#he’s a little bitch but i love him :’3
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I mean I am married to a woman (horse monstrosity) in DnD so- /j
Have you ever wondered whether or not you’d be canonically queer if your life was a story? Look no further. This quiz will tell you your canon queer status.
#I do love how it is Bakugou. Or however you want to spell his name. He’s a little bitch and we love him for that <3#Poster child of ‘gay but doesn’t realize it because he thinks everyone does that’#Or at least I think I haven’t read the manga or watched the show yet#but so far every time I jokingly fanoned something with my friend she told me it was actually canon and provided proof#So I think I’ve got the vibes mostly down#(This has happened with many pieces of media actually. But especially this.)
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love you always
pairing: lando norris x reader
summary: lando plans a series of surprises for you on valentine's day. (2.4k)
a/n: happy valentine's day my loves!! here's something sweet <3 believe it or not it's 3AM and i wrote this all in one go so if you see any errors no you don't ;)
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The surprises start first thing in the morning.
Lando is up and out of the house for training long before you even stir, but made sure you woke up to something nice. When you shuffle out to the kitchen in much need of coffee to get your day going, you’re pleasantly surprised by a full pot of the good coffee made with beans you’ve always saved for special occasions, and pastries from your favorite bakery.
A little note beside the box of mouthwatering baked goods reads a message from your boyfriend.
happy valentine’s day, my love. sorry i couldn’t be there when you woke up, but i hope these make you smile. be on the lookout for more surprises today <3 love you always - LN
The second surprise is waiting for you when you make your way to work. You’ve barely just walked into the office when you’re approached by Cass, one of your closest work friends.
“Girl, you are one lucky bitch. I’d die if my man got me something like that,” She gushes, eyes gleaming. You squint at her in confusion.
“Sorry, what?” You say, unsure. She just smiles knowingly, tilting her head towards your cubicle. It isn’t until you lay eyes on your desk that you see what she’s talking about.
A giant bouquet of red roses with baby’s breath scattered amongst the bunch sits on your chair, wrapped in colorful paper and tied together with a string. Nestled in it is another note from Lando, this one with the message embossed on crisp cardstock—
told you i’d have more surprises :) if i know you (and i’m pretty sure i do), you’re too caught up with the roses to notice the other thing, so look on your desk. maybe wear it tonight? love you always - LN
Lando is right, you hadn’t noticed the small box sitting right in the middle of your desk, seemingly nothing until you open it carefully.
A necklace sparkles out at you—a pendant of your birthstone, hanging on a delicate chain. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and another beautiful necklace to add to the ever growing collection of jewelry Lando’s gifted you in your time together.
Wear it tonight.
There was no doubt that Lando had planned a date for tonight, but you’d been unsuccessful in weaseling any details out of him these past few days leading up to today.
“Can you just tell me what you’ve got planned?” You whine, pouting over at Lando where he’s putting away his shirts in the wardrobe. “Like, what restaurant are we going to?”
“Um, no.” He shoots you a look that screams judgement, but you know it’s all in good nature. “That would completely ruin the surprise.”
“But I need to figure out what I’m going to wear,” You reason, sitting up quickly. Lando pins you to the spot with another disapproving look that you ignore, digging in your metaphorical heels. “What if I show up looking like an absolute slob because you didn’t tell me it was somewhere fancy? That would be your fault, not mine.”
Lando finishes his task, coming over to the bed where you’re sat cross-legged, and props himself up on his elbows right in front of you. “First of all, you never look like a slob. Even when you’re on the last day of your hair wash cycle and you’ve just come back from a run, you’re still the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“That’s disgusting, but…oddly sweet of you.”
“Second of all,” He says pointedly, poking you in the leg for interrupting him, “If I tell you where I’ve made reservations, you’ll spend all day thinking about it and you’ll freak yourself out like you tend to do. So no, I’m not telling you what I’ve got planned.”
Well, no one can ever say Lando doesn’t know you. He knows you too well, really. Knows your tendencies, exactly what’ll be running through your mind.
“I hate how perfect you are,” You sniff, wrinkling your nose at him.
“Yeah, I love you too, baby.”
You know Lando is probably busy with training so you don’t call him, but you do shoot him a thank you text, to which he returns with a whole slew of love related emojis.
You’re not usually one to enjoy being showered with gifts, but the fact that he’s planned all these surprises to make sure you know he’s thinking of you has butterflies fluttering in your chest.
Lando never ceases to make you feel so loved, all the time, even when he’s not physically there with you.
You’re hard at work when your Cass calls your name around noon, drawing you out of your focus.
“Hey, there’s a food delivery person asking for you at the front desk.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t order anything,” You reply, brows creased in curiosity.
You hadn’t ordered anything, but thinking about food makes you realize you’d completely forgotten to pack your lunch before you’d left the house this morning. Oddly enough, you don’t even remember seeing it in the fridge on the shelf where it usually is.
She shrugs. “They’re asking for you.”
You thank Cass quickly, making your way to the lobby to meet the delivery person.
“Hi!” You say politely. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I didn’t order anything. Maybe you’ve got the wrong address?”
One look at the restaurant name on the bag almost has you taking back your words, because it’s from your favorite little cafe in the city, and if you take a deep enough breath, you can almost smell the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the paper bag.
The poor delivery driver looks as puzzled as you feel. She blinks, looking at something on her phone before tilting her head. “Uh, I don’t think so? The system said the order was placed by a Bob N? Do you know a Bob that would order takeaway to this address?”
You have to fight the urge to laugh. Of course it was Lando who’d ordered takeaway. Another Valentine’s Day surprise for you, it seems.
“Wow, I’m so sorry for the confusion. My boyfriend, he must’ve had it sent here without letting me know,” You explain, feeling your cheeks blaze warm. “Yes, it’s for me.”
“Oh my god, that’s so cute! Your boyfriend is so sweet!” She gushes, passing over the bag.
“Yeah, he is,” You chuckle. “Thank you so much, have a great day! Sorry again for the mix up.”
“You too, happy Valentine’s Day!”
Upon opening the bag when you get back to your desk, you see something tucked in beside the takeaway container. Yet another note, not printed nor in his handwriting, so he’d probably made a special request for the restaurant to write it.
hope you’re hungry! enjoy your lunch, baby. day’s halfway over, see you soon <3 love you always - Bob
This time, you do call Lando as you munch on your food.
“Hi, baby!” You chirp happily.
“Hey, you,” He greets back, sounding glad to hear your voice. He always does whenever you give him a ring. “What’s up?”
“How’d you know I’d forgotten my lunch?”
“What? You did? No way!” Lando sounds a little too smug to be innocent, and it isn’t hard to connect the dots now.
You chuckle, a little disbelieved. “Did you seriously hide my lunch just so you could have takeaway delivered to my office?”
“I did no such thing. Did I accidentally toss it out whilst I was taking out the rubbish last night? Maybe. But we’ll never know, will we?”
“Sure we won’t. Thank you, by the way. I’ve been craving this all week.”
“I know. Heard you muttering about it in your sleep the other night. Fuckin’ weirdo.” You can almost imagine him grinning that big toothy smile of his that you love, shaking his head at you. “Anyways, good news. I managed to convince Jon to let me off early today, so I can pick you up from work.”
“Really? How’d you swing that?”
“Might’ve let it slip I’ve got something special planned for us tonight and he caved. That man is such a sucker for love, it’s crazy.”
“So you’ll tell your trainer what we’re doing tonight, but you won’t tell me? That’s messed up, Norris,” You say teasingly. He laughs.
“Well, he’s not the one I’m trying to surprise, you muppet. You’ll find out soon enough, don’t you worry,” Lando tuts. You hear someone say something on his end of the line that Lando gives a muffled reply to, but he’s back before you know it. “M’sorry, I gotta get back to it. I’ll see you at five?”
“I’ll be waiting. Tell Jon I say hi and thanks for giving you some freedom today. Love you always!”
“Love you always.”
-------
The rest of the workday goes by without any more Lando surprises, but you’re still nearly buzzing with energy because of the fact you get to see him earlier than you’d expected. After a long day of work, your wonderful boyfriend is just what you need.
You see him through the doors before he sees you. He’s leaning against the side of his sleek Porsche, cap backwards on his head as he squints through the waning sunlight in search of you and looking unfairly handsome while doing so. You even pause to snap a sneaky photo of him because he just looks so good.
When you finally exit the building, Lando beams, holding a hand up in greeting.
“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiles, leaning in for a kiss as soon as you get within arms’ length of him. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too, Lan.” You mean it. Even though you’ve only been apart for a workday, he’s been on your mind throughout it. You don’t know how you survive race weeks without being with him all the time.
“Ready to go home?”
“Never been more ready. Maybe I’ll worm some information about tonight out of you on the way.”
“Sneaky girl. Right, I’ll tell you this, it’s a nice restaurant. Somewhere we’ve been before.”
“But not my favorite restaurant, because you already got me food from there today.”
“Observant, aren’t you? No, not that one.” He opens the passenger side door for you to get in and you do, wracking your brain for any idea of where Lando would be taking you in a few hours. “Alright, don’t think too hard about it. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now.”
“Rude.”
“Look, is it alright for me to lightly suggest what I think you could wear?” He asks, pulling out of the car park and onto the road. You shoot him a look that tells him to be careful, but still nod slowly. “That dress that I like. The swishy one with the thin straps that make your boobs look—”
“Lando.”
“Sorry, sorry, got a little carried away,” He says sheepishly. “But yeah, that one would be perfect.”
“That’s a nice one,” You hum, tilting your head in thought. “You’ve got good taste after all.”
“Um, yeah, I know. I bought it.”
-------
You’ve got on the dress that Lando suggested, but there’s one thing you always forget about this specific one. The zipper on the back is near impossible for you to get all the way up on your own. No matter how hard you try, you’ve always had to get Lando to help you that last bit.
“Lan, could you c’mere a second?” You call down the corridor. Footsteps echo right away, and then he’s in the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt with intense focus.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Could you zip me?”
“Could I—oh, fuck.”
You make eye contact in the mirror in front of you and Lando freezes right where he is, mouth ajar, blinking at you like he can’t believe you’re real and in front of him.
“Help?” You urge, fighting an amused smile at how absolutely floored he looks.
He gives his head a shake, rushing over to help you. Shaky fingers slide the delicate zipper up until it’s good. “Sorry, I just—every time you wear that dress I think I forget how to breathe a little bit.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You should be. Baby, you look absolutely beautiful.” His gaze flits to your necklace, the new one you’d gotten today, and his mouth curves into a smile. “That’s a nice one. Wonder who got it for you?”
“My boyfriend, actually. Dunno if you know him, but he’s kinda the best. Massive forehead though.”
“Oh, you’re funny,” He huffs, nose wrinkling in overdramatic offense that makes you giggle. “Kiss?”
“You’d have my lipstick all over your mouth.”
“Does it look like I care? I wanna kiss you.”
Rolling your eyes playfully, you let him kiss you. While you’re expecting a short kiss, Lando takes it a step further, two hands sliding behind you to dip you backwards a little bit to deepen it. To say you’re taken by surprise is a slight understatement, but you go with what he’s doing.
You kiss him until you’re breathless, pulling back with a hand splayed over his chest.
Lando grins goofily with lipstick smudges all over his mouth. “Totally worth it,” He says, looking absolutely giddy.
Once you’ve reapplied what had rubbed off on Lando, you’re off through the city in Lando’s favorite car. The more familiar your surroundings get, the more you realize where he’s taking you, and your suspicions are concerned when he pulls up to the valet.
The restaurant where you’d had your first date.
Lando always tells you how he’d known he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with you on that first date, even before your entrees came. You always tell him you’d known it then too.
“Did I do good?” He asks hopefully, holding out his elbow for you to loop your arm through as soon as he’s helped you out of the car.
“You did perfect, Lan. I might cry, actually.”
“No, don’t do that! You’ll mess up your mascara and then you’ll look like a raccoon for the rest of the night.”
You scoff lightly, successfully blinking back tears. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“We would not. Though I’d still think you were the cutest raccoon out of all the raccoons.”
“You’re so dumb. I love you.”
“Love you, babe. Always.”
A nice dinner at a restaurant dear to your heart with the love of your life. It’s all you could’ve asked for, and Lando has gone beyond that to show you how much he loves you.
On a Valentine’s Day full of wonderful surprises, this is the best one of all.
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#lando norris#lando norris x reader#ln4 x reader#ln4#lando norris x you#lando norris x fem!reader#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff
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palentine’s day ⤨ kuroo tetsuro
⨭ genre; fluff, childhood best friends!trope, valentine’s day special!
⨭ pairing; kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader
⨭ word count; 18.5k
⨭ description; kuroo suggests a “palentine’s day” when you both admit to being adults with no sense of a love life on valentine’s. that being said, obviously he becomes yours.
⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, suggestive dialogue
⨭ a/n; guys i made this over the course of like one day. it's literally NOT proofread at all (i am not sober rn and will do so tomorrow morning) so if ur early, deal with it. jk thank u so much for reading my bullshit on ur valentine's if ur reading this also check out 'in full bloom' aka pt 1 of my valentines gift to tumblr
song i listened to writing this: 'pretty in pink' by lostboycrow
one.
JFK stands for ‘John F. Kennedy’ International Airport, but as you wait in the masses outside the pick-up zone, you can’t help thinking that it should really stand for ‘Just Fucking Kill’ yourself.
You tend to avoid the airport as much as humanly possible since TSA agents are evil and you always get lost, but today, you’re forced to be here: Kuroo’s flight lands in ten minutes, and he whined so much about the cost of an Uber to your apartment that you finally gave in and agreed to pick him up yourself.
Predictably, you’re already regretting it.
The arrivals area is a literal zoo: people standing way too close, aggressively waving handmade signs that say things like Welcome home, Papa! and Jorge & Melissa 4Ever!, and a seemingly endless stream of passengers getting on and off flights. A man in a suit shoves past you, nearly smacking you in the face with the obscenely large bouquet of roses he’s carrying, and an elderly woman parks herself directly in front of you with a luggage cart, as if she has no idea that you exist. Meanwhile, Kuroo is nowhere in sight.
Leaning back against a pillar, you sigh and clutch your coat tighter around yourself, because despite being a major international airport, JFK still hasn’t figured out how to keep the cold air from blasting in through the automatic doors. The little icon next to Kuroo’s flight says baggage claim, which means you probably have another fifteen minutes before he actually appears—maybe more, if he’s being slow (which he always is).
You pull up your messages.
(3:27 PM) y/n: hurry up tetsu: awh, miss me? 😘 y/n: keep it up and i’m leaving without u
Shoving your hands back into your coat pockets does little to restore warmth, and the irritation building in your chest isn’t helping. You should’ve just let him suffer through the Uber surge pricing. He deserves it: you’re already letting him crash at your place for the week, rent-free.
Your phone buzzes again.
(3:32 PM) tetsu: omw. don’t leave me 🥺 tetsu: remember when u were a baby and followed me everywhere?
You scoff, choosing not to dignify that text with a response.
What a bitch. It’s been years since you last saw him, ever since you moved to NYC for your PhD and he stayed in Japan to work for the JVA, but some things never change: he’s still the same guy who kept you humble your whole childhood, who was your older brother’s—and by extension, yours—sole and only friend, who was the coolest person you knew as a kid because he was in second grade and you were still a kindergartener. You grew out of it by the time you both hit middle school (though he, unfortunately, never grew out of reminding you).
And now he’s here, in your city for a full two weeks as he promotes some upcoming tournament. You guys call semi-regularly, but it really is different when he’s here in real life and in person, because you can no longer just hang up when he starts to get annoying.
That’s when a pair of arms suddenly loop around your waist.
A startled jolt runs through you, heart seizing in your chest before the familiar scent of his overpriced department store cologne registers. Funny how smells bring back memories; he’s been using the same Armani Acqua Di Gio bottle since your undergrad years (you’re both shocked and impressed that he hasn’t finished it yet). His arms squeeze lightly, then drop away.
“Hi, babyface,” he coos, smirking.
Spinning around, you glare at him for still clinging to that dumbass childhood nickname—he overheard your parents call you that literally once, and has insisted on it ever since. He’s probably the sole person left in the world who refers to you that way, but whatever—you’ll tolerate it for two weeks.
Kuroo stands there, dragging a comically oversized suitcase behind him. Honestly, he doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him, three years ago when he and Kenma sent you off at Haneda Airport. He’s still got the same stupidly tall frame, same messy bedhead that somehow makes him look effortlessly cool instead of disheveled and gross, like it should.
But he’s older now. More… grown up. His face is leaner, more refined, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners when he smirks, as smug as always. It’s not that he’s annoyingly attractive, you tell yourself: his confidence is just so in-your-face, it’s impossible not to notice.
“Took you long enough,” you huff, crossing your arms.
He holds up a paper cup from some overpriced coffee joint inside the airport. “In my defense, I needed this. Been up since three in the morning.”
“Oh, poor you.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s just go. I’m sick of this crowd.”
“You Kozumes are all the same,” he grins, but when you turn to lead the way, he swings an arm around your shoulders with easy familiarity, guiding you through the herd of people clamoring for their reunions. The crush of bodies is suffocating—someone smacks into your elbow with a backpack, and you shoot them a dirty look. Kuroo just laughs and steers you closer to him, like he’s shielding you from a crowd of middle schoolers who haven’t learned personal space.
“Where’re you parked?” he asks, glancing around. The overhead speakers crackle as an announcement for a flight to Chicago booms through the terminal.
“Garage 4,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “It’s, like, a mile from here, so get ready to hike.”
“Sounds like fun,” he drawls. “Can’t wait.”
A scoff slips out, but the tug at the corner of your mouth betrays you—there’s something about him that makes you nostalgic for days when running around after him and your brother was your favorite activity. You guess old habits die hard; he still reaches back when you fall behind, still makes sure you’re not lost in the crowd.
When you finally reach the elevator, the two of you squeeze in with half a dozen other travelers plus an extremely disgruntled-looking airport employee. Kuroo tries to maneuver his luggage behind him without bumping everyone’s ankles, which, of course, is a losing battle.
“Sorry,” you mutter to the group while jabbing the button for the garage level.
The elevator lurches upward. From the corner of your eye, you catch Kuroo’s sideways grin.
“What’re you staring at?” you ask after a moment, realizing his gaze is fixed on you.
His lips twitch. “You. I haven’t seen you in forever, remember? Trying to see what’s changed.”
You resist the urge to smack him because this space is way too cramped for violence. “What’s changed is that I have zero tolerance for your bullshit now.”
He lets out a loud laugh, drawing a few curious glances from the other passengers that should make him feel more embarrassed than it does. “Sure, you do,” he murmurs, leaning in. “That’s why you came to pick me up, right?”
“I should’ve let you take the subway. You’re lucky I’m so kind and benevolent.”
Unfazed, he grins. “I’m very lucky,” he agrees, voice dropping an octave that sends a weird heat through your cheeks.
Thankfully, the elevator dings and the doors slide open, saving you from having to come up with a retort.
Stepping into the parking garage, the cold air slams into you instantly—JFK has no business being this miserable in February. Tucking your chin deeper into your coat, you exhale sharply and brace yourself against the wind.
Kuroo whistles low under his breath, dragging his suitcase along the pavement with a clatter. “Damn. This city really doesn’t give a shit about warmth, huh?”
“Welcome to New York,” you deadpan. “Now shut up and walk faster before I lose feeling in my fingers.”
He chuckles, shoving one hand into his coat pocket while gripping his suitcase handle with the other. You can hear the low hum of an airplane overhead, the distant honking of taxis below, the way his footsteps fall in sync with yours. It’s strange—how easily he slots back in, like no time has passed at all.
Your car is parked at the far end of the lot, tucked between an SUV and a sedan that’s way too close to the line. “There,” you say, pointing.
Kuroo groans. “You weren’t kidding about the hike.”
You ignore him, fishing your keys from your pocket as you approach the driver’s side. “Just get in, princess. Your chariot awaits.”
He snorts but doesn’t argue, tossing his suitcase into the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. The moment you settle in behind the wheel, you blast the heater, letting the warmth seep back into your body. Kuroo exhales in exaggerated pleasure.
“Ah, yes,” he sighs, holding his hands up to the vents. “This is the hospitality I deserve.”
You shoot him a look as you adjust the side mirrors. “Buckle your seatbelt. I wanna go.”
“So eager to get me home already? At least buy me dinner first.”
“Get out.”
Kuroo smirks, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Not a chance—you’re stuck with me now, babyface.”
And you just sigh and kick your car into gear, promptly backing up and heading out of the maze of a parking lot, because even if you were to argue, it would be a lie. You’ve been stuck with him for almost two decades, and whether for better or for worse (definitely for worse), you don’t see that changing anytime soon.
two.
Your apartment building’s leasing office has plastered pink and red hearts on just about every open space in the hallway, so it’s safe to say that you’re slightly annoyed as you lug Kuroo’s freakishly huge suitcase to the door of your flat. The wheels squeak in protest, and you’re 99% sure you hear something clanking around inside—like maybe he’s sneaking free weights in there, or some equally ridiculous item you’re going to have to store somewhere in your already-cramped closet.
“Seriously,” you grumble, pausing to readjust your grip, “what did you pack? An entire gym? A small car? Did you kidnap Bokuto or something?”
Kuroo, trailing behind you with his coffee cup that’s somehow still not finished yet, lets out an overdramatic groan. “Oh, come on. I need my suits, my shoes, and, of course, my extremely heavy hair-care products. Gotta keep this—” he gestures at the bedhead that somehow counts as a hairstyle for him “—looking flawless for the cameras.”
“You’re insufferable,” you say.
“It’s okay,” Kuroo replies, stepping around a giant pink heart taped to the floor. “You love me anyway.”
You roll your eyes, key in hand as you finally reach your door. Jamming the key into the lock and wriggling it furiously, you mutter, “I can’t believe I’m letting you stay with me. Your fancy JVA job couldn’t get you a hotel?”
“They could, but the Marriott doesn’t have you,” he says proudly as you drag the suitcase over the threshold and inside your apartment, propping the door open with your hip. “I’d rather stay with my darling friend in her little one-bedroom place on the Upper East Side.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes again—half because you’re exhausted, half because your heart is doing that annoying stutter-step in your chest, and you really don’t want to analyze why. Instead, you drop your keys on the small side table by the door and flick on the overhead light.
“Make yourself at home,” you say, and the words come out more begrudging than you intend. Despite this, he kicks off his shoes very casually, setting his half-empty coffee on your kitchen counter and taking a quick scan of the place. Inside, your apartment is as cozy as ever—small, but comfortable, and the warmth from your radiator is a welcome contrast to the drafty hallway. You drop the suitcase in the living area, exhaling with relief.
He smirks, reaching out to flick one of the pink paper hearts taped to your kitchen cabinet. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of love.”
“The leasing office gets way too into seasonal themes. They gave us all these cut-out hearts to tape up, like we’re in grade school,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I figured it was better to play along than have them slip passive-aggressive notes under my door.”
“Ah, yes, the joys of city living,” he intones. He peels one heart off the cabinet and sticks it onto his own chest like a ridiculous badge. How appropriate.
“The bathroom’s down the hall to the right. Towels are in the cabinet.” You pause momentarily, considering. “Do you think you can fit on the couch?”
Kuroo regards the couch in question—lumpy cushions, old springs, barely big enough for someone your size—then flicks his eyes to you, expression dry as if to say obviously not. In truth, you aren’t totally surprised. He’s always been freakishly tall, and the piece of furniture doubling as your “guest bed” is basically a glorified loveseat.
“Uh,” you say, slightly distracted as you take in the way his broad shoulders fill your kitchen, “maybe if you sleep diagonally, you could?”
He gives you a slow, sarcastic clap. “Wow, babyface. Thank you for that helpful geometry lesson.”
Your cheeks warm, partly in annoyance and partly because something about him looking so large in your space sets your nerves on edge. “Well, then I don’t know what to tell you,” you mumble. “Unless you wanna sleep standing up against the wall.”
Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly comfortable, either.”
You throw up your hands. “Then what do you expect me to do? I only have a full-sized bed in my room, and that’s barely big enough for—” You stop yourself, but it’s too late. You can practically see the grin forming on his lips.
“Oh?” He shifts his weight, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “I don’t mind sharing. We used to all the time.”
You open your mouth to retort, but no sound comes out. You can’t deny that a part of you has already considered this possibility. Sure, you’ve known him forever, but the last time you shared a bed, Kenma was also there, and you were eleven-years-old having a sleepover because you were all way too invested in Monsters, Inc.—very different from sharing a bed with him now.
“Tetsu,” you start, forcing yourself to sound composed, “my bed is also a tight squeeze. There’s no guarantee we’ll both fit comfortably.”
Kuroo shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not picky. I can do my best to take up minimal space.”
You snort. “You? Minimizing anything? Please.”
He laughs, and the rich sound echoes in your small living area. “I’m not that tall.”
“Pretty close,” you counter. “But fine.” You exhale, feeling the weight of two weeks’ worth of future awkwardness settle on your shoulders. “If you promise not to kick me in your sleep, you can share the bed.”
He smiles with infuriating smugness, like he’s won some big debate or secured a massive deal. “Noted. No kicking, no thrashing. I can be a good boy when I need to.”
At that, you turn away and take a sip of your water, because if you let yourself stare at him any longer, you’ll start overthinking everything (you already are). Like how you’re going to handle waking up next to him. Or how it’ll feel if one of you accidentally rolls over onto the other in the middle of the night.
“Go shower. You reek,” you say instead, tersely and very much avoiding eye contact.
Kuroo salutes you with two fingers. “Yes, ma’am.” He starts unzipping his massive suitcase, rummaging around for clothes. When he locates what looks like sleepwear, he straightens and tosses them over one arm. “I’ll be quick. Don’t fall asleep before I get back.”
“Yeah, sure,” you say, heart still fluttering at the reality of what you’ve just agreed to.
You’re about to share a bed with your old friend—your insufferable old friend, who shows up with enough luggage to stock a small department store, calls you babyface, and then makes your heartbeat skip whenever he so much as looks at you a certain way.
So in other words, you think you’re probably fucked.
three.
He emerges from the bathroom a little while later, hair damp, wearing a rumpled t-shirt and basketball shorts that show off way too much of his long legs. You pretend you don’t notice. In the meantime, you’ve perched on the edge of your bed—both of your bed, you remind yourself, trying not to linger on that detail—flipping through your phone for the best takeout options.
“You hungry?” you ask, keeping your voice casual. “I’m too tired to cook.”
Kuroo sets his towel on the back of a chair and rubs at his damp hair a final time. “Absolutely. I owe you for picking me up anyway. Let me buy dinner.”
“Deal,” you say, pulling up a nearby Mexican joint’s online menu—you can almost taste the cilantro and lime already. “I vote burritos. Guac and chips on the side. Whaddya think?”
He moves to sit beside you on the mattress, leaning in to read the menu on your phone. Your shoulders nearly brush, and you feel a flicker of awareness at the close proximity.
“Let’s do it,” he says. “I’m a sucker for a good burrito. Extra beans, though, or it’s not worth it.”
You snort, tapping in your order. “Fine. But don’t complain if you regret it later.”
He laughs proudly. “I have no regrets. Order some chips and salsa, too.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you finalize your selections on the app. “Fried plantains or no? They have them here.”
“Absolutely. Throw ‘em in.”
Satisfied, you place the order. “Alright, burritos en route. They said it’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes.”
Kuroo drops onto his back for a moment, groaning dramatically into one of your pillows. “I might not last that long.”
“Quit being dramatic or I’ll eat your half when it arrives.”
He pops back up, smirking. “You’d miss me if I starved to death.”
“Sure,” you say dryly, setting your phone aside and hugging your knees to your chest, getting comfortable. “Anyway, what’s been up with you lately? Aside from the glorious JVA life. You haven’t actually told me much.”
Kuroo shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, humming nonchalantly. “Mostly traveling, setting up events. Lately it’s been a lot of PR for an upcoming international tournament—making sponsor deals, meeting with potential partners, that sort of thing. It’s never-ending.”
“Sounds exhausting,” you say, and mean it. “But you seem to thrive on that chaos.”
He smiles. “I like keeping busy, yeah. What about you? Kenma mentioned something about you publishing an article in a big journal.”
A self-conscious warmth settles in your chest. “It’s not that big,” you insist. “Just a decent academic journal. But yeah, I’m pretty proud. Trying to balance that with my research duties and teaching labs at university is… a lot.”
He bumps your shoulder gently with his own. “Still, that’s impressive. Your parents must be bragging left and right.”
You exhale, a small smile tugging at your lips. “They are. Kenma, too, apparently.”
“He’s proud,” Kuroo confirms, then yawns. “Man, I’m wiped. But I gotta stay conscious long enough to demolish this burrito.”
As if on cue, there’s a buzz from your phone. You glance down to see a delivery notification: Your order is arriving soon.
“Perfect,” you murmur. “I’ll grab it in a minute. Might as well eat in here—it’s more comfortable than the couch.”
He grins, reaching to grab his wallet from his bag and handing you a few twenty-dollar bills. “I’m not opposed to an in-bed picnic.”
A few minutes later, you’re answering the knock at your door. Your hallway briefly fills with the mouthwatering scent of fresh tortillas and spices; you’re only realising now that this is practically the only thing you’ve had all day. Once you pay the delivery person, you lug the paper bag back to the bedroom. Kuroo shifts to sit cross-legged, making space for the containers between you.
“Dig in,” he says, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
You unwrap your burrito, steam curling upward, and suddenly you’re reminded of all those nights you spent eating junk food with him and Kenma back in Tokyo—late-night convenience store runs, microwaved meals shared on the couch while you watched random movies. It feels oddly nostalgic; you almost want to put on Shrek 2 (the best one) just for the sake of it.
“Mm,” you manage around a mouthful of seasoned rice and beans. “That’s gas.”
Kuroo tears into his own burrito, letting out a satisfied hum. “New York burritos aren’t half bad. Who knew?”
You smirk. “They’re still not exactly authentic, but they’re decent. We have some good Mexican places nearby—if you stick around long enough, I’ll take you to this hole-in-the-wall joint in Queens that’s even better.”
He perks up. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.” Then he gestures at one of the pink hearts still taped to your wall. “Speaking of good times, we got Valentine’s Day coming up, right?”
You pause, taking a sip of your soda to stall, humming. “Yeah, next week. Not exactly my favorite holiday.”
“You doing anything?” he asks, fishing out a chip to scoop some guacamole.
You shrug, eyes fixed on your burrito. “No. I’m, uh… single. So it’ll just be another Tuesday for me. Maybe a glass of wine and some Netflix.”
He nods slowly, as if absorbing that information. “Right. Me too, actually. Single, I mean.”
You hazard a glance at him. “Really? I figured you’d have someone lined up,” you tease, trying to keep your tone light. “You’re always bragging about how charming you are.”
He snorts, looking faintly amused. “No takers at the moment, guess I gotta step up my game.” Then he sets his burrito down, brushing stray bits of rice from his fingers. “Honestly, though, I’m not looking to date just anybody. I’m picky.”
The confession sends a flicker of warmth through you. Don’t read into it, you warn yourself. “Well, guess that means we’ll both be alone on V-Day.”
Kuroo’s face brightens with an idea. “Doesn’t have to be alone-alone. We should hang out! Watch a movie, go ice-skating, corny shit like that. We’re in New York City, after all.”
Your stomach does a little flip, and you hope he can’t see the sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. “You want to hang out with me on Valentine’s Day?”
He shrugs, looking casual, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “Why not? Better than moping around separately. We can do the whole anti-Valentine’s vibe. Or, y’know, a Palentine’s Day.”
“Palentine’s Day,” you echo, rolling the phrase around. Part of you wants to jump at the chance, but you’re also cautious—because this is Kuroo. Kuroo, who’s seen you when you were still climbing into Kenma’s bed every time you had a nightmare. Kuroo, who carried you home on his back when you twisted your ankle playing tag at the park. Kuroo, who knows about every embarrassing photo of you in your entire house and is featured in practically half of them.
Kuroo, who was your first childhood crush, who took you to your senior year formal, who still makes your heart stutter like no one else.
Jesus fuck.
“Sure,” you say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “That could be fun. As long as you’re not too busy with your JVA stuff.”
He offers a crooked grin, the one that always makes your pulse pick up. “I’ll make time. Promise.”
A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of wrappers crinkling and the hum of traffic outside. You focus on your burrito, but every so often, you peek at him from the corner of your eye—how his long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, how he smirks just before taking another bite.
When you finally polish off the last of your dinner, you exhale in satisfaction, leaning back against the headboard. Kuroo does the same, patting his stomach. “That really hit the spot,” he says. “Might have to get seconds tomorrow.”
“We can’t keep eating like this,” you tease, crumpling up your napkin. “We’ll both end up broke, living off takeout.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Worse ways to go, babyface.”
You give him a mock glare, but you can’t hide your faint grin. Babyface. Somehow, it doesn’t annoy you the way it used to. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, you think, or maybe you’re just too used to it by now.
“Anyway,” he adds, glancing at the clock on his phone, “you ready to crash? ‘Cause I’m about to pass out any second.”
A twinge of nervous excitement flutters in your chest. You’d momentarily forgotten the whole bed situation. You clear your throat, stacking up the empty takeout containers so you can toss them. “Yeah, I guess so. Let’s clean this up, then… bed.”
He nods, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on tidying up. Two weeks, you remind yourself. He’ll only be here for two weeks, and then things go back to normal—whatever normal means when it comes to the two of you.
But for now, as you glance up to see him smiling at you—fond, amused, and something else you can’t quite name—you have the strangest feeling that nothing about this trip will be normal. And you’re not sure if that terrifies you or thrills you.
Considering it’s Kuroo, the answer is probably both.
four.
As it turns out, Kuroo lied about being a supposed ‘good boy’, because he grabs just about everything in his sleep, including your comforter, your pillow, and you.
The first thing you notice upon waking is that your arm is asleep—completely, pins-and-needles numb. The second thing you notice is that it’s probably because Kuroo is draped all over you like an overgrown cat: one arm slung across your waist, a leg hooking over yours, and his face half-buried in the pillow you share.
It’s still early. The faint gray glow of dawn filters through your curtains, and the radiator in the corner hisses quietly, pushing lukewarm air into the room. You try to move—gently, so you don’t jostle him too much—but his grip tightens reflexively, pulling you closer.
Your pulse hammers a little faster. Not exactly the start to the morning you pictured when you offered to share a bed. Hesitantly, you lay there, blinking sleep from your eyes as you let the situation sink in. On one hand, he’s so much warmer than the drafty air swirling around you. On the other… well, this is Kuroo.
He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. You can’t help noticing how his dark hair flops forward onto his forehead, or how his breathing sounds steady, almost comforting against your ear. A little flutter stirs in your chest, and you decide it’s definitely the awkwardness. Or maybe hunger. Definitely not anything else.
You inch your free arm over to nudge him carefully in the side. “Hey,” you whisper, cringing at how scratchy your morning voice sounds, “mind letting me breathe?”
He stirs again, blinking blearily. When he opens his eyes, for a split second, he looks adorably confused—like he’s forgotten where he is. Then the realization dawns, and a slow, smug grin spreads across his face.
“Mornin’,” he drawls, voice husky from sleep. And he still doesn’t move his arm.
You clear your throat, refusing to let your face heat up too obviously. “Care to explain why you’re suffocating me?”
“Am I?” he says, sounding wholly unrepentant. “Sorry, babyface. Didn’t realize you were so delicate.”
Rolling your eyes, you lift your numb arm and give him another nudge. “At least release my limbs so I can feel them again.”
He finally relents, scooting back a few inches but still remaining obnoxiously close, the mattress dipping under his weight. You sit up, wincing at the twinge in your shoulder, and rub at the pins-and-needles sensation. Meanwhile, Kuroo stretches luxuriously, arms overhead, shirt riding up just a fraction.
“Not a bad night’s sleep,” he remarks, yawning. “This bed’s cozier than it looks.”
“No thanks to you,” you grumble, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Despite your best efforts to stay composed, you can’t quite suppress a tiny shiver at the morning chill. “Next time, keep your limbs to yourself.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you make a great pillow,” he counters, smirking.
Before you can toss a pillow at him in retaliation, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach over, scanning the screen: a news alert and an email from your department. With a sigh, you set it aside for now.
You flick your gaze back to him, noticing how the sunlight is slowly brightening the angles of his face. “What’s your schedule like today?” you ask, if only to give yourself something normal to focus on.
He scrubs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair—somehow, it still looks frustratingly cool—and shrugs. “Meeting at noon with the local organizers. Press conference in the late afternoon. After that, I’m free.”
“Alright,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed. “I have a lab to teach at eleven, so I’ll be gone most of the morning and early afternoon. I’ll give you a spare key in case you need to step out while I’m gone—just don’t get lost.”
“Aw, you’re giving me a key to your place?” His grin turns positively wolfish. “This relationship is moving so fast.”
You scowl, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “Shut up,” you say, grabbing a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and tugging it on. “I’ll make coffee, then we can figure out breakfast.”
Behind you, you hear the creak of the bed as Kuroo stands. “Coffee sounds great,” he says, padding after you. “But only if you have the good stuff. None of that cheap instant brand.”
He catches up to you in the hallway, and for a moment, you’re hyper aware of how tall he is, how his eyes are still a bit sleepy, how your bedhead probably resembles a hedgehog. Yet, there’s a comforting ease in the way he fits into your space—like he’s been here a hundred times before, even though it’s been years since you last lived in the same city.
You toss him a lazy glare over your shoulder. “You’re lucky I still have some leftover beans from when Kenma visited. Otherwise, you’d be stuck with the dreaded instant.”
Kuroo feigns a dramatic shudder, but his grin stays easy. As you flick on the kitchen lights, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. It strikes you again how right he looks here, in your cramped little kitchen, sporting wrinkled sleep clothes and bed hair you’d tease him about if he didn’t look so… comfortable.
“By the way,” he says, voice lower, still thick with morning grogginess. “Thanks for letting me crash here. And, y’know… for not kicking me out of bed for being grabby.”
“Don’t get used to it,” you say, ignoring the warmth creeping into your cheeks as you fill the kettle with water. “Tonight, you stick to your side, got it?”
“Scout’s honor.” He raises three fingers in a mock salute, the picture of insincerity.
You roll your eyes and turn on the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He shuffles a little closer, peering at the kettle. He’s definitely invading your personal space again, but maybe you’re starting to get used to it, if the jump in your heartbeat is anything to go by.
It’s a strange, domestic moment: you, still half-asleep, and Kuroo, leaning in with his arms caging you in, braced on the kitchen counter, with the faint hum of traffic outside. Despite the tingle in your arm and the slight ache in your stiff neck, you realize you don’t hate the idea of waking up like this. For once, you’re not quite as alone in the big city, you justify to yourself.
He meets your gaze, one brow raised. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, dropping your eyes to the kettle. “Just that the coffee needs to hurry up or I’m gonna be late.”
He chuckles, the soft rumble filling the space. “Sure, sure.”
But he doesn’t push, just stays close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. And for now—just this once—you decide to let it be.
five.
Kuroo looks unfairly good in a suit.
You realise this while you’re curled up on your couch, half-watching the new season of Single’s Inferno on your TV and half-dozing off with a bowl of stale popcorn balanced on your lap. The door swings open without so much as a warning knock—typical—and then there he is, in all his post-press-conference glory: crisp blazer, tailored trousers, tie loosened just enough to give off a casual but effortlessly hot vibe.
Your stomach does a funny little flip. It’s probably the stale popcorn.
“Hey,” he says, shutting the door behind him with a nudge of his shoulder. “You look cozy.”
“I am cozy,” you huff, wriggling deeper into your throw blanket. You drop a piece of popcorn into your mouth and make a face when it crunches unpleasantly. “You look… fancy.”
He glances down at his outfit, as if he’s just remembered it exists. “Right. Forgot I was still wearing this.” A small smirk crosses his face. “Didn’t want to keep the fans waiting, so I came straight from the conference.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m sure your admirers really appreciated that.”
“Jealous?” he teases, toeing off his polished dress shoes. His shirt collar gapes slightly as he unbuttons the top, revealing a sliver of skin at his throat. Annoyingly distracting, even after all these years.
You pointedly look back at the TV, where two contestants are locked in a tense conversation about who picked whom for a date. “Not even remotely.”
“Ouch,” he says, sounding mock-offended. “And here I was, about to tell you that I saved you some fancy hors d’oeuvres from the event. But if you’re not interested—”
You sit up immediately, dislodging your popcorn bowl. “Wait. Real food?”
Kuroo snickers, pulling a napkin-wrapped bundle from his pocket. He tosses it onto the coffee table with a flourish. “Straight from the VIP section. Mini sliders and some kind of salmon tartare thing.”
You snatch it up without hesitation, peeling back the napkin to inspect the offerings. “See, this is why I tolerate you.”
“Tolerate?” He feigns a dramatic gasp. “Babyface, we’ve been through too much for that kind of slander.”
You grunt, already stuffing a mini slider into your mouth. “I don’t know. If I remember correctly, you used to tie my shoelaces together and push me into Kenma just to watch me trip.”
Kuroo grins, unbothered. “Building character.”
“Being an ass.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” he singsongs, shrugging out of his blazer. As he drapes it over the back of the couch and rolls up his sleeves, you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying not to be obvious about it.
Because it’s unfair, really. He’s always been annoyingly attractive, but there’s something different about seeing him like this—sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loose, like he’s caught between polished professionalism and the boy you used to know.
Kuroo flops down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “You know,” he muses, “you’re getting a little too comfortable trash-talking your own husband.”
You freeze mid-chew. “Excuse me?”
His smirk widens. “Our wedding? First grade? Ring any bells?”
You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters treacherously. “Oh my god, not this again.”
“Oh, yes, this again.” He props his chin on his hand, clearly reveling in your reaction. “It was a beautiful ceremony. You wore that little yellow dress with the flowers on it, I looked dashing in my Spider-Man t-shirt, and Kenma officiated with a Pokémon book instead of a Bible. Very classy.”
You scoff, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. “It was a fake wedding.”
“That’s not what you said at the time,” he counters, smug. “You said we’d be married forever.”
You glare at him, but warmth is creeping into your cheeks. “I was six.”
“And yet,” he hums, leaning back against the couch, “you still haven’t divorced me.”
You want to argue. You really do. But the memory of that afternoon—standing in your backyard, clutching a dandelion bouquet while Kuroo grinned at you with all the unearned confidence of an eight-year-old—unfolds so vividly in your mind that you go momentarily speechless.
It’s stupid how much of that day you remember. How he laced his fingers with yours, grinning like he had just won something. How Kenma droned through a “ceremony” while barely looking up from his Game Boy. How, when it was over, Kuroo had squeezed your hand and whispered, Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?
He’d been right, even if you both did eventually grow up and start dating around. And yet, as you sit here—knees almost touching on your too-small couch, the memory of that dandelion bouquet and his smug, gap-toothed grin dangling in the air—you realize there’s a piece of you that never truly left that backyard.
You swallow the last bit of the mini-slider, hoping it’ll ground you. “So,” you say, feigning a dismissive shrug, “we grew up. We definitely child-broke-up.”
Kuroo’s dark eyes glint with amusement as he shifts his weight, the couch cushions dipping under his long frame. “Mm, I don’t recall signing any annulment papers. Actually, I can’t recall you ever giving me back my ring.” He holds up his left hand to wriggle his empty ring finger. “I guess I should’ve at least invested in a proper Band-Aid ring for you.”
You make a face, ignoring how your heart lurches at the implied you he keeps tossing out, like he’s reminding you this is your story—both of yours. “Band-Aid ring, huh? How romantic. You really know how to woo a girl.”
“You always did love Pokémon bandages. Remember how you insisted on Bulbasaur for every scrape?” There’s an unmistakable fondness in his tone, and you wonder if he’s indulging in the same wave of nostalgia that’s been drowning you since you let him through the door.
Trying not to give yourself away, you tilt your head, pretending to examine him. “I see your memory is as annoyingly perfect as ever.”
He flashes a grin. “I have an eye for important details—like your shoe size, your favorite weird pizza topping combo, and the fact that you still haven’t actually denied liking me.”
You snort, heat creeping up your neck. “In your dreams, Tetsu. Where do you get off assuming things, anyway?”
He spreads his hands, tie swaying lightly at his chest. “Can you blame me? You did let me crash at your place. You drove all the way to JFK in rush-hour traffic just to pick me up. If that’s not love, I’m not sure what is.”
You open your mouth to argue but close it again when you realize you’ve got nothing. Yes, you did pick him up. Yes, you did offer him half your bed. And yes, some traitorous part of you is glad he’s here, sprawled out in your living room, reminding you of all the reasons you used to practically worship him when you were a kid.
“You’re insufferable,” you say finally, in a voice so soft it barely carries any bite.
Kuroo chuckles, shifting so he’s angled toward you—elbow braced on the back of the couch, one long leg tucked underneath the other. “Goes both ways, babyface. You’ve always driven me insane.”
The word always lingers in the space between you.
You try to distract yourself by flicking the TV volume higher, but the dating show is a blur. “So how was the press conference?” you ask, setting the empty napkin aside. “Any major breakthroughs? More sponsors falling for your cheesy grin?”
His responding laugh is short, a bit self-conscious. “You know how it is: they ask the same questions—how the tournament’s being organized, who our top competitors are. I say the same rehearsed lines. Then I shake some hands and get out.”
“Bet you loved the attention, though,” you tease, nudging his ankle with your foot.
“Of course,” he deadpans, “you know me too well.”
A quiet pause descends as you both sink further into the cushions. The overhead lamp is dim, casting long shadows on the walls. It feels intimate—too intimate, almost. A far cry from the raucous energy of the press conference he must’ve attended.
“Do you…” You’re not sure why you’re hesitating. Maybe it’s the sudden vulnerability creeping in at the edges of your rib cage. “Do you ever miss being a kid? Everything felt simpler back then.”
His gaze settles on you, something soft reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah. A lot, actually.” He reaches out—hesitates for a second—then pokes the side of your thigh. “But I’m glad some things haven’t changed.”
Your breath catches. “Like what?”
A beat. Then: “Like you still call me out on my bullshit. You’ll still eat half my food if given the chance. You still follow your own weird rules—like never paying for Netflix because you say you can mooch off Kenma forever.” He grins. “And you still look at me the same way. Even if you won’t admit it.”
He doesn’t elaborate further, and you’re too caught off guard to pry. Look at him the same way—what does that mean, exactly? You’re suddenly hyperaware of how close he is, how he’s studying you in the dim light, how the old tether between you two has always refused to snap, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
“Anyway,” he says, shifting back with a little exhale, “got any more of that stale popcorn? I’m starving.”
You clear your throat, trying not to sound frazzled. “Go for it, but don’t complain when it tastes like cardboard.”
He leans over, snagging the bowl from the couch cushion and taking a bite. “Mmm, delicious cardboard.”
His faux-enthusiasm makes you roll your eyes—again. But there’s a familiar warmth curling in your stomach, almost like relief that this little moment is yours to share. Like you’ve both come home, just for a second, to the world you used to know.
You let the show drone on in the background while the two of you work through the stale popcorn in comfortable silence. Every now and then, one of you drops a sarcastic remark or a joke about the contestants on-screen. But beneath the banter, there’s something else stirring—a question you’re not sure either of you is ready to ask.
For now, you settle for glancing sideways at him, at the way his profile looks against the glow of the TV. You let yourself wonder, just briefly, what it would mean to take that childhood promise seriously again. And though you push the thought away almost as quickly as it comes, there’s no denying the giddy little thrill that runs through you when you realize Kuroo might be thinking the exact same thing.
six.
Three days later, it’s the weekend, and you’re free of labs and classes. So obviously, that’s the night Kuroo manages to wheedle you into going to one of his PR parties—with obviously, a Valentine’s theme because the entity in the sky hates you.
“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” you say in slight disbelief as you wait in the lobby of your apartment for your Lyft. You’re just the slightest bit wine tipsy already and are stumbling a tad bit on your three-inch heels. Kuroo stabilises you with an arm, pulling you into him.
“You’re such a lightweight,” he says, amused.
You scowl at him, nudging your heel against the toe of his polished dress shoe. “Says the guy who made me do a round of shots before we even left.”
Kuroo lifts his free hand in mock surrender, though the grin playing on his lips betrays zero remorse. “Hey, I never forced anything. You’re the one who decided it’d be a good idea to keep up with me.”
“You can probably metabolize alcohol through sheer arrogance alone,” you mutter, leaning into him a bit more when your heel wobbles on the slick tile. The building’s lobby has a floor so shiny you can see your own reflection. You catch sight of how red your cheeks look—definitely from the wine.
He snorts, sliding his arm more securely around your waist. “Arrogance is a powerful superpower.”
Before you can retort, the Lyft driver texts that they’ve arrived, and you and Kuroo shuffle through the lobby’s sliding doors. The crisp February air slaps you in the face, clearing some of the pinot-fueled haze from your head.
“God,” you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk up to the waiting car. “Why does it feel like it’s negative a thousand degrees out here?”
Kuroo hums sympathetically, tugging you close so you can huddle in his warmth. “Isn’t it romantic? Attending a Valentine’s party in frigid weather, half-tipsy, with your beloved husband—”
You jab him in the ribs. “Do. Not. Start.”
“Ow.” He laughs, not sounding at all wounded, and opens the car door for you. “Alright, princess, let’s get you warmed up.”
You slide into the backseat, tucking your purse by your feet. Kuroo follows, closing the door. The car smells faintly of peppermint and some floral air freshener, and the driver has a local pop station on low volume.
“Party tonight, huh?” the driver says, catching a glimpse of your outfits in the rearview mirror. “Happy early Valentine’s Day.”
You force a polite smile. “Yeah, it’s a work thing for… him.” You gesture vaguely at Kuroo, who’s already fiddling with the seatbelt.
Kuroo pipes up, flashing an easy grin. “She’s being modest. She’s the star of the show.”
You give him a side-eye, but your stomach flips a little at how casually he includes you in his world. “I’m definitely just background noise. He’s the big fancy PR guy.”
He drapes an arm across the back of the seat, leaning in with that smug energy you always pretend to hate. “C’mon, babyface, we both know you’re the real highlight.”
The driver chuckles to himself at your banter and pulls out onto the main road.
The city lights blur by, and despite the wine, you’re keyed-up enough to notice just how close Kuroo is. His thigh presses against yours as the car bumps over a pothole, and you catch his scent—still that overpriced cologne. You almost tease him for using the same brand since undergrad, but some part of you likes the familiarity too much to make fun of it.
Kuroo scrolls through his phone—likely checking last-minute details for the event—and you let your gaze wander. You wonder what you’re walking into: a Valentine’s-themed volleyball PR party probably means pink cocktails, goofy heart-shaped decorations, and sponsors angling to chat up Kuroo for new deals.
You sigh softly, leaning back into the seat. At least you’re not teaching labs tomorrow.
Feeling your eyes on him, Kuroo pockets his phone and glances over. “You okay?” he asks, voice quieter so the driver can’t overhear. “Too tipsy?”
“Barely,” you lie. “I’m fine.”
He studies you for a moment, then nods. “If you get overwhelmed or bored, just say the word, and I’ll whisk you out of there.”
Your heart does that unfortunate flip again. “I won’t hold you back from schmoozing with your sponsors,” you say, trying to sound casual.
Kuroo just shrugs. “Eh. The only person I really need to impress is right here.”
He grins when you roll your eyes for the millionth time, but there’s a note of sincerity in his gaze that makes your pulse stutter uncontrollably (and feeling less and less like it’s the wine).
seven.
The Lyft pulls up to a sleek downtown hotel with a bright red banner above the entrance: Welcome, Pre-Valentine’s Volleyball Gala! The curbside is abuzz with people stepping out of taxis and rideshares, all dressed in varying degrees of fancy.
You thank the driver and step out. Immediately, the cold hits you again, but Kuroo’s hand is there, steady at your back. Together, you make your way through the glass doors into the lobby, which is decked out in pink and red balloons. You spot a heart-shaped ice sculpture near the reception desk and suppress a grimace.
“This is… a lot,” you say under your breath, scanning the crowd. Everyone seems to be brandishing name tags and sipping champagne. A table off to the side offers color-coded wristbands for something—“Single,” “Taken,” “Open to Networking,” and so on.
Kuroo leans in close, lips by your ear so you can hear him over the lounge music. “Brace yourself, babyface. Corporate Valentine’s chic in full force.”
You can’t help a snort. “Don’t call me babyface in front of everyone,” you hiss, trying not to look self-conscious.
He smirks. “Fine. Mrs. Kuroo it is.”
You elbow him gently in the ribs, and he lets out a playful “Ow!” just as a man in a suit rushes over to greet you.
“Kuroo, hey!” The guy beams and extends a hand. “Glad you could make it. We’ve got the sponsors over by the bar, and the press is setting up in the lounge area.”
“Thanks, Daichi,” Kuroo replies smoothly, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll swing by and say hello in a minute. Oh—this is my plus-one.”
The man’s smile widens. “Great to meet you!” He doesn’t even blink at the slightly flustered expression on your face, just hands you both event badges. “We’re color-coded, so choose whichever suits your mood. And enjoy the party!”
You glance at the bands in your hand: pink for “Single,” purple for “Open to Collaboration,” red for “Taken.” There are even gold ones for “VIP.”
“Seriously?” you mutter, turning to Kuroo. “This is next-level marketing cheese.”
He laughs, plucking a gold band from a nearby tray and snapping it onto his wrist. “I’m definitely VIP, babe. No shame.”
Rolling your eyes, you settle for a purple one—“Open to Collaboration” seems neutral enough, right? You have no intention of wearing the pink “Single” band all night.
Kuroo’s gaze flicks to it, and you catch a slight smirk before he ushers you forward into the main ballroom.
Which, by the way, is massive: vaulted ceilings, floating heart-shaped lanterns, a champagne fountain at the center. You can practically smell the wealth. A DJ in the corner is playing some inoffensive house music that somehow fits the glittery vibe.
“Wow,” you breathe. “They really didn’t hold back.”
“Volleyball PR events rarely do,” Kuroo says, threading his fingers through yours before you can process it. It’s casual and familiar, like he’s done this a thousand times, but your heart jumps all the same. “Let’s grab a drink, yeah?”
He guides you toward the open bar. A bartender in a bright red bow tie greets you with a grin, asking for your orders.
“Champagne for me,” Kuroo says, then glances down at you. “And for my lovely companion…?”
You pause. “Champagne’s fine. Might as well fit the theme.”
As the bartender works his magic, you turn to Kuroo. “So, what’s the plan? Do we mingle for half an hour and then dip? I’m not sure how long I can stand being reminded that Valentine’s Day is literally next week.”
Kuroo’s eyebrow quirks. “Aren’t we hanging out anyway? We promised each other a palentine’s date—remember?”
You feel your cheeks warm. “I remember. Just… these decorations are overkill.”
He hands you a champagne flute, then raises his own in a mock toast. “To corporate romance,” he says with a smirk.
You clink glasses, taking a sip. The fizzy sweetness bursts across your tongue, and you can’t help but think it tastes like anticipation—like something is about to happen tonight that neither of you saw coming. Then you convince yourself that it’s just the alcohol.
Over the next twenty minutes, you watch as Kuroo does his job—he introduces you to a cluster of sponsors, some old teammates, and a few local sports reporters. He’s charismatic in that effortless way he’s always been: breezing through small talk, sprinkling in jokes, and deflecting every flirty comment from others with easy charm.
You mostly hover by his side, alternately sipping champagne and trying not to feel out of place in your heels. Every so often, his fingers brush your elbow or settle low on your back, like he’s silently telling you: You’re not alone here.
It’s strangely reassuring—even if you can’t quite decide what it means.
Eventually, the crowd disperses into smaller clusters, and you manage to snag a moment of relative quiet near the pink-lit fountain in the center of the room.
“You okay?” Kuroo asks again, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Not too bored?”
You shake your head. “I’m fine. It’s actually kinda funny watching you switch between your used-car-salesman voice and your normal voice.”
He snorts. “You want me to hit them with the real me? That might be too much for these delicate souls.”
“I can handle it,” you say, surprising even yourself with your boldness—maybe it’s the champagne.
Kuroo’s gaze flickers, something mischievous in his eyes. “Oh, I know you can handle me, babyface. You’ve done it since you were six, right?”
Your heart skips. He just won’t let you live that childhood wedding down. And, annoyingly, you don’t really mind.
“Stop it,” you say, but there’s no heat in your voice. “Anyway, what’s next on the agenda? Are you supposed to give a speech or something?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. “Nah, not tonight. Just an appearance—shake some hands, charm some sponsors.” He shrugs, then lowers his voice. “We could slip out soon, if you want. Go somewhere else—somewhere less… pink.”
The offer sits in the air between you. You can’t help wondering what exactly he’s proposing. Drinks at a quieter bar? A late-night walk under the city lights? Going back to your apartment to continue that half-finished bottle of wine?
You muster a casual tone. “I’m not opposed. But won’t your absence be noticed?”
“I showed up, I mingled,” he says, brushing off your concern. “That’s enough for them.”
He flashes that signature grin—so easy, so Kuroo—and a flutter of nostalgia collides with the champagne buzz in your bloodstream. You think about how this night started: you, tipsy in your lobby, letting him steady you on your heels. You think about Valentine’s Day looming, and how all of this might be leading to something (which, you’re still trying to figure out if it’s good or bad).
“Alright,” you say, taking another sip from your glass. “One more round of goodbyes, then we escape.”
Kuroo’s eyes linger on you, almost thoughtful. “Deal.”
He downs the rest of his champagne and sets the empty flute on a nearby tray, offering you his arm. The little gesture makes you laugh under your breath; he’s always half-joking, half-serious. But you slip your hand into the crook of his elbow all the same, taking advantage of the moment—you grin.
He is your date tonight, after all.
eight.
You two end up at a 99cent pizza shop.
It’s one of those shitty ones, where the lights blink every other second and are open 24/7 and catering exclusively to drunk people. You order a pepperoni slice (which is $1.50, absolutely criminal), Kuroo gets a slice with mushrooms and peppers like a weirdo, and a ten-piece garlic knots because you’re both absolute whores for shitty food.
The cashier barely looks up as you pass over a crumpled bill, his expression one of pure indifference. It’s the kind of place where no one gives a shit if you waltz in wearing a ballgown or, in Kuroo’s case, an untucked dress shirt and a loosened tie that screams former professionalism turned reckless abandon.
Kuroo nudges your shoulder as he grabs the tray of food. “Find us a seat, babyface.”
You glance around. The booths are occupied by a mix of exhausted bar-hoppers, students pulling all-nighters with greasy paper plates in front of them, and one guy hunched over, presumably contemplating his life choices. Classic New York.
You settle for a two-seater in the back corner, mostly because it’s the only spot that doesn’t look like it’ll give you tetanus. Kuroo sets the tray down between you, sliding into the seat across from you with that ridiculous, smug expression that hasn’t left his face all night.
“You’re staring,” you say flatly, reaching for a garlic knot.
He props his chin on his hand, unbothered. “You look cute.”
Your hand freezes mid-air. “What?”
Kuroo, the absolute bastard, takes a slow bite of his pizza like he didn’t just casually drop a grenade into your bloodstream. “I said, you look cute.” He gestures vaguely at you with his slice. “All dressed up in a shitty pizza joint. Very Serena van der Woodsen in Gossip Girl vibes.”
You recover quickly, snorting as you take a bite of your garlic knot. “You did not just compare me to Serena van der Woodsen.”
“Hey, I know my pop culture references.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But seriously. I like this look on you.”
The warmth in your chest spreads far too quickly. You shove it down with a bite of pizza. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not gonna work.”
Kuroo smirks. “You sure? It worked when we were kids.”
You shoot him a look. “I was six. You bribed me with strawberry Pocky.”
“And you fell for it every time,” he says, grinning. “You were so easy to manipulate.”
You kick him lightly under the table, but there’s no real venom behind it. He just chuckles and takes another bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at you again.
“So,” he says after a moment. “What was the verdict on tonight? Was it as painful as you thought?”
You hesitate, twirling the crust of your pizza between your fingers. The thing is, you actually had fun. Not just tolerable, get-through-it-and-leave fun, but actual, laughing-with-Kuroo-in-the-middle-of-a-stuffy-corporate-party fun. The realization makes your stomach flip.
“It was fine,” you say, playing it cool. “Drinks were good. Company was tolerable.”
Kuroo barks out a laugh. “Tolerable? Damn, I’ll take it.”
You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—so easy, so damn fond—makes it hard to breathe for a second.
You clear your throat, glancing down at your plate. “Anyway, it was nice to see you in work mode. You actually seemed like a functional adult.”
Kuroo sighs dramatically. “I know, it’s exhausting.”
You snort. “I imagine so. Having to use, like, three brain cells at a time.”
“It’s really pushing my limits,” he says with an obnoxious frown.
The conversation drifts into easy territory—inside jokes, exaggerated retellings of childhood disasters, a debate about whether New York pizza is actually better than Tokyo’s (you say yes, he remains stubbornly neutral). It feels natural, like slipping into an old sweater that still fits perfectly despite the years.
At some point, he reaches across the table, swiping a garlic knot straight off your plate.
“Hey,” you protest, swatting at his hand too late.
Kuroo just smirks, popping the whole thing into his mouth. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, babyface.”
“Possession is going to be me slapping you in the face if you steal another one.”
“Violence,” he muses, chewing. “That’s how you treat your childhood husband?”
Your face heats. “Tetsu.”
He winks. “Relax. I’ll buy you more next time.”
Next time.
The words hang there for a second longer than necessary. He says it like it’s a given, like this—you and him, nights like this—is a thing that should keep happening.
And the stupidest part? You don’t hate the idea… not even a little bit.
You pick up another garlic knot, breaking eye contact like that’ll do anything to slow your heartbeat. “You better buy me more.”
Kuroo just leans back, watching you like he already knows something you don’t, and you are slightly terrified of whatever that implies.
nine.
Monday night, after you get home from an excruciating day of labwork (like… you entered at 6 AM and left the next day at 2 AM—you’re really going through it these days), Kuroo is already changed and in his pajamas, reading a book and playing a vinyl you bought when you went through your #artsy stage. He looks up with a smile from his spot sprawled across your couch as you come in, drop your keys on the side table, and promptly collapse on the floor.
“I’m so tired,” you wail, fake sniffling, slumped against the wall. Kuroo looked momentarily alarmed until your pleading; he lets out an exhale that’s vaguely close to a laugh when he realises you’re just being dramatic.
“Welcome home,” he says, his smile practically audible in his voice. “Take it you had a long few day… days.”
You sigh, nodding, wobbling over to the couch and plopping on top of him. You’re so tired you don’t even care about the proximity—you want to lie down, right now. “Yeah. But I think I’ve discovered something pretty interesting, so I’m hoping I can get into Neuron this time around.”
“You’ll get it,” Kuroo says completely calmly, sounding insanely confident in you. He doesn’t even look away from his book—just lifts his arms enough to let you put your head on his chest, and then resting them against your shoulder blades. “Smartest girl I know.”
“...Shut up,” you mutter, burying your face into his t-shirt to hide your embarrassment.
You let out a weary groan, face still hidden in Kuroo’s t-shirt, and he just chuckles under his breath, shifting slightly so you can get more comfortable. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers raking through it in a surprisingly soothing motion—like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Can’t believe you’re still awake,” he remarks, eyes darting back to his book. “Look like you’re about to pass out any second.”
“Very astute observation,” you mumble into the soft cotton. “Nothing gets past you.”
He snorts, lightly tapping your shoulder in retribution before turning a page. “Hey, just looking out for my genius scientist here. Big day tomorrow, right?”
Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Big day? I mean, I guess I have more lab stuff…”
Kuroo tilts his head, arching an eyebrow at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Not that,” he says, exasperated. “Valentine’s Day, babyface. Remember?”
Your heart does a quick, uncomfortable skip. Valentine’s—not Palentine’s. The difference lands in your head like a small explosion, especially considering you’ve both been referring to it as Palentine’s up ‘til now.
“O-oh,” you stammer eloquently, trying to recover. “Right. Valentine’s. Sure.”
He watches you carefully, eyes gleaming with amusement as he gently closes his book. “You didn’t forget our plans, did you?”
Plans. Right. He invited you for something—ice skating or a movie, or maybe both. You’d said yes in that flustered, I’m-pretending-this-is-just-a-friendly-thing way. But the way he’s saying it now, with that particular lilt in his voice, has your mind racing.
You force yourself to sit up slightly, though you don’t leave the comfort of lying half-on-top of him. “I—uh. I didn’t forget. I guess I’m just… used to calling it Palentine’s.”
Kuroo smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek with casual familiarity. “Oh, right. My bad. I must’ve slipped.”
Slipped, he says, which makes your pulse do an annoying little flutter.
“I mean, it’s not like it matters,” you continue quickly, your words tripping over themselves. “We’re just hanging out—like always. Whether we call it Valentine’s or Palentine’s or ‘Tuesday’… right?”
He hums in response—low in his throat, almost thoughtful—while his hand drifts from your hair to the back of your neck in a comforting weight. “Sure,” he says, a bit too lightly to be casual. “Whatever you wanna call it.”
The tone in his voice suggests that maybe it does matter, that maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t want to hide behind the ‘Palentine’s’ façade anymore.
A moment of silence settles between you, broken only by the faint crackle of your old vinyl spinning and the ever-present traffic outside. Your nerves feel strung tight as a bitch, and you wonder if he can sense how tense you’ve suddenly gone.
“Anyway,” he says, clearly trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness, “I was thinking we could do something painfully cliché tomorrow. Romantic comedy marathon, maybe. Or that ice-skating idea. Hot chocolate, the works.”
You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. “That sounds… nice.” You fidget with a loose thread on his t-shirt, trying not to overthink every micro-expression on his face. “You sure you won’t be busy with, like, sponsor stuff, or—”
Kuroo rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you kidding? I’d rather be with you—binging Netflix, falling on my face on the rink—than stuck in another press conference.” He gives a lazy shrug, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Besides, I’m all yours tomorrow.”
I’m all yours.
There’s that pesky little flutter in your chest again, ramping up several notches. You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding where you’re still sprawled half-across his torso. Possibly. Probably.
“That’s… good,” you manage, trying not to think too hard about the myriad ways Valentine’s could be interpreted. Trying not to let the prospect of him wanting more—maybe wanting you—send you into a full-blown panic. Because a teeny, traitorous part of you is really hoping that’s what it means.
“Now,” he says, clearly sensing the rabbit hole your mind might be running down. “It’s past midnight, and you’ve had, what, negative hours of sleep?”
“That’s not even physically possible,” you argue, though your eyelids suddenly feel very heavy.
“Sure it is,” he counters, wrapping an arm more snugly around your waist as he tugs a throw blanket from the back of the couch. “I’m pretty sure you’re living proof. C’mon. Let’s just crash right here for a bit.”
You don’t have the energy to protest, and honestly? The idea of dozing off to the low hum of the vinyl, warm against Kuroo’s chest, is downright tempting. Besides, you’ll have to drag yourself to bed eventually—but for now, this cozy bubble is enough.
“Fine,” you mumble, feeling your limbs already going slack. “But if I drool on you, it’s your own fault for not kicking me off.”
He laughs quietly, letting the book he was reading slip onto the coffee table. “I’ll live. I’ve survived worse. Like the time you threw up all over me after that carnival ride in middle school.”
You grumble something incoherent in protest, too exhausted to muster a real comeback. The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement, and he shifts just enough to angle you more comfortably against him.
As your eyes flutter shut, you can’t stop replaying the word Valentine’s in your head. Tomorrow. Kuroo said it so easily, like it was obvious. Like it was a given that you wouldn’t just be celebrating as friends or old childhood buddies. Warmth pools in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves. Maybe you’ll just have to see how tomorrow plays out—maybe you’ll finally figure out if this… thing you’ve been dancing around for so long is actually real.
Because if there’s one thing you are sure about, it’s that Kuroo has always had a way of turning your world on its axis. And this time, you really hope he doesn’t stop at Palentine’s.
ten.
You wake up to the smell of french toast.
Which, honestly, you lowkey don’t love nearly as much as waffles. But you aren’t going to be picky after your crash out last night.
You stumble into the kitchen, vaguely rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, blinking away the sleep to read the Eevee alarm clock Kenma bought you when you moved in. 12:19PM. Honestly not your worst: once, during finals season in your undergrad years, you pulled a three-day all-nighter and passed out for sixteen straight hours after. Kuroo had to practically drag you out of your dorm room after that one; he and Kenma basically froze your phone with the amount of texts they sent in a futile attempt to wake you up.
Kuroo’s back is to you as he stands at the stove, his compression shirt accentuating his muscle definition. He looks straight up like a model you’d see at the mall in a Calvin Klein billboard, and it makes you flush as you remember he said Valentine’s last night. He senses you without even turning around—he, without even bothering to look up, says, “Mornin’, babyface. Do you want strawberries or whipped cream?”
“You doubt me. Both,” you snort, stepping closer. Despite your attempt at nonchalance, your stomach flips when you get closer and can see just how freakishly good he looks in that stupid ass shirt. The memory of him casually calling it Valentine’s still sizzles in the back of your mind.
Kuroo casts you a brief over-the-shoulder grin. “Both it is, princess.” He deftly flips a slice of french toast on the pan, the sweet, eggy aroma curling toward your nose. “Hope you’re hungry. I got a little carried away.”
“Oh, I’m starving,” you say, eyeing the small stack of bread slices he’s already prepared on a plate. “Seriously, I might eat all of this. If you don’t move fast, you won’t get any.”
He chuckles, dropping another piece of bread into the batter. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind while I guard my breakfast with my life.”
You open the fridge for the strawberries, and sure enough, there’s also a can of whipped cream on the shelf—Kuroo came prepared. “I can’t believe you actually planned this,” you mutter under your breath, rifling around. “Is this your way of bribing me to be your Valentine?”
He pretends to think about it. “Might be. If it works, I’ll make waffles next time, too.”
You huff a laugh, grateful your face is still hidden in the fridge so he can’t see the fond smile spreading across your lips. Might be. It’s clear he’s leaning full-throttle into the idea of spending this entire Valentine’s Day with you. The thought warms you more than you want to admit.
Sliding the carton of strawberries onto the counter, you catch him drizzling a bit of honey on the toast. “Fancy,” you tease, dragging out the syllable.
Kuroo shrugs one shoulder. “Hey, can’t help being an overachiever. Besides…” He flips off the stove burner and slides the last slice of french toast onto the plate, stacking it neatly. “I missed this.”
You glance up, curiosity and something else tangling in your chest. “This? Cooking breakfast?”
He sets the spatula aside, turns around, and leans against the counter. “Cooking breakfast for you,” he clarifies, pausing as if testing how you’ll react. “Y’know, we used to hang out all the time—before you left for New York. I guess it just reminded me of those days. Late nights, lazy mornings, that sort of thing.”
Your cheeks warm at his candidness. “We still hung out a bit after we graduated,” you offer, though you know it was never the same once you’d moved halfway across the globe for grad school.
Kuroo nods, his hand lingering on the handle of the frying pan as if he needs something to ground himself. “Yeah, but once you officially moved here? We both got busy. Kenma did his whole streaming empire thing, I jumped into work. And you were—”
“Neck-deep in studies,” you finish for him, remembering those endless days in the lab, how you’d chug energy drinks and blink against fluorescent lights until your eyes burned.
Kuroo taps the counter with his knuckles, a soft exhale escaping him. “Uh-huh. And Kenma and I, well… we kinda promised each other we wouldn’t make a big deal about how much we missed you.” He flashes a small, wry grin. “Figured you already had enough to worry about without dealing with our whining.”
You pause, strawberries in hand, staring at him. “Wait. You both made that promise?”
He nods, and for once, you catch the hint of sheepishness in his expression. “We might have texted constantly about how weird it was without you around,” he admits, chuckling under his breath. “But we agreed to keep it low-key so you could focus on your research. Didn’t want you feeling guilty if you started missing home too much.”
Your chest tightens. “I—God, that’s so stupid of you guys.”
He arches an amused eyebrow. “Stupid?”
“I would have been fine!” you insist, though a pang of fondness (and maybe regret) flickers through you. “Yeah, I’d have been sad, but I would’ve rather known. Going months without hearing from you two sometimes was way worse.”
He huffs a laugh, pushing off the counter to move closer. “Yeah, guess in hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan. But we were, what, twenty? Twenty-one? And mostly worried you’d drop out of grad school to come home if we made you feel bad.”
“Drop out?” You roll your eyes. “Please, as if I’d ever let you be that important.”
Kuroo tosses you a smirk, but there’s a gratefulness in his gaze. “Hey, I’m plenty important. Just not more important than a doctorate in neuroscience.”
“Damn straight,” you retort, but your heart is pounding too hard for sarcasm to land with its usual punch. He missed you. More than that—he and Kenma both actively hid how much they missed you, just so you wouldn’t feel sad or guilty. That’s… an annoying level of sweet.
Before you can dwell on it, he gestures to the french toast. “Anyway, let’s eat? Unless you’d rather stand here and get all sentimental.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, but your tone is more flustered than harsh. “Give me the plate.”
He hands it over with a dramatic bow, then grabs the strawberries and whipped cream to set on the table. You both sit across from each other, and he insists on adding the toppings to your serving, swirling an absurd amount of whipped cream atop each slice.
“Seriously,” you scold, swatting his wrist when he won’t stop pressing the nozzle, “we don’t need that much foam sugar.”
He just laughs. “Oh, come on, babyface. Live a little.”
“Hmm,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your grin. “Fine. But if I get a sugar crash in like two hours, you’re dealing with the aftermath.”
He mock-salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”
It’s a small, silly moment, but something in the easy way you banter—especially right after that confession about how hard it was when you left—makes your chest swell with warmth. Perhaps it’s just the Valentine’s vibe that has your mind spinning in circles, but you can’t help wondering what he’s getting at here.
You try a bite, letting the sweetness and cinnamon melt on your tongue. “Damn,” you mumble through a mouthful, “this is actually pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” He sets a hand against his heart in mock offense. “I slaved away in the kitchen—”
“What, for like ten minutes?” you interrupt, snickering. “Yep, truly backbreaking labor.”
He pretends to wipe away a tear. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”
Despite the teasing, he looks satisfied when you reach for another slice. You don’t miss how his eyes follow the movement, nor how his gaze lingers on your face, like he’s taking mental snapshots of you enjoying the meal. It’s disconcertingly tender—especially for a guy who’s teased you your entire life.
Eventually, when you’ve both eaten more than enough, you lean back in your chair, hand resting on your full stomach. “All right, Chef Kuroo. That was acceptable. Now what’s the plan for the rest of Valentine’s Day, hmm?”
He clears his throat, fiddling with a piece of crust on his plate. “Well, we could go ice skating later—like we talked about. If you’re still up for it. Or we could do that rom-com marathon and eat a bunch of store-bought chocolate. Or both.”
“That’s… definitely an option,” you say slowly, feeling a little thrill ripple through you at how nonchalant you’re trying to be. “Which one first?”
He meets your eyes, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. “Why not flip a coin?”
You snort, standing up and collecting the dishes. “No way. I have the worst luck with coin tosses.”
“Then I’ll rig it so you win.” Kuroo grins, pushing back his chair to follow you to the sink.
“And you call me the overachiever,” you toss over your shoulder, cranking on the faucet. You start rinsing plates, the soap suds foaming around your fingers.
“Mm,” he murmurs, stepping up behind you. “At least let me help.”
He crowds in, reaching to take the plate from your hand. You don’t protest—mostly because your entire body goes rigid at the realization of how close he’s standing. His chin practically brushes your temple, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves.
For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound is the running water, the faint drip of the faucet, and the thud of your own heartbeat in your ears. You can’t help the way your breath catches.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, noticing your sudden stillness.
“Yeah,” you manage, forcing yourself to relax. “Just spacing out.”
His lips twitch into a small, understanding smile. “Same here.” Then, with a deft motion, he takes the plate from you and resumes scrubbing, shoulders barely an inch from yours in your cramped kitchen.
This shouldn’t feel so charged, right? He’s just helping you do dishes. But everything with Kuroo feels different this morning—like there’s some invisible line you both keep brushing against, neither one wanting to take the leap but both too invested to step back.
When the last plate is clean, he sets it on the drying rack, shuts off the water, and dries his hands with a dishrag. “So,” he says, turning to you. “Breakfast? Check. Next item on the Valentine’s agenda?”
You roll your eyes—can’t believe you’re actually calling it Valentine’s now, you think, but you don’t correct him. Instead, you tilt your head, as if deep in thought. “Well, you did promise me cheesy romance, so maybe we do the rom-com marathon first and ice skating afterward, if we still have time.”
His grin is immediate. “Sounds perfect.” He turns and saunters toward your living room, tossing the dishrag onto the counter. “I’ll pick the first movie?”
You’re about to agree when you suddenly remember—he said he’d rig the coin toss. So you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, how do I know you’re not just rigging this in your favor?”
Kuroo snorts, grabbing the TV remote. “Hey, I’m giving you exactly what you want, babyface. I call that your favor.”
You roll your eyes for the millionth time, but you can’t keep the small smile off your face as you follow him into the living room. For the first time in a long while, you feel light—like maybe the missing piece of your life that you left behind in Tokyo is right here, making you french toast and joking about Valentine’s Day.
eleven.
You easily binge Netflix’s Love Is In The Air recommendations for several hours, to the point where, by the time that you wrap up The Kissing Booth 3, the sun has already started to set. Outside your fourth floor apartment, you have a relatively unobstructed view of the way the sky melds into a blend of purples and blues, casting shadows and making your living room’s lighting feel even warmer.
Somehow (you say, knowing full well that you climbed into this position with full intentions of doing so) you end up curled up in Kuroo’s arms, one of your legs draped over his thigh while his arm wraps snugly around your shoulders. His other hand lazily scrolls through the Netflix homepage, searching for the next rom-com victim. You barely pay attention, though—too busy noticing how ridiculously warm he is, how easy it is to fit against him, and how the dark colors of the setting sun outside look so damn pretty.
Finally, after a half-hearted scroll through the Looking For The One category, you decide: “I’m hungry. Let’s get sushi.”
He perks up, setting down the remote. “Now you’re speaking my language. Which place should we order from?”
“There’s this little spot a few blocks away that does really fresh rolls,” you say, grabbing your phone from the cushion beside you. “They deliver in like fifteen minutes, too.”
Kuroo nods, giving you a light squeeze. “Cool. Just let me know how much I owe you. Or consider it your Valentine’s gift to me, I guess.” He snickers.
You roll your eyes at the terrible suggestion, pulling up the menu on your phone. “I’ve got it, I’m feeling generous. Plus, this place is kinda special to me anyway.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Special? Because the sushi’s that good?”
You shift, trying to type your order without meeting his eyes. “Uhh… well, an ex brought me here once. That was back in like, grad school.”
Kuroo’s hand stills against your arm. “Excuse me?” he says, feigning dramatic outrage. “I can’t believe you’d talk about your sordid affairs on Valentine’s Day, babyface. You wound me.”
You snort, giving him a playful shove that doesn’t move him even an inch. “Relax, it was ages ago. It’s not like it was a big deal. I mostly liked him because he kinda looked like—” You stop mid-sentence, eyes widening.
“Kinda looked like… what?” Kuroo parrots, amused suspicion lighting up his features. “Finish that sentence.”
You clamp your mouth shut and tap furiously on your phone screen instead. “Nothing. Just forget it.”
His eyes narrow. “Oh, no no no, you don’t get to drop that bomb and then pretend it never happened. Spill.”
“It’s none of your business,” you reply swiftly, your cheeks burning. “And for the record, it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.”
He sets his jaw, locking you in place by tightening the arm wrapped around you. “Alright, guess I’ll have to guess. Let’s see—you liked him because he kinda looked like…” He pauses, tapping a finger to his chin in exaggerated thought. “Me?”
“Oh my god, no,” you say, maybe a bit too quickly. “That’d be weird, Tetsu. You’re—well, you’re you.”
Something fleetingly vulnerable flashes across his face. He frowns a little, brow knitting. “Do you really think so?” His tone goes quiet, serious in a way that has your stomach dropping.
Your pulse stutters. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” You flail, phone clattering onto the cushion as you try to find his gaze. “I just—look, it’s not weird. Of course I—I mean, you know I—” You exhale shakily, feeling your words tumble over themselves. “I like you, Tetsu. Please don’t be upset.”
There’s a beat of tense silence… and then Kuroo bursts out laughing. Actual, stomach-jostling laughter. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to compose himself, and you realize, with rapidly boiling annoyance, that he’s been messing with you.
“You jerk!” you sputter, smacking him on the arm. “That wasn’t funny! I thought I actually hurt your feelings.”
He just grins, easily absorbing your weak swats. “Aw, sorry, babyface. You should’ve seen your face, though.”
Your cheeks feel molten. “I hate you sometimes, you know?”
“Mm-hmm,” he drawls, pulling you back against him, his palm smoothing over your shoulder. “But the good news is, now I know you do like me. And that some of your exes looked like me, which is a really nice ego boost.”
You groan, burying your face against his chest. “Shut up.”
He keeps talking anyway, voice taking on a more pensive note. “I mean, it’s not like I can judge. I think about you whenever I meet someone new.”
Slowly, you lift your head, eyebrows knitting. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder, as if it’s no big deal. “Just, like, whenever I go on a date, I find myself comparing them to you. They’re never as funny or as smart, or I wonder if they’d get along with Kenma the way you obviously do… that kind of thing.”
You stare at him, mouth slightly open. “Tetsu…” You’re not sure how to respond to that confession. Warmth and a spike of adrenaline rush through you, and you can only open and close your mouth in silence.
At your speechlessness, Kuroo just laughs, scrunching his nose in amusement. “Aw, come on. It’s not that shocking, is it?”
“Uh,” you manage, blinking. “I—uh.”
Your brain is short-circuiting, so you do the only thing that makes sense in your frazzled state: you announce, “I’m gonna go pee.”
“What?” He snorts. “Really? That’s your best response to my heartfelt confession?”
“You think I chose this response?” you squeak, scrambling to your feet. Your cheeks feel like they could combust. “I don’t control your unfiltered romantic drivel, and you don’t control my bladder, okay?”
Kuroo just shakes his head in disbelief, though his eyes gleam with delight. “I’m not stopping you, babyface. Go pee. The sushi’ll be here in a few minutes anyway.”
You nod, fleeing the scene for the bathroom, heart pounding in your ears. Even as you slam the door behind you, you can hear him chuckling softly in the living room.
Leaning against the bathroom door, you take a steadying breath. He compares everyone to you. You literally admitted you like him, too. And he’s laughing, because this is all apparently just… normal. Suddenly, the entire dynamic shifts—like everything you’ve both been dancing around for so long is right there, out in the open, and you’re not quite sure what to do next.
Well, you do know one thing: you really do need to pee.
“Okay,” you mutter, “priorities.”
And as you step toward the toilet, part of you wonders how to keep your composure once you walk back out to him—because from here on out, there’s no more pretending you don’t both feel something real.
twelve.
After peeing and washing your hands with your favorite bougie ass soap (Christmas gift from your boss; you could never afford it at department store rates), you whip out your phone and call Kenma. You know it’s 8 AM over there, so there’s a good chance you’ll be waking up your brother, but you don’t care because you need his objective opinion right now.
It takes until the third call, but on the fourth ring, he finally picks up.
“What?” he mumbles groggily. “I was sleeping.”
“Sorry, but I don’t care. Give me some good advice right now,” you hiss into your phone, pacing back and forth in front of your shower like a maniac.
You hear fabric rustling, followed by a prolonged yawn. “Fine. I bet it has to do with Kuro.”
You freeze, biting down on your lip. “...Maybe.”
“Ugh,” Kenma sighs. “I literally can’t believe you’re calling me about him at eight in the morning.”
“It’s not that early, y’know.”
He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, then says more clearly, “So what’s the crisis? I’m not sure how many brain cells I have at this hour.”
You rub your forehead, letting out a strangled groan. “Kenma, is it weird if I kinda—I don’t know—wanna make out with him? Like, a lot? Maybe not just make out—maybe, like, really make out—” You shake your head vigorously, cheeks flaming. “But is that weird?”
There’s silence on the other end for a long moment. Then Kenma’s voice, flat as ever: “That’s my sister and my best friend you’re talking about. Gross. But also not really weird. Because I literally officiated your wedding in second grade, remember? You two are basically old news.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, your free hand clenching at your side. “Oh my God, not you too. Kuroo keeps bringing it up, and now you’re enabling him. When did that wedding even become a real memory to everyone but me?”
“Uh, it’s always been a memory. You wore a yellow dress, he had a Spider-Man t-shirt, I was reading from a Pokémon handbook.” He yawns. “I was, like, seven, but I still remember, because Kuro wouldn’t shut up about it. And apparently, still won’t.”
“Yeah, well,” you huff, pacing faster. “He mentions it daily, I swear, and it’s driving me insane—like, I get it, we had a pretend wedding when we were literal children. Does he have to bring it up every chance he gets?”
Kenma’s voice goes deadpan. “He brings it up because he likes you, dumbass.”
Your pacing halts so abruptly you almost trip over the bathroom mat. “...Oh.”
A beat passes; the only sound is your heart thudding in your ears.
“Yeah,” Kenma continues, dry as day-old toast. “He’s liked you forever. You’ve liked him forever. You’re both idiots. Congrats.”
You gawk at the phone, mind spinning. “Wait—he—he’s always…? Does everyone know this except me?”
Kenma yawns again, unperturbed. “Probably. I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle growing up. Dad used to tell me he was more worried about you running off with Tetsu than, like, your middle school crushes.”
You gape. “Seriously?”
“Mhm.” You hear the faint click of a laptop or a Switch—knowing Kenma, he’s probably opening up a game to pass the time. “Anyway, is that all you needed to ask? Because I’d like to get at least another hour of sleep.”
You groan, but you can’t quell the swirl of hope rising in your chest. “This is… surreal. He just told me earlier—like, not directly, but he basically said he thinks about me whenever he meets someone new. And I might’ve implied I like him too—oh God, Kenma, what do I do?”
He’s quiet for a moment, presumably considering. “Make out with him. I don’t know. You literally said that’s what you want to do.”
“That’s it? That’s your profound, brotherly wisdom?”
“What else do you want me to say?” he drones. “You both already know you like each other. This was the most obvious outcome in the world. Just do your thing, get it out of your system. Or get married again if you want. Could be a nice full-circle moment.”
You let out a mortified noise, pressing your forehead to the cool tile of your bathroom wall. “You’re—urgh, never mind. Thanks, Kenma.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Tell Kuro he owes me five bucks for something… I’ll think of a reason later. Bye.”
Before you can protest, he hangs up, leaving you with your phone still pressed to your ear. You stare at the blank screen, a mix of exasperation and relief swirling through your chest.
He likes you. You like him. You’re idiots—Kenma’s words, not yours. And apparently, neither of you has been hiding it as well as you thought.
You inhale slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. Then you square your shoulders. “Okay,” you say to yourself, “I can do this. Just… go out there and act normal. Or as normal as possible while wanting to jump his bones. Easy.”
With that pep talk, you push off the wall, open the bathroom door, and step into the hallway, with completely unfounded confidence in yourself.
thirteen.
That confidence goes straight out the window because as soon as you walk back, you are caught off-guard by Kuroo standing in the middle of your living room, hands behind his back and wearing the guiltiest expression you’ve ever seen, obviously hiding something from your view. You’re scared, and immediately a little suspicious.
“What are you doing?” you ask warily, taking very slow, careful steps toward him. “What is that?”
He ignores the question entirely, instead breaking into a triumphant grin. “Babyface,” he declares, “I have a Valentine’s Day gift for you.”
All the tension in your shoulders uncoils in one quick moment of relief. “Oh.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Okay, this should be good. What is it—a frog? A cricket? Remember when you gave me that cricket in fourth grade?”
Kuroo stifles a laugh, as if recalling the memory of your horrified shriek when you opened a tiny shoebox to find a chirping insect. “I was trying to teach you about biology. You always liked science-y stuff,” he defends. “Besides, a cricket is romantic if you think about it long enough.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please don’t tell me that’s what’s behind your back right now.”
He steps forward, eyes warm with mirth. “I promise. This is way better.”
He produces a small, flat object from behind him—a rectangular folder, sealed by a thin, glossy cover. At first, you’re genuinely perplexed. It’s too big to be a normal card, and there’s no way it’s a book, unless it’s some custom print job. The corners are crisp, the material looks like maybe photo paper. Curiosity coaxes you closer.
Catching your confusion, Kuroo grins wider. “Look inside.”
With a hint of skepticism, you slip your fingers under the cover, peeling it back. Inside is a high-quality color print—like a medical scan or something from a research article. Black-and-gray cross-sections and bright neon highlights fill your vision, and as you blink, trying to parse the image, your mouth goes dry. You recognize the shape of a human brain from an fMRI scan: swirling patterns in vivid oranges and reds indicating activated regions.
“Is this… an fMRI?” you breathe, your hand trembling slightly as you lift the print to the light. Definitely an fMRI, your trained eye confirms—distinct slices, certain labeling, the faint text from the imaging software. “Tetsu, why the hell are you giving me…?”
He shifts, almost shy, scratching the back of his neck. “I asked one of the JVA’s partnered sports med facilities to do a little favor for me.” A pause. “A small, borderline unethical favor.”
Your eyes dart back to the vibrant splotches. “The nucleus accumbens,” you whisper, tapping a bright orange blob near the center. “And the hippocampus. They’re… lit up.” You draw in a sharp breath. “These areas activate when you’re—”
“—experiencing motivation, reward, or strong emotional attachment,” he finishes gently, voice hushed. “Like, for instance, thinking about someone you love.”
Your heart stutters so violently you nearly drop the print. “So, you—this is… from your brain?” you manage, your throat suddenly tight.
Kuroo nods, looking almost bashful, which is a jarring contrast to his usual smug confidence. “They scanned me while I was, uh… focusing on a particular mental image.” He glances away, expression uncharacteristically shy. “I figured you’d like the hard data. You being a scientist and all.”
You force yourself to swallow past the dryness in your mouth. “You’re telling me you literally got an fMRI done while thinking about… someone?” Your voice trembles on the last word, and you can’t quite meet his eye.
He exhales a quick laugh. “Uh-huh. Didn’t take long. I just, you know, had to fill out some forms, promise it was for a PR stunt about brain health or something. Then I, well, closed my eyes and pictured—”
“Who?” you interrupt, not even caring that you sound breathless. You’re clutching the fMRI print so hard you can feel the edges biting into your fingertips.
Kuroo’s grin turns downright sheepish, and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Take a wild guess, babyface.”
Heat floods your cheeks, your mind flashing back to all the data you’ve read about how the nucleus accumbens is heavily involved in romantic love, addiction, reward. All those nights you taught undergrads about dopaminergic pathways and the hippocampus’s role in forming new memories—specifically, emotional memories.
“You… you were thinking about me?” you ask, voice scarcely above a whisper.
The sheepishness melts into something warmer. “Yeah,” he admits, gaze holding yours. “Obviously.”
For a moment, your living room goes silent—no hum of traffic or whir of appliances registers in your ears, just the thud-thud-thud of your heart as you stare at the bright orange smears on the print. He was literally focusing on you, flooding his mind with thoughts of you, enough to trigger all these hallmark signs of love and emotional resonance in his brain.
“You—” you start, but your voice is shaky. You take a breath, dropping your eyes to the image again. “This is probably the strangest and most… scientifically romantic thing anyone’s ever given me.”
He clears his throat, stepping closer. “I hoped you’d see it that way. I know you’re not into the typical Valentine’s gifts—flowers and cheesy cards. So I thought, you know… I’d show you proof.” He shrugs, but there’s an earnestness in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. “Real, measurable proof that you’re always in my head.”
Overcome, you tear your gaze from the print to search his face, half expecting him to burst into laughter and say it’s another joke. But there’s no sign of teasing. He’s dead serious, a bit vulnerable, and it reminds you painfully of how you’ve known him forever—how under all the arrogance and jokes, he’s always worn his heart right there on his sleeve.
“I—” You can’t find the words, so instead, you lean forward, pressing your forehead gently against his shoulder. The fMRI print stays clutched in your hand at your side, but the rest of you rests against him, trying to steady your breathing.
Kuroo’s arms come up, enveloping you. You feel the softness of his shirt and the warmth of his body, and it’s equal parts comforting and electrifying. “So,” he says softly, voice rumbling through your hair, “was this too much?”
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “No,” you say, the corners of your mouth tilting up in a shaky smile. “It’s just… a lot to take in.” You let out a small laugh, one that wobbles on the edge of tears. “You literally went out of your way to prove you’re thinking about me with actual neuroscience data. How am I supposed to top that?”
He grins, the tension in his shoulders easing. “You don’t have to. Maybe just trust me when I say you’re stuck in my head, yeah?”
A breathless little chuckle escapes you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… can do that.”
For a second, the two of you just stand there, pressed together, the overhead light casting a soft glow on the fMRI print you still clutch in your trembling hand. Then Kuroo’s voice breaks the silence:
“Hey,” he murmurs, “since we’re on the subject of your super-scientific interest in my reward pathways… maybe we can do a little experiment?”
Your brow arches, a half-laugh catching in your throat. “An experiment, huh?”
“Mhm.” He carefully closes his hand around your wrist—the one holding the print—guiding it so you can set it gently on the coffee table nearby. Then he slides his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “I wanna see if I can spike some more activity in that region. Because I’m definitely thinking about you right now.”
Your heart stutters. The last time he teased you about wanting to test something, you were six years old, and he was coaxing you into believing that tying your shoelaces together would make you run faster. This, though? Vastly different stakes.
Still, your lips twitch into a wry smile. “Just… kissing me won’t show up on an fMRI unless you, I don’t know, plan on hooking up electrodes or something.”
He smirks, fingers trailing up to brush the line of your jaw. “Nah, no fancy medical tech needed. I just want an empirical result—like, say, a moan or a heartbeat spike.”
A shiver runs through you, and you swear you can feel your pulse jump beneath his hand. “You’re such a nerd,” you whisper, lips quirking. “But sure. For science.”
He laughs softly, the sound warm and easy, like the last golden light of sunset spilling through half-open blinds. Then, before you can think too much about it, he closes the distance, tilting his head just slightly as his lips brush against yours in a kiss that is warm, lingering, and unhurried. It steals your breath, not in the way a storm might, but like a tide gently pulling you under, enveloping you in something deep and inevitable.
The taste of him is familiar yet new all at once—there’s the faint trace of the sushi from earlier, or maybe just the memory of it, mingling with something sweeter, something unmistakably him. His fingers ghost along your waist, their presence featherlight but grounding, like a silent promise that he’s here, he’s real. And when he pulls you closer, his body pressing flush against yours, you feel it—the way your heart flutters wildly against your ribs, the way warmth spreads through your chest like a sunrise breaking over the horizon.
For a moment, the world holds its breath. Everything fades away—the hum of the city beyond the window, the soft glow of the overhead lights, even the thoughts that usually crowd your mind. There is only this: the way his lips move with quiet reverence, the quiet hitch in your breath as your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his shirt, the subtle shift of his body as he deepens the kiss just enough to make your pulse race.
And then, suddenly, you realize—you don’t need a machine or a calculation to tell you how you feel. The answer is already written in the way your entire chest hums, in the way your skin tingles where he touches you, in the way something inside you feels like it’s come alive, like a supernova has replaced your heart.
God, the astrophysics department should be studying this instead.
When he finally pulls back—foreheads brushing, breath mingling—he searches your eyes, his own half-lidded with affection. “So,” he murmurs, “did I succeed in lighting up your hippocampus?”
Your laugh comes out a little breathless. “If you keep that up,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest, “you might just rewire my entire brain.”
He grins, leaning in again to drop a quick peck at the corner of your mouth. “Good. Then I’ll have all the data I need.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another lingering kiss, feeling the warmth of his smile against your lips. In the back of your mind, you’re distantly aware that your own reward pathways might be exploding, nucleus accumbens glowing neon, hippocampus forging brand-new memories like a bonfire. And for the first time in a long time, you’re okay with letting the feelings have free rein.
Because sometimes, science can capture how people feel, but it can’t fully capture why. And right now, with Kuroo’s arms around you and that precious fMRI print still waiting on the coffee table, you think you’ve finally found your “why” in the easiest, most obvious place of all:
He loves you, and you love him back.
fourteen.
Three hundred and sixty-four days later, Kuroo is helping you move into a new apartment. In Tokyo. Because Columbia offered you the chance to do an exchange with the University of Tokyo before the end of your doctorate studies. For two entire years, slicing open human brains and figuring out what’s going on beneath, because your article published in Neuron made the cover page and you got a fat and juicy grant from the school. Two entire years of being close enough to hear your parents bragging about you in person again, and to have shitty takeout dinner with Kenma after his video game streams but before his corporate mojo.
And two entire years of getting to live with your boyfriend. Kuroo, your very wonderful boyfriend who you love more than life itself and who you want to be buried with one day. The Kuroo who was the first person you liked at six years old and is still who you like at twenty-six. The Kuroo who you have successfully managed an international relationship with because you’ve already went three years apart without the spark dying. Still, you’re absolutely beaming as you carry in boxes and boxes of clothes, because you always love getting to be with him, in person and in real life, and now you get to every single day.
You can’t hang up on him when he gets annoying anymore, but it’s worth it when he makes you breakfast daily and reaches for you in his sleep.
You heave another box into the apartment—this one filled with mismatched mugs you’ve collected from half a dozen coffee shops—and set it down with a groan. Kuroo flashes you a grin from across the living room, one hand resting casually on his hip as he surveys the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and hastily labeled luggage.
“You brought an entire suitcase just for shoes,” he points out, amused.
“Hey,” you protest, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, “if I’m living here for two years, I’m not just gonna live in sneakers.”
He ambles over and nudges the box with his foot. “I guess that’s fair—though I’m not carrying that one up another flight of stairs if we end up moving again. You’ll have to bribe Kenma for help.”
You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips free. “Fine, fine. Now, major question: where are we putting our bed?”
He waggles his eyebrows, eyes bright with mischief. “We?” he echoes, as if you haven’t been living together for all of thirty minutes. “I’m pretty sure I get ultimate bed placement rights, given my extensive experience in interior design.”
“Oh, sure, because black-cat-themed t-shirts and old gym hoodies scream ‘interior design mogul.’”
He smirks. “Hey, I’ve got taste.” With that, he gestures expansively toward the center of a wall in the room you’d marked for the bed, where the largest patch of light from the window splashes onto the floor. “I say we put the bed there. We’ll get a queen, obviously.”
You raise an eyebrow. “A queen? As if you’re actually gonna stay on your side.”
His grin turns lazy. “Exactly. I can find you in the expanse.”
“And you wonder why I think you’re annoying.” You toss him a mock exasperated look, which only earns you another chuckle.
“You still chose to live with me,” he points out, that devilish glint in his eyes returning, “because you’re stuck with me, right here.”
“Lucky me,” you tease, while your heart still does that stupid flutter thing at the thought of waking up next to him every day.
He walks over and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. It’s such a simple, tender gesture that you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.
“Speaking of tomorrow,” you say, turning back to break down an empty cardboard box, “it’s Valentine’s Day. Any big plans, or are we just, y’know, gonna eat convenience store chocolates while finishing the bed frame?”
Kuroo shrugs, far too casually for someone who’s obviously up to something. “Mmm, I might have a surprise,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “Of course you do. You and your surprises. Is it expensive, by chance?”
His brows lift in feigned innocence. “Depends if you consider a diamond ring expensive.”
You almost drop the box, now flattened and very, very large. “A what now?”
He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You heard me.”
He’s kidding. He has to be fucking kidding, right now. He did not spend a small fortune on a rock for your finger.
“Fucking return that,” you blurt instantly, your heart skipping not one but multiple beats. “That’s so expensive. Why would you do that?”
“Well, if I’m gonna get my future wife a ring, I’m gonna make it an investment,” Kuroo replies with an ease that makes your chest tighten all over again.
“Wait—what the… Are you—are you serious?”
He leans closer, lips tilting in a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”
Your mind whirls, half in shock, half in outright giddy disbelief. You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything: his calm breathing, the faint noises from the street outside, the way the newly painted walls catch the late afternoon light.
“Are you messing with me?” you finally manage.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, and then taps the tip of your nose affectionately. “But trust me, you’ll like it.”
It’s maddening and wonderful all at once, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth you got lucky enough to stumble into a future that looks a whole lot like happiness—especially if it involves a ring.
But for now, you tamp down the frantic beating of your heart and glance at the corner of the room. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Queen bed. Got it.”
He laughs. “We’ll get the perfect one tomorrow. After all, we have at least two years of me latching onto you in my sleep, and then… maybe forever.”
And you roll your eyes, but you know what’ll happen tomorrow. Because of course you’re going to say yes. Because Kuroo Tetsuro has been the love of your life since you were a kid marrying him with dandelions, and because in every version of your imagined future, he’s still there, standing across from you at the aisle, regardless of if it’s a Band-Aid or an engagement ring he’s putting on your finger. Because he still makes every reward center in your brain light up (and because you’re putting that fMRI in your office at the university).
Honestly, love is a system of chemical reactions. Scanners and artificial intelligence will probably take over the world sooner or later, and the scientific community is getting better and better at understanding the whys. You can measure the dopamine flooding your brain, track the firing of mirror neurons, and map out which regions of your cortex light up at the sound of his laugh. But still, science is flawed, because all the scanning techniques in the world can’t replicate the soft, certain rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm, or the way his eyes crinkle in tender amusement when he looks at you.
In this moment, your hippocampus diligently encodes every detail: the slight scuff on the floor, the teasing quirk of his lips, the warm press of his shoulder against yours. The memory crystallizes, even before tomorrow’s promise fully forms, because you already know the answer. You always have.
When you finally pull your gaze away, the last rays of sunlight spill over the spot where you’ll put your new bed—the place you’ll fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms, night after night. You picture the days ahead: lazy mornings that begin with his sleepy kisses, evenings spent side by side, peeling back the layers of the human mind and finding new depths in each other all the while.
And as your heart thrums with a rhythm that science can’t quite pin down—something that defies clean categorization in textbooks—you realize that in this bright, messy, glorious future, every neuron in your body is wired just for him.
And if that’s not proof enough of love, you’re not sure what is.
⨭ closing notes; i love being able to write bc i can create purely self indulgent things like this. i'm a neuroscientist and my bday is nov 14 (exactly 9 months after valentine's day) and im from nyc so this one really has a lil kick to it. did u notice i made it perfectly 14 chapters cause feb 14 lol i rly used my brain for that one. anyway happy day of love!! whether ur celebrating or not, please know i love u all <3
#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo tetsurou#haikyuu kuroo#hq x reader#haikyu x reader#haikyuu oneshot#kuroo tetsurō#kuroo#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#⨭ foreveia#⨭ fics#anime#haikyuu x you#writing#⨭ haikyuu#kenma kozume#kozume kenma#tetsurou kuroo#kenma#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu fanfic#time skip kuroo#kuroo tetsuro#kuroo angst#kuroo tetsuro angst#tetsurou kuroo x reader#kuroo fluff#kuroo tetsurou angst
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𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓜𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓬𝓼
ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝐿𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓇 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 | 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Summary: What reader got from some of my fics !! ft. vox, adam, lucifer, and alastor
ᴠᴏx:
ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - a voxtech company card that went out to all employees. however, a little message was inside! :) "To my favorite employee,
Happy Valentines Day.
-Your Boss
-Your Friend
-CEO of Voxtech
-Vox
ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ | ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - shit ton of gifts, a fabulous dinner, and a pair of lingerie... yay.... his hands werent away from you for even one second: caressing you, holding your hand, lingering on the small of your back, etc.
oh and he fucked you ALL night
and though youd never admit it, it was a bit enjoyable
ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ | ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ - a weird morning mass about saving yourself for marriage and cherishing your husband/wife— immediately followed by a gentle fucking in his office upstairs
ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ - he wined and dined you tonight! what kind of loser overlord is alone on valentines day? he couldnt be seen alone! so, he brought you to a fancy dinner place and bought you a nice dress to wear so you wouldnt look like a hooker! it was nice, and he paid you double for the occasion. Though, once you two were out of the spotlight of publicity, he brings you back to his dark, desolate, penthouse where he cries softly as you suck his dick. yikes....
reader, talking with her mouth full: are you crying?
vox: *sniffles* NO SHUT UP
𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶:
𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 | 𝓥𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯 - adam awkwardly shows up to your door with flowers and chocolate, mumbling about how he doesnt usually do this "simp ass shit". he hands you the gifts and asks you to be his valentine, you laugh and nod, "of course!"
𝓗𝓞𝓞𝓣𝓔𝓡𝓢 - a hugeee tip stuffed in your pocket along with a little card that says "be mine <3 please". anddd once hes drunk enough he gives you a valentines day motorboat which immedietly gets his drunk ass thrown out of the hooters. what a man
𝐿𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓇:
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 - morning sexxxx!!!! you wake up to him already buried inside you from last night, his dick fluttering to life as he wakes up. he starts to thrust into you lazily as he presses kisses to the back of your neck. "happy valentines day, princess". he then makes you pancakes and babbles on about the fancy resturant he plans on taking you to later
(holy shit i need to write for him more lmao. once ss2 comes out my hyperfixation will come back fr. i have more fics than just the one but idk lucifer would do this in all of them aqkfhjbwefjhwbf. ALSO WHY I GOT SO MANY FUCKING ANGSTY FICS FOR HIM LMFAO???)
𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫:
𝐑𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐙𝐍 - he cooked for you :) a nice homemade dinner that consisted of a nice cooked deer and gumbo! it was delicious, of course... he surprisingly kept his urges under control; it was that time of the year again and you had no idea. it wasn't until you took your jacket off that he went feral. the sight of your bare shoulders and sinfully low neckline made him pounce. his pupils were blown wide at you and jumps at you across the table like this (lol)
bites the shit out of you and rips ur clothes off. you werent sure if he wanted to eat you or fuck you (probably both) but you were into so hell yeah.
𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 | 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 - a sickeningly sweet note left on the bed with love petals leading up to your shared bathroom. following the petals, your led to a beautifully set up bath with essential oils, bubbles, flowers, you name it. but the most beautiful thing is the sight of your lil deer soaking up in the bath waiting for you, "happy valentines day, my dear! care to join me?"
__
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BITCHES!!
ok now pray that i finish his new obsession part two lol
#vox x reader#alastor x reader#adam x reader#lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin#vox#lucifer morningstar#adam hazbin#alastor
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Valentine
Loki comes back from his mission early and surprises you with a Valentine's day date.
Wordcount: 1172
Pairing: avenger!Loki x f!reader
Warnings: tiny bit of angst at the start, fluff, first time love confessions, Loki being a sweetheart
A/N: Happy Valentine's day <3
Dividers by the talented firefly-graphics.
The dreaded Valentine's day had finally arrived. Over the years you never really paid much attention to it. Your previous boyfriends weren’t of the romantic sort and while you could be described as a hopeless romantic you simply had to settle for reality. And reality often tore your little heart to pieces, shattered it, stomped on it and the likes.
Silently you were hoping this year would be different. You and Loki had been dating for a few months now and he wasn’t anything like your exes. He was sweet, attentive and had made plenty of romantic gestures. And yet, reality, the fucking bitch, had other plans. Just the week before Valentine’s he was sent off to some mission in a different country. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t shed a few tears over it. However you didn’t mention it to Loki. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel guilty. It was his job after all. He had no choice.
You made it home after a whole day of hearing your coworkers’ Valentine’s day plans and just wanted to curl up in bed and cry your heart out. It wasn’t fair. You missed Loki and this would’ve been your first Valentine’s day together.
As you opened the door to your apartment and stepped in, your foot kicked something across the floor.
“What the…”
You flicked on the light in the hallway and your eyes fell on a dark green envelope with a golden seal lying on the floor. Dropping your bag to the floor, you bent down to pick it up and opened it. Eyes trailing over the words on the card, you immediately recognized the handwriting as Loki’s.
My darling <3 Will you be my Valentine? ☐ Yes ☐ No (It’s very important you cross your answer with a pen.) Loki
Your heart fluttered as you read his words. Right away you headed to your kitchen and grabbed a pen, checking no as a joke. The writing on the card morphed into something else before your eyes in a soft green glow.
Very amusing, darling. Will you be my Valentine? ☐ Yes ☐ Yes Go on, make your choice.
You chuckled as you read the new message. Were you that predictable or did he just know you all too well? Perhaps a bit of both. You checked one of the yes boxes and the envelope and card both disappeared in a blink of an eye, leaving in their place a bouquet of red roses with a new green envelope tucked between the flowers and under that a big black box.
That sly God. He put more than just a simple text changing enchantment on the first card. Your eyes skimmed over the words of the new card.
I will pick you up at six, my love. I hope the dress is to your liking.
Your eyes widened as you put the bouquet aside and quickly opened the box, revealing a gorgeous emerald green dress. Wait? Pick you up? That meant he was home! You turned to the clock on the wall. There wasn't much time to get ready, just under an hour. Before you headed to the bathroom, you plopped the roses into a vase with some water.
You managed to take your shower and do your hair, curling it to perfection despite the time crunch. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your make up the doorbell rang. A little squeal escaped you. You couldn’t help it. This would be the first proper Valentine’s day date you’d go on and best of all it was with Loki, who you were absolutely smitten with. Never before did you feel such love for anyone else. You were head over heels for him.
Speaking of heels. You ran to your bedroom and pulled on your heels before you answered the door, your leg peeking out of the dress slit tantalizingly. Loki’s eyes trailed over your form hungrily as you in turn took in just how immaculate he looked in his suit. His wavy hair flowed in the cool wind. He tilted his head slightly, giving you a smile. “And you dared to cross the no. You look absolutely stunning, my darling,” He said, his eyes shining with tenderness.
“Trickster, yes or yes is hardly a choice,” You scolded him teasingly.
“Please, if I left no as an option you’d keep crossing it forever to amuse yourself,” He countered with a mirthful smile.
You stepped closer to him. “I thought you’d be away,” You said softly.
“Lets just say I made a few arrangements,” He smirked, causing you to quirk your eyebrows in curiosity. “That dull creature owed me one for the smash fest he inflicted on my body,”
“Loki… That sounds so wrong,” You laughed.
“What? Smash fest? What else should I call it?” His eyebrows pulled together.
“Anything but that, unless if you and Hulk have a thing going… In that case I’ll gladly back off,”
“Oh, I see, you would let me go just like that, hm?”
“No,” You replied, your lips curling in a smile.
“Good. Because there’s not a thing in this world I wouldn’t do for you, darling,” He said lowly, his voice tinged with seriousness.
“Loki…” You said his name in a mere whisper. Nobody had said anything remotely close to that to you, ever.
“No, I am aware it’s… it’s soon to be saying these things but I fear I might burst if I don’t express it… You took my heart and you made a home in it when I hadn’t let myself hope to ever have that, such love, such tenderness… You’ve given me your grace and your patience… You’ve softened me and at the same time made me realize it’s not a weakness as I thought it to be… and I… I love you, my darling, every star shining in the night sky combined doesn’t burn as bright as my love for you,”
You gaped at him stunned as you tried to process his words. The two of you hadn’t said those three words to each other yet. You felt the weight of his love though. In how he treated you, in his actions… How he held you tightly, how he read to you before sleep, how he always made sure to tend to your needs, how he listened to all your ramblings and never made you feel stupid or insignificant.
He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to say anything if you-”
“No! I love you!” You exclaimed quickly, realizing how your silence must have looked to him. “Sorry,” You said, lowering your volume. “I mean of course I do, of course I love you too, Loki,”
He let out a deep sigh of relief. “You certainly don’t make things easy on my heart, my love,” He said as he cupped your cheeks with his hands and kissed you tenderly. “Ready to go?” He whispered against your lips.
“Let me just grab my coat, it's cold,”
#loki x reader#loki oneshot#loki fluff#loki fanfic#valentine's day oneshot#loki imagine#loki x you#valentine's day fic#cueloki writes
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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 23
Here we are, the penultimate chapter. And the second sex scene. So definitely be forewarned there. This is the chapter where they talk and Steve explains the title. Well, they both do really.
I'm sad to see this story end, but I've got so many good stories waiting in the wings so it's a good thing, too.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22
~
Steve was waiting up in the foray of the hotel lobby reading the newspaper when Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin got in.
He looked up at the sound of the chains and jewelry jingling above the hushed whispers. They all looked happy and excited. Which meant their day with Mike went well. Which was good.
Eddie spotted Steve first and stopped in his tracks, as around him the boys rough housed. Then one by one they too spotted Steve. They took in what he was wearing and teased Eddie before they left him standing there, staring at Steve, frozen in place.
Steve was wearing a white suit with a sheer white mesh top, so that it neatly showed off his hairy chest and happy trail. His hair was artfully styled and the whole outfit was topped off with black designer boots. In other words he sat there looking like sex on legs.
Eddie ran his fingers through his hair as he placed the other hand on his hip. “Damn, little Canary, you look good enough to eat.”
Steve smirked, licking his upper lip. He put away the newspaper carefully and deliberately. Then he stood up and Eddie was able to take in the full effect including that delicious show of the outline of Steve’s cock.
Eddie crooked his finger and Steve came willingly. Eddie tugged on the golden chain around Steve’s neck and pulled out the gold and citrine canary necklace that Eddie had given to Steve that first day at the hotel.
“Are you mine, baby?” he purred. “Have you decided that you’ll take everything I have to offer. But especially me?”
Steve nodded looking into his eyes. “Everyone kept calling me a kept man or sugar baby to your sugar daddy. But both of those things imply that I’m accepting everything you gave in exchange for sex. But we’ve only ever had sex the once.”
Eddie smiled softly. “That’s right, little Canary. You’re not either of those things. So what are you then?”
“I’m a caged bird,” Steve replied with a soft smile. “The price for a roof over my head and all my needs met is a cage. On that is open for me to fly out at any time, but why would I want to? Not when I have you to take care of me.”
“The caged bird still sings,” Eddie said, his smile growing, “because it is loved and cared for, is that it?”
Steve’s smile transformed into a grin. “Yeah.”
“I like the metaphor, little Canary,” Eddie breathed and then pressed his lips to Steve’s, his fingers still wrapped around the necklace, keeping Steve tethered to him.
Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck and leaned into the kiss. Eddie’s free hand slid under the jacket of the suit and to the small of Steve’s back, pressing them even further together.
“You look too pretty to just take you up to your room and rip those delicious clothes off,” Eddie murmured. “So let me at least buy you a drink in the hotel bar and chat you up a bit first.”
Steve giggled and nuzzled their noses together. “I think that sounds like a great idea, Eddie.”
Eddie shivered at the sheer desire in Steve’s voice. It took everything in his power to take that step back, and slide his hand into Steve’s. Then he led the way to the bar and ordered them both a drink.
“So what made you decide you wanted this with me, darlin’?” Eddie purred as he swirled around the whiskey in his hand.
Steve cocked his head to side as he sincerely thought about it. “I think the first step was bitching out Chrissy for her ideas about us. I wasn’t going to let her chose the narrative of someone she had only met once in a dimly lit bar. I may have been a queen bitch in high school, but trust me, I won’t stand for people talking shit about me behind my back if I can help it.”
“That was an impressive speech you gave, little Canary,” Eddie murmured, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.
“Like before you came back,” Steve murmured, running his fingers through his hair nervously, “I had even wondered if the only reason I wasn’t your sugar baby was because you were on tour. But then you came home and were so respectful, it kind of pushed those thoughts out of my head.”
Eddie smiled gently and took Steve’s hand to give it a squeeze. “That was what I was hoping I was doing.”
“Congrats, it really worked,” Steve replied with a chuckle. “Then when I met your uncle and saw his home and the life you had given him.” He shook his head fondly. “Then you said that me marrying you for buy me a house was an incentive and not a deterrent...I–”
“And you wanted that too,” Eddie finished for him. “Make no mistake, little Canary, I will buy you a house with everything you’ve every wanted in a home and make it ours.
Steve blushed and then got this far away look in his eyes and sighed wistfully. “Then when you got out of your car to pick up Mike, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen and I wanted all of it. I want to be your little Canary, I want to sing for you in all the ways I know how. So Robin helped me pick out the outfit to seduce you in.”
“Consider me seduced,” Eddie purred. “I wasn’t lying when I said you looked good enough to eat.”
Steve blushed and ducked his head. He looked up at Eddie through his lashes. “I can’t wait for you to take care of me.”
Eddie’s eyes widen and his nostrils flared as his desire ramped up. “Damn, little Canary, I’m going to make you feel so good, you’ll think you rocketed to the moon with all the stars you’ll be seeing.”
Steve through back his head and laughed. “I wasn’t aiming for an innuendo, but I really still should have seen that one coming–” He stopped to snort at his own joke. “Wrong word! God!”
Eddie burst out laughing too. “Someone’s got sex on the brain today,” he smirked, wagging his eyebrows.
“Have you looked in the mirror, babe?” Steve purred. “I’m pretty sure you short-circuited poor Mike’s brain when you stepped out of that sports car. It took everything I had not jump you right there in front of the thirteen year old.”
“I wasn’t really thinking about what I was wearing today,” Eddie said with a huff of laughter. He took a sip of his whiskey, his other hand never leaving Steve’s. “I just threw on what was clean and that I would be comfortable recording in.”
Steve smiled. “Well it worked on me.”
Eddie hummed his agreement.
They talked and had a couple of drinks, just reveling in each other’s company. Like they were slotted into each other’s lives like they had always been right there.
Then Eddie stood up and gently led Steve up the elevator to Eddie’s room. It was almost identical to Steve’s, but minus all the bird paraphernalia and instead covered with guitars and band merch.
His hands came up and slowly slid Steve’s suit jacket off his shoulders and on to the floor. Steve smirked, but allowed Eddie to undress him. Eddie untucked the shirt and got his fingertips on the happy trail that had been tantalizing him all night.
Steve let out a little gasp of pleasure as Eddie’s thumbs caught in his belt loops, pulling them closer together. Then the shirt came off and Eddie sank to his knees, pulling on the belt to undo it. He unbottoned and unzipped the pants.
Eddie licked his lips at the sight before him. “Naughty boy, going commando in those tight pants. You must be a sin.”
“I thought I was your angel,” Steve breathed, burying his hands into his own hair, back arching from the sheer want rolling off Eddie in waves. “I’m pretty sure you called me heaven sent at the very least.”
Eddie’s head rocked back and looked up from the tasty, teasing morsel in front of him. “You remember that?”
Steve grinned. “I don’t remember a lot about what happened that, but yeah. I called you sin and you called me heaven sent.”
“Well, I take it back, baby,” Eddie said, returning his attention back on the bounty in front of him. “You’re sin and I’m the sinner.” He slid Steve’s pants down his legs and then gently removed each boot until Steve was standing in front of him stark naked and looking good enough to eat.
“I’m going to feast tonight,” he murmured and then slowly stood back up. He kissed Steve deeply as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, his hands going for that gorgeous ass. He swept Steve off his feet and carried him laughingly to the bed.
He gently laid Steve on the bed and then began to strip himself. Steve propped himself up on his elbows as he watched Eddie uncover more and more of his skin. And that’s when he spotted it; a new tattoo.
Right where the torso met the leg was a little yellow canary.
“See something you like, sweetheart?” Eddie said lasciviously. He crawled on the bed and straddled Steve’s thighs.
Steve flopped back onto the pillows and his thumb rubbed the tattoo. Then he looked up adoringly at Eddie. “When did you get that?”
“You like that?” Eddie teased and then kissed him on the lips. He whispered into Steve’s ear, “I got that in Indy the day after I met you, baby.”
Steve moaned, throwing his head back. “It took me four months to realize I was in love with you, but here you are going out and getting a tattoo about me the next day! I thought I was unhinged.”
“Sorry, Stevie,” Eddie cackled, “but you had me hooked since day one.”
He grabbed the lube from his nightstand and pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck. “I’ve spent so much time jerking off to that first time because it was all I could think about.”
Steve’s body shuddered with desire and lust. “I’ve come thinking about you, too. Your voice has the power to turn me on like nothing else.”
“You like my voice, baby?” Eddie purred as ground down, causing Steve to gasp. “You like it when I talk to you?” Steve nodded, biting on his lip.
“The things I’m going to do to you, pretty boy,” he continued, his free hand tracing the lines of Steve’s torso, going low.
Steve grabbed Eddie’s thighs for dear life as Eddie kept grinding their cocks together.
“I’m going to lube you up,” Eddie purred. “I’m going spread those pretty thighs, so deliciously thick.” He slithered down the bed to bite Steve’s left thigh, causing Steve’s back to arch off the bed.
Eddie spread his legs, kissing and biting where he could. “Then I’m going to start with one finger all nice and slick from the lube.”
Action followed his words and he pressed one finger into Steve’s hole.
“Oh god!” Steve breathed. “It feels so good.”
Eddie continued to work at Steve’s hole, pushing in and out as his other hand wandered over his thighs, his stomach, his sides, everywhere but his cock.
“Then I’m going to add a second finger,” Eddie purred. “Really work you open.”
He must have hit a really good spot because Steve shuddered and moaned. “Look at you, little Canary. Singing for me.”
Steve’s sounds got louder and more enthusiastic with that little encouragement.
Eddie kept describing what he was going to do and then doing until Steve was on the edge and was as open as Eddie could comfortably get him.
“You ready, baby?” he asked, lining up his cock.
“Yes, Eddie,” Steve begged. “I need you fuck me so good. I need it.”
As Eddie slid in he leaned over to kiss Steve filthily on the mouth. “And whatever you need I’m here to give it to you.”
Steve whimpered. “You’re so good to me.”
“It is my honest pleasure.”
Eddie began thrusting deep inside him, Steve continuing to make the most delicious sounds as they fucked.
“Touch me, Eddie,” Steve murmured. “Let me come. I want to come, please. I need it, so much.”
“”You’ve got it, Stevie,” he said softly. “I want us to come together, do you think you can hold off just a little more?”
Steve’s eyes were wide and blown with desire. “I’ll try. For you.”
Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “I know. You’re so good to me.”
He gently took Steve’s cock in hand and began to slide up and down in time with his thrusts.
Soon Steve was arching off the bed. “Please, Eddie!”
“Go ahead, baby,” Eddie moaned. “Come for me.”
He jerked his hips one more time and was coming in Steve as he spurted out ribbon after ribbon of cum all over his chest.
Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut as he finished. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that Steve was completely blissed out underneath him.
He pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw and then got up to clean them off. When he came back with a wet hand towel, he had to stop and stare at the sight before him.
Steve had one arm thrown behind his head and the other hand was pressed into the cooling cum on his stomach, panting for breath.
“Did I wear you out, little Canary?” Eddie teased as he loped over to the bed.
“Fuck, Eddie,” he murmured. “If this how sex is going to be all the time, I don’t think I’ll ever get out of bed ever again.”
Eddie chuckled and then got to work cleaning up his newly minted boyfriend. Then he tucked them into the large bed.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered into Steve’s ear as they curled up together.
Steve pecked his lips. “I love you too, Eddie. So much.”
Then they drifted off to sleep together.
~
Tag List: CLOSED
1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006
2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach
3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child
4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1
5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman
6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth
7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void
8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec
9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife
10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon
#my writing#stranger things#steddie#ladykailtiha writes#rockstar eddie munson#age difference#ten years between steve and eddie
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I like that when Caleb's your companion in battle, you get a defense buff 😭😭
I am also so damn curious about Zayne's and Caleb's relationship, and what it looks like now after everything.
Also, Caleb and MC are so fuckin unhinged like if he did that to me on stage I would evaporate on the spot. You would just hear the screams of a thousand souls and he would get his ass HAUNTED.
I am refrencing the 4 star card here:
But I dont remember its name. My jaw dropped at the second hand embarrasment. I love him, but oh my god.
In the main story, he continued to surprise me the whole time. I was just going "CALEB????" The whole time, with a squeakier voice everytime.
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I really find it funny how he just goes "No❤️"
Like???? What do you mean no??
Slight spoiler for his anecdotes + the event thing
The fact he failed his mental evaluation should have been a sign. Man is a walking red flag and I'm into it.
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Like what are you doing Caleb 😭😭
But this is also on MC cause this bitch is also fucking unhinged in the 4star cards. She let's him do it and matches his energy which I love but like what the fuck are we doing guys? I feel like I'm watching this train wreck from afar and can't intervene.
I will admit, the "this ruined world doesn't deserve you" did wreck me emotionally a little bit. Hit a chord I've recently discovered I posses. And him writing MCs name on the wall is fucking adorable goddamnit.
Side question Sylus' catch 22 chapter 3 tho?
#love and deepspace#lnds#lads#love and deep space#loveanddeepspace#lnds sylus#l&ds#love and deepspace sylus#lnds caleb#caleb x mc#caleb lnds#caleb love and deepspace#love and deepspace caleb
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9. Cobblestone streets (Fili/Kili, G, Postcards Verse)
“You could have… told me,” Fili panted after his brother, switching his suitcase from one tired hand to the other. “Would have… taken the backpack.”
“I would have… if I’d known myself,” an equally winded Kili replied. “My podcast… didn’t mention… this particular detail.” He put his own suitcase down and consulted Google Maps on his phone.
Lisbon, all of it, or at least every single bit of Alfama and Moreria that they’d seen so far, was cobbled. There wasn’t a single scrap of tarmac or even paving slabs in sight, and to make matters worse, it was all up-and-down, mostly up, through the narrow, winding streets and plenty of staircases too, framed tightly with old, two-, three- and four- storey houses, like little canyons or ravines running steeply up the hill and crowned with the castle on top.
Fili stopped too and tried his best to tuck his hair more firmly behind his ears and out of his face.
He may have been bitching, but his heart was quickly being stolen by the quirky atmosphere of the oldest parts of the city, and if the wide-eyed, curious glances thrown around by Kili were any indication, his brother was similarly afflicted.
It was charming; intimate. Alfama especially had a vibe of a little village where everyone knows everyone else, ruled by benevolently smiling matrons in slippers, flowery polyester aprons and with curlers in their hair, and with laundry dripping over the pedestrians, all of it, somehow, lost and allowed to timelessly thrive inside a big, modern city.
It was undoubtedly an old place; lived in and a little shabby, but offering shelter and a strong sense of community to generations after generations of families who took shelter in its walls from invaders, plagues, and even the famous 1755 earthquake, which shook this area, but didn’t destroy it.
Even at this evening hour, they were surrounded by the reassuring, ordinary life: sounds of telly in people’s living rooms, smells of fried onions and tomatoes from someone’s dinner, muted conversations mere feet away from where they were passing, and quaint little restaurants, decorated with fairy lights rather than neons, with only 2-3 little round tables set out outside their door.
“I think it’s this way. Not far now,” Kili interrupted his train of thought, as Fili was throwing longing glances towards one such restaurant, simultaneously trying to read the menu, create a mental map of how to navigate back to this place, and promising himself that they’d return as soon as they dropped off their luggage at their accomodation.
Wordlessly, he followed after his love, as Kili wandered away from what passed for a main street and got them lost in the maze of even narrower alleyways and courtyards. He was pleased that they chose a simple little studio apartment here, over the convenience of a modern hotel. He was looking forward to being ‘of this place’ and having ‘his own neighbourhood’ here, even if only for a few days.
Luprecalia
"Oh, good, you're here! Hold this."
"But daddy, I love him!"
The Consort and his King
Omegaverse
"They'll have to go through me."
Field of flowers
Renting rooms from the locals
"Exactly how many languages do you speak?!"
Fairytale
Full moon
Drabble Challenge 9 is now officially open!
We are only playing Sat - Sun, so please come back on Tumblr to check it often. (From now on until Sun/Mon midnight whatever time you’re on)
RULES ARE THE SAME AS LAST TIME - PLEASE READ UNDER THE CUT:
STEP 1: Pick one of the following prompts:
Luprecalia
It's 3 a.m. but fuck it, we're being domestic.
Never have I ever...
The Consort and his King
Nectarines
"They will have to go through me."
Assembling IKEA furniture
Renting rooms from the locals
Valentines Day
“This isn’t going the way that I thought it would.”
Step 2: Write a quick response of at least 100 words (a classic drabble is 100 words, but whatever).
We won’t be counting, but the challenge here is to be concise, while having a clear link to the prompt you’re responding to. There is no upper limit, but remember the prompts get snatched pretty quick.
Fili/Kili or any fictional Dean/Aidan pairings, clearly mark your warnings etc.
Existing verses or brand new work are both fine.
Step 3: Refresh Tumblr and use the notes to check the last person that has reblogged this post with a response (IMPORTANT!)
Just ordinary reblogs to spread the word are ok (ignore those), but you’re looking specifically for the latest reblog that had a drabble added.
Step 4: Reblog from that person, adding your response. You also need to copy-paste the prompt list and REPLACE the one prompt you responded to with a brand new prompt (anything you like).
I.e. you claim one and you put one back. There are still 10 prompts.
Step 5: Format your post. Response text and updated prompts list MUST be hidden under the ‘Read more’ button.
Only 2 lines should be visible on the dashboard: 1) which prompt you’re claiming, pairing, rating, verse, possible warnings and 2) ‘Read more’.
Step 6: Tag your response: #Drabble Challenge 9 so that whoever wants to, can blacklist the whole event.
Next person:
Step 1: Find the latest reblog of this post with a response.
Step 2: Pick one of the prompts from the updated list (always find the latest reblog!)
Repeat Step 3, Step 4, Step 5, Step 6 etc. The list of prompts is forever evolving.
This event is meant to be snappy and fast, creating a caterpillar of reblogs, crawling all over your dashes.
How to resolve possible problems:
Two people writing responses at the same time for 2 different prompts from the same list. This is not a problem: So long as the second person responding finds the latest reblog, their prompt should still be available on the updated list. Only 1 prompt is replaced at a time.
Two people writing responses at the same time for the same prompt (AKA my prompt disappeared by now): Find the latest reblog, add your response and add your own prompt as number 11. From now on there are 11 prompts. However, this is meant to be snappy, so please don’t spend half a day writing 100 words…
Meanwhile, @linane-art will kick-start this, and provide the first example.
Have fun! Any questions - give us a shout. If it starts going wrong, there may be a mod reblog, setting it straight again.
~gatheringfiki
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thinking ex-sorcerer!sugu thoughts 😔
#he is so jaded and cynical <3333#also grows a resting bitch face that turns into a customer service smile in two seconds flat#he doesn’t care what people think of him anymore so it’s fine if his smile isn’t convincing#……… i feel like he would work. at a restaurant#something something his karmic destiny is to devour but he chooses to cook for others instead#it keeps him sane#so anyway . i’m picturing you as someone with a cursed technique but zero knowledge of sorcerery because you slipped under the radar#and you . meet him. for a blind date#and he’s sooo easy to talk to and you’re having fun and letting yourself unwind#and you end up teasingly telling him that you can see ghosts. that you have since you were a kid. expecting him to laugh it off#but he gives you this odd knowing glance#and a weary smile#and goes#”ghosts huh?”#…….. i don’t know what happens from there i’m just obsessed w him#he’s a little bitch but i love him :’3#ari noises ✩
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finally beat dark gaia today, had to draw werehog about it
#i fucking love this game i hope i will never have to fight that gaia bitch again#maybe if theyd release remaster... but if they include tornado defense im bending their knees backwards#me doing colossus vs dark gaia fight for the first time thinking thats it then i see S rank is for 7 mins 30 sec like uhm.uhhmmmmmmm Concer#sonic#sonic unleashed#sonic the werehog#sonic can have some feral goblin time. as a treat#night stages > day stages i dont take criticism#gonna love forever the fact that werehog form doesnt affect his mind#all werewolf traits are pure act hes acting like a wild animal on purpose#he'd growl at you then be like hiiiiiiiiii :3#the absolute theater legend#what a fuckign creature of him. toddler sized beast. got damn gremlin#also frontiers and unleashed both my fav sonic games that have a little guy sacrifice themself at the end. why are you doing this to me
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I have gathered a vast collection of alastor doing the hand over the month and a bit hazbin has been out
I'm gonna continuously edit this post whenever I find more
Now sit back and enjoy these screenshots of the silliest guy in hazbin hotel :] (aside from lucifer)
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I CANT ADD ANYMORE NOOOOOO
I reposted this with more images here :>
#hes just a little fruity#all the best ones are here#nevermind all the good ones are on both posts#there are 3 reposts now it just mever ends.#can people please like this post i spent way too much time looking through the show for these screenshots Q-Q#hazbin#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#radio demon#fruity alastor#alastor hazbin#rosie hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel rosie#this son of a bitch is so cluelessly queer#and i love him for that
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takiishi chika is not a simple man.
he’s hard to figure out. you can’t read him, hardly anybody can, and it makes it difficult to find things you share interest in. the first one is obvious— each other. otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting across from him every morning, sharing his space. especially not over coffee.
every morning, without fail, a piping hot cup of black coffee will bring him from an impending threat to society, to whatever one peg lower than that is.
you don’t speak much in the morning, but he allows— or maybe enjoys— you to sit across from him with your coffee and breakfast. it’s peaceful, and quiet, if you’re comfortable being stared at.
he watches curiously as you dip a thumbprint cookie into your cup and take a bite, washing it down afterwards. when you pull the mug back down, your eyes meet his inquisitive ones. tilting your head at him, you glance down to the other half of your cookie, placing it on a napkin and sliding it over to him with a soft smile. he stares at it, hesitating, before he mimics you.
he blinks as he chews, and glances at you a few times, not used to being the one stared at. you avert your gaze so he feels like he has some room to breathe, and when you glance back up at him, he’s licking his lips. his expression doesn’t change, but you’re quite certain you know him well enough to gather that he liked it.
your assumption is confirmed the next time you drag him along with you to the grocery store, when he disappears for five minutes only to return with a box of the cookies in his hand. and when you ask him a few weeks later what he wants from the grocery store, they’re the first item on his list. they run out so much faster when he’s grabbing one alongside you every morning, but you don’t mind.
not when suddenly, the two of you have another thing in common.
#just thoughts i had about him over breakfast#loves him really bad#he's like a feral creature to me i don't necessarily want to tame him i just want to improve his quality of life#via little joys like dipping cookies into his hot morning beverage#sigh.#takiishi chika#chika takiishi#takiishi x reader#chika takiishi x reader#takiishi chika x reader#my writing <3#Damn This Bitch Loves Commas.#anyway#hope yall are having a pleasant day
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Thame is the leader of the group. Pepper is the all-rounder. Dylan is the rapper. Nano is the main dancer. And then there's the most important member, Jun, who is the nuisance.
#thamepo#i love jun so much <3#he's just so fun#love him being a little bitch on purpose#i hope he never stop#never change king they can never make me hate you
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2 things. 1, squip totally makes fun of jeremy like this , no i don't take criticism. 2, my tragic flaw is that I think way too hard about the logistics of how squip works
#as in like#the squip probably taps into jeremys brain to make him essentially hallucinate#and i was also tjimking about hoe that would work in a mirror#hypothetically hed probably only have the ears where he can see them#idk how to explain this 💔#either way!!! squip is such a bitch and jeremy is jsut a scared little bunny </3#someone protect this poor boy#the whole “easily startlrd” thing sprouted from when i said that onr hc that squip can choose whether or not to appear to jeremy#i think its hilarious#love these stupid bitches#bmc#be more chill#jeremy heere#squip#pink_toons arts
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if you ever feel safe, remember that he’s out there
#ocelot thought he was cool in mgs3 but he was just a silly little guy#cunty cat man#he ate and he served as much as he may have been a hindrance#i still love him he’s my guilty pleasure character#metal gear solid#mgs#metal gear#metal gear memes#metal gear series#revolver ocelot#mgs3#mgs 3#mgs3 snake eater#mgs3 ocelot#mgs ocelot#ocelot mgs#ocelot#major ocelot#slinger the ocelot#gunslinger#son of a bitch#metal gear solid 3 snake eater#metal gear solid 3#snake eater#mgs memes#metalgear#metalgearsolid3#metalgearsolid#spetsnaz#cat man
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big brother behavior
#hes such a little shit#a bitch even#i love him sm <3#emma rewatches spn#2x2 everybody loves a clown#spn#sam winchester#dean winchester
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