#kuroo x oc

[missmadella]

Unplanned, But Perfectly Played (Kuroo x Reader)

Fluff, Fluff everywhere. Hope you enjoy :3

Summary: While trying to find a bathroom in the massive city arena, you accidentally stumbled right into a certain well-known, black-haired man. What happened next? You impressed him in a way no one ever had—by verbally nuking the rude German representative on the other end of his call like a one-woman diplomatic explosion.

Words: 11485

With wide, sparkling eyes, you stepped into the grand Tokyo arena, heart pounding with excitement. You were finally here—and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Your dream had come true, and honestly, it still didn’t feel real.

Your mouth hung slightly open as you walked further into the massive space, weaving through crowds of people grabbing snacks or heading toward their seats. The atmosphere was electric—buzzing with energy, laughter, and anticipation.

After a long debate, you’d finally made the leap to move to Japan. Everyone had told you how difficult it would be, how risky, how far from home—but you did it anyway. And so far, you hadn’t regretted a single thing.

The city was huge and always alive. You loved volleyball, and Japan had some of the best teams in the world. So once you settled into your new apartment—conveniently close to the arena—you booked yourself a ticket the second you could.

And now here you were.

Excitement was practically buzzing through your bones as you made your way over to the food stands, ready to grab something before finding your seat.

There was just one small problem: You really needed to pee.

So you headed off into the maze-like hallways in search of a bathroom… and quickly realized it was like trying to find a secret boss level in a video game. The signs on the walls weren’t helping at all, and the further you wandered, the more lost you felt.

The big volleyball arena had become a labyrinth—and you were stuck in it, hunting down a toilet like it was your life’s mission.

______________________________________________________________

The big volleyball arena had become a labyrinth—and you were stuck in it, hunting down a toilet like it was your life’s mission.

You paused at another intersection of hallways, still no bathroom sign in sight. You were starting to think you’d accidentally walked into the athlete-only section or a secret underground volleyball society or something.

With a sigh, you muttered under your breath, „Ich schwöre, wenn ich nicht bald ein Klo finde, piss ich einfach in einen Pappbecher.“ (I swear, if I don’t find a bathroom soon, I’m just gonna pee in a paper cup.)

You chuckled to yourself bitterly—what a glamorous international adventure this was turning out to be.

That’s when a voice pulled you out of your spiral. Deep, professional, laced with calm frustration:

“No, Mr. Brandt, I understand your concerns,” the man said in English, polite but clipped. “But three full courts for twelve players isn’t a reasonable request.”

You slowed down instinctively. Not just because someone was speaking English—thank god—but because the voice sounded weirdly familiar.

You peeked around the corner.

There he was. Tall, lean, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white button-up with the Japan Volleyball Association lanyard hanging from his neck. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone just slightly away from his ear like he was resisting the urge to chuck it across the building.

Kuroo Tetsurō.

You froze.

No way.

You knew that face. That hair. That presence. You’d seen him in documentaries, on highlight reels—back when he was the iron-willed captain of Nekoma, and even now, working high up in the JVA, organizing events and apparently dealing with international volleyball divas.

“…No, we don’t have luxury warm-up suites either,” Kuroo was saying, his tone still patient, but just barely. “This isn’t the Olympics. It’s an exhibition match.”

A sharp voice crackled on the other end. German. Loud. Angry.

“Das ist ein Witz! Drei Felder sind Standard für unsere Vorbereitung!” (This is a joke! Three courts are standard for our preparation!)

You winced. Yup. German. Definitely German. Definitely rude.

Kuroo pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have the space for that. One court is already reserved—”

More shouting. Even you couldn’t help feeling secondhand frustration at the entitled tone.

You took one hesitant step forward.

Then another.

Then—what the hell—you walked right up to him and tapped his shoulder.

Kuroo turned, startled, eyebrows raised. You suddenly became very aware that you’d just interrupted Kuroo freaking Tetsurō mid-conversation.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “But, um… I speak German. Do you want help?”

He blinked. Then blinked again. “You speak German?”

You nodded. “Born and raised.”

A flicker of hope crossed his face. “Please. Be my guest.”

You took the phone like it was a sacred relic and brought it to your ear.

You took the phone like it was a weapon forged in the fires of passive-aggressive international diplomacy.

“Guten Tag, Herr Brandt,” you began, voice smooth and saccharine. “Ich bin die Assistentin von Herrn Kuroo. Ab sofort läuft die Kommunikation über mich.” (Good afternoon, Mr. Brandt. I’m Mr. Kuroo’s assistant. From now on, all communication goes through me.)

A scoff came through the speaker. “Assistentin? Davon wusste ich nichts.” (Assistant? I wasn’t informed about that.)

You smiled coldly, your voice sharpening like glass under velvet.

“Kein Wunder. Sie reden ja die ganze Zeit, statt zuzuhören.” (No wonder. You’ve been talking nonstop instead of listening.)

Before he could respond, you launched in—quick, clipped, and absolutely done.

“Sie bekommen ein Feld. Für eine Stunde. Und zwar pünktlich. Keine Sonderwünsche, keine extra Beleuchtung, kein Aromatherapie-Aufwärmraum.” (You get one court. For one hour. On time. No special requests, no extra lighting, no aromatherapy warm-up room.)

He tried to interrupt, but you didn’t stop.

“Wir sind hier bei einem Freundschaftsspiel, nicht bei den Weltmeisterschaften. Reißen Sie sich zusammen.” (This is a friendly match, not the world championships. Get a grip.)

“Und bevor Sie noch mehr Forderungen stellen: Japan ist nicht hier, um Ihnen einen roten Teppich auszurollen. Wir organisieren dieses Event für alle Teams, nicht nur für Ihr Ego.” (And before you make more demands: Japan isn’t here to roll out the red carpet for you. We’re organizing this event for all teams, not just your ego.)

“Wenn Sie mit einem einzigen Feld überfordert sind, empfehle ich ein Kindergarten-Turnier. Vielleicht kommen Sie da besser zurecht.” (If one court is too much for you to handle, I suggest a kindergarten tournament. You might manage better there.)

The silence on the line was deafening. You could almost hear his jaw drop.

You softened your tone slightly, like a final bow after a very polite slap.

“Wenn Sie unter diesen Bedingungen nicht spielen wollen, ist das in Ordnung. Der Park ist groß. Nehmen Sie eine Matte mit.” (If you don’t want to play under these conditions, that’s fine. The park is big. Bring a mat.)

And with that, you hung up. No goodbyes. Just click.

You handed the phone back to Kuroo with the grace of a queen finishing a duel. Kuroo took the phone slowly, like it might still be hot from the fire you just unleashed.

Kuroo stared at you, deadpan. “Assistant?”

You grimaced. “It sounded more official than ‘random German girl who got lost on the way to the bathroom.’”

“…Okay,” he said after a moment, voice low and full of disbelief. “But for real. What the hell was that?”

You raised an eyebrow, arms casually folding over your chest. “German customer service voice. Nuclear edition.”

He stared at you like you’d just grown wings. “I’ve been going back and forth with that guy for three days. You shut him down in three minutes.”

You gave him a look. “You were too polite.”

He blinked, then snorted. “That was polite?”

“I didn’t swear,” you said with a shrug. “That’s polite in Germany.”

He laughed, fully this time. Not the polite, professional chuckle you’d seen earlier—but a real, damn, she’s good kind of laugh.

“Okay, seriously. Who are you?” he asked, still grinning. “Because you just walked out of nowhere, annihilated Herr Bratwurst on the phone—”

“Brandt,” you corrected with a grin.

“Right. Herr Brandtwurst,” he smirked, “—and now he’s probably reevaluating his life choices while drinking a very tense herbal tea.”

You tried not to smile too hard, but it was kind of flattering having Kuroo freaking Tetsurō looking at you like you were some kind of volleyball event superhero.

“So,” he went on, still eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, “was that a one-time performance or are you open to freelance miracle-working?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering me a job?”

He gestured vaguely to the chaos of the arena behind him. “I’m saying I have a lot of stress, and a very loud German just stopped yelling at me. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I have conditions.”

“Oh? Lay ’em on me, Assistant-san.”

“First, I want snacks. Like, real snacks. Not that ‘we have rice crackers in the office’ nonsense.”

Kuroo placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I have excellent snack taste.”

You grinned. “Second, I still haven’t found a bathroom.”

His smile widened. “Right. The real emergency.”

He tilted his head toward a hallway to the left. “Come on. I’ll escort you myself. Least I can do.”

You followed him, still buzzing with the leftover adrenaline of the call—and maybe something else, something warm and fluttery that had nothing to do with public restrooms or volleyball.

Kuroo glanced over at you as you walked, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“You know,” he said, “you really could’ve just walked past and ignored me.”

You shrugged. “I don’t like bullies.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Neither do I.”

You reached the bathroom sign—finally—and paused.

He leaned against the wall casually. “I’ll wait.”

You raised a brow. “You’re seriously gonna stand here like a lost puppy until I come back?”

“Absolutely. You’re my assistant now. Can’t risk losing you in the wild.”

You laughed, pushing the door open with a smirk.

“Good. Keep that energy. You’ll need it.”

You returned from the bathroom feeling a little lighter—thank God, that was the most important mission of the day accomplished. As you stepped back out into the hallway, Kuroo was still waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a half-smile that made you feel like he was just waiting for you to say something.

“So,” he started, his voice teasing, “you’ve survived the most critical part of the event. What’s next, Assistant-san?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the wall too. “Well, seeing as I’m such an excellent assistant, I’m assuming I’ll be getting front-row seats to the match?”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You think I’d let you sit in the crowd with the rest of the peasants?”

“I’m just saying,” you grinned, “you’ve got a very capable assistant now. I think I deserve a little VIP treatment.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. But I do have to keep up appearances, so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Well, since you’re offering,” you shrugged dramatically, “I’ll take a spot with the team. Preferably near the snacks. I am, after all, helping you make this event a success.”

“Oh, you’ll get your snacks,” he said with a wink. “And I’ll personally escort you to the VIP section. Can’t risk my assistant being stuck in the commoner’s zone.”

With that, Kuroo led you down the hallway toward the special entrance, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly as you walked side by side.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe Japan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

______________________________________________________________

The lights above the arena flickered to life, and the excitement in the air was palpable. The crowd's murmurs grew into excited cheers as the teams began warming up on the court, the atmosphere charged with the intensity of the upcoming game.

You took your place beside Kuroo, who handed you a seat at the edge of the VIP section, just a few rows back from the team. You settled in, your eyes fixed on the court, the anticipation building in your chest. Your fingers drummed on the armrest as you tried not to let your nerves show. It felt surreal to be here, watching some of the best volleyball players in the world in action.

Kuroo sat down next to you, his usual laid-back demeanor still in place, but you could see the focus in his eyes as the game began to unfold. The match was intense, with the crowd cheering every time the ball soared through the air, but your attention wasn’t just on the game. It was on the way Kuroo moved, the way his eyes never left the court, the way he silently coordinated the team from his position.

You couldn’t help but feel a little in awe of him—this was a whole new side of Kuroo you hadn’t seen before.

“Impressive, huh?” Kuroo muttered, catching your eye.

You nodded, unable to keep the admiration out of your voice. “Very. You’re not just a pretty face with good management skills.”

He laughed softly. “I try.”

The match went on for a few more sets, and you found yourself leaning forward, getting caught up in the rhythm and the energy. But just as the tension in the game peaked, Kuroo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, drawing his attention. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing when he saw the name.

“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s him again.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Do you really have to take it?”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Let me just—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and grabbed the phone from his hand, much to his surprise.

“Hey, no worries. I’ve got this one,” you said confidently, unlocking the phone and answering the call.

Kuroo stared at you, blinking, but didn’t protest.

“Guten Tag,” you said into the phone, your tone warm but firm. “Herr Brandt, I trust you’re doing well?”

There was a slight pause on the other end before Herr Brandt’s voice responded, still somewhat guarded. “Ah, Frau tut mir leid wie ist ihr Name? (I'm sorry, miss, but what is your name?), I wasn’t expecting to hear from you directly.”

You leaned back in your seat, completely at ease. “Well, my name is Y/N L/N. I just figured you’ve had enough of Kuroo’s charm for today. He’s working hard, after all. But now, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“I… see. What is it you wanted to discuss?” Herr Brandt asked cautiously.

“I want you to understand that everything I said to you earlier still stands,” you said, your tone firm. “The date, the location, the conditions. Either you agree to them, or we walk away. There’s no room for negotiation here.”

There was another pause, followed by a sigh on the other end. You could tell he was weighing his options. Finally, he relented.

“…Fine. We accept your terms. The match will be held on the date you mentioned. We’ll be there.”

You smiled, hanging up the phone and turning to Kuroo, who was looking at you with a mix of shock and admiration.

“Well,” you said with a grin, “Herr Brandt has agreed to everything.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—really?”

“Yep. The German team will be here, and the match is on.” You pulled up your calendar on your phone and typed in the date. “It’s set for two weeks from now. So, you might want to prep your team.”

You could almost see the wheels turning in Kuroo’s mind. He was clearly impressed, but also a little overwhelmed by the sudden whirlwind of events.

He gave you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“So,” he said, tone casual but his eyes glinting, “is this how you usually make an entrance into a new country?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a mock-serious look. “Only when the situation calls for it. I usually like to keep a low profile. You know—move to Tokyo, find a bathroom, accidentally end up organizing international volleyball matches. The usual.”

Kuroo laughed, the sound low and genuine. “You’re dangerous.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm, I prefer the term ‘effective.’”

There was a pause between you, the buzzing energy of the arena wrapping around you like background music. Kuroo shoved his hands into his pockets, still watching you.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I was actually dreading that call back from Herr Brandt.”

“And now?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smiled, looking a little too pleased. “Now I’m thinking I should just hand you my schedule, my inbox, and maybe my entire job.”

You smirked. “Tempting offer. What does the assistant salary include? Free game tickets and unlimited coffee?”

“Snacks,” he said, grinning. “I can throw in matchday snacks. Premium.”

“Ooh, a man of luxury,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and there was a brief flicker of something more—appreciation, interest, maybe even curiosity. “I’m serious though. You were amazing back there. Not just with Brandt, but the way you held your ground. The guys respect that. I respect that.”

You met his gaze, this time letting the humor fall away for just a second. “Thanks. It felt good, you know? Doing something that mattered.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s not easy stepping into a new world. Especially one this chaotic.”

You smiled. “I’ve been in worse chaos. This one has better lighting and snacks.”

That made him chuckle again. He rubbed the back of his neck, then gestured toward the court where the players were wrapping up. “You should meet the rest of the team properly. Want to come with me?”

You hesitated for just a beat. “Like… officially?”

Kuroo’s smile was easy, confident. “You said you were my assistant, didn’t you?”

You laughed. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

With a small shake of your head and an amused sigh, you followed him toward the court, weaving through the maze of chairs and gear bags. A few of the players gave you curious glances as you approached, but Kuroo waved them over.

“This is Y/N L/N.” he said, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder. “She’ll be helping out with some of the prep for the upcoming match.”

One of the players, a tall blocker with messy hair, raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Germany match?”

You gave a casual little wave. “The very one. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The team collectively blinked. One of them muttered under his breath, “Okay, who is she?”

“She is the person that made Herr Brandt fold like a tourist map.”

Someone else whistled. “Yo, and we thought Kuroo was the smooth talker.”

You shrugged, clearly enjoying the attention. “Years of dealing with German bureaucracy trained me well.”

The guys chuckled, now clearly impressed, though one of them leaned over and stage-whispered to Kuroo, “Is she your actual assistant?”

Before Kuroo could answer, you said smoothly, “Yes. Officially now. Paperwork pending. Also, I want a badge.”

Kuroo turned to you with a mock-serious nod. “Fine. You’ll get a badge. And maybe a hat.”

“Hell yes,” you grinned. “Assistant of the Year hat.”

Kuroo’s eyes lingered on yours a second longer than needed, his smile softening at the edges. “Honestly? You deserve it.”

Something about the way he said it, not teasing or sarcastic this time, made your chest flutter just a little. You blinked and looked back toward the court to avoid showing the grin tugging at your lips.

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “So. You came here… for volleyball and accidentally walked into a job?”

You nodded, eyes still forward. “Technically, I came here to watch a game and find a toilet.”

Kuroo blinked. “Right. The toilet.”

There was a pause, light and easy between you. Kuroo tilted his head, watching you like you were some weird puzzle piece that somehow fit into his world better than expected.

“So… what are you doing in Japan, exactly?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone now.

You glanced back at him, eyes a little softer. “Starting over, I guess. I needed a change. Volleyball’s always been something I love. Felt like the right place to chase that feeling.”

He nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. “Well… for what it’s worth—” he nudged your arm with his elbow, “—Japan’s lucky to have you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re lucky to have me.”

He grinned. “That too.”

And just like that, the assistant role didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like the start of something real—whether that was a new life, a new job, or maybe something even more unexpected.

______________________________________________________________

Three Days Later – 9:42 PM – Japan Volleyball Association HQ

You pushed open the office door with your elbow, balancing two convenience store coffees in one hand and a pack of melon pan under your arm. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and Kuroo was still at his desk, hunched over what looked like a horrifying wall of post-it notes, emails, and scouting reports.

“I bring fuel,” you announced, setting the coffee near his hand like it was a peace offering to the god of volleyball logistics.

Kuroo looked up, glasses slightly askew, eyes ringed with the kind of exhaustion that meant he’d been fighting Excel sheets and match proposals for hours. But the second he saw you—and the coffee—his entire face softened.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” you said with a smug grin, flopping into the seat across from him. “You’d probably be chewing on a pencil if I didn’t show up.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then glanced at the pencil already in his hand. “Shut up.”

You snorted. “So, what’s the chaos tonight?”

Kuroo sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Brandt sent over the preliminary roster for the German team. Half of them are fresh, and he wants to do a press day before the match. Which I now have to plan. Tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” you muttered, sipping your coffee. “Want me to handle that?”

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Send me the details. I’ll schedule the press slots, draft the emails, and talk to Brandt if he gets spicy again.”

Kuroo stared at you for a long beat. “You weren’t joking about being my assistant, huh?”

You smirked. “Nope. I’m a menace when caffeinated and given responsibilities.”

“God, don’t let the other departments steal you.”

“Too late,” you said, stretching your legs out under the table. “One of the PR guys asked me if I wanted to help organize the media day for the All-Japan team.”

Kuroo scoffed. “You said no, right?”

You sipped dramatically. “I said, ‘I work exclusively with Kuroo Tetsurō now. Sorry.’”

He froze. And then—blushed. Just faintly, but it was there.

“…That’s dangerously flattering,” he said, trying to play it cool.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? You getting used to me?”

He looked down at his notes, then back up at you. “Yeah. That’s what scares me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Charged. Familiar in a way that made your chest feel warm and a little too aware of how close you were sitting now.

You cleared your throat and gestured to his mess of a desk. “Anyway. If you let me organize that, maybe you’ll get to sleep before 2 AM.”

“You say that like you’re not staying up with me,” he replied, already sending you files.

“…Damn it,” you muttered, but you were smiling.

You spent the next hour going over logistics, sending emails, translating German player bios and making jokes about which one looked most likely to start a diplomatic incident. Kuroo didn’t say it out loud, but he leaned a little closer every time you cracked a dry joke, and you noticed how his shoulders slowly relaxed.

Eventually, somewhere around 11 PM, you looked over to see him just watching you.

“…What?”

He shook his head slightly, a quiet kind of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing. Just realizing I might not survive the next few weeks without you.”

You smirked, trying not to let your heart jump at that. “You’re lucky I have no social life.”

“You’re lucky I know how to make team budget spreadsheets,” he shot back.

You both laughed, and the sound echoed in the quiet room.

And just like that, another night passed—filled with coffee, chaos, and a little more closeness than before. Maybe this job started as a joke, but it was becoming something else. Something real. And you weren’t sure what scared you more: how good you were at it… or how much you didn’t want it to end.

___________________________________________________________________________

After that first late-night coffee-fueled work session, things… kind of just fell into place.

You and Kuroo started meeting almost every day—sometimes officially, sometimes because you both “just happened to be at the office again.” The upcoming Germany match gave you more than enough chaos to deal with: organizing hotel accommodations, making sure the translator team was prepped, confirming the team’s dietary needs, and even dealing with a last-minute allergy email from Herr Brandt (apparently, one of the middle blockers couldn’t have sesame. Who knew?).

And you handled it like a boss. Like his boss, sometimes.

There were calls taken in hushed tones over shared bentos, project plans spread out between you on the floor of the VIP lounge because “the table felt too formal,” and way too many coffees delivered with teasing grins and sarcastic comments. Kuroo stopped even trying to pretend he wasn’t impressed.

You started to notice the way his eyes crinkled when you made a snarky remark. He started noticing that you always rubbed your thumb over your bottom lip when you were deep in thought. It wasn’t flirting—not really—but it was definitely something.

The other staff started raising eyebrows.

“She’s here again?” “Does she even work here?” “Is that… his shirt she’s wearing?”

(No. It wasn’t. It was just a big black hoodie. Probably.)

Kuroo didn’t say anything, though. He just kept sending you tasks with a little “thanks” at the end of every message. He started waiting for you before he left for meetings. And at some point, you started keeping a spare hair tie in your pocket, because he never had one and always forgot his.

One night, around midnight, while sorting out rooming assignments for the teams, he looked over at you—tired, a little disheveled, and still determined—and said:

“I can’t believe I used to do this alone.”

You looked up at him, smirking, but your voice was softer.

“Yeah, well. You’ve got me now.”

And he just… nodded. Like that meant something.

Maybe it did.

______________________________________________________________

The office was unusually quiet for a Thursday night. Most of the association staff had gone home hours ago, but you and Kuroo were still there—naturally—spread out across the couch in the lounge with half-empty drinks and the soft buzz of a heater kicking on in the background.

Kuroo leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, his laptop forgotten on the table in front of him. “I think we’re actually ready,” he said, voice low, tired—but content. “Flights confirmed, hotel confirmed, welcome packages printed, and Brandt hasn’t yelled at me in 48 hours.”

You grinned. “A miracle.”

He turned his head to look at you. “No. That’s your work. You made this so much easier.”

Your heart did a small, weird flip at that. You tried to play it off, even as your gaze lingered on him a second too long. His hair was a mess, his button-up a little rumpled, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked tired. He looked real. And way too good for your nerves.

You shifted slightly to face him more, your voice quieter now. “You’re actually kind of nice when you’re not in full Volleyball Director mode.”

He chuckled. “I could say the same. You’re scary efficient. I think half the staff’s afraid of you.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Fear keeps the schedule tight.”

He laughed, eyes closing as his head tilted back again. Then silence settled over you both—comfortable but heavy. Warm, somehow.

And then… he looked at you again. Different this time. Focused.

“You know…” he started, voice even softer, “I really meant what I said. About not wanting to do this alone.”

You swallowed, heart now fully doing gymnastics. “Kuroo…”

But he didn’t look away. He leaned in—just slightly—eyes locked with yours. One of his hands rested near yours on the couch, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether he should reach for you.

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in a little closer.

And then—

“Oi, Kuroo! You still here?!”

The door creaked open. One of the younger staffers poked his head in, completely unaware of the moment he had just obliterated.

You and Kuroo both jumped like you’d been electrocuted, jerking back from each other in perfect sync.

The staffer blinked. “Uh… sorry. I’ll come back.”

“No! It’s—fine!” you said way too fast, already grabbing your stuff like it was on fire. “I was just leaving anyway.”

Kuroo stood too, rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at you. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

You adjusted your bag over your shoulder, suddenly not knowing what to do with your hands or your face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be crazy. German team arrives first thing.”

“Yeah,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “You’ll be here early?”

“Of course. I’m your assistant, remember?”

You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He nodded.

You both just stood there for a second in awkward silence, like two teenagers who got caught watching a romance scene with their parents.

“…Night, Kuroo.”

“Night.”

And then you walked out, heart racing, mind screaming, and cheeks burning.

Behind you, Kuroo let out a long, frustrated breath and collapsed back on the couch like a man who’d just missed a winning shot.

______________________________________________________________

You were at the arena early—way too early, honestly—but you needed the head start to get your nerves under control. Not because of the team’s arrival, no. That was fine. Easy. You had your checklist, your translator badge, and your best polite-but-firm German-voice locked and loaded.

No. You were nervous because of him.

You hadn’t slept much. Your brain wouldn’t stop replaying that moment from last night, the lean-in, the look, the almost—

Nope.

You shook it off, fixing your shirt and adjusting your assistant lanyard like it gave you emotional armor. This was your job. You were a professional. You’d just… act normal. Like nothing happened. He’d probably do the same.

At 8:13 AM sharp, a cluster of tall men in matching tracksuits and branded duffels stepped through the main entrance, followed by a sharp click of polished shoes—Herr Brandt, clipboard in hand, voice already raised.

“Guten Morgen! Ist jemand hier zuständig?”

(Good morning! Is someone here in charge?)

You stepped forward, smooth smile in place. “Ja, Herr Brandt. Willkommen in Japan. Ich bin Ihre Ansprechpartnerin für den Aufenthalt hier.” (Yes, Herr Brandt. Welcome to Japan. I’m your main contact during your stay.)

He blinked. “Ah, Sie wieder. Sehr gut.” (Ah, you again. Very good.)

Behind him, one of the German players whispered something to another in rapid German. You caught the word hübsch. You raised an eyebrow, making them both shut up instantly. Professional armor? Still on.

You were halfway through organizing luggage tags and giving directions when you felt the shift in the air.

And there he was—Kuroo, walking in behind the German staff, coffee in hand, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning shower, sleeves rolled, lanyard crooked, eyes scanning—until they landed on you.

Your stomach dropped. His eyes widened just a little, then flicked away too quickly.

“Morning,” he said, directing it to the group, but you felt it like a spotlight on your neck.

You cleared your throat, clipboard held like a shield. “Director Kuroo will be overseeing the training coordination. You’ll have access to Gym A and Gym C as requested.”

Herr Brandt perked up. “Ah, finally. Mister Kuroo! Thank you again for organizing all this. We are very—”

He was interrupted by the shrill ringtone of his own phone. He checked the screen and muttered, “Ach, schon wieder,” before answering.

You and Kuroo were left there, standing awkwardly beside each other while the tall German players loitered around you like friendly skyscrapers.

You glanced sideways at him. “Sleep okay?”

He blinked, then gave you a soft nod. “Barely. You?”

“Not really.”

A pause.

“About last night—”

“We’re fine,” you said too fast. “It was late, we were tired. Nothing weird.”

He gave a tight nod. “Right. Nothing weird.”

Another pause.

“Although,” you added without looking at him, “you leaned first.”

He made a noise in his throat—something between a scoff and a laugh. “You were staring.”

“You were staring harder.”

“Children!” Brandt called out from the side, unaware of the daggers flying in the form of glances. “I have the official schedule now. Shall we?”

You and Kuroo snapped back into business mode instantly.

“Yes, Herr Brandt,” you said, stepping forward smoothly. “Follow me. We’ll go over everything before training starts.”

As you walked ahead, one of the Japanese players from earlier—Kenjirō, you thought—leaned toward Kuroo and whispered, “Is that your assistant?”

Kuroo muttered, “Something like that.”

The player grinned. “She’s scary.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, almost fondly. “She’s the best kind of scary.”

______________________________________________________________

The gym was buzzing with energy and tension thick enough to cut with a spike. Two nations’ worth of volleyball players warmed up under bright halogen lights, the air heavy with the scent of resin, sweat, and competition.

The German team had arrived in true dramatic fashion—orderly, tall, and stone-faced in their red-and-black tracksuits. They moved like soldiers. And it made the Japanese players, still stretching in warm light, sit up just a little straighter.

You stood at the sideline, clipboard in hand, earpiece crackling with updates. Kuroo was somewhere behind you, watching silently—but letting you take point. You didn’t need him for this.

“Herr Brandt,” you said sharply in German as he began snapping at one of the players for their delayed reaction. “Das hier ist ein Freundschaftsspiel, kein Militärtraining.” (This is a friendly match, not a military drill.)

He scoffed. “Disziplin ist der Schlüssel zur Effizienz.” (Discipline is the key to efficiency.)

“Und trotzdem sind wir hier nicht auf einem Kasernenhof. Also bitte.” (And yet we're not on a military base. So, please.)

You didn’t yell. You didn’t need to. Your tone alone shut him up. And behind you, one of the German players smirked and whispered, “Die hat Feuer.” ("She’s got fire.")

You turned just in time to catch Kuroo watching you—arms crossed, an impressed tilt to his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You gave him a look that said, Don’t start.

But you saw the way his eyes flicked over you. Saw the way his mouth twitched like he was holding something back.

He didn't say it, but the look read: You’re hot when you’re scary.

The warm-up drills started and you bounced effortlessly between teams—translating, clarifying, even stopping a near-argument over drill order. You smoothed every wrinkle before it creased. The players respected you, not just because of the languages, but because you knew the game. You read the rhythm of it.

Kuroo stayed mostly silent, organizing the timing, making sure equipment was where it needed to be. But you could feel him watching you again. Not like before—he wasn’t just supervising.

He was studying you.

The way your brow furrowed when you translated under pressure. The way you corrected a German middle blocker with a gesture, not words. The way you praised the players in both languages like you were born for it.

And every once in a while, your eyes met his.

Neither of you said anything about the almost-moment last night.

But it hung in the air like the echo of a whistle, waiting for the next point.

______________________________________________________________

You stayed longer than you meant to.

Again.

The last of the German players had returned to their hotel, the gym floor was quiet, and only the hum of the vending machines and the distant clatter of cleaning staff remained.

You were slipping on your jacket outside the training office when you saw him—Kuroo—walking down the hallway with a slow, familiar gait and that look in his eyes again.

Your heart did a weird, slow spin in your chest.

“Hey,” you said, voice light, too casual.

“Hey.”

He stopped in front of you, just far enough that you didn’t have to tilt your head too much, just close enough to feel the weight of the space between you.

Neither of you said anything for a second. The hallway stretched long and empty behind him. The dim light overhead buzzed faintly.

You fidgeted with your zipper. “So… the joint training wasn’t a total disaster.”

Kuroo gave a small smile, his voice lower than usual. “It was better than I expected. You were…” His eyes searched yours. “Kind of a boss.”

You raised a brow. “Kind of?”

He looked amused. “Okay. Full boss mode. I think Brandt flinches when you walk past him.”

You smirked, then looked down at your shoes, just to break eye contact for a second before it made your stomach twist too much.

“Still not weird between us?” you asked quietly, not looking at him yet.

He shrugged. “Not weird.”

You finally met his eyes again, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a teasing lilt, trying to mask the nerves humming under your skin.

“Good. So I guess that means I can start dating again, right? Wouldn’t bother you or anything.”

A joke. Clearly. Playful. Light.

But he didn’t laugh.

You looked up, surprised to see the change in his face—his jaw had gone tight. His eyes were dark.

“Don’t,” he said, voice quiet, flat.

You blinked. “Don’t… date?”

“Don’t go on a date.”

Something fluttered in your chest. “Why not?”

He stepped forward. Just a little. But enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him now. His voice dropped into something softer. Realer.

“Because if some guy gets to do what I should’ve done last night, I’m going to regret it. For a long time.”

Your breath caught.

The teasing was gone now. The air between you had gone still.

“I thought it was just an almost,” you said, voice nearly a whisper.

“It was,” he replied. “But I don’t want it to stay that way.”

You opened your mouth, something half-formed on your lips.

And then he leaned in—not slowly this time. Not cautiously.

He kissed you.

It was soft at first. Hesitant. Testing.

Then your hands found his hoodie, and his settled at your waist, and it deepened. Warm and hungry and entirely too much and not enough at the same time.

When he pulled away, his voice was low against your cheek.

“No more almosts.”

You barely had time to breathe before his lips were on yours again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was weeks of side-eyes and late-night tension, teasing smiles, almost-kisses and shared coffees finally snapping loose all at once.

Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie like you needed to hold on, and he responded with a hand at your jaw, the other at your waist, pulling you in like he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go again.

When you broke apart, finally, your heart was racing like you'd just sprinted a full court.

You rested your forehead against his chest, catching your breath. “We should… probably not make out in the hallway of a national arena.”

His laugh rumbled against your skin. “Yeah. Probably.”

A pause.

Then, “Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t say no.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Do you want to come in?”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you even realized you were saying them.

Kuroo looked at you for a second, his eyes unreadable. “Only if you want me to.”

The air between you crackled. Not just with attraction—but with the weight of the almosts, the silence, the sideways glances over coffee cups, and the heat of his hand on your back when he leaned too close at practice. Everything you hadn't said… sitting right there, breathing between you.

You opened the door and stepped inside, heart hammering against your ribs. He followed, slow and deliberate, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt too loud in the quiet apartment.

You kicked off your shoes. He didn’t move from the entryway.

“So…” you started, trying to sound casual but your voice betrayed you with that slight breathlessness, “do you want a drink? Water? Beer?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Just looked at you.

Then: “No. I want you.”

The words hit like a spike to the chest.

You froze.

Then turned, slowly, eyes searching his face for hesitation. There was none. Just that familiar smirk, now tempered with something rawer—something real.

“You’re terrible,” you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips, voice shaking a little as you stepped closer.

He tilted his head, moving into your space so naturally it was like he’d always belonged there. “You’re the one who invited me in, remember?”

And then you were in his arms.

And he was kissing you like he’d been dying to since the first day you met.

It started slow—his hand cupping the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw, mouth molding perfectly against yours. Like he was learning you with every pass of his lips. Like he didn’t want to rush it.

But you kissed him back like you were making up for lost time. Like you were afraid if you let go, he’d disappear.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and he followed, pressing into you gently, pinning you there—not forceful, just… certain. Like he was claiming the moment.

He kissed down your jaw, then back up, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, voice rough and low, “how many times I wanted this.”

Your fingers curled in his hoodie. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“I was trying to be professional,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear.

You laughed, breathless. “You’re terrible at that.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, “I really, really am.”

Your hands found their way under the hem of his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his back. You could feel him shudder a little.

“God, the way that German guy was looking at you,” he muttered suddenly against your throat.

You blinked, breath hitching. “You’re actually serious about that?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “I am serious. I saw him eyeing you all practice.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke through your flushed face. “What, jealous?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because I saw you first. Because I’ve wanted you first.”

You didn’t reply. You just pulled him back in and kissed him again, harder this time.

And he lost it a little.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like he was trying to memorize you. His mouth moved over yours with more urgency now, your bodies pressed together like there was no space left to give.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow-burn passion finally let loose.

By the time you both pulled away, breathless and flushed and clinging to each other like idiots, neither of you spoke for a minute.

Then he muttered against your lips, “This is so bad for team diplomacy.”

You laughed, voice raspy. “So bad.”

He grinned. “You going to fire me?”

“I’m your assistant,” you said with a wink. “I outrank you emotionally now.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again, softer this time. “That’s not how that works.”

You didn’t care.

Because you were pretty sure if he kept looking at you like that, you were going to forget how anything worked.

___________________________________________________________________________

You barely had time to gasp before Kuroo’s arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the wall like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. You clung to him instinctively, legs wrapping around his hips, the two of you tangled in heat and friction and teeth grazing lips.

His lips crashed against yours again as he carried you across the apartment, navigating by instinct more than sight. The hallway blurred. Your pulse roared in your ears. Every bump, every shift of his grip on your thighs made your stomach flip and twist with anticipation.

Then—cold.

You gasped as he set you down on the edge of the kitchen island, the marble cool against your thighs through your jeans. Kuroo didn’t waste a second—his hands slid up your sides as he slotted himself between your legs, mouth already finding yours again, deeper, more deliberate this time.

There was no rush now.

Just control.

Just heat.

His tongue brushed yours, and he swallowed the soft sound you made with a low groan that made your entire body tighten. One hand gripped your hip, the other tangled in your hair, tugging gently until your head tilted just right for him to kiss along your throat.

Your legs locked tighter around him, pulling him flush against you—and when his hips ground into yours just right, you both froze for a moment.

Your breath hitched.

His jaw clenched.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You’re dangerous.”

You smirked, pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “And you like it.”

He kissed you again, slower now. Hotter. Teeth dragging across your lower lip before he sucked it in, gently, making your toes curl against the cabinet behind him. Every time his mouth left yours, he found a new spot to worship—your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—making you tremble and cling.

His hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach as he pushed the fabric up inch by inch, his touch maddening in how slow it moved.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, kissing the skin just below your ribs. “Since the first day you smarted off at Herr Brandt like it was nothing.”

You laughed, breathless. “That’s what did it for you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, voice low, teasing, full of want. “That mouth of yours is a menace.”

He kissed you again—hungry and possessive now, like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers hooked in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down just slightly before his lips found yours once more.

Kuroos one hand slipping to your hip, the other sliding into your hair as his mouth found yours with dizzying certainty. He kissed you like he was staking a claim—like he’d been starved and you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the line of your throat, and back again. “Tetsurou—”

He groaned at the sound of his name, lips dragging along your skin. “Say that again.”

You smiled, barely able to catch your breath. “Tetsurou.”

The way he kissed you then—slow and possessive and burning—made your knees buckle.

“God,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours, “you’re going to ruin me.”

You grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him into you again. “You’ve already ruined me.”

He didn’t hold back after that.

The kisses grew hungrier, deeper, messier. Hands tangled in clothes, slipping under fabric, exploring exposed skin like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body. His hoodie ended up half-off, your shirt tugged just enough to reveal warm skin to cool air. You felt his fingers at your waist, smoothing over your stomach like he was still holding back even as his touch burned.

There was no room for words anymore. Just low sounds between kisses, soft gasps, the hum of quiet desperation. Your back hit the wall again and again as he pressed into you, body fitting perfectly against yours.

You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something like this—with this much ache behind it.

Every time he slowed down, it felt like a tease. Every time he pulled back to look at you—just to look—you felt like you’d drown in the heat of his gaze.

“You’re not making this easy,” you whispered, breath ragged, fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweats just slightly, enough to make him shiver.

“I’m not trying to,” he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. “You drive me fucking insane.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand slipping around to your lower back to keep you against him. You arched into him, hips pressing together, the contact making you both freeze for just a moment.

A beat of stillness.

Eyes locked.

Breath caught.

Then he whispered—dangerously close, voice shaking:

“If we don’t stop now, I’m not going to.”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him by the hoodie and crushed your lips back to his.

That was your answer.

And Kuroo responded like he’d been waiting for permission all this time.

The next kiss was fire. Desperate. Unapologetic. He picked you up without warning, and your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried you deeper into the apartment—his mouth never leaving yours, not even for a second.

Somehow, he found your bedroom.

Somehow, you were both breathless and laughing and tangled in half-removed clothing, hands roaming, kisses getting deeper and sloppier by the second. You landed on the bed with him above you, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just him.

His breath tickled your collarbone as he hovered there, taking you in with eyes that looked almost pained.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, husky.

You nodded slowly. “You?”

He kissed you, soft and slow. “So sure it hurts.”

And then there was no more talking.

Just touch.

Just lips.

Just heat.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kuroo hovered above you, his breathing shallow, his chest rising and falling in quick rhythm as he traced his fingertips down your side, making you shiver. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, every inch of you trembling in anticipation. His lips brushed over your jaw, then down to your neck, taking his time, savoring the taste of you as though he were memorizing every part.

The world outside that bedroom felt like it had disappeared completely. There was only him. Only you.

He slid one hand up your back, pulling you closer to him, until you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours. His lips found yours again, slower this time—more purposeful, as if to reassure himself this was real. You returned the kiss, meeting him halfway, your hands threading through his messy hair as your body arched into his.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your lips teasing the shell of his ear. “That’s the idea.”

His chuckle was low, but it quickly turned into a groan as he kissed you deeper, pushing you back into the mattress. One of his hands slid to your waist, fingers digging into your hips as if to pull you closer. You gasped as his leg slid between yours, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You were on fire.

His mouth moved down to your collarbone, tracing the skin with his lips before sinking his teeth gently into the soft flesh. The heat of his body against yours, the pressure of his leg between your thighs, made everything feel like it was closing in on you.

You were drowning in him.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Kuroo whispered, his voice gravelly as he pulled away to look at you. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and his chest was still heaving from the intensity of the kiss. He ran his thumb over your lips, tracing the swollen curve of them, before pressing his forehead to yours. “Are you sure about this?”

You didn’t need to think. You didn’t need words.

“Yes.”

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Kuroo shed his hoodie, tossing it aside, his chest bare and sculpted in the dim light of the room. He took a moment to look at you, his eyes scanning the way you reacted to him, the way your lips parted in anticipation.

His lips returned to yours as his hand found the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, until he pulled it off completely. You shivered at the cool air against your skin, but the heat of his body quickly replaced it, making you forget everything but him. His kisses grew more urgent now, hungry, and you met him every step of the way, your hands finding his pants, pulling at them just as desperately.

Kuroo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you in for one last kiss that almost made you lose control completely. It was deep, wild, almost frantic—like he needed this. Like he needed you.

And you needed him too.

The clothes you had left seemed to vanish in the heat of the moment, forgotten and discarded, and you found yourself pressed against the cool sheets, the warmth of his skin against yours a constant reminder that this was happening. That it wasn’t a dream.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as his breath steadied. “You sure you still want this?”

You kissed him again, forcefully this time, as if to answer for both of you. “Yes, Kuroo. I want this.”

With that, he didn’t hesitate.

He was slow, deliberate, but his pace quickened as the intensity of the moment took over. Every shift of his body against yours sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, and each kiss, each touch, only made the tension between you grow. The feeling of him inside you, of him filling the space that had been empty for so long, was overwhelming—and yet, you both needed more. Needed each other.

The way he moved—so careful, so sure—had you gasping, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. Your name escaped his lips in a whisper, and the sound of it only made you cling to him harder.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned into your ear, his voice so raw, it made your heart race even faster.

The room was spinning now—kisses, gasps, low moans, every touch so close, so intimate, it left you breathless. Time was forgotten. It was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

Then, just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, he pulled back slightly, giving you a moment to breathe. His chest was still heaving, his body slick with sweat, but his eyes were locked on yours—dark, intense, and full of something you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice low, possessive.

You couldn’t answer at first. You were too consumed by everything he was making you feel, but you didn’t need to. The kiss you shared next was all the confirmation either of you needed.

And when the world finally came back into focus, you were tangled in each other’s arms, breathless, skin still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

___________________________________________________________________________

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft beams across the room, the quiet hum of the city outside barely breaking the stillness of the apartment. You were awake, but you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to leave the warmth of Kuroo’s embrace.

His arm was still around you, his body a comforting weight against yours. He hadn’t moved much through the night—just enough for you to stay nestled close to him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soft lullaby that kept you grounded.

You listened to the sound of his breathing, deep and even, and for a moment, you could almost pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could pretend that this was how it was going to be from now on—just you and him, tangled in the quiet of the morning.

But then, the real world had a way of creeping in. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the light touch of his fingers still lightly resting on your waist, his thumb idly tracing the curve of your hip.

The softest movement from Kuroo shifted the atmosphere between you, and when you looked up, you found his eyes already on you—dark, warm, a little unsure. His hair was messy, sticking up in all directions, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked—so much more relaxed than the usual confident, composed Kuroo you knew.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as though you were both still processing everything from the night before, trying to find your footing in this new space between you.

“Morning,” Kuroo’s voice was low, rough from sleep, but it still had that signature edge that sent a little shiver down your spine.

You smiled sleepily, your lips just barely brushing against his. “Morning.”

He paused, his thumb still drawing lazy circles against your skin as he leaned his head back against the pillow, clearly content to stay in this moment for as long as possible. You could feel his gaze on you as if he was still trying to figure out what exactly to say—what to do with the quiet that had settled between you.

“You okay?” he asked, the words careful, soft—unlike the teasing tone he usually carried.

You nodded slowly, resting your cheek back on his chest. “Yeah. I’m good.” You let out a soft, contented sigh, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his arm. “Just… this is nice.”

It was simple. Soft. Intimate, in a way that made your chest feel a little fuller. The last few days had been full of chaos and tension, the whirlwind of traveling, new experiences, and—well, everything that had happened between you both. But this? This felt like the calm after the storm.

“I could get used to this,” Kuroo murmured, his hand finding your hair, fingers running through it with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “Waking up next to you, I mean. I think I’m… I think I’m okay with it.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a smile tugging at your lips. “I could, too,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant, as you shifted closer to him, the movement so natural that it felt like second nature.

He chuckled softly, clearly amused by the way you seemed to melt into him. “Yeah? I’m not too bad to wake up next to?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re pretty tolerable.”

“Pretty tolerable?” His voice was teasing again, but there was an unmistakable softness to it. He tilted his head to look at you more directly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’ll take it.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, your eyes softening as you reached up to touch his face, the warmth of your fingers lingering on his skin. “You’re more than pretty tolerable, Kuroo,” you said quietly, your voice full of affection you hadn’t meant to reveal just yet.

He paused, his eyes searching yours, looking for something that wasn’t quite there, but he didn’t push it. He just kissed your forehead instead—softly, tenderly—and for a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

It wasn’t until the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen that reality started to sneak back in. The game, the training, the whole reason you were here—it was still there, hanging in the air, but it wasn’t pressing yet. Not yet.

You glanced at the clock. “Shit, I should get up,” you said, reluctantly pulling yourself away from him.

But Kuroo’s arms tightened around you. “Mm-mm,” he murmured, his grip possessive, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder. “Stay.”

You laughed softly, unable to help yourself. “Kuroo… we have things to do.”

He groaned, but the sound was more playful than anything. “We have time. It’s still early.”

You glanced at the clock again, then back at him. “It’s almost noon,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” he said with a lazy grin. “Still early.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay,” you relented, leaning back into his embrace. “Just a little longer.”

Kuroo grinned like he won some kind of victory, pulling you back against him and resting his chin on your head. “That’s what I thought.”

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the quiet, letting the sounds of the city and the soft hum of the apartment fill the space around you. You could hear the gentle sound of Kuroo’s heartbeat under your ear, steady and calm—just as steady as the way he held you, like you were something worth keeping.

Eventually, though, the moment had to end. Kuroo reluctantly pulled away, his lips brushing against your forehead as he got up and stretched, his muscles still loose from sleep. “Alright, I guess we should get moving. But after last night, I think I’m gonna need a lot of coffee.”

You smiled, watching as he made his way to the kitchen, his body still relaxed, his posture loose, but there was something different about the way he moved now—something a little less guarded.

You followed him into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, me too.”

And as he started brewing the coffee, you leaned against the counter, feeling that strange mix of contentment and excitement bubble inside you—because whatever was going on between you two? It felt like something good. Something worth taking the time for.

“Let’s just make it a good day,” you said softly, more to yourself than anyone else.

Kuroo shot you a look over his shoulder. “Oh, trust me,” he said, voice low and confident, “today’s gonna be great.”

You smiled as you leaned against the counter, just watching him work. There was something about the way he moved, the way his confidence had shifted into something softer but no less magnetic.

And you couldn’t wait to see where this all went.

___________________________________________________________________________

Time Skip: A Few Years Later

It had been a few years since you and Kuroo had gotten married, and life had settled into a rhythm—one that was comfortable, familiar, and, well, a little chaotic, as it always seemed to be when it came to the two of you. You still weren’t the coach of any teams, but you had carved out your own place in the volleyball world. Organizing tournaments, managing schedules, coordinating with different teams, and making sure everything behind the scenes went off without a hitch—that was where you thrived.

Today, you were overseeing yet another event—this time a high-profile international friendly match between a local team and a German squad. Everything was falling into place: the teams were arriving on time, the facilities were prepped, and the sponsors were happy.

And there, in the middle of the buzzing gym, you were orchestrating the whole thing like a well-oiled machine, making sure the logistics were smooth and ensuring every player, coach, and staff member knew exactly where they were supposed to be.

The moment Kuroo walked in, however, everything seemed to shift. You could feel his presence before you even saw him—his energy, that signature confidence that always seemed to draw attention. He was standing at the entrance of the gym, chatting with one of the staff members when his gaze found you across the room. His lips curled into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” His voice was loud and clear, cutting through the buzz of the gym as he made his way over, his hands in his pockets and a playful glint in his eyes.

You smiled warmly, glancing up from your clipboard and taking in the sight of him as he approached. Even after all this time, Kuroo still had that effect on you—the easy confidence, the laid-back charisma, the way he never seemed to take anything too seriously, even in the midst of your hectic work.

“Just getting things ready for the match,” you said with a wink, watching as he approached, the crowd parting for him without even realizing it. “Making sure everything runs smoothly.”

He gave you a once-over, eyes sparkling. “Well, well, well,” he said in that teasing tone, “who’s this beautiful woman I see running the show?”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter, clearly enjoying the playful attention. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s just someone who seems to have it all under control.”

He chuckled, stepping closer and leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I see,” Kuroo said, voice low and playful as he held you in that effortless, familiar way. “You’re still a genius at keeping everything organized.”

“And you’re still charming as ever,” you teased, your voice soft but amused.

Kuroo gave a dramatic sigh, feigning disappointment. “Is that all you’ve got for me? No, ‘Oh, my wonderful husband is here to save the day’?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “You saved the day by showing up. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be handling the logistics all by myself.” You winked at him, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest as his teasing grin spread wider.

“Well, since I’m here,” Kuroo said, his hands finding their way to your waist, “I guess I could help make sure things go smoothly. I am your husband, after all. Might as well use my influence, right?” His fingers grazed the edge of your shirt, his touch soft, warm.

You chuckled, but there was a sense of affection in your voice. “Oh, I’m sure I can handle it. But if you’re really eager to help, maybe you could go double-check the players’ warm-up area?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So I’m not just here for moral support? You actually want me to work?”

“Sure,” you said, pushing off the counter and giving him a playful shove. “But only if you promise to do it without causing a scene. We can’t have you too charming today.”

He smirked at that, the corners of his mouth turning up in that mischievous way. “You’re lucky you married me, you know that?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m still wondering why I agreed to it,” you teased, your tone light and full of affection.

But even as you said the words, you knew the truth. You had married him because no one else made you feel the way Kuroo did. The way he made you laugh, the way he could make everything feel effortless even when things were chaotic. And now, as your husband, he had become your greatest partner in crime—helping you navigate the highs and lows of organizing events like this one.

Kuroo looked over his shoulder, catching one of the staff members’ eyes, and with a quick nod, he made his way toward the warm-up area. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” he called back, though his voice was laced with mischief. “But if I’m going to help, you’ve got to promise me a dinner date after all this.”

You smiled, already turning back to your work. “It’s a date. But don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

He winked at you over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the air once more. “Oh, I never am, am I?”

You laughed softly as you returned to organizing the final details of the match. You loved the way Kuroo always knew how to keep things light, even when the pressure was on. And as the crowd in the gym grew louder, and the event began to unfold, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in how far you’d come—both in your career and in your relationship.

The match was about to begin, and while you were busy overseeing everything, Kuroo was there, always by your side, supporting you in ways that went beyond the surface level.

[mblue-art]

...take my hand, while we dance, on the edge of a knife…

[vvoidsmm]

more insta reqs i did for my story hehe

[wordsofelie]

🎨In a sea of colours, we were black and white

Kuroo Tetsurou - 黒尾 鉄朗 & Shirayagani Natsumi - 白柳夏臣

黒 (black) — 白 (white)

Summary: The best way to prevent a broken heart is to tame your feelings, keep them locked in a room. At least that is what Shirayanagi Natsumi thought. Until, she meets him; Kuroo Tetsurou. Good-looking. Tall. Kind. And she realises that a heart that longs, hurts more than a heart that breaks.

Content Warnings: manga spoilers, post time skip, coworkers to lovers, suicide attempt, injury, family dramas, hurt to comfort. (maybe more coming)

Words count: to come

Taglist: @ayatakanosstuff @megapteraurelia @tsukisangel

chapter 1 - chapter 2 -

[lyqiche]

hehehehe

[storiitells]

Nekoma's Manager Jackpot

An episodic* Kuroo X Oc Series

Enjoy the first sneak peak of it (the series will not be told over text messages this is only for funnsies)

About the Manager

(Photo of Kylie was taken back at England)

This is Kylie White an exchange student from England, visiting Nekoma high school for a year. She's in 2nd grade class 5 and at her first day of school, she immediately applied as a manager of the boys volleyball team.

More information about her will be presented in further episodes. I hope you'll like them <3

*episodic meaning, each episode stands on its own and has none to some connections with other episodes. There's no specific order to read them in, but maybe if you squint a little there might be some order.

[remyreads]

timeskip!Kuroo x burlesque!oc

This is my first one shot so personality might be partially or completely off. Also english isn't my first language so there might be some incoherence. Please just bear with me! :)

Warnings: Slight sexual theme? Awful chemistry jokes. Cursing.

Word count: 16k

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The dark haired man chuckled as they made their way inside. "I didn't peg you for the type to come to this sorta' place Tooru ." He said, thanking the waitress and taking a seat next to his friend. "Every so often there's a hidden gem that takes that stage, and when she does, trust me — you'll think a 20 entrance fee is waaaaay to cheap." The brunette smirked, ordering a pair of whiskeys on the rocks. "We'll see". He anwsered, turning his attention to the acrobatics taking place in the stage not far from their table before roaming his eyes over the bar. It had a vintage air to it, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the dim light they shone over the bar giving it an air of elegance. He smiled to himself before returning his attention to the waiter who was now leaving the ambar drinks on the table. He rolled his eyes at Oikawa's attempts at flirting with him before taking the first sip, a familiar burn on his throat as his friend pouted over a futile attempt at flirting.

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"Jas, you're on in five!" Screamed Sean, his voice muffled by a brush on his lips as he helped Nikki with her makeup. "Sure thing!" The hidden redhead anwsered, as she finished applying her lipstick. She stood up from her vanity, heading over to the backstage. "Here's my girl!" Tess welcomed her with open arms. "Ready?" she asked, fixing a few loose strands that peeked out of her wig. "When am I not?" Jasmine anwsered, looking up to her second mother.

Jasmine was a product of an unexpected teenage pregnancy, his father never to be seen again after the news got out. Her mother, namely one of the most gorgeous women ever — according to Tess, had to raise her on her own, until Tess showed up, bringing them out of the dark. They both created the idea of Burlesque, which later on came to life with the help of Vince. Burlesque had been a product of love, in which Jasmine was raised. For most of her childhood she would spend her nights surrounded by glitter, feathers, amazing fashionistas and even better dancers. By the age of twelve, she had learned all the songs, and by the age of fourteen, she had mastered the art of dancing. But at the age of fifteen, her mother suffered from a heart attack, a result of the countless boxes of cigarrettes which she went through in a weeks time. Her abscence could be sensed all throughout Burlesque, from the lipstick marks on her mirror which she left before every show— a ritual which Jasmine continued, to her shining fake diamond studded heels, waiting to be filled, and who better than her own daughter?

"Then go out there and make me proud." Tess said with a smile as Sean appeared behind the two. "When has she not?" he chimed in, handing the redhead a robe. "Break a leg." Jasmine smiled for an anwser, and made her way onto the stage as the curtains finished lowering.

She wished luck to the other girls on stage before taking place in the center, feather fan covering her face as her other hand grabbed the backrest of a chair, her knee propped up on the seat.

And finally, the curtains opened.

Show a little more

Show a little less

Add a little smoke.

Welcome to Burlesque.

And the lights turned on.

Her pearls chain dangled as she took a step forward, crutching down before turning to look forward and letting her knees hit the floor.

Everything you dream of.

But never can possess.

Oh!

Two girls came up to her, placing a hand on her shoulders before kicking up into the air. Her voice was as smooth as silk, adding a certain charm to her.

Everyone is buying

Put your money in my hand

If you got a little extra

Well, give it to the band

She stood up once more, her eyes roaming the room with confidence. Yes, everyone on stage was gorgeus and impressive, but everyone down there, knew, that she was the star.

You may not be guilty

But you're ready to confess

Tell me what you need

Welcome to Burlesque

Including a certain dark haired man, who sat not too far, his eyes glued to the spectacle in front of him. "Told you, she's a star" Oikawa nudged Kuroo on the shoulder. "She is." He anwsered, too focused on her to nudge him back. The brunnette chuckled, fully aware of how his friend was feeling.

You can dream of Coco

Do it at your risk

The triplets grant you mercy

But not your every wish

She continued singing, Coco striking a pose as the triplets circled around Jasmine.

Jessie keeps you guessing

So cool and statuesque

"Behave yourself", says Georgia

Jessie and Georgia posed back to back, Jasmine poking through the space between their legs, laid down on the floor.

Welcome to Burlesque.

She stood up, dragging the tail of her white robe behind her before letting it fall to the floor, underneath, a navy blue bodysuit with a mesh skirt, covered in pearl chains that shone like little stars along her skin. And as for shoes? Her mothers heels.

The melody continued as she descended the steps from the stage to the bar.

Oh!

Everyone is buying

She moved like a serpent between the tables, every so often allowing herself to caress another womans shoulder, or messing a gents hair. She thought of the words Tess said to her before her first show; "Remember, when you own that stage, you own their attention, you own them."

Put your money in my hand

If you want a little extra

Well, you know where I am

Suddenly, she made eye contact with Kuroo, the connection sending a thrill through the two. "A new guest." she thought to herself, smiling as she did recognise the guy beside him. She smirked mischevously before sauntering over to the two, draping an arm over Oikawa's shoulders, who smirked back in delight.

Something there in the dark

Is playing with your mind

It's not the end of days

Oikawa offered his hand and she took the support as she got onto the table, kneeling down with a smile as she grabbed Kuroos tie.

It's just the bump and grind.

She released his tie, only to grab his hand, leading it up her leg until it reached her waist, where the clasp that held the skirt was, he then moved his fingers to unclasp it at her nod, eaving her only in the bodysuit — she most definetly owned the stage, and his attention too.

Show a little more

Show a little less

Kuroo kept watching in awe, his cheeks a bloody tint. Oikawa took the chance to take a picture of his comical expression, making a mental note to never allow him to forget it.

Add a little smoke.

She held the last note as she got off the table, heading back to the stage with a small spin on the way. Jas got on the center, as the others formed around her.

Welcome to Burlesque.

And as soon as she finished the sentence, the lights went off and the aplaud started. "Man, she's got you." Oikawa smirked, showing him the picture. "Hey! When did you-?" He attempted to grab the phone in order to delete the picture, but his friend quickly retracted his hand. "Tch, no way i'm letting you delete such masterpiece."

All of the girls made their way backstage, Tess receiveing them with an applause as the rest cheered. "Perfect, as always" She congratuleted them all before going over to Jasmine. "Jasmine." She started, inmediatly giving her a scolding look. The girl inmediatly knew what she was going to say. "It was just some harmless fun!" She said with an innocent smile. "At least she has taste." chimed in Sean, has always. "You know I need you focused, which means no- ". Jasmine stopped her before she could continue, "No entertaining myself with the crowd." She muttered. "So you do know." The woman smiled softly. "I swear it was a one time thing, I've never been more focused." She smiled, trying to reassure her, but deep down, even she knew it was a lie. "Also tell your friend to stop flirting with the staff."

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As the Burlesque lounge reached closing time, Jasmine packed everything up, walking out with Coco. But just as she reached the last step of the stairs she noticed two people waiting for her."Jas!" Oikawa called for her, receiving her with a hug after she walked towards him. Kuroo simply stared at the two mesmerized by how pretty she looked with her natural hair. In truth, she looked just as good in the wig, but the red hair made her seem ethereal. "This is Kuroo, he's an old friend from volleyball." Oikawa announced taking a step back. "He was quite enthralled by your performance." He teased, earning a glare from his friend before he looked at Jasmine, his gaze softening. "It's a pleasure meeting you, please don't mind what he says." He said with a soft smile, holding out his hand. "Ditto." She smiled, taking his hand. Hers felt soft to the touch, but cold, while his palm felt rough yet warm. "Does that mean you didn't enjoy the show?" She teased. "Quite the contrary." He smirked, not letting go of her hand just yet. Oikawa clapped his hands. "Perfect, now everyone is acquainted. Kuroo, if you would please make sure the lady reaches her residence safely, I've got a date with a cute bartender!" He winked before turning to leave. "Wait what?! You can't just- " Kuroo tried grabbing at his shirt but he dodged him, waving goodbye to the two. Jasmine smiled, "It's alright, it's a common recurrence. Him and Iwaizumi are always leaving together Everyone's just waiting for them to make it official" Kuroo chuckled. The awkardness between them could be easily noticed, but more subtly, a certain tension could be sensed as well. Kuroo observed her with patience, all the skin that used to be showing now covered by a pair of jeans and a jumper. And when his eyes trailed up to her waist, he could feel his hand itching, remembering the warmth of her skin. "There's a really good pizza place just down the street" She said. "Straight to the point.", Kuroo smiled at the thought. "Lead the way".

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"So, why is someone with a voice like yours singing in such a hidden place?" Is the first thing Kuroo asks as he sets the pizza down on the table and takes a seat. "I guess you could call it family heritage." She said with a fond smile, inmediatly grabbing a slice of pizza. "How so?" He pressed, grabbing another one for himself. "My mother founded the place along with the current owners." She said, seemingly attempting to break the record for the longest cheese pull ever.

"It'll be the envy of any other show in town." Her mother had said one night, preparing her for bed. "We'll have the greatest musicians, Tess will organise breathtaking performances, and you, my little girl, will have a home." She stated, kissing her cheek. "And you mammy?" Little Jasmine asked, her chubby fingers grabbing her plushie as she settled into their bed. "I'm gonna be a star." She said fondly, before settling into bed as well and switching off the lights. "Can I be a star too?" Jasmine asked. "You'll be a star if you wish to be. I'll make sure of it."

Jasmine smiled fondly at the memory. She missed her. "Did she actually?" Kuroo said, impressed. "And where is she now?" He continued, sipping on some soda. "She passed away a few years ago." She said, Kuroo's gaze softening inmediatly. "I'm really sorry to hear that." He commented, with the softest tone Jasmine had ever heard on a man. She smiled bittersweetly. "I grew up without a mother as well." He mentioned. "But she left us when I was quite young, so I can't imagine what it must have been like." He added. "Your mother does sound like an amazing woman though." She left a slice on her plate before anwsering. "I'm sorry to hear that. And, yes, she was." The spark that ignited in her eyes didn't go unnocited by Kuroo. He was quite surprised at the contrast to be honest. The femme fatale he had encountered earlier seemed to have nothing in common with the soft spoken pretty girl in front of him, and if someone had asked him if they were the same person, he would have probably doubted if it weren't for the allure she held. "What about you?" She asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Mh?" He mumbled, before swallowing a bite of pizza. "What do you do, like, for work." She repeated, resting her cheek on her palm. "Oh, I work for the Japan Volleyball Association." She smiled, "Sounds interesting." Kuroo shrugged. "I don't get to play but at least I'm still close to the sport of my dreams." She nodded. "Oikawa said you knew eachother from volleyball. I'd ask what team you were in, but I'd lie if I said I've heard of it." Jasmine chuckled. "I've told you MY dream job. What's yours?" He smirked. "Honestly, this is it for me. Singing." She smiled. "I'm at my happiest when I get to sing up there, free, knowing that for a while, I'm the biggest star in the room". She chuckled. "I did think of getting a chemistry degree though, I used to ace every test in school." Beauty and brains? God, Kuroo was absolutely whipped. "Really now?" He smirked. "You know, I wish you name was Avogadro." He started toying with the straw on his cup. "Because then you would already know my number?" She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Hey! That was supposed to be my line!" He chuckled, nudging her. "I've heard it all already, you can't surprise me." Kuroo shook his head. "Should have known better than to use a pick up line on a woman who deserves a poem". And in that precise moment, he would swear he could see her blush. "Does that work on every girl?" She mumbled, her mouth hidden behind the palm of her hand. "None like you." He smiled. And oh did he mean it.

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"Here again?" Oikawa teased him. "It's the seventh time this month." He continued before taking a sip from his drink. "I have simply developed a certain taste for... unconventional art." Kuroo huffed. "Didn't know Jasmine counted has unconventional art." The brunette smirked. "Don't you have a boyfriend to bother?" Kuroo replied. "I'll have you know he is thrilled by my presence thank you very much." He snorted. "Have you ever heard the phrase "all men do is lie"?" Now it was Oikawa who was huffing. "Prick." Kuroo smiled. "Asshole".

I want a tough lover.

They both fell silent, Kuroos eyes inmediatly searching for Jasmine on the dark stage.

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a, a tough lover, woo

I need a, a tough lover, yeah yeah yeah

A tough lover, ooh yeah

And finally, the lights turned on. And as they did, he could feel his breath hitch.

When he kisses me, I get that thrill

When he does that wiggle I won't keep still

Jasmine stood in the middle of the stage, tight red corset with black feathers all around. A pair of mesh tights on her legs and black platform heels. And her unmistakable blonde wig to top it all off. Kuroo couldn't deny how much he missed her red curls though.

I wanna a tough lover

A tough lover

I need a tough lover

Tough lover

She walked over to the center of the stage, her exaggerated dance moves so perfect and seamless they looked almost natural.

The seven sisters got nothing on him

I'm talking about a lover who's fast as the wind

Everyone will talk about how he got me fixed

It ain't voodoo, it's just that twist

She grinned, her confidence once more, causing all the eyes in the room to be glued on her, on her moves, on her words.

He will be the greatest lover that ever come to pass

Don Juan ain't got the half the chance

Finally, their eyes met, and for a second, the soft Jasmine bled through the costume, granting him the most teeth rotting sweet smile ever. But of course, she rapidly returned to her stage charm.

He's a tough lover

A tough lover

He's a tough lover

A tough lover

Kuroo felt his hands grip his thighs with so much strength it hurt, when she walked down the steps.

Hey, hey, he'yeah

He'll make me laugh, he'll make me cry

He'll be so tough he'll make Venus come alive

Slowly but surely, she was making her way to him once more, but this time, she only gave him a fleeting touch to his cheek.

He'll do anything that he wants to do

Step on Jesse James's blue suede shoes, yeah

And it was more than enough to leave him aching for more.

As soon as her performance finished, she hurried off to her vanity. "This feathers make me sick!" She groaned. "Sean? A little help over here please?" She whined, struggling against the corset ties. "It'll be a minute dear". He answered back, running to every corner of the dressing room, helping the girls prepare for the final performance. "I think Tess is in the walk in closet, ask her!" He continued. She sighed before walking over to the little room filled with all sorts of dresses, but unfortunately for her, no sight of Tess. Jas decided to retaliate against the corset ties, when suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. "Tess thank god-" But in front of her, was standing Kuroo himself. "Sorry to disappoint". He smirked. She could feel her cheeks heat up by simply staring at those curved lips. "Not a disappointment at all" She smiled. "The timing could be better though." He nodded. "I know, but I had to see you. And I since I'm here maybe I could help?" He pointed towards her corset. "Promise I'll keep my eyes closed." he smiled, placing one hand over his heart. She thought over her options before turning around so her back was facing him. As promised, Kuroo closed his eyes before reaching for the laces to try and help her out of the corset. "How'd you even get in here?" She asked. "Tess let me in." He simply stated. "She did?!" A subtle brush of his calloused fingers against her skin sending a thrill through both. "She did. And I noticed you've been receiving my flowers" She smiled, picturing the flowers that now took half the space in her vanity.

"They're quite beautiful, thank you." She said softly. "Not as beautiful as you." Kuroo muttered, the space suddenly feeling tighter than it should. The tension was familiar, the same as when his fingers first touched her skin, as when their eyes first met. Kuroo suddenly felt the absence of the laces between his fingers, but still refused to open his eyes, just in case. But when he felt her cold fingers caress his cheek, he could not hold it anymore. He opened his eyes, inmediatly meeting hers, their faces a hairsbreadth apart. The girl in front of her right now, he couldn't exactly pinpoint who she was. She most definitely had Jasmine's on stage charm and allure, but the spark in her eyes was most definitely her off stage self. And he was loving the confusion. Jasmine couldn't move, actually, she didn't want to move. His breath mingling with hers, noses almost touching, and lips painfully close. She felt his hands cradle her face, thumb running over her lower lip. And Kuroo couldn't help himself anymore. He lowered his face, subtly caressing her lips with his own. He inmediatly separated, bracing himself for rejection. Except it never came. Before he could say anything, her lips were on his once more, kissing him softly, Kuroo moved his hand to her back inmediatly, as Jasmine's tangled hers in his hair. She angled her face as they deepened the kiss. He pressed her against himself in a tight embrace, careful enough to not hurt her. "Jas, I'm all done, let me- oh." They both pulled away at the same time, staring at Sean like deer caught in headlights— nevertheless, Kuroo didn't loosen his embrace in the slightest. They all stayed in silence for a few seconds. "So, here's what we're gonna do. Nikki will take your place, I'll tell the rest you felt sick, I could try and trick Tess, but we both know it wouldn't work, and you two, will take whatever this is, outside. Am I clear?" Jasmine nodded, biting her lip to stifle a smile. "Good." Sean clapped his hands before turning around and closing the doors once again. "Thank you Sean, love you!" She screamed. " You still owe me!" She smiled before returning her attention to Kuroo, the affection in his gaze catching her by surprise. They both stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. "You think they'll ever let me back in here?" He smiled. " I certainly doubt it." She smiled before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He intertwined his fingers with hers. " Well you certainly are made of oxygen and neon" Kuroo smirked as Jasmine tilted her head in confusion. "Because you're the ONe for me."

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Character credits go to their respective owners. Same thing for the lyrics. Only character owned by me is Jasmine.

[xlun1ax]

Lover scenario

~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~

❥ More than that > reader x male lover

Fluff, sleep, unconscious, kissing, touching, mild suggestive, hugging

୨୧꯭

·

It was 9pm

When Your lover came homelate his excuse? His co-workers wanted to hangout with him there was no harm in bonding with them. And, knowing you you would be more than happy to hear he grew close with others since you tend to encourage it.

He knew your habits like on the back of his hand at nine you would slow down your routine get ready for sleep so he was full on expecting you to do your usual stretch or another quiet hobby like watching a show or reading.

But this was a rare sight.

Your legs were on top of the couch. Like your pretty feet was full on dangling there on the backrest. His brow was raised in contemplation while taking a step towards you wondering if you found a new hobby that made you in the new position but no,

oh dear, his heart skips a beat.

You fell asleep.

You were hugging your phone, while your hair was tossed to cover the pillow, you didn't look ready for bed like you usually do. It took a while but he arrives to a conclusion. Seriously would it hurt to ask him to come home early? You always say you don't like texting because it's a hassle. You prefer face to face interaction only when he's around you would be honest with your intentions seeing that phone on your chest. you were waiting for him to text you when he'd come home.

It made his heart ache at how cute you can be sometimes dispute your ego.

His eyes drank in the sight of you letting out a sigh recognizing your sleeping habits that he grew familiar to. He doesn't know why, but whenever you'd sleep you tend to lift up your shirt until it shows your sweet subtle waist till your bra band,

Or more .

It was a question he never got an answer to he really doesn't get why. Not that he's complaining about it, it's just one of the unimportant things that tend to linger in one's mind. Perhaps it's cause you had a phase where you slept naked, who knows? But because of this habit of yours he had developed his own habit.

He leans in towards your lower abdomen kissing the skin his lips lingered on it that when he pulled away it was coated with slight wetness of his lips. He knows that's where's a baby tend to be planted if you guys decide to have one. But regardless of not having one he came to love that part of you often kissed you there. The habit became obvious whenever he sees you asleep.

“seriously what are you doing to me my love” he mutters as he looks up at your docile state unconscious. He didn't think he would put so much effort in a girl but you proved him wrong, You had trust issues heck it took a long time for him to win you over then you get overstimulated easily he couldn't touch you if he didn't do it right it makes you annoyed but seeing you sleeping Infront if him. Made him realize how much you trust him now.

He could do anything while you're unconscious you knew about it. You voiced your concerns about the possibilities but now it's all worth it he's the closest that anyone will ever be to you...

How can he not take pride in that?

You were a hard nut to crack but it was all worth it in his opinion although he'd be dead if you find out he kissed your tummy whenever you're sleeping. He can already picture the endless teasing. He kissed the corner of your lip ready to get off you.

But to his surprised

You grabbed his wrist pulled him back on the couch. Without letting him process it you went up on his chest nuzzling your face into his neck planting a soft kiss on it.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't blushing.

“L-love” his voice cracked as he gazed down at you he gulped parting his lip about to speak but you cut him off “I waited for you, is that all you're gonna give me?” you muttered making his face rival the redness of a tomato

“I didn't think you'd be so needy today ” he murmured covering half of his face. He can't comprehend this normally your arousal state would be near you period..

What date is it today.

Your lips crashed into his before he could remind himself. He knew it was coming but it never fail to make him weak he feels himself shiver while holding the couch fabric for any semblance of stability.

But you're too much of a weakness for him. Any more it's enough to make him fall to his knees. He lets out a moan louder than usual when you let your tongue in. The loud volume took you by surprise making you pull back rose an eyebrow at his reaction before a chuckle slips out of your mouth in amusement.

He never fail to amuse you and you love that about him.

His eyes hover to the side feeling embarrassed by his out burst. He didn't wanna believe that was him but your reaction says it all “stop laughing ” he grumbles flustered at your burst before your laughter dies down shaking your head.

Your expression was soft being beside him always manages to make you feel better suddenly that heavy feeling felt lighter. But is it gone? No.

You need more.

More than that to feel much better.

He knows.

It's not everyday you wait for him when you are being transparent like this it's because you want him to know how much you want him. You are careful you knew he picks up on detail that's why you calculate every movement it's sad you have to act like this that's why he savours every drop of transparency that you let out.

It's too good

It's addictive

You're addictive

It makes him want more

And he knows the question is coming

“sorry that was a bit much but, ” your voice was soft like lullaby to his ear you finger on his cheek was like carefully tracing a textured art work he loves the attention. The attention that is so hard to grab.

“ you don't need to apologize I was just surprised ” it was true you didn't because he loved it soo much he wants more you can see it in your eyes you both can't help but feel lucky to have a partner that understands you guys better than anyone.

This is your guys home. A home where you both can be honest with each other in. A safe place that will never be tainted.

Savour it

Love it

Cause time is limited

You don't know when the clock will stop ticking

That's how you guys feel with each other inside the house.

More.

I need more time with you

“that's a relief than lovely, can i have more?” your voice rung your thirst was obvious and he loves it. You both could be obsessed with each other and you guys don't care.

“you can more than that my love ”

If you want more and more is what you'll get.

You guys are willing to give each other more than anything in this world.

Because to you guys you both had excided more than that with each other.

.

Turns out he was right next morning you got your period.

~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~

⢷A/n: as always thanks for reading luv you bub<3

✧

©xlun1ax do not copy, translate or post author's work on other platforms

[base0h]

HAIKYUU CHARACTERS WHEN YOU CALL THEM BY THEIR FULL NAME

a/n - I’m alive. and back to crack. :))) i just rewatched some of haikyuu and i just feel better after watching some of the dub clips bc they’re free therapy tbh. I didn’t even know there was a stage play so i watched some of it and holy crap it’s peak. dancing, comedy, epicness, everything is amazing, the actors are all on point too the casting is so good (feat my oc Kori)

warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o reader, crack

—————————

a/n - i absolutely adore making these omfg

[seijorhi]

invidia ii

a (very belated) christmas present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy who has, for two years straight, begged me for more shinnosuke content. i hope you like it bby! kuroo tetsurou x female reader, kuroo shinnosuke (oc) x female reader part i w.c 3.1k tw: noncon/dubcon, slight daddy kink, (forced) infidelity, yandere themes, nsfw, smut, age gap, i guess hints of breeding kink, dilf kuroo

“Why did your parents split up?”

Mid-way through pulling on a pair of old, grey sweatpants, mopping at beads of water from his shower still rolling down his bare chest, Shinnosuke throws you a curious look, but shrugs easily enough.

“They weren’t ever really ‘together’ to begin with. They tried the whole co-parenting thing to start with but mom… they never loved each other. Hell, I don’t even think they liked each other most of the time beyond–” he breaks off, his nose wrinkling in distaste. It almost makes you laugh. “Anyway, dad always said she had one foot out the door from the start. Dad was the one who stuck around to raise me.” There’s no animosity in his tone, he says it like it’s the simple truth. You’ve never met the woman, never having shown up to any of the Nekoma games, his graduation, any of it. You’ve seen a picture or two, overheard the odd phone call, but for as long as you’ve known him, the only real parent in Shin’s life has always been his dad.

If there’s anyone he idolises, it’s his father.

 Which is why the words that he says next – casting aside the damp towel in the general direction of the laundry basket (boys) and sauntering on over to join you in bed – take you entirely by surprise. “We’ll go visit her in Golden Week. I want her to meet you.”

And again, the words are just that; words. Shin kisses you, a sweet peck on your lips, and wastes no time in scooping you back into his arms and settling back with a contented sigh. They’re just words, but there’s this look in his eyes when he says it that makes you think he means something more. 

Your stomach flutters.

—

‘You really wanna break his heart like that, kitten?’

—

“Still not feeling any better?” Shin asks, brushing your hair back to feel your forehead. The beginnings of a frown start to take shape, teeth gently burrowing into his bottom lip, but he straightens and sighs, and that hint of discontent smoothes over like it had never existed in the first place. He strokes your hair again and offers a small, sympathetic smile. “No temperature, that’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

You’re a coward.

“It’s not my head, I just…” don’t have any visible, plausible symptoms for the fake illness that’s currently keeping you curled up in Shin’s bed. Away from the creep who’d smiled and fucking winked at you Christmas morning. “I just feel off.”

“Poor baby,” he coos, laughing when your face screws up and you swat at him.

Right now, swaddled in his hoodie, his fingers carding through your hair and that stupid, impish, almost believable grin beaming down at you, you want to forget. To pretend. 

Because there’s a pit in your stomach. A bitter, gnarled, seething mass. This moment right now, in Shin’s bed, it’s like glass, paper thin and already cracked, it can’t possibly last, and yet you’re clinging to it so desperately, head buried in the sand, willing yourself to pretend, from one heartbeat to the next, that what’s happened won’t break the two of you. 

That your stomach doesn’t threaten to upend when you catch sight of those hazel eyes peering down at you – the same shape and shade as his father’s.

You shudder out a breath, and what little levity there was between you two gets sucked out with it. Shin’s expression gutters.

Yeah. 

His fingers don’t leave your hair, though. Playing idly with the strands as though the suffocating tension in the room doesn’t exist at all. “Dad’s taking us out to dinner tonight,” he tells you. Reminds you, because you knew all of this beforehand. Everything but the party. “Do you want me to run by the pharmacy to get you something?”

Another tap at the fractured glass. 

That’s Shinnosuke all over, isn’t it? You might’ve been the manager back in the day, but it was always Shin who kept an eye on his team, on you, to make sure everyone was good. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll–” the words get stuck in your throat. “I’ll see how I feel in an hour or so. ‘m still a little tired.” 

“You want some tea, sweetheart?”

‘Shh, sweetheart, you gotta keep it down.’

A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of your neck. No. No, no, no, no–

“Baby?”

You flinch like he’s slapped you, jerking away from the hand he’s wound in your hair. The startled look he shoots you borders on wounded, but you’re already squirming towards the edge of the bed, stumbling to your feet like a newborn foal. “Bathroom,” you manage to eke out, your voice sounding far too strangled and hoarse to pass as anywhere near the realm of fine. 

Shin doesn’t follow, doesn’t so much as utter a word – all kicked puppy confused – as you throw the door closed behind you and collapse back against it, a sweaty, ashen mess. 

He usually calls you love. Baby. Princess when he’s being a little shit. 

Sweetheart’s a rare one. 

Your heart races, a runaway train pounding in your chest. His eyes, his touch, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.

Another shuddering breath in. Out. 

Fuck. 

There’s a knock – not at the ensuite door, the sound’s too muffled for that, and you didn’t hear Shin’s footsteps (though you’re not sure you would, over the pounding in your ribs) meaning that the knocking’s at his door. 

There’s only one other occupant in the house. Though you try your damndest to fight it, there’s no stopping the wave of panic that stabs through you. Shin’s door creaks open, soft voices barely creeping through the gap in the door, and your fingers go rigid, nails clawing at the black and white flooring as though you can ground yourself by breaking through it instead. 

You don’t realise you’re crying.

Not until the droplets splatter on the tiles by your feet.

—

You should’ve left days ago.

After Christmas, when you’d ducked out from under Shin’s arm and lurched for the nearest bathroom, when it’d finally clicked for him that you violently hurling your guts up wasn’t the result of a simple hangover, you’d tried. Short of admitting the truth – and swinging a bat at the bees’ nest – convincing Shin to leave his dad’s place goes about as well as drawing blood from a stone. 

He’s even less thrilled about the prospect of you going back by yourself, leaving him to spend what’s left of the week with his dad like they’d planned.

There’s only so far you can push without breaking something. You, probably. You and Shin, almost definitely. 

Even so, you might’ve had more of a backbone if he hadn’t been so… Shin. All coaxing and concerned. Logical to a damn fault. 

‘You don’t wanna be stuck in a car driving for hours when you’re feeling shitty, love, and besides, dad’s place is bigger than ours. Comfier. You’ll probably be on the mend by tomorrow anyway, so there’s no point in us heading back.’

If you weren’t trying to salvage what’s left, or maybe clinging to the idea that you can – and want to – then it would’ve been easier just to go.

You wouldn’t still be here, stuck in the house of the man who’d– who’d raped you.

You wouldn’t be avoiding your boyfriend’s eye.

You would’ve screamed the whole house down before Kuroo Tetsurou ever bent you over the kitchen counter.

But the gentle extrication in the early hours of the morning, Shinnosuke’s lips brushing against your cheek, the sleepy rasp of his voice as he mumbles a quiet, “Love you,” before slipping away – you barely stir, cozy and safe and content.

He loves you. Shin loves you. 

A while later – minutes, maybe, or hours, it’s hard to tell when you’re still in the grips of sleep – the mattress dips under Shin’s weight, and those strong, sculpted arms seek your warmth again, you only sigh and lean back against him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, not yet willing to open your eyes and face another day of lying to him. 

The arm slung over your waist curls tighter, his face nuzzling into your neck. The kisses he leaves there aren’t affectionate, exactly, they’re not gentle, when teeth catch, nipping sharply at your skin, only to be soothed by a lave of his tongue.

And the laugh that rumbles at your back – a shade off your boyfriend’s – is anything but nice. 

“Yeah? Fuck, you’re sweet in the morning.”

This time, you don’t hold back. You shriek, kicking out like a wild thing – or you would have, if Kuroo’s hand hadn’t clamped down on your mouth, if his weight hadn’t shifted so that rather than lying curled up behind you, he’s half on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress with a thigh lodged between yours. 

“Uh-uh-uh, we were doing so good, kitten. Don’t you wanna be daddy’s good girl?”

Your only answer is a ragged noise, torn from somewhere deep inside of you. He chuckles again, grinds against you, his cock a thick, unignorable presence pressed at your ass. There’s nothing but the thin cotton of your sleep shorts separating it from you, and from past experience, that barrier won’t do much to deter him for long.

Kuroo rolls you onto your back and slots himself nicely between your legs. Naked, you realise with a fresh stab of fear.

You scream the moment his palm leaves your lips to capture your wrists, scream for Shinnosuke – for anyone – so loudly that it feels like you’ll bleed for it. Let him come running, find you pinned and squirming, terrified beneath the man who raised him.

Let it be the final crack that obliterates everything. 

If Shin sees you like this, utterly petrified, on the verge of being raped again and still thinks it some kind of a betrayal, let him choke on it. You don’t care anymore, you just want someone to stop this. 

(Shin wouldn’t, would he?)

But Kuroo only snickers. Leans over to lick along the edge of your lashes, where hot, glistening tears are already spilling over, trickling down to disappear in your hairline. “Your boy’s not here, but we don’t have long ‘til he gets back. You’ll forgive me if we bypass the foreplay this morning, right, sweetheart?” You shudder, goosebumps prickling where his breath washes over you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and violently – pointlessly – shake your head. “We’ll have to save eating your pretty little cunt for next time.”

All too eager, he hungrily captures your lips again and yanks down your shorts, taking your panties along with them.

Christmas morning, you’d been shoved face down over the kitchen counter while he’d fucked you from behind. You’d give anything for that distance right now. At least then you hadn’t had to endure his suffocating warmth, having him squeeze and grope at your tits over your old, threadbare tee.

You wouldn’t have to writhe away from his mouth while he rucks your bare thighs up either side of his hips, dragging you closer.

Even with your eyes screwed tightly shut, you can’t pretend that this isn’t happening as Kuroo spits and a heartbeat later the thick head of his cock slowly – agonisingly slowly – splits you apart.

You forget how to breathe. 

Eyes popping open and back arching up into his chest, your fists clutch desperately at the sheets of Shin’s bed, trying to squirm away, only the grip he has on you makes sure there’s nowhere for you to escape to. He’s big, long, mostly, and you’re too tight to take him easily, especially without any prep. The spit doesn’t help any, and Kuroo doesn’t care, groaning out in pleasure as inch by inch he pushes himself deeper, until at last he’s seated firmly inside of you. “Good fucking giiiirl,” he purrs, a kiss pressed to the tip of your nose.

A tiny, drawn out whine is all you can manage when your lower half radiates pain. 

“Gonna fuck this perfect pussy nice ‘n full,” he tells you. “Give you everything you need, sweet girl. You can take it. I know you can, you just gotta breathe for me.”

But unlike last time, he doesn’t allow you the luxury of a minute to adjust. His hips draw back and punch forward, jolting another mewling gasp from your lips. And again. And again. The pace isn’t violent so much as intense, like each thrust ignites something inside of him that burns for more.

He clasps your wrists in one hand, pants into your open mouth between frenetic kisses, groans out your name in that shuddering gasp.

“Mine,” he pants, beads of sweat dripping from his chest, his chin, rolling down onto you. “You’re daddy’s girl– fuck!”

Your cunt reacts accordingly, flexing around his cock, easing its passage so that the wet, lurid sounds of him fucking you quickly fill the air. A betrayal that has your cheeks flaming. 

The muscles in your thighs burn, Kuroo all but forcing them back towards the bed, his weight driving into you with fervour. A quick adjustment to the angle of your hip and his cock hits a spot deep inside of you that has you choking on a moan of your own, a burst of bright, sizzling pleasure bleeding through the pain.

Kuroo grins ferally at the sound of it. Drops his weight on an elbow and bucks into you, hitting it again. Your inner walls twitch, squeezing and slick, dragging noises from you that make you wanna burn with shame – that, or cut yourself loose entirely. You can’t muster resistance when he swallows them down, sucking on your tongue, moaning into your mouth. His momentum turns rabid, his hand no longer encircling your wrists, but entangled with them, pressing them down to the mattress. “Almost… there…” he grunts, gasping as he curls over you, abs flexing.

A shudder rolls through him, his hips faltering just as something vital shatters inside of you, toes curling, white hot pleasure exploding from your core, rippling through your whole body like the aftershocks of an earthquake. With your pussy spasming around his cock, your body taut and locked with pleasure, Kuroo hurtles off that cliff right alongside you, a strangled noise somewhere between a moan and a growl escaping him as he pumps your cunt full of his seed, all but collapsing atop of you afterwards.

It takes a minute before he peels himself off of you; pushing himself up, braced on elbow so that he’s not crushing you entirely, Kuroo waits, buried inside your warmth, for you to stop trembling with the after effects of your orgasm, for his cock to soften and both of your breathing to even out. 

Waits for those glazed over eyes to focus back on him and once again fill with tears, stroking a hand through your sweat-dampened hair as he does so.

“You should go take a shower before Shin gets home,” he says after a minute or two, his voice a low purr. “He can’t be far off.”

But aside from rolling off you to allow you up, Kuroo makes no moves to follow you, or so much as get up off the bed. Naked, his cock soft and glistening with your juices, one knee propped up, he watches you stumble like a newborn foal into the bathroom (only half managing to close the door behind you) with damn near predatory intent, a smirk teasing at his lips.

It’s where Shin finds you a short while later, curled up on the floor of the shower, shaking through silent sobs. 

—

Shin doesn’t let go of your hand the entire trip home.

Uncharacteristically sober, he says little aside from the occasional murmur to check in with you – always unanswered – and keeps you tucked close, as though a fraction of distance between you might pry you from his side entirely. 

The hours pass in a haze of… nothing. Your tears dry. Numbness takes over. You move like a robot, Shin guiding you every step of the way until you cross the threshold of your apartment.

He never asks what happened. You suppose the smell of sex in his bedroom and the bruises and love bites scattered over your body tell the tale well enough. Shinnosuke’s never been stupid. He’s not dense. 

He’s not heartless, either.

In the sanctity of your tiny, shitty bathroom, you shower again. A proper shower this time, with the water turned up full blast, scrubbing viciously at your skin– or at least, you do until he steps in and takes over. You’ve never thought of your boyfriend as particularly gentle, but he pries the loofah from your hand with a delicacy you didn’t know him capable of and takes care of you, cleaning you up with a tenderness that borders on reverence.

You pretend not to notice how his eyes (so like his, sharp and hazel) narrow into a scowl every time he spots another bruise, another mark left by his father. Once or twice his fingers begin to ghost over them, burgundy fingerprints on your thigh, a love bite sucked into the delicate skin above your collarbone, only to catch himself, swallowing tightly and resuming his task like he’d never faltered in the first place. 

When you’re done, he dries you both off and helps you into fresh clothes – a pair of comfy sweatpants and an old hoodie of his and guides you back to the living room, setting you down into his lap on the couch.

“I–” his voice is hoarse. Quiet, especially in the stillness of the apartment, and when you glance his way, he awkwardly clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I went to the pharmacy. I thought– I thought…” he trails off again, dropping his gaze. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Your heart twists, and it’s your turn to comfort him. Or maybe you’re comforting each other, shifting slightly in his lap so that you can wrap your arms around him and draw him in close, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the fresh, clean scent of him. “No. I– it wasn’t…” but the words don’t come. You flounder. 

What are you supposed to say? It wasn’t his fault? Wasn’t yours?

You should’ve said something earlier? Should’ve fought back harder – against both of them, should’ve grown a spine?

A beat passes in the tense, thick silence, and when it becomes clear that you’ve got nothing for him, he makes an odd sort of huff that sounds almost irritated. You frown a little, but you don’t fight it when his arms pull tighter around you, when his cheek comes to a rest against your hair and his hands seek yours, curling around your wrists and stroking at the skin there. 

“We’ll get through this,” he vows. “I love you, this doesn’t change anything. It won’t change anything.” His lips meet the crown of your head in a soft kiss. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

[bxxemvgic]

Hi! Your Tobio relationship headcannons were so cute! I'm not sure if your final request slot is still open, but if it is, may I request Nishinoya relationship headcannons? I feel like he'd be the cutest boyfriend and I'd love to see what you'd write. If you already have a final request, I'm sorry, I understand if you ignore this request. I hope you have a great day! <3

Nishinoya's Relationship Head-cannons!!

a/n: hiiii thank you! It was my first-time writing head-cannons, glad you enjoyed! Thank you for submitting a request (you were actually the last person to submit a request). update: sorry i postponed requests, i'll try my best to post alterative days :)

(1) How you noticed him:

You were feeling down and dreading your test scores. You couldn't believe all the studying went to waste. Even though you were discouraged back against the wall, sighing loudly so the whole world could hear that you failed, a boy so jovial stumbled across your path. He noticed you at first glance, you had no idea who he was, but his glance made you forget what you were anxious about.

(2) How he treats you:

You're his main priority. He is always aware of how you feel. You sometimes have unpleasant feelings about certain situations, but he tries his best to make you smile without making you furious. You always seem to giggle at him, but you try to keep a straight face to look serious, but you can't hold that face for long.

Sometimes he thinks you don't like his energetic personality because he believes that you think he's irritating, but that's not the case. You love his energetic personality, and that's why you love him.

(3) How he feels about you:

He tends to hide his emotions from you but in actuality, he’s head over heels for you. The amount of time he spends with you before Volleyball practice; eats breakfast with you and meanders around the school while time passes. You always watch when there's volleyball practice just to observe him and watch as he improves over time.

[emmyfrvr]

Chokehold

When a girl gets set up with a popular volleyball player and is torn between her passion or her lover

|this is my first fic so if you have any structural criticism please let me know|

Socials

[esbloomie]

new haikyuu commission✨

happy new years guys!!

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 1

🎨In a sea of colours, we were black and white

Kuroo Tetsurou - 黒尾 鉄朗 & Shirayagani Natsumi - 白柳夏臣

黒 (black) — 白 (white)

Summary: The best way to prevent a broken heart is to tame your feelings, keep them locked in a room. At least that is what Shirayanagi Natsumi thought. Until, she meets him; Kuroo Tetsurou. Good-looking. Tall. Kind. And she realises that a heart that longs, hurts more than a heart that breaks.

Content Warnings: manga spoilers, post time skip, alcohol consumption, smoking

Words count: 4.3k

Scientists say black is the absence of colours. Artists say it’s the only shade present in every colour. I say you are all of that—presence and absence, light and obscurity, shade and colour.

One of the most annoying tasks Shirayanagi Natsumi is assigned as the newly appointed athletic trainer of the Japan Women's Volleyball Team is to appear in a collaboration photoshoot with the coach and team members. She has always been used to being the tallest girl in her class, which is why in first grade, her mother had made a bet on your her path—it would be whether volleyball player or modelling—but because she hated to be in the spotlight (and perhaps because her father used to be the coach of the Japanese national team), she chose volleyball. But now, as she stands beside the athletes (and despite being 6’ tall), she feels extremely small. At least she managed to maintain her strength, thanks to her studies in sports science. I should have gone more to the gym, she thinks anyway.

When her coach broke the news that the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association wanted to include her in their campaign, she would have given anything to murder the obnoxious, stupid, sadist—and whatever adjective strong enough to express her hate—person in charge of that division. Her resentment didn’t ease when she heard her intern and assistant, Hina, gasped about how “lucky you are, senpai. Apparently, the man in charge of the division is a living god”. Good-looking, tall, a true gentleman—her words. It created some sort of disgust in her. In all honesty, it’s hard for her not to picture a stingy, middle-aged man who just wants to make money out of young athletes. Despite this, she still tries not to judge the portrait; perhaps that guy is all of that and kind

But it doesn’t matter how good-looking the guy is anyway because he certainly has no sense of marketing. Fans don’t care about athletic trainers, they want to see the players. He’s just making her waste time even though the fucking Olympics are in two month.

The problem on top of it is that, according to her coach, it’s important to bring to light her indispensable job and that the campaign is a brilliant idea (she’s convinced that whatever curse the ‘good-looking’ guy put on Hina, he also put on coach Sakai). But what can she say about it? He is her boss, after all, and she has dreamed of working with the Olympic team for years, so she offered a tense smile and returned to her office, hoping she would not have to meet the man who had that brilliant idea.

That is how she finds herself all dressed up and wearing make-up in some prestigious studio in Tokyo, sulking as she thinks of all the work she should be doing instead of this masquerade.

“Did your dog die?”

Ito Chika, the regular libero of the team, looks at her with wide eyes.

“Of course not, I would be desperate if he did,” Natsumi mutters, a pout appearing on her lips at the mention of the loss of the love of her life, Soba, a cute and fluffy Cavalier King Charles spaniel mixed with another breed (she still wonders about the kind of father he had) that she adopted two-years ago. My child, as she likes to call him.

“Well, you do look desperate, Nana.”

Liberos are said to be, well, straightforward. And they need to. At the end of the day, in a game, they don’t have time to be precious or cautious; they just have to dive to the floor and end up with a few bruises. Natsumi never understood why one would want to do crazy things like liberos; that’s why she was fine with being a spiker in school. As the saying goes, clichés die hard, and Ito Chika is no exception to the rule; she is, in fact, straightforward, frank and a little bit crazy (she also happens to be the best libero of all Japan).

Natsumi only sighs. “I hate photoshoots. And why do I have to be here anyway? The good part of being an athletic trainer and not a proper athlete, is that you don’t need to do bullshits photoshoots like this one. Argh.”

Only a few pictures have been taken, yet Natsumi already feels exhausted and blinded by the too-bright white flashes of the cameras. Both girls are sitting in a corner of the studio, taking a water break from all this agitation.

A scoff comes out of Chika’s nose. “Yeah, I know you don’t like photoshoots.”

“Why are you laughing?” Natsumi asks, eyebrows raised.

“It’s just-” Chika takes a few seconds to wipe away the tears that started to form in her eyes. “I just remembered the day of your graduation, when Komori and I dragged you all the way from the toilets to take a group picture.”

She cringes at the mention of the memory before softly pushing the libero. “Shut up!”

Deep down, Natsumi feels her heart lighten. Is that nostalgia from a time when one did not have to think about taxes and demanding bosses and grocery shopping and any other adult responsibilities?

“I remember how Suzuki-sensei screamed at Komori for entering the girls’ toilets.”

“He turned all red.”

They laugh so loud the make-up team turns and gives them suspicious looks.

“In the end, I was in the ground picture.”

“Only because I promised I’d buy you fried chicken.”

Natsumi chuckles at that.

“See, I know this would make you smile.”

She looks at Chika, and the corners of her lips turn slowly upwards. “You always know how to make me smile.”

And this is as true as the law of gravity. Ito never fails to make her friends smile. The girls met in high school; the two of them went to Itachiyama. Natsumi was one year older than the libero. When the latter became a first year, Natsumi was made vice-captain of the girls' team. She remembers when Ito entered—or rather, burst into the gymnasium. She’s so loud, everyone thought. She was grounded by the captain and had to take care of the cleaning for a whole month. One time, when Natsumi stayed a little longer to train her serves after a defeating match, Ito told her how happy she was to be in this team. Natsumi found her naive at first; they had just lost, and terribly, how could she be happy? But as she looked at her, cleaning the polished wooden floor and acclaiming every action her teammates had made, Natsumi smiled. That day, she discovered that the younger girl wasn’t just loud and naive, she had a gift, one of putting the smile back on your face. Whether it was when they lost their first Nationals, when their former setter had to retake an exam the day before the start of the summer vacation, or when Natsumi turned silent for a whole month after quitting volleyball. Her presence itself brings joy.

“Do you still talk to Motoya?” Natsumi asks.

“Of course I do. I even went to see the EJR play once. You know, it’s not because he broke my heart ten years ago that I resent him.” Chika puffs out her chest, trying to express the little pride she has left through her posture.

“This sentence itself makes it obvious that you’re not over it.”

“I-well, you know how I am. I have a crush on a guy-”

“On a libero, you mean.”

“Alright, alright, on a libero. I have a thing for liberos. Anyway. I confess to him. He says I’m a pain in the ass. I get over it and find a new guy. That’s called the circle of life. That happened in high school with Komori, with that Nishinoya guy at the Nationals. The list is long. My new target is the cutie Yaku from the boys’ team, though.”

For anyone unfamiliar with the situation, Chika could be diagnosed with emophilia. But Natsumi has known her friend for over a decade now, so nothing could surprise her anymore when it comes to Ito’s love life.

“Anyway. We’re having dinner with the boys tonight. Wanna come with us? Apparently, Bokuto knows a bar downtown where they serve the best Tsukune yakitori of Tokyo. Can you imagine?”

A heartbeat passes and then a knot forms in the back of Natsumi’s throat. One that, maybe, is always there, ready to come back whenever she feels uncomfortable. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but the knot gets stronger. She would like to say yes, to accept, for she has declined this kind of invitation more than she could ever count on her fingers. She’s convinced that a part of her wants to make her friend happy and accompany her for once, just once. But she knows what “having dinner with the boys” means, she knows who that includes, and as strong and independent and tough as she may be, she doesn’t feel ready to see him yet.

But maybe that’s the point of life, jumping off the cliff when one feels the least ready. There’s this fine line in front of her, one centimetre away from the next step. It’s close, so close. She knows it should be easy to overcome the line, it starts by saying a simple, one-syllabled, “yes”.

Still, the word doesn’t come out. The knot is about to strangle her, and before it does, she gets up. Somehow, being in the spotlight of the cameras and getting yelled at by the photographer is less scary than where this conversation is leading.

“I am deeply, deeply, sorry for being late.”

An infuriating, sarcastic voice resonates in the studio—or as it sounds like to the athletic trainer. That doesn’t stop her from turning around as fast as the light.

Good-looking. Tall. Charming. That is how the man reflects in Natsumi’s eyes as he makes his entrance. She’s convinced she's never seen him before, but oddly and slowly, the knot in her throat dilutes in her whole boy and sinks beneath her bones. She doesn’t question the feeling and assumes it’s curiosity, maybe a bit of surprise too.

“Kuroo-san!” Coach Sakai runs towards the man. “Kuroo-san, it’s good to see you.” He energetically shakes his hands.

“There was an accident on the road, I’m very sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Listen, girls.” The older man shouts to capture everyone’s attention—as if Natsumi’s eyes weren’t already glued on the tall silhouette.

The man is wearing a suit. A black suit. A red tie. And a few buttons of his white shirt are loose, probably in an attempt to get some fresh air—Tokyo summers are cruel.

He looks confident, maybe a bit cocky. Natsumi doesn’t know if he’s being honest when he bows and apologises for the inconvenience. His charm works on her coach, anyway. What a privilege, the girl thinks dismissively. Her boss is usually very strict when it comes to punctuality and respect. Natsumi didn’t know that wearing some expensive finance-guy type of suit, faking a stupid smile, and having bed hair was a way of currying favour with her boss. Maybe she should try it if she wants to get promoted.

When Kuroo catches sight of her staring, he offers a grin. Her whole world seems to still; she quickly turns her attention back to her boss.

“This is Kuroo Tetsurou, he is in charge of the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association. He was the one suggesting the brilliant idea of this campaign.”

Her heart skips a beat. So, this is the obnoxious, stupid, sadist person Natsumi wanted to murder a couple of days ago. For some reason, she’s not surprised. He does have the attitude of a gentleman. Maybe he should do the photoshoot instead of her; that would spare her time to work on her rehabilitation program for one of their middle blockers and the report she was supposed to deliver this week.

“Hello there. So, you’re the athletic trainer. Shirayanagi, right?”

She almost jumps when she realises he’s standing in front of her now.

“I am. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad we can finally meet,” Kuroo continues. “And thank you for taking part in the photoshoot. The JVA is trying to promote sport-related jobs, so it's great that people like you have accepted to do this.”

It’s not like I had a choice, she wants to add. But in lieu of words, she simply nods. Hoping this would end the conversation.

“Kuroooo!” Ito sings, coming from behind the athletic trainer. However, her joy is quickly stopped by the deadly glance Natsumi is giving her.

“You know him?” the libero reads in her friend’s eyes.

“We met during the European championship last year. In Poland.” Kuroo explains, even though she didn’t explicitly ask for an explanation. Natsumi gives a small smile in return.

“How are you? Are you enjoying your new life in Italy?” he asks Ito.

“Ew, our coach is pretty intense. The Italian championship is coming next October, so we need to prepare but apart from that pastas are good, the sun shines, and the wine is fuck-”

“Chii, we need to go back to the photoshoot.” Natsumi interrupts. “See you later Kuro-san.”

“It’s Kuroo.” He interjects but the girls are already walking away.

“You don’t like him?” Ito whispers in her ear, once they’re a few meters away from him.

“What?”

“You basically glowered at him.”

Despite her introversion, Natsumi has never been good at hiding her emotions. Anger, disgust, aversion—it can all be read by the features on her face. Ever since she was a child, she’s been taught to repress this, to take it easy, put on a mask of calmness and compliance. For a few years, she thinks she has done a pretty good job at it. Her parents no longer feel ashamed of her attitude as they were when she frowned at an old uncle's stupid joke, her colleagues no longer decipher when she’s pissed off because she now avoids lifting her eyes to the sky or clicking her tongue in annoyance.

But today, apparently, she’s failing to wear her mask.

The younger girl raises an eyebrow, and Natsumi knows she has no choice but to find an excuse.

“I can’t hate him since I don’t even know him. But it’s just that… I don’t want to be here. The Olympics are coming, I don’t know why he asked me to be part of this. I have a report to send to the committee, and Tajima’s ankle is not completely recovered. You guys should be training right now, not posing like some J-pop idols.”

“Well, I get that,” Ito answers. “But it’s important to have some time off training, and the girls seem to enjoy the campaign. Actually, for once, it's not the boys’ team who’s in the spotlight. And we’ve never had a professional set-up like this before. So let’s try to make the most of it. C’mon, it’s our turn.”

She takes her wrist and leads her to the set.

Natsumi takes a glance at Kuroo. He’s speaking with some of the players; they’re all giggling at something he said. What’s so attractive about him? She wants to ask them. Is he that amazing, like her assistant said? Maybe she only assumed he was the typical marketing guy who has no idea how much hard work it takes to prepare for the Olympics, when in reality, he’s just a good person. If so, she should be nice to him.

She remembers her mother begging her to be polite with people she didn’t know (“just smile and keep a straight face, that’s all we’re asking of you. It’s not that hard.”)

She gulps; the knot in her throat is almost all gone now.

I guess, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to pretend with him too.

If Natsumi got up and tried to run away from the “diner with the boys” conversation, is certainly not end up in this precise situation. But here she is, stuck between Hoshiumi and Kuroo in the most crowded Izakaya of Shibuya. Ito is ordering her fourth beer, Asahi, her favourite. Komori is trying to hide it from her. Atsumu is eating a cauliflower salad and explaining that he needs to keep his diet clean if he doesn’t want to lose his contract with whatever famous sports brand he is working with at that time. Yes, she is having dinner with Ito and “the boys”.

“Shirayanagi-san, do you want more fried chicken?” Hinata asks with his usual polite tone (almost too pure for this world). But Natsumi says no, her hair already smells too much of greasy food, so she might need to wash them with a super special shampoo tonight.

Don’t get her wrong, it’s not that she doesn’t want to be here. A reunion of both national teams could be very enjoyable. It might even be their last moment of free time before the Olympics. But the thing is, when she woke up that morning, she did not expect to run into the man she’s been cursing for weeks and even less to eat next to him and feel his shoulder and hand and leg against hers in a small restaurant.

“So Kuroo-san, how did you get into working for the JVA?” The setter from her team asks.

Natsumi looks at him sipping his glass of water. His face is ridiculously perfect.

“I studied business and marketing at uni, and it might sound cheesy, but I’ve always dreamed of bringing volleyball to as many people as possible. Lowering the net to kids, girls and boys, you know? So, they can become whoever they want. And I guess the JVA is one way to do it.”

“You’re amazing at it.” The girl answers, and from the corner of her eyes, Natsumi sees Kuroo’s cheeks turning slightly red.

“Kuroo used to play volleyball in high school!” Hinata suddenly shouts. “His blocks were so cool; it sounded like ‘shhh’ and ‘kabouum’.”

Now that she can take a close look at him, Natsumi isn’t so surprised that Kuroo used to play volleyball. He has the attitude of an athlete. It’s not only in his height but in his posture and in the way he looks at people.

“Nana too!” Chika adds in a loud exclamation.

In the span of a second, all eyes are on Natsumi and she wants to curse her friend for it. She doesn’t like to be the centre of attention, she’s never been used to it anyway. It makes her uncomfortable. Natsumi starts feeling her heartbeat pounding all the way to her temples. There are too many sounds—chatters, music, clicks of glass; too many scents—food, alcohol and the probably too expensive cologne Kuroo is wearing. She wants to hide underneath the table.

“What?” Tajima blurts. “How come you’ve never told us?”

The athletic trainer doesn’t even have time to open her mouth before Ito interrupts her. “Best outside hitter of Tokyo in middle school. She went to Nationals thrice. And she was my captain, can you believe it?”

“Chika, gives me that!” Komori, sitting next to her, swings his arms to try and take the beer from her hands.

“For real?” one of the girls says. “That’s actually so cool. Why did you quit then? You didn’t love volleyball?”

“It’s not about liking volleyball or not,” Kuroo starts explaining. “You can love a sport but still choose not to become an athlete. But there are so many ways to promote it and show it to the world. And it’s great that coaches and athletic trainers and journalists exist. Actually, they’re an essential part of volleyball, just like the players.”

Each word, each sound that comes out of his lips makes Natsumi’s blood boil harder in her veins. He doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything about her life and still he speaks in her name. How annoying.

“It wasn’t a choice,” Natsumi whispers.

“Sorry?”

If her mother was there, she would ask her to smile, keep a straight face, and move on to the next topic. For a long time, Natsumi has managed to do that. She’s no longer the annoying child who cries too much and laughs too loud.

But for some unknown reason, this time, her feelings have no room to hide. It’s like all the efforts she’s accumulated all these years to smoothen her emotions, tame them, all implode.

“Maybe you chose to be where you are. But I didn’t.”

Her eyes meet his. She still speaks quietly, so not everyone can hear her.

“You want to lower the net to both girls and boys, right? But you have no idea how unfair volleyball is. It’s easy for a man like you to pretend that not going pro was a choice. So many doors are gonna open to you anyway. Girls need to work at least twice as hard to reach the level of what men would consider mediocre. It’s never a matter of choice, at least not for us. People don’t watch us on TV, companies don’t sponsor our teams. Dreaming is good but we need to live too, pay our bills, eat, have a roof. Most of the time, giving up is the only option.”

From across the table, Komori overhears the conversation and decides to let Ito drink her beer. That’s a lost case anyway, she’s already drunk. What matters now is how Natsumi’s eyebrows are frown and how she starts scratching her arm, a bad habit she has had since childhood and that she usually goes back to when she feels stressed out.

Komori wants to interfere; he’s good at it, especially when Natsumi is involved. He’s known her forever, but as his mouth opens to speak, Bokuto lets out a sound that only he—and probably Shoyo—could understand.

“Heyaaa! More meat is coming.”

Kuroo gets distracted for a second, shifting his attention away from Natsumi. The girl lets herself breathe again and grabs her bag. She has to get out of this place and escape from the noise and the heat of the food in front of her.

When Kuroo turns back, Natsumi is out of sight.

Once safely outside, she gets a cigarette and a lighter from her pocket.

How funny it is that people smoke when they feel stressed, strangled, muffled. Can this be called fighting fire with fire?

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Short and spiked hair, olive eyes, side smile. Natsumi would recognize him in a crowd filled with thousands and thousands of people.

“What a shame for an athletic trainer. I know the song.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, “As if I would judge your lifestyle when I sleep maybe three hours every night.”

“You always had problems sleeping when there were exams at uni, so I suppose it's the same with the Olympics.” She lights up her cigarette. “Don’t worry though, I only smoke when I’m tensed or having a drink with my friends.”

“Which one is it right now?”

“Both.”

Who could have guessed that the two of them, who met and studied sports science at UCI in Irvine, would now be in charge of the National teams? She likes to tell him that he has been a huge support when she got the job, and that she could never be thank him enough.

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply, so she decides to go a bit deeper and complains about the raven-haired boy.

“Have you ever met that Kuro guy? He’s so full of himself, isn’t he? I don’t know if he thinks girls are gonna find him attractive just because he gives life lessons. ‘I wanna lower the net to everyone’ he said, with his superior tone. Lower the net my ass and- argh never mind.”

Her voice has become more nasal and furious as she talks. Anger and cigarettes are not a good combination.

“Guess some things never change.”

Natsumi, back pressed against the wall, sighs, “I know what you’re thinking, I’m being too hard on him even though I’ve known him for less than a day, but something about him is bothering me.”

The good thing about talking with Iwaizumi is that she is free to say whatever she wants; she can even insult her coach, and he wouldn’t argue.

“You've always had trouble trusting people you don't know. I’ve not seen you this mad since our biomechanics teacher made you retake your third-year exam just because you broke his 3D machine, though.”

“I didn’t break his-” she stops when she sees the teasing smile appearing on his lips. “Anyway. Sorry for complaining.”

“Don’t be sorry. I'd rather you talk to me than keep this to yourself.”

She sighs softly and stubs out her cigarette.

“Did they drink a lot?”

“Hmm, your team has been pretty reasonable. Well, expect with meat, Bokuto has had at least three platters of beef.”

He groans in response. “I told him to quit red meat. I need to have a chat with him. You’re coming?” He points at the front door.

It would be nice to spend more time with the girls outside of work, and Chika and Motoya are inside, but Natsumi can only think of Kuroo’s comment and his so-called meritocracy, and all she wants is to go away as fast as possible.

“Tell Motoya I went back home because-”

“You missed your dog.”

That is the easiest and probably most credible lie he can give, so she thanks him with a soft smile and leaves.

She hopes to find solace under her fleece blanket, drinking a hot chocolate buried in whipped cream and with her dog resting on her chest, but when she opens the door of her apartment—a door that needs to be oiled—and is welcomed by the darkness, the silence and the emptiness of the room, she sighs. Soon enough, Soba greets her by whining.

“Hi baby, I missed you.”

The only thing that eases her mind is that tomorrow will be Saturday, no need to go to work, no need to run into Kuroo again.

She doesn’t have a lot of pictures on her white walls, only a few from high school with Ito and some from college in the US. As she looks at them, she wonders what her life would look like if she had continued playing. Would the walls of her apartment be filled with trophies and medals? Would she have made it into the National Team? What would be the number on the back of her jersey? Would it be ‘15’ like him?

But thank gods, she comes back to her senses quickly and pushes the intrusive thoughts away. She shall not let the regrets intrude upon her mind. That Kuro guy must be getting under my skin. She concludes before going to bed.

a/n: this story has been on my mind for a year now, so im happy to finally share it

taglist: @ayatakanosstuff @megapteraurelia @tsukisangel

© wordsofelie 2025—do not repost, translate, copy or plagiarize

[lyqiche]

halloween series 2/?

werewolf fem kuroo grrrrerr ruff

[storiitells]

Nekoma's Manager Jackpot

An episodic Haikyuu Series by Storii Tells

Pairing: Kuroo X Oc (Kylie White)

Each Episode stands on its own as a kind of One Shot. Thou, if you squint, you may see a timeline and some connections.

Episodes 🐾 Preview and OC introduction 🐾 Training camp 🐾 Annoyance

I'm open to any kind of ideas to this Series, or if you just want to talk to me :) I don't bite