a mere collection of dismantled almosts

Apparently it's been 2 years since this blog and now that I am back, here's a little something for anybody who's been waiting ❤️❤️

New Year’s eve with Suna Rinatrou would be the rock against your bedroom window in the dead of the night, with that silly little grin on his face, hand outstretched with your helmet as he fakes shivering on his bike, streetlights passing by so quickly like white lines against the black sky, stealing food from your takeout box even though he’s got his, the sound of the ocean as you sit back to his chest wrapped up in his jacket, his calloused hand loosely intwined with yours as you watch the fireworks across the night sky. It was feeling his mouth shape around the words Happy new year, and it was searching your face with an unmasked hope that makes you ache because Happy new year meant a promise and an oath, all in one and as you lean back into him hiding your face in his neck, heart jumping to your throat because how could you hide the want and devotion and love in your bones and you mouth the words back to him, happy new year. It was just a moment of peace followed by your angry growls crashing amidst the sound of the sea because RINTAROU!! Delete that fucking picture or you’re dead!

Hi, um this was in my drafts so here you go, it is an AU where Kim Rok Soo is an assasin, Raon an escapee from the labs and Ron, Rok Soo’s assistant/friend/keeper...idk yet man, do you want me to continue this?

Death had always been Rok Soo’s closest companion. Taking from him his family in increments.

The sirens were wailing, screams of terror and sheer astonishment ringing in tandem with them at the blood staining the sidewalk. It was a clean kill, discounting the blood of course and the calling card was, yet again a silver shield. Alberu grimaced at the utter coldness of it all, trying his hardest to not acknowledge the satisfaction coiling in his gut. His father would be furious. They were the members of his closed council after all.

Ron looked at his friend? as he left the blood splattered clothes on the floor, looking more like a manifestation of the abyss than human. He knew Rok Soo slipped behind, letting Silver Shield take the reins, but even he was terrified.

“Did you know that I loved you?” Alberu whispers, his bloodied hand coming up, knuckles gently brushing over Cale’s cheek. Cale feels his breath catch, like it was him impaled with that sphere. He’s glad that he sent the kids away. He doesn’t think he can fake composure now.

It is the past tense that gets to him, really. As if his love would go away, fade as he takes his last breath. Cale thinks Alberu’s love would scald him long after he’s gone, as much a part of him as sinew and bone. He would rot with it.

‘Cale?’ Alberu murmurs, ‘you know the other life? the one where we could’ve been happy together?’

“Tell me something about it,” he whispers. "It can be anything. Anything at all. Just—"

“No,” Cale says, voice stern and eyes on him as his heart clenches and trembles in his chest. “No you stupid fucking man. It is this life. You will live and we will be happy in this life. Die and I will kill you myself.”

Alberu closes his eyes at the certainty of Cale’s voice. He feels warm, throughout his whole body, there is a slow warmth that settles into his very bones, his veins, each and every inch of him. Oh, he hasn’t felt so warm in so very long.

Maybe it is utter stupidity but he cannot help it. Maybe it is his own desperation but it’s everything he’s only ever longed to hear. They are the words he wants to reach out and pluck from the air to keep forever, spoken by the loveliest man he’s ever known.

“Keep him awake, don’t fucking let him sleep. We’re a minute out.”

“Sun of the Roan Kindgom,” Cale croaks.

Alberu hums, fingers moving gently over Cale’s hand. “I would want a house, with enough room for the kids and a few guest rooms for Rosaline, Mary and the other’s when they drop by. Our home will be warm, never absolutely spotless despite Ron’s persistent cleaning, Raon’s cookie crumbs littering the floor. It is never absolutely silent, the kid’s laughter cutting through the air, it will be modest and comforting in it’s simplicity. Somewhere we exist, without worrying if we’re doing it too loudly or not. Somewhere where we are just Alberu Crossman and Cale Heitenuse, just two idiots madly in love.”

Oh, fuck Alberu feels too full, so full of this want, this ardor and love—all for his idiot. He doesn’t know what to do with it, how to hold all of it because it feels like too much in him, too big to fit inside, like it will drown him from within. Oh fuck, he doesn’t want to die. Not when — not now, heart clenching with how deeply yearning hooks into him.

Cale feels like he is drowning, Alberu’s every wheezed out breath pulling him under. Fuck, he’ll pray, he’ll get down on his knees, offer up his life if it meant Alberu would live. The ancient powers are silent. You fucking God of Death! Take him and I will burn this world. I fucking dare you. Take him and I will reduce this world of yours to nothing but ash and bone. How the fuck is he meant to handle it all? He feels like all this pain and love is tearing him apart from the inside, echoing with grotesque pops of flesh that only he could hear. People aren’t built to feel the way he feels for him, his sun, his prince. Surely, it would crush even the strongest of them and Cale certainly isn’t.  

“I would tell you I love you, every single day. You will let me sleep for as long as I’d like, keeping the kids from waking me. Sometimes, you try making Kimchi Jjigae and it would taste so fucking bad—”

“HEY!”

“But I’d eat it all. Sometimes you write me these silly little notes in Korean that you learn in secret from Choi Han—” His voice goes tight, like he’s feeling too much, knees ready to buckle.

“Please, Alberu, crown prince, my sun, love please,” he dissolves into incoherent blubbering, pressing in and curling closer.

“Hey, Cale? I love you.” he confesses, releasing a hoarse laugh. What he wants to say is that he’d do anything for him, whatever he wanted.

A punched out noise escapes him and he goes really still, because that just sounded like a goodbye.

      Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same

Been having a little Kita brainrot recently, like what the fuck do I have to do to get me a man like him, huh? Karma!! Do your job properly!! I want to be loved, be taken care of, be looked at like I am the fucking sun of somebody’s life  

MDNI, Contains some explicit stuff like Kita eating you out. I’ve tried to not provide too many details but contains kissing too. Do not read if it makes you uncomfortable. It is a female reader this time. 

*Sighs dramatically, Drops mic*

Kita who bites his lip as you look at him in the watered down sunshine and afternoon dust motes, breath audibly hitching as unspoken wants and stolen looks set your marrow on fire, the weight of his gaze on you, an actual caress.

Kita who always corrects people, saying you were not only his first love but his only love, voice soft and sweet that makes the butterflies in your stomach go ballistic.

Kita whose entire face twitches, struggling to fight the smile that tugs ruthlessly at his lips, eyes crinkling as he finally gives in, making him smile slowly becoming your favorite hobby.

Kita who always cups your jaw reverently, turning your face up to place a kiss on your forehead, sometimes the tip of your nose. It’s always innocent, sweet really. Barely lasting a second, his voice soft, so fucking soft as he whispers, ittekimasu

Kita who always considered himself as a fairly intelligent, independent person, teetering on some tight rope between want and need, wanting to be your friend, but needing to claim your mouth in a sloppy, savage kiss, hungry and insatiable.

Kita who finally, after months of holding back, can’t anymore. 

Kita who wants you so badly, he’ll beg, he’ll plead, please, can I kiss you? in a voice that has no sustenance, like a final grasp outwards for sanity, who kisses you like he has something to prove, kisses you like he wants to crack open your mouth and crawl inside, your hands around his neck, his hands in your hair as he kisses you like you are magic and you are desire, fireworks shattering in the sky, his passion, his undoing, like you are his death and he would carve his heart out, if it meant he’d get to kiss you a little more.

“Ah, I think I really like ya,” he confesses, a sinner at your altar, voice wrecked, ragged, torn to shreds. You are so desperate to taste it, taste his desire, him, that you surge forward, control snapping, thoughts outpaced by want as you kiss him, unhurried and intoxicating, bodies flush as time bends and warps, groans and sighs and the sweet languid pulse of desire rolling in a tide between them.

Kita who loves to eat you out, whenever. A taxing day on the field? Darling, would you please sit on my face? Stressful day at work? Love, whispered into your skin, the flat of his tongue gliding over the hollow of your neck. Bad time at your parents’? Come here, a calloused hand sliding over your hip, sneaking beneath the hem of his jersey that you wear, settling on skin, his voice velvet in your ear.

Your fingers card in his hair, breath hitching in your throat as you keen, Kita dropping several damp kisses to the inside of your thighs, Kita dripping with you, pleased, a devious grin stretching across his face. “Shin—” you start, words caught in a stolen breath. Shin sucks it right out of your lungs, nipping at the side of your throat, the drag of his tongue soothing the sting, thumb and forefinger clamping around a nipple. Shin who’s voice always turns hot and overwhelming, your head falling against his shoulder as he grinds his palm against your clit, your whole body lifted onto the tips of your toes, thoughts and words dissolving on an echo of his name, Shinsuke, Shin— you beg, your whines consumed by a rough kiss insistent against your mouth as he hoists you up, pinning you to the wall, fucking you, fucking into you, a too good kind of pleasure, the white hot kind exploding with a force you’d never experienced, turning your body into a pleasure soaked jello. Kita who watches you fall apart with a feral, exceedingly pleased kind of grin before he sinks into you.

Kita, who always works with his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, Kita who always celebrates your success, your academic accomplishments. Kita who was flabbergasted the first time he hears you curse in french, jaw opening and closing, hinging in a way that was so unlike his careful poise, you burst out laughing, who loves it when you talk to him in french as you ride him, flushed, hands digging into your hips

The first time you let your fingers trail along his hand as you walk, the first time you thread your fingers through his hair, the first time he makes a bento for you, the first time Kita looked unkempt, disheveled hair, ruddy bloom on his lips, loving Kita included a lot of first times, but one thing that never changed, that was one of your every time was the way his breath hitched every time he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe he is yours and you, his

“Hello Shinsuke,” you hum against his neck, fingers wandering his chest in a playful exploration as you both sit together on an armchair meant for one. “Love, everything alright?”

“Uh-huh, can’t I do this when I want my boyfriend’s attention?” He simply arched a brow, a fine tuned language that you were adept at deciphering after years of silent looks and facial expressions, reading paragraphs worth of information in any look he sent your way. That look, it wasn’t just an apology, it was gratitude.

“Darling”, he tugs you closer, hands splayed wide along your back. “Tell me about your day, were any of the clients interesting?”

“Nuh-uh, my day will be good if my lover can take a break from his work and hug his poor little girlfriend, lover” you tease, mouth hovering close to his.

“My bad, let me,” he grins back, placing several open mouthed kisses to your throat. “Am I forgiven, lover?” he teases between swipes of his tongue against skin, threading his fingers through your curls, cradling your head.

That, for some reason strips you raw, pulling at the ragged edges of your being. Kita, Shinsuke, Shin just holding you, safe, warm against him, that moment enveloped in time and space, your own bubble of existence outside the normal passage of time, independent of the forces that pull it forward, you and him, alone and together, at a time that wasn’t quite morning and wasn’t quite night. A horribly beautiful feeling it was, being, existing alongside Shin, that sneaks its way through all your cracks and crevices, the way Shin slips in little kindnesses that makes him so easy to love that fills you up with so much joy and hope, warm and comforting, a touch imperfect but always just what you need.

“Marry me,” you say to his throat, too afraid to say it to his face. He stills beneath you. You keep your eyes closed.

He starts carrying you to your bedroom, your legs wrapped around him, body stiff as a board as he sets you on the bed.

Oh, you fucked up, didn’t ya?

You keep your eyes closed, even as you feel him rummaging around for something, the silence so loud you ruthlessly start to assess your words for the flaw, for your misstep. You fold your arms across your chest, in what was probably too obvious a defensive posture

“Love, look at me,” he pleads and you are a weak, weak woman

You crack one eye open, carefully at first, fighting the urge to hide from finally knowing. Your whole body unwinds, another eye opening,

Here he was, on one knee, holding a ring.

It took most of his willpower to not laugh at the bewildered expression that took your face hostage.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to scare ya, I was planning fer it. Ya messed up my timing, darlin’. I should have asked ya first. I panicked. So, the love of ma life, ma home, ma heart, I am but a poor poor man beholden to ya, indentured, a servant to yer every wish and desire, so long as ya will have me, so have me love, marry me? Please?”

He couldn’t hear what he was saying, words drowned out by his pulse roaring inside his skull, almost couldn’t hear you, head buried in yer hands as you burst into tears. I love ya

prev

He hears a choked sob escape you, that you immediately want to slam back into your throat. Rin is leading you away, away from the love of your fucking life, away from your ‘Tsumu.

“Up ya get idiot.”

Osamu watches as ‘Tsumu begged the healers for a better explanation, the slump of his spine a sudden attack of aphasia because, this was-is his brother and Osamu didn’t know how to keep him from falling apart as the doctor had no real answers to offer.

“Will my body remember what it learned?”

“You’ll have to test it out, Miya san. But in another month. No sports till then.”

‘Tsumu wanted to punch that doc’s face in. A few other specialists visit, as they tell ‘Samu his care plan, his limits and what he could expect in the coming months. They temper his hope with ornamental bookends, maybes and possibilities. They spoke of no absolutes, offering no confidence, leaving him with the sense that when if he got his memories back, it would be a difficult road to navigate.

All the while ‘Samu’s hand was encased in his and Kita san was standing next to the door. Little mercies, huh?

“Should we call your wife, Miya—”

“Don’t call her that,” he snaps with a visceral recoil. Osamu’s clearly grinding his jaw shut, smothering his rebuttal.

“Rest for now, Miya san. You’ll be discharged in a few days.”

‘Samu gets up too,

“Where--?”

He drops something in his hands and leaves, a chain with a ring looped through it, his wedding band. “I’ll be back.”

“Atsumu—” Kita san haltingly begins. He looks up at his captain, utterly lost, tired and very confused. Slowly, he sits down on the seat next to the bed, beginning to speak in a calm, quiet tone.

“I know, okay? You’ve got us here, me, Osamu, Suna and all your MSBY teammates too. I’ll let Osamu tell you about all that. You’ve got your wife too. She loves you; you know?”

“But I hardly… know her, and K-Kita san, I’m not the Atsumu she married and I’ve got volleyball.”

Kita san’s eyes widen, as a visceral grief suddenly swells in him, an ache for a memory he did not know.

“Oh, in yer heart, yer the same; 6 years or no. You made it work before; you were stupidly in love. You will make it work again, volleyball or not”

His eyes screw shut, sorting through all the new information he’s been flooded in the past hour. He examines the Kita san in front of him, the same except for skin tanned from working long hours in the sun, a bit more command in the set of his shoulders, calloused hands and laugh lines he didn’t know existed.

“W-what are you doing Kita san? The rice farmer you’ve always wanted to be?”

“Yeah, it is rewarding work. I’ve recently delivered a batch to Onigiri Miya—”

He stares, world spinning for a moment, latching on to his words, “Onigiri Miya”

He felt choked, short of breath. “’Samu’s finally got his own store eh Kita san?”

Kita-san’s face falls as he tries his best to control the welling of tears pooling on his lower lids, a blink away from spilling, lifting his hands to cover his face as his shoulders heave.

“’Tsumu I got yer favorite Onigiri—” ‘Samu enters just to hear ‘Tsumu trying to muffle a sob that nearly fucking breaks his heart, eyes bulging almost immediately with rising alarm because crying, it isn’t what ‘Tsumu does. Angry tears, yes but not tears of heartbreak.

He leaves the Onigiri by the door to kneel down by ‘Tsumu, hands hovering over him, taking quite literally all the strength within him to not just hold his brother. “’Tsum, yer breaking ma heart now, tell me what’s wrong brother—”

‘Tsumu doesn’t let him finish, just sort of falling into his big brother’s chest, curled over in on himself like he’s trying to fold himself up until he’s gone. He feels so small, his little brother. Ah, his vision is starting to blur too. He wraps his arms around his little brother and holds him, Kita san quietly shutting the door to give them a modicum of privacy.

‘Tsumu can’t speak because when he goes full meltdown, he apparently goes full fucking meltdown. He can’t speak because he’s too busy sobbing his fucking heart out and every time he tries to form words, to ask about his volleyball, his wife or even ‘Samu’s store, he ends up making a truly hideous, choked noise that sounds a lot like he’s gagging and probably hyperventilating as Osamu rubs soothing circles into his back and he feels like he is a child again, five and ten and sixteen, always the little brother.

You are on the other side of the door, carving a canyon of selfish grief in the stupid hospital floor, face etched with misery, pain, and hurt for ‘Tsum bubbling over like a pot on boil, pressing both of your hands over your mouth as you finally let yourself cry, Rin watching you with his eyebrows tugged tight together as he sniffs too, eyes blotchy red as he rubs your back, holding on to your hand. He cries too, finding the door inexplicably hard to close once it’s busted open. He lets you cry, like a child.

‘Tsumu didn’t have the energy for complex thought, let alone capacity for conversation. ‘Samu didn’t ask in the following quiet that clawed across the space between them. ‘Tsumu draws back and ‘Samu lets him with a silent nod, offering a small smile. ‘Tsumu’s face goes just a bit softer, something passing between brothers that only twins could ever hope to understand, hope so fragile and sturdy at the same time, that only exists between them.

You feel ridiculously jealous of the past you, the you that hugged ‘Tsumu just for a minute, the you that only kissed him twice before he had to leave for the match, the you that didn’t get to tell your ‘Tsum that you love him, thinking you’d surprise him once he’s back. It is an ugly feeling, wanting rather fiercely to break the fucking door down and hold your husband, possessive and envious. You shove it down with an internal disgust. “I’m going home Rin—” you take a deep shuddering breath, your stomach abruptly cramping with fear. “Like hell am I letting him forget about me-” you rasp, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to starve off the devastation creeping in like a vice around your throat. “I just have to make him fall in love with me again.”  

Rin is looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you did. But a life without your better half is out of the question. How could you possibly put into words what you feel right now? What language burns in melancholy and drowns in heartbreak only to go to sleep with grief and wake up with hope? Your home is with Atsumu Miya. You cannot bear the thought of facing your house without him in it. You outwardly shake your head, breath gusting from your seized chest, finally unclenching as a hollow laugh leaves you. 

“But first, lets get drunk Rin. My husband doesn’t remember he has a wife.”

Part1

Well, inspiration struck and here’s the second part. Just Atsumu trying to cope with being told he’s lost almost 6 years of his memories. I’m no doc so don’t come at me for medical inconsistencies. Reader is introduced here. 

“Start with yer stupid questions,” Atsumu croaked out, not liking the hollowed-out expression on his brother’s face or the way his hand was still trembling, encased in his, like ‘Samu needed to make sure that he was alive. He felt an unfamiliar rush of hot panic inside him, the feeling of something dreadful looming. What the fuck happened? He swallows thickly and looks away from his brother.

“What year is it, Miya san?”

‘Samu’s hand squeezes his as the beeping of the monitors increased. Oh fer fucks sake! Did they think he was an ingrate? Of course, he knew the year, “It is 2017”

The doctor made a note, not giving anything away as ‘Samu’s sharp intake of breath interrupts the silence.

“What were you doing before?”

Heh? His mouth shaped around a truly impressive sneer as he tried to hide the fluttering of anxiety that swelled from his stomach to his chest. “was hyping myself up for the MSBY recruitment. Of course, I’d get picked—Oh fucking shit, ‘Samu, did yer tell them that the bestest setter in Japan is stuck at hospital. I’d hate fer them to miss out on me as setter”

His insides roiled the longer ‘Samu went without giving him an answer. “’Samu?”

“Ya lost yer head or what? Osamu?” his voice cracked.

“What happened? What the fuck happened Samu?” he tried to demand, but instead it came out as a plea, voice breaking into something truly pathetic as his heart hammered behind his ribs, feeling like his chest might crack open from the panic.

“Ya quack, y’ll tell me what the fuck is wrong with me or I’ll—” his Kansai accent started coming out stronger.

“You need to calm down ‘Tsumu. Just calm down brother, I’m right here. It’ll be okay, I’m right here.”

“What the fuck will be okay ‘Samu?” his demand probably sounded petulant but he was sick and tired of being treated as a child. He grits his teeth, squared his trembling shoulders, preparing himself to tell the doctor to fuck off, thank you very fucking much.

“Miya san, it is the year 2023. You are the official setter for the MSBY black jackals.”

Fuckin’hell. ‘Samu watches as he squeezes his eyes shut, blowing out a deep breath, lifting his hands to cover his face. 

“’Samu?”

“Yeah, yer the setter for MSBY so ya need to shut yer trap about that already.” He tried for a smile, but it fell flat.

His anxiety vanished, leaving behind in its place something cold and vacant. Terror. Six years of his life, lost. Does his body remember what it learned? If he went back, could he set for the team properly? Just who the fuck was on the team? What? Vacant cold of terror clashing with a renewed surge of hot anxiety.

“You had an injury during one of your matches, Miya san. You had a terrible concussion and we had been preparing for memory loss being a potential side effect. It is temporary, I assure you.”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t even recognize his own voice, so cold and so low.

“It was during a match with EJP Raijin, ‘Tsumu. Suna brought yer here, he was crying, that idiot.” ‘Tsumu blindly reaches out to grab ‘Samu’s other hand, clinging to him. 

“Tell me somebody got it on camera ‘Samu?”he croaks.

“Of course, they did ‘Tsumu.” The words felt leaden on his tongue, but for his brother, Osamu will do anything.

“’Tsumu, ya remember yer tutor?”

“Hah? Her? Of course, I remember Ms goody two shoes. What do ya think she might be doing now ‘Samu? Why would y—”

A roar from behind the door interrupted the placidity of Miya Osamu turning his brother’s life upside down.

“Where the fuck is my husband? Ya whining pathetic scrubs, ya try to stop me from seeing that idiot now that he’s up from his stupid beauty sleep, I’ll turn your spine inside out ya hear?”

Muffled voices, a thud against the door as Kita-san? Tries to calm you down, with Suna holding you back. Atsumu’s apprehension sank at the promise of having Kita-san here. He always knows how to make things okay.

Tsumu swears he recognizes the voice, Ms goody two shoes. But that is not possible, right? ‘Samu???!!!

“Three fucking days Rin!! That is my husband out there—”

Osamu wrenches open the door, as Tsumu sees you. Wild curls tumbling down, something feral in your eyes as Suna is whispering to you, voice low and soothing. As soon as you see him, you heave a sigh, face softening, relief so palpable he kind of wants to cry. You, holy shit, when exactly did you become so pretty? He might have already nursed a teeny tiny crush on you but, before all that,

“’Samu,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm, despite the painful thudding inside his chest, failing to hide the blade of panic slicing his vocal cords. “Why is Ms Goody two shoes screaming bloody murder about her,” and the word almost strangled him as he said it, “husband?”

Your brown eyes blew wide, feeling an uncomfortable amount of your own throat suddenly, sensing in unfortunate detail, how it starts to close up. You take in a short, choppy breath. Your chest stuttering on an inhale, mouth open but no words come out.

The quack doctor, clearly displeased with the recent events, adds in an irritatingly calm voice, “She is referring to you Miya san. In the last six years, you got married.”

Nobody was surprised as Atsumu laid back down on the bed, closed his eyes and pretended everything was a nightmare, narrowly resisting the urge to just scream. Why is this happening to him?

You look at Osamu, the lines around your face strung tight, a battle fought across your face to still your expression, suppress whatever emotion dared to be known.

Oh, he doesn’t remember.

Sort of a memory loss A.U where Atsumu forgets he’s married. Should I continue this?

Bright lights, the beep of machines and a soft hand nestled in his. Atsumu grappled with those fleeting observations as he struggled towards consciousness. His head alternated between stabs of shooting pain and mind shattering throbs so intense that he saw lights behind his eyelids. “You should go get some rest, please” a voice spoke up, one so raw with pain that it took Atsumu a while to identify it as Osamu’s. There was some shuffling and a soft voice and a “please wake up soon love” whispered into the crown of his head. He decided he liked the sound of the voice, velvet against his eardrums but liked what that voice said much less. Who the hell is calling me love?

“Either open yer eyes now or I’ll pry them open idiot brother of mine.” Atsumu tried to force his eyes open, they fluttered under the attacking lights. He squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a breath and tried to force them open again, a world of color and light and noise greeting him. A figure stood nearby and Atsumu was suddenly struck by how odd it was to see his brother tear up. He blinked rapidly, trying to speak, to force the syllables out, his throat catching part way through the motion. Osamu notices and offers him some water and calls for the doctor, hands trembling, voice cracking.

“Miya san, we need to perform some initial diagnostics now that you are conscious,” the doctor says, softening her voice. “If at any point you need a break, feel free to let me know.”

“This is a bad idea,” you say.

“It most certainly is”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Lost youth? Tendencies towards self-destruction? Poorly managed impulse control?”

You stare, lips parted in awe. All three were probably accurate and then some.

Suna smiles, a mischievous little thing. For a moment, you don’t feel like a set of problems to be solved, financially dependent and saddled with a family with whom conversation floundered and died like rotten fish. Instead, you felt a bit like an idiot which was wonderful. Looking at Suna, leaning against his bike, arms crossed in front of him, midnight breeze ruffling his hair, the neon lights of the club smattering a kaleidoscope of colors across his skin, you say yes, your voice no more than a tiny sputter of breath.

Even when he was young, Suna had been under no illusions about what he was like, spoiled and irritable, downright vindictive when angry, so he’d always thought it was lucky you loved him regardless of it all.

Suna’s fingers always find a place in the curls at the base of your skull, tiny pinpoints of pressure cradling your head as his thumb skims the length of your jaw. He always left you incapable of coherent thought as you witness the outright adoration on his face. He was is the biggest simp.

The first time you let him kiss you, his lips moving against yours, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, the only thing running through your mind was a barrage of chastising thoughts

Why did you wait so long? Why did you fight it?

Holy shit, that was not just a kiss. It was hungry, starving, skidding your ability to overthink to a sharp halt. It was worship. It was devotion and ardor as his mouth wandered along your jaw, your neck and a tiny patch of skin near your clavicle that made your toes curl.

Suna, who loves the face you make when he grins at you, eyes glazed, lips ruddy and hair falling forward into his face, warm and glowing.

Suna who moans when your teeth drag against his flesh, hands digging into your flesh as lips replaced teeth, pressing fleeting, featherlight kisses up the vertical length of his neck, towards the junction beneath his ear.

Suna, who arches a brow every time you try to prank him, engaged in an impressive display of restraint by not rolling his eyes.

“Come on baby, let me prank you just this once!”

His brow stays arched. Once you’d given up and let him hold your hand while driving and let him open doors for you, he’d lean in to whisper, “that’s a good girl”

The first time Suna realized he wanted you, like wanted your hands that lit him on fire, wanted to kiss you, hold you, go on midnight drives with you, make playlists for you, take pictures of you, when he realizes he likes you looking at him like that, with warmth, open and glowing, he does not accept the misfortune of being right next to you, because the weight of such a thing is insurmountable.

He simply leans back against the wall, closes his eyes in the middle of the fucking conversation and just breathes and counts slowly in his head. It is incredibly and unfairly impossible to ignore every impulse telling him to just fucking confess already because something in his chest wanted to get out, get to you. Some primal thing trying to claw its way out of a cage, to call you his.

Suna who lets you collapse into him after a tiring day, muffling tiny sobs against his chest. Suna who curls his arms around your shoulders, over your head, tucking you in and keeping you safe, his face pressed against the top of your head, telling you about the funniest things to distract you.

Suna who tells you, “You are my most favorite person in this world, you know.”

Bruh, I’m literally your girl!

Suna who takes the most unflattering pics of you for his private album but if you want to post some on your social media? He’ll slay. He’s got a polaroid of you in his wallet and your initials around his neck.

Suna who calls you love, who gets all soft and pitiful, gazing at you with those big puppy eyes and it’s not fair. You ate my fucking snacks boy!?

Suna loved you during all your midnight conversations, in the liminal space between wakefulness and staying asleep. Suna who loves it when you play the guitar for him, loves your singing that is a little off key.

“Sun of the Roan Kingdom”

Alberu jumped out of his skin, (in a very princely manner, of course) and whirled in his seat, glancing at the bane of his existence and the object of all his desires.

“Oh, Young Master Silver shield, how the fuck did you get in here? Raon?”

The dragon materializes before him, just as Cale’s applause fills the air. Raon immediately dives for the cookies he keeps on his desk, specifically for him.

“Astute observation skills, my prince.”

Alberu scowls at him, waiting for some semblance of calm to settle within him, but he’s all itchy and hot and struggling to not just reach out and wipe that stupid smirk off his face, preferably with his lips.

He starts listing out all the ways in which he plans to kill the white star, first chronologically, then on order of brutality but he can’t calm the fuck down. His body is simply aware of Cale, it can feel Cale’s gaze on him, heavy against his skin, a tangible thing.

Raon goes on munching the cookies.

Cale’s smirk grows as he pushes himself off his languid recline on the wall, looking like mercury frozen solid and sculpted to perfection, lean and lithe. He steps closer, red hair a halo, into the moonlight. Well, he always did look better bathed in silver. There was something indecipherable about him today, eyes slightly hooded, something so tender in his expression, Alberu, The Sun of the Roan Kingdom feels his stomach drop out from beneath him. Don’t look at me like that

He presses his hand against the bridge of his nose, “What do you want?”

“I want for nothing, my prince”

“You only call me sun of the roan kingdom when you need something from me, so what do you want, Cale Heitenuse?”

“Couldn’t this humble servant just want to see you?”

“You’re infuriating”

“I think the word you’re looking for is charming”

Munching of cookies continues.

“Hey, crown prince, get me more of these.”

“Raon, your Goldie gramps might have a new sofa for you to steal. Why don’t you go and see?”

“Really Hooman? Should I? Should this great and mighty dragon go steal another one? Okay!”

A blur of energy zooms past, red hair flying all around as Cale tries to gather them up in a pony. Alberu slowly walks towards him, a quiet “let me” slipping out of him before his brain fully registers the thought.

As he slowly starts gathering Cale’s hair, he cannot tear his eyes from his smooth, pale skin, a beacon almost, in the dim glow of the silver moonlight. Cale swallows thickly, blush staining his face. His lashes, oh for fucks sake, they are so pretty, long and dark and all kinds of nice, that Alberu is sort of pissed about it. 

“Crown prince,” his voice was as warm and catching as a fire spark as he turns, just as a cacophony lights up inside Alberu’s skull, a violent clatter repeating, kiss me, kiss me, hold me, let me hold you, kiss me, will you let me kiss you? please, please.

He could feel his hands, rough against Cale’s neck, mouth too dry to do anything as the whole world warps out of focus and shrinks down as they stare at each other. It seems to happen slowly, Cale swaying closer like he can’t help it, not a word exchanged as Alberu, the Crown Prince and the Sun of the Roan kingdom bends down on a knee, pulling Cale’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles in the same way a servant might swear fealty to their lord, a courtier to their sovereign. Use me, use me, have me, discard me if you want to, it seems to say. Hurt me if you’d like, you can do anything and I’d thank you.

Cale’s eyes flutter shut as he is pinned in place, wanting the space between them to be consumed, wanting to be consumed himself. His knees nearly buckle, just as Alberu adjusts them so that he’s sitting on his lap, left shaky and wanting, taken right to the brink of begging. He cannot stop himself from fisting the front of his stupid princely robes, tugging him close, closer until his body is pressing right up against him.

Alberu’s lips brush his cheek, hears his sharp intake of breath and nearly fucking whimpers. “Kiss me, sun of the roan kingdom, Alberu, kiss me,” Cale chants, words nearly tumbling out of his mouth as Alberu’s fingers dig into his thigh.

“Say please,” his voice is in a broken kind of croak, holding on to a semblance of control by a thread.

“Fuck, Alberu just please”

This just sets up the background. Might do a pt.2 later

It’s been a full half an hour before Dokja feels he’s safe enough to stop running, skidding to a halt at the edge of the roof, arms already in a defensive posture, breath running hot, strung-wire tense for his pursuers, body accommodating a presence no longer there. The aloneness is only the second-eeriest part, making the back of his neck prickle.

At this point, his mind suddenly caught up with itself and he realizes, he’s missing the scenarios. It was a terrible shock, akin to his body walking head first into a hidden electric fence, face frozen in an expression of wide eyed horror. It cannot be true. He’d spent so long planning, hoping, trying to do everything he could to get to the end of the scenarios, the very thought of them, blasphemous. So, right now, he promptly shoved the insane, dangerous thought unceremoniously to the back of his mind, hurled every other stray thought on top of it so that it couldn’t get loose and start wandering.

“Joonghyuk-ah, where are you?”

Here is what he knows, a night sky black with ignorance, just a couple of frail winking lights in it, his body is that of a 15-year old, it was his city—but not his city, in a body that feels like his, a fear that his body remembers, with bruises he was hoping to forget. If this was some shitty scenario, he was going to rip the hearts out of their fucking throats with his bare hands, but the fury just, went out, a candle flame without air. He looked around, uneasy wrapping his frail arms around his much too thin body in a hospital gown, that felt alien, covered with scars, the feeling of vulnerability slamming back into him full force, body a wound flinching from all touch.

“Beginning test X0#3 on subject 000”

(Essentially, he goes back in time to before Wei Ying was kicked out of cloud recess.)

Lan Zhan's silence never seemed as loud as it does now, Wei Ying thinks.

He looked wrecked, like the grief haunting him swallowed him whole and spit him out, as delicate as hand spun glass.

His brother looked like he was falling apart at the seams and Lan Xichen didn't know what to do. "Wei Ying?" His brother questions, an uncharacteristic vulnerability fraying the edges of his voice, looking at Young Master Wei with such unmasked hope that his chest hurt.

"A-Zhan" he tries to carefully edge towards his brother who looked up sharply towards him, the icy stillness of his concentrated stare cutting him to the bone.

Lan Wangji could still feel the phantom pain crawling up his back, the sting of betrayal. "Brother" he said, tone wavering with the bleeding edge of anger and hurt.

Alberu froze, the instant he realized what Cale had planned. He isolated the panic seizing his veins, freezing it out, shattering shard after shard of unbidden possibilities of a world without Cale that his brain was mapping out.

What the fuck?

Shit, he barely had enough time to block the kids' view. Unbridled rage joined the panic, a fresh flush of heat beneath his skin. He flaked it away too.

Fuck.

His jaw ached from the force he used to grind it shut.

Cale, his stupid, idiotic bastard plunged the dagger into his chest and Alberu, the crown prince of his kingdom wavered, his chest tightening like it might crack, ribs reduced to rubble. His comprehension of the world around him screeched to a halt, a strangled sigh of relief slipping from the back of his throat when he moved.

This fic is honestly the longest thing I’ve ever written, my best work and is super close to my heart. It deals with a sensitive subject, mild descriptions of sexual assault. Do not read if upsets you because this fic includes trying to deal with the immediate aftermath of it. I kind of needed to get this fic out there for my sake, so um, please be kind.

Sexual Assault needn’t only mean rape. It could mean unwanted physical contact, it could mean forcing somebody to sit on your lap, it could mean threatening them if they didn’t comply, if they didn’t tolerate your filthy, disgusting hands on their skin. Anybody who tries to invalidate your encounter, saying be thankful, you weren’t raped can go fuck themselves in hell.

Karasuno first and second years as found family, providing the kind of support I wish I’d had when I went through it. This fic has a happy ending but honestly, it is absolutely not possible for anybody to be as okay as they are with physical contact with the opposite sex as the reader in this fic is. So, certain things are dramatized for the sake of this fic, for the sake of the happy ending. The third years graduated, the first years are second years in this fic. Brief mentions of violence. No explicit detail. Essentially, Tsukishima’s rage. 

For anyone who needs to hear this, you are perfect as you are. You are not damaged. You deserve love. 

Word count: around 4K

“Hey, you’re absolutely going to flip when you hear—” Yamaguchi stutters to a sudden halt, “Yeah, what happened?” you croak, scrubbing furiously at your eyes, trying your absolute best to just smile. It feels wobbly on your face, a caricature of a thing.

  “Oi, boke, what’s wrong?” Kageyama says quietly as Hinata moves forward, frantically checking you over for any injury, his nerves palpable, his sharp intake of breath as he looks at your hands sounding like heartbreak. “Nothing, not a damn thing,” you reply reflexively, your voice, that traitor wobbled, chest feeling too small for the turmoil in it. Tsukishima looks at you, hunched over with your head ducked, faint tremors running through your body, your breathing hitched and out of order, and your hands, gods, they look like you tried to claw the skin off them. You look fragile, he thinks, a stark contrast to this morning, when you were furious with him for scoring higher than you in your best subject.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned he remembers thinking, letting out a soft chuckle. You were beautiful, he recalls, chest heaving and eyes so bright, curls dancing with every poke of your finger to his chest, well, the highest part of him you could reach. A rush of anger overtakes him at whoever made you cry. It spreads, grows legs and scuttles away with his rational thinking, leaving behind blind, blind rage. Tsukishima could never believe himself capable of anger, but here it is. There was also fear, fear gobbling up his heart because he did not want to see you cry, could not see you cry. It did something to his heart; you see wherein he would set the entire world on fire, set his soul on fire if it meant you’d not look like that.

  “I’ll go get Yachi,” Yamaguchi says and takes off running. Kageyama holds out an unopened packet of strawberry milk as he sits next to you, trying to comfort you the only way he knows how. Your eyes instantly fill with tears, trying to scratch your skin again. 

“Oh, no no please, please don’t do that,” Hinata blurts out, strained as he moves to crouch down in front of you, gently grabbing both your hands, like he’s trying to make you stop and also to hold you still. It is then you realize, you are shaking and badly. Tsukishima says your name and you promptly burst into tears, again.

  It is an awful thing, to look at the person you genuinely like and feel the different ways in which your safety was violated. Your stomach lurches, just looking at him because what would Tsukishima think? How could you sit in that senior’s lap just because he threatened you? How could you let him put his arms around you, just because he said ‘my father is a powerful man, and you wouldn’t want to piss him off now, would you?’ Why didn’t you scream? You think, why the fuck couldn’t you scream? 

You ache. You can’t do it anymore, you think, helpless to how tired you are, down to your bones. You can’t keep wanting him now, can you? Can’t want Tsukishima with everything in you, can’t keep wanting him down to sinew and bone as if, as if you are two halves of one soul, as if you are stitched and held together by the magic that made him. The ache is ripping you apart, tearing into you with grotesque pops of flesh that only you could hear. Kageyama is rubbing your back gently and Hinata is holding your hand, mumbling nonsensical things, crying right along with you because he is a sympathetic crier, gently running his fingers through your hair.

  You’ve been crying for hours now, you think. How long, you weren’t sure exactly but you’d think bloody fucking ages because your eyes feel so puffy and itchy, head a war drum and your body wrung out and absolutely exhausted. 

“Who did this to you?” Tsukishima asks, his voice going absolutely flat, without tone and without any bit of inflection, a mask of restraint. You blink up, surprised and his eyes, gods they look furious. You start fiddling with your hands, Hinata’s rough between your shaking fingers, a tad obsessively. “Are you mad?” you choke out, blinking fast and hard. “Yes,” he replies, “but not at you, baka.” His chest stutters on an inhale as he gently brushes your tears away, his own eyes slightly red rimmed.

Yachi comes running, Yamaguchi and the third years trailing behind her. “Hey, you are a mess, aren’t ya?” Tanaka-san rasps, gently crouching down next to you. “You are safe, kid. You are safe now. Your senpai’s are here, you’re safe now.” Unease slithered beneath everyone’s skin as they heard that. Why wouldn’t you be safe at school?

  “Could you please try to tell us what happened?” Yachi says. You’d think her face was an impenetrable mask but you could hear the way the words cracked inside her throat, that strange and instantly sympathetic sound of trying to speak through an impending urge to cry. You shake your head, lungs seizing, ice flooding your veins. What if they don’t believe you? What if they think you are overreacting?

  Tanaka-san and Noya-san start cracking their knuckles, “Yes, tell us our cute kohai, we need to know so that we figure out how painful their death is going to be.”

  “It is stupid, really-” you wheeze out, barely able to breathe past the lump in your throat.

  “Fuck that!” Tsukishima spits out, stepping right into your personal space, pushing Hinata aside, so close you could practically taste his intake of breath, fury fluttering in his chest, drowning out the pain. “Fuck that, nothing, not a single thing that made you cry like that could be stupid, Bakajanaino?” he says, a bit softer, tender in a way that instantly floods your itchy, swollen eyes start with tears again what the actual fuck? How much longer could you cry?! feeling like you could shatter and fall to pieces right in front of him. Traitorous little bastards, you think, looking up at him, his scowl pulling his brows together, jaw clamped shut so tightly it is a wonder it didn’t break, but his eyes, oh his eyes, they hold all the things he might say, nearly choking you with their intensity.  

The unpleasant sensation behind his ribs, the ache multiplies as you start sobbing once more, those awful, horrible, no good chest rattling sobs, gripping the front of Tsukishima’s shirt as you helplessly sob into his throat. Tsukishima, the meanest person on the team is rubbing his hand up and down your back, holding on to you, warm and sturdy.

  “He-he—he made me sit, sit on his lap,” you choke out, nearly fucking hyperventilating, heart pounding so hard. You could audibly hear Kageyama’s sharp intake of breath, his grip on Hinata bordering on painful. Ennoshita had to physically grip Noya and Tanaka from sprinting out and bashing someone’s face in.

  “Breathe, baka, just breathe, like I am, you can feel it, come on, just breathe.”

  “I didn’t want to, I was so scared, please believe me, I-I-I di-didn’t w-w-want t-to, please—" you whisper, staring at them imploringly, inwardly pleading with them to just believe you.  

Shame, complete and utter shame haunts you and you’re scared, so fucking scared. Please, anybody, just please, you didn’t know what you were begging for until Tsukki’s scent envelops you.

  “I got you, just breathe baka, I got you,” he croaks out, voice trembling.

  “I-I wanted to get up, gods I wanted so hard to just get up and leave, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t, I don’t know why. He wasn’t even holding on to me that tightly, but I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t fucking get up, Tsukishima, why the fuck couldn’t I? It’s not fair” you whimper, vison blurring, breathing erratic in your chest.

  Why why why? It’s not fair, it’s not bloody fucking fair. I just wanted to buy something to eat, I just wanted to eat. I can’t— Every denigratory thought stutters to a halt as a rough palm cups your cheek and you make a small, pitiful noise. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he chokes out, the flimsy grip he has on his emotional state abruptly snapping as he hugs you, “It’s not your fault love, not your fault at all,” he chants, an uncharacteristic vulnerability fraying him out at the edges, body practically shaking with the intensity of what he is feeling right now.

  “I just, he put his arms around my neck K-Kei, he-he said everybody is seeing you in my lap right now, but look, nobody is helping you now, nobody will,” you continue to spill your guts, like you are bleeding out before the team, words blurring together as they practically tumble out of your mouth in their rush to just, make someone believe that you never wanted to do that.

  “Shh, love, shh” Tsuki-Kei soothes, his voice hoarse. There is a strain in his face now, emotion, so much emotion, his chest swelling on a sharp inhale, eyes shiny. “I know you didn’t want to. I know…” he swallows, looking helplessly at the third years. Noya-san gives him an encouraging, albeit a bit wobbly smile.

“That’ll never happen again, okay? Shh, we’ll take care of it,” he releases a shuddering breath, feeling dangerously close to falling apart.  

There’s a horrible kind of silence, Tsukishima thinks. The silence in the aftermath of something going terribly wrong, a brittle thing that could shatter and debilitate everything. Yachi takes you from him, no, give her back, composure abandoned, hands twitching restlessly at his sides as the mad-combo duo, Yachi and Narita san fuss over you, Tanaka san coaxing you to drink some water, Noya san looking stern and troubled.

  “Matsuhiro,” you say, startling them all. “His name is Matsuhiro, I think.” You are looking straight at him and he just nods, a silent promise, watching as a vindictive sort of satisfaction settles around you. There is a screaming inside his head, a caged beast howling, raw and endless, protect, protect, avenge running through his brain, something unhinged taking over. He gets up and leaves, distinctly noting Tanaka san and Noya san following him, Ennoshita san not too far behind. “I know where he is.” He leads them out of the campus, towards one of the places frequented by Matsuhiro and his gaggle of lackeys.

Tsukishima is the one who notices him first, leering at other women passing by the road. He barely registers snippets of the conversation as he moves towards them, your name thrown into the mix as he says, “got that little thing to sit on my lap. Ya should’ve seen how she was shaking”

  Slow down and think idiot, just slow down and think

Matsuhiro’s laughter abruptly cuts off as his neck prickles with a sense of impending danger. He turns, eyes meeting Tsukishima’s which were just dark pools of nothingness.

  It hits him then, the full extent of what that bastard did to you. He took away your sense of agency, stole any semblance of safety you might’ve felt. It makes him feel sick. “Tsukishima, don’t-“ Ennoshita-san tries to reach out but he ignores him, the startling, truly disturbing amount of rage flooding through him making it difficult to breathe, world warping out of focus.

  A blink.

  One moment, he was standing, locked in place and the next, he’s slammed back into his own body to find his hands fisted in the front of Matsuhiro’s shirt, slamming him back against the wall, rattling him.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

Your name falls out of Tsukishima’s mouth, just as a disgusting sneer takes up Matsuhiro’s face as he practically shoves him back, voice low and taunting, “Oya oya? What’s the matter? She your girl or something?”

  “Do you think she was waiting for you? Praying for her boyfriend to come save her?”

“I should’ve made her scream for you, pity I didn’t huh?”

His ears ring and the world falls away, Tanaka and Noya san’s rage, practically frothing at the mouth, their fight with his lackeys, everything. It’s like blowing out a candle, abrupt exhale through pursed lips, a sudden influx of darkness that sucks the shadows into the room, the snapping of restraint. The burning of his control taken out, a gust of air and then gone.

  He doesn’t register anything else, not until his own back hits the wall and then the world snaps back into focus. Matsuhiro is a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor.

  Tsukishima is breathing hard and the first thing he registers, he’s viewing the world through cracked lens, the thing that startles him is his hands, knuckles busted and bloody. He thinks his right hand may be broken but he can’t even make sense of the pain radiating through it. He looks up to find Tanaka-san holding him back, Ennoshita san and Noya san staring at him, their faces pale.

  “You would’ve killed him,” Tanaka san says, throat convulsing on a harsh swallow. “Tsukishima, you would’ve killed him.”

His lips part, wanting to argue that he wouldn’t, that it wasn’t him, he doesn’t know what came over him, but his mouth snaps shut. He trails his gaze over to the pool of blood beside him, the bruises already blooming on Matsuhiro’s body, breathing labored and thinks, good, good.

  “Alright, let’s go,” Tanaka san says, softly.

  “Let’s go, yeah? He won’t go near her anymore. You’ve made your point clear, yeah?”

  He looks up at him, and chokes out, “I’m sorry.”

“I know. We know. It’s alright,” Tanaka san says, like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal and maybe he is. The world feels so much slower now, dusk bleeding into night as he walks back to school, sluggish and syrupy. Every twitch of his fingers hurts his hands, Ennoshita san’s back a steadying presence.  

Anxiety spreads, cold tendrils crawling through his chest as he realizes you weren’t there, you weren’t there. Where did you go? A couple juniors were cleaning up the gym. They don’t get back to Karasuno until late, Yamaguchi waiting for him in the creaky quiet of the night.

  “She went home, Tsukki. Let’s go home yeah? We’ll check on her tomorrow.” He mentally thanks him for not commenting on the blood that’s surely on his white shirt. Tsukishima feels so tired, hollowed out, trapped on the precipice between the relief that you were safe now, that you were home and the clawing panic that you nearly weren’t. He breathes out a sigh of relief, slips his headphones on and the world falls away once more.

  The two of you head over to Yachi’s for a sleepover, her mother taking one look at you and ushering you inside, heading over to prepare some hot chocolate for you and to get you some clothes of hers to change into. Yachi looks at you, her face softening as she holds up her arm, “Come here” she offers, a promise of kindness and protection.

  You aren’t happy about the waterworks, your peace so fragile, so easily shattered. All it takes is a blatant offer of comfort for your chest to feel like it caves in, eyes stinging as you slump over into her. Her arm comes around you and you collapse, all at once, eyes puffy and aching.

  Yachi’s mom comes back, takes one look at you and joins in on the cuddle pile, dropping her head over on your shoulder, content to just exist there with you. “You’ll be okay kid,” she says, looking at you.

  “I don’t deserve to be,” your voice comes out thick and hoarse, eyes welling up again, impossibly. It hurts, it hurts, please make it stop.

  “Alright kid, I don’t know what happened, but everyone deserves to feel okay, you hear?”

  “Everyone?”

  “Everyone.”

“People who are genuinely your friends, they tend to not blame you for the things you can’t forgive yourself for kid.”

  The thing is, you feel like shattering into pieces after hearing that, because it somehow soothes and stings, all at once.

  “It’s not fair ma’am.”

“I know it’s not” she responds, her eyes sad.

  “Well, you girls settle in and let me know if you need something, alright?” She kisses each of your foreheads and leaves as the two of you fall back on the mattress, just as a loud ringing cut through the silence. Yachi sluggishly detaches herself, looking for the phone as you curl up into a ball.

  You don’t go back to school the next day, like a dirty little coward but you don’t care, a maelstrom of grief and shame and want careening through you as you keep playing in repeat every single detail you’ve heard about Tsukishima’s rampage from Yachi, wide eyed and breathless. You shouldn’t feel warm and fuzzy because of that. You do anyway.

  Yachi says nothing as you ask Tanaka san to recount the fight; she just maintains that soft, somewhat amused smile as the boys launch into yet another rendition of Tsukishima’s rampage as they’d titled it.

  Tsukishima paced mercilessly, carving a canyon of grief in the busy corridors, body brimming with anxious energy. “Maybe we can go visit her after school Tsukki…” Yamaguchi tried to placate and even Kageyama didn’t have anything sharp to say at that moment. “Tanaka san and Nishinoya san are already there,” Hinata adds, showing his phone.

  In it, you wore a smile, ill fitting at best but still, a tiny little thing as you were looking at Tanaka and Noya, their hands a blur. Tsukishima looks at the picture, looks at you and runs, Yamaguchi making a mad scramble for his bag, Hinata and Kageyama running right along with him, yells of “I will not lose to you Tsukishima!!!” following them.

  Tsukishima skids to a stop at Yachi’s room, Tanaka-san’s laughter and your quiet giggles, barely audible in the hallway and his knees nearly buckle, feeling shaky and wanting. He’d even resort to begging at this point, he thinks.  

“Aah~~mo!”

He steps into the room and everything abruptly ceases.

  “Oi, baka! Can I kiss you?”

  Noya-san snorts, juice pouring out of his nose as Tanaka san whacks him upside the head.

  “I-Um-Ano, I mean, Um—”

Yachi ushers them outside and closes the door, not before you hear both Kageyama and Hinata stumble into her home, “Ano~Tsukishima yaaro!!” abruptly cutting off.

  You seem to have learned two, very fucking important things in the time since.

 Two things since the moment Tsukishima showed up at Yachi’s doorstep, flushed, a man on a mission, with a steady stream of stupid pouring out of his distracting mouth.

  One, you were so painfully in love with this blond idiot. You couldn’t deny it if you tried.

  Two, you were a weak, weak girl chained to your desires, and right now, you want to lick the sweat off his forearms, a truly disturbing swing in your mood from a couple minutes ago.

“Stop drooling, princess”

And, the snark was back.

  “I’m not. I’m appalled by your audacity, is all.”

“There’s a reason behind all this.”

  “Nope. You are infuriating.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, “you think I’m charming.”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” you huff out a soft laugh of disbelief.

  “I like you, I like you baka. I—”

“Now, why the fuck would you like me!?! I—”

“Well, self-depreciation isn’t attractive short-stack,” he says dryly, flicking your forehead.

  You toss your hands up, frustrated with how dense he’s being. He’s not allowed to like you, you weren’t perfect, you were damaged goods, you were—

“Let me kiss you, baka, won’t you let me kiss you?”

“Shut up, Tsukishi—”

“Kei, you called me Kei yesterday, won’t you call me Kei, chibi?”

You, you start laughing, giggling really. It’s low and quiet that brushes up against his skin, sounding like his undoing.

  Tsu—Kei’s gaze drops down to your mouth and he moves forward, like a man on the verge of starvation, eyes drifting shut as his forehead rests against yours with a small tap, the twitch of his fingers against your own, since when were you touching? He nudges at your cheek with his nose, a quiet question, a little hopeful and your heart, that poor little thing thumps so hard in your chest, like it wants to break free and you, you ache with need.

  “Why?” you croak as he threads his fingers through yours, placing it on his heart which is jackrabbiting, a mortifying deal sure, but he wants you to know that it almost wants to run away with the delicious feel of your skin against his.

  Oh

His lips brush your cheek, and you feel drunk from the heady rush of Kei being this close, his mouth moving along your jaw, softly and oh so carefully, causing a shudder to ripple through your body.

  “Because I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you, yelling at our coach for making Yachi cry unintentionally. Oh gods, I like that whip smart brain of yours, those wild curls, an eco-system of their own, I like your kindness, when you help us train, a honorary member of our club. I love when you get mad at me, love you putting me in my place.”

“Kiss me, kiss me Kei, please,” you chant, words tumbling out of your mouth without a second thought.

  “Most of all, because nothing makes me want to set the world on fire than the thought of losing you.”

You kiss him and Kei rocks back from the force of it, removing his glasses as he goes.

  Tsuki—Kei wraps his arms around you, nearly whimpering because you are so bloody earnest about the kiss and he kisses you back just as desperately, melting into you. He starts trailing his fingers over your cheeks, hand snaking its way to the base of your neck, the sound that leaves your mouth truly embarrassing as you nearly blister beneath his touch. Your grip tightens on his shirt as his lips, oh gods those lips, warm and delicious ravage you, hungry and starving. Your other hand wanders, lost in the feel of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp and his groan nearly combusts you, desire crashing through every fiber of your being and all that you could think, beneath the devouring that was his lips moving against yours, the tantalizing slide of his tongue in your mouth and the commingling of breath was more.

  “Fuck,” he rasps as you break apart, foreheads resting together, breathing hard.

  “You like me too, yeah? I need you to like me too chibi,” he blurts out, like that’s not a terribly impactful thing to say, like that’s not having unfortunate consequences on your heart as he buries his face into your hair, arms wrapped securely around your waist.

  “Tsukishima Kei,” you say, “I have liked you since first year, idiot.” You laugh softly as he stops hiding to flick his gaze over your face. “I think I’m a little bit in love with you, to be very honest,” you whisper, just like that. Like, like it doesn’t cause this awful, wonderful, shaky feeling through his chest, the reverence in your tone causing his cheeks to go pink.

Oh, the mortifying ideal of being known

You start peppering kisses all over his face, causing his face to turn redder and redder. You kiss him like you do everything else, with your whole heart, your whole soul, pouring your feelings into it, like they’re bubbling over, eager and earnest. You, truly feel like you’re about to rattle apart with all the want coursing through you.

Hello, this fic might be slightly inconsistent as I’m just getting back to writing. It includes mutual pining and honestly, both reader and Tsumu being stupid for each other. Contains descriptions of kissing and mentions of sex and masturbation, nothing too explicit. Do not read if it makes you uncomfortable. 

MSBY jackals just won their match against Adlers, a second of blessed silence as the ball thuds against the floor and then the entire stadium erupts, howls and cheers and breathless laughter, but the MSBY setter’s eyes look around for you, the soft smile that overtakes him when he sees you, wearing his jersey so in contrast with the cocky smile he gives the rest of the world.

Everybody’s here, you think: Hinata’s friends, the Inarizaki gang and even Sakusa, nursing his drink in a corner. ‘Tsumu, ‘Samu, Bokuto and even Akaashi are on the packed dance floor. Atsumu who beckons you to the dance floor, one finger curling invitingly and with a painful, lusting jolt you follow, helplessly fond and terrified.

It’s so effortlessly easy to get caught up in Atsumu, to lose yourself to him, to fall prey to him. Atsumu who moves to the music like he’s made of it, Atsumu who moves like he’s bewitching anyone who dares to look, fingers curling through the air. His eyes are open, heart-trippingly dark, looking at you like he wants to, just wants and wants and you feel like your poor poor heart is going to beat right out of your fucking chest.

His hands slowly slide over your hips, your mind an exercise in restraint but you look up at him and smile. He smiles back, tugging you impossibly closer, dancing to dancing together, your hands in his hair, bodies rolling to the music as one, bright eyed and pink cheeked  yearning, a wild thing snarling and snapping its jaws in your chest.

You are so mesmerized by his his tiny little smile, the softest, sweetest thing reserved for you, your brain catching like a skipping record every single time he uses his fingers, long, deft fingers holding your waist, cradling your cheek, holding your hand. Gods above, you never really stood a chance. He is pure fucking poetry brought to life and you, a mere mortal. 

Nope, no fucking chance, Nada.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

He breaks out into that lovely smile, and oh, for fucks sake, he is a beautiful, beautiful boy, breath audibly hitching, so much restraint packed into his frame that it is a bit painful to look at.

Bokuto wolf whistles, “Finally, hey hey hey!” as Akaashi covers his mouth, whispering something in his ears that makes the player turn a vibrant shade of red as he drags him away, apologizing as he goes. 

Atsumu starts wiggling his eyebrows, fluttering his eyelashes and dropping his voice to a sinful whisper, “Will you ravish me tonight baby?” he mock pouts, as he ushers you out of the pub, amidst the raucous laughter of your friends.

But for all his playfulness, he looks genuinely pleased and just a tad bashful and okay, okay fuck.

Atsumu who, for all his faults loves you with a desperation bordering on devotion, wanting to break his chest open and keep you safe in the space left behind, his bleeding heart cradled in your hands, a violent feeling sure but he has loved you since Inarizaki and then you are here, moonlight on your skin, giggling breathlessly as he starts walking you back home, and yeah as he looks at you he feels the harsh swoop in his stomach and oh.

“I really really like you,” he blurts out, words just sort of tumbling from his lips because he feels so full, body prickling and warm, i want to kiss you playing in repeat.

Oh, you turn back to look at him, snowflakes on that stupid blond hair of his, heart thumping heavily in your chest because you, you have been wanting to date him, kiss him, take him home and call him yours since high school. You are stupid for him, have been stupid for him, common sense fleeing whenever he is around until all that is left is a very sad, very true desire to have him in whatever way you can.

He looks at you, has been looking at you and the rush of power it gives you is intoxicating, this man who, for all intents and purposes can have anyone, anyone falling at his feet is looking at you like you have the power to break his heart into a million pieces and oh, “Yer so stupid ‘Tsumu, I’ve really really really liked you since high school” you whisper, a sudden rush of pure elation making you giddy. Atsumu, is there, right there standing before you and you want to pluck at his restraint and snap it with your teeth, see what he looks like when he fucking loses it and stops holding himself back and so you do, helplessly swaying forward when he declares, quite bluntly, “I’m going to kiss ya now.”

Utterly breathless, he meets you halfway and kisses you, his restraint shrivels into ash, your head spinning with the thought of yes, more, more as he clutches at your hair and pulls, kissing you from a higher angle, deeper. So needy you think as the kiss turns messy and desperate, a low whine escaping him whenever you dare come up for air. “Okay, okay—” you giggle, utterly dazed as he starts nipping at your neck, “take me home, ‘tsum, take me home and you can fuck me wherever you like, just please-“ your moans turn to breathless whimpers as he lifts you up, legs wrapped snugly around his waist as he starts power walking back to the hotel as you feel completely lost in the sensation of him all around you as you start carding your fingers through his hair, tugging roughly as a shudder ripples through him.

He starts jogging back to his room, your choked out laughter following you all the way back as you hold on tighter. He doesn’t slow down, the world washing away from you, the team’s laughter as Atsumu stumbles back to the hotel, Suna’s incredulous stare as he snaps a pic, nothing. Your whole body feels electrified, the thought of ‘Tsumu touching you scorching, a tiny noise escaping you as he descends on you like a man starved, worshipping you, begging you to show him what you like, how you like it. The low, almost inaudible hiss sounding like benediction when you finally touch him, his moans nearly short circuiting your brain.

As you are drifting away to sleep in his arms, fully satiated, he holds you a little tighter and whispers, “I love you,” the vibration of his throat against your skin and you release a contented sigh, “me too baby, love you.”

“Say it again, angel please,” he looks at you and oh, if you could just take this moment and bottle it up, the smile that tugs across his lips, the way he rubs soothing circles into your skin, a sheen of moisture in his eyes, you are so far gone, it’s not even funny 

“I love you, Miya Atsumu,” you say it, just like that, the sky is blue, the earth is round and you love Miya Atsumu, just like that. 

Hello! This is a spin-off of my previous Dabi x Reader post. Both Dabi and Reader regain memories of their previous lives in the bnha universe. As indicated, this is a reincarnation imagine, so reader’s death will be discussed and Dabi’s dissonance from who he thinks he’s supposed to be. It deals with grief, so if you are not in a mental headspace to read it, please put yourself first. Slight angst but overall it has a happy/hopeful ending because this lil meow meow deserves it all. Some LoV found family shenanigans at the end!

(Requests are open and welcome. It’s exam season now but as soon as I’m finished with it, I’ll work on them. So, um whispers, send me some?)

Sometimes, you don’t think you’re human.

On days that are hard, and nights that are longer, you think you are something old, something haunted by the echoes of years past.

It makes no sense, admittedly. You are sinew and bone but some days, you feel like stardust and magic.

Sometimes, you ache. A beast roars in the awning crevices of your heart, incessantly clawing at your ribs, ripping everything to shreds, yearning for something, gagging on it, really. Hazy delusions, memories assaulting you like half forgotten hallucinations born in the dark. Sometimes, your grief sleeps with you on your bed, it tears at your skin like barbs, keeping you from sleeping.

Sometimes, you remember feeling trapped in your own body in someone else’s bedroom, staring up at someone else’s ceiling, wishing, for once your body could do the things it was supposed to, none of your partners, if you could call them that ever felt right, not freckles not sun-kissed skin, neither women, nor men, a sense of wrongness so profound you couldn’t give yourself to them freely, always withholding, always flighty.

Sometimes-

“Lets go!”

Your mouth purses and twists in a brief grimace at Himiko’s enthusiasm but you follow along.

She rolls her eyes at you, blond hair swaying as she talks animatedly about her recent crush. Gods, you hope, for her sake, this one isn’t as bad as the last. “-Jin kun was like—” she continues, sipping a cup filled with a disgustingly sweet concoction, just as she preferred. You love her, you do but oh boy could she eat tooth rotting sweets. You suppress a full body shudder as you make appropriate noises to indicate you were listening.

You aren’t, not really.

Sometimes, you think you are—

You are looking aimlessly around when your eye snags on someone in a corner, half lidded eyes looking around and suddenly he is there.

You look at him, the distance between you a physical ache but you don’t move. His eyes flicker to you sharply, like he knew you were there all along.

You look at him, electric blue eyes and that stupid, stupid smirk (no staples and no hunch of his spine, haunted by grief).

You start to remember, the touch of his hands and the tenor of his voice, your heart hammering a painful beat against your breastbone, fingers twitching, reaching for him, an instinct you cannot fathom.

You want to run to him, want to cry and rage, want to kiss him, tongue and teeth, want to crawl inside him, you want and you want, a want that burns like fire, blue like his, a want that lights you up from inside out, reducing you to smoldering remains and ash.

Some days, Touya doesn’t think he’s human. He thinks he’s missing half his soul.

Sometimes, he looks at his father, a perfectly acceptable one at that and remembers begging. He remembers begging, screaming, writhing and burning. Remembers him spitting horrible threats at his youngest brother, remembers the world burning and remembers it being blue.

He has lost something, someone. He knows he has, something missing since he was too young to realize there was anything to miss. It doesn’t make any sense, feeling like his name was wrong wrong wrong, that he was called something else, a name he chose, a name that was his own, not what that bastard chose. Sometimes, he takes a second too long to react when people call him.

But then he dreams, cigarette smoke mingling with spring, a laugh frozen in time. He aches with the remembrance that he needed someone as he needed air, remembers gentle hands and fond exasperation, he remembers glorious smiles and rough kisses, laughing mouth pressed to his, remembers moonlit dances and soft whimpers, desperate hands and frantic pleading, a love so bright and beautiful.

The day he dreams about finding a body, cold lifeless one, doused in the silence left by an aborted scream, the smell of daffodils, watching your mouth stretched open, sound held hostage by death, the ring he gave you glinting in the sun, a little thing he’d bought with his own money, his legs give away, forcing him awake with ash lingering on his tongue, soot on his hands and fire in his bones.

Someone was next to him

Someone was screaming,

howling, a sound filled with so much devastation and grief, a sound so cataclysmic like their world was imploding.

“—uya, Touya, baby it’s okay, shh it was just a dream, it’s okay” his mother soothes him and for the first time in a long, long while, Touya Dabi bawls in his mother’s arms.

A strangled hiccup sneaks through your throat, breaking into a sob as knowledge comes to you just as you feel your chest tighten, ribs squeezed into rubble. Himiko looks at you. “Are you okay? Oh, that is one of the Todoroki kids.” she replies and oh, his blue eyes widen and then your feet move without your permission. You follow, the howling thing in you finally quieting.

He doesn’t look the same, he is taller, eyes a lighter shade of blue, hair no longer the white that you remember, skin a bit lighter, but it is him. You would know him in death, at the end of the world.

A name you remember, his name. A name you cannot know but do, with impossible certainty. The sky is blue, grass is green and he is your “Dabi” you breathe. You see the recognition mirrored in his face, a face that you’ve never seen before, a face you know better than your own.

“Hey princess, I think I was looking for you.“

You giggle and it’s his favorite sound.

He smiles and oh, what a beauty it is.

He opens his arms and you are falling into him, his arms around you, squeezing so tight, fingers digging into skin, both of you blubbering apologies and I love you’s, reassurances that you are alive, you are here, and I’m here, it’s okay love and oh gods, you think, thank you.

Contains Dabi and reader as lovers, a Dabi who is kind of capable of emotional intelligence and articulation. A little bit of angst, the we’ll die in a couple days so let me show you how much I love you one last time kind. Lots of fluff and feels and descriptions of sex, nothing too explicit. As usual, do not read if it makes you uncomfortable. Just some Dabi lovin’, the sweet and sad kind where reader and him are a great big tragedy. It’s not so sad as all that I hope, so enjoy. 

Dabi wore his mask well, but it had developed cracks. Tiny fissures spiderwebbing across what had once been an impenetrable surface.

“Don’t be upset doll.”

“Excellent opener, Dabi. I’m feeling so at ease right now.” You look up from the plans, brows lifted, waiting for whatever would upset you.

“I-I want you to know--” Dabi takes a deep breath and gives you a small, sad smile. “All my life, I’ve been ravaged by longing, shredded by grief and held together by rage. The only thing—the only thing that made any of it bearable was you princess.”

“Wait, t-that s-s-sounds like a goodbye Dabi, a-are you saying goodbye?” you demand, though it comes out more like a plea, voice thick with the lump in your throat.

“Gods no doll, I-I just want you to know that I would not have known a hint of relief, or a slice of joy, if I did not have the pleasure of knowing you” he croaks.

You feel dangerously close to tears, eyes prickling with heat but you don’t want to cry, not wasting a second in mourning what you haven’t lost yet. You’ll do it later, alone, when if there is a reason to.

But right now, Touya is here. He is still here and you love him dearly, dreadfully and with a defiance that makes your heart sing, a love so deep for what you cannot keep but oh god, do you want to, dance by the firelight with him, cook with him and fold laundry with him, live a modest life with him, almost mundane in its simplicity. Quiet and safe, walls stained with the happiness of a life well lived, vision tinted golden.

In another life maybe, but in this one, you are a great big tragedy and you don’t want to say goodbye.

Just not yet.

Gods, please not yet.

“Don’t cry doll” he breathes out, cradling your face, mumbling reassurances or pleas, you didn’t know, thumbs swiping away your tears with a tenderness so uncharacteristic, it sends a fresh wave right down your cheeks. “I mean, you are completely breaking my heart right now and admittedly, what little of it exists is yours and you can do with it what you want but doll,” he huffs out a weak laugh when you muster up the strength to glare at him. Dabi is undoubtedly frazzled, borderline desperate and it is oddly cute, a word you’ve never associated with him.

You start crawling right into his lap, settling down on his thighs as he continues to stroke your cheeks, instinctively wrapping his other arm around your waist. He kisses you on the forehead, just a peck, barely there and proceeds to do just the same on your nose, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth and starts nibbling on your ears and you start smiling, giggling along helplessly and Dabi smiles, and it strikes you that it was a smile of being known, all bright and bold and beautiful.

“Mine, princess. All mine.” You shouldn’t be so enticed by the idea of belonging to anyone, much less a wanted villain considering your position, but every single time Dabi claims you as his, a thrill shoots down your spine. Considering the way he repeats himself, something heady and possessive about his tone, you guess he’s figured it out already.

“And I’m yours, all yours princess,” he says, like it is resolute and set in stone, indisputable and you cannot be blamed for losing your breath when he says it like that. Like he is yours to claim and possess. It terrifies you, in the best way possible as Dabi finally kisses you, with a gentleness bordering on devotion, making a quiet sound into your kiss as you snatch a little frantically at that stupid black coat of his, trying to paw it off. He backs off enough with breathless laughter as you finally peel him out of that coat and launch it across the room, hitting Twice, probably as he backs off, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

He groans as you slide your hands down his chest, bringing one of his nipples into your mouth as he blows out a deep breath, his grip on your ass almost bruising. “Doll, princess, please,” he keens, pleading, hands trembling with the effort it took to hold still. He looks so embarrassed it’s almost painful as you toy with his other nipple. 

“Okay, enough doll” he breathes out and you yelp as he stands to his feet and hauls you up with him at the same time, your legs naturally wrapping around him. “I love it when you manhandle me sir,” you blurt out, hands gripping his shoulders as you, quite literally bite into his neck, just enough to sting. He sucks in a sharp breath but follows it by slapping your ass so, no dice. His lips twitch as he figures out that you’ve been trying to fluster him and then he dumps you, right into his bed with no warning whatsoever.

He looks at you, mouth forming a perfect circle as you gape at him, him crawling up the length of your body, him looking like sin personified. You are still quite dazed as he dips in to kiss you, the frantic hurried kind, divesting you of clothes, then the lazy, languid kind, drawing moans out of you as he licks into your mouth. That filthy little thing. Dragging his mouth along your jaw as you pant beneath him. 

“Please,” your voice cracks as he draws lazy circles with his tongue, on your exposed skin. When he pulls back, you chase his mouth, eyes glazed as you want his mouth back on you, back where it was. “Please,” your voice rasps as he starts kissing down your stomach.

Dabi looks at you, magic made life and thinks, it’s so fucking worth it. If he had to lead a life like that for it to lead to you, it was so worth it. Everything else takes the back seat, the imminent danger, the possibility of future death, just you in the forefront. Your moans, the hitched breaths, every time your mouth shaped around his name, every fucking thing that starts and ends with you, so worth it.

You are a mess throughout and Dabi feels so fortunate that he gets to hold you in his arms, this lovely stuttering mess that he can lay claim to and be claimed by. He laughs as you squirm against him, yank on his hair and gasp into his mouth, chanting his name, begging, and so far gone as he draws a third orgasm out of you. Dabi has been with people before, but never been in love, so he is astounded by the intimacy every time he made love to you, astounded by how much he feels, all at once as he fucks his fingers into you, his whole world beginning and ending with you, wanting to just stay with you, in this forever that you’ve both made, a little desperate and dazed, to just feel the joy of existing in this moment that feels caught in amber, everlasting and just ours.

He presses his face into the bend of your throat, tangling your fingers together and he is so lost to pleasure, that you are amazed by how loud he is. It drives you a bit mad to be honest as you clench around him, choking out some variation of “Don’t stop—please, please baby, don’t stop,” as you arch beneath him, “I wasn’t going to princess,” he gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to keep it together, which is a miracle in itself as you stare up at him, face flushed and chest heaving. He couldn’t physically stop himself from kissing you, not coming up for air as every fiber of him tells him he could go without, too busy falling apart as everything good in the world is with him, meeting his every thrust until his ears are ringing and the only name being chanted is yours, steadily spilling out from his mouth in wonder.