After the Bombs Fell Silent… We’re Trying to Hear Life Again.
They say the war has ended…
But in our hearts, the echoes of explosions still remain.
In every corner of our home lies a story left unfinished.
Our doors, once opened to the light of morning,
are now charred wood telling the silence of long, sleepless nights.
We thought returning to life would be simple…
But when we came back to what was left of our house,
we realized the destruction wasn’t only in the walls—
it was in our dreams that fell with them.
Beneath the rubble, we found my little daughter’s toys,
and clothes waiting for a tomorrow that never came.
Today, we’re trying to start again from nothing.
Trying to build warmth from ashes,
a home from broken stones,
and hope from the remains of pain.
We’re not asking for the impossible—
only for a chance to live with dignity,
to rebuild our home, to protect our children from the cold,
and to tell the world: we are still here, despite everything.
Every contribution, no matter how small,
is a brick in the wall of our new home,
and a heartbeat in a heart trying to live again.
Help us turn these ruins into warmth and hope.
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
A final word:
We are not looking for pity, but for a chance —
a chance to rebuild what was lost with trembling hands that still hold onto hope.
Together, we can turn this destruction into a new beginning.
warnings ;; some swear words, emotional abuse, manipulation, neglecting feelings, cheating, non detailed smut (maybe a little bit in the end).
about ;; this took me longer than expected but im happy i could finally finish this work. it was hard making suga as a fratboy but i did my best!
this is part of the fratboy au collab with @saintobio!! check out the full masterlist for more works made by amazing creators!
quick note, im not an english speaker but im doing this to practice so if you see any mistake it would be amazing if you could correct me jsjs either way, thank you so much for reading! enjoy!!
wc ;; 2.2k
Looking at him from a distance, people could say he was a pretty normal guy, but in reality he was one of the most wanted boys in all of school. It wasn’t because of his money, nor his looks (even though he was jaw-dropping from head to toe) but people liked him because of how he made you feel when you were near him. He had this facade that made him be the biggest sweetheart, until he got what he wanted from you and then ghosted you or pretended you didn’t exist.
But, how did he end like this?
Let me present to you, Sugawara Koushi, the motherfucker that made you believe in love again, right when you were going through hardships and decided to be against your feelings, especially love, for the next ten years or until you said otherwise. But without noticing, he restarted your way of thinking in the blink of an eye. You thought you were blessed by him.
As if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body, the shape of your soul. As if he doesn’t mold you like molasses underneath his fingertips, perpetuating his name into your being.
contains: f!reader, friends to lovers vibes, college au, mutual pining, heavily suggestive (hence me not tagging anyone from the gen taglist for this i'm sorry), non-sexual nudity (bathing together), no plot just one thousand words of atsumu miya being touch-starved
word count: 1.3k
You didn’t plan on taking him home.
But the words he murmured against the shell of your ear were a little too sweet and his kisses were a little too hungry; and maybe you’ve also dreamt a little too often about Atsumu Miya nudging your legs apart to slot himself between them while he pushes you against the nearest wall–until it all wasn’t a dream anymore.
It feels forbidden. As if you’re not supposed to know what it feels like to run your fingers over the shaved part of his neck. Or how his canine teeth graze the skin on the side of your neck, leaving trails of faint red marks. Or the way his muscles flex when you slip your hands underneath his shirt to feel him closer.
He’s just a guy who sits in front of you in class. Someone who occasionally asks you for a pencil or your notes just so he has a reason to turn around to you, who nudges your feet with his underneath the tables when you push them together for group work, who finds a lame excuse to linger behind when you’re too slow with packing up your bag after class, just so he can walk to the cafeteria together with you.
Atsumu shouldn’t be here; with his hair still a little damp from the shower and naked from the waist up in your bed, in your arms. He’s like a weighted blanket on top of you, his face hidden in the small space between your neck and your shoulder, his hot breath fanning across your skin. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, giving it a slight tug whenever his shameless fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, followed by an airy laugh against your collarbone.
Just a kiss, you told yourself earlier in that dark corner you both found yourself in, his broad back shielding you from the eyes of anyone else at the party. It was as if he wanted you just for himself, something so easy to brush off as greedy. But there’s something else luring underneath the surface, underneath the carefully composed mask of brazenness he wears so well. You couldn’t figure out what it was, too dizzy from his kisses and his hands roaming your body, but now in the dim light and quiet of your bedroom you can see it so clearly.
Atsumu is touch-starved.
It shows. There is his hand on the small of your back when he leads you outside through the crowd of people. His fingers interlaced with yours in the back of the cab after he reached over you to secure your seatbelt for you. The stolen kisses during the elevator ride up to your floor and the scowl on his face when the elevator door opened, interrupting you too soon. Him kneeling in front of you while he helps you out of your heels, nimble fingers brushing over your ankle before loosening the clasp for you. The love-drunk expression he gives you when you grab his chin between two fingers, tilting it up so he’d look at you.
As if he’d ever take his eyes off you to begin with.
Not when he unzips the back of your dress till it slips to the floor with a soft thud. Not when you push him towards the bed, his hands catching your hips to pull you on top of him. Not when you unbuckle his belt, his fingers digging in the flesh of thighs, his chest heaving with every breath you draw out of him.
For someone who has never learned how to shut up in his entire life, Atsumu turns into a needy, whining mess underneath you. All coherent words seem to slip from his mind as badly as his self-composure. It’s like he’s pleading for your touch, to feel more of you, to have you fully, wholly, deeply. His hands grasp every part of you he can reach, sometimes gentle, mostly insatiable, always with utter adoration. As if you’re a dream that’ll crumble between his fingers when he blinks.
You bathe together afterwards–or you try, at least. It’s the night you learn that your bathtub is a little too cramped to hold you and someone of Atsumu’s size, but you make it work somehow with your back pressed against his chest, nestled between his legs, his hand splayed out over your stomach. His idle fingers draw small patterns against your skin and every now and then he leans down to press kisses against your shoulder, a low sound of affection rumbling in his chest when he does.
He washes your hair for you even though you didn’t ask him to, slender fingers working through every bit of tension in your scalp. Part of you believes he does it just so he can charm out more of these sweet little sounds from you that he seems to love so much, but then he tips your head back to kiss you upside down, smiling against your lips, and you think that maybe you’re not the only one who has fallen in love a long time ago.
Atsumu holds perfectly still when you dry off his hair with a towel. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, legs spread to make room for you standing between them. Looking down, you try hard not to think about how he had you grinding against his thick thighs earlier but to be fair it’s impossible to forget how that made you feel, the pulsing still present. There’s his grin again and your stomach does a little flip. I love having you like this, Atsumu murmurs and tugs you closer to him by your waist before trailing countless kisses up from your stomach to the valley of your chest, honey colored eyes never leaving yours.
As if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body, the shape of your soul. As if he doesn’t mold you like molasses underneath his fingertips, perpetuating his name into your being.
If Atsumu was a braver man he’d tell you all about the way you make his heart stumble. How the thought of you being with anyone else makes his chest coil and tighten. That only you allow him a calmness so unfamiliar it scares him sometimes. But the words are stuck in his throat and just won’t come out.
Not yet. Not when it’s you.
Because with you everything is different. With you his prideful heart unravels so easily, finding shelter in your palms. You give all of his touch a meaning, as if everything before you was just hollow. Golden, he thinks. Your love feels golden. Shining bright like a hundred suns, igniting a flame within him. Atsumu has long fallen for you without even realizing it. He gets it now, sees it so clearly when you smile at him; that it’s you. It’s always been you.
You both don’t bother getting fully dressed after your bath–there’s this unspoken unanimity that you won’t need these clothes for too long. Atsumu carries you over to the bed despite your protests, your laughter mingling with his when he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress and crawls on top of you again, half-crushing you underneath him. It’s a sound he wants to hear forever, paired with your playful shoves against his shoulder and your huffs and puffs, as if you didn’t hook your leg around his middle to keep him close to you. He kisses the side of your neck again, wondering where else he can leave his mark, and what waking up with you will feel like, and just how these three words will taste like once you lick them off his lips.
Ambrosial, he thinks. Just like you.
a/n: starting the year with an atsumu fic was not on my bingo card but here we are. @nekozaki hi ily this is mostly for you my liege
⋆⁺₊ ✶ mand(elle)orionᝰ .ᐟ @lunaraureums - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
origamiaround
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
2087
snowghoul
stormborns
