The rain had been pounding Osaka for three days straight, a steady, gray drum ag

The rain had been pounding Osaka for three days straight, a steady, gray drum against the windows. Outside, the city was a blur of wet concrete and smeared headlights, but inside Atsumu’s bedroom, the world had shrunk to the size of his mattress. Fairy lights—the one thing he’d let himself buy for cozy—glowed amber along the headboard, casting soft shadows over the mess: crumpled towels stained rusty brown, a heating pad gone cold, and him curled into a tight ball, face buried in a pillow.

He groaned, the sound swallowed by cotton. His lower abdomen felt like someone had twisted barbed wire around his insides and was pulling tight with every breath. He’d made it through practice by sheer spite, serving aces with a rigid smile and snapping at Osamu over text until his twin blocked him. Now, alone in the quiet, the pain had no audience. Blood soaked through his third pair of boxers today, warm and relentless, making his skin crawl. He hated this. Hated the mess, the vulnerability, the way his own body felt like a stranger.

The front door clicked open. Footsteps, soft but deliberate, crossed the living room. Atsumu didn’t move. Didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“You didn’t lock the door,” Suna Rintarou’s voice came from the doorway, flat. “Anyone could’ve walked in.”

“Don’t care,” Atsumu mumbled into the pillow.

The mattress dipped as Suna sat down beside him. A long, cool hand settled on the back of his neck. “Bad day?”

“Fuck off.”

Suna didn’t take the hint. He never did. Instead, he traced the line of Atsumu’s spine, thumb pressing into knots of tension. “You skipped my texts. That’s how I knew.”

“I’m fine.” The lie came out cracked.

Suna hummed, unconvinced. His hand slid lower, resting on the small of Atsumu’s back, just above the waistband of his sweatpants. “Cramps?”

Atsumu flinched, rolling onto his side to glare up at him. The movement sent a sharp spike of pain through his pelvis, and his face crumpled. “What do you think, genius? I’ve bled through everything I own. My insides feel like they’re being shredded. So unless you’ve got a magic cure, leave me alone.”

Suna’s amber eyes were calm, almost lazy, as they roamed over Atsumu’s pained expression. “I do have a cure.”

“Then give it to me and go.”

Instead of reaching for a pill bottle or a hot water bottle, Suna leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner of Atsumu’s mouth. Gentle, almost chaste. Atsumu tensed, but didn’t pull away. Suna’s hand curved around his hip, thumb tracing circles over the bone.

“The usual,” Suna said, his voice low. “No condom. Lets your muscles relax. Works every time.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burned. They’d done this before—three times now, over the past six months. The first time, Atsumu had been so desperate for relief he’d agreed without thinking. The second, he’d been drunk. The third, he’d pretended it was just necessity. But Suna knew. He always knew.

“You’re disgusting,” Atsumu whispered, but there was no venom in it.

“Yeah.” Suna kissed him again, longer this time, his tongue sliding against Atsumu’s lower lip. “But you like it.”

Atsumu’s hand came up to grip the front of Suna’s hoodie. “Hurry up, then. Before I change my mind.”

Suna took his time. He always did.

He undressed Atsumu slowly, peeling off the sweatpants and ruined boxers with a reverence that made Atsumu’s stomach flip. The air hit his damp skin, and he shivered. Blood smeared across his inner thighs, dark and slick. Suna’s gaze traced the path of it, and something flickered in his expression—not disgust, not pity. Hunger.

“You’re staring,” Atsumu said, his voice tight.

“You’re beautiful,” Suna replied, and it didn’t sound like a lie.

He pressed Atsumu back onto the pillows, then lowered his mouth to the inside of his thigh. His tongue swept out, flat and warm, licking a stripe through the blood. Atsumu gasped, hips jerking. The sensation was electric—wrong and right, repulsive and arousing all at once. Suna hummed against his skin, as if savoring the taste, and continued his slow, deliberate worship. He licked the blood from Atsumu’s legs, from the crease of his hip, from the stained fabric he’d tossed aside. Each pass of his tongue sent a jolt through Atsumu’s core, the pain in his abdomen loosening a fraction.

“Suna…” Atsumu’s voice came out breathy.

Suna looked up, his lips glossy red. “Tell me what you need.”

“Stop talking.”

Suna’s smile was sharp. He dipped his head lower.

The first press of his mouth against Atsumu’s cunt made Atsumu arch off the bed. Suna’s tongue lapped through the slick mix of arousal and blood, pushing inside with practiced ease. Atsumu’s hands fisted in the sheets as Suna worked him open, alternating between broad, wet strokes and pointed flicks against his clit. The cramps that had been a constant ache began to ebb, replaced by a different kind of pressure—hot and building. Suna’s fingers joined his tongue, curling inside him, and Atsumu cried out, muffling the sound against his own arm.

Suna pulled back just enough to murmur, “Let me hear you.”

“No,” Atsumu gritted out, but the next thrust of Suna’s fingers found a sweet spot, and a moan tore from his throat.

Suna smiled against his thigh and went back to work.

When Atsumu was trembling and slick, his pain a distant memory, Suna rose to his knees. He stripped off his own clothes with unhurried efficiency, his body lean and pale in the fairy light. Atsumu watched him through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving. Suna crawled over him, bracing his weight on his forearms.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Just do it.”

Suna pushed inside him in one slow, steady motion. The fullness was overwhelming—Atsumu felt stretched, filled, and the pressure against his walls made the last of his cramps dissolve into white heat. Suna paused, letting him adjust, then began a rhythm that was rough and relentless. Each thrust drove the air from Atsumu’s lungs, replaced by grunts and gasps. Suna’s mouth found his, and Atsumu tasted copper. Blood. His own. Suna had licked it from his fingers, and now he shared it, the kiss a metallic communion.

Atsumu wrapped his legs around Suna’s waist, pulling him deeper. The angle shifted, and a sudden, sharp cramp seized his core. He cried out, not in pain alone, but surprise—a tear squeezed from the corner of his eye. Suna’s rhythm faltered.

“Suna, it hurts—”

Suna’s arms tightened around him, pulling him flush against his chest. “I got you,” he whispered, his voice a low anchor. “Breathe. Just breathe.” He slowed his thrusts, making them shallow and deep, grinding his hips against Atsumu’s. The cramp twisted, then released, and Atsumu’s body opened into a wave of pleasure so intense he saw stars.

His orgasm crashed over him like thunder, his muscles clenching around Suna, pulling him deeper. Suna groaned, his composure cracking, and drove into him one last time, spilling inside him with a shudder. For a moment, they stayed locked together, panting, sweat and blood and seed mingling between them.

Suna’s hand came down to cup Atsumu’s jaw, turning his face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his lips. “Better?”

Atsumu blinked, realizing the pain was gone. Completely. His abdomen felt loose, warm, empty of its iron grip. He let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… okay.”

Suna pulled out slowly, and Atsumu winced at the sensation of fluid trickling down his thigh. He expected Suna to reach for a towel—instead, Suna lowered his head and licked the blood that beaded at his entrance. Atsumu’s breath hitched.

“You’re such a freak,” he whispered.

“You let me be.” Suna’s voice was muffled against his skin.

After a moment, Suna stood and returned with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned Atsumu with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the roughness of their sex. He applied a soothing ointment to Atsumu’s chafed inner thighs, then helped him into a fresh pair of underwear—soft, black cotton that smelled like lavender. Atsumu let himself be handled, boneless and grateful.

Suna slid into bed beside him, pulling the covers over them both. He wrapped an arm around Atsumu’s waist, palm flat against his stomach, warm and steady. Atsumu tucked his head under Suna’s chin, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“I hate this week,” Atsumu murmured.

“I know.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

Suna’s hand pressed a little harder. “I know that too.”

Rain tapped against the window. The fairy lights cast a golden halo around them. Atsumu’s eyes grew heavy, his body finally at peace. He felt Suna press a kiss to the top of his head, felt the whisper of words against his hair.

“I’ll always be here—even on your worst days.”

Atsumu smiled, small and soft, and let himself drift.