loora

[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.

“Hey,” you smile nervously at him. “I think I got the wrong dorm, do you mind pointing me to Shoyou’s?”

His heart sinks a little, and he lets go of a hope he hadn’t realized he was harbouring.

“Uh, yeah. We share a dorm.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward pause before the two of you move, him to let you in and you to slide past him. Atsumu’s breath hitches at the contact of something brushing past his abdomen, and he realizes with a flush that it was just your bag. It was just your bag.

“Hold the door!”

A foot sticks its way into the door frame and Shoyou pops through the door.

“Oh hey, Y/n! You found your way!” He greets you cheerfully, arms filled with bags of… things.

“Whatcha got there, Shoyou?�� Atsumu asks.

“Oh, I got some ingredients to make ramen for dinner and a few tubs of ice cream - chocolate chip cookie dough for Y/n, mango for me.” Shoyou begins unpacking the bags into the fridge.

“Her favourite ice cream is strawberry though.” The words slip out before he even realizes it, and he can feel your stare burning through his head. He flushes deeply, ruffling his wet hair in an attempt to play it off. Your gaze still feels like it sees right through him, ever so inquisitive and piercing. (It feels even sharper than it used to, like you’re trying to figure out the puzzle of him.)

“It used to be,” your voice is soft, heavy with feelings dragged from the past.

“But now she loves chocolate chip cookie dough,” Shoyou chirps from beneath the apron he’s struggling to put on. He’s oblivious as always to the tension, or so he likes to pretend. (Atsumu knows Shoyou is a lot smarter than people like to give him credit for, and it’s a strategy in itself that Atsumu can appreciate.)

“Anyways, are you heading out Atsumu?” Shoyou asks.

“Yeah, I’m heading out to town.”

“Wanna stay and watch movies with us? I’ll share my ice cream with you!”

Atsumu’s tempted to say yes, but as he meets your eyes, eyes filled with too many memories and feelings and words to unpack right now, he takes the easiest option. It’s what he’s learned to do when it comes to you, and just like all those years ago, he chooses the exit.

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m meeting someone anyways.”

“Oh, have fun then!”

Atsumu grins weakly at him, and shuffles back into his room. The sound of your laughter is the last thing he hears before he shuts his room door, and he can’t decide if it’s medicine or poison to his heart.

[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]

hi! hope you are doing well. I wanted to know if you have a posting schedule for your fic once again. thanks

hi! at the minute we dont really have a set schedule because we're both scatterbrained and/or studying but the aim is a chapter a week :) so chapter 2 will be up monday or tuesday next week! also we dont really have a set question for chapter 3 so send in the things you want to see hehe

[loora]

just read the first chapter of your atsumu series! it’s really good so far, bubs :) i was wondering if we could see atsumu and y/n talking over their relationship and feelings towards each other over a meal, albeit a bit hesitant? it doesn’t have to be now, given that they just reunited for the first time(:

thank you!! and oooo yes we love this idea... it won't be the next chapter but keep an eye out for this in the coming weeks ;)

[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.

“Get off her, you idiot.” Another disgruntled voice joins the mix, and the weight is lifted off you. “Don’t kill my manager before she even starts her first day.”

“Oi! She was my manager before too!”

“And you both still haven’t learnt to behave in public, huh?” You dust yourself off, shooting a mock glare at the two men in front of you. They quickly straighten themselves, mouths zipping shut into nervous smiles.

“We missed you,” Shoyou offers meekly, rubbing a sheepish hand across the back of his neck.

Tobio nods in agreement, stepping forward hesitantly to wrap you in a hug. It’s warm, reminiscent of afternoons spent hiding under shady trees, long talks on warm summer nights, and the easy familiarity of old friends.

“I missed you too,” your voice is muffled by Tobio’s sweatshirt. You pretend that the burning in your eyes is from being awake for almost thirty-six hours, and you’re grateful for the shield he provides. The hug doesn’t last nearly as long as you’d like, though with years of experiencing Shoyou’s impatience, you should’ve known better when you’re gently tugged out of Tobio’s grip into his.

“It’s my turn to hug her,” he mutters before tucking his head into your shoulder, arms tight around you. You relish in the way he hugs you tightly, having missed the way it felt to be held by someone who knew and loved you.

“Alright, we gotta go, Hitoka and Tadashi are waiting for us.”

Shoyou parts from you reluctantly, and you ruffle his hair with a fond smile. You’ve missed them, you really did. It takes you five seconds to pick up your fallen baggage and another five to realize who stands just behind your boys.

“What are you doing here?” The words come out more harshly than intended, but there isn’t time for you to scramble for tact, not when your ex boyfriend stands in front of you.

Miya Atsumu looks almost like he used to, and somehow the sight of him still manages to steal your breath away. There’s a conflicting mix of heartache, anger, and confusion that leaves you reeling slightly.

He remains silent, and maybe it’s the years that have passed that make it hard for you to read his expressions, or maybe the distance in his eyes that keeps you from delving too deep into what the little crinkle in his nose, or the slight tilt of his mouth may mean.

“He’s here because I invited him,” Shoyou cuts in, eyes flicking nervously between you two.

God, you wanted to curse him out, but you also knew he had nothing but good intentions. Shoyou probably thought you two were okay, and Atsu-Miya probably didn’t bother to correct him. You’ll be fine, you’ve always been.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you greet him more formally than you ever have.

“Hello Miya, it’s nice to see you.”

He cocks an eyebrow. "Is it?"

Your smile cools, and you let your chin tilt up. So. It's going to be like that. Two can play at this game.

“Not really, but for the sake of our company, let’s pretend it so, shall we?”

His lips curl slightly, and be it in amusement or disdain (you didn’t care to find out which), he drops his head in a slight nod.

It’s a silent truce, a small and unsteady one, but a truce all the same.

[loora]

be it fate or coincidence, miya atsumu has been thrown back into your life headfirst, and it is only your choices that has the story of you and him unfolding off the shelf once more.

pairing — miya atsumu x reader

genre — exs to friends to lovers

warning(s) — none (for now)

rules and info — 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

one — what are you doing here?

two — how are you?

three — what's your favourite ice cream?

four — do you remember?

five — tbd

six — tbd

seven — tbd

eight — tbd

nine — tbd

ten — tbd

eleven — tbd

twelve — tbd

thirteen — tbd

fourteen — tbd

fifteen — tbd

sixteen — tbd

seventeen — tbd

eighteen — tbd

nineteen — tbd

twenty — tbd

twenty-one — tbd

[loora]

act four

pairing — matsukawa issei x reader

genre — angst, fluff

warning(s) — none

Today, it’s a blue sticky note.

Wake up lazybum :)

You smile down at it, even as you rub the sleep from your eyes. These sticky notes are a longstanding tradition, but it never fails to make you smile.

There’s another on the door, and this is not part of the usual practice you’ve come to expect. The purple note grins at you in Issei’s loopy scrawl.

Look in the bathroom

Suspicious, you push open the door to the bathroom, half expecting him to jump out at you. Instead, there’s yet another pink sticky note pressed to the mirror.

Gotcha. It’s actually in the living room.

You frown at the bright slip of paper, wondering just what he’s planning. He can be undoubtedly sweet, but you can never tell if you’re going to get genuine or teasing Issei.

You pluck the yellow note from the couch without stopping, moving on in your bizarre treasure hunt.

OK, I promise it's in the kitchen.

The bright blue hydrangeas greet you in a cheery burst of colour and you can’t help the smile on your face from growing so wide that your eyes crinkle shut. The final sticky note sits on the vase that houses the flowers, and you pick it up, eager to see what he has written.

One last thing, and it’s in the guest room <3

There was more?

One last glance at the flowers and you pad back out of the kitchen, your pace speeding up the closer you get to the guest room. What else could Issei have done?

You slam the door open in eagerness, only to find Issei sitting in a suit on the bed, a red sticky note stuck to his forehead.

Laughter bubbles out of you and you double over at the ridiculous sight.

“Issei, what are you doing?”

He stays silent, pointing at the note with a grin. You shake your head, closing the distance between you.

“I'm the only present you'll ever need,” you read aloud, trying not to dissolve into giggles.

“Yes you are,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Happy anniversary babe.”

“Happy anniversary.”

It’s late, he knows. But still he wanders through the streets, begging whatever entity that exists to let him find an open flower shop. He needs to fix this, and there isn’t any better way he knows than to get you your favourite flowers.

They’ve worked every other time. They’ll work this time, right?

It isn’t until dawn that he finds a tiny shop on the corner of a street way too far from home, and he rushes into it, nearly knocking over the old woman setting up her shop.

“Please, I need hydrangeas.” His voice is hoarse, and he can’t tell if it’s from the lack of use or just from the cold night air. The woman stares at him, and he doesn’t want to think about how much of a wreck he looks right now.

“Hydrangeas. Please,” he begs, and the woman finally shakes herself out of her stupor.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have hydrangeas this late in the season. I have roses?” she offers, apology in every word.

(Roses are the go-to for most people, but he looks so desperate for hydrangeas she almost feels guilty. Really, if he’s messed up this bad, flowers are not going to cut it.

Pity, she thinks. He seems like a nice boy too.)

“No, not roses. I need… hydrangeas.” He wants to cry again. They’re not just flowers, they’re your flowers.

His broken gaze wanders around the shop, desperation dripping down his face in messy lines. Roses are all that fill his sight, and he’s ready to scream when his eyes land on the bundle of white lilies hidden in the back corner.

Issei points to them, his thoughts a jumbled mess as he tries to convey to the old woman what he wants through heavy sobs. Thankfully, she seems to get his message and begins arranging a large bouquet of lilies.

(Lilies are for the dead. She wonders if he knows that.)

The second she’s done he throws down a bundle of cash, not caring that he probably gave too much. He needs to get home to you, he needs to fix this, he needs this nightmare to end and he needs, more than anything, for this not to be the end.

The concrete is cold underfoot, hard and unyielding as he hurries home. The morning sun would usually be his signal to roll over and pull you back into his arms, but today it brings nothing but a reminder of just how out of his reach he has let you slip.

He stumbles through the door, and the silence that sits in wait is deafening. Not a single light is on as he takes in the emptiness of the apartment. Your keys are missing from the ridiculously ugly bowl you claimed added character to your home, and there’s a vacant spot where your beloved cacti used to rest. It lacks you, the warmth and life you brought to this shabby apartment now gone.

Dread settles in his stomach and mixes with the guilt and exhaustion already in there, creating an abomination that claws up into his chest, lodging itself in his throat as he stops in the entrance of the kitchen, a glint of familiar steel blinking up at him from the table.

With shaking hands, he places the flowers down on the table, trying to preserve them. His eyes are locked onto the sticky note that glares at him from beneath your ring, and the bouquet is knocked over on its side, water spilling out onto the table and dripping onto the floor. He should clean it up; you always told him that water would ruin the floor if he didn’t mop it up immediately.

But all he can look at is the sticky note.

He knows what is on it even before he reads it. And yet he prays, he prays with all he has that his instincts are wrong, that the flimsy piece of paper doesn’t contain the end of everything that has made his life so vibrant.

But it does.

Your handwriting is etched in stark black ink, the words glaring up at him. It flows in choppy sentences and mismatched script, as though you had paused many times while writing it. He could feel the indents on the other side of the note, from how hard you had pressed into it.

A tear drips onto it, then another, and another, causing the ink to bleed as his hand tightens its grip on it, crumpling the fragile paper. He had known it was coming - how could he not. He’d be blind to not have seen it coming for some time now.

And yet, there’s an aching emptiness where the small flicker of hope had sheltered, weathering fights and angry silences for far longer than he ever thought it would. It was a small part, secreted away in a dusty corner of his heart but nonetheless a part he had desperately clung to, hoping that the raging sea would be calmed to still waters where you could face the damage together.

Except it's not together. You’ve taken the lifeboat and left him in a leaking ship with no compass. He’d never expected that the end would feel like this. Falling out of love should be a big thing. It should be screaming and messy and emotional. Instead, he finds falling out of love is quiet, and he is at the end before he even realized he had begun.

[loora]

act three

pairing — matsukawa issei x reader

genre — angst, fluff

warning(s) — none

“Hey.”

“Mmmmm?”

“Do you think you can be anaemic if you’re tan?”

“What? That’s not how that works at all.”

“No, but hear me out! If-”

You roll onto your side, squinting at him in the dark. He jokes around a lot, but there's a desperation in his tone that has you worried he actually believes it.

“Issei. That’s not how blood works.”

“But anaemic people are pale right? So how can you be anaemic if you’re tan?”

“Issei-”

“Like see, I black out whenever I stand up, and sometimes I get dizzy too, but I don’t have anaemia.”

“I- no. Just no.”

His head flops towards you, eyebrows lifted, unimpressed. “How would you know? You’re not a doctor.”

“No, but I work at a pharmaceutical company, I certainly know more about it than you.”

“Hey! People die from anaemia, right? I could totally know more than you.”

You level him with an exasperated stare, though it has no effect on the frowning idiot beside you.

“Issei.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He climbs into bed later that night, and you feel the dip of the mattress as he slides in behind you. You’re turned to the wall, reluctant to face him with anger still simmering just below the surface.  

The silence from before continues to stretch on, and you may be only centimetres apart but it feels like there’s a gulf between the two of you, stretching for miles and miles until you can’t tell what he's thinking or how he’s feeling anymore.

You can feel Issei inching towards you until your backs are pressed firmly against one another. It used to be a way to bridge the gap, a line to draw you back together. But the warmth he radiates just doesn’t seem to feel like home anymore, only causing your skin to crawl with discomfort as you resist the urge to shift away from him.

“Did you mean it?” His voice is low, raspy. It sounds like he had been crying. You stiffen up at the question, your eyes clenching shut involuntarily at how broken he sounds. The words that you had planned out in your head now seem to have flown out of the open window, leaving your mouth dry as you search for words that won’t drive you even further apart.

But there isn’t anything you can say. There’s nothing left in the world that could fix the shattered remains of your relationship, too much time spent battering the seemingly unbreakable bond between you two. It was time that had worn down your love for him into mere tolerance, and your love was only a few more waves away from dissolving into oblivion.

As out of sync as you are with him, he’s still able to read your silences. He crumples against your back, all the breath leaving him in a long, shaky exhale filled with pain.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you tell him. Your voice doesn't shake like you expected it to. The words don’t hurt as much as you had hoped they would. Nothing felt real, like this was all just some rehearsed play unfolding according to the script. All you had to do was follow the lines written for you.

And yet the play being written before your eyes was turning into a tragedy, and you weren’t completely sure that you would be unhappy with the outcome. Tragedies were just as loved as the comedies, weren't they? Maybe your story was only meant to have a happy middle.

“Tell me you still love me, that we can still fix this.” His voice is raw, filled with so much desperation that it had the back of your eyes burning. “Tell me that you don’t regret us.”

“I don’t regret us.” It is the only truth that you can offer him, and no matter how much you’ve fallen out of love with him, you would never, you could never, lie to him.

And that's why you can’t tell him you still love him.

He hears the unspoken words that trail after your spoken ones, and you hope that somewhere, through everything that chains him down and chafes at him, that he understands your honesty. That one day he might even be able to appreciate it. But now, as you pull the blanket tighter over you, you know that he’ll need time and space. The small action has you pulling away from him just a bit, and it’s a minuscule distance, but the separation speaks volumes of your thoughts.

Despite your clear drawing of the line, you feel the bed shift as Issei turns over and pressed his forehead into your neck. The lack of emotion towards the familiar action only serves to finalize your thoughts, even as he stays in that position for a long moment.

He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, and you can feel him mouth words that you can’t quite seem to catch before he slips out of bed, the soft rustling of clothes filling your ears before he pads out of the room.

The door doesn't slam on his way out, but it's gentle click cuts through the final strands of the fraying thread that has been holding you two together. The tears that finally slip out aren’t ones of heartbreak and misery, but a sickening relief has your empathetic side cringing in disgust. As much as you want to feel guilty, the part of you that’s been hurting for too long whispers that it’s okay. You deserve to be honest with yourself too.

[loora]

act two

pairing — matsukawa issei x reader

genre — angst, fluff

warning(s) — none

Issei’s heart is a racing, wild thing that threatens to burst its way out of his rotting cage, begging for freedom to leap back into your warm embrace.

Your sigh breaks the wavering silence first.

“What was it at work that held you up then? Was it another dead body rolling off the metal tray? Or was it your colleague spilling coffee all over the paperwork? Oh, no, wait. I think I got it. Your boss resurrected a body!” Your laughter is empty, filled with mocking cruelty that has Issei’s lazy, clouded eyes clearing up in an instant.

“You want to talk about work?” He bites back, hands fisting around the cutlery in his hand. The plate of food has been long forgotten in favour of this explosive fight, growing colder by the minute as the atmosphere in the kitchen turns frosty. “Well then, why don’t you tell me about that little blond prick that keeps calling and texting you at all hours?”

You scoff, grinning in disbelief. “No, no, you don’t get to put this back on me. Shirabu has nothing to do with this, don’t bring him into-”

“No, let’s bring him into this,” Issei interrupts, tone hardening. There’s a slightly hysterical look forming in his eyes. This is a side of him you rarely see - the cold, cruel side. The one uncaring of who or what he burns through to make his point. “You think it’s OK to pay more attention to some workmate than your own fiance, huh? Next thing I know he’s gonna be coming over for dinner and leaving a toothbrush on the sink!”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” you refute. “Besides, he’s not the one breaking promises on the daily, is he?”

“Oh come on, not this again. I said I’m sorry didn’t I?”

“Your sorries don’t mean shit when all you do is repeat the very actions you apologize for.”

Your voices have risen, and the both of you seemed to have gotten to your feet at some point.

“How am I the bad guy here?! I told you, it’s just work!” Issei slams his hands down on the table, causing the can of beer to totter closer to the edge and you yank your laptop away from the liquid that starts to slosh out.

Your head whips up, anger only fuelled by his carelessness. “Am I just your fiancee then?”

“What? You regret saying yes?”

The can tilts, droplets of beer trailing down its sides.

“And what if I do?”

It falls off the edge, spilling across the floor and soaking both your socks. But you pay it no mind as a stunned silence descends, thicker than before. Words have been said and they can't be taken back now. They hang in the air between you, echoing in your ears.

Does he mean it? Do you mean it?

He narrows his eyes, considering you with an intensity that used to be reserved for the volleyball court. Back in high school, you used to admire it - his ability to uncannily narrow in on his opponent’s weaknesses. Now you’re on the opposite side of the net, and you find it’s a less pleasant experience than watching it happen from the stands.

You slam the lid of your laptop closed, your face burning with the heat of the anger that courses through you, out of control and incinerating all thoughts of reconciliation. Issei opens his mouth to say something, but you give him no chance to as you hurry off into the bedroom, the physical barrier of the door doing little to quench the fire that has taken hold of the two of you.

The empty take out containers have been pushed aside in favour of the multicoloured packets of lollies Issei had pulled from the bursting shopping bag. You have a pint of ice cream in your hand, pushing your spoon against his as you try to defend your ice cream from his thievery.

“Come on, I just want a little bit!” he says, pressing further into your side. You squeak as he leans more weight on you, effectively pinning you into the side of the couch as he succeeds in stealing not one, not two, but three whole scoops of ice cream.

“Issei!” You whine, smacking his arm lightly when he sets you free. A look at your pouting face has him relenting.

“Aw, lemme make it up to you.” He scoops his own ice cream and holds it up to your mouth. “Here, say ahhh.”

You open your mouth, ready to eat, when he smushes it straight into your cheek, smearing it all over your face. Your mouth drops open as you gasp from the cold, disbelief filling your eyes.

Issei’s laughter fills your ears and the annoyance fades into fondness.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you pout, swiping at the sticky mess on your cheek. He reaches over, wiping away a stray smear you miss with a gentleness that has your heart fluttering just like it did at the beginning of your relationship.

“I don’t know, you won’t share your ice cream with me so…” he tsks, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I just don’t know if I can believe you love me if you don’t share your ice cream with me, you know?”

“Oh, shush you,” you say in exasperation. It’s been a few months since he first said it, but the giddiness at hearing him say ‘love’ so casually still lingers. Warmth settles in your chest despite the ice cream you’re eating, and you sit in a comfortable silence as you enjoy each other’s presence.

“Oh there’s a new person working at our company,” you remember as you recover from a particularly cold bite of the sweet treat. Issei laughs slightly at your pain and makes to steal another scoop out of your pint. You curl around your ice cream, careful to make sure that Issei doesn’t pull another stunt. “His name’s Shirabu Kenjirou, and apparently he used to play volleyball too.”

“Shirabu? That sounds familiar.” Issei scratches his chin with the bottom of his spoon. “Do you have a photo?”

“I’ll do you one better, I have his social media.”

Issei takes the momentary distraction to dig out another scoop of ice cream. You swipe at him in retaliation as you fumble with your phone and flash the screen at him.

“Oh, I remember him. He was the setter for Shira-”

“Shiratorizawa!” You gasp in realization. “That’s why I felt like I knew him! Oikawa had that team photo that he used to throw darts at in his room.”

Issei wheezes at that, nearly dropping his ice cream onto the couch. “He-he what? Oh my god, Makki needs to hear this!”

You watch as he turns red from how hard he laughs and his laughter is infectious, causing you to lose it as well.

“Speaking of Makki, he came by the funeral home today,” Issei says after the both of you have calmed down from your laughing fit. “And you wouldn’t believe what he did-”

You stuff a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, content to listen to him recount his day and the mischief only he and Makki can get up to. There isn’t anywhere you’d rather be than in this moment with him, and you beg the universe to preserve what you have. You would do anything, give anything to stay like this, with his laugh filling your small apartment and the weight of his legs on yours.

[loora]

act one

pairing — matsukawa issei x reader

genre — angst, fluff

warning(s) — none

You expected falling in love to be a small thing. It would be hidden smiles and warmth, fleeting touches and silent jokes. Instead, falling in love is loud, and you're plummeting for the bottom before you even realize you were at the edge.

And that’s how you found yourself on a Saturday night, sitting at the dining table in your shared apartment with Issei, waiting for him to come home as you’ve done for the past three years. His entrance home is soft; the subtle thuds of his shoes dropping by the door, the thump of his bag landing on your couch, the shuffling of his sock-clad feet as he enters the kitchen.

He pushes a kiss against your cheek, briefly and clumsily, and you can feel the nervousness that lingers after he pulls away. There’s a light coat of pink dusted across his tan cheeks as he turns his face away from you, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck sheepishly. It’s a bashfulness you don’t really see from him much, not these days.

“You’re home late,” you say, trying not to let the thunderous disappointment show. “Again.”

“Yeah, I had to finish up some paperwork,” he says, already poking in the microwave for the food he assumes you have left there. Of course you have; you always do. But the repressed voice at the back of your head says he used to say thank you for the mundane act.

Issei settles down in front of you, diving into the plate of hamburg steak with an eagerness that has the dissent quieting down. He still enjoys your cooking, no matter how many times you’ve made it for him, and the warmth that spreads through your chest is enough to push away any reservations. You watch him eat over the brim of your laptop, a smile slipping onto your face at his expressions of tired contentment.

He lets out a disgustingly loud belch when he’s done, prompting a burst of laughter from you as you lean away from him, face wrinkling up in mock contempt.

“How barbaric of you, Issei.” You shoot him a glare. He knows there’s no real heat behind it though, and pretends to fan the polluted air towards your direction. You shriek, stumbling out of your seat and dashing into the living room away from him. You hear his muffled footsteps slide around behind you, and you almost make it around the couch before his arms sneak around your waist. Giggles explode out of you at the ticklish sensation. Dropping bodily onto the couch, you squirm around to face him. His smile is smug, but his eyes are nothing but fond as he pushes the hair out of your eyes.

There’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight, something that has your stomach twisting in anticipation. It’s not an unusual look, but it’s not an emotion you’ve had the courage to place before.

“I love you.”

A look of surprise slips onto his face, almost like he hadn’t expected for the words to come out. And maybe you’re surprised too, but there's a grin creeping over your face that has Issei mirroring it as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” He whispers again, this time with more conviction and passion in his voice.

He chants the words over and over again, in between showers of kisses all over your face. You fall into another fit of giggles as you try and fail to push him away, pushing up onto your forearms.

“I love you too, you softie,” you giggle back, watching the words sink in and settle into his heart. His eyes lit up, shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. You made a promise to yourself then and there that you’d do everything you could to keep him smiling like that.

You stare blankly at the bright screen of your laptop, eyes subconsciously drawn to the clock every few seconds, watching as the hands ticked away the time Issei had promised to you.

“Dinner, I swear,” he had yelled over his shoulder as he dashed out for work, leaving the breakfast you had prepared for him untouched. Well, dinner time had long passed, and you sat alone at the tiny table set for two, your plate of hamburg steak long finished.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to settle deep in the creaky wood of the table, you get up to place his portion into the microwave. You should be used to it by now, having been a victim of his numerous broken promises. But the disappointment still came every time, inviting itself into your home and taking a seat within your heavy heart.

You drown yourself in your work, so immersed that the loud slam of the door has you jolting back into focus. Issei strolls into the kitchen, dropping his bag on the couch as he goes. It’s nothing but habit that has you reluctantly accepting his absentminded kiss to your cheek on his way past.

“What’s for dinner,” he asks as he peers into the fridge for a drink, pulling out a can of beer and taking a sip out of it. He sets the drink down on the table, too close to the edge for comfort but you leave it as it is anyway.

“What do you mean, what’s for dinner,” you ask, unimpressed. Tonight is one night too many, and you’ve just about had enough of existing in a silent apartment.

“You said there was dinner for me, right?” The nonchalance in his voice has you bristling and the disappointment has now mutated into a monstrous mixture of anger and incredulousness that has been bubbling away for some time now.

“You mean the dinner that you promised you would be home for?” Your voice is sharp and brittle, eyes filled with a fury that Issei misses with his back turned to you.

“Oh did I? Sorry, something came up.” The sound of delight that Issei makes when he discovers the hamburg steak sitting in the microwave would have once had you softening. It used to be a sound that mollified your fears, but tonight it brings nothing but a sense of emptiness that hollows out your tired heart.

“Something always seems to come up,” you huff under your breath.

He turns, finally, maybe finally recognising the emotion layering through your voice. When he meets your eyes, understanding seeps onto his face. After ignoring this for far too long, it seemed tonight was to be the night everything had come to a head.

You hold each other’s stares, a silent dare for the other to start the long-overdue conversation. The tension ripples heavily across your shoulders, but it’s a weight that you barely notice these days. This conversation was one you had played out in your mind’s eye many a time, too many iterations to count.

Sometimes he stays.

Sometimes you don’t.

Your heartbeat is steady. It knows what’s coming.

[loora]

falling in love was meant to be easy.

falling out of love was always going to be this hard.

pairing — matsukawa issei x reader

genre — angst, fluff

warning(s) — none

act one

act two

act three

act four

[loora]

PICTURE PERFECT

pairing — sakusa kiyoomi x reader

genre — fluff

He sees you with stunning clarity and it's a sight so ethereal he's not sure he's supposed to even witness it. He's ready to turn and leave, to pretend that he hadn't intruded on a moment that was meant to be private when you turn around to face him. 

The smile that graces your lips knocks the breath out of him, and it takes everything in him to keep upright.

Well, he's been falling for you for a while now, but the way your hair is twisting in the cool breeze is sending him into a tailspin. It's so strange; everyone's hair curls in the wind, everyone's eyes crinkle when they smile. But it looks different on you, more alive, more ephemerally special despite the cameras flashing away. He knows it’s selfish of him to wish you were alone, that only he got to witness how gorgeous joy looks draped across you like a fresh fall of snow. 

"Hey." Your voice is deliciously breathless, and he's struck by the realisation that you're equally as stunned as he is. 

"Hey," he grins back, hand coming up in a half-wave. 

"You look...." 

"Ridiculous? Poofy? Too flashy?" you supplement, hands nervously brushing down the dress. 

"Like an angel."

The air warms around you, bashful and fond. "Shush," you say, smile fighting against the shy appreciation. 

He wordlessly holds an arm out and you take it gently, without hesitation. This, right here, is exactly where he wants to be. Not wrapped in the soft comforts of home, but in the chilly evening air with you tucked into his side and the glow of sunset painted across your face. There is plenty he could say, teasing jabs you could easily return wrapped in humor, but there is a sweetness to the silence that he doesn't wish to break with words. 

Somethings do not need to be spoken to be known.

Because the gentle pressure of your fingers speaks volumes enough, and he rests his other hand upon your cold one. He's not one for physical contact, but you were the one person he'd make an exception, for the gentle fire that burns within him is fuelled by the lean of your body into his side, and the thundering beat of his heart sings a song just for you.

If he could, he'd like to try to write that melody down, to capture the feeling for eternity. If he could, he'd capture how brilliant you look silhouetted against the sparkling fairy lights in every colour and shade of fondness he feels. If he could, he'd like to steal just a little bit of your courage to find a way to tell you just how much he loves you. 

It's there, it's known, but it's unsaid. And he's never been good at words but he'd read every book on earth if it meant finding the sentence to make you understand.

It feels like an eternity as he escorts you down the trail scattered with reds, oranges, and yellows, vibrant colors that still dull in comparison to the glow that surrounds you.

"Hey," you say. "Will you marry me?" 

His heart skips a beat, thrown by the casually fond question. "What." 

"Don't make me get down on one knee," you protest with laughter in your eyes, "I'll ruin the dress. You heard me." 

"Yeah, I just-" he breaths out a laugh. "Where did that come from?"

"Well, I'm a poofy white dress, you're in a fitted black tux, we look like we're ready for a wedding. Isn't it the perfect setting?" Your voice is light, but the tremor that peeks through is telling of the nervousness coursing through you. 

"We're literally in the middle of a shoot right now," he laughs exasperatedly. "You couldn't have waited till it was over for me to pull out the ring?" 

You halt in your tracks, black-lined eyes staring into his. There's nothing but pure sincerity and affection in them, and he thinks he really likes the look of surprise on your face more than anything.

"Ah, you know me," you say, disbelieving smile spreading even as you joke, "always messing up your plans." 

"Maybe," he concedes softly, stepping closer. "But have you considered I'd much rather just make new plans with you instead though?" 

The smile breaks through fully now, and he is bathed in the delight of someone who he knows like the back of his hand, who could call him home from the most distant star and he'd still come running. Yes, he decides, watching the fake snow start to settle in your hair. He'd much rather have every plan he'd ever dreamt of kicked to pieces if it meant there was even the blurry potential of a future with you.

"Well," you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck. "What's your reply?" 

His arms snake around your waist, tugging you into him. He can see every detail of your features up close, count every individual eyelash strand, see the little flecks of starlight hidden in your eyes. "This."

With your hands in his hair and his heart in your hands, he kisses you. He's not entirely sure why he never thought of this earlier. It's so obvious. He will never be able to wrangle the alphabet into line, so taking matters into his own hands is a much better option.

A million words flow through the kiss that burns his lips, a proposal and an answer that cannot be confined by the simplicity of words. The complexity of his love for you is conveyed in every press of his lips, the soft indents his finger leaves upon your waist. He can hear the shutter of the camera going insane, but he's too consumed by you to care. 

He can feel your pulse beneath his hand and it's a response to his singing heart, the melody to his harmony. It builds up with his, rising to a resounding crescendo before crashing, leaving his head spinning with the blissful knowledge that as much as you had his heart and soul, so did he have yours. 

He's holding the sky in his hands, and it's a weight he's willing to bear if it means he'd get to stare into the splashes of brilliance that is your soul forever.

[loora]

aoba johsai

matsukawa issei

⊱ love and time

itachiyama

sakusa kiyoomi

⊱ picture perfect

inarizaki

miya atsumu

⊱ once and again

[loora]

moo🌻

in love with kuroo tetsuro, will ramble about science at the slightest provocation, can get distracted by anything and everything 

pronouns: she/her

blog: @mooswords​

mission in life: to figure out how to con lyra into writing more fluff because shes incredible at it but refuses to write it becuase shes emotionally consitpated and hates feeling any emotion but >:(

lyra✨

will fight anyone and everyone, especially if their name is tsukishima kei. yachi hitoka gets the exception bc she’s my sun <3

pronouns: she/her

blog: @yacoka​

mission in life: to expose moo for the heartless human being she is for forgetting one of her characters actually had feelings and wasn’t an inanimate object for her to use as a filler

[loora]

about

masterlist