Happy Birthday To My Favorite Boy Who I Love With My Whole Soul!
Happy Birthday to my favorite boy who I love with my whole soul!

He's ostentatious, yes. It's hard to think otherwise with his title of Pride, his extravagant clothes, his dramatic entrances, and his peacock-like aura; always strutting about with his head held high and his metaphorical and oftentimes literal wings held out fluttering behind him.
So, it's easy to forget how much he loves simplicity. How he craves normalcy.
You'll fully admit you had misjudged him when his first birthday with you rolled around. Rumors forced visions of Diavolo putting a screeching halt over the whole kingdom, making everyone come out of their homes and business in droves just to celebrate. He'd have a limo or flying carriage take him to an exclusive five-star restaurant, drinking millennia old Demonus so expensive, one drop could have Mammon rolling in money for months. All the while decked up to the nines- the tens, even.
But, you quickly learned that those symbols of opulence were not what he wanted.
However, this year, you still found doubt clawing at your insides. Was this enough? His brothers assured you that what you all had planned was more than adequate, but it was still difficult to think so. You wanted to give him the world... Now you knew Diavolo's struggles firsthand when it came to the fallen angel.
After he had fallen asleep, you'd rolled over and disabled the timer on his phone. Mammon had already somehow snuck in and stolen Lucifer's alarm clock, eliminating his backup (which might already be sold at this point). He could sleep in now. Diavolo had already given Lucifer the day off, but old habits died hard, and everyone assumed he'd be up before he needed to.
The plan was set. He'd wake up to already-made coffee he could sip in bed before lumbering down to breakfast in his pajamas. There would be no arguing, the house would be clean, and everyone was ready to participate in a historical museum tour that was showcasing demon adaptations of human technologies. One of which was the first magical rendition of an assembly line.
Then you'd head out to have tea and snacks in the Royal Gardens. It would be just you, him, and Diavolo (with Barbatos serving of course) while the others set up a party at the House. The only ones attending would be family and close friends. It would be then that he opened presents, ate his favorite homemade dinner, and drank a little in the company of others while playing different games. Then while the night was fairly young, you'd offer to take him away.
As you rolled over in bed, listening to his light breathing as he slept soundly, you couldn't help but feel both nervous and excited for what you had planned for him. For months, you had tried scouting for the perfect gift. Was this...enough? It deviated from what you would normally plan to get him. It wasn't a cursed record or a set of cufflinks or a tie or anything like that. This year, you'd managed to find a music box. It played a lovely little tune that had the sort of melody that forced you to go quiet, chills running down your spine. But this wasn't just any music box. No. Under certain conditions, it would show the listener the memory that would make them the happiest in that moment. And the conditions were easy, one only needed to turn the winding key exactly six times.
Thinking about presenting it to him made you all giddy inside, knowing that he could use it whenever he felt particularly stressed...but also more anxiety allowed itself to flood your nerves. What if it had somehow broken in the spot you'd hidden the gift in?! Did you check it twice last night? Yes. But stranger things had happened in this house, broken things were actually quite common. So, you'd check on it again...just to be sure.
You eyed Lucifer as you slipped out of bed, keeping the mattress from bobbing too much as you tip-toed your way out of his room. Straight to the planetarium you went, assured by the youngest sibling that he'd keep it safe by shooing Lucifer out of the area if he got too close, which was so common already the eldest shouldn't get suspicious. Slipping your way into the room, you rushed over to the specific chair you had hid it behind. The ground was cold as you sat down on it, your legs crossed over each other as you sighed in relief as the intact music box was pulled into your lap.
"Might as well give it a test run," you muttered to no one but yourself as the key clicked six times. Music poured out into the room as you opened the lid. Mist seemed to shimmer a little in the air, a scene projected into the magic. Faint voices played into your mind, syllables almost twinkling in time with the notes.
"You worry too much." A familiar voice had you smile a bit sheepishly, an old memory of Lucifer shaking his head at you being the music box's memory of choice. "I've told you time and time again that you don't need to fret over impressing me, or whatever that silly word you said was." Ah, yes...you remembered this now...it was some time ago, worrying over some kind of RAD gala. Even now you weren't exactly sure what the specific thing you had panicked so grievously over was, but you had been so anxious over letting everyone down, especially the one who you held so close to your heart. In the image, Lucifer grabbed your face, looking so deeply into your eyes, it was as if he were reaching through the haze to assure you all over again. "And if I must, I will continue to tell you time and time and time again, even if my jaw must break from the strain. So take a breath, relax your shoulders, and remember that--"
"I love you," something echoed. You jumped, your arms pulling the music box close to your body instead of launching it in the air. You shut the lid as you glanced over your shoulder.
"L-Luci..."
The demon chuckled a bit as he tucked the fabric of his robe tighter against his body as he came up behind you, getting on his knees and resting his chin sleepily on your shoulder. "Should I be offended or pleased that you're sneaking off in the middle of the night to meet up with another me?"
You audibly sighed. So he saw... "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Answering a question with a question are we?" As he mused he wrapped his arms around your torso.
"Answering my question to your question with another question?" you quipped right back.
Even without fully seeing him you could feel his eyes roll. He gave you a squeeze and pressed his cheek right next to yours. "Am I to assume...perhaps rather selfishly...if all the secrecy is to imply that this interesting little thing is mine?"
A long pause settled between you. Was this...a bit of disappointment bubbling inside you? "It was supposed to be a surprise..."
If anyone knew the tragedy of derailed plans, it would be him. He hummed in apologetic understanding. "I can pretend like I didn't see it."
That actually had you chuckle a bit, shaking your head. You scooted on the floor to turn around to face him. Grabbing one of his hands, you placed the gift inside his palm. "Happy birthday, Lucifer. May this uplift you in those darker moments when I can't be there. May your birthday this year add to the pool of happy memories to choose from. May I be by your side for another birthday, and the birthday after that, and so many more to come." You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, chuckling at his slightly wild bed-hair that you were just now getting a good look at.
He went a bit silent, and you could've sworn as his eyes shut for a moment, a little bit of color came to his cheeks. He set your gift off to the side of himself as his arms wrapped around you once more, pulling you into a tight embrace. "And may I get to tell you time and time and time and time again...how much I love you."
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More Posts from Whimsywhisperz
Seems like you fell for me again — ft. Suna Rintarou.
cw: wc 3k, fem reader, time skip au kinda, exes to lovers, lovesick suna.

You lay on the couch letting out a sigh. You take a look at the furniture in your apartment. It’s placed randomly around the room, cardboard boxes are everywhere, the shelves and the walls are completely empty. The couch you’re on is so out of place, in the middle of the room, and you don’t even have curtains on your windows yet. It’s a big mess and it looks kinda sad. You can hear your phone ringing, it’s on the kitchen counter. It takes you a few seconds to get up and walk to it. It’s a call.
‘Sunarin <3’
You read it again, to be sure. But then again, as strange as it may be, you were kind of expecting it. You accept the phone call and bring your phone to your ear, swiftly moving your hair out of the way.
‘Hello?’ You say.
‘Hi,’ he replies and, as you hear his voice, you let out a deep breath. His voice is a bit deeper than the last time you heard it. You can hear him taking in some air, he’s going to say something, but you don’t hear anything. He doesn’t say anything. You can hear the sound of his steps as he nervously walks back and forth.
‘Suna...’ You say. You can’t hear his steps anymore, he stopped.
‘Yeah, I’m here,’ he says and swallows his saliva, ‘So, you are back.’
You assumed this was the reason behind the call.
You had gotten back in Japan just a few days earlier. You and Suna used to live in the same neighborhood when you were in high school so, when you got back in the country and went to see your parents, you also happened to meet Suna’s mom who was taking out the trash. She greeted you, she asked you how you’ve been. It made you feel nostalgic from when you were only sixteen, you would visit her house almost everyday because any excuse was good enough to see Suna. She asked you if you’d seen his son, you told her not yet. You hadn’t even told him you were back, but you figured now his mom was going to let him know.
‘Mhm.’ You mumble, nodding as if he could see you. You lean on the counter, waiting for him to say something but, again, you can only hear faint sounds of him moving around. It’s as if you had him right in front of you, you could vividly imagine him in his house, on the phone with you. He has a hand in the pocket of his sweats as the other holds the phone, he’s walking around the room with his head thrown back as he looks at the cieling.
He takes a deep breath, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Oh, Suna...’
You have thought of it, of telling him you were coming back. Doubts flooded your mind and you were still weighing the options today.
‘We haven’t talked in so long, I—’ Your voice dies in the back of your throat, ‘I didn’t know if you wanted to know.’
‘I did.’
You’re not sure what to say to that, so you say nothing. You can hear the sound of water being poured in a glass, then you hear him drink it down.
‘Can I see you?’ He asks in a whisper.
‘Yeah, of course.’ You say softly and you can feel a smile forming on your face.
When the phone call ends you stare outside the window lost in thoughts. The realization of how much you’ve missed him just now sinking in as you remember your break up years ago.
You had told Suna about going to college abroad months prior to your graduation. You were walking together after his volleyball practice. He was holding your hand and you were looking at your shoes as you told him.
He stopped walking, ‘You’re leaving?’
You looked at him with tears already forming in your eyes, ‘It’s a great opportunity Rin...’
‘Oh no yeah I know, sweet girl, and I want you to go, obviously,’ he got closer to you and wiped your tears, ‘I’m just going to miss you.’
‘I'll miss you too.’ You said and you couldn’t help the tears from falling down your cheeks.
‘What are you so sad about, I thought this was what you wanted... and besides, it’s just for a few years,’ he hugged you and ran his fingers through your hair, ‘Are you going to miss me that much?’
You stepped away from him, ‘I think it’s best if we break up.’
For a moment he doesn’t say anything. It’s just you two standing on the sidewalk as the cars pass by in the street. Then you could see his eyes getting glossy and you wanted to move, to get closer to him, to get back in his arms, to tell him you take it back. Your legs wouldn’t move and no sound was coming out of your mouth.
‘Why?’ He asked fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.
‘I—’ more tears fell from your eyes, ‘We won’t be able to see each other and,’ your heart was physically hurting, as if it was continiously being stabbed, ‘I’ll be busy with studying and you’ll be busy with volleyball...’
A car passes by outside your window, bringing you back to reality. Suna agreed to meet you at your apartment and help you moving in. You go to your room to get changed out of your sleepwear, anxiety starts growing inside you at the thought of seeing Suna again after so long. You start wondering what he’ll think of you now, of how he’s changed. What does he look like now? Is he taller? Did he change his haircut? You think that maybe you look a little lame, you’re still tired from the long flight and the dark circles under your eyes don’t help your case. It all feels like when you were just a teenager with a silly crush on your neighbor, when you’d spend hours deciding what to wear the next day to school just so his gaze would linger on you a little longer. You take one last look at yourself in the bathroom mirror before deciding that your hair looks fine enough and then, your doorbell rings.
You open the door and you’re met with his beautiful green eyes. You fight the urge to run in his arms and you try to hide the smile creeping up on your face.
‘Hi,’ you say letting him in, ‘Sorry for the mess.’
You take a better look at him, he is taller and his hair is shorter. It suits him, you think.
‘Hey,’ he greets you, he takes off his shoes, ‘You look good.’
You smile, ‘I think I’ve looked better, but thank you.’
He goes wandering around every room to check out your apartment. In your bathroom he notices the toothpaste you have sitting on your sink, it’s still the same brand you used to buy when you were younger. In your bedroom he takes a look at your bedsheets, they are the same you had on your old bed when he slept at your house for the first time.
‘Do you want something to drink?’ You ask from the kitchen. You open the fridge, ‘I don’t have much to offer though...’ you mutter under your breath.
‘Mh...’ he takes a peak inside your fridge sneaking behind you, he grabs the cranberry juice bottle and studies it, ‘This seems nice.’
You smile and move to get him a glass, ‘Here.’
‘This place is cool,’ he takes a sip of the red drink, ‘You just need to settle in, right now it looks a bit... anonymous.’
‘Yeah I’m just a little overwhelmed, still so many things to unpack and all that furniture to move...’
The awkwardness from your phone call is soon replaced by the familiarity of being together. You catch up on each other lives, he tells you about his volleyball team and his matches, you tell him about your studies and your exams. He’s happy, you notice. He has a genuine smile on his face as he tells you about his latest practice. You’re happy too, that he’s here. That he’s talking to you, you’re happy to listen to him. Happy to see him, to notice all the little habits he still has. The way he taps his fingers on the glass he’s holding as he talks, how he leans back in the chair he’s sitting on, the way he keeps intense eye contact with you for a few seconds, that feel like hours, just to move his gaze somewhere else and catch you staring when he looks back at you. You’re happy to see he’s, somehow, the same old Suna Rintarou you once knew.
‘Enough about volleyball,’ he gets up from the chair, ‘I’ve come here to help.’
So you get to work and after a couple of hours the room looks completely different to what it looked like that morning. Your sofa is still in the middle of the room, but now there’s a low table in front of it and the beautiful carpet your mom gifted you is beneath it. All the cardboard boxes are piled in a corner still waiting to be emptied, but at least it’s tidier. Suna helped you move every piece of forniture exactly where you wanted and now, your windows even have curtains.
‘Way better.’ You say with both your hands on your hips, looking satisfied.
Suna hums beside you, ‘So what do I get for helping you?’
‘Oh and here I thought you just wanted to spend time with me,’ you roll your eyes at him, ‘What would you like? And don’t joke about anything sexual, you idiot.’
‘Ah, too bad then...’ He smirks then his expression changes to something more sincere, ‘How about you stop calling me Suna, mh?’
You know exactly what he means and you can feel your cheeks getting warmer, you avoid his gaze as you say ‘Alright, Rin.’
You don’t miss the shit-eating grin that forms on his face, and you can’t help but smile yourself. Suna suppresses the temptation to pick you up and spin you around, to hold you, to get closer to you and to vomit a love confession right there in that instant. He prides himself in being good at hiding his true feelings, so he acts indifferent and tells you it’s time for him to go but, when you walk him to the door and say bye to him, the sun is hitting you just the right way. Your kind eyes look even prettier and you look drop-dead gorgeous, he feels like sixteen again wearing his heart on his sleeve for you.
He can’t help the words from escaping his lips as he leaves and says, ‘Bye, love you.’ And he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying because his mind feels like any teenage girl’s notebook: filled with heart doodles and your name on every page, written in pink glittery gel pen.
You on the other hand, you realize what he’s saying, your mind is muddled with thousands of different thoughts running wild and your heart is racing. You wonder why he said that and you find yourself overthinking once again.
You close the door and let out a loud groan.
—
It’s been almost a week since that ‘Bye, love you.’. Suna came to your house again, he helped you some more, there are only a couple of cardboard boxes left to unpack. Now when you look at your apartment, it feels like you. There are pictures on the wall, books on the shelves, colorful notes sticking to your fridge with magnets of every shape. Your bathroom cabinet filled with products and in your bedroom, you already formed a pile of clothes on a chair. Suna even helped you with your grocery for the week and yet, no one addressed those two words. Now it’s getting late but you’re not tired yet. You’re laying on your couch watching some show on netflix when your phone starts ringing and, as you read ‘Sunarin <3’ on the screen, it all feels like déjàvu.
‘Hello.’ You answer. You wait for a response on the other line but you can only hear the noise of cars passing by and people talking in the background.
‘Hi?’ You try again and this time you can hear Suna asking someone if it’s your voice he heard, then you hear someone else saying ‘Shut yer trap, Suna.’
Someone finally talks to you, ‘Hi, Y/n, it’s Samu.’
‘Oh, hey, is everything alright?’
‘Yeah look, we went out to drink and Suna here got a little too tipsy.’
You can hear Suna and Atsumu arguing but you can’t make out the exact words, still, the mental image makes you smile.
‘He wants to see ya.’ Osamu says.
You hear Suna in the background asking to talk to you, Osamu probably moves the phone away from him as you hear vague noises in the distance.
‘Should I take him home or can I bring him to ya?’
Your brain is slower than your mouth and the words just escape from your lips as you tell Osamu your new address.
When the doorbell rings you rush to the door and you’re met with Atsumu, in the back you see Suna with an arm around Osamu’s shoulders as they carefully make their way to your apartment.
As soon as Suna lays his eyes on you a grin shows up on his face and you can’t help but reciprocate it. The twins leave the boy in your care before saying their goodbyes. You close the door behind you and when you turn around you’re quick to be engulfed by Suna’s arms. He was always a clingy person, and even more so when drunk. You missed being embraced by him, his warmth, his touch, him.
‘I missed you while you were gone.’ He says as he thigthens his arms around your body.
It feels like he’s ripping your heart from your chest with his bare hands.
‘Did you miss me too?’ He asks with pleading eyes.
When you broke up with him, when you left, you also left a part of you behind. A part of you that, by then, was not yours anymore but Suna’s.
You avert your gaze from him, ‘Come on, let’s go, you need water,’ you try to push him towards your kitchen, ‘Please, Rin.’
You get him to sip some water then you walk him to the bathroom. You make him sit on the edge of the bathtub, in front of the sink, and you push his hair back with a headband.
‘I’m gonna wash your face, you’re sweaty and you stink.’
He nods to that, he let’s you do wathever you want, happy that you’re there with him, that you’re paying attention to him. You do your whole skincare routine on his face as it reminds you about the many times he did it for you. When you’re done, you place little dots of moisturizer on his skin then start massiging it to spread it out evenly. Suna is keeping his eyes closed, giving you the chance to admire his face and skin as much as you want. You trace the shape of his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his nose and you can’t stop your thumb from grazing his lips.
His eyes flutter open in an istant and you run from his gaze lowering your head. He slides his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. His hands creeps inside your tshirt to feel your bare skin. He caresses your waist and your lower back, you feel your skin tingling under his touch.
You grab one of his wrists to stop him, ‘Rin...’
He moves his hand from your wasit to your hand, he moves up and his long fingers trace meaningless shapes on your inner arm. The air around you seems getting hotter.
‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks.
Your eyes widen and you quickly put an hand over his chest to be sure he won’t move, your heart is racing so fast you swear it’s going to break your ribcage. You want to say yes, you want to feel his lips against yours again, you want his hands in your hair as he pulls you closer to deepen the kiss, you want him biting your bottom lip, you want him grinning against your face, you want to feel his hot breath on you as he tells you he loves you in the middle of the kiss, you want to tell him you love him too. You want to tell him you never stopped loving him.
‘You’re drunk.’ Is what you say.
‘I wanted to kiss you when I was sober too,’ he cups your face with one hand, ‘I always want to kiss you.’
‘You need to sleep.’ You say, but your gaze doesn’t move from his lips.
‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘Just a peck?’
You really want to say yes. He’s looking up at you with half lidded eyes, his lips almost pouting and he just looks too cute with your pink headband holding back his hair. Your thumb graze past his bottom lip again and, before you can stop yourself, you’re lowering your face on his. When your noses meet it’s too late to turn back, you feel his breath on you and your lips part on their own. Soon his lips are on yours. It really is just a peck and it lasts only a few seconds, yet it still makes you feel the butterflies in your stomach and crave for more. You give him another quick peck before caving in and kiss him. You put your arms around his neck and Suna’s hand on your face moves to your nape to keep your head still as he wastes no time slipping his tongue in. His grip on your waist thightens and he pulls your whole body closer. You’re so into the kiss you both forget Suna’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub so, when you lean on him as he pulls you closer, he falls back bringing you with him.
‘Rin oh my god!’ You check if he hit his head, ‘Are you okay?’
He laughs and reassures you everything is alright, he cups your face and gives you another peck, ‘Seems like you fell for me again,’ he says that with a sly mirk, ‘Quite literally.’
You push his hands away, ‘You fell too!’
‘So you’re not denying it?’ He promptly asks.
‘Let’s talk about tomorrow, alright?’ You say after taking a deep breath. You get out of the bathtub and you reach out to him with your hand, ‘Time for bed.’
He grabs your hand and leaves the bathtub, ‘Y/n?’
‘Mh?’ You murmur as you look for a tshirt for him to change into.
‘I lov—’
You throw the tshirt in his face, ‘Don’t say it. Tell me tomorrow.’
He smiles at you and pulls you in a hug, ‘Okay, don’t worry, I will remember.’
You smile hugging him back, ‘You better.’
𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝓕𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝓗𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!



oh future husband, better love me right!
premise. the nhk is hosting another special broadcast featuring the popular fiancées of the jnt’s lineup! and this time, it’s truth or drink! ❤︎
content. haikyu!! jnt / f!reader. (koutarou bokuto, morisuke yaku, kiyoomi sakusa & tobio kageyama). fluff. downbad fiancés. suggestive jokes & allusions to sex. petnames. alcohol. overseas!kageyama & yaku (LDR). reader lives in japan (does not equal being japanese). a little angst.
notes. this part is… a little long! sit down for it ❤︎
soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.
part one can be read here.
dear future husband m.list // hq. masterlist.

KOUTAROU BOKUTO.
“Been awhile since I last drank,” Bokuto cracks his knuckles upon seeing the many selections of beer he gets to choose, fingers twitching eagerly as they hover over the bottles. “Wonder what I should get…”
You sigh beside him jokingly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow, “We don’t have all day, Kou.”
“I’m just looking!” He chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
He randomly picks up a bottle of Sapporo, rotating it in his hands before nodding to himself, “This seems good!”
You place your hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the studio for a final run through before the broadcast, “Alright, Kou. Now let’s get this started!”
The NHK film crew do a final mic and sound check when you arrive as a staff member seats you both at the table in the centre of the studio, a pile of cards with questions written on them, two shot glasses and the Sapporo bottle your fiancé picked out lined on it’s top.
After fiddling with the microphones hidden inside your clothes, the crew give you two a thumbs up and rush back to their cameras to start the recording.
Bokuto’s entire body is turned towards the cameras, sitting on the edge of his seat as he eagerly greets the viewers, “Hey! I’m Koutarou Bokuto,” he catches your eyes with a bright smile, grabbing your hand from across the table, “And this is my fiancée!”
“And we’ve been together for three years now,” You finish for him, hands folded neatly on the table, the cameras pan to show off the engagment rings that sits prettily on both you and Bokuto’s fingers.
“Four months engaged.”
“And we’re playing truth or drink!” You and Bokuto announce happily together, smiling at each other before turning your bodies back to face the cameras. The film crew adjust their angles, moving their cameras off their stands to get better opening shots of you and your fiancé.
“You guys ready to play?” The head camera crew member asks, giving you the okay to start the game.
The studio lights illuminate the white backdropped room, enveloping your eyes in waves whenever you stare at the camera lenses for a little too long.
You and Bokuto nod as he shifts his gaze towards you, “Want me to go first, Baby?” He asks, already grabbing his shot glass and the bottle of Sapporo. You giggle, “So eager to get drunk, Kou?”
“I told you, it’s been awhile!” He beams, pouring out the alcohol carefully into his shot and grabbing the top card from the pile on the table.
“What do you like most about me?” he reads aloud, looking up at you curiously, “I’m pretty sure you’ve told me this exact answer before.”
“Have I?” you tilt your head in thought, thinking the question over, “I mean, probably. It has been three years, after all.”
Bokuto places the card face down on his side of the table, combing through his hair, “I think when we first started dating, you told me it was my hair.”
“It is nice,” you agree, causing Bokuto to start laughing and in turn making you giggle as well. The two of you are already giddy and snickering despite no alcohol being present in your systems yet, “But I think now that we’re engaged, I can give a more detailed answer.”
“Oh?”
He leans over the table excitedly, a wide grin plastered across his face, “Tell me, Baby! What do you like most about me?” His hand is still placed atop of yours, the perfectly cut gems in both of your rings twinkling in sync underneath the studio lights, perfectly complimenting you fiancé’s eyes.
You hum in faux thought for a moment before smirking, “Hmm, your muscles.”
Bokuto’s smile drops slightly to a pout, still keeping his bright composure while masking his lowered grin, “Awe, Baby I thought you were going to say something like, real deep and emotional!” He jests, “Like how you love that I make you smile, y’know?”
You throw your head back in laughter, nudging his shoulder with your free hand, “I’m kidding, Kou!” Your smile is genuine when you see how disappointed he was at first at your reply, looking straight into his eyes as a way reassure him.
“Yes, Kou. What I like most is that you make me the happiest every day I’m with you.”
His smile brightens significantly, a chuckle of his own escaping his lips as he leans back into his chair, “Damn, played by my own girl.”
He slides the pile of cards over to you with a mischievous smirk, “Not that I’m complaining.”
You take the top card off the pile and read it over, fingers twirling the empty shot glass in your hands. Your lips purse as you try to contain the giggles making their way up your throat while reading the question on the card, hands quivering in silent laughter.
“Have you ever wanted to fuck one of our friends while with me?” Bokuto’s eyes seem to pop out of his head at the vast difference and shift in questions, turning to the NHK staff while laughing, “Are you sure this is okay to broadcast?”
The film crew nod, to which Bokuto shrugs, “Alright, then,” before turning back to you. “Uhh, can I just like- take a shot right now?”
“You’d rather drink than not tell me?” You joke, pouring out the Sapporo for your fiancé, “Damn, Kou. Do I not satisfy you enough?”
“Of course you do!” He corrects himself hastily, “It’s just, uh..” he leans in closer to you whisper in your ear quietly, “I don’t want to say Atsumu on national T.V...”
Your hand flies to your mouth in shock, shoulders shaking as you try to contain your cackles, “Atsumu?” you repeat in a hushed tone, making sure you heard him correctly. “Him?”
“He’s got nice hair!”
You both start to laugh at how hair seems to be a common appealing trait you notice in people. Shaking your head in mock disappointment, you shove the stack of questions back over to your fiancé’s side for his turn.
“What is the most embarrassing thing you caught me doing when I thought I was alone?” Bokuto asks, reading from the card he picked off the top of the pile and glancing back up at you.
You hum in thought for a moment, pondering the question.
“Uhm, I think that time you were rehearsing your Valentines day speech to me before we went out to eat at that restaurant a few years ago,” you reveal cautiously, “but you were using a pillow with a photo of my face taped on it as a stand-in.”
Bokuto’s jaw drops at the revelation, nearly falling out of his chair from the shock of what you just divulged to him, “You were there? Watching me do that?”
You have to practically fight the cackle bubbling it’s way up your throat, a smile creeping onto your face when you answer, “Yes, Kou. But it was sweet, so I didn’t mention it to you.”
“You kept that a secret for two years?” He asks again, and you nod.
Your fiancé’s face remains stunned for a few more moments before breaking out into a smile of his own, hand running down his face while laughing to himself. “Damn, I must’ve looked so dumb.”
“I thought it was cute!” You attempt to salvage things, giggling as you pick up the next question card, this time it’s for Bokuto.
“What part of wedding planning is the most challenging part for you?”
“The money…” He pouts, taking the card from you to read it over again before turning to the cameras.
“Weddings are so damn expensive— Did you know wedding flowers can cost up to two million yen?” He exclaims in shock, “For flowers!”
You sigh, plucking the question card from his hand and setting aside on his pile with a smile, “This is why you should leave the financial decisions to me, Kou. Our floral arrangements will not be that expensive, I can assure you.”
“Of course, Baby,” he grins, “I trust you completely on that,” his hands move to pick up the next card, lifting the corner and taking a peek at the question before flipping it over and reading it.
“What is something you’ve wanted to try in the bedroom but haven’t told me about?”
“Impact play,” comes your answer a bit too hastily to be considered normal.
Bokuto has a silent stare off with you for a few seconds after before you both break out in hysterical laughter, your fiancé cackling at how fast and prepared you were when you answered while you exclaim that’s why you could never tell him.
“Baby, that was so fast!” Bokuto reels over the table, pounding his fist into the wood while howling with laughter, gripping his empty shot glass in hand.
“Were you— were you that prepared to answer?”
Wiping the tears from your eyes, you make an attempt to defend your response, “I know you’d absolutely wreck me if we tried, that’s why I never asked!”
“I mean…” He trails off, glancing at you and letting his eyes roam your ring finger as a smirk makes it’s way onto his face, leaning closer to you over the table. “We could always try it at home later—”
“Last question!” You interrupt him, pulling the cards over to your side and grabbing the last question from the stack, you see Bokuto’s smile drop when he sits back in his seat from how you changed topics until he sees you wink at him from the corner of his eye.
“What is something you wish to tell me before we get married?”
Bokuto’s eyes light up at his question, holding up his shot of Sapporo and beaming brightly. Despite not drinking much during your game, his cheeks are flushed like he’s been drunk on your love this entire time, eyes crinkling with glee when he smiles.
“I hope I can keep being this happy when i’m with you after marriage,” He declares, “I love you, Baby.”
“I love you too, Kou,” you smile with him, raising your own shot to clink your two glasses together and down them simultaneously, the cool smoothness of the beer running down your throats.
You can feel the mild bitterness on your tongue afterwards, it leaves it’s taste behind even several hours after your drinking game when you two return to your shared home.
But the sincerity in Bokuto’s eyes when they fell on you back in the studio, and the way he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in his world even with the several NHK staff and film members recording your every move washes that all away instantaneously, overpowering it with sheer sweetness.
It’s just not one you can taste as easily as the flavour of Sapporo.
You might not have gotten drunk that night, but Bokuto’s certain he’s been drunk on your love for the entirety of all three years you’ve been together and wouldn’t mind if things stayed like this forever.

MORISUKE YAKU.
“You’re going down, sweetheart,” Yaku warns you with a teasing wink, lifting the bottle of Vodka in his hands to inspect the label, “Playing in the Russian League gives me an alcohol tolerance advantage that you don’t have.”
“I didn’t know just playing in Russia meant you were an experienced drinker,” you hum, playing along with his jokes for the fun of it. “I don’t think athletes are supposed to consume a lot of vodka anyways.”
“Well, you might as well back out now,” Yaku advises, shrugging with a sly grin, one of the camera crew’s members rushes up to fix the loose microphone on his suit before scurrying back to their position.
“Don’t wanna get beaten by your own fiancé now, do you?”
You merely roll your eyes at his antics, a reluctant smile making it’s way onto your face as you realign the messy stack of cards on your table, sounds of the director doing a final run through of lights and cameras are heard around you.
“Yeah yeah, save it for after you get wasted, Mori.”
The cameras start up as the director nods in your direction, indicating for you two to introduce yourselves to the viewers tuning in, Yaku holds your hand as he recites his lines.
“Hi, I’m Morisuke Yaku,” your fiancé beams, giving your hand a comforting squeeze, “And this right here, is my wonderful fiancée, whom I adore very much.”
Even several years later, Yaku’s swoon worthy words have an effect on you after all this time, making you feel like you’re still in that young and eager love stage. Attempting to hide your giddy face from him, you turn to face the camera as well with a wide grin.
“We’ve been together for four and a half years,” You gush, the sparkling engagement band on your finger being shown outwardly when the cameras zoom in for a closer look. “Engaged for eight months, now.”
“And today, we’ll be playing truth or drink,” Yaku reveals to the excited viewers, the cameras change positions to new angles while the sound crew makes sure your microphones are picking up your words.
After signaling to the director that they are indeed working, he asks you two, “Are you ready to play?”
You and Yaku both agree as he opens the bottle of Vodka, pouring it into your shot glass first before he pours out his own, “Hm, what a gentleman you are, Mori.” You joke, noticing he gave you your alcohol first before serving himself any.
“Always, for you.” He sighs dreamily, setting the bottle down beside him and pushing the cards over to you with his familiar cheshire grin. “And because I’m such a gentleman, you should go first, love.”
You stifle a laugh into the palm of your hand at the sudden switch in personality but take the top card off anyway, flipping it over and reading the question for Yaku written on it, “What is one thing you wish I did more of in our relationship?”
He groans, slumping down in his seat with his Vodka in hand, “Fly over to come visit me overseas,” he jokingly groans, faux-booing you with a thumbs down and all as he turns to the film crew.
“Did you know she doesn’t get on the first plane to Russia whenever I ask, can you believe her?”
You merely snicker at his jeers and turn your card over, placing it down on the table beside your shot. “Well I’m sorry, but I’m unable to predict whenever you’ll miss me spontaneously.”
“It’s not spontaneous,” Yaku argues, “I tell you like, two minutes in advance.”
You raise an eyebrow at his claims, “Wanna bet, Mori? I have screenshots.”
“Maybe I’ll just drink to this instead.”
You both giggle as he shakes his head in defeat, taking the next card off the pile and reading out loud the first question for you.
“Have you ever—” Yaku begins to lose his composure as he reads, holding back his giggles before sputtering out, “faked an orgasm with me?”
You burst out into laughter as Yaku discards the card to his side, head thrown back in hysterics while using the table to stabilize himself.
“Well?” He asks, wiping the tears that have begun to form around his eyes, “Have you?”
You begin to reach for your Vodka shot, causing your fiancé to break out into another, more excessive fit of cackles, “Are you serious, honey?”
“Okay well, maybe!” You confess wholeheartedly, raising the Vodka to your lips, “Back when we were first dating!”
Yaku scoffs disapprovingly, but you can tell he’s not seriously mad when you down the vodka and he’s looking at you worriedly, asking if it was too strong for you afterwards.
You dismiss his concerns, saying it’s fine and that you can handle it before he relaxes and pushes the cards back over to you.
“Have you ever had a dream about me cheating on you?” You ask him, Yaku’s face immediately sours at his question, you look to him expectantly and wait for his reply.
“… Ugh, yes,” he begrudgingly admits after a few moments of silence, eyebrows furrowing as he recalls it unpleasantly, “I had a dream once where you cheated on me with Lev.”
“Lev?” You cackle, “The— the 6’5 russian guy from your highschool volleyball team??”
Yaku’s hand moves to his vodka-filled shot glass, “Yes,” he moans, “It was awful. Hope I never see Lev butt-naked in my dreams ever again.”
“You don’t have to drink to this one, Mori,” you giggle as Yaku downs his vodka quickly, not even flinching at the burn, maybe he was right about the tolerance advantage. “Since you answered it.”
“Ah, don’t care,” he groans, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his suit, “After having to reimagine that scene, I needed the alcohol.”
Yaku takes the next card off the pile of questions skeptically, flipping it over and reading it out loud.
“Do you have any insecurities when it comes to me playing overseas in Russia?”
The question causes you to stop and think as Yaku places the card face down next to him, pouring another shot and sliding it over to you. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”
His gentle tone reassures you but you shake your head, pushing the vodka away, “No it’s okay, I don’t mind saying it.” Yaku looks surprised but nods understandingly, taking the glass back and giving you the room to process your next words while he remains quiet.
“I think my only insecurity is not knowing if you’re safe while overseas,” you admit to your fiancé. Yaku doesn’t say anything in response, knowing you have more to say as he lets you say what you need while silently encouraging you to elaborate.
“I hate not having you beside me because I don’t know where you are, and I just miss you a lot you know?”
Yaku’s cheek rests against the palm of his hand, concern washing over his face again as he looks across the table to you, “Awe, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way,” he coos, “do you hate whenever I leave for volleyball season?”
You shrug dismissively, the weight of your words beginning to catch up to you as your voice becomes quieter, trailing off at the end. “I mean, I don’t hate it, but like- I wanna know you’re alright while in Russia…”
Yaku’s about to speak when you shake your head dismissively, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” before you’re reaching for the deck of cards, already pulling the top question up and flipping it over to read.
Your eyes drag over the words as a pit begins to form inside your stomach. The next question for Yaku causes you to cringe, still reeling from the uneasiness of the last one as you awkwardly ask him, “Have you… ever regretted or had doubts about our engagement?”
Yaku’s face of concern turns into one of astonishment, he looks almost appalled at how unsure you look and sound while asking him.
“Absolutely not,” he states firmly, holding your hand that holds engagement band on it, you can feel the distress radiating off him as he reassures you in a hushed tone.
“I’ve never once regretted proposing to you, and I fully intend on marrying you.”
Yaku’s words dislodge the lump in your throat as you begin to chuckle to yourself, eyes looking down at his hand where the engagement ring he wears that matched your own. “I’m sorry if you thought I was doubting you, Mori. It’s just—”
“You don’t need to justify your feelings,” Yaku reiterates sternly, “I know, okay? You don’t need to explain this on live T.V.”
Knowing he’s only trying to make sure nothing of what you say can be interpreted wrongly later by media, you nod as he sighs in relief with an uneasy smile.
“I think this next question is our last one,” he announces, his smile morphing back into that familiar cheshire grin, the one that always brightens your day. You think he’s doing it in an attempt to lighten the mood, or maybe he just naturally makes you happy.
Yaku picks up the final question card and flips it over, reading it over with a calm smile, “What have you enjoyed most about being engaged to me?” His voice is gentle as he looks up to you, placing the card down on his pile.
“Well, love?” He encourages you, knowing he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable he gives you the choice, “Do you want to answer, or take a drink?”
You’d be a fool to drink at this question, there isn’t anything to drink for here but there’s just so much about being engaged to Yaku that you love that you can’t quite find the words for it. And while the majority of your engagement has been spent with Yaku being away in Russia, it doesn’t mean you enjoy it any less than if he were with you in Japan.
“… I enjoy knowing you will always be with me,” you begin to speak slowly, making sure your words are clear and concise while twirling your empty shot glass in hand absentmindedly.
Trying to fit all you want to say to your fiancé in a few words is tough, but you manage to shorten it enouhh to say all you want to tell him. “Because even while you’re playing overseas, I know you will always come back home to me.”
Yaku’s face unexpectedly heats up at your words, the apples of his cheeks turning bright red as his lips form into a shy and nervous grin, one isn’t anything like the mischievous and playful personality you’re accustomed to seeing while with him.
“I… I love you, sweetheart.” He manages to speak after some time, loosening the collar of his dress shirt nervously, but the smile on his face never falters. “I always have and always will.”
He extends his hand out to you, motioning for you to give him your shot glass. You hand it to him and he pours out some Vodka, sliding it back over to you once full before filling his own.
“Yes, honey,” he whispers unconsciously while pouring his alcohol, and it’s the happiest you’ve seen him all day. From his flushed complexion, dopey smile and euphoric demeanour, he appears to be glowing. Or maybe it’s the blaring lights behind him that are playing tricks on you.
Your fiancé has never looked so sure of himself until this moment, Yaku’s eyes never straying from yours as he raises his shot glass, breaking into his biggest smile yet.
“I will always come back home to you. No matter how long we are apart for,” and to that, you both cheer, clinking your glasses as you toast to your engagement.
Downing the alcohol in unison, the bitter sting of the Vodka attacks your throats relentlessly, but neither you or Yaku care about that in this moment or the next.
The world’s most intense Vodka brewed directly in the heart of Moscow, Russia could never be so strong as to have an effect on either of you when you’re in the presence of each other. You’re certain that Yaku would drown himself in the harshest of Vodka’s if it meant it was all for you.
A little Vodka is nothing compared to what he’d go through for you.
The way Yaku’s entire demeanour changes when with you, the largest of smiles etched onto his face for a side he only shows while you’re with him here, in Japan.
Remaining wholely committed to you even while seperated by land and sea is all a true testament to your relationship, and it puts your heart at ease.
Yaku may not always be at home; but Yaku knows that home is with you, and he knows he’ll always be with you in due time.

KIYOOMI SAKUSA.
“Oh, he’s a lightweight,” you tell the film crew who are adjusting their camera stands nearby as Kiyoomi pulls out the chair at the table for you to sit at, giggling when you hear the faintest muffled groan come from underneath his face mask.
Sitting atop the table is a bottle of Scotch, the deck of question cards and two shot glasses on it’s sanitized surface as per request by your fiancé.
“This’ll be so easy for me.”
“As if,” Kiyoomi scoffs, taking his own seat across from you and scooching his chair forward, “I’ll beat you and then have to hear you drunkenly cry about it back home later for the next several hours.”
“Nope,” you declare mischievously, folding your arms over the table and laying your head in them while looking up at your fiancé, “Hey, did you know Atsumu told me you’re an emotional drunk?”
You can see Kiyoomi’s eyes twitch underneath his thick black locs, hand reaching to grip his hair in annoyance. “That fucking—”
The director interrupts him unexpectedly when he calls to the rest of the crew in the studio for everyone to take their places behind the cameras, Kiyoomi sighs deeply as his shoulders relax and he leans back in his chair waiting for the broadcast to begin.
“I’m Kiyoomi Sakusa,” he states to the viewers plainly, barely acknowledging the cameras pointed straight at his face when he motions to you, “And this is my fiancée of almost a year.”
You can hear the way his voice softens lightly when referring to you as his fiancée.
“We’ve been together for four years now,” You welcome the viewers much more warmly than your fiancé does, announcing eagerly, “Engaged for eleven months, and we’re playing truth or drink!”
Again, you’re a lot more excited than Kiyoomi is when the director asks, “You guys okay to start playing?” but he agrees to it nonetheless, the subtle nod of his head doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
Kiyoomi grabs the stack of cards full of questions and shuffles the deck around a bit, when asked by the director why he did so he answers, “So if anyone planted any weird questions at the top of the pile for her they’re pushed to the bottom.”
After reorganizing the cards, Kiyoomi hands the stack to you, letting you have first pick of the game. You try to argue, but he doesn’t listen.
“Ladies go first,” he says, expectantly waiting for you to start.
You take the first card of the newly shuffled deck and begin to read it for your fiancé, “Favourite memory of us, pre-engagement or post-engagement?”
Kiyoomi taps his empty glass against the mahogany of the table repeatedly for a brief moment, thinking it over before letting out a deep sigh-turned groan, reaching over and pouring out some Scotch for himself as you sit back in stunned shock at his actions.
“Wait, what—”
“Don’t question me,” he rasps, lowering his face mask and downing his shot with ease, there’s hints of floral notes in the Scotch he can taste.
He pulls his mask back up seconds later and looks up at you, you swear you can see a smirk forming under his mask from the way his eyes lift in amusement afterwards, causing your cheeks to heat up at what he could’ve been thinking about that he had to take a shot to get out of saying it.
Finishing off his Scotch, your fiancé takes both the top card off the deck and his empty shot glass before reading aloud his first question for you.
“What was your first impression of me when we met?” Kiyoomi reads monotonously, his stare hardens when he notices you jokingly reaching for your shot glass, tossing the card over to your side with a groan.
“Really?” He huffs, arms crossed over his chest and glaring halfheartedly at your tease. “Didn’t Motoya say you like… hated me at first or something?”
“I didn’t hate you,” you giggle, pouring the Scotch into your glass while avoiding your fiancé’s gaze, “I just.. am a little thirsty right now.”
“Haha,” Kiyoomi laughs dryly, watching as you down your shot quickly, the citrusy notes in the Scotch make it pleasant to drink. “You’re soo funny, dear. Must be really thirsty today.”
“I am,” you wink, placing your glass back down on the table before taking the next card off the pile.
“What is the most embarrassing nickname for me you have in mind?” Kiyoomi asks, and you snort.
“It’s only embarrassing because Atsumu came up with it…” you turn to the cameras to whisper to the viewers, facing your fiancé who’s giving you a skeptic look that soon turns into existential dread when you begin to snicker.
He groans, “I swear to god if it’s Omi-Omi—”
“It’s Omi-Omi.”
You can practically feel the annoyance radiating off of Kiyoomi while you bat your eyelashes innocently at him, playful shrug of your shoulders as you pull the cards back over to your side, taking the next card off the deck while your fiancé whispers something about killing Atsumu at the next practice from across the table.
“What colour or colours are your favorite on me?” You look up at the director almost immediately before Kiyoomi can even open his mouth, “Can I just say it— Because I know.”
The director nods, “He told me once it was black and gold,” Kiyoomi mumbles something incoherent under his breath, whatever he’s saying being muffled by his nask as he hides his face away from the cameras, the camera crew exchange a look amongst themselves.
“Aren’t those the colours of the MSBY Black Jackals?” One of the crew members mentions offhandedly and you smirk, looking over to your flustered fiancé with the most shit-eating grin you can muster, “Yes, yes they are.”
“Should’ve just let me answer instead,” he mutters while pulling out the next card from the deck to move the game along, coughing as his face slowly returns to it’s natural colour.
He chuckles when he reads it over, “How would you spend an entire week without me?” he turns to the cameras with his own smug face, placing the card down on the table. “She doesn’t.”
“I can,” you interject and he gives you a deadpan stare, “Yeah, can. Doesn’t mean you do, though.”
“Anyways,” you swerve back to your answer, taking the card from his side and reading it over yourself.
“I would have a very relaxing week without you, consisting mostly of singing and dancing in our empty kitchen without you to judge me.”
“I don’t judge you.”
“Yes you do.”
“Nope.”
You two could probably have this back and fourth for hours on end but you stop when you catch the director’s eye, one of his assistants motions to you hurriedly that it’s nearly time to end the broadcast.
With that in mind, you pick up the last question card, flipping it over and reading it for Kiyoomi.
“What’s one thing you’d like to tell me at the alter if you couldn’t say anything else.”
“That I love you,” Kiyoomi says almost immediately, tracing the rim of his shot glass with his ring finger delicately, you can hear the gentleness in his voice when he speaks. “And that I hope you’ll always be my lover, whatever that means for us in the future.”
“That’s more than one thing, Kiyo.”
“I don’t care.”
You scoff playfully, tossing the card aside and pouring out two shots of Scotch for you and your fiancé. Whilst handing him his glass your rings bump together momentarily, the clinking of the diamonds makes the two of you smile, though Kiyoomi’s is hidden underneath his mask.
“Cheers, my dear,” he mutters softly, lowering his mask again to drink and allowing you to finally see the beautiful smile he hides underneath, usually reserved only for you.
“Cheers, Kiyo,” and you two drink, the Scotch tastes lovely and refined on both of your tongues when it runs down your throats with ease.
It’s light and sophisticated, and the flavour profile fits Kiyoomi so well. You consider telling him that, but refrain because you think he won’t understand what you mean; not knowing he’s thinking the exact same about you.
Kiyoomi thinks you two may be a match made in heaven, if such a thing exists then it perfectly encapsulates the two of you.
As the cameras cut and several crew members rush around the studio, Kiyoomi doesn’t notice any of that in this moment— his gaze continues to be locked onto you wholly; lovingly enraptured by the beautiful image of you across from him that he hopes will be burned into the back of his head like the taste of this Scotch, but for many years to come and not just a mere few hours.
Kiyoomi can drink Scotch at any time he pleases, but being married to you is something he is excited for and craves everyday of his life as the days on the calender tick down to your wedding, it keeps him motivated to continue each day if he knows it’s just one day closer to a life with you, one where he knows you will be with him every day going forward.
The day you two will finally be united as one. Kiyoomi can’t wait for that morning to come, when night falls and after the ceremony is done he can finally refer to you as his wife and not just his fiancée.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA.
Tobio gulps upon seeing the Sake being poured into his shot glass by the NHK staff member, being handed the alcohol before they pour out another shot for you, to which you graciously accept with a smile and nod of your head.
“Uhh…” His piercing gaze reaches across to you across the table, nervously fiddling with the glass in hand as he twirls it inbetween his fingers, “I don’t, really hold alcohol well, love..”
“Really?” You stare at him blankly, squinting down at the alcohol in your own shot, “what do you drink in Italy then, Tobio?”
“Limoncello,” he sighs, “but it’s supposed to be sipped slowly, not downed like shots usually are.” He makes a face as the thought of attempting to drink Limoncello like shots ripples through his mind, it would most definitely not end well for him.
You chuckle and give him a reassuring smile, placing your hand over his gently. The diamond on his ring is cool to the touch when you run your thumb over it, with sharp and well defined cut corners. “You’ll be fine, Tobio.”
He nods unsurely but allows the NHK camera crew to do their final run through, making sure everything is in order before the cameras begin to roll and the director is motioning for you both to recite your lines.
Your fiancé’s voice is a little strained, a faint stutter can be heard as he speaks slowly, “I’m… Tobio Kageyama,” he manages to say before craning his head to his left, across the table.
“And I’m her fiancé,” his eyes shift towards you as you give the cameras a polite wave, “We’re playing… truth or drink.”
“We’ve been together for five years,” You excitedly tell the viewers, holding up your ring finger to show off the dazzling diamond atop it, “And engaged for two.”
The director asks from out of frame, “Why have you two been engaged for so long?” A question that most viewers are probably wanting to know, Tobio answers it for you.
“I wanted to marry her sooner,” he timidly admits, looking down at his lap to avoid the harsh glares of the camera lenses, “But with me playing in Ali Roma, it’s hard to plan things out, I guess.”
You nod, “Besides,” you chime in giddily, taking over for him, “It’s fun to be in this little engaged stage for a long time, makes everyday that bit more exciting.”
You ramble on about how fun it is to call Tobio during his off days; calling him at three in the morning in Japan while in Italy it’s 7PM to tell him about a cute floral arrangement you saw earlier that day while shopping that you’d love to have at your wedding.
Facetiming him in the dark of the night, wrapped in blankets and wearing his highschool volleyball jersey to ask him what kind of food from Italy he wants to incorporate into the wedding menu, and texting him photos of different style of wedding dresses you’re considering wearing on your big day while getting out of the shower.
You unintentionally forget about your jittery mess of a fiancé while you speak, beaming as bright as the glowering studio lights as Tobio looks at you amazed.
Tobio’s nervousness slowly fades when he sees the ring on your finger and just how happy you are to be engaged to him. It’s always been a worry of his that you hate the long wait to get married to him, that playing overseas would hurt your relationship because of long he is away from home at times.
But your gleeful joy in telling thousands of viewers in real time that you love just being engaged to him for two years; that you don’t mind it at all, brings some peace of mind to his fragile heart.
“Are you two ready to play?”
Knuckles slowly unclenching as he takes a deep breath, he nods his head to the director, indicating the start of the game. He starts first, picking up the first card from the pile.
“What is the most awkward date we’ve ever been on?” Tobio’s face drops immediately upon reading, turning the card face down on the table and turning to the director, “Can I start over? Or make her drink?”
“It’s her choice if she wants to answer or drink.” The director answers.
Tobio turns to you hastily, eyes practically pleading with you not to say what you have on your mind, he’s already inside your mind and fears for what you could potentially reveal on national television, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles as you reach for the Sake.
“Fine, fine. I won’t say, Tobio.” You’ve never seen your fiancé so relieved, almost seeing the metaphorical weight lifting off his shoulders with your own eyes when you take the shot.
The Sake is sweet, like sticky rice. It’s feels cool when it hits the back of your tongue and nice to drink, reminding you of the Italian sweets Tobio would send you from Italy. Noting that they’d pair nicely with Sake, you consider getting Tobio to send you more of them in the mail soon.
“You owe me for that one, Tobio,” you chuckle after finishing your shot, “Whatever the next question is you have to answer it.” He groans in protest but agrees after some convincing as you reach for the question pile and grab your first question for him.
“Have you kept a secret hobby or interest hidden from me?”
Shockingly, Tobio nods his head and unexpectedly calm about the question he was supposedly ‘forced’ to answer, “I got into gardening when I first came to Italy.”
“You what?” You utter, delightfully surprised at this revelation, “What plants do you take care of in Italy?”
“I have a few hanging Boston Fern and Ivy in some pots around my apartment…” Tobio tells you, adverting his gaze from your eyes the more your smile grows towards him. “I didn’t mean to keep them from you, I just… forgot to mention it everytime we call.”
“Tobio…” You laugh at how empty headed your fiancé can be at times, sometimes you think he’d forget his head if it weren’t secured to his body. “We call almost every day!”
“Yeah, but you usually call me late at night!” He defends himself, “I don’t normally leave my room that late at night, so you never see them!”
You shake your head in disbelief at this, faux disappointment at your fiancé for keeping this interest of his hidden for so long, “When I visit you in Rome, you have to show me these plants, deal?”
He nods in approval at that arrangement, a small smile creeping onto his face as he takes the next card off the deck, “Have you pretended to like a gift I gave you when you actually didn’t?”
You consider reaching for the Sake but reel your hand back at the last second, deciding to tell him straight up.
“Yeah, the lingerie you sent me a few months ago.”
“You didn’t like it?”
Tobio’s mouth hangs open, visibly swallowing his shame away as he sets the question card down on the table, a hand running through his hair in deep thought.
“Okay well, didn’t like isn’t the right word per se—”
“Was it the style?” Tobio begins interrogating you sternly, brows furrowed and that determined look in his eyes you’re so familiar with while watching his volleyball matches.
“Was it the colour, or was it too flimsy? I tried going to a new store that time, I knew I should’ve just stuck to the other one—”
“Tobio!”
He’s immediately brought out of his thoughts by your cackles, blinking as he’s focused on your laughing figure in front of him. His cheeks are tinted a dark shade of red, thinking he’s said something embarrassing when he whispers a low, “Yes, love?”
Through fits of giggles and laughter, you barely manage to sputter out, “It was just the wrong size, babe!”
Tobio’s eyes widen significantly at the reveal, looking down at his hands where his engagement ring sits comfortably in his ring finger, feeling his body shrink in on itself further into his seat while you’re howling across from him.
If you were seated beside each other he’s sure you’d be slapping his arm too for good measure.
“C-can we move onto the next question…” He mumbles just above the microphone strapped to his dress shirt’s minimum level to pick up sounds. If his old highschool teammates were here— if Hinata were here, god, he’d never hear the end of it. “Please?”
Finally settling down from your giggly high, you vaguely nod, still catching your breath when you reach for the next question card on the pile and flip it over as Tobio tries his best to calm down his reddened face.
“What is the most romantic thing your partner has ever done for you?”
After Tobio’s managed to relax himself, he thinks the question over, chin in hand as his gaze lands directly on the Sake bottle on the table beside him where he gets lost in thought while mulling over the question.
“I think…” he mutters to himself, “When you told me it was okay to go play in Ali Roma, instead of discouraging me to stay in Japan.”
His answer legitimately surprises you, “Is that, really your response, Tobio?”
He nods, hands reaching up to the nape of his neck. “Yeah… I don’t know if romantic is the right word, I guess.“
“But knowing you were there to support me; even if I could tell you were scared for me going overseas, it felt like the most romantic gesture someone could ever do to me.”
Tobio blinks, suddenly remembering his words are being broadcasted on national T.V and coughing awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, that’s my answer.”
He begins to notice the gazes of the rest of the film crew and director that are burning right through him, feeling the colour returning to his cheeks.
Tobio looks over to you anxiously, finding you with the brighest eyes he’s ever seen, he could get lost in them if he stared into them long enough. You purse your lips for a moment, before a smile blossoms across your face.
“Wow, Tobio,” you breathe out dreamily, “That was… so sweet of you to say,” Tobio has a hard time meeting your gaze, you can tell he’s still feeling anxious so you grab his hand and force him to look you in the eye.
“I will always support you, okay?” You tell him firmly, he’s a bit startled at how forward you’re being but nods before you quickly add, “Even if I don’t like being so far away from you, you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t be so nervous about this, alright?”
Tobio’s lips quiver into a strained frown before he sighs, “It’s not that simple,” you feel his hand give yours a light squeeze for comfort, interlocking his fingers with your own. “I wish I could just… not be so worried for you. But I love you too much for that.”
“Loving me means you understand that no matter what, I am right behind you,” you voice to him directly. “Maybe not physically, but no matter where you go, I will follow eventually.”
Tobio goes silent for a few seconds, even when he knows dozens of people in this studio— hundreds of thousands are watching him live, he’s only looking at you; having eyes only for you. With a shaky nod of his head, he finally manages to crack a smile.
“I understand.”
Releasing your hand from his grip, he pulls his next question for you from the pile, looking far more relaxed than he did at the beginning of your game. He’s comfortable in this stage of your relationship, even if he knows that others think it’s strange— the distance between you two, the long engagement period.
He knows the only opinion that should matter to him—that does matter to him is yours alone.
“When you hear my name in public, what comes to your mind?”
“That you have done another amazing set,” You answer with ease, allowing yourself to feed his ego for once. “Or won another game, who knows at this point? You can do it all.”
Tobio seems satisfied with that answer, even uncharacteristically relishing in your praise. “Ah, I am pretty good at volleyball, aren’t I?”
You lean over the table to punch his shoulder lightly, a teasing grin dances on your lips which matches his own, “Yeah yeah, you’re welcome for being so supportive of my fiancé.”
“Well thank you then, love.”
One of the camera crew’s members motions to the director, indicating it’s almost time to wrap up the broadcast. Feeling at peace, you grab the final card of the question deck, eyes flickering to Tobio as you read.
“Anything else you’d like to say to me about our engagement?”
Tobio takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he speaks. He wants to make sure he tells you everything on his mind, but maybe that will have to wait for another time— a more private time.
One that isn’t being broadcasted on national television. So he’ll settle for the next best course.
“I just wanted to say…” He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening and closing at times until he can find his bearings. “That being engaged to you has taught me a lot of things.”
You’re about to say something in response until he holds his hand up, indicating he isn’t done yet.
“And… I wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this forever.”
Tobio notices the slight look of confusion in your eyes as he continues, “Wh-what I mean is, uh… even though we aren’t married yet, you make me so happy that I feel like I could be okay with what we have.”
“I still want to marry you!” He blurts out worriedly in an attempt to explain himself, “But knowing you’re not bothered by how long we’re engaged for is enough to reassure me that no matter how long we wait for, I’ll still be as happy as the day we marry.”
Tobio shuts his eyes, burying his head in his hands from sheer embarrassment, “Fuck, that was so stupid sounding-”
“Hey now..” You pry his hands away from his face with a pout, leaning across the table’s surface to cup his cheek, “That wasn’t stupid, that was sweet!”
“Really?” He asks, unsure if he believes you, “I’m not really good with my words, y’know.”
“Well I understood what you meant,” you smile, pressing a kiss to your ring finger and placing it on your fiancé’s lips, “And I feel the same way.”
Tobio’s face erupts into a bright scarlet red as you pour the two of you a shot of Sake each, downing them together with your rings on prominent display for all of Japan to see.
Your fiancé is still quite popular in Japan despite now playing overseas, overhearing the NHK film crew and the thousands of viewers who tuned in were watching his broadcast with you while dying in laughter.
It’s not laughter to mock him however— as he soon finds out when after the cameras cut and he can still hear the staff talking about how adorable he looked during the live special.
And his old highschool friends blowing up his phone, sending him clips of his broadcast with hearts and kissy face emojis, but you swear to him that it’s all well intentioned. Maybe not Tsukishima’s to some extent, but nontheless.
All Tobio knows he can do is sigh, turn his phone off and settle into your arms after everything’s been said and done. His time in Japan is limited after all, he has to fly back to Italy in a few days time.
He knows it hurts to leave you again, and you hate sending him off at the airport. He wishes he could marry you immediately— but there’s still so much to be done until that day can arrive.
Tobio doesn’t know when the lucky day will come when you can instead wear a wedding ring on your finger rather than an engagement ring, but as Tobio has discovered today; the two of you will be okay until then despite it all.
It takes a lot to make Tobio anxious about your engagement, but it also takes a lot to shake the strong foundation the two of you have built with each other over the years.
The two of you have planned your future with each other as the main component of it all in the centre of it for as long as you can remember, and he’s prepared to withstand any obstacles that threaten his happiness with you.
Tobio is at ease knowing you have his back, and he has yours even while separated by thousands of miles of stretching oceans and ground.

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა
© property of shoyostar / thomae 2023. all rights reserved.


“𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲”
summary: “𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲” | or the first time kageyama calls you “baby” is entirely by accident. warnings: aged up!haikyū!!; in this universe karasuno is a university volleyball team because i’m not going to write about literal high schoolers lol :p, also may be a bit ooc— i’m only in the second season so please don’t spoil anything about how kageyama may be in later seasons! | gn!reader, fluff, just some general cuteness tbh— I love kageyama, he deserves happiness word count: 1.2k | again, i’m a YAPPER!! a/n: yes, this is based on “first time” by hozier, i heard it and immediately thought of tobio because this is exactly how that man would react to being called a sweet pet name.
The first time that you called Tobio “baby” he locked up as if you had insulted him. His hand, a hand that you were used to seeing hitting effortless jump serves, setting quicks to Hinata, and generally being the dependable watchtower of Karasuno’s volleyball team, froze on your waist as if he had forgotten how to move his body.
His gaze, intense and serious, locked on yours as if he were attempting to solve a puzzle. As if he couldn’t believe that you had called him something so sweet and intimate. He gave you a curt nod as he dropped you off at your place, his hand lingering on your waist as he bid you a goodnight and your name coming out softer than he intended.
He’d never admit it to anyone, but that night he felt something stir deep inside of his chest unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that he got from playing against hard teams, nor was it the same joy that he felt when Karasuno proved victorious over other teams after hard-fought matches.
No, this, you, was different— something simultaneously died and was reborn inside of him when you called him “baby” that night, unlocking an emotion he never quite understood when he heard others talk about it, but, in your presence, he understood it as if it were a practiced play.
You never pushed him to say it back, satisfied with relishing each time he said your name softly in between sweet kisses or tender hugs. You weren’t here to change him. After all, you fell in love with Tobio because of how he is, not out of an aspiration to change him into anyone else. He just didn’t like to use pet names with you, you assumed, and didn’t push him for anything he wasn’t happy to give you.
So it’s safe to say that you didn’t see today coming whatsoever. At first, you weren’t even really sure what he’d said. Tobio has a habit of mumbling, especially when he’s coming down from the high of a hard match, so you could only make out bits and pieces of his greeting. You were too busy savouring the way he held you as you jumped up into his arms, congratulating him for a great match and for winning against Karasuno’s opponent.
He gave you a tender smile, a rare sight for other people but a mainstay in your relationship, before giving you a soft kiss as he set you down gently. He had murmured your name, that’s for sure, but you couldn’t quite make it all out until you saw the look on the team’s face. Hinata’s and Tanaka’s face in particular urged you to ask him as you give Tobio a quizzical look.
“Sorry, what did you say, honey? I didn’t quite catch it,” You say, cocking your head softly to the side as his brows knit together and a blush paints his cheeks at the name you called him.
“I.. didn’t say anything, I just said thank you—” He starts to say, his hand still resting easily on your waist, before he’s interrupted by Tanaka and Hinata running over to hug him, cooing about their friend’s heart finally growing three sizes.
“Wrong!” Tanaka yells as he hugs Tobio, circling his neck with one arm and patting his head with his other hand. “You totally just said ‘baby’! Who knew you had that sweetness inside you, Kageyama!” He teases as Hinata joins in.
“Yeah! You even said it all nice and stuff!” He adds, laughing with his senior as they mimic Tobio’s voice and cadence. “You were all like, ‘Hi, baby! Thanks so much, baby. I’m so happy you were here to watch! Mwah, mwah!!’” Both burst into laughter as they watch Tobio’s glare, waving off his muttered threat of a gruelling time next practice for the two of them as they strode away.
The rest of the team lays off directly teasing him as they start walking to the locker room but not before his seniors get their digs in. Azumane and Sugawara give him wide smiles with their thumbs up as they pass the two of you and Tobio’s blush deepens.
“S-Sorry about them,” He says sheepishly, touching the back his neck. “I guess, it slipped out and I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” He apologizes genuinely as he looks into your eyes, hoping that his team didn’t scare you off.
You chuckle, circling your arms around his neck as you bring him down for a long kiss. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” You say and you relish the way he softens under the name, his features relaxing as he smiles against you. “You can pay me back by saying it to me so that I actually hear you this time,” You whisper, teasing him but also wanting to hear it clearly so you can store it in your memory.
He leans in close, the two of you the final people on the court as his team filters out completely, and he presses a tender kiss against your forehead. He chuckles softly at your request, an attempt to wave you off but the glint in his eye tells you that he’s about to indulge you anyways, “Alright, alright.” He gives you a slow, deep kiss, savouring the heat of your lips against his— a sensation he swears he will never get used to. It will always send that electric jolt throughout his body better than any perfect set or victory will. He pulls back, soothing your hair and giving you a small smile, “Thank you for coming today, baby. I think I play better when I know you’re watching me.”
He presses a chaste kiss against your lips, “You’re like.. a guardian angel, baby. Did you know that? Maybe I should start calling you angel instead, hm?” He says easily against you and his sudden shift in demeanour causes you to shiver.
You nod, running your hand through the hair on the nape of his neck. “I think that’d be great, baby,” You whisper, a blush painting your cheeks as the thought of him calling you “angel” crosses your mind.
“Is that so? Alright, ang—”
He’s cut short by Daichi’s voice ringing clearly in the empty gym as he opens the metal gym door, searching for Tobio. “Kageyama! Meeting!” He yells out from across the gym.
Tobio sighs, pulling away from you only slightly as he gives a nod to his captain. “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute!”
“Now, Kageyama, we already waited five minutes for you. Let’s go!” Daichi calls, the heavy slam of the doors signalling his impatience.
Tobio leans in close, “Another time, baby.” He kisses your forehead as he starts to walk towards their locker room.
The door swings open again. “Kageyama, c’mon! Or do you want me calling you baby too?” Daichi teases as he waits for Tobio at the door, watching as he runs up to his captain, apologizing half-heartedly for his tardiness.
You laugh as he teases him, already knowing that Tobio’s doing his best not to glare at Daichi. You laugh even harder when you hear their bickering.
“None of you are allowed to call me baby! That’s special, and I’m not about to let you dumbasses ruin that name for me!”
“Alright, we’ll call you King again, how’s that sound?”
You shake your head as you gather your things, knowing that this teasing from the team is far from over as you make your way to wait outside their locker room— giddy at the idea of hearing him call you baby again.
⚝ " i'll never smile again "

The hazbin boys are visibly stressed
Warnings : I used female pronouns. There are mentions of Valentino. Highly suggestive in Vox's part because yeah it makes sense. Alastor offers to go on a murderous rampage with the reader 🥰
Genre : Fluff, suggestive
A/n : I hate the people in my life and they stress me tf out so I'm writing to vent my frustrations out. :) I only included my favs in this one but if you would like a part two with other characters then say the word.
Characters : Alastor, Vox, Lucifer
▢ vox ᯤ
- Offering sexual favours -
Vox growled to himself gently as he typed away at the screen in front of him, eyes honing in obsessively on the words and news articles.
He was on media control right now because fucking Val blew up on Angel in public today.
Now he's forced to get rid of every media that is sculpting Valentino out to be the bad guy.
Whoopee fucking doo.
"Fuckin' Val... stupid idiot.... stupidly hot idiot." He sighed out, running his hands down his face tiredly then his eyes widened with an idea,"... Where's my assistant."
"Here, sir."
"Fuckin' christ-!" He yelped out at the sudden voice and he spun around quickly in his chair, coming face to face with her amused little shit-eating grin. He glared, scowl on his lips," You been there the whole time?"
"Yes, sir." She nodded, hands folded in her lap modestly.
"You're a little creep, y'know that?"
"Yes, sir."
He sighed and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the painful cracks that resounded from them," You seen the media?"
She nodded," yes, quite the 'clusterfuck' as you would put it."
His lip twitched in amusement," perfect descriptor, honestly." He then clicked his fingers at the screen," Is Troy on today? Tell him to deal with the rest of the articles pl-"
"It's Troy's day off today, sir." (Name) interrupted, walking so she was standing next to him, she leaned over him a little to click away at the tabs he had opened," But I will call him to come in. You need rest." She replied promptly.
Vox watched her with an almost sleepy look in his eyes, watching her close down the articles with quick and manicured claws.
"What would I do without you, eh?" He hummed out.
A chuckle flitted from her lips and he found himself entranced by the sound of it," I think you'd do well for yourself without me, sir." She reassured with a gentle voice and stepped away from the desk a little, turning to face him," would you like me to accompany you to your room?"
He blinked and then smirked," how forward of you, sweetheart." He cooed out with that sultry tone of his," Take me out to dinner first, yeah?"
She tilted her head to the side with an owlish blink,"... Would you like to go to dinner? Would that be a better form of stress relief for you that the first option?"
His mouth fell open with a shocked look as he stared at her, a little buffering symbol in the top right corner of his screen for a moment before it disappeared, a dark blush appearing on his face," f-fuck wait... w-were you suggesting we..."
"We have sex? Yes. I hear it's a rather fantastic way of stress relief and you are a rather sexually frustrated individual so it would-"
He place a hand over her mouth as he stood from his chair, basically towering over her.
There was a hungry look in his eyes as he let that charming grin twitch onto his lips," You're about the best damn fuckin' assistant I've ever had."
She smiled beneath his hand and grabbed onto his wrist gently, maneuvering it so she could place an oh-so-gentle kiss to his wrist whilst looking into his eyes," I'm honoured, sir." She hummed out in a sultry fashion.
Vox gulped, his self-control snapping, red leaking from his mouth," I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, sir."
▢ alastor ⍋
- Expressing your issues over a glass of giggle juice -
A sigh and a huff fell from her lips as she made her way into the hotel lobby, shoulders sagging from a long day of work.
There seemed to be nobody in the lobby as she walked over to the bar and poured herself out a glass of whiskey.
"Late-night drinking? That's not like you." The familiar static of Alastor graced her ears.
(Name) blinked and looked over to him, noticing how tensed his smile seemed. His eyes looked... genuinely exhausted. His ears flopped downwards ever so slightly.
"Looks like you should be joining me," She hummed back and grabbed another glass, wiggling it at him suggestively.
He watched it for a second before relaxing and grabbing it, sitting next to her at the bar and pouring the liquid. He took a sip with her and his smile seemed to curl in a more soft way now.
"Hm, I dare say my dear, that does just hit the spot doesn't it?" He hummed out, a more relaxed expression on his face.
"You can say that again. No wonder Husk is an alcoholic, I understand the appeal after having an awful day." She replied with a nod of agreement," yknow, sometimes I wish Hell was just a personal purgatory instead of me having to deal with other people's shit."
"Agreed. It gets tiring, doesn't it? Makes you want to go a little batshit insane, yes?" He said this with a polite tone of voice, ears perked up.
"I want to go on a murderous rampage every second of every day."
"We could join forces if it ever came to that. We would kill twice the amount of demons."
She grinned at him," how flattering. You'd go on a murder spree with me, Al?"
He pressed a hand to his heart to express his genuine sincerity," Dear, if I ever say no to a question like that then I give you my full and utter permission to kill me in the most brutal way you can think of." He replied honestly, and (name) didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned but she found herself laughing along anyways.
"What a charmer," She grinned at him brightly," You can be so romantic when you want to, hm?"
"Romance has nothing to do with it. It is merely etiquette." He tilted his head at her, resting it in the palm of his hand, expression seemingly brightened from just a conversation with her," what's got you so downtrodden?"
She deflated a little, smile tired," Overworked and under-appreciated for the work I do." She replied simply, taking a sip of her whiskey," I'll never smile again~" She sang sadly.
Alastor perked up at the familiar song," until I smile at youuu~" he serenaded, smile only widening at the sound of her amused laughter.
Then he looked her over, an almost disappointed glint in his eyes," I still wonder why you work for that insolent shitbox after all these years." His smile seemed to sharpen at the thought of Vox," He doesn't deserve you at all. Not a single bit."
(Name) shrugged," I'm helpless, what can I say?"
"You're not. You're a strong woman, (name). Stand up for yourself. And if you can't stand?" His eyes glowed sinisterly," Break his legs off so you can."
She stared on for a second before raising her glass," Most sound advice I've heard for years."
Alastor barked out an amused laugh and raised his hlass to hers, "For that compliment? I will break his legs for you if it is needed, darlin'. "
Clink went their glasses as they enjoyed each other's company for a while longer.
▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝
- Gentle caresses and positive affirmations -
"Okay so... meeting with the angels next week... then I have to call Michael- eugh cowabummer... then I have to-"
(Name) watched her friend flail around his office with a concerned frown on her lips, arms crossed over her chest.
He's been so stressed lately. He had that little break in between where he could just... chill.
And make his cute rubber duckies.
But now with everything in the hotel, he's had a lot more work on his shoulders. Specifically with Heaven, as unfortunate as that was.
She saw his claws scratching through his hair as he paced back and forth, as though he was entranced by all these... issues. He's so entranced he's forgotten she's there with him.
So she sighed and lifted herself from the wall and walked into his walk-cycle path, grabbing onto his shoulders before he could crash into her.
He blinked in surprise and met eyes with her, a dumbfounded expression on his face," Oh... Hey."
She smiled," Hey."
"Sorry, you've probably heard me complain enough lately. Your pretty ears must be burning with all the yapping-"
"Of course not, Lou..." She huffed out, interrupting him with a frown of disapproval. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his arms, rubbing gentle touches of comfort," I think you've got too much on your plate lately - you using me as an outlet to vent to is the least of my problems."
He deflated a little, a tiredly wry grin on his lips," You're... you're too nice, y'know that?"
"What? You'd rather I spit and degrade you~?" She flirted teasingly with a fanged grin.
"No thanks... for now." He then sighed and moved his head to rest on her chest, cheek smooshing against her collar bone," I need a vacation."
(Name) laughed as she threaded her fingers through his mussed-up hair gently and soothingly," You were basically on a vacation already, hon. Now's the time to get back to work. Put all those wonderful thoughts and dreams to good use."
He melted in her arms, closing his eyes slowly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. This felt more domestic than platonic, but the two of them were too focused on eachother to admit that.
"You'll stay, right? I like having you here." He mumbled tiredly," U-unless you don't wanna which I totally understand and a-accept... y'know, you don't have to be here if you don't want t-"
"Stop worrying you dummy." (Name) chuckled out,"... I'd love to stay here with you."
"Phew..." He huffed and grinned sharply," Good to hear... a-amazing to hear!... Y... you're the best."
"Don't I know it~!"
OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.
tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc
wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.
You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.
“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”
You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.
Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.
“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.
Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.
He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.
“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.
“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.
“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.
“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.
“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.
Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.
“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.
“Then what’s the damn problem?”
The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.
“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.
At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.
The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.
Until Okumura Yukiko.
At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.
When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.
Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.
Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.
Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.
Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.
Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”
Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.
Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.
And then everything stops.
Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.
Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.
“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.
The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.
“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.
“Do you go to school here?”
“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”
Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”
Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.
You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.
Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.
Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.
Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.
“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”
“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.
“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”
Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.
But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.
The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.
A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.
A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.
They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.
“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”
Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.
You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.
“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”
Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.
With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.
You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.
You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.
Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.
You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.
You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.
Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.
It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.
Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.
The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”
Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.
It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.
Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.
One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.
Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.
Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.
“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”
Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.
Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.
Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.
“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.
“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.
“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.
“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.
Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”
You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.
“You remembered this old thing?”
Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.
Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.
You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.
“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.
Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.
He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”
You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.
Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”
His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.
You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.
“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.
“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.
“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.
“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”
You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.
“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.
“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.
You give an emphatic nod.
“How mad is Kacchan?”
“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”
There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.
“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”
You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.
Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.
“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.
Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.
