Maybe Atsumu had realized that you were no longer in love with him before you realized at all. But that’s how it typically works in a relationship as volatile and explosive as the one you have with him. You two let wounds fester and putrefy and never acknowledge it until one if you snap. It’s almost always Atsumu snapping, like now.

Your fingers curl tightly around the handrail and you soundlessly beg for mercy. His belt is tight around your neck and hand he’s pulling your bare, freshly showered body down the stairs with all his might. You know you’re defenseless in this situation and if he really wanted to, he could end your life right here, but still you struggle against him with everything you’ve got.

“Atsumu please” You mouth out. There’s no sound, and your backs to him so he can see the despair and fear clouding your eyes. One hand fumbles with the belt around your neck, but it’s pulled taught by him and there’s no making room to breathe. Your other hand stays locked in that handrail like it can save you.

“Let go, dumb bitch!” He demands, and with one particularly harsh tug, you’re rolling backwards down the stairs and crashing right at his feet.

That first breath after he lets go of his makeshift leash feels like fire entering your lungs. You can hardly see; your eyes are so clouded with tears you hadn’t even realized were there. You’re coughing up a lung and the world around you is going blurry. Atsumu doesn’t care.

The first punch to your jaw has you stumbling back over the moment you could sit your coughing body up. He’s spewing abuses at you. You have no time to process. As it is, all he’s furious about is your refusal to have sex with him. But does it matter?

Your face is inches away from the floor when he kicks you in the back of the head, effectively slamming you into the wooden floor. Blood leaks from your nose and onto the floor immediately. You scream. The first sound that your body allows you to make that isn’t a cough, but it’s like he can't hear you. It’s like no one hears you.

The taste of iron fills your mouth when you bite your tongue as he kicks you on to your back. You have no fight left in you. You lay there, a crying, begging, and bloody mess.

“Atsumu, please-” You wail out as the weight of his body settles on top of yours.

Trying to break up with Bokuto would result in quite a sticky situation... mainly cuz he’s not letting you leave him.

At first, he whines and begs you to stay, then he’s obviously angry that you’re trying to leave him, finally he’s actually physically hurting you. Bokuto can get rough, but when you tell him he’s grabbing you too hard this time, he just slams you onto the floor or into a wall instead of simply letting go.

He probably takes you hostage (ties you up in the bedroom or something) and takes every chance he gets to try to impregnate you. He breeds you till your cunts sore and your whole body aches, but there’s nothing you can do but lay there and take his abuse after a while. When he see’s his cum leaking from your hole he’d just push it back in with his finger while a big smile is plastered on his face.

When you’re finally pregnant, you don’t get anymore alone time to just sit and be captive. At best, he stops hitting you??? He blames all the typical things he would “punish” you for on hormones. He does everything he can to care for you as if he were your servants. Still, he uses you to get his dick wet even while your pregnant.

At the very least, he’s much gentler and cares about your orgasms??? He’ll play with your clit and tell you how pretty you look with his baby inside of you. That’s about as much mercy as you’re getting.

His eyes are immediately on you. None of his features are clear in the dull light, but you can tell he’s looking at you.

“Can I join you?” Your soft request sits in the air for a moment until he nods silently.

He’s gotten quieter over the last month. A lot has changed with him recently. You won't bring it up until the sun is out. For now, you simply join him on the couch. He passes the bottle to you, either asking you to take it away from him or offering you some of the alcohol inside it. You just take it and place it on your side, where he can’t reach it, at least not with the minimal effort he’s putting into controlling his movements.

For about half an hour you sit in your first uncomfortable silence with your love, Suna. For the first time, you are scared of what the silence could mean and your heart aches with every passing moment and every silent breath. This is the furthest you've ever felt from him. You just wish you could read his mind and know. You want to know what's going on below the blank expressions, fleeting smiles, and dazed stares. He’s been so on edge for the past couple of months and you thought he’d open up one day on his own, but he hasn’t. Everything has only worsened with the time and space you’ve given him.

By the end of whatever Cowboy Bebop episode you’re watching Sunas asleep on the arm of the couch while the outro music plays. He looks at peace. You get a throw blanket and toss it over him before going back to bed.

You wake up again at seven, while he sleeps until noon. You’ve decided for him that he’s not going to practice today.

He wakes up and comes into the bedroom, swinging the door open, “Why didn’t you wake me up? I have work today.” He says as he rummages through the drawers looking for things he needs to get ready.

“You need a day off, Suna.”

He freezes and then closes the drawer. He turns to look at you and there’s a clear brewing frustration, “I can’t just take random days off.” He’s not yelling but he’s stern. “I need to practice.”

“You can have a day off,” You come back equally stern. “Now come sit down with me.” You pat the space on top of the comforter next to you.

He grunts, but relents. He’s in no place for an argument right now.

When he joins you, you look at him closely and he watches you with tired, bag-carrying eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

The question strikes through his heart like a knife, but he’s not dying.

The only answer he gives is simple, “I don’t know.”

He truly doesn’t know or… he doesn’t have words for it at this moment. It’s like one day his world started slipping through his fingers again. One day he was fine, but the next, the medication wasn’t working and he was forcing himself to go through the motions of living. Trying became hard, volleyball became hell, and he just wanted to be alone.

But, how does he tell you, the one he loves, this? How does he open his mouth to tell you that he feels like dying and there’s no way to stop this? Why is it so hard to say something?

When he tells you that he doesn’t know, he knows you’re not taking it as an answer when you frown at him without a word and wait for something else.

“I stopped-” He looks down and grips the comforter between his fingers, “I stopped taking my meds.” Even through his peripheral, he can see you cock your head in disappointment, so he rushes to defend himself even though you’ve said nothing, “They stopped working, okay? Those thoughts came back and I saw no use for them anymore. I just stopped taking them”

“But-”

“No.” He cuts you off.

“I waited every-single-day for them to start working!” You watch as a single tear rolls down his cheek and falls onto his lap.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he releases the comforter from his death grip and rubs his sweaty palms against pajama bottoms. “I’m trying so hard to be okay.” His voice is starting to break and the lump in his throat is becoming more and more painful by the second. “I do everything to fix this. I go to therapy. I take pills. I try to keep myself busy, but it never ends.” He softens. His eyes have become faucets of sadness and he doesn’t bother wiping them or even looking at you. He feels as raw as a picked scab. “I cannot find reasons to live in anything I do and I feel like I don’t deserve to be alive.” He feels you rub your hand up and down his back and it does little to comfort him.

“I- I’m trying so hard to make this work. I didn’t want to let you down, because I love you an-and I don’t want you to see me like this, but I kept getting mad at you and being mean. I’m sorry.” He sniffles and a shiver wracks his body. He looks at you and hopes you won't judge him for his emotional pitfalls.

His eyes are puffy and red, tears streaks are going down his cheeks, and his hair is disheveled. He sniffles and waits for your forgiveness.

You pull his distraught figure into a hug and for a moment you can’t do anything but appreciate his warmth; thank god he’s warm. “It’s okay.”

He melts into your arms and puts his head on your shoulder, “I love you.” It’s broken and barely there.

“I love you too.” You stroke his hair.

Not once has he felt deserving love, especially not yours. Now he doesn’t feel deserving of your forgiveness either. Still, in this moment of being held, he accepts it.

The lump in his throat dissolves and his tears start to dry up, “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

He feels you shake your head, “Nothing to be sorry about.”

He can’t help but think about how he’s a burden to you. Your life would be so much easier without him in it, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to stop bringing you into his misery and let you go.

“We’ll get through this together,” You say. You don’t know what that encompasses and he doesn't want you to find out. You feel Suna nod.

Satoru does as Satoru pleases. It’s always the same.

The words “maturity” and “settle down” don’t exist to him. You can’t fix him like you initially thought you could, and today you’ve finally learned your lesson. You should’ve known before getting involved with him, all the warning from his friends and every girl he’s been with… you shouldn’t have been so sure that he would change for you, especially not with the wake of recently broken hearts that seemed to exist alongside him. But, you were blinded.

He’s not broken. He’s not stupid. He’s doing this shit on purpose because he knows he can manipulate you into getting back with him. He’ll go missing from home for days on end, and come back. You’ll argue, you’ll make up only when he admits how wrong he is, and he’ll lay you down just to show you how much he loves you. Why is this a cycle you’ve repeated for so long?

Today, he’s knocking at the door, roses in hand keys locked somewhere inside the house. He’s been gone three days without notice or warning. Satoru likes to play this game; he likes to pretend it’s fun for both of you. He’s not even anxious about disappearing on you, it’s never been that serious for him.

You open the door and he hands you the bouquet. You beckon him in, like he doesn’t live there, and he follows you to the kitchen. You already have a vase filled with water that’d just been waiting for the flowers you knew would come. He laughs, he thinks it’s cute. You’ve become so expectant of his actions lately.

He leans smugly on a countertop as he watches you and waits for you to say anything. The words only come when you’ve found the scissors to cut the stems before you put them in the water.

“When are we going to break up?” You pose bluntly as one of the ends of the roses flys off as you cut it. You’re not saddened by the thought of it at all, but this relationship clearly exists on Gojos terms so, you’ll let him end it. “You go out for days on end without notice, you cheat, you don’t care about me and not to mention I'm starting to care less and less about you. It’s not like anything bad will happen if we call it quits, you know?” Another stem is clipped.

An even more smug smile grows on his face, and he snickers at the idea, “Break up?” He repeats to himself, then to you, “Break up?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re getting anywhere and your life wouldn’t be much different without me, would it?” You pause to look at him for a second, he doesn’t even seem phased by it. His smile is full of teeth and you’ve yet to understand why he’s smiling. Nothing is funny, especially not right now.

“I want to be with you, why would I break up with you?”

You thought today would be different, but turns out it’s all the same.

The only difference is that tonight he’s more possessive.

His head is between your legs, he licking and sucking at your clit like this relationship depends on it. Your hands tug at his soft hair as he draws another orgasm out of you even though the one before he left was supposed to be the last he ever got from you. He lets you ride it out with his fingers in your cunt as he comes up to kiss your lips. You grind down on his fingers and he chuckles into your kiss, “I love you.” He knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger, even if you don’t say it back.

“You were made for me, huh?”

All you manage is a nod before you pull him back down so your lips can meet again. His lips taste of you while the hickies on his neck are done by anyone but you. You’re used to it and therefore, think nothing of it. That’s just how he is.

Soon enough he’s inside you, like he knows you belong to him. Your knees come up to your ears and he rubs at your clit as he thrusts himself in and out of you. He’s too good for a man you know is bad for you. He’s only going to hurt you after this, but none of that matters. You exist for him, you’re sure, but he exists for you and everyone else.

“You still wanna leave?” You shake your head. “Good girl,” He coos as he comes down to kiss you again. You can feel his satisfied smile grow on your lips; he knows he’s won.

After his victory, after he fucks you, he cuddles you as you cry. His arms around you aren’t love, it’s just courtesy, you know? He’s doing it because it is obligatory, but you’ll pretend that he belongs to you for a while longer. You really thought you could let go of him this time. He kisses your forehead and tells you it’s alright as your tears start to fall less and less.

When tears cease to fall, he’s gone for a moment. The comfort is over, when he comes back to your shared room, he puts a plan b and water bottle down on your nightstand.

Tendou has been “watching” you for a while. You’re a lonely girl— that much he knows. For most people, such a discovery would be disheartening, but for Tendou it’s been exhilarating.

It started off innocent; as innocent as something like this could be, at least. You’re his coworker— quiet, direct, and pretty solitary. For those reasons, his interests in you was piqued. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with his pretty little coworker down at the chocolate shop. Needless to say, he followed you home one day and he finds out you live in a house that is basically nowhere. It’s right next to a forest; one of the creepy ones that kids would say they’ve seen monsters in. It’s innocent.

It’s nothing but innocent until he can’t stop himself from doing it. He has short conversations with you at work, but that’s just not enough, he wants more of you. He learns your routines by heart, and he participates in your life from a comfortable distance. On Monday you do this and on Tuesday you do that. It’s the same every week, your schedules are rigid and never change; you even take the same route home everyday. Some days he even leaves you anonymous letters on your door telling you everything he knows about you, how interesting it is inside your little bubble, and just how lovely you are to him. It’s playful, but he never stays to see you receive them.

His favorite days of yours are Saturdays. On Saturday you go out into the forest behind your house with your little basket and gather flowers to press. He thinks it's exhilarating; especially when he follows your lonely figure into that quiet little forest and watches you knowing you could catch him. Saturdays are the days he feels the most alive and aware of his own heartbeat.

Saturdays, for you, were ruined because of him. Most things were actually, after that fateful day— you no longer press flowers.

Seeing his face that day in the forest struck fear into your heart like you had seen a wild beast. His slow stalking toward you, his low tone, his perverted smile— all of it said he wanted to hurt you, no matter how familiar his face was. You vividly remember the feeling of the forest floor as he pinned your body to it and the fight you put up. You can remember his weight on top of you and the warmth of his body. You can recall his rough hands pulling down your shorts without a second thought as you gave up physically fighting him and his hands were all over you in ways you’d never even consider letting Tendou touch you.

Your shattered voice when he had let himself between your legs, “Tendou, stop!” and your hands pushing at his chest trying to tell him how much he was hurting you. Tears falling on either side of your face, and his hands coming down to strike your cheeks—to hurt you more than he already has— time and time again. Him telling you how dirty you were and how it’s your fault for being so easy to keep up with. All of it… the leaves, the dirt, the rocks dragging and leaving scratches against your back as you tried to brace against the harsh impact of his thrusts once you realized he wasn’t going to stop... it lives with you. You can still hear him calling you dumb for being so predictable, and all the stupid bitches that he called you as he pushed your face into the dirt below you. You can still feel his hands against your cheeks.

You remember the pain between your legs as you stumbled away from him and the site where he just violated you. You remember the fear that struck you a second time when you could hear him following behind you, but only to hand you your forgotten basket and kiss your temple as he wished to see you again at work come Monday.

The blood you saw when you got into the shower the first time as you sat down and cried was little, but still unbearable as you knew how it got there. The first shower that day you simply sat under the stream and cried. The second shower happened because you were sure you could still smell his rancid cologne on you. You did all you could to rid yourself of him, even reaching inside yourself to scoop out whatever parts of himself he had left in you. You remember scrubbing yourself under burning water like he would somehow know and it would spite him, like he would feel your skin burning and tearing under the pressure.