Ok holy shit the thing you did for tsukki is amazing and PLEASE DO MORE ABOUT IT!! TENDOU! KUROO? BOKUTO?! TERU?? OIKS!! I DONT CARE!! you are A ma Zi n G ! ! , you can pick one or do it all but separately (which BTW will be so much battah)
Tendou Soulmate AU!!!!
(P.S, every scar, bruise or bump you receive also shows up on your soulmate’s body)
((P.S.S. this is shameless self indulgence whoops))
(((P.S.S.S TRIGGER WARNING! SUBLIMINAL MENTIONS OF SELF HARM!!!!!)))
Ever since he could remember, his ankles were always bruised.
The idea of soulmates scared him, especially how nature put them into action. Sometimes, it was comforting, watching a new, purple spot form on his knee cast upon by an unknown force. It meant the person who was tied to him, whoever she may be, was alive, and human, and making human mistakes, and for some odd reason, the bruises she gave him brought him a certain fondness. On the other hand, it was horrifying. Everytime he received a ball, blocked one of Ushijima’s finger splitting spikes, all the beatings he received as a child, by his own hand and not, all the bruises, the cuts, the horror, it was all inflicted on her. This made him just a bit wary, and all the more guilty. Presuming that she was the same age as him, if not younger, as a child who seemed to be having a happy life, the only cuts on her skin pavement burns from falling off bikes, having to live out the same physical torture he did made him sick. He made a mental promise to himself to hold that girl and never let go once he met her. Although he felt guilty, there was one time of the year where he wished someone would punch him in the eye just to get revenge.
Tendou had no clue what she did. At this point, she had to know he did volleyball, the only bruises he ever received nowadays on his knees and forearms. It was obvious, absolutely so, and he wished her hobby was the same. Every year since he was five years old, spring meant torture to his legs. March through May was an absolute onslaught towards his ankles and toes, bloody and bruised from the first day to the last. Although, the bruises were consistent all year, hinting that whatever she did, it was constant. He wished he could help her somehow, because the pain on his behalf was unbearable, and he couldn’t imagine experiencing it firsthand. He began to think maybe she was doing this on purpose, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a sadistic streak. But why the ankles, why the legs? Why was the rest of her skin so perfectly smooth yet once you hit the bottom, it was destroyed? Rope burns ran down his calves in intricate zigzags, and every time he ran a finger across them, it burned.
“What the hell is this?” He’d ask himself quietly, wondering if whatever this was, was just a weird, western fetish. He figured it was cute though, whatever she did. He saw where the ribbons tied off into a bow, or sometimes just a sharp, quick knot. It probably wasn’t a fetish, whatever she did, but the oddity of it still left him wondering.
One day he woke up and literally couldn’t walk. Last night he went to bed just to wake up with his entire lower legs bruised up. He winced at the sight, borderline black spots covering everywhere from his tip toes to his ankles. She had a habit of overworking herself late at night, he noticed, and part of him was glad they didn’t share the same mental health. It was times like these where he wished he had contact with her. Of course, he could always scratch his phone number into her skin or something, but he had tried that before, and he was honest it didn’t transmit. Every so often though, he’d take a bobby pin, and very, very lightly trace shapes into his left hand expressing his mood. He grabbed it off his nightstand, clicking it open and gently scratching a heart right underneath his knuckles, just enough to break the skin. Sometimes, if she wanted to, she scratched something back, usually a likewise object, but nothing came today. Tendou didn’t mind, he knew he had gotten his message across.
It was May of his senior year and Tendou wanted nothing more than to relish in his remaining time of being a highschool student, but he couldn’t when everyday for the past three weeks coordinates were being scratched into his left thigh. He quite honestly had no clue what to do with them, and didn’t realize they were coordinates until Semi pointed them out in the locker rooms. Curiosity got the best of him that night as he spent hours inserting these coordinates into any webiste he could find. It made him feel like a detective, like he was part of some havoc seeking plot that was never even arranged. Three hours later, Google Earth fatefully drove him towards a studio. He didn’t know where in the world he was, for all he knew, he could be in Austria, or Zimbabwe, but judging by the familiar architecture, he was not that far from home. In fact, he was at home. He zoomed out just a smidge to find the entire Shiratorizawa campus, a sight that made his breath hitch. Whoever this person was, and whatever they did, meant that they have been, and might just be in that studio. The thought of it made his heart pound, and just looking at the address and focusing on the pressure on his ankles, he mustred up all he could to set off towards that studio.
When he was on the subway, halfway towards the train station near campus, Tendou began to feel as if this was a grave, grave mistake. If she was as devoted to him as he was to her, she was sending him in the right place. Then again, it could just be a set up somehow, but he wasn’t exactly sure how a girl in Zimbabwe would come up with coordinates to a building so close to where he lived. The tempest in his stomach roiled, and the closer he got to the campus, the more and more he felt the need to back out. This girl who he was about to meet in t minus fifteen minutes practically knew everything about him. She knew he was bullied, that he hurt himself. She knew the sport he played and lived through his life with him, and it horrified him. He was about to meet his soulmate.
When he stood in front of the studio, he suddenly felt small. Every single fabric of his being wanted him to turn on his heel and jog back home, but he couldn’t. Not when he could see the figure of someone in the window. Now that it was right out in front of him, the answers to all his questions were so painfully obvious. His soulmate was a dancer, presumably ballet, and that explained the absolute torture on her feet. His soulmate was a ballerina, and although Tendou knew absolutely nothing about her, he already had a feeling she was beautiful. After five minutes of loitering on the curb, and five minutes of realizing he must’ve looked like an absolute pervert, he entered, a small bell ringing on his arrival. He winced, for the music that diffused into the commons had paused, a sudden, small, tapping off feet echoing through the room. That’s when the nerves hit him harder. What if that wasn’t his soulmate and he looked like an absolute airhead? What if he got himself all hyped up for nothing? Although, all suspicion subsided when the figure revealed herself, a delicate being with soft eyes and strong legs and a playful, pondering smirk. He knew somehow that it had to be her, absolutely, positively. No words were spoken as she tiptoes closer to him, still en pointe on the tip of her ballet shoes. It looked absolutely painful up close, and suddenly all the bruises he had ever received were explained.
She held her hand up towards him, the small scar of a heart indented right underneath her middle finger on her left hand. Again, she said no words, merely smiling as all the color drained from Tendou face.
He began to stutter, a red hot blush creeping up the nape of his neck. He held his hand up too, sweaty and shaky and motioned towards the small scar of a heart indented right underneath his middle finger on his left hand. He found himself laughing, gasping really. Short shaky breaths left him in staccato, shoving his hands back into his pockets while he tried to articulate just what to say.
“I really don’t know what to say.” Is what he went with, his voice low and raspy. She chuckled, out of sheer and utter nerves and tiptoed closer, her arms immediately draping around his shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mind…” She began, failing to realize his arms were already around her too. “I’ve wanted to hug you since elementary school. You’ve always deserved a hug.”
“I really do mean it.” She began again, drawing herself closer to his figure. Tendou could feel his heart pounding, the shocked state that overcame him far too much to bear. “You had a hard past, didn’t you…?” She tailed off, searching for his wandering eyes for an introduction.
“Oh. I’m Tendou. Tendou Satori.” He hummed, lost in the sincerity of her gaze.
“__ __, it’s a miracle to finally meet you.” She smiled, wide and toothy, her grip on the hood of his sweatshirt tightening for some reason. She was definitely excited, he could tell by the sudden sparkle in her tired eyes.
“I know we just met, but would you like to come home with me?” She inquired, her eyes wondering when Tendou cocked his head suggestively.
“Don’t you think it’s fa-ar too early to be-”
“That’s not what I was going at!” She huffed, her attempt at a pout being broken by a smile. “It’s just that… Your life has become mine. For years my family felt remorse every time I came home with a split lip or plastered wrists, and I think it’s only fair you give my mother an apology for all the multiple cardiac arrests she’s received every time she’s seen my bruised eye.”
Tendou found himself laughing at her statement, not knowing if it was all that true or not. Judging by the small smile that still tugged at her lips, it was a feeble attempt at breaking the ice. He shook his head, suddenly growing all the more comfortable towards her and letting his arms fall towards her hips. He hadn’t really soaked up her entire being yet, his focus completely devoted her eyes. They held something he had been longing for, craving for the longest time, they held the same pain and torment he had experienced, the same story and path and trauma. Looking into her eyes he realized he found an equal, a mutual, someone who could finally, maybe, understand him like he understood himself. His soulmate, a dancer who barely lived twenty miles away from him his entire bleeding life, a graceful, beautiful young woman with atrocious feet and ankles, last nights receive routine evident on her bare arms, and knowledge evident in her eyes. A dancer, with scars with anticipated stories lacing up her soft, shaved thighs, fingertips ever so rough from all the Guess blocks he had done, and a small scar of a heart indented right underneath her middle finger on her left hand.