US TRAITORS NEVER WIN

He looks up, face flushed a brilliant scarlet, and it reminds you of the tomatoes you spent ages slicing for dinner last night. You two had originally planned on going out, you’d even chosen a place, but the thought of that disappeared once Shoyo burst into your shared apartment with tousled hair and hands full of burstingly ripe fruit. 

You smile at the memory. If you focus hard enough, you can still taste the vibrant flavors of the salad you made just for him– the crunchy hearts of palm, the sharp, tangy vinaigrette. You can still feel Shoyo’s nearness, see his lovestruck gaze from across the table, smell his sun-stained hair. 

He made you glad you stayed in. He made your sore fingers worth it. 

“Hey!” he beams, still presumably breathless from playing, “I thought you had work today.” 

“I called out.” 

He hums, mouth making an animated ‘o’ shape. Behind you, you hear a resonant whistle echo across the courts. Another match is starting. Shoyo twitches at the sound. You bite back a laugh. 

There’s something about being around him that makes you incapable of not smiling. It’s like his secret superpower. 

“Got any time for me today?” you ask, cheeks already aching.

You gasp when he swoops you up into his arms, capturing your lips in a warm kiss. The scent of the aloe vera you’d rubbed on his sunburns this morning tickles your nose and sends heat through you. 

His touch is a thousand times hotter than any Brazilian summer. 

He pulls away too soon. The loss of feeling has you aching for more, and you know he can tell from how his head reels back with laughter. 

“I always have time for you,” he grins, his thumb brushing a stray eyelash from your face. 

It’s not long before you two are lying out across the sun-warmed sand, your hands tracing Shoyo’s hair with soft affection as he rests between your plush thighs. You sigh, gazing out to admire the picturesque horizon. The sun lumbers in the distance, slowly casting brilliant orange hues across the sandy landscape. Waves from the endless ocean crash in the background, and you hum in contentment. 

You could stay here forever.  

Eventually, your eyes lead back to Shoyo, who’s stretched out on you like a lazy golden retriever, tucked comfortably in your grasp. You cherish the calm still of this moment, using it to marvel at his handsome features. His azure tank top lines his rigid frame perfectly, revealing all his strong lines and tanned skin. It makes your heart swell. 

You can’t believe he’s yours. 

“Hey,” you murmur, biting back a smile, “I got you something.” 

His ears perk with curiosity, “You did?”

You nod, lips twitching up. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

He doesn’t hesitate. With the enthusiasm of a child waiting for a surprise, he springs up from your lap and spins around to face you. His eyes squeeze shut, body practically buzzing with excitement. 

You go to fish the object out of your bag, and your fingers wrap around a braided leather necklace tucked at the bottom. As you bring it out, you’re suddenly all too aware of how simple the piece is. The cheap beads and thin fabric don’t seem worthy of his infectious glee.

“Uh– it’s not much, but I saw it and thought of you,” you say sheepishly, tenderly pressing the jewelry into his palms. 

He opens his eyes, glancing down at the necklace. For a moment, he pauses. You swallow hard, breath catching.

Then, he laughs. 

“I love it!” he exclaims, surging forward to attack you with kisses. “You always give the best gifts.” 

You bite your cheek, face warming. “It’s just something I got from a street vendor. I’ll get you something better later–”

“No,” he shakes his head, “This is perfect.” 

“I’m glad you like it, Sho,” you smile, relief spreading across your body.

You gesture for him to turn around, and he obeys right away. Your fingers brush the nape of his neck as you clasp the necklace around his skin, your lingering touch soft and gentle. 

“Thanks,” he sighs, still facing the sun but now tilting his head back to look at you. 

He stares at you with a sudden intensity that makes you shiver, eyes boring into yours. It’s filled with a revere that steals your breath away. It’s the same look he gives you before you share a meal together, or when you’re curled under the covers about to turn in for the night. It’s a look he reserves only for you.  

“I love you,” he says, voice low and dripping with sincerity. 

Your chest floods with emotion, so full it hurts. You’re overwhelmed by how much being with Shoyo makes you feel. He always manages to make your heart tug with a powerful ache. His simple devotion and unwavering joy fills you with a thirst for more. He makes you want more. Always. 

But you’ll settle with watching the sunset together for now.

“I love you, too.” 

“Almost done.” You coo, “I swear.” 

Finishing the last touch of eyeliner, you hum in delight at your handiwork and reach across the way for gloss. Atsumu’s lips curl in disgust and he jerks his head away.  

“Yer not puttin’ that on me.” 

Scoffing, you ignore his protests and untwist the cap. “Stop being a baby. You love it when I wear this stuff.” 

“Yeah, key-word: you.” He reasons, groaning in indignation, “I gotta stop lettin’ you talk me into doin’ weird shit.” 

“Men wearing lipgloss is not weird.” You giggle, pressing against him as you inch closer to his face. Your hands wave the applicator in front of him enticingly to no avail as he continues to look at the object like it’s a threat.  

“C’mon.” You sing, voice honeyed. “If you’re good– I’ll give you a reward.” 

His brows raise, curiosity painting his features. Body language changing in an instant, he puckers his lips dramatically in your direction. 

“Why didn’t ya tell me that before?” He says, eyes glistening with a bright mirth. His lips morph from puckered to a dopey grin as if he can’t help but smile at the thought of his reward. “If ya had, it would’ve made this process a lot easier.” 

“Would it have?” You hum, coyly. Pleased by the obliging mood he’s now in, you tilt his chin up and brush the gloss over his full lips with deliberate care. When you pull away, he poses, and you throw your head back in a hearty laugh. 

You wrap your hands around his shoulders and shudder at the feeling of them– broad and sturdy in your grasp. In the still of the moment, you let yourself drink him in. 

He looks really good. 

His striking features are cut by the softness of the makeup. The streaks of contour and glossy lips compliment him and make him look unreal. Your heart swells from the knowledge that only you could have enough sway to do this to him. 

To have and to hold Atsumu like this is a pleasure that belongs only to you.  

“You’re so pretty like this.” You murmur, thumb tracing his bottom lip. The gloss smudges from your touch, but you think he looks better when he’s a little messy. 

His nose scrunches. “I hate when ya call me pretty. Say I’m handsome, or somethin’ like everyone else.” 

 Despite the playfulness of the moment, there’s a slight tremor in his breath that feels so intimate your knees shake. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders that hints at the impact of your compliment. It fills your stomach with something warm and greedy. 

“But I love calling you pretty.” You grin, trying to stay composed as his strong arms snake around your waist and pull you taut against him. Hand moving to touch his chest, you gaze longingly into his eyes. “Especially when you have makeup on. It makes me want to give you the princess treatment.” 

He whistles, hands rubbing up your sides. You’re in such close proximity that you can just catch how the rise and fall of his chest speeds up when he receives the compliment. 

Eyes darkening, he hums thoughtfully. “And what’s the princess treatment?” 

You don’t reply. Leaning in, you capture his lips in a slow, sticky kiss. He grunts at the feeling and immediately deepens it, instantly stealing the domineering role from you. The dissonance between his aggressive movements and the taste of the strawberry gloss sends shivers down your spine. 

You pull away before it gets too heated, and he groans, chasing after your lips. 

“Stop fuckin’ with me.” He mewls, staring at you like a distressed child being denied his favorite toy. “I hate bein’ teased.”  

“I’m not.” You purr, one hand tracing his chest while the other reaches for your back pocket where your phone resides. “I just want a picture of you in your makeup before we mess it up too much.” 

Before you can open the camera app, his hand grabs your wrist. 

“Who’re ya gonna show that picture to?” He probes, whiney.

Your lips quirk up, “No one. It’s for my personal collection.” 

His eyes narrow before sighing and releasing you from his hold. 

“Yer so weird.” He huffs, but the soft blush on the tips of his ears and the warm affection in his eyes tell you that he doesn’t really mind.