im hopping on the hq insta train cause @moami’s tweets are always fantastic

I want to print this out and tape it to the headboard of my bed and look at it whenever I’m having a bad day – because this makes me smile and giggle and gives me so much happiness. ♥

You did an amazing, amazing job, aaaaaahh what do I even say, look at those dorks. Kuroo, just because you lick it doesn’t mean it’s yours. And the instagram layout, Kenma’s name, the hashtags you even included – thank you so much, I’m so delighted and happy I could inspire this. ♥

Kuroo asks him when they’re ten and eleven years old, lying in the grass of the garden behind Kenma’s house. Their fingertips touch, and Kuroo whispers as if it’s a secret. “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” He wants to say, so you can have a superpower or something, but Kenma already says, quiet: “Everything.”

Kuroo frowns. “That’s stupid. You can’t hate all of yourself.”

Kenma falls silent. His fingertips are cold and pale, like the small marbles Kuroo collects. He wants Kenma to stop making that sad, tiny face. “What do you like about yourself, then?”

“Nothing.” There’s something wet, glinting on Kenma’s cheek.

That’s the moment where Kuroo takes Kenma’s hand for the first time. “Come on,” he says, and then again, louder, “let’s go play! I’ll show you something cool about yourself!”

After a moment, Kenma follows him. He wipes his tears with his shirt and nods.

Twelve years later, Kuroo takes his hand again and kisses the knuckles. “What are you thinking about?” His arm rests on Kenma’s shoulders, lap full of two sleeping cats, and Kenma leans into his side, lips still red, warm, mouth a smile.

“Nothing,” he says, soft, before stealing another kiss from his boyfriend. “I just thought of another thing for my list.”

“Will you tell me?” A rough thumb caresses Kenma’s knuckles, one by one, careful and so familiar. Kenma nods. “Sure. Thing number two hundred and fifty seven that I like about myself – that I’m here right now.”

The hug that Kuroo gives him knocks all air out of Kenma’s lungs, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. This time, it’s Kuroo who’s crying.

beechichi:

Older Kenma doodle (that got out of hand) inspired by @moami‘s tweet

idk honestly…

“You look gorgeous.” Kuroo’s voice is heavy with admiration, and he takes a step forward, gently touching Kenma’s wrist. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He lets the blacksmith adjust the filigree jewelry that curls along his arms, his neck, smooth and perfect against his silky hair. The other apprentices spent an hour helping him, lining his eyes with red for fire, dusting crushed earth over the roots of his hair, painting his nails blue for the ocean’s grace.

Now, Kuroo has brought him the jewelry that is wind and energy, pulsing with magic right where his veins send blood flowing into his body. The blacksmith steps back, eyeing Kenma over. A soft smile spreads on his lips. “You are honestly, just. I don’t have words. Sorry, it’s silly, I made this for you but I didn’t know it’d be so – so-”

Kenma swirls around and kisses him. It’s a quiet touch of lips, barely a moment. Kuroo freezes, his breath hitching against Kenma’s mouth. His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls back. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. You’ve made me complete for the ritual.”

Kuroo blinks at him, slow, like a cat that shows affection with a drop of dark eyes. “You were always complete. The ritual is stupid. Kenma, you’re the most powerful magician that the world’s seen in what, centuries? They just want to control you.”

But Kenma just smiles. “Maybe.” His fingers lace up with Kuroo’s, wiping soot off the rough hands of his beloved one, tracing the harsh lines that whisper about years in a smithy, about nights with Kenma, kisses, touches, two souls as one.

“They can’t hurt me. Not when I’m carrying your silver on my skin. Let us go.”

When Kenma asks him if he’s always been like that, Kuroo has to force the howling machinery of his mind to a stop in order to find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and it sounds so helpless, so stupid, so unlike him.

“It’s okay,” Kenma says and does that tiny smile that Kuroo loves. “I just want to understand.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Kuroo can’t keep his mouth from saying the words. They’re true, but they’re such a cliché too, and the effect on his mind is immediate. The edges of his thoughts tremble, a wave of dark fingers reaching into his brain and tugging at the wires, he burns and stands and has to do something.

He is always doing something. Kenma can sit and play games, but Kuroo has to –
– he runs in the morning, jogs around the lake before the uni’s dorm, eats breakfast and chases to class and some call him crazy for having classes until evening but what else should he do, how could be just be home and do nothing, they admire his intelligence though nobody expects it and finally, he’s useful, helpful, needed.

The volleyball training is hard but he’s the vice captain and manager, takes care of the water bottles, food, net, his fingers are pale with red sprinkles and callouses but God, he’s so good at this, they need him and thank him and he’ll never hear a grown man call him useless again, a disgrace, because now his mind is sharp, silver, he is fast and untouchable and he – he is useful.

“Kuroo.” Kenma’s fingers are soft. The touch of warm skin against his own is a jolt, and Kenma’s arm wrapping around his shoulder seems as if it could stop the world.

“M-my homework.” He tries to breathe. “It’s due in -”

“You’re a month ahead of your classes,” Kenma says, gentle. “You’re… you’re always doing so much. I love you, but – what you’re doing scares me. Can we talk about this?”

When Kenma lets him curl under the blanket, in the bed that Kuroo only sleeps in for a few hours each night, his mind screams. It’s hard, he can’t, has to get up, has to do –
But he feels the tears on his cheeks, hears the wild thunder of Kenma’s heart and if there’s one thing he knows, then it’s that Kenma loves him. And that things can’t stay like that.

“Okay. Okay.”

Kenma’s breath floods slowly against his neck. “Alright. I’ll listen.”

And Kuroo speaks.

“You never told me how you and Kenma got together.” Bokuto lets himself fall onto the bed and nudges his head against the edge of Kuroo’s physics textbook. “Tell me,” he demands, and frowns when Kuroo turns a page. “C’mon. You just said that you guys talked about it, and then it happened, but I need details. Was it – romantic?”

Kuroo closes his book and leans back against the headrest. He looks at Bokuto for a long while. The smile that begins to curve his lips is unusually gentle.

For once, Bokuto’s right. But before it was romantic, it was chaos. He remembers it all –

– a night of storm and thunder, Kenma curled against his side as they watched this new horror movie Kuroo couldn’t stand, but of course he’d still lend Kenma his company because nobody could deny a wish when those golden eyes looked at him from below. His cheek had rested on top of Kenma’s hair, the smell of lemon and cinnamon, how was he even doing this, smelling like their childhood but grown-up, older and still young and beautiful and so fucking breathtaking.

And it had happened, just like that, with Kuroo opening his idiotic mouth and saying “You have no idea how much I love you” into the silence before the character on TV screamed and died.

Kenma hadn’t said anything for a horribly long time. His breath had slowed down, but Kuroo had felt his chasing heart beat where his arms were locked around his best friend’s chest, just like always, just like Kenma kept asking him to.

Then – Kenma’s hand curled into his shirt. Kuroo only realized that he’d fucked up when a broken sob rang out of Kenma’s chest. “Don’t,” he had said, no, whimpered, and oh, Kuroo’s stupid and hopeful heart had broken. He’d let go of Kenma, an apology on his lips, until –
“Don’t make fun of me like that. You – you’d never – someone like me – “

There had been a lot of things Kuroo had wanted to say. ‘You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ was amongst them. In the end, he went with gently taking Kenma’s hands and kissing all the knuckles, and not letting go until the tears stopped, until Kenma glanced at him with tear-silver eyes, finally listening when Kuroo said: “It’s the truth. And I love you because you’re exactly you – “

“Hey, Kuroo. You still there?” Bokuto’s hand waves in front of his face. Kuroo blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah. What?”

“Was it romantic or not? Was it easy?”

Kuroo looks at his friend for a long time. “Not easy,” he says, finally, and picks up his phone that has lit up with a message from Kenma. ‘Miss you’, it says. Kuroo grins and begins to type back, throwing Bokuto a last glance.
“But perfect, yeah. After we talked, it was perfect.”

“I’m not good with words,” Kenma says as he comes into Kuroo’s room and sits by his side. The box in his hands is small, silver letters spelling “for Kuroo” on the lid. When Kenma shoves it into Kuroo’s hands and then quickly hides his blushing face against his shoulder, all he says is: “I wrote something for you. Read all of it. It says what you are, and why. But… happy birthday.”

“Oh kitten.” Kuroo doesn’t know what to say. Kenma curls around him, arms over his waist, and nuzzles his neck with a little sigh. “You shouldn’t have.” Placing a kiss onto his boyfriend’s hair is something Kuroo can’t resist before opening the box.

He finds cards inside. They’re in various colours, with a single word on the front and more on the back. Kuroo reaches for one and begins to read.

“Kind. Because even though you’re loud with Bokuto, you’re always gentle with me because you know I’m scared of people speaking up too much. When I panic, you give me space or time or hold my hand. You took in the stray cat that kept coming to our school, and now she sleeps on the foot of your bed and turns fourteen this year.”

“Understanding. Because when your little sister starts crying and throws a tantrum, you don’t get impatient but kneel down and ask her what’s bothering her. Because you accept when I don’t want to be kissed and when I want you to hold me all night and not let go until I feel your body all around me.”

“Beautiful. Because you always call me that, but you’ve never seen your own smile when you greet me in the morning, your chaotic hair and the warmth of your skin, the scars on your knees and the old cigarette burns on your arms. Because you don’t hide before me anymore and I love you for that.”

“Strong. Because you stepped the first time you this monster lift a hand against your mother and sister, and you took the pain and fear and the scars. Because you asked for help. Because you had taken being yelled at and shoved for years, and now you’ve freed yourself and them, too.”

“Brave. Because you always spoke up. Because you care. Because you love them so much, and because you love me, even with how complicated and strange I am.”

The last card is just a word, just one. Kuroo doesn’t even wipe the tears streaming over his cheeks as he reads it. And when the word reaches his mind, he pushes the box away and hugs Kenma so tightly that his shivers wreck both of their bodies, until Kenma kisses his lips and holds him.

The card lies besides them.

“Home.”

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.

Kenma Kozume / Tetsurou Kuroo.

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 3,397

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Kenma Kozume, Tetsurou Kuroo, Lev Haiba, Morisuke Yaku

Tags: Confessions, Pining, First Kiss

Summary:

“Can you say it? Just once? Te-tsu-rou?” It would be so nice to hear his first name off Kenma’s lips. Maybe he’s an idiot for wishing that. But love makes people do the dumbest, bravest things, even risking a perfectly fine friendship.

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.

Morning’s Silver.

“Kuroo, your face is all stubbly. Didn’t you shave this morning?” Bokuto reaches out and rubs a finger along Kuroo’s jaw, nudging his cheek until Kuroo grunts. “Did you forget? You’re usually perfectly shaven.”

“I know. It’s just – “ How is he going to explain? “Kenma’s on a field trip for his biochemistry class, and – “

– his mornings are lonely now, but soon Kenma will return and wake him with warm, soft kisses again, a whisper against Kuroo’s throat, the tiniest lick against his mouth. “Wake up, Tetsu,” his kitten will mumble, and crawl out of the bed to make breakfast. They will eat in bed, because Kenma is a saint and Kuroo’s last unregretted sin, and he will feed his lover fruit and kiss coffee with cream and too much sugar from his sinful mouth.

And then Kuroo will undress and sit before the mirror on his desk, and Kenma gets the black leather case. The razor inside is silver, polished and sharpened to silent perfection. Kuroo leans his head back against Kenma, his hair touching his lover’s stomach, and Kenma stands still as he applies the white shaving foam to Kuroo’s jaw, neck, the calm line of his throat.

His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls the blade over his skin. It feels like nothing, barely a touch. Kuroo’s universe narrows down to the symphony of metal kissing his bare skin, and Kenma’s free hand tilts his head and turns his jaw, morphing Kuroo into the position he wants him in.

When the razor’s song of silence is over, Kenma will set it down and carefully take the balm to soothe Kuroo’s face with. His fingers dance, a choreography Kuroo will never get tired of feeling deep down to his bones as Kenma kisses his forehead and rubs the cooling balm over Kuroo’s soft neck. “All done,” Kenma would whisper then, and Kuroo would stand only then to turn and catch his mouth, to murmur “kitten” into his lips and –

“Kuroo?” Bokuto shakes his shoulder. “You alright there? We gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says and touches his jaw. It’s three days until Kenma returns. “Let’s go.”

The storm inside his head begins to rise in the last minutes of class.

Kenma stares down at his notes, at the pen in his fingers that has stopped writing. The professor says something. He doesn’t hear it. There is thunder in his ears, lightning curling into a monster’s white teeth behind his eyes. He’s had eight hours of class. Home, home, he needs to go home.

There are too many people, the world roars around him, too much and loud and everything screams, bright and sharp and no, no, he packs his things and the class is over and he runs. Words fly around him, he runs, the dorm, please –

When the door slams shut behind him, silence comes down like a wave of pure white. His dorm is quiet. Tetsurou’s on the couch, stretched out like a lazy cat with its belly turned to the sun, a book in one hand and the other behind his head. He looks over the rim of his glasses when Kenma drops his bag.

“Bad day?” He asks, soft. Kenma takes a step. It’s hard. He has no energy. Everything is quiet, and that’s good. Tetsurou puts the book away and opens his arms. “Cuddling? Alone-time? Should I – “

Kenma doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he flings himself onto the couch and into the warm hug of his boyfriend. “There you are,” a gentle whisper into his hair, Tetsurou’s hands sliding carefully to rest on his ribs, the small of his back. “I’m here. It’s okay. What do you need?”

He can’t speak. “Okay then. You’re safe.” His body keeps trembling. Tetsurou doesn’t press, doesn’t ask again. But when Kenma reaches to touch his mouth, a shivering finger tracing his lips, Tetsurou tilts his head down. “Want a kiss?”

Kenma finds that he can still nod. And Tetsurou rests a warm hand in his neck, thumb caressing the pulse of blood at its side, and gives him a kiss.

He doesn’t know when he’s fallen asleep after that. But when he blinks, it’s dark outside, and Tetsurou’s back to reading his book. He smiles at Kenma when he sneaks his mouth to nuzzle it against Tetsurou’s jaw.

“Dinner?” – “Yes,” Kenma says, and smiles a tiny bit. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Kitten?” Tetsurou carefully pushes the door of Kenma’s room open, just a few centimeters, and smiles at him. “Hey, do you wanna – oh, sorry. I’ll come back later.” Kenma doesn’t look up at him, but he nods a bit underneath the hood of his sweatshirt. It’s pulled over his head, up to his downcast eyes that are fixed on the game in his soft hands. Tetsurou knows the secret signal between them by heart, with all his soul, would recognise it in dream and fear and fog.

He returns an hour later. Kenma puts the game away when he peeks through the door, and gives Tetsurou a tiny smile.

“Alone time’s over?” Tetsurou says, and makes a small step inside.

“Mhm. I’m hungry.” – “Good. I brought some chocolate. Wanna cuddle?”

The answer is a shy nod and fingers reaching out to Tetsurou, brushing along his wrist. When he follows the gentle invitation and lies down, Kenma curls against his waist and rests his head on Tetsurou’s chest. He takes a last deep breath. And before Tetsurou can say anything else, Kenma kisses his mouth, quick, and begins to search his pockets for the chocolate.

The hood of Kenma’s sweatshirt is down now.