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goodnight :)

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twinsies 🐟

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a wild todoroki has appeared

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

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Egg-stra Special

i'm back, baby!! it's been a hot minute since i last posted a full length fic (like two months 😭) but life has been life-ing A Lot lately, so. we do what we can with the time we've got! this is the first of my two entries for @tiramistupid's stardew valley collab! i decided to base this one specifically on the quest where the farmer brings gus all the eggs. i'm feeling a little rusty in my writing & this is my first full length fic with tanjiro, so please forgive me if this isn't the best thing i've posted or if he seems a little ooc 💜

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.3k | cw: gn saloon worker!reader, farmer!tanjiro, stardew valley au, more reader/setting centric, can be interpreted as platonic or pre-relationship/reader catching feelings

Being the person to open the saloon was one of your favorite things. It was therapeutic, in a way, the routine giving your life a solid structure in the midst of your otherwise sleepy town. Every day was the same: you arrived at half past eleven and let yourself in, gave the floors a quick sweep, and set all the chairs and barstools back on the floor; you made sure the register was matched up with the previous nights’ records; you made sure there were clean, spotless glasses to serve drinks in; you made sure there was food ready or the ingredients to prepare it; and when the clock struck noon, you unlocked the doors for the rest of the town to join you if they so wished. 

It was easy work, especially after a few months of the same thing every day. You were a little surprised when Gus had agreed to let you open the saloon every day, considering his home was in the back of the place. He insisted it was selfish, since it let him sleep late, but you knew it was no small thing for him to keep another person employed; you would’ve had to be blind to miss the way his cheerful expression slipped when he counted the books every couple of days. Despite that, he kept you employed, never straying from the hours he had promised you when he first hired you, even when you knew it would’ve made his life easier to cut back on the number of days you worked.

There was the smallest change in your routine today, though. When you checked the fridge to see if you had everything you needed or if you’d need to make a quick run to Pierre’s, there was a note on top of the tray that usually held the eggs.

Don’t stress about being out, Tanjiro’s bringing some eggs for my giant omelet tonight! Don’t let him leave without payment, I already set it aside by the register. -G

A smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded to yourself. As you went about the rest of your normal routine, you wondered when Tanjiro would show up; you’d always considered yourself a morning person, but the farmer took it to a whole new level. Though his farm was a bit far from the rest of the town, there were days when you’d arrive at Pierre’s right at open to get your personal grocery shopping done before work, and Tanjiro would already be there, a large basket of vegetables – sometimes with jars of homemade jam or bottles of juice, even bottles of wine on occasion – to sell to the grocer, his hair pulled back into a small ponytail. He always smiled at you, and he seemed genuinely happy to see you every time, making pleasant conversation and inquiring about your hobbies and interests. His genuine interest in getting to know you probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but for some reason it did. You’d developed a certain affection for the farmer over your time in the valley. The two of you had arrived around the same time, and you were the same age, so friendship came easily enough. He mentioned once that he was glad not to be the only newcomer because it made him feel less out of place, a sentiment you wholeheartedly agreed with. 

After finishing the rest of your routine, you made your way to the door to unlock it and happened to glance out of the window. Tanjiro was already making his way towards the front steps, a crate held carefully in his arms. He seemed a bit surprised when you opened the door for him, but he smiled at you anyways.

“Thanks!” he said, stepping inside as you held the door. “Did Gus tell you I was coming?”

“He left me a note,” you confirmed, shutting the door. “There’s a tray in the fridge for you to put the eggs.”

Tanjiro nodded, still smiling as he carried the crate around the bar. You watched him as he set it down lightly on the counter, opened the fridge, and transferred the eggs to the tray. There was something almost serene about the way he moved, a quiet confidence draped around him like a cloak, even in the way his hair was pulled up into a small ponytail to keep it off his neck spoke to his dedication to his work. He was so careful with the eggs, picking them up and setting them down again delicately despite the calluses on his fingers, that you couldn’t help but imagine that it must be the same way he gathered them from his chickens in the first place.

When he was finished, he turned back to you with another smile. You felt your cheeks burn a bit; even though he said nothing about the fact that you were watching him, you felt like you’d gotten caught doing something wrong. “That’s all of them,” he said cheerfully. “Two dozen, just like Gus requested.”

“Thank you. I know he really appreciates it.”

“Of course! Anything else I can do for you?” His gentle earnestness made your stomach flip, but you ignored it; now was not the time to overthink whatever these feelings were.

“No, I think that’s it,” you said. He nodded, picking up the crate once again. As he rounded the bar to make his way back to the door, though, you called him back.

“I forgot to give you your money,” you said apologetically, stepping behind the register to retrieve the bag Gus had set aside.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Gus is a friend, I don’t mind doing him the favor.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head slightly. “I’m sure that’s true, but if you don’t take it now Gus will just track you down with it later. He insisted I couldn’t let you leave without payment.”

That made Tanjiro laugh, and he stepped back to the register. “Alright, alright. I’ll spare him from having to make the trek all the way out to the farm.” 

As he accepted the bag of money, his fingers cradled yours for a moment. The touch made your cheeks burn, and when you saw the way he was smiling at you – the curve of his lips soft and his gaze warm – you quickly looked away. That sweet gentleness was overwhelming when it was focused solely on you, but it was actually kind of… pleasant, now that you thought about it. 

Thankfully, Tanjiro made no comment about your flustered reaction, just tucked the bag of coins into his pocket. “Anything else I can do before I leave?” he asked, and you finally met his gaze again.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s fine,” you assured him. “Thank you, though, that’s very kind.”

His smile widened a bit, his eyes crinkling faintly around the corners, and he nodded. “Always happy to help out. Don’t be scared to get in touch if you need anything, okay?” He lingered a moment longer, only seeming satisfied when you promised him you would. With another small nod, the farmer finally made his leave, crate tucked under his arm and the ends of his hair swaying slightly as he walked. 

You watched him go with a small smile on your face, almost sad when the bell on the door chimed again as it closed. There wasn’t anything you really needed help with at the saloon or at home, but you were already trying to come up with reasons to get in touch with the farmer again just to see his smile.

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hanma shuji | a whole red flag Words: 1.6k Summary: You don’t want to consider that Hanma Shuji’s attention is more than fleeting. Happy belated birthday @cmdrfupa ! Thank you for being a wonderful human being. Please collect your man. Warning: Hanma Shuji is his own warning, vauge description of violence, smoking, blood

You’d never imagined being thankful for this bastard's smug face. 

Once again, a pinstripe suit tailored to perfection dons his form, the tie is crisp gold, matching the highlights in his pushed back hair. You wonder, did he get them redone because of you? You mentioned it at the last meeting, his roots were showing. As a joke, a tease, a shield, ward off this tall man who drips of danger and promises sin.

His charisma, rizz, he called it, can be assessed another day.  Because right now, you need his witch hazel yellow eyes on the punks behind you.  Normally, you’d have caught them sooner, normally you’d have made a stink and have them regretting ever considering you a mark. But the days have all run long this week, the nights have been shorter, and if Hanma Shuji has told you to use him…then why not use him like this? “Oh honey, I knew you missed me.” He clocks the release of tension in your shoulders, how your hands ease their hold on your reusable grocery bag.  And then he tilts his head, widening his field of vision away from your visage and to the seals thinking they’re sharks.  “Oh pretty, you brought me gifts.” He moves like a ghost. The only real proof he’s moved is your sense of smell shifting from the night air to orange, cedar, and expensive.  The hand with ‘punishment’ tattooed on it barely graces your shoulder before he’s on them, no questions asked, no words spoken.

The only talking is his fist and their jaws.  Down they go, a perfect storm of violence, power, adrenaline. Not even three minutes, he stands tall, stretches his arms wide, cracks his neck and adjusts his tie as he turns, grinning. There’s that tension again, the one in your hands as your grip fastens on the heavy tote, control, you must maintain control. He’s excited, a predator seeking approval from his future mate – there’s no other way to appraise the look in his eyes. He’s still hungry afterall, what good is a fight if he hasn’t worked up a sweat. It’s clear he’s waiting for you to move, maybe for you to notice the drip of blood down his knuckles. On purpose, he kept his rings on, on purpose he may have torn his own skin. 

Afterall, a law abiding citizen, who takes her own bags to the grocery mart, wouldn’t let a man who defended her honor leave with crimson dripping down his fingers, right?

“You, good Ma?”   Shuji’s eyes sparkle, from you to the newcomer. A little too late for an old man like that to be playing bodyguard.  “We’re good here, Toji.”  You turn and smile, Fushiguro Toji has…always held a soft corner. He’s out here, smoking it seems.You frown, didn’t he give this habit up?  The heat of his body is evident, the purr of his voice draping over your shoulder, “Another gift for me, pretty?” The instant reaction, you grab his wrist before he can move, the tote bag falls as an exclamation to your, “No!”  Eyes pleading, as confusing as this man is, Hanma Shuji, you don’t wish him an early death. And he may be a shark but he’s not Fushiguro Toji, he doesn’t know what waters he’s attempting to dive in. “Aww, worried about me?” He’s an idiot, the biggest idiot ever. Out of the corner of your eye, Toji drops the cigarette, puts it out, and starts his body towards your direction. It’s only twenty or so steps. Your heart pounds faster and faster, not here, not like this. Not when Hanma isn’t your anything and Toji… 

Not that you’d ever owe him an explanation for anything, you’re an adult, he’s an adult. You simply live in the same complex and watch his kid from time to time. It doesn’t give him the right to be possessive, it doesn’t give you the right to want him to be either. Not when there’s Hanma, not when he’s been showing up everywhere to get a reaction, a smile, a slap, anything, something, whatever from you.  His phone rings, to save him or yourself from making a decision too soon. His smile cracks a bit, he turns away, that rumbly mumbly voice of his, that “Ya hoooo!” “Don’t miss me too much, pretty.  I’ll be home soon.”  His eyes flash to Toji before he turns, taking all that citrus danger with him. Toji doesn’t say a word. A white furred puppy nips at your fallen grocery, “Ah! Sit!”  The puppy sits as Megumi runs over, holding a similar black pup. “Ah!!!! Miss 221!”   He’s a sweet child, a little sulky and sullen compared to his peers, but here in the cover of starlight, his smile shines bright. “I taught tricks!” He puts down his other pup.   You look to Toji, remember him considering one for Megumi, something to help him out of his shell and loneliness.   You watch Megumi demonstrate sit, stand, roll over. You give him a cookie you brought for a sweet midnight snack.  He insists his Papa take you to your floor, that it’s late and there are weird people around. Silhouettes of punks struggling to walk now on the far horizon.

⋆｡°✩ Toji is…perhaps he will always be a conundrum.  Kindness that doesn’t match his exterior shell always extends towards you. Maybe he knows, you work with kids. Maybe he hopes you'll help him with Megumi. He can’t thank you enough for all the times his brat has had a fit and sat in the stairwell; only for you to walk him through his feelings. It’s not unselfish, this kindness of yours. You rather Megumi know he’s loved and wanted, he is a blessing afterall. Even if there’s pain around that. Toji does care for him, in ways that Megumi may not understand yet. Ways that are too rough, too big, too well intended but messaged poorly. Stop. You said you wouldn’t do this. He has so much to work on. You have plans, goals, forward momentum.  Your eyes flash yellow and you sigh. He’s bad news, Hanma Shuji. And maybe in ways there’s proof Toji isn’t as bad. But Toji feels permanent, grounding, devoted. Maybe, another life, another world. Right now, you let him be simply, a neighbor with a cute kid and two dogs.   “Thanks.” “Not a problem, you’d let me know if you’re in trouble right?” Toji knows men are all moths to a flame, and your heart is the brightest light in the night sky.  That pinstripe prick, he clicks his tongue, what’s he thinking bringing danger to you? “It’s all good Toji, thanks.”  When you draw the line, Toji doesn’t cross it. ⋆｡°✩ You settle into your bed, dinner, clean, shower. Skincare, hairwrapping, comfy sheets for soft lotioned skin. The weekend is near, a whole day of yours to relax. Maybe bake that pie you’ve been thinking up, you have oranges and anise spice–oranges? That can’t be right.  You hear his laugh in your mind.  Stupid bastard, said mostly not affectionately, but his hand was red. You anticipated him being there. Long lean limbs, crooked grin, waiting for you. Such a big gamble, and somehow you knew he’d still perch?? himself against the wall. A little guilt. For whatever pain he’s probably feeling right now, out there, breaking who knows what in the name of who knows why? He is dangerous. He is trouble. It’s okay though, isn’t it? For him to saunter around the walls of your mind? To let him cross that tightrope, balance your need to know him and your instincts that signal red flag, red pole, red everything. You know better, you know better. Maybe it’s that dilemma that has you jump to, when you hear that knock on your door. It’s late, later than late and this has happened when Megumi has nightmares once or twice before. It’s not out of the question but it is out of order for you to simply open the door. Without checking who waits on the other side; Hanma Shuji. “Honeyyy, I’m home.” Fuck. It all happens so fast, his smile, your hand pulling a hidden knife from a statue near the door. His hand to your hip, his leg kicks your door closed, he’s lost in your sleep attire, the fact you have a tiny knife pushed at his neck. “I didn’t invite you in.” “You looked like you wanted me… in.”  Did you? No, you were, you weren’t expecting him. His hand cups the one holding the knife to his neck. “I look good in red, would you like more confirmation?” Tugs your hand in, the blade piercing just slightly and you push away. His laugh echoes the square footage and reverberates in your chest.   Away, move away from his cedar, his cologne,  his looming limber body. “What do you want?” He holds his hand up, even more marred now, “My pretty girl to clean me up.” Kick him out, kick him out. Every cell in your body strung alive, held captive.  You drop the knife, crossing your arms, “There’s urgent care–” “I’m urgently in need of your care, honey.”  One step, two, three.  Both hands, both covered in red, on your hips. You click your tongue, he’s staining your comfiest set, “Clean me up, I’ll go.” Your eyes meet his.

Is it a lie? Do you want it to be a lie? “Promise?” Your voice is smaller than you’d like, the scent of iron hits your nose as he cups your cheek, lazy, easy smile, he says nothing. His earring dangles free, “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Shit. What do you want him to do?

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imagine saying this to a toddler 😭

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THE FRAGRANT FLOWER BLOOMS WITH DIGNITY • 薫る花は凛と咲く (2025)

Earlier when you said, [I ran because I was scared] I have never once thought you were scary, Rintaro.

—Kaoruko Waguri, E01

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Enjin — Gachiakuta 1.02

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enjin

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“I will be the banner, the ensign to bring everyone together.”

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straight up "jorking it". and by "it", haha, well. let's justr say. My peanits

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pause .. which of your selfships has the most angst? and which one has the least?

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STOP—THIS IS A KINDNESS CHECKPOINT! rb this post + say something you love about prev to keep the positive energy flowing 💫

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📸 commission for @sodaneko 📸

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MIDNIGHT MORNING ; Kuroo x f!reader

five times Kuroo almost kisses you and one time he does

contains: f!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, 5+1 things, mutual pining, brother's best friend, sprinkles of fake dating and protective kuroo, a handful suggestive lines, kuroo tetsuro is a heartthrob. basically one very long beach episode. written as a gift for @mattsundaes for our summer fic exchange ♡

word count: 6.5k

・❥・ONE

Two train rides, three different buses, one ferry and a steep climb with your suitcases rattling behind you until you reach the small town that is nestled between the mountains and the shore. Your back is aching from the long trip and the crushing weight of expectations you felt the past couple of months. Impending deadlines, endless correction loops, rejection letter after rejection letter–all for a manuscript only you seem to believe in. 

One could say you were a little tired. 

“You need some sun in your face, salt water and a summer fling,” Ennoshita insisted over the phone during one of your late night facetime calls. You wanted to protest but the words got stuck in your throat as you looked around in your shoebox-sized apartment in the buzzing heart of Tokyo. The empty takeout containers, dusty books piled up on the floor because you ran out of space to store them and time to read them, fading polaroids on the fridge from your college days. It wasn’t bad; it was a home–the first one you lived all by yourself in. 

It was full of memories. Most of them were suffocating.

Ennoshita–ever observant and sensitive to your moods–sighed softly at the sight of the exhaustion written all over your face. No amount of silly filters could cover up the fact that you worked yourself to the bone over the past couple of months, writing the book you’ve told him about since your high school days. Your best friend knew when you ran out of fumes, but he also knew better than to openly voice his worries or else you’d downplay them and shut down completely. 

So he made a proposal. And you accepted. 

“Spend the summer at my place while I’m abroad. You’ll love this town, I promise. A five minute walk to the beach, a lot of local shops, good food, you can bike everywhere. A change of scenery might help you with your manuscript, too. And even if you don’t write a single word while you’re here, your heart will feel a little lighter after some time away.”

The sun is already setting once you make it to the address scribbled down on a crumbled piece of paper. It’s your first time here; your packed schedules never allowed you to visit Ennoshita after he moved to this town after graduating college, he either came to see you in Tokyo or you two met back at your hometown in Miyagi for holidays and class reunions.

You don’t bother switching the lights on once you step inside the small apartment, the last rays of sunshine illuminating the room in golden hues. Aside from the things Ennoshita mentioned there’s also a bunch of handpicked flowers on the table, as well as a box of XL condoms and cherry-flavored lube–it seems your best friend took you getting laid during your stay here very seriously. You kick off your shoes and drop your heavy bags before exploring the rest of the apartment: The tidy kitchen with a small watermelon left for you on the counter, the bathroom covered in tiles that revoke a certain nostalgia in you, the soft and cooling tatami underneath your feet in the bedroom, a futon already rolled out for you. It’s homey, welcoming you in. 

Please be kind, you ask these walls and the floor replies with gentle sighs every step you take. 

It’s getting late but you’re still determined to grab some late dinner from the store since the bento box you bought at the first train station didn’t last you too long. Your body feels weary from the endless travel and exhaustion. Food, shower, sleep. For once you don’t even think about your notebook or the unread emails in your inbox, and despite everything an unknown feeling of calmness starts to settle in your chest. Maybe your stay here really will do you good, in one way or another. 

The conbini is mostly empty, just the cashier and a small group of teenagers lingering between the aisles. You pull your cap deeper in your face and move on autopilot, grabbing your usual snacks without paying much attention to the other people–after this long day you’re not feeling the most presentable. It should be a quick grocery run anyway and in five more minutes you can finally peel out of these sticky clothes and wash your hair and fall face down on the–

“Kittens. That’s cute.”

A warm, silky voice with a little rasp to it. An amused chuckle that you’ve heard countless times growing up, to a point it’s been engraved into your being. Your name, spoken with a certain softness to it that was reserved for him only.

With your shopping haul pressed to your chest you look down at yourself; the old shorts with a cute kitty pattern you mindlessly threw on before you left the house, just relieved not to walk around in pants with coffee stains on them anymore.  

“And if I recall correctly, that used to be my cap.”

A big silhouette inches into your vision, someone tapping the shield of your hat to make you look up. When you don’t react–because frankly, your brain froze from the sound of his voice–two calloused fingers cup your chin and tip it up gently. You’re met with a pair of hazel, almost golden eyes, a familiar twinkle behind them as they take you in.

Kuroo. Your brother’s best friend, certified menace and your first puppy love.

(Is it still puppy love when the feelings have never fully gone away after over a decade of secret pining?)

You blink at him once, twice, until your body remembers how to breathe, but it’s as if your tongue is tied like cherry stems; just the way he used to show you during these relentless summer days at your childhood home years ago. Between a bowl of freshly picked cherries from the garden, the soft whir of the fan, yen store water pistols and Kuroo’s sticked out tongue, you fell in love quietly but violently. 

To this day you still wonder how Kuroo tastes. 

Picking up on your blindsided state, Kuroo reaches for the items still clutched in your grip, gently prying them from your hands and heading towards the cashier. With a second of delay you stumble after him, but he’s already swiping his card and packing everything in two plastic bags. 

“Come, come,” he laughs, wraps an arm around your shoulder (be still, heart) and guides you outside. You sit down on a small bench in front of the store together, so close your knees are touching, and it’s only then when you finally find your voice again. 

“Kuroo, what the fuck.” 

He barks out a laugh before handing you an unwrapped ice cream from the box, his fingers brushing against his when you reach for it. You nudge him with your knee and he takes his sweet time to grab another cool treat for himself before turning towards you, stilling your restless leg with a big hand. 

“Didn’t your brother tell you anything?” he asks curiously, tilting his head slightly. His hair was the usual mess and tussle, small strands sticking to his temples from the heat that still lingers despite the hour of the night. 

“Now that you’re saying… I guess he mentioned something that you’re spending summer at your grandparents’ home town…” you think out loud, trying to jog your memory. The past couple of months have been a blur if you were being honest, the stress making every day bleed into another. It is still hard to comprehend that you’re gonna spend a month in a quaint town by the seaside, and even harder to comprehend that Kuroo of all people is here, too.

Your Kuroo. 

“They kept their house here even after we moved to Tokyo,” he explains, his voice now softer. “It’s off-season at work at the moment so I’m using the chance to get out of town as far as possible. Or well, as far as I could afford.” 

He laughs again and something syrupy spreads in your ribcage down to your stomach, warm and tingling. You haven’t seen him in a year or two but being here with him, in a town where you’re a stranger, with a heart that yearns for a place to put all this useless love down–Kuroo seems like heaven sent. 

You sit and talk for one more hour and four more ice creams, until the store closes and shuts its lights off, leaving you in the dark. Kuroo reaches for your shopping bags and gives your thigh a small pat before he gets up, holding out a hand for you as if he knew how weary your legs must feel tonight. Your hand slips effortless into his and it lingers for a few more heartbeats than necessary but neither of you attempts to pull away first. You reach for one of the plastic bags but Kuroo holds them above his head with his signature grin before tapping your cap again. 

"C'mon. I’ll walk you home,” he insists, taking three long strides and looking over his shoulder to see if you’re catching up, laughing when you huff and puff by his heel, just like you did when you were younger and begging him and your brother to take you out with them on an adventure. 

Except this time around it’s just Kuroo and you, no one else.

That night, only the stars and the moon are witness to you lingering in the doorframe and Kuroo hovering close to you, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear when he tells you good night.

“Clingy,” he murmurs with a quiet laugh when your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. He doesn’t push you away though. Instead he embraces you, your head tucked under his chin, holding you for as long as you need to; it’s as if he can sense that you really need that hug right now, that everything inside of you is crumbling. 

Kuroo is like a lighthouse after being lost at sea for too long; he’s as warm and sticky as you are, and he smells like the ocean and like Kuroo, and for a brief moment you think about kissing your brother’s best friend–

It’s when his calloused hands cradle your face that you feel a little lightheaded, as if he’s contemplating something, weighing his heart in his palm. Eventually he squishes your cheeks together and leans in close, but not enough for your lips to meet. You can see the dimples etched in his face when he smiles again.

“I’ll see you around,” he mutters before releasing you from his grip, giving you a small wave of his hand before disappearing into the night and leaving you with the burning feel of longing in your chest.

・❥・TWO

You sleep for an entire day and a half, then some more. You settle into your new rhythm. Until you don’t sleep at all. 

Granted, your sleep schedule has been a mess even before you arrived in the beach town, but being away from home and having zero responsibilities–except for eating five different summer fruits a day and taking a dip in the ocean at least once per day–really messed with whatever healthy sleep pattern you had left. On your third night you toss and turn, you try every trick in the books, from counting sheep (oddly enough the sheep were black cats with a very similar cowlick to someone you know), drinking hot milk with honey, masturbating till your toy died, to lavender essential oil rubbed to your temples… 

It’s useless.

The retro clock on the nightstand shows 01:47 and you’re wide awake. Not even the sound of the ocean carried through the open window can lull you to sleep. You’re half-tempted to work on your manuscript but it seems even more intimidating this hour of the night when you can’t trust your own thoughts and every feeling just seems to be amplified.

You reach for your phone, aware that staring at a small and bright screen that contains every information of the world won’t help your course but since no sleep is in sight either way, you might as well just do some mindless scrolling. Kuroo and you have texted back and forth a few times since your conbini encounter, mostly him sharing links with stuff to do around town and you sending him photos of your homecooked meals. Back when you moved out for college he teased you relentlessly about your lack of cooking skills, backed up by your brother and the one incident that gave all three of you food poisoning. 

But times have changed, everything is different now, except for the fact that Kuroo still makes your heart sing in your chest after all this time. 

There’s a small green dot next to his icon (a photo of him from his vacation last year, all tan and buff in a white tank top, a wide grin showing off his snaggleteeth) and before you can ask yourself what’s keeping Kuroo up at night, three dots next to his name appear, followed by a message popping up on your screen. 

>> can’t sleep either? >> let’s take a walk. i know a spot :) 

Ten minutes later–after hastily throwing on something without a kitten pattern–you meet Kuroo by the crossroads. He’s pushing his bike and waves when he spots you trotting down the small hill. His hair seems even messier than usual, proof of his own restless attempts to find some sleep, but he looks happy. 

(Happy to see you.)

“Sit,” he gestures, patting the bicycle rack when you hesitate. He even brought a small pillow for you. This sly cat. He had it all planned out.

“I could’ve brought my own bike,” you protest weakly as you climb behind him, unsure where to put your arms, too distracted by his broad figure in front of you. Kuroo laughs softly and reaches around, big hands wrapping around your wrists and gently guiding them around his waist. 

“I know, but I didn’t want you to.” He gives your arms a small squeeze after making sure you’re all seated behind him. “Hold on to me, okay?”

The old bicycle squeaks slightly under your combined weight as Kuroo starts to pedal, guiding you through the empty streets. The moon shines bright, illuminating your way as you follow the entwined road, the ocean always in sight. You wonder if Kuroo can feel your heart stuttering in your chest, pressed against his back, his warmth seeping into you. When he hums softly, his whole body seems to vibrate, almost like a cat purring. 

You’re unsure how long you stay like this until you reach a small secluded beach, hidden away by big trees and wild berry bushes. The night air is a little more cool than throughout the day but you’re not freezing. You never do with Kuroo around. He grabs a beach towel and two cans of iced coffee from the basket of his bike before gesturing to you to follow him closer towards the ocean. 

“Iced coffee, seriously?” you laugh, eying his choice of drinks. “Unusual sleep remedy but I’ll take it.” Kuroo gives you a half-sided smile before pinching your cheek, a habit from old times.

“It’s a few more hours till the sun rises. We might as well just stay up until then,” he muses, laughing when you swat his hand away playfully. He grabs it mid-air, effectively stilling it. This time he doesn’t pull away and neither do you. Your heart is doing somersaults in your ribcage. 

Time seems to stand still for the both of you as you sit by the shore. Kuroo doesn’t pry out of you what keeps you up at night and neither do you, an unspoken agreement between you to leave the lingering heaviness out, if only for a night. You’re sitting close, your thighs touching, your hand still in his, quietly sipping your drinks. Every now and then his thumb would absentmindedly rub over your knuckles while he speaks, sweet nothings about his childhood days at his grandparents’ house and about the summer festival that’s coming up. 

The ghost of a kiss is pressed to the crown of your head when you let it sink against his shoulder, followed by a quiet chuckle that brings back the syrupy feel in your stomach. There’s a lot of things you want to say to Kuroo, but for now you let your heart roam wild and free with the rising sun, announcing a new dawn.

・❥・THREE

“Seriously, what is it with this place? What’s with all the couple discounts?” you mutter under your breath, arms linked with Kuroo who is feeding you chocolate covered strawberries as you slowly walk through the crowded alleys. Live music, excited chatter, windchimes and the nearby ocean blend together in perfect harmony, mixing in with the drum of your restless heart. 

“Well, it’s a quaint and romantic town after all,” he quips back before taking a bite for himself. “A lot of elderly couples from this area spent their honeymoon here before other destinations got more popular. But their traces still linger.” 

In true summer festival fashion you’re both wearing yukatas, soft against your skin in the heat of summer. You found them stored away in the closet of Kuroo’s grandparents–matching ones even–which opened you an unexpected world of couple discounts at the local food stalls. 

Pretending to be Kuroo’s girlfriend is surprisingly easy, almost too easy, and in a corner of your heart you know you’re gonna miss this feeling when it’s gone after tonight. But for now you’re here, tucked to his side, the universe shrinking down to just the two of you. Kuroo stops and chats with the vendors, some of them recognizing him from when he was a little kid (it’s the hair), and each time he introduces you as his girl, your heart feels like it’s bursting at its seams.

It’s a white lie you swallow with ease, sweet like honey and ambrosia, forever etched in your memory. The deeply lonely part of your being would’ve found it cruel almost, if it wasn’t soothed by Kuroo’s warm hand sprawled out against the small of your back guiding you through the bustling crowd. Every now and then he leans down to you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear to ask what you want to eat next, if you’re okay, or just to point out a cat napping on the awning of a food stall. 

With two cups of shaved ice you sit down somewhere quieter, Kuroo’s long legs sprawled out, leaving you little to no space on the bench. It’s been two weeks since your arrival in town and by now you both fell back easily into the established banter between you. Kuroo wordlessly pats his lap before you can nag at him, a content smile on his lips when you get his intentions and put your legs up on top of his thighs. He pulls you a little closer, one large hand wrapping around your ankle, feeling the soft skin there. His fingertips are cold from the ice cream but his touch leaves a fire in its wake. 

It should be enough. 

Getting a taste of being with Kuroo, being in love with Kuroo–it should be enough. But being here with him, in this town where no one knows your name except the one who speaks it so softly, the lightness you haven’t felt in months, the stolen, lingering touches, reminiscent of your shared past… you can’t help but feel a little greedy.

You look down at the ice cream cup in your hands, melting faster than you can eat it, a small puddle of red sweetness, staining your tongue and your lips. It’s been forever since you’ve been kissed and it wasn’t even a good kiss, none worth remembering, just a fleeting thought in your memory. 

Because it wasn’t Kuroo. 

And it dawns on you that in all these years your heart has never truly belonged; it was restless and scared, always searching for a place to call home–someone to call home. So you’ve been writing it out; pouring every heartache in between the lines of everything you ever wrote, ink spilled and pages torn apart, desperately trying to grasp a feeling you didn’t have a word for, in a dead language only you remember.

So much love to give and nowhere to put it down. 

Kuroo tips your chin up with his ice cream spoon, quietly calling out your name to draw you back out of your thoughts to him. The cicadas are singing their song and when his eyes meet yours, the world stops spinning for a brief moment. His gaze softens, his fingertips drawing absentminded patterns against around your ankles. 

“Tired? Wanna grab some taiyaki before we head home?” he asked in a soft tone, tracing the hem of your yukata. Kuroo always had a knack for reading the mood of everyone around him and you’re no exception. There are moments when he’s cheeky and laughs the loudest in a room, but it’s in the quiet where he lays his heart bare to you. In the glimpses of it you see a love that’s reserved for you only. 

(You hope you’ll get a taste of it in this lifetime.)

When you don’t reply, he takes your hand in his, bringing your fingertips to his lips. They’re cold from the ice cream too but warm up against your skin when he kisses them gently, his eyes falling shut as he does. You’re so close you can count his eyelashes, a thousand wishes sitting upon there.

“Let me into your world some time, okay?” Kuroo murmurs between two kisses against the pads of your fingers; not a grievance but a quiet plea, filled with hope and yearning.

His tongue darts out, licking bits of ice cream off your hand, and you melt under his touch like molasses, thinking about nothing but kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and–

・❥・FOUR

You’re writing dog-eared postcards by the beach. It’s the first time in three weeks you’re writing anything actually, but it’s not as scary as you thought it would be. Maybe because right now you’re huddled under a sun umbrella together with Kuroo, with towels wrapped around your soaked shoulders and bite-sized pieces of watermelon pushed between your lips. Breathing is a little easier these days.

“You’re gonna burn holes into the paper if you keep this up,” Kuroo chides with a small laugh and reaches out to smoothen down the furrow between your brows. You puff out your cheeks in mild protest but don’t push him away, tilting your head so he could get better access. His fingers trail a line from your brows over your closed eyelids to your cheek bones, down the side of your jaw until they tilt your chin up again. 

You don’t open your eyes just yet and wonder what kind of expression Kuroo wears right now. Is it full of love? Or sorrow? Would you see yourself mirrored in his honey-colored gaze? You never saw yourself through the eyes of a lover before. Part of you is afraid to look.

“Who are you writing to anyway?” Kuroo asks, tapping the tip of your nose to draw your attention to him. A smile curls up on his lips when you do, and he reaches behind him to grab the bottle of sunscreen you brought. He wordlessly gestures to you to turn around so he can reapply some after your dip in the ocean and you obey him without protest. 

(As if you’d miss a chance to feel Kuroo’s hands against the bare skin of your back anyway.)

“Someone special…?” he adds to his previous question when you don’t give him a reply straight away. He squeezes some of the sunscreen in his palms and starts spreading it across your upper back, his thumbs slipping underneath the straps of your bathing suit and kneading out some sore knots in the process.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze. 

“Kuroo, are you jealous?” you muse with a sly little smile which earns yourself a firm yet gentle squeeze at the nape of your neck, a silent warning. It makes you laugh and this time it’s Kuroo who huffs quietly. He doesn’t deny it though. 

“I prefer protective,” he mutters, grabbing your head and tilting it back when it snaps in his direction again at his words. He seems set on not looking you in the eyes while he admits that. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re important to me. Always have been.”

Warmth spreads throughout your body and it’s not from the sun up on the horizon but the one sitting behind you, his legs spread to make room for you. His hands glide across your seasalt skin, taking his sweet time to apply the sunscreen for you. You don’t rush him either, basking in this moment.

“I was writing a postcard to my brother,” you mumble eventually, and you swear you can feel Kuroo deflating behind you, a wave of relief washing over him. “I was wondering what to write to him. All the memories I made here so far were with you.”

Kuroo is quiet for a few heartbeats, his hands gliding down the curve of your spine in slow motion, leaving little fires everywhere in its wake. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” you admit and the implications of it make your cheeks feel hot. At least you could brush it off and tell yourself it’s just the summer heat, but you’re sure Kuroo already saw right through you. “No, I just didn’t expect it. I came here thinking I’d be very lonely. But it’s quite the opposite. I think I’m gonna miss you when I’m back in Tokyo.”

Kuroo hums softly in agreement, his breath fanning hot and heavy over your skin when he leans in close. Small water droplets trickle down from his damp hair down your back, startling you but he keeps you in place, his big hands gliding down from your shoulders to your sides. 

“You don’t have to miss me, you know?” he murmurs, the rasp in his voice ever present. “I’m just a call away. I’ll make time for you.” Then, quieter. “I want to keep seeing you. And I hope you want to see me, too.”

This time there’s a chaste kiss pressed to your shoulder before Kuroo gets up to grab some sour homemade lemonade from a beach vendor for you. It’s not like he’s running away, it’s just that there’s a wildfire sparked between you and neither of you knows how to tame it–or even remotely wants to. 

You end up napping together underneath the parasol, not taking the wandering sun into account, your thoughts too occupied by the unspoken words between you. In the late afternoon Kuroo wakes up with a mild sunburn; the shape of your hand imprinted on his back from where your fingertips spelled out confessions against his bare skin before the heat lulled both of you to sleep. Kuroo smells like sea salt and sunkissed skin and a promise long written in the stars. 

His gaze lingers on your lips. One day he’s gonna devour you–body, heart and soul. 

・❥・FIVE

During the last week of your stay, you come down with a mild fever. 

Kuroo is the first to notice, his big hand planted against your forehead and the back of your neck as he feels your temperature. You had made dinner plans but the frown on Kuroo’s face says otherwise. He’s looming in the doorframe, his keys and wallet in one hand and ready to leave, but now he ushers you back inside his home instead. 

“It’s just the summer heat and because I rushed here,” you insist with a small pout. You had been looking forward to tonight, to the restaurant up the hill with a balcony towards the ocean side. A picturesque view. Romantic even. You got all dolled up for it, too; your favorite shade of lipstick and a spritz of your perfume sprayed where you want to feel his lips against your skin. “It’s nothing. Really, I’m good to go.”

“You’re burning up,” Kuroo replies, his voice strained. You can tell that he’s holding back from chiding you, trying to keep his overprotective instincts in check but the worry is etched on his face. To think you walked across town in this state just to see him, be with him. Guilt is gnawing on him. With his hands on your shoulders he urges you to sit down on the small bench by the entrance before he kneels down in front of you, lifting one of your legs on his lap. 

Idle hands are taking their time to undo the delicate clasps of your heels and slipping them off your feet. You watch him quietly, wondering if anyone has ever been this gentle with you before. It’s a thought that makes you want to cry. 

“Don’t even think about apologizing.” 

Kuroo rises to his feet again and holds out a hand to help you up, one arm snaking around your waist to steady you. You’re not overly wobbly in your stance but you can’t deny that it feels good to be held and cared for. 

So you surrender and let Kuroo do what he does best: Caring. 

He leads you back to the bedroom (where everything smells even more like him, making you feel dizzy), fluffing up the pillow and the blanket before turning towards you again. His eyes are the warmest brown, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in them when he cups your face to feel your temperature again. 

“I’ll run to the conbini real quick and get you some cooling patches,” he says quietly. “Why don’t you change into something more comfortable meanwhile? I’ll be right back.”

You don’t want to change into something more comfortable, you want Kuroo to take one glance at you and fall head over heels completely, cupid’s arrow and all that, but you also have to admit that tonight might not be the night for that. With a sigh you nuzzle into his big palm, eyes flickering up at him. 

“If you say so,” you reply meekly, knowing there’s no use in putting up a fight against Kuroo. He gives you a lopsided smile before pulling you closer, his arms circling around your frame. You close your eyes, letting your head sink against his chest in defeat, his proximity soothing you. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles before brushing his lips over your temple, one big hand in the nape of your neck, keeping you in his proximity. It might not just be the fever that causes a surge of heat to run through your body. “I’ll help you out of it. Can you turn around for me?”

You obey, a small shuddered breath slipping past your lips when Kuroo’s hands run across your body, finding the zipper back and pulling it down in a painfully slow manner. It feels too close, too intimate; it’s a gesture reserved for lovers, yet it feels so right when Kuroo does it. You’re too occupied with your own thoughts to notice the shallow tremble of his hands, the small bop of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, the infatuating scent of you that has his head spinning. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, and everything inside you is melting, molded by his hands, sticking to him like syrup. Sweet doesn’t do his love justice. His infatuation with you runs deeper than you’d ever imagine, it’s making the composed part of his heart shatter, glimpses of your smile–the one that’s for him only–reflected in every shard of it. 

Kuroo leaves without kissing you; not because he doesn’t want to but because he can’t bring himself to do so when you’re burning up with a fever. When he returns you’re wearing one of his old shirts and nothing else, asleep and curled up on his side of the bed, one pillow hugged tightly. It’s a sight so domestic it makes his heart sing. He drops the plastic bag from the corner store and kneels down next to the bed, careful not to wake you up. Calloused fingertips trace your features, kind eyes adore all of you. 

You’re so loved. He’ll make sure you know just how much before you leave. 

・❥・ONE, AGAIN

The first rays of sunlight crawl through the closed blinds, illuminating the bedroom in golden hues. You’re not sure for how long you’ve been asleep, but it must have been half a day at least. Your body doesn’t hurt as bad as it did yesterday. It seems whatever bug had plagued you has vanished after a good night of rest. 

Blinking awake, still a little disoriented, you take in your surroundings. The soft and mussed bedding, water and painkillers on the nightstand, a half-eaten plate with cut fruit next to it. A soft noise draws your attention and when you peer over the mattress, you see Kuroo in deep slumber on a futon next to the bed. He’s sprawled out in his boxers on the floor, his shirt riding up and revealing glimpses of his stomach, the alluring V-shape as if sculpted from marble, thighs thick and enticing. His bed hair looks even more tussled than ever and you fight the urge to run a hand through it.

In the quietness of the morning you find yourself falling in love with Kuroo Tetsuro once again. 

“You’re ogling,” Kuroo mutters under his breath, cracking one eye open, his tone sleepy but amused. He stretches out like a big house cat, his movements sluggish, before he sits up cross-legged, all attention on you. You lean in closer so he can feel the temperature on your forehead and the side of your neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you admit, putting a lopsided smile on his lips. “Just bummed out about our dinner reservation. I really wanted to try their dessert variation.”

Kuroo pinches your cheek, not enough to hurt but enough to chide you a little. “We still have a few more nights here. Can always go another time. Or next time we’re staying here.”

You raise an eyebrow, his smile mirrored on your face. You sit up on the bed too, hugging a pillow to your chest, now aware of how little you’re wearing. “Next time?”

“Next time when we’re visiting. Together.”

He rests his chin in his palm, warm eyes never leaving yours. Something in his gaze has changed and you can’t quite pinpoint it; all you know is that it makes you feel lightheaded and hot, your body remembering all the places Kuroo has touched you before and the ones still longing for his calloused fingertips. 

“I really wanna make you mine,” he confesses quietly and for a fleeting moment it seems as if he’s surprised how easy the words fell from his lips after all this time. “That is if you want to be mine.” 

A pillow hits Kuroo’s face, immediately followed by a warm body launching itself into his arms and pushing him onto his back. He lets out a husky laugh, surrendering with ease, his hands finding the back of your bare thighs and pulling you closer until you’re straddling him. When he opens his eyes again you’re leaning over him, your hands planted next to his head. For a moment neither of you says a word; you don’t have to with your hearts drumming out confessions in morse code. 

“Is that a yes?” Kuroo asks quietly, a flicker of vulnerability over his features. One hand comes up to your face, cradling it, as if to make sure you’re real, you’re here, you’re with him.

You’re his. 

Kuroo is warm and radiant, drawing you into his orbit. The answer to his question lies on the tip of your tongue and his lips part so easily when you let him close the distance between him and you. It’s a kiss to remember, every fiber of your body acutely aware of him, one hand resting on your nape, the other gripping your thigh. Your body spells out a thousand times yes, against his lips and the side of his neck, down to his collarbone before he pulls you back with a low curse under his breath to kiss your pretty mouth again. 

“I wanna be yours,” you murmur against his lips, between two heated kisses. You push a few stubborn and sweaty strands of hair out of his face, your smile widening. Kuroo’s pupils are blown out, your silhouette reflected in them, his one and only. “Forever maybe.” 

Kuroo grins, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling you impossibly closer onto his lap, only to flip you over onto your back in one swift motion and pinning you down underneath him. Your laughter echoes from the bedroom walls, turning into soft gasps and a quiet mewls when he trails kisses from your jaw down to your neck. 

“Forever it is then.”

a/n: hi dee my love!! thanks for letting me write the prompt of my dreams, i had a lot of fun with it! i hope i could make you yearn for kuroo a little because surely did i while writing. i wish we could spend summer days like these in a quaint beach town together, but until then we'll hold hands on the dash <3

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