Words Are Hard

moo || surprise, i write sometimes || @/doughnuts-5ever

[mooswords]

Masterlist

✨ - most recent

My Girl series Masterlist - fluff drabbles ✨

Akaashi Keiji Wildflowers - fantasy au

Kuroo Tetsuro <3 Him - f2l Home - red string au Twenty two years and fifteen days - f2l (again)

Miya Atsumu Know him when you see him - spy au ✨

Miya Osamu Colour of my love - colour soulmate au

Oikawa Tooru Love and war - war au

Semi Eita More than enough - musician au

Sugawara Koushi History - royalty au ✨

[itspileofgoodthings]

“There’s another way of reading Anne of Green Gables, and that’s to assume that the true central character is not Anne, but Marilla Cuthbert. Anne herself doesn’t really change throughout the book. She grows taller, her hair turns from ‘carrots’ to ‘a handsome auburn’, her clothes get much prettier, due to the spirit of clothes competition she awakens in Marilla, she talks less, though more thoughtfully, but that’s about it. As she herself says, she’s still the same girl inside. Similarly, Matthew remains Matthew, and Anne’s best chum Diana is equally static. Only Marilla unfolds into something unimaginable to us at the beginning of the book. Her growing love for Anne, and her growing ability to express that love - not Anne’s duckling-to-swan act - is the real magic transformation. Anne is the catalyst who allows the crisp, rigid Marilla to finally express her long-buried softer human emotions. At the beginning of the book, it’s Anne who does all the crying; by the end of it, much of this task has been transferred to Marilla. As Mrs Rachel Lynde says, ‘Marilla Cuthbert has got mellow. That’s what.’”

— Margaret Atwood [x] (via dollsome-does-tumblr)

[hajimio]

kuroo sees you again in a bookstore.

well, not really you. your name. and when he picks up the book—the hardcover—and flips it over in his hands, he sees you. a little professional portrait that you must’ve taken after college, with foliage in the background and your hair framing your cheeks and a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

you’re older. and he is too. he’s stopping in a bookstore after work, christ’s sake, looking for something to remind him of you—a shitty YA book you complained about, a collection of hemingway’s short stories, a book of poems. any of them, anything at all. at twenty-five he still yearns for college, and he hates that more than anything. he shouldn’t want to go back to shitty student apartments in shitty cities with shitty food from half-stocked grocery stores. kuroo’s life is good now, with an apartment that’s too big for one person and recipe books that he’s never opened laying on his counters—

but he wishes anyway. and part of him knows that it’s more the extension of you, and maybe of his youth, than it is of the time itself.

so he looks for reminders of you in every bookstore he enters, and today, just today, he found the most obvious one of all.

poetry section, a poetry collection, a book with scrawling lines over the cover.

you’ve titled it the anatomy of love, and the idea of holding something so close to you, so personal, almost makes kuroo drop it right there. he doesn’t, of course. in fact, he swears he can feel the pads of his fingers pressing a little harder into the cover—as if merely by the pressure, he’ll be able to mimic pieces of you again.

he flips to a random page. it’s a bad habit of his, to never read the beginnings of books when he’s browsing. but the beginning gives away so little, and he’ll forget the details by the time he gets there. you always told him about writing style, about the flow of words and the way a hook can only tell you so much.

so the middle, it is. or rather, page 38. his eyes catch on a stanza, something about frost and the reflection of light and the way eyes disappear with laughter, but it’s the next line that he thinks he could commit to memory if you’d ever ask him to.

what does it mean to love you still?

he could almost laugh.

he knows what it means for him towards you. it’s bookstores and failed dates and relationships that never last longer than five months because something’s always off. it’s chasing after the color of your hair or the scent of your perfume or looking for lavender body wash in every store.

but for you—towards whoever it may be—you say that it’s scrawling words on unsent letters, standing out on parisian balconies and smelling the smoke more than you do the flowers that bloom beneath the railing.

he flips a few more pages deep, maybe just a quarter from the end now. he always knew you’d make it one day, you know. ever since you wrote those damn break-up poems in college, where you’d make him read them and he’d gasp and whine and ask why are you fantasizing about our break-up? and you’d laugh at him every time. back then, it didn’t seem real. none of it did. what was his was yours—you kept his pictures on the fridge with the magnets that your grandmother sent you, and he kept anything of yours just a little beneath his skin; close enough to feel it, to see it, to wear everything that you were proudly against his arms and chest and cheeks and everything in between—and not far enough that he could ever pull it out.

but your poem, of course, back to that, page 96 now, titled kitchen, oh dearest, what have i lost?

he pauses, and for a moment, kuroo wonders if he ever should’ve seen this book in the first place. his eyes flicker down to the first line.

when i was younger,

second.

i laid on the kitchen floor and pretended it was

third.

mine. the tile was dark and cold and it

well, he supposes there’s no stopping himself now, is there?

hurt the tops of my thighs, but i stayed.

there’s another stanza now, kuroo runs his fingers along the end of the page. is this what you did? did you run your fingers along the parchment like you could feel the love from them too?

i do that now, too. 

in another world, that would be your reply. kuroo decided he hated paris about three years ago. he despises it now.

and i ask the echoes of my kitchen, what have i

what have we both, he thinks.

lost? beyond lips and tongues and laughter, what do i lose without

a breath.

him? i hate how sobs hit tile floors.

kuroo closes the book then. he checks the author again, is it really you? a flip to the picture, and there you are still. sobs aren’t exactly something he enjoys picturing in tandem with you. he’s pictured you in a lot of places since he’s left—your apartment, mainly, but maybe the louvre on a good day. on a worse day, on a date, with some french guy that you speak french to and he really hates because he’s french.

he needs to stop going on business trips to paris. one, because paris has never treated him well. two, because he needs to stop looking for you. three, because he knows he never will after reading this.

he looks at the book in his hands again, follows the trace of the illustrations on the cover. for the anatomy of love, he certainly managed to flip to every break-up poem possible. if you were here, he knows you would scold him for trying to separate love and heartbreak, as though the two are any less connected than joy and despair.

he sighs, which makes the teenager standing next to him browsing the other poetry books glare his way, and for a moment, he considers saying shut up, this is my ex-girlfriend’s book that i didn’t know she wrote and i’m trying to figure out if i should buy this or not. so far i’m leaning yes!

he doesn’t. you would probably be embarrassed if he did that, and he’d make fun of you for being embarrassed until you hid your face behind your hands.

kuroo thinks, for a moment, that maybe you’ve placed the love poems at the beginning, so he opens the book again. just the cover, and flips to another page, just a few lines of text lying in the upper half.

for my ex-boyfriend, who i hate that i’m still in love with. all my poems were ever written for you anyway, it only seems right that my first collection be, too. thanks for being my practice all throughout college, big guy.

so, kuroo’s—big guy’s—fate has been decided for him. he leaves the disgruntled teenager in the poetry section, and heads towards the cashier hoping for the quickest check-out experience of his life. he pretends to ignore the way there’s a steady warmth in his chest, pretends to ignore the way his teeth bite into his lips like they’re trying to hold back a smile—even if it’s already there.

and when kuroo walks out of that bookstore, dedicated book in hand, and back onto the street, he doesn’t waste a moment before he pulls his phone out. he knows where your contact is—he hates to say he doesn’t have your number memorized, what a dramatic moment that would’ve made this, right?

but he calls you. in case that wasn’t an obvious enough decision. and he lets it ring. once, twice, thr-

your voice hits his ear. it almost doesn’t sound like you—not with the distance and the crackle of the phone and the way he can hear someone speaking french in the background—but it is. you, that is. it’s the girl he fell in love with sophomore year of college, no matter what way he tries to twist it.

“tetsurou?” you say, and he doesn’t know how to reply. or maybe he does, but it consists of i love you and come home and i promise i make enough for the both of us with a real drawn out please?

he doesn’t say any of that first, though. he shouldn’t come off too strong.

so he settles.

“hi,” he replies.

and you laugh, bright and airy and so not french and so just like college that it hurts.

“hi,” you say.

[calyxso]

•───⋅☾ to my moon. love, the ocean ☽

to my distant lover, the moon

how are you tonight, my love? the night sky is as dark as ever, the stars still send me little winks, all is the same as it has ever been, except for one thing – you don’t seem to shine as bright as you once did.

are you well, my love? i know life has been hard on you, the toll it takes just to exist, and the pain you suffer just to live. life hasn’t been very kind, has it? but you’ve always shouldered through it with grace, and a smile to light up my way.

i’m here for you, my love. i know we’re far, far apart, but i am still here, my whole mind, body and soul belongs to you. i’ll reach out for you, as i do every night. so carry your woes, my love, knowing that i share them with you.

and if you need to shine a little less bright tonight, i’ll be just fine, dear heart. worry not about me, for i’ll still be here, waiting. patience comes easy with you. go sleep, rest your weary head. i’ll see you again.

from your earth-bound lover, the ocean

[loora]

three

“what’s your favourite ice cream?”

pairing — miya atsumu x reader

note(s) — we have left some chapters unplanned so you can submit questions you’d like to see! no nsfw questions, ask politely, submit your questions via an ask

masterlist

It’s not often practice ends early, and Atsumu plans to take advantage of that free time to run around the city with his friends. But as it turns out, everyone had a different idea - they all had their own plans.

It’s fine, he could always just walk around by himself.

A hot, relaxing shower later, Atsumu is ready to get dressed and leave the shared dorm when a hesitant knock on the front door catches his attention. Ah, Shoyou probably forgot his keys again.

He opens the door and to his surprise, it isn’t the orange head he was expecting, but you.

You’re clearly as shocked as he is, and he doesn’t miss your eyes dipping below his chin for a second before darting back up. Atsumu is very conscious of the fact that he is clad in nothing but a towel, standing in front of his ex who he hasn’t seen in years after a messy breakup.

Keep reading

[neoheros]

“you look busy,” kuroo calls out to you, and you look up from your desk to see him leaning on the frame of your office door, and you immediately notice that he’s still in his work clothes.

“oh hey!” you chime, tilting your head with a smile, “what’re you doing here?”

it’s weird for kuroo to come visit your place of work, especially when he’s so busy himself, but it’s not like he’s never been here before, it’s just odd that he didn’t call first.

your eyes dart to your calendar and you clearly see that you didn’t have any particular plans with your husband today, so the question stands — what was he doing here, in your workplace, when he’s obviously still in his shift too?

kuroo shrugs, walking to your table, and he tells you, “i wanted to take you out for lunch.”

so you nod, standing to meet him, and he pulls you in for a quick kiss as a greeting before he lets you go again.

it’s not often you see him around these hours, with the two of you being so busy and all with your jobs, you’ve almost forgotten when’s the last time you both had lunch together.

kuroo pulls back, “are you busy?”

“nope,” you smile, closing your laptop shut, and you say, “you caught me at a perfect time.”

and he grins, “i know - i called your assistant before i came here.”

you raise a brow, smiling, “you couldn’t have called me?”

“well, i wanted it to be a surprise.” he tells you, straightening the way his suit fits him, and it’s one more reason you’re glad to see him today.

you tilt your head, teasing, “oh, you got me a present?”

and kuroo says, “no?”

so you shrug, joking, “then it’s a lame surprise.”

you walk over to his side, glad to see that he came around today, and you tell him this by another kiss on the lips, one that he’s eager to return.

you almost forgot how annoyingly good he looks in his suit and tie, his hair just a bit disheveled but still beaming it’s soft curl, his lanyard falling under his lapel, and the pretty tie that you knotted for him this morning now sitting pretty whilst slightly loosened.

you pull away, voice soft, “i wish you told me you were coming.”

“why?” kuroo grins, liking this small distance he has with you, and he jokes, “so you can tell your other boyfriend to hide in the closet when i arrive?”

you roll your eyes, snorting, “i actually told him to hide under the table.”

and kuroo titters, kissing you again, because he strongly believes that a minute without kissing you — is a minute wasted.

“it’s not easy being your other boyfriend, huh.” he laughs, and he only feels a little bit silly for it.

you nod, agreeing with his jokes, “they gotta be committed.”

and he kisses you again, not for any reason, but only because kuroo likes kissing you.

he steps back, “i’ll go get your coat.”

and you nod, letting him walk to the corner where your coatrack stood, taking this time to grab your bag and other belongings before the two of you go.

“hey kuroo,” you call out to him, fixing the squares of your shirt as you get ready to leave, and your husband looks up at you as he hears your call.

kuroo hums, your coat over his arm, “yeah?”

you ask, “why’re you taking me out for lunch?”

and he shrugs, linking his arm with yours as he walks over to you, and he tells you, a mocking grin on his face, “just because i come home to you everyday, i can’t miss you?”

you snort, and you roll your eyes, “that’s cheesy.”

but it’s good that kuroo caught you at the time that he did, you were booked solid for the rest of the day and for the same reason, you know that his schedule isn’t so generous to him too.

you also know that his lunch break finished at least half an hour ago, so him being next to you right now only meant that he left office hours early to spend some time with you.

he really did miss you.

“you’re cheesy.” you tell him again, this time more affectionately, and you smile when he grins.

kuroo winks, “i can always hide under a table for you, you know.”

and you nudge his side, joking, “stop stealing my other boyfriend’s ideas.”

[mooswords]

It’s all coming back

Pairing: semi eita x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: war au, minor character death (mentioned), angst

Ramblings: i think ive peaked with this fic. i also cried multiple times writing this but like... thats nothing new sklajsdbk. thank you to lyra for beta-ing and yelling about this with me every step of the way <3

---

The summer breeze sweeps through the valley, warm air bringing little relief from the afternoon sun. You can feel the sweat dripping in familiar discomfort down your back as you pull at the weeds invading your struggling potato crop. It’s mind-numbing work, but it has to be done. Anyway, you’re almost-

Your name is yelled, loud and panicked. Tsutomu’s stumbling form is running towards you. 

“There’s a man,” he pants. “There’s a man coming up the hill.”

“Is it Tadashi?”

“I don’t think it’s him. He-” Tsutomu throws a look over his shoulder, like he can see through the house and fences to remind himself what this man looks like. “He’s got a sword I think.”

“A soldier?” you breathe, the stone in your stomach dropping lower. Your shoulder aches. It’s still healing, a lingering reminder that soldiers are nothing but bad news. It’s been nearly a year since the war ended, but they like to ignore that fact. 

Through the summer haze, you can see a blurry figure trudging up the road winding up to the house. Even at this distance, you can tell it’s definitely not Tadashi.

“Kei and Hikota are further out," you tell him, eyes still set on the figure. "Go find them and stay in the barn together until I come and get you, OK?”

“But-”

“Tsutomu. Go.”

The mystery figure is nearly at the house by the time you make it out the front door, shotgun in hand. Now you're closer you can see the ash-grey hair, the sword swinging at his hip. At this distance, you can also see the nervous smile on his face. Reluctantly, you lean the shotgun against the door jam.

He stops a few respectful paces away, and you let your eyes flit over him scornfully. “You’ve got guts, showing up here again.”

Semi winces. He knew not to expect a warm welcome, especially with how he left, but he hadn’t expected this. You don’t look the same as he remembers - more worn, more beaten down by the ebb and flow of life than he had hoped. There is a new assertiveness that you wear, still a few sizes too big for you to fill out properly but nonetheless folding strong and confident across your shoulders. It speaks to many years alone, being forced to grow up too quickly. 

He supposes that’s partially his fault though.

“What do you want?” you ask, chin tilted up. Defiant as always. He’s glad that hasn’t changed.

“I’m… the war’s over. I came home.”

“Home?” You sound incredulous, a mocking edge to your voice.

“Yes,” Semi says, uncertainty beginning to cloud his words. “To you.”

You scoff. It seems the years have gifted you with a certain bitterness; he can not fault you for it, but it still grates at his rose-tinted memories. You were never a particularly joyful child - joy wasn’t a luxury people like you and he could afford - but there was a hope he remembered, a desperate spark that you’d imbue into the stories you’d tell the younger kids. The woman in front of him today deals only in blunt, unsavoury realities.

“Home to me,” you repeat, nodding slowly. Your tone is less than impressed. “Tell me-” you cock your head, contempt in every move, “since when do you leave your home without even a goodbye?”

You can see the confusion in the furrow of his brow. How could he not know? 

“I’m sorry, I-” he shifts, looking less like a war-hardened soldier and more like the lanky 17-year-old you knew all those years ago. “I wasn't brave enough.”

“And yet you were brave enough to go fight in a war that's stretched on for years.” You bite your tongue, frustration welling up because you want to hug him forever but you also can’t let yourself slip up. He’s a soldier. He left. You have the younger kids to think about too, and you aren’t going to let him come in and destroy this family you have fought tooth and nail for. 

“You seem like you’re doing OK now.”

“Yeah, now,” you bite back. “I’m doing OK now because I survived long enough to get out of the city walls. Barely. You can’t just waltz back in here like you never left.”

“I had to go, they needed me.”

“They needed you?! What about Tsutomu?” 

He looks sheepish at that. Maybe you're finally getting through to him.

“He had you?” he tries.

Then again, how could he know? He may have seen horrors fighting for six long years, but Semi left before the city really began to fall apart. You have survived your own nightmares. Humanity is capable of more atrocities than just war. 

“Of course he had me, I wasn't going to abandon him after his own brother did.” It's a low blow, but you can't find it in yourself to care. “But that doesn’t erase the fact I was one girl! I was struggling to feed my own siblings let alone yours! Do you think young girls can find work in the city? Do you think I could protect all of the kids?” 

You’re shaking now, animated in your fury, and the words are pouring out faster and more uncontrolled than you had imagined. You have had six years to think of what you would say to Semi if he ever came home, but right now you can't remember a word of the carefully scathing speeches you had drafted in those long nights. This is far less elegant, nothing more than the messy sum of repressed emotions and long-forgotten promises.

“You left! When I needed you! You left me alone, just to-” you angrily smear your tears, jaw clenching, “-to go fight in some stupid war they already had thousands of men to fight.”

“You had the others, and I couldn’t just-”

The door behind you creaks.

“Go back to your siblings, Kei,” you say, not turning.

Semi’s eyes are pulled to the proud arch of a young boy’s head. For someone with dirt smeared across his cheek and a sun-bleached shirt, the kid holds himself with something akin to royal grace. Semi would be impressed if he didn’t recognise the faux bravado as the carefully cultivated shield it is. He used to wear the same brand of armour.

“You sure?” the boy asks, a well-worn aloofness in his tone that that shouldn’t belong to someone still so young. If life hasn’t been kind to you, it has been rougher for this kid.

“I’m sure.” You turn, finally, and Semi catches the edge of your smile. He wonders if it still pulls higher on one side like it used to. He wonders if you still remember that secret handshake you made him learn all those years ago, if you still love the sunflowers that used to grow in the upper circles of the city, if you still get that faraway look in your eye when you get lost in the labyrinth of your own mind.

It’s jarring, Semi thinks as he watches the final nasty look thrown his way before the boy disappears back into the doorway. The image these memories paint is so out of sync with the woman he sees before him now, and no amount of reminiscing will bring them back together.

“So… who’s he?”

Impassiveness slides back over your face, the momentary softness slipping out of sight. “His family has also been torn away by this war. We stick together because we have no one else. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Come on, please,” Semi starts. This is not how he expected this reunion to go. He takes a tentative step forward. “I know you’re angry, but I truly never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you and the kids safe.”

You don’t shake off his careful hand on your shoulder; you’re not sure you could. The fight is draining from your body, and as the anger recedes, you start to see him come into focus. The dusty bandage wrapped around his hand, the lines running deep around his eyes. Maybe you had survived your own nightmares, but you were a fool to think that made his any lighter.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing closer. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen to you, but I’d do it again. I’m sorry I had to leave you and the kids, but I don’t regret going to fight.”

“And I don’t hate you for wanting to fight,” you relent, finally meeting his eyes. They’re sadder now, yet he can’t help feel relieved that the animosity has drained away. 

You shrug, pained smile stuck awkwardly on your face. “But you still left us.”

Somehow, the lack of anger makes your words cut deeper. They have lost their accusing edge, replaced with a blunt resignation that makes his heartache. There’s resentment rallying in his stomach against your disappointment, and it mixes unpleasantly with the hope he had walked up to you with. 

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” He can hear the annoyance leaking through, and from the line of tension that returns to your shoulders, so do you.

There’s a long moment, full of memories and chances long lost to history, where all you can feel is the inevitable beginnings of a new battle. The lamentable reality is that you were never taught how to back down from a challenge; to do so would just send you reeling back down to the bottom of the hard-won steps you had already taken. But haven’t you fought enough? Haven’t you fought your past enough, must you now fight him too? 

“You can say sorry all you like, it doesn’t change the past.” Your voice comes out more resigned, less annoyed than you had wanted. 

“Why are you so set on the past?” he demands, frustration tearing through the thin blanket of peace that had settled. “I’m here now, trying to make amends and you-”

“I don’t care what’s happening now, I want answers for what happened back then! Why didn’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trusted you, I- I just…” he throws his hands up, pacing a few steps away. “It was something I needed to do. Talking to you wasn’t going to change that.”

“Oh, so I didn’t matter then?” you say, lips pressed together painfully. It’s a wet anger; blurry eyes and choked voice. You had stared down more fearsome men than Semi Eita without a tremble, but his long-forgotten familiarity somehow makes this so much harder. “My opinion didn’t matter, my life didn’t-”

“Don’t be stupid, of course you mattered! Why do you think I left, huh? You and Tsutomu matter more than anything else-”

“Well that’s not what it seemed like to me and Tsutomu!” you yell back, sick to your stomach. “One day you were here, and the next you were gone! No warning, no nothing! Tsutomu was ten, Semi. TEN.” 

He hadn’t been there to see the pieces of your life shatter apart, to see Tsutomu look so confused, to hear him ask, so quiet and ashamed, if it was his fault his brother left. He hadn’t been there to see you patch your family back together with tape you couldn’t even afford and promises you literally bled to uphold.

“I was fighting to protect you-”

“You left us for dead.”

“You would be dead if they had reached the city! What was I supposed to do? Sit back and let others die for me while I did nothing?”

You huff, dragging a hand over your eyes. Your shoulder aches. “So you thought the military needed one extra person? One extra body, that’s all it took to win the war?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he groans.

“Do I?” you fire back, leaning forward into his personal space. “Do I know? Because I was of the understanding we were a team, and then you left without a word!”

He can tell from your face you are just as frustrated at this conversation going in circles as he is. And he knows you have a point - he did leave without saying anything, and it’s a guilt that still weighs on him. But in his core, he knows he is right too. Why shouldn’t he want to defend his home? Why shouldn’t he have gone? 

“I did what I had to protect you and the kids.” His voice drops into a low anger that holds more fury than any scream could. “I’m not going to apologise for wanting to protect what I love, no matter if you appreciate it or not.”

Your eyes dart between his, narrowed and searching. There’s definitely more underlying those words, years of unspoken almosts that had to be forgotten. Even just saying that much dredges up old memories he thought long gone, lost to time and unfortunate circumstance. 

“I’d appreciate not being left alone to feed-”

“Stop being dramatic, you weren’t alone. The kids are smart, and W-”

“They were literally kids!" you flare, tongue cutting with scorn sharper than any blade he's faced. "What, you wanted me to let Yachi go work in the factories? Let Tsutomu go fight in the pits? We both know that would have been a death sentence.”

“You had Wakatoshi, and-”

“Wakatoshi died!” 

Semi has been stabbed before. It’s a strange sensation; if there’s enough adrenalin flooding your veins, it almost feels like nothing more than a poke. But slowly, a creeping realization will set in as the wetness of your shirt becomes too much to ignore and your eyes are drawn irrevocably down. It’s only then the pain will hit you.

This doesn’t feel like that. This is immediate pain, your words splattering sharp and bright across his chest. He stutters back a step, breaths coming in short and shallow bursts.

“What… who...”

Your lips are pressed together, face turned away from him. The breath you pull in is shaky, and when you meet his eyes, they’re apologetic and guilty.

“The… the town guard caught Tsutomu trying to pocket medicine for me, and they were going to take him but Wakatoshi stepped in and it all happened so fast I…” a breathy sigh escapes you, right on the cusp of a sob. “I’m so sorry Eita, I didn’t mean to tell you like that.”

“It’s-”

It’s not OK. Wakatoshi has been a reliable fixture in Semi’s life for years, unshakable through everything. His certainty was something Semi had always admired. And despite his severity, there was a gentleness to his composure - lifting the kids up onto his shoulders during the rare parades or quietly teaching them how to play knucklebones. It’s unthinkable, for Semi to have survived this war but Wakatoshi to not.

“I’m OK,” he says. 

The quiet hand you lay on his arm doesn’t help, only serving to remind him that you lost Wakatoshi too. And maybe he lost you a long time ago too. Just one more thing to add to the never-ending list of all he’s lost to this war.

Semi can only laugh, a bitter, broken sound that echoes in his own ears. It’s an ugly thing; to fight and bleed and sacrifice for a country that has never done anything for you, only to come home and be slapped with everything else that’s slipped away in the process. Of course his selflessness would be repaid in frayed relationships and lost friends.

“I’m OK,” he repeats, because he needs it to be true this time.

“Are you?” you ask, concern slipping in under the blunt question. He wants to laugh again. You always have asked the hard questions. 

Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, palm rough but touch gentle against his skin, and he leans into it rather than answer. With his eyes closed, for just this moment, he can almost believe reality isn’t quite as bleak as it actually is. 

When he opens them your head is tilted, looking up at him with exhausted but understanding eyes. Sighing, your head falls forward to knock against his chest. You shoulders slump, and he slowly reaches around to grasp the back of your shirt. It’s still messy between you, and he knows this is only the beginning of a long road back to the trust you shared before. 

Yet as your arms come up to wrap around him too, he thinks maybe there’s hope for him. 

“I missed you,” you whisper into his shirt.

Maybe even hope for you and him. It might not ever be the same, but that is a battle to be faced later. 

For now, he finally lets the tears come. For Wakatoshi. For everything he went through, for everything he put you and Tsutomu through. For the simple relief of not having to fight anymore.

He feels your arms tighten around his waist. 

“It’s OK,” you tell him, and he thinks, someday, he might just believe you.

[loora]

two

"how are you?"

pairing — miya atsumu x reader

note(s) — we have left some chapters unplanned so you can submit questions you’d like to see! no nsfw questions, ask politely, submit your questions via an ask

masterlist

How on earth you ended up next to him in a party packed with other people was beyond you. But the jet-lag was seriously starting to catch up with you, and you had assumed the back corner would be reliably safe.

It seems fate has other plans today.

"So… how are you?"

There are a thousand questions in those three small words, and you aren't sure which one to start with. You can't quite read his tone. It's too cold to be polite, but you have not been able to forget him enough to miss the veiled intensity bubbling below.

"Good." It's a cop-out answer. You're too tired to play his mind games tonight. "Excited for the upcoming season."

His mouth quirks at that. There's a tangible relief that has no right to blossom in your chest at that; he hasn't lost that cheeky edge to his smile.

(You very deliberately decide to not pursue that idea any further. Those sort of thoughts belong in the past.)

"You know what? So am I," he says. Through your sleep-addled brain, you can hear the challenge. "I look forward to beating your team once again, sweetheart."

His head tilts, aggravatingly condescending. "It'll be just like old times."

He hasn't even tried to veil it this time. Forget nice, forget uneasy truces. You narrow your eyes and let your own self-satisfied smile grow. "Ah, Miya," you drawl, looking up at him through your lashes. "You forget."

His eyes turn wary. There might be fondness lingering in the dark recesses of your mind, but residual hurt is sparking the flame of familiar competition in your chest and there's no holding you back now.

The music booms and the crowd cheers, but his eyes don't leave yours for a moment as you grin.

"Who needs memories?"

[loora]

one

“what are you doing here?”

pairing — miya atsumu x reader

note(s) — we have left some chapters unplanned so you can submit questions you’d like to see! no nsfw questions, ask politely, submit your questions via an ask

masterlist

Five years had passed and Tokyo still remains the same bustling mess of cars and people you had known it to be, albeit a little older, a little more worn.

Much like you were, if you were being honest with yourself.

The years had been filled with plenty of sight-seeing, life taking you abroad to countries you’ve only heard and seen about on television. You can’t quite say you hated it, not when you got to witness just how much life had to offer outside of your little bubble of downtown Tokyo - people of all ethnicities, and food from all cultures. There wasn’t a thing you wanted to miss out on, and there were still a million things you wanted to experience.

Still, coming home was a feeling like no other.

“Hey! Over here!”

Turning into the direction of the yelling, you were met with a shock of orange hair, a mass colliding into you. They send you tumbling into the ground with loud yells, and despite the pain coursing through your body, a wide grin spreads across your face.

Keep reading

[mooswords]

hello, before I follow do you have a dni that you would like ppl to read?

yo thanks for asking! I guess please be aware I am a legal adult in all corners of the world but I have no specific dni requests :)

[mooswords]

MOO!! HELLO!! I hope you're doing well & have been taking care :)) - if you will allow me a small flurry of asks about your newest fic-

hi cassie! im doin ok, just busy :'))) but im doing better with all these asks! u are too sweet <3

"The bar is hazy; lavish and warm, the very picture of elegance." Moo your spy bar was described using such good imagery!! (it's the new coffee shop au >:)) your description of the reader talking with the bartender and carefully crafting how their interaction played out was so well written- y/n was calculated and the voice of this fic gave a really engaging portrayal of your plot!! (which was well crafted and engaging and I GASPED at "And then, cold against your back, the barrel of a gun.")

there's just too many nice things in this message please... i always struggle with white room syndrome so I'm so GLAD I fixed that a bit! PROGRESS BABEYYY 🥳 and its so cool to hear you actually gasped adslbhksdhk i found it hard to build tension with just words and still make it cinematic... no music, no camera shots... it was fun to figure out! so im very satisfied that i was able to surprise you ;)

"Carefully, you lay the first stroke of ink that only he should recognise." and "You both take a moment to inspect the recognition, checking the authenticity of the piece before you." THE CONTINUITY OF YOUR CANVAS METAPHOR- this reminded me of people examining paintings to see if they're counterfeit and atsumu and the reader's interactions are such a good mix of sly and precise- I really do feel that they're sizing each other up!!

hehehe that is exactly what i was thinking about writing that part!! this kinda dynamic is exactly what i love most about spy aus, its just so juicy 👀

AAH- and you portray atsumu so well with his roguish smile and even his walk- this has defined spy atsumu for me thank you and goodnight 😌😌- "A little too perfect if you were going to be critical, but you have a feeling that’s his style - perfection that demands to be admired." THAT REALLY IS HIS STYLE!! THIS IS SO!! PERFECTION THAT DEMANDS TO BE ADMIRED *IS* ATSUMU!! in summary: words are hard, but moo, you are wonderful with them!!

the way u picked up one of my favourite lines in this 😍 he's such a complex character and i definitely didn't get him fully in this. I'm an osamu girl through and through but oof... ngl i fell for atsumu a bit writing this. he's dangerous like that 😩

thank u again cassie <3 these made my day

[mooswords]

this is ava. the self-proclaimed number x fan of akaashi keiji and i ABSOLUTELY ADORED UR FIC OF HIM IN UR MY GIRL SERIES!!! it’s been hard to catch up with how busy life is getting, but ur fic was so short and sweet... MAN. IT’S AMAZING and a great “snack” to counter the drain of. it was so short but there was SO MUCH EMOTION. i got the fluffies. just the idea that the akaashi keiji — who’s seemingly always aware of his surroundings — daydreaming when in love?? MUAH. I LOVE IT.

AVA! i was literally just thinking how i hadnt heard from u for ages the other day lol u have impeccable timing <3 i know I got akaashi right when his #1 fan likes it ;) this song felt right for him but i was a bit unsure if this scenario was in character for him! so this is so lovely to hear!!

also, smething really beautiful was the scene where he imagined reader so caught up in the butterfly perched on her finger that she’s unaware of the other makes me cLENCH my heart. not only is it visually pleasing to imagine (the LIGHTING, ATMOSPHERE, CMAERA ANGLES...) but it also just encapsulates the yEARNING. and all these scenarios really show how he views the reader; AT THE END, where he says reality is the best, it HIT MY HEART because it feels like he can view reader 100 times but still

admire reader for who she truly is or the “reality” of her SKDJSK do i make sense 😩 i miss ur concise and beautiful writing but this essay will not write itself 💀 - ava

yeA YOU MAKE SENSE oof i cant tell you how good it feels when i hear you pick up exactly what I'm putting down. both in my trying to be cinematic and vivid in my writing and conveying that exact vibe you mentioned... he can dream of all these scenarios but in the end, its not the situation he loves its her :') <3 why is he so perfect

[mooswords]

Know him when you see him

Pairing: miya atsumu x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: spy au, atsumu is attractive and he knows it

Ramblings: this was meant to be a short piece to practice writing metaphores and then somehow it ended up a full fic? and i lowkey love it? oops

---

They don’t realize how much of an art it is - concealing the everything of what you are and becoming something, someone completely new. 

You can paint over an image a hundred times, but the original will always poke through. Somehow, somewhere, if you don’t handle yourself with care, chips of vermillion and kohl will fall away to reveal the canvas underneath. 

And the only way to stop your carefully crafted picture from fading is to add more layers, so you thicken the colour of your accent, add an extra layer of velvet under your words, spread a bright shade of allure onto your lips. Because to walk into the White Eagle anything less than a perfectly crafted masterpiece is asking for trouble.

Not to say you weren’t looking for a specific kind of trouble tonight.

(“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him,” Osamu said, lazy eyes glinting with amusement. You had turned to eye Kita, questioning if you really had to take vague orders from the cook of all people.

He has the decency to look apologetic. “Standard protocol for contacting deep cover agents. You know we can’t give you a specific description.”)

The bar is hazy; lavish and warm, the very picture of elegance. Sharply dressed people duck into curtained alcoves, ice clinks in nursed drinks. The woman in the corner of the room curls around a microphone, her low crooning innocently covering the casual threats slipped between wisps of smoke. Someday you'll come back for the blood money being exchanged under the table, but tonight you start your search where every good mission starts. 

The ashy haired bartender leans across the bar towards you, resting casually on his elbows. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm...” You tuck a carefully manicured hand under your chin. “Something sweet tonight, I think.”

It’s strange, watching this lethal man pour your drink with such delicate care. Idly, you wonder if his work with a sniper rifle is just as captivating. There is a hint of flair in his fluid movements that is entrancing, a performance you can well appreciate. Your own art is similar, a careful dance between too many bold strokes and too little detail - adding enough colour to leave an impression, to draw the eye, but never letting yourself come too sharply into focus. 

When he sets the glass on the bar, you create a tantalizing moment of brushing fingers, dusting rose pink over your cheeks. He grins across at you, and you swivel on the stool before he gets too close.

Quietly, you survey the gallery of men laid before you. There’s a solemn man in the corner, his dark quietness offset by the bright splash next to him who lounges with feet propped on a lacquered table; a quiet, dispassionate-looking boy with a fresh scar tearing through his face and hair hanging over his eyes. All eye-catching for sure, but they don’t quite fit the description. And the-

Your eyes meet across the smoky room and oh, this is what they meant by you’ll know him when you see him. You had expected trouble. You hadn’t prepared for bleach-blond hair and a lazy, all too familiar glint in all too familiar eyes.

He meanders over, brazenly eyeing you up and down. You entered tonight with a full coat of armour, but you can feel his raking gaze stripping the paint back, layer by layer.

A hand is presented to you. Arching an eyebrow, all you offer him in return is an amused look.

“C’mon.” His grin is roguish. “What’s the point of lookin’ that good if you can’t be shown off?”

(The true masters know how to blur the line between realism and fantasy; you wonder how many layers deep he had to thicken that smile to make it bleed such confidence. You wonder if he even remembers what his canvas looks like, untouched by false colour.)

“And what makes you think you’re the right person to do so?” You ask coyly, even as you slip your hand into his.

He winks. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

The dance floor is empty as you sculpt yourself against him, following the line of his shoulder a shade tighter than you may have otherwise. Draping an arm around his shoulders, you sweep a soft exhale across the juncture of his neck; just to see what he’ll do. 

The arm on your waist tightens, and you smother your smile into his chest.

“Careful, doll. I might think you’re only here for my good looks.” 

“Perhaps I am.” Carefully, you lay the first stroke of ink that only he should recognise. “Though, I have to admit - I’m not sure about the blonde.”

“What you got against my hair, huh?”

“Not really your colour,” you tell him, streaking a dusky look up at him through your lashes. “Dye your hair grey and maybe we can talk.” 

He returns the look, a hint of reproach and his own shade of intelligence mixed in. “Ahh, and here I was thinking you were a woman of taste.”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” you ask in mock-reproach, tapping a finger against his shoulder, “but it's the other one that knows about taste, right?” 

You both take a moment to inspect the recognition, checking the authenticity of the piece before you. There’s mutual acknowledgement in the press of your cheek against his dark suit, in the squeeze of his hand around yours as he dips his head next to yours.

Enamoured as you are by the graze of lips against your ear, you almost miss the first number he murmurs. But you are a professional, so you brush black over the sensation and print the digits into your memory. If you were to hazard a guess, they’re probably coordinates and a time, but Kita never specified and you never asked. 

Really, you’re more intrigued by the man in front of you. He’s a mess of clashing colours seamlessly blended into a living sculpture of sly charm and sharp eyes. A different breed to the Shiratorizawa strength to be sure, but he weaves his contrast in among them like his organic nature has always matched with their regimented style. 

And then, cold against your back, the barrel of a gun. 

“Turn around. Slowly,” the measured voice behind you instructs.

His eyes are wiped spotless in a heartbeat, a perfectly depicted image of shock. A little too perfect if you were going to be critical, but you have a feeling that’s his style - perfection that demands to be admired.

His eyes duck down, barely a flicker, and you almost laugh. It’s cute that he thinks you needed a hint to where his gun is, like you didn’t know the moment you laid hands on him.

All it takes is one clean movement to rip away your carefully crafted layers of guile. You sweep the gun from inside his jacket and whirl around with it pressed to his head. He stiffens against you, and you wonder if he really is surprised this time or just playing the part.

“No-one move,” you tell the room cooly.

“What makes you think he can get you out of here alive?” Mr dark-and-quiet asks.

“Well, you haven’t shot me yet,” you drawl, beginning to back away towards the door with him still pressed into your arms. “So I’m just gonna assume he isn’t disposable.”

You leave a trail of narrowed eyes and pressed lips in your wake. The red head looks especially antsy, you note with a touch of satisfaction, though at this point it doesn't seem like you're going to live to tell the tale. 

You are all too aware that your control of the room is fraying at the edges, unravelling with every move you make in their sights. There is a certain thrill that comes in these moments, in finding a way to twist the loose ends back into an advantage, but-

A bullet zips past your cheek. 

-rope burn is always an occupational hazard.

The room shatters, and you dive out the door with a snap of silk skirts. He is right there by you, pulling you up by the elbow as the night explodes with revving cars and blinding sparks that skitter across black tar.

You can't find it in yourself to be too disappointed. You may be a master of your performance, a flawlessly choreographed ballet, but you can't deny that improvising is so much more fun. The addition of him - cut from the same cloth as you were, the same medium just in a different colour - only expands your canvas of possibilities. 

"What’s the plan?” he calls, nothing more than a blur in your periphery as you streak along the street. His gold frame may be gone, unnecessary now the audience refuses to be blinded by his glitter, but you admire how he still moves in the same perfect lines.

“Don’t know yet," you yell back. He scoffs, and you flick him a grin drenched in adrenaline. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart" you tell him, watching your glee splatter against his unconvinced look. "I’ll know it when I see it."

[mooswords]

SPY AU OMF WHO'S IT GOING TO FEATURE

[msybookclub]

𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤

this week, we’re recommending our favourite karasuno fics! as always, let us know if you don’t want to be tagged or if you don’t want your fic to be here!

title: history

author: @mooswords

summary: author didn’t provide a summary

review: prince sugawara oh my god?? though this fic is succinct, it is a solid one! prince suga is such a beautiful concept and with a forbidden love au too? omg. he’s resolute and romantic and dashing and in love and all the wonderful things about suga are encapsulated so excellently here! 

title: jump serve

author: @fukurodaze

summary: tsukishima kei gets nervous. well, no shit, of course he gets nervous.

review: this fic is frankly adorable. tsukishima is soft and sweet and nervous here, while maintaining his classic tsukki flavour- slightly snippy, sharp and rational. a short and cute work about tsukki’s softer and more insecure side, and a really sweet moment between him and the reader <3

title: when the crows jumped over the moon

author: @lavendori​

summary: During practice one day, Yachi points out to the entire team that Tsukishima’s birthday is coming up in a week. Since then, Tsukishima’s life has known no peace.

review: if you’re ever looking to assuage your craving for Karasuno first year shenanigans, look no further. this fic is chock full of fluffy, humourous goodness. a fantastically well written piece with tsukishima at the heart of it, with the craziness of the rest of the Karasuno team as the supporting cast. though i’ve only linked the first part here, do read the rest of it on ao3, i promise it’s a treat!

title: Heart in Palm; 手掌心

author: @w-yuren​

summary: grey day, rainy day. you wait for daichi to go home together.

review: not many fics feature daichi sawamura, but this fic manages to capture the essence of his character perfectly in the line “the stern simplicity and transparent tenderness that ran parallel to each other in his words”. a lovely bit of fluff that feels grounded in its quiet sentimentality while echoing the innocence of high school romance. 

title i know

author: @eightonenine​

summary: after an argument, tsukki apologizes. kinda. not really, but it’s something. 

review: its difficult finding a piece that finds the right balance between tsukishima’s snarkiness and hidden emotional core, but this fic manages it brilliantly. it’s a simple premise - tsukki and the reader resolving an argument over a phone conversation, but the way the dialogue between tsukki and the reader is written is heartfelt yet teasing and oh-so-real. 

[mooswords]

hi!! literally just found your blog and had to stalk through all of your works bc your aus are INSANELY GOOD there's literally not one that doesn't hit

This was such a good message to wake up to oof thank you so much 😍😍😍 I'm so happy you liked them! aus are just too much fun to write hehehe

[mooswords]

History

Pairing: sugawara koushi x reader

Word count: 800

Tags: royalty au, forbidden love

Ramblings: part of the infinity and beyond collab! i chose gemini because the idea of two people refusing to be separated by anything, including death, was just too juicy to pass up

---

Ji is old. Older than she likes to remember. Old enough to feel winter in her joints before the trees in the castle courtyard have finished shedding their leaves. Old enough to have made peace with the regrets of her life.

(Or perhaps just too old to pay attention to the ache that comes with the memories. It's hard to tell these days.)

But never in her life has she seen surety like what she sees before her.

Koushi - her sweet, clever boy. Her favourite grandchild, though she'd never admit it - stands steady before his parent's towering thrones with a faint smile. He has no more bargaining chips to play with. He has laid everything he is bare on the table, ripe for the taking. And yet he stands, so small under the soaring ceiling of the throne room with a smile flickering at the corners of his eyes, unwavering.

"Absolutely not." The king looks wholly unimpressed. "Marry a baker's daughter? Really Koushi, I thought we taught you better than this."

"You have taught me a lot," he replies steadily, "more than you may have intended to."

Ji doesn't miss the sly undertone of bitterness. She too has seen the recoiled touches between king and queen, heard the arguments through the thick stone walls. Theirs was never a marriage of love; not out of need, not out of resignation. It was just... what was done. What else was there to life except to secure an advantageous marriage and plan the next ball?

You duck a look up at Koushi in the intruding silence and the smile he returns holds the promise of something lighter. A marriage of shared burdens and stolen days in the sun and linked fingers under the table.

(Things she once had. Things she could have had, if she too hadn't chosen to bow to the years of history behind her. Ji may be older than she wants to remember, but there are just some people you can never forget.)

"Mother, please." The king turns to Ji, exasperation clear in his tone. "Talk some sense into him."

Ji considers her options before pushing herself up from her chair with a grunt, waving off her lady-in-waiting. She settles in front of you, folding her hands atop her walking stick. Your hand tightens in Koushi's even as you meet her gaze softly, honestly.

"Do you love him?" Ji asks.

You smile at that. "I'd choose him if he was the son of the King and I'd choose him if he had not a cent to his name."

Ji nods, and for a moment, you almost think you see approval in her eyes before she shifts her gaze.

"Koushi." His face relaxes minutely at her quiet tone. "Talk to me."

He gapes, eyes searching the room for words. When he looks back, they are certain and clear.

"I love her."

If the court was not hushed already, that statement would have brought ear-splitting silence. She knows better than anyone how Koushi can be a man of many words if he chooses, but there is something in his brevity that speaks volumes in this moment.

Ji smiles. "Then who am I to stop you?"

You look surprised. Everyone does, but his is coloured with quick understanding. She suspects that he read between the lines of her wistful stories just as he did with his parent's tension-filled dinners.

Koushi presses a kiss to her forehead. She pats his cheek. "Be good to her," she warns him fondly.

"Always," he promises, looking down at you. If she was not convinced before, the warmth on your face would have. This is a love worth protecting.

There is something so simply beautiful about the whole scene. The two of you, the quiet eye of a screaming, incredulous storm around you. It's almost like those tales of old, born from the musings of long-forgotten men and women just trying to understand their place in the world.

But you are not a fairytale of fated love. There's too much purpose as the two of you walk out, even as sound fills the echoing chamber behind you. This can not simply be fate, this is choice. This is an act not absent of fear, but with the undeniable balm of a love worthy of defiance.

Star-kissed lovers perhaps. A story that can be passed down as a reminder, a guiding light to others who will face the same diverting paths. A reminder that history is to be learned from, not simply followed without question or thought.

Ji herself has led an unremarkable life. She has not done anything so grand to be deserving of being remembered, but if her history can become but a twinkle in the eye of her beloved Koushi, who chose love in a way she never found the courage to, she will be content.

Stories like these are worth immortalising in the stars.