retirementhomecollab

[retirementhomecollab]

hello! the witching hour was absolutely amazing and you all are vv cute together ! how did you guys make the gifs for twh they are very cool!!!

hello, thank you so much for the kind words! i used photoshop to make all of the banners :3

- yue

#anonymous

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: living room

☾ warnings: f!reader, supernatural themes (kind of), slight mockery of said supernatural themes.

☾ word count: 1.7k

You decide to head to the living room.

You think there’s no better place to get into the swing of the party. Making your way to the centre of the room, you think you see a few people you know, including a certain spiky-haired boy, leaning over a board game.

“This is bullshit,” you hear him grumble as you spot a small group of guys from last semester’s general biology lab (affectionately referred to as the biology for idiots course).

“It’s not bullshit,” Hanamaki argues as he leans forward and places his hands on something in the middle of the board. “Now put your fingers on the planchette, Hajime, I’m trying to get myself a ghost girlfriend tonight.”

Beside him, Matsukawa snickers. “Dude, I don’t even think you’d be able to land the chick from The Ring. Maybe we should just ask the spirits about when you’ll get a job.”

Kneeling across the board, Oikawa lets out a whistle. “Low blow, Mattsun.”

You skirt around the couch to get a closer view when the brunet spots you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh!” he calls out, waving you over with a sudden grin across his face. “Look who’s here!” he calls out to seemingly everyone but you. You watch the same smile form on Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s faces as they spot you too and you suddenly feel very reluctant about joining them.

“Perfect timing,” Oikawa purrs as he motions for you to sit between him and Iwaizumi. “We’d love for you to join.”

You draw closer, finally able to spot the game at your feet. An array of letters and numbers are printed on the board with ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ printed on the top corners. On the very bottom, beneath Matsukawa’s wrists is the word ‘Goodbye’.

“Oh no,” you breathes, the realization hitting you all at once.

“Oh yes,” Oikawa says.

-

You’re slotted right next to Iwaizumi now, shoulders touching as you listen to Oikawa’s lighthearted explanation of how to “properly” use the board. To your relief, it doesn’t look like as genuine as you would imagine it to be; the board itself is shiny and cardboard and the planchette is heavy plastic.

You’re not sure if the spirits care about this though, you never thought you’d be in the position to wonder.

“You don’t have to go along with this,” Iwaizumi speaks up from beside you. You glance at him. He’s wearing a pair of cargos with a loosely-buttoned dress shirt and an unzipped vest. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and from the way he’s leaning over, you can see the broad expanse of his chest from beneath his collar. Oh god. You look away.

“Aren’t you wondering what he is?” Hanamaki pipes up, cognizant of your not-so subtle once-over of his best friend. He opens his mouth to speak again but Iwaizumi interrupts.

“I’m an archaeologist,” he says quickly.

“A slutty archaeologist,” Matsukawa amends and you almost choke on your own spit.

“How am I a slutty—?”

“Your clothes are half off,” Hanamaki argues, cutting him off as Oikawa continues on with something about saying goodbye to the spirits.

“It’s hot in here! The place is packed,” he reasons but you can see the growing flush in his face. Knowing them, it’s certainly not the first time they’ve had this discussion tonight but you can’t help but feel a little flustered as well.

“Okay!” Oikawa claps his hands together. “Everyone in?”

You watch as Hanamaki and Matsukawa place two fingers on the planchette with Oikawa following suit. You hesitate and Iwaizumi does as well.

“Does this even work with all this noise?” you wonder uneasily. In every shitty horror movie you’d seen with an ouija board, the rooms had been candlelit and silent, with the board being the centre of attention. Your situation couldn’t have been more of the opposite.

“Dunno,” Matsukawa admits.

“Figured we’d try for the shits anyway,” Hanamaki adds.

“I’ll just watch,” you say, placing your hands in your lap as you watch them circle around the board.

“Me too,” Iwaizumi nods and you turn to give him a small smile.

Oikawa sticks out his bottom lip for a second before shrugging. “Fine by me.”

Despite the bustle around you, you watch with rapt interest as they take turns asking innocuous questions. It begins with simple yes or no inquiries; whether or not Hanamaki would fail economics this semester (yes) or whether Oikawa would get a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day (no).

“Hmm,” he pouts, clearly disappointed with the answer. “Will Iwa-chan get a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day?” he asks the board in a saccharine tone.

You watch as the planchette migrates across the board to land on the ‘yes’.

“Oh?” Matsukawa smirks.

“Oho,” Hanamaki muses.

“What?” Iwaizumi frowns. “Leave me out of this, Shittykawa.”

Ignoring him, Oikawa continues on. “Is the lucky girl someone we all know?”

The planchette doesn’t move off of the ‘yes’.

“Is she here? At this party right now?”

A second passes and you hold your breath. It still doesn’t move.

You glance at Iwaizumi but he’s glaring at Oikawa with murderous intent. The brunet conveniently looks away.

“Can you spell out the name of his dear future girlfriend?” he asks the board in a faux-hushed tone. Your eyes shift from the planchette to Iwaizumi’s hands, his knuckles white as he curls them into fists.

The triangle moves down the board to land on a letter.

And then another.

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what’s happening now; it’s spelling out your name.

Heat rises up your neck and you train your eyes on the wooden flooring in front of you, unable to look at the board anymore.

Supernatural or not, you can’t help but feel the warm bloom of embarrassment in your cheeks. Sure, Iwaizumi is attractive, and maybe it was incredibly difficult to work with him as your lab partner last term because you’d get caught up with appreciating the view, but you’d forced yourself to not think too deeply about it. Especially after you’d awkwardly parted ways at the end of the semester.

Sure, you see him around campus frequently, but it just isn’t the same as when you’d stay up together, slaving over ten page lab reports and commiserating over lost marks.

“This is stupid,” he mumbles before pushing himself off the floor. You watch as he heads towards the entrance of the apartment without even looking back. Oddly, you feel the urge to follow him out.

“We’ll say goodbye to the spirits for you!” Oikawa calls out cheerfully before turning to you.

“Could you do me a favour?” he asks, tilting his head. “Could you just make sure he doesn’t get lost?”

You could argue that this apartment was right next to campus and that the likelihood of Iwaizumi getting lost on the grounds of a place he frequented everyday was close to nil. But you already have half a mind to go, so you nod and stand up to follow him, brushing off your skirt as you approach the door.

The crowds of people grow thinner and thinner as you make your way back down the hallway and down the stairs, leaving the pounding bass of the music behind as you step into the chill of the night.

You shiver as you glance around the building’s exterior, looking for any sign of your former lab partner. The wind nips at your bare skin and you think you see a retreating figure on your right but before you can chase after it, you hear a familiar voice at your back.

“What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi questions and you turn to face him. The streetlamp casts harsh shadows across as his face as he looks down at you apprehensively.

“I was looking for you,” you reply simply. “Oikawa, he—”

“Man,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t believe he fucking told you to—”

“I was also worried,” you interject, biting the inside of your cheek. “I, uh. I don’t know if the board works like that but it didn’t really seem like— it didn’t really seem like it was anything supernatural that was— y’know.” You gesture noncommittally with your hands.

“Yeah,” he says in agreement. “Yeah, I think they were just fucking with me. Sorry you got caught up in that. They can get out of line sometimes.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine,” you insist, eyes flashing to his. “I just don’t know why they’d use my name,” you laugh, cringing when it sounds a bit hollow.

Iwaizumi sighs.

“To be honest,” he begins. “Last semester, I…I kind of had a thing for you. Y’know, probably because we went on all those study dates and spent all those nights staying up together.”

You blink.

“Oh?”

Was he really…? Did he really…?

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I… I don’t know. It’s stupid. You probably don’t want to hear about this, anyway.”

“No,” you shake your head, a sort of giddiness settling in your chest. The wind bites at your cheeks but you can barely feel its chill anymore.

“I—I was so nervous I couldn’t even look at you sometimes!” you blurt out with a giggle as you come to terms with the absurdity of the situation. “You were just so…”

““So…”?“ he questions.

“So…attractive,” you admit abashedly. “It was so ridiculous, I couldn’t even make eye contact with you,” you gripe, recalling the dozens of awkward moments in which you felt like you were just going to keel over from being in his presence.

“You think I’m attractive?” he asks, dumbfounded, and you nod while staring at the space three inches above his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you—? Why didn’t we—?”

“I didn’t know,” you exclaim.

“I didn’t know, either,” he breathes, a small laugh bubbling from his throat.

“But now we do,” you offer, daring to meet his eye. The cold of the night does nothing to quell the spark you feel when his gaze lands on yours.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Now we do.”

The flame inside you burns even brighter.

“Let’s go back inside,” he suggests, beckoning towards the entrance of the building.

“I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: bathroom

☾ warnings: f!reader

☾ word count: 1.8k

You decide to head towards the bathroom in a bid to spend a bit of time away from the crowd.

Edging around a skinny-looking Jotaro Josuke, you manage to sidle towards the narrow hallway uninhibited. The crowd begins to thin here and you’re five feet away from the door when there’s a loud clatter from one of the bedrooms. You turn your head in the direction of the noise and manage to catch a glimpse of someone you actually know.

With his signature silver hair and broad shoulders, Bokuto is a standout amongst the crowd. However, as he emerges from the room you notice something distinct about him; he’s incredibly scantily clad.

Sporting only a loosely draped ivory sheet as a toga, he strides out of the hallway with a bright grin and a red plastic cup in hand. The glimmer of a golden laurel wreath is woven into his uncharacteristically flat hair and you think you even spot glitter upon the divots of his bare collar.

You struggle for a moment to say anything; perhaps you’re too dazzled by his sudden, sparkly appearance to string together a sentence. But as he nearly passes by you, you’re able to find your voice.

“Hey, Kou,” you call out, reaching to tap the apparent deity on his upper arm.

Hearing his name, Bokuto immediately turns in your direction. Recognition flashes in his eyes and he gives you such a bright smile you think you feel yourself burning up. Maybe he was a god. Or maybe it was just you, unusually flustered at the sight of Bokuto dressed as a god. Either way, you suddenly feel much too warm for comfort.

He takes a step towards you, one arm swinging wide for a hug when it happens. You watch in horrified slow-motion as he stumbles over something you can’t see. Eyes wide, he reaches out with his other hand to stabilize himself but seems to forget there’s a sloshing beverage in his grip because it ends up spilling all over the front of your dress.

The cup clatters on the floor and you blink in shock as you feel the rapid, cool spread of cheap beer across the bodice of your costume.

“Oh, shit,” Bokuto exclaims, his face inches from yours as he realizes what he’s just done. He babbles apology after apology as you feel the drink soak into the fabric and onto your skin and all you can do is gape because did that really just happen? Did that really just fucking happen?

“Let me clean you up,” he nearly shouts and before you can even respond, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the bathroom. You hear the door shut behind you and the faucet start to run before you finally come back to your senses and realize what’s going on.

“Wait,” you squeak out as he leans down to begin dabbing at your dress with a wad of damp toilet paper. His head is level with your chest now and you can’t help but feel a little flustered at the way he just stops and looks up at you from that height.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes wide as he takes in your reluctant expression.

“It’s—” you begin, heat rising in your cheeks as he continues to stare. “It’s all over my—” you motion to your torso and he blinks before the realization hits him and he backs up.

“I don’t mean to—!” he blurts out, straightening up as he raises his hands in surrender. “I, uh, I just—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod rapidly in complete understanding. You knew Bokuto, you knew he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. Not that you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you (anyone with eyes could presume why) but this was just too embarrassing of a situation for you to stomach.

“Do you want to do it by yourself?” he suggests and you bite your lip.

“I’ll go get you some of my clothes to wear,” he tacks on and you brighten. It really would suck to have to spend the rest of the night in a beer-soaked lace dress and nothing sounded better than clean, dry clothes and the opportunity to clean yourself up alone.

“I’d love that,” you nod relieved and Bokuto gives you an apologetic grin before reaching for the door handle.

You hear it jiggle behind you a couple of times, clicking with the telltale noises of a locked door before Bokuto utters out an, “oh no.”

You whirl around to glance at his hand on the knob, twisting at it to no avail. His eyebrows are knit together in annoyance and you feel the sinking realization of your situation in your stomach.

“What do you mean, ‘oh no’?” you ask anyway. Because how could this night get any worse?

He wets his lips. “Well, you see,” he laughs. “Sometimes this door sticks and it’s uh…you can’t open it until it wants to open…”

“What do you mean wants to open?” you interject, a panicked edge to your voice as you hear him try the door again unsuccessfully. “Can’t you force it?”

Apprehension crosses his face and he scratches the back of his neck. “Ah, well. I could, but it would break the lock and maybe even the frame and Kuroo says we’ll have to pay a whole bunch of fees cause of the damage so we usually just…wait for it to unstick.”

“So we’re stuck?” you exclaim, backing into the wall of the tiny bathroom.

He lets out a short laugh. “Yeah…”

“Fuck,” you mumble, feeling the beer begin to warm against your skin. It’s gross. You feel gross. And now you’re stuck in the surprisingly clean bathroom of a university student apartment with a guy you can’t look in the eye most of the time because you think he’s too attractive.

“Hey, at least it can’t get any worse!” he states brightly.

But as if the universe is laughing down at you, it does.

The lights above the mirror flicker for a few seconds before going out entirely. Outside the door, the music cuts and a hush falls upon the party before a few people start shouting in surprise and complaint.

“You’re kidding,” you moan, hands reaching out to grip the sink as you’re plunged into sudden darkness.

You think you hear a few rallying shouts from Kuroo amongst the chaos but you can’t make out any distinct words.

“Does this happen a lot too?” you ask the shape in the darkness that is Bokuto.

He chuckles. “Nope! This is a complete surprise.”

He sounds a lot more amused than you feel he should be in this situation, but knowing Bokuto, he probably isn’t even concerned.

You reach for your phone and tap the screen, causing the device to flicker to life.

3:00 AM.

You take a deep breath. You know it’s silly and sort of childish to be afraid of the dark, but you can’t fight the biting anxiety in your chest now. You lean against the wall and slide down to the ground, not even caring about the obnoxious-smelling beer stain on your dress.

“Hey,” Bokuto’s voice sounds from in front of you. In the dim light of your phone, you can see him kneeling down in front of you. You set the device on the ground, still unlocked.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles, shifting to take a seat next to you. His presence is warm and steady and you can’t help but lean into his side. You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and you stiffen.

“Kou, I smell like beer,” you protest quietly, but he just laughs and pulls you even closer.

“Who doesn’t smell like beer?” he says and you feel the rumble of his chest as he speaks.

You’re blushing now, much harder than you were before. It’s only now that you feel a glimmer of relief at the sudden power outage and the cover it brings.

You feel your hands shake at your sides. The noises outside seem to die down and you wonder if people are leaving. You wonder if you and Bokuto will be forgotten and trapped here for the rest of the night.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, as if reading your mind. You glance up at him, able to make out the planes of his face from the blue light of your screen. On his skin, smudges of golden paint reflect in its glow and you think you even see glitter shot through his two-toned hair.

“You’re gorgeous,” you blurt out thoughtlessly and Bokuto’s eyes widen in surprise. Part of you regrets the words immediately after but another part of you is holding out; waiting for a reaction that might salvage the situation.

His teeth glint as his lips part in a grin. “You really think so?” he breathes and relief floods throughout your body.

“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself,” he admits. “Cutest witch I’ve seen all night.”

Elation flickers in your chest.

“Even with beer all over me?” you whisper.

He leans in, his forehead just grazing yours. The strands of his hair tickle against your skin and you feel his breath across your lips. You take a deep breath but before you can close your eyes there’s a sharp knocking at the door.

“Oi!” Kuroo’s voice sounds from the other side. “Anybody in here?”

“Yes!” you call out, scrambling to your feet. As if on cue, the lights flicker on again and Bokuto gets up from his spot on the floor.

“The door got stuck,” he calls out and there’s a second of silence before Kuroo responds again.

“Wait, you’re both in there?” he calls out in disbelief and you feel the blush come on again in full force.

Bokuto grips the handle of the door and twists it. This time it turns fully and he wastes no time yanking it open.

You’re greeted by the amused smile on the Kuroo’s face as he takes in the sight of the two of you, clothes rumpled and skin flushed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you begin, throwing your hands up.

“Are you sure?”

“We weren’t doing anything,” you try to explain but you’re interrupted by a hand on your wrist, pulling you further down the hallway.

Kuroo gives you a knowing look and waves as you’re taken towards the entrance of Bokuto’s bedroom.

“Have fun!” he calls out as he turns to sort out the mess of his party.

You turn to face Bokuto as he leans against the door.

“Now,” he says, with a grin on his face.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: hallway

☾ warnings: f!reader, alcohol mention, drug mention, sfw shirtlessness

☾ word count: 2.4k

“What the hell?” you grumble, running headfirst into a bare chest. “God, get a shirt.”

Your eyes widen. “Shut up.” Your eyes graze the body in front of you, sizing up the half-naked firefighter. There’s no hiding your smile as you tease, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Atsumu.” 

Atsumu leans in, hooking an arm around your neck. You turn your head, cheek squishing against his smooth chest. “No fuckin’ way,” he murmurs against you, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” 

You look up at him, chin resting in place of your cheek. “You didn’t tell me you were invited.” Your lower lip juts out, and you think for a split second that he might’ve missed you as much as you missed him, but you let the thought go as quickly as it came. 

“I forgot you knew Bo and them!” he says defensively, arm still around you like he isn’t planning on letting you go any time soon. “We could’ve coordinated.” 

Your heart skips a beat at the thought. You stick your tongue out, eyes squeezing shut. “Maybe next year,” you try, hoping it’ll get you the reaction you want. 

He laughs and you giggle, satisfied with his response as you get dragged to the counter. “Have you had a drink yet?” 

You shake your head. “Not yet,” you mumble, glancing around from his hold on you. “I just kinda got here.” 

He stops the two of you in front of the row of bottles, reaching for the tequila bottle. “Shots?” 

Your eyes widen as you frown. “Tequila… ” You gag, the strong scent taking you back to barely a month ago to a friend’s birthday party. Atsumu had been there too - drawing your hair back and handing you water as your head hung over a toilet at almost 4 am. 

“Fine,” he teases, swallowing down his smile. “Vodka? I’ll mix it real well for you. ‘Samu taught me how the other day.” He puffs his chest out a little and you fight the laugh bubbling up. 

You heave a sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes as you reach for a cup. “Fill ‘er up, sir.” 

He snaps his red suspenders loosely hung over his shoulders, taking your cup with a grin on his lips. You watch as he pours a good amount of vodka in your glass before mixing in just a little Sprite. 

Just as you're about to argue with him, a voice calls from behind you. 

“No way! Look who it is.” 

Your jaw drops as you catch sight of your club member. “No way, what’re you doing here?” you asked excitedly. 

“I could ask you the same,” he says, tipping his chin at Atsumu. “Not surprised to see the both of you here though, not gonna lie.” 

The heat rushes to your cheeks, and it’s taking every ounce of energy in you not to gauge Atsumu’s reaction. Instead, you beam at your junior, leaning towards him. “I almost wasn’t gonna show.” 

“Well why not?” Atsumu interjects, looking at you offendedly. 

“What do you mean, ‘why not?’” you ask back. “You didn’t even tell me about it!” 

“I was gonna text you eventually!” 

“Oh were you now?” you taunt, shaking your head at him and lifting your nose up. “Highly unlikely.” 

He presses his index finger against your forehead, poking you away from him. “Shut up.” 

“I don’t think I will,” you bite back, grabbing the bottle of Sprite. “There’s no way ‘Samu taught you how to make this, by the way. He’d make me a much better drink.” 

Atsumu leans against the counter. “There’s not a single person in this room that would treat you better than I would.” 

You clamp your lips together, your heart stuttering and almost stopping (or so you swore). The club member clears his throat, reaching for an empty cup. “I’ll catch the two of you guys at the meeting on Monday?” 

Atsumu salutes him with two fingers as you nod quickly, closing the Sprite bottle. As soon as he’s out of sight, you glare at Atsumu. 

“Look what you did,” you huff, setting the cup against your lips. “You literally drove that poor kid away.” 

“That was all you, sweetheart,” he says, pouring himself a shot. “He’ll be fine. Come on, do a shot with me.” 

He hands you the tiny red cup - you didn’t even know they make solo cups this small - and you reach for it reluctantly, as if it’s pure poison. You clink your cups together, and just as you down your shot, an arm swings around your neck. 

“Well, well, well! Nice to see you guys together, doing shots without the rest of us.” 

Atsumu chokes on his drink. “What the hell, Bo? You tryna kill me?” 

“Maybe, just ‘cause you haven’t Venmo’d anyone yet.” 

You look at Bokuto for a split second, and he stares back at the two of you, dead serious. A minute later he breaks out into a grin, slapping the two of you on the back. “I’m kidding, lovebirds! Have all the drinks you want! It’s on me!” 

You struggle to steady yourself, already feeling the alcohol rushing through your blood. He laughs heartily and stalks off to find another friend to bother. You giggle, eyes trailing after him. 

“Man, he’s so… ” Atsumu sighs, “so much.” He looks at you for a moment, eyes scanning your face. You feel hot under his gaze, tugging at your collar like you’re suffocating just standing there. “You’re already tipsy?” 

You shake your head quickly. “Another.” You’re eager to start feeling it already, maybe so it’d make seeing all of these other people more bearable. You hold your cup out expectantly, and he nods, filling his up right after. You knock the cups together and down its contents in record time, the liquid searing your throat. 

The two of you hiss in unison, scrunching your faces. 

You glance over at Atsumu, who’s taking a sip from his toxic cocktail he made for you not seconds ago. You stick your neck out at him. “You’re chasing a shot with … more alcohol?” 

“It’s all Sprite anyways,” he mutters nonchalantly, glancing over his shoulder towards the living room. You follow his line of sight for a moment - who’s he looking at? - before looking back at him. His eyes light up as he swings his arm around you again. You feel it flex around your neck and you fight the shiver crawling up your spine. 

“I see Suna and them, let’s go say hi.” 

Your stomach flips. It’s not like you don’t know his friends or anything - in fact, you know them well. With his arm around you though … you’re not too sure what to make of it. 

Your eyes flit up to him singing along, “She fill my mind up with ideas,” holding his cup at arm’s length as he tips his chin at his friends. He glances down and smiles at you, pressing you closer to him. Any closer and you think you might choke, so you wiggle a little under his hold. 

“Cast a spell on him tonight?” Atsumu’s twin asks as the two of you near the couch. 

You grin loosely, shifting your attention to him as Atsumu talks to Suna. You’re trying to shift towards Osamu but Atsumu’s arm around you is like a vice, keeping you glued to his hip. Your head’s starting to feel heavy with the Malibu rushing straight up to it, sweat beginning to prickle at your hairline. 

“If I were him,” you tease, “I would wanna spend all night with me too.” 

Atsumu looks at you quickly, as if he’d been listening the whole time. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” 

You pretend to think about it for a moment, giggles spilling from your lips. 

“There she goes,” Suna sighs, a slight smile toying on his lips. “How many shots did you guys even take?” 

Atsumu’s brows knit together. “Maybe four? I don’t remember.” 

You start to laugh for absolutely no reason, your limbs beginning to feel like jelly. Your head lolls back against Atsumu’s arm and he rolls his lips under his teeth, doing absolutely nothing to hide his smile. 

“Oh man, you guys,” you start to drawl, unsure of what you were even wanting to say. “You guys are so funny, you know that?” You turn and blink up at Atsumu, your lips spreading into a smile that starts to hurt your cheeks. “And you,” you begin, “you’re so - ”

“Alright,” Atsumu says quickly, eyes shifting back to his friends as he quickly swings you around. “Let’s go get some water and some air, hm?” 

You nod, your hair catching against the crook of his arm as you stumble to keep up with him. He finally lets go of your shoulders and reaches for your hand instead, quickly grabbing you a glass of water with his other hand. 

He sets it up to your lips and you drink like you’ve spent the past year dehydrated. You swipe at your lips quickly, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks.” 

He smiles as he pulls you out into the hall and you inhale deeply, leaning against the wall right outside of the apartment. Your nose scrunches when you smell a distinct mix of curry and weed, wondering if it would’ve been better to suffer with a blend of cheap, strong cologne and ethanol instead. He leans against the wall next to you, sighing heavily as he laces his fingers through yours. 

“Can we go outside for a bit?” you squeak out. Even the hall starts to feel stuffy with him right next to you. Are you going to remember this in the morning? Better yet, are the two of you never going to talk about whatever the hell this is ever again? 

You sigh at the thought as he peels himself off the wall. His brows pinch together and you think about how it’s absolutely endearing, before visibly shaking your head, desperate to pull yourself together. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. “Do you need more water?” 

You nod slowly, swallowing roughly. Your eyes flit down to your interlocked hands and you tug on him a bit, waiting for him to lead the way to the elevators. 

He slips his other hand in his pocket, steps slow and tentative to match your pace as you round the corner and past the double doors. He reaches for the down button and you wait in silence, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Your entire body feels heavy and you want to lean against him, so as soon as the elevator doors open and close, you seize the opportunity to let your head fall to his shoulder again. 

You watch the goosebumps start to creep up his skin. “Aren’t you cold?” you mumble. 

When he stills for a moment, you look up at him. You figure the bright red dusting his cheeks is just the alcohol, and you shift your attention back to the numbers dropping from 6 to 4. 

The elevator shakes and your eyes go wide. You lift your head quickly, letting go of his hand to grip his bicep. It shakes once again and you fall against him, before it stops moving altogether, the lights shutting off. 

“What’s going on?” he asks quickly, looking up at the ceiling. When the lights don’t come back on for a minute, when it doesn’t even move for a minute, he presses the emergency signal button. 

The situation is instantly sobering, especially when there’s no one on the other end of the receiver. 

“Hello?” He presses the red button again before looking back at you. “Are you okay?” 

You nod quickly. “Are you?” You’re no longer struggling to get the words out, but it wouldn’t be a complete lie that you weren’t feeling at least a little buzzed still. 

He hums, brows furrowing as he presses the button again. “Goddamn it,” he grumbles, pulling out his phone. It lights up in the darkness and you squint painfully as you watch him carefully. 

“Hey ‘Samu,” he says, pressing it up against his ear. “Yeah, we’re stuck in the elevator. Can you get somebody? Like get Bo to call maintenance or something?” 

You shiver as the air slips through the doors of the elevator and rub your hands over your arms, stepping back to lean against the wall. He joins your side like he had in the hallway, slipping his phone into his back pocket. 

“We should’ve just stayed in that stinky hallway,” you grumble. 

He snorts. “It was almost 3 am anyways. They would’ve started kicking everybody out.” 

You hum as you sigh deeply, your shoulders beginning to feel heavy again. You wonder if he’s feeling just as nervous as you are at this moment. 

It’s almost like he can read your mind when he hesitantly murmurs, “I really hope you’re not going to forget any of this tomorrow morning,” as if you could, “but I’ve liked you for a while now.” 

Your heart crawls its way up your throat. “I,” you stutter, “um, me too.” You shift awkwardly, looking up at him the best you can in the darkness. 

He breathes out a relieved laugh. “You’re kidding. What was it, the firefighter costume? I know I look good tonight - ” 

You groan, pressing your palm flat against his temple and pushing him away from you. “God, I hate you.” 

His hands reach for your hips greedily and you shiver again. “Not what you said a minute ago,” he teases, pulling you towards him. 

“Oh, shut up,” you mumble under your breath, shifting your eyes away from him. You can barely make out his outline in the darkness but you can hear him shuffle just a little closer towards you. 

His fingers find his way to your chin, lifting it slightly. Your pulse rings in your ears as you feel his breath fan your lips, his warmth drawing you in. 

The elevator shakes and the lights turn back on. Atsumu stares at you with wide eyes as you jump in your spot, startled with the sudden movement. The doors open on the fourth floor, and familiar group of farm animals stare at you tiredly.  

Osamu looks back and forth between the two of you, sighing heavily. 

“Do us all a favor and take the stairs next time.” 

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: kitchen

☾ warnings: f!reader, alcohol mention

☾ word count: 1.5k 

Food. You clutch your stomach, stumbling your way to the kitchen because before you know it, you’ve already taken a pull from a bottle some frat guy handed you. 

“Doesn’t that make you a girl cow?” 

You whip around to your left as your fingers barely reach the fridge handle, shifting on your feet unsteadily. Your brain feels like it’s suspended in air, like you’re floating around on a cloud but drowning in the middle of the sea all at once. The air is stifling and suddenly you’re smushed between two cowboys you don’t even know, trying to keep your eye on the conversation in front of you because for some reason, it is just that intriguing.  

“Bro, they ran out of bull costumes at the store,” the gray haired boy says. “You were literally with me when I bought it.” 

The firefighter laughs, a tiny snort ringing through the heavy bass, as he points at the udders on the cow onesie his twin is wearing.  

“Why is there a firefighter with a whole farm?” you blurt, waving your finger around the crowd of farm animals. You squint in the lowlight to make sure you’re not making things up, but you’re thrusted towards them and too slow on the uptake to stop yourself from hurtling in their direction. 

A hand grips your shoulder, steadying you. “Slow down there,” one of them says - the firefighter? No, maybe it was the cow. “Wait a second - ”

You latch onto the cow’s arm - dare you say it actually feels strong underneath the fabric - before looking up at him. You’re trying to mumble out some semblance of an apology but it comes out all garbled, a mix of “Sorry,” “Thank you,” and “Oh, let me count the spots,” slipping out instead.  

“Wait, you know Kita.”  

You blink up at him, brows pinching together. “How do you know Kita?” you ask defensively. Have you met this guy before? You can’t even tell with the way your vision is shaking - and you’d normally consider yourself good with faces. 

“We all know Kita. He’s actually,” the gray haired boy says, lifting on his tiptoes to scan the crowd in the living room, “our farmer.”  

You glance at the eyes staring back at you - a pig, a sheep, a goat, and lastly, a very cute cow - before turning over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of the farmer. You turn to the boy who looks exactly like the cow, except in hair and in costume, lips curling. “Why aren’t you a farm animal?” 

He takes a sip from his cup, motioning to his bare upper half. “This is why.” He grins, pointing to the rest of his friends. “They’d set the whole farm on fire if it weren’t for me.”  

The cow clears his throat, putting a fist up to his lips as he leans in towards you. “We hate him too.” His breath is hot against your cheek and it sends even more heat rushing to your face. You aren’t sure if it’s you, the amount of people packed in this tiny box, the alcohol, or the cute guy right over your shoulder that’s making you sweat. 

The firefighter stands there for a minute before yelling at the guy you’re talking to. “I’m gonna grab another drink,” he says, smiling at someone you think you might know. “I’ll catch y’all later.” 

You turn to your left, your nose almost brushing against the gray haired boy’s. You stumble back, and his arm swings around quickly to steady you (again). 

Your eyes shift to your right. When had the other farm animals left? You take a good look at the boy in front of you, already shifting away from you and taking a step back.

“Don’t you remember? We met last semester,” the cow says. “Kita and I were studying on campus - ” he glances down at your glazed eyes, pressing his lips together. “I'm boring you, aren’t I?” 

You pucker your lips guiltily, eyes drifting to your side. “Not at all.” You aren’t sure who you’re trying to convince, but that wouldn’t discount the fact that you could just stare at his face the whole night and still be hooked. He wouldn’t even have to say a single word. 

He leans towards you and you feel your pulse pick up. “You’re not very convincing, you know that?” He scrunches his nose, and you giggle at him, your body acting on its own accord. 

“I know why you’re still here,” he sighs, nodding in defeat. 

Your brows knit together - what’s that supposed to mean? 

“Alright,” he pauses, “go ahead, count the spots.” 

What? You knit your brows together before your eyes light up like the pink strobe lights flashing four feet away from you, like you’ve been given the best treat while you were out trick or treating. You’d forgotten all about the spots on his outfit already - of course you’d wanted to count them. 

He swallows down a laugh, and you roll your lips under your teeth, the vodka rushing through your veins. The lipstick is still fresh and fruity against your lips; you’re just hoping your teeth don’t stain and that it can last you the whole night. “Plain Jane” begins to thrum away, your heart rate seemingly catching up to match the beat. 

You look at the costume and pinch the fabric between your fingers, tugging on it slightly. He turns around for you, and you point to the brown spot on the hood of onesie. Your eyelids feel heavy and you haven’t even started. 

“1.”

The cow laughs, and you laugh with him like the funniest thing had just happened, like he just told you the funniest joke ever, or as if you tripped on air, or something just absolutely ridiculous - that’s what you feel like laughing with him. You catch sight of the toothy smile he flashes at you against the now blue strobe lights, and it only makes you smile more, as if your cheeks don’t already hurt. 

You go back to your god-given job, finger poking his shoulder blade. “23,” you mumble, poking the spots one by one. The plush fabric is soft against the pads of your fingers but you can feel the definition underneath, the subtle flexing every time you press your skin against his onesie. 

The numbers feel heavy against your tongue, like there’s a sticky piece of toffee gluing your lips together. Your eyes shift to the candy bowl on the counter, idly mumbling out the next number that comes to mind even if you haven’t moved your fingers. 

You tug at the fabric against your neck as you struggle to keep your eyes open. He looks over his shoulder to you when you stop poking him, your fingers hovering over the curve of his ass. You blink at him, testing him, just waiting for him to ask, “Why’d you stop?” 

Instead, he says, “You okay? You need water?” 

You swallow, feeling yourself sober up by the second because you’re so surprised. 

“Hungry,” you stutter out, remembering why you even came to the kitchen at all. “I’m really hungry.” 

He pulls out a mini chocolate bar from his pocket. “Good thing I brought my feed, huh?” he teases, leaning towards you. He brings forward a few more candy bars before finding a disposable plate, arranging them neatly for you. “I’m somewhat of a chef.” 

You toss your head back, laughs rippling from your stomach. It starts to hurt, both from growling all night and from you giggling so hard. His lips break out into a grin before his laugh is mingling with yours once again, tears streaming down your face as you look at the pitiful plate in front of you. 

Once you catch your breath, you bow dramatically, hands placed on top of one another at your navel. 

“Thank you, Mr. Cow. I guess I won’t cast a spell on you or whatever.” You’re still giggling when you reach for the plate, setting it to your side as you unwrap a candy and pop it in your mouth. 

“It’s Osamu, by the way,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And there’s more where that came from, so please don’t cast a spell on me.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile at him, the chocolate sitting in the pockets of your cheeks. “Unfortunately,” you swallow, “it’s not enough.” The words are spilling out before you can stop yourself, but there’s no way you can blame it on the alcohol anymore. “Oh humble chef, may I interest you in a gyro from the truck across the street?” 

His eyes widen. “No way, that place is still open?” He glances at the bright green numbers on top of the oven. “It’s already 3 am.” 

You down a glass of water. “They’re open 24 hours for a hungry witch and her cow chef. Come on, let’s go get some more feed for you. All that sugar can’t possibly be sustainable.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: balcony

☾ warnings: f!reader, swearing, sfw shirtlessness

☾ word count: 1.6k

You push the glass door to the side, into the almost winter night. The chilly air that nips at your cheeks seems closer to the frigidity of December than the tailends of fall. Behind you, the buzz of the party burns, like a smattering of fireflies in an autumnal glass globe, protected from the frost. Leaving October behind you, you choose the night.

You’re not alone in wanting a little cold from the chitter chatter. His figure is dimly lit, but you’d recognize the jersey-clad back and soft black hair anywhere. You’d spent many classes last semester daydreaming of this view from behind, his broad back a total eclipse of any other light in your universe.

You begin to call to him, but he turns around first. And you choke.

What the fuck is he wearing.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Oh, hey.” He holds up a hand, unsure of whether to put down the red solo cup he’s holding in the other.

“Why…” You struggle to find the words. “Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” He looks at you blankly.

You gape at him. Does he not know what he’s wearing? Sometimes, he’s a bit absent in class but he’s never this much of an airhead.

“Kageyama,” you enunciate every syllable, “you are shirtless.”

This most blatantly conspicuous statement hangs between the two of you. You stand there, not entirely sure of what else you could say.

Red blooms across Kageyama’s face like the midnight frost. At the same time, almost impossibly, he pales. If you weren’t in such a situation, you would tease him. But you are in such a situation, so you use the social skills in your arsenal — which always bleeds dry in front of this man — and try to salvage the situation.

“I mean, you’re wearing a jersey.” That’s definitely the wrong way to go about this. Neither of you need a double-spaced, Times New Roman twelve-point font, MLA formatted report on his current state of undress. But then again, in the battle between brain and tongue in these situations, your mouth usually runs you straight into trouble. “But, like, you know — I mean I’m sure you know — it’s quite unzipped, you’re rather naked— sorry, I meant undressed — underneath it, and I can see your very successful abs.”

Very successful abs. What the fuck.

Your brain smothers your mouth at that.

To your partial credit, a switch finally flicks on inside Kageyama’s head after your ending thesis statement. He slams the cup down onto the balcony ledge and scrambles to pull the zipper up.

As your mind’s eye watches your audacity in horror, your eyes are enjoying their newfound independence from your rational. They follow the zipper in disappointed fascination as it hooks into the lowest teeth, clicking in slow motion until it hits the highest, tippiest-toppest teeth. Your eyes damn your mind for even mentioning anything about his state of undress, and your mind damns your eyes for being correct.

Meanwhile, in Kageyama’s own head, he runs through the two-and-a-half excuses he can come up with to explain how he could even forget that his jersey was unzipped in this weather. But the most blatant truth is that his one brain cell had been too focused on how good you look in your costume. And right now, that brain cell is so absorbed in thinking up ways to salvage the situation in his own manner that he doesn’t notice your expression changing from an unabashedly appreciative stare to an embarrassed effort to meet his eyes.

“Sorry,” is what he settles for, gaze truly apologetic. “The senpai thought it would be great for us to match.”

“‘Us’? As...what…?” You frown.

“The Karasuno first years.” Oh, right, his high school buddies. “As some stupid characters from some stupid swimming show.”

You look at him, eyes widening by the second, mouth hitting the ground for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes.

“So you mean you’re…?”

Kageyama nods reluctantly.

“And Hinata is…?”

He hangs his head low.

“And Tsukishima…?”

He smirks a little at this.

“That makes Yamaguchi the cute, friendly softie.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrow a little but he nods.

You stare at him, needing a long moment to process this.

Kageyama looks like he wants to throttle someone. Namely his former vice-captain for suggesting it.

And then the stupider two of this party’s hosts for supporting it.

And then his second former vice-captain for hyping it up.

And then his third captain (aka the ‘cute, friendly softie’ you seem pretty friendly with) and his third captain’s girlfriend slash former second manager for accepting this stupid proposal on all of their behalves.

But when you burst into belated laughter at the absurdity of it all, Kageyama’s face hesitantly moves on from the pinched, murderous look he had on and compromises for a nice bewildered confusion.

“Kageyama,” you catch your breath as you lean a hand on his arm for support, “you have to help me find them later.” He nods questioningly but it’s not like he can say no, not when you have a warm hand pressed against his chilled arms, eyes crinkling in the exact way that had Hinata constantly making fun of him for staring at during group projects.

You grin at him as you explain, “I want pictures next to my new favourite cosplayers. Especially Yamaguchi.”

Man, this really is the devil’s hour.

“Do you like Yamaguchi’s type?” He blurts out before he can stop it.

“Huh?”

Leaning against the railing, he looks back at the apartment filled with friends conversing and couples generating warmth. By the couch, Yamaguchi has his arm around Yachi, laughing at something an upperclassmen friend of Bokuto said.

“The cute, friendly softies.”

You laugh casually, looking out at the expanse of the city before you, not quite understanding the weight of his question.

“Sure, why not? Warm personality, cute face. Nothing to not like about them.”

Or maybe you do understand, since for you, the qualities that make a “cute, friendly softie” most definitely applies to your love interest, who is standing out here in the freezing cold with you, dressed in nothing but swim trunks and a sports jersey.

But Kageyama stays silent.

Feeling that you might have said something wrong, you look at him haltingly. Kageyama continues to look into the apartment for a while, and you think that maybe, with the faraway night sky blue of his irises, he’s not really looking at the apartment. And then you catch your own reflections and his sharp blues staring straight at you through the reflections, and your maybe is now a certainty.

It’s so warm.

“Yeah.” He finally turns to you, the real you. On this cold, frigid night, Kageyama takes your honest, heartfelt words positively, a spark of hope on this Hallows Eve. “I like them, too.”

You wait for the magic to finish casting.

“They’re easy to be around. They’re comfy,” he elaborates, face softening. “They’re really warm.”

With a small, beaming smile, you cling onto that magic. Kageyama returns your smile with an equally bright one of his own. You turn to face the city lights again as he shifts his gaze back to the glow of the apartment. He might’ve moved closer — or was that you? — but you two stay in silence, simply there.

You could get used to this, his warmth besides yours in the chilly night. The fireflies fade straight into the background with the heat and comfort that Kageyama generates. For you, this is enough magic for now.

A delicious buzz runs through you, comfortable against the cold night.

You grin to yourself when you feel him flinch beside you as well.

But when he shivers again, practicality hits you.

“Oh shit, Kageyama!” You whip around to look at him. “Aren’t you freezing in that?”

He looks at you, eyes wide and blue in the night.

You make a move to untie your cloak.

His face starts to glow red once again.

“I’m fine!” He protests as you hold the cloak out to him. “I’m really warm!”

A chuckle erupts from you as you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” you grin, a teasing glint in your tone. “I was a bit chilly coming out here, but you’re pretty warm, Kageyama.”

The blush that engulfs him has Kageyama believing that you truly are a witch — and not just on this devil’s night.

He knows next to nothing about this stupid swimming show, but he, as Kageyama Tobio, cannot be outdone by a mere witch.

“I guess I am a bit cold,” Kageyama admits with a lopsided smile.

You huff out a satisfactory grin, passing him your cloak, victory in hand. Kageyama throws it around his shoulders, and you watch with barely-concealed admiration as his form dwarfs the cloak.

As you stand there, beaming up at him as if you could successfully ignore the cold, he barks out a short laugh.

Grinning at you slightly, Kageyama opens up his borrowed cloak.

“You look a bit cold.” His eyes hold all the impish blue magic of the hour. “I have a borrowed cloak from a cute friendly softie that we can share.”

You almost choke on the chilly air as it’s now your turn to flush red. He laughs, quite embarrassed at his spurt of gusto, and pulls you close, enveloping you in both the cloak and his body heat. As your city and friends come together for the last of October, you’re here to take on the wintery night, embraced in the magic of December’s warmth.

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: open bedroom

☾ warnings: f!reader, mention of drinking games

☾ word count: 1.9k

At the entrance of the hallway, you look back at the living room. The party is bustling to the brim. That’s what you get with the hosts’ overwhelming popularity throughout campus. Without Hiromi by your side, you’re suddenly a tiny bit conscious, a tiny bit drained. It’s okay to take a little break from all this, right? Thinking back, this is probably the first time you’ve been in the boys’ apartment. You know Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi live together, and you’re friends with them, Akaashi’s even suffered through a few all-nighters of Russian classics analysis with you. With one of the doors opened, they probably wouldn’t mind you taking a breather in there.

“Y/n! Whatcha doin’?” 

Back at the coffee table, Kuroo has gathered a bunch of people for King’s Cup. Over by the dining table, Bokuto wraps up what has got to be the fifth round of beer pong since you’ve arrived. You raise an eyebrow in Kuroo’s direction as Bokuto hollers at another victory — he slams back a drink anyways, and you visibly cringe at the ickiness of it all — and Kuroo only gives you a what-can-you-do-it’s-Bokuto kind of shrug. Grinning at you, he beckons you over to join them. 

A small smile and a shake of your head, you mouth to him, “Headache. Later.” 

His smirk falls, eyebrows knitting together with concern. 

Having known him since he tutored you in a cursed compulsory chemistry class, you know that he’s about to lecture you. To pacify his mothering instincts, you follow up with a sleep hand gesture and what you hope is a reassuring grin.

Kuroo gives you a withering look, one reserved for Kenma, Lev, and the other underclassmen he claims maternal responsibility over, like you. You only continue to grin at him, shaking your head once again.

After a pause, he sighs dramatically, setting the last card down on the table. 

“The room with the open door. Should be empty,” he yells.

With a mock salute, you leave the party behind you for now.

The room’s lights are off, but between the brightness streaming in from the party and the glow of the moon above the windows, it’s sufficient. 

Neat and organized, you know that Kuroo must have tidied up for the party. There’s still the telltale Chair in the corner: a mountain of clothing on the chairback and a stack of textbooks on the seat. 

You give an amused snort. Good thing Akaashi had the sense to lock Bokuto’s terrestrial supernova of a room from curious eyes. And probably his own from the likes of you. 

You wonder what your fellow literature student’s room would look like, but you doubt he would ever invite you to his room anyways.

He’s never even expressed interest in having you over to his apartment much less fulfilling this kind of wishful thinking. 

You take off your cloak, not wanting to make Kuroo’s bed too dirty, and lean back down. He has good taste: plush comforter, mattress not too hard, not too soft.

Not ten minutes later, there is shouting from outside your door, and the door is flung wide open.  

“Bokuto-san, what are—”

“Akaashi, it’s for your own good.”

“Yea, ‘Kaashi, listen to your senpai.”

“Kuroo-san! You pain-in-the—”

He falls through the door frame, and you squint against the light in confusion.

Akaashi lurches forward to stop the door from slamming shut but as expected of the scheming captain, everything is well timed. 

Akaashi doesn’t even bother twisting the unlocked door; Kuroo’s already put Bokuto on door duty.

He sighs, hand smoothing over the top of his head. The lights are still off but it’s not difficult to guess who’s in his room with him. It’s someone who had inspired both Bokuto and Kuroo to interrupt their winning streaks in order to lock their poor housemate in his own room. At a Halloween party he was largely responsible for running.

“Akaashi?” You guess, very confused, slightly amused. 

In the moonlight, his outline is bulkier than usual, and you miss the mass of haloed curls around his head. But if your groggy state is even slightly reliable, it’s definitely Akaashi.

“Y/n-san,” he greets you with what you’re sure a smile sounds like.

Akaashi sighs again. This time internally. 

He isn’t dense. He knows what his senpai are planning. It’s kind of difficult not to when he has to stop Bokuto from babbling whenever you greet them on the quad or when he threatens Kuroo for inviting you to their apartment every other week, on days that Akaashi is bound to be home alone. They’ve been pestering him for weeks to ask you out, but Akaashi has kept his distance. 

And now he not only has to explain the situation but also his costume. 

“Y/n-san.”

“Yes, Akaashi?” 

His voice is serious, and you think that maybe this situation isn’t as funny for him as it is for you.

“I’m going to turn around,” he says cautiously. “Please do not scream.”

You give him a very confused frown before realizing that he can’t see that. 

So you reply with a hesitant “okay.”

Slowly, Akaashi reveals himself in the moonlight. A shiver runs through you, in anticipation? in wariness? You weren’t sure. 

But you didn’t think you’d actually scream. 

“Y/n-san.” Akaashi pads over slowly, carefully. “I asked you not to scream.”

“But, but.” You look at him incredulously, hand gesturing wildly at his head. “You’re bald.”

He chuckles lightly as his hand runs over the top of his head once again. 

“There’s hair at the back.” He turns his head to show you. “So, I’m not entirely bald.”

You look at him, jaw dropped to through the mattress, beyond the bedframe, right to the creaky floorboards. “You shaved your head for Toyotomi Hideyoshi?”

This time, he laughs an uninhibited, full bodied laugh, the heavy fabrics of his overcoat hunched over as he walks towards you. 

He makes a whole show of carefully tearing off the scalp part, and you watch in horror before Akaashi grins at you, smile a gentle white in the moonlight.

“It’s a semi-bald cap,” he clarifies, holding up the floppy rubber. The halo of lacquered curls are back in commission, and you finally relax knowing that his gorgeous hair is intact.

You sit up, scooting over when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. The room is getting warmer.

“Though, I’m impressed you got it correct on the first try,” Akaashi smiles. “I’ve been getting either Date Masamune or Oda Nobunaga the whole night.” 

“From mainly girls?”

“Yeah, from girls and Kuroo-san.” Akaashi quirks a brow. “You don’t happen to know anything about this, do you?”

With a snort of disbelief, you look towards the door before replying loudly and clearly, “I didn’t take Kuroo for a dating sims fan.”

There is a muffled kind of shuffling before you hear a very explicit “Shh!” from not Kuroo.

You and Akaashi turn back to each other and burst into laughter. 

“There’s a dating sim for the warlords now?” He chuckles. 

You nod solemnly. “Date and Oda are the most popular characters.”

“Ah,” was all Akaashi could come up with as a reply. “I suppose you play it as well?”

There is a glint in his eyes as he watches you try to dance around the question. Eventually, you give up on any kind of vague answers, and give a small nod. 

“Who’s your favourite character?” He asks in playful seriousness, suddenly very interested in your Sengoku boy of choice. 

You’re sure that the moon turned a bright red just to highlight your embarrassment.

Akaashi sits there, pleasantly waiting for your answer. 

Finally, you muster out a small admission. Perhaps the witching hour would conjure up some magic tonight. 

“Toyotomi Hideyoshi.”

In the silence that follows, you can hear the breathing from outside the door, but neither of you spare those interlopers a glance. 

“Not Date Masamune?” Akaashi asks quietly.

You laugh weakly at this, unsure of how to tread. 

You fidget with the lace of your sleeves. “He’s too similar to Kuroo for me to take his route seriously.”

Akaashi doesn’t think of himself dense, but he supposes that self-awareness is a lifelong teaching. 

But at this stage, even he knows that this is a confession, despite it coming on Halloween with him and his crush locked in his own room discussing Sengoku dating sims. 

With her confessing that she likes Toyotomi Hideyoshi, aka him, Akaashi Keiji. 

“I thought you liked Kuroo-san?” He blurts out.

But then he asks stupid questions like these, and Akaashi wonders if you can pass away from pure stupidity. 

“What?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“I know who Kuroo is.” For you, this isn’t really the kind of witching hour you were expecting as you conduct the calmest yet most bizarre confession you’ve ever given.

“You’re very close to him.”

“We’re good friends.” You surprise yourself with your cordial, pleasant reply. Maybe it’s because it’s Akaashi that you’re like this. Despite your get up, Akaashi the Toyotomi Hideyoshi is definitely the witch of this witching hour. “Plus, that lovesick idiot probably has his own crush to chase.”

“So, you’re not in love with Kuroo,” Akaashi clarifies. In his defense, things can get weird on Halloween.

“No,” you confirm, “I’m not.”

“And you like me?” His voice raises ever so slightly, but he still keeps quiet, not for those nosy people outside but for consideration that if he says it too loudly, he might jinx the whole magic of the night. 

“Yes,” you nod. “You as in Akaashi Keiji, not Toyotomi Hideyoshi, ikemen or otherwise,” you add on for further clarification. 

“Oh.” Akaashi flops back down on the bed, and for a second, you’re worried you might’ve broken him. “I’m happy.”

You wait for him to continue. 

Akaashi pats the space beside him, and after a moment of deliberation, you fall back beside him. 

“Did you get the guy in the end?” He asks, a strange emotion in his voice, something not quite a smile but something not unpleasant. “In the game, I mean.”

“No,” you frown, “I keep getting the sad ending.”

Akaashi smiles a small smile to himself as he turns to you. Witching hour indeed. 

“If I promise you the happy ending,” he breathes out carefully, “can you not scream if I kiss you?”

Once again, the moonlit red beams upon you, and you nod, a grin gradually spreading to your lips. 

Akaashi cups your cheeks, and as he pressed his lips to yours in a simple lunar kiss, you’re very grateful that in the witching hour, he is Akaashi Keiji — not Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Date Masamune and definitely not Kuroo Tetsurou.

In the glow of the Halloween moon, you and Akaashi lie at the foot of the bed, his arms around you, wrapped in the magic of the night. 

“They’re waiting for us, right?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi laughs. “Any longer now, and Bokuto-san might suffer from brain hypoxia with how Kuroo’s probably told him to be ‘as quiet as the grave.’”

You do love an all-rounded literature student. 

“So,” you grin, already knowing the answer to your rhetorical question, “do you think it’s time to go back out? Kuroo probably wants his room back too.”

“This is my room.” Akaashi pulls away with a quirked brow. “Kuroo’s bed is unmade, and he has two Chairs.”

Once again, your face flushes red as you try to stammer out an explanation.

“You’re fine. Things have been weird tonight,” Akaashi chuckles. It’s a good thing he’s taken off the horrifying atrocious bald cap or else the beautifully mischievous expression would’ve been lost on you. “Let’s keep them in suspense a little longer. It’s Halloween after all.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: closed bedroom

☾ warnings: f!reader, mildly suggestive

☾ word count: 3k

You sigh, scanning the room for a second time to see if you could find anyone you know well enough to bother.

You catch sight of him.

Oh, shit, you think. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Your “purse” – a shitty plastic cauldron you’d bought from the dollar store – rattles in your hand as you flinch, disgust twisting in your stomach. God, why does he have to be here? Just looking at him is enough to invoke that well-worn rage which has the power to possess you.

In all fairness, you’re not surprised that your ex is at this party. But that doesn’t make the sting of seeing him any less sharp.

Your legs move on their own, shuffling down the hallway and away from the main room as quickly as they can. They take you down the hallway, towards the closed door. You open it and slip inside, trying to calm your stuttering heart.

Kuroo is knelt on the floor next to you.

You yelp, jumping backwards.

“Hi,” Kuroo blinks.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, placing a hand on your chest.

“What are you doing?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

You frown at him. What right did he have, asking—oh. Oh.

This is his room. You’d slipped into his room on instinct.

Now that was embarrassing.

“Catching my breath,” you say quickly, hoping that is a convincing enough lie. Well, it’s not totally a lie; it’s a half-truth more than anything. You don’t want to make Kuroo listen to you complain about that asshole again.

“Uh huh,” Kuroo nods. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Why’re you on the floor?” You ask. It’s a weak attempt to change the conversation, but you’re genuinely curious.

“Oh, right.” He holds something up to you. It’s a black gel eyeliner, travel-sized and from a brand you don’t recognise. It’s not hard to guess that it’s the first one he found in the grocery store. “I’m trying to do my eyeliner. I sent Kenma a photo of my costume and his only comment was 'were you too scared to do the eyeliner'.”

“Wait, who are you?”

“Guess.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to get a good look. He’s got a long black jacket on, a ponytail clipped to the base of his hair, an Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand…

You grin. “Nerd.”

He grins back. “I seem to remember you saying that Greed-Ling was hot,” he remarks.

“Oh, is that why you chose your costume?” You fire back.

“I wanted to be something unique,” he retorts, looking you up and down pointedly.

You look down at him with a playful glare. “Are you calling me basic, Tetsurou?”

“I would never,” he gasps, placing a hand on his chest in mock sincerity.

“Be careful,” you tease, “I’ll hex you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he chuckles, standing to full height. Admittedly, he’s much more intimidating that way.

“Don’t underestimate me,” you taunt, poking him in the chest. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says, reaching forward to ruffle your hair.

“Nuh uh,” you huff, slapping his hand away. “I worked hard on this. I won’t have you messing it up.”

Kuroo scoffs, shaking his head. This sort of talk is usual for the two of you; it’s easier to tease him than let him know how much you actually like him.

“Anyway, you never told me why you’re really in my room,” he says, grin spreading across his face. “That desperate to see me, huh?”

“Ah,” you swallow, shaking your head slowly. “No, I… I saw my ex.”

The word alone is enough to shift your mood. God, why is that asshole still able to have such an effect on you?

Kuroo’s confident demeanour crumples in response, his shoulders slumping towards you. “Oh, shit. Sorry about that.”

You smile. “It’s fine. I said it was fine.” You had. Big mistake. “Besides, I know that not inviting him would’ve made a mess, so…”

“Still,” Kuroo frowns, tilting his head to the side.

God, why does he always have to look so sympathetic when it comes to this sort of thing?

You sigh, sitting yourself down on the end of his bed.

Sure, your ex had dumped you months ago. By most people’s count, you should be over it now. And in many ways, you are. You don’t miss him. You don’t have any desire to get back with him. You don’t even wish things had gone differently.

But you still can’t see him without that well-worn anger twisting in your stomach or the bitterness in the back of your throat that always bubbles up when you remember most of your friends still hang out with him.

Kuroo stands across from you with his arms crossed.

You place your “purse” at your feet, suddenly feeling very exposed.

Kuroo knows quite a bit about what happened between you and your ex. By a stroke of bad luck on his part, he’d ended up as your port of call during the breakup.

By a stroke of bad luck on your part, you’d ended up growing a tad too attracted to him than perhaps you should’ve.

But you’d never made a move. You don’t want him to think that he’s just a rebound, or that you’re using him to feel better. He’s far too good a guy for that.

“It’s Halloween,” Kuroo shrugs. “If we stage an accident, we can blame it on a poltergeist. Or maybe a demon. Or, at the very least, we can get off on manslaughter charges because we were ‘too drunk’ to realise what was happening.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Like he always does, when your ex is mentioned.

You roll your eyes at him. “Is that how it even work?”

He grins. “No idea. I’ve only done a class on Corporate Law. And even then, I can’t really tell you what’s legal or not.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a good student.” 

“Yeah, but it’s law,” he drawls. “There’s nothing duller than law.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t fault you for that one.” 

A silence falls over the two of you. You can hear the faint din of the party in the living room, the occasional raucous laughter and the bubble of conversation. Some part of you knows that you should be out there, mingling, having a drink, laughing along with everybody else. 

But you’d much rather stay here, with Kuroo. 

A question itches at the back of your mind. It’s one you’d rather not know the answer to, but it’s heavy enough to weigh on your conscience. 

“How’d your date go the other week?” You ask, instantly regretting it. “You never texted me about it.”

“Ah…” Kuroo clears his throat, looking at the ground. “It didn’t work out.”

“Oh…” You say quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You do feel bad for him. But you feel worse about the relief flooding through your chest.

He doesn’t look too disappointed. Granted, you don’t know how much of that is because you want him to be not-disappointed.

“It’s fine,” Kuroo shrugs. “I mainly went on it to placate Bokuto.” 

You frown at that. “Huh?” 

“He thinks I should be going on more dates,” he grins. “Apparently, moping around doesn’t suit me.”

“Moping around?” You ask. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. He’s caught his own slip up before you could exploit it. 

Kuroo says nothing more. The silence makes you uncomfortable; it’s not that you’re not used to the odd silence or two when it comes to Kuroo, but more the context. He’s always been notoriously tight-lipped about his love life, and you’ve never been brave enough to dig. There’s only one answer that you want to hear; but you’re certain you won’t hear it. No matter how much he flirts and teases. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. 

He twirls the eyeliner in his fingers, the metal casing catching the light. Oh, that’s right. 

“Let me do it,” you say, before you’ve even processed the idea.

“Huh?” Kuroo looks up, raising an eyebrow at you.

This is your chance to back out. You can pretend you never said it, pretend you didn’t have that bizarre thought.

You hold out your hand expectantly. “Your eyeliner. Let me do it.”

He blinks at you for a moment, baffled. “You sure?”

“You’ll poke your eye out,” you say. “I know you’re shit when it comes to detail works.”

“Excuse me?” He scoffs. “I’ll have you know that I’m excellent at titrations.”

You hold your hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright… but if you go blind, don’t come crying to me about it.”

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, dropping the eyeliner into your outstretched hand. “But you have to do it standing up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ah, but those are the stipulations—”

“On the bed,” you command. “Now.”

Oh. Whoops.

Kuroo’s face flushes a deep red. You realise the implications of your words too late.

But he sits himself on the bed, a good distance away from you. 

You sigh, standing up and moving in front of him. 

He’s just sitting there, and yet he’s frustratingly good-looking. He’s got no right, in your opinion. Especially when he doesn’t even bother to attend to his hair. 

You bring one hand to his chin, tilting his face upwards to give you better access to his eyes. Big mistake. 

He’s looking up at you expectantly with those golden-brown eyes of his, cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted. 

You try to ignore it, bringing the tip of the eyeliner to his waterline. You follow the curve of his eye gently, dragging the eyeliner along with quick, gentle strokes.

He’s looking at you still. Maybe you’d be flattered, or nervous, or maybe even excited. But his eyes keep fluttering shut, disrupting your progress. 

“Look up,” you swallow nervously. 

“One moment,” he mumbles, shifting to take his jacket off. 

That just makes things worse – now his frustratingly muscular arms are in view. He doesn’t show them off often, but you’re grateful for any chance you get to admire them.

It’s frustrating, really; Kuroo had never really been hot in high school. Sure, he’d been a cut above the rest, but hormonal teenage boys weren’t exactly tough competition.

Besides, you hadn’t really gotten to know him until university. It just so happened that you were going to the same place, and you’d reached out to each other more because you didn’t want to be alone and less because you were particularly close.

That being said, you’d become close quite quickly. Quickly enough to make you regret spending all those years of high school specifically avoiding boys. Most of them probably weren’t worth your time, but you had a feeling Kuroo would’ve been.

“Your lipstick looks nice.” 

The compliment almost makes you stab him in the eye. 

“Thanks,” you blush. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.” 

“There’s very little you can’t pull off,” he chuckles.

Your blush deepens, trying to stop your mind from wandering too far. Although you’d done a terrible job at that so far.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you pout. “You might give me the wrong idea.” 

You never know if you should put distance between the two of you. Sometimes it feels like you’re too close, like no matter what, you’ll get hurt. Kuroo’s never mentioned being into anyone else, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility. He’s been on a date, after all. Even if it didn’t go particularly well. 

“What if… it wasn’t the wrong idea?” 

You freeze. “What?”

“What if… whatever you’re thinking… isn’t incorrect?” He says, staring at you boldly. 

“What are you saying?” 

Your heart hammers in your chest, a quick but steady rhythm thrumming through your body. The logical conclusion is obvious. But you don’t want to hope, just in case. 

“What if the reason the date didn’t work out is because I realised that I’d much rather be spending time with you?” 

The world stops around you. 

Did he really just say that? Did he mean it? 

His gaze is so heavy, so intense. You’ve caught him staring at you before; sometimes fondly enough to make you wonder, to make you hope. 

But this? This is new. This is exciting. 

You cup his face with both hands, eyeliner long forgotten as it clatters on the floor.

“Tetsu…” You murmur.

You’ve got no idea what’s happening. But you like it.

He holds your waist firmly, tilting his face upwards. 

You’re not sure who moved first. 

But his lips are on yours, hot and firm and hungry. You lean into it, threading your hands in his hair. His hands tighten on your waist, a soft moan rumbling from the back of his throat. You sigh in response, warmth coursing through your body. 

God, you need this.

His hands move down from your waist to your hips, tugging you towards him.

You half-collapse against him, balancing yourself by propping a knee either side of his lap.

Are you really going to… right now? With Kuroo? For the first time? But you haven’t even been on a date yet. You haven’t even told him how you feel  – not that it really matters. 

You know you want this.

You know you want him.

He moans again, the sound making your shiver. He wants this too. 

Have you really been so blind? The way he’s kissing you, the way he’s holding you, the way he– 

A knock on the door.

You shoot to your feet, stepping back from him.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, both of you wide-eyed and owlish.

Another knock breaks through the silence.

“What?” Kuroo shouts. He sounds just as frustrated as you are.

“What are you doing in there?” Someone calls back.

It sounds like Iwaizumi. He’s perhaps one of the last people you’d want walking in on you like this. But at least he’s one of the few people at this party who’d actually knock instead of just barging in. God forbid someone like Atsumu catching the two of you like this.   

“None of your business,” Kuroo growls. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to know when you’re going to come and join the land of the living.”

The two of you exchange a glance. How long has it been? You’ve honestly lost track.  

“Soon,” Kuroo says. “Just… give me a minute.”

The sound of footsteps fades away. Kuroo lolls his head back, sighing.

“Is it okay if we take a raincheck?” He asks, smirking at you.

You roll your eyes, standing up. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Oh?” He grins sitting forward. “Is that so? That’s not the impression I got when you—”

You lean down and kiss him firmly. His yelp is muffled by your lips, but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, he reaches a hand up to cup the back of your head.

You stand up straight and flick him on the forehead. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing up and ambling towards the door.

He grins at you from over his shoulder, his chin smeared with an embarrassing amount of black lipstick.

“Wait!” You grab his wrist, pulling him back.

“What?” He blinks, turning to look at you.

You point at the black smeared all over his chin. “Maybe you should deal with that.”

Kuroo frowns, turning to look at himself in the mirror. “Oh,” he blinks. “Right.”

He lifts his wrist to wipe it away. It doesn’t work very well.

You lower yourself to your knees, plopping your “purse” in front of you, digging around in it for a second. The makeup wipes are easy to find, squishy and rectangular as they are. You’d primarily brought them for Hiromi – just in case she needed to de-zombify herself before engaging in certain scandalous activities.

You pull out a single wipe and hold it up to Kuroo. He takes it from you and sinks to the ground, long legs sticking out in awkward directions.

“Use one of these,” you giggle.

He doesn’t need further instruction, peering at himself closely as he vigorously rubs the wipe all over his chin. You’ll tell him not to be so rough with his skin later down the line.

“You did a good job on the eyeliner,” Kuroo says. He sounds a little too surprised by that fact for your liking.

“And you messed up my lipstick,” you grumble, fetching your own wipe and dabbing it around your mouth. You can’t be as rough as him; you have foundation to account for and having half of it missing from the lower half of your face is arguably just as suspicious as smeared lipstick.

“You didn’t seem to mind,” he grins.

You nudge him in the chest with your elbow, eliciting an “oof!” 

“Don’t push your luck,” you murmur, biting back a smile. 

The two of you attend to your respective cosmetic predicaments. It’s a comfortable silence, one where neither of you have to worry about hiding anything. 

It’s even nicer than you could’ve imagined. 

“Hey, so…” Kuroo clears his throat, a touch of pink to his cheeks. “What are you doing next Tuesday?”

His bravado is almost entirely gone, dissipated into the dark of the night.

“Nothing,” you smirk. “Why?”

“No reason,” he grins.

You elbow him sharply. Stupid jerk.

“I’m kidding,” he cackles, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

You have half a mind to fight, but what you really want to do is give in. He’s warm, and you rather like being this close to him.

“How does dinner sound?” His breath tickles against your ear as he speaks in a tone deeper than usual.

You smile, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Can’t wait.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ intro + masterlist

☾ warnings: f!reader, mention of alcohol, swearing

☾ word count: 1.3k

You hear the party before you see it. 

In fact, you hear it from a good block away before you see it, its heavy bass heartbeat thrumming down the street. You can’t help but think that it's pace is so irregular that it almost sounds like the apartment building itself has a condition.

“You mean cardiac arrhythmia?” Hiromi questions when you make this observation aloud. 

“Yeah!” you exclaim, re-adjusting your hat. You aren’t bothered by not knowing this; she’s the physiology major after all. You’re just the blissfully ignorant literature student who occasionally understands phrases like “cell membrane” and “venereal disease”.

She gives you a funny smile, only made funnier by the deep-looking latex scars by her mouth. Going all out, she’d purchased a wide variety of face paint and makeup palettes from the Halloween store and spent most of the afternoon perfecting her look. You had simply sat back and watched, throwing on your witch costume when the time came and letting her turn her attention on you when she was done. 

“Do you think people will know what I am?” She frets as you slip through the building door. Someone had propped it open with a milk crate and stuck a little paper ghost on it. 

You look her up and down. From the sickly green face paint and artificial scars running across her cheeks it would be evident to anyone that she was a zombie. The tricky part would be the rest of her outfit; a shirt made of some shiny looking material with a belted pleather skirt and a matching cropped jacket. The makeup around her eyes is excessively glittery, and there’s a headset mic hanging down one side of her face. 

“I’m a zombie idol,” she had explained when you’d first seen the test run for her costume. It was obvious after she’d explained it to you but you just know she’d be getting confused looks for the rest of the night. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you lie with a grin as you ascend the stairs. “Now let’s go, undead Jennie Kim. We have some orange jello shots to do.”

The door is ajar as you walk past the landing, music and people spilling across its threshold as you urge Hiromi on. Already, you can spot some people from your lectures; a strawberry blond who slept through most of microeconomics and a girl you’d been partnered with for one chemistry lab. 

You both manage to squeeze past the entrance and into the dense, beating heart of the event, illuminated by at least a dozen packs of LED fairy lights. Groups of your peers mill about, fake fangs and shiny capes glinting around the room like passing stars. You think you see someone familiar and are about to call out to them when Hiromi yanks at your wrist, pulling your attention back to her. 

“Shit, shit,” she hisses, fiddling with one of her many bracelets as she turns away from one of the corners of the room. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when you spot him from across the room, red solo cup in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Ohh,” you say knowingly, giving her a small smirk. “Funny seeing him here,” you exclaim, your loud voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. 

You watch with amusement as she runs her fingers through one of her carefully crimped pigtails, her sparkly nails catching in the strands as she attempts to work more volume into them. 

“I didn’t know he’d be here,” she moans, narrowly avoiding the elbow of someone dressed like Saitama from One Punch Man. 

“But you were hoping,” you tack on pointedly.

“I was hoping,” she sighs admittedly. “I just think he looks so good tonight, don’t you?”

You glance over at her longtime crush and cock your head. In his Halloween store pirate getup, complete with feathered hat and velcroed-on shoulder parrot, you can’t say he’s your type exactly. But the heart wants what the heart wants and what Hiromi’s heart seems to want right now is to talk to dollar store Blackbeard. 

You sigh. Who are you to stop her?

“Go,” you say, giving her a light nudge in his direction. Her expression brightens before you catch a flash of hesitance in her eyes. 

“But—” she begins, unsure.

“I’ll be fine,” you add reassuringly, trying not to let your apprehension show. True, you’d only come on the condition that she’d be by your side for most, if not all, of the night. But these are extenuating circumstances, and if you don’t let her try to get with the world’s most average looking Captain Hook, then you know you wouldn’t be any kind of best friend at all. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, causing the glittery makeup to refract across her eyelids. “I love you,” she finally utters, taking hold of your hand. 

“I know,” you grin, feeling the press of her acrylics in your palm as she pulls away. “Just text me when you’re ready to leave or let me know if I’m going home alone.”

“Will do,” she nods, patting the phone in her jacket pocket. You know there’s a chance you won’t get any message but that would be an indication in itself so you aren’t too worried. 

“Alright,” you sigh, sending her off with a smile. “Go on and get the Jack Sparrow of your dreams.”

“Thank you,” she says again, adjusting one of her earrings before she heads on her way. You watch as she maneuvers past a posse of Sailor Guardians before making a beeline for her crush. A mixture of relief and pride swells in your chest as you see her make contact, and you grin as you see him lean in, clearly more interested than Hiromi knew (or noticed).

However, your quiet satisfaction is immediately quashed as someone jostles into you from behind. You stumble, nearly toppling into an overloaded coatrack before managing to right yourself against the wall.

“Asshole,” you mumble to yourself as whoever it was slips away without so much as an apology. It’s then that you realize the situation you’re now in; alone and sober at a party you aren’t even sure you want to be at. 

During your time here you’d seen at least a couple of people you’ve spoken to, but no one you know well enough to hold onto in this swirling chaos of booze and tacky costumes. 

Okay, you think to yourself, patting down the folds of your skirt as you assess your surroundings. You can do this. You can get out there and, maybe with a little beer as social lubrication, have a good time like everyone else.

Glancing towards the kitchen you see two people making out near the pantry, along with another four oblivious farm animals acting like nothing’s going on right next to them.

To your other side is the hallway, the small bathroom door swinging open as its occupant (a vampire) makes a hasty exit. You think you could use the opportunity to freshen up before attempting socialization.

Looking past that, there are two other doors; one of them tightly shut and the other cracked open just a sliver, showing the end of a made bed. You know the rules about being a good houseguest and all, but you can’t help but feel a bit curious.

However, the heart of the party is right before you in the living room. You spot a group of people leaning over some kind of board game, their occasional hollers and shouts drawing your attention.

Past them is the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony. Its inhabitants, plural or otherwise, are obscured from view, thanks to the glare of the room. Despite this, you think fresh air could do you some good.

You decide to: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

#flashing cw #epilepsy tw #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

[retirementhomecollab]

2 am is when all the bars close, but 3 am? that's the devil’s hour - the hour when witches, demons, and ghosts are their most powerful. when you’re invited to a halloween party, who’s to say what’ll happen at 3 am? the witching hour may not be as scary as you think!

☾ featuring: 

akaashi keiji

bokuto koutarou

iwaizumi hajime

kageyama tobio

kuroo tetsurou

miya atsumu

miya osamu

☾ coming soon.

☾ brought to you by: @dorkyama, @kuroopaisen, @stelleum & @w-yuren. 

#flashing cw #epilepsy tw #atsumu x reader #kuroo x reader #iwaizumi x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #kageyama x reader #osamu x reader #the witching hour