All Tooru has to whisper is “let me take care of you”, and Hajime melts into a shudder underneath the weight of his body.

It’s been too long since Tooru has kissed him like that, too long since his tongue has traced the soft rim of Hajime’s mouth, coaxing a whimper, a sigh, the jolt of strong hips against his own. “I’ll be so good to you, I promise. Jus’ let me – yeah, c’mon. All yours tonight.” Tooru’s promises are sweet, his words catching between the ivory cage of Hajime’s ribs when he kisses his chest and drags a tease of nails over the hitching shiver of Hajime’s stomach.

It’s been too long, Tooru thinks and feels Hajime’s hands slide into his hair, a breathless gasp of “God, I need – “, strong fingers curling into his dark-sweated hair, pulling. It’s so good, he’s going insane, and Hajime will fall apart for Tooru’s touches and it will be his name, the syllables of his soul that crack from Hajime’s lips in heavy moans when –

He can’t wait anymore. His fingers find the waistband of Hajime’s underwear and drag it down. “Tooru.” The noise Hajime makes, oh, that vulnerable sound, he wants to remember that forever. He wants to mark his chest with it and carry this man’s marks around on his lips so that everyone sees how fucking perfectly Hajime makes his blood rush.

“It healed nicely.” Tooru smiles, and brings his lips down on Hajime’s burning skin. “Didn’t think you could become more attractive, but this is – “

And then, Hajime throws his head back and whimpers something that sounds like “please, Tooru, please.”

Oh, he’s so weak for this man, Tooru thinks as his mouth closes around the silver glint at the head of Hajime’s thick cock, and his tongue flicks against the cool metal. His eyes fall shut when Hajime’s fingers tighten in his hair, and his lips tighten, a flutter of dark lashes, before his nails dig into Hajime’s shuddering thighs and Tooru lets him fall.

Daisuga week 2015. Day 2. Travel.

It takes an hour for Hinata to stop crying and look up at Daichi. “Tell me,” he says, voice cracked from tears. “Why does it hurt so much when he’s gone? I know it’s for his career. But… how did you do this? How were you and Suga away from each other for six months?”

Daichi wants to pull him underneath his skin and whisper ‘Kageyama loves you, and he will return’ into his bones. Instead, he smiles, and speaks.

He tells Hinata the story that begins after his and Koushi’s graduation, a story of a night under starlight and the heaviest words he’s ever heard: “I’ll go to Europe, and I need to go alone.”

Daichi’s story isn’t long, but it fills the silence with colours that seem endless. He tells Hinata how Koushi had kissed him a last time, how he had just smiled when Daichi asked: “Why?” And how the answer had only been: “For us. So I can know myself before I learn everything about you.” How Daichi had been angry, sad, jealous, until his father had told him to go visit an old friend in Canada and think about whether he’d take over the company or not. Daichi had thought about it for two days. Then, he’d booked the ticket.

Letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. They didn’t phone, didn’t see each other’s faces, didn’t hear the soft whisper of “I love you”.

But Daichi tells Hinata about the short messages Koushi had sent, only one per day. “Paris is beautiful, not only at night.” – “The ocean is colder here. The wind tastes different.” – “I miss you.” – “I’ll stay in Kopenhagen for my last week. I want to see you. Do you know the Little Mermaid there?”

Hinata doesn’t cry anymore. He stares at Daichi, eyes wide, and rubs the tears away. “And you went to see him. What – what happened?”

“We met,” Daichi says, soft. “Sometimes, distance breaks people, and sometimes it weaves them together even more. Have faith in Kageyama.”

He doesn’t tell Hinata anything else about the end. The last night of his journey, how he walked up to the mermaid’s metallic shimmer in the dawn’s light, how Koushi turned to smile at him through tears – that is something Daichi doesn’t say out loud.

The flecks of gold in Koushi’s eyes and the kiss of salt and “let’s be forever” are curled around Daichi’s heart. When he falls asleep with Koushi’s weight melted against his chest, Daichi thinks back to the little mermaid, to Kopenhagen, and thanks the cold wind for carrying his choked “yes, yes” right into Koushi’s soul.

When Tooru is five years old, he learns that all atoms in the universe once pulsed through the hydrogen-blood of a star, and that every molecule in the world has been weaved together by a kiss from the black sky’s dust.

When Tooru is twenty-five years old, and he counts the caleidoscope of light dancing through Hajime’s eyes as his lips speak “yes, I will” through a smile of salt, that is when Tooru can finally believe the old tale of how the world was born.

Sometimes, Hajime is scared of how perceptive Tooru is.

Well, not scared. More like impressed with a hint of surprised and honestly fascinated, but he’s not saying that out loud. Tooru would never stop teasing him about it. Really, it’s incredible, that Tooru just has to take one look at Hajime’s hands as he serves dinner for them (it’s pasta with some sauce, tomato-garlic-ish and delicious).

“You didn’t take care of them. Again.” Tooru takes his plate from Hajime and then curls his finger around the warm palm of Hajime’s hand. He frowns, tracing the rough skin, and Hajime shivers slightly. It feels good, but he still says: “Sorry.” – “I’ll help you out once more. But this is the last time. You have to do this by yourself, can’t have them bleed one day.”

It won’t be the last time, and they both know it. Hajime smiles while they eat.

His hands resting on Tooru’s leg has become a ritual. Hajime has never been one to take care of his hands; they’ve always been dry and cracked from volleyball, even now in university. He didn’t think Tooru would notice. But one evening, when Tooru’s lips had tasted honey-sweet and dark underneath his mouth, Tooru had laced their fingers up and whispered: “Let me take care of you. Just this once, let me – relax for me, please. Okay, Hajime?”

And Hajime had said ‘yes’. Had promised to take better care of himself. Oh, Tooru had made him fall and relax, go pliant and warm and offer up his body in so many ways. Loving Tooru is easy, and being loved? Just as breathing.

“You get so calm when I do this.” Tooru’s warm voice takes him back to reality. It’s after dinner and of course they’re on the couch, Hajime resting his hands on Tooru’s leg while strong, gentle fingers rub the warmed-up lotion into his strained palms. “Do you like it?” Tooru asks. His voice smiles with amusement.

“Yes,” Hajime mumbles, and kisses him on the lips. “I do. And you, too.”

Genos has expected to miss a lot of things about not having a human body. In the end, almost everything is better than anticipated. He’s stronger (though not strong enough), faster, his reflexes are stunning and reliable, his sensors work flawless and the machine in his body purrs like the blood he once had. His body obeys like a tamed beast, and if he wants to, he can kill without effort, fast and sharp and for hours on end.

But there is one thing, still.

The metal surrounding his soul is unyielding, and the heat it radiates is fake. Genos’ touch has become cold and harsh, no matter the gentleness he puts into his every motion around people he appreciates. His fingers are bullets. His arms are swords. His feet, legs, chest, they all carry the weight of steel and iron.

Genos knows that he has become a death of silver and black, and he won’t ever regret it. But there are days when he –

“Genos? Are you coming?”

“Yes, Master.” Some days, he misses being warm and soft and vulnerable. “I’m coming.”

And every day, Genos misses touching the things he loves as a someone – not a something.

Could you please write a fluff/smut kagehina ? Because i wanna heal my broken soul after watching the newest hq ep ;; ;;

When they first fall asleep in their new bed, the whole house smelling foreign and weighing heavily with silence, the still-unopened moving boxes dark shadows against the wall, that is when Kageyama pulls Hinata closer and buries his face into the soft hair of his neck. “I hope you won’t regret this,” he says.

“Good night,” Hinata chuckles and takes Kageyama’s hand, pulling it over his waist so he can press it against his heart to fall asleep under his boyfriend’s touch.

When their first attempt at cooking goes horribly wrong, the fire alarm screeching above their heads until Kageyama figures out how to turn it off while Hinata throws away the burnt pasta sauce, that is when they sit on the floor together and hold hands, staring at the speckles of tomato all over the tiles. “I’m sorry it’s not perfect,” Kageyama says.

“We can just order pizza,” Hinata smiles and kisses his cheek before he gets up to find a towel. They clean the mess together.

When there’s been a week of barely seeing each other, for the first time ever, their hands not having touched since Sunday and the calender now whispers seven, seven days, when their lips haven’t found each other’s warmth in what feels like years and there’s a fight about something so small and so stupid that it brings tears to Hinata’s eyes and a loss of words into Kageyama’s throat, that is when Kageyama opens his arms to hug his boyfriend until he stops crying. “I wish I was a better person,” Kageyama whispers into Hinata’s hair. “I’ll fix this.”

“We’ll be okay,” Hinata says into his chest. He wipes his tears and lifts himself up on his toes to kiss Kageyama, soft, smiling despite everything. “People fight. I still love you, idiot.”

And when they’re curled up on the couch afterwards, hands laced up as if the roots of two trees had found a way to hold each other up through the storm, that is when Hinata says:

“You know that you’re enough, right? Stop asking me if I regret this. I don’t. I won’t. You’re the best thing that I’ve ever fallen in love with.”

That is when Kageyama doesn’t ask another question, and lets Hinata kiss him until the tears in his eyes die and the warmth inside his chest embraces all of him.

“God, I fucking hate ties! …Tooru?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. You’re so nervous, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. ‘Course I am. You’re forcing me to dance.”
“Aww Hajime, but we practiced! And you’re a great dancer. There you go. Tie all done.”
“Thanks. …hey, are you crying?”
“It’s – I’m – s-sorry, Hajime.”
“What’s wrong? If you’re scared, then we can – ”
“No. God, I just – this is prom. This is our first dance together. Everyone will know, after tonight, that we’re – ”
“That you look like an angel but kiss like the fucking devil?”
“…that was so sweet and sappy, Hajime. But yeah. You’re really gonna kiss me in front of everyone?”
“You said it, didn’t you Tooru? It’s our prom. If I don’t show everyone that you’re mine tonight, then when am I gonna do it?”
“…how – how are you so – God, do you even know how much I lo-”
“Let’s go, okay? I promise I’ll dance with you all night. And yeah, I know. I do, too.”

“You could have found someone less difficult,” Tooru says into the silence of their new bedroom. The walls still smell like paint, and Hajime’s fingers are rough from carrying furniture inside and making this place a home.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, soft, because Tooru’s voice only shivers like a scared animal in a storm when he’s falling into the abyss of his own mind.

“A girl.” Tooru turns, buries his face into Hajime’s shoulder. “Anyone would have been less complicated. Another guy, not so fucked up, not breaking down like – “

Hajime kisses him. Their lips melt for long seconds, and maybe Tooru sobs, quiet and overwhelmed, when Hajime’s mouth lingers on his forehead in faithful reverence.

“Loving you,” Hajime says, “isn’t hard. It’s easy as breathing. I don’t know how I do it. It’s just always there.” He lets Tooru curl his arms around his neck and listens to the melody of his tears.

“As long as I breathe, you’ll never be alone.”

“I’m not good with words,” Kenma says as he comes into Kuroo’s room and sits by his side. The box in his hands is small, silver letters spelling “for Kuroo” on the lid. When Kenma shoves it into Kuroo’s hands and then quickly hides his blushing face against his shoulder, all he says is: “I wrote something for you. Read all of it. It says what you are, and why. But… happy birthday.”

“Oh kitten.” Kuroo doesn’t know what to say. Kenma curls around him, arms over his waist, and nuzzles his neck with a little sigh. “You shouldn’t have.” Placing a kiss onto his boyfriend’s hair is something Kuroo can’t resist before opening the box.

He finds cards inside. They’re in various colours, with a single word on the front and more on the back. Kuroo reaches for one and begins to read.

“Kind. Because even though you’re loud with Bokuto, you’re always gentle with me because you know I’m scared of people speaking up too much. When I panic, you give me space or time or hold my hand. You took in the stray cat that kept coming to our school, and now she sleeps on the foot of your bed and turns fourteen this year.”

“Understanding. Because when your little sister starts crying and throws a tantrum, you don’t get impatient but kneel down and ask her what’s bothering her. Because you accept when I don’t want to be kissed and when I want you to hold me all night and not let go until I feel your body all around me.”

“Beautiful. Because you always call me that, but you’ve never seen your own smile when you greet me in the morning, your chaotic hair and the warmth of your skin, the scars on your knees and the old cigarette burns on your arms. Because you don’t hide before me anymore and I love you for that.”

“Strong. Because you stepped the first time you this monster lift a hand against your mother and sister, and you took the pain and fear and the scars. Because you asked for help. Because you had taken being yelled at and shoved for years, and now you’ve freed yourself and them, too.”

“Brave. Because you always spoke up. Because you care. Because you love them so much, and because you love me, even with how complicated and strange I am.”

The last card is just a word, just one. Kuroo doesn’t even wipe the tears streaming over his cheeks as he reads it. And when the word reaches his mind, he pushes the box away and hugs Kenma so tightly that his shivers wreck both of their bodies, until Kenma kisses his lips and holds him.

The card lies besides them.

“Home.”

“Are you here to kill me?” The beast said.

“No.” The warrior was young, and they stood calm. Their eyes wore the silver of war and more stars than the beast could count.

“Are you not scared?” The beast asked then.

“No.”

“The world fears me.”

“I do not. I want you to come with me.”

The beast blinked. “You are tricking me.”

But the warrior just smiled. They guided the monster out of its labyrinth and into the waking sunrise that bloomed in purple and gold over the ocean.

The beast’s maimed face softened. It had almost forgotten what sunlight felt like. “But why?” It then asked. “Why did you free me?”

The young warrior watched the horizon for what felt centuries to the beast. “Because I feel your pain.”

“I do not understand.” But before the beast could ask again, the young warrior gently put their hand into the beast’s claw and touched their palm. A web of scars nestled in their skin, the flesh pale and thin.

And the young warrior closed their hand around the beast’s claw.

“Not all monsters wear horns.”