Summary: It’s The Little Things That Make Him Realize He’s In Love (alternatively: The Four Times

GIVE ME FIXING EACH OTHER’S CLOTHES WITH KUROO RIGHT NOW 😨‼️ love u hehe <3 if u don’t want kuroo please do whoever u would like most :)

ofc ofc anything for u my love <33 - "fixing each other's clothes" w kuroo **suggestive!!

if you were to tell this story to anyone else, you'd say he's not normally like this. that kuroo is always professional and kind and that he would never dare to act like this—never. but that's not true, never would be true, because the way his breath fades into your own and the way he bites at your lips in the dark corners of this work event is entirely too familiar to you.

there's a distant call of his name, but he's too busy slipping the strap of your dress down your shoulder to ever notice, laughter pricking at ever kiss he presses to the skin there.

"kuroo," you whisper, and you can feel him smile against you, "kuroo."

he looks up at you now, the first button of his shirt is undone, his hair a bit messier than it was a moment before, and just a little bit of lipstick smeared across his mouth.

"we need to head back," you say, and he rolls his eyes, leaning back down to press another kiss to your collarbone, but you tug back on his collar, pulling him up until his eyes meet yours. "and fix you."

"that's a very long process, babe," he says, laughing when you swat at his chest and start buttoning his shirt back up. "you're no fun, you know that?"

"i'm plenty fun when your boss isn't looking for you."

he sighs, lolling his head back as your fingers trail over his collar and set it back into place.

"my boss can suck my di-"

"ah, nope, not here. you can't get fired today."

"yeah, yeah, whatever," he replies, and then leans down to you for the last time, pulling the strap back up your shoulder (but carefully trailing kisses in its wake anyway).

send me prompts from this list for a drabble !

YOUR DATE FOR THE NIGHT IS KUROO TETSUROU!

you and tetsurou spend most of the night outside where there are a few less people and a lot more fresh air — popping in and out briefly to grab new drinks or use the bathroom. he’s trying to keep the conversation on you, and your interests, but that guy — he’s standing across the backyard staring daggers into the both of you. what’s his deal?

“we must look pretty damn good together, hm?” he chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you over to an empty spot on the steps. he plops down — gesturing to the space between his legs with a goofy smirk. now, you sit just one step below him, encompassed by his thighs. “that guy won’t quit.”

you know what he means — you feel the daggers too, coming from the sullen individual a few feet away. he almost reminds you of the man sitting behind you in a way — but you know him as fushiguro megumi.

if you hadn’t walked in with tetsurou trailing close behind, he would’ve spent the evening with you — at least, that’s what he tells himself as he watches your date twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. tetsurou isn’t concerned in the slightest — just a little annoyed.

“let’s head in, yeah? think i felt a few drops,” he hums, and you’re fairly certain there’s no rainclouds hanging in the night sky, but you go with him anyways. not one hour later — you leave with tetsurou.

WHO ELSE HAD THEIR EYE ON YOU TONIGHT?

you and suna rintarou held eye contact for a little too long as he padded up the steps — he tries to find you on social media later that night. you asked todoroki touya if he knew where the bathroom was — he stared at you for a full ten seconds before answering no.

note : i’m getting a vibe from you .. feel like it’s showing in the charas i chose ghhhh anw i hope you enjoy ! ! thanks for being so nice in your ask my love :D mwah @whorefornoodles

NEW MATCH FOR @whorefornoodles

suna wants to message you. . .

netflix watch party? i'll doordash you concessions

The sun isn’t out yet, but there’s blue city lights cascading from the blinds along your bedsheets, and they mix with the linen in a way that lets you know that it isn’t quite morning. You blindly reach for your bedside table, letting your palm smack against the wood until you meet your phone. You squint at the light as it meets your eyes, and then furrow your brows as the time blurs and unblurs in your vision.

It’s three in the morning, 3:27, to be exact, and by the time your senses start to really come back to you, you realize there’s a gentle whirring coming from somewhere in your home. You go to turn, shifting in the sheets to see if your husband, Kuroo, is awake, only to see empty sheets, pillows stacked against your back in his place. And once again, you find your brows furrowing, a little click of your tongue as you scan your bedroom for any sign of your husband. Though your door is set slightly ajar, you can’t find traces of him anywhere—no papers scattered across his nightstand, no pens or journals laying atop your dresser, not even the sound of his distant footsteps settling into the floor of the hallway..

Instead, the little whirring that you’re certain first woke you, stops, and now you’re certain that if you don't find out what that was, you’re going to go insane. That and, obviously, finding your husband. A thought of your own priorities flits across your head, but you only sigh, blowing air out through almost-closed lips, and get up, letting the cold air hit the exposed skin of your arms and legs as you get out of bed.

You grab one of the folded blankets from the ottoman that rests at the foot of your bed, wrapping it around your shoulders and letting it drag along the floor as you walk—your footsteps light enough that they hardly make a creak in the wood, the balls of your feet taking a majority of the pressure anyway. Your cat, whom you had not seen on that same ottoman, perks up and runs after you, presumably awaiting an early breakfast (which, much to his dismay, he will not be getting, but he’ll give you hell for it anyway, you're sure). 

So you walk, little Peanut trailing along behind you, and make your way down the stairs until you arrive at the entryway of Kuroo’s office. Peanut starts to meow at your feet, but just inside you can hear the shuffling of papers and the click of plastic against plastic. Slowly, you open the door, knocking against the wood as you move inside. Peanut rushes in before you can even fully see Kuroo, settling down by the heater. Kuroo turns when you've just barely made it into the room. He’s still wearing the clothes he slept in and, supposedly, will continue to sleep in those clothes, but he’s standing over your files and his desk like he’s just finished something that he’s terribly proud of—his eyes crinkled at their corners in a barely-there smile. And yet, he looks almost apologetic, despite being nearly a foot taller than you, he looks small, his shoulders slumped a bit as he plays with his hands in front of him.

Kuroo’s always been an attractive man to you, but now he almost seems a little prettier. You can’t decide if it’s the way the blue light hits against his skin, still tanned from your honeymoon, or if it’s the way the black strands of his hair still stand out wildly against each other from just getting out of bed. No matter the occurrence, you smile at him, choosing to ignore the weight of the blanket around you and the red that’s sure to be present in your eyes at this hour.

“What, are you doing paperwork for your secret business or something?”

Kuroo laughs, his shoulders visibly relaxing at the sound of you teasing him. He shakes his head, waving you off as he goes to pick at another stack of papers.

“Yeah, yeah, you caught me. Genius,” He pokes back, and you roll your eyes, taking a few strides across the room to reach him and wrap your arms around him, your head leaning against his back. “I was just shredding a couple things. Felt cluttered.” He laughs a bit at himself at the end of that, and then turns, craning his neck to see where you stand behind him. “Sorry if I woke you.”

You hum against him, a wordless gesture of you’re fine, and then stand there for a moment—you're sure that you’re on the verge of falling asleep standing up when Kuroo goes to move again.

“Uh, I need to, you know, shred a few more things.” You press your forehead against his back, groaning into him as he laughs at you again, breaking himself free from your arms as he moves a few more things from files to what you presume must be a “shred” pile. And then the whirring sound comes back as he starts to shred things again, much louder this time and much more annoying, but you’re a little glad to have both found the source of the sound and your husband in one fell swoop. So you lean back against the one clear part of his desk, watching as he moves between pile and shredder, pile and shredder.

“One question,” you begin, speaking just over the noise. Kuroo hums in acknowledgement, quickly meeting your eyes before returning to the papers. “What prompted you to start shredding things at three in the morning, exactly?”

Kuroo sticks out his bottom lip, downturning his mouth as he shrugs and sorts through a few more papers.

“Call it divine intervention,” He replies, and you only roll your eyes, leaning across the shredder to swat at his arm while he laughs, feigning a bit of pain at the motion. “Okay, okay, I woke up and was bored. This seemed like the best option.”

“You know, generally if people wake up at three in the morning, they go back to sleep. Maybe tell their wife they love them-”

“Well, you weren’t awake, now were you.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he copies the movement before he shreds his last papers. You tilt your head, looking at the window into the compartment of the shredder. You step forward, a hand out in front of you and reach for the paper in Kuroo’s. But the warnings for him to stop reach his ears a little too late, because he’s already pushing the papers through the shredder, trying to force it through the blades as the shredder makes a terribly sad clicking noise. Peanut perks up at the sound, scurrying out of the room and, from the sound of his paws against the ground, up the stairs as well.

“Babe, I think-”

“No, don’t worry I got this, it does this sometimes.”

“Yeah like, when it’s jammed?”

Kuroo looks up, brows drawn together. “When it’s what?”

Laughter splutters from your lips, though Kuroo widens his eyes, his gaze darting between you and the shredder.

“I swear I didn’t know shredders could get jammed,” He says, standing up and trying to pull the sheets out of the blades. Yet, undoubtedly, they stay where they are. you mumble something about him making you laugh, and Kuroo just backs away, watching as you bend down to unplug the shredder. 

“You are so smart,” you begin, taking the top of the shredder, stuck paper and all, off of the bin. And what you say is true. If you didn’t know it by the way you’ve known him for years now, by the way he sat by you and talked you through math problems you didn’t quite get in college, you would certainly know it by the array of degrees hung above his desk. But in this moment, with that look on his face and his hair hanging in his eyes, a too-full bin for your shredder sitting in front of you, you’re sure of one thing. “But god, you are so stupid sometimes.”

He narrows his eyes at you, playful in the way he purses his lips, and you just shrug, settling your blanket around your shoulders as you kneel on the floor in front of the shredder. You know Kuroo’s watching you as you pick at the pieces of paper, cutting them away with the nearby pair of scissors until you can start to loosen the pieces from the blades—ever so carefully. 

“You know, normally shredders turn off when the bin is getting full,” Kuroo begins, peering into the shredder’s contents to see what’s been sitting inside. If you know him, you’re sure that it’s been a few months at least since he’s emptied this, and who knows how long he’s been up shredding things. You turn over the top to see bits of shredded paper stuck in the blades, and sigh. You know you should go upstairs and grab your old tweezers, that you should use those to grab the paper and move on, but the blanket is warm and your legs are tired and frankly, you just want to get this done so you can both go back to bed.

So you start picking at the paper with your fingers, careful not to touch the blades, much to Kuroo’s displeasure—he’s making those sounds he makes when he doesn’t quite know what to say, stumbling over breath and syllables instead of real words.

You just shrug, still focused on picking out the pieces of paper with your hands, while Kuroo gives up with a groan and a backwards tilt of his head. You chuckle a bit at him, more through your nose than through your lips, and then watch as he picks up the bin and goes to empty out its contents.

It’s not long after that you sigh and lean back, the rest of the paper finally out of the blades and, thankfully, not a cut on your hands in sight. When you look up, Kuroo has half of the bin emptied into his office trash can, the other half too much paper to even try to fit in there.

And though normally you would love to poke fun at him for this, though you’d love to make some comment that makes him roll his eyes and knock his shoulders into yours, you’re feeling particularly tired right now—you’re fairly certain it’s closer to 4:00 than it is to 3:30 now—and you’d feel much better if you could just get back in bed like most normal wives do with their normal husbands.

you almost make yourself laugh. Wouldn’t normalcy sound nice?

“You stay there,” you start, finally letting the blanket fall from your shoulders and into a sad little pile on the ground, “I’ll take that out and get another bag, you finish whatever it is you need to do.”

Kuroo goes to say something, and from the look on his face you knows it’s going to be something along the lines of well, there wasn’t really an end-goal, per se, and the thought of that makes you want to drag him upstairs and force him to sleep, so you just stare at him, a little blankly, and at your expression he puts his hands up and does a look of playful surrender.

So you grab the bag out of the trash, and then notice a few pieces of paper scattered on the floor around the can, so you lean down, going to pick one of them up to throw into the bag with the rest of them. And then you stop.

The paper seems a little thicker, cardstock, maybe, and there’s a familiar frilly design that seems to roll around it, disappearing in certain places to fade into a soft tan. You pick it up, turning it over in your fingers and scanning the bag that hangs off of your arm for more pieces of the document. you find more of the blue design that carts around the edges, and then your eyes fall onto another piece of cardstock. This time, with hard, block lettering, an a and part of a g sitting next to each other. You look a little further down, and then, staring back at you, is the mess of part of your own signature, you’re sure of it.

You turn, slowly. You’re a little scared to see Kuroo’s face, honestly, whether or not he even knows what he’s actually done. You aren't surprised to find that he’s oblivious to your realization, instead he’s leaned over his desk, sorting through papers and mumbling something to himself, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little betrayed by the fact.

Because, held in your own hands, shredded up into a reused bag from your grocery store, is the stupidest decision you think Kuroo has ever made. It tops the time in college he only ate mac and cheese for two weeks, it’s above every time he blacked out and made you take care of him and his awful hangovers the next day, it’s even above all the times he proposed to you with no real plan, just popping the question to think, hey, maybe you’ll say yes this time.

“Kuroo,” you start, and he hums, eyes meeting yours for a quick moment before returning to his papers. “Did you shred our marriage certificate?”

Kuroo stills. He turns, sending a rush of air out of his lips and clicking his tongue while he leans back against his desk.

“No.” The ‘o’ is drawn out, accompanied by the shake of his head. “No, that would be a stupid idea, right?”

“Right.” Your voice is steady, your tongue running against the back of your teeth. “That would be very stupid.”

“Yeah, exactly, so I definitely did not do-” He pauses, smacking his lips together- “that.”

And you could kill him. In cold blood, right here, you could become a murderer in your own home. You won’t (you’ll think about it until the day he dies), you would never. What you do, however, is drop the bag with the shreds of paper in it, sending cheap confetti (or in this case, cheap confetti mixed with confetti that accompanied the cost of a several thousand dollar wedding), flying through the air and scattering along the office floor.

You put your head into your hands, smoothing out creases that are beginning to form in your skin, and against everything in your chest, you yell.

“Why?”

You look up from your hands to see Kuroo biting at his lip and slowly gesturing. you swear you can see the gears turning in his head.

“So, you know how you love me? Like, a lot?”

No, you think.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, voice a little hardened, tone a little flat.

“So, I was thinking,” He starts to move towards you, still gesturing wildly as he keeps trying to explain, “that you only really need marriage certificates for divorce, right? And we’re never getting divorced, so there’s definitely no need for that to be around.”

And Kuroo, your husband, the one who asks you to tie his ties in the morning and stumbles around the kitchen because he never learned to cook properly, the one who read over your every paper in college and reads over your every story now, is also the only one of this Earth who could ever make you feel this kind of anger. It’s the kind of anger that you can feel in your throat, like it's clawing at you and you have to attempt to dispel it with every shaken breath. You do, of course, one in, a second out, until you can finally bear to fully bring your face out of your hands.

“We needed that.” If you say any more, you’re sure you’ll want to yell again, but Kuroo stares at you blankly, his lip still caught between his teeth. “You know, for taxes, health insurance, a mortgage.”

And as if in one final realization, Kuroo nods, eyes a little wider, a breath escaping through his nose.

“Those aren’t like, that important,” He says, and there’s a joking lilt to his voice, but it gets cut off by the tilt of your head, your eyes feeling a little more tired than usual. You stand there staring at each other for a moment, and then in one movement, you stand up, grab the blanket, shake the shreds of paper off of it, and walk towards the door, avoiding the papers like they could be shards of glass.

“That’s it,” you say, “That’s it, I’m going to bed.”

Kuroo goes to follow you, chasing you with the sound of his voice as he says, “Okay, I’ll come with you. You know, I feel like maybe this is something we should talk-”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“We will talk about this tomorrow. I hear the guest bedroom has a very comfortable mattress.”

Kuroo stands in the doorway. For a moment, it looks like he wants to fight you on this, to chase after you up the stairs as though he could make everything perfect with a true love’s kiss, something to break you from whatever curse tonight could be and instead flood you back into what used to be normal married life.

But you're sure he couldn’t possibly know what that would mean at this point. As you ascend the stairs, you see him furrow his brows before turning back into the office. you know, deeply so, that he loves you. That he does these things more out of impulsivity than true stupidity and malice, because he’s always been like this. He’s always been one to stay up late, to do things last minute because there was always something that seemed more interesting going on elsewhere. Or even just that, if a thought ever were to pop into his head, it had to be acted upon. Nearly twenty proposals later—most done in the midst of disaster, when you had flour in your hair or dirt in your knees—you should know better than to think anything is out of malice.

But you know that doesn’t stop him from making stupid decisions. It really never has. So though you feel a pang of guilt as you cross the threshold from the hallway into your bedroom, you can’t say that it stops you from crawling into bed. It doesn’t stop you from drowning yourself in the drenched moonlight of linen sheets. It doesn’t stop you from placing your back against the pillows that Kuroo placed there. It doesn’t stop you from closing your eyes and, in an instant, falling back to sleep.

But you wake up awfully early. It’s to the sound of Kuroo more than it is to the birds, to the feeling of his palm on your shoulder more than it is to the sunlight washing your skin. But still, you wake, squinting your eyes at him as he stands over you, bags dragging down and into the rise of his cheeks, his hair a calmer mess than it was before, but still struck with that feeling of unkempt bedhead.

This early in the morning, with this little sleep in your bones, you almost forget why you’re upset with him. But then you catch the piece of shredded paper that’s caught on the old, oversized t-shirt he won at some bar playing some drinking game, and you feel a pit settle in your stomach. You close your eyes again, take a breath, and then look back up at Kuroo.

“I have a surprise.” His voice is almost a whisper, but there’s an air of excitement that seems to coat each of the syllables. You don't speak, only let him guide you off of your bed and down the stairs. Peanut once again trails behind you, letting both of you know that now is certainly time for his breakfast. After what you’ve been through, he probably deserves it soon.

But you both walk, and Kuroo brings you through the door and into his office once more. You yawn, rubbing your eyes at the way the morning light shines through the window above the desk, but when you open them once more, you find that there’s been a mosaic created along your floors.

Well, maybe mosaic is a bit of a stretch. There’s shredded pieces of paper scattered all along the office, some that have been placed together in groups that seem to make up other documents, but the one that sits in the middle is made entirely of cardstock—with that frilly blue pattern circling the edges, the words ‘MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE’ written out along the top. At the bottom, both of your signatures are put together, and though the lines aren’t perfectly together and you can tell it’s been shredded and forced to rejoin, it’s still the certificate, nevertheless.

“That cannot be valid anymore,” you say, and Kuroo laughs. You glance over and find him leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, definitely not.” He pushes himself off the wall then, stepping over some shredded and half-put-together papers to kneel down, picking up the certificate so now you can see that it’s all been taped together. “But it might make for a fun memento.”

“You know, as much as I really love a good memento-” Kuroo rolls his eyes at you, he knows well enough that you hate souvenirs, always have, and don’t dare let him try to buy you something no matter the occasion. He usually does anyway. “-I don’t think a memento can put me under your health insurance.”

“Health insurance, smealth insurance,” He says with a wave to his hand. He’s met with another glare when he looks back up at you. “I’m kidding! Just like, promise me you won’t get injured for the month it takes us to get the replacement.”

You take in a breath, holding it in your chest while you stare at your husband across the room. He shrugs again while you look at him.

“You are insufferable.”

“You know, I hear some people say that’s my charm.”

Kuroo places the certificate on his desk, trying to prop it up against the wall as it slides back down the desk. He grumbles for a moment before trapping it between the wall and journal, mumbling something about a frame before he turns back to you.

And then you laugh at him. Nothing bright or loud, in fact it’s rather soft, barely taking up more space than a breath would. Instead, it’s the way your face scrunches and the shake of your head that makes everything seem like it’s almost okay.

You are aware of quite a few things in your life, one of which being that paper shredders do, in fact, jam, but one of the other things, and one of the things that you prefer to know, is that a craving for normalcy is hardly ever satisfied. So as you stare at your husband, laughter bubbling up your throat, you figure that you should’ve expected this.

“Okay but if we get the certificate, I have one condition.” you laugh again at the prospect of if, but let Kuroo continue anyway. “You still can’t divorce me.”

“Deal,” you agree, “But only if we call them by nine.”

reblogs and feedback are super appreciated ❤︎

sucker for you.

summary: you’re dramatic, there’s no doubt about it. so when you get annoyed at your vampire boyfriend, what do you do? wear all the things that would cause his suffering, of course.

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

genre: vampire!kuroo, human!reader, fluff//humor, established relationship, (flashback) meet cute, (mentioned) college!au, v domestic, reader is dramatic <3 

word count: 5.6k

a/n: we’re in spooktober! starting off the month with some wholesome vampire!kuroo and his wonderful human!gf heehee <3 hope you enjoy!

“y/n! i’m… oh no.”

kuroo stands at the door of your shared apartment, face falling at the sight of your figure on the couch with stubbornly crossed arms. but it wasn’t your crossed arms and furrowed brows that caught his eye first, but what was hanging around your neck.

you were wearing a string of garlic around your neck.

freaking garlic.

Keep reading

Link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-zinh-rebuild-her-life-and-achieve-her-dream

I was contacted personally by zinh in gaza to help her cause. She is so close to her initial goal! (39000/50000 as of 6/8)

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Zinh Rebuild Her Life and Achieve Her Dream, organized by Miranda Harris

My dear friend Zinh Dahdooh is asking for support to gather enough fun… Miranda Harris needs your support for Help Zinh Rebuild Her Life and

This is the initial costs are 50000, but with hopes and goals to cover each family member as you all know the extortiinate prices of crossing the border. goals to help evacuate the rest of her family, including her younger sibilings and mother. More details are on zinhs twitter. https://x.com/zinh_1?mx=2

https://x.com/zinh_1?mx=2

Her last GFM was frozen because of the amount of money withdrawn, but the problems are all cleared now. She manages her campaign herself and reaches out to a lot of people. We can pick up the slack and lessen her stress by spreading and engaging- like i said, repost away any version of this QR code or drawing. Please do help, or if you can’t, RB, or repost as you please.

SAY MORE ABT DAD NANAMI W SWIM TEACHER READER RN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

‘kay!

minors & ageless blogs dni, i am an 18+ blog!

gn!reader, one mention/reference to drowning, no powers au, single dad nanami au, nanami is oblivious (or is he)

"excuse me."

you almost drop the teetering pile of foam bubble belts you're carrying.

actually, you do drop them. it's just that nanami kento—father of one and the oblivious bachelor of the year for the entire swim school despite his blunt demeanor—catches them without pause. his bicep flexes with the movement, the muscle rippling beneath his skin.

you swallow.

(your friends all grumble about how lucky you are to have little yuuji in your class.

you are not lucky.

yuuji is darling. you always hear him calling out a delighted, chirpy 'hi!' to everyone he passes before his little head of hair—the soft pink of still-ripening strawberries—pops into view. he's got a smile like the sun and an energy output to match. you think he could probably power a small city.

but lucky people do not have to try and keep a handful of young children from drowning as they learn to swim while nanami kento is busy being attractive by just existing, raking a big hand through his damp golden hair until it feathers out, gleaming beads of water trickling down the thick column of his neck to pool in the dip of his clavicle.

you should have been a camp counselor, you think miserably, looking away from his broad form just in time to catch the kickboard that's rocketed out from under nanase, a powder blue foam missile. at least then the parents keep their shirts on.)

"sorry. i didn’t mean to startle you,” nanami says. he’s acquired stickers since you last saw him, the bright little stars sprinkled across his cheeks like neon freckles. you suspect that yuuji has matching ones.

"it’s okay, nanami. thanks," you say, reaching out for the belts. "for uh, catching those. i just rinsed them, so—"

he brushes your hands away gently, adjusting his grip so he has a better hold on the belts. “i wanted to speak to you.”

“okay—what about?” you ask, your hands lingering before you let them drop to your sides awkwardly.

“i’d like to know which of your coworkers conduct private swim lessons and of those, who you feel would be the best match for yuuji.”

“oh.”

nanami’s brow raises a bit. he examines you for a beat, his umber eyes keen. “you know yuuji’s skill level better than anyone,” he tells you. “and i assume you know which of your coworkers would do best with his personality.”

“i find it hard to believe that there are people who don’t do well with yuuji’s personality,” you say.

his lips quirk into a tiny smile. it’s small, but you’ve learned to catch them over the last few months, those little flashes of contentment. of pride. he briefly glances back to where yuuji is chattering at his friend megumi.

(even your boss had commented on how yuuji managed to pry stoic little megumi out of his shell.

having witnessed it firsthand, you’re not sure that ‘pry’ is the right term. it reminds you more of when seagulls smash clams against the shoreline rocks to break their shells open. megumi never stood a chance against yuuji’s weaponized sunshine.)

you reach out for the belts again, desperate for something to fidget with as that hint of a smile melts through you. nanami gives you half of them; you don’t bother to protest. it’s not the first time he’s helped you put things away after class has finished. 

“true,” nanami concedes. “but yuuji can be difficult to keep up with.”

“i guess,” you say, tugging at your lower lip with your teeth.

for a breath, you think nanami’s eyes drop to your lips. but you blink, and he’s simply looking at you, waiting for a response.

“yahaba would probably be best, i think,” you say softly. “she’s a great teacher. yuuji’ll like her. she likes to play games with her students a lot.”

“thank you,” nanami says. “it’s appreciated.”

“sure.” you bite your lip again, fidgeting with the edge of your swimsuit. “do you have concerns about what i’m teaching yuuji?”

he blinks. “no. have i indicated that i do?”

“no, i just—i know it’s come up that i offer private lessons too. of course you don’t have to use me, it’s completely up to you, i understand if you want someone else to teach him, but the group lessons don’t end for another few months, so i guess i wanted to be sure that you felt like he was learning? in case that’s why you wanted to go with someone else instead of me. that’s—that’s all.”

“ah,” nanami says. it’s almost a hum, the word rumbling low in his chest. if he was anyone else, you would say he looks faintly pleased. “no, i have no concerns. i wouldn’t have kept yuuji in the class if i had any.”

your cheeks burn. “oh.”

“it’s simply that i don’t start personal relationships with people i employ,” he says, matter-of-fact. “which means that hiring you isn’t an option, because then i couldn’t ask you to get dinner with me once the group lessons have ended.”

you drop the bubble belts again.

can i request Tsukishima Kei having a psychologist s/o? Headcanons or a scenario, whichever is okay! Maybe something like how their relationship would be, with them being very empathetic and understanding and stuff hihi thank you!!!

MY FIRST REQUEST! Here you go sweet anon <3 My interpretation of your lovely idea. "ADMITTANCES" Pairing: Tsukishima x Fem!Reader

Rating/Warnings: T for Teen, this is SOFT BOY HOURS PART 2

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Your boyfriend isn't the type the open up; your psychology degree pays off, sometimes.

Note: Fluff. Good to know we're all desperate to see salty boys go soft.

“Y’know, you’re awfully quiet for someone who just won a tournament.”

Tsukishima slips on his hoodie, water dripping off his hair from his shower. You watch him shrug from your cozied place on the couch. “They weren’t aggressive enough. I knew we’d get them on the second set.”

You smile at his calculating tone. “And you guys had the better defence,” you say with a wink, and it makes him crack the smile you’d been waiting for all night.

“That, too,” he murmurs. He rubs at his eyes, and moves toward you. You hand him his glasses and he gifts you a kiss on the top of your head in return. He slumps into the couch with a sigh, massaging at his hands. You watch him for a moment before reaching out gently to take his hands into your own, rubbing at his palms and wrists. Tsukishima rests his head on the back of the couch. “Thanks,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Movie or early night?” you ask. He cracks open an eye to peak at you.

“Movie? I might pass out though.”

You flicker the T.V. to life and click on something easy and light for background noise. You continue to rub at his hands, watching the lines of his face soften at your touch. “Can I ask you something?” He hums his assent before you continue. “Are you excited you won?” you ask, after a breath.

He raises his brows at your practised tone, without opening his eyes. “Is this a girlfriend question or a psychology student question?”

“This is a girlfriend question,” you assure, but then, unable to help yourself, you add, “though I am noting your subtle deflection tactic.”

He groans, but you can tell he’s amused. “I’m too tired to be excited.”

You squint your eyes at him. “I just noticed—”

“I’m sure you did,” he interjects, but smirks and turns his head on the back cushions to look at you. “Am I being observed right now?”

“People are always observing people. I just know what to look for,” you say primly, making your boyfriend snort.

Tsukishima plays along. Despite his sore muscles and drooping eyes, he has always enjoyed the mental back and forth with you. “Okay, what are you looking for then?”

You press your lips together in contemplation. Tsukishima’s eyes soften, watching you hesitate. “I dunno. You’re always so hard on yourself after games. You never celebrate, even if you do well.”

“When you have your own office, I probably wouldn’t start a sentence off with ‘I dunno.’” You scowl playfully at his teasing.

“You’re deflecting again.”

“No, I’m flirting with you,” he says pointedly. His mouth is an impassive line but his eyes are glinting. “You should learn the difference before you get clients.”

You roll your eyes to conceal your pleasure at his compliment. “I don’t plan on being flirted with at my office.”

“I don’t think you have control over how pretty you are,” he counters. His voice is neutral, almost bored, but you can see him fighting a smile.

You try to match his tone, but you’re flustered, just a little. He did that to you, unexpectedly often. “When did you become such a smooth talker?”

He shrugs faintly. “I’m not, I’m just deflecting.” He’s smug.

“You—” you break off, with an incredulous grin. “You’re a difficult case, aren’t you?”

He looks at you from over his glasses, like he’s inspecting you. “Well, let’s see, what does it say about you that you’re dating me? You like projects?” He’s pushing your buttons on purpose, playing with you. It makes you stern, which makes Tsukishima grin –a rare flash of his winning smile. In retaliation, you clamber onto his lap. He grabs onto your hips with ease. You wouldn’t have guessed it, when you first started dating Tsukishima, but now you know how much he loves your affection and touch and attention. He rarely shows it, but you can feel it in the way his hands hold you close.

“You trying to turn the tables on me, Kei?” You lean in close to his face.

His touches the tip of you nose with his, eyes fluttering shut briefly. The sweetness of that small gesture disarms you. There’s an openness with him when it’s just the both of you in private. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

You sigh, shaking your head. You take in his face with your eyes. “When was the last time you got excited about something?” you try again.

He lets out a gusty breath. “Last week. When I walked in on you trying on my Frogs jersey,” he answers quickly.

Your face gets hot at the memory. “You’re trying to distract me,” you admonish.

“Does it matter?” he mumbles. “I’m just not excitable.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you say softly. “I think you don’t let yourself get excited about anything because you’re scared you’ll be disappointed. Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. And that hurts you.”

He flinches, brows furrowing. You watch him try to hide his reaction to your words but he can’t.

“Sorry. Too much?” you ask, after his silence stretches.

His jaw twitches as he clenches and unclenches it. He’s looking everywhere but your eyes, which is quite a feat considering how close you are. He lets out a short little huff, turning his head from you. He’s annoyed, suddenly, and though the girlfriend in you is sorry to have made him so, the observer in you knows it’s a mark closer to vulnerability than his easy, teasing amusement. You know he can get snippy like this, but then you also know how hard he’s trying to be open to you.

So instead of a barbed counter, he says, “You’re not wrong.” The words are quiet and grudgingly said, but as they leave him so does his irritation. You know it took a lot to say that much. You see the line between his brows smooth at his admittance. You run a gentle hand through his damp hair. Tsukishima lets out a breath again, this time resigned. He gives your earnest, wide-eyed look a sliver of a wry smile. “Happy?”

“Kind of.” You rub a thumb at his temple. “It makes me sad to hear, though.”

He reaches up to hold your wrist loosely. “Don’t be sad. You’re not wrong, but you’re not a hundred percent right, either.” His smile turns sly.

Your brows flicker up at that. “No?”

“There are some things I let myself get excited about,” he says. He tilts his head up and you tilt your head down to catch his waiting lips. “Can I show you?” he asks, when you two part. Maybe he’s deflecting again, maybe he’s flirting, but you know these admittances from him happen in baby steps.

Instead of pushing for more, you let out an amused little sound. “I thought you were so tired.”

“All your psychoanalyzing must have woken me up.” He pulls you in, closer, closer. Closer than you know most anyone gets; that spot in his lap, that perch in his heart. When his gaze flickers to you, you see it, the secret flash of real joy. He’s letting you see it, you realize. He’s showing you this part of himself, a part that’s just for you. When he smiles again, it’s not teasing, or sharp, or wry. Your breath stutters with the sincerity of it.

“Show me,” you breathe, and he lifts you up and up, and carries you into the room you both share, in the home you’ve both made and earned, with each other and within each other.

uhhh new uquiz hang out with me and I’ll say what I’d tell my friends about you 

trigun college!au where knives doesn't think you're good enough for vash, and hates how close the two of you seem to be getting as your friendship develops. so of course the obvious solution is to fuck you within an inch of your life on a semi-regular basis so that you don't get any ridiculous ideas about trying to date his little brother.