divinity

Iwaizumi would break his heart into a million little pieces just to find a fragment that he could fit into whatever crack you had in yours.

Iwaizumi Hajime x Fem! Reader

fluff, angst, allusions to blood, violence, and death.

1.7 k

read here.

You know what needs to be done, but you aren’t quite ready to let go of him just yet.

Akaashi Keiji x GN! Reader

fluff, angst, implied smut, mentions of cheating, depictions of violence.

estimated wc: 1 - 1.8k

date of release: Feb. 11, 9 pm PHT

After millennia of searching, Atsumu has finally found his gumamela. Now all he has to do is to bring you back to his side, where you have always belonged.

Miya Atsumu x Fem!Reader

slight angst, mentions of blood.

estimated wc: 0.6 - 1k

date of release: Feb. 12, 9 pm PHT

When he opened up shop for the day, Kita did not expect you to pay him a visit, much less sell him all of the remaining years in your life.

Kita Shinsuke x GN! Reader

slight angst, allusions to war, character death.

estimated wc: 1k - 1.2k

date of release: Feb. 13, 9 pm PHT

In which your story begins and ends with Oikawa Tooru, but what of the faithful companion you’ve had in the in between? Kuroo wonders if you even know his name.

Kuroo Tetsuro x Fem!Reader, Oikawa Tooru x Fem!Reader

angst, two cases of one-sided pining.

estimated wc: 1k - 1.2k

date of release: Feb. 14, 9 pm PHT

[ note ] — opening up a taglist because this is another project that i’m very excited about and am sure that you guys will like, too, so comment here or send an ask if you want to be added !!

“Forgive me,” you whispered, as you took the spear and stabbed his chest. It was as if that first strike hurled his senses away from his body. He felt no pain at your savagery, only the unmistakable discomfort of mistaken nostalgia.

A thousand fabricated days whirled before him – of how, together, you braved the river of life and chased the small pleasures hidden beneath the torrents, how you would say that you’ve always had his back (and always will, though he supposes that that may have been your greatest lie of all), how you told him that you loved him no matter who he was, no matter what his reputation said about him, that you were enchanted beyond hope by his charming voice and actions.

But none of that happened, of course.

You tore out his heart, dulled and almost silent, and held it to your ear. You did not seem to mind that you were covered in his blood, almost as red as the nectar that had once graced the very same place on your cheek as you listened.

Satisfied, you looked at him looking up at you, helplessly dying and helplessly in love.

“I have to go.”

He had suspected of course that something like this would happen. Many had tried over the years to win his heart by way of the flesh. But he had always stood victorious at the end of every challenge, denying all that tried the false intimacies and mysteries of his hard-won affection.

I have grown careless, he told himself.

I have fallen in love, he told himself.

I am going to die, he told himself.

He could not move, of course. Such was the power of the net fixed by devotion. He had allowed himself to believe you and his belief empowered the net and the net held him so tightly, so securely that he could not even speak.

“I need your heart,” you told him.

He could only watch as you picked up one of the spears he has told you about, the very spear that a man named Tooru had wounded him with. It had taken him years to recover.

He dreamed a man’s dream – basking in the commons with his beloved, soaking up the heat of the daylight, and forever feeling the weight of a smaller, much softer hand in his.

He dreamed a boy’s dream – feeling the impact of knuckles to skin to flesh to bone, seeing the discolored hues of purple and blue, and crying until he had no more left to give.

When he awoke, he was entangled in a net that smelled of sweet chocolate, crushed flowers and imbued with all the heat of the sun.

“Where is your heart?” you asked him, as you stroked the faux sharpness of his dark hair and looked innocently into his eyes.

“I know you do not keep it locked away in a safe, nor have offered it to the devil like what most of the townspeople say,” you whispered into his ears. “Where is it?”

And with your relentless cooing, asking and stroking added to the regular hum of life that surrounded you both, he felt his resolve weaken and he told you where it was.

“In your chest? Like everybody else?” you marveled, tone just shy of teasing. “I never would have guessed.”

He sinks into your softness, and finding solace in the warmth of your caresses and the comfort in trust he had just bestowed, fell asleep in your embrace.

One day, it is almost as if you yourself can feel the net you have made with how paradoxically light he appears to be; rid of old worries and previous woes, all gathered into and held from his shoulders by the firm fibers you have woven with your teeth and tongue and lips.

“You seem happier,” you mentioned in passing.

I am, he replied as he offered you the sweet berries he bought the previous night. Do you want some?

“Thank you,” you murmur. Afterwards, even though the fruit has long been swallowed, still it remained on your skin in the bright red syrup that trickled down your chin.

You don’t bother to wipe it away.

“Are you lonely?” you asked him once.

He told you that yes, sometimes he was.

“Why?” you asked him, as tears formed in your eyes.

Because nobody has ever taken the time to actually know me, he told you.

“They desire you for your body,” you continued for him. “They only want you for what you can give them.”

Yes, he agreed, dismayed at your tears. And he tells you of his collection of words that various people have and have tried to hurt him with.

You laughed and laughed, and that made him feel better inside.

When the opportunity to speak came and the proper words presented themselves to you, it began with the most inconsequential of things. The weather, the workloads, the names of every muscle and bone and sinew in the body. He found you articulate and witty, laughing at his attempts at clever conversation and never ever bored.

You told him he was charming, and gently teased him about his surprisingly timid nature.

“You are beautiful,” you told him, when you finally touched his skin, running your fingers across the smooth plane of his cheek.

His heart echoed the sentiment and he told you exactly that.

You grew comfortable, like an old couple, sometimes not needing the security of words to prove that you were indeed sharing time and space in a place where silence embraced the two of you.

It was a long courtship.

For despite what everyone said or thought, he was terribly shy and was never one to rush things, at least not anymore.

You played the demure young maiden, acting surprised at his presence but not at his appearance, and coy in your manners.

He gradually grew to expect your company with every passing day, days spent in an all-encompassing silence, simply gazing at each other – you, still teetering on the precipice; he, already free-falling.

People always said he was terrible news, a devil’s child who possessed the capability to tempt even the most pious of peers, and perhaps over the course of two decades he has come to accept that as his truth.

He would spend his days learning about the odd structure of the human physique, writing down the name of every muscle and bone and sinew, and his nights dancing with danger, wooing both men and women he has come to associate with lips that taste of hazards unknown and bodies stained with marks of fleeting trysts in the dark.

As he sank further into this abyss of alternating light and dark, guided only by the sun and the moon as they traded places in the sky, he thought that perhaps he was in too deep, has finally reached the point of no return, to be able to hope for better things.

That is, until the stars began falling from the sky.

People always said that you were born without a heart, cold and unfeeling in the apathy you wore so beautifully, and perhaps over the course of two decades you have come to accept that as your truth.            

Where others could freely fall in love or cry at loss or smile at sunsets, you were simply hollow. You had long learned how to pretend to be like them; ooh-ing at the flowers that oft greeted you across the way, swooning at the handsome boys – and later, men – with their attempts to sweep you off your feet, and sobbing at the few funerals you had allowed yourself to attend. Still, you only felt emptiness.

You sought out the woman who claimed to be a witch deep in the bowels of the backstreets and the canals where no one dared to go, fearless in your heartlessness, and there you learned of the heart you could own, the net of emotions you could make, and the spear of words that you must find.

When you sat, unmoving, in the middle of the witch’s house with a peculiar feeling uncoiling in the pit of your stomach, the wisewoman told you that it was only hope, and that it would go away with time.

You sought him out. Iwaizumi Hajime.

You first met through shared glances.

His, sly and alluring, set against warm skin and an even warmer smile that whispered promises of scorching heat and burnt skin; yours, open and inviting, near gleaming under the cool haze of the strobe lights and alcohol in your veins.

He was surprised to see a new face in the throng of familiar bodies; he has done enough to know that everyone knows of him and of his reputation, however immoral others may perceive it to be. Only the hopeless, the foolish, the ambitious, and the brave come to him, and they all only ever desired one thing: to obtain the heart steadily beating in his chest, a nigh impossible feat they revered as a miracle.

You, of course, were there to do exactly that, for the emptiness in your bosom was as dry as rivers and as dim as stars.

taglist: @ricerice​