#24 On Ur Spotify Wrapped Describes How 2024 Will Go, How Screwed R U

ok it’s working but my text is black and won’t turn to white.

i can’t reblog anything bc my stupid phone doesn’t work.

i know this is a bit old-school tumblr style posting., but the tags and search engine of tumblr stresses me out, so ill do it this way!

id really really like to follow more active haikyuu, bnha, dgm and jujutsu kaisen writing blogs! (and maybe catch some new moots as well ahaha jk! ....unless?)

i am a sfw gender neutral reader-insert writer for hq, dgm and bnha myself! im 29 years old and i dont mind following blogs that also write nsfw, as long as its properly tagged. just beware i will generally only interact with your sfw parts !!

so if youre writing any of the aforementioned fandoms and post semi-regularly (any posts are fine, writing is an ebb and flow, so reblogs count in activity for me). please reblog this post and ill follow you !! (specifically a reblog so that it will reach more, thank you!!).

i will follow from my main blog, @/lordpopuko.

i try my best to reblog fics and foster community as often as possible. i also like adding several comments to the fics that i reblog, so theres no downside to having me follow you ehehehe 🥺 <3 (check out this tag of recs to see examples of my type of comments if ur curious?)

if my moots or other followers would be kind enough to reblog this as a boost, id be eternally grateful in my quest to find more activity on my own dash. ill send you all a gift basket filled with cookies, berries and plenty of snøfle fur to go round thank youuu🥰

ps i also wont expect follow backs btw i just need more on my dash :) so no obligation to do so! only if youd like to !!! ✨

kurapika's top 10 aries moment

do me a solid and just reblog this saying what time it is where you are and what you’re thinking about in the tags.

i made a quiz to determine which emotionally tortured and angelically talented art pop girl you are! here it is :-) reblog with your moon sign and who you get

anon request: why they call it falling x osamu miya

126. why they call it falling

osamu; 1,078 words; fluff and the most fleeting of suggestive themes; really just a character study on the miya twins + reader as a conduit for character dev

he has always had someone who knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly how he was feeling. because when god made twins (or so osamu thinks), they got really fucking lazy and probably just hit ctrl+v one too many times.

when he meets you for a first time, he wonders if this is what it felt like for a hurricane and a typhoon to finally learn about each other, the only difference between them being where they occur — only an entire ocean and half a world apart.

“i think… i met someone,” he says.

“i think… i’m done with volleyball after high school ends,” he says.

“i think you’re an idiot,” atsumu says.

“do you… think i’m an idiot?” osamu asks, sitting across from you on a summer evening, long after practice has been over, but the stickiness of the day still lingers on his skin. tsumu is still mad at him, but what else is new?

you regard him for a minute, pressing your lips into a soft, thin line as you stare out across the darkening horizon.

“no…” you say finally, looking down at your hands, loose in your lap. osamu looks down at his own hands, loose in his lap, his palms littered with calluses from all the hours of practice. all the hours of dreaming.

“i don’t think you’re an idiot.”

osamu smiles, nodding, “thanks…”

the truth is that it’s been way too long since he’s felt like the shadow of himself, or perhaps of someone else, and it’s been way too long since he’s really known what it felt like to do something with his whole entire soul and feel good about it. and that’s a kind of growing up too — so he learns — that’s a kind of changing.

“we wanted to be the best,” he admits, chuckling to himself, the thought of it now somehow ridiculous in a way that it’s never been to him before. he shakes his head and sighs, shaking our his bangs from his eyes as he casts his gaze up towards the first burgeoning stars.

“you still can — what’s stopping you?” you ask, your grin going lopsided in the way he likes. and when he looks back at you, he sees the world reflected in your eyes.

later that night, when he is making music of your body with his lips skimming a line along the sharp of your exposed collarbones, when his fingers are tugging you apart, when you are pushing back against him, pushing him back into the mattress of his own bed and atsumu is nowhere to be found (probably still sulking somewhere with the rest of the team), you pull back and smile at him — the lopsided smile he loves so much and he can’t help but lean up to kiss it from your lips.

and he feels it in his own body then, the years and years and years of his practice, the years and years and years of his hard work. him and his twin brother — the mirrored half of himself, the light to (perhaps) his shadow. ying and yang and all that slow, smooth jazz.

he grins too and kisses you. he kisses you hard and fast and he makes music of his own body then, too. because his body has long since been an instrument and he was born knowing how to play every single one of its notes.

“stay,” he says, after he’s had his fill of you, because a part of him knows that he’ll be just as hungry later.

“maybe,” you answer, even as you both hear his brother come home.

atsumu comes back to find both of you asleep, the sheets twisted over your very, very naked bodies. and a part of him wants to hate it but another part of him doesn’t. he can’t.

because this is what happens when a hurricane and a typhoon learn about each other for the very first time — they are so, so much the same thing, made different only by their times and places. but they are still just beating hearts and half-caught breaths — they are still just wind and rain and a tunnel between the sea and the never-ending sky.

“what are you gonna do?” atsumu asks, not looking at his twin.

osamu shrugs, “dunno… maybe i’ll make rice balls.”

“hn. you do make good riceballs.”

“i… i think i really like her, y’know.”

atsumu heaves a long, deep breath. he nods.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu grins, “right. of course you do.”

and the truth is that when god made twins, they probably hit ctrl+v one too many times, and they have always known things about each other that no one else will ever know or fully understand. like, the things that make them different, totally and inexplicably.

“he’s gonna be the best in the world,” osamu says, his eyes bright as twin stars as you sit next to him, the pair of you glued to the match on the tv screen. there’s an apron around samu’s waist and rice sticking to his fingers.

you almost laugh.

“he already is,” you say.

it takes three seconds of osamu to turn to you, his grin going lopsided as he watches you watch him.

“i — i think i love you.”

and you really do laugh this time.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu only rolls his eyes, goes back to pressing the musubi between his palms as the commercial break cuts to some curry commercial featuring an incredibly deadpanned kageyama. he packs the rice in tight and hands it to you.

“how’s it taste?”

you take your time savoring the flavor, grinning as you take another huge bite. the smile on osamu’s face spreads and spreads and spreads.

“like the best in the world,” you say, before shoving the whole thing into your mouth just to make osamu laugh.

“you’re… an idiot.”

you swallow hard and reach for a glass of water.

osamu catches your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, letting his lips linger there even as the commercial break ends.

“i know,” you say, nodding as you both turn back to the screen. the rice is warm and fresh and the nori is crispy and just the perfect amount of salty.

“yeah, i know."

"You don't have to walk me home."

"It's nothing." Iruka rubs the back of his neck when he lies, flat palm against his skin as he smiles sheepishly. "It's not out of my way."

It is. He lives on the complete other side of the village, down by the schoolhouse. There's no real reason for him to meandering down here by the main gates, so close to you that the back of his hand brushes against yours intermittently.

It's rare that Iruka even comes out with the groups for dinner, let alone a couple of drinks. His cheeks are tickled pink from the alcohol, the smooth skin of his scar silvery white against it. Whenever you glance his way, it crinkles in the middle as he smiles.

"Really," he insists, "It's my pleasure. Besides, it's what boyfriends do."

Boyfriend. The term sounds so childish, but it makes your chest tense with excitement. Your relationship is still shiny and new, glimmering with a future of unknowns, polished with unfettered affection. Tonight was the first time you introduced him with that word 'boyfriend' and tonight was the first time his hand found yours under the table, out of view from the rest of the world.

The street lights barely illuminate the road, puddling weakly in their own respective spots and pulling weak shadows across the front of your apartment building.

"You should come in for a coffee," you say as you turn on your heel, stopping both of you short, "As a thank you."

"I don't drink coffee, but..." Iruka looks away for a moment, rather sheepish despite no one being around to witness, "I'd still like to come in, if I could."

Your face splits into a smile as you bounce on the pads of your feet, purely excited at the insinuation. Dating has its own set of rules, most of which are outdated, but appease the elders and their watchful eyes. Dates are usually done in groups, public displays of affection are kept to a minimum, and, most importantly, men aren't to come into a lady's home this late at night without pretense.

Like coffee.

You step forward into the dim, halfway there light of the lamp, and place your hand on his arm. He follows suit, but more daring, his hand finding the dip of your waist.

Appearance is important to him. Teachers are judged to a different standard than everyone else. These little rebellions only exist when there's no one else to hear them.

"I could make some food?" you offer, thing soft lilt to your voice more playful than anything. Iruka leans in, bonking his forehead against yours, and says:

"I don't want that either."

His hand scoops around the base of your neck, pulling you up and guiding your lips to the press of his own. There's an edge of innocence in the chasteness, physically buzzing with anticipation of more as he hums into you. Every breath between you is used to get closer; each exhale your chest deflates and he crushes you closer, that hand on your hip now snugly behind you, curling your back into him.

Each inhale he takes advantage of, tongue sneaking past your lips and lewdly pressing into yours. The lewdness of it all -the wet, spitty, desperate way he engulfs you deeper at every chance, the way his hand has drifted to squeeze the fat of your ass- surprises you so much that it's all you can do it keep up, holding on by his shoulders. The heat of his breath mingling with yours makes your whole body searing hot.

As if he knows, Iruka starts working his knee in between yours, thigh firm against your pussy and giving you some of the friction you desperately need. When you buckle into the contact, he moans like a wanton whore, open mouthed and deep, eyebrows crumpled together in rapture-

A low wolf whistle echoes down the street.

"Aw, get it, sensei-!" By the time you both scramble apart, the gaggle of youths (much too old to be his current students) is nothing but shadows running in the distance, guffawing as they go.

"You- hey-" Iruka's face is scarlet with embarrassment as he staggers over his words, both trying to yell and stay quiet enough not to wake your neighbors, "Go home, boys."

"They can't hear you, Umino." You pat his arm and a half-hearted laugh. You'd care more if you were younger, but age gave you thicker skin.

Your boyfriend apparently doesn't feel the same.

"Aw geez," he laments. Somehow, the kiss has mussed his hair, pulling a couple long strings in front of his face. "How embarrassing, people are gonna talk-"

"They were going to talk anyway-- people love gossip," you laugh, tugging at his sleeve, "Come inside and let's give them something to talk about."

His jaw flexes as he comes around to the idea, physically swallowing the shame of being caught.

"What happened to the food you were offering?" he teases, voice low and rolling. You turn away, walking towards the stairs to your building.

"Don't worry," you hum, "I'll give you something to put your mouth on."

Miniature cigarette pack editions of classic literature by Tank Books. The Kafka pack contains The Metamorphosis and In The Penal Colony.

it’s kinda silly how like people who like the same characters … like the same characters from other series

You guys remember frat boy!osamu?

Well, you guys broke up.

It was stupid. You spent maybe half an hour yelling at each other. Just because Osamu wasn't like his frat brothers didn't mean he wasn't a frat brother, and fuck, you just wish he would say something to the dozens of girls who threw themselves at him daily. It hurts! How doesn't he get that?!?

After a couple of months, Atsumu begs to you come back around the house. Just because you and his brother stopped dating doesn't mean that Atsumu had to lose someone he now considered his best friend.

After the blonde twin blows up your phone with invites to a party at the frat house, you decided to say fuck it.

You show up in some tight jeans and a lace-up cami. You don't necessarily want to impress anyone; all you're going to be doing is talking to Atsumu and drinking a couple of beers, but it's nice to dress up sometimes.

You expect to see Osamu in his room like he usually would be. Even before you dated, he never participated in a party, but 20 minutes after you arrive, you see him walk into the house from the backyard with a girl on his arm. Atsumu tries to place himself in front of you to act as a human shield, but it's already too late, and you're making your way out of the house as he yells for you.

Once back at your dorm, you check your phone and see a snapchat from Suna, but you don't bother to open it. Instead, you wash off your makeup and cry yourself to sleep.

You don't get to sleep very long though. A loud knock at your door wakes you, and you check the time to see that it had been an hour since you'd left the party. You assume it's Atsumu trying to make you feel better, so you open the door.

"'Tsumu, I appreciate your efforts but-" You stop talking when you see who it really is.

"Wrong twin," Osamu says, running a hand through his gray hair. He holds out his hands. "I, uh, the store didn't have yer favorite flowers, but I thought ya'd like these ones..."

You only stare at the flowers. "What do you want, Miya?"

"Can I come in?" He asks. "I just want to talk, and if afterwards, ya never want to see me again, I understand."

You let him in, and he thanks you. After he sets the flowers on your desk, you flick on the lights. You gasp as you see a bloody nose and bruised eye. "'S-Samu..."

He chuckles. "It's okay," he reassures you. "It was just 'Tsumu. No big deal." He waits for you to calm down a bit before speaking again. "I miss ya," he tells you. "And I'm so fucking sorry for what I did to ya. I love ya, and I can't believe I ever allowed myself to let ya feel insecure. I should have just told all those girls to back off. If the situation were reversed, I'd want the same."

Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "I don't get it 'Samu," you say. "Why did it take you months to get it? The girl you were with tonight was one of the girls who I asked you to tell to back off!"

He puts his head down in shame. "I know," he admits. "And I..." He takes a deep breath. "I overheard 'Tsumu and Hinata talking before the party, and 'Tsumu said he invited you, and Hinata said he was excited to see you again, and I just... I guess I got upset that ya were hanging out with my dumb brother, and I wanted to make ya jealous."

"You're a fucking idiot," you tell him.

"I know, but I do love ya and miss ya," he says. He walks over to you and holds your face in his hands. "And I promise to be better for ya. Just give me one more chance."

You look up at him, your gaze softening as your hands reach up to brush under his bruised eye. It'll need to be iced in the morning. "You really promise? I can't let you in just to get shattered again, 'Samu. You're the only man I've ever loved."

He nods in response. "And if I break my promise, which I won't, I'll let ya beat me up with 'Tsumu next time."

You laugh at his words and lean up to kiss him. "Okay," you whisper. "One more chance."

Osamu grins like a kid on Christmas and picks you up to spin you around before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. "Ya won't regret it."

He sleeps in your dorm room that night. You lay on top of him with your head on his chest as he plays with the ends of your hair, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

...

...

...

BONUS:

The next morning, Osamu sits on your bed, holding a bag of ice up against his eye. He's got a childish pout on his face.

"Ya can stop watching it now!" He grumbles.

Meanwhile, you're standing across from him, gawking at your phone. "Damn, baby, 'Tsumu really got you this time," you tell him. You wince as you watch Atsumu's fist makes contact with Osamu's nose. "Suna's a great camera man."

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