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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

What the fvck

summary: Your long term boyfriend leaves you for someone else (no cheating), so you decide to take revenge on the most important person in his life. But it takes an unexpected turn... genre: angst, smut, a pinch of fluff? warnings: fighting, falling out of love, breakup, swearing, MINORS DNI betas: @vivianvampyric thank you so much, my love. What would I do without you <3 special thanks: to @karasunowo for this beautiful Osamu doodle <3 and my soulmate @bokutosace for pushing me past my block <3 a/n: Fic is a part of the Anilysium server collab with a prompt: hate/revenge fucking. You can find the masterlist here. @hqintheclub wc: 3.2k edit a/n2: thank you so much for the love and all the feedback I got from you, you're seriously amazing <3 I'd like to officially announce that there will be part 2, once I figure out my irl urgencies! If you'd like to be tagged in its release, let me know!

“What the fuck?!”

Eight years. Eight fucking years reduced to this one sentence.

“Am sorry, I really am.”

To be fair, Atsumu does look sorry—with pain besmirching his big brown eyes, usually so warm and bright; a quiver of his bottom lip and muscles shifting in his jaw; and the way he’s fiddling with his fingers, something he almost never does. Something about precious setter fingertips.

“I don’t give a fuck, Atsumu! How could you?!” He shrinks in on himself.

“I— We haven’t done anythin’, I just— A wanted ta be fair ta ya.”

You scoff. Fair. How is dumping a girlfriend of eight years after living together for five for some other chick fair? How is falling in love with someone else after making promises of forever since high school fair?

You’re surprised you haven’t started crying yet—maybe it’s because of the shock, maybe it’s the rage, or maybe it’s your pride and not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you break down. Although between the breakdown and your current outburst, you’re not sure which is worse.

“Look, yer free to stay ‘ere fer as long as ya want. I have a place ta stay, I’ll grab ma things when yer out. I owe ya this much.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I do. I— I better go now. Bye, Y/n.”

Closing the door of your shared apartment (not anymore, you realise) opens a door somewhere inside of you, and you burst in tears. And then you cry, and cry, and cry, until your eyes are swollen and burning, and you can’t open them anymore.

The next few days are a blur; you're not quite sure if it's a day or night with your closed curtains, you fall in and out of an uneasy slumber, and don't remember the last time you ate or showered.

The rage has burnt everything in you, leaving nothing but ashes and dried tear trails. It's bizarre, not feeling anything—a little bit like drowning, a little bit like floating, a little bit like suffocating.

On the fifth day of this timeless suspension you realise that the noise you hear isn't an earthquake; it's just your stomach demanding something, anything. But there's nothing at the apartment, you've already ate whatever was still consumable, and the rest is spoiled.

You're still standing in front of the open empty fridge, deciding on whether to go shopping or not, but the loud grumbling makes the decision for you. But first, you need a shower.

The water feels magical as it flows down your body. It's warm, bringing back sensations in your numb limbs. It cleanses the dread, removes dust, and all the dirt and worries disappear down the drain.

It's kind of refreshing to wear clean clothes after these few days and leaving the apartment, even if it's to go to the grocery store right next to your building. It's almost normal to pick the rice, vegetables, meat, and fruits.

Back at a home that isn't yours, the ingredients for a simple dish are simmering in the pot, and you hum happily while mixing. It's a sound that these walls haven't heard in a while, and it still lingers when you pour the soup in a bowl.

You sit at the table, clasp your hands together with an echoing clap and mutter an itadakimasu. And then it hits you, again. You're at the table, alone. About to eat dinner, alone. You're in this flat, alone. He's not here anymore, not yours anymore.

The dish is forced down your throat, spoon after spoon, even when you choke back the tears. It burns, it hurts, it threatens to go back up, but you continue, swallow after swallow. Because the world hasn't come to a halt, even if yours did.

There's a soft knock on the door, and you notice the room is filled with a red-ish, pink-ish light. You have survived another day, you think glancing at the setting sun.

---

"What the fuck." Osamu mutters under his breath and considers running away. "Why am I even doing this for that dick?"

He knows what Atsumu did. He knows that sometimes things like this happen and it's not necessarily anyone's fault. He's mad because he would never treat you like that. Maybe giving you up back in high school in favour of his twin was a mistake.

The man drags a hand down his face and knocks. Part of him hopes you're out, that you won't open the door and he won't have to pretend that he doesn't see your red, puffy eyes. Another part hopes that upon seeing him you'll just throw yourself into his arms in search of comfort.

There's a click of a lock and then a voice,

"'Samu?"

---

"'Samu? Come in, please."

It hurts how identical they are. Even despite different-coloured eyes, despite Osamu going back to his natural hair, they are so undeniably identical twins. Fuck.

"Would you like some tea? I don't have any coffee, sorry."

He hates the expression you're wearing, he hates how obvious it is that you're in pain, and he hates how it's probably because of his face. He shouldn't overstay his welcome, shouldn't break you any more, but he just can't leave.

When the drinks are ready, both of you sit at the table, the same one that you used to dine at with his brother. Judging by the look in your eyes, he's occupying Atsumu's chair, inflicting damage yet again.

The awkward silence fills the room; neither of you know what to say, because really what is there to say? Between the sips of a hot brew he opts for a meaningless small talk, one of about weather, because any other topic seems dangerous.

Time passes, and after many deafening tick-tocks it's suddenly too dark to see your undereye bags. You stand to turn the lights on.

"'Samu?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

He looks at you and gulps, not sure of your reaction when he says his name.

"To— to grab 'Tsumu's stuff."

"Did he— he asked you to?"

Osamu nods, and you can feel your blood boil. He was with you for eight fucking years, and he doesn't have the decency to come himself? He threw you away like trash, and he doesn't have the courage to look you in the eyes? He has to drag his brother into this?

You're angry, you're so angry, and the only thing you want is to devastate, to hurt, to break, to trample, just like you were devastated, hurt, broken, and trampled. Osamu stands in front of you.

"Am sorry, Y/n. Am so incredibly sorry."

Blinded by the rage, you hide your face in Osamu's chest, crumple his shirt in your fists, as you decide to destroy the only constant in Atsumu's life. To rip off something that was always his and claim it as yours, even if it’s just for one night.

He’s mad too; he gave you up all those years ago for his brother, only for him to step on it, and in the name of what? He’s spent all those years watching your relationship bloom, wishing you were his instead, but you belonged to his twin, you were untouchable, unattainable. But now, the very same brother left you, spat on Osamu’s sacrifice, and ran away. So he’s going to steal you away, claim you as finally his, even if it’s just for one night.

He hugs you tight, rubbing soothing patterns on your back, and mumbles apology after apology. If there was anything he could do, he'd do it in a heartbeat. There's not one thing he wouldn't do for you.

"'Samu, what's wrong with me? Am I not enough?" You mutter into the fabric. Hook.

"Huh? No, Y/n, look at me." You lift your face and look at him with doe eyes. Line. "There's nothing wrong with ya, yer a wonderful woman." Sinker.

You keep your gaze on him for a moment, pull him down by his shirt as you stand on your toes… and then you kiss him. A gentle peck right on his lips, then another one before you capture his bottom lip between yours.

"I— I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I don't—"

You push yourself off of him, babbling and pretending to panic, but in the corner of your eye you see how much he liked it. Perfect. So you place a finger on your lips, as if the sensation of him still lingered there, and shift your gaze at him.

Everything becomes a blur when you keep looking at each other, millions of feelings swarming in his eyes, a dangerous glint in yours. Everything is hazed over when he pulls you in and crashes his lips on yours.

His warm hands slide under your shirt against your cool skin and you gasp at the sensation. He wastes no time and kisses you deeper, harsher, with a tongue teasing at yours. You wonder if it tastes as sweet to him as it does to you.

Your impatient fingers tug at his shirt, wanting to feel him closer, sooner, right now. The kiss is broken and as if on command, both of you take your shirts off. Osamu's arms snake around your waist again, pulling you into him and into another searing kiss.

It's full of longing, full of hunger, overtaking your senses like a storm. There's just Osamu and the taste of his tongue, the feeling of it sliding and swirling around yours, and the stinging of his bites on your bottom lip.

He pushes you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of the table; you're lifted to sit on it as the black haired twin sucks hot marks onto your neck. His hands are on your thighs, digging in the soft flesh through your pants, and he moves them towards your ass, not forgetting to tease the creases with his thumbs.

A shiver runs down your spine and straight to your cunt; it’s a forbidden fruit with an alluring scent, and you want to bite into it, devour it whole, even if it consumes you back. Just the idea of the act is so sinful, that you can’t help but wonder if the heat inside you is arousal or hellfire.

Osamu’s huge hands unclasp your bra and throw it somewhere on the floor, then they move to cup your tits and squeeze them. His lips are on yours again, kissing you like there’s no tomorrow, as if he’s been waiting for it for a lifetime. A pinch on your nipples makes you release the sweetest little ‘ah’ he’s ever heard in his life.

You’re growing impatient, you want him to finally fill you up, so you tug on the band of his sweats and he gets it. Leaning on your palms you lift your hips us, giving him the opportunity to take both your pants and panties off. Where they land afterwards, you don’t know.

One of his hands reaches straight to your pussy, fingertips prod at the entrance and smear your juices all around your folds.

“Fuck.” He breathes into the kiss. “Yer so fuckin’ wet.”

He flicks your clit a few times and you arch your back in response. Osamu smirks; you’re so sensitive, so responsive, he can’t wait to pull all kinds of sounds from your lips, especially his name. He doesn’t have to wait long though, a few rubs and pinches on your nub and you let out a breathy “‘Samu…”, and he swears he could cum at that moment.

His touch feels so much different from his brother’s—his hands are rougher, fingers thicker, which you notice as the man slips one of them into your cunt. It’s so different but so good, intoxicating even, and you nearly lose your mind when another one joins in.

There’s a steady pace of the pumping of his digits, in and out, in and out, with each time the base of his fingers rubs against your clit. Your walls are squeezing him, nails digging in his shoulders, and when you moan his name again, he has to be inside you. Now.

Osamu pushes you gently so you lay down on the table, and gets rid of his sweats and boxers in the meantime. Your knees are spread wide to invite him into your leaking hole, and he enters in one swift motion. The next few seconds are still, it’s time to adjust to his size, to this new experience, but soon enough he moves again. Tea cups fall to the floor and shatter, but neither of you notices.

At first the thrusts are slow, careful, and he’s watching your face closely for any signs of discomfort. They don’t appear, so the pace is a little quicker, the push a little harder. It’s happening, it’s finally happening, the moment he’s been dreaming of for years at last coming true. It’s difficult to control himself, and soon enough his cock is drilling into you with a force that will surely bruise your cervix.

You’re so full of him, he’s invaded your pussy, your mind—in this moment your whole existence screams “Osamu, Osamu, ‘Samu.” You tell him to go even faster, even harder, to hammer out every thought out of your head. He complies, pulls you closer to the edge of the table and leans down over you. His hands grip the opposite edge of the furniture and Osamu makes an experimental thrust.

And then he’s ramming into you, pushing his cock even further in your cunt, and it’s a miracle that your table is still in one piece. You wrap your arms around his, nails digging in his shoulder blades, as the familiar heat blooms in your abdomen. One of your hands reaches down between your bodies, the other still holding onto him for dear life.

You rub your clit in circles, his cock covered in your slick gliding against your fingers, and you suppose you can’t hold on for much longer. Neither can he, both your brains turned into mush, and between incoherent moans and groans of oh gods and fuckfuckfucks only three words are exchanged.

“Where?”

“Inside. Pill.”

Your thighs shake around him, body arches off the tabletop, and your cunt sucks him deeper and deeper with every clench. His cock twitches at every spasm but he needs to be patient, you need to fall first. And you do, after he suckles harshly on your nipple, with a loud scream of his name. His name. This is what pushes him off the edge, and he spills inside your throbbing pussy in hot spurts.

There’s a moment of silence, only your quickened pants fill the air. You’re still wrapped around him, keeping him inside, and Osamu thinks that maybe this is his chance. Only chance.

“Lemme take ya to bed.” He whispers in your ear and you nod, so he lifts you off the table and carries you to the bedroom.

He lays you down gently, hovering over you, and captures your lips between his once again. Only this time it’s slow, gentle, full of all the words he’s never said. Because this time is not about the hot eruption of anger, not about revenge. It’s about you (and maybe him, if you allow it), about the worship and unspoken feelings.

His kisses trail down, caressing every inch of your skin, every crease and mound of your body, until you ask him to fill you up again. Only then does he push in again, rolling his hips calmly, almost lovingly. Only then does he whisper how beautiful you are in your ear. Only then does he make love to you, until you both fall asleep.

---

You’re woken up by a clinking noise coming from the kitchen, but it takes a moment before your awareness comes back enough to actually process what’s happening. There’s still a faint scent of a cologne and sex in the air; the pillow next to you is rumpled, same as the sheet.

Then it dawns on you—memories of the last night and who you spent it with flow freely into your mind. You wonder if the noise coming from outside of your bedroom is made by your latest hook-up, who just so happens to be your ex-boyfriend’s twin. Your feet search for the slippers but find none; you just throw some t-shirt from the floor on you and patter barefoot to the kitchen.

You’re welcomed with a sight of Osamu’s bare back, very muscular back, marked with long red stripes and a bite mark on his shoulder. There’s a familiar throbbing between your thighs, and it suddenly feels so empty without his cock; even though it’s wrong, it’s wicked, it’s salacious. What the fuck?

The man is still unaware of your presence, digging through the cupboards in search of bowls, plates, chopsticks—anything to serve the breakfast in. For one person, as you notice. Everything is ready, so he places the dishes on a tray and turns to put them on a table, only to be startled by your figure.

“Oh god, ya scared me.”

“Good morning to you too, ‘Samu.”

There’s an awkward silence; you’re still standing facing each other—you in his shirt, him with a tray.

“I made ya breakfast. Thought you’d be hungry when ya wake up.”

“You’re not gonna eat?”

He’s still standing there, but now his eyes are trained on the food, as if he was counting the grains of rice.

“A don’t think ya’d want my company.”

“I do. Stay. Please?”

The smile that shows up on his face is faint, even less visible than the sudden glint in his irises. But he stays, plates another set of dishes and sits by you at the table. The rest of the meal passes in silence; only after the bowls are empty do you speak,

“‘Samu, I’m sorry, I- I used you to—”

“Do ya regret it?” He doesn’t let you finish, his gaze is intense, taking in your confused expression. “Sleepin’ with me. D’ya regret it?”

You let the question sit in your mind for a moment, wait for your conscience to object but it doesn’t happen, so you reply simply, “No.”

“Good. I don’t either. I used ya too, ya know.” Your confusion changes into disbelief, so he leans back on the chair with a sigh and continues. “I got mad. Back in high school I stepped back from pursuing ya. I told ‘im that if he’s serious about ya, A won’t stand in the way. And then looked at ya both wishin’ t’was me. With you. But that dickhead threw it away. I was so mad that I wanted ya to be mine, even just for a moment, yanno?”

It’s a lot to take in, what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? Twin brother of your now ex-boyfriend, the one you have just spent a very pleasant night with, has been feeling something for you? For this whole time? You watch as Osamu shifts to lean on his elbows on the table, face hidden in his palms.

“Sorry for droppin’ that bomb on ya.”

“Do you… Do you still…”

“Love ya? Yeah.” Your heart skips a beat at his words.

“Wait for me. Wait until I heal.”

It’s a selfish request, you know it, but Osamu nods anyway. There’s something to look forward to now, because when you heal, maybe you’ll make the choice you were deprived of.

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #osamu x y/n #miya osamu x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq smut #hq x reader #hq x y/n #anilysium server collab #mysh.supernova.[hq]

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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

Pvssy murdered on the Orgasm Express

summary: MSBY takes a night train to Tokyo for a match, but Atsumu has better ideas than sleeping. genre: crack, smut warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI betas: @vanille–kiss I love you birdie so much, you help me a lot and I'm forever grateful to you a/n: Fic is part of the HQHQ Server Collab with a prompt "Public sex/Chikan"! You can find the masterlist here wc: 1.6k

[Freeze frame] You open the door of your tiny room in a sleeping train compartment, only to be met with intense gazes of Bokuto and Hinata. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are disheveled, but the man stretching behind you looks flawless with his flowy blond hair and a lazy smirk. It’s painfully obvious what you’ve been doing.

[Record scratch] Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got in this mess. Buckle up.

-----------------

It’s going to be a long ride. You can’t recall the last time you travelled by public transportation and neither do MSBY boys, yet here you all are, on the way from Osaka to Tokyo. There’s an important game tomorrow, and the team's bus had the audacity to break down yesterday. Luckily, management splurged a little on a sleeping train car for the team, which means getting at least some rest.

This is the longest section, 6-hour train ride after the last transfer in Yamashina Eki. It’s nearing midnight, so you instruct the men to split between the rooms and get some rest before another change. They oblige without objections, shuffling into their segments, and soon the compartment falls silent.

It’s way past your usual bedtime, and now that adrenaline rush is over, exhaustion washes over you. The bed looks really inviting, especially with your boyfriend, Miya Atsumu, in it. He’s waiting with his arms open, prompting you with his hands to join in. So you do, laying down with your back pressed against his chest, his warm embrace making you relax with a content sigh.

“G’night, ‘Tsumu.”

You mumble through your sleepy haze, but instead of an answer, you’re met with a gentle rocking of his hips behind you and grinding of a growing erection against your ass. His breath is hot on the nape of your neck.

“I said good night, ‘Tsumu.”

“Heard ya the first time.”

His ministrations don’t stop though; it’s the opposite, actually. His hand finds its way under your shirt, calloused fingers gliding along the skin of your stomach in small circles, while he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder. You’re trying hard not to give in, firstly, because you don’t want to give him satisfaction, and secondly, because you actually intended to get some rest.

But when Atsumu’s teeth graze the sensitive skin you can’t help but let out a quiet gasp, and you can feel his lips curl into a smirk. Of course he knows your body way too well. His palm moves up in a slow motion, until it reaches your breasts; he gives one of them a gentle squeeze and brushes his thumb against a hardened nipple.

The blond’s lips move up your neck, biting, sucking, and licking, leaving red and purple marks on its way. His fingers play with the bud, rolling it and circling at the same pace as the languid movement of his clothed cock against your butt. It drives you crazy, but it’s not enough.

You place one leg over his; his thigh is now pressed to your covered pussy and you shamelessly roll your hips in search of some friction.

“Are ya this turned on already, Princess?”

His voice is low, husky, and sends a heated shiver down your spine. God, you think, how can someone be so annoying and so hot at the same time? He pinches your nipple and you moan his name, in response his chuckle rumbles through his chest. He loves how sensitive you are, he loves how his touch makes you pliant and needy.

“‘Tsumu, touch me.”

“I am touchin’ ya.”

Of course he knows what you mean. But he would lie if he said it doesn’t turn him on when you’re asking for things. When you’re demanding things. Another pinch on your bud and you jerk your hips at his cock.

“Finger me. Now.”

His erection twitches in his pants, and he’s dying to rip them off and just bury himself balls deep inside of you, but first, he has to oblige. Atsumu gives your breast last squeeze before trailing down. He draws his knee up opening you for his touch, and slides a finger along your covered slit.

“God, you’re soaked.” He half whispered, half groaned.

“Atsumu…”

He pushes your panties to the side and slips one finger between your folds. He pumps it in and out of your cunt, thumb massaging your already swollen clit. One of your hands disappears under your top, and through the thin fabric he can see you playing with your tits. His cock twitches again, and he pushes another finger in.

Atsumu picks up his pace, curling his fingers to make sure to brush against that spongy spot on your wall, that makes you clench so tight. You can feel the heat blooming in your abdomen, your boyfriend’s digits sliding and scissoring against your fluttering walls, as his thumb draws circles on your nub.

You come with loud moans of his name, screaming “Atsumu, fuck me” over and over again. And it’s all he needs to let go of his inhibitions, rolling you on your stomach and hovering over you.

He pulls your panties off and spreads your legs, kneeling in between them. Finally, he frees his already leaking cock, and it slaps against his abdomen.

“Lift yer ass a little, Princess.”

Calloused fingers dig into your hips as he helps you get in the position. The angle is low and uncomfortable, but works well with the moving and rocking train. Atsumu leans on one hand to your side, aiming his cock with the other. He glides inside in one swift motion, stretching you so deliciously, tip kissing your cervix.

“Move, please!”

The man shifts to all fours, and pulls back almost entirely before slamming his hips into yours. He does it again, and again, retracting slowly, letting you feel each vein of his cock, to thrust back in with enough force to push you forward on the sheets.

Atsumu rolls his hips in a circular motion, reaching deep and the angle allows him to drag his head along the g-spot repeatedly. He knows the pace is too slow to push you off the edge, but you still squeeze him tight with every brush on your spongy spot.

“Fuck, ya feel s’good. You… yer doing so well.”

He hisses through clenched teeth, praise sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

“‘Tsumu, faster.”

Your pleas are always his weakness, how could he say no to his little Princess when you’re asking him like that? He’s quickening his pace gradually, pushing out a moan after a moan from your throat. God, you sound so, so good.

“Babe, ‘m close.”

He groans as he reaches his hand between your thighs, the sudden rub on your clit makes your walls spasm and cry out his name.

“Baby, cum for… cum for me.”

The way Atsumu moans out those words drives you insane, his brutal rutting and relentless circling on your bud makes your orgasm hit you like a train. Your cries fill the whole room, and with the way your cunt clenches frantically around his cock, he can’t hold back either. He fills you with his milky release, as he rides you both down from your highs.

“Do we have wet wipes?”

The faux blonde mumbles against your shoulder blade, receiving only a hum as an answer.

“That good, huh?” he mutters as he hears your simple response, reaching into your bag to collect them.

“‘Tsum, gotta go to the bathroom.”

He cleans you and himself with damp tissues, and then helps you put on some clothes so you could leave the room. Atsumu snickers at your troubles with standing up, and you slap his chest for looking too proud about it. After a moment you’re able to take a few steps towards the door, and the man manages to pull up his boxers a moment before you slide it open.

Terror and embarrassment creep up on your features when you’re suddenly face to face with both Bokuto and Hinata, the former slapping something into the hand of his teammate.

Bonus scene:

Bokuto wakes up from his bladder being painfully full. He won’t be able to hold it in for another minute, so he taps his foot in darkness in search of his shoes. Still half asleep, he slides them on and waddles through the whole way to the toilet. It’s on the other end of the car, right behind your and Tsum Tsum’s room.

At first he doesn’t register the sounds, but as he reaches your door, the voices become clear. Moans. You two are having sex. And good sex at that. If Bokuto opened the door, he’d see you with your face buried in the pillow and ass up, and Atsumu railing you from behind.

But he doesn’t open the door. His first instinct is to run back to his room and disrupt the slumber of his mate.

“Chibi-chan! Wake up!”

The other man mumbles and turns to the other side, but Bokuto doesn’t get discouraged.

“Hey! Shoyo! You gotta hear this!”

With this Hinata sits up and rubs his eyes, but his friend already pulls him out of bed and into the hall.

“Bokuto-san, where-”

“Shhhh!”

And then he hears it. Your voices calling each others’ names.

“Who do you think is on top?” The taller man asks.

“Atsumu-san for sure.”

“I bet…” Bokuto searches his pockets and pulls out some bills. “2000 yen that it’s Y/N. If she comes out with nice hair, she was on top.”

Just as Hinata cheerfully declares “deal!”, the door slides open and they’re standing face to face with you. With messy hair. Behind you Atsumu is stretching looking as flawless as ever. Bokuto quickly slaps the money in Hinata’s hand.

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu smut #atsumu smut #miya atsumu smut #haikyuu x y/n #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x y/n #hqhq server collab #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq smut #mysh.supernova.[hq]

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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

Juicy

summary: Thighs, thighs, thighs. This is just pure thighs worship. genre: smut warnings: thighs fucking (both ways), voyerism, some dubcon voyerism?, MINORS DNI @hqintheclub wc: 1.8k

You must have died. That’s the only logical explanation because why else would you be in heaven? You’re at the private beach, surrounded by absolutely smoking men, in an extremely hot competition. You’ve seen Bokuto do this, you’ve seen Hinata do this, hell, even Meian got caught in their shenanigans. Not that you’re complaining.

But now it’s your boyfriend’s turn. You watch him sit down on the sand, in nothing but very tight, very short swim trunks. His hair is still a little damp from the ocean, tanned skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. He looks like a young god with his perfectly sculpted body, hair and skin golden in the rays of merciless sunshine.

“Okay Atsumu-san, whenever you’re ready!” Hinata places a watermelon between the legs of his teammate, and the blonde nods.

“Start the timer, Bokkun.”

At the signal from the silver-haired man, Atsumu squeezes the fruit with his thighs and lifts his hips. You can clearly see all of his muscles tense and shift under his skin. Veins on his forearms and biceps become more prominent from supporting his whole weight. His abs flex and dip as if they were alive, pushing out his chest. Your eyes go lower, take in the v-line, visible now more than ever.

And his thighs, oh god his thighs. The quadriceps constrict and bulge out, all the way from his knee up to his groin, creating delicious looking hills and valleys. Atsumu’s calves are covered in a net of veins, face scrunched up in focus and tongue sticking out. He even lets out quiet grunts from the sheer power of his strain.

You’re staring. He knows it. The more he squeezes his thighs, the more you rub yours. He knows that too. Which is why he looks directly at you and winks, right before the fruit cracks and explodes all over him. Four seconds slower than Bokuto.

He may not have won, but he’s a winner.

Because there you are, walking up to him and kneeling between his ankles without breaking eye contact. Because you lean on your hands and lower your face to his thigh, licking off a long stripe of the dripping juice. Atsumu shivers from your action; someone whistles sharply, which makes you remember about the audience, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

You lap up the pinkish liquid in quick, short licks, and it tickles—but instead of laughing, the blonde only wants to fuck you then and there. However, he’s patient and curious, so he lets you have your way with him, lets you trail wet kisses along his skin and even suck harshly—and he’s sure it will bloom in beautiful marks later.

Once you’re done with his right leg, you shift over to the left one, repeating the process all over again. The other men can clearly see your face now—the bliss in your features, the juice dripping down your chin, the lustful haze in your eyes whenever you open them. They know they shouldn’t stare, know they should go back to the beach house and give the two of you some privacy, but the view is just too compelling.

“Are ya having fun, sweetheart?” Atsumu’s voice is mellow, honey-like, with an amused lilt to it.

You bite his thigh teasingly. “Actually, yes.”

Sitting up, you look at him with a smirk, which he reciprocates. Then his eyes trail down your body, and he doesn’t miss the way you rub your thighs together.

“Ya really like my thighs, dontcha, sweetheart?”

His gaze doesn’t move, trained on the way your movement down there halts for a split second. He knows the answer, he doesn’t need to hear it, and you know that he knows, but you still hum in response.

He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your earlobe, and his lips brush against it as he murmurs, “Then why dontcha ride it?”

You don’t have to be told twice, already lifting your hips and kneeling above his right thigh. Atsumu shoots a side-eye at his teammates and growls low at them to “scram.” He doesn’t miss the disappointment painted across their faces, but the men disappear into the house behind the blonde’s back.

Atsumu’s attention is back on you; he congratulates himself for buying you that swimsuit with strings on the sides of your panties because it really makes his job easier. The loose ends are caught between his fingers and pulled, and just seconds later you’re straddling him with your bare pussy.

It’s already leaking, coating his skin in slick and he hasn’t even touched you yet. There’s a heavy hand on the back of your head as he pulls you closer to his face, until your lips touch.

At first it’s just a featherlight peck, one that’s barely even there but burns nonetheless. Then your bottom lip is captured between his, grazed by his teeth as he nibbles on it gently. The third kiss is heated; your whole body tingles when he teases your lips with his tongue, and you part them for him, invite him deeper.

There’s nothing gentle in the way his tongue explores your mouth and tangles with yours; it’s predatory, possessive, as if he wants to devour you whole. His hand travels down your body, pinching your covered nipple on its way, until it settles on your hip with a tight grip.

You trail the path from his thigh up, gliding your nails on the skin of his abs and chest, just like he likes. Your fingers interlock with his hair, pull the strands harshly, and scratch at his nape, earning a low, vibrating growl from Atsumu.

“Move. Now.”

And you do; you rock your hips in a languid motion, back and forth, spreading the juices on his thigh. You’re already trembling and the blonde smirks into the kiss, knowing how turned on you are because of him. He loves the effect he has on you.

His other hand slips under the top of your swimsuit, squeezes and massages your soft tit, calloused fingers digging into the flesh. When his thumb flicks over your nipple, you gasp into his mouth as the warm tingling spreads through your body. It feels so good; he makes you feel so good.

“‘Tsumu…”

Your breathy call of his name goes straight to his cock. He’s painfully hard, has been for a while, and it takes everything in him to not bury himself balls deep in your cunt. It’s so difficult, given how wet you are, how your gushing juices soak his thigh with your every move.

Atsumu trails kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, sucking hot marks on your skin. He pinches and pulls gently on your nipple; your hips stutter in response, but soon enough you sway them again—a little bit faster, a little bit harder. The muscles under your pussy flex and shift, the bulge teasing at your folds and clit.

“‘Tsumu, I—ah—I need m-more.”

“Just a little longer, sweetheart. Yer doin’ so well.”

His praise makes you clench around nothing; it feels so empty without his cock splitting you open, without his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. Just the thought of it makes you moan and shiver.

“Hold on tight to me,” Atsumu says lowly, gravelly, as he leaves hot, wet kisses on your collarbones.

One part of your swimsuit is shoved to the side, allowing the man unhampered access to suck his marks on your chest. You’re his, and the whole world should know that. Or at least his teammates.

He closes his lips around your nipple and sucks harshly, flicking his tongue over the bud. The grip he has on your hips grows tighter; he’s the one controlling the pace of your moves—and it’s fast, his tongue matching the tempo. Your clit rubs relentlessly against his flexed muscles and it makes you dizzy, drunk of all the pleasure he gives you.

“Atsumu—oh—keep doing that—ah—feels s’good, ‘Tsumu.”

He can’t wait any longer. Your whines are driving him crazy, so he pushes you off his thigh.

“Atsumu, what the f—”

“Shhh, sweetheart, trust me, ‘kay?”

After you nod in confirmation, he tells you to turn around and takes off his swimming trunks. Next thing you know, you’re sitting on his pelvis, with his cock between your thighs and against your folds.

“Now move baby.” His breath is hot on your ear, “Make us cum.”

It’s difficult at first, but you try to lift your ass and rub his length against your cunt. The sight of his head disappearing and poking out from between your thighs is addicting—it drives you crazy, it drives him crazy—and neither of you can turn your eyes away.

If anything, it makes you feral, makes you squeeze your thighs and embrace his cock tighter, closer to your leaking core. It feels amazing to have him tease your entrance, to have his head and veins rub deliciously on your clit. It’s new, it’s obscene, and with the previous build up, it doesn’t take long for you to start moaning quietly.

“That’s it—ah—my good girl—fuck.”

You can feel Atsumu shift underneath you; he’s leaning on one hand now, the other moving to your chest. He cups your breast and squeezes gently, fingers digging into soft flesh. Two of them wrap around your nipple, pulling and rolling it between the fingertips.

He whispers praises right into your ear—his hot breath tickles your skin—and accentuates each one with a flick of his tongue on your lobe. He’s everywhere, overwhelming your senses with sensations, making you rock your hips faster and faster.

Your legs hurt; you feel the pain on the edge of your consciousness, but the pleasure pushes it out of your mind and fuels your movement. Atsumu’s cock pulses in your tight embrace. You can feel the flex of his abdominal muscles and the realisation that he’s close spurs you on even more.

“‘Tsumu, I’m—I’m gonna,” you tremble on his lap and your pussy flutters, “I—ah—feels good, so good, ‘Tsumu.”

“Keep goin’, baby, fuck, keep goin’.”

His voice is strained, raspy, and he sways his hips slightly as he groans your name. The grind between your folds and on your clit sends waves of heat throughout your whole body, and the knot in your abdomen becomes nearly unbearable. Your peak is coming, and it’s coming fast.

Atsumu bites and nibbles on your ear, sending you over the edge. Your back arches off of him, your body twitches, and your essence flows down to his balls and drips into the sand. Only then does he let himself cum with a loud shout of your name, spilling onto your still tense thighs in thick spurts.

Before catching his breath and wrapping you in the towel to carry you into the house, he shouts,

“Enjoyed the show?”

There is a faint sound of the balcony door being slammed, and he hopes he won’t find cum stains on the walls.

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #miya atsumu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq smut #tw//dubcon voyerism #mysh.supernova.[hq]

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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

summary: You had a very bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and as a result there’s a mysterious man after you. What will your last wish be? genre: angst, smut warnings: yakuza!au, death (murder), guns, use of intravenous drvgs, unprotected sex, poorly written smut (this is my first attempt, so pls forgive me), MINORS DNI betas: @vivianvampyric, @vanille--kiss thank you so much, I love you babes special thanks: @tetsurouskuro for medical consultation, my dear wifey and Vanille (again) for sharing knowledge and research, love you! a/n: Obviously, do not attempt any of this. Some procedures were simplified for the sake of plot. Art in the banner by me! wc: 2.3k

Akaashi Keiji is patient. He knows one wrong move can destroy everything, and burn all the years his boss spent climbing up the ladder into ashes. So, Akaashi is patiently watching your daily routine, the paths you take to and from work, favourite shops, schedules—and deviations from it. Involuntarily, he also knows your favourite coffee order, favourite shows, and favourite pajamas.

Keiji doesn’t really like having his hands dirtied with blood. Especially when the blood belongs to a woman as beautiful as you, but vows are vows, and he vowed to protect the family. He thinks you must be stupid or terrified, keeping the secret to yourself, and not reporting it to the police. Not that they would actually take action, as kumichou has the local department by the balls.

You’re just unlucky enough to have drunkenly witnessed one of their stunts—an assassination of a well-known businessman who owed them too much money. It was dark, even more so in the narrow street, and one of the hitmen was dumb enough to take his balaclava off in the middle of loading the corpse into the trunk, as you stood and stared.

Chances are you have no recollection of this, dismissing it as a drunken hallucination, or maybe you saw nothing at all in that back alley in the middle of the night. Benefit of the doubt is a luxury he cannot afford to give. Not when one slip of your tongue could cost the boss and the whole family their lives. Not when it could compromise their hard work and plans for the future.

So he follows you, keeping a safe distance, pretending to be window shopping in this poor district, with goods way below the quality he’s used to. Sometimes Akaashi grabs an apple, handing over enough for a dozen, a gesture suggesting he doesn’t belong to this place. After all, he’s forced to ditch his silky shirts and expensive slacks in favour of some no-name hoodies and sneakers. Disgusting.

You’re not aware of gunmetal blue eyes observing your every step, every move. You miss the same face flashing every day in a tired crowd, and you don’t notice the man hiding behind a book in a park right next to your workplace. You have no idea that you're becoming a victim of your own routine, little habits setting you up like prey, a mouse with an owl.

In a rented apartment on the opposite side of the road, a phone rings. The raven-haired man answers by the window, not averting his gaze from your figure roaming around your flat.

“Is it done yet, Keiji?” A voice on the other end of the line asks.

“Soon, Bokuto-san.” He shouldn’t use the names, he knows, but it’s just him here now.

“Hurry it up, it’s been a month.” Akaashi realises he’s testing his boss’ patience.

“Understood, Sir.”

-----------------------------------

Akaashi Keiji is thorough. He has the usual timetables of your neighbours memorised, knowing which ones stay up late, which ones have late night smokes at their balconies, and has some of their entrance codes noted down. Being thorough increases chances of success, so Akaashi is thoroughly prepared.

Dressed in a stretchy black uniform, wearing a black face mask and a black beanie, he enters the main door code of one of your neighbours that has left for the night. He makes no sound when he climbs up the stairs, picks the lock of your apartment door, and lets himself in. Deep breaths and soft snores tell him you’re still asleep.

You’re unaware of the figure looming over you in the darkness, with a piece of tape in his gloved hands. If he’s quick enough, he might be able to incapacitate you before you wake up. Moving on instinct and muscle memory, Akaashi tapes your mouth and straddles your body, one of his hands holding your forearm firmly to stretch the skin.

Your sleepy haze subsides quickly, the realisation of an intruder dawning on your half-awake brain. You can’t see him, blinded by a tiny light coming closer to your arm, along with a shiny thin object. A needle? Panic sets in your gut, your first impulse to pull your arm which is stopped by a tight grip. A tiny metal gauge breaches your skin and a cool liquid transfers into your veins.

Breathing gets hard when your anxiety reaches its peak. It’s too late now, you know it well, but your adrenaline-driven body still squirms and tosses. The man on top of you seems to be an immovable object, staring at you in silence, letting you kick his back with your knees as he waits... Finally your attacks lose their impact, and Keiji zipties up your wrists and ankles.

Sobs turn into breaths, limbs become too heavy to move, the room spins and rocks, and then there’s nothing.

-----------------------------------

Consciousness comes slowly, in waves of a pounding headache that drowns out all your other sensations. You’re trying to rub at your temples, but some parts of your body still feel numb and you can’t see anything. It’s almost as if you were submerged in thick water.

Images flash through your drug-addled mind, images of a silhouette straddling you, of a syringe with mysterious fluid, of restraints. You’re trying to dismiss it as a nightmare, the result of watching too many action movies, but a burning pain on your wrists and ankles confirms what you’re afraid of; this is reality.

Trying to ground yourself proves to be difficult—it feels like you're floating with a muffled steady buzz. It sounds a lot like a car, which would explain the rocking and occasional bumps. A rush of anxiety makes it feel hot, too hot. There's not enough air and not enough space, even for your bound body’s limited wriggling. It must be a trunk with how tight it is, and every trunk has a safety mechanism you heard about. It should be a fluorescent trigger or cord, right? You don’t see it, you just can’t find it, it’s not there.

The movement of the vehicle feels different now, more jumpy, and you’re sure you will have bruises. Does it even matter anymore? Does anything really matter? Will anyone look for you? Will anyone notice that you’re gone? Will you be missed? You don’t wanna die, oh god, you don’t wanna die!

The car stops, a door opens and closes, and you nearly throw up. Considering your lips are still sealed, maybe choking on your vomit would be a better way to die, rather than waiting for god knows what, god knows where.

The trunk lid is lifted and that same silhouette from your nightmares stands right in front of you. You try to kick him with whatever leftover energy you have, but he’s prepared. He catches your legs and pulls, you’re nearly hanging, unable to take any physical action, so you poorly attempt to scream, only to hear,

“Silence, there’s nobody in a radius of 5 kilometres anyway.”

The man cuts the ropes around your ankles, pushing you in front of him. “Walk.” He has a nice voice, the soothing kind, the kind that makes you fall in love with him just by hearing him speak. There’s also a certain sternness to it, sending shivers down your spine, straight between your thighs. How ridiculous, you think. But you walk on wobbly knees, stumbling over your own feet. His grip on your arm doesn’t let you fall.

The executioner didn’t lie. You’re in the middle of nowhere, the only company being the moon and ruined buildings. There are no lights, no passing cars, and it’s silent except for the chirping of crickets. You’d never imagined that’s how you’d go. Alone. Terrified. Forgotten.

Keiji pushes you on the floor, and you scramble away to the nearest wall. He’s observing you for a moment, and after assessing your inability to run, leans down and rips the tape off your mouth. You’re paralysed by fear, so he lets himself take a few steps back and take his eyes off you, taking out his handgun and silencer.

“Why?” It comes out quieter than you wished, but his trained ears hear you clearly.

“You saw too much.” There’s no compassion in his tone, no sympathy in words, just the blunt truth that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The man doesn’t spare you even one glance, focusing on mounting the silencer as he asks, “Last wish?”

If you weren’t so fucking terrified, you would laugh. It must be some cruel joke, because why would anyone ask that in a god forsaken place, with not a soul around? He surely wouldn’t leave you here to buy you one last fancy meal, and wouldn’t take you back to the city for one last dance, one last arcade game, one last whatever.

“Fuck me.” It’s all you can think of.

-----------------------------------

Akaashi freezes and his eyes shift to your face. His gaze is intense, but you force yourself to hold it. For a moment you think he’s going to refuse; there is absolutely no reason for him to follow your half-serious request, other than for honour. How idiotic of you to even think that someone with a gun in their hands would know what honour is.

You’re surprised when he replies with a simple “okay” and takes a step in your direction, weapon temporarily placed back in its holster.

“Can I at least see your face?”

He’s stunned again, narrowing his eyes, trying to figure out what you’re playing at. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he trusts in his skill and eventually complies. The illusion of power you’re wielding sends a pulse to your pussy.

He’s beautiful in the moonlight, as beautiful as his voice. You wish you’d met in different circumstances—go on a date or two, hold hands, kiss gently and make love under the stars. Maybe in another life, you think.

“On your knees, turn to the left.” The command is a stark contrast to your thoughts, but that’s what you wanted, so you obey.

Akaashi kneels behind you and pulls down his pants, bends you forward with a strong push between your shoulder blades, keeping you from face-planting by holding the ropes on your wrists. The other hand pulls down your pants and underwear, chuckling in disbelief. “Does this turn you on?”

He swipes one finger across your slit, dipping just a tip in, and judging by how smoothly it goes, you must be wetter than you thought. Your spiraling thoughts about being a sick psycho for enjoying this are broken by a digit breaching your folds, thumb massaging your clit. It’s slow, meant mostly to let you relax rather than rile you up, but a foreign feeling of leather and its texture adds to your pleasure.

In and out he goes, each time curling his finger in a slightly different angle, circling around your walls, searching relentlessly for that one spot. You moan, loudly, and for a second Akaashi wishes he could hear more of them, imagining being buried balls deep in your pussy, as he fucks you whenever and wherever he wants. He slides another finger in, your walls squeezing tight around them.

Keiji picks up the pace of his fingers, pumping and scissoring your cunt, each push and pull brushing that sweet spongy spot that makes you squirm and whine. His thumb draws circles and flicks your swollen clit—it’s too much and not enough, and yet you feel the heat spreading in waves of your fluttering walls and accumulating right below your stomach.

The knot in your belly snaps, and you cum on his fingers with a loud moan and a repeated “oh my god!” You’re now at mercy of the man behind you, his grip on your ties preventing you from crashing onto the concrete. Part of you wants it to be over because you’re tired and sleepy, but his cock glides along your folds and changes your mind.

“I’m not done yet.” His husky voice makes you clench around nothing.

His cock is slick and glistening from your juices, and Akaashi watches in fascination as his pink head disappears slowly into your hole. He wants to savour this moment—it’s been so long since he’s been with a woman, and you feel so good, so tight, so warm, that he’s missed it so much. Inch by inch he sheaths himself deeper and deeper, teasing your walls with every vein.

When he bottoms out, he gives himself a second to relish in the fluttering around his shaft. He pulls out equally slowly, every vein leaving burning trails of pleasure mixed with pain, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. His hips slap against yours in one harsh move, pushing the air out of your lungs with a gasp.

Keiji adjusts the angle of your body, so he can brush against your g-spot with every thrust. The sheer force of his assault on your pussy makes your body jerk forward, ropes digging into your wrists and sending your brain into overdrive. It hurts so good, it feels so good, and you clench so hard that he could cum then and there.

One hand reaches between your thighs to draw irregular patterns on your puffy bundle of nerves. The feeling is unbearable, your second orgasm approaching quickly, and with one particularly powerful thrust, you cum so hard that your squeezing walls trigger his orgasm. Akaashi still rocks his hips as he releases his cum inside of you, riding both your highs, and he waits a bit longer until you both steady your breaths.

He pushes you off gently but firmly, and pulls up your bottoms with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I don’t have anything to clean you with.”

“That’s fine.” You smile sadly when he dresses himself and grabs his phone. Beeping echoes in the surrounding silence, and after 5 signals someone picks up. Keiji looks in your eyes

“It’s done.”

“Send me location, I’ll dispatch the cleaners.” Beep beep beep.

You stare right at the barrel and shut your eyes as tears flow down your cheeks.

There’s only one more sound heard that night. Bang.

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu smut #akaashi smut #haikyuu x y/n #akaashi x y/n #hq x reader #hq x y/n #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x y/n #akaashi keiji smut #akaashi angst #akaashi keiji angst #tw//yakuza #tw//death #tw//guns #tw//drugs #mysh.supernova.[hq]

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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

Soft

summary: I am a firm believer that Atsumu CAN be soft. When he wants to. And now he just might. genre: fluff, crack, smut warnings: fem!reader, soft Atsumu, sexual tension, making love at the end, MINORS DNI special thanks: HQHQ and our lovely Atsumu sessions, you guys gave me so much inspiration for the last part. I love you. I love you all. a/n: I don’t want to say that I’m proud of this one, but I am. wc: 2.7k

Looking at the friend sitting across the table in the quiet corner of this adorable cafe, you can’t help but think how crazy it has been. Mostly because he’s an idiot, but you LOVE that idiot. “Y/N? Are ya even listenin’?” “Uhh… yes?” “What were ya thinkin’ ‘bout so hard anyway?” “Okay, uhm, remember when…”

The gym was huge and offered a lot of equipment, half of it having names you’d never heard before. The only problem? It was constantly crowded. Except for crazy early hours, which is why you were dressed in your tracksuit and drenched at 5 am. Yet, you were still not alone at this ungodly time. On the first day, he visibly hesitated before entering, clearly wanting absolutely no company. You couldn’t really blame him, he was probably followed by throngs of fans and paparazzi every day. The man must have deemed you harmless however, because he stayed. Well, at the other end of the enormous room, but stayed. He came back on the next day. And next one. And another, and soon enough you were nodding at each other in a silent greeting. This odd ritual continued on for a few weeks, until… “Hey, ya… come here often?” Fuckfuckfuck, he was still sporting the smug smile, though his eyes were filled with panic. You stared at him dumbfounded. Guess even celebrities struggle sometimes. “Uhh… I… N-no, this is my first time.” Both of you erupted in laughter. “Miya Atsumu, nice to meet ya.” “Oh yeah, I know.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean… L/N Y/N, nice to meet you too”

“D’ya really gonna rub it in ma face til the end of ma life?” “Nah, I’m pretty sure I’ll forget when I’m old, so I gotta make use of it till I can.” The blonde doesn’t look happy. Amusing. “So what were you talking about?” “Oh right, so there’s gonna be a party for the team and friends, and… uhh… would you like to… be my plus one?” Of course you would like to. Love to. “Lemme know what colours ya wanna wear.” “Ehh? You wanna match or something?” There is a teasing undertone in your question. He either misses it or ignores. “I’ve always wanted to do that…” But you already know. Black and gold, the colours of his team. Yes, obviously that’s the only reason. It’s completely unrelated to your current imaginations of Atsumu looking smoking hot in a black fitted suit, black shirt, and matte gold tie. Totally not.

You’re still adding final touch ups, when the doorbell rings through the air. “Open!” In response there’s a click of the door, opening and closing, and Atsumu announces his arrival with a sigh saying why aren’t ya ready yet. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” You shift from your bedroom to the hall, and he whistles. Sharply. You know you look good in that black dress, hugging tightly all your curves (extra points for a deep notch on the back and thin golden chains), and golden heels. And now, he knows it too. Just like you assumed, he does look great. So great, that the only image filling your head as your eyes run down and up on him is how much you want to rip that suit off of him. Party? You’d rather have a one-on-one party against the wall he’s leaning on. Or a kitchen counter. Or a sofa. Shower maybe? “Are ya checkin’ me out?” Again that smug look on his face. You really want to wipe it off. With your lips. “Must be your imagination.” You push him out of the apartment and lock the door.

One of the greatest mysteries of this world must be why elevator scenes are so… weird. Weirdly hot. You’re both on the opposite ends of the tiny cube, ogling each other and turning your gaze away. “Ya really look beautiful.” “Thank you.” Silence. “You look great too. Perfect ten.” You look him straight in the eyes, and if you have the timing right… “Very fuckable.” Ding and the door opens. You brush his chest while walking out. Atsumu forgets to leave the elevator.

Party hall is already swarming with people when you arrive. Faces from magazine covers flash here and there, some of them entertaining whoever wants to listen, some whispering mysterious promises in eager ears, some just roaming around in search of god knows what. “I’ll get us some drinks” is one of those promises, and Atsumu leaves your side. He’s quickly replaced by one of those roaming creatures. “You here alone?” He’s much too close to your liking. “Actually I-” “You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunning. I’m Shugo-” “Meian!” The voice of your companion startles you with its sudden proximity, but also brings comfort. As soon as the drink is passed in your hand, you feel his touch on the small of your back. “Oh, I didn’t know you two were-” “We’re not.” “We’re friends.” Both of your replies come immediately. Meian straightens up and smiles. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I went for her?” “Not like I have any right to stop ya.” Miya says calmly, but you can feel his whole body tense up against yours.

“Alright everyone, we’d like to make a toast…” Clinking of glasses interrupts your surprisingly pleasant conversation with the MSBY captain, but soon enough he’s back to flooding you with questions. Atsumu walks away to join his other teammates. “Please excuse me.” You don’t even look at the male next to you, focused only on catching up with the blond friend. His questioning gaze burns a hole at the side of your head. “I came here with you.” “Is that the only reason?” Your eyes meet and you give him a lopsided grin. “Nah, you’re much hotter.” He stands a little taller, visibly more confident, fuller of himself. His hand finds its way to your hip and he pulls you a little closer.

Next two hours are spent on the dance floor, countless people already pulling you back before you even step outside of the designated area. You’re currently trapped in the arms of none other than Bokuto Koutarou, and you could swear you were swayed by the sheer force of his alone. But you don’t mind, his energy of a nuclear reactor and megawatt smile fully compensate for any inconveniences. The song comes to an end however, and you quickly follow him back to the table. “Ya don’t wanna dance anymore?” Atsumu asks when you settle in your chair, looking for something to replenish your energy. “Why?” “Ya looked so happy on the dance floor. And yet, yer sittin’ here now.” “Were you watching me this closely?” His ears fire up like Christmas lights. “I do.” “Huh?” “I do wanna dance.” For a moment you’re both just staring at each other in silence. Then you notice gears turning slowly in his head, and, at the moment of realisation, a light bulb. “May I please have this dance?” He holds a hand out, and you place yours in it. Atsumu leads you towards the swaying crowd, and then pulls you close. So close, that your bodies could merge. “And the next one too.” He purrs in your ear.

Miya’s breath on your skin is hot and distracting. Does he feel you shiver every time he exhales on your neck? He must, you conclude, since his palm is resting on your bare back. “Ya smell so good…” The whisper caresses your ear, his lips so close, yet so far. “Mmm… you too.” And those lips curl up.

It’s not just this dance. And not just the next one either. Many dances later and you’re still glued to his body, surrounded by a muscular arm, and one hand still in his. The other one playing mindlessly with his undercut. “Looks like Meian found someone to take home t’night.” “Hmm? Did you?” You pull a strand of his hair and lightly scratch his nape. “Do that again and I might get dangerous.” “Maybe I like doing dangerous things?” There’s a movement near your thigh, and you both hope those words carry a promise.

It’s well into the night and people start leaving, but it seems like the blonde is still not ready to let you out of his embrace. You lean your head on his shoulder, forehead right under his jaw, and let him rock you gently to the slow music. With eyes closed, breathing in his scent, it feels almost as if you two were the only people here. “Are ya tired?” You only purr in response. “Lessgo home then. Wanna stay at mine?” “Oya?” “I-i-it’s… not whatcha think… A won’t… won’t touch ya.” “But if you won’t, then what’s the point?” He freezes, agape, and you wonder how the hell someone so hot can become so flustered. “But seriously, I don’t have a change of clothes” which is a lie, because you do have spare panties in your tiny purse “or cosmetics, or-” “I’ll give ya somethin’ to sleep in.”

The door behind you closes with a quiet click. God, it feels so good to finally, finally take these heels off. You put your purse on a drawer right next to the door, and proceed to take your earrings off, placing them neatly in a tiny pouch. “Tsumu? Could you help me with the necklace?” He doesn’t say anything, instead coming behind you and trying to unclasp the piece of jewelry. Trying, because his hands shake. You take a sneak peek at him through the mirror, at his focused face and slightly poked tongue. He’s so adorable. In the meantime you reach to your hair and start removing the pins, but soon your hands are pulled away and replaced with his. It’s surprising but endearing how gentle this giant man can be. You close your eyes and just enjoy the moment, as your strands tickle your nape one by one. And then something hot and wet tickles your neck, right below your ear. Oh. Oh. “A… ‘m sorry, a didn’t mean to…” Nononono, come back here. You grab his tie and pull him down to a kiss, a searing clash of lips, slowly beginning to move against one another. One of his hands caresses your back, right under the edge of your dress, the other one pulls your hair gently making you gasp. His tongue slides along your lips painfully slowly, and you chase it with yours until the tips meet. The feeling is electrifying, sending shivers through your whole body.

Undressing Miya Atsumu is similar to unwrapping a Christmas present you’ve been waiting for for months. Button after button, you reveal more and more of his heavenly sculpted chest and stomach, your lips following the hands. He loves it, the feeling of your wet muscle soothing the bites drives him crazy, little purrs he lets out make his chest vibrate. It’s almost unbearable. He decides he can’t take it anymore when you hook your fingers under his pants and start unzipping them, grazing his cock. He pulls you close, sliding your dress off of you, and letting it pool at your feet. And then drags you to the bathroom, where he rids both of you of your underwear. The man enters the shower, extending his hand to you, and you grab it by instinct, before being pulled right under the stream of steamy water. “‘Tsumu, I’m gonna look like a panda!” “Eh? But pandas are cute tho?” “I’d rather look hot right now” He laughs boyishly, almost innocently, as he pumps some of his face wash and rubs it gently all over your features. His calloused fingertips massage your forehead and temples, while thumbs work on your chin and nose. It fills you with millions of bubbles, cotton candy surrounding your heart as fluffy as the foam. “‘Tsumu?” “Mmm?” “Kiss me.” And he does. At first it’s slow and sweet, but as your hands wash away the evening from the skin, there’s more hunger, more passion. Atsumu pulls and lifts you, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks out of the bathroom. “‘Tsumuuuu! The towels! We’re NOT sleeping in a wet bed!” “Who said anything about sleepin’, princess?”

Idiot.

Bonus scene: “Good morning sunshine.”

He whispers against your forehead after your lashes tickle his neck. His palms embrace your cheeks, and his lips on yours are as soft as summer rain. Pecks become open mouthed kisses, invitations and promises of summer heat. Breaths and sighs remind you of a seaside breeze, carrying the freshness of waves and hotness of sand. Your hands are roaming in search of a buried treasure, but no matter how much they find, it’s not enough. It’s never enough. His mouth ghost over the shells of your ears, spilling words smooth and shiny like pearls, while fingers trail new paths under the veil of your shirt. They discover new lands, gliding along the skin, making it bloom in tiny goosebumps wherever they touch. Kisses and licks flow at the surface of your neck, sealing and sucking over sensitive spots, painting them in pinks, reds, and purples. Big palms cover the hills of your breasts, thumbs sweep over the nipples so gently, that you’re not even sure if you imagined it.

Your naked body shivers underneath his, and arches into his warm embrace, as his lips press silent praises into your skin. You open your eyes, and you don’t know which is brighter - the sunshine pouring through the windows, or the sunshine of his hair. You can touch his hair though. So you do, and the soft rivers of gold cascade and tickle in between your fingers. Atsumu raises his gaze and smiles against your skin, lighting up your heart.

Reaching your heat, he pulls the strings of your pleasure with each kiss, each flick of his tongue, and you sing the ballad he composes. In this concert you’re the star, you’re the diva, and he’s merely there to worship you, to accompany your voice, to encourage and appreciate. He’s guiding you through the quiet breathy parts, not much louder than a whisper. He’s caressing the keys, adding more passion, more force, more depth, eliciting notes reaching higher, pushing you through a crescendo, rapidly, lovingly, until you’re nothing but an effusion of pleads and cries of his name.

“Atsumu, come back to me.” You breathe out.

And he’s walking the path again, kissing the ground he steps on, coming back to where he belongs, where he wants to belong. Your eyes meet when he glides into you, slowly, carefully, as if any sharp movement would shatter you and this moment. Atsumu nibbles at your lips and you let him in, let his tongue dance with yours, as your fingers intertwine.

One more push joins your hips, and you both let out a breathy sigh. He pulls back and rolls back in, making sure you feel all the veins, until his tip kisses your cervix. And again. And once more.

“Ah… Tsumu…” And he knows he’s lost.

“God, yer so beautiful.”

You’re sinking in his eyes like molten chocolate, and the whole world ceases to exist. There’s only you and him, and the flame spilling from where you’re joined, overtaking your bodies, minds, and senses. It’s too much, it wells up in your eyes and overspills, and he’s quick to brush it away. A kiss is placed on your temple and travels down your cheek and onto your neck. With a free hand you rub mindless patterns on his back, scrape at his nape, while his roams down along your skin, adorning all the curves.

You moan into his shoulder at the sudden touch. He only grazes your clit and you’re fluttering, pulling him deeper inside of you. The movement is slow, as slow as the roll of his hips, as the drag of his tongue on your throat. But it spreads like a wildfire, floods your mind in waves until everything is drowned in a white haze and explodes in a million stars.

“Come with me”

And he does. He paints his own milky way inside of you, releasing galaxies upon galaxies until he pours everything he has, until he’s empty and you’re full. He does, because he would follow you anywhere.

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