. One after the other, he keeps pouring them drinks until Matsukawa is slouched over the couch and Hanamaki is drooling on the table. When you see him, you cover your mouth with your hands to avoid waking him up with your laugh.

“I'm kinda hungry,” you murmur. You look a little tipsy. Just a little.

“I should have something in the fridge,” Oikawa says, “Come with me.” He lends you a hand and you take it shyly, your eyes glossy and your expression suddenly serious.

Oikawa leads you to the kitchen, where he leaves your hand to open the fridge. There is a yet untouched tray of pastries he got gifted this morning. “Are pastries okay?”

You nod quietly. A strange tension has quickly grown in the last moments and Oikawa elatedly basks in it.

He places the tray on the kitchen table, peels back the wrapping, and looks at the pastries. “Do you still like strawberries?”

You open your mouth and close it again. Then frown. “You remember that?”

"Of course. Don't you remember when you accidentally stole the last slice of strawberry shortcake that was supposed to be for me?"

You flush─you clearly remember that day─but Oikawa takes the strawberry pastry, careful not to drop it, and brings it close to your mouth. "Open up," he murmurs softly.

Your gaze switches between him and the pastry multiple times before you finally do as he asked.

Oikawa lets you chew on it slowly before taking a step forward. "Can I taste it too?"

It's like lightning flashes in your eyes. "Tōru?" You look confused. Too confused.

Isn't it obvious what he's been doing? What doubts could you possibly have?

He brushes your bottom lip with his thumb. "Can I?"

This time, you don’t say anything. Just swallow. “Yes.”

Oikawa feels exhilarated even before his lips land on yours, but when they do, he can't help a satisfied sigh.

Your cheek feels warm in his hand and your lashes look long and curved and a little blurry because of the closeness.

Your eyes are closed and he closes his too, and when you finally part your lips, he tastes the saccharine that the pastry has left in your mouth.

When he pulls away, you open your eyes again and stare at him.

“Would you go out with me?” He hadn’t expected to ask it so soon, but the words just slipped out of his mouth.

“Go out?”

“Yeah. Date… Kiss… The usual stuff.”

“You want me to go out with you.” It's almost ridiculous how shocked you are.

“No, I meant to ask your brother, but I got you switched.” Oikawa sticks his tongue out and shoots you a wink.

Your blush deepens. "But you are…" You glance between him and yourself, fidgeting with your fingers, shrinking.

"Beautiful? I know," he finishes, smug.

He was trying to make you laugh, but you continue, ignoring him. "And I am…"

"The prettiest girl I set my eyes on? Yes, that's also true."

He fixes his eyes on yours, intent on making the message clearly reach you, and after some time, it finally does.

You start smiling, shy and happy. "Yes."

"Yes?" He's now smiling widely, too.

"Let's go out." You say with a grin.

And that's exactly when he would have kissed you again — if your brother hadn't appeared at the kitchen door, yawning as loudly as humanly possible.

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Time of your Life pt. 3.5 (Atsumu x f!reader)

Link to pt. 3.4 / Link to full story

15. The inexplicable mood of the setter (Bokuto)

“Watch out!!!” Bokuto’s serve very nearly crashes against Atsumu’s head.

It’s a matter of centimetres, and his heart skips a beat as he imagines the setter’s skull crack like the eggshells he broke at breakfast this morning.

Another beat is then lost at the anticipation of Atsumu’s reaction. He’s not exactly renowned for his patience and Bokuto hates it when people yell at him. But no yelling follows. Atsumu shouts “All good!” and resumes whatever weird routine he’s been practicing this week. It has something to do with counting steps and giving a specific spin to the ball. A new kind of spin, apparently.

“Well, would you look at that,” Meian comments, coming near Bokuto. “Who gave him the happy syrup today?”

Bokuto really needs to find out why his captain uses weird expressions like that. He feels a bit shy asking him directly, though.

Hinata draws close too, a low hum making his presence known. “I also heard him singing earlier.”

“Doesn’t he always sing?” Bokuto asks. He can distinctly remember Atsumu singing while tying his shoes. Or while going over the next match schemes. Or while showering.

“Yeah, but he’s doing it more,” Hinata explains.

The three of them stand there, staring at their setter, just like those meerkats Bokuto saw in a documentary he watched with Akaashi the other day.Soon enough, they are called back to their duties by Sakusa, a tsk following his reprimand.

16. Unwavering support (Atsumu)

Just as Atsumu was about to fall asleep, an obnoxiously loud ding scares the shit out of him. He forgot to put his phone on silent mode. Again.

With a groan, he turns, pulling the covers with him, and extends his arm, blindly looking for the damn thing.

It takes his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the outrageous brightness of the screen.

dickhead > congratulations

“Uh?” Atsumu sinks in the bed again, phone in hand.

Atsumu > what for?

dickhead > for finally getting a girlfriend

“Uh??” Atsumu groans.

Atsumu > wth? what do you know?!

dickhead > shōyō and bokkun wrote to ask why you’re in such a good mood lately. both of them. independently.

dickhead > i-dont-do-dating, my ass

Atsumu groans again. He’s not sure how he feels right now. He’s partly annoyed that he didn’t even get to announce the thing himself. And did he really show his good mood that much? Is he really so easy to read? And why does his brother have to give him shit for every single thing?!

At the same time, he also can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. Not only did he get a girlfriend — a funny, cute, hot girlfriend. He got a girlfriend while his brother is all alone with his onigiri. Ah! Sometimes life is fair.

Atsumu > at least i’m gettin some action 😎

dickhead > ur a clown

Normally, Atsumu would feel offended, but today he doesn’t care. He’s the winner.

17. Good News and friends betrayed (You)

“So, to what do we owe the honour?” After taking a sip of her drink, Mao, with a knowing look, eyes the several dishes of fuming food spread out on the table.

“You ordered so much stuff!” Shōyō says in awe, his fork hesitating midair as he tries to figure out what to try first.

“Well, it’s been a while since the three of us went out like this.” As you try to figure out how to best phrase what you’re going to say next, your fingers find harbour in your napkin.

With a raise of her brows, Mao prompts you to continue.

“And I had something I wanted to share with you both.”

Shōyō’s attention, before resting on a plate filled to the brim with fries, turns to you.

Ah, those impossibly round puppy eyes.

You inhale deeply, and then release the air forcefully, trying to make your unnecessary anxiety follow the flow outside your body.

“Atsumu and I are dating,” you say in one breath.

“Uh?!?!”

You already knew Shōyō’s reactions can be… intense, but this one was so loud that most of the people sitting around you turned their heads, and you futilely try to sink into the wooden chair.

“How?!” Shōyō asks.

“Well…”

“Congratulations!” Mao chimes in. She’s a lighthouse in the night, and you’re going to fucking moth your way to her.

“Thanks,” you say, your eyes grateful. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably still be second-guessing every single thing.”

“No, no, no.” Shōyō is not going to have it. “You need to explain. When did this even happen?”

Well, you guess you kind of owe him an explanation. “We met at that party you invited me to and…” This is so hard. “You know how I told you I had met a friend and talked with them and that was why I kind of disappeared that night?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it was actually— I was actually talking with him.”

You know he would never speak in those terms, but you could take a photo of Shōyō right now and caption it ‘the audacity of this bitch’.

18. Taking it like a good sport (You)

“So? Did it go well?” Atsumu asks with his eyes closed as he rests his head on your lap.

He’s sprawled on his dorm room bed as you rest your back on the wall, a pillow softening its hardness. It’s fairly quiet, except for the strumming of a guitar somewhere down the corridor.

“Yeah. Shōyō was a bit shocked at first, but he seemed alright.”

“Shocked? Why would he be shocked?”

“Well…” you make an embarrassed smile. “He said he thought I was into another kind of man.”

“A different kind of— What kind of man was he talking about?!”

“Someone reliable. A bit more serious. And humble.”

“The hell? I’m super reliable! I’m the most reliable guy out of the entire team!”

A laugh makes its way through you, making Atsumu’s head bob on your lap.

“What?!” he says, offended. Or, well, he’s just acting offended, right?

“You really went and threw the humble part out of the window, didn’t you?” Atsumu lets out a displeased groan, but you ignore it and continue, “Well, at least we’re done sharing the news.”

“Well…” Atsumu’s voice comes out so high-pitched he might as well have been Spongebob.

“What?”

“There are a couple other people who will probably make a fuss once they know, but I don’t really want to have a one-on-one with them.”

“Is it really such a big deal?” you ask, amused.  As you wait for his answer, your focus shifts to Atsumu’s scalp, and you stroke it gently.

Atsumu leans into your touch and then reaches a hand behind your neck, making you lean forward.

It’s absolutely ridiculous that you still haven’t gotten used to the way he kisses you. Is he going to take your breath away for the rest of your life?

You stiffen lightly as you realise the implications of what you’ve just thought and shoo the thought away with a quick shake of your head.

“Hmm,” you say as you try to put some space between the two of you. “‘Tsumu, I need to go in, like, 10 minutes.” You barely get the words out before Atsumu pulls you closer and deepens the kiss, shamelessly ignoring what you just said.

It’s only after he’s got your chest heaving that he reluctantly lets you go. “Don’t go,” he pleads.

You remember for a moment your new year’s resolution of becoming more assertive.

You also remember that you have an early class tomorrow and you should already be in bed — your bed — sleeping.

Oh well, isn’t youth supposed to be the period of fun and bad choices?

“Okay,” you say, and lean forward again, letting yourself fall into another breathtaking kiss.

19. Clever intuitions and wild guesses (You)

“I knew it!” Bokuto exclaims, triumph clear in his voice. Despite him being at the opposite side of the table, the vibration when he lowers his fists is so strong it travels all the way to you.

“Well, it’s not like they were hiding it well,” Osamu comments, his gaze never leaving his food. The way he eats almost looks…. religious.

“I actually knew it,” Shōyō chimes in, a chirpy expression on his face. He can get competitive about the strangest things.

“What? You did?” Asks Bokuto. Indignation creeps in on his face, and takes a hold of lips and brow.

“We just wanted to wait for a little bit before telling everybody, but Shōyō’s my best friend, so…” you leave the phrase hanging.

Bokuto mulls over it for a moment, then smiles. “So in the end, my theory was correct.”

“Uh?”

“I did notice, of course, that the two of you were spending a whole lot of time together during the camping trip,” he says, smugness tinting his features. Is he really trying to imitate Sherlock Holmes right now?

The space between your eyebrows creases. “Wait… Is that what you guys were talking about behind the grills?!”

“What?” says Bokuto.

“You noticed?” says Shōyō.

“Well, you kept staring at me,” you reply with a small shrug.

You look at your two friends blushing like idiots now that they know they did not, in fact, go unnoticed, but soon enough your attention is solicited by someone else.

Oikawa, who’s been introduced to you a couple of weeks ago, but already acts as if you’ve known each other since forever, props himself with his elbows on the table, squints his eyes, and stares at you in a way that makes you freeze on the spot. “But y/n-chan, did he coerce you?” he finally asks.

“Did I what now?” Atsumu asks, his voice squeaky.

Meanwhile, your confusion evolves into a laugh.

“It means you forced her,” Oikawa replies, his tone condescending as he leans his head a bit to the left.

“I know what it means, idiot,” Atsumu glares at him. “Of course I didn’t. Who do you take me for?” he adds.

Oikawa ignores him with practiced indifference. “So?” He asks you with a slight wiggle of his brows. “Did he?”

You notice movement to your left and instinctively reach your arm in front of Atsumu, stopping him from climbing over the table and punching his friend in the face.

“I bet on blackmail,” chips in Osamu.

“Blackmail?” Shōyō asks, shocked.

“I bet on a scam,” says Oikawa.

“That would be you,” retorts Iwaizumi.

He’d been so silent until now his reply is all the more cutting, and the whole tableful burst into laughter.

“Iwa-chaaaan!” whines Oikawa.

“Serves you right!” exclaims Atsumu, scolding Oikawa with a mocking look. He looks stupidly childish, and you’re half-rolling your eyes half-chuckling when your gazes meet and he blows a kiss in your direction.

“Aww, look at her smiling,” Oikawa comments, skillfully shifting the attention back to you.

Your smile vanishes as overconsciousness arises. Sly bastard.

“Well, that smile definitely rules out blackmail,” Oikawa announces, shooting a knowing look at Osamu.

“I swear, if you keep up with this bullshit, I’ll whack you on the face,” threatens Atsumu.

“Not my beautiful face!” squeals Oikawa, who’s promptly made fun of by the entire table.

This is definitely going to be a lively night.

20. Up and down and up we go (Atsumu) (About four years later)

Today’s a special day, and Atsumu feels hyped.

He also feels like he might need to puke, but he immediately pushes that feeling back to oblivion. He has no intention of screwing this up.

It’s alright. He’s got this.

He takes a big breath in and then lets it all out, finally having a proper look around him. Trees are in flower, the sun is finally starting to properly warm up the air, and the lake is calm. Some ducks float here and there, looking for fish or doing that funny thing they do when they clean their feathers. And on the dock, there’s you.

It’s that dock. The one where he asked you out exactly four years ago. You’re sitting at the end of it, shoes at your side as you splash water with your feet. It’s a beautiful day. No more than you, though.

Atsumu reaches you slowly, his trepidation soothed by the serene view. Everything feels just right.

“I’m back,” he says, quietly, so as not to startle you. Not this time.

“Hey!” You turn and beam a smile at him. That’s definitely a good start.

“Sorry for the wait. I got stopped by two guys with absolutely no sense of direction.”

“And they asked you?” You chuckle.

“Why not?” 

“Poor guys, they must be in a pit somewhere by now,” you tease.

“Hey! What are you talking about?” Atsumu knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he would never admit it.

“May I remind you that we are both completely inept at giving directions? Last time someone asked for our help, they literally waved goodbye mid-explanation because they were getting even more confused.”

“That’s their problem, not mine,” Atsumu scoffs. “But anyway, turn to the lake and close your eyes,” he asks, nonchalantly placing himself behind you.

“What? Why?” you ask, a suspicious but intrigued smile warming your face.

“Just trust me, will ya?”

“Okay, okay,” you say with a chuckle. “You better not push me into the lake. It’s way too cold for that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, making you snort because you know very well he’s not only dreamt of it, but he has done it on more than one occasion.

He checks that you are still and not peeking, then takes an envelope out of his jacket and places it on your lap.

“Okay, you can open your eyes again.” As he says that, Atsumu takes off his shoes in a swift motion and sits next to you, dropping his feet into the cold water.

You lower your gaze, look at the envelope, and then turn toward him, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“An envelope, duh?” Atsumu baits you.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” you say with a slight, playful roll of your eyes.

“It’s a gift,” he concedes.

“But we’ve already exchanged gifts this morning.”

“Yes, but this is for a different reason.”

Your confused reaction is way too adorable. 

“Come on, open it,” he prompts.

You shoot him a you-didn’t-have-to smile and carefully open the envelope, taking off the two pieces of glossy paper inside it.

“Are these— yeah, they’re tickets for that amusement park we went to on our first real date!” Your eyes scan through them excitedly. “When are we going?”

Atsumu nods toward the tickets. “Look at the corner,” he says. “There,” he adds, leaning close and pointing at a small, black text.

“Lifetime access,” you mumble. The space between your eyebrows creases. With an uncertain smile, you turn toward him again, a silent question lingering in your gaze.

“So?” Atsumu asks, a sly smirk covering up the clench in his stomach. He’s quite positive you’ll say yes. You must say yes. You two are doing great. There’s no reason for you to not say yes.

“Are you…” You start to reply but seem to lose your words as different feelings fight to emerge on your face. Excitement, incredulity, joy, doubt… “Is this your way of asking me to—” You halt mid-sentence.

To think that you would let doubts get the best of you in a moment like this. Atsumu bursts out laughing, his hand automatically reaching for his belly as he shakes in amusement. He has to let it all out before he regains some composure, and he turns to you, who patiently waited for him with an unsure expression.

“Okay,” Atsumu says with a big, I’m-gonna-focus-now breath. “I’m asking you what you think I’m asking you.” He turns a little more to face you better and examines your face. A loose strand of hair sways in front of you, and he catches it and gently tucks it behind your ear. Then, with his hand cupping your cheek, he grins so wide that he can feel his cheeks pulling. “What do you say about spending the rest of our lives together?”

He thought his words would have dissipated any hesitation you might have had, but you remain frozen for some long seconds, to the point Atsumu thinks he might have broken you or something. He’s about to wave his hand in front of you when you finally beam him a wide, toothy smile. “Yes! I do! I think I do!”

“What do you mean, ‘I think I do’?!” he complains.

“No, I do! I just do!” You look like you’re about to cry. It’s very funny. You look happy. Atsumu feels happy too. So much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then you basically charge at him, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Atsumu returns the hug with equal strength, and you start laughing.

“What is it?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t know. I’m just… I didn’t expect this. But it feels — it feels right.”

Atsumu chuckles. It seems that great minds truly think alike. He leans left and pulls you with him on the creaky wooden beams of the dock, making your feet raise mid-air and shoot water droplets everywhere. Then he loosens his hold just enough for you both to lie on your backs. You move your head close to his, knocking it lightly and chuckling. After a deep breath, you both turn to look at the immaculate blue sky, silly smiles still on your faces.

Atsumu might not know a lot of things, but of this he’s sure: a whole life with you by his side will be a damn good life.

With a satisfied sigh, he turns and gives you a kiss on the temple before caging you in the tightest hug he’s ever given.

The End

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Time of your Life pt. 3.4 (Atsumu x f!reader)

Link to pt. 3.3 / Link to full story

13. Here comes the tickle monster (You)

Leaving Atsumu’s butterflies-in-the-stomach-inducing actions aside, you can say that the evening is going really smoothly. Everyone’s chatting amiably, small groups forming, then disbanding, then forming again, their composition and topic ever-changing.

You’ve been involved in a lively discussion about which anime song is better, another about the raccoon that stole all the marshmallows during last year’s trip, and now you’re talking with Yukie, who’s meticulously recounting to you how, during a volleyball-slash-socialising trip they made to Argentina this summer, Atsumu ended up locked in a locker room with Oikawa for the whole of three hours. And since Shōyō has repeatedly told you about Oikawa’s temper, and you already had a taste of Atsumu’s one, you can definitely imagine the kind of conversation the two of them might have had.

The chat’s all good and well, but every now and then your attention is temporarily grabbed by Shōyō and Bokuto, who are confabulating behind one of the now cold grills. They keep shooting glances at you and putting so much effort into being secretive that they stand out even more than usual. They might as well be whistling and kicking rocks.

It’s right when you’re giving one of your quick looks that Atsumu does one of the stupidest things he could have ever done.

“What are you girls talking about?” He asks as he crouches behind you and presses his index fingers in your armpits. Despite the three layers you’re wearing, you jump on the spot, your head moving up and back and hitting Atsumu right on the nose.

“Ow,” he whines, pulling back.

You can’t believe it’s the second time Atsumu gets hurt because of you. A hissed “shit” escapes your lips. You frantically twist in your seat, eyes wide and brows waning. “Are you hurt?”

Atsumu’s holding his nose with one hand, an impossibly sweet chuckle tinted with pain resonating behind it.

“Are you alright?” you press, feeling your entire body itch to get closer and check it out for yourself.

“Hmm… I’m wet,” he replies.

What?

Then he moves his hand away, a half smile somehow still on his face.

“Is that blood?!” You’re lucky you’re sitting because you can swear your knees just gave in. “Tissues,” you say, thinking out loud and getting up to look for your bag. “We need tissues. I’ll be right back.”

You run toward your tent, bee-lining between people walking unbearably slowly and bags that some idiots have left right in the middle of the path between the tents.

It’s only when you find the packet of tissues and turn to head back to the bonfire that you notice that Atsumu has followed you as he does his best to keep the blood from dripping down on his clothes.

“Here,” you hand him a couple of tissues — have your hands always been this clumsy? — and watch apprehensively as he cleans himself up and makes little cones of cotton that he composedly sticks up his nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh.

Atsumu chuckles. “No worries.”

“Should we have someone look at it?”

“Nah, it’s already happened a couple of times,” Atsumu shrugs. “But if you ruined my perfect nose, I won’t forgive you.”

“Well, it’s kind of your fault, too, you know?” As guilty as you feel, you’re also a bit pissed. You got so scared.

“What?”

“Who the hell goes and tickles someone out of nowhere like that?!”

Atsumu’s response is a roaring laugh, and what seems to be an owl flies away in all haste.

“Still, I couldn’t have known you would have backflipped like that,” he chortles.

His lazy gaze sets on you, insistent, silent, somewhat loud, too. He must be thinking of something, something he doesn’t care to share with you. There’s a certain sparkle in his gaze, a certain tension in his lips.

You don’t really know why, but you feel yourself flushing all over.

“We should go back,” you say, your voice frustratingly wavering, and head for the bonfire without waiting for a reply.

Your movement, however, is stopped by Atsumu’s grasp of your wrist.

“Don’t.” His request is simple. Gentle. And anxiety-inducing.

What is it that he wants? How can you be chill about this whole situation when he keeps looking at you like that? Really, it’s so hard to figure him out.

“Come with me.”

It’s his turn now to go on without waiting for a reply, and he simply pulls you along with him, head fixed straight ahead and mouth uncharacteristically silent.

He follows a trail that seems to border the back of the camp, a dirt road lightened here and there by soft, round lamp posts.

You’re so hyperaware of your wrist it might as well be on fire.

After a couple of curves, the road opens to a lake. It’s the one you saw on the map earlier, the one that wraps the southern part of the forest like a nest. The moon is full, so bright it’s almost blinding, and for a brief moment you’re reminded of Kita’s horror story. You rid your mind of the thought with a shake of your head.

You’re too busy watching your steps to properly observe the lake at first, but once you reach one of the worn-out piers, its wooden beams creaking under your steps, you finally take in the sparkling pool of water. Moonlight breaks on the surface and scatters around in a lovely glow.

Atsumu walks until the end of the boardwalk and then sits down, pulling you down with him and almost making you fall.

“Hey!” You complain, trying to wriggle your hand out of his grasp for the first time since he took it.

Atsumu smirks and uses your precarious position against you, leaning on his knee and bringing his other hand across you. He’s painfully close, and with the way he’s pinning you down, you have nowhere to escape.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” he teases. You have no idea what kind of face he’s talking about, but you have barely parted your lips to say something back when his own press against yours.

For fuck’s sake.

You really want to be mad. To ask him why he’s doing this. To understand if, despite his words that first night, he is, in fact, toying with you.

But you can’t.

You can’t think because kissing him feels amazing, and even your encumbered brain has to let. fucking. go. for once in its wet, electric life.

Your free hand nestles in his hair, pulling him close, making you both lose your balance and fall back on the wooden beams.

They’re rough and a bit wet. It doesn’t really matter.

Atsumu chuckles and props himself on his elbow, apparently bent on not leaving your lips for even the briefest of moments.

Saying that this doesn’t hypercharge your body with exhilaration would be a big, fat lie.

It’s almost as if both of you were scared that if you let go, it will all be over. You never thought you would feel the want to be closer to someone this much. And you’re not talking about the kissing. Well, that too.

Yet, your body betrays you by reminding you that you need to breathe properly every now and then. The audacity.

After you break the kiss, Atsumu rolls and lands on your side, sort of mashing your hand under his nape and soon turning his head to look at you.

The sound of breathing. A fresh whiff of wind. Crickets. You are aware of it for the whole of a second before you’re drawn to his eyes once again.

Oh, the way he looks at you. There’s something in his look that strips you of all your defences, leaving you completely vulnerable in front of those big chocolatey eyes. Despite your self-consciousness, there’s a feeling of comfort too, the desire for him to never stop.

Atsumu inhales sharply, then lets the air go, his eyes momentarily lost somewhere downward.

“What if—” he says as he looks up. “What if we met again?”

“Met?”

“Yeah. Out. Just the two of us.”

Okay, if this isn’t a ‘speech 100’ example, you don’t know what is. What does he even mean?

“You mean like…” You hesitate. “Where?”

Atsumu’s thick eyebrows fall heavy on his eyes, and he turns to face the glittering sky. “I don’t know. Dinner? Cinema? There’s an amusement park I’ve been meaning to check out.”

He’s driving you crazy. This sounds a lot like dating. But it can’t be, can it? “Like, on… dates?”

Atsumu looks startled, and you mentally punch yourself. You just fucked up, didn’t you? He turns to you again, a small smile softening his features. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

What?!

If you were anyone else, you’d probably mock yourself for being this disbelieving, but your incredulity seems to shoo away whatever hesitation was in Atsumu, who gives a carefree laugh. 

“Yeah, real dates. With you,” he says with a teasing smile. As you proceed to clumsily freeze in place, he starts to laugh even harder. “You really are dense sometimes, you know that?”

He sits up and brings a hand across your body again, his chest hovering over yours, his face mere centimetres away. “Just say yes.”

Your heartbeat sounds like the kick drum of a metalcore song. Well… There are worse ways to die.

“Yes.” You finally, somehow, get the sound out, despite your throat feeling as narrow as a straw, and a rosy sense of relief stems from that single, short word.

“Great,” Atsumu replies, a silly smile on his face as he once again drops on you, ready to hinder your natural breathing rhythm once more.

14. The pancake betrayal (Atsumu) (Roughly a month later)

“Are these… pancakes?” You appear from behind the corner of the corridor, your hair still a little wet.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?” Atsumu smiles, tapping the pan’s lid with a spatula.

“No. I mean. Yes, but… have you—” you glance around — “made them yourself?” 

Atsumu realises that you must be looking for any traces of takeaway boxes.

“Don’t worry, they’re edible,” he chuckles, turning back to the pan. The pancakes are ready, and they look absolutely great. “I had ‘Samu teach me.”

“You did?” You ask, your voice high-pitched in surprise.

“Well, apparently it is not acceptable to order takeaway for breakfast when you’re with your boo.” Atsumu pouts.

You don’t reply, so he turns to see what you’re up to, but he’s stopped in his tracks as your arms suddenly latch onto him. “This is really sweet,” you say, hugging him from behind. Your arms gently hold him close as you lean with one cheek on his shoulder. It feels warm.

Did you just call him sweet? Like, for real?

He tries to turn again, but you resist. “No.” Your hug tightens. “Don’t move.”

“The pancakes are going to get cold.”

“Just a moment,” you lull him, your voice dreamy.

If he’s being sincere, he doesn’t want you to let go. You are so soft against his back, and your fingers are tenderly pressing on his chest.

You make a little happy hum. “Okay. We can eat now.” You release him from your embrace and start to step away. “Do you need help with anything?”

The sound of the spatula falling on the metal of the pan weakly resonates through the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Atsumu replies. “Come here,” he murmurs. Then his left hand latches into yours, pulling you close, while the right one rises to cup your face.

Oh, those eyes. Those eyes that are looking right at him, as if slowly making their way into his soul.

In fact, forget that “as if”.

Atsumu leans down, his hand never leaving your face, and with an impatient movement pulls you closer.

Your surprise escapes in a giggle, but your voice quiets down the moment his lips touch yours. The silence is followed by your body melting in his half hug as you happily reciprocate the kiss.

It’s sweet. Cute. Comfortable.

It’s also not enough.

Atsumu’s thoughts shift. More precisely, they go somewhere else entirely. He grabs the small of your back, pulling you even closer, and you hum questioningly, your eyes opening just briefly before he presses his lips on yours once again.

You pull away for a moment. “What about breakfast?”

Atsumu pulls you closer once more. “Later.”

You chuckle. “Weren’t you the one worried the pancakes would get cold?”

Atsumu moves his hands to your hips, his fingers sinking softly. “I can make them again,” he says, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. “Now kiss me.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, but with a bit too much enthusiasm, and your lip catches between your teeth.

“Ow,” you whine quietly.

His face contracts and he retracts a little. “Ah, sorry! Are you alright?!”

You chuckle. “Yeah, no biggie.”

“Let me see.” He places his thumb on your lip, gently pulling it down, and closely examines the flushed, rosy skin. “Yeah, seems alright,” he says, now calmer.

“I told you,” you chuckle in response.

“Still...” His thumb slides down to your chin and keeps you in place as he places a soft kiss exactly where you bit your lip.

The way your breathing deepens sends sparks through his entire body, and he goes back to kissing you for real. His tongue slides ever so lightly on the centre of your top lip, prodding you to part your lips for him.

It’s fucking hot. Like, literally, but also… you are so fucking hot.

As you continue kissing, barely taking the time to breathe, he feels the pressure in his pants rise, and it’s not long before he pulls you even closer, making sure that you are aware of it, too.

“Oh, ‘Tsumu,” you murmur.

“If you’re asking me to stop and talk about breakfast again, I’m going to hoist you up and take you upstairs.”

You chuckle. “I have no intention of stopping you.”

He kisses you again and smiles against your lips. “Good.”

This time it’s you who pulls him closer, crossing your arms behind his neck and pressing your plush body against his.

You kiss, lick, suck, bite so much that your lips get scalding and swollen, and Atsumu wonders if this was the actual, true reason why he was put on this Earth.

His hands are impatient, tracing lines along your body and stopping here and there so that he can feel all of you.

You press yourself against him, the gaps between your bodies closing as your chest heaves against his.

Ah, I can’t wait any more.

Atsumu grabs you by the thighs and hoists you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask, giggling.

“We’re going to my room.” He replies matter-of-factly as he starts moving, eliciting a squeak out of you.

“Weren’t you only going to do that if I told you to stop?” Your question is accompanied by a wide, absolutely beautiful grin.

Atsumu stops in his tracks and raises his gaze, waiting. It’s very amusing to see you still, hands on his shoulders, your nose scrunching as you try to figure out why he stopped moving.

Then, with the worst acting skills that he’s ever seen, you exclaim, “Oh no, stop! What about the pancakes?!”

Both of you burst into laughter. Luckily, you didn’t choose acting as your career. He’s afraid no amount of practice could help.

As he starts walking again, a silly smile on his face, your legs tighten around his waist.

He only lets you down once you’re in his room, and places you right in front of the bed.

He’s conflicted. There is so much he wants to do and so little he can do right this moment. If only I could clone myself.

His thoughts are interrupted by your hands reaching for his hoodie and pulling him close. Between kisses, Atsumu realises how assertive you’ve got now that the two of you are an item. He loves it.

With his lips on yours and his hands happily grabbing your ass, only one part of him is fussing, but very soon, as if reading his mind, your hand starts wandering south, offering relief to his starved state.

Up and down, slowly, you caress him through the fabric. He lets out a little moan in your mouth. You moan back, your voice a hair-raising blend of satisfaction and lust.

So fucking hot.

Atsumu brings his hands closer, brushing your sides with the pads of his fingers before letting his palms rest against your chest, the softness making his brain short-circuit.

As his hand goes down, reaching where it’s warmest, your chest heaves and your tongue gets sloppy.

Atsumu smirks against your lips.

Then he starts lazily sliding his fingers, up and down, up and down, in sync with your movements, relishing in the little sounds you make until your clothes start to feel like an insult to reason. He breaks contact, quickly removing his hoodie and t-shirt by pulling them from the neck, followed by his pants, all haphazardly thrown on the floor. Then he pulls your clothes off too, leaving you — almost — splendidly naked.

“This goes off too,” he says, pulling at your bra hooks and swiftly getting rid of it.

He makes you sit on the bed and kneels before you, grinning at the way your eyes set on his. There’s a strange pride raising in him as he notices how you’re unable to pull away from him.

You whimper softly when his mouth reaches your chest, enveloping the most sensitive part in a wet embrace. He flicks his tongue, relishing the way your body responds to his, then sucks, then moves south, placing gentle kisses and letting himself melt into your softness.

And this all while his left hand rests on your hip, his thumb brushing against your iliac crest, and his right hand tasting the softness of your other breast.

You’re a beautiful mess.

You’re very sensitive there, he knows it well, and the way you react to his ministrations has his buddy down there push harder against his boxers. He would definitely lie if he said that what he’s doing, he’s doing just for you.

Slowly, you lean forward, brushing his shoulders with your hands, and then slide them down along his arms, tracing his muscles with your fingers pads and finally reaching his hips. A hand moves on to his boxers and cups his length. “What about you?” You ask, your voice just a murmur.

His eyes flutter shut as he leans into your gentle touch, and he turns a little to meet your lips, kissing you deeply. Then he takes your hands in his, getting up and pressing his body against yours slowly until you’re lying on the bed.

You’re both on your knees, one impatient body in front of the other.

His gaze falls to your hand as it slides under the elastic band of his boxers. It’s so warm, but not as warm as you are where his own hand goes to rest.

“Ahh,” he sighs at the matching contact.

You lean into him and meet his lips, and he happily reciprocates the kiss, waiting for your bottom lip to be caged between his teeth before he slides his finger inside you. Your moans crack as he skilfully finds your magical spot, and seeing how you melt under his touch, how your legs grow weak, sends a heatwave across his body.

Isn’t it ridiculous how good it feels? His boxers already down his thighs, you circle the tip of his cock with your thumb, slowly. Atsumu cups your face with his free hand and slides his own thumb along your lips, and you part them, rounding them in an “o” and sucking his finger.

It might be an innate extra sensitivity, or it might be the countless hours spent examining every single sensation in his digits as a way to improve his grip on the ball, but he loves this. He’s kinda tempted to have you suck all of his fingers, one at a time, for like, a really long time.

His train of thought is interrupted when you start sliding your hand up and down along his cock, your movements deliberately slow, sensual. You stop here and there, too wrapped in your own pleasure to focus as he starts increasing his pace. He makes sure not to miss a beat, relentlessly hitting your sweet spot, forcing you to break the kiss and lean on his shoulder, hot moans only partly muffled by his naked skin.

Your voice comes out in waves — louder, choked, louder again.

As you reach your ecstasy, your grip on his cock tightens, and Atsumu manages to hold himself back by a hair’s-breadth.

You leave the crook of his neck to meet his gaze with heavy lids, trying to find a regular breathing rhythm again, and he would let you if only he didn’t feel like he’s about to explode.

“Turn around.” He says, voice coming out low, husky.

He jumps off the bed and positions himself behind you, sliding your underwear down and gently but firmly pressing your back so that you lean forward and expose your perfect curves. With a hand on your ass, Atsumu leans forward, his mouth close to your ear. “You ready, peach?”

Your skin covers in goosebumps. “Yeah,” you reply weakly.

He stands back up and draws his hips near yours, aligning himself to you as he takes in your tempting curves.

Then, he’s finally inside you.

You’re tight, as expected after reaching your high, so he moves slowly, a hand on the small of your back and his fingers lovingly tracing a line along your spine.

Holding back from just thrusting his hips all the way takes Atsumu more willpower than he’d like to admit, but he’s soon rewarded for his patience, your walls relaxing and inviting him in a scalding embrace.

His hands gather at your hips, keeping them in place as he starts to pound into you, his fingers sinking in your soft skin.

It’s noisy. The smack of his hips against your ass echoes in his room, accompanied by what can’t be other than music to his ears. He loves to hear you moan. He loves your voice, and he loves the idea of being the one who’s making you lose yourself in bliss like that.

He slows down a little, taking in every small sensation: his feet pressing on the floor, his legs and glutes tensing up at every thrust, his chest heaving, his palms warm against your skin, his lids heavy, his skin hot.

You turn your head back a little, meeting his eyes, showing him a weak smile through shallow inhales and exhales. Atsumu smiles back, his eyes glued to yours until your arms give in and you fall to your elbows, face resting on your forearms as he starts to pick up the pace again.

Your plush body, your wavering voice, the way you take him in so well… it’s inebriating, and Atsumu lets it all wash over him, soaking in the lust that flows between your bodies and hearts.

You start tightening, your voice rises in pitch, and he groans, doing his best to keep doing exactly what he was doing until now. “‘Tsumu,” you call. Your voice is kind of whiny, kind of desperate. It’s the type of voice that makes him feel like there’s no limit to what he can do, and what he wants to do right now is give you exactly what you want.

You reach a hand back, looking for his. He grabs your forearm and takes a firmer grasp of your hip with his other hand, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. “Yeah, go ahead, peach, cum for me,” he coos.

And just like that, with revering compliance, you reach your second high, and Atsumu feels stupidly proud. He does not, however, give you a little break, as he should have, because he’s darningly close to his own climax, and when you turn your face toward him, a tired, content smile on your face, Atsumu burns in your incandescent embrace. His whole body contracts as he gives his last sloppy thrusts, a low “fffuck” accompanying his movements until his muscles finally decide to let go.

Your breathing is heavy and fills the room like a soothing haze.

Slowly, your lungs and hearts find a calmer rhythm.

Atsumu chuckles as he pulls out.

You turn, sitting up. “What?” You ask, your brows just a little knitted over your serene eyes.

“Nothin’,” Atsumu says as he cups your face. “ Just though it’s not a bad way to start the day,” he explains, a cheeky smile on his face.

You roll your eyes dramatically, your hands going to rest on his sides. “Well, I can’t disagree with that,” you say while averting your gaze.

Then, a chuckle spreads between the both of you, followed by Atsumu leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I’ll have to take another shower,” you say when he straightens up, your tone a mixture of complaining and teasing.

Atsumu takes your hand in his. “Together?”

A little pause, a grin, and then you’re jogging toward the bathroom, pulling him along with you. Not bad at all, Atsumu thinks before closing the door behind him.

Link to pt. 3.5

[lyditheoverthinker]

The Time of your Life pt. 3.3 (Atsumu x f!reader)

Link to pt. 3.2 / Link to full story

10. Python on the cob (Osamu)

Osamu loves grilling. Give him anything and he will make it just right. Juicy ribeye steak, savoury pork ribs, crispy grilled bacon, spicy grilled sausage, sweet corn on the cob, caramelised bell peppers, tender grilled zucchini, crisp charred broccoli, golden-brown eggplant slices… and the list could go on.

“Smells delicious!” A fairly high-pitched, more than moderately enthusiastic voice reaches him. He raises his head and sees Hinata walking towards him, plate in hand and nose up, following the scent of meat like a character from a kids’ cartoon.

And behind him, there’s you.

You remind him of some animal of prey, careful about your surroundings, about where you place your steps, about the sudden noises that burst around you. Maybe a deer. Or, well, a doe.

“It’s gonna taste great!” Hinata says, turning toward you and bumping into someone who was passing by. “Sorry!” He does a little bow to an annoyingly tall guy with near-white hair and an intimidating face. Osamu recognises him as one of the previous members of the famous Dateko Iron Wall, if he’s remembering right. The guy looks kinda out of place to Osamu, but strangely enough, responds to Hinata’s apology with a little bow accompanied by an unexpected, even if small, smile. Once they’ve split up, Hinata looks back at you.

“Osamu is a great cook,” he grins just before stopping in front of the grill Osamu is working on, shifting his big smile from you to him.

“Only the lean parts, right?” Osamu asks.

The tangerine-haired boy nods enthusiastically. “Thank you, Osamu-kun! I’ve been waiting for dinner all day!”

The cook’s lips quirk up. He will never admit it, but, just like his brother, he’s kind of susceptible to compliments. However, he soon puts his lips back into place and puts himself to work, filling up Hinata’s plate with some juicy chicken thighs, steak, corn on the cob, caramelised bell peppers and roasted Brussels sprouts.

Beaming at his plate, Hinata thanks him again and dashes toward another food area. Osamu could swear he saw him struggling to keep his drooling in check.

After someone like Hinata, the hesitation in your steps as you come forward is impossible to miss. “Hi,” you greet him with the hint of a smile.

He still has no idea how you and his brother ended up spending a night — no, two nights — together. You look so shy and he… well… he’s ‘Tsumu, his devilish twin. You must have some hidden side to you, that’s for sure. Who knows, maybe he’ll get to see it if you and Atsumu become a thing.

“Good evenin’,” Osamu replies with a cordial smile. “What’re ya eating tonight?”

You fill your plate with grilled veggies and corn — seems like meat’s not really your thing.

“By the way,” you blurt out as he’s putting the food on your plate, and you speak so quickly that he almost doesn’t catch it, “I tried your onigiri last weekend. They were amazing.”

He can see a bit of shyness melt away as your lips curve up in a genuine smile.

Osamu’s eyes light up. “Thanks, they’re not that hard to make, but it’s still easy to mess them up.” He explains how you need to properly cook the rice, wet your hands and use a bit of salt when shaping the onigiri, and be careful when you add the filling. While he’s explaining, he sneaks an extra serving of corn onto your plate.

You listen intently, seemingly interested and not just trying to be polite. If Atsumu was here, he would start teasing him, calling him a food maniac. It’s entirely possible he would get jealous too, which probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“And if it seems like too much work, you can always come by our dormitory,” he winks, “I make them at least twice a week.”

You don’t look like you’ll ever just pop there, but you do look tempted. “Oh,” you say suddenly, leaning to the side and looking past the grill at the lower part of his body. “Is your leg okay? I heard you got hurt.”

Osamu briefly looks at his leg, then sets his eyes on you as he crosses his arms, tongs still in hand. “‘Tis but a scratch,” he declares, puffing his chest slightly.

You make a small inhale and freeze, mouth agape. You stare at him for a couple of seconds, a serious expression on your face, until a smile starts creeping through and you burst into laughter. “You’re a Monty Python fan too?!”

He raises his brows in response, an imperceptible assent that seems to make you quite happy. It looks like you have good taste, differently from his brother. 

“I would have never guessed,” you say, still chuckling.

“Not many know about it,” he comments casually, shooting you a smile. It’s always fun to subvert expectations.

He lets out a little hum, uncrossing his arms. “My brother does, but he’s not much for puns and the like.” He starts to tend to the food again; he has no intention of burning any of it.

“Oh, really?” you reply, your smile cracked. As quickly as you opened up, you seem to close up again, your hands tight on the plate you’re holding.

“Yeah. His taste is usually questionable,” he states, noticing the way you tighten your lips, “but sometimes even he can get it right.”

He shoots you a lopsided grin, hoping you’ll get the hint.

A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“He can be a little slow, though… So you might want to give him a little nudge.”

At those words, you flinch. “I what…?” You must be wondering how much he knows. About you and Atsumu. About that night, and the one after.

With impeccable timing, Hinata comes back to the grill, two full plates precariously held on his palms. “Y/n! Are you ready? We got a spot over there,” he nods toward a trunk laid on the other side of the bonfire. 

“Sure,” you reply, your prey-like look reminding Osamu of the first time he saw you.

11. Memories (You)

The camp at night is beautiful. You’re sitting on a tree trunk repurposed as a bench, taking in the scene around you.

The bonfire paints its surroundings with a golden light, starting from the people gathered around it and stretching to the trees. Above, the stars twinkle in endless clusters, much brighter than what you’re used to.

Groups of people are scattered around, some talking animatedly while others quietly chew on their food and others gulp down their beers.

A guy you recognise from last week, but whose name you don’t know, is sitting on a log, a guitar resting on his lap. He seems to be playing the acoustic version of a popular song, even though you can’t seem to remember its title right now. Around him, people sway to the rhythm or attempt to sing along, some with more success than others.

“Aren’t you eating that?”

You turn as your heart clenches in your chest. You could swear he was not there a moment ago. Does he have some sort of teleporting ability? What would be his hero costume…? Wait, that’s not the point. You’re just glad your reflexes were too slow to scream. Gathering the attention of the entire camp is the last thing you want.

“No,” you finally reply, glancing at Atsumu and then at your plate. “Your brother gave me way too much food.” You tried to eat that last corn on the cob, but you felt that if you had, you’d have exploded.

“Ah, yeah, he’s just like a granny,” Atsumu chuckles. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his half-smile as he leans toward your plate, casually extends his arm, and picks up your leftovers, his movement careful.

“I’ll take it, then.” He says, already munching at it.

You chuckle, the idea of Osamu in a pink apron and a curly grey wig popping into your mind. Then, you gather the little courage in your body to turn to your left.

You’ve thought of this before, but Atsumu looks kind of cute when he eats. His usually sharp cheeks puff out, round like a hamster’s.

“No, really.” Atsumu insists after swallowing his first bite. “He even nags like one!” His voice turns whiny as he puts on a serious face, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes.

“Stop drinking or you’ll get a belly!” He waves the half-eaten corn in the air.

“Eat your veggies!” He moves it again, and you start worrying he’s going to drop it. 

“Always make sure to stretch properly!” He gives the corn an angry bite.

You chuckle at his impression, knowing full well it’s probably at least a tad exaggerated, but you like that side of him. Atsumu is a bundle of energy, emotions, and tomfoolery. If you had someone like him beside you, you’re sure you’d never get bored.

Wait, what am I thinking?! Heat comes rushing to your cheeks.

You’re conflicted. A part of you wants to run away and feels overly conscious, stiff, awkward. But the other… the other wants to keep talking with him all night. Probably more.

You simply love the way his emotions spill so liberally across his face. The way his voice swings from high to low, and then to high again. The way he laughs with his entire body.

“‘Samu plays the ‘mature twin’ act, but he’s no better than me.” Atsumu glances in his twin’s direction, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “There was this one time he, Suna, and I got completely wasted and—”

You raise your brows in a jokingly judging look.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I do it every day,” Atsumu complains, and you laugh, nodding for him to continue.

“It was all because ‘Samu had just been dumped and needed to drown his sorrows for a bit. He’d been a moping mess all week.” Atsumu sniffs. “Anyway, we got thrown out of the party we went to because our friend’s parents came home a day early and made a scene, so we ended up at a park nearby to sober up.” 

You glance at Osamu, still working the grill and chatting with a guy you saw sitting with him earlier on the bus. The just mentioned Suna, perhaps.

“At some point, with full seriousness — he looked like fucking Ushiwaka, for fuck’s sake — he says ‘I’ll be back soon.’” Atsumu tosses the corn leftovers into the bonfire. “And since he’d been complaining about wanting ice cream for like half an hour, we thought he was just going to the konbini down the road.”

Atsumu turns to you, catching you watching intently as you listen.

You smile, fondness seeping through, and shiver slightly. Maybe you should have worn a thicker sweatshirt.

“Are you cold?”

“Ahm,” you start, only to momentarily get lost in his eyes, “a little?”

Atsumu gets up, shrugs off his varsity jacket, and drapes it over your shoulder. Before you can even mutter a ‘thank you’, he’s already sitting again, picking up where he left off as if nothing happened. “So, the konbini, right? Turns out, he was not there. We spent ten minutes looking for him before we finally found him on the opposite side of the park, cap in the dirt, screaming at someone.”

“Did he get into a fight?” you ask, somehow feeling a little concerned even if everything’s said and done already.

“That’s what I thought! I was already gearing up to throw a couple of punches if necessary. He’s my brother, after all.” Atsumu shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a helpless what-can-you-do expression. “But turns out, there was no need.”

You glance in Osamu’s direction before huddling into Atsumu’s jacket, pulling it close with both hands. Your stomach, very maturely, does a somersault.

“So, what happened?” You ask after a beat, meeting Atsumu’s eyes.

“Oh, you’ll never guess who he was talking to.”

Curious, you wait for him to continue.

Atsumu looks at his brother, then at you, and smiles a smug smile. “A tree.”

Your head twitches slightly. “What?”

“I shit you not, it was a fucking tree. ‘Samu went on rambling for, like, twenty minutes.”

You laugh softly. “And what was he saying?”

Atsumu shrugs again. “Something about his girlfriend regretting leaving him ‘cause he’s a great cook.” He chuckles. “The rest of it was pretty much incomprehensible, to be honest.”

You both burst into laughter, and you can’t help but imagine the scene in your head. Osamu tends to have a serious demeanor, but after seeing him drunkenly dance at the party and now hearing this, you can’t picture him as a serious guy anymore.

Atsumu scoots closer and takes his phone out of his pocket, a conspiratorial look on his face. “I actually have a video of him. Suna recorded the whole thing, of course.”

Then he nods toward his twin. “You see the guy next to ‘Samu? The one with those sly eyes? That’s Suna.”

Atsumu turns towards you again, but in the movement, he gets closer than he was before. Seeing his face this so close, you stiffen slightly, your heartbeat picking up just a little.

You bite your lower lip. Atsumu’s eyes widen. After what feels like an eternity, you both shift back, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air.

Atsumu’s quick to recover, going back to what he was saying. “He’s a phone addict. And films everything.” He steals a glance at you before looking back to his phone, his right leg bouncing a couple of times. “We used to fight a lot, my brother and I. Suna filmed every single fist fight we had,” he says with a chuckle. Then he scrolls through his gallery, which you don’t look at, trying to be respectful of his privacy — not that he seems to care. “Found it!” He turns the phone toward you, only to hold it to his chest a moment after.

You exhale through your nose, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “What?”

Atsumu’s usual carefree demeanor is replaced by an air of seriousness you’ve never seen before. “This is a secret,” he warns you, lowering his voice. “If he finds out that this video exists and that I showed it to you. I’m dead. Like, 100% dead.”

Despite your best efforts, you burst into laughter.

“What?” Atsumu asks, his brow furrowing, though a smile tugs at his lips.

With great effort, you stifle your laughter, forcing your face into something resembling seriousness, even though your lips twitch and amusement shines in your eyes.

He can be so childish.

Clearing your throat, you try to match Atsumu’s solemn expression. “Alright, I promise to keep it a secret.”

“To keep what a secret?”

A wince propagates between Atsumu and you, followed by a synced sharp inhale, and Atsumu’s jacket almost falls off of your shoulders.

Osamu is standing right behind you: arms crossed on his chest, lips tight, and brows raised in a scolding look.

“Nothing! Don’t put your damned nose where it doesn’t belong,” barks Atsumu. It would almost be a convincing lie if only his voice hadn’t risen in pitch in what can’t be described as anything but comical.

Osamu squints. “Lemme see.” He leans forward, reaching for Atsumu’s phone. As the two fight over it, you are reminded of Jake and Ray, your grandma's border collies. They got along really well, but give them only one toy and they would be at each other’s throats in a nanosecond.

In the end, Osamu is the one to pull through. His gaze zeroes in on Atsumu’s phone screen; silence falls — at least in your little bubble — as the three of you freeze in place. Then, his eyes curl downward. “I knew you were up to something.”

“What? When?” Atsumu asks.

Meanwhile, your focus keeps bouncing from one twin to the other.

“You two lovebirds kept throwing glances at me,” Osamu scoffs. He gives you a brief stare before turning his burning gaze to his brother. “And you kept staring with that obnoxious smirk of yours,” he adds, making a face that’s nothing short of disgusted.

Lovebirds. He just called you lovebirds.

Does he really know what happened between the two of you? The conversation before was a little weird and… You chew on the word in your head as the two twins bicker. The contrast in expression is almost too stark to be believable. Osamu’s face is barely moving, an indifferent air not-so-subtly mocking Atsumu, who, on the other hand, seems to be trying to showcase the entire range of micro-expressions on his face.

“Hey!” Bokuto calls. “What’s happening here?” Shōyō adds, both of them suddenly appearing in front of you, their curious faces staring at you and the twins. The firelight wraps around them, casting a halo-like glow. It’s not an unfitting look, to be honest.

“Atsumu was up to his usual bullshit,” Osamu explains, tone flat.

“Oh, Atsumu again?” Shōyō asks. Coming from him, the epitome of innocence, the words are much more cutting than they would have been if spoken by anyone else.

Atsumu gets up with a scowl. “I wasn’t doing anything!” He shoots a glance at all the men present, then at you, and seems ready to storm off when a voice interrupts the skirmish.

“It’s story time!” Shouts the guy with the guitar. “Gather around the fire!”

He looks thrilled, while you’re pretty sure that at least three people just sighed beside you.

Shōyō summons a blanket and lays it in front of the trunk-bench, and pats the spot next to him. You step forward, ending up seated in front of Atsumu, while Bokuto perches himself on Atsumu’s right, legs crossed, looking impossibly tiny for someone his size.

Osamu leans down, his face a little too close to your ear. “You will forget about whatever he told you, understood?” His voice is downright frightening.

You twist towards him, and you really shouldn’t feel as scared as you are. He’s not a serial killer, after all.

He must notice your apprehension because he quickly softens the blow with a wink, leaving you there with a faint, dumb smile as he placidly walks away.

“I heard Kita-san is really good at telling horror stories.” Shōyō whispers, pulling you away from the ‘threat’ and back to him. It’s really cute how he looks both excited and concerned, just like he was when you watched horror movies on Halloween when you were still in school.

“Oh, yeah, me too! I can’t wait!” Bokuto says, propping his elbows on his legs and cradling his chin in his hands. He looks adorable.

You have a look around. The other campers are gathered all around the fire, some sitting on logs, some on a blanket, a couple on foldable chairs, while others unceremoniously sprawl on the grass.

As soon as the murmuring fades, a warm voice hums in your ear, “Lean back on the trunk.”

Okay, what right does Atsumu have to send shivers down your nape just because he talked?! You turn slightly, glancing at him from the side. “Won’t it dirty your jacket?”

Atsumu’s look is that of a science professor who just had a parent call the Earth flat. “Come on,” he prompts.

And so you lean back. As slowly and hesitantly as physically possible, but you do lean back. You kind of wish you had one of those beers they were passing around earlier. Your back meets the curved surface of the trunk, and immediately after Atsumu’s knees press lightly against your shoulders.

“See? It’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, swallowing some non-existent saliva and turning back toward the fire. You hug your knees and rest your chin on your crossed arms. It almost feels as if you’re embraced in his hug, and a small, private smile blooms on your face.

Suddenly, you can feel Hinata’s stare boring a hole in your direction. You shamelessly — well, not exactly, since you do feel ashamed — keep your eyes set in front of you, ignoring his muted question and hugging your knees a little closer.

“The story I’m about to tell you took place a long time ago, out in the fields of Tamba-Sasayama,” Kita begins. His voice is composed, just a hint above a murmur, and everyone around the bonfire stills and leans forward, captivated by his flame-enlightened face.

“There was an old man, a merchant of fine silks and rare dyes. He had travelled all day to reach the city, hoping that on the morrow he could sell his wares and gather enough ryo to earn himself and his family a few sacks of rice and fresh fish for another week.”

Kita pauses, looking around the circle and meeting the eyes of his audience.

“The sun had set long ago,” he continues, “but the moon was kind, its full shape lighting his way and allowing him to tread with steady steps along the muddy road that led to the city.”

Tonight’s moon is kind too, you think as you glance at the bright circle. 

“It was humid. Vapour rose from the waters of the moat that bordered the road. At last, the merchant saw lights in the distance, clustered together atop a dark curve, the small hill of Tamba-Sasayama. ‘I’ve finally arrived,’ he said to himself with relief.”

Kita’s voice drops lower, and he stares intently into the fire.

“However, the wrinkles of his relieved smile smoothed away as a faint sound called for his attention.” Kita pauses, letting the ominous sound take form in your minds.

“It came from the moat, where a lone figure was looking at the water. A woman, he realised — a young woman from a good family. Her elegant kimono stretched over her legs, and a pin with an elaborate higanbana gleamed under the moonlight.”

At the mention of the woman, you and a few people around the fire shift in your seats. Everybody knows that, in horror stories, women on the side of the road are never a good sign.

Atsumu also moves, placing his elbows on his thighs and lowering his head close to yours.

“Got cold feet?” he teases you.

You don’t reply, because there’s no way you’re going to disturb Kita’s storytelling, but you glance at Atsumu briefly with a feigned scowl.

“She was sobbing, poor thing.” Kita continues. “‘Young lady!’ the old merchant called. ‘Are you here all by yourself?’ But the girl didn’t reply, her weeping making her shoulders tremble. The man stepped closer, worry creasing his face that had seen too many suns.”

Okay, you do feel a little queasy, but that’s normal. The only problem is that when something suddenly brushes against your neck, you let out a muffled gasp.

You turn around, only to find Atsumu mischievously giggling. You roll your eyes and give him a weak jab to the shin. He fakes being hurt, a whispered but dramatic “Ow!” following the definitely earned revenge.

“Shhh,” someone chides from somewhere on your right. An embarrassed smile crosses your lips, and Atsumu unapologetically giggles behind you.

Your pointy elbow is about to get to work once again, but Kita’s voice quickly brings you back into the story.

“‘Young lady!’ the man called again. ‘It’s all right. Please, stop crying. Do you live in Tamba-Sasayama? I’m heading there; I can accompany you home.’ His heart ached at the sight of the girl, and his voice was soft with kindness.”

“The girl continued to sob, though a little less harshly now, and rose slowly to her feet.”

Shōyō starts shifting in his seat — he’s always been a bit of a scaredy-cat, after all — so you give him a gentle pat on the knee, a reassuring smile playing at the corners of your mouth. He returns the smile with soft eyes.

“The man smiled,” Kita continues. “‘There, there, let’s take you home,’ he said. The young woman finally turned away from the moat, facing the old merchant, but he could not see her face, for she hid it behind the embroidered sleeve of her kimono. His heart ached with pity at the sight, and he stepped a little closer, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.”

Damn, why are you so tense? The eerie atmosphere Kita has conjured is really beginning to seep into your bones.

“‘Don’t hide, young lady. You’re safe,’ the old man reassured her, and he felt relieved to see the girl stop sobbing. But then—” Kita’s voice drops to a whisper, “she made a strange sound: low and breathy, almost guttural, and let her sleeve fall from her face.

“The old merchant looked at the oval, but where two eyes, a nose, and a mouth should have been, only a smooth, pale surface shone under the dainty light of the moon.”

A couple of gasps echo across the fire.

Kita, with a calmness that seems to multiply everyone’s disquiet, continues. “‘Young lady?’ the old man said, his voice trembling, but all he heard in response was a low, dreadful murmur, a sound too strange to belong to a human throat.”

“And so he ran. He ran as he had not run in numerous years. His knees ached, his feet slipped on the muddy road, but still, he ran.

“Finally, the lights of Tamba-Sasayama drew closer, and he spotted one light dimly shining nearer than the others. It belonged to a soba stall. The old merchant did not have time to wonder why a stand would be open at such a late hour. All he did was rush there, desperate for help.”

Atsumu’s right leg bounces a few times beside you. Is he getting jumpy, too?

“There stood a man, slender, with sharp features. ‘Good sir, I need your help!’ the merchant gasped. ‘I was— I was walking here and that lady— that lady… You must help me!’

“The man said nothing, and only stared at the old merchant. But his eyes were devoid of any human warmth, dark like water in the night.”

Kita pauses a little longer, and everyone’s breath stops together with him.

“He handed the old merchant a plate. ‘Here, have some soba,’ he said. The man did not want to eat, but he would never have refused such a kind offer, so he accepted the plate.

“However, when he looked into it, what he saw wasn’t delicious, steamy food, but a face. A face with an unnatural, disgusting smile. A face that looked just like that of the man he had just met.

“As the old man stared at the plate, horrified, the seller let out a raucous laugh. Reluctantly but inevitably, the old merchant looked up, and what he found was a smooth, pale, featureless face.

“And suddenly, the light of the stand went out. “The old merchant frantically looked around, searching at least for the kind light of the moon, but even as he looked up, only darkness remained.

“Darkness, and a low, breathy, guttural sound.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your imagination running wild as you try to figure out what happened to the old merchant.

Suddenly, a real low, breathy, guttural sound, echoes not far from you.

Several screams follow.

Then, a full, proud laugh.

The guy who was playing the guitar earlier stands up, laughing his ass off as he soaks in the furious stares of the people he just nearly scared to death — you included.

You’re not entirely sure — shocked as you were during the cacophony of screams — but you think you heard one right behind you that could, probably, have belonged to Atsumu. It was so high-pitched, though, so you can’t say for sure.

“So? How was it?” Suna joins your little group, now standing in a disorderly line to get some marshmallows to roast over the fire. He shoots an especially inquisitive look at Atsumu, who snorts.

“Good. Kita-san hasn’t lost his touch.” Atsumu crosses his arms, legs slightly apart in what looks like some kind of power pose.

“And you weren’t scared?” Suna asks.

“Of course not,” Atsumu scoffs.

Suna smiles — a lopsided grin with narrow, predatory eyes. “Are you sure?” he prompts.

As Atsumu starts grumbling about his friend being annoying, Suna pulls his hand out of his trouser pocket and shows him the screen of his phone, although it kind of looks like he’s pointing it at you more than at him.

The screen shows a photo of Atsumu mid-scream: eyes wild, mouth gaping, shoulders practically up to his ears.

Bokuto and Shōyō burst out laughing.

Bokuto slaps Atsumu on the back with such force that you wince along with him.

Shōyō tries to hide his silly little smirk behind his hand, but it’s useless: his chest is shaking with laughter. 

Atsumu looks like he’s about to kill someone.

Suna carries the same smug expression cats have when they push a cherished mug off the table. He glances at you. “Did he annoy you? He has the habit of taking it out on others when he’s scared.”

Well, Atsumu did, in fact, annoy you by trying to scare the life out of you during the story. Unnervingly, all it does is make you shift your shoulders slightly at the memory of his touch.

The “which” in your original is what creates the tangle — it forces the sentence to fold back on itself right at the moment when you want it to land.

“I did not!” Atsumu lies, blatantly.

The corners of your mouth twitch. At least he’s spared you the need to reply.

The queue slowly shortens as everyone receives fluffy white marshmallows and sticks to brandish.

“Suna really had to go and take a photo,” Atsumu grumbles behind you.

“Well, I suppose that his making-memories mania doesn’t always work in your favour,” you say, glancing at him briefly, the amusement in your voice unconcealed.

“Hey,” he pouts. “You were scared, too.”

“Well, yeah, but at least I admit it,” you reply with a chuckle, this time without turning around.

“Oh, shut up.” His words might sting, if only the voice behind them weren’t so affectionate.

Then he wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms and blocking your movements.

“‘Tsumu?”

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“I can’t move,” you say after a nervous swallow.

He hugs you a little tighter and sways you lazily from side to side. “That’s kind of the point, y’know?”

Eyes blinking, heat rushing to your cheeks, limbs tightening, embarrassment and an electrifying jolt shoot through your body, and a silly smile unfurls on your face. You feel so happy that you stop struggling and give in to his hug — not loose enough to lean your head back, but relaxed enough to let your shoulders drop, sinking a little further into his embrace.

Atsumu’s silence betrays his surprise, and for a moment, all you can hear is his breath close to your ear.

And that, to your utter dismay, awakens thoughts that are definitely not suitable for the situation. “Does your brother also have compromising videos of you on his phone?” you ask, in a hopefully smooth attempt to distract yourself from Atsumu’s warmth.

“Of course not,” he replies smugly. “I made sure to delete them all,” he adds, his brain-to-mouth filter clearly malfunctioning.

“So there were compromising videos of you on his phone,” you tease.

There are only a couple of people ahead of you now, so Atsumu’s arms loosen and he releases you from his embrace.

“Nothing embarrassing. But there was no way I could leave such a weapon in his hands.”

“You say they weren’t embarrassing and then call them a weapon…” You tsk. “You do realise you’re contradicting yourself, right?” you chaff.

In response, Atsumu darts ahead and swipes the marshmallows and stick that one of the students was handing to you.

“Too slow,” he grins.

You shake your head and wait patiently as the student gives you a fresh set of snacks before following Atsumu back to the bonfire.

12. Conundrum (Bokuto)

Something’s weird today.

Firstly, Bokuto’s stomach is upset. And his stomach is never upset. Well, aside from that one time Hinata gifted him a 1 kg bag of gummy bears, and he ate the entire thing in one go.

Secondly, Akaashi hasn’t been able to chat all day because he’s had back-to-back meetings since that morning.

Thirdly, Atsumu seems to be glued to you today. But didn’t you guys only meet last week?

It's weird. Atsumu always spends times like these arguing with his brother or talking about volleyball with him and Shōyō. Or playing Don Juan with the prettiest girls. Was it the Don Juan? He’ll have to ask Akaashi later.

Oh, and Atsumu even hugged you, like, a moment ago. It’s not like he’s ever been shy with girls — or boys — but this feels different.

“If you keep staring like that, I’ll catch fire,” Atsumu suddenly says, forcing him to abandon his reflections.

“I wasn’t staring!” Bokuto squawks.

Everyone around him bursts into laughter, but luckily Atsumu doesn’t ask him why he was staring. Bokuto’s not good at lying, and even he knows that it’s best not to bring up stuff like this.

He focuses on you now, but you’re sitting way too close for him to get a clear look without arousing suspicion.

Maybe Shōyō knows something. He should ask him later.

Link to pt. 3.4

[lyditheoverthinker]

'Stay' series - Atsumu x f!reader ❤

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: post timeskip, FWB to… the ending is quite open but you know me, I’m a romantic

Warnings: mentions of sex, nakedness, the littlest bit of swearing

Summary: A deal is a deal, but what are you supposed to do when feelings get in the way?

Masterlist

"Why don't we get out of here?"

That was the question that started it all.

The words were spoken at your best friend’s wedding reception about five months ago.

When you had returned the Save the Date card without putting a ‘plus one’, she had turned up her nose, complaining that you’d mess up the seating arrangements. But a few days later, she called you, her tone triumphant, claiming that she had finally solved the seating problem and—and this is where her tone got undeniably overexcited—that you would have to be eternally grateful to her: not only had she found a single man to pair you with, but the man in question was none other than the famous Atsumu Miya.

You soon discovered that Atsumu Miya was one of the best setters in all of Japan, and the list of things you learned about him grew rapidly as you sat next to him that evening at the wedding party. He was funny—a mix of self-admiration and goofiness that nearly made you spit out the delicious white wine you were drinking. He was a great dancer, something you realised when he nonchalantly dragged you onto the dancefloor. He had a short temper, which he made no effort to hide whenever his twin came to bother him—a fact that, somehow, amused you a lot. And last but not least, he was absolutely gorgeous.

Brown, hooded eyes that charmingly stole glances at you, a perfectly styled haircut that made you want to run your fingers through his hair, and a body that screamed touch me at full volume.

When the two of you stepped out of the elegant hotel hall to get some air on the spacious terrace, your elbows resting against its ornate balustrade, the topic of relationships naturally came up. You weren’t a fan, and neither was he. The gist of it was that you both found them too much of a hassle—not really worth the countless investments and complications. However, having to rely on one-night stands could be quite a challenge too. There was no guarantee you’d hit it off with your partner-for-the-night, and the effort required was still considerable.

If only you had someone to be FWB with…

And that was when Atsumu Miya asked the question, his eyes locked on yours, his lips stretched in a smirk, his hand brushing your cheek.

"Why don't we get out of here?"

That was the question that started it all.

At your shocked expression, he added, “We can see how it goes today and then decide.”

Of course, you said yes.

Fast-forward to the present, and your non-relationship had become a stable part of both your lives. While you followed a strict set of rules when it came to anything remotely romantic—no dates, no gifts, no sleeping over—you were much more easy-going about everything else. You texted almost daily, whether it was to share the rant of the day, a meme or the occasional hot pic. You also met up fairly often.

~

"Aaaaah, fucking great," Atsumu sighs after pulling out, smirking at you with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

You let the heaving of your chest quiet down before replying with a silly, tired nod. If you're being honest, sex with him is always great.

To your surprise, Atsumu doesn't immediately get up like he usually does. Instead, he rests his head in the valley between your breasts, his messy hair─your fault─tickling your skin. Without much thought, your hands settle on his shoulders, tracing slow, invisible lines on his back. His skin is warm.

You feel serene. The lights are dim, the night is silent, and there's something comforting about the weight of his chest lightly pressing against your stomach. Then, like a quiet revelation, it hits you.

You don't want him to go home.

When he presses a lazy kiss to the skin under your breast, your lips twitch into a smile that had been long forgotten.

Fuck.

Your hands still as your chest tightens.

Do I… like him?

The sudden awareness washes over you, leaving nothing but anxiety behind. This wasn’t the plan. Or the deal. It was not supposed to happen. What the hell are you going to do now? The moment you realised your feelings, everything changed in a way that couldn’t be undone.

Atsumu sighs loudly. “I should go now.”

“Stay,” you blurt out, regretting the murmured words immediately after.

Atsumu lifts his head, eyes locking onto yours. "What?"

Now that he's looking at you, you scramble to mask the whirlwind of emotions clashing inside you. "It's late,” you say, doing your best to sound unaffected. “By the time you get to your apartment, it’ll almost be time to wake up again."

Atsumu tilts his head, seemingly unbothered. "Wasn't it a rule not to sleep together?" His tone is just ambiguous enough that you can’t tell if he’s serious or if he’s just teasing you like he always does. 

Before you can ask for a clarification, he gets up in a swift, graceless movement and heads for the bathroom. "I'm gonna clean up and get some well-deserved rest, then.” He pauses at the doorway, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Don't change your mind." The last thing you see before he disappears behind the bathroom door is his toned, naked ass. You remain frozen in bed, eyes wide like those of a deer caught in headlights.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both freshened up and back in the bedroom. The idea of actually sleeping together suddenly feels like too much, and you consider opting for the couch, but before you can move, Atsumu grabs your wrist and tugs you onto the bed beside him.

He’s only wearing his boxers, so his bare chest presses against your back, and his arm lazily slips around your waist.

"'Tsumu, what are you doing?" You ask, your voice quieter than intended.

"'Can't sleep without hugging something," he murmurs against your ear, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "And you're way better than a pillow."

You want to protest, but all you can focus on is his hand on your stomach, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body and voice. 

It feels… safe. And nice. Maybe a bit too nice.

And that’s when you realise—now that you’ve had a taste of Atsumu’s embrace, one not driven by lust but by something different, something softer—there’s no way you can go back.

Thoughts crowd your mind, the weight of choices pressing on your chest, but it all magically fades away at the sound of his drowsy voice whispering against your ear.

"I could get used to this."

[lyditheoverthinker]

Each and every thing you love (Gojo x f!reader)

Word count: 9.8k

a/n: this is an AU where JJK is more of a “normal work routine” story, without all the apocalypse. The setting is about ten years after the canon plot.

Summary: You’re conducting an ordinary existence as a sorcerer, if a life surrounded by curses could be defined as such, when strange things start happening around you. It’s up to you to discover what or who is behind it, and most of all, why. You won’t be alone in this research, though: you’ll have nothing less than The Strongest by your side.

Tags: multipov (most ch. y/n’s and 2 ch. Gojo’s), romance, action, sorcerers.Warnings: mature content toward the end, stalking, cursing, mention of blood.

a/n: It only took me like… 2 years? to complete this, but I finally finished writing this <3

Masterlist

I

It’s 6 am. The breeze is chilly and the sun is lazily getting up from its quilt of clouds. You’re driving along the coast, your motorcycle rumbling under you, the air trying to push you back. You love driving at this hour. The sky is tinged with pastel colours, delicate hues of yellow, orange and pink, and the traffic hasn’t awoken yet.

When you catch sight of your favourite spot, you slow down. It’s a little viewpoint, equipped with benches and flowery bushes, and the vista there is absolutely breathtaking. You park your ride and raise your visor. The moment the sun rises in the sky, the sea grows alight with a myriad of burning speckles.

Your mouth is curving into a smile when you are struck by a hot and oddly dense mass of air. The world spins, pain bursts all over your body, and everything fades, leaving space only to void darkness.

II

“Look who’s awake!”

As you gradually regain consciousness, a high-pitched voice guides you back to reality.

“Come on, open your eyes, kikufuku.”

It’s Gojo’s voice. As annoying and cheerful as ever. Despite feeling very very tired, you do as he asked and try to put the frame in front of you in focus. Gradually, a column of white and blue takes the shape of the sorcerer. He's standing by the bottom of the bed you're lying on, his usual blindfold covering his eyes, a hand in his pocket and a lazy smile adorning his face.

“Where am I?” You turn your head left and right, but your movements are hindered by an unfamiliar stiffness.

“Sick-Bay. Our kind Shoko patched you up after your little accident.” From the way Gojo speaks, you would think you just dropped some juice on your shirt.

“Accident?”

Despite your mind feeling sluggish, you forcefully make your brain gears move and start remembering.

The coast, the sky… the pain.

“How long was I unconscious for?”

“Two days.” Gojo sticks his fingers up, matching his words. His voice is way too merry considering the matter at hand.

Finally, he tells you what happened. Two days ago, you were found dangerously close to the fence that runs along the cliff, your elbows bruised and the polycarbonate of your visor cracked. “Do you remember anything?” Gojo asks.

Your ribcage stills mid-breath, your entire attention spreads through the meanders of your memory. You sigh. “No.”

“Ah, pity,” Gojo exhales, “but a sailor said that he saw an explosion. He called the firefighters and not long after a couple of tourists saw you and called for an ambulance.”

“Did anybody get hurt?”

“Apart from you?—” Gojo gestures at your body—“No.”

Another sigh. “You said explosion… what the heck could explode in the middle of the road? There was nobody there!”

“That’s a good question. There were no traces left, aside from some dark ash.” Gojo takes a piece of the bread that only now you notice lying on your nightstand and throws it in his mouth. “Well, questioning time is over,” he continues, “Try recovering from your noodle state fast, yeah? We have too few sorcerers as it is.”

You look at him with a tired exhale. You kind of want to punch him right now, but he’s right: there’s always a lot of work and not enough people to see it through. “Of course.”

With a carefree shake of his hand, Gojo leaves the room and you find yourself in uncomfortable silence.

Now that you’re alone, you can’t help but feel the pain in your body and desperately search in your mind for the memories of what happened, but it doesn't matter how much you try, there is nothing to be found.

III

“You’re free to go, but… how are you feeling?” Shoko moves the stethoscope away from your chest and looks at you with heavy lids. Her dark circles seem deeper than usual.

“I’m okay, just a little tired,” you reply, trying to smile.

“I can imagine. I keep asking to change the beds, but since we don’t have that many patients it’s not really a priority.”

You chuckle and start moving up and down, eliciting a symphony of screeching noises from the old piece of furniture.

“Very funny.” Despite the sarcasm in her tone, Shoko’s lips almost imperceptibly curve upward and her eyes soften.

“How are you feeling, Ieiri-san?”

“Same old, same old, but I found a new bar that—”

“She’s awake!” Gojo unceremoniously barges into the room and takes a good look at you. “You look like shit!” He says with a smile. It's a strangely warm smile that contrasts with the words he's just uttered.

“It’s just to match you,” you reply with a scowl.

Gojo bursts into laughter. “Ah! Shoko, see? She’s perfectly fine!” Then he leans close, so close you can see the pores on his skin. “But you know very well that I’m handsome.” He’s about to flick you on the forehead, but, at the very last moment, he withdraws his finger.

You squint. He's never stopped before. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I am.” Gojo looks at Shoko briefly, then at you again. “I must go now,” he says while straightening himself. “Many things to do! Byeeee!”

Ieiri and you sigh in unison. Then, you carefully get out of bed and look around for the change of clothes you asked Akari to bring you.

“He must have a soft spot for you.” Shoko murmurs, her eyes fixed at the door.

“Uhm?”

“He treats you better than any of us,” she explains.

Your head shaking slightly, you look at your friend. “What are you talking about?”

“He came to see you every day. He also calls you kikufuku.”

“So what?”

“It’s his favourite sweet,” she says matter-of-factly. 

You dismiss her words, wondering what has gotten into her today. Gojo treats you like he treats everybody else. If anything, he might tease you a little more.

“He told me that I look like shit just a moment ago.”

“Just like a little boy pulling the ponytail of the girl he likes.”

~

The first thing you do after being dismissed is taking a much needed shower. Nothing beats hot water and citrus-scented soap when you're feeling like shit. Your elbow hurts a little, and you have to change the bandage on your knee, but all considered you feel okay. It's not long before your stomach starts rumbling and you feed it a big bowl of ramen with eggs and veggies.

After that, you reluctantly go doing the thing you currently dread the most: asking Ijichi about your motorcycle.

“It’s… not looking good,” he replies, his voice quivering.

When your eyes fall on your beloved ride, you gasp. ‘Not looking good’ is a big, fat euphemism. Fuck. It's destroyed. It seems the bike was much closer to the origin of the blast than you were.

You wish you could use Retrogaze. That way, you could take a little trip back in time with your mind’s eyes and see exactly what happened to your bike, and to you, but you are faced once more with the limits of your technique: you can only go back a few hours, and you were knocked out for two days. You decide to try anyway. You crouch and lay your hands on your beloved ride, but what you see is just the room you’re in, empty, for hours. This is useless. Your lips twist downward with the realisation you'll have to buy a new one.

IV

“What are you doing?” You stop in front of the stairs, your eyes sceptically scanning the figure in front of you.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm taking a break,” replies Gojo.

He's currently lying.

On the stairs.

Across the steps.

“Even if you use Infinity, you can't tell me you're comfortable.” You know it's no use arguing with him, but you can't help it.

"I liked the light," he says, unbothered.

You zoom out from his body and promptly understand what he's referring to. There's a big window behind him and warm, golden rays pour down to Gojo's relaxed form.

"Mmh." You sit beside him and try lying down, but the pointy edges of the steps ruthlessly jab at your back. "This is impossible." You sit up, fixing your shirt.

"Just lean your head on me. Problem solved."

You stop in your movements, your eyes fixed nowhere as you process his words. "What are you even—"

"Gojo-san! Y/Ln-san! I finally found you!" Akari pops out from behind the corner and lets out a big sigh, placing her hands on her sides for support as her chest heaves deeply.

V

Not long after, you discover the reason why Akari was in such a rush: Principal Yaga called for an emergency meeting. There has been an explosion in the suburbs and it's only when you're informed that there are no casualties that your breathing goes back to normal. There are two injured, though. And no trace of any kind of explosive device.

“A gas pipe?” You ask.

“No. There are no traces of any… ordinary cause,” replies Principal Yaga.

Two mysterious explosions in less than a week. This can’t be good.

The meeting ends with the decision to appoint you as investigator of the scene and you readily head out of the school. You walk toward the spot where you usually park your motorcycle, and it's only when you pass one of the gargantuan maple trees that conceal the school that you realise your mistake. Resigned, you go toward the parking lot, where you find Akari and her car waiting for you.

Right before getting in, Gojo appears next to you. “I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Your brows furrow. “As if.”

VI

“I’m sorry I had to park so far away. It’s a traffic-restricted zone,” Akari says with eyes that resemble those of a puppy.

“Don’t worry, it's not like I’m that badly wounded.” You have a look around. “And this area is a pretty one, so I don't mind at all.” You turn a corner where someone dropped a bunch of leaflets and look at them distractedly, drawn by the vibrant red of the words. “We’re actually close to my favourite café.” As you raise your gaze, your mouth remains agape and your throat tightens around your vocal folds. You release a voiceless sound at the view in front of you. The place that you need to investigate, the place that was completely destroyed by a mysterious explosion, is the café you’ve been a regular at for the last seven years. 

You quicken your steps and reach the two officers stationed outside of the building. “Good morning,” you say hurriedly while showing them your pass—courtesy of Akari—“Are the owners here?”

Your eyes quickly scan your surroundings and set on a shivering old woman.

“Y/n-chan!” Mrs Okada, the owner of the café, walks toward you, a bandage covering her forehead.

“Okada-san, are you alright?” You ask while placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Oh dear, I am fine, but look at my café!” Okada’s voice trembles and her brows knit together. She then recounts to you how her husband and she were just heading inside, ready for today's business, when she heard a loud noise followed by the shattering of the café’s windows. When you look around, you see that glass shards have been scattered in every direction. Their reflections would be beautiful if only the situation was different.

Her husband soon joins you and you try to comfort the old couple and give a brief, vague explanation about the reason why you’re there. It’s always better to keep a low profile.

You pass under the police tape, enter through the frame that used to hold the entrance, and observe your surroundings. The café is barely recognisable: the furniture is shattered on the floor and dark ash covers everything, from the floor up to the ceiling. Creakings fill the room as you walk and the smell of burnt wood and plastic stings in your nose.

You reach for the counter, or what’s left of it, and lay your hands on its now rough, blackened surface. Just like in a movie reel, the events of this afternoon start flickering backwards in your head. You see police officers securing the scene, civilians looking at the debris, a curtain of black smoke… There it is, the explosion.

Just as a hint of satisfaction pools inside you at the idea of discovering the truth, your lips tighten. What you see makes no sense at all. Before the explosion, there was… nothing. No people, no bombs, no sparks. The blast just came out of nowhere, a microscopic Big Bang. This is impossible. Your hands leave the charred wood and your gaze falls to the ground before you shake your head and start investigating the scene in the old-school way. 

VII

“Cursed energy, uh?” Principal Yaga is sewing yet another puppet. This one has three eyes.

“That narrows it down to either a Curse or a Sorcerer,” you continue.

“Most likely.”

“But why would someone attack these places? I don’t understand. They’re not close to each other or connected in any clear way.”

“Patterns require time to show. A third explosion would probably give more information about that.”

“I would prefer it if there were no more explosions, but it sounds unlikely. Let’s hope nobody gets hurt, at least.”

“I’ve already said this, but aren’t you a little soft to be a sorcerer, Y/n-san?”

“Maybe, but I could not forgive myself if I didn’t use my gift for the greater good. So… soft or not, I will do my best to get the job done.”

“Ah, you remind me of a student we had some years ago.”

“Really. Where are they now?”

“He had a couple of tough years, so he went off on a long vacation together with his old classmates. He will be back when he’s ready.” Principal Yaga makes the faintest smile toward his new creature. “Done,” he says proudly as he puts the needle away. “By the way, there are a couple of grade 3 curses that need your attention. Akari will give you the details.”

VIII

It's the middle of the night. Pearly threads seep through the window and coat the warm duvet you’re hidden under. Suddenly, the unrelenting ringtone of your phone wakes you up. With sluggish movements, you reach for the obnoxious object and answer without checking the caller ID.

“Yes?”

"Y/n-san, I'm sorry to disturb you." It sounds like Ijichi.

"Just a moment." Your voice is a little gruff, groggy. You slowly find your bearings and then prompt him to continue.

"There has been another explosion. Principal Yaga asked for you."

You’re not sure if it’s the drowsiness, but Ijichi’s voice seems even more concerned than usual.

~

Without his sunglasses, Principal Yaga looks much less intimidating. His face looks tired, but the same could be said for yours since it’s 3 in the morning.

“We got our third dot to connect.”

“Where is it?”

He hesitates, his mouth twisting downward. “A cemetery.”

“What?!”

~

The trip to the cemetery is long and uncomfortable. 

It's already unpleasant enough to have an attack in a cemetery, but when you discover it's the one in which your grandparents are buried, the uneasiness grows.

Following Ijichi, you can’t shake off the feeling of being somehow under attack. You hope he will take a turn and show you the grave of someone you don’t know—which would be cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless—but he keeps walking down the road you’ve trodden on twice a year since your grandfather and then your grandmother died. When he stops to talk with the appointed officers, you move past him and your knees fall on the ashy grass. The name of your grandmother stares at you from the broken piece of stone it had been carefully engraved on.

“This is definitely a pattern…” you murmur, your eyes closing as you inhale the night’s fresh air.

“A pattern?” Ijichi stands politely behind you, his eyes trying to look at what you were looking at before talking.

“This is my grandparents’ grave.”

He gasps, then silence thickens around you.

“First the place I always stop by on my rides, then the café I regularly go to, now this. It’s hard to disregard it as a coincidence.”

“Do you think someone might be after you?”

“I would have never thought of it before, but… it’s a possibility.” You sigh. “Okay. Time to do my job.”

You lean forward and touch the cold gravestone. Retrogaze activates, but the result is the same as for the other explosion. A blast out of nowhere without anybody close enough to be caught in your vision. “You can sense some cursed energy in this spot, too, right?” You ask Ijichi.

“Yes. Just where the explosion seems to have originated.”

“I couldn’t see anything useful. I don’t think there’s much more we can do right now. I'll have to pass by the municipality to ask to fix the graves. Would you mind accompanying me?”

Ijichi’s graveness has his posture stiffen. “Of course.”

~

“You know, I used to spend a lot of time with my grandparents.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my parents work a lot, so they’ve never had much time for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. My grandparents were great. Warm. Supportive. Nana was a great cook and always baked cookies when I felt down. Grandpa was a bit grumpy, but a softie when it mattered.” You look outside the car window. Buildings are moving fast in front of you. "But they were old. They died by the time I graduated.” Your gaze focuses somewhere in the distance and you fall silent for the rest of the ride.

IX

“It seems like this is not your week, uh?” Gojo appears out of nowhere, like he usually does, and places his elbows beside yours on the wooden balustrade.

You're really glad there is a traditional Japanese garden not far from your home. In front of you, the water flows lazily, painted red by the bridge you’re standing on, and its crystalline surface is rippled every now and then by a leaf that lost its balance.

You turn toward Gojo, your eyes droopy. “You're back?” Behind him, the sun is starting his descent in the clear blue sky.

Gojo smiles. It’s a soft smile, different from his usual brazen ones. “I'm back.”

You push your lips together, capturing them between your teeth. Then you exhale loudly through the nose. “All work done?”

“For today. Do you want to get some miso soup?”

Why is he being so nice?

You nod and the two of you head to Gojo's car, a black Lexus he uses when he's feeling fancy. Strangely enough, even though he can teleport wherever he wants, he likes to drive.

~

“You've worked a lot lately. How are you holding up?”

Your question must have surprised Gojo, because it takes him an unusually long time to reply. “All fine. I'm always fine.” He plays with his food skillfully using his chopsticks.

“Ah, no one would expect less from the Strongest,” you say with some theatricality.

“Exactly.”

You start playing with your food too. “But you know, even the heroes in anime need help sometimes.”

“Uhm?”

“You know what I'm talking about, all those ’unity is strength’ mottos and the like… Haven't you learned anything?”

“What?”

You sigh empathically. “You're a lost cause.”

“Hey!”

“I just wanted to say that there's nothing wrong in asking for help every now and then… or even just venting. There's a reason I was given ears and it's not just because of Centimillimetal.”

“Listen, I'm not the one having a hard time here, you're the one with a psycho on your heels.”

Suddenly, the little break you had managed to take from this situation is over. A mix of sadness, anxiety and anger stirs in your stomach. “I just don't understand. Why would someone do something like this?” A cube of tofu fumes between your chopsticks as you look at Gojo with furrowed brows.

“Well, you did help put a lot of people behind bars. That kind of job can earn you many enemies.”

“Do you think it's that? Someone looking for revenge?”

Gojo takes a long sip of soup before replying. “Might be worth looking into it.”

“I didn't even keep track of that. I'll have to go get some logs…”

“Well, enough for now. Here, eat this.” Gojo is holding a piece of tamagoyaki right in front of your mouth. You frown, bouncing your gaze from his fingers to his face and back. "Come on, take a bite,” he insists.

You raise your hand, trying to get the piece of food with your own chopsticks, but Gojo withdraws his hand. “Nuh-uh. You have to bite it. It's the last one, do you want it or not?”

You would normally give up, or at least complain about it, but the smell is enticing, your stomach is still covetous, and you're too tired to argue.

You withdraw your own hand, wait for Gojo to extend the tamagoyaki again, and bite into it.

He releases it and starts laughing. “You look so dumb! Just like an obedient dog!”

You glare at him, and just as you're about to scold him, you bite your tongue. “Ow!!!”

Gojo’s laugh intensifies even more and it must be contagious, because despite the pain, you start laughing too.

~

Walking back to the car, hands in your pockets, you smile to yourself. “You know, you're a moron, but a kind moron.”

“Where did this come from?” Gojo says, feigning being offended.

“You tease me all the time and you have no manners whatsoever, but you tend to be around when I need it and you just offered me dinner.”

“I thought it was men that you could buy with food. Or dogs…”

Gojo starts chuckling and you nudge his arm. “See? A moron!”

The sky has gotten dark by now, and you wish you were in the countryside so you could see the stars. “Well, my place is close by, so I'll just walk home. Goodnight, and thanks.”

“For the meal?” Gojo asks, teasingly.

“For everything.” You let yourself look at him for a little longer than usual, trying to get your message across, and trying to glean his thoughts.

“I was just passing by!”

You chuckle at that. “Ok. Then, goodnight.” Despite the hell of a day you had, you smile, feeling serene for a moment.

“Goodnight.” Despite the hell of a day he probably had too—at least if your guts are right—he smiles too, a soft smile that you're starting to see more and more often on him.

X

Another day of work, another day of no clues about who might be after you. You're finally going home and the street lights flicker over your light steps. The sun is down, the air is cold, and little clouds of mist appear and vanish as you get close to your apartment.

You see it at last, the old building you've lived in for the past ten years, and sigh happily. After a long day of exorcisms, all you want is to take a hot shower, eat something, and go to bed.

Just as you're about to open the main entrance door, you hear a loud boom.

You wince, your chest clenching, and walk backwards. When you look up, you see fire coming from your building. You check the floor. Then skim with your eyes from left to right. It's your apartment.

“This can't be real.” You start hyperventilating, the air flowing in and out too fast and too shallowly. You blink repeatedly, as if closing your eyes again and again could get rid of the scene in front of you. You want to scream. You want to collapse on the floor but you just stay there, frozen in shock.

Thirty minutes later, the firefighters and some police officers are checking your apartment. You stand on the other side of the street, arms crossed, lower lip caught between the teeth.

One hour later, they tell you that there isn't much to be saved. Everything is either broken or carbonised. They're explaining some kind of detail, but you can't really hear them.

“Do you have anywhere to go tonight?” An officer asks. “Miss?” he adds after a bit. That pulls you a bit out of the shock.

“I…” You don't know what to reply. Shoko has enough troubles sleeping as it is and your parents live on the other side of the country. Maybe you'll just spend the night in the school dorms.

“Yes, officer.” Gojo's voice startles you. He's towering over you, an arm lazily resting on your shoulders.

“Good. Take care. We'll let you know more details tomorrow.”

The officer takes his leave and you turn your gaze toward your colleague.

“Gojo?”

“It's alright. Come with me.” His hand grasps your shoulder gently.

“No, it's okay, I'll go to a hotel or stay at school…”

“Hotels suck and you're not a teen anymore. The cramped rooms of the school are not fit for you.”

“But—”

“No buts. I have a spare room and I’m almost never home, so you won’t annoy me,” he states with a smirk.

You look up at him, his tall figure now imposing as never before. “Are you sure?” Your voice is small, shrunk in your throat. You don't even complain about the last part of his sentence.

Gojo tilts his head almost imperceptibly to the side. “Come,” he finally says as he gives your shoulder a little squeeze.

It's a weird feeling, but amidst all the coldness that’s engulfing your heart, a little glimmer of warmth blooms timidly.

XI (Gojo’s pov)

When you enter his apartment, you look small. Shrinking. Your shoulders are curved and your steps hesitant.

Gojo leads you to the living room, which is equipped with all the ordinary comforts. “Make yourself at home. But don’t touch the cookies. I need them to think.”

He expects some grumpy reply that will make him laugh, but you simply nod. You must be really exhausted. And sad, probably. He doesn’t care about his apartment at all, but he imagines you might have gotten fond of yours. Other people usually do.

“So, this is the living room, that is the kitchen, and here—” he moves along the corridor—“is your room”. He doesn't know why he never converted the guest room to something else. He never has guests. But he wouldn't use it, anyway, so he couldn't really be bothered.

You step in, tentative.

“Just leave your stuff here and have a shower. I will order some food.”

“Okay.” Your gaze doesn’t rise.

He hates seeing you like this. It's like you lost your will to fight, that thunderous energy you always bring with you. He decides to give you some space, since you probably need some time to try and get comfortable, so he goes to the kitchen, his hand rummaging in a drawer full of take-out flyers. Right before he makes a call, you peek in the kitchen. “I’ll need some clothes.”

“Right!” Gojo is surprised at his startled reaction. “Give me a moment.”

When you come out of the shower, Gojo struggles to hold back from laughing. His white tee arrives at the middle of your thigh and you had to roll up the trousers in order to prevent them from dragging on the floor. Suddenly, he realises he didn't give you any underwear, and an unfamiliar sensation tickles his ears. I’m not blushing, am I?! He shoos the thought, knowing very well that this is not the appropriate time.

“The food will be here in a jiffy, wanna watch some movie?”

“Aren't you busy?” you ask, your expression still too serious to look right on your face.

“No, I'm done for the day.”

“Don't you need some alone time, then?”

“What are you talking about?” Gojo heads to his dark grey couch and sits on it, patting the spot next to him with an overdramatic motion.

You twist your mouth briefly, fiddling with your hands, and then go sit next to him.

Half an hour later, the two of you are finishing eating your food while watching a silly kung-fu movie. Gojo was hoping to steal you a smile with the absurd acrobatics of the actors, but your mood seems to be beyond salvation today. He guesses it's normal, all considered, but he can't avoid feeling restless.

You are in the corner of the couch, as if you were afraid of taking up space, and are slowly finishing a daifuku, taking small hamster-like bites at it.

“Gimme some of that,” he asks abruptly.

“Uhm? Don't you have yours?” More than annoyed, you look confused.

“Mine was too small,” he explains.

Your brow furrows and you look at the piece of sweet you have in hand. “I’ve already bitten it…”

“So what?”

You still, but then you shrug, the bridge of your nose scrunched, and pass him the remaining of the daifuku.

“Nah, feed me.” Gojo orders with a smirk. You wince a little. Ah, finally a reaction.

“What?” you ask.

“I want you to feed me. Come on, gimme, gimme!”

You stare at him, frozen for some long seconds. Then your eyes fall to the daifuku and you slowly extend your hand towards Gojo’s mouth. When you’re close enough, he enthusiastically bites into it.

“Aaah, delicious,” he smiles while chewing. There it is. At that moment, you finally smile.

“You’re surprisingly good at following orders, kikufuku.”

Your smile evaporates and leaves place to a glare, to which Gojo responds with a hearty laugh.

As the movie proceeds, you look more and more tired each time Gojo glances at you. “Wanna go to sleep?”

A long pause. “No.”

He only realises it now, but you are hugging one of the couch pillows, nestling your chin in the soft blue fabric, and he feels a wave of affection wash over him. He ponders about it. A hug wouldn’t hurt. You surely need some reassurance, to hear that everything will go well. And you’ll surely have a hard time asking for it.

He extends an arm and pulls you close. Slowly. Gently.

Surprisingly, you don't put up any resistance and let him pull you so close that you can nest under his shoulder. You’re stiff under his touch at first, but after a while he can feel your body relax and lean against his.

The moment he feels his heart beating faster, Gojo almost laughs out loud. Who would have thought I would feel like this again.

XII

“I understand.” Gojo’s voice lacks his usual exuberance as he stands in the middle of the living room, phone in hand. “Can’t you send someone else?” He furrows his brow as a deep voice replies from the other side and then lets out a groan. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a bit.”

From the couch, you tilt your head, trying to get a look at his turned face. “A mission?”

Gojo turns, rolling his eyes. “A swarm of curses is terrorising the Guizhou province. They want me to go.”

“It must be a strong bunch,” you comment. You’re hugging the same pillow you were hugging the day prior.

“The pains of being the strongest,” Gojo laments.

The smallest smile peeps out on your face. “Flexing, aren’t we?” 

Gojo smirks and comes sitting on the arm of the couch. “Listen. It’s going to take me a couple of days tops. You stay here: order some takeout, watch some movies. You can have Ijichi bring you whatever you need.”

“You know Ijichi is not our lackey, right?” you reply, your expression half scolding half amused.

Gojo ignores your question and leans down a little, making you withdraw a couple of centimetres. “Do not get out of this apartment. You’ll be safe here.” He stares at you for some long moments, his gaze making your own fall to the side, and then suddenly straightens up. “We’ll decide what to do about that asshole of a stalker when I come back. I’m sure Yaga is devising some plan about it, anyway, so just take this as a chance to get some rest.”

Five minutes later, Gojo is at the door, ready to leave.

“Good luck, even though you don’t need it.” You’re leaning with your shoulder on the wall adjacent to the door, a metre from him. Seeing him going away, somehow, feels wrong, but you don’t want to trouble him, so you try to put on a calm face.

“You don’t need to worry,” Gojo replies, taking a step towards you, “It’s all going to be fine.”

At those words, at his nearness, you feel your stomach close up a little, and fleetingly think that it’s a good thing that his mesmeric eyes are hidden behind his blindfold. “I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound convincing.

“I know.” Gojo replies calmly. He hesitates, his covered gaze fixed on you, and then turns towards the door. “Okay, I’m going. See you in a couple of days!” He waves his hand blithely and closes the door behind him.

XIII

You're out of breath.

At each inspiration, the cold air scratches against your throat, fire seems to flow in your calves, and you're quite sure the shapes in front of you aren't supposed to be that blurry.

You've been running for… Well, you don't really know for how long, but if you're in this state, it must have been a fairly long time.

You look back quickly, careful not to bump into a pile of garbage abandoned on the street, and promptly look ahead again. He's still there.

Goosebumps pop on your skin as you try and try and try to find a good plan. The man you've been investigating, the man who has destroyed each and every thing you love, is still at your heels. How the fuck is he so fast?

The thing is, you should have listened to Gojo, but you haven't. You should have stayed home, but you haven't. You shouldn't have started investigating your “stalker” by yourself, but you have. And it was right when you thought you had cracked the case that he appeared out of nowhere and tried to make you explode. It was only a matter of time, really.

You are trained. You're even fairly good at close-quarters combat, but how can you fight against someone who can trigger explosions at long-range? The only reason you haven't been blown to pieces already is that it seems he needs some time to charge the damned thing.

I need to find a way to close in on him.

You thought of asking for help, but he hasn't really given you the time. And you can't involve any innocent civilian. You're in a quite isolated area, too, and in the middle of the night, so there wouldn't be anyone to alert even if you wanted to.

My throat hurts so much.

The rhythmic thud thud of your steps is something you've always found comforting, but you can't find any comfort this time. I can't go on much longer. You realise you have to confront him. Even if it's risky. Even if, if you miss, you're going to become meat confetti.

You take a left and turn in a swift motion, taking out your cursed energy-infused dagger, and wait for him to appear.

As soon as he turns the corner, your blade jabs in his shoulder. It's my chance. You start sprinting in his direction, forcefully gathering all the energy you have left, and jump kick him in the chest. As he groans—his voice raspy and his breathing irregular—you lean over and take the dagger back. You're about to stab him again, but feel a buzzing noise.

Shit.

In the blink of an eye, you jump back, just in time to avoid most of the explosion he just conjured.

This motherfucker.

But he made a mistake. He’s just given you a chance. You make a quick assessment of the situation: if you're right—and you're absolutely not sure that you are—both the times he attacked you, he used his right hand. It might be that he has to use that as a channel for his cursed energy. And if that's right…

You jump on him as he's getting back up and in a quick movement slide the dagger right across his wrist. You don't have the time to see the blood splurt on you as you frantically withdraw. 

You try to gain some distance, the feeling of safety long gone but the survival instinct still giving you hope.

When you turn, you notice the man holding his right wrist, his eyes wild and his mouth open in a scream. “You fucking bitch!” He slurs at you, and a part of you feels strangely proud. Was I right?

Your dagger is still tight in your hand, ready to be thrown if he tries anything. “Do you think I'm this weak?!” His voice is shrill, and before you know it, warmth is surrounding you.

“Ffffffuck,” you blurt out while adrenaline and panic course amok through your veins. I’m going to die.

But then the wave of heat stops.

There's no explosion. No fire. No pain.

You turn around and see that the explosion is there, blindingly bright and impossibly close, but something keeps it at bay, and just like it came, it soon vanishes into thin air.

“What? Had? I? Told you?” A sharp voice pulls you back from your stupor.

Gojo. You've never been this happy to hear that obnoxious voice of his. You sigh in relief and finally flop on the rough cement of the street, and Gojo promptly braces you.

“Hey, kikufuku, you alright?” This time, his voice doesn't sound annoying. Or obnoxious. Or chaffing. This time, it sounds almost… tender? “Come on, answer me,” Gojo’s voice is uncharacteristically shaky.

“I'm okay,” you murmur, and remember once again how inflamed your throat is.

“It's over. It's all over now.” Gojo gives you a squeeze, his hand strong against your side.

~

Some time later, Ijichi joins the two of you. He looks painfully worried. “Y/n-san…” 

You smile. “I'm alright, Ijichi-san.” It must have been convincing, because Ijichi sighs in relief.

“The attacker is under control, you don't need to worry,” he says while observing you and Gojo, “I'll take care of the rest. You should go to Shoko-san.”

“I don't think I'm injured.” You look at your own figure, checking if there is a bruise, burn or cut that you somehow haven't noticed yet. You don't think you're hurt anywhere. However, there is a splatter of blood—luckily not yours—covering your upper body. You're glad it's winter and you're wearing layers. “But cleaning it will be a hassle…”

Gojo must have understood what you're talking about and chuckles, his voice finally limpid.

~

“You were right.” Akari is in front of you, hair unusually frizzy, a tablet in her hand as she smiles awkwardly. “He is a member of the Tora Gang. A quite important one, too.” She tilts her head and scratches her cheekbone. “He actually asked me to relay a message to you…”

“What does the asshole want?” Once again, Gojo appears behind you, placing his arm over your shoulders.

“H-he…” Akari stutters, “He says he’ll get his revenge eventually. For his boss.”

“His boss?” He asks.

You turn toward him, your eyelids heavy but your gaze sharp. “He’s Daiki Sasaki, one of the main henchmen of the Tora Gang.”

Thanks to the absence of his blindfold, you see Gojo’s eyebrows raise. “Isn’t the Tora Gang disbanded?”

You tilt your head slightly. “Exactly.”

“Ah!” Gojo brings his free hand to his chin. “So he’s coming after everyone who worked on the task force?”

At this point, Akari smiles slightly. “Exactly.” She looks at Gojo. “And she… she’s the only cursed user involved, so maybe that’s why he started with her…?”

“Well, it’s good,” you sigh.

“Huh?” Both Gojo and Akari look at you with a puzzled expression.

“Well, if it had been a non-sorcerer their chances of survival would have been even lower.”

“Ah, it’s true,” Akari mumbles.

“Oh, valiant knight in shiny armour, your concern for others is truly touching,” Gojo jibes.

At those words, you glare at him, and he looks back without diverting his gaze, arm still over your shoulder.

“Ahem… I will go help with the paperwork now.” Akari starts walking away but then turns back. “And don’t worry, YL/n-san, we won’t let him get out of prison ever again!”

The expression in her eyes is so intense you end up replying with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Akari-san.”

Her shoulders twitch briefly, but she suddenly turns and walks back toward the police still on the scene.

You’re gazing at nothing in particular, when you feel Gojo’s hand squeezing your shoulder. “Let's go home.”

When you meet his eyes, you finally realise why they say that home is where your heart is. “Okay.”

Suddenly tightening the grip on your shoulder, Gojo pulls you close—and just like that, you’re flying.

XIV

The air is even colder up above where even the skyscrapers can't reach, and you can't help the scream that leaves your throat. “What the hell are you doing?!” You shout without looking at Gojo, your eyes antsy and fixed on the fast moving ground.

“Taking the short path. Breathtaking, isn't it?” He says while hugging you closer. “Come on, now. Do you really think I would let you fall?”

He then stops midair, and it takes you five deep breaths and a continuous chant of “I'm not going to fall” echoing in your head, but you finally manage to actually take in the view at your feet.

The city looks so different from above. Lines of orange and yellow intersect with endless twinkles hued green and blue. It looks massive and insignificant at the same time. Even at this distance, the busy sounds reach you: passing cars murmur below and the blare of an ambulance distracts you.

Then silence falls.

“Better?” Gojo looks at you with what can't be anything other than tenderness.

Your focus shifts from the city to him, and slowly back to the city, now quiet like a distant star. “It's perfect.”

“Aren't I the best?” The man’s expression is as smug as it can be.

You would normally respond with some sarcasm, or at least a sigh, but you feel so serene that after a quick glance at his brazen face, you don't even answer, your eyes twinkling at the view in front of you.

It's strange how you can't really feel your weight while Gojo holds you by his side, and your attention suddenly moves to his body being so close to yours. You tighten your lips a little in embarrassment.

“Should we go?”

“Mm-hmm.”

As you touch the floor of the roof—which apparently was the best landing spot—you sigh loudly. “I am so pissed,” you complain.

At this, Gojo finally lets go of his hold and looks at you, puzzled. “Well, someone did try to murder you,” he says tentatively.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m pissed because you had to save me. What am I, some damsel in distress? Did I train for all those endless hours for nothing?”

Gojo's laugh surrounds you. It's loud, clear, serene. “Y/n, you really are an idiot!”

You glare at him as he heads for the door, his long legs making long, slow steps, but his smile makes it hard to keep your furrowed brow.

Gojo hums as he opens the door and then turns to you. “I mean… if you hadn't held your ground and stabbed him with that tiny magical dagger of yours, there would have been no one to save.”

You want to punch him, but you snort instead. “May I remind you that I'm still in possession of said tiny magical dagger?”

Gojo laughs again and you end up chuckling, too, and your voices echo along the staircase.

“But why are you already back in Japan?” You lean forward to have a look at his face. “I thought you said it would take you a couple of days.”

Gojo’s eyes darken for a moment. “Ijichi came by the house and found it empty. He had the good sense to call me.” He releases a little sigh. “After that, I just had to take a little flight.”

“And the job?”

“I was almost done. The locals can handle the rest.” Gojo smiles reassuringly and your worry slowly dissipates from your face.

XV (Gojo’s pov)

“Alright, it's time to take some shut-eye.” Gojo is standing behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he pushes you to your room.

You quickly turn. “But—”

“No buts. You have eaten. You have showered. Now, sleep!”

The expression you make at that point is delightfully childish. Brow furrowed, pouting lips and fingers fidgeting.

He sustains your gaze without adding a word.

You sigh. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” Gojo shoots you a lazy smile and laughs internally when he sees your face getting somewhat red.

You glare at him, quickly wish him good night, and disappear behind the door.

“Aaah…” After putting his blindfold back on, Gojo plops on the couch, settling in the dip he made by always sitting in the same spot. On his left, the cushions bear no signs of use, but the pillow on that side is a little creased. “I never thought she would be such a hugger,” he murmurs to himself. He reaches for the pillow and holds it between his arms, wondering what’s so special about it. “It’s not even warm. And way too small,” he complains, throwing it unceremoniously to the side.

He’s feeling restless, but he’s unsure why. All the deeds for the day are done, from saving the world to saving the… the what? Least annoying colleague? Temporary roommate? Closer-than-she’s-supposed-to-be friend? Gojo lets out an exasperated sigh. He thought he had already gotten over the phase of muddled feelings.

After accidentally watching an entire documentary about platypuses—how that happened eludes him—he ends up sneaking toward your door. He opens it just a tad to check if you’re doing alright after the hell of a day you had.

“Hey,” you murmur in a croaky voice.

“Did I wake you?” he murmurs.

“No.” You stifle a yawn, “I can’t fall asleep.”

“Do you want some company?”

Your eyes flicker briefly. “Sure.”

He comes forward and sits on the ground next to the bed, not far from where you’re lying. He hears you inhale as if you’re about to say something, but only silence follows.

“You know… I would really prefer it if you avoided risking getting yourself killed in the future,” he blurts out, leaning back with his head on the mattress.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you retort.

“But you went looking for the guy by yourself. Alone. Against a wannabe Bakugou guy. That was idiotic.”

“Y—” you quickly hold yourself back, and Gojo is 100% sure that you were about to say that he is the idiotic one, and he bursts into laughter before you even have a chance to think of an alternative reply. When he calms down, he feels a light touch on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” At your words, he stills briefly, his eyes unfocused, and then he turns to face you. “You must have been worried,” you add without breaking the light contact. He lets out a strained laugh. “I mean, I was supposed to protect you, so it’s only natural—”

“I’m fine,” you say. Your voice feels like the warmth of a fireplace on a cold winter evening. Slowly, your hand rises and your fingers brush his covered temple. “I won’t do anything reckless again. I promise.”

Against all his time-hardened instincts, Gojo finds himself leaning into your touch. It feels strangely natural. Soothing. It’s so silent in the apartment that he can hear your breath getting caught in your throat and a thousand images flash in his mind, fighting for his attention. This time, he decides to let it all go: he lets go of his spirit of independence, which is screaming and kicking; he lets go of his cynicism; he lets go of the realm of downbeat what-ifs. This time, he wants to believe in a happy ending. Not a grandiose one, with bells and garlands, big statements and corny confessions. A quiet one: a string of good and bad days, of stormy and tender conversations, of teasing and kindness. “I’m holding you to it,” he finally replies.

After his words, he turns and sits on the edge of the bed, gazing at you. In the still air of the room, your hearts dance tenderly. Gojo leans forward and the faintest trace of hesitation slows his movements, but when he sees the way your eyes rest on his, all the doubts evaporate like a puff of breath in the winter air. When your lips meet, it's as if a slow wave gleams on him, warm and soft. His arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer, and you lean into his touch, your lips never leaving his.

He doesn't recall how it happened, but he's now lying beside you. His legs are entangled in yours and your hand is buried in his hair, caressing him gently.

“And here I thought you wouldn't be the cuddly type.” Your murmur is blended with a chuckle.

“Hmm… You were already thinking about that kind of stuff, huh?” Gojo asks, meeting your gaze.

Your eyes pause on him only for a moment before turning away. “No, of course not.” You pause and your fingers still too. “Well, I must admit that I did wonder how your hair would feel, but that’s it.”

Gojo chuckles as he sees you trying to play it cool. “You can touch it more, you know? It seems that you like it.”

You sigh. “And now I’ve given you another reason to be smug, I see.” Despite your feigned exasperation, you soon start stroking his hair again, your movements slow and gentle. He feels the irresistible urge to nuzzle your chest, so he suddenly pulls you by your waist, making you release a tiny “oh?”, and closes the distance between the two of you. “Getting bold, are we?” you ask, amused.

Once again, Gojo can hear the fluster in your voice and the corners of his lips rise as he replies, “Don’t push me away, it feels amazing here.”

You laugh, and this time it’s louder than a chuckle. Regardless of the hour, it doesn’t look like you’re tired at all. “I take the ‘bold’ back; cheeky suits you better.”

“But that’s why you like me,” Gojo says playfully, looking up at you. His smile wavers the moment he sees your face. What in the world did he ever do to deserve being showered with this much affection? Someone must have misplaced the plotlines, he thinks to himself.

You smile fondly. “Well, as much as it pains me to say it, I can’t deny that your cheekiness is part of your charm…” Your eyes have some hypnotic effect on him, and Gojo feels drawn to your face once again.

The moment his lips come in contact with yours, elation washes over him once again, and now his hands feel itchy, too. So much so, in fact, that his left hand starts to roam over your body, slowly, his fingers applying a gentle pressure on each curve he finds. Meanwhile, your right hand settles by his jaw, brushing against his ear.

As time passes, your minds grow fuzzy, the thread of reason unravelling by the second, and your bodies grow flushed, nurtured by each and every touch.

“Would you…” you start, and pause to catch your breath as Gojo places soft kisses all along your stomach. “Would you mind taking your blindfold off?” A contented sigh escapes your lips after yet another kiss. “If it doesn’t trouble you,” you add.

Gojo doesn’t stop his movements. As his lips venture toward even hotter lands, he coos, “I was wondering when you’d ask.” As you grumble a complaint about his teasing nature, he gives a little bite to your skin, drawing your attention. “Like this?” He smirks as he uses his right thumb to raise the blindfold. The way your mouth remains agape has him chuckling, and it takes all his willpower to not tease you even more. At least not in that way.

He can’t even start to explain the sheer satisfaction he feels in hearing the way the room fills with your held-back voice.

Your body is warm, flush, and inviting, and the cool air of his apartment is of no importance: he feels his whole body on fire. As your bodies unite, he intertwines his fingers with yours and keenly takes in every little detail of you, from the way your brow furrows to the way your legs dearly hold him close. Between the two of you, there’s a tenderness that he never thought could blend so well with the lust that is flowing through his veins. Your breaths merge, veer, and then merge again, and he loses himself in those sweet eyes of yours.

He holds you close, supporting you, and revels in every rise and fall of your body on his. You hold him tight, your arms crossed behind his neck as he tastes every bit of skin he can reach. His fingers move across your body with devotion, lingering lasciviously wherever your softness is too enticing to resist.

Quickly, charging up at every movement, every kiss, every touch, your souls and bodies reach euphoria in a swirl of tired muscles, breathy voices, and loud heartbeats.

Slumber starts falling on you as your breaths slow down, and find their natural rhythm again. You’re not ready to untie your union yet, and lie in a warm embrace until your consciousness gives way to the realm of wonder.

XVI

“Mmm…” you lazily turn over as the fog of your mind is cleared up by the morning light. It’s warm, and a soft quilt presses lightly on your body.

Why does it feel so hot?

Only now you realise that you’re not the only source of warmth in this bed. Gradually, you become aware of the arm hooked around your waist, its skin pressing against your naked side.

Oh.

You open your eyes and look up.

“Have you rested well, sleeping beauty?” Gojo’s voice is soft, quiet. You raise your eyes and see him propped on his elbow, and your breath gets caught in your throat. You’re not used to seeing him from this close. Nor to see him, again, with his eyes unveiled. Or while being… half-naked next to him?!

He must sense the fluster that has taken over you, but instead of teasing you—like he always does—he pulls you even closer with an arm and slips the other under your neck, snuggling you in his embrace.

You inhale as if you’re about to talk, but stop in your tracks.

“Hahaha.” Gojo’s voice is as warm as his hold. “No need to be so shy.” He slides his hand upward, cupping your cheek and making you look up at him. “We did much more than this, didn’t we?” His smirk, his teasing voice, his warm body next to yours, all give rise to a profuse blush that makes you wonder if you have a fever right now. “Cute,” he comments.

Before you can even think of a reply, he pulls your face even closer and kisses you. It’s a soft kiss, almost chaste, and your body tenses briefly before relaxing in his touch.

“Hmm, better,” Gojo breathes out, hugging you close again.

The two of you remain like that for several minutes, the only sound that of your breaths that gradually synchronise.

You hide your face, looking down. “Are we… together?”

Gojo pauses briefly, and those short instants are enough to make your heart struggle in discomfort, but then he bursts into laughter. “I’d say so, unless you were just interested in my body!”

You look up, outraged, but as you do so you hit his chin, and you stop your movements, startled, as he muffles a yelp. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You straighten up. Then you cup his face. “Are you alright? Does it hurt a lot?”

Gojo’s eyes, before squinting, now open up wide, and he locks them on yours. “It might get better if you give me a kiss,” he says. His voice is a blend of whiny and cheeky.

You roll your eyes. “Hmph! I was being serious!”

You’re about to withdraw your hands, but Gojo’s quick “Me too,” makes your mild exasperation melt.

You sigh emphatically, but nevertheless close the distance between the two of you, letting your lips brush against each other, and your stomach pounds in your chest. Will I ever get used to this?

“Anyway,” Gojo says, looking away, “I thought it was obvious.” You can hear the slightest trace of disappointment in his voice. He sits up on the bed, turning away. “Should we have some breakfast?”

You hurriedly sit up as well, wrapping your arms around his chest from behind. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid question. I… sometimes feel the need to have things spelled out, you see? It’s silly, I know.”

Gojo stills for a moment and sighs. “What am I gonna do with you?” Your brow furrows, and as you’re trying to process his words, he turns enough to face you and locks his gaze on yours. “Y/n-chan, do you want to be my girlfriend?” He shakes his head, a playful grin on his lips. “Ugh, cringe…” he adds while his neck sinks in his shoulders with a little shiver.

You should be upset; he just called this whole thing cringe. But you can’t because a big smile blooms on your face, softening your expression. “I do,” you reply, scrunching your nose in happy embarrassment.

“Then it’s settled. Or do you need a notary?”

You chuckle. “No, no, this is fine.”

“Good.”

You prop yourself on your hands and reach for his face, placing a kiss on his nose. “Thanks,” you say with a big smile.

And maybe for the first time ever, you see Gojo blush, the faintest hue of red spreading over his cheeks, and your heart fills with joy.

Fin