HI… THANK YOU!! im glad something i wrote on a whim could be enjoyed! (plus i didn’t know people like karasu so much LOL) will these 2 posts be the end of it? who knows, but i make no promises to continue 😟
YO HIORI — gender neutral reader, fluff with a SMALL PINCH of sadness.
yo hiori doesn’t like the idea of you expecting him to be a man from your imaginations. he doesn’t mind meeting your expectations, everyone in a relationship has them after all, but he’s able to let himself be with you ‘cause he knows you wouldn’t change him for the world.
yo hiori loves you, and he knows you love him too. he knows you love him for what he is now; himself. not what he could be.
though sometimes he catches himself subconsciously trying to please you, to be a version of himself he thinks you might prefer. you never ask for that—you don’t even think it, it’s a one sided thought that only occurs on his end of the line.
“hiori—” you gasp, it being an in between of a surprised yelp yet also a call of his name.
it’s not a special day of any sort, simply another one of your dates that you occasionally have amidst the business of blue locks schedule. but he’s caught you in a trance, surprising you with a handful of flowers. he smiles nervously.
“just thought ya deserve a little surprise. hope ya like it” he smiles, cheeks pink, eyes bright and blue. he shines, really shines. your wonderful boyfriend who you adore inside and outside.
no words are worth speaking, none can even begin to describe how much you love him. so instead you hug him in one swift motion, so fast that you almost crush the flowers—so tight that you almost crush him too.
“you’re trying to impress me, aren’t you?” you mumble into his shoulder, a whiff of his perfume makes way to your nose as you take a breath. he smells fresh, almost like the ocean.
he hears your words, even if they sound muffled. “no” he says calmly, then he shifts a little with a small sigh “maybe” and you can only giggle at that.
“i told you this already, i never expect anything grand from you. but of course i appreciate the thought nonetheless. i love you, i love everything you offer” you shut your eyes, enjoying the embrace, his warmth.
you feel him relaxing beneath you, almost like an exhaled breath. he dips his head onto your shoulder, his hand that holds the flower drops down gently as his free one wraps around your waist.
“well,” he speaks up, a whisper that directly makes way to your ear “would you say you’re impressed anyway?” and you smile into his shoulder.
“of course. you always impress me, yo” and from your words, his worries always melt away, almost as if they were never there. you pull away, staring into his eyes with the smile that hasn’t left your face. “thank you”
he smiles in return. “ ‘course, anything for my darlin’ ” with a quick kiss that he lands on your lips, the date has officially started. he holds your hand when he pulls away. “so, should we finally go eat now?”
HIS PRINCESS — KARASU TABITO. gender neutral reader, cw feminine petname (princess) & suggestive WOW! he’s canonically 18 um i made you & him early college students for the sake of comfort…
PART ONE. i like l this prompt too much.Help me. also i simply wasn’t too satisfied with the first one anyway im so sorry if he’s ooc im being self indulgent
your boyfriend knows how to be confident and cocky in front of other people. he doesn’t back down, he pulls up a mean tone, and he sure as hell isn’t all sappy with others.
well… all of that doesn’t apply to you, of course.
“princess…” he whines ever so slightly to the crook of your neck where he continuously places kisses on. “pay attention to me, would ya? ya have a fine man all over ya, yet decided a book is better?” he says it like it’s an offense and you can hear him frown.
karasu has you comfortably sat in between his legs. he leans back on a pillow while you lean against his chest with his arms wrapped around your torso. your legs are crossed as his gate around yours and hidden beneath yours, letting your warmth shield over him. it’s pleasant, but not enough considering your attention is divided, leaving him feeling deprived. you smile at your boyfriends desperation, yet your eyes never leave the page painted in words.
unfortunately (for you) as minutes go on it gets harder for you to keep resisting him as he doesn’t stop peppering kisses on your neck—his soft lips press ever so gently across your skin, leaving ghostly wet trails from the side of your neck to the back of it. a hum slips past your lips as you sigh in defeat. “alright…” you close your book softly. “it’s getting harder to keep ignoring you”
now he stops kissing you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “so, ya were ignoring me, huh? cruel much?” his hands go to hold onto your waist, the warmth of his palms seeping through your shirt. “‘yer mean, princess. am i not appealin’ enough to a royal like ya?” he teases, now pretending to be sad.
“well, i actually have an important class tomorrow and i wanna be prepared for it” you roll your eyes.
he quirks his head to the side. “a test?”
“no, just a lecture. but i like being ready so i wanted to study a little” you respond
karasu grabs the closed book in your hands and puts it aside to get lost in the sheets. “i love me someone smart, ya know that, but…” his fingers so back to your waist, moving to leave light touches on your sides. “it’s not like yer gonna fail anythin’ right? it’s just a lecture. besides, i might not be able to come back to ‘yer place tomorrow since i might have a group project. so…” he goes in to whisper in your ear now, hot breath enough to send goosebumps along your arm.
“why not focus on me instead tonight, princess? let yer prince spoil ya” he goes to kiss your neck again, your brain becomes mush from his words in almost an instant.
with a short grumble you turn around to face him, leaving him surprised for just a second. you adjust your legs to wrap around his hips and lean your flushed face towards his as you waste no time to connect both your lips in a loving kiss. you feel him smile against you, humming in satisfaction.
unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn more heated as he pokes your lips with his tongue. you two don’t part, but your lips do. he groans, and you grow excited. you wrap your arms tighter around him. he misses kissing you, and it seems that you’re in the same boat. it’s as if you haven’t been in each others presence, chilling together in your dorm room for the last 3 hours.
“lay down on the bed for me, princess. your prince will make sure ya don’t regret putting that book down for the night”
he orders breathlessly when he pulls away from the kiss. you almost laugh at how corny he is, he can flirt but god is he a dork sometimes. his voice is gentle, his hot breath brushed slightly against your lips as your faces are mere inches apart, his blue eyes staring directly into yours.
it really isn’t hard for him to convince you to do almost anything (for him).
fast forward, not studying wasn’t a bad choice but it certainly has it’s consequences as the events of your evening with karasu became a reoccurring distraction throughout the lecture.
PART TWO. GUESS WHO’S INTO BLUE LOCK🤫couldn’t get this idea out of my mind i want himUM sorry if its ooc i havent gotten the hang of how he acts
karasu loves calling you princess. you don’t understand how or why it started—all you know is that you eventually grew into it. like, really into it. it’s embarrassing how you start blushing whenever he calls you that.
he doesn’t feel any shame using it whenever and wherever he wants. it’s his way of calling out for you, his way of letting you know you have his support and adoration.
“hell yeah! nice, princess!” karasu shouts, throwing his fist in the air. you’re currently over at otoya’s house—hanging out with him (of course) yukimiya and karasu. right now, you just won a game of mario kart against otoya. “no need to be so loud, man. we get it your little princess won” the loser in question comments, teasing both you and your boyfriend. karasu squints his eyes.
“hey, only i get to call ‘em that, thanks” he spits, though unserious. yukimiya laughs, “since you call them princess, does [name] call you prince, then?” you almost spit.
“i don’t, but—“ you start, before getting cut off.
“—but i think ya should. honestly, wouldn’t that be cute?” karasu interrupts, getting off the bed he was sitting on with yukimiya to sit down at the floor with you and otoya. he slings an arm around you, a smirk on his face. “don’t ya guys agree? us, the prince and princess. we’re the coolest”
otoya and yukimiya snort. “didn’t think you’d be the cheesy type, karasu” the brunette spoke, pushing up his glasses.
“oh trust me,” you speak up, catching everyone’s attention. “he can be super cheesy if he’s feeling it. usually i have to start first, but it’s not hard to m—“ once again your boyfriend cuts you off.
“alright, that’s enough talkin’ from ya, princess” he says, despite the chill demeanor you can tell he’s embarrassed by your comment. his friends give each other glances before snickering amongst themselves.
SICK (BUT NOT OF YOU) — kuroo t. / kozume k. gender neutral reader, polyamory, fluff / comfort, set in timeskip, no warnings.
self indulgent as FUCK i first wrote this when i was sick. i’m sorry if this is bad i just wanted it gone from my drafts💔 but i love them sm trust me
“kuroo, how much money have you spent on their favorite food this week?” kenma asks, brows furrowing at the grocery bag in kuroo’s hand. kuroo is at the frame of the door, struggling to take off his shoes with one hand since the other is occupied.
kuroo huffs out a response, “doesn’t matter, it makes our baby happy and since they’re sick [name] matters more than how much i have in my wallet!” kenma sighs as he approaches kuroo, grabbing the bag from his hand and allowing him to properly takes off his shoes.
once off, he sets them down and closes the door behind him, making sure he doesn’t forget to give kenma a quick peck on his lips as a way of properly greeting him and thanking him for taking off the small load. right after that, kuroo quickly runs to the room you rest in, barely able to see you as a warm blanket swallows you almost completely. he lets out a soft smile, just happy to be home and able to take care of his lover.
kenma peeks himself next to his taller boyfriend, “how about you shower? that way you can actually cuddle them and stuff” the blonde (though he’s not really anymore) suggests, and kuroo actually takes his words into consideration.
“can you help warm up the food? i bought some for us too” he replied, and kenma nodded.
as kuroo walks off, kenma approaches you, and slowly sits on the edge of the bed near you. “hey, honeypie” he greets you softly, a hand stroking the tip of your head peeking from under the blanket “kuroo’s home and got us food, he’s showering right now so i’ll go heat it up for us, okay?” you only grumble as a response, which he smiles at. he replaces the hand on your head with a kiss instead, before getting up and going to heat the food.
after a few minutes, kuroo comes into the room. how do you know despite still being buried under the blankets and asleep? he wakes you up. of course he does it nicely, soft and polite. “hi [name],” he says into your ear, voice soothingly low. “kenma’s done heating up our food. come outside and eat with us, baby. you’re not too sick to get up, right?” he asks, voice full of concern.
you grumble before speaking, “mmh, okay. i can get up” your voice is a little hoarse after not speaking proper sentences for the last few hours. kuroo smiles at your response. “that’s my strong [name]! c’mon, i’ll help you up, nice and easy” he talks to you as you sit up and slowly make your way off the bed, his hand holding yours to guide you to the living room, where you see kenma setting up plates for you three.
his black and blonde hair is tied messily, a bun hangs low on the back of his head as the rest of his hair spills on his shoulder. the sleeves of his sweater are rolled up to his elbows, and his eyes are focused on the table he’s setting up.
“kenma, look who’s up” kuroo calls out, which causes kenma to look up. there’s a slight smile curling in his lips as he sees you. even in your most shriveled state, he adores you. both of them do.
“hey, i just finished setting everything up. um, let’s go sit down and eat” after kenma says that, he sits down. you and kuroo follow shortly.
you try not to drool at the food in front of you. even though you’ve eaten more or less the same few things for the past week, your personal favorite meal doesn’t get old. it is your favorite, after all. “…thank you for the food” you say quietly, yet happily.
kuroo smiles. “you’re welcome. now, eat up, okay? i hope you start to feel better tomorrow” he says. and you waste no time chowing down.
sometimes you think to yourself, you wouldn’t mind being sick if it meant your boyfriends would take care of you like this all the time. but then it hits you, you don’t need to be sick to be pampered and spoiled by your boyfriends—you just need to ask. simple words are enough for them to spoil you. they don’t mind cause they love you that much.
oh, how lucky you are to have the love and care of tetsurou kuroo and kenma kozume.
KUROKEN BOYFRIEND HCS. gender neutral reader, polyamory, fluff, no warnings.
gahahHAHAHha this is kinda self indulgent but umm i hope it’s still enjoyable cus i had SOOO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS HOLY SHIT (you can tell right). HOPE TO WRITE MORE POLYAM STUFF SOMEDAY!!!!
𓃠 you picked up these two like stray cats in a box, and after hanging out with them so much you all eventually became the best trio ever!
𓃠 but how did all three of you get together romantically? well, that’s a tricky topic… yeah it wasn’t that bad but thankfully it didn’t end disastrous. it all started with them both pining for you, and eventually each other after realizing that maybe after all these years… it wasn’t just platonic. the emotional bond was more than friendship. but the fact that you won the hearts of two childhood best friends is impressive! (give yourself a pat on the back).
𓃠 lots of complicated feelings on your end… it’s hard to not like two charming guys that have so much depth to them, you know!? kuroo brings out your outgoing side; playful and wise. kenma brings out your quieter side; calm and observant. but most of all, they complete you in general—yin and yang, sun and moon, night and day. with you as their evening star.
𓃠 kuroo is disastrous with feelings. he likes one person and it’s already like the end of the world. now he likes two people? oh brother. what’s worse than the apocalypse? this, apparently. he’ll flail around and act like a total loser, eventually around kenma too once he realizes his feelings, even though he’s been by kuroo’s side since childhood.
𓃠 kenma has shielded his feelings away in a bottle and threw it out into the ocean. though just like that bottle, it eventually gets found (spoiler: by you and kuroo. obviously). sure, he’ll hide his feelings, but his body language doesn’t lie (more like can’t…), he’s gonna stick around and mention you and kuroo all the time without realizing. his body speaks words his mouth would never admit.
𓃠 the events leading to the confession is as messy as all your feelings combined. kuroo would be the one trying to clear out this catastrophe (ba-dum-tss) and eventually confesses his overwhelming feelings to kenma first, then eventually the two of them to you. kuroo would tell kenma how much he likes him, but he can’t deny his dilemma of liking you too. you’re both just so… hot! (kuroo blurts that out by accident and kenma is taken aback by his sudden bold words)
𓃠 anyway, the confession worked out eventually. but you were more nervous than they are, considering they asked you to meet them so suddenly in such a serious tone. you feared the worse even if you had no idea what exactly the worse could be. them killing you with a volleyball maybe? who knows! one guy’s big and strong, while one guy’s smart, that’s a duo you would not want to mess with.
𓃠 random as fuck but a sushi date is like totally the best option with these two. kuroo is happy about the nutrients that are contained inside fish and kenma can get a nice meal without needing to eat a big portions.
𓃠 kenma steals you and kuroo’s clothes. there’s no way around it. you’re bigger and taller than him? yeah say bye bye to your shirts and jackets. you’re smaller than him? doesn’t matter, he’ll steal a sock or two.
“uh, [name], have you seen where my shirt went? you know, the one i really like wearing after school. i looked everywhere but can’t find it?” kuroo asks you, close to being irritated as he rummages through his closet for the 3rd time. he may be clueless, but you’re not. “funny… i happen to be missing a pair of my favorite pajama pants too…” you squint your eyes as you hear a soft pair of footsteps approaching the room. lo and behold, there stands kenma, in what seems to be kuroo’s favorite shirt and your favorite pajama pants. kenma speaks up, clueless about the commotion happening in the room he wasn’t present in. “hey… what’re you guys talking about?”
𓃠 with both you and kuroo around, kenma has two people on his ass about staying up late now. but lets say hypothetically you also stay up as late as him, kenma is happy to stay up all night with you, and end it off snuggling with you at 5am. but poor kuroo, now he has two people to scold…
“[name]! kenma! it’s 5 AM! i’m literally about to do my morning jog, and you two haven’t slept!?” kuroo says in a loud whisper after he barged into kenma’s room, where he sees you and the owner of the room mindlessly clicking on your individual game controllers, eyes glued to the bright blue screen. “listen, [name] kept wanting to rematch ‘cause i keep beating them” kenma replies lazily, and you snap at him “i’m trying to show you that i have what it takes to beat you! you just have to wait!” you furrow your eyebrows and move your attention to kenma. while your eyes left the screen, his didn’t—which gave him the perfect opportunity to defeat your character. as you hear the familiar music that plays when a character is defeated, you widen your eyes as you look back to the screen. “NO!” you shouted, louder than necessary. kenma simply smirks a catlike smile. “URGH! ONE MORE TIME, i promise i’ll beat you this time!” you challenged him yet again, and kenma scoffs before responding. “that’s what you said the last 50 times” as you and him continue to bicker, kuroo stands at the doorway dumbfounded. he pinches the bridge of his nose. so it turns out, maybe sleepover between only you and kenma isn’t such a good idea after all. guess he’ll have to come along next time. well good news, at least it gives him another reason to spend more time with the people he loves!
𓃠 onto timeskip thoughts: kuroo likes buying you and kenma takeouts on the way home from work. unless it’s a super busy and tiring day, then he rushes home and you guys order food instead!
𓃠 you and kuroo always like tuning into kenma’s streams while at work. obviously never during rush hour and whatnot, but when the two of you are simply sitting down at your desks finishing what your boss gave, kenma becomes background noise. you and kuroo like to text each other to make sure neither of you miss a stream.
KEI TSUKISHIMA BOYFRIEND HCS. gender neutral reader, fluff, no warnings.
icl i had fun with this also fun fact i wrote this before my drabble (which i linked in here LOL that one pointer was so good i had to write a whole moment for it) THIS IS AN OLD DRAFT
☽ SLOWBURN KING. it WILL take awhile for you to date him. but that’s okay, just don’t give up on him trust. will definitely deny his feelings for you… but he doesn’t mean it one bit! he just has a difficult time showing affection and being vulnerable at first. treat him nice even if he’s mean to you! seems unfair, sure, but honestly if you snap back he’ll learn where his place is. sooo don’t be too much of a pushover! he just likes getting under your skin cause he thinks it’s fun.
☽ a good way to woo him is to flatter him. yup! absolutely he’ll tell you to shut up when you compliment him, but his face gets all blushy, heheh. (you should make fun of him)
tsukishima blinks as he hears a compliment fall from your lips, telling him how cool and impressive he is, and how you can really see he’s getting super good! he clicks his tongue and looks away. “shut up” is all he can muster in a weak tone. even if you can’t see his face the tips of his ears are bright pink, making his embarrassment clear as day.
☽ yamaguchi is the best wingman and your guys’ biggest supporter! he knows tsukishima has feelings for you and would keep nagging him about it (much to his dismay)
☽ you’d most likely have to be the one to confess. going to yamaguchi for help is just a natural process honestly (GIGGLES)
he laughs a little as you clasp your hands together, begging him to PLEASE tell you how to actually attract this annoyingly hot blonde. “hey,” he starts, voice soft. “he already likes you, y’know? sorry to spoil that but—i just wanted to assure you! so whatever you do… and however you say it, it’d be good in his book, i’m sure!” he says this nervously, yet simultaneously remaining confident in his own words of advice.
☽ once you date it may take a bit to fully melt the ice. as i said, slowburn king. yes even until the beginning of the relationship. but don’t worry, he likes you so much. his pale skin is always pink around you! if you ever doubt it, the best thing to do is have a serious talk with him about it, it’ll help him lower his walls.
☽ loves you a lot but shows it discreetly… holding fingertips, showing you random songs (cause they remind him of you), teasingly ruffling your hair, sharing stuff with you, etc.
☽ always smiles when talking to you. he only smiles around a very specific group of people and it’s also rare sight, but you always make him smile very often and very bright.
☽ of course he’ll share his headphones with you. and you know how it is, HEADPHONES OFF AROUND YOU! he’ll listen to everything you say.
☽ he gets his romantic advice from love songs. so he may be stupid sometimes in the romantic department.
☽ would love music recs from you. he might be picky with the genre, but has the will to try anything, no matter how heavy or slow. (…or bad)
“what the fuck is this?” he asks, a disgusted look on his face as you hold your stomach, dying from laughter. “‘my name is david’? these are the shittiest lyrics i’ve ever heard in my life turn this off” he says, scrabbling for your phone on the edge of the bed.
☽ MATCHING THINGS!!!! oh he looves that. the day he suddenly buys you matching charms you shat yourself a little. cause though he wont admit it, he likes enjoying and understanding the same things as the people he cares about.
☽ lowkey has trust issues sometimes, it’s not too big but it’s best to show him just how much you really can be counted on! DON’T EVER BREAK HIS TRUST. lying is a BIG NO. seriously…
☽ don’t judge him for his past when he tells it to you… dont downplay it, hed be upset. he knows it’s not too much of a big deal, but still, feeling betrayed by your idol feels tough, y’know?
☽ acts like he doesn’t wanna do shit but he does. he just has this stupid cool guy act. but once you get under that he’s a cutiepie
Hey! I saw you do Project: Eden’s Garden now and I was wondering if you could do Desmond Hall x reader headcanons pls? Your writing is super good too! Keep up the good work!😊
DESMOND HALL BOYFRIEND HC’S — gender neutral reader, fluff, no warnings.
SORRY THIS TOOK AWHILE ANON I ALWAYS KEPT YOU IN MIND JUST GOT A LIL OCCUPIED WITH LIFE… but thank you so much for the compliment your support genuinely means a lot to me <3 i hope you like this ajajdjfkrhrj :”) i hope the way he talks is in character also ummm i got overboard and made this too modern, lets just say you guys are dating out of edens garden!
𓆞 he’d have this nervous yet simultaneously confident aura while approaching you to confess. like he’s brave enough to do it but obviously still scared to hear you possibly reject him (spoiler alert: you don’t)
𓆞 he’ll ask you to tell him all about yourself on the first date (without breaking any boundaries of course). he wants to know everything about you!
𓆞 the type of guy who will listen to you ramble about anything, any time. he loves listening to you talk. he’ll remember everything you say forever, he’ll know you like the back of his hand and eventually learn to read you like a book.
“you’re doing what?” he asks, face full of surprise. you’re confused, what’s the problem? “well i just didn’t expect that, i mean, i remember you telling me you’d hate to if you ever had to do that. but i’m assuming you’re trying something new?” you blink as you stare at him silently. you don’t even remember mentioning what you do and don’t like when it comes to specific things, how the hell did he know that?
𓆞 he also just likes analyzing you from afar. but not to a point where it gets creepy! he just likes admiring what you do.
𓆞 keeps specific little items with him simply cause they remind him of you. even better if it’s something of yours that you lent him, he’ll keep that so so safe and secure. a little keychain, a necklace, a photo, anything! it’s better if its small, portable or wearable though just so he can carry it everywhere with him.
𓆞 yes he WOULD be that boyfriend who brings around a little plushie you gave him and take care of it like it’s your child.
𓆞 y’know those phone games where you take care of a virtual pet together? play it with him. HE’LL BE SO HOOKED OMFG.
𓆞 will let you style and/or play with his hair. and he’d be really good at styling yours.
𓆞 depending on the situation, he shares his music and earphones with you. when you’re working out together, let’s say you’re doing cardio, he’ll put his music on speaker. out on a jog together? put on your earphones and he’ll do a spotify blend with you! (and if you don’t have spotify premium he’ll get it for you trust…). eventually, his music becomes yours too. you guys for sure have a song thats special to the two of you, but i’ll let you imagine what it is yourself!
𓆞 WILL drag you to a gym date eventually… he doesn’t wanna force you but… he’ll find ways to convince you if you don’t wanna do it lol.
“come to the gym with me!” he says, not quite begging. he rubs your arm gently, trying so hard to convince you. but you’re stronger than that! you look away, rolling your eyes while telling him that no, you don’t want to. he then leans to whisper in your ear, “hey, if you come with me i’ll get you your favorite snack afterwards” he pulls away and you look at him, eyebrow raised. “yeah, i know how much you’ve been craving it! but i’m not getting it if you don’t come…”
𓆞 he’s a bit too good at convincing you to do things… not in a guilt tripping way, more like. when he thinks something is good for either one of you or the both of you he’d find a way to coax you into doing it
𓆞 he has charm and he knows it. and you fall for it every time. flirty guy.
𓆞 one day, he reveals he’s secretly SUPER GOOD AT BAKING. he’d say the cake is ready, and yep you’re sure it is. (if you know what i mean). anyway, he likes to impress your family by sending them homemade cake!
been rewatching guardians of the galaxy lately (relevant cus the song that inspired this fic is in it)… i love all the soundtracks but the one in the first movie will remain iconic to me FOREVER. anyway sorry this is kinda a nothingburger my head not in the game
warning for slight chapter 1 spoilers, death and blood
♫ I’M NOT IN LOVE (10CC)
damon maitsu is not in love with you. whatever he’s feeling right now doesn’t mean anything, and it never will.
it doesn’t mean anything that his heart swells when you peer down and ask him how he’s doing… or when you offer yourself to be a warm home in this storm you’re all trapped in.
fuck—it doesn’t. mean. anything. at least that’s what he tells himself all the time. but who do you think you are anyway to care so much?
sure, the larger part of him stays strong, but the smaller part of him can’t. the smaller part of him realizes that you have captivated him. just like a snake to a flute, he can’t stay away.
but no, he can’t bear the thought of loving someone again in a situation like this. not when the threat of you being taken away from him hangs in the air. after what happened to eva, he can’t let himself get hurt like that again and he knows better than to let himself trust someone deeply again, if he’s not careful he’ll be the next death. he doesn’t want to lose another home.
you smile so bright when he comes close, sure the smile is subtle sometimes but it’s the brightest for him. he likes your facial expressions, and hearing you say his name.
eventually, he says ‘fuck it’ and lets you know exactly all of the things he feels. it’s so hard staying away from you when you just break through his walls so easily like it’s nothing, it kinda pisses him off.
he’s sure this can’t hurt that bad. you’re sweet, sure, but he knows your strong. he knows you can live through this. when you’re in a hellscape like eden’s garden, it’s understandable to look for some sort of sanctuary. and that’s what you are. your love is like a drug to him, and he’s overdosed. so what if he does lower down his walls one last time, just for you?
some say you should be careful with your words, in hopes to not jinx things.
unfortunately, damon maitsu has made another mistake by choosing to give his heart to you. he isn’t a lucky person, and he never had hope in his heart that he could ever fit that title.
suddenly, an all too familiar bell rings in damon’s ears.
“a body has been discovered!”
tozu’s irritating voice was heard blaring from the speaker across the room, sending a jolt of shock through damon’s entire body. his heart threatens to beats out of his chest.
all the students rush to the location of the murder, everyone looks pale, sweat dropping from their foreheads and hands clenched. some are muttering curses under their breaths up until the room where the victim lies.
damon stops in his tracks. his breath caught in his throat, suffocating him as his head spins, eyes threatening to blur out at the sight in front of him.
there you were, laying in a pool of what’s possibly your own blood. might as well be considering how your body is laying limp on the floor, no sign of life or any sort of breath.
you’re gone — you’re dead.
damon maitsu has jinxed it. he’s been reminded once more just how cruel this world is to him.
that was the last time he’ll ever let his guard down again.
STRANGE MISTEAK — wolfgang akire. gender neutral reader, fluff, no warnings.
this was supposed to be someone’s request but i read it wrong oops. so just . Take this thanks. anyway sorry if you’re vegan just imagine you’re eating something else… this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks
“wow, you’re truly looking stunning tonight!” wolfgang beams down at you as he holds a bouquet of roses in his hands, making you widen your eyes in surprise.
“i’m sorry if you don’t like roses, but i thought it’d fit the occasion nicely” he says when he catches your expression, a hand of his lifted to scratch his reddened cheek bashfully. his bashful smile is so soft and his smile is always so genuine that it makes you have the same matching redness on your own cheeks. you wonder if he realizes how stunning he is too.
“thank you…” you shyly respond. you couldn’t help it. you get ahold of the flowers, clutching onto them with care.
he reaches out his hand to you, which you gladly take, then leads you inside the fancy restaurant he booked for the two of you tonight. to say the place was gorgeous felt like an understatement, it was like walking straight into a daydream.
people sit around and chatter as they eat their meals, outfits all so well crafted and put together, jewelry resting on their neck and ears, lips red with lipstick that match the crimson walls, chandelier gleaming above your heads, what a sight to walk past. despite dressing your best you almost feel out of place. you think to how lucky you are that your boyfriend is not only nice, but can afford to take you to places like this.
you eventually reach your seat, and he pulls your chair for you before he sits on his own. he’s such a gentleman it makes you sick, in a good way. “so… what do you think of the place?” he starts up conversation, noticing your fascination.
“it’s so beautiful, wolfgang. thank you. do you know how much i love you?” you respond, a big smile on your face.
“ah, i love you too” he says bashfully, and with a smile that matches yours.
after a while, you two order: 2 steaks to each of your liking and some wine. the waiter looks like any other you’d expect at a fancy place like this, rockin’ a mustache and three piece suit. the steaks took awhile to come, but you almost didn’t notice with how focused you are towards the conversation you’re having with your boyfriend.
“what do you think? looks good?” wolfgang asks, referring to your meal. you nod your head a bit too enthusiastic.
“yes! thank you. this looks so good!” you waste no time in biting the piece you’ve already cut. the meat practically melts in your mouth, flavor all over your tongue. “mmmh! it’s as good as it looks!”
he laughs. “hey, don’t talk with your mouth full, you’ll choke!”
full of laughter, you cut a bigger piece than before. as you put it in your mouth to take a bite, you suddenly bite something hard. that’s definitely not supposed to happen while eating steak. you grimace, “what the hell?” you pull it away from your mouth, staring at what you’ve bitten. “babe, i bit into something hard here… wait let me investigate before filing a complaint”
“ah— no it’s okay i can—” you quickly shush him.
“no, no, no, let me cut it open. it’s mysteriously hard…” you notice how he almost chokes at your sentence. “shut up pervert!” he laughs at your retort. you focus on trying to cut the large piece that was in your mouth, what you found in there is the last thing you expected. “wolfgang is that…”
all he does is nod.
from the inside of steak you cut in half, you pull out a shiny ring. it’s beautifully crafted, just enough to fit your ring finger. you wipe off all the steak juice off the jewlery before examining it better. it shines brighter now and the reflection catches in your eyes, making wolfgang flustered all over again. he twiddles with his fingers.
“honey, we’ve been… dating for quite some time now. and i really feel like i’ve known you all my life,”
he slowly gets up from his seat and walks over to you. once in front of you, he kneels down on one knee and gently grabs the ring from your hand, holding it out to you.
“i know this proposal is kinda silly, definitely not as fancy and proper as the restaurant we’re in, but i thought maybe it might bring a smile to your face. you’ve been with me through my worsts, my bests. and i love you so much. so… will you marry me?”
you almost couldn’t breathe for a second. the room was quiet in anticipation, the only thing others can hear is each others murmurs. yet you feel no sense of pressure, because all you can focus on is wolfgang.
your boyfriend—now fiancé, and soon to be husband.
“yes!” you yell and launch yourself at him, almost making the both of you fall. the both of you erupt in a fit of giggles as people around applause the two of you, happy for the future married couple. shortly after you both bashfully smiled at the positive response around you, you spoke up;
y’know that moment when theres this one character you lowk give 0 fucks about but theyre SOOOO FUN TO WRITE. like i have so much ideas for you, you stupid Thing
synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.
content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness
word count: 3.5k
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Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.
Aku sayang kamu. I love you.
Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.
Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!
Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.
Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.
That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).
Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.
That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.
It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.
The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.
“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.
“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”
There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.
Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.
“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.
“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”
“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”
Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.
“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.
“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”
“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”
“That’s how I like it.”
He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.
“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”
Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.
The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.
“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.
“What did you say?”
“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”
“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”
He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.
The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).
And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.
The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.
The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.
“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”
Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.
“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.
You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.
“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.
“Yes?” You answer.
His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.
“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.
“You called,” you reply.
It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.
“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.
“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”
“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.
“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”
He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.
The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.
So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.
“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”
And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.
“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.
When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.
Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.
Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.
Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.
He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.
Sayang sekali, he says.
I love you, and also, what a waste.
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author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥
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