I Mean.. At Least You Didn't Have To Ask? (o;)

I mean.. at least you didn't have to ask? (⁠･⁠o⁠･⁠;⁠)

pro!ushijima, who is still a little lost on social clues and overall relationships, gets dragged by his team to a bar after a match. he clearly don't want to be there as he's alone with his drink one his teammate ordered for him.

he is about to leave the bar when you approach him. you two have been making eye contact for a whole hour until you decide it is enough.

you introduce yourself with a smile and ready to ask for his number. ushijima, surprising himself and everyone around him, fills the contact form in your phone and, after a while, gives your phone back. you can't believe your luck. the most handsome, and intimidating, man you have ever seen in your life has his cheeks blushed.

you blink twice and you look down at your phone. and then you laugh.

he has filled everything. not just his phone number and complete name, but his email, birthday, postal code and an emergency number under the name of someone called satori tendou.

"why are you laughing?"

his voice is deep. feels deeper as you are closer now. a shiver runs down your spine. oh lord, he's hot, really hot.

but he is frowning, clearly not understanding what's so funny.

"nothing," you smile, "you're just too cute."

having horrible horny thoughts about telling best friend hanma no guy has ever made you cum so he takes it upon himself to be the first because he deserves it and wants to be your first something :,( eats you out like a starved man and his strokes are immaculate someone help 💔💔

— 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 !! : hanma shuji.

content: f!reader. college au(?). you're inexperienced, shuji is secretly in love with you. pussy eating, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstim, edging, he makes you call him daddy. if this makes no sense its bec i wrote the whole thing w my clit.

an: (s)creaming this turned into a full fic lmfaoo

⠀⠀ — . ｡˚ ♡ "i dare you to tell me somethin' that'll make me laugh."

“no guy’s ever made me cum.” you’d told hanma. a not so innocent answer to a rather innocent dare, you admit. but he’s your best friend, nothing less (and nothing more). it’s fine.

and there was an awkward, momentary silence for a few seconds. he’d fallen still, holding the cigarette he’d been about to take a drag from in mid air, amber eyes flickering with an emotion unreadable to you.

“say what, dollface?” he asks — using that petname with you again, that your exes always hated — and the disbelieving tone in his voice embarrasses you, brings a flush to your cheeks and ties a knot of humiliation in your guts.

you squirm on the back of his motorcycle, as he turns his head to look at you, leaning against the fence right by you, where he’d parked the vehicle. 

“i—” you stutter, flustered. “no guy’s ever made me cum before.” just something funny that’d slipped out your mouth, during a lazy game of truth or dare you’d played during his smoke break after class.

“that’s fucking funny, doll.” he does laugh, but it’s awkward. “you serious?”

“yes.” you’d answered. truthfully.

and now, you’re splayed out between hanma’s legs, on his bed in his room, his long and lithe fingers bullying their way into your cunt for the third time. “h—ah! wait!”

he’s leaning against the headboard, one arm hooked around your waist, hand firmly on your thigh and holding your legs spread apart, fingers in your pussy as he chuckles lowly at your whines.

you’d question it — question what the fuck was happening, if he just wasn’t so fucking hot and making you feel so fucking good.

“that’s it,” he smirks, as you drop your head against his chest, grabbing onto his wrist, desperately trying to close your legs as he effortlessly draws another orgasm out of you. “that’s it ... ya look fuckin’ cute when you’re cumming.”

he laughs when you try to look up at him and scowl, eyes fluttering and rolling back into your head when he uses the hand that’s not busy fucking your pussy to land a slap on your clit. 

you moan again, and he laughs. “see? atta girl, so pretty when you cum. tellin’ me nobody’s ever seen you like this?” 

you dont answer, too busy trying to blink back the wave of dizziness that’s washing over you with the bliss hanma’s giving you, on his fingers alone.

the inked kanji on the back of his hand flashes darkly, sin bobbing up and down between your legs, shiny with your slick, as hanma curls his fingers into your tight, clenching walls and rasps into the shell of your ear, “asked you a question, dollface.”

“nobody,” you gasp, for some reason so nervous yet so turned on, by the demanding, challenging edge to his tone. “nobody, hanma— ah!”

“tch, it’s shuji, sweetheart.” he pinches your clit, laughs when your knees jerk up at the sensation. 

his voice goes a little softer as he continues, thinking you wouldn’t notice the hint of jealousy and longing in his voice with the state you’re in. “gonna keep me just your friend, just your ol’ buddy hanma-kun even after i take you on my bed, fuck you on my fingers ’n make you cum over ’n over again?”

“a—mngh, ’m sorry, shuji,” you whine, too enamoured by how he feels to argue, and his heart jumps at how sweet his name sounds off your tongue. “f—fuck, feels so good!”

“would feel better if i were usin’ my tongue. or if you were on my cock.” he laughs when your expression visibly scrunches up in embarrassment, cooing at you and telling you how cute you are as he grips your waist and turns you around to straddle him, legs shaky with the effect of your previous orgasms. “want me to do it, yeah?”

“mmm,” you answer though you’re not sure what he means, holding onto his shoulders for support. he holds you steady, and slides himself down onto his back onto the mattress, pushing your legs further apart around him and cupping your ass, pulling you forward — and you realize what he’s about to do. “shuji, no, i’ve n—”

you cut yourself off, but hanma picks your sentence up anyway.

“never been eaten out before?” he asks, sounding both unconvinced and pissed off at the same time, and you sit there as he stares up at you, so fucking embarrassed—

“my doll’s been gettin’ treated like shit, huh?” he breathes, gold eyes tracing your figure down. “sweet lil’ thing, i’ll show you how y’should be treated, a’right?”

“mm,” you let out a sound, so shy when his voice goes all sympathetic. it makes your pussy go slick with want, your heart beating faster with anticipation. “mkay.”

hanma doesn’t hold back. he tightens his arms around your hips and waist in an instant, pulling your cunt down on his mouth, nose pressed just over your clit as he inhales deep into you, letting out a needy growl as he opens his mouth and takes you.

your hands scramble to find a hold on the headboard as he rocks you forward, trapping you on your knees with your thighs plush and warm around his face, drinking in your cunt — devouring you like a man starved. “fuck,” he slurs into your heat, muffled and hot. “shit, baby, s’ fuckin—good.”

his tongue grazes your clit, curls around it and sucks, and you cry out, squirming in his arms, one hand leaving the headboard to get down and curl your fingers into his hair and tug, stuttering his name out in a pleading chant. “shuji, shuji, shuji — fuck!”

the moan he lets out when you pull at his black and blonde locks thrums against your cunt, and when he sucks at your clit again, slurping loudly and grunting praise into you, it’s enough to make you cum again. “ah, shuji, cumming, cumming!”

“i know,” he hisses, and when you look down at him, the rise of his cheekbones, his nose and his mouth are soaked with your wetness— and his eyes are blown wide, the gold of them almost lost in the darkness of his want. “i know, baby. i know.”

“please,” you hiccup, tears blurring your vision, hips trembling as you try not to collapse over hanma’s face.

your cunt aches, empty despite the way he shoves his tongue up your fluttering hole, and you dont want another orgasm without it. “fuck! shuji — shuji please, need your cock.”

“mm — what’d you say, dollface?” he grunts, licking at your clit, yanking you back in when you try to lift yourself off him. “cant just get all you want like that. say it right f’me.”

“w-what?” you sob, unsure what he means but so needy to obey, because you just need him to stuff you full and fill you up already.

you dont know if it’s wrong or not, to want your best friend’s dick inside you so badly, but you’ve gone this far, havent you? he’s giving you what you want.

“you g’na do as i say?” he smirks, watching how you nod and keen when he tongues at your abused clit again. “then say ‘i love you, daddy, i only want you ‘n your cock from now on’.”

huh? — it takes a second or two, but the words put clarity in your head, somewhat, when you hear them. 

swallowing back the shaky whine of acceptance bubbling at your throat, you manage to ask instead, “you want me to tell you i love you?”

there’s a small pause, before hanma’s grip on your hips tightens again. 

but this time, he pulls you off.

it urges you back to your position straddling his hips, as he sits back up, leaning on the headboard once more — and though his hard-on brushing hot and heavy through his jeans against your messy cunt is distracting, you pay attention to his expression instead.

hanma stares at you, face wet with your slick and hair messy with your hand tangling through the dyed locks. “so you ... dont?”

it’s a sudden flipside to the multiple orgasms he’d just sent you through, and it disorients you just a little. 

but the look in his amber eyes, black and blonde hair stuck to his forehead and framing his face, the warmth in your heart as you contemplate an answer — and the desperate ache in your empty cunt, it all convinces you to say you do.

“i do.”

there’s yet another damned pause, as you sit on hanma’s lap, naked and with his dick hard under your ass, your palms flat against his bare chest — if someone’d told you before that a dumb game of truth or dare after class would lead you to this situation, you’d laugh.

but — but this is shuji. he’s rough on the exterior, a major tease, a man notorious and famous on the streets; but really? he’s sweet.

he buys you coffee, takes you out shopping, takes you to the salon, pays for your takeout. he always tells you he'll fuck your exes up if they hurt you or make you cry (and they have done so, but you've never allowed him to beat them).

he goes with you to the library, even though he doesn't even care for spending hours on assignments or work. to be fair, he does leave you in there and go out to smoke after only a few minutes, but he always comes back to drop you home.

he's so nice to you, despite himself. and turns out, if you'd just ask, he'd fuck you too.

he’s your best friend. nothing less, nothing more, but you decide it now, trembling from the euphoria he’s giving you. you want more.

it’s possessive and spells desire, how he’d pulled you in here to make up for your ‘stupid shit exes’, telling you he would make you feel good if nobody else has done it before.

it’s all so sudden, but it makes sense. he’s been just your best friend this whole time, but you want more.

“i do love you, shuji.”

hanma lets out a breath, when you repeat it. “really, now?” he mutters. “not just sayin’ that so i’ll give you my cock? dont play with my heart now, doll.” he chuckles, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes.

“i do.” you mumble, shy again under the intensity of his piercing stare. “and i guess ... that’s why it never worked with anyone else. when you were there this whole time.”

“hah,” hanma laughs, steadying his hold on your waist before bringing one hand up to pat your cheek. ”y’ telling me no other asshole could make you cum, ‘cause you were busy wishin’ it was me?”

“no!” you blurt out, but when he grins wider, slides his hand down from your cheek to pinch the soft flesh of your tits, the electric shiver that courses down your spine says otherwise. it would be a lie, to say that you’ve never wanted him. “yeah, m-maybe.”

“fuck,” he hisses at that, eyes going even darker, like the dubious confirmation you’d given him was all he needed, like it was a love shot and a stroke of lust in one — and he yanks the buttons and zipper of his jeans open, tugging the fabric apart and pulling out his straining cock.

it’s big — unsurprising, but still a sight to take in, and you whimper tearfully when he grabs the length in his hand and taps his head to your clit, letting out a breathy chuckle. “biggest cock y’ ever seen, mhm?”

and you’d want to keep from boosting his ego, but the way you stare is answer enough. “n-need you in me, shuji.” you beg, and he just laughs again, rubbing the pearl of precum that swells at his tip across your slit, teasing. “say what i told you to say, then. if y’love me.”

call him daddy? “do i really have to?” you whine, pushing forward and grinding up on his cockhead. it ellicits a rough moan from him, that makes your clit throb when you hear it — but hanma remains adamant.

“you hafta, dollface.” he smiles, showing you teeth. “you’ll do it, if y’ really want me so bad.”

and god, the layers of pleasure he’d drowned you in are too sharp, too overwhelming for you to refuse and stop this right now — you want, need his cock. right now.

fine. “i—i love you, daddy.” you mumble, eyes skirting down because you cant bring yourself to look him in the eyes. “and i-i want only you. only your cock, and only you. i love you.”

and it’s like hanma has been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“shit, baby,” he huffs, pulling your tits flush against his body as he grabs you by the waist and by the back of your neck, dragging you in and meeting your lips with his in a starved kiss — fuck, he hadn’t kissed you until now? 

you realize it, with both a pang and a fluttering in your heart, but the thought is soon knocked out of your head, as he kisses you again, tasting the lingering essence of yourself on his tongue, tasting him, catching the scent of cigarettes and men’s cologne on his mouth and neck as you lean into him, letting him savour you whole. 

“god, i love you.” he groans, as he lines his cock up at your entrance, sliding sin and punishment over to your ass again and sheathing you down on him. “loved you f’so long now, baby. d’you know how i’ve felt? ‘n now y’re fuckin’ telling me all those assholes you dated never made you cum. fuck.”

“mm, sh-shuji!” you cry, and he moans in your ear in reply. “s-slower! please, please—”

“‘m too big for you?” he rasps, voice hoarse with pleasure. god, he’s wanted this forever. your tight, velvet walls clenching around him, wet and hot and your body on him, so pretty and all his.

“cant slow down, sweetheart.” he hisses. “consider this your punishment. for playin’ with my heart like that, for so long.” you’ve got your arms wrapped around hanma’s neck, trying to control the pace at which you sink down on his cock, but he rolls his hips up and pushes all the way into you anyway.

“a—haah! shuji!” your moan is saccharine in his ear, and he swallows back a curse, knowing that it’s not going to be long before he’s cumming, filling you all up.

“say sorry, baby.” he growls, pulling out before shoving back in you again, putting stars into your eyes with the sharp slap of skin against skin, the harsh kiss of his tip against your cervix. “really didn’t think i loved you, even when i was fuckin’ knuckle deep in you? callin’ you my dollface and telling you y’re pretty ‘n driving you around, and sucking on that sweet lil clit?”

you cry out, when he bites at the side of your neck, feeling even more embarrassed, feeling stupid — because god, you were stupid to miss the signs. to think he was just like that. when he only ever was that way with you. “‘m sorry, sorry. please, i’m sorry.”

“hmm,” he lulls, kissing the marks of his teeth that he’d left on you. “cant be mean with you, can i? too fuckin’ sweet for your own good.”

your mouth is on his cheek, lips sliding down his jaw in desperate kisses, needing him more even when he’s right here, when your body’s pressed to his and his lips are on you and his cock is all the way in your cunt. “mmngh,” you try, too dizzy to answer properly.

“now let’s teach ya how it feels to cum on a big, fat cock, yeah, dollface?” he says, starting up a hasty rhythm with his cock, up and down into you as you struggle to stay sitting up on his lap. “poor lil’ doll’s never even done this before?”

“never.” you keen, lost in the way his cock is so long, so thick, reaching all the sweet spots deep in your cunt in one fucking go. “n-never came on a cock before.”

“yeah, i know.” he says, all sympathetic again, and it sends heat rushing to both your face and your core. “g’na beg daddy to let you cum all over his cock?”

“mhm,” you moan, and he smiles, brings you in for another kiss as he speeds up. “then say it, baby. say what y’need to say to have your way.”

“mm, daddy, daddy—” you sob, trying to kiss him back as he hums into your mouth, forgetting your embarrassment at having to call him that, because fuck, it was starting to feel fitting. “please let me cum on your cock, please, please—”

“only if you’ll let me fill this pretty pussy all up.” he stutters, voice turning all raspy as he goes even faster, bouncing you up and down so hard as he nears his high. 

he loves the way you beg. loves the way you call him by that name. so cute, and almost pathetic, for him. it’s a fresh change. one he wants to hold on to. “yeah? you’ll let me do that, baby? let daddy fill your cunt up with his cum?”

“yes,” you gasp, vision going cloudy with both tears and pleasure as you feel the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter all over again. “fuck, anything! anything, daddy, just please.”

“please what?” his laugh is now hoarse, as he looks at your blissed out face from under his lashes, eyes lidded and heavy with lust and pleasure.

the bedsheets under you are soaked, but neither of you can care — you moan again, sucking in a breath and falling into hanma’s chest, tired but so, so desperate to cum again. “please, shuji. please. need to cum on your cock. need you to cum in me.”

and he does. 

hanma watches, vision hazy as his cock slides out of your cunt milky and drooling, and pushes back in — pushes in so deep he hits your cervix again and he cums, leaking hot, white ropes of seed into your tight, wet cunt — and it makes you cum, too.

“fuck, tryna milk me all up, huh?” he heaves as he maintains his pace, gritting his teeth and grabbing your hips when you try to meet the rhythm, pussy fluttering and sucking him in like you’ve needed him as much as he’s needed you. “pretty, pretty lil’ pussy — all mine, yeah?”

“all yours, shuji.” you sob, and he stares as your head tilts up, eyes rolling back in your head as they fall shut, drowning in the pure heaven of cumming while stuffed full of his big, big cock. “a-hnngh, all yours.”

“yeah, that’s right.” he growls, wrapping punishment around your throat, hauling you back in to kiss you, sloppy and open mouthed, as sin slips down between your bodies — pressing into your pulsing clit with his thumb as he continues fucking up into you, pace relaxing slowly. “that’s right. y’re all mine now. forever.”

to do it all again.

not manga spoiler free !

manjiro sano lost you in his past life. he has had to live with the agony of seeing you fall apart at his lies of betrayal and infidelity. now that he gets the opportunity to turn back time, there is nothing he wouldn’t do to make things right.

pairing : timeleaper!mikey x reader

content : angst with comfort. second chances. major manga spoilers. confessions of cheating (but it was a lie told by mikey to push reader away). cursing. mentions of death.

mikey stands on the ledge of a rooftop of the building, looking over the city lights illuminating the night, letting the wind brush through his long hair.

he could see the people from here, albeit tiny, he can still observe everyone who passes by. there are smiles on their faces, lovers holding their hands, happily walking on the streets of tokyo aimlessly.

a sharp pain shoots through his chest when he looks beside him, ready to hold the hand of the love of his life, only to be reminded that he is entirely all by himself. it hurts, and he knows he doesn’t have the right to complain when he was the one who pushed you and everyone else away.

he is alone by choice. he distanced himself and deliberately wanted everyone to hate him by choice. that should make it all alright, that the sole reason he has nothing is him. that is what he tells himself.

no matter how self-destructive he is, there is a voice in his head that loves him, and it questions everything that has gone wrong in mikey’s life.

is it really his choice if he doesn’t like it? is it really by choice if had things been different, he wouldn’t have to do it? if he wishes he had another choice?

how is any of this fair?

how could you let them do this to you, mikey?

who gets to decide who is dangerous and not? who gets to decide who would live happily with their loved ones and those who would die alone? if there is a god out there, how is it any fair just for him to be standing on top of the world… all cold and broken?

it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

it’s all so fucking unfair.

all his life, he has done nothing but envy people for being happy, and for not being afraid to be. because whenever he’s happy, he always had to brace himself for the consequence that would come next.

his happiness was always conditional. always with a price to pay. and now he thinks he has maxed out, having experienced pure bliss with you.

the love of his goddamn pitiful life.

maybe this is payment for being too happy. for thinking you’d both have a future together. it is his punishment for ever thinking it was possible for him to be with someone as good as you.

mikey will repent for it, but he misses you so.

he misses you so much he is close to hallucinating an image of you in all the places you’ve been to together. his throat itches at the urge to scream his lungs out at being full of too much longing.

he misses you, and his skin longs for your touch, his heart for your love, and his soul for your warmth. but he can’t do anything to change that.

he closes his eyes to get rid of the sight of people living their lives just right below him, and try to get a memory of you smiling at him.

instead, he is confronted by the memory of the night when he let you go. no—it’s not just letting you go. he deliberately hurt you so you could let him go.

manjiro sano remembers it all. he remembers your betrayal-stricken eyes. he remembers your quivering lips. he remembers your hiccups in between your sobs. he remembers how he broke your heart, the very thing he promised that he wouldn’t do.

he remembers it all too well.

it sucks to be the one who remembers.

Keep reading

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

Kozume Kenma x Reader Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Nekoma Fic Rec Masterlist

Shift Pt 1| Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 ✨✨💖💖by @seokiloquy (series, fluff, streamer! reader)

Loot Me Tender✨✨ by Falconette (fluff, humor, strangers to friends to lovers) A story about falling in love. Aged up.[COMPLETED]

Stick Figures✨ by @seokiloquyWhatever is drawn or written on your body appears on your soulmate’s.[COMPLETED]

You are jealous but you can't do anything abt it since you are not dating him ✨✨by @screamin-abt-haikyuu (oneshot, angst to fluff)There’s jealousy and there’s the more frustrating kind of jealousy when you cannot even act or make your feelings known since you ain’t dating the person. [COMPLETED]

Drunken Mistakes✨✨ by @yourstarvic(oneshot, humor, fluff) When drinking to much made you forget who your husband was. But what happens when you start flirting with someone and turns out he's also married? And why is he saying he's married to you? [COMPLETED]

Liquid Courage by @yourstarvic (oneshot, fluff, humor)Who knew drinking to much will make Kenma take care of you and to tell him few things about him?[COMPLETED]

Sacrifice✨ by @yourstarvic (oneshot, fluff)Nothings better than sacrifing yourself in a game to convice your boyfriend to cuddle.[COMPLETED]

An Inconvenient Crush✨ by the_only_iris (oneshot, fluff, crack) YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma's secret YouTube persona, puddinghead.[COMPLETED]

the inevitability of you and me ✨by @sunseteyes (oneshot, soulmate au, angst , fluff, unrequited love ) this is not your regular soulmates au where they met and fell in love. in this story, (y/n) and kenma met, but only one fell in love. would this be a tragic love story or will fate be stronger than them all?[COMPLETED]

rainy girl by @realcube (oneshot, soulmate au, angst) soulmate au! kenma finally saw his soulmate in his dream but something doesn’t seem right..[COMPLETED]

Games by @readerinsertz (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff, tooth rooting) [COMPLETED]

You too by @xnchxntmxnt (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Whatever you write will appear on your soulmate's skin.[COMPLETED]

Mine (Kozume Kenma X Reader)✨ by missingnins (oneshot, fluff, humor, slight smut)Nekoma's manager and the team is heading to a training camp with Fukurodani, Karasuno, and Aobajousai. The place they'll be staying at just happened to have a onsen too and reader-chan wanted to get in...but.. its a mixed onsen.[COMPLETED]

 The Red String of Nothingness ✨✨(Soulmate AU)  Part 2 (soulmate au, angst) You’ve been waiting for your soulmate your whole life. Preparing to go into high school, you’re excited for more opportunities to find your destined partner. But… then you find him. And his girlfriend.[COMPLETED]

Game Plan ✨by @lilikags (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Gamer soulmates do exist..<au where whatever you write apppeats on your soulmate's skin>[COMPLETED]

Breaking and Entering ✨✨by @dammitlogan (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff, humor)[COMPLETED]

 soulmate au by @haicuties (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) soulmate au where you see every color but golden, the color of your soulmate's eyes.[COMPLETED]

I'm not a game [ Kozume Kenma x Reader ] by Cutesight (fluff, smut)A new family moves into Kenma Kozume's neighborhood during the middle of summer. Little does Kenma know, the family that moved in is Tetsurō Kuroo's childhood best friend. [CPMPLETED]

Take 5 ✨by MicrowaveRave (oneshot, fluff, smut)A picture of the past inspires for the future, and a simple joke propels you into the unexpected as you learn that there are still some sides to your boyfriend that you haven't uncovered.[COMPLETED]

heartbreak girl ✓ | unrequited love, angst✨ kenma x f!reader x kuroo  by @tooruluv | teaser | pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 (final) | [COMPLETED]

change the channel ✨💖✨by alkhale (business partners to lovers, streamer! reader, time skip! kenma strangers to lovers, humor, slight angst) Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game? [COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq (oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

Second Place by YourQueenHasArrived (oneshot, fluff, angst, smut) Kenma forgets your anniversary and once again pushes you aside for his gaming career. How much can you take?[COMPLETED]

Kodzuken Falls in Love by katsukismom (fluff, timeskip) our little streamer boy falls in love with you~[COMPLETED]

 Indebted and In Debt (Vampire AU) by @oreosmama Kozume Kenma is one of the most infamous vampires to ever exist, the legends of him and his clan rivaling that of Dracula himself.  A chance slip, an accidental cut, and a band aid missing the trash can all lead to the chance meeting of you and the vampire committed to serving you eternally. “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.” [COMPLETED]

HE'S SO IN LOVE!!! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

okay that kuroo piece is still coming but have this small sakusa x MSBY!manager blurb that I just thought up and got so excited about!! I’m marking this down as fem!reader just for this specific little ramble. it can be read separately from the series !!

warnings: none, but probably a bit of a disconnect from what really happens at charity galas lmao

sakusa kiyoomi has a certain reputation for being very stoic and stand-offish in public- always polite but rather blunt in interviews. he’s tall, intimidating and not very personable around those who don’t know him, so it’s not a surprise people perceive him this way. his preference for wearing his mask most of the time only adds to this reputation, and he couldn’t care less. in fact, you would argue that he finds comfort in being perceived as unapproachable by strangers.

but when MSBY fans realize how horrifically down bad their favourite wing spiker is for the team manager, they have a field day with this absolutely drastic personality shift.

it starts with little jokes made by fan accounts about how much nicer he is to you in comparison to his teammates. they latch onto passing comments made by bokuto or atsumu about how when you’re at practice they feel at ease because they’re less likely to get obliterated by his sarcastic remarks.

no one has clued into the fact that you’re together yet, just that there’s some serious chemistry between you two.

it doesn’t go much further than that until the night of some charity event a lot of different teams are attending. of course managers are there, as well as coaches and trainers and JVA employees.

you’re doing the press/carpet walk before entering the event and in between photos and walking between journalists, one of the straps of your heels has come undone.

you frown a little and inspect it before realizing your dress restricts your ability to fix it yourself, so you nudge your boyfriend and stick your foot out to draw his attention to your predicament.

you don’t think twice about how there are no words are spoken. just a simple action and understanding between two lovers.

so people watch on as sakusa kiyoomi drops to his knees right then and there without protest and fixes your shoe. you take the opportunity to adjust the neckline of your dress (a deep, silky forest green to match his tie) and look around while you wait for him to finish.

you don’t realize the uproar this is bound to create, and you definitely don’t think twice about the fact that your boyfriend isn’t wearing a mask to this event.

…which means everyone is able to see the blush on his face and the tiny yet extremely lovesick smile on his lips as he gets up. you grin and pat sakusa on the cheek in thanks before walking to the next reporter, him trailing behind you dutifully.

you check twitter the next morning and your timeline is flooded with videos of that moment, captions gushing about how sweet and happy he looks. some fans go as far as to say he looks like a lost puppy following you around.

he doesn’t regret it one bit, but you have to comfort him when he loses his stand-offish reputation after that because he dreads the idea of more people possibly coming up to him in public.

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I literally sprinted here to write this lmao

not edited!!

tagging: @dira333 @emmyrosee