okay but third year Kageyama, Hinata and Yachi realizing they're actually Tsukishima's friends
Hinata freaking out because he can't find a black pen before a big test and Tsukishima wordlessly handing him two spares (in case one is almost dry) and telling him to smarten up but not actually making a big deal about it.
Yachi going over to his house to study with him and Yamaguchi and having a genuinely good time and yeah Tsukki makes fun of the bow she has in her hair but he also laughs at her jokes so... they end up playing Mario Party until like 1 am and he doesnt even complain about it.
Tsukishima showing up at Kageyama's house looking really annoyed and saying his brother is home for the holidays and is pestering him about college and the future and hey, do you want to go throw a ball around?
Kageyama, Yachi and Hinata all receive a birthday gift on time that year, neatly wrapped, and even if theyre simple gifts they're all *real* gifts and not one of them is a joke gift or a prank and they have to host a meeting to go through all of the options of why Tsukki's behaviour has changed until Hinata realizes what's happening and starts shrieking because FUCK YEAH I DID IT. TAKE THAT SUCKER. GET FRIENDED.
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something something katsuki can't keep his hands off you when he's had a little too much to drink (see: denks the worst at-home bartender in the world, believes a shot of vodka really means four).
it starts off innocently enough, gathered in eijiro's living room, when he cracks a foul-mouthed joke and you double over into side with laughter. the heat starts to creep up his neck, but it's easy to blame it on the alcohol. he nudges you back playfully, a grin quirking at the corner of his lips.
two more shots of whatever vile concoction denki mixed up and he's melting into the couch. he's sitting on one end, a little squished with how mina, eijiro, hanta, and denki are piled on top of each other - chatting away, drinking, and desperately trying not to make eye contact with the wasted blond. katsuki's got you perched all pretty in his lap because "there isn't any room left to sit." a convenient excuse.
you're flushed and trying to keep up with mina's story and you're having a great time with your friends but katsuki's hands are looping casually around your waist and pulling you closer to him and he's leaning a little on you for support and you feel a zing speed down your spine as his lips brush against your arm. an accident.
his head's a little fuzzy, but katsuki's practically melting with the alcohol swimming through his veins. and you're so soft it's making everything even fuzzier. before he even finishes that thought he's testing out the plush of your waist, your thighs, pinching a little at the small of your back, and back down to your thighs. you squirm in his hold, and he retaliates with a soft grunt and by biting what he could reach.
the spit on your arm is more uncomfortable than the rather tame bite he gives you. you can see his eyes wobble, flitting to different parts of your face. "hol' s'till," he garbles and your heart leaps into your throat. you can feel four sets of eyes boring into you both, but you can't break away from katsuki's heavy, lidded, lovesick gaze.
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ok but price and simon could give such tolerate it vibes.
him with a younger partner. he finds your naivety and youth charming. you look up to him, and you can’t believe someone older and wiser is with you.
you met him when he was on leave, and things started getting serious after a few months, but then he was facing deployment again. so, with teary eyes and a broken heart, you watched him leave and promise you’ll write every day.
he chuckles and nods his head, placing a chaste kiss to your hair before slipping away.
you do write him everyday, and at first it’s endearing how worried you are. you don’t know what’s happening, and you’re so concerned— and he appreciates that. find it charming, even.
he comes home from that first deployment and you’re there, waiting with a battle hero’s welcome. streamers and balloons and a fucking cake you baked yourself on the dining room table of his flat. you, beaming brightly and clutching your hands together in glee, waiting by the door.
he laughs it off, tells you he appreciates it, but it was unnecessary. you tell him you think he deserves more.
time passes, and the charm of your naivety and doting loses its shine. you’re boasting to all your friends about your man, how amazing and strong and brave he is. and he tolerates it, laughs it off.
the next time he comes home from deployment, you’ve decorated your now shared flat. the whole nine yards because it’d been a longer deployment. his favorite meal, hot and fresh on the table. a bottle of his favorite liquor.
he can’t help but be annoyed. it was cute at first, and now he doesn’t understand it. he doesn’t care for the festivities— he’s done things no man should be proud of, yet here you are, celebrating him.
he doesn’t want to fight, so he tolerates it. puts on a smile, eats a few bites of dinner, and slips away for the evening. you frown but don’t question it.
soon it’s like you’re living with a shell of the man you loved. he’s quiet. gone a lot. barely affectionate. when the two of you talk, it usually ends in an argument. he won’t introduce you to any of his friends.
you still shower him with love, talk his ear off about plans and your day and whatnot, and he nods along absentmindedly.
your friends tell you he doesn’t deserve you. you’ve basically become a live-in housemaid that he occasionally fucks. you don’t believe it at first, but you come to realize it���s truth.
your love should be celebrated, not tolerated. you should be with someone who loves you as much as you love them.
the next time he’s on deployment, you move out. pack all your shit into a u-haul and move in with a friend for the time being. leave a note stained with tears on the dining room table.
he gets home from deployment, expecting what’s become normal. you, waiting anxiously by the door, jumping into his arms as soon as he’s inside. the smell of dessert or his favorite dinner wafting from the kitchen. balloons and streamers and confetti.
the house is dark when he steps through the door.
part two here, part three (ending version 1) here, part three (ending version 2) here
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