𖦁ׅ ࣪ ׂ haikyuu ៵ 🏐 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆

ᢉ𐭩 cooking mishap with your husband, osamu

ᢉ𐭩 your husband, ushijima, who doesn’t say a lot

ᢉ𐭩 first kiss frenzy ft. … Bokuto & Kuroo ?!

Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, and your lower lip had already begun to tear with the numerous times you had sunk your teeth into it. You contemplated if the tense air was due to the thoroughly charred chicken cutlet, or the clock ticking down the minutes to your husband's impending return. In fact, you were not too sure which you would rather deal with first. From the eyesore mounted up in the sink, to the wafting stench of char assaulting your nostrils, it had begun to feel all too overwhelming. You would feel almost apologetic, if not for the man you knew you married.

You see, Osamu would never criticise you; You were never worried about that. You have cooked for him before, and you both knew how that had turned out. Osamu, however, was undoubtedly and unfortunately a teasing bastard.

He would never let you live it down.

That tormenting epitome of gluttony, that endless pit of a stomach, that reincarnation of beelzebub, that-

"M' love?"

Shit.

Scrambling to action, your hands flailed and snatched at every stray utensil you saw, struggling to catch the dripping sauces in your wake.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”, the dreaded voice exclaimed amidst the kitchen frenzy, halting you like a deer in headlights. The headlights being your husband, with an expression laced with bewilderment and, annoyingly, amusement.

Struggling to regain your composure, you cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth of embarrassment burning the back of your neck. The state of your kitchen was almost devastatingly laughable.

“Welcome home,” you replied flatly, pointedly ignoring the surrounding blasphemy. The eyebrow raise you received in return only added to the flush of your cheeks.

Osamu’s gaze scanned the scene, from the sizzling wok to the bowls of batter, and to the stray fruit sitting idly on the counter. What was that smell? He had to investigate that later.

After he kissed the love of his life.

Taking only two strides to you, his amused grin grew with every second that your composed facade fell.

Warm calloused fingers pinched at your cheeks, forcing your eyes to meet his. You promised yourself you would not feel bad, but taking in his softened expression only added to the guilt hanging heavy over your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered begrudgingly, nudging towards the oily mess on the stove, “wanted to make you something nice for your birthday.”

A gruff laugh resounded from your husband’s chest in response as his palm circled around to your back. You were all too suddenly aware of his presence before you, how warm and stable he was pressed against you amidst the mess you had made. You would have felt flustered at the closeness if you had not already from the onslaught of teasing you knew would come. With a deep inhale, Osamu shook his head, still wearing his signature lazy grin.

“Thank you, my love,” he sighed earnestly, before adding under his breath, “but you do remember why I’m the chef, right?”

You had barely gotten out a word of retaliation before Osamu leaned in for a peck, his smiling lips pressed against yours. Even then, he pulled back as quickly as he had approached; That bastard.

Osamu leaned away from your shared warmth, battling his own want and tearing himself away from your tender arms. A sound between an endeared chuckle and a weary sigh resounded from your chest as your gaze followed your husband’s deft movements. He expertly sifted through the debris left in your wake, thick and scarred fingers curving around the scattered mess of utensils and ingredients.

Your mouth parted in protest, but Osamu caught you before words could even form, voice warm and gentle.

“I’ll handle it, m’ love.”

And he did. He always had.

It was hard to suppress the surprise at your husband’s lack of teasing despite your embarrassing failure. Yet, as you leaned against the kitchen door, the unmistakable warmth in your chest burned as unfaltering and inextinguishable as the love Osamu knew how to give you.

From his careful and undivided attention, to his almost impulsive bouts of passion, the love Osamu put into his craft seeped seamlessly into the love he had for you. Osamu stood unwavering in what he wanted and what he cared for, and you had lived that truth since the first bento box presented on your school desk.

No matter how exhausted, no matter whatever else plagued his mind, Osamu knew his place in the kitchen. Osamu knew his place in your arms. He knew that, whatever it was, if he could just watch you savour the home-cooked meals he prepared just for you, it would all have been worth it.

Thinking about first year best friends Bokuto and Kuroo, and how excited these nerds were for high-school romance and their first ever kiss (it’s not happening anytime soon).

Best friends Bokuto and Kuroo who stressed out over being bad kissers, and flushed tomato red at the notion of ‘using tongue’. Bokuto declared animatedly that it must be like licking soft-serve ice cream, but Kuroo snickered knowing that the owlhead was an ice cream biter at heart. God knows Kuroo hadn’t had the darnest clue either.

Best friends Bokuto and Kuroo who come up with the brilliant idea to practice kissing with each other to improve together. Bokuto, fuelled by his singular adolescent brain cell, swore it was ‘bro code’ to help each other out during trying times. After all, how can one’s first kiss be perfect if they’re entirely inexperienced?

Best friends Bokuto and Kuroo who unleashed the unsolved mystery as to how these numbskulls convinced themselves that their ploy was simply perfect. It wouldn’t have been far-fetched to assume their parents dropped them as babies, or that the stress of high-school life had finally caught up to them. Though, one thing was for sure: Bokuto and Kuroo were fucking geniuses.

At least that’s what they believed.

Best friends Bokuto and Kuroo who nervously leaned into each other’s warmth, the only cool breeze in the empty gymnasium wafting in from a crack in the gate. You’d think the tension in the air was thick, but the distinct rubbery stench of overused volleyballs and B.O. was thicker. As chapped lips closed in, Nekoma’s brightly coloured windbreaker could barely conceal the red hot flush of Kuroo’s neck. In all fairness, if it weren’t for the charismatic idiot and the love of the game, Kuroo would’ve cut it at the root. It was sarcasm at first, then turned to surprise and incredulity at Bo’s determination. Sure, he was as excited about his first kiss as anyone else; But with his best friend? Did Bo even realise the implications in his scheme? Oh well. The things you do to kiss a cute boy.

Best friends Bokuto and Kuroo who, when they finally do share a kiss, had their eyebrows furrowed in comical concentration. Lips molded into each other, the two explored this new sensation, moving shyly like how they’d seen in the movies; One’s lips over the other’s, then again, and again, and again …

As best friends Bokuto and Kuroo pulled away from each other, bright golden irises meet dark hooded eyes knowingly. Perhaps it was their shaky breaths of air in the quiet moonlit night, or it was the undeniable warmth in their cheeks. More likely it was their saliva dribbling down the corners of pink swollen lips, and their hearts beating loudly, synchronously, in their chests.