one single thread of gold tied me to you: series [ficmas 2024]
pairing: james potter x reader
whatever ties james to you feels ancient, like folklore—woven into the fabric of who he is. like the golden threads in that scarf, it pulls him toward you: effortless, timeless.
series summary: james potter spent years chasing after lily evans, convinced she was the one for him but in fifth year that all changed when he met you. for two years, it was easy, perfect even. then the summer before seventh year you ended things with him, insisting he belonged with lily instead. he didn't understand (or agree) with your decision then and he's not sure he does now. perhaps being bereft and lovelorn without you compelled him to follow your suggestion and he began dating lily. everything should've fallen into place like you said, it should feel right but it doesn't.
as snow falls over hogwarts and the holidays draw everyone closer, james can't shake the feeling that something is pulling him back to you and he's not sure he wants it to stop.
main tags: female pronouns, alternate universe, marauders era, pov switch between characters, gryffindor reader, friendly reader, casual invisible string connection, exes reader and james, established jily, sirius and reader friendship, lily deserves better, no bashing whatsoever, emotional infidelity, insecurities, angst, fluff, mutual yearning/longing, falling into old habits, obliviousness, miscommunication, off-screen mutual breakup (jily), getting back together (reader and james), happy ending
masterlist
🔗 ao3 | playlist | other works
one: scarf
two: chocolate
three: mistletoe
four: snow
five: gift
six: gloves
seven: christmas tree
eight: cookies
nine: snowdrops
ten: tea
eleven: star (ending)
notes: happy holidays!! here is my self-indulgent 2024 ficmas series 🧣 inspired by taylor's song invisible string. this series is a collection of vignettes set during the winter of their final (seventh) year. every part is centered on a winter-ish word prompt and connected to each other in the same universe. please read the tags. i tried to keep the reader a clean slate as much as i could but there are implications that they're a gryffindor, friendly, well-liked, and that they knit.
credits: dividers [x][x] and gif made by my bff @jasntodds 🤍
CW: 18+ MDNI, M/M/F smut, fingering, oral sex (giving and receiving), anal fingering, penetrative sex
Consciousness returned as a slow tide, bringing with it the solid, familiar weight of limbs entwined with yours. Warmth surrounded you on both sides, bracketing you like something deliberate.
Your mind drifted to a few weeks ago, the first time you'd fallen asleep between Atsumu and Kiyoomi. That night had been born of exhaustion, the aftermath of your flashback. You'd woken up cocooned between them, their protective presence more about reassurance than anything else.
This was different.
The hard press of arousal against your lower back was unmistakable. Another at your stomach. You shifted, and a low, guttural moan vibrated from the chest in front of you.
Atsumu.
Behind you, the arm draped over your waist—Kiyoomi's arm—tightened. His fingers, which had been resting loosely on your hip, curled gently against your skin in the dim morning light. You arched back instinctively, pressing the curve of your ass more firmly against the hard length you found there, seeking more of that delicious, sleepy friction.
A sharp inhale ruffled your hair. "I thought we said we would take things slow," he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep.
Your own words from the night before came back to you, quiet and a little ironic. That had been before the date, before the dance studio, before kissing in the mirrored room and the long hours on the sofa after. Before falling asleep between them. Waking up like this made you wonder what, exactly, you had been so cautious about.
"Define slow," you murmured, your voice hushed in the early morning quiet. "There are…other things we can do."
Neither of them spoke immediately. The suggestion hung in the warm, dim air between the three of you, fragile and charged.
"Ya sure?" Atsumu asked carefully, his accent thicker than usual. "There's no rush. We've got time."
"I'm sure," you said. And you were. You'd never been more certain of anything. "I want this. I want you both." You hesitated, then added more quietly, "If you do."
Atsumu let out a breath that dissolved into a soft, wondering laugh. "Baby. Yes. Absolutely yes."
You turned your head toward Kiyoomi. He was already watching you, his expression unguarded, something careful and tender moving behind his eyes.
"Yes," he said simply. One word, quiet and certain, like he'd made the decision long before this moment.
As if waiting for the invitation, Atsumu's lips found the delicate skin of your collarbone. His kiss was soft, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt straight to your core. His hand, which had been splayed on your ribs, began a slow, deliberate journey south, skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, down past your navel, until his fingertips dipped beneath the elastic waistband of your underwear.
You gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and pushed yourself back even more firmly into Kiyoomi's solid frame.
"You're wet already," Atsumu groaned against your skin, his breath hot. His fingertips brushed through your folds, a feather-light, maddening pass. "Can we take care of ya?" he asked, but it was barely a question. His finger found your clit and circled it with a pressure that made your thighs tremble.
"Please," you gasped as you threw your head back against Kiyoomi's chest. "Please."
Atsumu didn't wait. He dipped a single finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, and you couldn’t help the soft moan escaped you. The stretch was minimal, but the intention behind it, the promise, was everything.
"Fuck," Kiyoomi gritted out behind you, his own hips giving an involuntary grind against you. "Fuck. Can I see?"
You managed to pry your eyes open. Atsumu was watching you, his gaze dark and heavy-lidded, a faint, smug smile playing on his lips. You nodded, breathless. He used his free hand to throw the covers back, exposing the view of his hand working beneath your underwear to Kiyoomi's hungry gaze.
"Can I take these off?" Atsumu asked, his other hand hooking into the band at your hip.
You could only nod again, your mind blanking as he crooked his finger inside you, stroking a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You felt Kiyoomi's hand leave your hip and a pang of loss hit you until you realized he was helping, his long fingers joining Atsumu's to peel the damp fabric down your thighs and off your legs. The cool air kissed your exposed skin for a second before the heat of their bodies swallowed it whole.
A fresh wave of arousal, hot and slick, bloomed within you. Being between them. The sheer, impossible strength in their bodies, in the hands now touching you, all tempered into this devastating gentleness. Kiyoomi's palm returned to your hip, slowly stroking the skin of your outer thigh.
"You're so beautiful," Atsumu praised, his voice husky as he added a second finger. The stretch was divine, filling you perfectly. He was watching his own hand move, utterly captivated. "Isn't she, Omi?"
“Stunning,” Kiyoomi breathed into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. The single word, spoken with such quiet intensity, felt like a brand.
You felt amazing, floating on a cloud of sensation, but you needed more. The emptiness was returning even as Atsumu filled you, a craving for a different kind of touch.
Atsumu saw it on your face. He always did. "Can he touch ya?" he asked, his fingers stilling deep inside you, applying delicious pressure.
"Mmhmm," you hummed, a broken sound of pure need.
You felt the gentle, unmistakable press of Kiyoomi's lips to your temple again, a kiss of gratitude, of promise.
"Can you say it?" Kiyoomi whispered, his breath sending chills down your spine as it ghosted across the shell of your ear. His voice was a low, controlled vibration you felt in your very bones.
"Yes. Please, Kiyoomi. Touch me."
You felt him inhale sharply, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch in his chest against your back.
Kiyoomi. His given name was still new enough on your lips to feel like something precious. The familiarity of it, the intimacy in this moment, hung in the air between you all for a heartbeat. Then his hand was moving, sliding around from your hip, his fingers bypassing everything else to go straight to your clit.
His touch was different from Atsumu's—more analytical at first, then settling into a rhythm that was perfect and utterly deliberate. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Atsumu's fingers pumping slowly, deeply inside you, and Kiyoomi’s drawing tight, desperate circles right where it mattered most.
"Fuck, Baby. I feel ya clenching," Atsumu murmured, his eyes glued to where they were both touching you, his own arousal evident in the strained breathlessness of his voice.
Thought dissolved. You existed between them as nothing but sensation, heat, and wanting. Your hand flew out, gripping Atsumu's corded bicep, holding on as if it was the only thing tethering you to the bed, to the earth. Pleasure coiled, tight and hot, deep within you.
"Yes, yes, I'm so close," you chanted, the words a prayer, a plea.
"Cum for us, Baby. That's it. Just let go," Atsumu encouraged, his pace increasing fractionally.
Kiyoomi's lips found your ear again. His whisper was so low only you could hear it, the use of your name instead of any endearment striking a chord deep in your soul. "Let me feel you fall apart."
It was the permission you needed. The coil snapped. Your orgasm washed over you in a crashing wave, your body shuddering between them, a blissful moan torn from your throat. They worked you through it, Atsumu's fingers curling, Kiyoomi's circles relentless, until the sensitivity became too much and you stilled Kiyoomi's wrist with a weak hand. Understanding, Atsumu carefully, slowly, pulled his fingers free of you.
For a long moment, the only thing you were aware of was your own heartbeat, loud and unsteady in your ears. "Fuck," you finally said, a laugh tangled in the expletive. "Holy fuck, that was good."
Atsumu flashed his brilliant, triumphant smile at you. He leaned forward, his lips soft and slightly damp, and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, a question forming in their golden depths. He glanced over your shoulder at Kiyoomi, a silent conversation passing between them in a look.
When his gaze returned to you, it was so tender, so full of a love you'd almost forgotten, that your breath caught. He was nervous. The normally brazen, unshakable Miya Atsumu was bashful.
"Can I—can I kiss you?" he asked softly.
The request, after what you'd just done, was so absurdly sweet you almost laughed. But you didn't.
You tilted your chin up in answer.
He surged forward and caught your lips, and where last night had been careful and searching, this was certain—his mouth moving against yours, his hand curling into your hair like it already knew exactly where it belonged. The intimacy of what you'd just shared poured into it, deeper and hungrier than anything from the night before. You fisted your hand in his messy blond hair and pulled him closer, swallowing the moan that rumbled out of him. He pushed forward, angling you until you were almost fully rolled onto your back, cradled between Kiyoomi's body and the mattress.
Your other hand found Kiyoomi's, lacing your fingers together beside your head. He gripped back, his hold tight, anchoring you. As Atsumu's tongue delved deeper, you felt it again—the insistent, hot press of their arousal against your hips, your thigh. A fresh, slick heat gathered between your own legs, your body thrumming back to life far too quickly.
When Atsumu finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless. He sat back on his heels, his gaze sweeping over you and Kiyoomi splayed together beneath him. His eyes were dark with want, but there was something tender underneath it.
He leaned forward again, but this time his target was Kiyoomi. You watched, awestruck, as he captured Kiyoomi's lips in a searing kiss over your shoulder. It was all slick movement and shared breath, two powerful men coming together in a way that was unfairly beautiful.
They pulled apart. Atsumu's gaze flickered between you and Kiyoomi, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Think our girl wants somethin'," he murmured, his voice rough with affection and desire.
You felt Kiyoomi go still beneath you. You turned toward him slowly, your gaze tracing the clean, striking lines of his face like you were memorizing them.
"Kiyoomi," you said softly. Just his name. An invitation.
Something shifted in his expression, the last thread of restraint loosening. He brought his hand to your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and kissed you. Deeper than last night. Settled into it from the very first touch, like he'd already done the work of holding back and had no interest in doing it again. His tongue slid against yours in a way that was both controlled and desperately wanting, his other hand sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head, angling you just so.
A soft sound escaped you—somewhere between a moan and a sigh—and you felt him shudder against you. His kiss became more urgent, more demanding, and you gave yourself over to it completely.
When you finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, his expression almost pained with the intensity of what had just passed between you. A beat of silence stretched between you, full and unhurried.
"Fuck," he breathed, the curse soft enough to sound like a prayer.
"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen," Atsumu said, his voice wrecked.
You turned to look at him and found his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving, his cock visibly straining against his boxer briefs.
A bold idea took root. "Can I…can I watch you?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. "Both of you. Together."
The air in the room became electric.
Nothing more needed to be said. Atsumu rose, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Kiyoomi shifted, disentangling himself from you just enough to push his sweatpants and boxers down. In moments, they were both gloriously, fully naked.
You drank in the sight. Atsumu, all sun-kissed skin and defined muscle, his cock standing proud and flushed against his stomach. Kiyoomi, paler, leaner, but no less powerful, his length lying heavy on his thigh. He settled back against the headboard, and Atsumu moved to straddle him, settling his weight easily onto Kiyoomi's thighs.
Atsumu reached down, wrapping his hand around his own length first, giving it a slow stroke while maintaining eye contact with you. Then he reached for Kiyoomi, and you watched as the dark-haired man's head fell back, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Wait," you said softly, and both men froze. You crawled closer, pressing yourself against Kiyoomi's side. "Can I?" you asked, your gaze moving between them. "I want to touch you."
Atsumu nodded immediately, his jaw tight. Kiyoomi's nod was slower, deliberate, his dark eyes locked on yours.
You brought your hand to your mouth and let your saliva pool in your palm. Atsumu's breath audibly caught. But instead of giving it to him, you reached out, wrapping your slick hand around Kiyoomi's cock first.
His hips jerked up involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "Fuck—" he gritted out, your name falling from his lips like it had been pulled out of him against his will.
"Shh," you soothed, working him with slow, deliberate strokes. "Let me."
Atsumu watched, transfixed, slowly stroking himself. You spat into your other palm and reached for him too, and the twin groans that filled the room were music to your ears.
You worked them both, alternating your attention, watching their faces. Atsumu was vocal, praising you, his hips fucking up into your fist. Kiyoomi was quieter, but no less affected—his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, his eyes locked on you with devastating intensity.
"Come here," Atsumu said roughly, and you understood. You angled them toward each other, pressing their cocks together and wrapped you hand around them, your fingers struggling to meet around the combined girth. The visual alone—seeing them together in your grip, feeling the contrast of them, hot and hard and leaking—made you clench around nothing.
"That's it, Baby," Atsumu groaned, his hand covering yours, helping you establish a rhythm. "Fuck, we're gonna remember this forever."
Kiyoomi's hand joined too, all three of you working together now. You leaned down, unable to resist, and pressed a kiss to the head of Atsumu's cock, then Kiyoomi's, tasting salt and musk and them.
"Me too," Atsumu panted. "Where—where do you want it?"
"On me," you said, shifting to lay yourself back on the bed.
That was all it took. They came, hot and thick, painting your hands, your chest, your stomach. You worked them through it, milking every last drop, watching their faces contort with pleasure.
For a moment, everything was still. The three of you, panting, covered in sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure, simply existed in the wreckage of the sheets.
"Holy shit," Kiyoomi finally managed, his voice wrecked.
"That was—" Atsumu started, but words failed him, his grin dopey and satiated.
"Incredible?" you offered, your voice hoarse.
"Better than incredible," Kiyoomi stated, his eyes still glazed.
Atsumu reached for his discarded shirt at the foot of the bed, clearly intending to clean you up. But before he could, you brought your hand to your mouth. You caught his gaze, held it, and slowly, deliberately, ran your tongue along the length of your fingers, tasting them both.
Both men went utterly still, staring at you.
Then Atsumu's grin returned, wider and utterly feral. Kiyoomi's eyes darkened again, his spent cock already showing interest.
You realized, with a thrilling certainty, there was no way in hell the three of you were leaving this apartment today.
Despite the charged, electric pull still humming between the three of you, Kiyoomi had been immovable on the subject.
"Breakfast first," he'd said, already out of bed, and the finality in his voice had left no room for negotiation.
Atsumu had flopped back against the pillows with a groan that was almost theatrical. You'd laughed, the sound bright and easy in the morning air.
Now you stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching Kiyoomi move through the space—cracking eggs, adjusting the heat, reaching for things without having to look for them. He'd pulled on a clean shirt and sweatpants, his dark hair still slightly damp, and there was something unbearably domestic about the sight of him.
It was strange, being in this kitchen. This was the same space where everything had fractured—where one of your worst moments had swallowed you whole. You were aware of that, distantly. But standing here now, watching him make you breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world, the room felt different.
"Yer staring."
Atsumu's voice was warm at your ear, and then his lips pressed briefly to the top of your head as he maneuvered past you toward the cabinet, reaching for a glass.
Across the kitchen, Kiyoomi turned from the stove, one brow raised in quiet question.
You didn't answer either of them. Instead you crossed the kitchen and wrapped yourself around him from behind—your arms sliding around his waist, your cheek pressing between his shoulder blades, your eyes closing. You felt him go briefly still beneath your hands, that initial pause before he adjusted to your touch, like he was allowing himself to believe it.
Your hands spread flat against his stomach, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and then—because you couldn't help yourself—began to trail slowly, deliberately lower.
"You're going to make me burn the food." His voice came out strained, carefully controlled, and the effort in it made you smile against his back.
Beside you, Atsumu's low chuckle filled the kitchen. Then his warmth appeared at your back, his chest pressing against your shoulders, his arm reaching around you both to take over stirring the pan.
You were sandwiched between them again—standing this time rather than lying tangled in sheets—and the realization hit you suddenly.
This felt like home.
The soft morning light filtering in, the smell of food cooking, the warmth of their bodies flanking yours. It felt so perfect it almost frightened you.
Eventually you pulled apart and ate at the table, the three of you folding into a comfortable, unhurried quiet. You looked at them. Atsumu was leaning back in his chair, relaxed and golden, stealing something off Kiyoomi's plate without asking. Kiyoomi was cradling the mug between both hands, pretending not to notice. Your heart felt too big for your chest.
You had wanted this from almost the very beginning. From the first time you had stepped into this apartment and found yourself caught between the gravity of them both. You had thought about it in quiet moments, dismissed it as fantasy, talked yourself out of it more times than you could count. You had never genuinely believed it would become real.
And yet.
Yesterday—was it only yesterday?—you had sat across from them and asked for slow. The word sat differently in your mouth now. You understood why you'd said it. You didn't regret the asking. But lying in the wreckage of the morning's sheets, certain and unhurried, you had felt the last of that hesitation dissolve completely.
You wanted them. All of them. And the wanting felt nothing like fear.
You set down your chopsticks, gathering the words.
You had all agreed, early on, to be honest with each other. Always. Even when it was difficult.
"So," you started, breaking the silence. "Is it okay? That I changed my mind. About going slow."
Atsumu's golden eyes snapped up to yours immediately. He stopped chewing, swallowing his food hastily.
"Yeah," he answered immediately. "Yeah. Of course it is."
You looked to Kiyoomi. He had set his mug down with a soft clink, and was now watching you. Studying your face with that careful, unhurried attention he gave to everything that mattered to him, searching for any trace of doubt or obligation. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him. Something in his expression shifted, softened, opened up. A small smile touched his lips.
"More than okay," he said, his voice a low rumble. "If you're sure."
You thought about last night—dancing with them, feeling light and free for the first time in forever. You thought about how well they treated you, how even from the beginning they'd shown you more care than you'd known in years.
And finally, you thought about coming apart from their fingers alone. The unspoken promise of more.
"I've never been more sure of anything," you replied.
Something shifted in the air between the three of you. Atsumu's mouth curved into a slow smile, like he was already thinking ahead. Kiyoomi's expression was quieter—softer at the edges in a way you were starting to learn meant the same thing. Then his brow creased slightly, and he glanced away from you toward the counter, his jaw tightening with what you recognized, a beat too late, as reluctance.
"We don't have condoms," he said.
Atsumu cursed under his breath.
The disappointment hit faster than you expected. You were already reaching for something to say when your eyes moved between them, and the words came out before you'd fully decided to say them.
"I'm clean," you said. "I got tested after—" you stopped, the end of that sentence going somewhere you didn't want to follow right now. "And I'm on birth control."
Silence settled between the three of you, each of you sitting with what that meant.
You looked between them. "Is that okay?"
Because it needed to go both ways. Because you trusted them completely, you realized with a quiet certainty, and you wanted to be sure they felt the same.
Atsumu's gaze found yours and held it. "Yeah," he said, his voice lower than before. "More than okay."
Kiyoomi met your eyes next. He didn't say anything, but his nod was slow and sure, the kind that didn't need words behind it.
You reached for your coffee and took a sip. The thought of them—no barriers, nothing between you—sent a slow, unmistakable pulse of warmth through you that had very little to do with your drink.
You had suggested a shower as more of a practical step, to rid yourself of the sweat and mess from earlier.
It didn't stay practical for long.
The bathroom was small, warm light softening the tiles. You remembered sitting on this same floor once, picking glass out of your palm, finally facing what you'd been ignoring.
Now you were here with them, reclaiming the space.
Atsumu moved first, tugging his shirt over his head without ceremony, and Kiyoomi followed suit. Their bodies were all clean lines and defined muscle, the kind that came from years of discipline and training.
They'd seen most of you already—hands and mouths mapping skin in the dim warmth of the bedroom—but this felt different. Exposed. Under the light there was nothing to hide behind, no shadows to soften the edges.
Your heart kicked up, pulse loud in your ears.
Atsumu glanced back as he reached into the shower, holding one hand under the spray to test the temperature. His gaze found yours and held. Kiyoomi paused, towels still folded in his hands, dark eyes flicking to you with that same careful attention.
Fuck it, you decided.
You stripped quickly, before you could overthink it, letting the fabric fall to the floor.
Atsumu never looked away. His hand stayed under the water, forgotten, eyes tracking over you. Kiyoomi was beside you a moment later, close enough that you heard the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
The weight of their attention settled over you—warm and intent and completely unwavering—and suddenly you weren't sure what to do with your hands.
It wasn't that you were particularly self-conscious about your body. But standing between them, the contrast was undeniable. They were sculpted, powerful, their bodies honed by years of experience as professional athletes. You were softer, built differently, and the awareness of it settled over you all at once.
Kiyoomi noticed. He always noticed everything.
He moved into your space, close enough that you felt the heat of him. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and he kissed your temple with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
"You're beautiful," he murmured. Simple and certain, the way he said everything he meant.
Something in you loosened. You exhaled slowly, and when you glanced at Atsumu, his smile was blinding—bright and unguarded and so full of warmth it made something in you settle. The way they looked at you made it impossible to feel anything but wanted.
The bathroom filled quickly with steam, the air heavy and warm before you'd even found your footing. You took turns under the spray, unhurried, letting the heat work into your skin.
Then Atsumu reached for the soap, and it began.
Their hands moved over you with reverence. Atsumu worked the lather across your shoulders and down your arms, his touch slow and deliberate. Kiyoomi's hands traced your waist, your stomach, the curve of your ribs—methodical and tender, learning every part of you. When their hands occasionally met on your skin, neither pulled away.
You turned to face them, your back to the spray, water running down your chest. The sight of them—both flushed from the heat, wet hair plastered to their foreheads, watching you with identical, barely-contained want—sent a slow, deep pulse of heat through your belly.
You sank to your knees on the wet tile.
The water cascaded warm over your back as you looked up at them through your lashes, steam blurring their edges. Atsumu's breath hitched audibly. Kiyoomi went very still.
You reached for Atsumu first, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock, and leaned forward—your tongue tracing a slow, flat stripe from base to tip, tasting clean skin and the faint, musky warmth that was purely him.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand coming to cradle the back of your head. Not pushing. Just holding, like he needed somewhere to put the feeling.
You took him into your mouth, sinking down slowly, savoring the low groan it dragged from his chest. Your other hand found Kiyoomi, already hard, and began to stroke him in a rhythm that matched the steady bob of your head. The dual sounds of them—Atsumu's breathless, barely-contained praise and Kiyoomi's low, controlled exhales that frayed at the edges—threaded together over the drum of the shower and settled somewhere deep in your chest.
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around Atsumu's head until his hips gave a small, involuntary thrust he immediately tried to rein in.
"So good, Baby," he managed, his fingers curling gently in your wet hair. "So fuckin' good."
You pulled off slowly, dragging it out, and turned to Kiyoomi. He had gone still beside Atsumu, watching with an intensity that felt almost tangible.
You held his gaze for a moment, just long enough to watch his throat move as he swallowed.
Then you leaned forward and took him into your mouth.
His control shattered on contact. A sharp, guttural groan tore from somewhere low in his chest—nothing like his usual measured quiet—his head falling back against the tile, the tendons in his neck pulling taut. His hand came to rest at your jaw, cradling rather than guiding, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the ragged unsteadiness of his breathing. Like even now, coming apart, he was careful with you.
You took your time with him, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way each slow movement pulled a new sound from him that he seemed almost surprised by. There was something deeply satisfying about having them both so thoroughly undone by you.
You worked them both—your mouth and your hands, a slow and synchronised rhythm—until their thighs began to tremble against you.
"Stop," Atsumu rasped, his voice strained to breaking. "Gotta stop, or I'm gonna—"
You pulled back, your lips swollen and sensitive. Kiyoomi drew you to your feet in one smooth motion, his mouth on yours instantly—deep and unhurried, tasting himself and Atsumu both on your tongue.
"Bedroom," he murmured against your lips, and it wasn't a suggestion.
You didn't make it far before they were on you.
The sheets were still cool against your damp skin when Atsumu's mouth found your breast, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around your nipple before drawing it between his lips. The sound you made was embarrassingly immediate. Kiyoomi pressed his lips to your collarbone, your sternum, working his way down your stomach with unhurried, open-mouthed kisses, his dark hair tickling your skin as he went. He paused when he reached the jut of your hip, glancing up at you from beneath dark lashes—a silent question, patient and certain all at once. You nodded, and his mouth found your core.
The first long, slow lick pulled a groan from your throat before you could catch it. He ate you with focused, devastating intensity—methodical in the best possible way, cataloguing every catch of your breath, every involuntary arch of your hips, until he knew exactly where to linger and exactly when to push. The orgasm built steadily, inevitably, and when it finally broke you apart he worked you through every last trembling wave of it, unhurried, thorough to the end.
You were still shaking when he pulled back. Then Atsumu replaced him, and the difference was immediate.
In high school it had been fumbling and sweet and occasionally frustrating—two teenagers with more eagerness than skill. This was nothing like that. This was Atsumu, grown and confident, with years of experience behind every deliberate movement of his tongue.
He was playful where Kiyoomi had been methodical, greedy where Kiyoomi had been studious—his tongue flicking and circling, pulling back just when you thought you had the measure of him, drawing it out with a grin you could feel against your skin. He sucked your clit into his mouth with a sureness that made your back arch clean off the bed, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, your fingers twisting into his hair.
"There," you gasped, and he listened—he had always listened when it counted—settling into exactly the right pressure, the right rhythm, relentless and unwavering until the orgasm rolled through you in a long, cresting wave that left you breathless and boneless and gripping the sheets.
He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
They took turns, seamless and unhurried, passing you back and forth between them until you lost all sense of time. Your body was trembling, wrung out and desperate, overstimulation riding the fine line between pleasure and too much.
“Please," you finally begged, your voice raw. "I need—I need…” The words dissolved. You were too far gone, too wrung out and desperate to string a coherent sentence together.
Atsumu moved to kneel beside you, his hair thoroughly mussed from where your fingers had been. He looked wrecked and golden and thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. "Tell us what you want, Baby," he said, his voice low and coaxing. "Use your words."
You looked between them—Atsumu watching you with warm, intent eyes, Kiyoomi still and waiting, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breath.
"I want you both," you managed. "Inside me. Please."
Both of them stilled. Kiyoomi was the one who spoke first, his voice careful and even. "How do you want us?"
You sat up, your chest heaving, trying to gather yourself. The question deserved a real answer and your brain was barely functional. "I—" You trailed off, pressing your lips together.
Atsumu reached forward and ran his thumb across your cheek, patient and unhurried. "We'll do this however you want," he said quietly. "Both at once, or one at a time. Whatever you're comfortable with."
You thought about the conversation from last night. The honest, slightly stumbling admission that you weren't particularly experienced, let alone with anal. It wasn't that you were opposed to it, but the idea was more nerve-wracking than anything else.
"One at a time," you said. Then, because it felt important to say: "For now."
The corner of Atsumu's mouth lifted. He pressed his lips to your forehead, then looked to Kiyoomi over your head. Something passed between them in the silence, a question asked and answered. Atsumu's expression settled into something knowing. "I've got an idea." He turned to Kiyoomi. "You go first."
Kiyoomi held his gaze for a beat. Then he reached out, grabbed Atsumu by the jaw, and kissed him—fierce and unhesitating. Atsumu groaned into it, his hand coming up to grip Kiyoomi's hair, and for a moment they were entirely lost in each other, trading the taste of you between them.
You watched, your mind gone completely quiet, filled with nothing but the sight of them—beautiful and unguarded and entirely yours—and the slow, disbelieving certainty that this was actually happening.
"Lay back," Atsumu said to Kiyoomi, his voice low and certain. His eyes cut to you. "You’ll be on top."
Kiyoomi shifted back against the pillows without argument, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach, and held a hand out to you. Quiet and steady, the way he did everything. Something about it made you feel thoroughly cared for, like there was no version of this where he would rush you. You took his hand, let him help guide you as you swung your leg over and straddled him, your hands bracing against the hard planes of his chest.
Behind you, the soft click of the nightstand drawer. The quiet snap of a cap.
Atsumu, always thinking ahead.
You reached between your bodies, taking Kiyoomi in your hand, and sank down slowly. The stretch of him drew a quiet sound from somewhere deep in your throat—he was thick and warm and entirely overwhelming. For a moment neither of you moved, just existed in the consuming fact of it. His hands settled warm and steady at your hips, and the world narrowed to nothing but the places where your bodies met.
"Okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow arc across your hipbone.
"More than okay," you managed.
Atsumu pressed himself against your back, his chest warm against your spine, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. His hands joined Kiyoomi's at your hips, and for a moment the three of you were just still. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, working slow and firm circles that made you clench helplessly around Kiyoomi beneath you.
Kiyoomi's jaw tightened. His hands gripped you harder.
Then you felt the cool, slick press of Atsumu's finger at your other entrance, and your eyes flew open.
"Hey." His voice was low and unhurried at your ear, his lips brushing your temple. "Just relax. We go as slow as you need. You tell me to stop and I stop. Always." A pause. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course," you answered, without hesitation. You did. You always had.
You took a slow, deliberate breath and let your body soften against his. He pressed in slowly, just to his first knuckle. The stretch was sharp and foreign, blooming almost immediately into something deeper that made your mouth fall open in a soundless gasp.
Even just that much was intoxicating in a way that made your thoughts blur at the edges. You were surrounded by them in every possible sense—their warmth at your front and back, their hands on your skin, their breath in your hair. You had never felt less alone in your life.
A shiver moved through you, involuntary and full-bodied. Kiyoomi noticed immediately, his eyes searching your face. "Are you okay?"
You couldn't form words. You hummed something affirmative, nodding once, hoping it was enough.
It seemed to be. His hands resumed their slow, steadying stroke against your skin.
"I've got you," Atsumu murmured against your neck, his lips warm at your pulse point. "We've got you. Move when you're ready."
You rocked your hips, tentative at first, just a slow roll. The sensation ricocheted through you, every nerve ending lit and singing. You moved again, more deliberately. Atsumu's finger matched your rhythm, and Kiyoomi's hands at your hips guided without demanding, letting you set the pace.
You looked down at Kiyoomi. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and blown wide, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding still for you. You leaned down and kissed him, messy and a little desperate, your foreheads nearly knocking together. He kissed you back with a fierceness that stole the last of your breath, his hand coming up to cup your face.
You began to move in earnest.
"God," Atsumu breathed against the back of your neck, his voice frayed. "You have no idea—you look—fuck." He pressed his lips to your spine. "So perfect. Takin' us both so perfectly."
The pleasure built slowly, deliberately, layering itself with every careful movement. There was a heightened awareness to everything—every sensation amplified, every shift of your hips requiring more attention than usual. You moved carefully, tentative rolls that gradually grew more confident as your body adjusted and the strangeness gave way to something unmistakably, deeply good.
Kiyoomi matched you instinctively, his hands guiding rather than driving, his pace measured and deliberate. He gave you every bit of the time you needed and asked for nothing more, and the patience of it made you feel entirely safe to find your footing.
Atsumu's finger moved in a slow, shallow rhythm at your back, his lips brushing your neck. Then he stilled.
"Can you take another?" he murmured, his voice low and unhurried, leaving every bit of the decision to you.
You considered it—the stretch, the fullness, the fact that everything already felt like more than you'd known how to prepare for. Then you nodded.
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and obliged, slow and careful, giving you every opportunity to change your mind.
A small gasp escaped you, barely a sound at all. Atsumu stilled immediately, his lips warm at your temple.
Kiyoomi's eyes found yours. "Okay?"
"Yes," you said. "Just—give me a second."
Nobody moved. Atsumu's hand rested flat and warm against your lower back, and Kiyoomi held himself perfectly still beneath you, patient in the way that came so naturally to him. You breathed through it, letting your body catch up, adjusting to the new fullness until the sharpness dulled and settled into something manageable.
”Okay," you said finally. "Okay, I'm good."
You began to move again, your hips finding a new, combined rhythm. Each inward thrust from Kiyoomi pushed you against Atsumu’s finger; each movement from Atsumu made you clench tighter around Kiyoomi. It was a perfect, devastating circuit.
Then Kiyoomi shifted beneath you, one hand leaving your hip, his thumb finding your clit and beginning slow, deliberate circles.
The effect was immediate, your skin breaking out in chills. The combination of sensations—Kiyoomi deep inside you, Atsumu at your back, that steady pressure exactly where you needed it—wove together into something so consuming it settled into your bones, deep and electric and overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Oh fuck,” you breathed, the words barely audible.
"Good?" Kiyoomi murmured, watching your face.
"So good," you managed. "Don't stop."
And you didn't. The three of you moved together that in a way that felt almost inevitable, and when it finally crested and broke it took you completely apart. You pitched forward, your mouth finding Kiyoomi's, your whole body seizing around him as the pleasure crashed through you. He followed moments later, his groan muffled against your lips, his hand coming up to your back as he shuddered beneath you, holding you through it as you held him.
Atsumu eased his fingers free slowly, carefully, his other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back as he did.
For a moment you stayed there, draped over Kiyoomi, the three of you existing in the warm, heavy quiet of the aftermath.
Then Atsumu's lips found the back of your neck, and just like that, the hunger resurfaced.
You became aware of him the way you always had, that pull as familiar and insistent as it had ever been. You had loved Miya Atsumu since before you'd known what love was—had grown up alongside him, given your heart to him freely. Then, when the time came, you stepped aside and released him toward something he hadn't yet known how to name. You had told yourself the wanting had faded with time and distance, but that had never entirely been true.
There was a saying you'd turned over in your mind more than once over the years. If you love someone, set them free. If it's meant to be, they'll return.
You had meant it as a kindness. To him, and to yourself.
Never had you imagined that not only would he return, but that he would bring someone with him. Someone who would become just as essential, like a piece of yourself you hadn't known was missing until it was suddenly, undeniably there.
You pulled back slowly, turning to look at Kiyoomi. Really look at him. His chest was still heaving, his wavy hair thoroughly messed, his expression open in a way he rarely allowed. It struck you, not for the first time, how far the two of you had come—how someone who had once been little more than a name attached to an old heartache had become, quietly and without announcement, one of the most important people in your life.
You reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers gentle. He turned into the contact without thinking, nuzzling against your palm like it was the most natural thing in the world. The gesture, so unguarded, so unlike the composed and careful man he usually was, made something bloom warm in your chest.
You leaned forward and pressed your lips to the two moles above his brow, one and then the other.
When you pulled back, the careful mask of him had dissolved entirely, replaced by something luminous and rare. Something that looked, unmistakably, like joy.
He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face toward his, pulling you into a kiss that was slow and certain and achingly tender.
Behind you, you felt Atsumu shift, repositioning himself to get a better view. You broke the kiss just enough to glance sideways at him. He was watching the two of you with an expression so open and full of love it made your throat tighten.
You wanted to give him the same thing. Wanted him to have exactly this.
You turned back to Kiyoomi. "Can I—"
"Yes," he said immediately, his eyes already moving between you and Atsumu. No hesitation. No negotiation. The answer had clearly never been in question.
He sat up, and Atsumu reached past you and grabbed his hand, pulling him forward until the three of you were pressed together, a tangle of warm skin and shared breath. Atsumu kissed Kiyoomi first, deep and unhurried, and then turned to you.
His mouth found yours, and you reached between you, wrapping your hand around his cock. He groaned into the kiss, his hips pushing forward involuntarily.
"I need you," he rasped against your lips. "Right now. Please."
"I'm yours," you said into his mouth. Simple and absolute and entirely true.
Something shifted in his expression, cracked open just for a second. Then his hands were moving, gentle but purposeful, guiding you back against Kiyoomi's chest until you were both eased down against the mattress, Kiyoomi warm and solid at your back.
Atsumu looked down at you both, his chest heaving, his golden eyes burning. The boy from your memories was somewhere in the lines of his face—older now, fuller, certain in ways he hadn't been as a teen—and you loved every version of him you'd ever known.
You reached between you and guided him to your entrance. He breathed your name like a prayer, like something sacred, and sank into you.
You couldn't help the moan that escaped you as he sank in slowly, eased by the slick warmth of you and Kiyoomi both. A low, broken sound tore from his chest—like the reality of it had hit him all at once. For a moment neither of you moved, trembling at the edges, just existing in the overwhelming fact of it.
He felt like coming home to a place you hadn't known you'd been missing.
You let yourself sink fully back into Kiyoomi, his chest warm and solid against your spine, his legs parting to accommodate the two of you naturally. His arm wrapped loosely around your waist from behind, anchoring you against him.
You shuddered. The thought of being surrounded and filled by them both, of what that would feel like, made your breath catch. You would get there someday.
Then Atsumu moved.
His first thrust was slow and deep and devastatingly deliberate. One hand was braced against the mattress beside you, the other reached past your hip and found Kiyoomi's hand, fingers twining together without a word.
His rhythm built gradually—confident, passionate, like he knew exact whay you needed. Your eyes fell closed, the bliss of it pulling you under before you'd had the chance to resist.
"Look at me." His voice was a rasp, low and urgent. "Stay with me. I want to see you."
You forced your eyes open and found his burning, golden gaze. There was sweat on his brow and his hair was a mess and the expression on his face made your chest crack open. You wrapped your legs around his waist and locked your ankles, pulling him deeper, and he gasped and his rhythm stuttered.
"Fuck. Yes. Just like that."
Kiyoomi's free hand found your arm, stroking slow and steady, grounding you to the bed, to the room. Somehow that made everything more, not less.
You met Atsumu thrust for thrust, your hips rolling up to meet his. Each drive of his hips brought his stomach flush against your clit, the delicious friction causing your vision to blur at the edges. He broke his rhythm to lean down and kiss you—sloppy and desperate—then pulled back just far enough to speak against your lips.
“Missed this," he said, his voice cracked down the middle. "Missed you. So damn much."
"Me too," you gasped, the words breaking apart as he shifted his angle and found that deep, perfect place. "Right there—Tsumu, please—"
He gave you everything you asked for.
"God, you're beautiful," Atsumu breathed, his eyes sweeping over you like he was trying to memorize every detail. "Look at you."
Kiyoomi's lips found your temple from behind, his voice low and certain at your ear. "So beautiful," he echoed, his hand smoothing up your side. "You have no idea."
The words undid something in you—being seen by both of them, praised by both of them, held between them like something precious. It layered itself on top of everything else until your eyes stung with the overwhelming fullness of it.
"So good for us," Atsumu murmured, his pace unwavering. "Always so perfect."
Kiyoomi's lips pressed to the curve of your neck in quiet agreement, and that was all it took. The coil wound tighter and tighter, hotter than anything before it, building until it had nowhere left to go.
When it broke, it took you completely apart. Your back arched, his name tearing from your throat, your walls gripping and milking him with every pulse of pleasure. He followed with a final, devasting thrust, his cry muffled against your neck. His hips stuttering as he spilled into you, deep and endless. Behind you, Kiyoomi's arms tightened around you both, holding the three of you together through every last tremor.
He collapsed onto you, his full weight grounding and welcome. You held him, your fingers tracing the planes of his back, slow and aimless.
For a long time there was nothing but the thick, satisfied quiet of the room and the sound of three people finding their way back to themselves.
Eventually Atsumu eased out of you, slow and careful, and you became acutely aware of the state you you were in. Sweat-damp and thoroughly, undeniably messy, the evidence of them both warm on your thighs. You knew you needed to move, yet the intention refused to translate into action. Your body was boneless and heavy against Kiyoomi's chest, perfectly content to stay exactly where it was.
Kiyoomi's lips pressed to your temple. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, as if he'd read your mind.
Before you could protest or attempt to find your legs, he shifted and scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all. Your arms went around his neck on instinct, your head dropping to his shoulder. He carried you to the bathroom without a word, set you down gently, and pulled the door closed behind him to give you privacy.
When you opened the door, he was there waiting, robe in hand. You pulled it on—thick and oversized, the sleeves tumbling well past your fingers—and laughed softly at your own reflection. Kiyoomi didn't laugh, but the look on his face said he found it just as endearing as you found it funny.
He carried you back to the bedroom. From the bathroom you could hear the sound of Atsumu washing his hands, the low rush of the tap. Kiyoomi set you gently on the edge of the bed, then moved quietly around the room—folding discarded clothes, returning the lube to the nightstand drawer, restoring order to the wreckage of the morning.
Atsumu appeared in the doorway, a warm washcloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He handed you the glass first, waiting until you'd taken a long, grateful sip before he settled himself between your legs. His touch was gentle, cleaning you with a tenderness you hadn’t known in years.
"Was that okay?" he asked, not looking up. His voice had gone quiet and serious.
Across the room, Kiyoomi stilled and turned, waiting.
You looked between them, these two men who were wrecked and earnest and entirely yours, and smiled so wide it almost hurt.
"Are you kidding me?" you said. "I've never come that hard in my life. Let alone that many times." You shook your head. "Yes. It was more than okay."
Atsumu snorted, the tension breaking immediately, and answered by pressing a kiss directly to your cunt. He grinned, completely unrepentant, as you swatted his shoulder.
Kiyoomi crossed the room and took the washcloth from him, finishing the job with his usual attention to detail. You watched them both for a moment—these two men, powerful and beautiful, professional athletes whose bodies were honed to perfection—on their knees in front of you, caring for you after giving you the best sex of your life.
It occurred to you suddenly that you had been so consumed by your own experience that you hadn't once stopped to wonder about theirs. Whether what you'd shared had felt as significant to them as it had to you. Whether they were alright.
"Was it okay for you?" you asked, your voice coming out softer than you intended. "For both of you?"
Atsumu looked up at you from where he was still settled at the foot of the bed. His sharp grin faded, replaced by something softer and far more sincere.
"Incredible," he said simply. His voice was quieter when he added, "I'll never forget it. Not as long as I live." His eyes moved to Kiyoomi as he said it, something unspoken passing between them.
Kiyoomi was quiet for a moment, and you could see him turning something over, searching for the right words. You and Atsumu waited, giving him the space he needed.
"I've had partners before," he began slowly, his eyes distance. "But it never—it didn't mean anything. Not until Atsumu." He paused. "And I thought I understood what I wanted. What I was capable of feeling." Another pause, longer this time. "But that was—it felt like—" He stopped. His jaw tightened. The words were there, you could see them, but he couldn't quite reach them. "I think I...”
Your heart was racing. You knew. You were almost certain you knew exactly what he was trying to say, how much it was taking out of him to try.
"I know," you said gently, before he could spiral further. You reached out, cupping his face gently in your palm. "I feel it too."
The tension left him all at once, his shoulders dropping, something flooding his expression that looked very much like relief. Like gratitude. Like he'd been carrying the weight of the unsaid thing and you'd simply reached over and taken it from him.
Atsumu's hand found your leg, squeezing once. When you glanced at him his eyes were warm, the careful set of his expression telling you everything. That it had meant the world to him, seeing the way you had simply known what Kiyoomi needed and given it to him without hesitation.
He rose without a word, extending his hand first to you, then to Kiyoomi, and guided the three of you back toward the bed. He lay down, tugging you gently against his chest, then patted the space on your other side.
"Come here, Omi."
Kiyoomi lay down facing you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. You rested one hand on his chest, the other moving slowly through his hair. His eyes drifted closed, a long, quiet exhale leaving him—like the last of something he'd been holding finally letting go.
Atsumu's fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach.
A comfortable silence stretched between the three of you, unhurried and full. Outside, the city carried on without you In here, nothing needed to be said, nothing needed to be solved. The world could wait.
You thought about the months that had led you here—the upheaval, the uncertainty, the moments that had felt impossible to survive. The flashbacks and the careful conversations, the slow, terrifying work of letting people in. It had been tumultuous and exhausting and sometimes it had felt like too much.
But it had brought you here. To this room, to this bed, to these two people who had chosen you as completely as you had chosen them.
You wouldn't trade a single moment of it.
You closed your eyes, sinking into the warmth on either side of you, and felt—with a quiet, certain joy that settled all the way into your bones—that this was only the beginning. That whatever came next, you would meet it like this.
Summary: A lot can change in two years, but will your husband be able to gain back your trust?
Pairing: past (?) Joel Miller x fem. reader
Wordcount: 3k
Rating: T
Warnings: angst, talk about past shitty behaviour, moving on, feelings and their denial, more feelings, earning back trust, eventual forgiveness, flashbacks, maybe... a kiss???!
A/N: This is it! The last part of yet another series that started out as a very angsty one shot I had no real intention of writing more parts of. I hope you like this last part. Now all I need is to finish my long neglected Joel Soulmate series....
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part five of invisible string
Christmas was approaching.
The second Christmas you and your family would be spending in Jackson.
And with it a long to do list to make the holiday as perfect as it was possible in these times. The plan today was to prepare everything for the cookie bake session the next day at the community hall. Your alarm bleeped early and you reached over it blindly with a long groan that turned into a cough that shook your whole body.
Groaning you turned to lay on your back, your eyes blinking open.
Trying to take a deep breath through your nose gave you another cough attack, your throat hurting, your nose stuck.
„Fuck,“ you sighed, eyes closing.
„Mommy?“ There was a knock on the door. It was Ana.
„Mhhhhh?“ You sighed and the door opened. Your heard her footsteps coming to the side of your bed, your eyes opening. Smiling softly at her wearing the Christmas jumper Tommy had gotten for her and her brother only the week before. Patrol having found five boxes in the corner of an old store a couple weeks ago.
Her lips turned down as she looked at you.
„Are you okay Mom?“ She asked, frowning.
„I think I’m a little bit sick,“ you coughed, voice hoarse.
„Oh nooo,“ she said, about to crawl into bed with you when you heard the door downstairs open and Joel calling a loud Good Morning into the house.
„Daddy’s here,“ she cried out happily before she turned around, about to run out of your room, stopping at the door, looking at you.
„Get better soon,“ she smiled before she turned around and ran down the hallway, leaving you chuckling to yourself.
You must have fallen asleep again at some point, the sun already high up in the sky when your eyes blinked open the next time. You tried to take a deep breath which only ended in another coughing fit.
You looked around the room, surprised when you found a full bottle of water on your bedside table. Next to it was one of those herbal scent candles lighted you knew one of the nurses from the clinic made in her free time and you think you could scent the eucalyptus. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.
„You’re awake,“ you were startled, your head turning towards the voice, finding Joel leaning in the doorway.
„Barely,“ you croaked and he hummed.
„I got the kids to school and I shovelled the snow in front of the house. I also started some chicken soup downstairs and Tommy will get some honey so I can make you your favourite tea,“ he said and a small smile sneaked to your face.
„You remember my favourite tea?“ You asked and he looked almost insulted.
„With the amount of times you asked me to keep an eye out for honey and lemon? You bet I do,“ he winked.
You still did not know how to react to him causally mentioning things like these.
The last almost two years had been a constant back and forth on your journey to learning to trust Joel again. And he was working hard to get you to trust him again.
You had talked. A lot.
Which was so unlike the Joel you had married in Boston. He answered every question you had and apologised over and over again until you told him to stop.
Deep down you had forgiven him a long time ago, and you told him so. Because it was hard to hold a grudge over someone who had such a big part in your life.
But that did not mean things could just go back to the way they were before.
Something he agreed on. He did not want to get back to how things were. Because the way he treated you was not how a husband should treat his wife. And if you’d give him a chance to show him how he wanted to treat you if you’d let him, he’d love to have one.
That was how family dinner started.
Once per week in your house.
Once in his house.
And occasionally at Tommy and Maria’s.
In the beginning your brother joined the dinners too, still not trusting Joel completely, at least not with you and his family.
Outside of that they became quite the patrol team, becoming partners. Calvin trusted Joel to have his back and vice versa. But it took longer to gain that trust when it came to you and the kids.
You actually had one of your biggest fights with your brother when you wanted to tell Ana and Leo that Joel was their father.
It was almost a year ago.
You could see the longing in Joel’s eyes every time he was looking at the two children.
And even though it scared the shit out of you to tell them the truth and let Joel into your life like that, you knew your kids life would be better with Joel as their father.
Because above all, Joel was a Dad.
He had spoken a lot to you about Sarah and how losing her made him lose the part of himself that kept him going. That kept him human.
He told you that he felt a little like that again when he met you, when you were together. But so many things had happened that made him fear for what would happen if you were taken from him too, that he always kept you at arms length. Even though all he wanted was to just love on you.
That part of him had died, or so he thought.
Loosing you for real had made him spiral so badly, he had woken up in the FEDRA hospital with no recollection of how he got there.
Apparently while drinking himself into a coma his heart had given out and he had a heart attack.
If it wasn’t for Tess coming to pick him up for a drop he would have died.
And it was only after then that he realised how much he was the problem in the situation he was in.
Which apparently did not mean he wanted to change.
No, things got even worse before they got better, but Joel did not want to go into detail about that.
It was only after he was tasked with taking Ellie to the fireflies, you knew she was immune by now, that he felt like he was starting to heal. It was her that did it, and he told you that he was sorry he could not do it for you. That you had to live with a shell of a man.
More than once he asked you how you could ever have fallen in love with him in the first place to which you only said
„The moment I first saw you I knew that you would be it for me. It was you or no one, Joel.“
And so, a week before Joel’s birthday you had sat him down and told him that you wanted to tell Ana and Leo that he was their father.
A news that was taken with big eyes and excited shouts of „I always wanted a Daddy!“ by both of your kids when you finally told them.
Yet when a month after Ana and Leo asked you if they could have a sleepover at their Daddy’s place you found yourself agreeing only reluctantly. Frankly, you did not know what to do with yourself when your kids weren’t around. Because ever since you had given birth to them, you were never apart for more than a couple of hours.
This would be two days.
You think it was the panic of being completely alone in your house that made you agree to meet up for dinner with Nick, Jackson’s dentist.
He was in his late forties and had been in Jackson for the last five years.
And it was only after almost an hour into the dinner that you realised that he thought this was a date. A date you had said yes to.
Internally panicking you had excused yourself with a very much not existent headache, making your way to Maria and Tommy’s where you and Maria had a glass of Jackson’s first red wine and a much needed talk which made you come to the realisation that the thought of dating, let alone being together with anyone other than Joel was so foreign to you that for some reason you let Maria talk you into an actual date with Nick.
It seemed logical to you after two glasses of wine.
Something you regretted by the time the date ended and you had allowed Nick to kiss you.
You felt absolutely nothing.
Thankfully he felt the same way.
What you did not know was that Joel had seen the two of you kiss. He had been on his way to the Bison to pick up leftover cake for the kids, Ellie was at home with Ana and Leo.
It was only when Tommy walked by, watching Joel stare at the spot you and Nick had long been gone from that Joel snapped out of his trance, the cake long forgotten as he walked back to his house.
He had asked you about it the next morning, wanting to know if he still had a chance to make things right with you.
And seeing him like that, almost desperate at the thought of having lost you for good, stirred something in you.
So in a move neither you or him had seen coming, you had kissed him.
It was just a quick peck, so quick you did not even realise it happened until after when you saw Joel’s surprised expression. He just looked down at you, his lips parted in surprise. You were torn if you wanted to run out for the door or if you wanted more. So you didn’t fight him when he pulled you closer, his arm hesitantly coming to wrap around your body, his face lowering to catch your lips in a kiss that would be consuming your every waking thought in the near future.
He kissed you like you were his oxygen, and it stirred something inside of you, you thought you had forgotten.
Joel moaned when you let your fingers scratch through his hair, his whole body seemingly jumping in surprise.
Parting from your lips, he rested his forehead against yours.
A tear slipped down his cheek as he smiled at you.
„I gotta pick up the kids from school,“ he whispered and you took a deep breath.
„I know,“ you whispered back.
He pecked your lips again, before he very reluctantly let go of you.
„See you at my place for family dinner later?“ He asked, to which you only nodded. He smiled, making you laugh when he walked straight into the wall behind him, cursing under his breath.
That day was three months ago.
And while you haven’t kissed since then, you and Joel got closer. As close as possible without actually being together.
Because there was a tiny part of your brain who was still wondering if the old Joel is lurking somewhere. If he would end up hurting you again once something happened that he could not deal with. If he would lash out like a wounded animal just to push you away again.
Though deep down the last almost two years had shown you that he had changed. He was…. Content. Happy even at times. Mostly when he was with you and the kids.
Ana and Leo asking if their Daddy could live with you was not helping either.
Because you craved it.
You craved having some… domestic normalcy in this crazy world. You wanted to come home to Joel. To have dinner with him and the kids every single day. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms. You wanted to wake up with him.
You just wanted to be with him.
The tiny part in your brain just needed to shut up and let you do your thing.
When you woke up the next time to a coughing fit, the sun was setting outside. Taking a deep breath, or as deep as you could manage, you sat yourself up with a groan. You went in the bathroom to do your business before you grabbed your fluffy bathrobe, Joels birthday gift to you, and slowly made your way downstairs.
You could hear Leo asking something when you made it down the stairs. Following his voice you walked towards the kitchen, a smile sneaking to your lips at the picture that you walked into.
Joel was sitting at the kitchen table together with Leo, Ana on his lap. He had his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, as he helped Ana use one of the cookie cutters to make the perfect cookie, a big sheet of dough on the table.
Looking through the kitchen you could see that he must have prepared the whole dough that you had intended to make for the baking session tomorrow. There was a big pot on the stove which probably would be the chicken soup he mentioned earlier. And to top it all off it looked like he had fixed the blinds of the kitchen window.
„Mommy is awake,“ you heard Joel say and you looked back at your little family, sitting at the table.
Leo and Ana were grinning at you, just like Joel, all three showing the dimple in their cheeks.
„Are you feeling better mommy?“ Ana asked and you nodded.
„A little. I might feel even better after I eat something,“ you said and she nodded.
„You should have some of the soup Dad made. It’s super yummy,“ Leo perked up and you smiled.
„I think I will,“ you said, walking over. You were about to grab a bowl to put some soup in when you heard Joel get up.
„Sit. I’ll bring you some,“ he whispered as he walked by, his hand coming to rest on your hip as he did. You nodded, too tired to fight him before you walked and sat down at the table.
„Daddy made so much dough, we can make our own cookies,“ Ana said, carefully picking up the cookie she had just cut out, setting it down on the baking sheet.
„I didn’t even know Daddy could make dough. Or…. Cook anything really,“ you said.
„I have some hidden talents you do not know about,“ Joel winked as he sat a bowl of soup down you wish you could smell. It looked delicious and you gave him a small smile.
„You gotta tell me about those hidden talents some time,“ you said and he nodded with a mischievous grin.
„Will do. Now eat. You gotta get better,“ he said before he sat back down to make some more cookies.
This is what you wanted.
You wanted to have everyone you loved under one roof. You wanted Joel to never leave.
You were back in bed after dinner, reading your book when you heard a soft knock on your opened bedroom door. Looking up you found Joel there, looking at you.
„Kids are in bed. I’m gonna get them tomorrow morning too, so try to sleep the cold off and get better quickly. Wouldn’t want you to miss Christmas over this,“ he said.
You nodded softly.
„Okay. Then…. Good night,“ he said, about to leave.
„Joel?“ You asked and he stopped and looked at you.
„Yeah?“
„Would you… Would you mind staying?“ You asked quietly.
Concern washed over his face immediately, walking towards you.
„Are you feeling worse?“ He asked. He knelt down beside the bed with a groan, his hand coming to rest on your forehead. You shook your head, your hand taking his and pulling it down to rest against your cheek.
„I want…. I want you to stay. Here. With me. With us. I want us to be a real family. I want to fall asleep next to you every night. I… want you to be my husband. For real this time. Because I finally feel like I know you. All of you. And I… I love you,“ you said.
Joel just looked at you.
And when he didn’t say anything you were afraid you had waited for too long to completely forgive him. Your face fell and you were about to pull away when he kissed you, surprising you.
„I love you,“ he mumbled against your lips and you sighed relieved.
„I love you so much,“ he said and you carefully pushed him away.
„You gonna get sick,“ you warned and he huffed a teary laugh.
„I don’t care. Through sickness and in health, remember baby?“ He asked.
„We actually never said those vows,“ you reminded him and he hummed.
„That’s why I’m gonna ask you to marry me. For real this time. But not now,“ he said and your eyes widened, your head shaking.
„We are already married Joel. You don’t have to ask me.“
„Oh but I do. Because if we do this, I want to do this right. Fresh start. I wanna speak my vows in front of everyone who wants to listen because I will spend the rest of my life loving you the way I should have from the start,“ he said and you felt yourself tear up.
„But not now. Now I want you to get better so I can take you out to show you the surprise I’ve been working on,“ he said and you smiled.
„Surprise?“ You asked, he nodded.
„I have been working on a surprise for you and the kids, and it’s finally ready,“ he brushed his hand over your cheek.
„Now I wanna knowwww,“ you pouted and he smiled.
„You will,“ he promised.
„Joel?“
„Yeah?“
„Will you hold me?“ You whispered and his expression softened before he nodded.
Minutes later you were laying in bed, Joel behind you, his arms around you.
„Thank you for giving me another chance at loving you,“ he whispered against your ear.
„Don’t waste it,“ you hummed, already half asleep.
„I won’t,“ he promised before you both fell asleep.
STAR TEA BOYS! That was the original "name" for my invisible string series/Caleb Is Actually A Nice Guy AU where he runs a Tea Shop that helps people cross over into the afterlife. Three boys crash land in his life, and their time in the shop does not go According to Plan and Caleb is very ruffled by all of this. I kinda thought the story ended after this, but Rose got really chatty so we get to see her perspective, where we also learn that the boys had been trapped at the edge of Caleb's garden, in a dark part of a forest for twenty-five years. Again, I thought the story was complete here but Alex and Reggie came out to play. I've been waiting for Luke to get his shit together for his part of the story, but he's been suspiciously quiet. I had a few ideas pop up the other day, but he's having some trouble sticking with his metaphors right now, so he's hanging out on a burner right now. Not the back burner, per se, but he definitely needs to stew a bit longer.
What I have for him below is subject to change, like, a lot, but I like it so far:)
It's the second time today he's been dropped from such great heights and he really does not appreciate it. The breath was knocked out of his lungs on this one, though the screaming on his way down probably hadn't helped or the girl that is
screaming back at them. He's pretty sure he would have remembered a fourth person with them, especially a girl, so she must have already been here instead of being flung out of heaven or wherever they'd been. Wait…HAD they been flung out of heaven? What the hell? That's SO uncool…unless. Unless this was hell? Are we in hell now?!
Alex's fear is palpable beside him and it's enough to snap him out of his inner spiraling. Frozen in front of them, eyes wide and muscles coiled tight like a spring, is a girl who looked an awful lot like the woman that just rescued them from an eon of darkness. Reincarnation was never really a consideration in his mind, but hey, he never imagined a Tea Goblin would try to send them on their merry way and then drop them through a ceiling either.
"Rose?" Logically, he knows it's not her, but the resemblance is uncanny.
Midnight eyes narrow at him. "How do you know my mom?"
Rose has a daughter? She must have been young when she had her but it certainly was plausible. The longer he stands there stupid and unblinking, the longer she has to think.
"Did you see her up there? Wherever you came from? Did you get to talk to her? Is she okay? Where'd she go?" All of the teenager's questions pour out of her, nearly overlapping in their intensity.
"Woah, that's a lot of questions."
"Okay, so at least one of you is not mute. What about these two?" The young girl directs her focus towards Reggie, simultaneously nodding her head towards him and Alex. Reggie looks back at them for help.
"Uh," he starts, Mr. Harrison's lectures immediately clouding his mind. "Sorry. I mean, hi. My name is Luke. This is Reggie and—"
"Alex, hey," the blond finishes awkwardly, waving with his hand still in his coat pocket.
"It's kind of a funny story, actually," Luke tries for lighthearted. For some reason, he thinks she might need that. He certainly does.
"If by funny you mean horrifying, confusing, terrible, and oh, I don't know a million other adjectives for awful," Alex word vomits.
The girl is visibly distressed now.
So much for lighthearted.
Resisting the urge to close his eyes and sigh in annoyance, Luke tries again. "What I think Alex means to say is our experience was not the best. But I get the impression ours was not quite…typical." Okay, now he's just pulling stuff out of his ass. But it doesn't feel like a lie either. "Your mom, she saved us."
isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string, tying you to me?
A one night fling that turned into the reason of your whole life, then a month of falling in love with him… until he ghosted you. Mason was never there to watch her grow, completely unaware of his daughter’s existence. It was just you and Lilian Maisie against the world until fate decided play with you and change that — now you have to face the consequences of your decision to keep him out of her life for almost five years. And also try not to fall for him again when he reveals to be the best dad to your little girl.
ONE | secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought
TWO | cut open my heart, right at the scar (+18)
THREE | it could change but this feels like, like the calm before the storm
FOUR | i’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye
SPIN OFF | they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly (+18) - SOON
FIVE | “tell me everything about her.”
SIX | and if you ask me to, daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, i’ma give you the world
SIX - social media | the storm is coming but…
SEVEN | it’s you and me, that’s my whole world - SOON
“I need time with Mare, figure out what the hell to do with FlameNor, then try to convince her that there’s hope for us...” he lets the implication dangle from the end of the sentence.
It only takes her two seconds and Eve’s furrowed brows rise. “She asked for a divorce, didn’t she?” At his affirmative nod, she mumbles. “Bet you wish you’d made her sign a prenup now.”
For once in his life, Bokuto Koutarou was speechless.
It was unnerving, watching someone so perpetually animated go completely still. Bokuto just sat there across from them at the dining table, mouth slightly agape, golden eyes wide with shock as he processed what they'd just told him.
Atsumu shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hyperaware of every small movement. Beside him, Kiyoomi refused to make eye contact with either of them, his jaw tight as he stared determinedly at a spot on the wall just past Bokuto's shoulder.
They had invited Bokuto over for dinner, telling him they needed to talk to him about something important. The moment he'd arrived and seen their expressions, his usual brightness had dimmed to cautious concern. And then the truth had come spilling out. Well, almost everything.
They'd revealed that you had admitted to having feelings for both of them. And that they both—independently, simultaneously, impossibly—had developed feelings for you too.
What they left out was how they'd come to that realization.
Literally.
Atsumu was still reeling from that night. The way the confession had unlocked something primal between them, the permission they'd given each other to finally voice the desires they'd been suffocating under guilt and fear. The filthy words Kiyoomi had used to paint a picture Atsumu hadn't dared to even dream of—your body between theirs, the three of you tangled together in every possible way.
It had been the best sex of his life.
And that terrified him almost as much as it exhilarated him.
Atsumu had always felt things deeply. Hiding his emotions had never been something he was good at—his face was too expressive, his heart too close to the surface. But since you moved in, he'd tried his hardest to hide his growing feelings for you, to bury them so deep he could almost pretend they didn't exist.
Because he couldn't risk his relationship with Kiyoomi. Couldn't bear the thought of losing what they'd built together over feelings that seemed impossible, unreasonable, wrong.
He'd been so worried that his feelings would bring the end of everything.
So to discover that Kiyoomi not only understood but shared those same feelings? That the fantasy consuming Atsumu's thoughts had been living in Kiyoomi's mind too?
It felt like a miracle. And now, watching Bokuto's stunned silence stretch on, Atsumu was desperately hoping for another one.
"At least close your mouth," Kiyoomi said finally, his voice clipped. "You look like a dying fish."
Bokuto's jaw snapped shut. He blinked rapidly, looking back and forth between the two men at the dining table like he was watching a tennis match.
"Sorry, I just—wow." Bokuto shook his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. "I didn't expect this. Especially from you, Omi."
Kiyoomi's expression darkened, his shoulders tensing. Atsumu could see the sharp retort forming on his boyfriend's lips, the defensive walls slamming into place.
"How did you do it?" Atsumu jumped in quickly, drawing Bokuto's attention before Kiyoomi could say something cutting. "How did you all get there? With Birdie and Akaashi?"
Bokuto's expression shifted, going thoughtful in a way that would have seemed impossible moments ago. Then he chuckled to himself, a small smile playing at his lips.
"What's so funny?" Kiyoomi asked, somewhat tersely.
"Now that I'm thinking about it, our situations aren't all that different," Bokuto said, and the hope that bloomed in Atsumu's chest at those words was almost painful in its intensity.
Bokuto leaned back in his chair, his eyes going distant. "Birdie and I were best friends growing up. We never really defined anything, but we loved each other even back then. It had always just been the two of us." His smile turned softer, more genuine. "But when Keiji came to Fukurodani and joined the team...it was like a syzygy."
Atsumu blinked. He glanced at Kiyoomi, who looked just as confused as he felt.
"A sisi-what?" Atsumu asked.
"Syzygy," Bokuto repeated. "Like, an alignment of three planetary forces. You know, when everything just clicks into place?" He tilted his head, noticing their expressions. "Why are you guys looking at me like that?"
"Is that from a word of the day calendar or something?" Kiyoomi asked flatly.
Bokuto's eyebrows shot up. "You know I went to college, right?"
"So did I, but you don't hear me acting like a walking dictionary."
"Okay, okay. Can we focus, please?" Atsumu interrupted.
"That's rich, coming from you," Kiyoomi muttered under his breath.
Bokuto chuckled, but Atsumu pressed on before they could get derailed again. "Bo—how did you two actually bridge the gap with Akaashi? Like, how did it go from the three of you having feelings to actually being together?"
He watched as Bokuto's cheeks started to pink, a tell that immediately put Atsumu on alert. Bokuto wasn't someone who embarrassed easily.
"Spin the bottle," Bokuto admitted quietly.
There was a beat of silence.
"Oh my god." Kiyoomi hunched over, putting his head in his hands like he was in physical pain. "Oh my god."
"It was high school, okay!" Bokuto protested, his face now fully red.
“Wait, so was this at a party or something?" Atsumu asked, trying to make sense of how such a vulnerable admission could have happened during a party.
"No," Bokuto said. "It was just the three of us."
Atsumu felt his brain short-circuit. Beside him, Kiyoomi slowly lifted his head, staring at Bokuto with an expression of complete disbelief.
"So why didn't you just kiss each other of your own accord?" Kiyoomi asked, clearly exasperated.
"Well, we didn't want to come out and say anything at first..."
"So you all agreed to sit down, in a circle, spin a bottle, and kiss whoever it landed on?" Kiyoomi's voice was climbing now. "But you couldn't just admit your feelings?"
"What if it had just landed on you and Birdie?" Atsumu asked, genuinely curious despite the absurdity.
Bokuto's flush deepened. "We, uh. We did it multiple times."
"Why did I ever let you convince me this was a good idea," Kiyoomi asked Atsumu, his tone absolutely deadpan.
But Bokuto's expression had shifted, losing some of its embarrassed humor. "From where I stand, you don't have a lot of room to judge, Omi," he said, and there was an edge to his voice now—not quite defensive, but firm. "We were dumb kids at the time. We figured if it was a game and we didn't feel anything, then there were no hard feelings. We'd go back to the way things were." His voice softened. "But as soon as I kissed Keiji, I knew there was no way I could go back."
The admission hung in the air between them. Atsumu felt something twist in his chest at the raw honesty in Bokuto's voice, the vulnerability there.
They sat in silence for a moment, letting it sink in.
"What about Birdie?" Kiyoomi asked quietly, and Atsumu heard something fragile in his boyfriend's voice. "How did she feel about Akaashi?"
And suddenly Atsumu understood.
Kiyoomi was asking because he felt like Akaashi in their scenario. Atsumu and you had grown up together, had years of history. In a sense, Sakusa was the newcomer. The outsider to a connection that had existed long before he came into Atsumu's life.
Bokuto seemed to understand too, because his expression gentled. "She was scared," he said honestly. "Scared that Keiji and I would choose each other over her. That she'd be holding me back from something I hadn't explored yet." He looked between them, and his voice grew firmer. "But that fear was never the reality. What we had—Birdie and me—it was real and it mattered. We loved each other. But we were also incomplete in ways we didn't understand yet. We needed him. And he needed us."
Kiyoomi's fingers were gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white.
"I know it's scary," Bokuto continued, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But you have to be totally and completely honest with your feelings. Relationships like this don't work otherwise. There's no room for secrets. It's all three of you, all in, or it falls apart."
"You make it look so easy," Atsumu said quietly.
Something complicated flickered across Bokuto's face. "It's not," he said after a moment. "We got really lucky, and it feels incredible to share the love we have for each other. But it's also a lot of work. And it's really fucking hard sometimes."
"What do you mean?" Kiyoomi asked softly.
Bokuto looked between them, and Atsumu could see him weighing something. Deciding whether to really open up, to show them the parts he usually kept hidden behind his bright smile and boundless energy.
"I know you guys are accepting," Bokuto started slowly. "But there's a lot I don't tell you. A lot I don't tell anyone." He took a breath. "Birdie and Keiji are both no contact with their families because of our relationship. Birdie's a teacher—there's no way she can be honest about us at work either. And can you imagine if the media caught wind of our relationship?"
His laugh was hollow. "I can't post anything about them. They can come to games, sure, but I can't run up to them and celebrate after a win. I can't thank them in interviews. I can't acknowledge that they're the reason I'm standing on that court in the first place."
Bokuto tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, and Atsumu saw the exhaustion there—the weight of years of hiding.
"Sometimes," Bokuto said, his voice rough, "sometimes it feels like I have to live a double life. At home, I can be myself. I can love them openly. But the second I step outside our door, I have to pretend that the two most important people in my world are just friends." He looked back at them, and there was something raw in his eyes. "And that part? That part fucking sucks."
They sat in silence for a moment, Bokuto's words sinking in.
Atsumu's mind started turning—quiet and heavy in a way that had nothing to do with Bokuto's situation and everything to do with his own.
He thought about Kiyoomi's family first. Kiyoomi's parents were traditional—they had expectations laid out like a blueprint for the life their son was supposed to live. Hell, they didn't even know Kiyoomi was dating him. Yet Kiyoomi still tried, still held out hope they would soften to a point he could be honest with them. But if they couldn't even understand Atsumu, there was no way they would understand this.
His thoughts drifted to you next. He didn't know your family the way he knew you—and that meant something, didn't it? Growing up, most of your time together had been at school or at the Miya house, never yours. He knew your parents expected you to be perfect, knew you felt more comfortable away from them. That careful distance you kept said enough. They wouldn't understand either. Not something like this.
And then there was his own family.
Osamu wouldn't judge. Atsumu knew that without question—his brother had never once given him a reason to doubt it, not once in his entire life. Osamu would probably just shrug and make some wise-ass crack, then ask if he was really happy. That was how he operated. Simple. Steady. No drama.
He wasn't sure about his mother, and that thought terrified him.
She'd been completely accepting when Atsumu had first told her about Kiyoomi—more than accepting, really. She'd squeezed his hand and smiled in that way she had, the one that said she loved him regardless of whatever came next. And she loved you too, had always considered you part of the family even before all of this.
But this was different. This wasn't just loving a man, or loving you the way she'd always known. This was loving both at the same time, all three of them intertwined in ways that didn't fit neatly into any box his mother had ever been given. Would she still look at him with that same quiet acceptance? Or would the shape of it—the strangeness of it—be the thing that finally made her hesitate?
He didn't know. And not knowing was its own kind of ache.
But sitting here, watching Kiyoomi's careful concern and remembering Bokuto's openness—Atsumu felt something shift. Fear was there, sure. But so was determination. So was the bone deep certainty that whatever they were building together was worth fighting for.
"I'm sorry," Kiyoomi said quietly. "I had no idea what you were going through."
"Me either," Atsumu added. "Really, man. I had no idea."
Bokuto took a deep breath, visibly pushing the sorrow back and shifting into something lighter. The transformation was like watching clouds part to reveal the sun. "Thanks," he acknowledged with a small smile. "It's okay. I love them, and don't get me wrong, it's absolutely worth pursuing. I just wanted to be upfront about the challenges too."
Atsumu looked at Kiyoomi, finding his boyfriend already watching him with those dark, intense eyes.
"I'm not afraid of a challenge," Atsumu said, his voice steady and sure.
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but Atsumu could see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Me either," Kiyoomi confirmed, holding Atsumu's gaze.
For a moment, Atsumu let himself just look at his boyfriend. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his curls were starting to escape their usual neat styling, the barely-there smile that was reserved only for him. Even in the middle of all this chaos and uncertainty, Atsumu felt a surge of gratitude so intense it made his throat tight.
He was so incredibly lucky to have Kiyoomi.
"So uhh...not to interrupt the moment or anything," Bokuto said awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "But when are we gonna eat? I'm starving."
Atsumu watched as Kiyoomi laughed—actually laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded. The smile that followed lit up his entire face, transforming him into something softer, more open.
"Come on, you overgrown owl," Kiyoomi said, standing and gesturing toward the door. "We'll go eat now."
"Don't act like I'm being ridiculous! You lured me here under the promise of food!" Bokuto retorted, already moving toward the entryway.
The three of them slipped on their shoes and grabbed their jackets. Atsumu was just reaching for the door handle when Bokuto's voice stopped him.
"Hey guys."
The tone was different—serious in a way that made both Atsumu and Kiyoomi turn to look at him.
Bokuto's expression was earnest, his arms already opening. "Can I—group hug?"
"Absolutely not," Kiyoomi scoffed immediately, maneuvering past Atsumu to yank open the door.
"Sorry," Atsumu said to Bokuto, clapping him on the back as they followed Kiyoomi out. "He's had too much vulnerability for one day."
"No worries," Bokuto said with his usual gleaming smile, the one that could light up an entire stadium. "I'll get him back later."
As they headed down the hallway toward the elevator, Atsumu caught Kiyoomi's eye and saw the smallest hint of fondness there, hidden beneath the exasperation. And for the first time since this whole mess had started, Atsumu felt something like hope settle warm and steady in his chest.
They didn't have all the answers yet. They didn't know how this would work, or if it even could. But they had each other, and they had Bokuto's hard-won wisdom to guide them.
And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
"So let me get this straight. First you leave your asshole abusive ex. Then you move in with your hot volleyball ex-boyfriend and his hot volleyball boyfriend. And then you move out when you realize you have feelings for them both?"
"God, Hana, when you say it like that it makes me sound insane," you groaned, flopping ungracefully back onto the futon.
Well, Kita's futon. You were staying in his guest room, in his house tucked away in the Hyogo countryside. Three days now, and your thoughts hadn't stopped their anxious circling.
The first day, you'd asked if you could help with anything around the rice farm—hoped that physical work might quiet your thoughts. Kita had taken one pointed look at your bandaged hand, then said no. The delivery had been polite but entirely non-negotiable.
The second day, you'd tried reading. Kita had an impressive collection, and he'd told you to help yourself to anything on the shelves. But every time you opened a book, you found yourself staring at the same page for twenty minutes, reading the same sentence over and over until the words stopped meaning anything.
So on the third day, you'd called Hana.
The two of you had met freshman year of college when you'd been assigned rooms right next to each other. She'd knocked on your door late at night asking if you wanted to go on a konbini run with her, introducing herself as Hana—a nickname from her grandfather. The rest was history.
She was one of the few people in your life who knew about Atsumu. You'd told her everything when the breakup was still fresh and raw, but she'd never actually met him. Everyone else you could talk to had some connection to him, some tie that made the whole situation impossibly complicated. Hana was neutral territory, a safe space to unload without worrying about the information getting back to anyone.
"Babes, you're not insane. But…" Hana trailed off, and you could practically hear her choosing her words carefully. "Don't you think maybe it's a little soon? You just got out of a really bad situation. Your emotions are probably all over the place."
You stared up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the wood with your eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about that. But these feelings—they didn't just appear overnight. They've been building for weeks. I just didn't let myself acknowledge them until…"
"Until you couldn't ignore them anymore," Hana finished gently.
"Yeah." You swallowed hard. "And now I've made everything worse by actually saying it out loud. I can never face them again."
“Hey, you never know," Hana said, her tone shifting to something more playful. "They might both have feelings for you too."
You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping. "I highly doubt that."
"Well then they're fucking idiots, because you are smart as hell, and kind, and hot, and funny, and—"
"Okay, okay. No need to blow smoke up my ass." Despite everything, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. "I just—thank you. I needed to talk to someone about this."
"I'm here for you anytime, you know that right?"
"I do. Thank you," you replied, warmth spreading through your chest.
You reflected on how fortunate you were to have Hana in your life. She was one of the kindest people you knew, the type who'd given up a promising career to take over her grandfather's florist shop when his health started failing. After his passing, having lost the only family she had left, she'd moved to Tokyo to start her own shop. It had been a brave move, one that filled you with a quiet pride—and, if you were being honest with yourself, a twinge of envy for the courage you'd never quite managed to find in yourself.
"Anyway, enough about my disaster of a life. Are you doing anything fun?"
"I'm taking care of my neighbor's plants while he's traveling for work," Hana said, and you could hear the smile in her voice.
"You need a new definition of fun."
"He's really hot, if that makes a difference."
"Okay, now we're talking." You sat up, interest piqued. "Details. Now."
Hana chuckled. “There's not much to tell yet. I think he might be some kind of athlete—really tall, always in gym clothes. Kind of quiet, but super polite. When I was moving in, he helped me carry all my boxes up three flights of stairs, so watering his plants while he's gone is the least I could do."And the fact that he's hot is just a bonus?"
"Exactly. Though I did almost combust when I bumped into him last week. I'm a disaster."
"As the woman currently hiding in the countryside because she confessed to having feelings for two men at once, I can say with absolute confidence that you are not a disaster."
Hana's bark of laughter made you smile despite everything.
"Do you have his number?" you asked, an idea forming. "Maybe you should text him some plant updates. You know…in case he's worried about them?"
"You're evil."
"I'm helpful. There's a difference."
You went back and forth for a bit longer, plotting elaborate plant emergencies until you were both laughing. It felt good to focus on someone else's potential romance instead of your own complicated disaster.
A knock on the door interrupted your conversation.
"Dinner's ready," Kita's voice came through, quiet and steady as always.
"I gotta go," you told Hana. "But text me updates about Plant Guy."
"Only if you promise to stop hiding in the countryside."
"I'll be ready soon. Thanks, Hana," you said softly before ending the call.
Dinner with Kita was a quiet affair, as most things with him tended to be. He'd made a simple but delicious meal, everything balanced and perfectly prepared.
"This is amazing," you said, and meant it. "Thank you again for having me. I know this is a lot—"
"It's not," Kita interrupted gently. He set down his chopsticks, meeting your eyes with that calm, assessing gaze. "You're welcome here as long as you need."
The kindness of it made your throat tight.
"How's Aran doing?" you asked, partly to shift the conversation and partly because you were genuinely curious. You'd all gone to high school together, but you'd fallen out of touch with him over the years.
"He's well," Kita replied. “He plays for the Red Falcons now. We don't see each other as much as we'd like, but we talk regularly."
"That's good. It's nice that you've managed to stay close.”
Kita nodded thoughtfully. "Distance doesn't always mean losing connection. Sometimes the people who matter most remain constant, even when life takes you in different directions."
You thought about Atsumu. About all those years of friendship, how you'd remained close even after you broke up with him, back when you'd been so sure you were holding him back. Then about Sakusa, whose presence in your life was still so new, yet had somehow wormed its way just as deeply into your heart.
After dinner, you helped Kita clean up despite his protests. It felt good to be useful, to have something to do. It reminded you of the evenings in the apartment—you and Atsumu tackling the dishes together after Sakusa cooked dinner, the easy rhythm you'd all fallen into without even trying.
"Would it be okay if I did some laundry?" you asked as you dried the last dish.
"Of course." Kita paused, then added carefully, "I've noticed you don't have many belongings with you.”
You set down the dish towel and smoothed it flat against the counter, your fingers tracing the edges. "Most of my stuff is still at my old apartment." The words came out quiet. "I've been avoiding it. I wasn't ready to deal with all of that yet."
Kita didn't push, just waited with that patient stillness of his.
"But it's time," you continued. "I need to move on with my life. And before I can do that, I need to close this chapter for good."
"I see." Kita continued wiping down the counter. After a moment he spoke again. "I can go back with you, if you'd like. You can keep your things here until you figure out where you'll be staying."
The offer was so kind, so straightforward, that you almost started crying right there in his kitchen.
"That would—that would be really helpful. Thank you."
You texted your ex that evening, telling him you'd be by tomorrow to get your things and to please not be there.
All you got was a thumbs up.
The next day, Kita drove you into the city. The bed of his truck was loaded with empty boxes and crates, ready to pack up whatever pieces of your old life were worth keeping.
The trip was quiet, companionable. You listened to the radio and watched the countryside gradually give way to suburbs, then city. Kita didn't push you to talk, didn't ask questions you weren't ready to answer. He just drove, his presence steady and calming.
By the time you reached your old apartment building, your stomach had twisted into knots. You hadn't been back since that night. Since the argument that had escalated into something you still couldn't bring yourself to fully acknowledge.
Kita pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. You sat there for a moment, staring up at the familiar building.
"I'll be right here with you," Kita said quietly.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, and together you headed inside.
The apartment was on the third floor. You took the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. When you reached the door, you took a deep breath and pulled the once familiar key from your bag.
You unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
And stopped.
You noticed the smell immediately. It was too sweet, too floral.
Too unfamiliar.
You and Kita slipped off your shoes, and as you opened the small shoe closet, your heart sank. There were shoes you didn't recognize—flashy heels with red bottoms, the kind that cost more than you'd ever willingly spend. Your more practical, worn shoes were shoved to the back, half-hidden behind these new additions.
"Everything alright?" Kita asked, and you realized you'd been staring.
"Yeah…just trying to figure out how to go about this," you managed.
"Do you want to head in and start collecting things? I can at least pack up your shoes," he said, reaching for the heels.
"Those, uh…those aren't mine, Kita."
Kita stopped. You saw his brow furrow in confusion, then watched the moment realization set in. His expression didn't change much—Kita was always controlled—but something hardened in his eyes.
"I see," he said, his tone carefully neutral.
"Do you want to bring up the other boxes?" you asked, needing to move, to do something. "I'll start sorting through everything."
"I can. Are you alright?"
That was a good question. Part of you wanted to scream, to smash everything and throw those stupidly expensive shoes off the balcony. To make him feel even a fraction of what you'd felt.
But part of you also felt…relieved. You had been right. Your gut hadn't been wrong, hadn't been paranoid or jealous or crazy like he'd always insisted. He had clearly moved on—probably had been moving on long before you'd left.
It was time for you to do the same. You refused to shed any more tears for someone who cared so little for you. You were ready to rise above this, to move on to a brighter future. Whatever that looked like.
"I am," you told Kita. "Thank you for being here. I really appreciate it."
Kita nodded, studying your face for a moment before heading back down to the truck.
You pulled your shoes out from the back of the closet, setting them aside, then moved into the living room. There wasn't much you intended to take—just your books and a few meaningful tchotchkes that had survived the relationship. You noticed new decorations scattered around. A throw pillow you'd never seen. A candle on the bookshelf. Picture frames turned face-down.
Shaking your head, you steeled yourself and entered your old bedroom.
Thankfully, all of your clothes were still there. You began packing them up methodically, trying not to think too hard about the memories attached to certain pieces.
You heard the door open and close as Kita returned with the boxes. After a few moments, he appeared in the bedroom doorway.
"Do you mind packing up the books in the living room? They're all mine," you asked.
"Of course," Kita said, and disappeared back down the hallway.
Shoved in the back of the closet, buried under winter coats, you found your Inarizaki cheer uniform. The fabric was still in good condition, the colors unfaded. You ran your fingers over it, remembering all of those games under the lights. The energy in the stands. The way Atsumu always looked at you with hunger in his eyes when you wore this outfit.
You wondered if Sakusa would have looked at you the same way. What would his reaction have been if he'd seen you in something like this—something tight and short that left little to the imagination?
You quickly shoved the uniform into the box before you could spiral further, then carried it out to the living room.
Kita had dutifully packed up your books and had set out a few items on the coffee table—a ceramic mug shaped like a cat, a small succulent in a handmade pot, a framed photo of you and Hana from college.
"I pulled some things I figured were yours," he explained.
You smiled, impressed. "How did you know?"
"They reminded me of you," he said simply. Then added, with the barest hint of dry humor, "And whoever else moved in has terrible taste."
Despite everything, you laughed.
You made quick work of packing everything up and making trips down to Kita's truck. The physical labor felt good, purposeful. Each box you carried out felt like shedding weight.
Before taking the last boxes down, you slipped the key off your keyring and left it on the counter. You turned to walk away, but noticed a notepad and pen stuck to the fridge with a magnet.
"Ready?" Kita asked gently from the doorway.
"Just a sec," you said, pulling off a sheet of paper.
You scribbled down a few words, then folded up the note. Walking back to the shoe closet, you tucked it inside one of those red-bottomed heels.
"Okay. I'm ready," you told Kita.
You drove off in silence, the city slowly giving way to open road. Neither of you spoke for a while, letting the radio fill the space between you.
"What did you write?" Kita eventually asked, his voice quiet.
You looked out the window, watching the landscape blur past. "I told her to be careful. That he's not what he seems to be. And to never let him hurt her the way he hurt me."
Kita was silent at first, but you noticed his grip tightening on the steering wheel. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it. "That was kind of you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"It's okay," you said.
And you meant it.
Because sitting in Kita's truck, surrounded by boxes of your belongings, you realized something. You weren't the same person who'd moved into that apartment full of hope and naïve trust. You'd been broken down, yes. But you were building yourself back up. And this time, you were doing it on your own terms.
You thought about Atsumu and Sakusa. About the confession you'd made and the mess you'd left behind. You didn't know what would happen there, didn't know if anything could happen. But for the first time in months, you felt like you had space to breathe. Space to figure out what you actually wanted, rather than just surviving what you had.
The sun was setting as you drove back toward Hyogo, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It felt symbolic somehow, this ending of one chapter and the tentative beginning of another.
You weren't sure what came next. But you were ready to find out.
You spent another week at Kita's house.
After the initial shock of the apartment wore off, you realized how much better you felt. Lighter, even. That part of your life was done—the part that had never felt quite right to begin with, the part where you'd been trying to mold yourself into someone else's idea of who you should be.
You went back to work remotely, settling into a routine at Kita's kitchen table with your laptop, the house quiet while he worked in the fields. In the evenings, you started searching for new apartments online, scrolling through listings and imagining what a fresh start might look like.
You thought about Atsumu and Sakusa more than you cared to admit. Wondered how they were doing, if they'd talked about what you'd said, if they regretted letting you leave.
You still texted with Atsumu, but it was mostly memes and surface-level interactions. Safe. Distant. Nothing that required you to acknowledge the elephant in the room. He didn't push, and you were grateful for it, even if part of you wished he would.
You missed Sakusa's steady presence. The way he'd stayed close without crowding you, how his silence had felt more comforting than anyone else's words. You hated the way you'd left things—messy and raw, without giving either of you a chance to process. Did he miss you too? Or was he relieved you'd removed yourself from the equation before things could get more complicated?
One morning, Kita mentioned he was heading into the city. "I have a delivery for Osamu," he said over breakfast. "Would you like to come along?"
"Actually, yeah," you said, setting down your tea. "I've been looking at apartments online. There are a few places I'd like to see in person."
The drive felt different this time. Less heavy. You weren't running from something anymore—you were moving toward something new, even if you didn't know exactly what that was yet.
The restaurant was in its late afternoon lull when you arrived, the air warm with the smell of fresh rice and grilled fish. A few customers sat scattered at tables, but it was mostly empty. Osamu was behind the counter, shaping onigiri with practiced hands.
He looked up when the door chimed, and his face immediately broke into a smile. "Kita! And—"
The smile softened when he saw you, something knowing flickering in his eyes. Before you could say anything, Osamu was around the counter and pulling you into a hug.
It was warm and solid and felt like home. You let yourself sink into it for just a moment.
"You okay?" he asked quietly when he pulled back. The concern in his expression told you everything. Atsumu had told him what happened.
"Better," you said, and meant it. "Getting there."
Osamu studied your face, reading the truth in it. "Good." He paused, then asked more carefully, "So when are you going back? 'Tsumu's been in a mood since you left."
The question caught you off guard. Your chest tightened. "I wasn't really planning on going back. To be honest, I'm not sure I can ever face them again. Not after what I told them."
"What did you tell them?" Kita asked from where he stood near the counter.
You paled, realizing the situation you'd just walked into. Osamu tilted his head, concern and curiosity written across his face. Kita just waited, patient as he'd been through everything else.
"It couldn't have been that bad," Osamu said gently.
You hesitated. Atsumu told Osamu everything—it was only a matter of time before he found out anyway.
"I told them I have feelings for them," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Both of them."
The silence that followed was deafening. Osamu stared at you blankly while Kita's face flushed a deep red.
Oh god, you'd actually scandalized Kita.
Osamu opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to decide that leaving was the best option. "We should—" He cleared his throat, glancing at Kita. "We should probably unload the rice from your truck."
"Good idea," Kita said, his words coming out slightly strangled as he moved toward the door.
"Do you need any help?" you asked reflexively.
"No," they said in unison, the response so quick and emphatic it would've been funny under different circumstances.
You watched them practically flee, then sank into the nearest chair and pulled out your phone, opening the apartment listing you were supposed to see later. The words blurred together. You couldn't focus on square footage or train station proximity when your heart was still racing from that confession.
The door chimed.
You looked up instinctively, and your heart stopped.
Atsumu stood in the doorway, Sakusa right behind him.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
You took them in—Atsumu's wide eyes, the way his mouth parted slightly in shock. Sakusa stood rigid behind him, his face half-hidden behind a black mask, but you could see his brows raised in surprise, the tension in every line of his body.
Despite everything that had happened, you felt something warm bloom in your chest at the sight of them. You'd missed them. God, you'd missed them so much.
But along with that warmth came a wave of nerves so intense your hands started to shake.
Atsumu recovered first, stepping fully into the restaurant. His eyes never left yours. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and uncertain.
You stood, your legs unsteady beneath you. "Hi. It's—it's good to see you both."
Atsumu's expression softened, and he glanced back at Sakusa. Sakusa reached up and slipped off his mask, revealing the rest of his face. His dark eyes held yours as he said quietly, “It’s good to see you too.”
The words were simple, but the intensity in his gaze when he said them made your breath catch.
Atsumu glanced between you and Sakusa, something tentative and hopeful crossing his features. "Can we—can the three of us talk?"
You didn't regret telling them the truth. You couldn't, not when holding it in had been suffocating you. But that didn't stop the fear that crawled up your throat—the worry that Atsumu would finally ask for the space you'd always been terrified he'd need. That after all these years, this would be the thing that broke your friendship for good.
Your throat felt tight, but you managed to nod. "Of course."
