Atsumu's Painless, No-Fail Guide to Accidentally Summoning and Being Married to a

Demon
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/36728761.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Relationship: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Character: Miya Osamu, Suna Rintarou, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Demon Summoning, but accidentally, Humor, semi crack, Alternate
Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Modern with
Magic
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-01-29 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3146

Atsumu's Painless, No-Fail Guide to Accidentally

Summoning and Being Married to a Demon
by awkwardedgeworth

Summary

In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to summon a demon in the middle of his living
room floor.

Notes

See the end of the work for notes

See, the thing is, Atsumu has a distaste for the supernatural. It encompasses everything from star
charts predicting his fate to those claiming they can communicate with ghosts to believing
whatever Suna says out of his mouth because even if he's scarily accurate 99% of the time, Atsumu
draws the line when he brings home a spell book from the vintage store.

"It's not a vintage store," Suna yanks the book back, shooting Atsumu a look where he's sniffling
pitifully on the couch, "It's a rare artifact from Mundo's that has a spell which would clear the
Glimping Plumblies, which—" Suna yells over Atsumu's growl of irritation, "—Is the thing
causing your cold!"

"For the last time, Sunarin, what in God's Green Earth is a motherfucking Blimping—"

"Glimping!"

"—Plumber?"

Suna shoves Atsumu back onto his couch with one foot. It's a testament to how weak Atsumu is
 that he falls back without a fight, all the air in his chest wheezing out.

"Ow."

Suna apologizes after a beat, "Look, I'll warm up some soup and then I'll start looking for the spell.
You have a match to go to anyway, you'd hate yourself if you don't go."

"I don't need spells, I just need a lot of rest and some medicine."

"Trust me, Tsumu," Suna says, "You can use a spell."

Atsumu tries to inhale through his very clogged nose but Suna is already walking out of the living
room and going around the kitchen, banging pots and pans in an attempt to dig out the jar of
chicken broth Osamu made the other day. He swallows past his dry throat and takes a look at the
innocent leather hardback sitting on top of a couch cushion.

It's a nice book, he supposes, the leather is not at all cracked and there's a nice, bookish scent to it.
The edges are bound in gold hardware to protect it from denting and the front boasts a single jewel
the size of Atsumu's fist and weird symbols he can't read.

He sneaks a look back at Suna, who's trying to fish the jar from the back of the fridge. He turns
back and shrugs, pulling on the clasp (a simple magnet, nothing like a mechanism that requires a
blood sacrifice or anything; see, magic isn't real) and finding, to his surprise, that there's a table of
contents written in English.

"This is definitely a scam," He mutters.

His English reading skill is decent enough. He flips to the middle of the book and rolls his eyes at
the text— full of squiggles, loops and funny pictures. He hopes Suna didn't take out a mortgage to
pay for this, no matter how beautiful the pictures are. It looks more like a collector's item than
anything, like a prop that could be found in a movie about magic and the supernatural.

"Are you sure this book is legit?!" He calls.

"More legit than your shit cooking skills!" There's a thud and Suna starts swearing; he must've hit
his head, "Why did you even put the cast iron pan on a hook where it can brain me?!"

"So you have instant karmic retribution," Atsumu shoots back nasally, "And what the hell is this
spell?" He frowns, cocking his head at the glittering words, the sunlight catching in the ink as he
reads out loud:
̓̎ ̎
͋ ̒ ̊ ͠ ̅ ̑ ̥̮ ͂ ̕ ͋ ̨̣̳̆ ̿ ́ ̐ ̑ ̓ ̎ ̩ ̍ ͑ ͛ ̖ ̣ ̈́ ͒ ̉ ̓ ̍ ̈ ͋ ̋ ̈́ ̓ ̎
n̸o͎ ̉ ʎ̸̴͙̺ ͉ ͙ ̭ ̿ o̶ ̢ ʇ̸̵̠͕͚͕ ̖̉ ͝ ̿ ̶ʍ ̴ ̰̋ ͔ ̜ ȯ̷͘ ʌ̶̲ ̕ ̥ ͔ ʎ̵̶ ̬ ̗ ́ ͍̭̰ ̶ɯ̅ ͇ ̘ ͝ s̶̅ ̲͚ ̿ ᴉ̴̶ ̔ ͙ ͔ ͜ s̸̸̬ ̟ ͘ ̧̈́ᴉ̴͍̺ͅ ͈̄ ̨ ̣ ̘̞ ɥ̵̡̕ ͓ ̀ ʇ̷̢ ̮ ͔ ̞
͎
̽͑ ̽ ̈ ̍ ̱ ̞ ͒͛ ̏ ̄ ̆
̓
̆ ̂ ̢ p̴̵̕ͅ ͚̲ ͓ u̶̷ ̹ ̢ o̖ ͚ ̘ ̂ ͘ ̄ ʎ̸̶̤̆ ͗ ̤ ǝ̷͎̈́͂ q̸̌̊ ̕ ̅ ̫ ͝ p̴̵͗ ͇ u̵̾ ̖ ̉ ̋ ͒͠͝ ɐ̶̡ ̘ ̫ ̈́ ̛ ̥p̷ ͅl̵̎ ̳ ͓ ͛ ̔ ɹ̵̸ ̡͔̑͛ ̜̍ ͙ o̸͠ ͗ ̴ʍ ̎ ̃ ͆ ̠̱ ͋ ͝ ̌ ̋ ͊ ̈́ ͝ ̆͘ ̍̚ ̉ ̓ ͑ ̃ ̽͗ ̈́ ̳ ̝ ̊ ̍ ̌̑ ̈́ ̍̽ ͝ ̮̑ ̡̲ ̈́ ̒̔ ̽͑ ͚ ͜ ̂ ̄ ̥ ̣ ̩͎̑ ̈ ̒ ͊ ̅ ̫ ̍ ̇ ̉̀ ̽ ̏ ̊ ̂ ̅ ̕ ̒ ̽ ̑ ̈ ̑ ͇ ͓ ͓ ̆ ̇ ̏ ̕ ͝ ̛ ͗ ̾̅ ̱ ̼ ̌͠ ͂ ̓̈ ̑ ̄ ̏̑̏ ͝ ̈́ ͛ ̍ ̅ ̱ ̹ ͕ ̘ ̂ ͂ ̔ ̱ ͔ ̔ ̑ ̤ ͖ ̅ ̃ ͐ ͂ ̒͌ ̊ ̎ ̏̂ ̈́ ͊ ̊ ̈ ̋͝ ̄ ͝ ͠ ̍ ̀ ̽ ͐ ͌ ̍ ͝ ̛ ͗̎͑ ̌ ̄ ́ ̈́ ͛
̿ ͙̚ ̼ ̚ ̉ ͍ ̀ ̭̯ ́ ͎ ͕ ͍̣ ̩ ̫̳ ̻ ̉ ̝͎ ̱̥ ̟ ̣͕ ̞ ͔ ͉̥ ̤͚ ̞ ͚ ̮ ̠ ̹ ǝ̸͎ ̱ ̌͝ ǝ̵̴ ͚ ͙ ̰͔̳ ɥ̴̣ ͉̝ ʇ̶̨̧ ̪̗ ͌ o̶̴ ͝ ̓ ʇ̸͈ ̀ n̵̷ ͕ ͓̘͖ ͘ ͂ o̸ʎ̷̰ ͓ ̖ ̫ ̘ ̴ʍ
͍ ̙ ͝ ̈ ͑ ̶ ǝ
̩ ̺ ̴ ɥ ʇ̴ ̹ ̿ ̸ ɟ
̩ o̷ ͆ ̧ ̘ ͜ ̸ ͙ s
̬ ̸ ͅ p
̗ ̞ ̵ u̸
͑ ̷ͅ ̡̤͕ ̞̞ o̸l̶̲̫̗ l̀ ͋ o̸̴ ̱ ̺ ͈ ɟ̵̪ ̗ ̘ l̶̸̨̠ ̳ ̼ ḷ̸̕ ̩ ̬ᴉ̴̧ ̤ ̼ ̶ʍ̨̖ ͍ ̟̞ ͝ ͠ l̵̵̎ ͝ ͓ ̉ n̸̬ ̳ ̬o̽ s̶ ͓ ̃ ̵̕ ̱ ̉ ʎ̸̴̲̣ ͎ ̨̖ ̞̻ ̸ɯ̮ ̰ u̸̸ ͍ ͈ ǝ̷̖̮̗ ̨̮ ͍ ɥ̸̤ ̩ ʇ̴̥ ̩̟ ̉ u̸ ̙ ǝ̸̷̡̣ ̦ͅ ʌ̸̺̗ ̹ ǝ̷̦ ̡ ̝͖ ʇ̷̸̯͕̚ͅ ̝ ̘ ǝ̴ͅ ̺ ̝͖ ʎ̷͎
̳ ̬̩ ̹ ̡ ̗ ͔ ͎̟ ̺ ̩
͋ ̾ ̈ ͊͑ ̊ ͂ ̓ ̔ ͍ ̈́̓ ̐̎ ̑ ͂ ̱ ͗ ͇ ͔̘
̄ ̓ ̈ ̌ ̏ ͋ ̓ ̋ ̥ ͊ ̓ ̴ᴉ̷̔ ̫͐ ̽ ̂ ͑ ̐
͠ ͂ ̶ ̗ ͂ n̷̵ ̧̬ ̾ o̼ ͝ ̇ ͊͠ ̔ ʎ̵̸ ̖̖ ̰ ͉ ̌͘ ͙ ̣ ͈ ͝ ̀ ͋ ̒̊ ̃ɹ̶̨͘ ̗ ̦ ͙ ̰ ǝ̷̛͂̆ ͐ ̥ ͔̰̣ ͒ʇ̷̬̖̅ l̵͂̔̊ͅǝ̵͚̭ ̝͉ ̎ ̱ ͍ ̙ ɥ̴̃ ͘ ̔ ̚ ͖̟ ŝ̶ ͘ ̽ ̧̨ ̭ ̿ l̴̷ ̙͓͖ ̈́ ͛ ļ ̰͍ ̙ ́ ͒ ̦ ᴉ̴̸̕ ̓ ̺ ̹̞̥ ͇ ̵ʍ̿ ͗ ̥ ̤̪ ̢̦ ̚ᴉ̵̐ ̣̲͓̮͐͠ ͉ ͆ '̷̸̠ ̝̩ ͑ n̘ ̃ ̦ ǫ̷̏ ͕ ̼ ̔ ʎ̵̴̽ ̲ ̞ ̖͙ ̚ ͎ ͌ ɹ̶̴ ̹͒ ́ ͔ ͓̘ o̴͝ ̈ ̢̔ u̷̥ ͎ ͝ ̈ ̦ ̾͆ o̶͙ ̣ ̌ ɥ̴̥ ̲͠ ͎̩ ̉ ̾ ̱ ̣̳ ̈̂͜͜ l̵̶ ̲ ̈́ l̲͇ ̻͘ ̛̋͊ ͅᴉ̴̕ ̳̭̯͍̾ ̳̹̉ ̷ʍ ̅ ̛
̩͖ ̭ ̺͒ ̹ ͇ ̰ ̗̈́ ̰ ͉ ̍ ͈ ͙̬ ̩ ̚ ̭ ̅
̈̋ ̌ ̂͝ ͂̚ ͆ ̨ ̪ ̝ ͝ ͗ ̾ ̑ ͝ ̔͝ ̋ ͊ ̼͖ ͑ ̈́ ̬̑ ̫ ͋ ̨ ̯ ̉ ̈́ ̊ ̈ ̗ ͓̈́ ̈ ̑̑ ́ ̡ ̜͈ ͜ ͕͚ ̛̽ ̏ ́ ͛ ̓ ̂ ͒͊ ̆ ̃ ̍͘ ̌ ͕ ́ ̡̳͇̹͘ ̚ ̓ ́ ̈ ̋̋ ̟ ̊ ̀̉͝ ̐ ̄ ̌ ̇ ͝ ̭ ͖̌ ̈́ ̛ ̄ ͐ ̌ ̫ ͆̾ ̈ ͂̐ ̍ ̀ ̍ ́ ͝ ͗ ̇ ͂͋ ̋ ̓ ̇̑ ͚̳̈́ ͑̽ ̋ ̛ ̓ ̽ ̇ ̈́ ͊̌ ̅͝
ʇ̸̵̶̯̾ ̘ ͕̥̖ ͈ ɹ̴̧ ɐ̷̠̮ ̩ d̶̎͝ɐ̵̮ ͜ ͙ ͍̫ ͌ s̵ ̓ n̶ ̶̛͆ ̈́ ̖ ̹ o̷̸ ̫͕ ̹ ̢ p̴̗̳̰ ̚ ͝ ̳ ͂ ̓ ɥ̴̚ ̮ ̘ ʇ̸̦ ̫ ͓ ɐ̷̨̱̮ ̼̟ ǝ̸͜ ͖ ̀ p̸ ͔͕ l̶̵ ̐̉ l̸ᴉ̵͓ ͕ ̟ ʇ̴̀ ͚̰ ̘ ̿ ʇ̴̷ ̲͙͈͖̫ ͓ ᴉ̷̧ ̼ ɹ̸̢ᴉ̴̗͆ ̹ d̴͝s̸ͅ ͆ ̺ ̟ ͂ ʎ̵̶ ͚ ̻̻ ̵ɯ̮ n̸ ͇ o̸ ̰ ʎ̷̵͚ ̨̥̖ ͓ ǝ̶̵̏ ̬̱ ͓ ʌ̵̢ ̚ ̮ ̗ ᴉ̸̭̣ ƃ̶̧ ̯ ͅᴉ̸̷̤̪ ͉ ̰ ͓
̖̗ ͖ ̣ ͇̙ ̖ ͇ ͙̙ ̞̞ ͙

"Atsumu?!" Suna shouts, "Wait, Atsumu!—"

̈́ ̇ ̊̆ ̈̽ ̽ ̌ ̅ ͊ ͋ ̌ ̾ ͗ ͑ ̈́ ̃ ̾ ̉
̈́ ̍ ͙ ̈́ n̶̴ ͐ ̤ ̝ ͊ ǫ̸ ̛̐͠ ̬ͅʎ̸͈͜ ̑ ͔ ̋ ̕ ǝ̸ ̤ ̢̛̦͛̀̃ ̱ ʌ̵̈́̈́͘ ̳ ̆͘ ᴉ̴͌ ̽͠ ƃ̶͜ ̎ ̲ ̉ ͝ ̈ ̐ ̢̒ ̿ᴉ̷̵̪͒ ͎ ̌ ǝ̵̷ ̑ ̞͒̔ ̧̮ ŭ̶o̶̻̻ ̎ q̴̰ ͖̼ ̀ ̂ ͠ ̬ ̭̣ ʎ̴ͅ ̠ ̙ ̾ ͖ ́ ̴ɯ̓ ͐ ̖ ̕ ̛̇ ͂̾͘ ɟ̸̷̬̄ ̚ ̀ õ̶ ̟̘̇̇ ́ ͜͠ ̎ǝ̵̶ ̫̼͖͊͠ ̄̄ ̑ ̳ u̵͝ o̶̽ ̑ ̘ ͑ q̷͍̚ ̋ ͜ ͘ ̒ ̛ ̊ ͈ ͐ '̷̷ ̯ ̛̄ p̵̏ ̤ ͝ ̎o̸̽ ̝ ̉ ͘ ̓̔ ͗ o̸̙ ͝ ͊̐ ̒ ͐ l͍ ͌ q̸̶ ̥ ͕ ͠ ͙ ̐ ʎ̴̸ ̤ ̘ ̾ ̞ ̴ɯ͛ ͌ ̾ ̨̱̮ ̕ ͌ ͝ ǝ̷̴̨̲̈ ͑ ͆ ̫ ̆ ɹ̴͜ ̒ ̤ ̊ɐ̶̛̔ ͆ ̫ ͝ ̴ ̪ ͖ñ̴ ̈́̿ ͌ o̵̪ ̇ ͂ ̒ ̍ʎ̶ͅ ̨̬̺͠ ̜̈́ ͊ ̓ ̲
̦ ǝ̴̷͑̇̈ ͚̈́ ̛̼̆ ͎ ǘ̸̚o̟ ͋ ̶ ̧ ̘̈ ̿ ǝ̵̴̾ ̪̐͠ ̢ ͑ ͔ ̉ q̶̂ ͘ ̎ ̅͆ ̡ ̟̼ ̔ ɥ̴̷ ̤ ̟ ̦ ̏ ̡ ʇ̷̗̣ ̀̀ ȯ̵ ̿ q̸̕ ̩ ̇ ͊͜ ͈̝ ̂̔ ̈́ ͒ʇ̷̵̫̕ ̝ ̣ ɥ̷͜ ͌ ̫ ̟ ͝ ƃ̵̦ ̮ ̡̤ ᴉ̵͋ ̜ ̶ɯ̍ ̻̩ ̐ ̍ ǝ̸̵̧̖̫ ̩ ̓ ͗ ̚ ͎ ̶ʍ̄ ̨̏ ̛͔̗ ͖ ́ ̂̆ ̒ ʇ̴̸̥̅̎̏̚ ̧̬̼͍ ͉̻ ɐ̷̧͒̄͠ ̺ ͖ ɥ̷͗ ͐ ̖ ̉̇ ̈́ ʇ̸̒ ͉ ͠ o̴ ͆ ̖̏ ̺̯ ̿ ̒ ͗ s̷̶ ̨̥ ̯ ̇ ͋ ͉ ʎ̷̸̤̑ ͋ ̫ ͎ p̵o̴̭ ̋ ̐͜ q͙̥ ͓̟ ̓ ̵̕ ̠̂ ̲ ͎̈́ ͂ ʎ̶̷ ̙̈ ̾ ̖ ̵ɯ
̗ ̱ ̤̪ ͕͓ ̱ ̻ ̥͕ ̀ ̤ ͈ ̠ ̥͕̟ ͔ ̜ ̯ ͉͉ ̱̮ ̲ ̉ ̺ ̻ ̗ ̟̞ ̬ ̰ ̬̱ ̝ ̠ ̳͍ ̗̺ ̙ ͇ ̩̙ ͚̞ ̥͚ ͙ ̫̞ ̦ ̮̳ ̦ ̬ ̝̱ ̀ ̦ ̬ ̠ ̦ ̤ ͓ ̻ ̰ ̩̟ ̗̤͍ ̜ ̉ ͍ ̥ ̡ ̯ ̜ ̲ ͎ ̯
̩ ̝
͂͒ ̇
̒ ̽ ͝ ̍ ̖ ͌ ̃ ̛̀͊ ͗ ̈́ ̈ ̔ ̫͚ ̬̊ ͗ ̹ ̛̈́ ͊ ̅ ̏ ́
̸̨ͅ ̰͚ ̂ ̛ ʎ̴͑ ̱ ͔ ̧̮ ̙̙ ʇ̷̧̨ ͖ ͝ ᴉ̷̥ ͓ ɹ̷̀ ̒ ̱ ̳ ǝ̴̠̂ ̣͕ ͝ ɔ̴̨̧͙͂ ͓̞ u̵͘ ᴉ̵̎ ̍ ̗ ̙ s̵̍ ̠ ͚ ɥ̷̴ ̇ ̖̏ ͘ ̮ ̰ ʇ̸̳͔̅ ̟ ᴉ̷͙͛ ̡ ͎ ̴ʍ
̗̋
͇̆ ͇ ̹ ̔ ̤ ͎ ͙̭͖ ͊ ̒ ͛͌
̅ ̊̑̑ ̀ ͗ ͐ ̡͆ ̊ ͒ ̓ ̽ ͊ ̾ ͇̈́ ͛ ̗ ͑ ̞ ̔̒ ̽ ̑ ̎ ͐ ̃ ̑ ͊ ̓ ̾ ̈ ̐ ̓ ͛ ̌ ̔ ̾ ̤ ̆ ̢͌ ̽ ͋ ̣̳ ́ ̆̆ ̡͇͂ ̒ ͐ ͌ ̍ ͆ ͛͊ ̉ ̈́̿ ̎ ́ ̈́ ͋ ̉ ͋ ͐ ̓ ̈ ͗ ̐ ̅ ̉ ͋ ͐ ͔̤ ̿ ͂ ̄̋͐ ̳ ̎ ̄ ̭ ͋ ̇ ̓ ̾ ̇ ̆ ̔ ̑ ̔͌ ̅̾ ͒ ͔̳ ̋ ͑͋ ̎ ̼ ̉
ƃ̶̸ ̘ ̖ ̰ ̞ ̉ u̵̇ ᴉ̷̾ͅ ̧ ̩ ̷ʍ̡̳ o̵l̸̽ l̻ o̸ ̯ ̈́ ɟ̴̵ ̖̅ ̹ ̿ ǝ̶̵̱ ͖ ̢ ͙̮ ̡ ͈ ͝ ͅɥ̷̈ ̠ ʇ̷̝ ̀ ̅͝ ̧ǝ̷̴ ̍ ̧ ͍ ͈ ƃ̷̰ ̻ p̷͛ǝ̵̥̂ ̖ ̲ l̷d̮͙̕ͅ ̈́ ̴ ͖̼̻ ᴉ̶ͅ ̯̉̉ ͖͝ ˙̴̷ ͍̲ ̞ ̉ ̃ ǝ̷̖ ̪ ̑ ̰ ̹͎ ƃ̸̥ ̞ ɐ̷̦ ̤ ͈ ᴉ̶̕ ̎ ̗ ͖ ̋ɹ̴̖ ̲ ͓ ͝ ɹ̴͜ ̎ ̭̪̣ ͝ ɐ̷̢͠ ̯ ̻ ̸ɯ̬͘ ̣ ̻ u̸ ̤ ̌ ᴉ̷̸͔̳̯ͅ ̘ ̯ ̻ ̆͝ ͌ ɟ̵̶ ͎͖̝ l̴ǝ̶̃̑ ̪ ̜ ̚ ̨ s̵ʎ̶̍ ̢ ̫ ̶ɯ͒ ̳͕ ̙ ̂ɹ̸̵̱̱̤ ̛ ̘͓ ǝ̸̦̓ ̚ ɟ̸̤ ̀ ɟ̴͓ ô̶͝ ̭ ̙ ́ ̈́ ᴉ̴̵̚̕ ̦ ̣ ̧̩ ̰ ͓
͉ ͚͎ ͇ ̜͖ ͕ ̜ ͙

He looks up to see Suna's face, bone white. Then the floor erupts in a burst of light and Atsumu
looks down to see a circle covered in weird symbols glowing like the very sun. A shadow morphs
up from the center of the circle, humanoid in shape before it leaps, tackling him.

He comes to with a lump on the back of his head the size of a golf ball and the view of his
bedroom ceiling, groaning. That had to be one of the weirdest fever-induced dreams he's ever had.

A pair of light footsteps draws him out of his thoughts.

"Tsumu?"

"Please tell me I didn't roll off the couch and brained myself on the floor, my head feels worse than
it did this morning," Atsumu hisses, slitting his eyes against the bright light, "Can you—" He
makes a little gesture.

The light disappears. The pulsing behind his eyes eases and Atsumu twists to see the alarm clock
on his nightstand read 7:38pm. Nice, he slept most of the day away and he still feels like shit.

There's a cool hand scratching against his forehead and something being ripped off— oh, a cold
compress. Atsumu lays quietly as Suna quickly switches it out, the room too dark for Atsumu to
see his face. Just before the door shuts, it sounded like Suna was talking to someone.

"Samu home?" His brother is on a day trip to Tokyo, checking out a potential store for his next
Onigiri Miya location. Taking care of Atsumu when he inevitably falls sick usually falls onto him
and not Suna, but Atsumu had woken up that day barely able to crawl out of bed let alone smack
his phone and call someone to bring him soup.

"No."

"Then who's that?" Atsumu's eyes fly open in the dark, all of his nightmares coalescing into a visit
from their former high school captain, "Don't tell me you asked Kita-san to come!"

"No stupid, it's the television."

'The television' chooses to shut up at that moment. Atsumu would fight, but his stomach suddenly
growls.

"Hungry?"

"...Are you okay?" Atsumu sits up, managing to keep the nausea down. He looks at Suna's delicate
face intently, "You're like, super pale."

"I'm fine," Suna says quickly, "Stay here, I'll get you some soup."
Atsumu swings his legs down. His bladder is about to burst and he wants to take a shower,
knowing he must stink of stale sweat, "It's okay, I'll stretch my legs and walk to the table. Need to
piss anyway."

Suna dances to the door, gripping Atsumu's shoulders with a grip so tight Atsumu winces. He
walks him back, "No, you sit. I'll get you the soup."

"What the hell Sunarin, I need to pee too!"

"Well, you can eat first and then pee! I didn't throw away five brain cells to the cast iron gods for
you to not appreciate my heating-soup abilities. Are you aware that your microwave is haunted, by
the way? That's why the settings are whack and you always— Atsumu, no!"

Atsumu slips past Suna and pushes his bedroom door to the side, peeking into his living space. His
couch has an indent where his body has been laying all day long. The coffee table is full of half-
empty mugs of tea and his giant 4L water bottle is where Suna left it before he went out to go to the
vintage shop, wedged between the bottom of the furniture and floor. His little monstera has fallen
from the side table where he puts the TV remote, the pot cracked in two.

That's odd. He for sure thought he heard someone else here, staring at the ring of dirt around the
pot and hearing Suna groan when he catches sight of his singed rug.

"Um, Suna, wanna tell me why it smells like you attempted to set my apartment on fire?"

"Oh," A bored voice says, "That's not your friend's work, that's me."

Atsumu jumps. And then he starts screaming when he catches sight of the naked man sitting on his
breakfast bar, slamming his eyes shut to save his innocence, "Sunarin! SUNA! T-There's a!—"

"Yeah, I know."

"—Naked man— wait. You know?!" He coughs, smacking his chest and rasping, "Did you let him
in here?!"

"You were the one who 'let me in here,'" The man scoffs. Atsumu peeks one eye open, realizing
that the stranger has a lump of cloth placed on his lap, "Dragged me from one of my appointments
too, did no one ever teach you manners?"

Suna sighs, talking to the strange, almost-naked man in Atsumu's living room, "Look, I don't think
you're helping. He's freaking out."

"Hello??" Atsumu waves his hands past Suna's bored expression, "Do you not see this— this
thing?—"

"'Thing?'" The thing spits, offended.

"—Sitting on my breakfast stool at my breakfast bar in my apartment? How the hell did this guy
come in? Did you let him in? Why is he almost naked? And is that my extra blanket you've given
him?!"

Suna rubs his temples, "I'm getting a migraine."

"I told you I should be the one doing the introductions," The thing said, standing up and coming to
a stop before Atsumu in a split second. Atsumu widens his eyes, reacting poorly and jerking back.
"Are you the owner of this 'apartment?'"
"Yes!" He snaps, "Yes, I am! What are you doing in my house?"

The man rolls his eyes. Once Atsumu got over his almost-nakedness, he's quite handsome with hair
dark as night and pale skin. His chest and torso isn't anything to sneeze at either, though Atsumu
blanches and hopes those claws at the end of his hands are part of some weird prop, the skin
around his wrist shifting from normal human skin to tiny black scales that throws off light onto his
charred floorboards. Maybe he's Suna's friend.

"Does that book in the corner over there ring a bell?"

Atsumu follows his finger to where the vintage book is innocently laying on the corner of his
coffee table next to a half-empty pill pack of cold medication, used forehead compresses, a
thermometer and a wad of tissues full of Atsumu's snot.

He looks at the man, looks at the book, looks at the man.

The man calmly raises an eyebrow and it's at that exact moment does Atsumu realize.

"Oh shit."

"I'm gonna need you to say that one more time," Atsumu says, pacing around the apartment,
"Because I don't believe you."

"You summoned a random demon from that book you claim to be a 'vintage knockoff', offered
yourself in a marriage vow to which you completed said vow despite your claims of 'not knowing
how to read weird emojis', proceeded to roll off the furniture in the corner called a 'couch', hit your
head on the floor and woke up thinking I'm a man your twin brother 'Osamu' sent to—" The man
stops, "What did he say again? Sent to 'pull your leg.' Is that the right phrase, mortal?"

Suna nods miserably. He takes another shot of whiskey from Atsumu's liquor cabinet.

"I don't believe you," Atsumu accuses.

The man, who had been patient the first fifty-three times he repeated that statement, shoots him a
nasty look, "You better do. I'm stuck here in your world."

"There is no way you're a demon! And that we're—" He chokes on the word, "—Married!" This
has to be a joke; he can't be married. This isn't like he woke up from a night of too much drinking.
And, and Las Vegas is almost on the opposite side of the world!

"Marriage is a terrible translation. It's more like you've pledged your life to be with me. I thought
humans are smart."

"I'll have you know that I!—"

"Please," Suna moans from the corner of the living room, "Keep it down."

"Do you have proof?" Atsumu sniffs, looking down and crossing his arms at the man, who's now
wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and one of Atsumu's hoodies because it's odd to have an almost-
naked person sitting and talking to you, "That, you know, we're pledged to each other or whatever."
The man rolls his eyes, "You have a headache, yes? And a fever and chills and something going on
in your lungs?" He says something odd under his breath, pointing his claws— and they're actual
claws!— at Atsumu's face before he can duck, "There, it's gone."

Atsumu blinks stupidly. The pressure behind his eyeballs eased, almost like the man....

"That's a fluke."

"For fuck's sake—" The man-demon spits, getting to his feet in a flash. Atsumu screams, still not
used to how lightning fast he moves. What's worse is that when he realizes he's on his feet, the
man starts yanking his arms out of his hoodie, trying to tug it over his head.

"Wait, wait, wait you can't strip here!"

"Look!" The demon demands, showing his back. Atsumu cracks one eye open, seeing his back.

"Yeah I get it, you lift, you're very muscular! Now put that hoodie back on!"

"No, idiot, look! Look properly!"

Atsumu makes a gesture with his hands like, what the hell do you want me to look at when there's
nothing but skin? When a set of sigils appear shimmering on his skin, black and gold like light
refracting off when tilted at the right angle. It runs from the nape of his neck where his neck bones
jut out to the dip of his lower back. He stares dumbly at it, blinking his eyes.

"I— How—"

"You have traces of the Sight," Suna says from his corner, pouring more alcohol into Atsumu's
Vabo-chan mug, "It's not very strong but you can see the supernatural when you put your mind to
it."

"No, there's no fucking way I can see your weird things like Billy Plumbers and whatever the heck
that is on his back!"

"I know you can read it," The demon snaps, yanking his head back through the hoodie and fighting
to get his head out of the hole, "You read that marriage pledge like it was your mother tongue!"

Atsumu makes a sound, listening to it die in his throat. He has nothing to say, staring at his
monstera pot still cracked into two and the dirt he still has to vacuum, hearing Suna swallow and
the demon harshly breathing like he'd sprinted around the block.

The thought of wrapping his head around this... event is like being suddenly told the earth rotates
around the moon and werewolves and vampires and fairies are real. It's just... not.

"We have guests," The man says, turning his head to the front door.

"Oh shit," Suna says, scrambling to get on his feet and falling over. Amazingly, he doesn't spill a
single drop of whiskey, "Oh shit, what do we do? Uh, we need to hide him in your room since it's
probably Samu—"

"What? You told Samu?"

"No stupid, he knows you're sick, he's probably coming by with food!"

"Well, the demon isn't going into my room!" Atsumu shrilly says, "Take him with you, Sunarin."
Suna pins him with a glare, "Did you forget the fact that you summoned this demon and bounded it
to yourself? It wouldn't follow me even if I tied it like a rotisserie chicken!"

The passcode at the front door sings its little song and Atsumu flies into action, pulling the demon
by his wrists (oddly the same temperature as human skin, if not slightly cooler) as Suna bounds
towards the door in a too loud voice, "Samu! Heeeeeey, how was Tokyo?"

"It's fine," Atsumu hears his brother's voice. He quickly shoves the demon and himself into his
room, slamming the door, "Where's Tsumu? I bought some lemon tea, more soup, leftover onigiri
from the store and cough drops."

"He's sleeping."

"Why are we hiding?" The demon says. Atsumu screams, scuttling away backwards like a crab
when the voice is right next to his ear, "If anything, you should introduce me to your brother. Isn't
that part of human customs?"

"Tsumu?" Osamu calls, a shadow appearing at the crack between the floor and door. It's coming
closer and closer despite Suna trying to drag him away, saying how they should heat up the soup
first and leave Atsumu to rest, "No Rin, I heard a thud, what if he fell and hit his head? Tsumu!"

"Uhhh," He yelps, scratching at the door handle and holding onto it for dear life, "I'm fine! Just
slipped! And actually, soup sounds really good right now!"

"Can I see you first? Ma asked me to make sure you're not too warm, if not we have to take you to
the hospital...."

The door knob rattles.

"...Are you holding onto the door from the other side?"

Atsumu shivers. Thankfully, there's no one breathing over his shoulder anymore. The demon seems
to sense his distress, moving back into the corner of the room.

"No?"

"Tsumu!"

"I'm fine, honest! Can I have some soup first?"

Suna, weakly: "See, he wants some soup! Let's warm it up—"

"This is really fishy now," Osamu's voice says, "You suddenly said you're sick and you haven't left
your bed all day long? What gives?"

"I AM sick! You can ask Sunarin!"

The demon, grumbling petulantly into his ear, "No, you're not, I helped you."

"You're not helping!" Atsumu hisses quietly, fingers and sweaty palms sliding off as Osamu grunts
from the other side, trying to push his way in like the brute he is, "In fact, if you have demon
powers I'd appreciate it if you can magic some answers for me."

"Like what?"

"Any chance you can teleport my brother to his house?"

 "But I want to meet your brother, it's proper. If you cannot meet my family then I should be
meeting him at the least."

"TSUMU!" Osamu roars.

"Look this is really not the time," Atsumu hisses to the demon, "I'd like it if you help me. In fact,
that's what humans do, we help each other."

The demon raises an eyebrow, looking like this is another normal day and like Atsumu isn't about
to be beaten into pulp, "I'm aware of human customs. If I do help, will you believe that I'm a
demon and that we're married?"

"No on the last part."

"Then no."

"Oh for fuck's—" Atsumu begins, yelling when the door is pushed all the way through and he's
falling backwards, a set of arms immediately catching him around the middle as his brother,
smelling like the muggy, summer air and blooming hydrangeas outside, glares down at him, about
to raise hell.

Then he sees the shadow behind Atsumu. It's almost comical, the way his eyes widen and he's
opening his mouth like a fish, no sound coming out.

Finally, he manages: "Tsumu?"

"Hello," The demon says, setting Atsumu on his feet and keeping one arm around his shoulder to
make sure he's steady. He sticks a hand out, "I'm your brother's husband."

End Notes

did you get your booster shots yet

im thinking maybe 2 or 3 chapters of this but we'll see what happens. omi can't go back
(well he can, but not permanently bc he's tied to atsumu so don't be too sad or get any
angsty ideas)

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