lovmiui

[lovmiui]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[lovmiui]

You always go to bed holding Caleb's left hand.

It's not because you dislike his bionic arm. In the daytime, you like to hold him there and press kisses all over the skin that can't feel—just to show him that he hasn't changed in your eyes. But at night, you make sure to sleep on his left side.

Caleb is usually loud, always talking and laughing when he's in your presence. When he falls asleep, your skin prickles with unease.

You like to see him relaxed and at peace, but sometimes you swear he looks a little bit too peaceful. Like all he's missing is a tux and bouquet to complete the unsettling image of a too-silent Caleb you never got to bury a year ago.

Though you're no stranger to silence—especially the kind that followed like a heavy fog no matter how you tried to distract yourself from it—you can't handle it now. Not after he came back from the dead.

Perhaps it's silly, but paranoia eats at you when his breathing evens out to a point you can only strain to hear. You need a sign that he's still alive when he goes quiet and drifts off.

So you stay on his left, curling your fingers around his inner wrist and brushing absentminded circles over the prominent vein there.

Tonight, you get lost in the feeling of him, your other hand landing on his cheek in a soft caress. His skin is warm, and for some reason you weren't expecting the heat.

His pulse kicks faster under your fingertips along his wrist. The spike makes something in your chest loosen. It's okay. He's still here.

You pull his hand off the bed and press your lips to his pulse point—just a whisper of a kiss—soft enough that you think it won’t wake him.

A quiet gasp interrupts the stillness. Moonlight catches on the flutter of his dark lashes before he meets your somber gaze.

“Sorry. Thought you were asleep,” you murmur. A smile tugs at your lips now that you've been pulled from that weird residual grief you're still learning how to get over.

“I was trying,” he teases. He's still playful, even when you're sure he can see something is bothering you. “But it’s hard when you’re…”

He doesn’t finish that thought. He changes the subject too fast, like he always does, putting the spotlight back on you.

“Pips," he whispers, "what was that kiss for?"

Your stomach flutters at how breathless he sounds. Did your touch really affect him that easily?

For a second, you wonder just how much you should reveal. With a hum, you softly reply, "It was a 'thank you.'"

He frowns, like he’s about to ask what for. You decide to save him the trouble.

“For coming back to me.”

That's all you need to say.

His fingers intertwine with yours, forcing you to move on from his fluttering heartbeat and allow him to squeeze your hand reassuringly instead. His lips meet your knuckles, mirroring the same softness of your earlier kiss to his wrist. All the while, his careful gaze never leaves your face.

When he finally parts, he promises, "I always will."

[lovmiui]

does anyone else feel weird & not good or is it just me

[lovmiui]

camgirl!shoko who’s your roommate, and even though you knew her in high school, you were never really friends. you were the quiet, reserved type, and she was the effortlessly cool, popular girl everyone wanted to be around. you always admired her from afar, nursing a secret crush you never dared to act on.

camgirl!shoko who, surprisingly, ended up as your roommate. you two clicked immediately, becoming close friends, and you often found yourself wondering how you ever managed without her. she’s messy, but in an endearing way, and her dry wit always makes you laugh.

camgirl!shoko who you know is a camgirl. she told you herself, a casual confession over late-night instant ramen. and even if she hadn't, her late-night moans, sometimes muffled, sometimes not, would've given it away. you’ve woken up more than once to the rhythmic creaking of her bed frame against the wall.

camgirl!shoko who sometimes teases you, winking and telling you that you're welcome to join her on a stream whenever you're feeling adventurous. you always laugh it off, your cheeks flushing, trying to ignore the little flutter in your chest.

camgirl!shoko who you can't help but think about. she's so beautiful, with her sharp mind and even sharper tongue. you find yourself catching glimpses of her, her hair mussed, a cigarette dangling from her lips, and your heart does a little flip.

camgirl!shoko who you, on a particularly lonely night, find yourself searching for online. curiosity, and a bit of a wine buzz, gets the better of you. it doesn't take long to find her account, the profile picture instantly recognizable.

camgirl!shoko who, despite the initial guilt, you can't tear your eyes away from. you watch her, mesmerized, the way her voice sounds different. it's sultry and teasing, and you'd wish that you could hear it in real-time. her viewers are showering her with praise and donations, and you find yourself doing the same, a surprising rush of pride mixed with longing.

camgirl!shoko who fills your thoughts. you replay her videos in your mind, the way her lashes flutter when she's close, the way her breath hitches when she slips a finger in herself, the way she makes you never want to look away. it's your secret, a delicious, guilty pleasure.

camgirl!shoko who walks into your room one night, startling you out of your reverie. you didn't even hear her come home, or realize you'd left your door unlocked. you're quick to pull the blanket over your sticky thighs, wet with a mix of arousal and old release. she however, laughs, a sweet, pretty sound.

camgirl!shoko who doesn’t say a word, just walks over to your bed, her gaze flicking between you and the screen. your face burns, and you’re sure you look like a deer caught in headlights. she just grins, a slow, knowing smile that sends shivers down your spine.

camgirl!shoko who has you gasping her name moments later, her lips crushing yours, tasting of mint and something uniquely her. she pushes you back onto your bed, her body pressing against yours, a soft moan rumbling in her chest.

camgirl!shoko who expertly maneuvers you, her fingers tracing paths along your skin, making you arch into her touch. you can feel her grin against your neck as she teases you, her nails lightly raking down your thighs, making you squirm.

camgirl!shoko who finally brings her fingers to your core, slipping inside you with a practiced ease that makes you cry out. she moves with a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing deeper, teasing you until you’re breathless and aching.

camgirl!shoko who knows exactly how to make you unravel, her thumbs pressing into your clit while her fingers milk your cunt. you’re moaning her name, begging her for more, as she pushes you over the edge again and again, your body shaking with each heavy release.

camgirl!shoko who makes you watch the footage later with her, "cute roomie reveal!"

[lovmiui]

hello, members of kpop/enhypen community! my name is tori and I am the owner of the jjk-centered blog @kenntoria. please read this if you care about content theft and plagiarism!!

after thinking long and hard about this(not that long, okay) i have decided that bringing attention to this situation was the right thing to do. now, let me start by saying that i mention in my pinned post that my works are not to be plagiarized, but I guess it wasn’t clear enough which brings us all here:

not even a week ago, on july 23, i received an ask from anon asking if i own a certain blog since there is a fic very similar to mine and anon also linked the post. same anon then sent another ask with another link to a different post of the same writer. the blog is named @okwonyo !

i’ll link the fics here(had to unblock the author to do that): “confession” and “dreamer”.

and the works that they were “inspired by” are: “flirting” and “shaving nanami”.

now, the posts were uploaded on july 21 and jul 10, notably later than my works, and if it weren’t for anon i wouldn’t even have known about anything, because i don’t lurk around the enhypen tag. if you want to, you can read works and connect the dots, but i am gonna present the similarities and explain why i, and many others, think it’s blatant plagiarism rather than inspiration(red is marking her work and blue is marking mine), you can read the whole thing too if you’d like ofc, i highlighted everything that would guide to see the problem, but please read everything.

this is from “dreamer” and “shaving nanami” fics. you can see that there is similar pacing, and some of the sentences are structured the same way, using the same words, minimal changes applied. and yeah, you can say that the writer added the “dreaming about marrying you” thing to her work but it doesn’t change the fact that this whole thing was basically ripped off. then, let’s get to the “confession” fic that has like a sequence of sentences taken from my fic, despite the plot being a little different in her fic, but the whole “not noticing the flirting thing” was taken from me. i wouldn’t really call that inspiration if you just take the sentences and literally put them in your fic. would you? :)

(mind you, this is my first time dealing with things like this, which is not an excuse, bur rather an explanation as to why i handled this situation poorly at first.)

now, with these out of the way, let’s discuss what i talked about with the owner of the @/okwonyo, or “jiah”. i sent an ask since i didn’t follow her and couldn’t message her, and we had a civil conversation about these works. i’m sorry i don’t have screenshots but it’s because the chat is no longer available to me(she blocked me from her sideblog which she used for chat with me @okwonyos).

she did apologise and offered to link the fics(or even take them down!) but i, admittedly, was a bit distracted with in real life issues and dismissed by saying that she could just tag me, which of course was my fault. when i said that i thought she would say “inspired by bla bla bla” but she just literally tagged me in the end of posts(mind you, there were 4 posts and she tagged me only in these 2 hah) and when i noticed and decided to ask her to take the posts down like she offered in the beginning because it would just be easier and would make me comfortable enough. she insisted that she likes those works a lot and me, being the pushover i am, relented and thought “well alright at least her readers will stay happy” and allowed her to link my stuff in her post, although she again mentioned me only at the end when i asked her to do it in the beginning of the post. i didn’t really care that her notes were in the end, not really.

come to find our, there were another 2 fics, that i didn’t know about until she mentioned me.

oblivious and promises, which are “inspired” again by my fics: oblivious reader and beauty marks.

was she gonna mention these if i hadn’t texted her again a while later about her poor credit giving style? i don’t think so, buddy. anyways, i read the fics briefly and was baffled by the similarities i saw. granted, i will mention that the “oblivious” fic by her resembles an “inspiration” a lot more than other fics since there are added elements like the characters being childhood friends and confession scene and all that — but still, there is whole beginning of the fic that she basically reworded from mine(was it necessary to even use the message with emoji thing…):

for the “promises” fic… bruh, the pacing, the whole dialogue, the similarities, literally whatever happens between the reader and that male character are taken from my fic and reworded and posted as original before i dm’ed the author. which pisses me off, because if she had mentioned me from the beginning and if i considered it plagiarism it just would have been a lot more telling about this author’s intentions — they wouldn’t have been able to act nonchalantly, you know what i mean?

now, eventually, i sent the author some texts about how just taking paragraphs and changing them a little doesn’t look much like an inspiration and asked to take the posts down(if i remember correctly) and she went defence mode and me? i was too tired with my irl issues to attempt anything more after a string of messages pointing out that she didn’t “copy and paste” and she added her own details and plots to the fic. so i went with something like okay whatever i hope you learn from your mistake and bye and she happily replied “feel free to block me” which irked me.

it irked me to the point that after blocking her i didn’t feel relief or like a “winner” but more like i played right into her hand, which should have been the signs that this was not the right way to end things.

now, jiah, did you think it was over? i did think i’d just be mulling over this for a while and hoping other people don’t steal my stuff, but see it’s not me who noticed it, i was unaware — it was other people, several people, who noticed you just taking writing as your own and ignoring being “inspired” by me until you were reminded that yes, you did it wrong. and you have to understand what you did was wrong and accept it.

and you had to be the one to address it to your readers because me, i did address it and i asked my readers and followers to not even say anything to you and not go into your inbox — but something tells me you would have just ignored them and turned off anon asks.

you may ask: tori, why are you posting this almost a week later? well, i’m not gonna lie i have been thinking about this whole situation a lot and how i didn’t do it right and didn’t feel satisfied. and thanks to my beautiful readers and anons who felt injustice and confirmed my thoughts i have been finally pushed to act on this.

look, i have nothing to gain from this… i don’t need like the undying love of enhypen fans or to turn anyone against her, but jiah, gotta respect me, no? do i really need your credits after you posted your post like 10 days ago and was going to act like nothing happened until confronted? i really don’t lol, i just want to have peace and i want every anon and every person who sent me an ask about it and showed me immense support to be relieved that kpop community knows what’s going on.

and i’m bringing awareness to this because i am sure that plagiarism here is really common and i have been lucky to be struck by it only for the first time.

now, do what you will with all of this info.

thank you for reading this and have a good rest of your day!!

[lovmiui]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you and nanami talk about your firsts.

it’s quiet. the air is thick with warmth and tired laughter and the buzz of the tv you forgot to mute.

nanami’s sitting against the headboard, half-dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses sliding down his nose. his arm is heavy around your waist, and your legs are tangled up in his. there’s a leftover mug of tea on the nightstand, long gone cold, and the faint scent of his cologne clings to your sheets.

you’re laying on your side, head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. it’s slow. steady.

“hey,” you say quietly, fingers brushing over his ribs beneath his shirt. “can i ask you something?”

“mm?” he hums, eyes still trained lazily on the tv. “you can ask me anything, sweetheart.”

you love when he says that. like there’s nothing he wouldn’t give you.

“when was your first kiss?”

that gets his attention. he tilts his head down, one eyebrow raised. “my first kiss?”

“yeah,” you smile, poking at his chest. “don’t act like you’re surprised. you knew it was coming.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying not to laugh. “you do have a habit of catching me off guard.”

“that’s part of my charm.”

“it is.” he pauses, looks thoughtful for a second. “it was in secondary school. i was fifteen.”

you blink up at him. “oh?”

he shrugs. “i was… quiet. the girls thought i was boring.”

you make a scandalized noise and grab his face in both hands. “i would have kissed you. every day. multiple times.”

he rolls his eyes but smiles. “i believe that.”

“so? was it good?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, like he’s remembering something embarrassing. “not particularly. i was nervous. i didn’t know where to put my hands. and it was over in about four seconds.”

you giggle, dragging your fingers along his jaw. “i wish i could’ve seen teenage kento. awkward and flustered.”

“you still can,” he says dryly, “whenever you decide to make me do anything public.”

you snort. “true.”

he runs his fingers through your hair, slowly, gently. “what about you?”

you bury your face in his chest. “do i have to tell you?”

he kisses the top of your head. “only if you want to.”

you sigh, your voice muffled. “it was… stupid.”

“i doubt that.”

you pull back enough to look at him. “i was thirteen. i kissed a boy at summer camp. he told me afterward that he only did it because his friends dared him to.”

the crease between nanami’s brows deepens.

“i punched him,” you add quickly, “right in the stomach.”

his mouth quirks. “good.”

“yeah.” you grin, pride lingering through it. “i made him throw up.”

“very good.”

you both laugh softly. it fades into something gentle and close.

“but it made me feel like i wasn’t… kissable,” you admit, eyes flickering down. “like something was wrong with me.”

nanami is quiet for a beat, and then he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“there’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly, against your mouth. “you’re the most kissable person i’ve ever met. annoyingly so.”

you smile against him. “annoyingly?”

“i want to kiss you all the time. it’s distracting.”

you grin. “poor baby.”

he kisses you again—longer this time, sweeter. his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. when he pulls away, your lips are a little swollen, your cheeks warm.

you tuck yourself closer to him. “what about your first time?”

he pauses, breath catching slightly.

you lift your head. “too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. no, just… you’re very good at asking questions that no one’s asked me before.”

you smile softly. “we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want—”

“i want to,” he says, and his voice is quiet but sure. “it’s easy with you.”

you wait, fingers playing gently with the fabric of his shirt.

“it was in university,” he says eventually. “i was nineteen. i wasn’t… ready, really. but i thought i should be. everyone else had already done it. there was a girl in my economics class who was interested. we didn’t know each other well. she was nice. i liked her.”

he pauses, his hand still petting your hair.

“we didn’t talk again after that night.”

you look up at him, eyebrows drawn. “was it bad?”

“no,” he says honestly. “just… empty. i think i felt lonelier afterward than i did before.”

you press your cheek to his chest again. “i get that.”

“what about you?” he asks quietly.

you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “i was eighteen. it was with my boyfriend at the time. high school romance. we thought we were gonna get married or something.”

“what happened?”

“he cheated on me,” you say simply. “with someone else in our friend group. and then told everyone i was ‘bad in bed’ to cover his own guilty ass.”

nanami’s jaw tightens along with his hold around you.

“i don’t really care anymore,” you say. “but back then… it made me feel like i’d done something wrong. like i’d messed it all up. like i’d been too much or not enough or something.”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, and neither does he. his hand strokes your hair slowly. grounding you. anchoring you.

“he was wrong,” nanami says finally, and his voice is so firm, so steady. “so wrong. about everything.”

you look up at him again.

“you’re kind. generous. thoughtful. funny. beautiful. and—”

you hold up a finger. “if you say ‘good in bed,’ i’m gonna roll off the bed and die.”

he smirks. “i was going to say incredible in every way.”

you melt instantly, throwing your arms around him and hiding your face in his neck. “you’re so embarrassing.”

“you asked.”

“yeah, but i didn’t think you’d be so nice about it.”

he squeezes your waist. “what, would you rather i said something cold and detached?”

“maybe just a little unhinged.” you grin. “like ‘i’d commit tax fraud for your pussy.’”

nanami stares at you.

“…what,” you laugh.

he shakes his head slowly. “you are the most ridiculous woman i’ve ever loved.”

your heart skips.

you look at him, eyes wide. “you love me?”

he blinks. like he hadn’t even realized he said it.

“i mean, i—”

“no, no, you said it,” you grin, practically climbing into his lap. “say it again.”

he groans softly. “you’re going to make it weird.”

“kento,” you say sweetly, kissing his cheek. “say it again.”

he exhales. “i love you.”

you press another kiss to his jaw. “again.”

“i love you,” he says, a little more breathless this time.

you kiss his lips. “again.”

“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth.

you smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “i love you too.”

he pulls you in tighter, hands warm on your waist, forehead resting against yours.

“can i tell you something?” you whisper.

“always.”

“i think… my real first time was with you.”

he goes very still.

“not like, that first time,” you clarify, cheeks warm. “i just mean… you’re the first person i’ve ever felt really safe with. the first person who didn’t make me feel like i had to perform or shrink myself or pretend. you were the first one to make it feel like… like maybe i wasn’t broken.”

nanami wraps both arms around you and pulls you tight against his chest.

“you were never broken,” he says softly. “you’ve always been whole. they just didn’t know how to hold you.”

your eyes sting a little. you bury your face in his shoulder and whisper, “you make everything better.”

he kisses your temple, your cheek, your nose.

“so do you,” he says. “you make me feel like i deserve softness.”

you smile through the lump in your throat. “we’re such saps.”

“terrible,” he agrees, smiling.

you shift so you’re lying on top of him now, your nose brushing his, your body warm against his.

“what about our first kiss?” you ask softly.

his eyes soften. “that was the best one.”

“really?”

he nods. “you were babbling nervously the whole time, and then you tripped and fell into me, and kissed me right on the nose.”

you groan. “don’t remind me.”

“i think about it every day.”

you kiss him. properly, this time, like you mean it. like it’s the last one or the first one or maybe both.

you pull back, just enough to whisper, “can i give you another first?”

he exhales, his hands already sliding up your thighs. “you already have.”

[lovmiui]

if somebody asked leona kingscholar’s type, he would reply with “chubby” in a HEARTBEAT, and i know im right cause he told me himself

on a serious note he’s literally the #1 ‘chubby people’ lover and nobody can tell me otherwise, there will be always an hand sticking on you 24/7 squeezing at the fat of whichever part of your body he’s grabbing and he LOVES it, he lives to feel more skin under him

you’d be his personal pillow i don’t make the rules guys. let him lay his head on your stomach and he’s napping for hours you actually need to check if he’s still alive

oh lawd and if you wear something a tad more revealing?? don’t expect him to get off of you anytime soon cause that man will get very handsy every chance he gets growling at any guy who looks at you for more than 5 seconds

js a lil thought, peace out ✊🏻

[lovmiui]

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝒈eneral rules !

basic dni criteria: if your homophobic, zionist, etc, do not follow or interact with me!!

if i post 18+ or any suggestive content, do not interact unless if you have an age in your bio.

feel free to ask if you wanna be mutuals w/ me ! i don’t mind at all, i like making new friends :D

i could care less if theres discourse, so please don’t ask me anything about it :)

overall— don’t be an ass, its not hard to not be a dickhead.

dividers by @ uzmacchiato

[lovmiui]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝒂bout 𝒎e !

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝒃ea/𝒎iya ! : bi, she/her, filipina, slight yumeshipper !! don’t be afraid to talk to me i love meeting ppl and making friends (^_^*) !!

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝒍ikes ! : matcha ><!! music, reading, writing, horror movies, gaming, winter!!

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 𝒇andoms im in !! : jjk, haikyuu, marvel, aot, squid game, arcane, kny/demon slayer, and more to come !!

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝒇avorite tv shows & movies : lisa frankenstein, howl’s moving castle, demon slayer, jujutsu kaisen, squid game, cells at work, whiplash

dividers are from @ uzmacchiato !!

[lovmiui]

— ˖ ࣪ .ᐟ 𝒎iya, 𝒔he/𝒉er, 19 . —

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ — 𝒏ote ! : i’m very inconsistent with what i write/post, and please check my rules before you interact !!

(🕯️) 𝟏 : 𝒓ules. 𝟐 : 𝒘riting 𝒓ules. 𝟑 : 𝒎asterlist.

—

©lovmiui : all works are my original ideas. please do not copy, translate or ai any of my work. do not ask for permission.

i ONLY write on tumblr and tumblr only. any work beyond that is a direct copy.

[lovmiui]

i want a mysterious source of income

[lovmiui]

ZUKO ✰ 5:36

NOTE. Implied that reader and Zuko are engaged, and reader is a woman in this one!

“Relax,” you whispered, nudging his side. “You’re clenching your jaw.”

“I’m not,” he muttered, though he immediately loosened it. “People are staring.”

“They’re always staring,” you said breezily. “But right now they’re more interested in the fresh chili sesame buns over there, I promise.”

Zuko glanced over and saw a baker pulling golden, round buns from a clay oven, steam curling in the last golden slants of sunlight. His stomach made a small, treacherous sound.

You grinned. “Hungry?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m managing,” he corrected.

You were already pulling him toward the stall, the ring on your finger cool against his arm. The sensation sends a small flutter to his chest, like a butterfly occupying the space without rent. “You’re getting a bun.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you had already waved at the vendor. “Hi, Auntie Yin! Two sesame buns, please—and an extra one with chili if they’re still warm?”

The older woman squinted, then lit up with recognition. “[Name], you’re back! And you brought your prince again.”

Auntie Yin's husband cleared his throat. “Isn’t it Firelord, technically—”

“Pfft,” Auntie Mei waved him off with a flour-dusted hand. “Not when you’re standing in my bread line, young man.”

You laughed, leaning into Zuko as you accepted the little bundle of warm bread. “You see why I come back here?”

Just as he was about to hand in some coins, you had stopped his hand mid-way. He looked at you with a small pout, definitely confused.

“Zuko, no.”

“But—“

“We’re going to fight over this, so no.”

“I don’t like arguing with you,” he murmurs.

You pat his hand solemnly. “I know,” you say. “So I’m paying. End of story.”

He didn’t answer anything else until you raised the bun for him to take the first bite. It was crisp on the outside, soft and buttery in the middle, with little black sesame seeds clinging to his lips, the spice just right to not overpower the actual buttery taste. He closed his eyes briefly.

“I remember this,” he said. “I used to sneak out with my uncle, and we’d get these. He used to say—” His voice caught slightly, swallowing with a pleased nod. “—he used to say the best food in the Fire Nation was always on the street, never behind palace walls.”

Your smile softened.

“He was right.”

You wandered deeper into the market, weaving between stalls draped with silks, lanterns, and every kind of fried thing imaginable. People bumped into each other without apology, children shouted as they chased each other with little wooden dragons, and somewhere nearby, a flute player added a gentle melody to the thick scent of roasted peanuts and smoke.

Zuko tilted his head slightly. “You know all of them.”

You shrugged. “Grew up here. Before my family moved to the coast, we lived two blocks down.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm. That stall with the yellow lanterns? That used to be where I bought pickled plums on my way home from school. And that guy—” you pointed to a tall man flipping meat over a roaring fire—“used to give me extra sticks if I said please and didn’t rat him out to his wife for snacking while he cooked. Kind guy, really. Just had a habit of snacking, not that I can blame him because they're really good.”

Zuko looked at you with something like awe. “You never told me any of this.”

“I like keeping some mystery,” you teased, passing him a skewer of fire-grilled mushrooms glistening with glaze. “Try this one. You used to like mushrooms, right?”

“I still like mushrooms.”

“Then don’t make that face and eat it.”

He bit into it, reluctantly. The glaze was spicy, sweet, and smoky all at once. He blinked. “Okay, fine. That’s—really good.”

“Told you.”

You two kept walking, you pausing every so often to wave or chat or haggle for something small—an herbal tea, a dumpling wrapped in banana leaf, or dried fruit you tucked into the folds of your sleeve for later. Zuko stayed mostly quiet, watching you, feeling the tension in his chest unwind inch by inch. Your laugh was infectious, the kind that made other people smile without realizing it. More than once, he found himself smiling too, caught off guard by the sound.

At one point, you dragged him over to a table surrounded by children and old men playing tile games.

“[Name], my girl!” one of them called, holding up a tile. “Still cheating at dragon tiles?”

“Only when you let me win,” you said with a wink.

Zuko stood beside you, bemused. “You’ve played dragon tile in public?”

“She won in public,” one of the elders cackled. “Took my whole snack allowance for the week.”

You handed over a few coins with a mock-guilty face. “Here, I owe you for that.”

“Isn’t there a law that states it’s illegal to play mahjong in public?”

...

"I don't know, is there?"

Before he could dwell on the thought for too long, you had already been ushering Zuko to the next stop. “You’ve been in more street fights than I have.”

“You’d be surprised what people will bet when they think a girl in ribbons doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“I think I married a con artist.”

You gave him a pleased smile. “Took you this long to figure that out?”

You rounded a quieter corner of the market as the last of the sun dipped behind the rooftops. Lanterns glowed in the gathering dusk, and music trickled through the air. You led him to a little bench tucked between two carts, one selling sticky rice and the other spiced nuts. You flopped down with a sigh, tugging him beside you.

For a while, you two just sat.

Zuko leaned back, watching the lanterns sway in the breeze.

“This was… good.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “You don’t always have to be Firelord, you know.”

“I kind of do,” he said, but it was quiet.

“You kind of don’t. Not with me, at least.”

He turned to look at you. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I missed this kind of quiet.”

You hummed. “That’s what I’m here for. To remind you.”

Zuko hesitated for a moment, then rested his hand on yours, lacing your fingers together, his finger idly playing with the ring on yours. It's nice, he thinks, just being with you like this. The market was bustling around you, but for a moment, it all faded—just a man and his beloved, full of street food and soft lantern light, sharing a bench and a memory and the kind of peace he was still learning to let himself have.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[lovmiui]

"my love", "honey", "sweetheart", "darling", "angel", "dear" okay impregnate me then

[lovmiui]

someone on twitter is trying to claim that use of an em-dash is an indication of AI-generated writing because it’s “relatively rare” for actual humans to use it. skill issue

[lovmiui]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[lovmiui]

return.

tsukishima kei x reader oneshot, fluff/angst, exes to lovers crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.

his undoing first came in the form of a thick white envelope stamped in curlicues of golden ink.

SHIMIZU KIYOKO WEDS TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE! reads the stiff card inside and he allows a small smile to appear on his face, before opening his messages and congratulating them both. he won’t deny that he’s happy for them; they’re the only high school couple he knew that ever truly worked out. never mind the fact that it felt vaguely like a slap in the face when he thought about his own first romance.

now, kei’s thinking to himself that maybe he should have been a dick and not shown up. the wheedling and whining of all his ex-upperclassmen would have been preferable to the scene unfolding before his eyes right now.

it was stupid of him to not consider that you would be here too… but wasn’t that the point of the last seven years? the amount of time it had taken for him to forget about you felt pathetic in itself. the amount of time it took for all that work to be undone was even worse.

you were laughing. head tilted back, eyes crinkled and your hair cascading down your back. he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see that it’s grown longer- a lot changes in seven years, he has to remind himself. you’re being twirled around by hinata, who’s own beaming face only seems to amplify your joy. the lighting hitting both of your faces made things worse. kei felt like a side character now- which he supposed he was now. the chapter about the two of you had long been shut.

he doesn’t know how long passes before the song comes to an end. hinata bows low over your hand, pretending to bite your finger instead of kissing it, and you both start giggling all over again. you glance away from hinata for a second, collecting your breath, and your gaze slides onto him.

it’s like time has stopped (as cheesy as it feels) and neither of you have changed and grown and matured; he’s still the sharp-tongued, short-tempered high school boy and you’re still the beautiful, perfect high school girl who would playfully place daisy chains in his hair before a game and grin when he took them off and tucked them protectively into his backpack. the same girl who intertwined hands with his during video games just to mess with him and crow over his loss. the same girl who kissed his swollen eyelids on the rare occasions he let himself cry. the same girl who told him you loved him every single night without fail.

your grin falters and the facade is broken. nodding in response to something kageyama is saying, you duck your head and slip away.

kei doesn’t blame you in the slightest.

the rest of the afternoon seems to pass like a blur. he vaguely remembers sugawara cackling about ennoshita being the one to catch the bouquet and yamaguchi hovering by his elbow for a few minutes talking animatedly before wandering off with yachi, until he ends up at a table alone watching everyone else on the dance floor.

“i know being a bitter asshole is kind of your trademark, but could you try to tamp it down a bit?” you side eye him while taking a sip from your drink, passing him an identical glass. “it’s a wedding. be nice. don’t scare the children.”

he’s not sure if he jolted with the surprise, but can you blame him? the last time you spoke was the five minute video call seven years ago when he’d ended the horribly optimistic and unrealistic long-distance relationship the two of you had vainly kept up almost half a year into college. the shitty wifi connection had done nothing to hide the wetness in your eyes and he’d stared at the blank screen for almost an hour afterwards trying to convince himself that he’d done the right thing.

compared to the last version of you he remembers, the you that is now coolly surveying him over the rim of your glass seems almost scarily calm. some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because you sigh and almost roll your eyes before sitting down opposite to him.

“so what have you been up to?”

he scoffs. “really?”

“really.”

he fiddles with his cuff. “i graduated.”

you nod. “tadashi showed me pictures. your hair was longer.”

“yeah. i’m working at the museum now.”

“just like you’d always wanted,” you murmur, smiling. it doesn’t reach your eyes.

all i’ve ever wanted is you, kei wants to cry out. instead, like the coward he is, he manages a weak nod and watches you take another sip of your wine.

the silence stretches awkwardly and you make to get up, murmuring something about going to get another drink.

he can’t have that. he knows if you walk away now, he’ll never see you again, so he grabs your wrist desperately. “what about you?”

you stare at his hand, an indecipherable look in your eyes. “i graduated.”

“yamaguchi didn’t show me any pictures.”

“yeah. he and shoyo also made me block you from seeing them. they said i should let you die of curiosity while i moved on and that it was what you deserved for being a jerk.” your voice tapers off awkwardly and kei feels like he’s been dunked in an ice bath.

“you and hinata… are you…” he can’t bring himself to say it.

you raise an eyebrow. “this is none of your business, but no.”

“i know,” he says a little too quickly. “sorry.”

“i’m working at that firm, by the way,” you continue. “just like i-”

“-always wanted,” you both say in unison. you give him a faint smile and he tentatively loosens the grip on your wrist, moving to intertwine his fingers with yours. you don’t stop him.

he doesn’t make an effort to continue the conversation from there, terrified of ruining something and making you leave all over again. meanwhile, the party is slowly dying down- the speakers are blaring progressively less aggressive music, and most of the dance floor has split up from larger dance groups to couples swaying together in each other's' arms. he watches as your eyes follow tanaka and shimizu (except technically she’s a tanaka too now) smiling softly at each other in the middle of it all.

the last dance is announced, and kei clears his throat. “do you want to…?”

you turn back towards him, raising an eyebrow. “you don’t dance in public.”

“a lot changes in seven years.”

“fair enough.” you let kei lead you between the dancers, hand never leaving his, and curl your other one around his shoulder. his other hand finds itself gently on your waist, unsure of the exact amount of distance to be putting between the two of you. this brings another hint of a smile to your face, and you effectively close the gap. your head is almost leaned on his chest and he’s sure you can hear his heartbeat as you take a deep inhale.

“was there anyone else?” you ask suddenly, and he almost trips.

“just one,” he says carefully. “girl in anthropology named miyawaki all through junior year. and some one night stands. you?”

you hum. “engineering guy named nakamura for a year and a half. that was all.”

was he better than me? he wants to ask. handsomer? funnier? kinder? what was it that made you stay with him for almost two whole years? most of all, he wants to know why you broke up. apparently you’re thinking on similar lines, because you beat her to the question.

“so why did you end it with her?”

“why did you end it with him ?” he doesn’t mean to rebuff your question with another one- his defense mechanisms are kicking in.

you shoot him an unimpressed look. “why do you think?”

he nods, smiling slightly. “me too. i think.”

“crazy.” your smile reaches your eyes this time. “still in love with me after all this time.”

“how could i not be?” he shifts you closer to him, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his hand tighter around yours.

“why’d you do it, then?” you mumble into his jacket.

“do what?”

“tsukki.” you graze his knuckle with a sharp nail tip.

he sighs. “it would’ve been hard. i was just trying to stop it before it got too hard.”

“selfish,” you mutter. “considering how it was harder for me without you.”

“it was harder for me too.” he swallows, holding you even closer. “and i’m sorry.”

you don’t respond, but he feels the hand on his shoulder curl tighter into the fabric of his jacket, and allows himself to smile a little.

“you still know me better than anyone else,” you say. “and we’re both never getting over each other.”

“you’re saying you want to…” he can’t finish the sentence, terrified of having misread the room horribly.

“yeah.” for the first time, he hears some nervousness leak into your voice. “maybe we had to grow apart before we-”

“-came back together,” you say together, him finishing your sentence for the second time that afternoon.

you tilt your head upwards, brushing noses. “and i know you better than anyone else too, tsukishima kei”

“can i kiss you?” he murmurs, hand coming up from your waist to cup your face gently. you don’t even respond, simply going up on your tiptoes to meet his lips.

seven years and two broken hearts and oceans of what-ifs and broken promises later, he’s still a boy in love with the same girl. if he imagines it just right, it’s exactly like your first kiss on the steps of the volleyball team’s gym, the warm summer breeze and bright stars above the only witnesses. like then, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the one thing he knows he’ll never get tired of.

neither of you notice your upperclassmen breaking out into frenzied whoops, money exchanging hands, pictures being taken. but none of that matters- because right here in your arms, he’s never felt more complete. when you pull away, he knows you, the only other person that knows kei more than anyone in the world, who knows exactly how he feels with a single look into his eyes, feels exactly the same way.

beaming like the sun itself, you kiss him again.

[lovmiui]

LOST IN THE MAIL

Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader | 4.3k words, bad pick-up lines (of course), wingman yaku, more silly than romantic

The problem with assigned seating arrangements is an obvious one.

So blatant, like the slightly smudged pen markings on your desk that resemble two initials inside the ugliest shaped heart you’ve ever seen. You see this as the modern-day version of carving your lover’s name in the bark of some random ass tree, in the same way you view folded pieces of notebook paper passed between two of your new deskmates as the contemporary equivalent of letters exchanged overseas by lovers.

You suppose that makes you the unfortunate mail carrier, then, when you’re the one sitting right in the middle of it all, in between Kuroo Tetsurō and another classmate you don’t remember the name of.

Having worked with him for a few group projects in the past, you’d say you’re somewhat familiar with Kuroo. He’s nice, you remember from your conversations. Smart. Funny. His charm, aside from his physics-defying hairstyle, is the dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.

Maybe that’s why the first time he asks a favour of you, you don’t mind it too much.

It starts with a whisper of your name and then a shoe gently prodding against the bottom of your chair after your initial attempt at ignoring the disturbance. You whirl around in your seat to face him, and with a smile, Kuroo silently motions for you to hold your hand out before dropping a neatly folded piece of notebook paper onto your palm. As your gaze moves down to the object, the force of the atmosphere overpowers whatever effort he must’ve put into folding the paper one last time, so you end up catching a glimpse of the graphite embedded on it— something that looks like a heart and the start of a really shitty pick-up line.

Hey! Did it hurt when you fell from…

Before you can read further, he hovers a large hand over yours and the note, prompting you to glance up just in time to see him flash a smile, albeit a bit strained. He clears his throat awkwardly, even though you’re certain that there is no need to in the first place. “Sorry. Could you please pass this on to Yaku?”

You frown in confusion. It’s such a shame you’re so bad with names and faces because then maybe you could muster up a more intelligent response other than, “Who?”

Kuroo grins at your owlish response. His hand moves up, with his index finger extending just centimetres past your ear. Following it, your gaze lands on the brunet sitting in front of you.

“That guy, Yaku Morisuke. Just throw it over his head, he’ll know it’s from me. Thanks.”

Ah, you think, embarrassed as you hunch over your desk to politely hand the piece of paper to its intended recipient. He has a thing for the shortie sitting up front.

You’ve seen them bickering with each other like a married couple so often around school grounds that this makes perfect sense.

The rest of class goes like this: Kuroo writes a note and passes it to you. You pass it to Yaku. Yaku reads the note, writes something on the paper, and gives it to you. You hand it back to Kuroo. Repeat.

And then over the next couple of days, it becomes routine.

Of course, it’s not like you actually wanted to become an unpaid mail carrier. But who were you to disrupt your classmates’ high school romance? …Even if said romance was happening in the form of bad pick up lines and crumpled sheets of notebook paper with the occasional highlighter-yellow sticky note at eight in the morning.

Still, you do find it a bit strange, the way Yaku’s face scrunches up every time after reading Kuroo’s note. Maybe it’s disgust, or maybe it’s confusion. And Kuroo, in return, always looks mildly disgruntled at his response.

From this, you can only conclude that they must already be going through a rough patch in the early stages of their relationship. How unfortunate.

“Please tell Roosterhead to stop harassing me with these godawful pick up lines.”

Silence sweeps in between the two of you, interrupted only by the teacher’s voice as they drone on about thermodynamics. When all you have to offer is a blank expression in response to his sudden interjection after yet another note from Kuroo, Yaku explains awkwardly, “I’m talking about Kuroo. His hair— it kinda makes him look like a rooster, y’know?”

Out of sheer curiosity, you turn around to see if the comparison is true. You’re surprised, however, when Kuroo’s face is only inches away from yours, supported by the palm of his hand as his elbow rests near the edge of his desk.

“Hey.”

His mouth slants into a grin across his face. Forcing yourself to not search for the slight indent by his cheek, you instead focus on the asymmetrical bangs that fall just above his well-defined cheekbone and the tufts of hair that stick out from the top of his head.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, what?”

“You do look like a rooster.”

(Behind you, Yaku stifles a laugh.)

Ruddiness blossoms from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Don’t listen to that weirdo freak. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he says, right as Yaku makes a noise of indignation at the epithet.

“Okay, ‘weirdo freak’? That’s funny, coming from the guy who unironically says stuff like ‘cutie-patootie’ and—“ the offended brunet stops to unfold the paper, frantically skimming over the contents of it before reading it out loud “—‘Do you like science? Because I’ve got my ion you.’”

The rouge across Kuroo’s skin only deepens as he suddenly reaches for the note in Yaku’s grasp. However, at an impressive speed, Yaku’s hand moves out of his range just in time, leaving Kuroo’s arm sprawled pathetically over half of your desk, like a large fish dried up against the shore.

(Great, you think. You’re literally caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel, which had started over what?

…Bad flirting?)

It’s a pitiful attempt at hiding the evidence of his embarrassment when he passes a hand through his hair and it lingers near the ends of the sable tresses against his forehead, concealing half of his face for a few seconds longer than usual before he finally defends himself.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear. You’re just saying it wrong because you’re so loser-ish and uncharismatic.” Kuroo pauses, then adds for good measure, “Unlike me.”

Yaku glowers at him, looking like a Minecraft creeper about to explode, though he manages to keep his voice as level as possible when he tries to defend himself, “I said it exactly like how it’s written on this paper. It’s a stupid line no matter how anyone says it. Listen—“

Then, as if remembering you’re here too, he turns to you. It reminds you of when the characters in a show look directly at the camera, and the realisation occurs to you all of a sudden that your nosy self has been staring at the two of them this whole time and very clearly listening in on their conversation, instead of the more informative yet less interesting lecture happening at the front of the classroom. Whoops.

“—how do you feel about this?”

You freeze for a moment.

“About— about the pick up line?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you think it sucks,” he says. “Be brutally honest.”

Before you can respond, Kuroo butts in with a look of disapproval directed toward Yaku, though from your proximity to him, you can see that the ends of his mouth are clearly fighting against curling into a shit-eating grin. “How pushy of you, Yakkun, dragging our classmate into this just to prove your point. You should be ashamed.”

“It’s called gathering testimony,” Yaku argues before facing you again, this time with a sheepish expression. You half-expect him to start twiddling his fingers as well, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” you say, taking pity on him. “I guess if someone said that line to me, I’d think it was funny. Like, I wouldn’t be super impressed or anything, but it’s just so bad that it’s good?”

Yaku moves his hands up to the top of his head, as though he’s about to pull out his hair, and stares at you like the end of the world is happening and it’s all your fault.

Meanwhile, Kuroo turns towards him with a wry smile, opening his mouth wide, and the sound that comes out is oozing with triumph: “Ha.”

Yaku scowls. Then, after tossing the crumpled up note at Kuroo’s face in a fit of glorious rage, he whips around to the front of the classroom. For the rest of the period, he doesn’t look back, even when Kuroo pleads you to pass the note to him minutes later.

You wonder why it had to be you of all people to become such an unwilling witness to the turmoil of their relationship.

“Are you an exam paper? Because I forget everything when I look at you.”

For some reason, Kuroo Tetsurō is bad at eye contact.

Like, really bad, you think, because isn’t he supposed to be looking at Yaku when he says this sort of lovey-dovey crap? And it’s not as though doing so is impossible or difficult for him; the brunet is right there, standing off to the side behind him. So if Kuroo could just turn around in the correct direction, everything would be perfectly normal and you wouldn’t be sitting here at your desk fifteen minutes before class, puzzled as to why he’s looking at you right now.

Yaku rolls his eyes and slaps a hand against his forehead, looking visibly upset, and you think he’s about to scold him, accuse him of infidelity, break up with him right then and there. You think it’ll happen just like in all those dramas you’ve been watching lately. However, much to your surprise and maybe to your disappointment, he’s a lot calmer than you would expect for someone in this kind of situation.

“I told you not to use that line,” he chides, almost like a teacher scolding a student. “I said that one was bad.”

“No,” Kuroo says, frowning. “You said it was cute.”

“Hell no, I did not say that.”

“You did.” Silence lingers uncomfortably between the two of them as they stare at each other for a couple seconds, before Kuroo eventually declares in an accusatory tone, “You’re sabotaging me. I get it.”

“I’m not, wh—“ Yaku stops and sighs, moving down to rummage through his backpack on the floor until he finally pulls out a crumpled ball of paper. After smoothing it out across his palm, he then holds it up for Kuroo to see.

You try to crane your neck to look as well, but apparently there’s only so much you’re allowed to know about their relationship, evident in the quick side-eye Yaku gives you as he promptly holds his hand up to shield you from reading the note.

Okay, wow. Cosplaying disinterest, you pretend to examine the wrinkles in your palm while Yaku taps the paper with his pointer finger multiple times.

“Look. It literally says right here, ‘the first one sucks,’” he reads out loud passionately. “And then I said the second one was sweet.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows tug together. Then, they smooth out in realisation after he finishes reading the note, but before Yaku can utter something along the lines of “I told you so!,” he turns to you again with the same fond look in his eyes as he had a minute ago.

“You remind me of a dictionary, the way you add meaning to everything,” he tells you, and you swear your heart skips a beat at how earnestly he says it. The problem is, though, you’re not a homewrecker, and you don’t ever plan on being one, so you glance to Yaku for help, even going as far as to blink SOS in morse code in hopes that he understands that this is so, so out of your control. However, he just looks back at you like he’s waiting on your reply as well.

Shit, you think to yourself. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Err,” you start intelligently, mustering up the courage to look Kuroo in the eyes. You still don’t know what the fuck these people want from you, but you try to sound as objective as possible. “The pick-up line is… good?”

A smile paints Kuroo’s expression despite your totally pathetic response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome…?” You nod weakly.

Nevertheless, when the teacher enters the room, indicating the start of class, Yaku has one last thing to add to this heinously stressful conversation as you and Kuroo take your seats. And again, he defies your expectations because surprisingly it isn’t an insult to Kuroo’s behaviour nor a mental breakdown over what he just witnessed. Rather, it’s quite simple.

“Let’s all go to the library after school today,” he suggests. “The three of us.”

You mull over it for several seconds. Well, you do have an exam for this class next week. And seeing how Yaku doesn’t seem to have it out for your blood just yet, you suppose a study session with two of your classmates can’t hurt— so, you agree.

(Amidst your thoughts, you miss the way Kuroo sends an overenthusiastic thumbs-up to Yaku from behind you, and Yaku roleplays humbleness with a roll of his eyes, too quick for you to notice.)

Ever since the semester started, you’ve created a list of things you want to curse the universe for bringing into your life to inconvenience you.

1) Assigned seating arrangements

2) Your teacher’s strict phone policy

3) Yaku Morisuke

Although maybe you should’ve added it way earlier, that last one is only a new addition as of today, after Kuroo announces to you that Yaku just texted him. Watching him as he reaches down to pick up his backpack and plop it onto the chair next to him, where Yaku should be sitting but isn’t, you can kind of get the gist of what’s happened. You’re already starting to plot against him in your head, manifesting him a failing score on his next test. And— the next time he asks you to pass a note back to Kuroo, you’ve decided that you’re going to say no. Yeah, that’ll really teach him a lesson or something.

Nonetheless, to be completely sure, you stare at Kuroo expectantly until he actually reads the message off his phone out loud for you, albeit in a very poorly done impression of the messenger’s voice that you can’t help but snicker at.

“‘Hi. I can’t make it to the library today because something urgent just came up. Sorry!’” Kuroo shakes his head, like he’s completely in disbelief. “How horrible of him, leaving us to suffer in academics all by ourselves after he was the one who invited us in the first place.”

You sigh at that piece of information, and the verbal reaction you provide is a lot more lukewarm than the epic revenge you’re thinking in your head right now. You can only hope that your facial expression doesn’t give it away. “Guess we’ll just have to study without him.”

For the next few hours, it’s peaceful while the two of you begin to work diligently. Occasionally, he’ll nudge your chair with his foot to ask you a question about the class, which, more often than not, ends up spiralling into a tangential conversation about something totally unrelated. It’s not that you intend for that to happen, but Kuroo is a man of many words or whatever, and talking to him is much more interesting than subject you’re studying for anyway. That is, until the feeling of impending doom returns like a bad stomach ache, reminding the both of you to focus.

This study session, it reminds you of all the other times you’ve hung out with Kuroo for group projects in the past. And looking back, you feel so fond of those memories that as much as you hate group projects and you often wish your teacher would stop assigning them, you suppose they aren’t so bad when they’re with Kuroo.

(Okay, then, maybe Yaku ditching the two of you wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. He’s still on your list of inconveniences, though.)

The sun is setting by the time you exit the school building. With the ache settling deep in your bones and your temples, you really think you might disintegrate into dust after this next exam. As you reach the edge of the school grounds, Kuroo offers to walk you home, but you decline because your home isn’t that far anyways. Still, before you both bid your farewells and part ways, you have something on your mind that you can’t help but let curiosity drive you to ask him about.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he turns to you, a tuft of black hair falling gracefully in front of his eyes like he #JustWokeUpLikeThis. The sunset illuminating the side of his face at this moment makes him look really majestic, too, but you try not to think such immoral thoughts about a taken man. Instead, you focus on being nosy because that’s just the kind of person you are, and you feel like you’ve missed some episodes lately.

“Yeah?” Kuroo prompts.

“Are you really… close with Yaku? Like actually?” you ask in a tentative manner, choosing your words carefully. After all, you don’t want to offend him by making it seem as though you can’t tell that they’re dating because of their supposed relationship problems, but recently, it’s been getting harder and harder to believe it. “He kind of looks like he’s planning your assassination every time I pass your notes to him.”

Kuroo lets out the loudest cackle you’ve ever heard, moving his hand as if to ward off your concern.

“Yeah, that’s just how he is. He’s been my number one hater since day one. But,” he smiles, and it speaks confidence for the most part, yet the pink dusting his cheeks shows otherwise, “if you’re so worried, why don’t you balance it out by being my number one lover?”

Oh!

What?!

You attempt to cover up your shock with a nervous laugh, eyes darting around as if there’s a hidden camera somewhere in your surroundings.

“Wow, that— that line’s so good? I’m sure Yaku will love it.” You aren’t sure of the source behind the heat crawling up your neck, but you tell yourself that it must be from how embarrassing you sound right now because it absolutely cannot be from what Kuroo just said. “See you tomorrow!”

Kuroo can only watch in amusement, tilting his head slightly as you scurry away, a bloom of smoke trailing the back of your shoes.

(…Wait a minute.

He frowns. Who will love what?)

“Yaku, you deserve better.”

Upon hearing your words, one of Yaku’s eyebrows jumps toward his hairline while the other remains anchored to his eyelid. He whips around, catching your arm just as you’re about to walk away from him in the middle of the crowded hallway. Gesturing with his head for you to follow him, he leads you to a separate hallway, where the area isn’t as busy and he can hear you talk more clearly.

He crosses his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

You purse your lips, sighing because you’re about to break some bad news to him, and unfortunately, you don’t have any tissues on hand. You suppose offering him your shoulder to cry on could suffice, but the idea is rather unappealing.

Nonetheless, you tell him the truth, “The other day, Kuroo told me he wants me to be his number one lover.”

He nods slowly, not understanding why you’re telling him this. “Okay… and?”

“During gym class today, he said to me, ‘Stop, drop, and roll! Because baby, you’re so hot, you’re on fire’ after I kicked a ball out of bounds.”

Now, Yaku looks scandalised. “Ew. He really said that? To you?”

“Mhm,” you confirm solemnly, and Yaku heaves a grave sigh, as though the weight of all this is too much. You really feel sorry for him, so much that you even move your hand to pat his shoulder as a way to comfort him.

However, for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, Yaku does the same.

The two of you freeze, hand on each other’s opposite shoulders like you’re both trying to console each other.

“Um.”

Eventually, you awkwardly let your hand drop to your side, and Yaku mirrors that action as well.

“Well,” he says, after another beat of painful silence. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go yell at him later.”

You come to class several minutes earlier than usual during lunch period just to talk to Yaku before Kuroo gets here.

“Hey,” you say, knuckles knocking against the top of his desk to get his attention. “Let’s make things easier for you and Kuroo and switch seats.”

Wide-eyed, Yaku shakes his head. He glances to the door as if a hideous monster (Kuroo) will storm in at any moment before uttering passionately, almost urgently, in a hushed voice, “We can’t.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Why do these two have to be so damn difficult? It’s already bad enough having to deal with Kuroo and his inability to make eye contact with the right person when he says pick-up lines out of the blue, as well as his tendency to flirt with you sometimes. However, you had hoped that Yaku would at least be somewhat normal, even if he won’t stand up for himself against Kuroo’s disloyal behaviour.

“Why not? The teacher probably won’t notice since we sit kind of far from the front.”

“It’s not that, but I… can’t say.”

“What do you mean you can’t say?” You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him suspiciously. He’s making, like, zero sense right now. “Are you really that emotionally attached to this desk? It’s just a piece of wood.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding affronted at the fact that you would even think that. “It’s just, it isn’t really my business to tell you. If I were you, I’d ask Kuroo about it. Okay?”

You blink at him. “Kuroo?”

“Yes.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking like a wonky-shaped fork for a split second. “He’ll tell you everything. Just please, leave me alone. Kuroo’s the one that actually likes… talking to you. No offence.”

Okay, a bit rude, but whatever. Leaving the classroom, you set out on a new mission:

Find Kuroo.

“We live in the age of technology. Can’t you just…? You know.” You gesture with your hands to appear as though you’re texting on an imaginary phone. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at this, finding some entertainment in your actions. You would be phenomenal at a game of charades. “Exchanging handwritten letters is sweet and all, but man, it sucks being in the middle of everything.”

A sly grin eases its way onto his face. “Are you jealous?”

“Literally how did you get to that conclusion?” You scowl. “Of course not. But it’s so weird. I asked your boyfriend if we could switch seats to make things easier for all three of us, and he said no, though he wouldn’t tell me why. Instead, he told me to ask you.”

Kuroo seems a bit surprised by that, for some reason. Actually, not just a bit— he’s very surprised, voice even cracking as he asks, “My what?”

“Your—“ You hesitate, unsure. Doesn’t he know who you’re talking about? “You know, Yaku?”

Kuroo stares at you as silence hangs in the air. Like, really stares at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing you say right now.

Then, he hunches over in the middle of the empty hallway, shoulders shuddering with laughter as he tries to stabilise himself with his hands on his knees.

You can only watch, confused.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally straightens his posture. Placing a hand over your shoulder and looking you directly in the eyes, he deadpans, “Yaku is not my boyfriend.”

Just like that, everything you’ve ever known about these two against your will comes crashing down, collapsing, and all other synonyms.

“What the hell?” you splutter, and Kuroo bursts into another fit of laughter. “Stop laughing— what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? All those notes you wrote to each other, that pick-up line I saw in your first note to him. You’re saying none of it was romantic?”

After several moments, Kuroo manages to catch his breath just enough to explain, “It was romantic, but not for Yaku. Every time, I was asking him for feedback on a pick-up line so I could use them with— with you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, pursing your lips. “So you’re not dating Yaku?”

Vehemently, he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Not even in my worst nightmares.”

“…And you really don’t have the hots for him?”

“No,” he confirms, moving his hand from your shoulder to gently graze the side of your face. “It’s always been you.”

Damn it. You were so invested.

Still, his hand is warm and soft against your cheek, and there’s that familiar dimple near the left side of his mouth that you always find your gaze gravitating towards whenever he smiles, so maybe you’re okay with this turn of events, as unexpected as it was.

[BONUS: some of the notes exchanged between Kuroo and Yaku]

author’s note: like 80% of fhis was wirtten at 3am and i havent written anything in a whileso i hope this was at least Coherent :) and Totally Not All Over The Place :)