Tsukishima Kei, who swears up and down that he isn’t a romantic.
He rolls his eyes when Tadashi puts on a rom-com at their weekend movie nights, when he overhears their managers talking about the latest celebrity couple — even trivial matters, like when Tanaka & Nishinoya make heart-eyes at Kiyoko. “You’re such a killjoy, Tsukishima!” Hinata would say after practice, in response to his disinterested shrug when they asked him about his stance on love, a discussion that soon turned into an argument over which superhero they could take in a fight; oddly enough, they all said Spiderman. Admittedly, he was more interested in stating his input on that topic.
And yet, Kei, who groans in annoyance when his father sweet-talks his mother and practically sprints at the first sight of affection, somehow gravitates toward you. He only knew you as a mutual friend of Tadashi’s at first. Then, you two started talking. And, almost subconsciously, he starts doing the things he swore he’d never catch himself doing in the first place.
It started with a simple “Hey.” You called his attention mid-class, your voice a hushed whisper as not to catch the eye of your teacher. He didn’t even spare you a glance, continuing to write down notes as if you weren’t there.
You frown, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. How rude, you think. “Heey,” you repeat, this time reaching across the gap between your tables to nudge his side lightly—watching as he jolts subtly in shock. Annoyed, he finally turns to you with a frown. “What?”
Instead of calling each other out on both your rather rude—disruptive—approaches, you simply offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You look smart,” you point out the obvious, being that the both of you were in a college-prep class. “You have any notes?”
Kei stares at you as if you just asked if oranges were pink, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to ignore you once more. But, upon seeing the empty page in your notebook lacking the latest lessons, he sighs—a bit of empathy coursing through his veins. He takes out a few pages from his binder, passing it to you without a word.
And that’s where it all started; he’d send and pass you his notes when he noticed your lack of attention during lessons, and at some point, he doesn’t remember when, you started handing him small, strawberry-flavored sweets in return.
“What’s this?” he asked, tilting the small chocolate dessert in his hand. You glance up at him with furrowed brows, then back at your notebooks, switching between his bland notes and your colorful pages. “Chocolate, duh. Take it as my thanks,” you reply. “Tadashi said you like strawberry shortcake, but I didn’t have much time to make that.”
He pauses as he chews the strawberry-flavored chocolate, the sugar hitting his taste buds all at once — it’s fresh, sweet, and all new to him; most of all, it’s… homemade. You bake. You baked for him.
From that day on, he started listening to you more—specifically, caring more. He complained less when you’d talk his ears off over call while he studied, when you’d join him and Tadashi on the way home, even when you ended up worming your way into their movie nights—even when he started to inherit your taste in movies, which he claimed were ‘stupid’ and ‘lame.’
It was a Friday night, light rain pattering on the windows as cold air settled in the room. As per usual, you and Tadashi sat on Kei’s living room couch as the distant humming of the microwave echoed off the walls of the kitchen, while you skimmed through the movie options for the night. Kei waits patiently for the popcorn to be ready, his head leaned to the side as he listens in on the conversation.
Ever since you became a part of their duo—now trio—he’s become less standoffish towards you; truthfully, he never meant to appear that way; he just liked getting a kick out of you, ragebaiting, if you may. But now? Now, he’d never admit it, but he’s started to be fond of your presence. He sometimes finds himself listening to songs you mentioned liking once, writing down short explanations of equations and topics he knows you struggle with, and at some point, he started to offer his notes even if you didn’t ask.
And the truth is? You stopped needing them after a while, his presence somehow influencing you to pay more attention in class — but you always accepted when he’d hand them to you without a word.
“I just think that Dear Daniel is totally disregarded when people make those, like…” You flailed the remote around in the air, like your hands could illustrate your words. “Batman and Hello Kitty things. Like, uhhh, no? Kitty has Daniel.”
Tadashi is about to retort when the smell of buttered popcorn fills his senses, his gaze drifting to the source of the smell, watching as Kei sits down in between them, a large bowl of popcorn in his hands. He sinks into the cushions with a sigh, quirking a brow at the familiar, cheesy romance movie playing on the television screen. “This again?” he mumbles.
You frown and throw a tiny piece of popcorn in his direction. “Shut up, it’s my favorite! Tadashi said he hasn’t seen it either, so deal with it.”
Kei feigns annoyance, groaning as the movie starts—though he isn’t as bothered as he appears. He occasionally mumbles “Boring,” to grab your attention and annoy you, but it’s hard to miss how he not-so-subtly whispers in sync with the lines he’s heard over a thousand times. It’s hard to miss how he’d laugh a little when a silly moment comes on screen, and especially when he smiles upon catching the glint in your eyes when the characters finally confess their feelings — he wonders if he’d catch you looking at him with that same glint if he played his cards right.
He wonders how you, with no effort whatsoever, managed to make him feel like the hopeless romantic he never thought he’d become.
imagine sam comes home after a really long day of saving the world (as one does), captain america suit still on with his bag slung over his shoulder. house is dark, he knows that bucky is somewhere inside but doesn’t even have the energy to call out. he’s about to just beeline for bed until he notices small things that are off.
microwave is slightly open, light on. the clock is still set back even though bucky said he was going to change it because of the time switch. the window that was open when sam left the day before is still open and the air is cold and oddly still.
this is when sam gets the first idea that something is wrong, or at least not entirely right, but he almost doesn’t want to jinx it and tries to chalk it up to the fact that bucky is probably tired too. nevertheless, he sets his bag down quietly and his steps don’t make a sound as he slowly moves from room to room.
bucky is nowhere to be found; while he would usually text sam if he wasn’t going to be home that night, there had been nothing the entire day, and when bucky WAS home he would wait up for sam or fall asleep on the couch. but now, he’s nowhere to be seen. okay, something is 100% wrong, but sam can’t figure out what it is. is bucky gone? did someone break in? there was no forced entry and the window in the kitchen was only open a tiny bit. there was no way that anyone was inside other than sam and bucky.
sam doesn’t really know why but he suddenly feels like someone is in the room with him, and when he turns around—he has just made it to the edge of the living room—he sees someone standing in the entryway. someone he thinks he knows.
“jesus, bucky,” sam says, breathing as he recognizes bucky in the dim light. “creeping around—what the hell are you doing?”
but bucky doesn’t say anything, all he’s doing is staring at sam quietly and sam can’t read his face in the dark. sam has been relieved for only a moment, until he realizes that the atmosphere is off. something is shifted out of place.
“bucky,” sam repeats. “what is wrong with you?”
and bucky takes one step closer, into the faint moonlight that shines through the windows. sam can now see the emptiness in his eyes, the emptiness in his expression, and worst of all, the gun in his hand.
“bucky?” sam asks again, but as he does he is slowly positioning himself in a defense position. he knows that bucky isn’t a threat—the furthest from it. he’s been living with the guy for months at this point, and has known him since 2016. sam KNOWS that bucky isn’t a threat, that he shouldn’t be thinking as defensively as he is, but he does know who could be.
and then bucky speaks for the first time, a simple question that sam could remember steve repeating to him one time years ago. the words had meant near nothing to sam then, but everything to steve; now, sam was in the position to feel everything within himself drop as he heard the words.
contrary to popular belief, kenma kozume doesn't enjoy playing minecraft. he hates being jumpscared by the mobs, building is a bore, and dying after weeks of saved progress is always an annoyance.
and despite all of the things he disliked about the game, he somehow agreed when you asked if he could help you mine. one thing led to another, and school nights were spent with him mining and gathering blocks for you, while you built your shared house.
kenma listens intently as you talk on and on about your favorite show, his gaze focused on your camera to the side of his paused screen; you always complain when he doesn't turn on his, so he keeps it on, even if you stopped asking him to. “wait a second,” he interrupts you, unpausing his game as he stands in front of your shared house in game. “cone outside, i’ll show you something.” his voice is almost shy as he says this, but all of that disappears as he watches the look of pure joy on your face when you see what he built for you.
a small, sort of bland–curse his building skills–cherry blossom pathway to your house is illuminated by small torches. while it isn't as nice as it is in the tutorial he followed, the smile on your lips is enough to make him feel like the best builder in the world.
and that's when he realizes, he's screwed.
kuroo laughs as kenma rants about his predicament, “you’re whipped,” he says bluntly, leaning against the leather of his best friend's gaming chair. “i’m not!” kenma defends himself—a little too quickly. “i just like seeing her happy, i guess.” his reply further fuels kuroo's amusement, merely shaking his head.
he hates to admit it, he always hates admitting that kuroo's right—it fuels his ego—but he definitely is.. somewhat right. he's whipped for you.
you, who smiles when he decorates the front of your house with your favorite flowers, who laughs when he dies to a creeper explosion.
maybe he really doesn't hate the game all that much. as long as it's you, he doesn't really mind anymore. he would die to a million mobs just to hear you laugh.
“i had a dream about you, y'know.” you muse mindlessly as you pour the hot water into your coffee mug.
“oh yeah?” nishinoya yuu replies, “mind telling me about this dream of yours?” his voice sounds so near, yet so far. you glance at his face on your phone screen, as he watches you go through your mundane daily routine. you take a sip of your coffee, sighing, “well, we had a talking dog..”
for the past three or so years, days and nights were usually spent like this; you and nishinoya on the phone talking about your days or the places he plans on travelling to next. you were always dead-set on finishing college and getting a job, and he planned on travelling the world until there was nothing left to see. you were both going through with your plans, and what made it easier was going through it together. timezones & countries away from each other made it hard, but you made it work.
as for the past few months, he's been in greece, visiting the different temples & ruins the beautiful country holds.
“i’m so serious right now, it was like a fever dream—you were suddenly an old man, like, what?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “then i woke up.”
“okay... so it was basically a fucked-up version of up?” his eyebrows are furrowed as he processes the information given to him just now, you reply with a hum as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. you're about to say something when you notice him glitching on your screen, and you try your best not to laugh at the sight of his distorted face. “uhm, babe?” he doesn't reply. “babe.” your eyes scan his surroundings—hold on, where the fuck is he?
“babe, where are you right now?” you ask, laughing a little as his screen turns back to normal—albeit moving at light speed for the first few seconds—he simply raises his eyebrows in response, stuttering. you squint your eyes, “did you just come out of an elevator?”
“uh—i’m at the acropolis museum. they have a really advanced system here, actually! 's not all, like, temple ruins like i thought it'd be.” he clears his throat, fixing his hair a little. you nod a little.
the two of you sit in silence for a minute or two, minus the sounds of his footsteps & the busy streets from outside your apartment window. “i miss you,” you've been away from him for too long; you miss his touch, his hugs, his scent—even if it was a little too musky. you wait for him to say it back, and as his mouth opens, the screen freezes.
“...babe?” you roll your eyes at the signal issues—this always happened. “i’ll just call you later.” you reach for your phone and hang up, leaning back in your chair.
you can't deny it, sometimes the distance frustrated you. your co-workers talk about coming home to their wives, kids, or husbands, yet at the end of the day, you come home to an empty bed.
a knock on the door surprises you, a voice calling out, “special delivery!” a package? you didn't have any money for that. you walk to your front door, expecting a delivery man—your eyes widen as you meet a pair of familiar brown eyes, gasping in shock as he kneels down on one knee with a ring in his hand.
note: this might be a little ooc, i tried my best^^!! i listened 2 now that we don't talk by taylor swift while writing which got me in the mood sooooo ...
“i’m sorry,” kiyoko says for what feels like the thousandth time, a small, awkward smile on her lips.
she reads through the letter you wrote for her, her eyes searching for any sign of disappointment in your face—yet you meet her eyes with a determined gleam in your own, nodding briefly. she tries to give back the giftbag you made for her, yet you decline. “it‘s alright!” you reply, gently handing it back to her, “you deserve it—and hey, the hundred times a charm, right?” you joke playfully, pride racing through your veins at the sound of her laugh.
she nods, “maybe another time.” she bids you farewell as you leave the school gates. she watches you leave, as you look back at her once, twice–before finally, disappearing from her vision.
you've admired kiyoko since grade school, ever since she started bandaging your wounds on the playground; ever since she kissed your skin to make you feel better. it was love at first sight, really. you watch boys chase after her like hyenas chasing their next meal, and you can only stand there, wishing you weren't a helpless deer–wishing to be a hyena.
maybe she'd like you, if you were a hyena.
pursuing kiyoko wasn't easy, you knew that all too well. you started pursuing her intently ever since you were both first years at karasuno, and every time you'd make a romantic gesture or offer a romantic date, she'd say, “i'm sorry.”
but rejection never stopped you.
which is how you found yourself here, sitting at a fancy restaurant with her across from you and all the money in your savings to spoil her. she listens to you as she picks at the remaining food on her plate, sneaking a glance at the time on her watch. your voice fills her ears, soothing and soft—but this wasn't it.
you fumble with your hands as you talk and talk about your day nervously, “i promise, he was so annoying! i never wanted to leave a conversation so badly, it felt like i was being held hostage, y'know?” you joke, laughing a little.
kiyoko nods politely, clearing her throat, “yeah, i can't imagine how that feels..” she mumbles, turning the glass of water in her hand, watching the ice hit against one another. at her words, you bite your inner cheek anxiously. oh. she wasn't interested. you shake your head, “anyways—anyway, gosh, anyways isn't even a word..” you whisper to yourself, “how was your day?”
she looks up from the table, gaze meeting your face, yet not quite your eyes. “good. uhm, some studying here, manager work there..” she trails off, watching you take out your wallet to pay the bill, “we have a game this week against nekoma, so the team's been training pretty hard.”
you hum in response, “well, winning won't be hard.” your words are met with silence as you both stand up, and as you leave the restaurant, you reach for her hand.
she pulls away.
“uhm, i have a long day tomorrow.. is it alright if you just walk me home?” she asked—it sounded more as a plead, than a question. you nod quietly, walking a few steps behind her. your voice is small at first, “yeah-yeah, sure! i mean, my place is along the way, anyways—” “anyway,” she corrects. “you said that wasn't a word, right?” she nudges your shoulder, referring to your earlier statement.
“you were listening?” she nods, and you watch as she speaks, yet her words cease to make a sound in your ears. you were too focused on the fact that she was listening to you—your words, which made no sense, meant something to her. your eyes fix on her gloss-painted lips, and before you know it, a sharp pain hits you in the head. “fuuuck!” you yell out in pain, head in your hands as you try to soothe the pain, blood trickling from the small wound on your forehead.
kiyoko's eyes widen in shock, and as she holds in a laugh, she asks, “shit, are you okay?” she watches as you stumble over your words, her hands on your shoulders as she checks on your wound. she shakes her head as you make up excuses that you're okay, “no, no–you're bleeding. come on, i have bandaids in my house.”
that's how you ended up here, sitting next to the girl of your dreams in the dark on her couch, her face just inches away from yours as she dabs at your wound with disinfectant. you wince at the sting, she mumbles a “sorry,” before continuing to patch you up. your eyes flicker to her lips, lower lip between her teeth as she focuses. “i remember you'd always have to patch me up after our play dates when we were kids..” you recall, watching the small smile that rises to her lips at the memory. you feel the sticky bandaid touch your skin, her hands pulling away from the side of your face—yet she refuses to move an inch.
for the first time tonight, her eyes don't leave yours.
“thank you,” you whisper, your heart racing in your chest as your hands inch closer to one another. your eyebrows furrow, “no kiss?” you joke, referencing to your past as kids. she pauses, adjusting the glasses on her face. the room is quiet, tension thick; until she crashes her lips into yours.
it's impulsive, how she kisses you; her strawberry lip gloss stains your mouth, soft hands pulling you in closer and closer by your belt. the kiss is slow and messy, kiyoko could feel herself letting go; you brought out that side in her. your hands slip to her waist, underneath her shirt, cold hands seeking warmth. somehow, that's all it takes for her to pull away.
kiyoko abruptly pulls away, “wait, no!” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “i can't– we can't—” she stutters, sighing shakily. she lets your hands linger for a second—just enough for her to sink into the touch of your hands on her skin, for the last time—until she gently pushes you off her. she wipes the messy lip gloss off of the sides of her lips with the back of her shaky hand, and you can only sit there dumbfounded, searching her face for any indications of a joke. nothing. she was dead serious.
“shimizu, are you seriou—” “yn, this was a mistake.” she stands up, fixing her hair, her clothes, any effort to feel.. different. your heart shatters in your chest, you feel her lips on yours; the memory was still fresh in your mind, how could she act like nothing happened?
“i can't afford to make mistakes.”
her words echo in your head like a broken microphone; of course the perfect, pretty, boy-magnet kiyoko shimizu can't make mistakes.
a mistake was all you could ever be, to her.
the house is quiet for the next few minutes, the two of you not uttering a word as she stares at the sweaty palms of her hands. you wait for her to say something, anything to make you stay; nothing.
you got the hint. you clear your throat, vision blurring as you walk out of her house, her perfume lingering in the air, even as you enter your own home.
after that, you never hear a word from kiyoko ever again.
“i'm sorry, i can't,” kiyoko shimizu replies plainly as the 2nd year insists that she takes the chocolates and his confession, his words going in one ear and out the other as she listens to his endless offerings—date, coffee, he even offered to hold her books on the way to school.
‘is he ever gonna shut up..’ she thought, just about to decline—until a familiar voice pushes past her, mumbling a small, “excuse me,” as she enters the classroom; it was you. kiyoko's eyes widen, your perfume filling her lungs, flashing back to the night before. she watches you chat with your friends longingly, and for the first time, you don't look back; not once, not twice, never.
and for the first of many times, it stings.
she hears the 2nd year call her name, and suddenly she's back to reality. “uhm, no.. sorry. i have plans this weekend—and after class. sorry.” she interrupts him before he can even offer another option, taking the chocolate and his confession, “but i'll think about it.”
the night before, kiyoko sat in her bed, tears threatening to fall from her eyes as she recalled what happened moments before. how could she do that? how could she ruin something so perfect, a friendship so good—she kissed her best friend. she kissed a girl and felt something, felt a spark; she couldn't let that happen.
because kiyoko shimizu was fine falling in love with you, growing old with you.
nsfw: lotta posts on nudity and bd/sm so no one under 18 please. minors do not interact. sexually graphic gifs and texts posts on cnc and other hard kinks. engage at your own risk.
Update
this blog is inactive because im suffering from being too irresistible and it's attracting a lot of creeps so peace out mfers.
