♡

"just you and i again this morning?" touya asks through a little yawn as you line up some skincare and shaving products at your station in front of him.

"you take the longest, after all," you laugh lightly, glancing at him in the reflection of the mirror. his disarmingly bright eyes meet yours, still slightly lidded with fatigue, and you quickly look away once more.

"i'm the problem child," he sighs jokingly, slumping down into his seat. he's still got his puffer coat on--it's barely 5AM, and it's chilly outside since the sun hasn't yet risen over the production lot--and you swallow down a laugh as the collar of his coat bunches up around his cheeks, like a down-filled ruff. 

touya's special effects makeup takes a minimum of four hours to apply--and that's in its most minimal form. if he needs his chest and arms exposed in a scene, it can take upwards of 8 hours to get him ready for set. it means his call times are almost always earlier than his cast mates, and as you're the lead sfx artist on this season's production, it means the two of you often find yourselves alone for the first few hours of the day as you begin the process of turning touya into dabi. 

the first step in the undertaking is shaving. 

touya doesn't have a particularly notable amount of body or facial hair, but the adhesive that affixes his character's prosthetic scars and staples to his skin requires as smooth of a canvas as possible for best performance, so every morning you carefully shave the smooth planes of his cheeks, jaw, and throat (occasionally down to his chest and arms.)

it's a surprisingly intimate, harrowing ordeal, dragging the sharp straight razor across his skin. you pay careful attention not to nick him, knowing it will just make your job harder down the line if you have to treat a wound. you often find yourself holding your breath as you pull the blade softly along his jaw, your eyes watching your every movement raptly.

"don't sweeney todd me," touya murmurs as you hold his chin in your hand. his eyes had been closed as you worked, but they flutter open to peek up at you as his words hang in the air between you. 

you chuckle breathily, redistributing the froth of the shaving cream along one side of his chin with your thumb. his skin is warm and smooth under the slip of the foam. "stop talking, and I won't have a reason to."

next is a simple cleanse to clean off any lingering shaving cream or hair, and to prepare his skin for the skincare you'll press into it to protect it from any negative effects as a result of all the makeup that will follow. you have a hairband that you keep on hand just for touya—half because it's effective, and half because you think he looks sort of cute with his fluffy white hair pushed back from his face like that. it has two little cat ears on either side of the band, and he'd actually giggled the first time he'd seen it, much to your surprise.

(you keep two spares tucked away into the back of your kit, in exactly the same design, just in case anything ever happened to this one.)

then finally, after his skin is sufficiently prepped—soft and dewy with moisturizer that rapidly sinks into his pores—the real work begins.

you keep reference photos on hand—touya's face and body, in full makeup, from every possible angle—affixed to the mirror and spread across the station countertop to make sure you're recreating his character's appearance in exact detail. it's an arduous, painstaking process, that requires a professionally trained eye and meticulous attention to detail. by the end of the application, your hands sometimes ache—your knuckles tender to the touch—and sometimes you need assistants to come in and help put on finishing touches if you're short on time and rushing to get him to set. but you take your job very seriously, and refuse to let him leave your chair anything short of perfect.

"how's it feeling?" you ask, applying a bit of shading onto the prosthetic attached to his neck—raised, textured skin to imitate a burn that you're hand-painting to look more realistic. the familiar smell of liquid latex and alcohol hangs in the air, slowly overtaking the residual smell of the skincare you'd used on his skin.

"awful," touya gripes, though you expect nothing less.

"so, same as always?"

"same as always," he agrees with a little laugh.

you glance at the smartwatch on your wrist, backing away from touya’s personal space and setting your makeup brush down atop your station. “it’s almost eight. a PA should show up with your breakfast soon before I start on your face.”

“wow, is it that late already?” he asks, surprised, sitting up slightly in his seat.

“sick of me yet?” you tease him, wiping some of the reddish purple pigment from the tips of your fingers onto your smock.

he smiles as much as the prosthetic affixed to his neck and chin will allow as the glue sets, and shakes his head.

“nah.”

touya’s breakfast on set is always the same: another cup of coffee (black), a little cup of fruit salad (he eats around the green grapes and yet never asks for the caterer to leave them out), a granola bar which he tucks into his pocket to snack on later even though it will definitely mess up his makeup, and a breakfast sandwich.

“how come you don’t eat the grapes?” you finally ask the question that's been plaguing your mind for the past few weeks, watching as he sets the little plastic cup aside with 8 green grapes still sitting in the bottom.

he chews the piece of strawberry he still has in his mouth, swallows, then speaks.

“they’re gross.”

“they are not,”—you roll your eyes—“they’re delicious.”

touya’s nose crinkles. “they’re squishy and sour and taste like wet raisins.”

“they are wet raisins,” you remind him pointedly. 

touya shoots you a look as if to say exactly.

“oh, let me guess, you also hate tomatoes?” you go on to ask.

he gags dramatically.

“don’t!” you chide him, seeing the way some of the staples lift along his jaw. you surge forward and grab his chin in your hand to still him, tilting his face so you can survey the damage. you click your tongue and dab a bit more adhesive onto the little metal bits and press them into his skin. his eyes watch your face while you work.

“I never took you for a picky eater,” you remark softly as you hold the pressure steady against his cheek.

“don’t you have any foods you don’t like?” he asks you, equally quiet, while you wait for the adhesive to take.

you hum curiously. “not really.”

his turquoise eyes widen. “nothing?”

“i mean,”—you lift your fingers off his face and watch to make sure the staples stay in place—“i don’t really love those really weird, funky cheeses. you know, the ones that look fuzzy?” 

touya shudders—evidently he does know, and he agrees. 

you glance at your watch again. 8:20. it’s time to get back to work.

“down your coffee, we’ve gotta start on your face.”

touya sighs, but doesn't complain, reaching for his half-drained drink obediently.

the face is inarguably the toughest part of touya’s makeup. the camera will be focused there most closely, meaning it’s the most important part to get right. the staples need to be in the exact right place. the adhesive must be applied liberally enough to keep everything in place, but not so thick as to limit touya’s ability to emote.

there’s music playing in the makeup trailer, but its kept relatively low—your own playlist that you have free reign to control until other artists and talent show up to begin their days, and the noise in the space grows too loud for any music to be heard over it anyway. it’s a mix of old favourites and songs you’ve found recently that you’ve been enjoying. touya never complains about the unusual mismatch, hums along softly to the ones that he does recognize, and and you’ve even caught him shazam-ing a song or two a couple of times in your mornings together, which fills you with an unusual feeling of pride.

you’re quiet as you work, completely immersed in the task, and the only sound in the makeup trailer is the playlist in the background, you and touya's alternating breaths, and the sound of your tools as you pick them up and set them down on your station. 

“do you want them?” touya asks you softly, shattering the silence as you hold the fake scar tissue under his left eye, waiting for the glue to set enough to take the pressure of your fingertips away.

you tilt your head to the side as you lean over him, painfully close to his face.

“huh?”

“the grapes,” he says quietly. “do you want them?” 

your breath catches a little in your throat as you watch his eyes flicker unmistakably down to your lips.

your chest feels tight, and you will your fingertips not to tremble.

“maybe later,” you murmur.

“later?” he echoes. but it almost feels like he’s asking about something else entirely.

you hum, not sure you'd be able to form any words even if you tried.

another makeup artist shows up moments later, the metal trailer door creaking open as they enter. she greets the two of you and claims the station at the far end of the trailer, and it's like the bubble of intimacy enveloping the two of you up until that point has been punctured and popped.

you’re a little grateful for the interruption, you can’t help but think.

“uh—oh, mhm…mhm!” is all you can manage, swallowed by fabric that smells like your olympic athlete boyfriend, drowning in the strong waves of lust as he pounds up into your pretty puffy pussy until there are tears in your eyes. 

tobio let’s a hand leave your ass to tap at your baby fat cheeks, his dark blue eyes lit up with hunger as he mocks your pout. “words please baby, i know you know them.” it’s almost a joke to him, how weak and needy you get as soon as his milky top pushes past your selfish entrance, and brushes up against your velvety inner walls. he reads it in your eyes, how much you crave him and feels it in your cunt when you spasm and clench down on him, your juices rolling down his lengthy shaft and coating his balls. 

he taps your cheek again, and you whimper like a lost little lamb— the traces of a smile spreading across kageyama’s lips. “f-found it in the, fuck, the back of the closet… h’i missed you.” you cry out, gently circling your hips down on your boyfriend’s, droplets in the form of angel tears clumping in your lashes. kageyama’s smile widens, the hand in your cheek wrapping around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to kiss him. 

you let the fabric of the kurasuno jersey fall down to your chin, head angled perfectly to meet his lips and let your tongue slide wetly over the seam— begging your boyfriend to let you in. and he does, he lets you take charge of the searing and sloppy, spit slicked kiss. he lets you lick into his mouth and squeak against his tongue while he dominates the rest of your body buried beneath his old clothes. tobio feels you lean into him, free falling into his love and his desire while his hands slip under the sweatshirt to draw circles into your tummy, tease you by thumbing just under the swell of your breasts where they meet your rib cage before tweaking your nipples with tender love and care.

his cock aches inside you, just knowing that all your beauty, your curves, your pebbled nipples and the marks you have are hidden— no, protected from the hungry gaze of others by his old uniform. it drives kageyama insane, activates animalistic instincts in the back of his brain as he forces his cock as deep as it can go, rubbing his tip against your gummy walls and marking your insides with opaque wads of his messy precum until you’re squelching every time he ploughs into you.

you probably have no idea how fucking good you look right now, like a five course meal served up to the volleyball player on a silver platter. his baby, tobio kageyama’s innocent little baby had no idea of what she was getting herself into when you put on that number 9 kurasuno jersey. no idea that you would be fucked within an inch of your life, perfect pussy stretched over his painfully hot dick— his forked veins brushing up against pleasure spits only kageyama could reach. “h’baby,  you could have just, fuck…” the athlete curses, having been pounding into you so hard that his cock slips out of your eager hole, sliding right up against your clit which shines, soaked underneath the you yellow lighting in your bedroom. kageyama shivers when your tiny hand, peeking out from sweater paws to jerk him off. you thumb at his blistering red and seedy tip, you even drool over it too— right before guiding him back inside of your fluttering fat pussy. “there we go…you shoulda called me,”   

“y-you were at practice! oh fuck—tobi!” you whine, bristling with desire when kageyama wastes no time fucking your cunt into the shape of him. the bed creeks under the weight of his thrusts up into you, balls slapping heavy against your ass only serving to fill the room with their sensual song. you feel like you might cry, that’s how deep in your guts kageyama is, ruining your body for anyone else, claiming you as the mixture of your arousals froths and gathers at the swelling base of his shaft. whatever your precious cunt drools, quickly gets fucked back into your gushing insides and painted against your spongey g-spot the more your boyfriend throws his hips up to fuck you.

tobio grabs at your hips, holding you up so the only thing you can hump is his mushroomed cockhead, bright red and burning for you. he just wants to see, even though you whine for him put it back in, he just wants to see how raw and swollen your folds are from underneath his clothes— wants to know how much he turns you on. “you think i wouldn’t have left practice to come make my baby feel good?”  he asks, pressing his face into your neck and tilting his head up to lick the tears that stream down your face. “volleyball ain’t got shit on this fuckin’ pussy,” he breathes against your skin,

filling you up all over again with one sharp thrust until he’s buried into you right up to the hilt. 

and it’s true, not even the satisfaction of smacking a ball straight into the opposite court, not even lining up the perfect set or the smell of rubber sneakers burning against the floor during a tournament could compare to the sweet bliss of your warm, tight cunt wrapped around kageyama’s dick. you’re his favourite thing dressed in the jersey of his first love, humping away at his lap like a bitch in heat.

and kageyama thinks would be the best place in the world to die if it were to happen right now. 

“‘m close tobi, i’m gonna cum,” you heave into his ear like it’s a promise, arms looped around his neck where the softness of his jersey rubs against his sweaty skin. “fuck you’re gonna make me cum, o-oh. oh!” your head tilts back when his fingers meet your puffy clit, writing his signature against it while you drool from your mouth and your slit. “tobio.” there’s a warning lilt to the edge of your tone, telling your boyfriend that you can’t hold back and there’s a new feverishness to the way you roll your hips back down to meet his. 

so he pushes you onto your back, covering you with his slender body, his lips on yours while your ankles lock at his waist. the angle of kageyama’s hips shift, bullying his tip against your g-spot over and over, smearing precum along your velvety walls and bullying his way into you until you can see stars. he knows the way he fucks you is just right, he can tell by the way your lips form a gentle ‘o’ and the way your nails ( that he paid for ) dig into his toned shoulders and form crescent moons. 

“oh right there?” kageyama coos, lips messily finding yours while he pins your waist down to the sex soaked sheets bellow. your face changes, shining with sweat but so blissed out it makes your boyfriend’s hips stutter, losing the rough tempo they set. “ah, here…that feel good baby? yeah? oh fuck i know it’s good.” his words are breathy and shoot straight to your core, making your hole flutter around him— sucking his pulsing cock in selfishly. with his free hand, tobio roughly pushes up his kurasuno jersey that pools over your body right up to your tits— stormy blue eyes laser focused on the way they bounce under the weight of his thrusts.

kageyama is way taller than he was back in high school, but the length of the fabric still has you swimming in it— the volleyball player bunches it up, smiling down at you and uses the material to tug you back onto his dick, barely letting you off it as your clit grinds up against his washboard abs. “oh baby don’t cry, you’ll get to cum. i know you wanna fucking cum. can you do that?” he asks you, and again your words escape you as you’re left a teary eyed mess underneath the dark haired man. “yeahh, yeah you can. there you go.”

“tobi—!” you gasp, orgasm tearing though you as he pressed his entire weight onto you, fucking you hard and fast right through your high. you can’t help it, cunt squeezing down on him hard— juices splashing against kageyama’s stomach, making him almost grateful that he pushed his sweat shirt up to expose your pretty chest. “holy shit— tobio, i can’t, god—i can’t!,” pushing at his shoulders, your heave and hiccup as he picks up the pace and rams into your creamy sex again and again and again, forcing another orgasm out of you. 

you fucking squirt, a clear stream pouring from your abused little cunt— eyes rolling back into your skull as a silent scream rattles around in your throat. your hands dart up to grab at midnight black hair, tugging tobio closer, close enough for him to feel you tremble as you cream hard around his dick, practically forcing him out of your hole. 

“shit, baby…fuuck there you go, that’s it,” kageyama sighs against your wet lips, one arm outstretched over your head to grip the head board— the other between your bodies so he can tap his sensitive cockhead against your glistening and gushing pussy, running it up and down through the length of your slit. “mmhm, fuck you did so good, my good girl.” he stutters, lashes fluttering against your shoulder as he listens to the sticky sounds your puffy folds make while he glides through them. he kisses the tears that sit on the apples of your cheeks, using your shaky body to get himself off until he finds himself cumming against your cute little clit. a layer of thick white coats your hot mound and as he takes hold of his dick, tobio pushes the mix of your arousals back into you, shallowly fucking your hole as you twitch with the after shocks of your orgasm before he eventually settles inside you so you cockwarm him.

kageyama rolls off of you, pulling your leg high over his hip while you snuggle into him. “‘m sticky,” you complain, forming tiny fists against his chest. through the sleeves of your boyfriend’s kurasuno jersey. 

“you’re sticky ‘n so pretty baby,” kageyama’s cheeks are pink tinted from exertion, a soft smile on his lips while feeling you up from under the kurasuno colours. “want you to wear this more often…you look really good in it.” 

twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers. “i’ll wear whatever it takes to get you to fuck me like that again, tobi.” you purr into the shell of his ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “you’ll want to get spares of your japan team uniform as well.” 

“oh yeah?” tobio hums, eyes on yours, cock twitching softly inside of you. “how come?” 

“‘cause when you bring home a medal f’me, i can’t guarantee i won’t make a mess on you.” 

'I’m – uh -.’ Heat floods his skin. He flushes from collarbone to ears and mumbles something about 'morning wood’ before swallowing thickly. If his heart had made its mind up, his cock had evidently remained on the fence.

'Want me to take care of that for you?’ Your voice, soft, but dense with sleep, sends a shiver across his shoulders, makes his cock twitch with anticipation. How many times was he going to do this? How many times was he going to give himself to you in the hope that it would fill the emptiness that had bloomed in his chest. It wouldn’t. He knew that much, but even that didn’t stop him from rolling onto his side and slipping a hand around the back of your neck. It didn’t stop him praying that this time, this time would be the one to bring it back, to fix things: to fix him. He looks beautiful bathed in the morning light, his hair tousled and messy, his skin rosy. You reach for him before he can kiss you. Hand snaking between his thighs, you palm his length over his boxers, feel the dampness of pre-cum soaking the material with your fingertips and watch as his lips part, allowing a gentle sigh loose from his chest. His pupils blow out and swell with lust, but it’s not enough to cover the pain. Unease reflects back at you, stills your hand on his shaft, but he whines, bucks and then his lips are crashing against yours and you’re working him again. 'Don’t stop. Want you. Need you.’ He slips his pleas into your mouth and seals them in with a kiss. It’s desperate. His tongue swipes at your lip, anxiously asking for permission to enter, to submit, to not think about the tearing in his chest that worsens just a little each time he’s forced to look you in the eye. You’re all too keen to oblige. Too keen to ignore the signs. You let him roll on top of you and suspend his weight on elbows that dig into the mattress at either side of your head. His lips slip from yours and peck at the edge of your chin, the column of your throat, the tip of your collarbone. Each kiss pulls a deeper breath from your lungs as he wriggles lower, latches onto the skin of your breast, flicks his tongue over the flesh and suckles on the nipple. It feels good. He’s not in denial about that. The press of his cock against your thigh causes him to rut up, seeking a friction only your body can provide. Without slowing his assault on your breast, he feels his way down your side. His fingers grope and knead the fat over your hips before approaching your sex. 'Tobio, please.’ The wetness on your breast cools when he lifts his mouth from your skin and causes you to hiss. He nods against you, hums into your skin and then, he’s hooking his fingers under your underwear and tugging them off. Your underwear has barely been stripped from your body before he’s pushing inside of you, stretching you, forcing you open with one slow, determined push. In moments like this he forgets. He forgets that he’s stopped absently reaching for your hand, stopped feeling the swell of butterflies in his stomach when you smile, that he’s stopped asking you to come watch him play. You cry out with the initial stretch. The air is stolen from your lungs and you’re kept

breathless as he begins to roll his hips against yours. Each thrust brings with it a wave of pleasure, a wave of something concrete, something unmistakable and real. You don’t mean to claw at his back, to leave the long, red marks on the smooth plain of his skin as he moves to toy with your clit, but you can’t stop yourself and neither does he. The coil in your stomach pulls tight, vibrates violently as you teeter on the edge of bliss. 'Cum for me, need you to… Need you -.’ There’s a catch in his throat he wishes he could erase as he feels your cunt begin to flutter and milk him. It takes another thrust, the tightness of your orgasm and the dragging of your nails across his shoulders before he’s spilling inside of you. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the way you kiss him, tenderly like he needs reminding of something when he’s still nestled inside of you. Doesn’t deserve to seek refuge in your arms, or your cunt. Doesn’t deserve the subtle crack in your voice, or the tickle of your palm on his cheek as you ask him: 'Baby? You Okay?’ He doesn’t deserve it, but he doesn’t know how to let go. A whine escapes you when he pulls out. Your cunt tenses, squeezing around nothing as your orgasm ebbs from your limps. He’s already out of bed. You watch as he rolls to the edge and perches, like a bird ready to fly on the lip of the mattress. The thick lines you’ve left down his back are stark against his skin, obvious as he flexes, stretches out his shoulders and stands. They should make your stomach fizz. They used to. Looking at them now only causes bile to rise in your throat. You might be able to mark his body, but it feels like a lie – to mark what you know isn’t yours, not really, not any more.

'Want to -.’ Rolling to face him, you hook a thumb towards the bathroom, but the question is barely out of your mouth before you have your answer. 'I’ll get in after.’ 'Oh.’ You try and swallow your disappointment, but it jams in your throat and tries to choke you. 'Okay.’ 'Actually…’ You stop, sit up a little too quickly and make yourself dizzy. 'I’ll just wash up in the sink, I can shower at the gym.’ He doesn’t lift his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the hurt etched into the edges of your frown. Instead, he pretends to look at his phone, mimes scrolling down a text chain. You sigh and throw your head back against the pillow, but it isn’t until you feel his cum leak down your thigh that you start to cry. It takes everything inside of you to keep quiet, to lock the sobs away in your throat. Throwing an arm over your face, you suck in a measured breath and hold it when you hear the duvet crinkle as he twists to face you. 'I’m - .’ There’s an impossible amount of time between the faltering words in the back of his throat and the dipping of the mattress as he returns to his knees and crawls back to you. He slips an arm under your neck and hauls you up, pressing you close to his chest and giving you no option, but to cling to him. Your knees come up to wrap his waist as he cradles you, your hands clenched together, lips pursed against your own knuckles. 'I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ He’s crying too. His tears dive from his chin, seep into your hair and soak into your scalp. 'I’m sorry. I – I’m so – I’m -.’ He won’t stop saying it. He can’t. What else can he say? Outside the starling has begun to sing again. It’s voice shakes, throat vibrating as it releases a series of deep chirps. Maybe you would think it beautiful if it wasn’t for the pain slowly inching its way through your chest. You wonder if birds can feel heartbreak, if birds can fall out of love as easily as they fall from the sky, from a branch, the edge of your balcony. 'I thought it would come back – I thought -.’ Kageyama babbles into your hair. His lips move against your skin. Each word he mutters grazes your forehead, echoes in your head for a second before you begin to process them. 'How long?’ 'Two months, maybe – I -.’ Another wave of tears bubbles to the surface and both of you fall apart again. You shift, bury your head in his chest and inhale, savouring the bitterness of the sweat that beads his skin. This will be the last time you’re allowed to hold him like this after all. It’s strange, you think, to cling to the thing that’s hurting you so desperately, but you’re not sure you could let go if you tried.

'I care about you so fucking much.’ 'I know.’

'I just -.’ He’s gritting his teeth, shoving the truth out between them in sentences that break on his tongue.

He can’t finish them, so you do it for him. 'You just don’t love me any more.’

Eventually you unfurl from around each other. The world doesn’t stop for a broken heart and he has practice. You tell him you’ll have your stuff out by the time he gets home. He begs you to stay, to move into the spare room, to not leave him, not completely, but he also doesn’t push it when you tell him no. He leaves not long after that.

Reaching for your phone, you flick through your contact list for a moment before settling on a name. Pressing the screen, you hold the device to your ear and wait.

'Hey! I was just talking about you with Ryu -.’

'Can – can I come and stay with you for a little while?’ A stray sob sneaks from your lips before you can bite it back and you hear Kiyoko’s voice drop on the other side of the line.

'What happened?’

'It’s over… He – He.’

You can hear her scrambling, hear the faint jingling of keys, of her front door opening and then closing. 'I’m coming now, okay. I’m coming.’

Kageyama’s thighs ache. He’s sat on a bench in the changing rooms, elbows digging into his knees, a water bottle emblazoned with ’Japan 2020’ squeezed tightly between two palms. The changing room door bangs open, allowing the faint chatter from the team to float in and shatter his silence. Atsumu’s voice is loudest. It cracks the peace, ricochets around Kageyama’s head and shortens his temper. 'You.’ Atsumu is pointing at him as he kicks open a locker, peeking from around its metal edge. 'Played like absolute shit today.’ 'He knows.’ Sakusa cautions, throwing open his own locker and quickly peeling away his sweat-slick shirt from his back. It comes over his head in one fluid movement and is neatly folded and deposited in a small, sealable sleeve that is shoved into the bottom of his gym bag. 'I’m just saying.’ 'Yeah, well don’t.’ Sakusa fixes the setter with a glare, but it’s easily ignored as Atsumu catches sight of something all together much more exciting. Kageyama’s shirt comes off like a second skin. The cold air of the changing room nips at him, a welcome sensation against his tense muscles and tired frame. He sighs, brings his water bottle to his lips, trying to block out Atsumu’s voice as it echoes off the tile. 'Fucking Hell, didn’t know you were giving it to her that good.’ Cold eye’s bore into Atsumu as Kageyama stands. He’s taller than the other setter, heavier too and with how he feels right now, more than capable of beating the shit out of him. Stopping just short of his team mate, Kageyama raises a hand and brings it down hard onto Atsumu’s shoulder. He doesn’t smile. 'Good one.’ 'I told you to leave it.’ Sakusa’s voice snakes into his ears even after he’s made his way to the showers. 'What, it’s not my fault he fell out of bed on the wrong side.’ 'You’re ignorant, you know that -.’ 'You sound like 'Samu.’ The bickering gives Kageyama a head ache. He steps out of his shorts, discards them somewhere they’re bound to get wet and reaches for the tap. Two turns and the shower head gurgles, spluttering the air from its pipes before spitting out water. Stepping under the stream, he hisses at the heat. It’s a welcomed pain, a better one compared to the emptiness that still echoes in his chest. It had been stupid to think that telling you how he felt would make him feel better, but he hadn’t expected for it to hurt- not like this. The water disguises the tears that prick at his eyes, the heat of the steam reddening his skin and covering the rawness of his cheeks.

'Kageyama?’ Dipping to the floor, Hinata scoops up Kageyama’s shorts just before the water from the shower soaks them. Cocking his head to one side, he traces the lines in his friends back mindlessly with his eyes until he hears a sob. 'You told her, didn’t you?’

He doesn’t know what it is about the soft lilt of Hinata’s voice that makes him cry harder, but he does. Collapsing on a forearm, he leans against the shower and let’s his head hit the wall. 'It’s – It’s over.’

“Tell me what you want, doll,” he murmurs through grit teeth, trying to hold onto his senses long enough to hear you beg.

“Want you. N-need you to cum inside me, daddy, please. Fill me up, Touya. Breed me. Give it to me, p-please!”

A wicked smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when you oblige, giving him everything he wants and more even as your knees shake and you have to bolster yourself against the wall with your forearms.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls the praise before his breath is stolen from him, ripped away as he empties himself deep inside of you with a primal growl.

His hips stutter and he holds you tighter still, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for fear he would have drawn blood had he bitten you again. He pants against your spine, sinful sounds slipping onto your skin and off again, carried by the beads of sweat generated from your spontaneous afternoon romp in the living room.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he sighs when he finally straightens himself up.

The tip of his nose trails along the top of your spine, moving across the nape of your neck before he nuzzles his face into your hair. His tired, blissed out eyes hang heavy and half-lidded, so he briefly lets them close while he places a long kiss to the top of your head.

“Better me than yourself, I s’pose,” you half tease, half prod at the elephant that’s always in the room with the two of you. His lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile.

“I love you,” he hums against your scalp before relinquishing you from his grasp and reluctantly withdrawing himself.

“I love you too,” you softly reply as you let yourself linger against the wall for half a beat longer while you summon the strength to peel yourself away from it.

He bends down to swipe his discarded shirt off of the floor and unceremoniously begins to wipe himself clean.

That’s when you hit him with the, “Good talk, bro,” which is punctuated by a playful swat to his behind.

“What?” He whips around to look at you in clear and utter disbelief of the words that just left your mouth. He’s positively indignant in the most adorable way. Not that adorable was a word that many people used to describe Touya, but it’s one that you found yourself able to use often with how expressive he allowed his face to be when it was just the two of you. This was no exception.

“I said, ‘Good talk, bro’,” you shrug, as if that’s all there is to it. Playing dumb to continue to get a rise out of your partner, who was no stranger to being a smartass.

“No, yeah, I fuckin’ heard ya. I just don’t understand who in the hell you’re calling ‘bro’.” He tosses his shirt aside on the couch and now he’s just standing there, stark naked in the middle of the living room, eyes narrowed squarely at you.

“It’s just a nickname,” you explain as you retrieve your underwear from the floor, turning away so that he can’t see the amused smile on your face.

“I’m also well aware of what a nickname is, doll.” He snatches up his boxers, stepping back into them to cross his arms. You can still feel his eyes on you as you grab your shirt, so you glance over your shoulder and feign innocence when you turn back around.

“What?” You laugh, pulling your shirt back on as you maintain your oblivious act. “What’s wrong with me calling you that?”

“My dick was just inside you.” He deadpans.

“And?”

“And?!” He balks, sounding like he might have choked on the rest of the words he intended to say as his eyes quickly dart around the room. It seemed like he might be searching for who exactly you think that you’re talking to, because he knows that it certainly couldn’t be him.

But his eyes return to your face and he just blinks at you, stunned almost into silence. Almost.

“And so I’m not your ‘bro’!” He says indignantly as he tosses up his hands, palms lifted towards the ceiling before they clap down at his sides again.

“What are you then?” You take a step closer, wearing a challenging expression that thoroughly confuses him.

His body responds differently than his brain. His brain doesn’t quite know how to respond, but his dick does. Despite having just emptied himself into you, it twitches, threatening to stir to life again as he narrows his eyes down at your face, cursing himself for what had to be the thousandth instance of him wishing that he wasn’t so painfully attracted to you. Even when you were being a brat.

He was used to being the one riling you up. He was good at it. Great at it, actually. On the battlefield or off, he knew how to poke at just about anyone the right way to get a reaction out of them and, apparently, you’ve managed to pick up a thing or two by watching him. He hasn’t decided yet if he loves it or hates it, but he’s leaning towards the former.

“I’m your husband.”

You smile, looking sweet as ever when you step closer still and reach up to cup his stapled cheeks in your hands. The pads of your thumbs run along the healthy skin that remains between the seams on his face and you swear that you see those areas flush, but you don’t comment. He doesn’t like when you draw attention to the effect that you have on him, despite how obvious it may be.

“You are my husband..” you say softly, guiding his face closer. His hands find your waist, strong arms slipping around your middle as he pulls you flush against him, hanging off of your every word.

His flames could melt anything, but only you could make him melt this way.

“And I’m so lucky to be able to call you that. So lucky to be able to call you mine,” you whisper, words as soft and warm as your lips against his when you kiss him.

“M’lucky that you put up with me.” You add with a giggle, eyes still closed as your mouth lingers on his and you can feel the stretch of his mismatched lips as he mirrors your truly infectious grin.

He wraps his arms around your entire form, cradling you against his chest while your hands move to his pecs. You rest your head to listen to the music of his heart beating and his eyes fall closed while he just holds you. Just enjoys you for a moment. He promised you forever and he meant it, but he also understood all too well that even forever would never quite be enough time with you.

He kisses your temple and whispers a truth that will always be undeniable in his eyes.

“I’m always gonna be the lucky one, doll.”

You’re sat on the curb of the road, your knees pushed against your chest and your head resting on your knees. It seems as if you’re asleep, your eyes closed and body still.

He kneels beside you, whispering your name loud enough to wake you up.

“Huh?” You groan, turning your head to look at the man you can’t seem to let go. “Kei?”

There it is. It’s always sounded so sweet on your tongue, so sultry and intimate. It’s his given name, the one he grows to love each time you say it.

It’s bittersweet hearing it from you.

“Why are you just sleeping in the middle of the road? What if some pervert stopped by?”

“But nobody did,” you say, logic leaving you in your drunken state. You move closer to him, seeking his warmth.

You’ve always loved his touch. When you once called him yours, his body was always somehow attached to yours. Your skin on his, his heart in your palm.

He sighs, “get in the car, [Name].”

He pulls you up from your position, easily holding you as gently as he can.

“You never used to call me by my name,” you stop and lean into his shoulder. “I was always your baby.”

Tsukishima knows it’s the alcohol talking. That you’d never say this sober, and that there’s a possibility that you don’t mean any of those words. But his heart still hurts. It hurts so much that he feels as if he has lost himself. Lost all the progress he made to just get over you.

(But perhaps he never really stopped loving you, if he was so willing to pick up your call.)

He lays you on the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt for you. He drapes the extra jacket over your shoulders, and you remember it to be one of your favourites. You stare at him the whole time—eyes on his—but he refuses to look back. Not when he knows how easily his resolve could crumble with you around.

The car starts soon after, and you’re already asleep. Your head lays peacefully on the mirror, and Tsukishima wishes he could stay like this forever. In a world where he is yours and you are his.

-

There are not many things that Tsukishima regrets.

He prefers to live in the present and let the past be the past. What has happened is unchanging, so why worry? Why worry about what he should’ve done, when all he has is the now?

There are not many things that Tsukishima regrets. But he will always regret leaving you.

He knows that now, as he is in your bedroom, trying to find a way to change you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear.

You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, unmoving in the midst of all noise. That trait carries on to now, as he struggles to get your top off your body.

You squirm as he touches you. “Kei,” you whisper. “Why’d you pick me up?”

“You called me.”

“But you picked up,” you slur, “you could’ve ignored me. You were good at that when we were together.”

He winces. He knows you don’t mean it. You’ve always been far too kind to respond with such malice, especially towards him. Even when your relationship was walking on a tightrope, you never once yelled at him.

“Why were you so mean, Tsukishima?” It’s a rhetorical question, he knows it, but his heart burns the more you speak.

“I loved you so much, but you didn’t love me at all.”

“Don’t,” he immediately interrupts, “don’t say I never loved you.”

“You never showed me,” your voice is small, and he knows you’re about to cry. (Even after all these months, your habits remain in his mind.)

“I love you. So much more than you’ll ever understand,” he speaks with so much passion, that he forgets his confession.

He loves you. His heart will always belong to you.

“I love you too,” you cry, and a single teardrop grazes your cheek.

“You never deserved me.”

“I get to decide that,” you grab his delicate face with your rough hands. He always fit so perfectly in your palms. “I get to decide who is good for me.”

He pauses, resting in your hands and cherishing every moment he has with you. And it’s in your calloused palms where Tsukishima realises what he misses. He misses your presence, your love, you. Every habit that made him love you so deeply, he misses.

When he loves someone, his affection comes in odd ways. Sometimes it’s a flick to the forehead, other times it’s a teasing remark, and today, it’s him asking you if he could stay with you while you shower.

It’s not necessary the worst request, but when you consider the fact that he’s asking to sit on a stool and talk to you while you bathe, you find it a bit strange.

“Why would you even want that?” You ask him, all while you get ready for your nighttime shower.

“I just wanna be there.”

You shrug, tell him “sure”, and move on with your day. He sits on the toilet seat as you shower, recounting his day and all the small things that ticked him off.

“I never knew you could talk this much,” you laugh. He’s not necessarily the most quiet partner, but words are often few when it comes to your Kei. He’s more of a listener than anything, telling you how much he likes to hear your voice when you “bitch about everything.” (His words, not yours.)

-

Once you spend enough time with Tsukishima, though, you learn that he’s not evasive, just caring. He cares for you in ways you’ve never been loved before.

He shows you this when you feel as if you’re looking the Grim Reaper in the eyes, period cramps eating you away, and laying in your shared bed.

“Get up,” he whispers, careful to not yell for he knows how much you hate loud noises.

“Don’t talk to me.”

He knows it’s the cramps talking, so he only responds with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay,” he says, and begins to lift you off the bed. You nearly scream in shock, hitting his chest lightly.

“Put me down!” You kick your legs as he carries you bridal-style towards the bathroom. You know what he’s doing, trying to motivate you to not wallow in your pain, but you’re far too stubborn and in too much pain to care.

“Don’t ignore me!”

“You told me not to talk to you,” he retorts, gently placing you on the closed toilet seat and kneeling in front of you. “I ran a bath for you.”

You stare at him, head tilted to the side, and you wonder how you got so damn lucky.

“You want me to strip you, or?” He speaks up in the midst of your silence.

“Don’t be an ass.”

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 ──

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Atsumu moans, hanging his head down to stare at where you’re both connected. His blonde hair is messy as it falls in front of his face, and a deep groan slips past his lips as he sinks his cock into you. 

“You feel so good,” you gasp, instinctively gripping onto him. 

A boyish, charming smirk tugs at Atsumu’s lips as he gazes down at you. “Yeah? ‘M all yers.”

As if to further punctuate his words, Atsumu presses his cock deep inside you, two of his fingers coming to circle against your clit. His hips grind against yours, the fat tip of his cock continuously nudging against the spot that has you moaning his name—Atsumu’s favorite sound. 

“Yeah? Ya’ like that?” he moans, the grin never leaving his face.

Wanting to feel him closer, you pull on his broad shoulders. Atsumu quickly obliges, pressing his bare, sweaty chest to yours as he kisses you deeply. A groan of your name falls past his lips as you clamp around him, cunt gushing around his cock as his thick shaft drags along your walls.

“You know I do,” you tease, moaning as he hooks a strong arm under your thigh to fuck into you deeper. 

“So fuckin’ tight for me,” he pants against your lips, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. All you can do is run your fingers through his messy hair, pushing the fallen strands away from his eyes to better see him. 

Atsumu kisses you passionately, messily, moaning into your mouth as he grinds his cock into you. “Love ya’ so much.”

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 ──

“T-Tooru,” you gasp, arching your back as he hovers over you. 

You can feel the pleased smirk pressing against the curve of your breast, Tooru's lips teasingly brushing and biting along your skin. 

“That’s my name,” he hums against you. He groans as he encourages your fingers to thread through his hair, the messy brown strands curling around your hands as you tug. Tooru’s lips are soft and insistent as he grazes them in feather-light kisses along your chest, trailing bites back up your neck. 

“W-When are you going to be done with—ah!—this?” you moan, clenching your thighs together as he presses his face to your chest again. 

“Why should I stop?” he asks, tracing a finger over one of the many love bites he’s left against your skin. “Everyone should know you’re taken.”

Tooru’s tongue drags along your skin as he sinks down between your thighs, spreading them open and staring admiringly at your dripping cunt. 

“I’m fairly certain everyone knows I’m yours,” you state, spreading your legs for him to settle between them. 

“Mmm,” Tooru smirks, pressing tiny, fleeting kisses to your inner thighs. “Well, just to be sure.”

He continues littering love bites along your inner thighs, only stopping when his tongue swipes through your cunt, collecting your slick in his mouth as he hungrily sucks at your clit. 

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐀 ──

“Koushi…” you moan, wrapping your legs more securely around his back. 

“Shh, I’m right here, angel,” Koushi groans against you, cradling your face in his hand. His palm is large and warm as you lean into it, placing an affectionate kiss to his fingers. 

Koushi smiles lovingly down at you at the action before letting his head hang down, entranced at the sight of your dripping cunt sucking his aching cock back inside of you. 

“You feel so good—always so good to me,” he moans, a shuddering breath racking through his body. He braces his elbows against the bed, languidly dragging his cock through your walls, only to draw back and push back inside of you deeper than before. 

Dragging your nails through his hair, you sigh happily as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. His breath is hot as he pants along your skin, continuing the sweet, tender pace he’d built up until you’re both a moaning mess. 

Koushi's cock is hot and thick inside you, the fat tip of his cock leaking as he grinds his hips. The deep roll of his hips always leaves you gasping his name, gripping onto his hair before your touch slides down his neck, collecting on the nape of his neck. 

He continues making love to you for hours, completely in love with you and the way his name sounds falling past your kiss-swollen lips. 

𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 ──

“You’re so wet…” is said in awe as Bokuto rests between your legs. He drags his fingers through your folds, spreading you apart; his eyes widen at how your slick clings to his fingers. 

He’s unknowingly teasing you, but with the completely enamored look on his face, you can’t bring yourself to stop his admiration. 

The pads of his fingers are rough as they spread you apart, his darkened eyes latching onto your clit. Without warning, he leans in to press his tongue against you roughly, moaning obscenely against you. 

“Kou!” you gasp, legs almost falling against the bed as he presses his mouth against you. He merely moans, digging his nose against your clit as he shakes his head, moaning all the while. The vibrations of his mouth reverberate through you, and all you can do is moan and writhe underneath his insatiable touch. 

“That feel good? You taste amazing,” Bokuto states as he barely pulls away, lips wet with your slick as he simply stares at you. 

He loves the sweet sounds you let out for him when he dips his head down again, wrapping his soft lips around your clit. Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging as he hums around you, sucking and licking against your clit as two of his fingers make their way to your clenching entrance. 

They slip in easily, and Bokuto wastes no time crooking them inside you, pressing against the spot that has you gasping and squirming. Not having any of that, your boyfriend presses a large palm to your hip, effortlessly keeping you still as he messily makes out with your cunt. 

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 ──

“I love ya’, love ya’ so much,” Kita gasps, reverently, in awe. 

His large hands—slightly calloused and rough from working in the fields all day—gently hold your hip. His thumbs brush against the skin by your hipbone, eyes wide and lips parted as he stares up at you. 

“I love you too, Shin,” you gasp, a long, drawn-out moan of his name spilling past your lips as you grind on him. His bare cock, thick and warm inside you, throbs as you clench down on him, and Kita loudly moans as he thrusts up into you deeply. 

“Shit—so tight,” he groans, biting down on his lip as he guides you to bounce on his cock. Kita’s completely enamored with watching your slick cunt sink onto his hard cock, the way you’re stretched out for him causing his head to spin. 

He presses a hand to the swell of your breast, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple as you drop your hips flush against him, both of you letting out loud moans as you circle your hips. The head of his cock presses against the spot that has you seeing stars, and you let your head fall forward as he sits up. 

Kita’s warm mouth wraps around your nipple, moaning around it as his hand keeps you steady on him. He continues thrusting up into you, wet tongue laving across your breast as you grind on his aching cock. 

𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 ──

A low groan is heard as you grin to yourself, Tsukishima’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull your back flush against his chest. 

“You know I’m holding back fucking you against the counter,” he presses a kiss to your neck, his hot breath fanning across your ear. It causes you to shiver as you finish making your morning coffee, pressing your ass against his front. 

Tsukishima’s hands tighten around your hips, fingers pressing insistently and needily against your hips as he groans. He’s already hard, and you bite your bottom lip to hide the playful smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Who said you had to hold back?” you tease him, one of your hands moving to hold his. Tsukishima grins against you, pressing languid kisses down your neck as he entwines your hands against your waist.

“Oh?” he hums, clearly pleased as you grind back against his aching cock again. Tsukishima has to bite back a groan at the sight of you in just his large shirt covering your frame, panties already wet as they cling to your slit. “You want me to fuck you right here?” 

Your grip on the coffee beans falters as his long fingers teasingly trace down your thigh, slowly dipping under the waistband of your panties to drag along your clit. A gasp falls past your lips as Tsukishima skips past the teasing to spread apart your folds, pressing languid circles to your hot clit. His broad, tall body braces you against the counter, and you welcome how he crowds against you. 

“Kei,” you moan his name as he continues slowly circling your clit, wet kisses trailing down your neck.