you’ve been awoken by an angel. or at least, that’s what it feels like when you wake up in a soft bed that is absolutely not your own, the warmth of this stranger — no, angel, filling your limbs with life you didn’t have before.
you gently open your eyes, trying consciously to widen them against the sleep that tugs at your eyelids. above you is a man kissed in sunlight, his broad arms held above you on the mattress. his eyes. some mix of green or brown or hazel or heaven looked at you like you’d bestowed him the greatest gift of the universe.
so naturally, having a hot man on top of you made you say the stupidest thing said in the history of mankind.
“holy shit. you are the sexiest man alive.”
the man stilled, eyebrows knitting in confusion before the laughter lit up his entire face.
“you’re supposed to be sober,” he sighed. “come on now. you’re telling me a full night of sleep didn’t fix that?”
you blinked sleepily, your edges snapping into focus before you realized that in your sleepy gaze, you’d just called iwaizumi hajime, your best friend of all time….the sexiest man alive.
you wished the ground would swallow you whole. that at least, would be a better fate than what currently greeted you.
you shoved your face in your hands, hearing hajime’s chuckles carrying out over the entire room.
“oh wow! that definitely did it. sexiest man alive, huh.”
“that wasn’t me…” you mumbled into your hands, “that was my evil twin. they try to sabotage me no matter what i do.”
you feel the gentle sensation of your hands being peeled away from your face, only for hajime to lean down and kiss your forehead.
every thought in your head ceased to exist.
“you’re silly,” he smiled against your skin, rising up from the mattress. “go brush your teeth. i’ll make breakfast.”
you were left alone in a sunlit room, wrapped in his sheets and wondering if your stupid comment had landed you a breakfast date with your secret crush.
Imagining at Elpba arc where Luffy (plus reader) is learning of Nika, and you know how there’s a lot of versions in mythology. Well one where Nika had a lover (i’m calling them Europa as a place holder), incident happen with another being or god that resulted in spitting Europa in half, and losing her heart. Nika tries anything he can to replace the heart, from using a cloud to using a part of himself, but it’s only temporary. This makes him upset that he can’t do anything to help them. So another godly being decides to take pity on them, transforming them into the sun and moon, only being able to see eachother once a year, creating the eclipse.
Once A Year
Song: Needed Me - Rihanna
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
The air in Elbaf carries the weight of centuries. It tastes like pine needles, frozen brine, and the kind of ancient, bone-deep magic that makes the skin on your arms prickle.
You are sitting at the base of the Great Yggdrasil, the colossal tree that serves as the heart of the giants’ land, your hand tucked securely into Luffy’s.
Luffy is uncharacteristically quiet. He’s been staring at the shifting murals carved into the bark for hours—stories of the Sun God, Nika, told in broad, sweeping strokes of history that predate the World Government’s erasure.
"It’s weird, isn’t it?" he murmurs, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. "The stories. They make him sound like he’s supposed to be everything. But even he couldn't save her."
You follow his gaze to a panel that is worn smooth by time. It depicts a figure—Nika—cradling a woman whose body seems to be dissolving into stardust. Her name, according to the local lore you’ve been reading, was Europa.
"The myth says he tried everything," you whisper, feeling the cold wind of Elbaf tug at your hair. "The clouds, the stars, even his own essence. He wanted to make her whole again."
Luffy sighs, a sound that feels too heavy for his chest. He pulls you closer, his warmth—that constant, solar heat that radiates from him—seeping into your bones.
"He was a god who could change the shape of the world, but he couldn't fix the one thing that actually mattered. That’s gotta be the loneliest feeling in the universe."
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the forest floor, the stories of the giants begin to blur with your own reality.
You feel a strange, rhythmic thrumming in the ground, as if the tree itself is breathing.
In the mythology of this place, Europa wasn't just a lover; she was the anchor to Nika’s chaotic, liberating spirit. When a jealous deity—a shadow that sought to dim the light of the world—split her in two, the legend says Nika’s laughter died for the first time.
He tried to replace her heart with a piece of a lightning-struck cloud, but it drifted away, formless. He tried to give her a piece of his own burning light, but she was too fragile to contain the intensity of a god.
"He felt like he was failing her," you muse, leaning your head against Luffy’s shoulder. "Every moment he spent with her after that was just a countdown. He knew she was fading."
Luffy turns his head, his dark eyes searching yours. There’s a raw vulnerability there—the kind he rarely shows anyone but you. "If I were him," he says, his voice barely a rasp, "I would have burned the whole world down to keep her heart beating."
"You wouldn't have had to," you tell him softly. "Because you wouldn't have let them take her in the first place."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He is thinking about the fragility of things. He is thinking about how, even with all the power in the world, there are voids you cannot fill.
The legends continue. Distraught by Nika’s grief, and perhaps weary of the shadow-god’s cruelty, a primordial existence—something older than the sun itself—intervened.
The story goes that they couldn't undo the damage, but they could preserve the connection. They took the two broken pieces of Europa and the essence of the grieving God and cast them into the sky.
One became the Sun. The other became the Moon.
"They were cursed to chase each other forever," Luffy says, recounting the final stanza of the epic. "Always in the same sky, but never truly holding one another. Until the eclipse."
"Once a year," you recite, the words feeling like a prayer. "The moment where the moon covers the sun. The only time they are allowed to be one again. A brief, fleeting union before the cycle forces them apart."
Luffy stands up, pulling you to your feet. The transition is seamless, his movements fluid and purposeful.
He leads you toward a clearing where the canopy opens up to reveal the vast, star-strewn expanse of the Elbaf sky.
"I don't like that ending," Luffy declares, his brow furrowing. "It’s a tragedy. Why would the god let them do that? Why not just stay together?"
"Maybe because the distance is what keeps the world turning," you suggest, though it feels like a hollow comfort.
Luffy shakes his head, his grip on your hand tightening. "No. That’s just stories people tell to make themselves feel better about being apart. If we were stars, I’d stop the orbit. I’d freeze the sky in place."
As you stand in the clearing, the world begins to change. The temperature plummets, the birds go silent, and the shadows grow impossibly long. It is the night of the Elbaf Eclipse—the night the legends come to life.
There is an eerie, cosmic alignment occurring above. The moon begins its slow crawl over the edge of the sun.
You watch as the light dims, the world bathed in an unnatural, silvery violet glow. It is beautiful and terrifying, a celestial reenactment of a heartbreak that transcends time.
"Do you feel it?" Luffy asks.
You do. You feel a strange sense of longing that isn't yours—a desperate, aching desire for touch that feels like it’s being pulled out of the ether.
You look at Luffy, and for a split second, his silhouette seems to shimmer. The golden aura that usually dances around him flares, mimicking the corona of the sun eclipsed by the moon.
You realize then that this isn't just a story for Luffy. He is identifying with the ache. He understands the struggle of holding onto something that is constantly being pulled away by the gravity of existence.
"Luffy," you say, your voice barely audible over the sudden, rushing wind.
He turns to you, and his expression is unreadable. The light of the eclipse hits his face, turning his skin into polished bronze. He looks like a deity carved from the very history you were reading about. He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, his touch scorching and gentle all at once.
"I won't let us be like them," he vows. The bravado is gone, replaced by a terrifying, absolute certainty. "I don't care about the sky or the cycles or the gods who think they can dictate how long we get. If the world tries to split us, I’ll fold the world itself."
The sky reaches the moment of totality. The sun is completely obscured by the moon, a black iris rimmed with fire.
The world stands still. It feels as though the universe is holding its breath, waiting to see if the ancient lovers will finally break the rules.
In that silence, you lean into Luffy. You aren't thinking about the mythology anymore. You are thinking about the warmth of his chest, the sound of his heart—a steady, rhythmic drum that tells you he is here, he is whole, and he is yours.
He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss of a boy who is just learning about love; it’s the kiss of someone who has defied gravity. It is possessive and desperate, a claim staked against the cosmos.
For a moment, the ache of the legend fades. The tragedy of Europa and Nika feels like a distant, irrelevant ghost. You aren't chasing each other through an orbit. You aren't waiting for a yearly alignment.
You are grounded, here, in the present, under the shadow of the great tree.
When the light finally begins to break again, the sun creeping out from behind the moon, the world rushes back in—the sound of the wind, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a giant.
Luffy pulls back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours. He’s breathless, his eyes wide and bright, reflecting the returning light.
"See?" he whispers. "The sun comes back. The moon stays. They don't leave."
"They have to," you remind him gently, though you feel the tears pricking your eyes. "It’s their path."
Luffy shakes his head, a stubborn, crooked grin spreading across his face. "Not for us. We write our own path. Let the gods have their eclipses. I’d rather have the sunrise with you every day."
You walk back toward the village as the sky returns to its normal color. The weight of the Elbaf legends feels lighter now, the tragedy stripped of its power.
You look at Luffy, watching the way he strides forward, completely unafraid of the vastness of the sea or the cruelty of fate.
He grabs your hand again, interlacing his fingers with yours. His grip is firm, undeniable. He isn't a cloud, and he isn't a fading myth. He is solid. He is the person who would fight the gods to keep his heart beating, and you are the reason he would do it.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, casting a glance at you.
"Just that I’m glad we aren't stars," you say.
Luffy laughs—a loud, boisterous sound that echoes through the trees, chasing away the last of the silence. "Yeah. Being a star sounds boring. Way too much distance. I like it better this way."
He pulls you closer, tucking you into his side as you walk.
"Besides," he adds, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if we ever do become stars, I’ll just make sure we’re binary ones. The kind that spin around each other so fast they turn into one giant, burning ball of light. No room for anyone else to get in between."
You laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It’s a ridiculous, Luffy-esque solution to a cosmic problem, but as you look up at the expansive, uncaring sky, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.
"I'd like that," you say.
"Good," he replies, and he squeezes your hand, anchoring you to the earth, to the moment, and to him.
The story of Nika and Europa will continue to be told in the halls of Elbaf, a cautionary tale of love and loss for generations to come.
But as you walk into the night, hand in hand, you know that your story is not written in the stars. It is written in the dirt of the path you tread, in the calloused skin of your hands, and in the promise that no matter what the world demands, you will choose to remain exactly where you are: together.
The night air is cold, but you are wrapped in a warmth that refuses to dim. And as the stars begin to peer through the canopy, they look less like distant, lonely entities and more like witnesses—not to a tragedy, but to the small, quiet victory of a boy who refused to let his love become just another myth.
You aren't a sun or a moon. You are two people, finding your way home, and for now, that is more than enough to silence the gods. . . .
And they are like trauma dumping on each other and they are emotionally supporting each other
In a yurifull way cuz it's yuri
See the vision?? Like peak yuri
We need more lesbian mammon propaganda
mammon loves close contact with her treasure. even when she can’t really touch you the way she wants, she finds a way to be close to you. she sits with her shoulder touching yours, and eventually ends with her arm around your shoulder, keeping you held close to her chest.
mammon leaves a few kisses on the side of your face and your forehead while you talk, and nuzzles her cheek against yours so soft.
don’t be fooled, she might seem distracted, but she’s holding onto every word that leaves your mouth. ahh.. yer too cute. nah, keep going. ‘m listening. promise.
soon as the conversation takes a more serious turn and mammon hears the slightest crack in your voice, she’s got tears pricking her eyes too. she wants to know more, she does, she just can’t stand thinking of how much pain her human went through in the past.
she’ll pull you closer and closer till theres no more space left between you, chests pressed together where you can feel her heart beating in sync with yours.
mammon will lean in and kiss you tenderly — you’ll taste your salty tears mixed together on her lips. she’ll huff when her shades get in the way, quickly removing them to go back in for more.
she’ll take her time, and you’ll have to be the one to pull away when you’re out of breath. she’ll stare at you like you’re made of gold as you catch your breath, whisper as if she’s telling you a secret — you’re so brave, yknow that? i dont say it much but… fuck. i love ya. like, so fucking much. my sweet treasure.
first ask yippee !!! n of course it had to be my wife. we need more fem obm action im beggingg </3 anyway i hope i did ur ask justice :p
It was late. You were returning from a nice, calm bath when you spotted the apparition. It was a pale figure that appeared to gracefully float through the corridor, wearing white robes in stark contrast to the heavy darkness around it. What you could see of its face was smooth like porcelain, except for the edges. The sides of its face were unnaturally cracked and peeling. Your breath was stuck in your throat as it turned the corner at the end of the hall and disappeared from sight.
Some things in the Devildom are just naturally terrifying to humans. The vision spooked you so much that you flew into the nearest room — the twins' room. You slammed the door shut in your rush, waking them both.
Beelzebub sat right up. His bed creaked and his head whipped towards the door in alarm. His eyes softened when he realized you were the late night visitor, but he did not drop his guard. Something was clearly wrong. He reached for a bedside lamp.
Belphegor, initially not visible under his hoard of covers, stirred with a growl. A single eye, obscured by a curtain of bangs, peered out from his pile of bedding.
It took a moment for Belphegor to shake off the rest of the blankets, prop himself up on an elbow, and find his voice. "Huh? What's wrong...?"
In that time, Beelzebub had already gotten up to come get you. You didn't realize your knees were shaking. The thumping of your heart against your chest cavity was distracting enough.
"I saw a ghost," you choked out as Beelzebub draped a still-warm sheet around your shoulders. With a gentle hand on your back, he guided you to a clear space at the foot of Belphegor's bed.
"That shouldn't be possible," Beelzebub said. He shot a glance at the door, making sure it was shut, then positioned himself in front of you so you'd stop staring at the doorway. "We got rid of all the ghosts here centuries ago."
Belphegor agreed. "Any that are left should be sealed up. Or maybe trapped deep in the crypt, but definitely not just wandering around."
There was a pause as he looked you up and down. You were still slightly damp from your bath and you smelled like fresh soap. Your pajamas were soft and clean.
"Doesn't look like you were exploring the crypt," he noted, rubbing his eyes.
Belphegor asked if you weren't half asleep, seeing things in the dark. You shook your head. Beelzebub said maybe you were so hungry you were hallucinating. He offered to get you half a bag of leftover chips from under his bed. You declined.
"I'm going to go look," Beelzebub decided. The sheet around you was pulled tighter and he tied it snug across your chest like a security blanket before he strode back to his bed, slid his DDD into a pocket, and rolled his shoulders. "If there's one ghost, there could be more. We need to warn Lucifer if there's an infestation."
"Yeah, go Beel. You've got this." Belphegor cheered the most deadpan, exhausted cheer that anybody ever chanted.
You thought of stopping him, but these were two full grown demons. They could send any ghost flying with a mildly annoyed look. You merely bid Beelzebub "Good luck" as he walked into the hallway, as casually as though he was running on a bathroom break. The door clicked shut behind him.
A heavy weight, Belphegor, made your shoulder dip. You tilted to the side as he grabbed your arm and pressed his forehead against your shoulder. "You'll stay here with me, won't you? We can wait for Beel to come back together."
"Yeah, okay," you told him a second before Belphegor pulled you down and nuzzled a cheek against your head.
"Great. I was just about to... go..."
He interrupted himself with a big yawn that blew a big gust of hot hair against your neck.
"Mmh. I was just about to go back to bed," he continued. "You can stay with us tonight whether he finds the ghost or not."
Regardless of what you wanted, Belphegor seemed convinced you would be staying. He was halfway through making you his personal pillow and incorporating you into his mound of blankets when the door swung open again and Beelzebub announced, "I found the ghost."
You crawled out of Belphegor's grasp, which wasn't too difficult as he was already half asleep. Beelzebub dragged a figure into the room, one draped in a white robe with a porcelain smooth face that peeled at the edges.
Drops of red liquid fell to the ground. A very tipsy Asmodeus sauntered into the twin's room with a wine glass of Demonus sloshing in his free hand. He was wearing some kind of sleep bonnet with an attached satin veil that fluttered with every minor movement. His beauty mask had begun sliding off, crinkling and rolling up at the edges.
Belphegor asked, "The ghost was Asmo?"
"I found him coming back from the kitchen. I don't know what he was doing before that," Beelzebub explained.
"Eehh? Are you guys having a sleepover?" Asmodeus almost dropped his glass as he weaseled out of Beelzebub's grip and stumbled over to the bed. He dropped to his knees on the carpet beside you and laid his head on the edge of the mattress. You smelled alcohol on his breath. "Without me? Boooo. Booo, you guys are so mean to your big brother."
Asmodeus looked much less scary in the light. His bright white sleepwear was dazzling, like there were diamonds weaved into the fabric, and there was more color to his face than you saw before. A red flush going from one cheek to another.
You pushed his sweeping veil aside to pick at the corner of his mask.
"I seriously thought you were a ghost!" you exclaimed as you peeled it off in one satisfying revenge pull.
Beelzebub came over to yank the Demonus out of Asmodeus' hand before it stained the floor any more. You crumpled up the face mask and threw it in the general direction of a trash can. Beelzebub disposed of the rest of the alcohol by drinking it and setting the glass down on his nightstand.
"That's silly," Asmodeus giggled. He rubbed his smooth face against Belphegor's smooth sheets.
"Where is there a ghost this pretty? You're so silly," he giggled. "That's why you're my favorite. Beel! Belphie! Try harder!"
Belphegor turned his back to his brothers, not wanting to see whatever Asmodeus was drunkenly doing to his bed. "Great, this is resolved. I'm going back to sleep now. Beel, turn off the lights."
"Me too, I'm sooo tired," Asmodeus sighed. He gripped the sheets and the leg of your pajamas and began dozing off, half on the floor and half slumped over the bed.
Beelzebub frowned. He was tired, too. But it wouldn't do to leave a mess in the bedroom. The two of you stared at each other in mutual silence until the heavy sounds of snoring soon began from Belphegor. You slowly slid off the bed, careful not to wake anyone again.
Beelzebub scooped Asmodeus up and laid him down next to Belphegor. His lips were moving, as though talking, but Asmodeus didn't make any audible sounds and obediently cuddled up against his log-like little brother.
You intended to tip-toe towards the door and finally return to your own room, but Beelzebub offered an invitation to stay. And by that, he swept you up off the ground and plopped you on his bed just like he had done for Asmodeus. You tensed up in surprise, as anyone would do upon being suddenly picked up. The light clicked off.
"I don't feel like escorting you back to your room," Beelzebub said as he slid onto the bed next to you. He pulled you away from the edge and into his arms.
"It's not that far. It's downstairs. I live here too, I can go myself," you told him even though you leaned into his embrace and cushioned your head against his arm.
"And risk running into another ghost? Don't be reckless," he teased. Asmodeus' Demonus lingered on his breath.
She can still feel the ghost of your fingers brushing against the edge of her jaw, can still feel your lips as they whispered sweet words into hers. You had told her, so close that she could feel your breath fan across her face, "No one makes me feel like you do."
Kiyoko remembers thinking in that moment, with your hand rooted in her hair, that this was it. That after wanting you for so long, she finally had you. That after all the late nights she stayed up thinking about you and the moments she stared after you for just a second too long and all the times she whispered your name to herself just to hear it, you were finally in her arms, finally hers.
She thought that was it. She thought you were it.
And now, she's here. At this bar just because you said you would be here. Dressed up because she knew you would see her. Wearing a pretty pink lip gloss because she wanted to see it smeared across your mouth. She is here, and she is staring at you, and you are staring at Kuroo.
Kuroo.
He has an arm around you like he owns you. His nose is pressed into the side of your face and he keeps leaving wet, sloppy kisses on your cheek like he's some kind of poorly trained dog. And you're there, giggling, smiling, leaning into his touch when you should find it repulsive.
Yeah, Kiyoko hates you. She hates Kuroo, too. She hates everyone here.
Kiyoko stares at the two of you like you're the scene of a murder, mouth agape in horror, eyes unblinking. She stares like she can't force herself to look away. Even though it makes her sick to see it. Even though it makes every breath she takes feel wood is splintering in her chest. She can't look away.
She keeps asking herself why, but she knows why. Kuroo is simple. She is complicated. Kuroo speaks of you loudly. She speaks of you in whispers. Kuroo can slobber all over you and mark you like you're his territory and do it so everyone can see it. Kiyoko would hold your hand under the table and hope that no one would notice.
Her thoughts make her tongue taste bitter. Kiyoko stands there and she wonders why you even bothered. She wonders why you kissed her and why you told her you could see the world in her eyes and why you made her feel like this if you were just going to turn around and be with Kuroo.
Fucking Kuroo.
He raises a finger to the bottom of your chin, lifts it up, and kisses you. You kiss him back. Kiyoko thinks it would be less painful if she got shot.
You don't even see her. You don't raise your head to look in her direction. You don't look across the bar and lock eyes with her. Kiyoko stands there, and all you see is Kuroo. She can't see anyone but you, and you can't see anyone but him.
Kiyoko leaves the bar, unsure if she had been standing there for a minute or an hour. She leaves the bar and she chokes back a sob and she thinks to herself, she'll never speak to you again. She'll never have anything to do with you again.
wyr if you're reading this and i suspect that you might be....i am apologizing
please notice tetsurō before he juggles kenma and fukunaga for attention.
wc: 1.8k
kuroo tetsurō had spent approximately four business days drafting the letter, destroying enough notebook pages to clear out half the amazon rainforest just to ensure his handwriting didn’t look like a chicken had dipped its feet in ink and had a seizure across the page.
the letter was, without a single ounce of exaggeration, a masterclass in classical romance. it was the kind of prose that would make sixteenth-century poets throw their quills into a well and give up. he’d written about the way your laughter sounded like the exact resonant frequency needed to shatter his ribs from the inside out. he’d compared your eyes to the stable nucleus of an atom—the only thing holding his chaotic, electron-cloud of a brain together. it was poetic. it was devastatingly tender. it was enough to make a grown volleyball captain weep into his knee pads.
and, with the tactical precision of a stealth bomber, he had slipped it directly into chapter four of your organic chemistry textbook during study period while you were distracted trying to untangle your wired headphones.
he’d gone home that night, buried his face into his pillow, and kicked his legs like a victorian maiden who had just been perceived by a duke. he fully expected a text by 8:00 pm. a tearful confession by 8:30 pm. perhaps a marriage proposal by next tuesday.
instead, you showed up to school the next morning, aggressively yawning, and used that exact textbook as a makeshift shield against the morning sun while sitting on the brick wall outside the gym.
kuroo watched you from five feet away, his soul slowly evaporating from his body like rubbing alcohol left out in the sun. you didn’t even open the book. you just used the heavy-weight cover to fan yourself when the humidity hit. the actual love of his life was using his bleeding-heart declaration of eternal devotion to circulate lukewarm morning air onto her collarbones.
“you look like you’re tracking a gazelle,” kenma murmured from beside him, eyes glued to a handheld screen. “and not in a cool, predator way. more like a very sad, hungry dog.”
“she didn’t read it,” kuroo whispered, his voice cracking like a dry twig. “kenma. the paper density alone should have changed the gravitational pull of the textbook. how did she not feel the shift in equilibrium?”
“maybe she just hates chemistry.”
“impossible,” kuroo hissed, clutching his chest. “i’m chemistry.”
phase two required a complete lack of subtlety. if you wouldn’t stumble upon his heart by accident, he would simply have to leave breadcrumbs.
the next afternoon, you opened your locker to find a small, neon-pink post-it note stuck directly onto the metal grated vents. written in shaky, black sharpie was a clue that looked less like a romantic hint and more like a ransom note from a criminal who specialized in stem subjects:
‘the elements of life are carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen. but the element of my life is currently trapped on page 142. look closer, or i will literally spontaneously combust on the cafeteria floor.’
you blinked at the sticky note. you reached out, peeled it off, and stared at it for a solid three minutes. kuroo, who was hiding behind the corner of the hallway with his face pressed so hard against the brickwork that his nose was flattened, held his breath. this was it. the catalyst. the moment you would pull out the textbook, flip to page 142, and realize that he was completely, utterly, and devastatingly yours.
instead, you let out a soft snort, muttered, “yaku must have lost a bet to standard level science,” and stuck the pink note onto the front of your binder because you liked the shade of neon.
from behind the wall, kuroo felt his knees give way. he slid down the bricks until he was sitting flat on the linoleum, a hand dramatically draped over his eyes. his heart was performing a full, aggressive drum solo against his sternum, furious at the rejection it hadn’t even technically received yet.
by day three, the desperation had reached a critical mass. kuroo tetsurō was a man possessed by a singular, burning directive: make the prettiest girl in the third-year corridor realize that he wanted to hold her hand until their joints turned to dust. he couldn’t function. he missed three consecutive serves in practice because he kept visualizing the exact layout of page 142 and wondering if he should have used a highlighter.
“if you don’t fix whatever is rotting your brain, i’m going to set your shoes on fire,” yaku warned during evening clean-up, leaning heavily on a broom. “you’ve been staring at that volleyball like it owes you alimony.”
“it’s an intellectual standoff,” kuroo said, his voice hollow as he rolled a ball between his palms. “a battle of wits. she’s testing my resolve, yaku. she’s checking to see if my devotion can withstand the vacuum of her absolute oblivion.”
“she doesn’t know you left a note, does she?” kenma called out from the bench, not looking up.
kuroo threw himself backward onto the polished gym floor, starfish-ing beneath the bright fluorescent lights. “i made it so obvious! i used neon! i referenced atomic structures! what else does she want from me? a billboard? a sky-writer? should i tattoo the chemical equation for dopamine onto my forehead?”
the next morning, he forfeited all remaining scraps of his dignity. if poetry wouldn’t work, and clues wouldn’t work, then raw, unadulterated public exposure would have to suffice.
you walked down the science wing at 7:50 am, holding a half-eaten convenience store bun, only to find a small crowd of second-years hovering around your locker. they were whispering, giggling behind their hands, and pointing at the metal door.
as you approached, the crowd parted like the red sea, revealing the monstrosity kuroo had unleashed upon the school infrastructure.
there, stuck entirely to the center of your locker with roughly four entire rolls of heavy-duty, industrial neon green painter’s tape, was the original, beautiful, cream-colored love letter. it was trapped beneath a lattice of green adhesive so thick it looked like it could withstand a category five hurricane. and slapped right on top of the whole mess was a giant piece of cardboard ripped from an old volleyball equipment box, featuring a frantic, jagged scrawl:
“please for the love of god notice my affection. page 142 was an innervation of my entire soul. i’m begging you to interact with this literature.”
you stood frozen, your bun halfway to your mouth.
from the far end of the hall, leaning against a drinking fountain with his arms crossed in a position he clearly thought looked casual but actually made him look like he was suffering from severe muscle spasms, was kuroo. his signature bedhead seemed even more chaotic than usual, a few strands sticking straight up like frantic antennae. his face was completely flushed, a deep, dark crimson that started at the tips of his ears and pooled all the way down into the collar of his school uniform.
you looked from the neon green monstrosity on your locker, to the heavy-grade paper trapped underneath, and then finally down the hall at him.
the silence stretched. a second-year student cleared their throat nervously.
slowly, you walked over to the locker. instead of tearing the cardboard off, you carefully slipped your fingers under the edge of the painter’s tape, working at the thick adhesive until you managed to pull the cream-colored letter out from its bright green cage. it was a bit crinkled at the borders, but the elegant, sweeping ink was fully intact.
you flipped to the back, your eyes scanning the dense, beautiful paragraphs where he had written about how your presence made his brain short-circuit like a faulty capacitor. you read the lines where he confessed, with terrifying honesty, that he spent his biology lectures drawing the exact curve of your shoulder blades in the margins of his notebook.
your chest did something strange—a sudden, warm domain expansion that felt remarkably like a small firework detonating right behind your ribs. your face grew hot, the heat spreading rapidly across your cheeks as the sheer weight of his ridiculous, beautiful, overwhelming feelings hit you full-force.
you folded the paper carefully, tucked it into your blazer pocket, and began marching down the hallway straight toward him.
kuroo’s eyes widened. the cool, leaning posture evaporated instantly. he straightened up so fast his spine made an audible clicking sound, his hands dropping to his sides like a soldier caught off guard. “uh. hey. so. the tape is entirely bio-degradable, if you were worried about the school property damage—”
you stopped right in front of him, reached out, and grabbed the lapels of his uniform jacket, tugging him downward so he was forced to bend his absurdly tall frame until his face was level with yours.
“you absolute menace,” you breathed, your voice a mix of a breathless laugh and total disbelief. “you could have just told me you liked me during lunch. you didn’t need to sacrifice a perfectly good moving box.”
kuroo stared at you, his eyes auditing your lips and then back up to your eyes, his brain completely liquefying under the proximity. up close, you could see the tiny, frantic flutter of the pulse point in his throat.
“but the prose,” he squeaked out, his voice a full octave higher than normal before he cleared his throat and tried to recover his usual low drawl. “the prose was exquisite. i compared you to a stable isotope. that’s high praise coming from a guy who fails literature.”
“it was incredibly dramatic,” you agreed, your thumbs brushing against the fabric of his blazer. “and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever read. even if it was buried under three pounds of adhesive.”
kuroo’s expression softened, the frantic, manic energy draining out of him all at once, replaced by something so profoundly tender and vulnerable it made your stomach do a backflip. he reached up, his large, warm hand covering yours where you held his lapels, his thumb gently smoothing over your knuckles.
“so,” he whispered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his nerves, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “does this mean the experiment was a success? are we experiencing a mutual reaction?”
“we are,” you said, letting go of his jacket only to slide your fingers into his, locking your hand with his large, calloused one. “but you’re still helping me scrape that green tape off my locker before the vice principal sees it.”
kuroo let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed down the corridor, squeezing your hand so tightly it felt like he never intended to let go, his chest swelling with enough joy to lift a house off its foundations.
n: my beloved @ryomenlettuce asked for this, huehuehue.. it’s from my scrapped ideas
“you just happened to buy the building next to my bar? and i’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence?”
synopsis: after years of not seeing your ex-fiancé, he shows up at your bar, revealing that he’s bought the building next door to finally own his own restaurant.
pairing: osamu miya x gn!reader - type: smau / written - tropes: exes to lovers, business owners, second chances - warnings: alcohol use, cussing, crude jokes, references to sex - taglist: open
profiles: bar hoppers + moochers
chapters:
1 - enemy at the front gates
2 - someone’s unlucky
3 - namesake
4 - an eye for an eye
5 - mistake after mistake
6 - unlocked door
suna needs a girlfriend. you’re the last person he hooked up with, so that’s close enough, right?
SUMMARY: all it takes to ruin suna rintaro’s reputation is a scorned ex-lover and a damning voicemail. his manager seems to think that the best way to turn it all around is to make the public see that suna’s a loving, loyal, relationship kind of guy. the only problem being, he’s not actually in a relationship - so he decides to fake one with you.
CONTAINS: suna x reader, fake dating, hookups, hints of angst, written parts, longing, mutual pining, kms/kys jokes, warnings may change
TAGLIST: open, reply to this post to be added
INTRODUCTIONS: bitches who shit
INTRODUCTIONS: boys trip to st. petersburg, fl
CHAPTER ONE: the day suna rintaro was banned from tinder
CHAPTER TWO: guy who thinks i’m his ramona flowers or some shit
CHAPTER THREE: employee of the month at the telling lies factory
there’s a few exams coming up, and you suck at most of the subjects.
but, with your boyfriend being one at of the top of the grade, you can easily ask him for help. although it’s not as fun as you thought it’d be.
he shrugged when you asked him, but he still agreed.
and now you find yourself in his room, with a very pissed tsukishima sitting before you. sighing every minute like it’s an olympic sport.
you’re staring at his notes like they’re hieroglyphs, nothing registering correctly in your mind.
and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose with sheer annoyance.
‘do you seriously not get it?’ he snaps, making you wince at his fierce tone.
‘it’s too complicated!’ you whine, running your hands through your hair with a groan, tugging on the strands like it’ll help your brain understand everything that’s infront of you.
‘that’s because you keep staring at me instead of the books.’ he sighs, resting his chin on his palm while his eyes are on you, effectively staring at you now, just like you were supposedly doing earlier.
you can’t lie, because you are staring at him.
he looks too good right now, so how could you not?
the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up his arms, showing off his perfectly toned forearms.
his hair is slightly tousled, from him running his hands through his hair too much in the past hour. and his eyes hold this bored look that makes him seem even more attractive.
‘would it help if i wrote everything on my arms? you seem to like staring at those.’ he teases, flexing his arms the slightest bit. he knows exactly what he’s doing.
you mutter something incoherent, probably an excuse of some sort. but the red tips of your ears give it away.
‘cat got your tongue?’ he taunts, and you really want to slap that stupid smirk off his face, but god does he look good.
he’s definitely doing this on purpose.
he knows you suck at studying, he knows you can never keep your eyes off of him, and he knows you’re easy to fluster.
you can’t even focus on studying, not when you started, and especially not right now.
‘just help me study..’ you murmur after a quiet minute, trying to keep your eyes off of him to get yourself in the studying mindest. not in the gutter.
‘i would if you’d stop staring.’ he leans his long arm foward to grab another book, but it’s actually with the intent of his hand brushing against your leg.
‘i hate you,’ you grumble, lips curling into a small pout while you puff out your cheeks. just like a toddler with too much attitude.
‘you don’t stare at someone you hate like they’re a prize.’ he retorts lazily, spinning a pen around his fingers.
you already know it’s going to be a long study session with the way things are going, if he keeps teasing you till bits, there won’t be any studying done.
The apartments quiet, except for the dramatic little “HMPH”s every few seconds or so.
After the millionth one you let out a defeated sigh, turning to face Atsumu, who’s grumpily frowning in bathroom doorway, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
“What’s wrong you big baby?”
His eyes narrow instantly, ugly little scowl on his lips, “Oh, nothin’,” he says flatly, “It’s not like I just found out my girl’s cheatin’ on me with MY TWIN BROTHER”
You snort, rolling your eyes as you go back to fixing your hair, “We’re just going to the farmers market together”
“Yeah, without me”
“I literally asked if you want to go and you said you’d rather die, dumbass”
He pouts at that, grumbles something about Osamu being a traitor and a dumbass, before suddenly pushing himself off the door edge.
He marches his way over to you, confident and fierce. When you glance up at him, you can’t help the little smile that forms.
“What’re you do-“ you can’t even finish your sentence before he’s snatching you up like it’s nothing, hauling you over his shoulders fireman style and running to the couch.
He tosses you down, quickly flopping on top of you so you can’t move. Your laughter fills the room, light and free, and it makes his serious facade fall instantly.
He’s grinning again, brown eyes staring at you with so much love, you kind of wonder where he stores it all.
“Don’t go” he mumbles, though it just sounds like a pathetic whine.
You hum, “He’s already on the way, just come with”
He whines, loud and ugly, then softly drops his head on your shoulder, “OH MYYYY GOOOOOD ya hate me”
“It’s beautiful out!”
He suddenly gives you his most charming smile, “It’s pretty beautiful in here too” he practically purrs.
You laugh, playfully pushing his face away, “You’re such a cornball”
A knock on the door cuts the conversation short. Atsumu lets out the loudest, ugliest whine imaginable before yelling, “Go away! She don’t want ya!”
From the other side, Osamu’s muffled voice fires back instantly, “Well she barely wants ya too, hurry up!”
You burst out laughing again while Atsumu glares at the ceiling like he’s been betrayed by the universe itself.
Then, after a second, he sighs dramatically and finally pushes himself up off you with a loud groan.
“Fine,” he mutters, “But if he tries to hold yer hand at the market, I’m swingin’ on him”
“You’re insane” you say, rolling your eyes again but the amused smile on your lips gives you away.
“What can I say?” he says, leaning down to steal a quick kiss, “I just love my girl”
There’s another knock, much more impatient this time. The blonde rolls his eyes and throws the door open, practically scowling at his brother.
Osamu takes one look at him and snorts, “Fuck’re ya lookin at me like that for?”
“Because she’s replacin’ me with my own twin!”
Osamu blinks. “I literally just want fresh tomatoes?”
You burst out laughing again, and Atsumu lets out an offended scoff that quickly dissolves into laughter too. Osamu just shakes his head at the both of you, grinning.
“C’mon, if all the good veggies are gone I’m gonna be pissed”
Atsumu immediately grins, slipping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side as he falls into step beside you both.
Maybe the farmers market doesn’t sound so bad after all.
like he’s actually, fuck, as soon as they finish up with patrol, or a meeting, or whatever fucking villain attack bullshit, and it’s time to clock out for the day, bro, he’s going homeeeeeee.
immediately. there’s no prattling about, no goodbye small talk, doesn’t matter who he’s on call with, the interns, denki, hell dynamight himself, it doesn’t matter. as soon as it’s time to leave, he’s already got his costume off, big duffel bag slung around his shoulders, waves a quick “later,” from behind, not even looking back, just the hand raised in the air because he’s already racing out the door.
and he’s buzzing!!! the whole drive home, hands tapping the steering wheel, whistling a jolly little tune. he talks out loud to himself as well, chores that need to be done when he gets home, or the ingredients to some something that he saw on his phone while he was on break, that he knows you would love, but he’s not sure if you have all the stuff to make it yet, maybe he should go to the store—
nope! he drives on autopilot, easily flicking the indicator as he turns the last corner onto the street where your house is.
jogs up the front steps, keys jangling, still fucking whistling, my god.
“baaaabe,” he calls, hurriedly toeing off his shoes in the doorway. he kinda trips over himself, his mind moving too fast for his body to catch up.
and next thing you know, he’s sliding on his sockbound feet into your living room where you’re sat on the couch.
you’ve still got your work clothes on, glasses on your head, as you glare down at the blue light of your phone screen with this pinched scowl on your pretty face. feet raised onto the couch, you tucked into the corner.
he breaks out into the biggest fucking cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. all pearly whites and dimpled cheeks.
he drops to his knees right in front of you with a smile and a, “hi, my love.”
you rub at your face with one hand and put your phone down with a sigh. your legs drop to either side of his broad shoulder but you feel the tension release from your body with each second that goes by with him in your presence.
“hey, sweetie,” you say with a tired smile, both hands coming round to grasp each side of his face. your thumb strokes the apples of his cheek, “didn’t see you this morning.”
he sighs too, long, slow, coming straight from the bottom of his spine, “i know. i had a mission briefing early, sucked major ass.”
he peppers your palms with feather light kisses, and closes his eyes with a groan. “missed you so bad.”
“mhmmmm.”
“how’d your meeting go? with that shitty client?”
“tch,” you lightly slap at his face for that remark, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade, “he’s not shitty just, super particular…?”
“right…” hanta makes a face, like he wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t want to give you an excuse to smack him about. instead he kisses at the ring on your left hand, teeny smirk creeping onto his face, “did the geezer take my wife’s offer or not?”
“and they want to me to be project manager— you need to stop.”
he can’t help himself, not when his wife is so smart and beautiful. he’s a simple guy at the end of the day, and he’s so proud of you, and you have the most gorgeous smile on your face, he just has to smear his lips all over you as a thank you for blessing him with the gift of seeing it.
your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your ears, your hair. wherever he can fucking get to. just smooch smooch smooch.
you’d think it was adorable if he smelled nicer.
“yeah, yeah,” you push his face away with palm of your hand, which he takes into both of his own to start placing kisses all up your wrist. “shower first, please.”
pondering being atsumus friend (read: fwb . many benefits.) and after a winning game in hyogo heading to onigiri miya for food cause gah, it's just the best right tsum tsum??? ’specially after setting like that!!! and you get food, enjoy it. love it, even. you do not however expect to end up face to face with atsumu behind the counter— or, no. he's not atsumu, it's his brother, osamu. twins.. right. and eventually you get to talking and it's so easy. so easy in fact that for the entire duration of your visit the two of you talk and talk and talk and he accidentally ignores two customers cause he's so enamored by you.
then there's after. when your bellies are full and your cheeks are warm and your head is.. somewhere else entirely.
and you’re walking with atsumu, still kind of dazed, and finally go, very serious, “i think i’m into your brother.”
and he doesn’t even blink. “yeah, i know.”
“you know?”
“baby, ya was smilin’ at him like he hung the moon.”
“don’t call me baby right now, i’m dealing with something.”
he snorts. “ya got the wrong twin, s’all.”
and maybe you’re expecting awkwardness, a little more pushback from the guy you're actively fucking, but no. he just hooks an arm around your shoulders and draws you in close for half a second, amused as hell as he kisses your hair.
“i’ll set ya up. samu likes nice girls.”
and then later, once it works— because atsumu is nothing if not a man of his word— and osamu’s looking at you all soft and hopeless, atsumu points between the two of you like he deserves a trophy.
“yer welcome, by the way. matchmaker of the year.”
his expression twisted into one of utter confusion, eyes locked on the screen in front of you.
usually, you both went for anything action related on movie nights. this time however, you talked him into watching something romantic.
he, sweetheart that he is, didn’t mind at all, trusting your taste in movies.
which led to him being all cosy and cuddled up with you under a blanket, innocently enjoying the cute and funny moments.
until… the couple eventually started making out hungrily after not having seen each other for weeks.
“they’re kissing.” you mumbled, lips stretching into a smile as you held back a chuckle at his lack of knowledge.
it wasn’t his fault, really. he only started living a normal human life as a half-curse a few months ago, discovering what lovers were and did just recently.
“but they’re not kissing like we do.” he furrowed his brows, tilting his head towards you.
“they’re french kissing.” you corrected.
“the french kiss like that?” his tone turned from puzzled to curious. after all, he wanted to know all about human life.
including different cultures’ kissing styles.
“no- well, yes, but not just the french.” you chuckled, finding moments such as these amusing, yet pretty endearing as well.
“that’s just the name, it’s basically kissing but with tongue.”
that made him hum in acknowledgment, turning his face back to the screen.
“it looks messy.” he didn’t seem to entirely get the appeal of it.
and then they began moaning.
his ears tinged a pink hue almost instantly, recognising those sounds from the more intimate acts humans did.
“are they… having sex?”
god, he was so adorable at times, most times really. actually, all the time.
it made you break out in soft laughter against his chest.
“nooo, they’re just kissing, silly. although they might have sex later.”
the louder growing noises didn’t help his blush at all. it made him feel weird, heat spreading through his body at the thought of you two doing that.
“why don’t we ever… kiss like that?” he asked hesitantly with his gaze still fixed on the movie, unable to meet the sight of your pretty face right now.
that made you cock an eyebrow, mischief on your mind and replying “do you want to?”
“i dunno…”
“oh you do.”
“i don’t even know how to do that.” his eyes finally fell onto yours, all timid and bashful.
“it’s okay, i’ll teach you, cho.” with that you sat up and climbed into his lap as you so often did.
arms slung around his neck and anticipation growing between you both as you stayed this way for a moment.
“so, um- what do i do?” his hands found purchase on your waist, resting there ever so carefully.
“just mimic what i do, yeah?”
he nodded subtly, eyes widening as you leaned down to close the distance between you, lips meeting his before he even got to say anything at all.
it started off like their usual kisses, a prolonged peck where lips just lingered on one another.
and just when he began to believe you might’ve pranked him, your lips shifted against his, moving softly and more insistent now.
he tensed beneath you, a little caught off guard but not pulling away.
it was more clumsy than not at first, how he tried to imitate the way your lips felt on his and it made him let out a quiet whine without even realising.
you smiled faintly into the kiss when you felt his grip on your waist tighten the slightest bit, tilting your head a little to deepen it and slowing down just enough for him to keep up.
and when your lips parted somewhat from his, he almost chased back for more, deciding against it though.
a quiet, shaky breath left him, face warm and crimson tinting it accordingly.
yuji had a problem—his greed was through the roof.
as many kisses, hugs, and gifts you gave him, it was never enough. he loved your undivided attention, and he would do whatever it took to keep it. so, when you were on the phone with kugisaki, expect yuji to be right there with you.
you lie on your side, your phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear, yuji's head on your stomach, his thick arms wrapped around your back. you didn't mind at all, hell, you took the opportunity to play with his hair. he wasn't asleep, just using you as a body pillow.
as the conversation went on, he started getting touchy—he laid kisses on your stomach, as one of his hands moved to grope and squeeze your ass. you were used to that though; but when he started placing wet kisses below your navel, that's when you shot him a soft glare.
"yuji," you whispered, "not now."
he looked up at you blankly, still placing kisses. cheeky. when you removed your hand from his hair, he stopped. he moved up more so his head was in your chest. his hand moving to your hip; rubbing tight circles there. he was trying to break your focus, and it was working a bit.
at some point, you weren't fully registering kugisaki and what she was saying; asking her to repeat things she said because yuji's hands had slipped under your sweatshirt and squeezed your breasts, or it had slid under your pants and started groping you gently.
"yuji."
"what? i wanna touch you."
you sighed softly once more, continuing to let yuji do as he pleased. you had a feeling kugisaki was getting suspicious, but she didn't say anything. she just kept going on about her shopping experience in tokyo.
his kisses trailed up your neck to below your ear, across your jaw, and finally—your lips, cutting you off mid-sentence much to your surprise. the kiss was sweet. everything about yuji was with sweet intention.
when kugisaki noticed you stopped talking and sounded like you were being smothered, her voice rang out over the phone. "itadori!"
he groaned, kissing you harder to drown out her voice. "stop being rude. you're bothering us."
"you're inturrupting our alone time, kugisaki." her voice didn't need to be put on speaker for yuji to hear her; she spoke loud enough.
yuji bit his lip—kugisaki was right, unfortunately. you sat there watching them go back and forth until yuji hung up on her mid-sentence. it was much to your disappointment, not-so-much surprise. "yuji-"
"can i have a kiss?"
you blinked. "i just let you have one."
"yeah, but she interrupted it. therefore it's not an actual kiss."
"that doesn't make sense."
"kiss me."
"do you just want an excuse for a kiss?"
"yes." he hooked your leg around his hip.
"yuji."
he puckered his lips. you roll your eyes and sigh, kissing him like he wanted. he'll always find a way to sabotage you and when it doesn't work in his favor, he'll always find a way to make sure it will. you both know he was too cute to just turn down like that.
