Tag: sugawara

Daichi comes to an end on the Friday after his graduation. Everything is set up to be a nice and relaxed night. He would have preferred getting food and drinks over karaoke, sure, but Asahi and Kuroo are looking like they’re having far too much fun with their version of Fantastic Baby (including dance performance, Christ; Daichi did not need to know that Asahi’s hips could move like that).

And how he ended up crammed into a tiny karaoke room with the other former third-years from Seijouh and Nekoma, well, Daichi doesn’t know. Dammit, let him enjoy the night and Suga’s hand on his arm in peace. It’s such a nice hand. Suga has the most beautiful fingers. Not that Daichi has ever told him, not even now that his head is sitting comfortably on Suga’s shoulder, and they could almost be holding hands.

Then the song changes, and Suga twitches by his side. “I love that song!” 

“Mhm?” Daichi glances up at him. “’s that so.” Shit, he’s so unfairly pretty. The first thing Suga did after graduation was to get his ear shell pierced. Daichi is very gay, and happily so.

“C’mon, let’s dance!”

“I don’t dance,” Daichi says.

Something glints in Suga’s eyes. He tilts his head, flashes a grin. “I know you can,” he sing-songs.

Before Daichi realizes the trap, his lips move. “Not a chance, no,” his mouth sings back.

The silence afterwards is stunning. Daichi prays to everyone that nobody’s heard them, but there’s not a chance (Oh god. Fucking. Damnit.) that Suga didn’t catch that he just referenced to Chad’s and Ryan’s courtship song.

“Daichi.” 

“I, well – “

A hand grabs his arm, and Suga is pulling him outside. Daichi barely catches a glimpse of a very drunk Kuroo taking a stand against Oikawa with something that suspiciously sounds like I Will Survive.

Then they’re outside and Suga is laughing. His dimples are perfect, his mouth is perfect, and Daichi feels numb and burning from the inside all at once. His head is dizzy. Suga’s fingers are in his, thumb tracing Daichi’s sweaty knuckles.

“First off, I know for a fact that every guy who knows the words to that song from High School Musical two has some kind of rhythm. And second – what other dark musical secrets have you been hiding from me?”

“Uhm.” Daichi swallows. It’s very hard to think when Suga steps even closer, and then Daichi’s hands somehow finds a way to Suga’s cheek. “I… like anything where characters sing about what they’re doing?”

Suga smiles, wide and soft. “How about we go to my place then, you don’t laugh at me for liking musicals almost as much as I like you, and then you… you could tell me about it, stud.”

Daichi’s throat is dry. He manages to nod, too many times and too hard, but Suga doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers squeeze Daichi’s. “Okay. That’s convenient, because,” Daichi clears his throat and starts walking, dramatically gesturing at the empty street ahead. “My place is just a jump to the left.”

Then Suga is laughing even more, his forehead falling against Daichi’s neck, and they make it home in each other’s arms. Daichi doesn’t really remember how much of Grease they end up watching, but when he wakes up the next morning, his and Suga’s clothes stink of sweat and night air and a tiny bit like each other, from falling asleep in a tangle of limbs and with Daichi’s hand in Suga’s soft, familiar hair.

Daichi knows that something is going on, and it can’t be good. Training camp is exhausting his team, he’s got to make sure they work hard but don’t strain themselves, and the heat isn’t helping either. But Daichi still isn’t blind. He notices things in the periphery of his vision.

So when Kuroo moves to stand by his left side and Bokuto’s arm slides around his shoulder from the right, Daichi can reduce his wincing to a minimum. He doesn’t even get to say hello.

“Lovely day, isn’t it,” Kuroo says. Daichi squints at him. This is going somewhere that he most definitely won’t like.

“Absolutely peachy,” Bokuto grins. His golden eyes are far too fixed on Daichi’s face. “Perfect conditions.”

“Indeed.” Daichi shakes Bokuto’s arm off and takes a step back. “May I help you two-”

“You know who’s also very lovely?” Kuroo’s lips twitch at one corner.

“I know!” Unbelievable. Bokuto actually fucking puts a finger to his chin as if he’s thinking. “That setter of yours, ah, what’s his name again?”

“Hm, I forgot it too,” Kuroo says, faux sadness clouding his face. “I only remember that cute voice and his nice legs.”

“His name is Suga,” Daichi growls. He gets ignored.

“Yeah, those are damn nice.”

“Irresistible even.”

“Impossible to miss. Especially when you’re around him all the time.”

“And I mean, we’re all just men, you can’t just keep your eyes from wandering a bit-”

Daichi’s hands clench into fists. He shouldn’t say anything, fuck, of course Suga is gorgeous, brilliantly so, even guys can pick that up, and the other captains are known for picking partners by attraction and not what’s between their legs, but does it have to be his Suga?

Wait. No. Suga isn’t his boyfriend. Maybe, just maybe, Daichi kind of wouldn’t mind if he was.

“It’s interesting,” Kuroo keeps going, “that you knew I was talking about him when I mentioned that he’s hot.”

Daichi wants to die. He looks away from those idiots, searches for an escape. “I was guessing.”

“You didn’t deny that he’s attractive.”

“Well, judging from an objective basis-”

“Dude.” Bokuto slaps his shoulder so hard that Daichi starts coughing. “He’s so into you. But I mean, if you don’t care for a guy as sweet and dang hot as Koushi-”

“Don’t use his first name. He doesn’t like that.” Daichi runs a hand down his face. Then his brain catches up on what Bokuto said. He stares at the other captains. “…he what?”

“Finally,” Kuroo nods, looking like a very pleased father. “He’s catching up with the newest information.”

“Because we were so kind to help out.” Bokuto wipes an invisible tear from his eye. “I almost went to kiss poor Suga myself, just to make captain dense here jealous.”

“He wouldn’t like that.” Daichi’s voice is tiny. “Are you guys joking? Is. Am I…” He clears his throat. His entire face burns. “Is it that obvious?”

Bokuto wraps an arm around Kuroo’s shoulder. “Our job here is done. Look who’s coming over to check on his captain’s safety.”
Daichi can’t help but turn around. He doesn’t hear the other captains run off, a high five clapping through the gym somewhere far away from Daichi’s mind. Suga is striding over to him along the side lines. There’s a dark crease between his brows and his eyes ask a silent question: Are you okay?

Daichi swallows. Absolutely not. He’s so fucked and in love and has been for longer than he’d ever admit. But when Suga is by his side, there’s somehow enough courage in Daichi to reach for Suga’s hand and hook their little fingers together.

Daichi doesn’t know what Suga’s face shows when he pulls him back towards the team. He hopes that it’s something good – the shy squeeze of a sweaty palm against his own seems to be a nice omen.

Easy like that. – daisuga.

“Wanna be my friend?” 

It’s Daichi’s first day of high school and he’s so nervous that he feels like throwing up, but then a soft voice asks that question. Daichi turns around, confused, and sees a boy standing next to him. It’s the welcoming ceremony and they should be quiet. But the boy smiles at him, his eyes spark, and Daichi finds himself nodding. “Okay. I’m Daichi.”

“I’m Suga!” The boy says, and it’s easy like that. 

“Wanna be my teammate?”

It’s one week into high school and Daichi wants to choose a club, but Suga is faster with his question and then it’s not really a choice anymore. “Okay,” Daichi says, “what kind of teammate?” Volleyball, it turns out, can hurt, and Daichi’s arms are blue after a week of training. But he’s never felt so happy and alive and like part of a new family, and Suga’s there, and they walk home together. So that’s nice, and it’s easy like that.

“Wanna write each other letters?” 

He’s always too slow to ask first. The graduation speech of Daichi has driven tears down Asahi’s cheeks, and Suga’s crying, too, but for other reasons. He hugs Daichi so tightly that he feels like drowning, and Suga smells like flowers and oh why does he have to let go? “Okay. Every day. And we’ll phone, and there’s skype,” Daichi says and, when nobody’s looking and Asahi helps by blocking the view, Daichi cradles Suga’s cheeks and kisses him until he starts to sob and nod, wild, grabbing Daichi’s suit. 

It’s not always easy like that. Two colleges, nights on skype, a fight that is followed by two weeks of silence. Daichi, taking a train to Suga’s uni and showing up in his dorm at 3 a.m. with tear-stained cheeks and flowers stolen from someone’s garden. Suga, calling him an idiot and letting him in, always letting him in and close and back into the arms Daichi has always loved.

In the end, Daichi manages to be faster with just one question.

“Wanna be something more than just boyfriends?”

When the ring fits onto Suga’s finger, it’s easy like that, and forever will be.

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.

Could you write some more daisuga with a protective Daichi?

“If you will excuse us, but the prince is needed elsewhere. Let go of him.”

Koushi feels the warm hand slide over his lower back before he even hears the dark voice by his side. The nobleman in front of him jolts when he sees the young guard appear by Koushi’s side, and his filthy hand jerks away from where it dared to touch the hem of Koushi’s sleeve. As always, the timing is perfect.

“My prince. Your father has asked for you.” The hand spreading on Koushi’s back is a low flare, fire trickling down his spine and curling around his heart, as if Daichi can light sparks on his skin and a smile on his lips with a mere touch. He can do much more than that, Koushi thinks and tilts his head at the nobleman who is still standing there, staring at both of them. 

“I should take my leave, then,” Koushi says. His voice is silk, soft and dangerous. “I must go see my father. Though I believe my faithful guard has a piece of advice for you. I would suggest you take it and never forget it.”

He turns around. Daichi’s hand is off his lower back as fast and quiet as a forbidden kiss. Koushi doesn’t hear what Daichi tells the man, but he can imagine the sharp gasp and widening eyes of a terrified nobleman shrinking into himself, stuttering and swearing to “n-never touch him again, yes, I understand, m-my apologies” because if Koushi’s personal guard is one thing, it is protective. There is more to Daichi, though, but if Koushi was to remember just how much this man means to him, what place in Koushi’s heart he has conquered with kindness and unbroken promises and his warm, rough hands, then Koushi would never find a way out of this unpleasant ball his father had invited half the kingdom to. 

The palace garden whispers wind and desert sand into Koushi’s skin when he sneaks out of the throne room. A world of quiet lies before him, and as Koushi passes through the blooming labyrinth of flowers and emerald-leaved trees, he sheds his golden slippers along the way. The grass snuggles against his feet as if it is welcoming him. His journey guides him towards the oldest tree, higher than any other plant his father brought from far-away countries to fill his only son’s heart with joy and laughter. 

Koushi knows the palace in blindness and dream, and his fingers find the indents along the bark with ease. He has just seated himself in the crown when soft footsteps approach. Koushi closes his eyes and leans back, smiling when the tree shivers below him as another weight climbs up its strong trunk. 

“My prince.” The kiss onto his mouth is tender, breath hotter than the desert’s wind stroking over his naked arms. Daichi’s scent is musk and sandelwood and the iron of the sword strapped against his hip, and Koushi reaches to touch his cheeks without opening his eyes. 

“I hope you did not scare the man too much. He barely touched me.” 

“But he tried to,” Daichi mumbles against his lips. His teeth touch Koushi’s mouth, and one sharp breath later, they close over his bottom lip and suck a dark, pulsing bruise into his skin. 

“Dai – oh. Mhm, ohh.” There is no chance for Koushi to speak because Daichi slowly lowers himself down onto him and presses a hard kiss against his neck, hand pulling down the collar of his golden-blue gown, teeth sinking into his skin. 

“Daichi.” The name is a wish, a plea on Koushi’s lips. 

“I will always protect you,” is the growled response into the vulnerable skin of his collarbone. And then, softer, a promise: “And if I have to be your secret forever, I will still be your shadow and shield and bring those down that wish you harm, my prince.”

Could you write some fluffy drunk daisuga?

Sure. Have some warm gentle fluff. I have never written drunk people before.

“Do you ever think about turtles, Suga?” 

Suga did, in fact, not think about turtles very often. Not that he had anything against them. Turtles were cute. Lovely creatures, really. Suga didn’t have a personal problem with any turtle and had never started a fight with a tortoise (who were related to turtles, that much he could recall, and being mean to someone’s distant family members was never a good start for friendly relations). 

But the alcohol washing through his veins with a warm, soft hum didn’t allow any of his higher brain funtions to work properly, and that included any deeper rational senses as well as the possibility to wonder just why he and Daichi were lying in his sister’s hammock, staring at the stars above and talking about – well, turtles, apparently. 

 Daichi looked so cute when he was drunk, Suga thought and nuzzled his face into the neck of his best friend. The hammock was small (thank god) and Daichi was warm, so warm. Suga could listen to him forever, talking in that swaying voice, stumbling over words just a bit because fuck, they were so goddamn drunk. It had been a wild night at Nishinoya’s, and of course Daichi had insisted to walk him home. 

“Your cheeks get red when you drink,” Suga whispered into his neck and giggled. Daichi’s arm fit perfectly around him. He didn’t even feel cold, and Daichi smelt nice and why couldn’t they stay like this forever. “You’re cute. You’re so cute, Daichi. I want to marry you.”

Daichi nodded, very seriously. “Turtles, Suga. They’re just – they’re so important, you know?” 

Suga smiled at him and hiccuped, licking his lips. “’s there a star constellation for turtles? Is there one for you cause – cause you’re so cute, that they put you up ‘ere?” 

“I really, really think,” Daichi said and stared into the sky, “that a turtle carries the world on its back. Isn’t that nice? What a sweet turtle. I think if you were an animal, you’d be one. A very… small. Turtle, that is. A cute turtle.” 

Suga blinked. “You think I’m – I’m cute, too?” Warmth spread through his chest. The stars seemed to look brighter, white and endless and so breathtaking above his head. Daichi’s hand snuck into his neck. Suga looked up at him, felt Daichi’s forehead press against his own, a nose nuzzle against his. 

“Yeah,” Daichi mumbled. His eyes were falling shut, lips trembling. Suga could smell the chocolate liquor they’d drunk in his breath. “I think,” and a pair of soft, shy lips brushed against his own mouth, “you’re like, a turtle that carries me and the team, and you’d have a beautiful turtle forest on your back.”

Suga didn’t even know what that meant, but he still pulled Daichi into another kiss, mouths fitting together with a tiny sigh of their breaths. A kiss, another, and then warm fingers tracing Suga’s face, gently cradling him into sleep. 

Suga could still feel the kiss burn on his mouth when he woke the next morning, curled around his best friend in a hammock, the stars faded away above their heads. 

part I and part II

“It’s been twenty hours, Tooru.” 

Hajime’s body is ice-cold in his arms, jaw slack, throat bled dry and smeared with red. Tooru’s fingers shake when he carefully brushes dark hair out of Hajime’s closed eyes. “He’s going to be okay,” he says. “I said I’ll carry him. He – he’s not a monster, please, don’t – Suga, no!”

Sugawara’s gun presses against Hajime’s temple, and Tooru howls. “No!” His wild scream drowns out Daichi’s shouts. He rams his fist against the gun, slides his hands around Hajime’s temples, presses their foreheads together as a horrible wail rises in his chest. “Don’t, don’t do that, he’s going to be okay, we’ll find a cure. Daichi, please. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Daichi says. “But we can’t let him turn. He’s infected.” He doesn’t hold Suga back.
Tooru’s vision melts into tears. “We can save him. Th-there’s hope. He’s not dead,” he whispers, soft. 

“Not yet.” Suga is crying, silent, his voice calm. “Let him go. Get off of him, now, or I swear I’ll drag you away myself and tie you down.” 

Tooru’s scream dies in his throat when the body underneath him moves. Oh.

“..fuck,” Daichi says, somewhere far away. A strong hand hauls the weapon out of Suga’s hand, and an iron-firm arm wraps around Tooru’s waist. 

“H… Hajime?” Tooru stares down at the man who’s forehead is pressed against his own. There’s a jolt through the ribcage underneath him. 

And Hajime opens his eyes. 

part I here. 

“I won’t leave him behind.” 

“Tooru,” Daichi says, soft. His hand brushes Tooru’s shoulder, fingers then clenching tight, rough. “He’s dead. We can’t – “ 

“Don’t touch him.” And Tooru’s eyes are liquid fire when he stares back at Daichi, arms trembling around that beloved body, blood from the cut throat spilling over his skin. “I’ll carry him,” Tooru whispers. He licks his lips, looks down at Hajime, smiling as he brushes hair off his cheek. 

“We can find a cure. I’ll carry him. You don’t have to do anything. Don’t have to get in contact with his – his b-blood. I’ll do it alone.” 

When night falls five hours later and they finally find a hideout, Tooru pulls the cold shape of Hajime between his arms and legs. Daichi and Suga watch him sleep, face buried against Hajime’s slit neck, mouth breathing quietly. Hajime’s blood has dried and crumbles from his skin. It’s black as ink, rotting, dying.

“He’s gonna turn into one of those things.” Suga’s knuckles are white around the gun he’s hiding in his belt. 
“I know,” Daichi says, and closes his eyes. “And he knows, too.”

When the shirt slides off Suga’s pale shoulder and he throws his head back, grinning with a darkness in his eyes that has Daichi swallow hard, the button of his pants wrestled open by long fingers, hips swaying in a way that’s hell and heaven and goddamn bliss, that is when Sugawara attributes a completely new interpretation to the song pour some sugar on me for his boyfriend. 

Suga’s smile around the words “pour some sugar on me, ooh, in the name of love, pour some sugar on me, c’mon, fire me up” is cherry-red, his tongue a lick of flames. The music is loud, his striptease practiced – perfect. And it’s Daichi’s.

And Daichi swallows when that devilish little mouth nips at his ear, bites down on the skin of his neck, a low whimper stuck in his throat. He is indeed a goddamn lucky bastard, and Suga makes sure that he’ll always remember that.