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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 10 months ago

Text

For What the Future Holds

Prompt: forgiveness

Rating: K/General with mild themes

Setting: Starts Ichigo defeats Yhwach, continues into the very beginning of the ten year time skip. There’s also flashbacks to Toshiro and Momo's past dotted throughout.

Synopsis: Momo notices Toshiro is acting out of sorts ever since the war against the Quincy ended. Meanwhile, Toshiro tries to look to the future.

AN: It’s finally DONE!!

I had the idea for this ages ago (around the time of Horizons, which is why they have a similar structure as you’ll see), but it wasn’t until the 'forgiveness' prompt for the @yearoftheotpevent came up that I finally sat down and wrote it out. It didn't turn out to be the main or overarching theme and the fic itself turned into quite the emotional piece to write ^^;

This was also partly written in light of my headcanon becoming canon! I was aware of the question from Klub Outside a long time ago, but Kubo has confirmed Toshiro and Momo were neighbours rather than living under the same roof, which has always been the scenario I saw for them when I was reading BLEACH and writing fic.

Finally, this fic also has a flashback that slightly ties into When the Souls Sleep and the World is Our Own, but only in that it was a deleted scene and I found a way to include it here instead. You don’t have to read that fic to understand what happens in that scene, just that the setting is not long after they met.

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy it!

____________________________

“I should’ve told you about it earlier.”

Momo blinks, both at the quietness of Toshiro’s voice and the bowing of his head in her peripheral. She raises her gaze to his face from the now healed over wound on his arm, cancelling the kido as she shifts over to sit next to him. “Told me about what?”

He rolls the tattered sleeve down. He contemplates what to say, staring down at his lap. Behind him, Hyourinmaru’s hilt glints, and beyond, Shinji and Kyouraku watch over those they’d dug out from the ruins earlier. Next to them, Nanao is communicating with someone in the Seireitei – Iemura, Momo suspects – trying to coordinate transportation for the injured, and Isane, bandaged up and still recovering from her own injuries, heals Aikawa. Far away at the Reio’s Palace, she can sense Rukia about to be reunited with her brother.

“That form is why I was training in the caves,” Toshiro says, diverting Momo’s attention back to him. “I should’ve told you about it sooner.

“You mean Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form?”

He nods.

Was that all? She thinks to tease him, to make light of something he seems to be treating with more seriousness than needed, but she halts at his gaze. It’s not the usual icy, determined one she’s used to.

He’s tired – and who could blame him after what they’d gone through? – and it makes him look vulnerable. Something trembles within him, something he’d likely keep hidden behind many walls.

She offers a sympathetic smile. “Why would you need to tell me about it?”

“The way you reacted before…you were startled. If you’d known before, it wouldn’t have been as much of a shock. I apologise.”

It’s true, she’d been stunned, had even flinched with a loud gasp when she first saw him, and was perhaps even a little frightened. She’d stood there, mouth agape and speechless, unable to take her eyes away from him, even as her captain swore and asked who he was. She hadn’t known how else to react, but later as he motioned her towards a piece of rubble to sit on as he explained how he had somehow become an adult, the shock wore off.

She had to resist the urge to hug him out of sheer relief, this was not the time or place for such high emotions. So she’d gotten to work on healing his wounds after he’d transformed back – but only after the others had been found and pulled out from under the rubble.

“It’s all right,” she reassures. “It was startling, yes, but I knew it was you. It was incredible, actually, but also not too surprising now that I know what it is."

He’s stunned, but hides it quickly with a clearing his throat and a deepened frown. “How so?”

“I didn’t see all of the battle you and Captain Kuchiki did with the Quincy, but what I did see was amazing. You froze the Quincy’s shield in mid-air, within a second. A-And then you froze the Quincy completely! I thought for sure he was defeated then, truly.”

He nods to himself, remembering. “So did I. He gave us more than we bargained for in the end.”

“At least he’s gone.” Momo sighs, and with it, a weight is released. “At least…it’s over.” It’s like a vice has loosened around her head and chest. She lets out a shuddering breath and her eyes become watery. “We’re okay, now.”

“We’ll have a lot to do when we get back, it’s not…” Toshiro trails off when he meets her gaze again. His hand twitches at his side, clearly resisting moving it. After a beat, his lips shape into a faint smile and he let’s out a short, tired chuckle. “You gonna cry, bed-wetter?”

She can’t even be mad at the nickname, she becoming too overwhelmed. “No, it’s not the time and place to.” Even as she says this, she’s furiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

He shrugs. “No one would blame you.”

“But it’s like you said, we need to focus on the task at hand.” She gestures to the others a short distance away. “On transporting the injured back and figuring out what our next steps are.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” His smile widens a fraction. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Despite herself, she can’t help but grin back. She sniffs and looks down. “I’m just so glad it’s over.”

He only nods with a hum.

A silence passes between them, and Momo slowly realises her own exhaustion. She has enough energy to cast lower powered kido, but even then she might be pushing it. She finds herself sitting back against the same piece of broken wall Toshiro is, listening to the distant chatter amongst their friends and wreckage crumbling and falling. She cranes her neck on the rubble’s edge, looking up at the sky.

She’d seen him soar across it hours ago, only a spec at times, and a more recognisable figure at others. At one point, the cold of his reiatsu had washed over her like a gust in a blizzard, freezing and chilling her to bone. It ebbed away minutes later, but it made her realise the magnitude of his powers. She'd wondered if he had this power this entire time and had chosen not to unveil it until now, when he needed it most to protect the Soul Society. If he was capable of this now, who knew what he could achieve in the future.

But then her mind rolls into another thought, one that makes heat rush up the back of her neck to her ears and try to suppress a chuckle.

“What is it?”

By this point Toshiro had closed his eyes.

“It’s nothing important.”

He opens one eye, unconvinced. “The spike your reiatsu said otherwise.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, chastising herself internally for not keeping it under control. She’s tired, but it’s no excuse. She lets out a small chuckle. “I was thinking that, in a funny way, Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form has given us a glimpse into the future. It’s shown us what you’ll look like when you grow up.”

She had meant it as a tease, to try and lighten the mood, but Toshiro’s frown deepens. As if realising his reaction was unexpected, he let’s out a snort. “Anything can happen between now and then to change how I look.”

The usual bite is not there. The response itself is strange, too.

Before she can ask, her captain comes up to both of them, asking for her help with moving Aikawa’s injured leg into a makeshift splint.

As she rises and leaves with her captain, Toshiro’s smile fades away, and he stares into his lap. No, into something else.

___________________________________

There was a time where future went as far as Granny.

What would she need today? What days was she planning to go out and shop? Would he need to help her with?

When would she pass away?

Toshiro never lingers on that last thought, always distracting himself with whatever he could. At the moment, it’s with sweeping the house and yard.

He’s up to the front porch, pushing the dust and dirt off the edge with the broom. Granny is inside, sewing a new garment together for him.

“You’ve grown again,” she’d remarked earlier with a smile. “You’ll need new clothes now.”

As far as he could tell he hadn’t. The ground seemed to be as far away as it was a week ago, and he hadn’t put on any weight. But he had to admit his clothes the last few days had seemed a fraction shorter at his legs and tighter around his shoulders.

It’s a few minutes later when he hears yelling. A group of children rush past his house, some giggling, others chattering about Momo, who's at the center of attention. She excitedly tells them her application exam date, beaming so wide it must hurt her cheeks.

When was she going to the Academy?

That one stung, and he ignores it with a sweep of the brush.

Months ago, he’d asked Jidanbo what it took to become a Shinigami. The giant was just as surprised as Toshiro had expected him to be.

“Have you changed your mind about not going, Toshiro-kun?” Jidanbo had asked.

“No,” is all he said.

Realising he wasn’t going to elaborated, Jidanbo had shrugged and said, “First, you must have spiritual potential and the ability to show it. You go to the Shinigami Academy, where you learn to become a Shinigami. The exam to get in is tough, sometimes you have to take it multiple times --” he'd rubbed the back of his neck “ -- like I did. My brother was more lucky, he only took the exam once and got in. Once you’ve passed, you’re enrolled in the next semester and that’s about it.”

Toshiro already know even if Momo didn’t get a pass on the exam the first time, she’ll go for it again and again and again, until she was enrolled.

He’d seen her enthusiasm long before this. The day she’d rushed to him, her cheeks flushed and her hair whipped around her from running to find him, and taken him back to his house to show him what she’d just accomplished. She’d cupped her hands together, and several seconds later, a white glow emanated from between the gaps in her fingers. When she’d pulled her hands apart, the orb radiating in her palms broke apart into smaller orbs that floated away. Momo chortled in delight, and Toshiro almost did the same. When she was this joyous it was often contagious, especially when he eyes are so wide with wonder and elation.

What had stopped him was a single thought, one that shot through him and made him realise just how far he’d let her into his life.

One day, she’ll be gone.

____________________________

The next time Momo sees Toshiro is on her way to the First Division. Shinji runs ahead of her on the walkway, listing off the topics they will need to discuss with Kyoraku. She’d been listening intently, but got distracted as they passed Twelfth Division.

From this high up, she couldn’t recognise most of Shinigami out and about, but the moment she saw one with white hair and a short stature and his cold reiatsu faintly emanated up to her, she knew it was Toshiro. He steps out of Twelfth Division’s main barracks, followed by Rangiku. There’s something morose about the way they hold themselves and in their slow walk to the division’s main gate entrance. They come to a stop just as a building blocks Momo view.

“You all right back there?” Shinji asks.

“Sorry, sir! I just saw Rangiku-san and Captain Hitsugaya.”

“Ah.”

“…Are they coming to this meeting too?”

“Nah, just us, Third, and Eighth.” She can hear his grin when he continues after a beat, “Were you hoping to socialise with them?”

“Of course not!” Momo scoffs.

It’s left at that. Still, she thinks back on how they had looked. She’d be sure to visit them sometime soon, if all goes according to plan with the reconstruction of the Districts.

________________________________

Momo found him sitting on the front porch of his house, peeling chestnuts. He hadn’t noticed her at first, but when her footsteps scrapped against the dirt path, he looks up.

“What’re you staring at?” Toshiro asks.

“Sorry, I just came to visit,” she says as she comes closer. “What are these for?”

He senses there’s more to this than just a visit, but he puts it aside for now. “Baa-chan is making chestnut rice tonight. She was going to ask you to come take some back to your house. She always does it in big batches.”

Momo grins. “That’s kind of her.”

Toshiro only shrugs with a huff. Momo’s grin falls into a small, unsure smile. He’s quick to pick up a nut from the tub in front of him, peel the shell off with a small knife, then put it with the others ready for Granny.

“In that case, do you mind if I help?” Momo says. “I can’t let her do that for me and my friends without helping her.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

She makes herself comfortable next to him. She takes a spare knife from the tray he’d brought out, then collects several chestnuts from the tub. He opens his mouth, but shut it after she starts peeling. What had he wanted to say? Did he want to tell her to leave? Did he want to ask about the Academy?

Save for the knifes cracking open and peeling the shells, there’s silence between them. In front of her, the day passes, clouds moving across the sky and the sun shining down on the swaying trees and lively Junrinan a short distance away.

After a moment, Momo pauses as she takes another chestnut. In his periphery, she fiddles with it between her hands, as if trying to wring something out of it. She puts the knife to the chestnut, but is slow to peel the shell away.

She nervous, perhaps gearing herself up to say something. He already knows she’s going to Academy, remembers her loud declaration to Granny several weeks ago that was equal parts ecstatic and anxious. He didn’t want to reflect on his behaviour since she announced it, but he knows he’s become more sullen towards her.

Granny chastised more than once him, saying he should be happier for her and congratulate her; but he can’t ignore the tightness in his chest every time he thinks about her leaving. He hates that she had become a annoying and welcomed constant in his live for the last few decades, and even worse, that he had imagined what the future – whether it was the next week or the next year – would be like, and she was there in his imaginings, along with Granny and Jidanbo. Never used to even think about the future, his life had been repetitive until she came along.

After taking off the chestnut’s shell, Momo stops. “Can I ask you something?”

Toshiro continues peeling. “Hm?”

“Even if you don’t become a Shinigami, can we still be friends?”

Toshiro halts. His brows furrow, but he still doesn’t look at her. “What’s with that question?”

“I mean, while I’m at the Academy we won’t be seeing each other too much. And when I become a Shinigami, it’ll be even less. We’re friends, and, um…I want to stay friends, even when we’ve grown up.”

Her voice wavers towards the end, losing what confidence she’d built up to speak to him.

Toshiro blinks down at the chestnut in his hands. Somewhere around them, the leaves rustle in the wind, and a bird chirps and another caws back in response. The last parts of the shell fall away.

“You might be different by then,” he says solemnly, still unable to look at her.

Momo presses her lips into a tight line. “Well, of course. Everyone changes as they grow up. They become more mature and responsible.”

“Not all adults are.”

“Most though.” She drops her chestnut into the peeled pile. “I don’t know how often I’ll be allowed to visit, but I’ll write to you as often as I can.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be doing your Shinigami stuff, you won’t have time.”

“B-But I want to.”

He finally looks at her. At the hurt that flickers through her eyes, he wants to take it back. She obviously hadn’t expected this coldness from him. Yes, his usual bratiness can make him say some hurtful things on occasion, but this is different for her. This was a side of him she rarely saw, and it’s a side she is never on the end of.

But what’s the use? She’ll go to the Academy and forget about him. She’ll make new, better friends. Ones she can go into the future with and who can understand the struggles and triumphs she’ll experience as a Shinigami.

“Do whatever you want then.”

His comment doesn’t ease the turmoil in her, with her gaze falling off to the side and her shoulders slumping. She’s on the verge of a sob, but she bravely keeps it back. “Are you saying you don’t think we should be friends anymore?”

It’s an opening he should take. He has to start letting her go, so it won’t hurt so much when she turns away, and stops being a part of his future.

“I…I’m not saying that.” He’s weak. “I’m just being realistic. You’ll be busy, you won’t have the time to write to us.”

It’s not the answer she expects. Her eyes widen and her lips part, but she doesn’t speak for several heartbeats. She's stuck between being confused and stunned. “I-I’d make time. Of course I’d make time!”

Her earnestness and fierce determination fracture what little resolve he had left. “Well then, let’s see you try.”

_____________________________

Momo glances at Toshiro from across the meeting hall.

He’d just stepped back into line after reporting on his areas for reconstruction. His division is doing well, ahead of schedule in fact.

Normally the thought would make her happy. He’s always been a hard worker; never for the sake of wanting to one-up another or show off, but because he wanted to do good for others. It was one of her favourite things about him.

But something about him is different. The war against the Quincy and taking in the total devastation it had caused had affected all of them, changing each of them in both subtle and obvious ways.

Toshiro holds himself differently. There’s the usual stoicism on his face, and the straight, pulled back shoulders and slightly raised chin that have been a part of his posture since he became a captain.

It’s his hands. They’re curled in loose fists at his side. Something is on his mind, and whatever it is, it’s causing him to be tense. His gaze shows he’s present, now listening to Mayuri give his report into his latest findings, but there’s something going on in the back of his mind he can’t escape from.

She wishes she could cross the room and take one of his hands.

_____________________________

“Don’t bother coming back, bed-wetter!”

Please come back.

And she must see through him, because her high spirits aren’t dampened as she continues to smile and wave at him. He’ll never understand how she can be so cheerful so often.

Eventually, she has to turn away from him and navigate her way through the growing crowds. After she vanishes and as Granny gently chastises him for his rudeness, he can’t dismiss the thought that haunts him. The same thought that had made him try to disconnect from her weeks ago.

What if she doesn’t?

_____________________________

Momo watches Toshiro ponder over the map of the North districts. Each was outlined in the colour of the division that has jurisdiction over them, Fifth Division’s in turquoise and Tenth Division’s in dark green.

“So we’ll tackle this area together,” Shinji says while drawing his finger along the border between the North districts nineteen and twenty. “It makes sense seeing as our jurisdictions are night next to each other. Also, saves us on costs if you go with shared resources, right?”

Both Toshiro and Rangiku nod.

“Have you brought this up with the Captain Commander yet?” Toshiro asks.

“Not yet. We went to a meeting about…” he lifts his gaze to the ceiling of Tenth Division’s office, trying to recall.

“It’s was a month ago, sir,” Momo quietly offers.

Shinji snaps his fingers. “Yes, thank you, Hinamori! Geez, we’ve been to so many meetings lately I’m getting them confused.”

Toshiro scoffs. Momo tries not to smile in response; it’s the first normal, in-character thing she’s seen him do since they arrived.

“Anyway, at that meeting, the Captain Commander suggested a few ways we can save on costs for the reconstruction efforts, one of which was shared resources. Sure you got told the same whenever you went to you met with him yourselves." Shinji jerks his thumb towards Momo. “My lieutenant here suggested we collaborate on the districts that border with other divisions, like yours.”

Momo can’t help but lift her chin a little at the credit her captain gave her. Sometimes he had a way of making one feel accomplished, even over the smallest things.

Rangiku grins. “It’s a great idea, and not surprised that it came from you, Hina-chan.”

Momo laughs nervously. “Rangiku-san…”

“Stop, you’ll make her overheat,” Shinji teases.

“Sir, honestly!” Momo retorts.

He only laughs, but he eyes Toshiro. So he’d noticed it too. Normally situations like this riled her childhood friend up, made him shout something along the lines of ‘We need to focus right now!’ or simply glare at him. Toshiro’s eyes were on the map, jumping to all the districts under his jurisdiction.

It was barely perceptible, but Momo could see with each district he eyes, a little more weight is added to his shoulders.

Shinji quickly returns things to the business at hand. Several minutes later, her captaina nd Toshiro agree to do reconstruction together.

As Shinji and Rangiku start on a plan, Toshiro stands up rorm the couch. “I’ll go get a pot of tea.”

“Do you need assistance with that?” Momo asked, ready to rise up.

He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

He leaves while Rangiku and Shinji continue to hash out a plan. His walk would not seem out of the ordinary to most, Momo saw the weight in his shoulders from before, and just as she’d noticed when she first arrived, that he forced himself to stared straight ahead, and not once at her.

___________________________

He regrets every bad thing he’s ever said to her. Every angry exclamation. Every promise or important day he’d forgotten. Every time he scared her for a laugh when they were children. Every tease about her.

He barely manages a landing, his whole body numb with horror. Ice keeps breaking around them. He can hear yelling, but it’s muffled around the ringing in his ears. For the first time in his life, he’s too cold.

She finally stirs, and her hazy, fading eyes stare up at him. He shakes and can barely breathe. He might collapse, but she’s keeping him rigid and frozen in place. She says his nickname, a pierces through him, hitting a part of him that he always associated with first meeting her. The memory of it, the feeling of someone finally looking at him like he wasn’t so different, and letting it warm him into a fleeting sense of security.

“…Why?”

Something in him shatters.

He should’ve been kinder. Why hadn’t he been? Because he’d been a child who didn’t know better when they first met. Because he’d been alone for so long he didn’t know how to interact with others. Because he’d been scared. Because he’d let her in too far. Because he didn’t know a life without her anymore.

____________________________

An evening breeze blows through the streets of the South Second district, swaying the lanterns of restaurants and brushing Momo’s hair over her shoulders. It reminds her she needs to get it cut, but then she had thought of –

“That was a really good meal.”

Momo looks over to Rangiku , who interlaces her fingers and stretches her arms over her head with a grin.

“It was,” Momo says with her own smile. “I’m glad you recommended that place. We should take the other Women’s Association members there sometime.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. I wanted to try it out with you first.” She winks as she lowers her arms. “It’s been a while since we had a girls night out, huh?”

Momo’s smile widens. After recovering from the battle in the Fake Karakura Town and being discharged from Fourth Division, Rangiku had arranged for the two of them to have lunches and dinners together. They’d be casual mostly, chatting about work for only a short while before moving on to longer discussions about their hobbies, who they’d caught up with lately, and there were a few times they’d left wherever they'd eaten from and gone shopping together. Every now and then, particularly in the beginning, their chatter would turn sombre. They’d reflect on what had happened, whether it was Aizen’s betrayal or Gin’s death, and it took some effort to return the conversation back to something lighter.

Momo remembers the look that would come over Rangiku’s face during those moments. As her friend stares ahead into the growing crowds, she can see hints of that old expression. Her eyes are hooded, her eyes take on a glassiness, and she ignores things – like the loud cheering of an izakaya they pass by, or the sprinting children that almost bump into them before dodging off to the side. What was most telling though was Rangiku didn’t comb her fingers through her hair and complain about the wind ruining her hairstyle.

Like Toshiro, something had been bothering her, but unlike him, she seems to be bouncing back from it quicker. Still, she had moments like this where she grew quiet and solemn. It sends a twinge through Momo’s chest. “Can I ask you something, Rangiku-san?”

Her friend blinks and “Hm?”

Momo’s hesitation catches up to her. She’d wanted to ask before she’d come to dinner, but at seeing Rangiku being her usual boisterous and jolly self, the question had faded into the background.

“I was wonder…”

If she asks her now, she can finally know what happened. Of course, it wouldn’t be Rangiku’s place to say what happened to Toshiro…but what if it was the same thing that affected her?

“…I was wonder if you, uh…”

Momo recalls the two of them leaving Twelfth that day over a month ago, and the chances are whatever it was…

“Do you have any style recommendations for my hair? I was thinking of growing it out rather than getting it cut again.”

Without realising, Rangiku had brought them to a stop in the middle of the street. Souls pass around them, some with skeptical or awed looks, others completely ignoring them. The wind dies down, leaving Rangiku hair slightly frizzy. There’s a gentle smile on her lips, and a knowing look briefly comes across her eyes. Had she known what Momo truly wanted to ask?

But she couldn’t bring herself to, not when it occurred to her that asking Rangiku would potentially expose what has been bothering Toshiro too. She didn’t want to put her friend in an uncomfortable position, but with a tightening of her heart, it dawns on her that asking Toshiro would only do the same for Rangiku.

She’d trapped.

“Yeah, I can think of a few,” Rangiku eventually says. "I'll bring some ideas at the next Women's Association."

Momo blinks.

Rangiku had spoken quietly, uncharacteristic given that hair and fashion were topics she often spoke fervently about. Momo manages to take a deep breath in that looks natural enough, and then a small smile. “I thought you would. Thank you.”

____________________________

Come back.

Toshiro pleads it in silence to the night sky on another sleepless night.

He’d known her for so long, had let her become his closest friend. Her being there as they grew older, as they rose up the ranks of the Shinigami and protected the Seireitei, was an inevitability. How naïve he had been. For all of his posturing and talk of responsibilities and knowledge that any of his subordinates could die on missions, she had somehow become the exception.

Somehow, she would live on forever with him.

How can he have clung to such childish ideals?

Come back, he pleads again. I know now. I want things to be different.

_________________________________

Shafts of the sunrise spill into Momo’s room. She sits up before her alarm clock goes off. Rubbing her eyes and lifting the blanket away, she starts her day.

Nerves thrum through her, and no matter what she tells herself or how many times she goes over the plan for today, they don’t settle.

Today is their first day working together with Tenth Division.

After bathing and changing into her uniform, she steps up the mirror to brush her hair. After a few minutes, she takes up her hair clip and clips it in place.

She stares at her reflection, and after a beat, worries her bottom lip. She sighs and lowers her head with tightly shut eyes. How is she going to get through today?

_____________________________

Momo bound up the stairs towards him. Her recently cut hair tousles around her, and she beams widely. She’s obviously dying to tell him something, even shouts his nickname. Perhaps because they’re not in vicinity of his subordinates or the other Captains and Lieutenants, or perhaps because her joy is so often infectious, he chooses not to shout the usual correction at her.

In fact, Toshiro can't help but smile. He’s been doing that more lately.

He decided to be more open, with her first, and eventually with others.

When she stops in front of him and began to gush over a new project she was working on with her division, he has trouble covering up the reaction he has to the relieved, cathartic ache in his heart. Her forgiveness is still raw, even after all these months. Thankfully, she’s so caught up in her excitement she doesn’t see him briefly glance away to regain his composure.

The future was brighter, but the fact there was even a future with her after everything is a blessing all of it’s own.

_____________________________

From a distance, Toshiro orders his and a few of Fifth Division’s officers to do various tasks, and after they disperse, he goes to the next group.

Momo looks back to the map of North District Nineteen and continues outlining the area she and her subordinates will work on. In her periphery, Shinji finishes speaking with Takaya and Katsuro, and makes his way over to Toshiro before he can reach the group.

She tries to ignore the exchange, but her ears unwittingly tune in, catching bits and pieces of their conversation over the shouts of subordinates, sandals crunching in the dirt, and equipment being unloaded from carts. From what she’d (unintentionally) been able to tell, they discuss their findings so far.

She keeps a wince from reaching her face and she recalls their brief meeting this morning. She only gave Toshiro a glance, keeping her eyes either on Rangiku or somewhere behind the two of them. Toshiro retained a stoic exterior, even made a few pointed comments towards Shinji like he did when her captain annoyed him, but that heaviness in his shoulders and eyes is still there. She wishes she could just wave it away, like the wind pushing the clouds across the sky overhead.

It had been over a month since the war ended. He hasn’t said anything to her, and she can’t tell of it’s because of the work they’ve had to do or because he doesn’t want to. Was he concerned for Rangiku? Was it something he didn’t think she’d understand? Would it hurt her?

She shakes her head. She repeatedly tries to tell herself it’s none of her business, but her concern and burgeoning frustration doesn’t waver. Both grow when she can sense, for only several seconds, his gaze on the side of her face.

_____________________________

He doesn’t recall anything of his time as a ‘zombie’ to the Quincy, nor does he want to.

The last thing he remembered was collapsing, his ice shattering around him. Time slowed, as in that moment he thought about how this could be the end. It certainly felt like it was. He was so weak, so very tired and hurting, but he was still awake when the shadow fell over him.

However, the old cliché he’d been told about didn’t happen. He didn’t think on or remember his past. He didn’t despair that he was dying.

He'd thought about Rangiku, dying below, with no one to help her.

He'd thought about his subordinates, who would be without a captain again.

As a darkness began to settle around the edges of his blurred vision, he thought about Momo. He’d sensed her before, she’d been far away from where he was. She reiatsu had been strong, she was all right.

He didn’t need to protect her. Yet he still wanted to see her. For the last few seconds before the darkness took over and muffled footsteps and a sickly sweet voice reach his ears, he thought about the fact he won’t be there in her future.

His next memory is of being put in the recovery tanks along with Rangiku. At the time he’d been exhausted from the procedure Mayuri had made him endure – he vaguely recalls Mayuri half sarcastically marveling, “I’m quite surprised you’re conscious right now.”

He was lifted and secured into the tank by Nemu. Mayuri had watched him, and didn’t approach until Nemu stepped aside. He’d spoken at him, but Toshiro wavered between consciousness and falling into a warmer darkness and only caught sections of his sentences.

“The tank will complete the de-zombification…Consider yourself…Lieutenant is…My procedure took…years off your lifespan, but…we’ll take you to the Palace, no doubt you will…”

And the tank lid had lowered as Toshiro bowed his head. As he drifted into unconsciousness, his mind clung to one part of what Mayuri had said.

My procedure took…years off your lifespan…

He vaguely remembered thinking he must have misheard.

He hadn't focused on it when he awoke again and left the tank, choosing instead to thank Mayuri and rush off into the fray with Rangiku. She surely heard too, but he'd kept quiet about it. He’d been truly grateful and yet, that piece of information, it lingered quietly in the back of his mind.

He’d focused on the fight against the Giant Quincy, and had to resort to using Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form. He thought only of battle strategies and ways to keep his enemy distracted from either destroying the Soul Society below or from causing further harm to those still in the area.

It's now hours after the Quincy had evaporated away, and he and Byakuya found Momo and Shinji, safe.

She's been clearly startled by his appearance. He didn't know what to expect, had never really thought about her reaction to seeing him like this, but he dislikes her being so confused and unsure. Certain there's no immediate danger in their vicinity and with Byakuya scouting the area, takes her aside to explain the Completed Form.

Shock turns recognition, and then finally to relief. He can't help but feel she same moments later when he's transformed back and she heals his injuries. It's only a few minutes later when Mayuri’s words fully hit him. From then on, he can barely look her in the eye.

_____________________________

The setting sun halos Toshiro's hair, and his shadow casts long over the rubble. He stands alone, arm folded and back facing those a short distance away, clearly lost in thought.

In different circumstances, it would’ve posed as quite the striking image for Momo; one she would be tempted to capture in either her drawings or as a photo on her denreishiki.

His subordinates walk around her, gathering up the materials and equipment they’d used. She didn’t have to interact with him at all today, and even if she did, she’s not sure how she would go about it.

Somewhere behind her, Shinji calls out for officers to help with lifting some of the ruins into carts to be cleared off. She turns to go and assist, but its hard to take her eyes off her friend. The turmoil from earlier arises. She can’t ask him what's wrong, and he won’t even look at her unless she doesn't notice. Still, she can’t leave him as is.

With a deep breath in, and then out, she walks to him.

Her steps crunch from the smaller pieces of rubble and dirt, and alert him to her approach. He half twists around to her, and it causes her to stop more than an arms length away.

“I was wondering…” She hadn’t thought about what to say. But with a light snort, she manages. “Sorry, I was wondering if you had any further plans for Higuchi-san or Takagaki-san. We need some help with clearing the wreckage into the carts.”

Toshiro blinks, as if coming out of deep thought. With a small shake of his head, he turns back to the sunset. “No, I have nothing for them. Their performance was good, if you need to know.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be sure to tell my Captain. They’re both hard workers, so that isn’t too surprising to hear.”

“I sent them with Narita to set up the rations for distribution. They should be finished by now.”

Momo swallows against the growing tightness in her throat. She gives a nod, not trusting her words, and only lingers for a few seconds more before turning to go. She wants to kick herself for not coming up with something better, something that would make her stay with him a bit longer and force him to talk with her.

She’s taken ten steps when Toshiro calls to her.

“Wait, Hinamori.”

She looks over her shoulder, squinting against the setting sun. She can’t make out his expression, but his arms now rest at his sides, and his shoulders are higher, straighter. There’s a resoluteness there, but somehow also a reluctance.

He approaches her, but stops after a few steps. He speaks lowly, and it’s hard to make out what he says. She has no choice but to come closer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said, Captain.”

The corners of his mouth fall and tighten into a scowl – not directed at her, she’s certain.

“When we’re done here, I want to discuss something with you,” he repeats. “I assume you don’t have time for today so I –”

“I do!” Momo would normally balk at her boldness – especially for interrupting someone, let alone a Captain. But it was if she’d been holding her breath on the brink of passing out, and now she was desperate to get air. “I-I’ll have time after we’re done here. We can talk.”

Toshiro had been surprised, but shifts his expression back to neutral. “It won’t take long. Let’s load those carts first and get back to Tenth Division.”

He walks past her, and for a moment, it's as if the heaviness within him lingers over her. Whatever this would be, she's both eager and dreading to know.

____________________________

“How long do Souls live for?”

Toshiro rolls his eyes. Ever since she got here, Momo had been full of questions. She’s more curious than the average Soul, wanting to know every little detail about her new world she called home. Just a few minutes ago she’d asked a range of questions about what rules she needs to follow she didn’t end up in trouble – as he answered her, it reminded him of telling Jidanbo the Rules of City for the first time.

Before he answers her current question, he kicks a small hill of snow just in front of them, sending a white spray into the care tree they stood under. “It depends. Some live for a few decades, others live for thousands of years.”

Over the many layers she wore up to her the bottom half of her face, Momo’s eyes widened in wonder. “Really? That’s such a long time.”

“Not to them,” he says. “Time here is different to the World of Living, or so I’ve heard.”

“Thousands of years…you can do so much in that time!”

She starts listing off various activities and adventures one could do for over a thousand years, all the while her eyes shone, and when a scarf loosened from around her face, it revealed her wide grin.

He doesn’t understand her glee. Was this something specific to Souls that came from the World of the Living? Humans lived far shorter lives than Souls; perhaps the idea of being able to live that long appealed to them. He’d been born in the Junrinan, he knew only this world, and from what Granny had told him, ten years here likely felt like a year in the World of the Living.

He let’s her go on and on with her list, but when she comes to an end, breathless, she says, “Do Souls know how long they’ll live for?”

He lets out a bewildered snort. “Of course not!”

“Oh…” That dampens her enthusiasm, as if he’d popped a bubble. Before he can feel any guilt, she turns her attention back to the silhouette of the Seireitei in the distance. “So, I guess this means the Shinigami in there have been alive for a long time then.”

He shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

It’s several heart beats later when her grin returns, but there’s a softness to it. “I hope we get to live for over a thousand years.”

He’s taken aback. We? Why 'we'? Why not ‘I’?

He wants to ask, but fears he’ll embarrass himself. So instead, he ponders on it in silence as she continues to admire the Seireitei’s silhouette. Did she mean it as a friend? That she saw them being in the future together?

Granny had been the only person who saw a future with him, planning their days with what items he’d have to go out and buy and what shrines or places they needed to visit together in the coming month.

Something about another seeing him in their future made bite the inside of his lip against the painful pang in his chest. Somehow, though, it also made him happy.

“What if we did?”

He hadn’t realised he’d asked the question aloud until Momo swivels her head back to him. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You mean if we live for over a thousand years?” He cringes inwardly as she considers. Her grin widens after a beat. “We’d have a lot to do, I’m sure of it!”

____________________________

Momo stares mutely at Toshiro, and then at some point, through him, and then into nothing. He shifts his gaze to the side, staring hard at the corner of the training room.

Just behind them, Fifth and Tenth Division officers shared a meal together in one of Tenth Division’s courtyards around a fire, chattering and laughing amongst themselves. Even in her shock, Momo ended up hearing her captain laugh loudly at one of his own jokes, but she can’t bring herself to smile or cringe.

She and Toshiro sit by the training room's entrance, mostly in the shadows. A strip of moonlight comes between them through the doorway, falling over his left foot and her folded knees. He sits half against the wall, his left knee bent and his arms resting in his lap. It would appear to some as the most relaxed he’s ever looked, but this is one of the few times she’s seen him look resigned.

He’d just recounted to her how a Quincy had taken control over him with her blood, and then how Mayuri had restored him. It had all made sense up until that point, but not what he’d just said. No, it was more like she didn’t want the sentence to be true, refused to let it be a part of what he'd already said.

She brings her gaze back to him as a small tremor runs through her hands. “I don’t understand,” she struggles to say. “What do you mean? How can you live for only three hundred more years?”

She thinks he won’t answer her, too overcome by whatever emotions rush through him. However, he takes a sharp breath in, but continues to stare off to the side. “Kurotsuchi says that’s at most, but it’s at least one hundred and fifty years. The procedure he used on me was crude by his standards, something he cobbled together while we were battling the Quincy. As a result of that and what the Quincy did to me, my lifespan has been reduced.”

“You’ve acting differently lately --” her voice catches, and her vision becomes misty “-- now I understand why.”

A quiet, strangled sound comes from Toshiro. “Matsumoto thought it was best to tell you.”

And it’s all the confirmation she needs that Rangiku is facing the same tragedy. She must have seen Momo’s dilemma that night they ate out, and decided to make things easier by encouraging Toshiro to tell her. She could cry for that alone, but she won’t; she’ll speak with her later.

She bows over, fisted hands bunching her uniform at the knees. “I-I don’t know what to say,” she laments. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

That strikes something within him. He shifts, his back fully pressing against the wall and moving his foot out of the moonlight. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she can make out the furrow in his brow twitching and the corner of his mouth dropping into a grimace.

His gaze goes to the ceiling. “I didn’t want to say anything,” he admits. “There’s nothing I can do.”

The catch in his voice is enough to make her move over to him, coming to sit next to him, their shoulders grazing and her knee bumping up against his. She rarely sits so close to him, feeling they should maintain a small distance between them, but this felt right. And judging from his lack of comment or shrugging away, he thinks the same.

“I’m sorry for what I said at the Palace.”

He blinks and finally looks at her. “What?”

She can’t help but be a little relieved he’d forgotten her comment, but winced at having to bring it up now. “I said Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form was a glimpse into the future. How careless of me.”

He shakes his head, but still doesn’t seem to remember. “It’s fine, you weren’t to know.”

“Even so, I should have been more considerate. That form is part of your zanpakuto, not something to be joked about.”

“You were shocked by it, and we’d come out of a battle and Yhwach was defeated, it’s understandable.”

She considers, and then admits, “And we were really tired, I guess.”

That gets a huff of a humoured snort out of him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes or shape his into a faint smile.

The urge to hold his hand comes over her again. Unlike that meeting from a few weeks ago, she doesn’t resist it this time. She takes the one closest to her. It’s the one that been regrown with hojiku-zai, the original lost on the battlefield at the Fake Karkura Town. She doesn’t hold his conventionally, choosing instead to lay her hand on the underside, and her fingers loosely come between his.

She watches him tilts his head down, staring at their hands. Something soft flits over his face, something akin to being pleasantly surprised.

For not the first time, she thinks on how she never imagined all those decades ago he would lose and replace a hand. Just as she’d never imagined what they went through because of Aizen, or the battles they fought against Hollows and Quincy, or the people they’ve lost under their watch. They’d been through so much, perhaps too much for Souls their ages.

Despite the time and effort it will take to rebuild the Soul Society, she had been thinking that peace was finally going to be restored. She was going to be happy again, with her friends and subordinates. She was going to ask Toshiro out to lunches more often, and finally sit with whatever her feelings for him were. The ones she’s can’t put a name too, but feels she’s just on cusp of doing.

Had he thought about these sort of things too? About what he had been through and the future he may not have anymore? If that was the case, it’s no wonder he didn’t want to bring it up. It’s enough for one of her tears to roll out the side of her eye.

She’s quick to wipe it with her free hand, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Toshiro.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps.

She shakes her head. “Why are you apologising? You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, it’s not that. I didn't want to...”

He hesitates, and when he doesn’t continue, Momo finishes it for him. "Hurt me?"

He blinks, surprised she had guessed the rest. It still astounds her that he can't see the good within himself, but always in others.

"You don't need to apologise. When I saw something was bothering you, I wanted to know."

She senses there's more, a second apology he wants to make. When he doesn't, she stares straight ahead.

“We Shinigami are taught and prepared to die in battle for Humans and our friends,” she continues. “If we’re lucky, we can reach an old age with our accomplishments. Thinking about how long we'll live for is not something we're supposed to contemplate, our focus is on our duties and responsibilities. Even so, we’re not meant to die like this. You’re not meant to --”

He snorts again, and the faintest, saddest smile shapes his lips. “You’re not Reio, Hinamori,” he says, and she can imagine in another setting it would be a tease. “And even if you were, you doubt you would have the power to change this. I have accepted it's a likely possibility, and I will plan ahead accordingly. I never thought about how long I would live for --" his shoulders deflate with a shaky breath "-- and I shouldn't."

"Nothing is set in stone," she says, fiercely.

She’s always considered herself an optimist, perhaps to a fault. She remembers being more hopeful for the future when she was younger. Maybe that’s what came with growing up, you lose a little bit of hope every year, and cling to what still remains – foolishly, she suspects some think, but not her.

With a thick swallow, she lists her head up to the ceiling. “You said before that Captain Kurotsuchi was working on a way to restore your lifespan, right?”

“Yes.”

She mirrors the faint smile he'd had moments ago, but in her misty eyes there’s something less fragile. She tightens her grip on his hand. “Then let’s hope he does.”

It doesn’t dissolve his grief and cynicism -- she knows he hates leaving something he feels responsible for in the hands of others, and she can’t imagine what it must feel like to put your life in the hands of Twelfth Division’s captain. She has not words she can offer to console him or give him a new perspective of this. She has her own emotions to deal with too, ones of helplessness and a flickering hope, small but bright.

Her heart throbs when he flips his hand around and interlaces his fingers between hers in a tight grip. It's all they can do for now as a cloud passes over the moon and the laughter continues outside.

#hitsuhina #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #rangiku matsumoto #shinji hirako #bleach #fanfiction #angst #spoiler for the ending: I didn't intend it to be so bittersweet at the end (with an slight emphasis on the bitter)#but after a while it felt like the right note to end on #I may write up a small follow up that's most fluffy and shows Toshiro's determination to make the most of his life #whether that's in the short time he has or the thousand+ years he may get back once Mayuri comes up with something #because I am 100% certain he has tome to terms with it once the ten year timeskip has gone by #he doesn't like it of course but he has accepted it #and also write a follow up to explain what that 'second apology' was...👀#unless you were able to guess it in which case woo!

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wayfinderships · 7 months ago

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Gold morning gamers!! :D I hope you all have an amazing day today! As for me, I'm doing pretty well!! Here's the progress I did on my drawing last night :> books

#pan rambles #This is just like. A small portion of the whole drawing-akfnskfndnf #I like how the books came out though so I wanted to share it!#Next will be the globe which should be easy since the bottom half I won't need to draw #and after that I'll finally get around to drawing D.imitri and my S/I! akfnskfn #For some context about my ship! My s/i is around the age as Dimitri but they're not a student #Instead they work as a librarian assistant! So that's where you often see them!#By the time the Timeskip happens my s/i is the one completely in charge of the library!#And it's also during that Timeskip where ny s/i realizes that they're in love with their dear friend D.imitri <3 #Agksbfkdjf My quick summary doesn't do it justice I think #but basically the Library is a special place for the both of them #bc that's where the two would often meet up and chat (after the library closed and no one else was in there)

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cyphyra · 2 years ago

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TotK is a great game but the fact that the 5-8 year timeskip happened means that the ppl who were weird abt sexualizing zelda and link in BotW when they were both fucking 17 are gonna double down super hard being all like "it's ok now ppl can shut up over me doing it 'early' c:"

the fact remains that u sexualized characters who were minors in their debut game, and u should be shamed n bullied for that

#cyspeaks #this is the only time im gonna mention this too #bc of totk idrc anymore if ppl sexualize them as long as it was after totk's launch ig #i just feel like the ppl who did it during BotW are gross like bro even if u make a small timeskip they're still barely adults #at least in totk they're roughly my age #anyhow i myself wont be doing any sexualizing of link zelda or any of the sages (esp not tulin/riju) but damn is rauru fine

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sovamurka · 2 years ago

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FINALLY, FINALLY Bubble Comics released a preview for new Exlibrium chapter. As we learned in the latest issue, the new Bone House has formed and the ink rain has stopped. That means that there’s, like, more than several tons of people who got poisoned with ink. WHICH IS HORRIBLE! So now our team decided to save as many people as possible, that means to the Bone House you go! You may not survive it, but trust me, it will be way worse if you stay that way!

And you know who will go through it this issue? Lilya’s parents.

#THAT'S EVEN BETTER THAN I THOUGHT #I thought that they would either continue from the point that they ended it on. or make a very small timeskip.#they did the latter AND I'M GLAD THEY DID #tired and serious Matvey and concerned Lilya are already making me crying nervously #Inga is not there in the preview but I suspect that she's either trying to work herself to exhaustion to forget what she saw #while trying to maintain slightly cheerful yet very serious attitude #or OR she's clearly depressed and empty inside yet she tries to go on because there's is no time to grieve #either way WHAT BLISS #exlibrium #экслибриум #ЕБАТЬ У МЕНЯ ЩАС ОДНИ МАТЫ В ГОЛОВЕ #завтра после экзамена почитаю

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kateschi · 2 months ago

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midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bakugo x female reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x female reader #mha x reader #bnha x y/n

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causenessus · 3 months ago

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eggy i regret never sending you an ask about this quote i found that immediately made me think of rot. i screenshotted it and i've had it in my images forever and i'm not sure why i never sent it to you (i think i was just scared of you disagreeing with it or something idk </3) but now that i've read this chapter (amazing, by the way) i feel like this poem excerpt encases this work so so well:

"cautiously, i allowed myself to feel good at times. i found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less i needed the better i felt."

"let it enfold you" (charles bukowski)

(and i ran out of tag space so i came here to rant more so u may want to come back after reading the tags bc i just got sick of having to abide to the character limits when i have so much to say)

rot just feels like an entire universe and world of it's own and it is so so beautiful

like a completely different universe that i want to go to i don't know how to explain it

(and sorry if these tags sound off or dry or anything!! i just want to show how genuine and serious i am about the impact this fic has had on me and how good it is by not using caps and everything if that makes sense)

i should probably save something to say when i reblog the masterlist again but eggy i loved rot so much. it was so so good. you are such a talented writer you should be proud of this; of the work as a whole and every single chapter and how much thought you put into every word and part and how much your heart has gone into this. i love this work SO much i genuinely need to go onto one of those book websites and get this work printed out. i love the way that this fic had impacted me so much i feel like i see reminders of it everywhere, or open my window and think of the first chapter of rot, and y/n trying to open her window while she smokes. i love the way the word "rot" itself has continued to be so important to this work. how it appears everywhere, how it is a part of y/n. i loved seeing y/n's character develop throughout this work, how her mindset changed multiple times throughout her different jobs, and as she got closer to iwa, and then they seperated, and then the immediate way her life was bright again, warm despite the bitter winter outside because she was finally in his arms again, and she was home.

rot: h. iwaizumi

chapter six -> a promise

(masterlist ; written content)

word count: 2.7k

now playing: my hot piss by die spitz

Autumn cools everything down. The feverish sort of pain that made her almost delirious has chilled into a dull, steady ache. Kiyoko rests her head on her shoulder. They sit on the couch together, under a shared blanket, and watch old, cheesy horror movies. Every on-screen death makes Kiyoko flinch and hide her face under the blanket.

It’s odd, to be in her apartment, to have it be her own as well. Where the fridge is free of remnants of rotten food and is properly stocked with essentials. Where the furniture matches and there’s no stuffing spilling out of the cushioning. It’s small, and sometimes she has to fiddle with the pipes under the sink to avoid calling a plumber, but it’s nice. It’s well-kept and Kiyoko always has some kind of candle lit. The walls are white, just white, not stained yellow from years of cigarette smoking. The locks don’t look like they’re about to fall off the door. There’s no mold in the bathroom. No pest infestations. No decay in the hardwood floor.

It makes her feel so out of place.

“My parents helped with the deposit,” Kiyoko had explained to her, almost sheepishly, like this was something she should be ashamed of. “And with the first few months of rent while I built up some savings. It’s how I was able to get it.”

Her brother would’ve liked Kiyoko, she thinks. He would’ve liked her quiet demeanor, and the deliberate sort of way she carries herself. He would’ve liked how spending time with her is never overwhelming. He would’ve liked how her voice is like a small stream that runs down the street after a rainstorm.

They would’ve gotten along.

She has the thought that he would’ve hated Iwaizumi, and then tries to pretend that she didn’t.

Onscreen, a head is removed from a set of shoulders. She tries not to think of Iwaizumi. It makes her sick, even his name. Never once has she felt like she did the right thing. Kiyoko keeps telling her that sometimes, the right things hurt the most. But that doesn’t help. It doesn’t quell the nausea she feels at his memory. It doesn’t fade that dull, aching loneliness. It doesn’t make her feel better about leaving him.

Objectively, her life as improved post-Iwaizumi. She’s held onto the same job for several months in a row without incident (no spitting, cursing, or fighting-though that’s mostly due to Kiyoko). She actually has money in her bank account now, ¥50,901.96, after rent (which, isn’t a lot by any metric, but it’s definitely more than nothing). Her father stopped calling. Her diet is much more balanced. The cable’s better. She doesn’t really get mad anymore.

It's an improvement. A drastic one. Something she probably wouldn’t have been able to achieve on her own.

But it’s worse. It just feels worse.

Blood spews from a headless body, cartoonishly fake. Kiyoko squirms, and she doesn’t flinch.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

The bell on the door to the sports shop dings as the it closes, and a customer leaves with fresh tennis balls. She rests her cheek on the palm of her hand as she leans up against the counter. She’s drawing the earth as it explodes from the inside, splitting into dozens of chunks of land and ocean. “Who the fuck buys tennis balls in November?”

Kiyoko slides behind the counter to stand beside her, peering over her shoulder to watch her draw. “I dunno. Maybe he’s going somewhere warm,” she offers as a solution.

Kiyoko doesn’t hate people the way she does. She can’t ever hate someone just because she wants to; Kiyoko doesn’t ever want to. It makes her feel mean, since the feeling of hatred comes to her so naturally. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Noya thinks you’re cute,” Kiyoko says, suddenly stiffer when she talks. “He asked if you were going to go out with us tomorrow night.”

She doesn’t know who Noya is. She probably should. He’s probably someone that she’s met more than once. But she can’t conjure up the face that’s supposed to go with the name. “Which one’s he?” she asks, well past the point of caring if she seems rude to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko knows she’s rude, at this point.

“The short one,” she answers. “The one with the blond in his hair.”

Her pen digs into the notebook paper, adding shading around a blown-up chunk of earth. “Yeah, he’s cute, I guess.”

Kiyoko makes a noise of acknowledgement. “But you’re not into him.”

It’s not a question, so she doesn’t answer it. Kiyoko sighs, and rocks on her heel. “That’s fair. As long as it’s because you’re actually not into him, and not because you’re not over Iwaizumi.”

Hearing his name spoken so casually makes her flinch. Kiyoko notices and leans her head down on her shoulder. “Well, we’ll get there.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

At her lowest point, she calls her father.

She dials his number so many times she loses track of it. She stares at the numbers for so long they start to lose meaning. When she closes her eyes, she sees them burned into the inside of her eyelids. She hits ‘call,’ and then hangs up, only to dial him right back up again.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and definitely not why. She just sort of acts, moved by impulse and a craving for something unknown.

It rings. It rings three times before he answers. His phone is gruff and worn on the other line. “Hello?”

Her hand slaps over her mouth, and she tries to quiet her breathing, like she’s hiding from him. Her eyes prick and burn. “Hello?” he repeats on the other end, more impatient this time. Her heart pounds like he’s just on the other side of the door. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Fucking hell,” is the last thing she hears before the line goes dead. The phone clatters to the floor of her bedroom, and she cries. The first time she’s cried like this in months.

She really doesn’t know what she’s doing.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Most of her time is spent lying in her bed, doing nothing, thinking about everything. Sometimes she goes along with Kiyoko when she goes out with her friends, and she sits in the corner and tries not to draw too much attention to herself. She hates that. Sometimes she tries to pick up extra shifts at work just to pass the time. She hates that too. Sometimes she goes to this cheap dive bar just two blocks away from her new apartment, just to have a drink or two in a place that’s not her bedroom.

She orders a second drink. It’s bone-chilling cold outside, and the alcohol makes her feel warmer. Just a bit. She thinks it’s sad that this is the most exciting part of her week.

At least the festering rot that tore her up from the inside was interesting. Now her life is boring and depressing.

The call of her name is sudden and jarring. She spins around in the barstool with an elevated heartrate and her fingers reaching for her keys. She doesn’t recognize him, at first. When her eyes first land on him, she continues looking for a second, before it catches up to her. Her heart leaps up to her throat. “Matsukawa?”

Matsukawa chugs, his head tilted back and his Adam’s apple bobbing, downing the pint until there’s nothing left but traces of white foam. Her fingers tap against her own glass, looking at the condensation that leaves a ring around the wooden bar. It reminds her of the plastic cups of coffee Iwa brought her daily. She didn’t drink coffee before that. Now every morning she finds herself crawling out of bed at eight in the goddamn morning, throwing on whatever clothes are on her floor so she can get to the closest coffee shop before it gets too busy.

“Is he over me yet?” she asks, tips of her fingers collecting droplets of condensation.

Matsukawa slams his glass down on the bar. “Nah.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Not even a little. Iwa’ll never get over you.”

Her eyes roll. Matsukawa sees this and narrows his own. “Don’t think I don’t mean it.”

There’s an awkwardness that hangs between them. She takes a sip of her own drink and swishes it over her tongue, trying to distract from it. “He’s got a long time to.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know him. You were it.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left me.”

She says this, she realizes, with familiarity, the kind that no longer exists between her and Matsukawa. She hasn’t seen him since her father’s blood was on her hands. Any closes between them granted by the lifesaving has since evaporated, and now, they’re as good as strangers. At least to her.

Still, Matsukawa leans back in the bar stool. “Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have.”

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. It would’ve been better if he argued. “Yeah,” is all she can manage, her fire dulled.

“You don’t look like you’re doing that much better than he is,” Matsukawa remarks, and she offers no reaction. It’s not like he’s wrong. “You two are both idiots. You’re perfect for each other.”

Her lip furls up. “You got a lot of fucking opinions on this.”

“Hard not to. Iwa’s heartbreak is everyone’s problem.”

Iwa’s heartbreak. She doesn’t like the implication of it. Like it’s just his. Like it’s nothing something he caused for her. Like it’s not something they share.

“C’mon,” Matsukawa says, hand clapping on her back, like he can see the thoughts brewing in her head, and he wants to cut her off before they can work their way over to him, “let me walk you home.”

He does. He walks her home and he talks about his recovery post-stabbing and he rants about Oikawa and he talks about this girl he’s been talking to that he’s not really that into and he talks about how good Makki’s been looking lately but he doesn’t ask about her and he doesn’t bring up Iwaizumi again.

At least that she’s grateful for.

And when he deposits her at her front door, he grins, and tells her that he’ll see her later.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

It’s snowing. She stands outside of his apartment, box in her hands and something caught in her throat. It’s been a few weeks since she’s seen Matsukawa, and she’s done little but think about him and what he said and fixate on it and let it gnaw away at her.

So she’s outside Iwaizumi’s apartment, snow getting stuck in her hair and fingers going numb.

Her list of problems doesn’t really exist anymore. They’re not as material, harder to pin down. Her anger issues have simmered down into this lethargic mood that has much less daily wear and tear. The split rent and the consistent income have dissipated the money problems. She doesn’t worry about things the way she used to. Things don’t really plague her the way they used to.

It’s really just him. It’s really just Iwaizumi.

She sighs. It was easier in her head. Everything’s always easier in her head.

Now that she’s here, all she can think about is everything that can go wrong. Matsukawa being wrong, and Iwaizumi being over her, so much so that he’s not even moved at the sight of her and there’s already someone else in there warming up her side of the bed. He could be working. He could hate her. It could go as badly as it did last time.

Kiyoko disapproved of the plan. Kiyoko wanted her to move on. She wanted her to find a life outside of Iwaizumi, purpose outside of him, drive outside of him.

But people like Kiyoko don’t get it. People like Kiyoko don’t know what it’s like to be infected with something so consuming and persistent and chronic. Kiyoko doesn’t get it. Iwaizumi gets it.

He gets it.

She inhales slowly, and forces herself to move forward.

Breaking into the front door of her old apartment building is something she’s done more times than she’s proud of. It’s oddly nostalgic to pop that old lock open, and it feels the same as she creeps up the stairs. It was like this when she first moved in. Bitter, winter air floating up the stairs like all the windows were left open. She remembers shaking as she hauled up trash bags of her belongings, and taking breaks to wrap herself up in the first blanket she could unpack.

She feels that way now as she stomps up the stairs, the bottom of her boots heavy against the wood. She wonders if he can hear her coming.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, her hands are trembling, and she’s slightly out of breath. She takes a moment to catch it before she’s shifting the box to hold in one hand, and she knocks. She does it before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

The door swings open sooner than she thought it would, like Iwaizumi was just standing there on the other side, waiting for her. Waiting for her this whole time.

When she sees him, she holds her breath. She holds her breath as she counts the one, two three, four bruises and the one, two, three cuts that decorate his features. He’s paler than he was before. The bags under his eyes are darker.

Still, he looks pretty. She always thinks he looks pretty.

His reaction to her, standing at his doorstep after six months, is the same as his reaction to everything else. His brow slightly furrowed, mouth curled up in something that looks like annoyance. She’s not surprised when he doesn’t say anything.

“Um, hey,” is how she starts out. It makes her flinch. “I’m sorry to just like, pop up out of nowhere but, I just kinda wanted to see you. I, erm, I missed you. A lot.”

Iwaizumi says nothing to this either. She feels oddly like she is shooting herself in the foot, and she loses the ability to look him in the eye.

“I feel really bad about how everything went down,” she confesses, now staring at her shoes. He’s still looking at her, she can feel it. “I’ m not proud of the things I said or how I acted. I don’t-I don’t hate you, not at all.”

She thinks she can see his chest rise and fall with heavy, deliberate breaths. But she’s not sure. Could be imagining it. The corners of her vision are starting to blur. She holds the box up to him.

A CD player. Brand new. The same one he got her.

“I got you this. As a sorry. I felt like shit for breaking the one you got me. I feel like shit for a lot of it, but that gift meant a lot to me. Just like you do. And I break things a lot and I have a lot of issues and I don’t think you-“

She does not get to finish her sentence. Iwaizumi grabs her by the arm and pulls her into her chest. The force knocks the box out of her hands, and CD player slams to the ground between them. Before she can realize what’s happened, her feet are hovering above the floor, and Iwaizumi’s arms are tight around her.

It’s automatic, the way she returns the embrace. Her arms snake around his middle, and she leans her head against his chest. She started crying at one point, without realizing it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Iwaizumi says, pressing his face into the top of her head, lips kissing her hair between words. “You have no fucking idea how sorry I am.”

She does, because she feels it. It gnaws away at her chest the same way it does to his. She shakes her head. “I get it,” she tells him. “I know it.”

“Please say,” Iwaizumi pleads. “Please. I would do anything for you to stay.”

If she were someone like Kiyoko, she would say no. She would leave. She wouldn’t have ever come back. Because she knows, she knows that Iwaizumi is not going to change. He’s not going to become someone different overnight, or over six months, or a year or a dozen. Iwaizumi is always going to be who he was the day that she met him.

People like your father only care about one thing. And it’s not you, and it’s not me.

She holds onto him tighter, and thinks that that’s okay. She is too. “I’ll stay,” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

an: ok let’s try this again

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @pinkiscool @michivrse @cannibalsrider @kmwife @k8nicole @oikasenpai @fennecnco @riousluvs @bellamsby @rinheartshyunlix @bae-ashlynn @ephemeralninon @fangsbb @plumarbre @v-e-r-t21 @snail-squasher @seroh @mfcherry @canthavetoomuchchaos @ange1icarch1ve @applepi25 @wqnsho @19calicos @girlkissersco @Lisoozi @bailey-reeds @kitskasoboring @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @kinsies-blog @1lovestrawberrymilk

#this chapter was so amazing eggy i had to put down my laptop and just breathe for a second #i love rot so much and of course i've been waiting for this chapter for so long #but i'm so glad that you put so much time and effort into this chapter because it is so perfect #first: just reading about her life which feels apathetic now that it's clean #because she belongs in those creaky mundane rooms with iwa by her side holding her hands telling her he loves her #i love the contrast between her and kiyoko like the light and the dark #both are unique and as a result they have their own places to be. they have their own preferences. their own homes #i'm so glad they're friends and for how sweet she is <3 and i loved the contrast between yn and her brother too #her brother would have loved kiyoko and her demeanor but hated iwa #but she loves iwa and doesn't feel at home in a life like kiyoko's #i absolutely love that so much i don't know #just the idea of how people are sort of born to live different lives yk? and that there's nothing wrong with that #i loved how you described the winter and their old apartment and her boots stomping up the stairs i had to pause there too #i could just imagine it so well and the imagery was just so powerful for me #the cd player in her hands <3 #him lifting her off the ground holding her in his arms <3 #eggy this was so so good #literal perfection. i loved how they made up #this was perfect in every single way i don't know how else i can describe it except for how much peace it gave me #like just reading about them and her finding where she truly belongs <3 again him hugging her so tightly and the kisses to her head aa <3 #god i love them so much this is such a comfort fic for me now #i loved the small little kind of timeskips. like the different moments in her life and the different ways she tried to fit into her life #but just didn't fit the mold #like just her finding her home <3 her agreeing to stay with him <3 i can't describe it well enough but oh my god #i loved how everything wrapped up #again from the cd and how it was something he first gave her to play the cds her brother gave her #the reminders of her brother and mother in the faces of others and what her brother would think of kiyoko #how she is built up of all the people around her #how her and iwa are made for each other #all of it <3

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seiwas · 30 days ago

Text

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened.

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares.

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower.

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least.

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking.

“Atsumu,” your voice rings.

Who the hell is “Atsumu”?

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor.

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do.

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team.

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you.

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too?

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving.

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line.

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?”

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now.

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.”

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?”

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company.

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you.

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.”

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side.

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?”

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.”

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike.

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.”

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug.

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—”

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him.

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea.

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court.

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds).

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to.

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space.

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out.

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse.

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body.

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to.

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty.

He doesn’t want to be away from you.

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you.

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss.

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home.

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too.

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it.

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you?

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it.

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there.

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits.

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not.

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance.

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink.

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table.

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody.

It makes his chest hurt.

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?”

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed.

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.)

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady.

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―”

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not.

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.)

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―”

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up.

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.”

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—”

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.”

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest.

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly.

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.”

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.”

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you.

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink.

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.”

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.)

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #atsumu x yn #haikyuu!! x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x yn #miya atsumu x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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dekuneho · 3 months ago

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let me ☆ ( prohero!katsuki x fem!prohero!reader ) — you underestimate how gentle katsuki can be, if you needed it | smut

( warnings. ) minors and ageless blogs dni ! fingering, praise, soft gentle sex iktr, reader is going thru tough times & katsuki takes care of you, timeskip!katsuki — 18+

You underestimate just how gentle Katsuki can be.

The instant your fingers click on the lock, Katsuki is already a step behind, his presence a looming force over you like an unshaken shadow. There must be something on your face; Katsuki frowns as he studies it intently, fingers ghosting over your arms, like he’s trying to read between lines that you haven’t even drawn in yet.

"Something happened." He doesn't phrase it as a question, sounding sure of himself. “What?”

"I'm safe," you swear to him, pulling your coat off. "No bruises or anything. See?"

He ignores your extended arms, pinning your gaze with his own. "What," Katsuki demands.

"Katsuki—” You sigh and attempt to push past him. He just rears back and keeps his eyes trained on your face searchingly. "Katsuki, I'm too tired to deal with this."

His brows dip downward further. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

You falter, struggling to maintain this flimsy display of strength — he knows you too well for that.

He waits. Patient, gentle, like he’s so sure that he can carry this burden with you. You know he can. It’s that fact that makes you think, Of course not. Of course you could never be too tired of him. He never tires of me, too.

“I don't—” you say, looking away, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore. Am I even doing anything right?”

There must be some other reason — Katsuki is evidently fumbling at the threads to tie it all together in his head, but as of the moment, that is all you’re feeling. You don’t know if you can keep doing this. Your limbs want to sag to the ground, knowing it has to prepare again to face the brunt of tomorrow — but you have to care for it, too, or else you’ll wake up dead. Katsuki doesn't deserve that, even if you’re falling apart.

"Everything is just so hard," you continue, the surge of emotions you'd been desperately keeping a tight leash on bursting at the seams; "None of it makes any sense. I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

Katsuki's frown eases. "C'mere."

The next breath you take comes out wet and shaky. The next step you take gravitates to him.

Katsuki pulls you to his chest as you sob. He buries his nose into your hair, rubbing shapes into the small of your back. It almost feels like he’s coaxing it out of you with every touch. You cry violently, lungs spasming, everything pouring out finally — and throughout it all, Katsuki doesn’t split away, even as your tears and snot leave a disgusting patch on his shoulder. If anything, he keeps you enveloped in his warmth, as if he can tell that it helps even without being told.

“N-nothing happened,” you sniffle, trembling, and Katsuki pushes off just enough to see your face; “But it was so overwhelming. I just — I dunno.”

“Baby,” Katsuki starts. You’ve never heard him speak so softly before, low and rough and embodying gentleness that you don't know if you deserve. “Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?”

That sounds good. God, you want him to do that so bad. But looking so weak in front of someone so remarkably strong like Katsuki is embarrassing. You're not some child needing to be told that you're doing good and everything will be all right — needing to be coddled because you had a bad day.

“I want to,” Katsuki says; you feel as though he can read your mind. "Let me."

"…okay." You nod, averting your gaze. "Please take care of me."

And so Katsuki helps you bathe, kisses your knuckles, pulls one of his shirts down that reaches to your mid-thigh, brushes your hair out of your eyes, feeds you dinner he's cooked, and kisses you again. All the while, it's silent. Peaceful. It should unnerve you that Katsuki hasn't spoken a single word since, but you revel in the comfort of hearing his measured breaths instead.

It’s like you can hear him think: You’ll be okay. So let me take care of you. Let me help you be okay.

You feel like you're melting out of your own body, sinking into the comforter's embrace on your shared bed, losing tension in Katsuki's scent and affection.

“Pretty,” Katsuki mumbles, his hand crawling down.

Then you go still when Katsuki watches your expression as he glides a finger in between your legs.

Your cheeks burn. "I — w-what—"

Katsuki hums, thoughtful. "You're already…"

Well, it happens that today is a day of many discoveries. It turns out, Katsuki's hands can be so soft as he works shampoo through your head, and you get horny seeing how attuned your boyfriend is to your needs.

Katsuki can be so gentle with his hands. Of course you’d been thinking of how gentle he can be elsewhere.

"You want me to?" Katsuki asks, slipping a hand under your shirt. His heated fingers caress your waist, his thumb rubbing circles that trickle hotness down elsewhere.

You aren't sure why you feel so shy. You've done worse with each other. "You don't have to. If you just feel like you have to—"

Katsuki lifts an impatient brow. "You think I wouldn't want to?"

You squirm, suddenly aware of the empty ache that is longing for Katsuki. "W-well—"

Katsuki kisses under your right ear before he tugs on your underwear and flings them off to the side. He pulls back to devour your lips in a kiss, swallowing your noise of surprise. Your hands find home in his hair and he thumbs on the source of your heat.

You jolt and choke on a moan as he increases the mind-numbing friction. "Let me take care of you," Katsuki says; "let me, say yes."

"Yes," you cry out in his mouth. You feel floaty with the surge of lust shuddering through your entire body. "Please."

When you break away, you see his pupils wholly overtaking his iris, not even a hint of red. Katsuki licks over his teeth as he stares like he hasn't already eaten dinner. Like he’s doing himself a favor. You wrap tentative fingers around his wrist to guide his hand to your cunt, twitching because it knows it's going to be filled so well with Katsuki here.

Katsuki would make it so good; you know it. You know it so well. He’d know how you want it — need it.

He groans as you feel yourself get wetter. "Baby, shit — you needed this, yeah?"

"Katsuki—"

"I know." Katsuki rubs on the sensitive bud of your clit, kissing your jaw. "I know. Relax, baby, relax for me. Make it feel good. Just like that. Yeah, fuck, like that."

You feel dizzy. Katsuki teases one finger in, watching your face with rapt attention. You're so wet that he slides in easily; he could slip in two more just like that. But Katsuki is focused on making you feel the sensations instead, taking it slow, one by one, leaving you a fluttering, whining putty under him.

Katsuki’s heavy breathing makes you tighten around him involuntarily. He curses, patience rescinded. "One more?"

"Yes, please please — more — ah—"

He curls his fingers, and you tremble and whine, white-knuckled, gripping him, trying to meld yourself into him. Katsuki echoes your sound in a rasp, "Mm. You hear yourself? Fuckin' gorgeous."

It should be embarrassing that you're close already, yet who can blame you with Katsuki overwhelming your senses with every inch of his body — all over and inside you? His fingers are hot, and you're burning up, a coil in your stomach begging to be released.

Your legs shake as your back arches. "Kats — Katsuki — ah, please, please. Please, I'm—"

Katsuki kisses you through all of it. "I know. I know, baby. Don’t gotta beg. I gotcha — give it to me."

You thought you'd already exhausted all your tears, but Katsuki whispering in your ear and coaxing an orgasm out of you so tenderly pulls heat into your eyes. You forget about the weight on your shoulders. Right now, you can only think of how you could fall and Katsuki would catch you. You cry as you break, pulse jumpstarting, and Katsuki takes care of you all over again.

#ᥫ᭡ dekuneho #&katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut

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heartmaddie · 2 months ago

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cuddling with the haikyuu boys ! ushijima , suna , sakusa , hinata , oikawa

incl post timeskip and pre time skip , oikawa's one is a tadbit sad , gender neutral reader (except the last of ushijima headcannons where reader is pregnant but everything else is gn)

ushijima wakatoshi °˖➴જ⁀➴‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎chronic big spoon

⋆ he loves big spooning so much ; especially after finding looking at you face to face a little bit awkward when cuddling

⋆ in the early relationship stage he didn’t touch you often, so cuddling sort of opened that gateway for him

⋆ even then, he loves feeling your head against his chest while it beats embarrassingly fast against your ears

⋆ he’s not opposed to being the little spoon, but once he’s back from practice you’d likely be asleep by then, so it’s easiest to just slide into bed from the back like so.

⋆ before he realises that you like the feeling of being squished he’s probably a bit concerned that he’s holding you too tight

⋆ post time skip he doesn’t care as much and just squeezes you tightly until you tell him to stop

⋆ he’s the sweetest, he only started cuddling for you but then continued because he fell in love with the way he could bury his nose against you while palming at your soft skin.

⋆ if you do decide to have babies then he likes running his hands against your pregnant stomach and feeling the baby kick and squirm against his large, rough hands.

⋆˙⟡ —

ushijima doesn’t necessarily convey his affection through physical touch, he’d much rather tell you how he adored you straight to your face with no miscommunication, that was just how he functioned. but while your relationship developed overtime, he would start to notice how often you’d cling onto his arm, or during movie nights at his dorm you’d tuck yourself under his bicep, so he started to worry that he wasn’t providing for you enough in a physically affectionate manner.

the first night you stayed at his dorm was when tendou was at his family home for the weekend, so he decided to invite you over for the night. your laptop’s perched on his lap and you’re laying against his hard chest, the both of you eagerly watching your favourite movie. around the halfway point, ushijima takes note of the intimacy between the two characters, how their bodies would intertwine on the soft mattress, and he yearned to embrace you like that too.

his olive eyes flicker down to your figure, how through your blue light glasses, you’d watch the film with fascination in your eyes, you’ve watched this film hundreds of times so to ushijima this long-standing attachment was quite strange. he raked his thick fingers through your hair, gently running them through each strand before catching your attention, looking up at him curiously you ask him what’s up.

“oh, nothing,” the vibrations of his thick voice ripples through the air as he pulls you a bit closer, “i’ve never held someone like that before.” he gestures to the screen.

you smile up at him, gently closing the laptop and carefully laying it on the ground,

“okay, we can try now!” you say happily, sliding your arms around him and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, which he’d happily return.

soon enough, ushijima found his head nestled against your ear with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, your back pressed up against his chest as he held you tight.

“i’m quite fond of this.” he murmurs in your ear, pressing his thin lips against the skin of your neck.

he shut his eyes tight, inhaling your sweet scent while he felt himself slowly drift off to sleep, finding it a little bit easier with you curled up in his arms.

suna rintaro °˖➴જ⁀➴ ㅤㅤㅤbear hugger

⋆ even in a non-cuddling sense, suna loves wrapping his arms around you and making you feel small in his embrace

⋆ even in the early relationship stage, he’d be pulling you into his arms and pressing kisses against your neck while you giggle

⋆ and he does it everywhere, he’s a big fan of pda.

⋆ when you’re cuddling, he likes laying right on top of you with his arms wrapped around your waist, your head buried in his neck while he rubs your neck

⋆ he’s so touchy its insatiable, he’d always have his arm around your waist ready to pull you into his arms

⋆ after a long day of work all he needs is to be wrapped up in your arms, squishing against your shoulders and breathing in the accords of his favourite perfume before he’s easily knocked out for hours.

⋆ sometimes it gets so bad that you literally can’t breathe so you have to roll him off your body and he’d pout about it for a couple of days

⋆ he likes laying his head on your chest too, so he can listen to your heartbeat as it lulls him to sleep

⋆˙⟡ —

suna felt all the stress upon his shoulders, head slouched down as he attempted to type the password into the apartment door before it opens gently before him and he perks up immediately at the sight of you in your pink flannel pajamas. you’re embraced by his sweaty body, and he’s pressing kisses against your neck as he uses his foot to kick the door shut, lifting you into his toned arms and carrying you to the bedroom.

“missed you so, so much.” he murmured between pecks, his voice muffled by the warm skin of your nape.

“go have a shower rinnie, you smell like sweat.” you huff, sitting up on the bed as you tried to push him off you, he pouts before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, standing up to strip his shirt and walk into the bathroom. in your moments of solitude, you reach for the book on your nightstand and work through it, encapsulated in each page, not even realising when rintarou exits the bathroom.

he gently takes the book out of your hands, placing the bookmark between the pages fold and leaving it on the nightstand, pressing another kiss to your lips as he slides into the bed.

“i missed you soo much.” rintarou mutters as he lays next to you, pulling you into his warm arms as he snuggles into your neck, “lemme lie on you, pleasee.” he begs, and you look at him with a sidelong glance.

“just wait a bit, we can cuddle like that right before we go to sleep.” you hum, looking over at him and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, making him melt into the soft mattress with a dorky smile.

“i love you.” he’d murmur, pulling you tight against his chest and capturing your lips in a soft, chaste kiss.

“i love you too.” your voice is muffled against his lips, but he still smiles against you, nuzzling his head against your cheek while your arms move to wrap around him tight.

suna takes this as initiative to lay right on top of you, your head nestled against his chest as his arms snake around your upper torso, squeezing you tight as he knocks the wind out of your chest. he lets a deep sigh of relief escape him, holding you close as he falls into deep tranquil.

sakusa kiyoomi °˖➴જ⁀➴ ㅤㅤㅤaddicted to your warmth

⋆ he hated the idea of sleeping in the same bed as you during your early relationship stage

⋆ but a couple months into your relationship he starts getting used to your warm body wrapped up in his sheets

⋆ soon enough he’s addicted to your warmth, always recaching out for you in bed so at least one part of your bodies are touching

⋆ at first it’s more that you’d sleep back to back, so he could still soak up your warmth without being entirely in your warms

⋆ but as your relationship progresses he starts getting used to the idea of placing his hand on your face while you sleep

⋆ he faces you while you sleep so he can watch you during the late hours of the night

⋆ sakusa values his sleep, but he definitely used to be an insomniac before you started dating

⋆ having your warmth next to him helped, it lulled him to sleep with ease.

⋆ he likes draping an arm over you in the winter, on good nights he’ll pull you into his arms and lean against your neck

⋆ in the summer he’ll stay away from you though, you overheat frequently and he prefers staying cold in bed.

⋆˙⟡ —

it’s so cold.

sakusa’s shivering on his side of the bed, the thick covers of this hotel bed not keeping him warm like the ones at home do. he pulls the sleeves of his flannel shirt down, trying to cover him whole as he looks outside, the snow gracefully falling to the ground as he contemplates his misery. he looks over at your sleeping body, dressed merely in his sweatshirt and pants as you slept soundly, clutching onto your pillow tight. he’s jealous, he wants to be able to sleep so calmly like that as well, but of course the cold weather had to bar him from that.

sakusa hesitantly shifts closer to your side of the bed, and he’s temporarily shocked by the warmth which radiated off your soft body, but he shouldn’t be surprised, you were always warm to the touch. a hint of guilt hits him when he notices you stirring awake, rubbing your eyes before they flicker open to look at him.

“is something wrong, kiyoomi?” you ask, the tiredness evident in your voice as you look up at him with soft, sleepy eyes. he shook his head, gently placing his hand on your cheek and gently caressing the smooth skin, smiling softly.

“can’t sleep, it’s cold.” he explains, shifting closer to you.

“wanna try this?” you sit up and wrap your arms around his waist, letting him have the time to pull out, but instead he melts into your embrace, holding you tight as you fall onto the bed from his weight.

“thank you.” he whispers against your neck, seemingly addicted at the way your soft body would wrap around his. sakusa would lay his ear against your pulsating heart, the steady rhythm calming himself as he soaked up all the warmth you’d offer him, occasionally pawing against your soft skin as he watched you fall asleep once again.

sakusa inhales your soft scent, and he realises that he’s never held you so intimately before. he wondered if you noticed that too, but it was likely naught. his dry fingers rubbed up and down your skin, feeling every bump and crevice before he himself fell into the deepest sleep he’s ever experienced.

hinata shoyo °˖➴જ⁀➴ ㅤㅤㅤlittle spoon :p

⋆ he likes being the little spoon because it makes him feel safe in your arms

⋆ he’s a very physically affectionate boy, so when you started dating he’d always want you clinging onto his arm

⋆ he thinks you smell really nice, so when you spoon him it always rubs off on him

⋆ it’s really grounding for him when you hold him

⋆ when you were in brazil together and he started growing a bit more, it was difficult for you to hold him as such, which how you shifted into him laying on your chest with your arms draped around his neck

⋆ he thinks you’re heaven when you run your fingers through his hair.

⋆ sometimes if you’re sitting on the couch together hinata will casually lean against your lap as you scratch his head

⋆ when you’re not laying with him, he’ll clutch his pillows really tight and pretend that it’s you

⋆ he loves sleeping in your bed because it’s a lot softer than his futon

⋆ he’s such a loverboy - always wanting to cuddle and hold you in his arms

⋆ brazil hinata likes when you squish on his biceps………..

⋆ ok but when shoyo and natsu were a bit younger natsu would curl up near him and he felt like a very proud big brother

⋆˙⟡ —

hinata shoyo smells like the sunshine.

it didn’t matter how much bergamot scented soap he’d lather onto his skin twice a day, the smell of sea salt and sand were deeply engraved into his natural musk, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. you gently run your fingers down his arm, frowning of the remnants of the sand which would scrape at him during his time at the beach.

“sho, what did i tell you about sunscreen?” you scold, voice quiet as you rub aloe vera gel on his tanned skin which glowed pink, dead skin rolling into little balls under your fingers and you groan in mild disgust.

“i always put it on at the start of the day, i swear!” he looks back at you, obviously in pain as his eyebrows knit together, “be gentle!” he whines, wincing as the soothing cream would sting his sensitive skin.

“this is the consequences of your actions.” you mutter in response, continuing to spread the cold gel across his shoulders and back, but you comply against your words, slowing your movements and massaging the aloe vera into his skin with care.

he groans and whines, but his hand reaches yours when you finish, and he’s gently pressing his lips against yours, gel from his nose rubbing off onto yours.

“i’m so tired.” he huffs, pulling an old shirt over his head, the fabric sticking to his skin uncomfortably. “hold onto me for a bit.” you nod, shifting behind him and letting him curl his back into your chest, you take his hands and rub small circles on his palm.

“you’re so good to me baby.” he hums, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing soft kisses against the skin. you smile against his nape, inhaling his spicy salty musk with your eyes closed, relaxed against the boys skin as you held him tight.

oikawa tooru °˖➴જ⁀➴ ㅤㅤㅤeager for your consolement

⋆ he’s also a very affectionate boy, even when you weren’t dating he’d ‘platonically’ pull you into his arms tight

⋆ so when you do confirm that you’re officially a couple, he’s more intimate in the ways that he’d hold you

⋆ his lips are glued onto your cheeks, he thinks those kisses are sweeter than the ones on your lips

⋆ when you cuddle, he’ll lay his head on your chest with his body off the side of yours

⋆ he likes feeling smaller in your embrace, even if he’s much larger

⋆ tooru likes looking up at you and telling you all about your day, letting you run your fingers through his thin strands of hair

⋆ he loves pda, because to him, you’re so gorgeous and he’s scared that someone will take you away

⋆ when you’re asleep and he’s on your chest, he likes reaching up and gently stringing your hair between his fingers

⋆ sometimes when he’s sad he likes curling up against your side as you console him

⋆ his love languages are a mix of everything, so when you’re the one being held, he’ll pull you close to his mouth so he can whisper how much you mean to him straight into your ear.

⋆ he also loves listening to music with you, so he’ll cuddle against your warmth while your record player spins in the background.

⋆ also films, he’s a big fan of watching all the films you love.

⋆˙⟡ —

he lets out sobs against the warmth of your chest, letting your arms gently cradle his head as you whisper affirmations into his ears.

“i’m so sorry.” he’d mutter repeatedly against your chest, “i’m so sorry i lost.” his tears wet the fabric of your shirt, you gently patted the expanse of his back, offering your physical affection as a means to calm him down.

"oh baby, you don't need to apologise" you hum, pressing your lips against his forehead and your nose brushes against his hair, temporarily stunning your senses with his sweet scent. but tooru felt weak, although, finding your words somewhat comforting as he’d look up at you, his eyes rimmed red and snot falling from his nose. you gently rub his cheek, pressing your lips against his scalp.

“but i lost? and i promised that i’d take everyone to nationals - and i didn’t.” his words were choked, spaced by sobs as he’d lay against your chest, your heart swelled with sorrow, chest tightening up as you witnessed tooru’s expression. even with his tear stained eyes and splotchy red face, he was more beautiful than you could’ve imagined.

“oh tooru,” you whisper against his skin, “everyone’s so proud of you regardless, if it wasn’t for your support, no one would’ve gotten here anyways.” you pull him closer to your upper body, burying your face into his hair as your fingers traced up and down his arm. “you’re a good player, and an even better captain. the sport is more than just winning, it’s like the relationships that blossom from it.” you try to explain, gently stroking his hair.

“you really think?” he asks hesitantly, letting himself be pulled closer as he shivers within your embrace.

“i know, baby, i know.”

against his red face and snotty nose, he lets out a small smile when he looks up at you, sitting up to wipe his nose with his sleeve.

“i really love you, yn.” he mutters, letting you embrace him as he cries, “i really think you’re the best thing thats ever happened to me.”

contradicting the situation, you let out a soft laugh, making him smile against the nape of your neck.

“i love you too, tooru.”

and with your arms wrapped around him tight, tooru knew that everything would be okay.

please like , reblog or follow if you enjoyed !!!

i think i mayhaps cooked with this one

sorry i was supposed to post this like yesterday night but i got distradcted playing dress to impress

maybe i wrote hinata in for one of my moots,,, mayhaps...

#🎐maddie writes #haikyuu x reader #hq x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #suna rintaro x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader fluff #suna rintarou x reader fluff #hinata shoyo x reader fluff #oikawa tooru x reader fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader fluff

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narizaki · 5 months ago

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sticky notes sakusa kiyoomi x reader

― tags fem reader, fluff, roommates to something close to lovers, timeskip kiyoomi

― notes wc is 1.8k, i wrote this on a whim so please forgive ooc kiyoomi, also please forgive any grammar mistakes lmao

you and sakusa have been communicating through notes for the past three months.

at first, you had mindlessly written down a few groceries you needed to buy on a sticky note, pasting it onto the fridge so you wouldn’t forget. it included some of the basics: eggs, flour, rice, milk, and other necessities for you and your roommate’s fridge.

then, the next time you came home, you were greeted by a bright yellow sticky note seated next to your pink one. it said:

protein powder

lettuce

masks (the white ones)

between your full-time job and sakusa’s hectic schedule as a professional volleyball player, the two of you hardly saw each other, if at all. especially with sakusa’s new status on the olympic team. it wasn’t bad, per se, as you’d never been the closest to him — he was closed-off and, frankly, intimidating. it was like the man would go to any lengths to avoid interacting with others. regardless, his small addition to your grocery list had made you laugh.

you checked off the items he wanted, and the sticky note was gone the next day.

from then, the two of you only ever communicated with each other this way. one of you would write the groceries they needed to get that weekend, and the other would make their additions to the list. it was effective, simple, and considering how the only post-it notes the either of you owned were offensively bright colors, hard to miss.

after a while, you began adding little comments in addition to the list of items you needed to buy. they were short and sweet, like a thanks! written in the corner of your post-it detailing the items you needed sakusa to buy, or there are leftovers in the fridge after you made too much for dinner. you weren’t expecting sakusa to respond to them, given his stand-offish nature. so, when he did, you were surprised. no; scratch that, you were elated. although his replies weren’t anything extraordinary, just a simple you’re welcome or thank you for the food written in his neat handwriting under your own, it felt like a break in your relationship with sakusa.

despite knowing him for a while now, the two of you stayed as acquaintances and nothing more. but, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to know more about him. and though unconventional, the sticky notes worked perfectly for this.

writing to each other using post-its became such a habit that sakusa bought a magnetic whiteboard. you were only made aware of it when you walked into the kitchen to see it set up. there was a note already written in black marker on the board, stating that the post-it notes were beginning to be a waste of paper. you made sure to write a large thanks, sakusa! with the same marker, adding a few hearts around it.

(and if sakusa flushed red at the sight of his name with hearts surrounding it, only he would know.)

whenever your friends came over, they would question the purpose of the whiteboard. you couldn't blame them; it did take up the better half of your fridge's surface. they had a good laugh when you explained the story behind it, but some asked why couldn’t you just text each other?

and, honestly? you didn’t know either.

you knew it would be more efficient if you were to text sakusa instead of patiently waiting for his replies on the dry-erase board every day. but, if you wanted to, you knew you would’ve done it a while ago; before he even had the idea of buying the whiteboard, back when the two of you were conversing through neon sticky notes and wasting an unnecessary amount of paper.

you surmise it’s because you didn't want to ruin your and sakusa’s relationship — if you could even call it that. texting him would forcefully pull him into your orbit. though you’ve been regularly interacting with him for the past few months, you were aware that you hardly knew anything about the man; small notes and lists only gave you so much information about a person. the whiteboard was a safe in-between — you learn a little more about him and his habits, while not forcing him to interact with you.

well, you think, he’s not obligated to answer my texts, either. you have his number, and it’s not like you haven’t texted him before. there was only so much you could do when you weren’t home to pick up packages or forget to inform him of a repairman coming over.

you mull over the decision, a short text already typed into your conversation with sakusa. your finger hovers over the send button, before you furiously spam the delete key and put your phone down. no, nevermind.

your plan of staying content with your relationship fails miserably.

it’s been a hard few weeks at work, with seemingly endless deadlines you have to meet and an equally endless amount of meetings you’ve had to attend. you feel as if you haven’t had a moment to yourself in forever.

so, when you submit your most recent project to your boss and shut your laptop closed, the first thing on your mind is to go home and rest. your mind is on auto-pilot as you pack your belongings, spitting out no’s to your co-workers' offers to go out drinking. when you’re this tired, the last thing you want to do is wake up with a splitting headache and an awful hangover the next day.

you stumble into your apartment, hastily toeing your heels off. a sigh leaves you, the harsh pressure of the shoe finally being relieved. they’re thrown somewhere in the corner, probably not anywhere close to where they should be, but you’ll deal with that tomorrow. all you want is some sleep. you consider just crashing on the couch and dealing with the consequences tomorrow.

“rough day?” a flat voice asks. you jump at the noise, not expecting anyone to be in your apartment. when you look up, you’re greeted by a tall figure standing in front of you. your eyes take a moment to rack over them, not completely registering that the only other person who has access to your apartment is…

sakusa.

“huh…?” you mutter, blinking a few times to will the tiredness from your eyes. it doesn’t work. sakusa only sighs, stepping from the doorway and further into your home. there’s a look on his face that’s telling you to follow, but when you don’t out of pure shock because he’s here? like, actually here? at home? he rolls his eyes.

“come on,” he says, “there’s food on the stove already.”

you continue to stay silent, causing sakusa to raise an eyebrow. your face is scrunched up, a hand on the wall next to you to support your weight.

“are you…am i hallucinating…?” you mumble, internally debating if you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure that you’re not dreaming in any way. “i thought you weren’t going to be back for a while?”

in response to your delirious rambling, sakusa laughs. it’s rather quiet, but you know he does. you hear the rapid exhalation of air accompanied by a deep rumble coming from his chest, and you can see his shoulders shaking.

he steps closer to you, forcing your bag from your shoulder and practically pulling you with him into your shared living room. you’re tripping over your feet, mind still fuzzy from your tiring day.

“leave it up to you to not be able to think properly after a long day,” he murmurs, setting your bag down on the couch. in your half-awake daze, you’re unable to form a proper response. “i guess you’re not hungry then.”

“well…” you stammer, still trying to get your bearings. “you’re like, never home, sakusa…so how am i supposed to react when you practically teleport in front of me?” you finish, a yawn escaping you. that makes sakusa laugh again.

“for your information, i didn’t teleport in front of you,” he replies, “i heard the door open, so i went to greet my roommate. now, go get ready for bed.”

you disregard what he says, opting to groan when he orders you to get ready for bed. it just seems like so much work. you have to take off your makeup, change, brush your teeth, do your skincare…you think you’d rather crash face-first on your couch, like you were planning on doing earlier. you tell him that much.

sakusa rolls his eyes again. he pushes you towardsthe bathroom, telling you to take off your makeup, while he goes to rummage in your room for sleepwear. what?

you don't have much of a choice, so you follow his directions. beginning with your meticulous skincare routine, you cleanse off your makeup. while you’re drying your face, sakusa knocks on the bathroom door with a fresh pair of pajamas for you to change into.

once you’ve completed your nightly routine, you wander out of the bathroom to find sakusa sitting on the couch. he seems preoccupied with something on his phone, and you have to admit that the sight of him concentrating is rather charming.

thankfully, the cold water you’d splashed onto your face woke you up, so you’re more awake than you were when you’d entered. you’re still horribly tired, and you want nothing but to sleep in the comfort of your bed, but you feel bad going straight to bed without even thanking sakusa for taking care of you. the only way the two of you talked for the last few months was over post-it notes, for god's sake!

“hey, sakusa?” you call, and his attention snaps from his phone to you. “thanks for uh…taking care of me. sorry about all that, i was really tired. or, er, am really tired.” you awkwardly stutter out.

he hums in response, standing up from the couch and taking long strides towards you. thanks to his height, he’s face-to-face with you in no time. he’s close — maybe a little too close for someone you think probably doesn't even consider you a friend. that leads you to another realization: for someone that you knew disliked social interaction, he’s also talked to you an awful lot today.

“if you were really thankful, you’d go to bed right now and eat what i made tomorrow. you’re exhausted.” he bluntly replies. you gape at him for a moment, about to reply, but he cuts you off. “i’ll be home more often. volleyball is in the off-season now.”

you know you should just nod and turn on your heel to go to bed, but there’s a question on the tip of your tongue that slips before you’re able to catch it.

“so… no more whiteboard notes?” you question. sakusa laughs for a third time that night, and you think you’ve hit the jackpot in your slightly delirious state.

he shakes his head. “no more whiteboard notes for now.”

you wake up the next morning, and when you enter the kitchen, you see a yellow sticky note pasted onto the whiteboard. on it, it reads:

we can make these lists together now, so there's no need for either of these.

and, yeah, you think you can get used to that.

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #hq fluff #sakusa fluff

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