Compliments To The Chef - Tumblr Posts

🙏🙏🙏

Dealing With Executive Dysfunction - A Masterpost

The “getting it done in an unconventional way” method.

The “it’s not cheating to do it the easy way” method.

The “fuck what you’re supposed to do” method.

The “get stuff done while you wait” method.

The “you don’t have to do everything at once” method.

The “it doesn’t have to be permanent to be helpful” method.

The “break the task into smaller steps” method.

The “treat yourself like a pet” method.

The “it doesn’t have to be all or nothing” method.

The “put on a persona” method.

The “act like you’re filming a tutorial” method.

The “you don’t have to do it perfectly” method.

The “wait for a trigger” method.

The “do it for your future self” method.

The “might as well” method.

The “when self discipline doesn’t cut it” method.

The “taking care of yourself to take care of your pet” method.

The “make it easy” method.

The “junebugging” method.

The “just show up” method.

The “accept when you need help” method.

The “make it into a game” method.

The “everything worth doing is worth doing poorly” method.

The “trick yourself” method.

The “break it into even smaller steps” method.

The “let go of should” method.

The “your body is an animal you have to take care of” method.

The “fork theory” method.

The “effectivity over aesthetics” method.

robes | nj

↳ genre fluff, domestic au, namjoon husband au, marriage au ain’t no smut inside i think? is that scene considered smut hmm no idea

↳ words 4k

↳ summary the ordeals that females face everyday isn’t something new to talk about, but it’s an issue that needs constant reminder. everything is fine and dandy until namjoon heard first-hand, how it actually sounds like. and the event that followed suit is a bonus intended soothe the heaviness of the first half, you’re welcome. prepare to be a ball of mush

↳ warning slight suggestive content, catcalling, feminism, public indecency, sexual harassment (so you know what it looks like), disturbing descriptions regarding masturbation; public transport, corn dogs is a food, mentions of pornography, heart goes boom-boom material–what even is these warnings, but it’s all true so, you’ve been warned don’t come whining at me kim gyeongmin is also namjoon’s baby sister’s actual name, i know bc i asked him.

↳ namjoonchronicles’ honorary tag list @kai-tashi @joon94net @yoongiseesaws @yourlocalalien @mentallycryinghanriver @majestikblue @septemberalien 

↳ special thanks to @fangirlaholicxx for she’s having an exam week and still deliver, a dependable wife indeed; she liked this, that’s why i’m posting it… also I’m in need of my readers’ blood

↳ song maisie peters ‘feels like this’

How does Namjoon react to you being catcalled? Not great. Not great at all, really.

He is sitting anxiously in his own office, after sending you off alone to get some things Gyeongmin needed for her big day. Because he was so stricken with the need to protect you constantly, he had to give you a call and hear your voice to make sure you’re alright.

Keep reading

THIS WAS WORTH THE WAIT GOD DAMN

Thank you for le meal

Title: Admiration Pairing: Brasidas x fem!Reader x Alexios Rating: M Summary: Brasidas has never mixed pleasure and business, but there’s a time and a place for everything. A late Christmas/New Year‘s gift for a good friend, @dynamicorbit. ♥️ May your dreams of a Spartan sammich come true.

RAYS OF GOLDEN light filter through the sheer curtains drawn around the rooftop peristyle. A gentle awakening after the early mornings and long days of reaping the summer harvest. Turning over, you glimpse your husband —the linen sheet tangled around his waist and legs, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his lips parted, still snoring softly. It’s a rare thing for you to wake before him, but you take a moment to study the sunspots on his cheeks and shoulders and the scars from the agoge and battle.

Brasidas of Sparta wakes with a soft groan, instinctually seeking you out. His arms twine around your waist, pulling you to him on the bed of linens and pillows. You smile against his neck, feeling the tickle of his dark beard on your temple as he inhales the rose scent lingering in your hair.

“Agapi mou,” he breathes, voice still tinged with sleep and rougher than normal. His fingers soothe along your spine, and the way he holds you reignites a fire from the previous evening in its wake.

There’s little more you want than to be able to stay in his embrace all day, relaxing, talking of childhood, and nothing of importance. But there are chores and errands to be done, and both you and Brasidas know this —having set aside extra stores of grain and olives to be donated and traded. You place a hand on the center of his chest, fingers grazing over the smattering of hair there as you distance yourself, resisting his tantalizing caresses while your will is still strong enough. “Not now, husband,” you chide. “We must go to the agora.”

He curls his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss upon your knuckles with a languid smile. “Forgive me, wife,” Brasidas muses before sitting up, stretching out his arms with a low groan —joints popping and back cracking. You echo his movements, knowing neither of you could set aside duty and errands any longer.

BRASIDAS REMOVES THE last woven basket of olives from the cart, passing them to a merchant in exchange for two amphoras of sweet wine and the promise of a chous of pressed and infused olive oil. The Thracian makes a note in his ledger, then passes you a smooth stone, no larger than a coin, with the sigil of his family carved into it —a token to be traded when he returned to Sparta with fresh oils.

Dianthe waves you over, offering a small basket of figs and apricots in exchange for you and Brasidas helping her with her youngest son —a brazen boy of four, too young for the agoge but not too young to begin to learn— since his father’s passing. Few boys could say they’d been trained by the great general. Watching the two had only made you long for the day when the gods would grant you a son or daughter.

He’s quick to take the basket from you, adding it to the cart next to a newly woven blanket —a gift from a helot you had helped evade the autumnal slaughter. “Alexios!” Brasidas calls, spotting a man walking through the agora wearing the armor of a lowly mercenary. The misthios waves back and heads in your and your husband’s direction. The two clasp forearms in greeting, smiling. “It is good to see you, my friend.”

Alexios’s attention shifts to you, standing vigilant at Brasidas’s side —curiously observing him with bright and kindly eyes. His smile is wide and charming and crinkles the corners of his tawny-gold eyes when he realizes who you must be. “You never mentioned a wife,” the misthios accuses.

“I do my best not to mix pleasure with battle or politics,” Brasidas notes, his hand settling on the curve of your back. It is a partial truth; he refrains from speaking of his personal life to the Spartan regiments. Though, he often seeks your advice in matters of both war and policy now, making you his closest and most trusted confidant in the whole of the Greek world.

You stop the misthios before he can leave —hand resting over the scars wrapped around his bicep. “Why don’t you join us tonight, Alexios?” He glances between you and Brasidas, then nods his acceptance of the offer before continuing through the agora. Turning back to the cart, you survey the last goods to sell and trade, a basket of olives and bundle of wheat, and feel your husband’s gaze, curious and skeptical of whatever ploy you have set in motion. “What?” You ask, brow raised in your best attempt to seem innocent. Then you shrug. “He’s blessed by the gods.” Alexios bore the eagle of Zeus; it would have been an insult to the gods to not invite him to hearth and home.

“Is he?” Brasidas challenges, a tinge of jealousy in his tone as he follows you, weaving in and out of the merchants and Spartiates.

“And so are you” —you lean toward him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek— “my sweet general.” The praise is enough to soothe his pride.

BRASIDAS AND ALEXIOS speak of battles, reminiscing the days when the fighting was thickest, and they stood at each other’s side. The misthios excitedly recalls the Battle of Pylos and how the small island had been aflame, and the Spartans nigh outnumbered and outmaneuvered by the Athenians. While not a sure victory, it had not been a defeat either. It’s a battle you do not remember as fondly, thinking of the wounds your husband sustained and how, from time to time, they still grieved him.

Rising, you fetch the decanter of wine —a sweet Samian vintage— and refill both you and Brasidas’s cup before taking Alexios’s, topping off the remaining swig settled in the bottom of his cup. You don’t miss his dark gaze lingering on you, hunger still in his eyes despite a full belly. He takes another sup of wine, quickly glancing between Brasidas and you. “I wonder if you’re as sweet as the wine,” Alexios asks, forgetting himself.

“Sweeter, my friend,” Brasidas remarks, not missing a beat —a smirk hiding beneath his beard. Neither you nor Alexios was immune to one another, but he cannot fault his friend for taking an interest in a woman such as you. When you look to him, cheeks warmed by the wine and fire, something inside him stirs. The gods would not fault him or Alexios for lavishing you with attention and affection —the admiration you deserve. “Would you like to taste for yourself?”

A chill slithers down your spine at the proposition, and a jolt of heat pierces the depths of your belly —smoldering embers fanned to flames under their intense gazes. You look to Brasidas, but he only smirks, knowing he’d won the game this time, and whatever ploy you’d thought up earlier could not compare to this. Alexios is both eager and hesitant. He leans toward you, lifts his hand, and brushes the tips of his fingers across your cheek. You can taste the wine of his breath before his hand tugs on your hair and his lips ghost over yours. If Brasidas is Hades in his zeal and devotion to his wife, then Alexios is Ares —rough and merciless— and you, his Aphrodite for the moment.

Alexios reaches for you, pulls you astride his thighs, and undoes the pin of your peplos —the pale green linen puddles around your waist. He sucks in a slow breath as his hands trail along your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before sliding down your back, across your ass, and settling on your thighs. You gasp when he lifts you onto the table with no further preamble aside from a hurried and brutish tug on one taut nipple before letting you back.

His arms take the liberty of spreading your legs, and he dips below —drunk on the sight of you, bared before him, and the way your sweet, honeyed cunt glistens by the warm firelight. Easily, he plants one hand firm to your hip, the other holding onto your thigh tightly in return. Alexios looks to Brasidas, but his friend only nods, lifting his cup of wine as though to say enjoy.

Still, there is a strange feeling in his gut as he catches your gaze —burning and needy. The scent of you encases his senses, a fragrance so sweet it makes his head churn. You whimper when he kisses gently along the inside of your thigh, leaving his mark. The sounds you make, once only Brasidas’s to selfishly devour, are like the voices of the muses or a siren’s song. No small wonder the Spartan General kept you as a secret.

“Alexios–” you whine, tugging on his matted locks, urging him to do more. Calloused and scarred fingers spread open your delicate folds, and his lips douse a wet, feverish kiss right to your clit. It’s not long before he has you unraveling underneath him. His stubbled beard scratches against your sensitive skin as he trails over you in a path of kisses. You almost yelp when you feel his mouth close over your clit, tenderly sucking. Stifling moans float in the air, and Alexios’s tongue flattens over your cunt, licking a long and hot stripe.

A warmth floods your insides —familiar yet still strange— sending butterflies drifting afloat. He smiles. A deep moan vibrates through the pits of his mouth— and your breath hitches to the sounds of his tongue slicking along you, nose brushing against the soft folds as you gush underneath him. Alexios alternates between fast and slow flicks of affection, and you whimper his name, feeble legs sprawling further for him.

Then your body tenses, toes curling. His tongue speeds over you, and you whisper his name as if a recited prayer, gasping, quivering, crumbling. Untethered in a sea of nirvana. He moans against you, then runs two fingers through your slick and brings them to his lips —sucking them clean with a low groan. “Like ambrosia,” Alexios affirms, sitting back on his haunches.

Brasidas draws you to him and into his lap —chiton already discarded to the side. The feel of his large palms gliding easily over the curve of your back soothes you to the soul, and you sigh, carving a smile despite your greatest attempts to smother it. Eyes closed, you savor in the feel of him browsing you appreciatively, hands slow and searching.

It sends a spark spiking inside you when you feel your husband’s hands on your ass. Brasidas’s breath is warm and tempting, and you bite your lip when he curls two fingers under your chin, tilting your face back with ease. His eyes are dark yet filled with that special love— awe he holds solely for you. His lips dangerously close to yours when he leans in, nose brushing yours, but he does not kiss you, not yet, though his adoration is reflected in his slow, appreciative hums into your neck as he breathes in your honeyed scent.

Brasidas shifts, urging you to turn —the way his hand glides over your back and presses light at the back of your neck tells you what it is he wishes. You lean forward, weight braced on the table and displayed on hands and knees. He does not take you like this often, but when he does…the initial push has your head spinning —you could lay with your husband a thousand times over and never become accustomed to the stretch of his girthy cock.

Your hands scratch at the table beneath you for purchase but fail to find any semblance of such as Brasidas presses further, your hips subconsciously rising higher off the table as if to coax his cock deeper and deeper into you. Brasidas braces himself by grabbing your hips firmly and pulling them further back against his— the sudden push makes you whimper on shaky knees.

There’s a sort of ceremonial relief Brasidas feels once he’s pushed himself inside your cunt that never fades. He imagines this is how Hades must feel when welcoming Persephone back to the Underworld after months away —a combined mix of relief, desire, and triumph that comes with claiming the only thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself.

He grunts under his breath, hands digging into your hips as he pounds himself into you with all the fervor of a man starved. He hunches forward to bend himself over you as you writhe and breathily moan beneath him, your body wriggling desperately against his. When you hiss his name and shyly cant your hips back against his to allow him to thrust into you at a deeper angle, he groans.

There’s a moment when you forget it is not just you and Brasidas, but when you lift your gaze from the tabletop, Alexios is there, unclothed —his body is a myriad of scars and lean muscle. He’s slimmer than Brasidas, an echo of his wayfaring lifestyle, but nigh the same height, and there isn’t the slightest bit of shame in the way he strokes his cock. Alexios doesn’t have to ask you to open your mouth — the hazy distance between you and reason clouded with arousal. You wanted him too.

The flushed head of his cock presses between your lips, filling your mouth with the bitter-salt taste. Looking at him through your lashes, you see his chest rising and falling rapidly in anticipation. You suction your lips around his cock, and Alexios swears, one of his hands tangling in your hair. He pushes himself a little deeper, languidly thrusting in and out of your mouth —all of your moans and whimpers eaten away by his chase of pleasure.

Brasidas’s restraint begins to halt. It only seemed to occur to him sometimes that he might have been being too rough, thrusting into you with animalistic abandon. He blames it on the sight before him —his cock sinking into you over and over, your lips wrapped around another man’s cock. He fills you, just as he does when it the two of you, and despite the artlessness of his movements, he begins striking that spot deep inside that forces you to quake. And with each powerful thrust from behind, you take Alexios a little deeper.

Alexios’s warm, calloused hands palm your breasts, tweaking your nipples to make you tighten around Brasidas, whining helplessly around his cock. Your hips jerk helplessly, Brasidas meeting yours with a particularly hard thrust that pushes Alexios a little harder against your throat. Alexios rolls your nipples again, pinching them between his fingertips. Your husband’s hand leaves your hip to graze along your clit, and your body twitches as if shot through with lighting when the rough pads of two fingers begin to rub in frantic little circles as Alexios fucks your mouth. He groans loudly as a reward, praising you and sighing your name for the gods to hear, his hands drawling up to pet your neck.

There isn’t enough air, and you are shaking, feeling ready to break, your body jolting back and forth between the two like a pendulum. The blood rushing to your head is getting to you, or the fact that you are thrumming with lust and adrenaline and a million other things you are too far gone to comprehend. Alexios teases your nipples, pinching and plucking at them, the sharp spike of pain makes your cunt tighten around Brasidas, and he lets out a harsh groan, hands digging into the skin of your thigh. His hips falter, the wood of the table creaking as he balances an arm on it to steady himself.

Everything tingles, sparking and sparkling, zipping through your body and the foggy mess of overwhelming pleasure. And they don’t stop.

Alexios’s groan is strangled, and finally, he stills —cock twitching, bitter warmth sliding down your throat— and draws back, breathing heavily. And with your mouth free, all of the moans that you’d been choking on come tumbling out, hoarse and broken and stuttered with the pace Brasidas has set. He leans over you, forehead pressed into one of your shoulders, beard scraping against your skin —panting. It’s all too much, and everything blurs together in a wave of burning pleasure. The way your cunt spasms around Brasidas’s cock as you’re coming has him following your lead.

He lets himself rest atop you, weight braced on bent forearms, his lips brushing across your shoulder blade. You smile with a content sigh, glancing up to see Alexios pulling his chiton back up and securing it at one shoulder with a bronze pin. It is late, and he should be returning to the Adrestia before the morn as to not keep Barnabas waiting. “Thank you for the hospitality,” he says, finishing his cup of Saman wine, then he winks with a smile, “and for the meal.”

Brasidas laughs, the sound rising from deep in his belly and reverberating through you both. “Anytime, my friend,” he remarks as the splintered wooden door creaks open and close. He groans again, low and breathy when he pushes up, cock slipping free of your warmth —his seed dripping down your thighs.

You roll onto your back and look up at him with a tired smile before sitting up, hands running up the broad plains of his chest and then around to his back. Brasidas leans toward you, and now he will kiss you —slow and burning, his beard scraping against your jaw. He lifts you from the table, swallowing the surprised little gasp you make as he carries you to your rooftop sanctuary. Gently, he lets you down to the pallet of pillows and linens and lips brushing over your temple as he promises to return after tidying up after the evening's festivities.

With your movement slow and collected, you gently amble behind Brasidas once he rejoins you —admiring the way his skin is illuminated by the warm firelight. Your arms wrap his torso from behind, resting your hands just below his mid. You nestle in, close and proximate, as you melt into him from behind. With your cheek pressed to his back, you allow your tired eyes to close in symphony. “S'agapo,” you breathe. Brasidas rests his hand atop yours and lets himself settle into your embrace, thinking you to be his sweet Persephone.

[taglist: @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @maximalblaze @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @dynamicorbit @mrsragnarlodbrok @alexandra-alle @thepreciouspurrsian @missmannequin @chaotic-spooky @balmacedapascal @tammym3903 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Alexios or Brasidas taglist, just let me know!

𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧?

synopsis; dabi has always had a hard time communicating his emotions - but he tries anyway for you. he'll fight because it's all he's ever known - but your tear stricken face as he's leaving never fails to bring him crawling back to you - the only home he'll ever know.

cw; angst to comfort. pairing dabi x reader!

Dabi's been pacing back and forth outside your apartment complex for a while now - how long? Well, he didn't know. All he knew was that the hot chocolate he'd picked up for you was getting cold and he needed to go inside eventually.

He'd face your anger - your insults and wrath and rage because he deserved it. Anything you'd throw at him - he'd take it without complaint. He didn't get the right to complain when he walked out on your pleads - your cries following him all the way out into the hall as his trembling hands slammed the door in your face.

He didn't deserve you. That's what he told himself as he knocked on your door - propping an arm against the door frame as he leaned his forehead against it with a sigh. He tapped his finger against the rim of your hot chocolate cup impatiently

Medium with a bit of whip cream and two cherries - you liked two cherries so you and Dabi could each feed each other one. He'd always groan - saying you were an idiot for paying ten scents for that stupid little cherry, but the warmth that spread in his chest when you popped it in his mouth managed to snuff out any ounce of embarrassment from your sweet antics.

I don't deserve anything good.

He squeezes his eyes shut harder, trying to smother the intense burn behind his eyes as his hands curl into a fist

"C'mon sweetheart. Open the door for me, will ya?"

His voice sounded strained - tired and stressed and you can't find the strength in you to open the door as you hand hovers over the handle. You merely tighten your blanket around you and slowly press your back against the door - telling yourself you were just waiting for him to leave. In reality - you're hoping he'd say something else. Give you something to work with - something that can salvage your relationship. Anything.

He blinks in frustration when he hears no movement on the other side of the door, trying his best to keep his eyes dry as he swallows down the lump in his throat

"I'm an asshole - biggest one out there. So why don't you come swinging at me with a bat or something? I promise I'll even let you get a few hits in." He breathes out with an emotionless huff of laughter following his words as he closes his eyes.

Say something. Anything. Please.

He hears the slow clicks of the locks turning - and he's backing up in an instant as his fingers subconsciously tighten around your drink.

It opens slowly, and he holds his breath as he prepares himself to see your face once again. No doubt you'd be pissed - his lips twitched just the slightest bit as he imagined you standing on the other side of the door with one of his knives or something - prepared to pounce.

The hopeful gleam in his eyes is killed within an instant when he sees your red eyes and puffy cheeks - lash line wet with tears as you grip the door handle.

His eyes widen - and he takes one long stride forward to catch you in his arms the moment your lip trembles.

He eases you inside, muffling things you don't understand into your scalp as you sob - heartbroken cries sound through the air as he hurriedly rubs your back - cradling the back of your head as he tries to get you to look at him

"Hey...hey now. I'm here right? Look at me y/n." He whispers, his fingers grazing your chin as he gently tilted it upwards so you were peering up at him - and a small, tucked away part of him absolutely shatters from the look on your face

"I hate you sometimes. So much - " You say - your voice a whisper as he quietly wraps his arms around you, bringing you to the small couch in your living room to lay down on - the same couch you and Dabi have spent countless nights watching horror movies with each other on

"I'm sorry." He whispers, moving his fingers through your hair as a way to comfort you as your small cries continue. He feels helpless - and so stupid. He made you feel like this - he truly deserved nothing.

"I hate you-" you say again, voice rising just the slightest bit as you lift your head from his chest, screwing your eyes shut in hurt

"I hate that you always leave me worrying - how you don't talk to me when you're feeling down and how you always leave me wondering whether you're ok or not - and - and I hate how you treat your life like it's worth nothing! Do you know how much that hurts?" You finally cry, fisting his shirt in your hands as you let out a broken sob

You want to slap him - yell and scream and maybe even take him up on that offer of giving him a few hits with a bat

But you can't. Not when you were so relieved to see his face again - not when your sadness overpowered your rage like a tidal wave.

He's silent - his hands still threading through the strands of your hair as you relax into his body, ease taking over your brain as the thundering storm in your heart finally calms - it was hard talking to Dabi - it was even harder to communicate your feelings.

But the sound of his thumping heartbeat under the palm of your hand shows you that he hears you - he's listening and he's understanding and he's trying. Trying to be better for you.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, with him splayed on the couch with you hugging him like a baby koala holding onto it's mother - desperate and scared.

"Y/n." He finally rasps, breaking the silence as you lift your cheek from his chest to meet his eyes

He's crying.

You blink in confusion - then in frustration

"Stop - please stop. You'll hurt yourself." you whisper, and he can't help the bittersweet smile that stretches across his lips

"You should stop worrying about me so much. You can't get rid of me that easily." he says, slowly dragging his knuckles down your cheek as you lean into his touch with a frown

"You know I can't stop."

He covers his eyes with the back of his hand for a second, wiping away the blood that trickled down his cheek

"I don't deserve you."

His words reach your ears - a broken whisper as he avoids your gaze, the back of his hand is still pressed against his eyes and preventing you from seeing his face

"Stop it. Dabi - "

"I know. I know - just - I'm trying. I know I'm not perfect, but I swear I'll be better. You know I'll try - I don't wanna see you crying like this again." He finishes, and you slowly press your face back up against his chest - feeling the gentle drum of his heartbeat as its erratic thumping slowed to something more calm.

"Ok." You whisper

He shifts, laying on his side to look at you as he sighs. His eyes were glossy - and the sight tugged at your heart strings

"Your hot chocolates probably all cold by now." He mumbles, brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek before moving them down to trace your lips

You smile just the slightest bit - and the sight has his eyes softening

"That's ok. I don't care about that right now." You whisper - finally moving your hand forward to cradle his face. He watched you closely as you swiped away the stray bit of blood trickling down his face

"You'll stay the night, right?" You whisper - and you hate how meek your voice sounds as you ask

He moves closer, intertwining his hands with yours and huffing out a short breath of laughter

"What the hell do you think, sweetheart?"

Smiling, you poke his cheek with your knuckle

"Warm up my drink for me?" You ask with a pout, grinning when he lets out an annoyed groan. Nonetheless, he gets up after pressing a kiss onto your cheek

"Thought you didn't care about it anymore?" He calls from the kitchen

You don't respond. Instead - you sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you stuff your face into the large expanse of his back. He pokes your side as you smile, reaching your hand out to pick up a single cherry from your hot chocolate

"Open up!"

He does as you say, sticking his tongue out with a playful gleam in his eyes as you place the fruit on his tongue - he chews slowly, holding your gaze intensely and smirking as he swallows

He picks up the second cherry - your cherry - and places it in his mouth.

"Hey!" You argue with a laugh - but he's leaning forward and enveloping you in a passionate kiss - pushing the cherry from his lips forward and into your mouth

You pull away with a laugh, seeing his cherry smudged lips only made you laugh harder

"You know I actually paid for this overpriced hot chocolate crap, right? Could've stolen it, but I felt like you'd have throw a fit over it." He says, turning away to open the microwave and take out your drink as he takes an experimental sip - confirming it was hot enough before turning to you with a grin

"I get a sip right?" He asks, smugly bringing the cup back up to his lips as his tongue grazes the rim - he's obviously trying to get a reaction out of you.

"You'll swallow it all in one gulp like the ass you are." You tease - and he laughs

"Uh huh. I love you too."

—FLOWERS FOR YOU.

kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

+ angst and fluff, childhood friends to lovers (guess how it ends lmao)

other tags: tiniest bit suggestive (idk im bad at these), small cases, not entirely canon

word count: 9.5k

note: came back from writing after a good 3 years. this is NOT proofread and was written within 6 hours so it's just word vomit TT

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS

you love receiving flowers.

at first, you thought it was a such a waste of money. this thought rooted from the fact that you're not from a wealthy family. you weren't poor either. middle class, they would say.

you just turned 8 years old when you realized money doesn't grow on trees. when your parents bought you cake, but when your classmates had their birthdays, they would throw princess parties— cake, flowers, toys, and all.

you didn't want to sound ungrateful, so with a smile, you blew the candles and thanked your parents as they hugged you. regardless, you were grateful with what they can give you.

kuroo was the first one to give you flowers— or should you say, a flower. it wasn't a bouquet, but it was, in fact, a flower.

you both just met at a playground. his family just moved in the neighbourhood yesterday, and thanks to the soft chatters of your mom's neighbour friends, you heard he's the same age as you. the shy person you were, you sneaked out of your house to play in hopes you'd meet him there. (you had no idea what he looked like or what his name was.)

you were on the swings. you've been waiting for a solid hour. at 4:30pm, your parents would have realized you weren't in your room. it was almost dark out and dinner would be ready. at 4:50pm, you decided maybe he has no interest in playing at the park. you were about to get up when a boy with spikey black hair came running towards you. you took a few cautious steps back before he could reach you while you also noticed the rose in his hand.

"hi! im tetsurou!" he exclaimed, attempting to hide the rose behind him. he sure can't hide things, you thought.

"i just moved here," he swiveled his body just to point where his house was. "it's that one with the white roof!"

although you already knew which house he moved to, you were trying you're best to look for it from where you stood. he was much taller than you for someone of the same age.

distracted, the rose that he tried his best to hide from you earlier was now right in front of your small face.

"a rose for you!" he said as he smiled so brightly you almost squinted. hesitant and confused, you took the rose from him anyway.

"y/n," you muttered.

"i saw a rose on the way here and thought maybe i could give it to someone," he explained. "you're the only one here so maybe it's destiny!"

a small smile formed on your lips, fidgeting the rose's torns. maybe it is destiny to wait for you for that long. you're careful not to prick yourself.

you played together for a while because at 5:00pm, the sun was already setting and you thought receiving flowers wasn't so bad after all.

since then, you and tetsurou were inseperable.

tetsurou gave you another flower shortly after that. he had surprised you with a small makeshift bouquet with three roses wrapped in colored paper.

unlike last time with smiles and bright energy, he gave it to you in a sheepingly manner while muttering a "happy birthday". he added that he kept a silent promise to himself that'd he'd get you at least two flowers, better than last time.

you smiled, your smile reaching your eyes. he was so proud of himself from your reaction. you also noticed the torns were scrapped off. this made your heart swell even more with joy.

"where have you been getting this though?"

he scratched the back of his head, "you know that garden next to—"

"i knew it!" you laughed. you told him to stop stealing your poor neighbour's garden of roses before he gets caught. that lady had the nastiest attitude, you warned. all he did was pout.

a month later, tetsuro got caught stealing roses from your neighbour's garden, and he never attempted to steal the roses ever again. that lady has a nasty attitude, he went to you right after he was scolded by your parents. you shook your head, trying your best not to laugh and tell him "i told you so."

after that mishap, he decided he'd get creative instead. so the next time he gave you flowers, it was purely made out of colored paper. the kuroo tetsuro, at 9 years old, did arts and crafts all on his own and at his own will at that. it took him a whole month just to finish 12 paper flowers.

"why do you keep giving me flowers?"

"i like you, silly."

at 9 years old, you realized you loved receiving flowers.

if the paper flowers wasn't creative enough, tetsuro had given you flowers made out of all sorts of things: crepe paper, post-it notes, clay, satin ribbons, pipe cleaners, book papers (don't worry, not out of his text books), and so much more. all of them were so beautiful.

at 10 years old, he gave you a bouquet of flowers made out of crochet yarn. he even told you it took him months to learn how to crochet, master it, and finish the entire thing. little did he know, whenever you visit his house, you could see the crochet yarns, results of failed attempts of crochet flowers, and crochet tools hidden away in one of his cabinets slightly ajar. he sure can't hide things, you chuckled to yourself.

flowers of all types made out of all kinds of materials were given to you and all of them you happily received from tetsuro. until at 15 years old, when he had saved enough money for all the years he had given you diy flowers, he surprised you with a bouquet mixed of all types of real flowers after your first day of high school. this is why you can't seem to have a favourite flower, he noticed that too.

"you sure you don't have a favorite flower?" he asked again.

"i'm really coming out blank," you were carrying yet another bouquet of flowers and crochet coin purse he made, walking home together after his volleyball training. "i love all of them the same."

"how about me?" he teased.

you giggled, "but you already know that i love you!"

"we'll make it official someday," he promised.

you nodded, contented. i may not have a favourite flower, but "just because" flowers from you are always the best.

after the both of you turned 17, you two made your relationship official, deciding why wait when both of you were certain you have the rest of your lives to love each other plus bragging rights for that.

on his last year as nekoma's captain and middle blocker, you watched from the sidelines how nekoma lost against karasuno, concluding his last game in high school.

at 18, you gave him a bouquet of flowers of red roses wrapped in mixtures of black, red, and white cellophane. touched, he cried yet again in your arms. kenma and his other teammates watching the two of you from a far, smiling with tears in their eyes waiting to spill.

at 19, you both got accepted to your dream universities. you also got accepted at a cafe for a part time job, whereas tetsurou got accepted in his university's volleyball team. all is well.

on your 3rd anniversary, you both celebrated at an art cafe museum, he had given you a promise ring (soon to be engagement ring, he teased), a handwritten letter, and of course, a bouquet of flowers.

three down, a lifetime to go, part of the letter says. the whole night you both expressed just how in love you were with each other. you actually saw the shreds of the receipt of the ring he purchased under your shared bed. he still can't hide things, you giggled.

at 21, when both of graduated uni with flying colors and when he decided to go pro, things started to change.

when the flowers you would receive weren't personally given from tetsuro in the flesh, and instead, they were delivered at your office or at your shared home. when the "just because" flowers turned into "i"m sorry" flowers— "i'm sorry i was late last time" flowers, "i'm sorry im not at home nowadays" flowers, "i'm sorry i can't update as much", "i'm sorry i can't make it" flowers.

it all became too much.

you were starring at the engagement ring on your finger, one of tetsurou's 5th anniversary surprise, when the doorbell rang. you dragged your feet to the front door, already know what to expect.

by the 10th flowers you received via delivery, you stopped counting. sometimes when tetsuro disappointed or upset you, he would either facetime you, give you flowers, or in rare times, he would be radio silent— not a single text or message or call. because how can he notice you were slowly fading away when he was so busy all the goddamn time?

this cycle repeated over and over again for 2 years. you can tell he tries so hard to keep communicating with you. he loves you that much.

it was 4:50pm, the sun was almost setting and you were in your car waiting for him at the airport. his team was miraculously given a month off to rest from the constant training and leagues. he kissed you as soon as he got inside, putting his things at the back seat. he handed you a single rose made out of paper which was colored with, as you can tell, a red marker.

this was the first time in 24 years that he gave you a lone flower instead of a bouquet.

"i bought you a lot of things! i remembered you mentioning them!" he beemed.

before you could say "you didn't have to" he pecked your lips, wiggling a finger at you. "i missed you, let me you love you just how i have been doing for the past 24 years."

so for a month, he did. he made it up to you so well, showering you with kisses the moment you wake up and the moment you fall asleep, making love to you in every part of the house, telling you stories and becoming such a loser in love when he expresses how much he loves you all the while rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand, or you being wrapped up in his arms. not a single milimeter of space between the two of you. most of the time, he would do everything, from cooking to cleaning.

when you would eat out together, he would always give you the princess treatment. you barely lifted a finger during the whole month of his stay.

on his last day before he had to leave for overseas again, you wondered when will you ever get married.

and so when he made love to you that night, when he kissed you goodbye, when he texted again that they just landed, you had a sickening feeling in your gut.

for a few weeks, everything was fine until he gradually became radio silent again. this time, he rarely delivered flowers, or called, or texted. this time, he was mostly a ghost.

the first message from him and flowers via delivery was given to you a day late on your birthday, and that's where you decided you just can't do this anymore.

you prolonged it for weeks, even after he said he won't be having any oversea activities for a while. it just wasn't the same anymore. he was still never home.

"i love you," he said out of the blue, his eyes downcasted. all these years, he's still bad at hiding things from you.

"i love you, tetsurou," he turned his head to look at you, dreading what you would say next, "but i think we should break up."

he tried, you both tried, but it just didn't work anymore. maybe it was destiny to wait for you for so long— but that doesn't mean it works. for 24 years you loved each other so much— but that doesn't mean it works.

after crying in each other's arms, he let you go.

you had the rest of your lives to love each other but only difference is now, it's from afar.

a year and a half after a break up, you were sitting at a cafe, waiting for the blind date your friend at work set up for you. kenma was against the whole idea, but he realized you had the right to move on from kuroo. you and kuroo both did. the two of you were his best friends after all. it was just sad how he had to see both of you barely functioning after the break up, all the while doing his best not to talk to you or kuroo about each other.

so when a boy with dark brown hair went inside, quickly approaching you, you thought this was a bad idea.

"are you y/n?"

you nodded slowly, eyeing what he was holding. your heart was in your throat.

his eyes shone, handing you the bouquet— yellow daffodils and red roses.

at that moment you thought:

you hate receiving flowers.

general masterlist | haikyuu masterlist

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS. feedbacks, comments, and rbs are appreciated!

undercurrents | signal no. 17

masterlist

"i’m alisa. i was kuroo’s partner for his project."

you freeze. this is her. the girl from the date. your heart sinks as you picture them together, imagining all the worst possibilities.

did he leave his phone? why was she the one who picked up the call? is he still there? your mind begins to spiral, creating scenarios you can't control, each more painful than the last.

"oh," you manage to say, struggling to keep your voice steady. your throat feels tight, and your words come out slower than usual. "can i ask for kuroo?"

"uh, actually, kuroo left his phone here with me," she replies, "it’s a good thing you called - i couldn't open his phone on my own because it's password protected. i was thinking how to get it back to him. im at my place right now."

her place. your thoughts race, filling in the blanks with every worst-case scenario.

what does this mean? what the hell is happening? and what happened before this? and how could kuroo possibly accidentally leave his phone with her? the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to breathe.

"i can let his friends know," you force out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. "they can come get it from you."

alisa agrees without hesitation, without ending the call, you quickly message the others, your fingers trembling slightly as you type.

after alisa says yes to the arrangement, you both settle to the conclusion that she'll call you back when she's arrived at the campus lobby where bo would be meeting her.

you sit in silence after the call ends, staring at your phone, thoughts swirling in your head. the quiet of your room seems louder now, every second stretching longer than it should.

where is kuroo right now? since she picked up the call at her place, was kuroo there before he left his phone? if they did, what did they do? does this mean he was that interested in her?

you try to shake off the uneasy thoughts, but they linger. you tell yourself not to jump to conclusions, but that’s easier said than done. your mind can’t help but imagine things of what might’ve happened after their date. it’s a battle between rationality and your emotions, and right now, the latter is winning.

then, your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. kuroo's name appear on the caller id, and you assume it's alisa calling back, just as she promised.

“hello?” you answer, your voice a bit shaky but still composed.

“hey, i’m in the campus lobby,” alisa says. “bokuto isn’t here yet, but i’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

“thanks for letting me know.”

the silence stretches for a moment. it feels awkward, hanging between the two of you, and you can’t help but feel like you should say something - anything - to fill the void.

you fidget with your fingers, unsure of what to talk about. after all, you barely know this girl, and under any other circumstances, you wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

alisa breaks the silence first. “so... are you and kuroo close?”

her question catches you off guard. “uh, yeah, i guess you could say that. we’ve known each other for a while.”

“that’s nice!" alisa replies, her tone friendly. “he’s been super focused on this project. it’s kept him really busy, huh?”

you nod again, though the weight of her words makes your chest feel tight. “yeah, he’s been juggling a lot.”

the conversation stalls again, leaving you with your thoughts. you’ve known kuroo’s been busy, but hearing it from her, someone who's been spending that time with him, feels like a punch in the gut. you hesitate before asking, “where is he, by the way?”

“oh, he didn’t say,” alisa responds casually. “he just told me he had to go and left. i noticed his phone when he was gone already, and i was going to chase after him but it was too late...”

you thought nothing suspicious about her answer, but nothing that assured you that nothing happened between them. the quiet between you both stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, and you find yourself scrambling for something else - anything - to fill the silence.

“how’s the project been for you guys?” you ask, trying to make small talk.

“oh, it went really well!” she says brightly. “we worked hard, but it all paid off. i think kuroo was really happy with how it turned out.”

you try to smile at her words, but your curiosity is eating away at you. you feel the urge to ask more, even though a part of you is scared of what the answers might be.

your thoughts drift back to earlier, to the idea of them spending time together after their date, and your stomach knots with unease. but you have to know, even if the answer hurts.

desperate to distract yourself from the silence and your spiraling thoughts, you finally blurt out, “so... did you guys have a good time?”

it feels like a casual question, but the weight behind it is unmistakable to you.

alisa chuckles softly, "oh, it was nice. he’s really sweet, isn’t he?"

you force a smile, even though she can’t see it. the words feel like a punch to the gut, as if someone else is confirming how amazing kuroo is. "yeah, he is."

there’s a brief pause, and the silence returns uncomfortably. your mind is racing as you struggle to keep the conversation going.

"i’m glad you were with him while he was so busy. as i said earlier, he seems to take on a lot by himself." you say, trying to fill the void, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

"he really does," alisa agrees, her voice light, as if she’s completely unaware of the storm raging inside you. "we ended up spending a lot of time together because of it. it’s been fun. and he really knows how to make you feel at ease, doesn’t he?"

the words twist in your gut, and you have to bite your lip to keep from letting out a sound of distress. you know exactly what she means. you’ve felt it too; the way kuroo can make you feel seen and heard.

and now, to hear someone else describe it, to know that she experienced it too, feels like a betrayal, even though you know it’s not.

"yeah," you manage to say. "he’s always been good at that."

the conversation drags on, each passing moment feeling like a slow unraveling of everything you thought you knew. your heart sinks deeper, weighed down by the uncertainty, the fear that maybe you’re too late. the realization that someone else has shared in those moments with him, that she knows things about him you might never know, is almost too much to bear.

"i’m happy you guys enjoyed your date," you say, trying to sound normal, but there’s a slight tremor in your voice.

alisa laughs again, this time with more amusement. "he told you it was a date too, huh?"

you blink, caught off guard by her response. "wasn’t it?"

"no, not really," alisa explains, her tone light as if it’s no big deal. "i just asked him out to coffee because of the success of our project, nothing more. he thought it was a date until he thanked me and mentioned it. so i cleared things up."

you don’t know what to say, the relief washing over you in waves, but mingling with confusion. before you can ask what happened after, alisa interrupts.

"oh, bokuto’s here," she says, her tone signaling the end of the conversation. "i’ll give him the phone. thanks a lot,"

"okay," you reply, still dazed, your mind racing with all the things you didn’t get to say or ask. bo takes the phone and tells you everything’s good, but his words barely register. you nod, barely listening, too caught up in your own thoughts.

you’re left with a thousand questions, but no answers. you want to know more, to ask her what happened next, but you guess you won’t get to know anymore.

did they talk about you? was kuroo relieved when she clarified it wasn’t a date, or was he disappointed? the uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you with nothing but doubts.

all of a sudden, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. your heart jumps into your throat. you hesitate, then get up to answer it. you bid bo goodbye on the other line and end the call as you approach closer.

maybe it was one of your roommates checking up on your or asking for an update about what has happened. you wondered who it might be as you opened the door.

and there he was.

kuroo, breathless and panting, his hair slightly disheveled as if he ran the whole way. his eyes lock onto yours, wide with urgency.

"kuroo," you begin, confused. "what are you doing-"

"i want you, y/n."

notes

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

next signal will be LOADED also bc we will see kuroo's pov !!

idk if this was a long update or not (than usual) but yeah

i had to edit this a lot of times bc i had to make sure that everything would be laid out well

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ Rainy Days

CONTENT: it's just you and your boyfriend Kuroo Tetsurou on a rainy day.

WARNINGS: fluff, GN reader, smitten Kuroo, reader hated rainy days, college AU, they both live in the same apartment, lowkey corny, OOC.

author's note: HI! this is my first post on this account, im not good at writing but I do hope you enjoy! ^_^

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

You have always despised rainy days, but your boyfriend? He was the complete opposite. He loves it when it rains, especially on weekends. Whenever it rains and he has practice, he usually comes back home drenched in rain. She doesn't particularly mind, despite the fact that he ends up having fever.

Today was a dreary day, indicating rainfall. You groaned in frustration as it was supposed to be a good day today. You were expecting to go on a date with your boyfriend at a local cafe that has recently opened. Sadly, those expectations were broken down once it started dripping. As the both of you went home, you seemed dejected since you were really looking forward to heading over to that local cafe.

"Why the gloomy look baby? are you okay?" A low pitched voice stops you from getting farther into your headspace.

"Yeah I'm okay." You can't just hide how you actually feel, but being upset over a rainy day because you can't go and head over to a cafe for a date when you could literally just go the next day? You feel stupid.

"Don't hide how you feel. I can obviously tell that something is on your mind. Now tell me, what's wrong?" His voice was tender and gentle towards you, reassuring you that he was there to listen to you.

You hesitate for a few seconds then finally respond to him. "The rain ruined our date today, and I was really looking forward to it. Especially since that cafe has just recently opened.. Including the fact that I've heard that their pastries and coffee's are amazing!" You ranted out towards him with sincerity in your voice.

He looks at you for a moment then his face immediately softens. "Baby, we can just have a date at home. And, we can make good food just like the food and coffee in the cafe. Plus, it's just the both of us. So cheer up okay?" he plants a kiss on your cheek, and your entire mood changes within seconds.

The moment the both of you got home, you had both changed into better clothing and started to brew up your own coffee and bake some delicious pastries. In the process of baking, the both of you messed up the batter since he couldn't stop laughing at the way the batter sort of splashed everywhere while using the mixer. They had both shared laughter and joy together while baking. In the end, it turned out.. decent.. I guess? they both gagged.

After all that has passed, night has fallen upon the day. Currently, it was still raining. Both bodies sprawled onto the couch, her body hugging his while their attention was on the TV in front of them since they were binge watching their favorite shows that they have both shared interest in. The notebook

He turned his attention to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek which caught her attention. "mm? What is it Tetsu?" you giggled.

"Jus' wanted my beautiful lovely partner's attention." he muttered out, purely toned with love and adoration towards you.

You returned back the kiss on his lips, pulling away a few moments later. Your lips had a lingering feel on his, he felt butterflies in his stomach. Sure, it isn't the first time you have kissed, but he was always smiling and looking at you with the most smitten and lovey eyes you could imagine. You never fail to make him fall in love with you again and again.

"I know you don't like rainy days, but this was my favorite day." he proudly says while nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

And there, you realize. maybe,

rainy days aren't so bad after all...

when its with him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

© @cupidsfavors — DO NOT COPY OR REPOST. Reblogs are appreciated!

mornings (birthday special)

a/n: i legit sat down and spent a whole day to pull this one out of my ass. i just wish i could post this earlier. if i fail my exams, i swear-- quoting sei: "i'm the reason why i'm stressed." (btw this is not the soft spot fic just something for tsukki's birthday.)

---

tsukishima remembers akaashi mentioning that the dullest way to start a story is a character waking up to the sun shining.

"it's so overused, and there's nothing hooking the readers. writers really need to up their game..." akaashi had complained, something really rare. guess the stress can really get to people sometimes.

tsukishima cracks his eyes open and sees your figure, though blurry, sleeping peacefully beside him the first thing in the morning, with the sunlight spilling onto the bed and adorning your face. it's so ethereal yet fragile, this moment; maybe this is what the writers were trying to capture.

tsukishima can't remember when the last time he woke up before you was. he's used to seeing your eyes gaze up at him and hearing your giggle when his meets yours. "good morning" will be softly whispered follow by a light kiss on the cheek.

he knows that he might wake you, but kei still entangles his legs with yours and shifts closer to wrap his arm around you. he presses his lips against the the crown of your head, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of the shampoo you always use.

adulthood is never easy, especially if you have to juggle both a museum job and a volleyball career. tsukishima loves what he does, seriously, but sometimes it gets exhausting. it's running errands, running on court, and repeat. emails. blocking. artifacts. spiking. records. training--

kei finally catches a breath when he sees you at home at the end of the day, wearing one of his shirts and half asleep on the couch, waiting for him to return. it hits him that he's never going to be alone for the rest of his life, and that alone somehow comforts him.

you stir awake. his arm around your waist tightens. he feels your hand coming up to the nape of his neck, running through the strands of blonde hair. it feels good.

"morning, kei." he responds with a hum and another kiss to your head.

you pull away and he groans, but shuts up when you kiss him on the lips. it's long and lazy, he loves it.

"happy birthday, beanpole." oh right, it's the twenty-seventh.

"thank you."

"you're getting old." you say and stifle a laugh. he clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. "that just means i'm wiser than you."

he pulls you in again. comfortable silence settles, with the occasional sounds of the busy world outside. he could stay like this.

after a while, you tap his arm, sitting up.

"we should get ready. we're meeting tadashi and the others, remember?"

"do we have to?"

"obviously."

just when you are about to leave the bed, he catches onto your hand and kisses the back of it.

"you owe me strawberry shortcake later." you both know he'll end up paying anyways, and you'll bicker about it like an old couple.

"okay, you big baby."

tsukishima smiles.

“I’ve just had a thought.”

Kei looks up from his phone, eyes drooping, the hour you’ve spent lounging on the couch rendering him immune to the fact that his neck is bent at a disastrous angle against the armrest. It has you pulling him forward, taking the pillow from under your neck to stuff under his, but it’s a fine trade. Now you can lay against the warmth of his chest and settle into what Kei calls the pre-nap—or, what he used to call it, back when he was still too embarrassed to simply say that he wanted cuddles.

“Woah, careful there," he can't pass up the opportunity to start with. Then, "Good kind or bad kind?”

You hum. “Sickeningly domestic kind.”

“So… good,” he decides after a beat, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Those long, gentle fingers you love slide into your hair, and it’s a wonder how they always sate an itch that only manifests itself mere seconds before the touch, just so they can be rubbed away by him and him alone; suspiciously wizard-like. “It’s not like I’m opposed to any of that. Since it’s you.”

Aww.

“Honeycakes—” you coo obnoxiously, disguising his name in the endearment, which gets you exactly what you'd expect—the full moon's circumference of his palm eclipsing your vision, his grip light as he smushes your face around for a while, unable to rid himself of the urge. When he lets go a minute later, you share a look of mirrored contentment, all stupid smiles and rolling eyes, before you settle your ear over his heart and he resumes massaging your scalp.

Whatever video he was watching drones on in the meantime. Something about a supermoon coming up and dropping temperatures… Partly rainy with a high of seventy-three degrees and a low of sixty-eight degrees and—wow, he really got sucked into watching the weather channel... But it’s quiet enough to tune out against the steady drum in his ribs, so you both leave it be.

“Your idea, baby.”

“Oh, right. So I was thinking—y’know, when we start buying stuff for the house…”

“Mmhm?”

“For utensils, what if we found the same forks you grew up using, and the same spoons I had, so that our future kid'll have pieces of both of our childhoods already built into theirs? Our own little mismatched set.” "You're right..." It's quiet for a moment. Then Kei blows out a breath, his mind positively sunnier with the image. “That is sickeningly domestic.”

You open your mouth to defend the idea—because it is a good idea, notes-app worthy, even—when he tacks on, “I’m not saying no. God, you’re just so cute sometimes...” the words followed up by him pulling on your cheek. “Is that why you kept hovering by the drawer when we visited my mom? ‘What if’ my ass. You already found them on google, didn't you?”

Your laugh gives you away. He’s right—they’re in your amazon shopping cart as you speak, just waiting on his two cents.

“What about chopsticks, then? And knives. And spatulas.”

Spatulas?

Kei only shrugs in response.

“The rest can be new. I don’t want all of it to be us holding onto old things,” you pause. “But my star curtains are non-negotiable.”

“They have holes.”

“Those are the cutouts! And you even said they were pretty when the light’s seeping through them.”

“Okay, yes, they are pretty," he relents, setting his glasses down by his phone. Silencing the weather report with a slide of his thumb. “But furnishings aside, we’d still be missing one thing…”

“Tsukishima Kei, I know exactly what you’re gonna say…” You find yourself being rolled onto your back, his pupils pushing the golden-brown of his irises to the outer rims as they dilate. “And the answer is no.”

“What?” Kei smirks, almost sing-songy as he trails kisses down your collar. He’s not actually gunning for that part of your life together yet. Key word—yet. You’d both agreed to preserve the first year of your marriage for just the two of you. Figuring out the ins and outs of buying a house together and all the legalities that came with it had been hard enough on its own.

Everything after your one-year anniversary, though, is completely fair game.

“You’re the one who brought up a little Tsukishima…”

Blind Date with Tsukishima

Blind Date - Tsukishima x Reader

“And it’s going to be a Blind Date,” Hitoka points out. “I’m not telling you who it is. But he’ll wear a red scarf.”

“A red scarf,” you nod. “Gotcha.”

She squints at you. “You don’t wanna know more?”

“No, I’m fine.” You sigh. “Better to go in blind, right? Not like swiping on Tinder did me any good.”

She laughs heartily. “You’re too much in your head. You’re just like me! But he’ll be nice. Ah, well… he’ll be nice for you.”

It’s your turn to squint. “He’s not that nice to others?”

“He is!” She reassures you, already panicking. “I’d never say anything bad about him, he’s my friend. But he can be a bit brash at first if he doesn’t know or trust you. But he’s always respectful to authorities, I know that’s important to you.”

“Well,” you sniff before sighing. “I am too single to complain about that. Blind Date it is.”

-x-

“A Blind Date,” Kei repeats, dragging the words. “How old are you?”

Hitoka pouts. “It’s a cute idea!”

“Sure, for her. But you could tell me who it is.”

“But where’s the fun in that? Tadashi, back me up!”

“Tsukki-”

“No,” Kei shakes his head. “Don’t bother. I’m going to go along with it because you asked so nicely, but only this one time, okay? And don’t remind me that I’ve been single for too long, I know. Shush!” His hand snaps up just in time to cut off Kanji who’d just opened his mouth.

Kanji pouts but falls back again, throwing his arm around Hitoka for support.

“What is she going to wear?” Kei asks Hitoka. “A red scarf too?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “She’s got a big red hair clip that’s shaped like a flower. A Gerbera.”

“Oh, is that the exotic one?” Kanji asks, perking up.

“No, you mean Hibiscus,” Kentarou drawls before taking a sip of his beer. He rolls his eyes at the sudden attention. “What? Everyone knows those flowers.”

“Sure,” Kei drawls back, finding at least a little reprieve in the angry glare he gets in response.

-x-

Hitoka has a lot of friends, you realize, as you stalk her Instagram account.

But she’s very good at tagging all of them, be it work friends, old high school friends or all those other people she knows from dating a Volleyball Player.

You scroll back all the way to her first post in High School and come up with only three people wearing a red scarf around her.

Sure, that means nothing in the long run, but one of those people is a girl, and the other two are Asahi Azumane the Fashion Designer and someone called Tsukishima Kei, Volley Player.

It doesn’t take long to figure out that Azumane is happily married, the red scarf now tied around his wife’s neck. What a shame. He’d have been cute.

Tsukishima’s Instagram Account is private and you’re not going to embarrass yourself by sending him a follower request.

Koganegawa Kanji’s account, however, is public and he posts a lot.

From Selfies at work, Tsukishima glaring at him in the background to Group Photos at the Isekaya they seem to visit regularly, everything is there.

It doesn’t take long to find a messy video of the Gang, Tsukishima and someone with a haircut resembling a Tennisball engaged in the laziest catfight you’ve ever seen or heard.

Tennisballhead’s insults are not for the soft but Tsukishima draws back just as effectively.

So… you could be mistaken, but you’re pretty sure Tsukishima is going to be your not so blind Blind Date.

-x-

He doesn’t want to know, really. But then again, a bit of research doesn’t hurt, right?

Hitoka has only five girlfriends that she regularly mentions and posts on social media.

Two of them are taken, one is going through a complicated breakup at the moment as far as he’s aware, and the other two… 

There is no Gerbera hair clip in sight. Not even a hair clip with a different flower, though he doesn’t think Hitoka would mess up something that simple.

It’s two days until the Date and he finds himself scrolling through both of their Instagrams, looking for clues, pretending he isn’t interested at all

And maybe he wouldn’t have figured it out if not for Kanji’s big mouth.

-x-

The Diner’s nice, decorated in a western style.

You start salivating just at the thought of a milkshake with fries but busy yourself with the menu instead, sipping slowly from the glass of water you’d ordered.

You’re early, the result of a surprising eagerness to meet your blind date.

Someone brushes past you and you can feel it - the giant red hair clip snagging on something. You can feel the break before you hear it, watch helplessly as the fake Gerbera adorning the clip tumbles to the floor, only to be crushed under someone’s eager foot.

Your hair now flows freely around your face, a welcome shield from the outside world as you fight against the sting of tears.

It’s nothing big, the hair clip not even of sentimental value, but you can’t help but see a sign in it.

-

Tsukishima Kei is fifteen minutes late. 

You stare at Hitoka’s message on your phone, the innocent question of whether you made it to the Diner just fine. No sign that she knows he’s not showing.

Maybe he got held up at work? Does that happen to Volleyball Players?

“Have you decided yet?” Your server appears next to your table, chewing bubble gum and grinning.

Surely you’re imagining the smug curve of her smile.

“Just a minute,” you ask. “I’m waiting on someone.”

“Oh honey,” she drawls out with enough satisfaction to leave no doubt she’s enjoying this. “He’s not showing. Just accept it.”

“I-”

“Are we paying for that roast on the side or is that on the house?” A deep voice asks to your left and you both turn, surprised.

Tsukishima’s there, in the flesh, out of breath, and beads of sweat glistening on the bow of his lip. He looks like he ran here and you’re ready to believe it, no more evidence needed. 

“I’m sorry Honey,” he tells you with a voice so sweet you can only call it passive-aggressive. “The train got delayed and my phone was empty. Never letting Kanji play games on it to pass the time.”

“You’re forgiven,” you tell him simply, sending a pointed glare toward your server.

She catches herself, shuffling away with an apology but that’s too little too late. You know you won’t be tipping too well tonight.

Tsukishima slips into his seat, pulling the red scarf from his neck.

“I thought you were supposed to wear a hair clip?”

“I thought you were supposed to be on time?”

He smiles, clearly enjoying that you dare to fight back.

“Missed my train. Running over was faster than waiting for the next.”

“Mhm,” you eye him. “You sure you didn’t just want to show off your stamina?”

“Maybe?” He grins. “What about the hair clip?”

“It got crushed under careless feet,” you admit, trying not to feel sorry for yourself.

“Good,” he comments. “You won’t need it any longer.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, a little perplexed. 

A blush, as red as the Gerbera mentioned, rises onto his cheeks.

“No more blind dates?” He offers and you smile. “We’ll see about that.” 

- Bonus -

“How did you know it was me?” You ask, your joined hands swinging in between your bodies.

His cheeks are flushed from the cold, the wine and no doubt your attention as well.

“Kanji… Hitoka’s boyfriend. He mentioned your favorite food.”

“And?” You blink, surprised that this might have led him to you.

“I might have been stalking Hitoka’s Instagram. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, you wear that red scarf a lot. Just saying.”

“You knew it was me?”

You shrug, unable to keep from smiling proudly. “Had a hunch.”

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