#Kuroo

[hunnismokah]

KUROO I LOVE YOU KUROOOOO 😖

[oxytxn]

KUROO is good at many things…

but the way his fingers are knuckle deep inside, curling them just right against your sweet spot, might be your favorite.

“tetsu—” you whine, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in the study room he’s “tutoring” you in for biochemistry.

“c’mon, baby, if ya get this one right, i’ll add another finger,” he purrs in your ear, “maybe even touch your clit a little too.”

with furrowed brows and the most amount of concentration you’ve ever put toward something, you begin writing—and struggle. he murmurs a little “mhm” and “there you go” as your thighs begin to shake around his hand.

“you miscounted your carbons, go on back and rework that last step.”

you hastily erase the last thing you did and do it over, wanting this teasing to end. you feel that tightness in the pit of your tummy, and kuroo can feel you tightening around him. he pulls out his fingers, clicking his tongue in faux disappointment. “no coming until you get this, pretty.”

so when you finally finish the question correctly, he knows just how to celebrate it. with three fingers and a thumb to your twitching clit, he enjoys how you crumple the paper you just wrote on because you’re holding onto the table as you make the prettiest mess on his hand.

and when you ace your exam, you know you just have to keep going back for more help—you have to keep your grade up!

best. tutor. ever. ᢉ𐭩

to my newest kuroo self shippers: @bakery-anon & @tiredafbruh >:)

masterlist.

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©oxytxn 2025.

[hinata-boke]

bullying him

[wordsofelie]

chapter 2 will probably come this weekend !!

Chapter 1

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

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

黒 (black) — 白 (white)

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

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

Words count: 4.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did your dog die?”

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

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

“Well, you do look desperate, Nana.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He turned all red.”

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

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

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

Natsumi chuckles at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On a libero, you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am. Nice to meet you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“You basically glowered at him.”

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

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

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

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

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

She takes her wrist and leads her to the set.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heyaaa! More meat is coming.”

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

When Kuroo turns back, Natsumi is out of sight.

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

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

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

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

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

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

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

“Which one is it right now?”

“Both.”

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

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

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

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

“Guess some things never change.”

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

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

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

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

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

She sighs softly and stubs out her cigarette.

“Did they drink a lot?”

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

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

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

“Tell Motoya I went back home because-”

“You missed your dog.”

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

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

“Hi baby, I missed you.”

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

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

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

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

taglist: @ayatakanosstuff @megapteraurelia @tsukisangel

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

[kuroosdarling]

you always knew your boyfriend was attractive and yet, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight you saw when you came home.

kuroo was fast asleep on the bed, taking one of his rare afternoon naps after work. you had gotten home a little later than usual and coming back to this sight was nothing short of heavenly.

kuroo laid on the bed, shirtless, with the blanket covering his lower back and onwards. his back muscles were on full display, subtly flexing with every small movement he made as he snoozed.

he slept how he normally slept when he was alone, head buried inbetween his and your pillows. his arms securely wrapped around them, his biceps bulging at the slight pressure he used to push them against his head.

how was it fair that even asleep, kuroo was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on?

as if he sensed your presence, kuroos eyes slowly opened, peeking out from beneath the pillows. although you couldn’t see his smile, you saw the light of it reach his eyes, a soft glow emitting from him all the way to you as if he was trying to lure you in.

“oh hi there, sweetheart,” he rasped out, his voice still thick from sleep. “care to join me?”

and just like that, you found yourself in his warm embrace. those strong arms wrapped securely around you as he traded the pillows for the crook of your neck — happily sighing before sleep took over him once again.

[bonniepop]

kuroo often likes to make noise as he goes about your home, especially in the morning. he yawns really loud, bumps into things on the way to the bathroom in his still-sleepy stupor, and even grunts to wake himself up. his telltale giveaway is his sniffling, the rhinitis he gets in the morning a daily hurdle.

it seems like the typical saturday morning, or well, it would be, if you heard even the slightest bit of sniffling.

but now it’s quiet.

too quiet.

you complete your morning ritual of making breakfast with caution, carefully sliding the eggs you just cooked unto a plate, but a smile plays on your lips. if you knew your husband—and you did, very well—then he was up to something.

still, you flinch when music explodes.

“EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!”

you swivel your head and find your husband in the kitchen entryway, chopping his arms to each music note that blasts from the speakers. his face is serious when the rhythm hits, and with his legs spread and bent at the knee, he hops towards you in time with the beat.

you tilt your head back and cackle, the image of your husband looking like a complete and utter fool making tears come to your eyes.

he stops in front of you and continues to dance—you use that term loosely—and you join in, both of you laughing as you goofily dance in your kitchen together.

he grabs you by the hand and pulls you to the living room, where you find your toddler swaying his hips side to side in time with the beat.

kuroo hollers and follows suit, and soon all three of you are laughing and swinging your hips. when the song ends and another, a mellower one, starts, your husband laughs and picks up his son, gingerly throwing him up in the air before catching him again.

“good morning,” he grins at your child.

“papa!” your baby squeals, and kuroo cackles his signature cackle.

he secures his son in his arms before reaching over to take you by the waist and pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “good morning,” he greets you.

“good morning,” you return, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “weekend start off well?”

his grin is unshakeable. “always. i love weekends. it’s when i get to hang out with my favorite people in the world.”

“how sweet.” you kiss his cheek again before unwrapping his arm from around you and taking his hand, leading him to the kitchen. “you hungry?”

he looks to your son. “you hungry, kid?”

your son babbles happily. kuroo blows a raspberry on his chubby arm and he squeals.

you smile, affection blooming within you. you leave your husband to strap your son in to his chair and you arrange the table. you wash your hands before taking a deep breath.

you turn and lean back on the edge of the sink, training your eyes on him, on his loving smile, on his eyes on his son, on your son’s squealing.

“i want,” you start, then bite your lip.

“hm?” he looks up at you.

you swallow and smile. “i think i want another baby.”

he freezes, then bolts out of his chair. he walks toward you with purpose, and soon you’re looking up at him as he stares you down.

“are you serious?” he says, completely attentive.

you bite your lip again. kuroo always wanted a big family. it was something he never got to have as a child, and volleyball helped him build that. but still, he wanted his own.

when you were getting serious, he’d first declared he wanted a minimum of six kids; “a whole starting team!” he’d said at first, then tried to placate you several times when he saw the horror on your face. since then, he’d never made that joke again, but he was adamant on having kids. his non-negotiable.

when the first one came, he was every bit the doting father you thought he’d be. always present, always ready to help, even going further than any expectation you’ve ever held for him. it floored you, how good he was at it. it was still early—but something told you he wouldn’t disappoint when it came to fatherhood.

and there was something about that that just… made you want to make him happy.

you wanted to give him children.

you look up at him and smile. “yes.”

he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “thank you,” he whispers into your ear, meaning every word.

tears prick at your eyes and you laugh. what a funny way to respond to it, but it was so kuroo that it made your heart swell.

he pulls away to kiss you deeply. “i love you,” he says earnestly when your lips part.

you laugh wetly and he wipes away a tear with his thumb. “i love you, too.” you kiss him again before taking a deep breath and shaking your head. “anyway,” you say, rubbing your nose with your knuckle before clearing your throat. “breakfast?”

when you’re all settled around the table, kuroo doesn’t let go of your hand once.

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who gets a concerning call in the middle of work; your hysteric voice sounding high and tinny through the cellphone, in a way that had the palms of his hands sweating and his heart pumping blood faster than was probably healthy for his body.

"emergency," he throws out towards the secretary, not stopping his stride to the staircases, because even though he was high up in the building, he couldn't stand still while waiting on the elevator. he'd rather just up and move himself.

"okay, deep breaths, you got it, good, good," he took two steps down at once, jumping over the last ones, "what happened?"

"he won't give me my mail, kuroo. i'm still registered with his address, and i forgot, god, i'm so dumb—"

neighbour!kuroo who dislikes hearing you put yourself down immensely, whose heart aches at the fact that even after you had broken up with him, your ex boyfriend continued being a piece of shit. "that idiot ever heard of privacy of correspondence? that's an actual law. we can go to the police, you know?"

"i don't— i don't want to make this bigger, you know? or, i don't— what if he ends up getting mad—maybe, i don't know. i'm sorry."

"you don't have to be. i'll be there soon and then we'll get your mail back first, okay?"

"okay."

neighbour!kuroo who finds himself knocking on that dipshit's door, thinking that at some point even as simple a word as no will have to be understood, right?

because this time, he really, really is not going to stop hammering it into that thick head until your ex learned his lesson. because if he gets another call like that for any reason, he may have to make a call himself, to a certain police officer all the way in miyagi to ask if there's anything to be done to help move things along a bit quicker. because he may just risk being escorted to the police station himself.

because kuroo doesn't want to see you get hurt again. doesn't want to hear the panic in your voice, the hitches in your breath as you try to force oxygen into your lungs amongst the tears coating your voice thickly.

the idiot doesn't open. of course, he doesn't.

kuroo sighs, because man, this is some serious bullshit.

he knocks again, harder, knuckles ringing with the aftereffect of his force, "listen, man. that fuckass thing you're doing is not cute. do you know how creepy it is to hold mail hostage, of all things? i hope you get that it's pathetic. i mean i'm not sure what i expected of a boy your age and stature—"

the door ripped open because there's two things that are a constant in this life:

kuroo's hair defying all physical laws.

kuroo's incredible handsomeness, wit, sexiness, general awesomeness, complete— okay, yeah. just the fact that kuroo's really good at riling up people.

neighbour!kuroo who towers over your ex, who stems his hand against the door so that there's no way it could be shut again, who cuts your ex boyfriend off before he could prove himself to be dumber than bread loaf. though, that would be an insult to the bread, kuroo thinks and he'd laugh at himself if he wasn't so set on bringing your ex down a peg.

"where's her mail?" kuroo spits out, and then continues before he can get an answer: "i want it. now. because if you won't hand it over, i'll come in and collect it all myself, got it?"

the idiot scoffs, "yeah, right. i'mma jus' call the police on you—"

"sure, and then we can let them know how much of a stalker you've been, hm? don't worry, i won't leave anything out, i'm a great storyteller."

your ex exhales sharply, annoyed, eyes staring up into kuroo's and he holds the gaze, because if he doesn't, then he'll have lost.

by all means, kuroo isn't a sore loser, he really isn't, but this is not a game, and he's never backed down from a fight. isn't going to start now, either. his fingers turn white on the door frame.

neighbour!kuroo watches the retreating back of your ex boyfriend for a second, and finally allows himself to blink and clear the slight dryness coating his eyes. when he comes back, there was a small pile of letters in his hands, and kuroo makes it a point to grip the paper but not take it yet.

maybe one last hammering and the nail will sit, snug and tight.

"i know what you're doing, dude, and i'm telling you that it won't work. she's not alone." kuroo waits until an almost meek nod escapes your dipshit ex, before he pulls the mail out with a determined tug. and because he's got manners, he says, waving the letters: "thanks for these."

neighbour!kuroo who opens the door to his apartment and finds you closer than expected. he turns to the shut door, and back to your guilty shuffling with the dried smudged makeup stains, "eavesdropping, hm? couldn't help yourself?"

"shut up," you mutter but then you come closer, and kuroo's breath hitches ever so slightly, losing the attempted grin, because he can smell your perfume and he can feel your body's heat when you lay your head against his chest, right on his thumping heart.

"i'm sorry."

"what for?"

kuroo doesn't know what you mean, doesn't remember what you were even talking about, just— chin slightly dipped, eyes roving over your hair, begging that you can't hear the pace of his heart betraying the second time of the day sweat gathered on the palm of his hand. this time for a far more different reason.

"or no. not just that. sorry, and— i'm thankful."

voice soft and vibrating against his chest, his skin is burning from where you lifted your head to look at him. oh, he was going to burst.

"you could," he swallows and for a split second thinks whether he should just say it. he considers not to, but the expecting look in your eyes wins him over, "you could, hah maybe, put down this as your registered address. this apartment, i mean. here."

neighbour!kuroo who wonders if he should say the next words, but you beat him to it, "as home?"

"yeah."

kuroo was glad you're not leaning on his chest anymore, because his heart rate is going through the roof, but the downside is that he cannot look away from your face. lured in, a call to respond to: the soft curves of your features, the expression you wear that he doesn't know how to interpret. the way your lips open slightly, the slow blink of your eyelids, he wants to kiss you so badly. would you let him?

"the apartment viewing is tomorrow," you say, still standing so close, and your finger tips are brushing the cuffs of his sleeves.

he responds, "i know."

the silence draws out and it feels like there's things brewing outside his control. he doesn't know at what heat they're simmering, whether they would continue to cook if he turns it off because it's an electrical stove or if things are just going to snuff out because turns out that it's a gas stove after all. is it even seasoned well?

he just knows that there's things coming together, atoms upon atoms whirling around each other, bouncing off each other, brownian molecular movement in full swing. it's a simple equation in his mind: the acceleration of his heart and the heat of both your bodies inches away from each other, spurring things on.

neighbour!kuroo who looks at you, sees the hesitation in your eyes, the little turn of the corners of your mouth pointing down, and understands.

"it's alright. we'll go look at it tomorrow, yeah?"

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4

TAGLIST | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

[avaawritess]

Kuroo was a man with very many interest- volleyball,chemistry,working out, etc. But his biggest interest?

You

It wasn't just your physical attributes that drew him in. Your eyes sparkling whenever you talked with your friends, the smile that laid on your face when you ate your favorite food. No it wasn't just that, he loved ALL of you. How you threw your head back laughing clutching your stomach from his nerdy jokes, how you smiled at him whenever passing each other in the hallways, even when your fingers would graze the others after passing him a pencil even though he had his backpack full with backups, but you didn't need to know that. He was infatuated.He was watching you talk about the chemical bonds and how they make you curious while leaning his head on his head watching you with the look of affection. Not that you'd ever notice you never did. That was until your friends mentioned it, he watched curiously as your cheeks had a faint pink tint on them. Why is she blushing? Does she like someone? He wondered why she was blushing for weeks as the image was burnt into his head.

You walked up to him shyly your usual confidence gone. Your hair falling in-front of your face as he noticed a faint pink brush over your cheeks. "Hey Kuroo, would you like to go get coffee? As....more than friends?" When those words left your mouth he swore he started sweating as his pulse quickens, his heart pounding against his chest. Before he quickly put on a lazy teasing smirk," Well of course I would like to gorgeous" he said with his ego sky rocketing out of the roof. He told his teammates one day he'd get you.

And he finally did.

You were gonna be his

SORRY IF THIS WAS BAD. It's my first one shot on this app and overall😣. But I do hope you enjoyed and I might make more.

[petricorah]

kuroken vs daishou [ids in alt]

[billiereid]

Jealousy: Haikyuu! x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.

Featuring: Tetsuro Kuroo. Kenma Kozume. Kotaro Bokuto. Keiji Akaashi. Fem!Reader.

Contains: Posessive behavior. Jealousy. Fingering. Oral sex (F receiving). P in V sex. Edging. Praise. Exhibitionism. Public sex.

Summary: The boys all know that you love them. Your relationship is special and important, and you've never given them any reason to distrust you. But even still, everyone has insecurities. Everyone gets jealous sometimes. Here's how they react when that jealousy starts to flare up over you.

Author's Note: This is written post-timeskip. All characters are written to be adults.

Tetsuro Kuroo

Kuroo is one possessive motherfucker. At least, compared to the rest of the people on this list. 

He’s happy to always let you have your space, your friends, anything you need.

But the moment he feels like another guy might end up in first place?

Absolutely the fuck not.

There was no reason for Kuroo to worry. He knew it. You knew it. But the moment one of your coworkers started giving you a ride home, he decided things were getting a little too friendly. 

And he would never demand 100% of your time, your attention. That just wasn’t the kind of guy Kuroo was, and it wasn’t realistic anyway. You were a person. You deserved to have your friends, your family, your space, your fun. 

But you were his. And he was going to make sure it was drilled into your head before the night was over. 

“Please, Tetsu–” you all but whined. You didn’t know how long you’d been underneath him at this point. Your entire body was flushed with pleasure. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even come up with words. You had gotten so close at least a dozen times. A dozen edges that felt like a hundred. 

All because of his hands.

Kuroo had his fingers buried inside you now. He’d had them on your clit just minutes ago, though after edging three times it certainly felt like hours. Now, he had your two favorites stuffed inside you, pressing against all your inner buttons and making your head spin. 

“Aww, baby’s being so patient, aren’t you?” Tetsuro purred on his knees in front of you, his free hand pinning your hips to the bed with a bruising grip. “What do you think, princess? If I let you come right now, ‘re you gonna make a mess all over me?”

You knew what he wanted, knew that he wanted you to squirt. But you had only ever done it once for him, and it was a long time ago, when you were both a little too tipsy to care about having to change the sheets afterward. But now? Now, you weren’t sure if you could. 

“You’re still thinking too much, babygirl,” Kuroo said, his voice low and nurturing despite the filthy squelching sounds that his fingers were making inside your ruined pussy. “Eyes on me, princess.” It was a command disguised as a gentle coaxing. Your eyes, glazed over with pleasure and the effort to hold back your orgasm, finally met Tetsuro’s. “There’s my pretty girl,” he purred. 

The imaginary cord inside of you was wound so tight over and over, and you could tell it was about to snap, permission or no. 

“Whose are you, sweet girl?” Kuroo asked. He needed to hear you say it–to make you say it.

Your eyes widened a little bit as you realized, he really might not let you come. “Tets–”

“I said, whose are you?” he repeated. When you still couldn’t seem to find the words, his eyes darkened in that dominant way that only his could manage. “Answer, or I’ll edge you again.”

The edges of panic crept into your mind. You couldn’t handle being edged again. You were already so sensitive. “Yours! Yours, Tetsuro, I’m yours,” you chanted frantically, hoping that this time he’e actually let you come. 

“That’s fucking right,” Kuroo praised. “Now, come. And make a mess all over this fucking bed.”

Kenma Kozume

Honestly, Kenma’s not usually a jealous person. 

He knows you love him, and you’ve never given him a reason not to trust you.

Just like anyone else, though, there are little insecurities. 

And rather than getting possessive or angry, he just finds himself reminding you of all the reasons you keep him around.

It should’ve been such a simple interaction, really. 

You’d left your wallet on the train when you were on your way home. Someone had found it and had been kind enough to meet up with you in a coffee shop and return it. Kenma had even agreed to go with you, even though there wasn’t much he could’ve done in the way of protecting you. He had seen the entire interaction happen. There was nothing suspicious. You hadn’t even touched the man who came to return your wallet, hadn’t seemed to flirt or even bat your eyes in his direction. 

But he was tall. Extremely tall. Not that it normally mattered. But he also might’ve been handsome to some people, Kenma guessed, and his voice kind of sounded like warm butter when he spoke. And he was so kind, and your smile was so pretty when you looked up at him. But your smile was always pretty, especially when you were looking at Kenma. And it didn’t matter. 

But it did. 

Kenma wasn’t even really aware of what he was doing. But he spent the rest of the day doing whatever you wanted, his entire focus on you. He took you for lunch, then ice cream. He took you to your favorite little used bookstore, and he even stopped for a coffee on the way home.

And now, as the sun was setting outside your shared apartment, he was kneeling on the floor in front of your couch with his lips attached between your thighs. Kenma suckled sweetly on your clit, fingers kneading the squishy plush of your hips. His tongue dipped inside to taste your wetness before his lips returned to your clit. You’re his, you’re his, you’re so his. 

He wasn’t really sure if he was convincing you or himself.

Kenma fully moaned against your pussy as he tasted you, completely enraptured by the sight of your back arching in response to the pleasure he was giving you.. His tongue always made you dizzy. Your hands carded through his hair, continuously brushing it out of his face for him as he devoured you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. The desire practically rolled off of you in waves. The buildup was completely delicious, making time seem to slow down around you. 

“So good… So perfect…” you told Kenma, looking down at him between your thighs. Your voice was husky, dripping with your need, and the words poured out of your mouth before your brain could even think to stop them. Not that you would’ve stopped him anyway. Kenma was perfect, and you were going to let him know that. 

Kenma whimpered under your praise, his tongue flickering over your clit in that way he knows you love so much. Your back arched again–fuck, you were pretty when you did that. 

“Baby… please, don’t stop…” you begged, your voice little more than a breathy moan as you got closer to that high you needed so badly. 

But he pulled his lips away. Your head fell back against the sofa cushions, and you let out an extended whine. “Not yet,” Kenma said, his breathing heavy and his voice raspy. You watched him let his pants and boxers fall to the floor, his dick hard and aching like you’d never seen before. 

You whimpered again at the sight. “Kenma,” you whined, “I was so close.”

“I said, not yet,” Kenma said again. His cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your liquid arousal. “This pussy is mine. And I’ll do what I want with it.”

Kotaro Bokuto

When Bokuto gets jealous, he just gets unbelievably sad. 

He’s not usually a possessive guy.

But he just loves having all of your attention. 

So sometimes, when you’ve had your attention on another guy, he just needs to be reminded that you love him, too.

Was he fucking pouting? 

You’d been out with your boyfriend all day, seemingly having a good time. And then you struck up an extended conversation with the barista at your local coffee shop, someone you’d become very friendly with because of your frequent visits. He’s a little too cute for Bokuto’s comfort. 

Really, he wasn’t trying to be short with you. It was just a few comments that came out harsher than he intended. Some indifference here, some feigned boredom there. It was a recipe for disaster, you thought. And you couldn’t figure out why. You’d been having a perfectly normal day together. Actually, it was one of the better days, because there was no practice, no travel. Just the two of you, going out grocery shopping.

It wasn’t until after you got home that you realized what exactly was going on. When you were watching TV, Bokuto laid his head in your lap, his arms clinging to your waist, his face buried into your stomach. You laced your fingers into his hair and called him cute, and you saw the tiny, proud smile that he tried to hide by nestling further into your belly.

That was how you ended up here. 

You straddled Kotaro’s lap, his cock buried inside you to the hilt. He was sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the headboard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you said, starting to move your hips in your need to relieve the pressure low in your belly. “You fit me so perfectly.”

Bokuto’s hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh on your hips. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you rode him, your pace slow and deliberate, as if making some sort of point. But fuck you were so gorgeous, your tits bouncing ever so slightly as you rode. Your hands perched on his shoulders to keep your balance. Your eyebrows pinched together. Your lip was caught between your teeth. Tiny little whimpers were escaping your lungs. Everything about you was so beautiful and gorgeous, and you were undeniably his and��

Oh, he thought. 

But the thought didn’t stop him, didn’t make him falter for even a second. His hips started rising to meet yours with every thrust, forcing you to ride him faster. “That’s it,” Kotaro said through his teeth, one of his strong hands sliding up your side and gripping your breast. “That’s it. Keep goin’, yeah? Keep fuckin’ yourself on my cock.”

Bokuto’s lewd ramblings made you dizzy as his dick hit just the right spot inside you and kept hitting it. You let out absolutely the most sinful moan as you got closer to the high you wanted, the one you needed him to give you. “Fuck, don’t stop… Need more,” you moaned, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not stopping. You close?,” Bokuto says, still flexing his hips to fuck up into you, forcing his own pace over the two of you. You nod in answer. “Yeah, that’s it. Come for me. That’s my girl.”

Keiji Akaashi

Akaashi is an overthinker. 

So while he isn’t necessarily jealous or possessive, he definitely does overthink things a lot.

And he isn’t afraid to call you out when he thinks you’re being a little too friendly with someone else.

Not that he thinks you would ever leave him. He’s just going to remind you why.

Thinking back on it, you could see why Akaashi did what he did. 

You’d been out to dinner. Not just any dinner. Your anniversary dinner. He had made a reservation. You’d gotten dressed up. He was ready to wine and dine you all evening, to spoil you all night the way you deserved.

And then he showed up.

Some guy you’d gone on a couple of dates with before Keiji was even in the picture happened to see you from across the room. And the idiot had the audacity to come speak to you like Akaashi wasn’t even there. 

And he wasn’t angry at you. God, no. Akaashi let you handle things your way. You were short in your responses, and when you finally introduced Keiji as your boyfriend and mentioned it was your anniversary, the guy finally left the two of you alone for the night. 

It didn’t stop him from overthinking the entire evening though. 

If things had been the other way around, if one of his exes had shown up on your anniversary date, he would’ve told her she was ruining his date. He would’ve said she needed to learn to read the room. He would’ve kissed you right in front of her for good measure. 

He supposed that wasn’t what would’ve actually happened. And he supposed you probably just didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the restaurant. So he wasn’t really angry with you. God, he was never angry with you, especially once you flashed him that pretty smile…

After dinner, he brought you out to the parking lot, supposedly to drive you home. But he smirked and guided you into the backseat, where he pulled you onto his lap and kissed you like you were the only oxygen in the entire world.

It wasn’t long until you were a tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth. Akaashi had pulled your dress and bra down, your pebbled nipple caught in his mouth. He had pulled his cock out of his pants and shoved it inside you, pushing your panties aside and thrusting into you in one fell swoop. 

God, you were pretty like this. You were pretty always, Keiji couldn’t deny that. But your face was heated from the pleasure. Your dress was hiked up around your waist. One of your tits was hanging out of your dress. And fuck you felt so good wrapped around him, your hands perched on his shoulders as you awkwardly rode him in the back seat of his car. 

“Keiji…” you whined, the tone of your voice betraying just how good it felt to have him inside you. “I’m… so… close…”

Akaashi only hummed his approval against your nipple. He wouldn’t dare stop now. Not when you were right on the cusp of coming on him in the middle of this parking garage. Fuck, you were so hot. He kept rolling his hips to meet yours as you rode him, his tongue delicately swirling around your nipple. 

What you didn’t see was Akaashi locking eyes with the man who interrupted your date earlier. Your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrown back in as you reached your peak. So your ex knew it was you, but you never got a chance to see him. 

As the guy walked away, Akaashi let go of your nipple and replaced his mouth with his hand, his thumb circling your peak. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s my girl.”

[gojover]

the subtleties of being in love

summary: kuroo tetsurou is the spider-man. he’s also your best friend. he’s also hopelessly in love with you. between fighting crime and juggling college, kuroo barely has the time to confess his feelings to you. lucky for him, you’ve got him covered. or, five times kuroo tetsurou tries to ask you out, and one time you ask him out instead.

⇢ pairing: spider-man!kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, spider-man au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, idiots to idiots in love, 5+1 things, profanity, mentions of violence but nothing graphic—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 5.0k

ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF SWINGING INTO A WALL

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he isn’t trying to be stupid. 

It’s just that when he sees you, his mouth dries up, the words he want to say get stuck on the tip of his tongue and he can’t force them out no matter what, he feels his brain turn to mush and his legs turn to jelly, and—

You’re laughing. At him.

All because he swung face-first into a goddamn brick wall.

You don’t even know it’s him—he has a mask made out of spandex covering his face, thankfully—but he saw you on the street, talking to the old lady who sells churros next to the sandwich place both of you love. He may have lost all directional sense after that, because one minute he’s watching you gesture animatedly while you converse with the shopkeeper, and the next he slams solidly into the brick-red compound of the building he was supposed to swing over.

At least his webbing is still intact.

Kuroo’s pride, on the other hand? Completely, utterly shattered.

For a minute, there’s silence—a sort of muffled, hazy silence that blankets everyone, the kind that’s impossibly rare to come by in a city which never sleeps—and then every single person whips out their phones and takes pictures, giggling to themselves throughout. It’s not every day Spider-Man accidentally swings into a wall, after all.

Kuroo can already picture the headlines: City’s Masked Superhero Can Fight Aliens But Is Apparently Blind When Confronted By A Gigantic Barricade. Or worse. He can hear J. Jonah Jameson’s voice in his head, bellowing into the cameras, “Breaking news everyone, this just in: Spidey has been caught lackin’! Is he truly good at his job or is he just a farce? We may never know.”

He peels his head off hard brick, contorting his neck to relieve all the cricks, and that’s when he makes direct eye contact with you.

He swears his heart stops beating—but it starts again in less than a second, starts rabbiting around like it always does when he sees you, before settling back down into its regular rhythm. It’s only then that he remembers his feet and fingers are still glued to the wall.

He pries them off, wincing at the hoots and hollers from the crowd, and glances at you again. 

You have a few churros in your hand, wrapped neatly in butter paper—no doubt a gift from the old lady—and you have your phone in your hand. He watches your fingers fly rapidly over the screen, notices the slight tilt to your head, the way your tongue pokes out of your lips slightly, the amusement at his mishap still running through your veins.

He hears the ping of the notification through his mask before you even put your phone down. 

The letters swim in front of his eyes, on the screen in front of him.

(11:36) You: KUROO!!!! u wont BELIEVE what i just saw!!!! I SAW SPIDERMAN CRASH INTO A WALL LMFAOOOO

Kuroo winces. He should probably tell you that there’s a hyphen separating the words ‘spider’ and ‘man’, but he doesn’t want to burst your obvious elation at the city’s most prominent superhero’s accident. (Despite the fact that you’re the cause for him losing all common sense, in the first place.)

He doesn’t get the chance to form another coherent thought before a yell from below gets his attention. Specifically because it’s your voice.

“Hey!” You have your hands placed on your waist, your bundle of churros tucked into the corner of your arm as you squint up at him. “Need some help getting down?”

Unlike the jeers of the onlookers with their phones still out, you don’t sound malicious at all. You sound genuinely concerned, as though he isn’t Spider-Man, who’s fought off a hundred different villains and rescued the earth from alien infestations. You talk to him like he’s just a regular guy who accidentally swung onto a building and now finds himself in this precarious position.

His chest warms at the thought. “No thanks!” he hollers back. “I’m good.”

He lets his feet loosen up, feels his muscles relax and then he pushes himself off the wall, letting the momentum pull him through a graceful somersault before he lands softly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You ignore the passersby.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo replies. “Are you okay?”

You look at him strangely, and Kuroo can feel his cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one who almost broke my nose because I wasn’t looking at where I was going.”

Kuroo shifts from one foot to the other, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You have a point, he supposes. He clears his throat. “Right, um. Thanks for offering to help me out.”

“No problem,” you reply easily, the corners of your lips rising upwards. “I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t have our city’s best line of defence get obliterated because of a wall.”

Kuroo’s not sure whether he’s supposed to feel happy about the fact that you’re worried about him despite not knowing who he is or if he’s supposed to be embarrassed at you pointing out his lapse of attention.

“Listen,” he begins, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins, run its course throughout his body, and settle at his heart, “do you… maybe want to get some coffee with me? As a thank you. For offering to help.”

You raise an eyebrow sceptically. “I’m not sure that warrants a coffee date.”

“It’s not,” Kuroo hurriedly says, heart thumping erratically, “I swear. I just want to thank you.”

You purse your lips, drawing out a sigh that’s in between contemplation and refusal. Kuroo’s heart sinks—he knows that expression of yours all too well. “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. You’re a great superhero and I’m sure you’re a really nice person behind the mask, but… I’m actually running late for a meet-up with my best friend. I’m sorry.” You shrug apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay, uh—” Kuroo licks his lips— “n-no worries. I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg, Spider-Man.” You salute him with two fingers. “Not literally, but you know what I mean.”

He manages a smile, then realises you can’t see it through his mask—and then realises that the friend who’s meet-up you’re running late to is with him, so he’s going to see you again, anyway. The thought makes him smile again, this time wider, and he can feel his cheeks crinkle at the corners.

He stretches an arm out, presses his web shooter and swings onto the top of the building. Maybe he’ll have to deal with you retelling the story of how he crashed into a wall with extreme detail and lots of exaggeration, and Kuroo should probably feel extremely embarrassed about it. Instead, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Maybe he should crash into walls more often.

TWO — THE SUBTLE ART OF ACCIDENTALLY ASKING YOUR PROFESSOR OUT

Kuroo Tetsurou is decidedly fucked.

He’s late—unbearably so—but what else is he supposed to do if a platoon of aliens show up in the middle of his Introduction to Organic Chemistry class and he has to stop them from blowing up the president’s summer retreat? Once the situation is wrapped up and the foreign visitors agree to sign a peace treaty with earth, he’s effectively missed three classes, skipped lunch, and is currently running late to a study session you planned out after classes.

He supposes he can make up for it—he’s not sure how, but… something is better than nothing, right? He swings down in front of a flower shop, hurriedly asks for a bouquet and a box of chocolates, places a wad of money bills on the counter and swings away. The whole interaction takes place in less than fifteen minutes, but Kuroo is in a hurry. He has a slew of texts from you, all detailing the same thing: That if he doesn’t magically appear in the next ten minutes, you’re leaving, and you better make it up to him somehow.

Kuroo touches down on the rooftop of your university’s library and quickly removes his Spider-Man suit, stuffing it into his backpack and shouldering it. He heads down the fire escape, taking two steps at a time, and comes to a standstill in front of the Biology section of the library. It’s the least crowded part of the library, which is why you and Kuroo have chosen it as your designated spot.

He sees you immediately and braces himself for the telltale quickening of his heart. You smile at him as soon as you spot him, raising a hand in greeting. Books and sheets of paper are scattered around the table in front of you, and your hair is messy, swept up hastily. You’re wearing your favourite sweater with the coffee stain down the front, because even though it’s not something you would wear in public, it’s still the most comfortable piece of clothing you own.

Kuroo’s lips curl upwards on their own accord. The words form on the tip of his tongue, as they always do. He wants to tell you—he’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you—and it would be so easy to confess right then and there. He walks towards you.

Fate is never kind to him, it seems.

Kuroo keeps his eyes fixed on you, which is why he doesn’t notice his Organic Chemistry professor walk right across him.

In his defence, Professor Suzuki is short, with a head full of bountiful grey curls and a pink flower-patterned umbrella always tucked underneath her arm. She barely comes up to Kuroo’s shoulders, so she’s never in Kuroo’s line of vision unless he’s sitting down.

It’s no wonder he collides into her. 

Professor Suzuki lets out a startled “Ooh!”, the stack of papers in her hand flying out of her grip and falling around him and his teacher like snowflakes on a winter morning. She twists her lips at him, mouth downturned like she just sucked a lemon raw, and tuts disapprovingly at him.

Kuroo feels his cheeks blaze as he bends down and gathers all the loose sheets of paper and stacks them. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re gleefully watching the whole encounter. He tucks the bouquet and chocolates into the crook of his arm and hands the stack of papers to Professor Suzuki, mumbling an apology.

“Well, you better be sorry,” she says, looking up and down at him—except she has to crane her neck at him to meet his eyes, and the sight is so hilarious, Kuroo needs to stifle his laughter. Then her eyes narrow in recognition, and Kuroo stiffens, dread pooling in his stomach. 

She pauses for a minute. “Aren’t you the young man who ran out halfway through my class? Is your stomach feeling better now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you snort and then cover it up as a cough. 

Kuroo wants to melt into the floor, pretend like he’s one of the tiles on the ground. “Yes ma’am,” he answers politely instead, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him.

“Hmm.” She scrutinises him carefully, reaching out with her free hand and pinching his stomach. “Indigestion is a serious issue, young man. Make sure you have enough ginger in your diet—it helps with your toilet problems.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“Now, how do you plan to make up for your lost lesson?” 

Kuroo licks his lips. “I’m… not sure. I could come over for a remedial class—”

“Oh, please. You insult me.” Professor Suzuki lets out a giggle. “Remedial classes are such mediaeval methods. These days teachers will let anything go for a small price. Young, handsome men like you especially…”

Kuroo nearly chokes on his own spit. “I—”

“Just some flowers and chocolates will be fine,” his teacher waves him off good-naturedly, as though this is a conversation she has all the time. Her eyes land pointedly on the flowers and the chocolate box still tucked safely in his arms. 

“Oh. Um.” Kuroo curses his luck. He’s Spider-Man, after all—shouldn’t he get some slack? All he wants is to ask you out, and if not that, at least spend some time with you without getting caught up in outworldly situations all the time. 

Professor Suzuki’s expression turns serious upon noticing his hesitation. “Of course, not every teacher is as lenient as I’m being. Some would—and I’m really just throwing it out here—assign compensatory essays, or—”

He hurriedly shoves the bouquet and the chocolates into Professor Suzuki’s waiting arms. 

“No, ma’am. Thank you very much for being so kind to me.”

“Not a bother, not a bother,” she waves him off again, smiling thinly at him. “Anything for my students.”

Kuroo bows and waits patiently for her to skitter away from him, finally letting out a loose breath that has his shoulders slumping forward and his head hanging dejectedly. He drags himself to your table, places his bag on the desk, and buries his head into his arms in such a way that half his upper body is spread-eagled across the wooden desk. A tired, muffled groan escapes his lips.

“Rough day?” Your voice is soft, and you tentatively reach out and gently run a hand through his hair.

Kuroo lets out another groan in response, closing his eyes when he feels your touch. He lifts up his head and props his chin on the desk, glancing at you. You have a soft smile playing on your lips, eyes twinkling.

“You recorded all of that, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question; Kuroo has all your tendencies mapped out in his head, and you would never pass up on an opportunity to record his humiliation.

“Yup.” You grin at him, patting your pocket where your phone is stowed away. “I won’t show it to anyone, don’t worry.”

It’s a small consolation. He decides to let it slide. “By the way, the flowers and the chocolates were for you. To apologise for being late.”

“Oh.” To Kuroo’s surprise, you sound… bashful, almost. His heart skitters at the revelation. “That’s alright. I’m not a big fan of flowers anyway. Are you hungry? You skipped lunch, too, didn’t you? We could go get some ramen.”

“That sounds good.” Kuroo smiles wearily at you. He just hopes there isn’t another national emergency to divert his attention from you and the time he gets to spend with you.

THREE — THE SUBTLE ART OF ALMOST DATING YOUR HOMIE

If Kuroo Tetsurou has been Tokyo’s one and only Spider-Man for the past two years, then Bokuto Koutarou, his roommate, is his designated Guy-in-the-Chair.

He’s the only one who knows about Kuroo’s secret identity, and Kuroo relies on him to make up some believable reason for his often and sudden disappearances. The last time, when he had to escape in the middle of his Organic Chemistry class and that whole debacle with Professor Suzuki took place, Bokuto had said Kuroo had indigestion. He assumes his roommate has fun coming up with excuses. As long as his secret remains safe, Kuroo’s not too concerned.

Despite all the help Bokuto has provided him with, he wants nothing more than to toss him over their shared apartment’s balcony.

For the past half an hour, he’s been consistently badgering him. Specifically about you.

“Have you told her you like her yet?”

The question drags a tired sigh out of Kuroo’s lips. He’s hunched over his Physics textbook, scribbling down notes, and he could really appreciate some peace—but that’s not something he should expect when he lives with the human equivalent of a hamster on a wheel.

“No, Bokuto,” he reiterates, “I haven’t had the time.”

Bokuto flops dramatically across the couch. “Dude. You need serious help.”

“Do I?” Kuroo murmurs absent-mindedly, wondering how to calculate the coefficient of friction with the variables he’s been given.

“Yes.” When he notices his roommate not paying attention to him, Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Stop doing homework, you have more important matters to attend to.”

Kuroo finally tears his tired gaze away from the numericals printed out on the page. He locks eyes with Bokuto, barely aware of the tic in his left eye. “Like what?”

His roommate throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Like your best friend! And the fact that you’re in love with her!”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t going to work. C’mere.” He gestures to Kuroo to come sit next to him on the couch. Once he makes his way to the couch and sits next to him, Bokuto takes both his hands in his. “Consider this an intervention.”

Kuroo leans back and lets his head fall against the couch cushions. This is going to be good.

“Okay, so,” Bokuto begins, “she doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man—no one knows that except me—but you love her, don’t you? Just walk up to her, tell her you can show her something she’s never seen before, swing her up to a rooftop somewhere, and watch the sunset with her. Tell her you love her and that you can’t live without her, and your heart beats only for her—trust me, girls love romantic stuff like that—and then tell her you’re also Spider-Man. Easy.”

All Kuroo can do is laugh. There’s no way Bokuto is serious about this.

“I’m being serious,” Bokuto says. “How long are you going to keep hiding this from her? She’s your best friend, don’t you think you should tell her that you’re basically in mortal peril every other day?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not telling her,” Kuroo says. “What if some villain finds out she’s special to me and does something to her to get back at me?”

His friend looks dubious. “You really think that could happen?”

“Yes.” Kuroo turns his head to look at Bokuto. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you either.”

Bokuto chews his lip thoughtfully. “I kind of see what you mean. But…” He squeezes Kuroo’s hand once, gently. “I think she would want to know.”

Kuroo considers it—for a brief half-minute, he actually thinks about it—and then shakes his head. “It’s better to keep her safe.”

You have the worst possible timing. (Perhaps it’s Kuroo’s fault for having given you a spare key to his apartment.)

The door swings open and you walk into the living room, two bags of takeaway in your hand. “Guess who’s got food!”

Then you pause, survey the situation in front of you, and your jaw drops.

Kuroo and Bokuto, both on the couch, sitting so close to each other, their knees are brushing. Kuroo’s hands are still being held by Bokuto, the latter rubbing circles on his palm. Belatedly, Kuroo realises what this must look like to you.

He shoots up to his feet. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh my God.” You raise your arms. “Am I interrupting something? I’m so sorry, I had no idea! I’ll just—”

“No, wait! Bokuto and I, we’re not—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Your repeated reassurances don’t do anything to assure him. “You guys look good together! Congratulations on graduating from cherry boy university, Kuroo!”

Kuroo lowers his head, crimson creeping up his cheeks. He turns around and faces Bokuto, who’s busy snickering on the couch. “This is all your fault.”

You look between them curiously. “Are you both dating?”

“No,” Kuroo says at the same time Bokuto says, “Possibly.”

He glares at his friend. “No, we are not together. Bokuto knows I like someone else.”

“You like someone else?”

There’s the barest hint of hurt in your tone, a slight hitch in your voice that Kuroo picks up on easily. “I—yes.”

“You never told me.” 

Your voice is carefully calm and you fiddle with the handle of the takeaway bags. Kuroo winces; he takes a step forward and grabs your elbow, gently forcing you to look up at him. “I was going to tell you. I just… forgot.”

It's the worst possible excuse he could come up with. Your eyes harden. Thankfully, Bokuto swoops in. “He’ll tell you soon. He just never has good timing.”

You poke your tongue in the inside of your cheek. “It… doesn’t matter. I brought Chinese,” you say, lips pursed into a threadbare smile, “so all that’s left is to pick the movie.”

You move into the living room and playfully poke Bokuto’s legs to make space. Kuroo closes the door behind you, a heavy feeling in his gut.

He’s fucked up. Big time. No matter what, he can’t get the look of dejectedness on your face out of his mind.

Kuroo decides he’s going to tell you. Somehow. Even if you don’t return his feelings, at least he’ll be free of the burden of keeping them hidden. 

With new conviction in his head, he strides over to where you are.

FOUR — THE SUBTLE ART OF GETTING HIT ON

Kuroo loves you—he really does—but despite his obvious affection towards you, he still thinks you’re acting slightly (read: extremely) delusional.

“A… Spider-Man love blog?” he asks weakly, sitting opposite you.

“Yeah!” You nod your head vigorously, obviously excited. “J. Jonah Jameson started a Spider-Man conspiracy theory blog, so I figured I need to start a blog to support Spider-Man and all his endeavours. Too much hate is a bad thing, and… well, he is kind of hot. Objectively speaking.”

Kuroo doesn’t know whether to grimace at the fact that J. Jonah Jameson started a page on conspiracy theories about him, laugh at the fact that you want to start a blog to support him, or melt like an ice cream on a hot summer afternoon at the fact that you just called him objectively hot.

He tries to do a mixture of all three. You glance at him, concerned. “Did you just have a stroke or something?”

Kuroo purses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you say dismissively. “Well, what do you think of the blog idea?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Kuroo agrees. “It’s like a little Spider-Man support group.”

“Exactly!” you agree, perking up even more. “That’s actually a really cool slogan, thanks Kuroo.”

“No problem.” Kuroo feels his mouth dry, but before he can second guess himself, he says, “Hey, you said Spider-Man is hot?”

“Hm? Yeah, what about it?”

“You know who else is hot?”

“Tom Holland?” Your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh, I know! Andrew Garfield!”

“No—I mean, yes but—” Kuroo heaves out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about them.”

You cock your head to the side. “Who do you mean, then?”

He takes in a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm down. “I was talking about—”

He’s about to say you when the fire alarm rings. You stand up, eyes widening—not with excitement, but with panic flaring up inside you. Kuroo stands up too; how did he not notice something was off? The hair at the back of his neck tingles. He needs to get you out of here—now.

“Hey,” he says hurriedly, “you need to leave. Go out the fire escape.” He shoves you none too gently towards the fire escape, but you stumble forward and then stop.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he can hear the mounting fear in your voice, “what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures. A series of bangs follows his statement, and he narrows his eyes at the direction of the sound. “But you need to leave. Now.”

You open your mouth to say something, but when you hear a loud clang echo down the stairwell, you close your mouth and run towards the staircase. Kuroo waits for you to disappear from his sight, before turning on his heel and grabbing his suit from his bag.

God, supervillains really have the worst timing. All Kuroo wanted to do was tell you he thought you were hot, too, but that he found you more beautiful than anything else.

FIVE — THE SUBTLE ART OF EXPOSING YOUR CRUSH

Kuroo is so, so tired.

He lands in front of a small, quiet lake in a park you used to come to with him. The ambience is perfect for when you want to spend time alone, in solitude. A family of ducks paddles gently over the water; it’s peaceful and serene—completely unlike the destruction he just had to deal with, and the turbulence currently running through his mind.

He pulls his mask off his head and runs a tired hand through his hair. Wearily, he sinks down onto the grass, feeling the cool breeze caress his skin and the rustle of the leaves of the giant tree under whose shade he’s sitting.

He blinks once, slowly, and then again, and when a duck lets out a quack, he opens his mouth and lets everything spill out, like sand pouring through an overturned hourglass.

(He’s aware he’s talking to ducks. He doesn’t care.)

“Screw this shit. I never wanted to be a hero, you hear me? I never wanted to be bitten by a stupid spider, I didn’t ask for all this—I didn’t ask for all this! God, what does a guy need to do to have some time to tell his best friend he’s in love with her?!”

His rant falls on silent ears—but then, he hears the crunch of dried leaves, and he whips around.

Your head pokes out from behind the tree trunk. “Kuroo?”

“Oh,” he breathes out, scrambling to his feet. “What are you—”

“You said you’d be right behind me!” Despite the false bravado in your voice, he can hear how wobbly you actually sound.

“I-I was. Technically.” He takes a tentative step towards you, one arm stretched out placatingly.

“You never told me you were Spider-Man!” Your voice increases in pitch steadily with each word.

“I didn’t tell you to protect you—”

“Oh my God, you were in mortal peril every day and I didn’t even know!”

“Bokuto said the same thing, but—”

“Bokuto knew all along, of course he did!”

“I only told him because—”

“And—and now you’re telling me you’re in love with me!”

“Okay, I wasn’t telling you, I was telling the ducks, but—”

“Kuroo!” You throw your hands up in the air wildly, gaze roaming rapidly across his face. “You’re in love with me!”

He sucks in a breath sharply. “I feel like that’s not the most important thing here.”

Of all the ways he thought he would confess to you, this is decidedly not something that crossed his mind even once. He’d always pictured flowers, holding your hand, maybe even a romantic stroll down this very park. He’d certainly never imagined you’d find out about both his secrets on the same day—all while he was busy ranting about his hero complex to a bunch of birds who didn’t pay him any attention.

“Please,” he tries again, “please let me explain.”

You shake your head. “No. There’s nothing there to explain.”

With that, you turn away and walk past him. Kuroo’s heart sinks. He crumples the material of the mask in his hand, feeling the cloth twist underneath his fingertips just like his heart twists into knots with every step you take away from him.

PLUS ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF KISSING YOUR BEST FRIEND

You have Kuroo cornered, your arms crossed across your chest and your expression stern. “You need to listen to me.”

Kuroo gulps. It’s been a week since he accidentally let both his secrets slip, and this is the first time he’s talking to you in person since then. You’d sent him a text with a simple message. Library, first thing after lunch. Kuroo had complied, and here he is now.

“So. Bokuto explained everything to me,” you say. 

“He—he did?”

You glance at him shortly. “Yeah, he did. I… I understand why you didn’t tell me about—about your condition, Kuroo. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he replies immediately. “If I found out my best friend was a secret vigilante risking his life every day, I think I’d react the same way.”

You smile at him then, and his heart jumps inside his chest. He smiles back. “But that’s not the main reason I called you here,” you continue. “What I really called you here for was…”

You trail off, looking down, and Kuroo is hit with a sudden sense of nostalgia. Why are you being so bashful around him all of a sudden? “Was…” he gently prompts.

You swallow, lifting up your chin and looking him in the eye. “I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you too.”

Kuroo Tetsurou swears time stops, and the whole world comes to a standstill. The words ring in his ears, echoing inside his head. His lips part, and he stares at you, flabbergasted.

“I— Say that again.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

He sees the flicker in your eyes, notices how you’re ready to compete with him for this. “I love you, Kuroo Tetsurou. I don’t care about the fact that you’re Spider-Man.”

Kuroo takes a step towards you, holding your shoulders gently, like you’re made of glass. “I love you too.”

You grin at him, your own arms encircling his waist and coming to rest on his back. “I know that.”

And then you tip your head forward and capture his lips with your own. He gasps at first, before kissing you back with equal force, one hand tugging you closer to him and the other curving around your torso.

You giggle into the kiss, and Kuroo’s lips twitch upwards. He’s giddy, weightless, floating through the air like a feather being carried by the wind. The feeling he gets when he’s swooping through the rooftops of the city is nothing compared to the feeling of your lips slotted against his and his arms wrapped around you.

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he doesn’t try to act stupid normally. But if it makes you smile, he’s willing to do anything.

[kurooangel]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ wedding days .ᐟ

★ warnings: suggestive, mostly fluff. timeskip haikyuu. masterlist.

⋆. 𐙚 kuroo was so tired. he hugged you from behind while you were grabbing a glass of wine. "hello, husband" you say, caressing his arms that are surrounding you. you can't see him, but he is pouting while he talks into your ear. "I wanna go home and just be with you. I barely know all these people, you've got so many cousins"

⋆. 𐙚 tetsuro, who instead of cry after saying kissing the bride, started having a laugh attack. he didn't look at your dad in the whole day and night after that because of how embarrassed he wasp, even if his now father-in-law found it endearing.

⋆. 𐙚 tetsuro and his stupid, pervy comments in your ear at the wedding. you were wearing that gorgeous dress after the ceremony to be more comfortable. it was white, of course, but also tight and — in kuroo's words — extremely sexy. "goddamn baby, your ass looks so good in this dress" he muttered while you were talking with your friends. "tetsu, cut it off" you whisper back, an amused and playful glance towards him. "the only thing I want to cut now is your bra... you mean wifey, look at that cleavage" he lets out a whistle, his hands surrounding your waist and pulling you flush against him, shamelessly stealing you from your conversation with your friends.

⋆. 𐙚 silly kuroo, who started crying all the water in his body when you hugged him, whispering to him that you would never leave him, you'd be always by his side no matter what. his big arms hugging you tightly. he just wanna make sure you won't leave like everyone did.

⋆. 𐙚 tetsuro, who got drunk with bokuto and knelt down in front of you. "you're gorgeous" he slurs. "you should marry me, pretty lady" he kisses your hand, and bokuto can be heard laughing loudly. he immediately got up after seeing your dad's glare.

˚⋆. 𐙚 kuroo and his sloppy kisses on your neck while you're trying to open the front door of the house. he is impatient, and the damn key doesn't cooperate. his hands on your waist, fingers digging into your flesh, as his tongue tastes your neck. "fucking gorgeous, baby. open the damn door so I can have you properly as my wife"

[toastyyjams]

kenma doobles pt. 2

[hinata-boke]

🦉vs🐈‍⬛

[tetsuskei]

⟣insufferable husband – kuroo tetsurō [nsfw]

synopsis: your husband invests in other activities as you pack his lunch for work

notes: repost from old account. working on newer kuroo things in the meantime

warnings: established relationship, female reader, creampie, oral sex (female receiving), pet names, fingering

"there you are."

you shift your head in the direction of the voice to see your sleepy husband standing in the opening to the kitchen. he rubs his eyes tiredly, a frown on his face as he looks at you inquisitively.

"good morning, grumps." you smile before looking back to what you're doing.

kuroo mumbles, shuffling over to you, "what are you doing up so early?"

"i'm making your lunch for work today," you answer, feeling his body warmth from behind you, "i forgot to do it last night, sorry."

"'is okay," he says, resting his chin on the top of your head, wrapping his arms around your waist.

it's normal for kuroo to cling to you while you do things. even normal for him to pet at you and get a little touchy. but today, this particular morning, he seems...different. more needy than usual.

his fingers rub circles into your hipbone before he moves his hands up your sides. knowing him, it's only a matter of time before he would try something.

you feel him press some of his weight into you, and you take that as a sign of him being drowsy.

"hey, if you're still tired go back to bed. okay? i'll make sure i wake you up when it's time." you pat his arm, and he only grunts, moving to hide his face in your side.

"m'not tired." he says, breath tickling your skin. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"okay..." you sigh, shivering when his large hands move under the large t-shirt you wear. his t-shirt. the cold metal of his wedding band forces a hiss from your mouth and you click your tongue.

"tetsu, you're cold."

he smiles into your neck, his mischievous nature practically emitting off of him. "sorry...but, i know a way to warm us up."

"that's...not what i meant."

he laughs, a free hand grabbing at your boob. "yeah, well, i did."

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "you're insufferable and an idiot."

"you married this insufferable idiot, sweetheart." he hums, hand wandering down to your shorts. his hands finger at the waistband before hooking in them, pulling them down.

"i guess you're right about that." you say. he pulls off your panties and you step of them and kick them away.

he hums, "glad you agree. let's see if 'she' does too."

"you're so corny." you giggle, a small moan escaping when his thick fingers tease your opening.

"and you're so wet. just like i'd knew you'd be."

you go to retort, but stop when he pushes two fingers into you. a gasp leaves your mouth and you put your hand up to your face to suppress a moan.

kuroo makes a sound of disapproval, removing your hand from your face. "wanna hear you.”

and it isn't long before another moan slips out of you, louder than you initially wanted it to be. he's pushed in a third finger, making you feel almost as full as his cock.

"you're always so tight, it's a miracle i can ever fit in you." he mutters, pumping his fingers leisurely. you whine, trying to move your hips against his hand, but the steel grip of his free hand on your side prevents you.

you try your best to focus on your task at hand, but with the way your husband is moving his fingers vigorously against you is almost too distracting.

the feeling is shallow and slow, you can feel the knot in your stomach wanting to break, but he purposely is depriving you of it.

"tetsu, stop teasing me..." you pout, looking back at him with a small frown.

"m'sorry, i couldn't help it." he chuckles before he moves his thumb over your nub, circling it generously.

a sharp whine leaves you and your back instinctively presses into his chest.

"i-i'm—" you gasp.

he hums, kissing your temple. "let go for me, baby."

you waste no time cumming, quivering and shaking in his hold. you have to stop what you're doing and grip onto his forearm for stability.

"good girl," he praises, watching in awe as you cream on his fingers, mesmerized by the throbbing of your clenching muscles. he can't wait to feel that around his cock.

he slowly pulls out his fingers, sucking on them with a groan.

you normally would reach back and pull him out, but due to the preoccupied nature of your hands making his food, you don't. you only hear the sound of clothing being removed and discarded away. the audible 'slap' of his shaft hitting his skin makes you shiver.

your breath hitches when you feel the heat of kuroo's thick cock before he rests it on your butt. he slowly strokes himself, groaning at the sensitivity.

"you don't mind if your 'insufferable' husband fills you up, do you?" kuroo asks, his voice low in your ear.

"i think you know the answer." you huff, parting your legs slightly.

the tension in the atmosphere is so thick, a knife could cut it. but it slowly dissolves away with your husband entering you. and as much as you try to remain composed at him pushing himself inside of you, it's impossible when handling his thickness and length.

a small whimper escapes you and he leans over to kiss you on the lips, mumbling soft words of encouragement as he slowly presses himself into you.

the stretch is always so worth it when he finally fills you up all the way. instinctively you clench around him, pleasant euphoria washing over you at being full.

"shit," kuroo hisses, pressing his pelvis completely flush to you. he closes his eyes, sighing at the welcoming nature of your warmth and gently rubs the fat of your ass.

the two of you stay like that for a moment, kuroo pressing kisses over the bare skin of your neck.

he squeezes your hip, "is it okay for me to move, baby?"

you nod frantically, losing your voice. "please."

and when he does, it's not fast, and hard. it's slow and deep enough that your toes are left curling. his now bruising grip on your hips makes up for the lack of roughnesses present.

the only sounds present aren't ones of any innocence. the slight squelch coming from how wet you are makes the both of you more aroused. small whines and whimpers escape you paired with the sound of his balls slapping against your skin.

kuroo, usually the charmer with words, is silent. the only sounds are his heavy breathing and quiet moaning.

"more tets, more," you plea, and you feel him shake his head.

"don't...don't want this to end so soon," he groans, "if i move any faster i'll cum. wanna feel you longer," he explains, tone ending in a whine.

his words nearly make your eyes tear up and you understand, relishing in the way his cock carves itself repeatedly into you. the knot in your stomach there, but not quite present.

"always feel so good, sweetheart," he's moving a bit faster now, his movements rocking you against the counter a bit. "love being inside of you."

your heart flutters at this statement, humming, "always feels so good being filled up by you, 'ro..."

his heart swells at the praise and he grips you harder, his lips sneaking to nibble and bite at the column of your neck

"just a little more, i promise." he assures, kissing your shoulder. his thrusts switch to being slow and shallow and the feeling of your impending orgasm is slipping from your hands.

"kuroo," you warn.

he rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue, "don't call me that. you have the same last name, kuroo."

"tetsu," you try, "baby, please. i want to cum..."

he nearly stalls at the pet name, eyes wide, "don't..don't say that without warning me..."

"what? my sweet tetsu, my handsome man..." you coo, reaching back to run a hand through his hair, tugging on the roots.

"i'm gonna cum," he groans, head bowing back for a moment, "if you don't stop..."

you squeeze his hand, batting your eyes innocently, "inside?"

"f-fuck, wherever you want me to. whatever you want." he's twitching uncontrollably by this point, just about ready to burst.

you smile back at him, pouting a little, "then can my husband cum for me? for his wife?"

at the feeling of your hand pulling on his hair again, he cums instantly, warmth spilling inside of you quickly as he fills you up.

you squeeze your cunt, milking every bit that he gives you greedily, as you don't want to miss a drop.

kuroo slowly pulls out of you, groaning when part of his cum leaks down your thighs. that's a sight he'll never get tired of.

by that point you were done fixing his lunch and you lean against the counter to hold up your jello legs.

"god woman, were you trying to kill me just then?" he huffs catching his breath.

you grin, "no, not today."

he looks at you dumbfounded but laughs, grabbing your face to kiss you. you giggle and he slips his tongue in your mouth, hand holding your jaw as he greedily tastes you.

when you both pull away for air, you speak, "you—"

"yeah yeah, i'll clean you up." he mumbles before you can complain.

but what you aren't expecting is for your husband to kneel right there in the kitchen and use his mouth to do so.

you gasp, knuckles gripping the counter and jaw going slack as you try to look back at him. "t-tetsurō!"

he only hums, grinning lazily, "itadakimasu," hands firmly keeping you in place as he licks and sucks up every bit of you and his cum from between your legs.

you cry at the way his nose bumps against your clit and shamelessly grind back on his face. he moans at this, feeling his cock twitch back to life but pays it no mind, only touching himself occasionally.

"i know you got another in you, pretty girl," he says, before promptly reaching around your front and toying with your clit.

you lean forward on the counter for support, bracing yourself with your elbows as your legs start to give with how good he's making you feel.

it should not surprise you at this point that kuroo is able to bring you to an orgasm so quickly even when you just had one. as your husband, your lover, your eternally bounded soulmate, he knows your body inside and out.

he's sucking and licking at your cunt like a starving man. slurping and gulping all together and making a mess between your legs. the grip he has on your ass cheeks is brutal with how spread they are.

it hits you before you can even think, and you wail, feeling your orgasm wash over your harder than the other times.

"fuck, that's it. cum for me like a good girl." he praises as you do. he pulls away slowly, kissing your hip and stands back up.

he wipes his mouth, smirking at you, "don't think i'll need to eat breakfast after that."

"g-get out of here before you're really late to work." you stammer, cheeks hot with embarrassment as you try not to look down.

"as you wish, princess. love you," kuroo laughs at how cute and shy you've become, swooping down to plant a quick kiss on your mouth so you can taste you both. he takes both of your clothes off the ground before proceeding to your shared bedroom to start his day.

you can't help but slap him on the butt, making an uncharacteristic yelp leave him.

"love you too!"

a dazed smile sits on your face. it's mornings like these that remind you just how grateful you are to have a man like him in your life.

[shoyospikes]

BED HEAD KENMA

B E D H E A D K E N M A

WE LOVE BED HEAD KENMA

HES SUCH A CUTIE PATTOIEEE

KENMA FANS UNITEE

RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆～⁠(⁠つ⁠ˆ⁠Д⁠ˆ⁠)⁠つ⁠｡⁠☆