#toriwritesshit

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

[mar-chant-live-without-you]

“So you don’t want to sleep with her?”

Pairing: Aleks Marchant x Reader Word Count: 496 Warnings: n/a Notes: this is just a small and dumb, kinda cute one idk

Aleks was always instigating something or annoying someone, anyone, everyone. He loved to push people's chairs while they were working or shut off their monitors or shoot them with the nerf guns or wave lighters around their water bottles.

That's why when Aleks stopped annoying you, people noticed immediately.

"Yo, Aleks, why don't you fuck with your girlfriends monitor?" Brett called at Aleks as he ran out of Brett's office.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Aleks called back. The most you and Aleks did was harmlessly flirt, but Aleks was cute and funny and you couldn't help but blush at Brett's comment.

"Whatever you say!"

"Not whatever he says, he never screws around with (y/n) anymore!" Trevor said.

"Maybe because he's screwing around with (y/n) instead," James wiggled his eyebrows at Aleks. Aleks' face turned bright red.

"He is!" James stood up and pointed at Aleks. You rolled your eyes, laughing. You knew it wasn't true. You stayed quiet, just wanting to watch this play out.

"That's not true!" Aleks defended himself.

"Then he wishes he was!" Asher said from his chair.

You giggled at this as Aleks got even redder. "Just because I don't pick on her doesn't mean I want to sleep with her!"

"So you admit it! You don't pick on her anymore!" Trevor pointed at Aleks.

"That's not- I didn't-"

"So you don't want to sleep with her?" Joe asked from across the room.

You were blushing like crazy at this point. Just the thought of Aleks thinking of you like that made you blush and laugh at the same time.

"Brett! They're picking on me!" Aleks whined.

"They're not picking on you, they're stating the obvious! Just ask her out already!"

"You know what!" Aleks marches over to you. You tried to keep quiet and to yourself. You had your earphones on, though they were muted. You tried to not look at Aleks as he walked over to your desk.

Aleks took your headphones off. "Everyone thinks they're so funny, they're so clever! Jokes on you guys, I think (y/n) is super funny and pretty and I've been wanting to do this for awhile." Aleks leans down and kisses you. You can't see anyone's face but you can only imagine them, wide eyes and mouths open.

Aleks grabs the sides of your face and presses his lips against yours harder. When he pulls away, you can't help but laugh and smile. "(y/n), wanna go get a drink?"

"When?" you ask, still smiling.

"Right now."

"I'm, uh, I'm working."

"Not anymore, lets go," Aleks grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair.

"Bye guys! See you tomorrow!" you call out to your coworkers who you can now see are in awe still.

Aleks sticks a middle finger in the air as he walks out with you, holding your hand with his other hand.

"Now what?" you ask.

"Now we go get drinks, duh," Aleks smirks at you.

#aleks x reader #aleks marchant x reader #aleks marchant imagine #ragehappy #toriwritesshit

[a-kaash-me-outside]

₊˚⊹ ⏱︎ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴍᴇ? ⏱︎ ⊹˚₊

♡ ft. multi. (written w toji and atsumu in mind idc). ♡ wc: 1.8k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: afab reader she/her pronouns, gendered pet names, sleepy sex, could be vaguely dubcon reader is very tired, mutual masturbation kinda?, dirty talk, established relationship, "just a sadistic little game"

―୨୧⋆ ˚ (⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 two seconds ago you were fast asleep, the cutest thing in the entire world. he just really had to tell you that, that's all. 𐰁 𝗓 ᶻ (⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ˚⋆୨୧―

you know it doesn’t make any sense, but before you’ve even woken up you swear you can hear his request like a dream, hazy and light and mumbled against your skin. when you open your eyes and try to take in your surroundings, the subtle smirk on his face and the tangled blankets around you and the breeze of the fan, his voice is skipping in your head.

“baby, hey, need something.”

you bring your palm to your half-closed eyes, hoping that the soft pressure of the side of your wrist and backs of your fingers will rid you of some of this confusion. your attempts to produce a questioning hum are caught in your throat, not enough energy for the vibrations to travel completely to your tongue. you swallow, his name getting trapped right alongside them. 

if you were any more awake, you could see how he’s looking at you, clock the mischief sown into every one of his features and the way that he’s dragging his nails down your side, digging them into the fat of your hips. he leans down to kiss you and it lingers longer than a typical wake-up peck does, much longer actually. 

“can you do something for me?” he asks, and when you don’t answer right away, your thoughts lost to the recency of slumber, he tries again, “need you to touch yourself.”

surely you didn’t hear him right. 

“what?” you croak, voice weak as you push your hair out of your face. you breathe a laugh, a smile beginning to form on your lips. the earnestness of his request isn’t registering with you, not in this state. “baby, what?” you sigh, blinking slowly up at him.

“was just laying here watchin’ you sleep, thinkin’ bout how cute you are ‘n how cute it would be if you were playing with yourself like this,” he says, kissing the corner of your smile that’s now fading into shy confusion, a soft warmth spreading through your chest and cheeks. 

“i-,” you huff, “hm?” you ask, moving to sit up, but he presses a kiss into your shoulder before coaxing you to stay in this position. he grips the side of the blanket, peeling it off of your body, untangling it from your limbs and kicking it to the side. it’s cold. you open your mouth to pout, reaching for the blankets on instinct, but he shakes his head. he drags his fingertips up and down your arms, pulls the hem of your sleep shirt up over your chest, watches the bounce of your tits as they’re exposed. 

“shit,” he groans, “you look so fucking good.” the cool wind from the fan is ghosting over your skin, previously warm from the blanket and newly warm from the wa y your boyfriend is talking to you this morning. “god, look at your pretty nipples getting all hard, fuck. your body’s reacting before you can even think, huh?” he asks, kissing the side of your neck.

he’s right. your brain is two steps behind, the whimper comes from your throat before the feeling of his tongue on your neck even registers. your hand is moving before you remember making the decision to succumb to the moment, to his asks. in fact, both of your hands are moving, one crawling down your stomach and the other scratching at your own throat and chest. 

before you’ve even snuck your hand in your waistband, he presses a kiss to your ear. “y’know what else i was thinking about?” the hum is not lost this time. it’s high-pitched and curious and the cutest thing he’s ever heard. he laughs, low against your skin. “thought about being kinda mean to you.”

this wakes you up a little more, turning your head towards him as your hands stop roaming. “what do you mean?” you ask, your first full sentence of the morning. 

“start playing with yourself, pretty, then i’ll tell you, huh?” he coos, and you almost object but you see the look on his face and it’s screaming to test him, so you don’t. 

you slip your fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, using your two to spread your lips apart. fuck, when did you get this wet? while he was talking to you? as you were waking up? before that? you whimper as you press the pad of your middle finger into your clit, pushing it between your sticky folds until the tip just barely enters your fluttering hole.

you press your head back into the pillow, already coming undone just by teasing yourself. you’re so enveloped in the feeling of your own fingers that when you feel his lips on you again, on your shoulder this time, you jump a little.

“that feel good?” he asks, absolutely drinking in the sight. you answer in quick nods and panting exhales. “good enough to come in a minute?” 

“minute?” you question, almost stopping, but even in your state, you clock the seriousness in his tone, or maybe you’ve just known him so well for so long. instead, you start moving quicker, not teasing yourself anymore, but rubbing small circles against your sloppy clit. 

he notices the change in your pace and he smirks. “you’re so smart, aren’t you?” he kisses you again, “yknow that there’s a catch here, huh?” you nod. you’re not sure you could’ve formulated it into words like that, but yes, whatever he just said. “thought you’d look so cute like this, fumbling to make yourself come so quickly, all disoriented and needy.” 

you can feel his cock straining against his boxers, pressed up against your hip, softly grinded into your side as you quietly moan around your own fingers. “thought it’d be even better if i gave you some higher stakes, really made you try.” 

“what stakes?” you ask, trying to focus on the conversation as you slip two fingers inside of yourself, pushing deeper and deeper, curling against your walls, attention split between hanging onto of his every word and feeling the pleasure build in your core.

“good question, baby,” he praises, hand slipping into his boxers, sucking in air through his teeth as he wraps his fist around his length. “you make yourself come in less than a minute or i won’t touch you for a week.”

your mind flashes back to the last time he gave you this exact trade-off. you didn’t take it seriously then, rolled your eyes, laughed a little bit, called his bluff. you know better now. your movements, once lazy and teasing, are now as direct and intentional as they can be while your body is still waking, muscles still warming up.

still, you’re driving your fingers inside of you quickly, switching back and forth between fucking yourself and playing with your clit, your other hand groping at your tits, rolling your nipple between the pads of your fingers. what you thought was going to be a lazy morning has turned out to be just a sadistic little game. 

“good girl,” he says, eyes moving all over your body. he doesn’t even know where to look. no matter where his gaze falls, he wins. your face, screwed in determination; your hand kneading at your tit, thumb flicking over your hard nipple; your fingers fucking in and out of yourself. 

he doesn’t even need to see what’s happening beneath the fabric of your panties, he’s throbbing in his palm just watching the outline of your fingers. he can see your knuckles straining against the cloth and the dark spot growing bigger and bigger as you keep fingering your needy hole.

“time’s almost up, pretty girl,” he says. he starts counting down. in between numbers, he asks, “does my baby want some help?” 

you whine at the thought of his hands taking over or just adding to the sensations. you nod, a strangled, “yes, please, fuck, please, baby.” the longest string of words you’ve said all morning. 

he doesn’t touch you though, leans in closer, breath soft against your ear, “next time i think i’ll just fuck you, make you come as the first thing you get to do when you wake up.” your inhale gets caught in your throat as you nod along to his words, closing your eyes tightly to focus on every syllable. “can see how messy you are through your panties ‘n i can’t believe i’m not deep inside of you right now, feelin’ it all on my cock.”

“but next time,” he says, “10,” he interrupts himself, “i don’t think you’ll need a whole minute, not if you have my cock, right?” he asks, “9,” he interrupts again, “probably only need 45 seconds, huh? 30? you could do that, right?” he grunts, “8.”

you move your hand from your tit to his forearm, trying so hard to hold on, but you can barely form a fist. everything is so much, the pleasure and the frustration of telling your fingers to move and the delay between the actions and fuck. 

“7,” he says, “god, i could come in a minute too, just from feeling your creamy pussy on my cock and seeing you like this.”

you don’t need the 6 extra seconds, he can keep em. you come around your own fingers, imagining them as his cock even though they’re nothing in comparison. your body is on fire and your core is tight and he can’t keep his hands off of you right now. you look as cute and perfect as he thought you would, as he envisioned all morning, as you come against the, now soaking wet, fabric of your panties.

the come down takes twice as long, you’re convinced. you exhale, mind finally running at what feels like a normal pace as you take note of your state, of your hand in your panties and the mess on the insides of your thighs and your boyfriend with a devilishly proud grin on his face. “fuck,” you say, voice steady once again as your eyes close in bliss. you move to roll over or sit up, but you only get as far as starting to move your hand from between your legs when your knuckles brush up against something. 

when you open your eyes again, you see him towering over top of you, a slow hand being placed on your hip, the other maneuvering you onto your side as he picks up your leg and puts it on his shoulder. “told ya i could come in a minute too, right? from feelin’ your creamy come-,” he grunts as his flushed head presses inside of you, “fuck, your sloppy, fuck,” his hips stutter as he snaps them against your skin, “perfect snug fuckin’ walls around me, shit.”

“gonna time me?”

♡ think' bout: toji, atsumu, geto, tsukki, gojo, oikawa, + ur fav ♡

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

#toji x reader #toji smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #jjk x reader smut #haikyuu x reader smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto x reader #geto x reader smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #toriwritesshit

[a-kaash-me-outside]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭

♡ sure, he has a girlfriend, but she just isn't you ♡ (aka how hq men would react to you asking them how their gf would feel about what you're doing rn)

♡ featuring: ᴀᴋᴀᴀsʜɪ, ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ, ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ cheating, nsfw mdni, afab reader she/her pronouns, individual tags for each~

♡ i will write a part two to this if people want it (send me an ask with a name and i'll do it, really, i swear), and maybe even if they don't because i'm obsessed with this concept fr. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

♡ the song that inspired this entire thing (xxx) ♡ wrote this same vibe w atsumu but its a whole fic (xxx)

♡ akaashi ♡ 1 day // guilty fucking, just can't help himself

“f-fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this,” he tells you, voice not nearly are strong as you’re sure he means it to be. he pushes his hips forward again, sliding his cock slowly inside of you, thumb spreading your lips apart so that he can watch himself disappear inch by inch.

he’s nearly crumbling in front of you, fucking in and out of you, one word punctuating each thrust. “we… shouldn’t…. be… doing…. this….” his voice is just as shaky as his forearms bracing you.

his forehead falls against your shoulder, moaning into your soft skin. he presses kisses wherever he can reach, trailing up your collarbones to the sensitive areas of your neck and the underside of your jaw.

akaashi is really not the type of guy to cheat on his girlfriend, he swears. but he just couldn’t help himself. when the opportunity presented itself, he really had no other option.

not when you looked like that, sitting so pretty on his couch when she wouldn’t be back for the entire weekend. not when you smiled like that when he pushed your hair out of your face. not when he could convince himself that it really meant nothing. it couldn’t have, not when he’s thinking about her so much.

and then he kisses you, warm and breathy and sweet enough to give you a toothache. not a fucked out, gasping for air, desperate to touch you just to touch something, but one that gives you butterflies and makes you feel closer than his skin on yours

lips pressed against yours, meticulously thrusting into you so he can savor every second. he can barely breathe.

when he finally pulls away, looks you in the eyes, gaze confident and unwavering, and you let it slip past your slightly parted lips. “how would your girlfriend feel about it?”

it’s quiet and low, softer than the sounds of his moans or the obscene smack of his hips against the inside of your thighs. you watch the blush spread, up his chest and neck to the highs of his cheekbones, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter for a moment, speaking confidently now, but no less indulgent.

“she wont find out.”

♡ atsumu ♡ 8 months // little bit toxic ngl, blatant disregard for their partner

the first few times that you and atsumu slept together, there was remorse on both ends. over time, though, it just started getting easier to justify and to excuse. the two of you melded perfectly and the more nights you spent together, the better it got.

neither of you have felt bad about it in awhile.

“fuck me any softer and i’ll mistake you for my boyfriend or something,” you huff.

in fact, you both horribly go as far as to teasing each other at your own partner’s unknowing expense. you wrap your arms around atsumu’s neck, pulling him down until you’re able to press your nose into his shoulder, breathing softly against it.

“hey, no talking about your boyfriend. you know i get jealous,” he says, dragging his teeth against your collarbone cautiously so as not to make a mark. he doesn’t bring any attention to how his pace picks up, fucking into you faster as the insides of your thighs start to sting.

"yea?" you say, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts, "and what about your girlfriend?"

the scoff that erupts from his chest nor the thought of his girlfriend disrupt his rhythm. "you're the one that brought her up. what about her?" he asks, placing soft kisses against your chest where he can reach.

you shake your head, arm leaving his neck to cup his face in your hand, pull his eyes to yours, "not good enough."

he knows what you're looking for, can see it in the devilishly sweet smile on your face as your eyes scan his features. he almost wishes that his reason for hesitancy wasn't what it was. the pauses, the insufficient answers, he knows they aren't in the name or regret or guilt, they're just to tease you, to keep you waiting for the answer he knows you want. "she’s not here, we don’t have to worry about her," atsumu teases, leaning forward to kiss your lips this time.

you turn your head at the last second, let his gentle kiss press against your jaw instead as you repeat yourself, "not good enough."

he sighs, faux and dramatic, reaches his fingers over to nudge your face back towards him once more. when he leans down again, his tender grasp on your chin begs you to stay put. you lean up towards him as much as you can to meet his kiss. when he pulls away, his forehead is still pressed against yours, sentence is murmured against your lips, "well, it’s no competition, really, between the two of you."

"yea?" you ask again, core fluttering, tightening as your walls grip him desperately. "only one of us has your heart, right, tsumu?"

"fuck," he says, hips stuttering as he nods, "fuck, that's right, baby."

♡ bokuto ♡ 2 weeks // super desperate, only somewhat guilty

“god, when do i get to see you again?” he asks, all teeth and tongue and desperate, throaty pleas against your chest. his hands are just as frantic as his facial expression, roaming over every part of you without rooting once.

he isn’t even inside of you yet, and he's already looking forward to next time.

it was supposed to just be a one night thing, you and him. and if it was one night out, complete mistake, he could’ve explained it with alcohol or a lapse in judgement. but that was 2 weeks ago.

because no one told him how much he’d be craving you every single fucking night after that. no one told him how much he'd remember your touch and the weight of the backs of your thighs on his hips and how pretty you sounded and how soft your skin was and how fucking tight you were.

no one told him that he'd need to see you 5 times in those two weeks, like you were his new obsession that would quickly turn into a bad habit.

you’ve kept quiet about it, the fact that you knew he had a girlfriend in the first place. you've honestly just been enjoying yourself, skating around the topic or deliberately avoiding it, fearful that if you mention it he’ll run.

you don't really know where it comes from. truthfully, it just slips out because it's on your mind, because he asks you as if it's not on his mind at all, "how does your girlfriend feel about it?"

he stops for a second, movements ceasing, facial expression thoughtful, only constant his chest rising and falling at the same pace as before. you're convinced, all at once, that your fun is over, that tonight won't go as planned, maybe you should've at least waited until you were finished.

his response is softer, more contemplative than the desperation fueled plea before, "how do you feel about it?"

you can't help but laugh, eyebrows furrowed, "i- i mean? fine, yeah, i don't," you take a deep breath, mentally flinching at how horrible it is before it even comes out of your mouth, "i don't really care. i'm having a good time."

his hands are back on your body, assured and quick, leaning down to place kisses against your chest and shoulders once again. "good, so when can i see you again?"

♡ tsukishima ♡ 4 months // tsukishima is an asshole, toxic and blamey, degrading almost, hot

“stay just like that,” he orders, arms crossed over one another, each of his hands on your opposite hips as he holds you still. no hand to guide his throbbing cock, he lets it slip between your lips a few times, missing your sloppy, drenched hole, grinding against your puffy lips. it feels like he’s almost missing on purpose, just loving the feeling of his length dragging across your messy pussy.

when he pushes inside of you, he does so slowly but forcefully, rolls his hips and thrusts his cock as deep as it’ll fucking go.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, perfect for my cock,” he mutters aimlessly. you’re half convinced it’s just instinct, no purpose other than he couldn’t not let the words slip.

“how would your girlfriend feel about that?”

he is so ready with a comeback, it almost feels like he’s been waiting for this for your entire affair. you’ve never brought up his girlfriend before. too timid to say it aloud or afraid it would result in him leaving, it didn’t really matter.

over the last couple months, you’ve grown to know tsukishima pretty well, have learned to roll with the punches and throw a few right back at him and he’s so focused now, not too much attention on you, or at least not in that way, and as much as you want to chalk it up to an accident or slip of the tongue, you both know how deliberate it is

“aren't you just as much to blame as i am?” he retorts, not slowing or missing a beat, digging his fingers into your hips harsher, pulling you onto his cock harsher.

you open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

“i think it’s pretty much your fault, actually, looking like that and expecting me not to want you on the spot,” tsukishima mutters, can barely get it out with his smile turning into a smirk.

he wraps his fingers around your shoulder, other hand around your forearm and guides you up towards him, back pressed against his chest, head craned to the side so you can see the devilish look in his eyes. uses gravity and your weight and the small thrusts upwards to fuck you like this and your protest is mashed between whimpers and affirming moans.

“not-” huff “not my fault,” you gasp, pushing off of the bed in time with his movements until only the tip is inside of you and then falling completely seated onto his thick cock. “she’s not my girlfriend,” you reason.

there’s still no hesitation, fingers clenched onto your jaw to force eye contact as he speaks, “but you know about her, right? doesn’t that make you just as bad as me?” he grunts as he buries himself inside of you, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “maybe worse.”

it hits you softly and then all at once, this guilt. and then he starts fucking you harder, changes positions, moves both of your bodies until his weight is on your back, your chest pressed into the mattress as he fucks into you, hand around your throat and waist holding you tightly in place. it’s harder. and it’s faster. and it’s better than you’ve ever been fucked before, even than the other times you’ve been fucked by tsukishima. you’re clenching around him, stomach tense, and breath bare.

and then it’s gone again. you don’t even remember her name.

#hq smut #atsumu smut #akaashi smut #bokuto smut #tsukishima smut #atsumu x reader #bokuto x reader #tsukishima x reader #akaashi x reader #atsumu x reader smut #bokuto x reader smut #tsukishima x reader smut #akaashi x reader smut #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #hq x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #toriwritesshit #TORI ADD THIS TO UR MASTERLIST

[a-kaash-me-outside]

the walls are thin // masterlist

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall.

~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ total wc: 75368 ᴡᴏʀᴅs status (as of apr23): complete! ~ 9 / 9 chapters posted

oh but ofc she's got a playlist (♡) "what a shame it would be if you left her now"

the general vibe: incessant fluff, 18+ eventual smut (with small nsfw desc & bits in the meantime), small bits of angst (it's an 8 chapter story there's going to be some conflict) what you're getting yourself into: atsumu is very sexually active, complicated feelings (but no miscommunication trope), a LOT of flirting, hanamaki takahiro side piece ♡ , seijoh 4 & msby besties, slow burn (ish?), seriously so much fluff, tiny bit of angst, afab reader she/her pronouns, will provide tags for each chapter!! ~~

tori loves polls. (which of my self indulgences did you vibe with the most in the epilogue?)

ch1. your annoying, stupid, inconsiderate, really fucking hot neighbor

ch2. stupid, annoying, really attractive, super funny, ravishingly charming atsumu

ch3. perfectly inconsiderate, maybe cluelessly oblivious

ch4. incredibly heart-warming, stupidly romantic

ch5. overly attentive and completely different than you ever expected him to be

ch6. flirty, surprisingly sweet, now super close neighbor

ch7. really pretty, honest to god made for you

ch7.5. passionate, silently perfect romantic, unwavering platonic

ch8. gorgeously genuine, absolutely beaming (aka atsumu ending)

ch8.5. carefully attentive, the same person he’s always been (aka maki ending)

epilogue. proudly unpredictable and awestrukenly trusting

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

#atsumu x reader #hq x reader #hq fanfic #hq fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fics #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #toriwritesshit #just blog stuff #tori’s masterlist #twrt! #masterlist!

[a-kaash-me-outside]

not fair - ch1

in which your boyfriend is perfect in every single way... except for one and kei can't just sit back and watch you suffer... ch1 | next [masterlist]

// "i don't know if you could handle me" ~ ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ᴋᴇɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 9731 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter/tw: 18+ super nfsw!, cheating (seriously, major plot point), use of character first names (idk what got into me when i wrote this 3 years ago), degradation, choking, face-fucking, dom/sub undertones, face slapping, stop light system, squirting, dirty talk, mentions of unconscious fucking, the smallest amount of plot that becomes more prevalent as the chapters continue on, soft after sex kei, cross posted from ao3, afab reader she/her pronouns

send an ask and i’ll add ya to the taglist! ~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

It wasn’t unusual for Kei to be over while Tadashi was out of town. It happened quite frequently, actually. You two were best friends, even before Tadashi was in the picture. You never let anything come between you two, not even Tadashi. Tadashi understood too. He was never jealous of the time that you spent together or accusing towards the two of you and flirting remarks you would pass. You and Kei were just… well, you and Kei.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were in yours and Tadashi’s bedroom, which wasn’t the unusual part. Tonight, you were both on the bed, which also wasn’t the unusual part. Tonight, you were sitting with your chin on Kei’s chest and your leg between his legs, your knee resting on his crotch. This wasn’t even an unusual position for the two of you, who often would press yourselves together in intimate positions. Tonight, you finally admitted to Kei that Tadashi has only made you come twice in the entire time that you’ve been together. 

“What? Like, dating? Or?” Kei asks, his eyebrows furrowed together, looking thoroughly disgusted and confused, “because it could just be that you’re both too soft n-.”

“Like, ever, Kei,” you interrupt, looking just as confused and disgusted as Kei was. 

“That’s horrible,” he scoffs, “You just let that happen?”

“I don’t let it happen, Kei. It just happens.” You rest your head completely on his chest, sighing dramatically. “He’s amazing. He’s incredible. He’s so nice and he’s kind and he’s pretty and he’s everything that I need!” 

Kei scoffs again at your words, “but he can’t make you come?”

“But he can’t make me come,” you repeat, shaking your head against Kei’s chest and then look back up at him. “I just, I haven’t gotten off from someone else in so long. Only me, alone, in the bathroom.”

“That’s so sad,” Kei says, the disgusted look still lingering.

“What else am I supposed to do about it?” you groan, frustrated. 

“Get someone else to fuck you,” Kei shrugs. He doesn’t laugh or hint at a joke. He’s being serious.

“Wha- What? I can’t do that…,” you hide your face from Kei, ensuring that he doesn’t see the redness on your cheeks.

“Sure you can. Look, you have needs, okay. He can’t satisfy them. You just have someone else do it.”

“I don’t trust anyone enough to do that.” You feel horrible even contemplating the option. A terrible light bulb goes off in your head. 

“You…,” you start, hesitantly. Kei’s eyes widen immediately at the start of your sentence. 

“No. No, absolutely not. He’s my best friend,” Kei shakes his head.

“You’re my best friend,” you say, softly. “I don’t trust anyone else! You said it yourself. I have needs, Kei. He can’t satisfy them. I have to find someone else to do it.”

“You’re really going to use my own words against me?” 

“Yes,” you state so matter-of-factly. 

“No. I won’t,” he shakes his head, looking away from you, but not moving you from on top of him.

“Kei, please! I couldn’t do this with anyone else, but I’m just,” you take a deep breath, ready to lay all of your shame out on the table. “I need this. I’m so desperate, please.” Kei introduced this idea to you and so quickly you needed it to become a reality. You needed it to become a reality with Kei. 

Kei looks you over, your chin pressed against his sternum as he breaths. “Fine. You want to know the real reason?” Your interest is piqued. You tilt your head, curiously. 

“Hm?” You can’t believe you’re even having this conversation, but now you’re in too deep. 

“I don’t know if you can handle me,” Kei pushes you off of him and promptly gets off the bed. 

“Wha- What do you mean?!” You’re offended. He’s acting like you’ve never had sex with a condescendingly cold person before. You scoff at this statement, rolling your eyes dramatically, and standing up with him, following him.

“I mean, I don’t think you can handle me,” he repeats himself, not wavering his tone or message. He adds after a second of your angry face, “You’ve been with Tadashi for almost 2 years. You guys have probably been having vanilla, missionary sex, maybe doggy style if you’re feeling extra spicy, the entire time you’ve been together.” He waits for your objections before continuing, interrupting them, “I know I’m not wrong and I know Tadashi. He’s just as nice and “sorry, (y/n)!” in his day to day as he is in bed.” You’re silent. You know he’s not wrong. 

Tadashi has always been so accommodating and kind in every aspect of your relationship. He tries so hard in bed, he really does, but he’s made you cum maybe twice in your entire relationship with the help of yourself, though he would probably claim many more times than that seeing how often you fake it. You hate yourself for it, but you’ve tried so hard to teach him, to show him, to tell him exactly what you want and how to do it, but he never gets it. It’s exhausting and has been way easier to just to fake it and then finger yourself later in the bathroom after he’s gone to sleep.

You want Kei so badly. You want to come so badly and you know that right now is your only chance. “I- I can handle you.” Your voice is much more timid and much less convincing than you anticipate it being. 

“I don’t think you can.” Kei’s voice, in contrast, is steady and low, already causing your core to feel warm. 

“I can, Kei, I can. Please,” you hold onto his arm, looking up at his face, pleading, “please.” You sound much more confident, and also much more despairing as you whine for him. He looks at you for a few moments, his eyes trailing up and down your body and finally stopping on your eyes, searching for the overwhelming excitement and consent that he needs to move forward.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks. This is the final time he’s going to ask or question you. He needs you to be absolutely positive because he’s not going to hold back. You nod desperately. “Verbal consent, (y/n), I’m serious.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Kei, please. I need this. Please, I can handle it, anything, please.” The string of words leaves your mouth quickly. Kei waits another few seconds after, giving you plenty of time to change your mind before closing the gap between you both. His lips are on yours and his tongue is in your mouth so quickly. He’s holding your jaw as he tastes every inch of the inside of your mouth. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, hard, allowing you to explore his mouth. His tongue is harsh against yours, but it feels so good. He pulls away abruptly, already lifting your shirt over your head and running his hands down your body, his hands sculpting around every curve. 

“If at any time this gets too much for you,” he presses kisses into your neck, nudging your chin upwards as he starts to softly roll the skin between his teeth. “Yellow means we’re moving to somewhere you’re uncomfortable with.” He licks your neck, pressing his entire tongue against your skin. When he pulls away, the air is cool against the freshly wet flesh. “Red means that you’re uncomfortable and you want to stop immediately.” He moves down to your collarbones, nibbling on them and breathing heavily against them. 

“If you can’t speak,” he grabs your hand and taps 3 distinct, hard times against your skin with two fingers. “3 taps, hard so that I can feel them without a doubt, and two fingers to know it’s intentional.” His eyes are on yours, his look stern and serious. “Do you understand?” You nod, overwhelmed with all of this information.

“(y/n), verbal consent. I don’t fuck around,” he says, his eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Yes,” you nod confidently, despite the questions forming in the back of your mind. Maybe you couldn’t handle him. You weren’t expecting this level of safety precautions, maybe just a safeword considering how he made out that you couldn’t handle him. Maybe he was right. 

“Repeat.” Kei’s lips are back on your throat, sucking the skin so hard that you feel the bruises forming almost instantly. His hands are reached around to your back, one hand sliding down over your ass and the other unhooking your bra before you notice what he’s doing. He tosses it to the side and presses himself against you, your nipples dragging against the fabric of his shirt as he massages into the flesh of your ass. 

You can’t exactly think straight, but it’s important that you remember these even when you can’t think. “Y- Yellow means caution, that I’m starting to f- feel uncomfortable about something.” Kei digs his fingers into your flesh as he moves his head down, capturing your nipple in his mouth and twirling his tongue around it. “Fuck,” you moan, tilting your head back. 

He pulls away from your nipple, the cold air feeling even colder on your spit sheened nipple, causing it to get even harder. “What else?” 

You answer quickly, just wanting to feel his tongue on your nipples again. “Re- Red means that you- that I- I want you to stop because I’m- I don’t like it- I’m uncomfortable.” Your nipple is back in his mouth. He’s sucking on it with such purpose, the suction sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

“A- And, I’m going to, ta- tap on you to- to show you, but please, please don’t stop, Kei.” You grab onto his shoulder and tap with two fingers against his back, 3 times with enough force for him to feel them. He listens to you, nodding as you tap against him, but keeping your nipple in his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth, bringing his hand up to pinch the other one between his fingers. “Fuck,” you breath. 

He stops, coming back up to face you. “Good.” His fingers are making quick work of your button and zippers and are quickly in the waistband of your jeans, pulling them to the ground, but leaving you in your underwear. On his way back up, he runs his hand up the inside of your leg, following your ankle to your calf to your inner thigh leading to your pussy as he uses one finger to rub once between your slit, pressing harder into your clit, rubbing two circles before stopping and stepping backward. You can’t help but moan at this tiny, delicate touch. He’s still fully dressed and you’re suddenly aware of what you probably look like. Your instinct is to try to cover yourself up from Kei’s hungry eyes, but he starts rubbing his cock through his pants. Your eyes are drawn to the bulge in his jeans. You feel your panties get even wetter as you see how big the bulge is. You’re almost positive that Kei could see how much wetter you got, how the dark spot on your panties grew when he started rubbing himself. 

He pulls his own shirt off and you marvel at how toned his body is, how perfect his skin is. He takes a step towards you, his hard bulge only inches away from your thigh. Your breath stills. “Take them off, baby,” he encourages. You listen to him, beginning to lower yourself to your knees, but he holds your elbow, not allowing you to drop. “From here.” You’re confused at first until he uses his hand to rub in between your lips through your panties. “I want to be able to touch you.”

You nod, your breath skipping as you try your hardest to focus on undoing his buckle. It seems like such a difficult task right now, your mind completely infatuated with the feeling of Kei’s long finger rubbing against the doused fabric of your panties. You seriously can’t figure out how to undo his stupid buckle, but he just lets you struggle. You think that he’s being nice as he pulls his finger away, allowing you a moment to think straight, but he brings the finger up and sticks it into your mouth. “Suck,” he says, low. You listen, sucking on his finger, trying to multitask and undo his buckle. “Sloppier, baby,” he coerces. You listen again, your fingers on his buckle stilling and focus on the spit drooling out of your mouth. He pulls the finger from your mouth and places it back between your lips, pressing harder into your clit and moving faster, pushing your panties in between your lips until your bare lips are exposed and your panties are bunched up between them, completely hidden. Kei’s finger slips past the panties, dipping into your flood for just a moment before running his finger back down the strip of your panties, pushing at your hole. Your moans are fluttering as you try to sink onto his fingers. He holds on in place harshly. 

He starts counting down. You’re confused, so confused. You don’t know why he’s counting down or what will happen when you reach the end of it, but you’re hoping for the finger to enter you. “3… 2… 1…” You close your eyes in anticipation, but he pulls his hands away completely. 

“I- Kei- No, please, why?” you beg.

“I told you what to do and you were too busy and concerned with what you wanted. Now I’m not going to touch you,” he says so matter-of-factly. You wanted to laugh. You thought it was a joke. You needed it to be a joke, but now Kei is taking off his own buckle, which he does in 10 seconds, might you add. He’s taking off his own belt, throwing it gently to the side and undoing his zipper and button. 

“Kei,” you whine, “It’s… It’s not fair.” You’re pouting. You know he doesn’t find it cute and amusing when you see his facial expressions. “It’s just… You were making me feel so good.”

He scoffs, “Just from that? Tadashi must be treating you worse than I thought.” Your cheeks burn at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. You want to tell him to stop saying his name, but you know he won’t listen to you anyways. Instead, you just nod at him. He laughs.

“Please, Kei. I couldn’t focus,” you complain, trying to excuse yourself, but he’s not listening or he doesn’t care or maybe both. He pulls down his jeans, only the thin fabric of his boxers are covering his hard, long member. You swallow, hard, looking at how big he is. Tadashi isn’t necessarily small, but he’s definitely not big, and more so, he’s definitely not this big. Your eyes are glued to Kei’s boxers as he pulls them down, releasing his cock. A gasp escapes your lips, a sharp inhale into your lungs as you truly take in how big he is. He’s not just long, but he’s thick. You’re getting even wetter as you think about everything you want to do to him and what you want him to do to you. 

“Can you listen this time?” he asks, condescendingly, a disgusted look on his face. You nod excessively, so quickly that your vision blurs. You’re ready to do anything that he asks you to do. You just want to touch his cock. He smirks at how eager you are. “Take your panties off for me, baby. Nice and slow. Turn around when you do it.” He knows exactly what he wants. 

You start pulling your panties down, slowly, like he’s asked of you. You want to have them completely off, but you know you have to listen to Kei especially after last time. When the panties are to your knees, you’re facing completely away from him. “Bend over.” His words are so commanding and harsh. You do as he says, bending over to pull your panties all the way down to the floor. You can feel how exposed your pussy is from behind in between your legs, can feel the air highlighting every inch of wetness.

You hear Kei step closer to you as you stand their frozen, your panties around your ankles. You can feel his cock graze in between your legs just briefly before he controls it, ensure that no part of you is touched. He leans forwards, pressing his hips against your ass and brushing his cock between your lips for the smallest fraction of a second. “What does Tadashi call you while he’s fucking you?” The question stuns you, your knees buckling and your heart beginning to race. You know that you’re almost fucking his best friend, but you don’t need to be reminded of him every few minutes. Still, you know that Kei wants an answer and you want Kei to be good to you, so you answer. 

“H- He calls me sweetheart,” you stutter. Kei actually laughs, stepping back away from you and holding his stomach as he repeats it. 

“He calls you sweetheart when he’s fucking you?” he asks, trying to make sure he heard that right. 

“Yes.” You suddenly feel more embarrassed at this admission than you do at the position you’re in. He grips onto your hips and you want him to enter you so badly, but instead he turns you around to face him and gently pushes you onto the bed, lying flat on your back, your head propped up against a pillow. 

“Spread em,” he gestures towards your legs as he spits into his own hand, slicking his cock as you spread your legs open, exposing yourself to Kei. 

Kei is towering overtop of you, a knowing smirk on his face as he moves the fist he’s made around his cock, stroking slowly, squeezing his hand as he gets to the head and letting the pressure off as he returns back to the base. You know how desperate you look underneath him. You don’t need to see it in his glasses to know, but you do, and it makes you even wetter. Your legs are spread apart, the breeze from the fan making you painfully aware of how warm and flooded you are and how erect your nipples are. Your hands are beside each retrospective hip, gripping onto the sheets, waiting for him to enter you, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even get closer. 

“Touch yourself,” Kei sneers. You don’t know what to do. You heard his words clearly, but your body isn’t making any move to do what he’s asked of you. You wanted Kei to touch you, you didn’t want to do it yourself. He takes a step towards you, his hand around his cock moving faster. “Let me see you play with yourself, sweetheart. Show me,” he coos, his tone changing to endearing in such a short amount of time. Hearing Kei call you what Tadashi calls you shakes your entire soul. You feel so conflicted but so hot. You want to hear it again. It sounds so much better coming out of his mouth. It makes you want to please him. You want to make him proud. 

You nod at him, timidly moving your hand down to clit and rubbing small, diffident circles into it. Your fingers don’t feel nearly as good as Kei’s did a few minutes ago. It doesn’t help that he’s watching you so intently either. It’s embarrassing to be completely open and on display like this, lying underneath someone who wasn’t your boyfriend, but, rather, your boyfriend’s best friend, your best friend. You have to shake the thought out of your mind before your body doesn’t allow you to get off. You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sensations of your fingertips brushing against your swollen clit. Your eyes are only shut for a few seconds before Kei is clearing his throat. 

“Eyes open. Look at me,” Kei clarifies. His hand hasn’t stopped moving as he’s scanning your body, evidently very happy with what he sees. Even with this gorgeous sight in front of you, it’s hard for you to lose yourself in the moment being stared at so eagerly. “Both hands.” He tilts his chin up at you, gesturing at your hand that’s still gripped onto the sheets. 

With your other hand, you cup your tit, rolling your hard nipple in between your fingers while maintaining your pace with the other hand. “Good girl,” he says under his breath. A moan escapes you. He raises his eyebrow, cockiness seething from his smile. “Yeah? Are you my good girl?”

You nod obnoxiously, a strangled noise coming out of your throat as you move your attention from your nipples to your wet hole, teasing yourself with your fingertip. You’re getting into it now. The situation is weighing on you but in the best way possible. You look up at Kei and your mind is still screaming that he’s not your boyfriend, but the louder the voice gets inside your head, the wetter your desperate pussy gets. He’s not your boyfriend, but he’s here, watching you tease yourself and torture your own clit as he jerks off above you, because your boyfriend can’t get you off like Kei can; no one can get you off like Kei can. He knows it too. Even when you would try to get off in the bathroom after having sex with Tadashi, it never felt this fucking good. 

“Do you want to be a really good girl?” he asks, his hand now gently rubbing on your inner thigh. 

You know that he’s just using those words, that phrase, to get exactly what he wants, but it only makes you want him more. You would do anything to be good for him. You want him to use you, to satisfy his every need with any part of you that he wants to. “Please, please, Kei. I’ll do anything.” Your own voice surprises you at how desperate it sounds. 

“Sit up.” His tone has switched back to the harsh, commanding asshole that he was before as he grabs onto your arm right as you’re about to insert your finger fully into yourself. You let out a defeated sigh before sitting up, looking at him innocently. “Stay still,” he demands. Kei walks over to you, getting closer and closer until the tip of his head is pressed up against your lips. You go to open your jaw to take him into your mouth, but he stops you, holding your head still. 

“What did I say?” he growls at you, grasping a fistful of your hair as punishment. “Repeat it.” 

“Stay still,” you repeat, your lips opening slightly around his head, allowing some of the precome to line the inside of your lips. You want so badly to lick your lips, but you know that Kei wants you to just sit there, so you don’t move. Your head is still as he swipes the spongy head across your lips, stroking the length as he does so, causing more precome to drip out of the slit and onto your lips. He pushes forwards, but you keep your mouth still, the tip only entering into your mouth when he nestles it in there. It touches your closed teeth and you shutter, trying to keep as still as you can.

Kei moans as he drags his sensitive head across the fronts of your teeth, your cheek bulging as he slides it into the side of your mouth. The combination of his grunts, his hands in your hair, and the thought of him using you for his pleasure all have your pussy aching to be touched. You want to touch yourself so bad, but you know that Kei will be angry. 

“Open,” he finally tells you. You let your jaw fall open as you look up into his eyes, fluttering your lashes at him, but he doesn’t look at you like you’re adorable or cute or pretty, he looks at you like he’s starving. “Tongue out.” You instantly stick your tongue out. “Good girl.” Your pussy throbs. That’s all you wanted to hear from him. You want to hear it again. 

“Lick the precome from my slit, sweetheart.” There’s that name again, shaking your being. Kei positions his cock at the tip of your tongue. You’re not expecting the name and the specific language has you blushing. You do as you’re told, focusing the tip of your tongue to lick the precome from his slit. The salty sensation on your tongue makes your mouth water for more. Kei drags his head down your tongue before taking a step back. He hasn’t told you to move your head or your tongue, so you don’t, despite everything in your body telling you to whine and pout at how far away his cock is from your mouth now. You’re so focused on where his cock is that you don’t notice that he’s bent over towards you or the glob of spit that falls onto your tongue until it’s already coated it. 

You barely have any time to react, only savoring the taste for a moment, before Kei stands back up and rests as much of his cock as he can on your tongue without actually entering your mouth. The slickness of his spit on your tongue and your warm breath from panting causing Kei’s cock to pulse. You can feel it. Kei looks down at you and lets more spit drop from his tongue. You’re not sure if he missed or if this is where he was aiming, but the spit lands right beside your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your chest. 

He’s thrusting his hips slowly, gliding the underside of cock across your tongue. Your jaw is already starting to ache from staying open so wide, but you don’t dare relax. It’s like Kei can read your mind. “Wider,” he grunts, angling the tip of his cock down. You force your jaw to open uncomfortably, but the smirk that Kei gives you is worth any amount of discomfort that you feel.

Kei gives you no warning as he forces his entire length down your throat in one swift movement, groaning as he feels how tight your throat is around him. You try to gasp in surprise, your gag reflex triggering as his cock slides down your throat, but he’s blocking your airway. You take in air from your nose, but it’s not enough. Kei doesn’t budge in the slightest, just strokes your hair as he mutters “good girl” over and over again. You focus on his words and your breathing and the fact that you’re making him feel good right now. 

“Tongue out,” he demands, his hands grabbing your hair now instead of stroking it. Your nose is pressed up against his stomach and your tongue is sticking out as far as you can force it out of your mouth. You can feel it grazing his balls, every time you flick your tongue, his grip in your hair gets tighter and his groans get more guttural. 

Drool is leaking out of the side of your mouth as Kei’s cock pulses in your throat. Your head feels light and you’re pushing back into Kei’s hands, desperately trying to get air. You need to get a good breath or you’re going to pass out. He pulls you off of his cock. You’re coughing and inhaling deeply several times trying to recover. Kei gives you these few seconds of reconciliation before starting to get annoyed. 

“Open,” he nods down to the spot that you were in before. You assume the same position, chin tilted up, tongue so far out that it’s painful, jaw aching from forcing it open so wide, your lips swollen and sheened with spit and precome. “Good girl. Fuck, you’re such a good girl.” You love to hear the praise coming out of his mouth. It’s making you drip. 

You’re expecting his cock, but see his eyes close to yours and now you can’t breathe for another reason. He spits in your open mouth, but not on your tongue this time. The spit goes directly down your throat and you let it slide all the way down. His fingers are wrapped around your throat putting pressure directly on your airway, quickly getting so tight that you can’t breathe again. “But I decide when I’m done with your throat. I decide when you get to breathe again. I decide when I pull your pretty fucking mouth off of me. You don’t get to make those decisions. If I want to fuck your throat until you pass out and keep fucking your throat when you’re unconscious on the floor, I’ll do that.” You want to moan at these sentences, at the thoughts that are now flooding your head, but you can’t. No noise comes out of your throat at all, it can’t. Your hand comes up and wraps around Kei’s wrists, your eyes roll back into your head as his grip gets tighter. He’s waiting intently to see if you want to tap out, but when he doesn’t feel any pressure against his wrist, he tightens even harder, his fingers shaking. “Do you understand?” he commands. You nod as best as you can. When he pulls his fist away, you take in so much air that your head starts to pulse. Your breaths can’t be large enough. “Now open.”

You assume the same position. Your breathing finally slows when he rests his balls on your tongue. You’d never done anything this dirty with Tadashi. This was foreign territory for you. “Suck.” You can feel him above you, stroking his cock as you take one of his balls into your mouth. The entire situation feels so dirty , but you can hear Kei’s moans and grunts and you never want to stop. You continue sucking, focusing on the ball in your mouth and your tongue against it. 

“Take both in your mouth, you fucking whore,” Kei says, getting into this very quickly. The degradation makes your clit throb and pussy clench. You open your mouth wider, taking the other ball into your mouth. Your mouth has never been this full before. Your nose is pressed against the underside of his cock, but you can barely focus on that. “Stop,” he grunts. You release both balls from your mouth with a pop , your tongue still sticking straight out, waiting for whatever he wants to do with you next. 

“Good girl. Deep breath” You listen to him. He slides his cock into your mouth as soon as you’ve taken a good breath, grunting at every inch that slides down your throat. He holds it there again. You close your eyes, focusing on your breathing, and making sure that you make it through. Then you feel a sting on your cheek, startling you. Kei’s palm had made contact with your cheek. Your eyes snap open. “Eyes on me. Look up at me, sweetheart.” You moan around his cock and he inhales at the vibrations around his length. A single tear rolls down your cheek as the residual sting lingers. Your breathing is okay, manageable this time until Kei plugs your nose. 

“You better open your throat wider or I’ll have to fuck your unconscious body and you won’t be able to cum. It’ll be just like Tadashi, huh?” Your eyes open even more so at this sentence. Kei pulls his hips back, taking most of his length out of your throat before slamming back in. You missed your small window for air. You sit, patiently waiting for him to start moving again. You breathe as much as you can as soon as he pulls back. You’ve forced your jaw open even wider and have allowed your throat to open, allowing the smallest bit of air in. 

Kei’s thrusts into your throat get more and more frequent each time until he’s pistoning into your mouth. His hips are thrusting into you, abusing your poor throat, at such a fast speed. Every few thrusts, he buries his cock as deep in your throat as he can, holding it there until he feels you starting to fall, your eyes rolling back, and your jaw relaxing. 

“Gag on my cock,” he commands, continuing, “I want to feel you gag on my cock. It feels so good when I feel your abused throat constrict around my cock. I’m too big for you, aren’t I? You’re so used to small cocks, aren’t you, sweetheart? You can barely handle how fucking big I am.” It’s true. It’s all true. 

He hits the back of your throat, your body convulsing slightly as you gag. You can feel the muscles in your throat tighten around his cock. He loves the feeling so much that he does it again. And then again. Your stomach is twisting as he hits it for the 4th time. He glides his cock down your throat. The noises that he’s making are magical. 

“Swallow.” You swallow whatever liquids you can. “Yes, fuck,” he groans, “again.” You swallow again, significantly less fluid in your mouth. “Again.” You swallow again. “God, your throat feels so good, I might not even need to fuck you.” You can’t help but to whimper, swallowing again around his cock. “Fuck, I could just cum down your throat right now and leave you on the bed for when Tadashi comes home. Maybe he can help you.”

You want to shake your head no. You want to beg for him to stay, to touch you, just to tell you to cum. If he just told you to cum right now, you think you could. You’d do anything for him right now, but you can’t. You can’t do anything except let him use your throat for whatever he wants to use it for. He laughs at the panic in your eyes as he pulls out of your throat, stroking his cock above you. “Or maybe I won’t even use you to cum, huh? Maybe I’ll just make you watch as I blow my load onto your pretty face. Tadashi would love coming home to that, wouldn’t he?” 

You don’t know how to answer that, so you don’t. Kei doesn’t like that. You feel a sting across your cheek, harder this time. “I asked you a question.”

“I- N- No. No, he wouldn’t like that,” you answer truthfully, even though you don’t think it’s the answer that Kei wanted. It’s exactly the answer Kei wanted.

“But would you like it?” he smirks, waiting for your answer. He hasn’t stopped stroking his cock, moaning as he swipes his thumb over the head. “Don’t lie to me…,” he pauses, “sweetheart.” His smile is pure evil.

You nod timidly before verbalizing it. “Yes. I would like that a lot, Kei.” 

He laughs again, shaking his head. “Tch. Pathetic.” Your entire body feels warm and embarrassed. He leans over you, getting so close to your ear that his low whisper sounds like a scream. “It sucks that I want to ruin you, then, huh?” A shiver disperses through your entire body as you shake your head no. No, it definitely doesn’t suck that he wants to ruin you. 

“I want you, now.” Kei finally decides. He pushes you back on the bed again. “On your side.” You’re conscious of how little you know about sex positions, particularly ones where you lay on your side. He pulls you to the edge of the bed, laying almost completely on your right side, save for the small parts of your back that are touching the bed. He positions himself between your legs, lining himself up with your throbbing pussy. It hasn’t been touched since you didn’t listen to Kei. You know your hole is tight, but so lubricated that it’ll swallow him just as easily as your throat did. He takes your leg and rests it on his shoulder. 

He rubs his head in between your lips, pressing up against the hole. “Please.” It slips out of your mouth, but you’re not going to apologize for it. Kei rubs his thumb against your clit, using your own wetness to lubricate your swollen nub, his finger moving effortlessly against it. You can’t stop whimpering. 

He doesn’t stop to ask if you’re ready, or prep your hole with fingers, he just starts sliding into you. He’s not even halfway inside of you when you decide that you’ll never be this full again. It takes your breath away. You can’t breathe, but you’re trying. You’re gasping for air as he inserts his entire length into you. “Kei, Kei, Kei, fuck, Kei.”

“I haven’t even started fucking you, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss into your leg next to his face as he slides completely into you, not stopping until his hips are pressed up against you. You’re waiting for him to let you adjust to how thick he is inside of you, but he doesn’t. He starts moving almost instantly, rocking his hips backwards and then thrusting into you completely. You’ve never had anything so deep inside of you before, not even your own fingers or a dildo. 

Kei picks up the speed, rocking his hips into you repetitively, in such a rhythmic pattern that you’re already almost there. You know, and he does too, that all he has to do is angle just a bit down and he would be obliterating your g-spot. Even without it, you can feel your arousal heightening so high. His thumb is still rubbing circles into your clit. “Kei- Kei, I think, I-,” you breathe, stuttering over your words, so filled with cock and pleasure that your head is foggy. 

“Already? You’re already going to cum? God, you really are starved of some good cock, aren’t you?” he teases, picking up speed even more. “I’m not even hitting your g-spot. I’m not ready yet. You’re going to cum without me even trying?”

You know you should feel embarrassed, but you’re not. You have no shame in letting yourself go. “Fuck, Kei, I’m coming, fuck.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. Your head presses back so far into the bed that you know how messy your hair is going to be. Your toes curls and your knuckles are white against the sheets. The entire time, no noise comes out of you, despite your mouth being completely agape. The pleasure is obliterating you. You can’t think of anything at all except for the pleasure. How good everything feels. Kei hasn’t stopped fucking you. He’s slamming into you as you ride your orgasm to completion. As soon as you’ve stopped cumming, you want to cum again. You need him to make it happen again. 

“I’m not stopping until I’m finished. If that means that you’ve cum so many times that your orgasms hurt by the last one, then so be it,” he thrusts into you again and again. His hand has moved from your clit and is instead wrapped around your leg, using it as leverage to fuck into you even harder. Every time you think he can’t fuck you harder, he proves you wrong. He’s almost growling at this point, fucking you so deep and hard that you exhale every time he pounds into you. 

“You’ll never cum from anyone else again,” he slams into you, “Every other guy that you ever take will never compare to me, will never be as good as me. Their cocks won’t fit inside you like mine does. They won’t fill you up as much as I can. I’m ruining you. I don’t even think you’ll be able to make yourself cum after this. Every time you want to feel pleasure, real pleasure, you’ll have to call and beg for it. When you’re in bed with Tadashi, so late at night, and he’s sleeping next to you, you’re going to have to call me and beg to meet up with me so that I can get you off.” His words are just making you get closer again. You know that he’s just talking dirty to you, but you know how much truth weighs in those words. He’s right. 

“You know that, don’t you?” he asks, breathless from how relentlessly he’s fucking into you. 

You nod at the sentence, still thinking repetitively over the words he said to you and how true each of them is. Kei reaches down to start rubbing your clit again. He can see you’re close. He can feel that you’re close. Your pussy is gripping his cock, the rigid, wet walls milking him as you have your second orgasm.

“Yes, yes, Kei, fuck. I’ll never feel this full ever again. Please, please, will you fill me after this time? Please, I can’t imagine never fucking you again. Please,” you moan through your orgasm. You want confirmation of something to look forward to. You need him again. 

He laughs at how unapologetic you are at begging for him again before he’s even finished with you. He doesn’t answer but instead asks a question. “Tadashi fucks you doggy style, sometimes, doesn’t he?” He fucks you through the end of your orgasm. 

You nod, hesitantly, still blown away by cumming twice already. “Sometimes,” you reply. Kei snickers. 

“On all fours,” he directs you. “I was serious when I said I wanted to ruin you, baby.”

You assume the position on all fours, a position that Tadashi will sometimes have you take him in. You’ve never understood the hype around this position, but you’re hoping Kei teaches you. A sting spreads from your ass as Kei spanks you. You’re already feeling the hype. You whimper. 

“Again?” he asks, smirking. You nod, wanting to feel the pain but knowing that he’s going to do it regardless. He spanks you again, harder this time. He doesn’t ask if you want it again, just spanks you for a third time, even harder. You won’t be able to sit tomorrow if he continues on. You kind of want him to continue on. You’re not met with another sting, but Kei’s cock thrust completely inside of you until his hips are pressed against your ass in one motion. You choke on your own breath, coughing in surprise. 

He brings his hands up and snakes one into your hair, grabbing a fistful, and the other on your shoulder, using it to pull you back onto him. You hear your skin slap against his, hard. You can feel the sting on your ass from where Kei spanked you as it smashes against his thigh. He’s so deep inside you, you think you can feel him in your stomach. 

Kei’s chest goes flush against your back. He whispers into your ear, “The next time he’s fucking you, you’re going to say my name.” It’s almost hypnotic, how low and intriguing his voice is. “You won’t be able to get me out of your mind,” he tells you, each thrust into you punctuating his words. He straightens back up, gripping your hips as he fucks into you. His fingertips are going to leave bruises. “Do you know why?”

You shake your head no. You want him to tell you why. You want him to say anything to you, anything at all. 

“Because you’re my bitch,” he says so seriously, moving quicker as your wetness grew, slicking him even more at the sentence, “and Tadashi has never hit this…” Kei thrusts, angled into your g-spot. The sensation makes it feel like lava has erupted in your stomach. “and it’s all you’re going to think about when you’re in this position.” He knows exactly where it is and he won’t stop smashing the head of his cock into it repetitively. “How this is what it could’ve felt like, but he’ll never make you feel like this. So you’ll be thinking of me the entire time and you’re going to say my fucking name.”

It’s too much. Everything about this situation is too much. You’re speechless. You’re aware of every part of your body that Kei has gripped onto or smacked. Your eyes roll back into your head. You don’t even know what’s happening, only that Kei’s cock feels so good against your walls and slamming into your g-spot. You feel a warm sensation run down your legs slowly at first, but then explode onto the sheets beneath you and Kei’s cock and his lap as you scream for him. “Kei! Fuck! Yes, Kei. I won’t ever think of anyone else. Only you. Only you, Kei, fuck. Oh fuck.”

“Fuck, you just squirted all over my fucking cock, fuck.” For the first time tonight, Kei sounds like he can barely speak. He can’t think of a witty retort about how good he made you feel, he can only keep repeating those words. “Fuck, you squirted so fucking much all over me, baby. Fuck, good girl. Fuck.” He pulls himself out of you. If it weren’t for the mind-blowing orgasm you just had that you need a minute to recover from, you would’ve whined endlessly until he was back inside of you. Kei looks so focused right now and you’re realizing that his hand is on his cock, wrapped around right where his head meets his shaft, squeezing, not stroking. His chest is heaving and he’s swallowing excessively. He had to stop himself from cumming too early. (Define too early?) He’s made you cum 3 times already, feeling your pussy tighten around him as he didn’t even stutter, and has fucked you for over an hour, not even mentioning the abuse your throat went through.

You think he’s waiting for the sensation to pass before entering back inside you, but he drops to his knees, pulling your hips towards him. “You’ve earned this, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin. You feel his nose press up against your ass, his tongue sticking out and licking from your clit to your hole. He doesn’t use the tip like Tadashi does, he uses the flat side of his tongue, exploiting every part of the surface of his tongue. Your arms shake as he sticks his tongue into your hole, fucking it, moving his face back and forth. “Fuck, Kei.” 

He moves back down to your clit, flicking it with the tip this time, fast, before sucking it into his mouth and running his tongue over it again and again as he suctions onto it. “Holy fuck. Oh my God.” Your face is down in the bed, your arms refusing to support you anymore. The sounds that are coming from behind you are almost enough to make you cum on their own. Kei is slurping all of the juices that he’s created since he first started touching you.  You can’t see him, but the sounds are incredible. You can’t see him. 

“Kei, Kei, can I lay on my back? Can I see your face? I want to see your face.” You know you’re not in any position to ask him for anything, but you hope he listens to you. You want to watch him eat you out so badly. He hums into your pussy, nodding as he flips you over, spreading your legs even further. He looks up at you, his mouth completely clamped over your entire pussy, his tongue working particularly hard, creating an insane amount of pressure on your clit, swirling around it, in between your lips and slit, fucking into your hole as deep as he can. His eyes never leave yours. You try to keep up with him, but it’s too fucking much. Your head falls backward, staring up at the ceiling. Kei’s arms reach up, grabbing onto your tits, rolling both of your nipples between his long fingers.

“Look at me,” he mumbles into your pussy quickly before continuing his expertise. You listen to him. It’s the least you can do. You look at him, your eyes watering at the pleasure that he’s creating for you. It sounds so messy, so sloppy, so fucking good . 

“Don’t- Don’t stop. ‘M gonna-,” you moan so loudly that it scares you as Kei works even harder, sucking your clit into his mouth and nibbling it softly before using his entire mouth, his lips, his nose, his chin to rub against your pussy, spitting on it repeatedly to slick it up. “Fuck!” you’re screaming now and you can’t help the sensation release from you again, the clear liquid spraying from between your legs onto Kei’s face. You can’t even feel apologetic, but you don’t think he wants you to. He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit through your orgasm, you clench your thighs together, completely overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps rubbing your clit through the pain and into another wave of pleasure that quickly crashes into another orgasm. You’ve never come that quickly together before. There’s no squirt this time, only insane pleasure washing over you as you pant and scream Kei’s name. 

You’re out of breath. You can barely move. You’re so tired from all of the times that you’ve come, but you know how hard Kei is and you know how badly you want his fucking cum. 

“I want to be all the way inside of you,” Kei states. You’re confused and he can see the confusion on your face as he cleans his glasses with the blankets on the bed. 

“How? I mean, like, weren’t you… already all the way inside me?” you ask him, innocently.

“Deeper,” he says, laying down on the bed next to you and flipping you on top of him so your soaked pussy lips are wrapped around his length. He grunts at the feeling. You lift off of him as much as you can muster with how weak you’re feeling right now. He helps you, grabbing onto your ass and lifting gently until you’re up high enough for him to line himself up with your hole. 

“Sit,” he commands. You listen to him for the millionth time tonight, lowering yourself onto his cock. His cock hasn’t grown since he fucked you doggy style, but it feels so much bigger. It’s so much deeper inside of you as you’re seated on his cock. Your walls grip him on the way down.

“Fuck, you’re tight. How does Tadashi last so long in you?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know. 

You laugh for the first time all night, “He doesn’t.”

He holds onto your hips, looking up at you and how breathtaking you are. Your tits are out, moving with every breath that you take. It makes Kei’s cock twitch inside of you. “Bounce on my cock, baby.” He’s asking so much of you with the state that you’re in right now, but he knows you’ll listen to him. “Be a good girl. Bounce on my cock. I’ve done all the work tonight, sweetheart.” That’s all it takes. You get a sudden surge of energy as you nod, using your knees in the bed as springs to slide up and down his cock. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His fingernails dig into you again, bruising the already bruised skin. How are you going to explain all of these marks to Tadashi? You don’t even care at this point. You want Kei to keep making more. He’s guiding you up and down, though you’re doing most of the work. “Faster, baby, fuck.”

You listen. You bounce up and down on his cock faster, getting higher before slamming down against his lip. Your tits are bouncing just as wildly. He moves his hands from his hips to your tits, grabbing onto them and massaging them as you milk his cock. You purposefully tighten around him on the way up and relax on the way down. Your tight pussy desperately gripping at each inch of his length, coaxing the cum out of his cock. “God, fuck. Milk my cock, baby, yes.” Kei’s lines are becoming less demanding and more appreciative. They’re still commanding, but less harsh. He moves his hands back to your waist, lifting you almost completely off his cock, your head only tightly squeezing his head. 

“Ready?” he asks. The bliss on his face is still there, but there’s so much devilish intent now too. You don’t have time to ask questions or to even tell him yes as he fucks up into you. His hips are moving so quickly up that even though your body isn’t moving, the ripples of energy are tearing through you, shaking them violently. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Kei.” You’re already there. You’re already ready to cum just from penetration alone. 

“Not yet.” This is the hardest demand yet for you to listen to. “You can only cum when you feel my load fill you up.” You swallow hard, but nod frantically. 

He’s grunting so loudly as he claps into your pussy from underneath you. He’s getting so deep inside of you with every thrust. You’re speechless. You’re so on the edge the entire time that he’s fucking you like this that you can’t focus on anything else. He pulls you down completely on his cock and stops thrusting for a second. He’s breathing heavy as he snakes his arm around your waist, pulling you onto his chest, his cock still just as deep inside of you, but this time when he fucks into you, he hits you g-spot on the first thrust. “Kei, Kei, Kei,” you can’t stop saying his name, “I can’t- I can’t hold it.” You barely even notice the tears running down your cheeks as the pleasure is so built up inside of you. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck, almost.” His thrusts are getting sloppy, his cock is pulsating, you feel so fucking good wrapped so tightly around his cock, but he needs to feel you cum. He needs to feel your pussy tense up as he drills into you, knowing that he’s the reason you look so pretty, your face contorting from pure pleasure. He wants to feel you milk him, coaxing his big fucking load out of his balls and deep inside you. He can make you cum. He doesn’t have to ask you. He can just make you cum, even despite you trying to be such a good girl and listen for him. 

He holds your hips steady, slowing down for a few seconds, catching his own breath, letting himself relax. You’re both grateful and so sad about this. You’re grateful because you would have cum just then, but you’re sad because you wanted to cum so bad it hurt. He stills for a second and then he’s fucking into you again, but differently this time. His arms are shaking from holding you down against him so tightly, not letting you move, despite your numerous attempts to squirm, as he thrusts up into your tight, aching pussy mercilessly. You’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“I- I- I can’t hold it, Kei, please.” You’re trying to be so good for him. It’s making his balls tighten, but he doesn’t want to come yet. He can’t come until you milk it out of him. Do it. Cum, he thinks as he picks up speed, like sprinting the last half mile of a marathon. It’s as much as he can give and he wants it to be enough to push you over the edge without having to ask. You’ll feel so much better tightening around him while you apologize to him for not listening. 

“I’m going to cum, Kei, please, please, please, I’m sorry, fuck. I can’t hold it any longer,” the string of words come out so fast that they practically overlap each other. You cum around his cock, your pussy throbbing, gripping so tightly onto his cock as he keeps up the intensity of his thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you scream out. You start repeating his name over and over again, unable to think of anything else in the world. 

With your pussy clamping so hard down on his cock, it’s exactly what he needs. He feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing inside of you as his hips start to stutter messily. “Fuck, sweetheart, fuck, you’re making me cum, fuck,” he grunts, snapping his hips into you as hard as he can as he unloads inside of you, strings of cum filling up your insides, squeezing out of your pussy as he tries to fuck them deeper into you, but has already overfilled your abused pussy. He’s still cumming, feeling it leak out of his cock, when he pulls his cock from your pussy, letting it land on your ass and back down on his own cock. He slides his cock back into your pussy, going as deep as he can as before exhaling a final breath. 

You’re both quiet for a second, not talking about anything that just happened, just breathing. You’re still pressed up against his chest, cum dripping out of your pussy and onto Kei. You know that you should both clean up, but you’ve never been this tired in your life. You can’t even roll off of him and you don’t think he could push you off. 

“When will Tadashi be home?” he asks, panting, trying to regain himself. 

“He doesn’t get back until tomorrow morning,” you hum happily, listening to his accelerated heartbeat. You don’t move, but he doesn’t ask you to move. Your breathing is more irregular than his is as you close your eyes. “Can we nap? I need to nap. That took so much out of me.”

Kei’s quiet for a moment. There’s no laugh or retort, he just nods, wrapping his arms around your waist and stroking your hair. He grabs the cleanest blanket that he can from where he’s pinned to the bed, draping it over top of both of you. You hum at the warmth. He knows that this is a part of the whole degradation thing, the comforting at the end. That’s why he’s doing it.

“Goodnight, Kei,” you smile up at him lazily, kissing his chest before laying it back down. “Oh, wait, Kei,” you look back up at him. 

“Hm?”

That’s why he’s doing it. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, blinking slowly. You’re so tired that you don’t even notice his heart skip a beat as you thank him. 

Right?

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima smut #hq smut #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x female reader #toriwritesshit

[a-kaash-me-outside]

the walls are thin - ch3

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | ch3 | next [masterlist]

// perfectly inconsiderate, maybe cluelessly oblivious ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6733 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: soft self-indulgent flirtationship with hanamaki, 18+ masturbation (and eventual smut), feelings are confusing, flirting is also confusing (but prevalent), seijoh4 hangout session, more lunch dates, flustered contact, afab reader she/her pronouns oh and ofc she's got a playlist (♡)

send an ask and i’ll add ya to the taglist! ~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

this has happened before. this isn’t some new phenomenon taking you by surprise. this has happened many times before, actually. this isn’t out of the ordinary for your overly sexually active, inconsiderate, unknown neighbor. 

but for some stupid reason it feels out of the ordinary for atsumu. not miya atsumu, the name on the door of your irritatingly thoughtless neighbor, but for atsumu, the one you texted for two weeks straight and that commented on every single one of your vacation photos with silly inside jokes and who called you to talk about his first day back at volleyball practice. 

you knew this time was coming sooner or later, or, in hindsight, you should have. he didn’t just magically change who he was because he met you and he admitted it himself, he only really started hanging out with you because he wanted to fuck you. and you don’t blame him for that. your motives were similar at first.

the shift from strangers to flirting strangers to friends was a bit more difficult than you thought it would be, especially when you haven’t really moved on from the whole flirting bit or the whole wanting to be more than friends but not wanting to ruin the rest of your last college year bit. 

you know him now. maybe not know him, but you know enough, more than nothing, so being here, consciously listening to the first time that atsumu has fucked someone since you moved from nothing to something just isn’t sitting right with you. not that you can even really focus on the noises if you wanted to, not with all of this thinking going on in your head.

your stomach drops. 

this actually probably isn’t the first time that he’s fucking someone since you met. he probably picked back up on this routine the second that volleyball stopped for spring break and the realization is really making your stomach hurt. the thought of him with someone else, texting you before and after, is having too much of an effect on you. 

the only saving grace is that you can’t hear them, not the beds or the impact, but them. you’re not sure you could’ve ever recovered from that, not now. the air of the situation has already changed just from knowing him, but if you had to hear him too, you’re not sure you could have continued down this path of friendship. more than that, it feels like a betrayal, creepy maybe, and, at the very least, weird for you. you feel like a stranger in your own home. you can barely think as you swallow the lump in your throat. there’s so much on your mind, so many feelings swarming around you and you can feel every single one on your skin even if you can’t identify some of them.

and underneath it all, a small but persistent sting.

you can’t be here a second longer.

even as you close your door softly behind you, your chest feels tight. through your entire walk, your chest feels tight. you’re no longer in your room, but you can still feel the rhythm beneath your sternum. you shake your head, arms, all the way out to your hands, trying to get this feeling off of your body, sitting in anticipation as you wait for a response to your knocking.

“not fucking this again, you’re lucky-,” maki says, hushed but forceful, throwing open the door. whatever was about to come out of his mouth dissipates in his throat before it can even reach his tongue. he moves aside from the door, giving you plenty of space to leave the openness of the hallway. his features quickly morph into concern and now you’re feeling bad that you’re making it somebody else’s problem.

he locks the door quickly and pulls you into his room. only when his door is also shut and locked behind the two of you does he speak, “what happened?”

you’re silent for what feels like the better half of an hour, though realistically you’re sure is a handful of minutes. “‘ts stupid,” you mumble, shaking your head. you still feel small, but you’re starting to feel a bit more normal as maki wraps his fingers around your forearm. 

from the second that he saw you, he knew that whatever happened had something to do with your previously shitty turned okay turned shitty again obviously neighbor. he asks anyways, “did atsumu do something?”

you don’t try to, in fact, you actively try not to, but the events are too recent, mind too swarming to have as much control as you’d like; you wince at his name. despite everything you’re feeling, somehow you’re still able to focus on maki as he warms, mouth opening to spout something loud, but shutting to be replaced with a calm exhale. what he really wants to do is go over there at this exact second, but what he needs to do is just be there for you.

you shrug your shoulders a bit, pathetic laugh leaving your chest at the pure familiarity of it all, “lover boy’s at it again.” the confusion that takes on maki’s face is gone just as quickly, waiting for you to explain rather than make assumptions. you continue, “it’s been three weeks with nothing and then -”

maki interrupts you, sitting on his bed and smoothing the space next to him. you sit, back against the wall, legs crossed, head hanging. you explain everything to him and it’s hard to remember that all of this happened just a few hours ago. the lunch, the weird thing atsumu said to you, the hurt that you noticed on his face, the note he left you, the cactus, your feelings every step of the way.

by the end of it your head is on maki’s pillow facing maki whose head is also on his pillow and he has the slightest, feather-like, ghosting touch on your hip and you’re slowly forgetting the distress you were in earlier. maki’s always had that effect on you, really. 

“you’re welcome to stay over until-,” he starts, but you cut him off, shaking your head.

“no, i have to…,” you pause. have to what? “i have to do it, stay over at my own place and stuff. i can’t keep hiding at yours every time something happens,” you reason, and it feels good coming out of your mouth. it feels like progress. “i will take you up on that offer tonight, obviously, because i’m not moving from this very spot.” there isn’t much space between the two of you, but you’re determined for their to be none, scooching closer, forehead resting on his shoulder.

“tomorrow night i’ll sort myself out, wear headphones or something, i don’t know.” as you shrug, your arm moves against his, just another reminder of how close you are to him.

the two of you sit in silence for a minute and it’s nice to be able to not feel like you have to keep talking in an attempt to feel better. you pull back, just a few inches, to look at him, “but it’s nice that you’d let me stay here indefinitely,” you smile, a real smile, a lightness returning again if only for a moment. 

he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead. “unfortunately,” he jokes, “i would do just about anything for you, so.”

“i think that’s pretty fortunate for me,” you laugh softly, and you really do mean it.

/++/

you make true to your promise. the next day you stay in despite how much you want to leave your room and go anywhere else. 

> maki ♡ / 12:32 am > futon/bed is open if tonight’s too much btw

&lt; 12:32 am < should be okay < but ty < will update you tomorrow < wish me luck

> maki ♡ / 12:33 am > nah > you don’t need it

the anticipation is almost worse than it just happening. you wait and wait and wait for the inevitable noise to come, but it doesn’t. by 1 am you’re wondering why you just haven’t gone to sleep yet. by 2 am you know that it’s because you want to know if something is going to happen. by 3 am you can barely keep your eyes open and he’s done it again, inadvertently fucked up your sleep schedule.

two more nights go by and nothing, both peaceful, quiet nights that you would’ve killed for at the beginning of the semester. now even these feel sour. 

it really can’t get any worse than this.

/++/

> miya atsumu / 11:23 am > are you avoiding me?

shit.

in the span of these three anticipatory days, you hadn’t seen atsumu, not in the hallway or around campus. that could potentially have been on account of you not being in your dorm building except to sleep and avoiding common student areas like the plague. potentially. 

you weren’t necessarily avoiding him, just the places where you had the highest chance of running into him. there’s a difference.

&lt; 12:01 pm < lol no

> miya atsumu / 12:03 pm > prove it. let’s go get lunch

shit.

/++/

you get there first, set out a small blanket in the far corner past the busy areas around the student union. of course you agreed to go and of course you felt like you might puke but you couldn’t just avoid him for the rest of the year and the longer you waited, the worse it would get. 

at least you had time to prepare yourself, fiddled with the lunch that you had grabbed, told yourself everything would probably be fine, tried to anticipate whatever his reaction would be to how awkward you were inevitably about to be. you try to keep your head down, like you couldn’t care less about when he’s coming, paying attention to your phone. this, of course, just means that his voice, all the way from across the lawn, scares the shit out of you.

“i can’t believe you tried to ghost me,” he says loudly, voice traveling, catching the attention of a few too many people, completely negating the quietness of the spot you’ve chosen, arm outstretched, pointer finger perfectly in your direction as he closes the distance between the two of you. “after i watched your plants, bought you lunch, got you a cactus?”

shit shit shit shit shit shit.  if it were anyone else, there would be a moment of fear, of terror, like you’ve certainly fucked something up, but with atsumu that wasn’t the case. his tone is light, perfectly airy, really, harboring a teasing nature that means the difference between fake annoyance and real. and there’s laughter bubbling up from your stomach, taking over the pit that has been sitting there since you first got his text message. 

you really try not to let him win, to let him back into your good graces as easily as you’re about to. though, you’re actually not sure he’s done anything wrong in the first place, not when you’re the one that basically turned him down, not vice versa. he’s still here, still trying to be your friend, still making an effort.

“i know where you live,” he shouts.

just like before, you feel all of your resolve slipping away. your lips upturn, smile wide as you let the laughter come in waves, clutching at your stomach when the feeling doesn’t stop for some reason. he takes a seat beside you, “come on, yn, people are staring. it wasn’t that funny,” he smirks.

still throwing tiny flirts and inside jokes in your direction. 

he’s looking gorgeous yet again. you only notice it, unfortunately, when he’s sitting right next to you, shoulder pressed up against yours, stealing a grape from your fruit cup. he’s to blame, really, for looking that good stealing your food. 

“i’m sorry i’ve been absent the past couple of days,” you say, and you mean it too much to care about how genuine it sounds in comparison to your typical taunting. 

you wait for him to keep it up, the poking fun, or at the very least ask you why you were gone, all outcomes that you really didn’t want to deal with. instead, however, he takes another piece of fruit from the plastic cup, “no sweat.” he shrugs, “just don’t do it again.”

you exhale something adjacent to a laugh, “alright, yeah, deal.”

he reaches over once more, hand open and moving towards your fruit cup. you smack his shoulder, “oh my god, get your own.” it’s effortless, the playfulness that comes out of you, and it’s making you feel like the past three days never even happened. he pauses and looks like he’s deep in thought. 

“nah,” he reaches forward again. this time a smack doesn’t do it, because despite you hitting his hand, wrist, forearm, wherever you can reach, multiple times, he just keeps pushing forward. there might be a metaphor somewhere there.

you grab onto his arm, “are you kidding?” it takes more of your strength than you’re willing to admit, wrapping both arms around his bicep and trying to pull him away, but he just keeps on. “i paid 5 whole dollars for that,” you groan, voice strained by the effort of your attempts as you practically crawl on top of him. he pulls his arm back further like it’s nothing at all to counteract the weight of your entire body on his arm, laughing as he does so. you make one final attempt, springing forward. 

“‘tsumu, seriously.”

and then he stops, blush spreading across his nose and cheeks. he clears his throat, doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring at you and you’re 100% certain that his blush is contagious. you don’t know whether to tease him or apologize or just carry on. you let your arms hang around his, knees on either side of his thigh.

eventually, you lean back into the balls of your feet, creating a bit more distance between the two of you slowly. it’s like your movement made the moment real, made it come back to life. he smiles, shakes his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”

all you can do is smile proudly, still frozen in this position and a tiny part of you, the smallest goddamn bit, wishes that there was something off about the interaction, but you can’t find a single bitter feeling anywhere. 

/++/

that night, you hear it. the second that it starts, you’re worried that it’s going to send you back into whatever that was again, but the only worrying that you actually end up doing is worrying about worrying. the thumping is soft. even in your bed, you can barely hear it. most of the time it fades into the background and only once every few minutes are you reminded that it’s even happening.

still, you’re convinced that any minute now all of that is going to change, the pace is going to pick up, the noises are going to get louder, you just know it. 

and then you fall asleep. during the lull between soft reminders, you drift off and in the morning you don’t really know what to feel. you just feel… normal?

you spend all morning worrying, then, that this normal is a false sense of security, that it’s going to start a weird cycle where you ditch atsumu for three days straight again, but while you’re getting ready, atsumu knocks on your door and offers to walk you to class even though his class doesn’t start until 10 and is on the other side of campus just because you mentioned that you get lonely on your 9 am walks in a passing text message during spring break.

the two of you walk to your class and atsumu tells you to meet him for lunch and you’re looking forward to it. you’re not even thinking about last night. maybe that’s because last night wasn’t too disruptive, but even still, you don’t spend the next nights waiting for something to happen. it just feels normal. 

it’s much less frequent than before, still happening every few days, but not nearly as often as before you knew him. though, you traded constancy for knowing him. it didn’t matter how far between those nights were, they were different now. not completely, of course. you still drowned it out with your headphones, still went to go study instead of just sitting around and dealing with it, but it was the times that you didn’t leave that were really different. 

before you used to just get annoyed at every noise that wasn’t a bedpost against your shared wall. the thumping was bad, but at least it was consistent. the squeaking, the moans, the muffled voices, now they weren’t just annoying. now you could see everything so clearly in your head. you had a face, a body, a personality to attribute to these actions.

every time these thoughts would start and your imagination wandered, you curbed it quickly. you didn’t let yourself indulge in them, only got so far as to tilt your head and listen closer one time. it felt like a breach of privacy, like you were betraying trust he didn’t even know he was instilling in you. 

the sounds were easy enough to ignore, sure, but the feeling of the wall against your shoulder? that was a little harder to feign oblivion to. the thumping was sending waves through your entire body and even though you weren’t listening, you could picture it so clearly in your head, not the rhythm, but his rhythm. the abstracts of these actions were becoming so human, so atsumu.

when you close your eyes you can see him, but you don’t see him over his shoulder or like a movie, no. you see him like you’re underneath him, like you’re the one making him shake the wall. you take a deep breath, hands moving on their own as they pull your headphones off, setting them on your side table so gently, like if you were too rough, atsumu would be able to hear you. 

your heart is beating so violently against your chest and there is a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that this is probably a bad idea, but you can hear him now, muffled but still audible, the groans and deliberate small praises. you slide your palm over your neck, squeezing gently, following your body down, digging your own nails into your collarbones, skimming over your chest. if you weren’t so aware that these noises had been going on for some time already, you might have teased yourself a bit more, let you feel yourself a bit more, but his moans are getting more desperate and you can’t hold yourself back.

your hand is slow as it moves between your legs, two fingers slipping between your lips and you’re almost embarrassed at how wet you are already. whoever else is in that room is sobbing, crying out his name and it’s not your voice, but you imagine that it is, like you’re the one he’s turned into this babbling mess. 

you push two fingers inside of yourself and it’s not enough, not big enough, not long enough, but it’ll do for now. you move your fingers in time with the thumping against the wall, getting faster when he does. 

“yeah? is it good?” he says, words punctuated by a faster pace. “tell me how good it is.”

“‘s so good,” you say under your breath, shoving another finger inside of yourself, other hand digging into the fat of your hip just like you’re imagining atsumu would.

“reach down and rub that fucking clit,” he groans through gritted teeth, the banging of the wall getting a bit less consistent. “fuck, that’s good.”

you move your other hand down, rubbing small circles into your clit as you finger yourself as fast as his pace is letting you. a whine is trapped in your throat, coming out in the form of a small, low hum as you roll your hips onto your fingers.

“deeper, atsumu, deeper, please,” you hear someone cry.

you know that you should probably feel jealous, and you do, but more than anything you feel yourself flood, your entire body warm as your sloppy hole quivers around your own fingers, around atsumu’s cock. you feel delusional. 

“not yet. not until ya’ve earn it,” he growls, “tighten that pussy around me. milk my cock.” the moan tears out of you without warning, throaty and taken, barely audible, mouth agape as you tighten around your own fingers. it’s not just what he’s saying, it’s how he sounds while he’s saying it, that fucking accent - thicker and stronger than any other time you’ve heard it. you’re shaking, your own mind deceiving you, telling you that one day you’ll coax it out of him, take him so well that you can barely fucking understand him.

you’re so close, so fucking close, but you don’t want to finish until he has, want to hear him as he comes, pay close attention to what he sounds like so you can play it on repeat everytime you fuck yourself

“good girl,” he says, and it’s like it was made for you. 

you’re whispering thank yous under your breath. you’re convinced he can hear them, that he knows how grateful you are for them. “gonna come,” you warn him.

“‘m almost there, fuck,” he grunts and the wall shakes harder, harsher. “fuck.” his voice is throaty. his breathing is labored, heavy. and then the walls stop shaking. a single strangled moan rips from atsumu, a string of mumbles and obscenities that you can’t really make out follow and you come all over your fingers, fucking yourself through your orgasm as your walls flutter around your all-too-small fingers. 

you pull your hands from between your legs, resting them at your side, chest rising and falling so heavily that you’re surprised you’re still conscious. fuck, you were going to need a minute to recover.

she obviously is not given that luxury. you hear some murmurs and mumbles, hear the bed groan, keys jingle, and a door open and then immediately shut. if you wanted to, you could go over there right now and see exactly what he looks like after something like that, but you can’t really move, couldn’t get up from your bed let alone put proper clothes on and walk over there despite how tempting that sounds.

after everything clears, you’re waiting for the regret to sink in, for the guilt to take its place, but it doesn’t. sure, it feels a bit taboo, but if you really regretted it, you wouldn’t have kept doing it. you wouldn’t have kept listening, kept masturbating to it, wouldn’t have stayed up waiting for it to happen.

and you’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing, how easy it was for you to face him during the day, to ask him how his nights were and to flirt with him in the same way that you used to. your relationship stays the same, good, great even. you continue to hang out just as much as you used to despite the fact that you knew things about him and his sex like that maybe you shouldn’t have known.

you learned things, patterns, kinks, all because atsumu was perfectly inconsiderate, maybe cluelessly oblivious. 

it wasn’t just the one time that she left minutes after everything was said and done, it was every time. in fact, if you really wanted to, you could, without even listening for the click of the door, go over there without catching her just on the basis of how consistent it was.

you knew that he loved to hear his own name during sex, moaned and panted and screamed and whined. he asked for it frequently, for them to call out his name, always seemed to be motivated by it.

you knew that he loved to be deep throated, but that no one could really take him as deep as he wanted to go. you wouldn’t admit to anyone the lengths you’ve gone to attempt it, even bought a new dildo just to open up your throat and to reach deeper and stretch you wider than your fingers could now. it felt so good, reached so deep. you could picture it as atsumu’s, use it whenever he boasted about how deep he was inside of you, how big his cock was, how well you took him.

you knew that his head is sensitive, could tell exactly when someone was paying extra attention to it based on his whimpers alone. you knew that there was one time that he got fingered and you have never heard him react so much to one thing. you knew that he loved to come deep inside, would ask if he could between sweet kisses, and when he got a positive response, he was gone in seconds. 

you knew that he loved dirty talk, though most of his partners usually left that up to him. the stunned silence that dirty talking right back could result in is something that didn’t happen enough, not when he was so fucking good. he deserved it all and thensome. he deserved everything that he wanted all at once, wrapped up in a neat little bow. 

and it just kept happening, this weird cycle of finding out more and more about atsumu’s sex life intercut with the two of you casually hanging out finding out more and more about atsumu’s life life.  

but sometimes the stars would align, sometimes they had a hand in each other in ways that you could have never even dreamed of. 

/++/

“do you have lunch plans, because you do now,” atsumu says in one quick string, jogging to catch up with you when he spots you on campus on his walk back to the dorm. 

“i actually already do have lunch plans,” you say, “but if i didn’t-.”

he cuts you off, face twisting into evident confusion, “just cancel them and come hang out with me instead.”

“no can do,” you say, shaking your head for emphasis, “i’ve bailed on them like three times already i think….” you pause, counting on your fingers, “for you. every time.”

“great, so one more isn’t that big of a deal,” he says, still walking along with you as you walk towards your rendezvous spot.

you laugh, “you know i think your persistence is cute, but it’s just not going to work this time.”

“but i don’t have lunch plans,” he complains.

“you could come have lunch with us,” you offer. you’re not sure if he’s going to go crazy for the idea, but at least it might be better than eating alone. 

“yea, right,” atsumu furrows his eyebrows, “i don’t think so. your friends don’t like me very much.”

“you’ve never even hung out with them,” you reason.

“i met your one friend that one time and i don’t think he likes me,” atsumu replies and despite the fact that you’re still walking towards lunch with your friends and despite the fact that he knows that, he’s still following alongside you. 

“i don’t think you liked him very much,” you retort. 

atsumu’s silence seems like a pretty strong tell, but then he speaks up, “yn, he called me the volleyball guy.”

“that’s a compliment, probably.”

“ha ha,” atsumu fakes.

“come on,” you say, taking his hand in yours and dragging him along, “let’s go have lunch with my friends, tsumu.”

he narrows his eyes at you, mouth about to open to protest, but he just can’t. “i never should have told you how i feel about that nickname.”

“well, then i’d never use it,” you point out.

he’s quiet for a beat. “yea, no, that’s much worse.”

/++/

when you approach the picnic table, atsumu’s hand in yours, oikawa is the first person to notice you, shooting a questioning look your way without notifying the rest of the guys who are arguing over god knows what. be cool, you mouth. the smile on oikawa’s face doesn’t exactly read cool, it reads more mischievous. 

you absolutely made a mistake. 

“yn-chan!” oikawa gets up, yanking iwaizumi up with him and moving around to the other side of the table with matsukawa. 

“what- what are you doing?” iwa asks, very evidently confused as to why oikawa is disrupting him in the middle of a heated argument. “yn can sit by issei, why are-.”

he’s not. 

“no! it’s okay! maki’s saved you a seat,” oikawa explains, waving both you and iwa off. 

the argument ceases, attention turns to you as a broad topic, but the focus is absolutely on the interlocked fingers between you and atsumu. now you have to make the choice to drop his hand or be confident about it and you’re not sure you can do either one. and, on top of that, worry about the fact that you’ve really just brought atsumu into the foxes den without even thinking.

though, atsumu never does leave you hanging. and, like always, he usually does surprise you. 

atsumu tightens his grip on your hand, holding tight as he picks his arm up and throws it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. you know that he’s soaking in the expressions that it’s elicited. slight tinge of anger on one, confusion on another, surprise on another. you just wish that you could somehow warn him about oikawa’s look of confounded vex. 

“atsumu’s going to be joining us for lunch if that’s cool,” you say, not waiting for a response as you sit down next to hanamaki. you assume it’s going to be weird, moving in time with atsumu draped on your shoulder, but he follows your lead. when you’re both sitting on the bench, he withdraws his arm, placing both forearms on the table after offering a small wave.

oikawa, you knew, could infer without even knowing his name, maki’s already met him, but you’re not sure that issei and hajime are completely understanding the extent of what’s happening, why oikawa is on offense right now. 

“so, how do you know yn?” oikawa asks, an iced coffee straw between his teeth. 

“well, we met because we live next to each other, but now we’re best friends,” atsumu explains and you don’t have to look at maki to know he wants to hit him right now. 

but this question wasn’t to provoke maki; it was to silently explain to the other people at the table what exactly was happening. iwa and issei instantly look gobsmacked. you don’t even know if they try to stop it, but if they do, they’re doing a terrible job.

“ah! that’s right!” oikawa chirps, “that neighbor we’ve heard all about.”

everyone is quiet for a second, waiting to see how atsumu will respond, but he doesn’t give oikawa nearly enough of a reaction. “well, i’m oikawa, this is iwa-chan, matsukawa, and you already know maki. of course, you know maki. anyone who knows yn knows maki.”

“yeah, we’ve met,” maki responds, smiling at oikawa’s description of him, “how’s volleyball?”

you shoot oikawa a warning glare as iwaizumi and issei start a conversation with atsumu about volleyball. watch it, you mouth. oikawa just looks confused, but you catch the slight smile that he throws in maki’s direction.

the conversations are split now. atsumu is talking to iwa and issei, conversation shifting from volleyball to iwaizumi’s goals for the future in athletic training. even with all of the shenanigans that oikawa’s already executed, atsumu is deep in thoughtful conversation with half of your friend group and if it isn’t making your heart swell up for some reason.

you lower your voice for only the otherside of the table to hear, “if you don’t knock it off…”

“then what, yn?” oikawa smirks.

“i’m going to bring hajime into this,” you narrow your eyes. it’s always a gamble bringing up hajime with oikawa. sometimes it works like a charm, a perfect pacifier to a fired up oikawa, but sometimes it backfires, just driving oikawa in the exact opposite direction of where you’re trying to get him to go. maybe you shouldn’t have bet on hajime today.

“no one likes a tattletail,” oikawa whispers, “you’ll see.”

the anticipation is back, something that you really didn’t want to return for a while. you’ve had enough of it this semester if you’re being honest. atsumu stays, thankfully, paying attention to his half of the table, laughing along with the two men about whatever they’re talking about while you face maki. 

he’s not necessarily talking to you about anything in particular, just about his day and updating you on the situation with one of his old coworkers, telling jokes and just being maki. when he mentions something stupid, something unreasonably funny, it takes you by surprise, letting your head fall and clash against maki’s shoulder, holding the other one in your hand as laughter bellows from the two of you as if you were alone.

all at once, you’re taken out of the moment as you feel a hand rest on your thigh, long fingers spanning over the fabric of your skirt, curling around the hem. you slowly bring your head up, arm still resting on maki’s other shoulder and maybe this was oikawa’s plan all along, to get you to sit between maki and atsumu and feel it as much as you’re feeling it right now. 

if only that were the case.

oikawa butts in on atsumu, matsukawa, and iwaizumi’s conversation, completely disregarding whatever they’re talking about. “hajime and i are together,” oikawa says, throwing his arm around iwaizumi’s shoulder, pulling him closer in a very familiar way. 

“oh, that’s great,” atsumu says, evidently confused at the relevance and the disruption.

iwaizumi grabs oikawa’s wrist, throwing it off of him, “you’re being weird, kawa. you don’t even put your arm around me, i put my arm around you if anything-”

oikawa ignores him completely, “you know, that reminds me of something!” he points repetitively at atsumu as if he’s remembering something for the first time that he has to blurt out or he’ll never remember it again. he leans forward like he’s telling a secret.

no.

no.

no.

“y’know, maki and yn used to date,” oikawa says in a tone that you would use to tell someone a fun fact. atsumu stills, hand withdrawing from your lap as he turns to face the two of you. your hand is lingering on maki’s shoulder and you don’t want to move it because then it seems suspicious. 

you turn to face atsumu, letting your hand drop from maki’s shoulder. you can’t read the expression on atsumu’s face again. you’re not a fan of that feeling. 

“really?” is all atsumu asks, nothing more.

you clear your throat, “yeah, during freshman and sophomore year when all of us became friends in the first place.”

“hm,” he hums, and everyone is just waiting for something more, a bigger reaction, a scoff, a confrontation.

but atsumu never does leave you hanging. and, like always, he usually does surprise you.

atsumu snakes his arm around your waist, protective grasp punctuated by his fingertips digging into your side, the pads of his fingertips brushing against your skin as he pushes them under your loose shirt. he pulls you closer to him, slides you across the bench, away from maki, your side now pressed up against his. “yeah, but you’re just friends now, so,” atsumu shrugs and continues on with his conversation that oikawa interrupted previously. 

maki and oikawa look more shocked than atsumu did. there’s a slight trace of annoyance on oikawa’s features, but maki’s is just complete shock, not animosity, just shock.

the rest of lunch goes by without another oikawa fueled hitch.

/++/

today could’ve gone a lot differently. 

if oikawa wasn’t oikawa and atsumu wasn’t atsumu then it would’ve gone very differently, you’re sure. one very important difference being that you wouldn’t be here, in bed, about to fall asleep only to be woken up to that familiar sound. or, at the very least, if things would’ve gone much differently you would’ve felt too bad, too awkward, too guilty to pull the dildo from your bedside table even though you really had no intention of fucking yourself tonight.

you liked these nights the most, the ones where you were able to take it all in, tease yourself just like you’re sure he was teasing her. you could listen and be patient and follow along so nicely, but you don’t get that same luxury tonight. it’s all very quick, very fast paced and atsumu is being uncharacteristically quiet. 

when he slips inside of her, you can hear the snag in his breath, and you mimic it, pushing the dildo inside of you. then you feel the vibrations. you really feel the vibrations, harder than you’ve ever felt that. it doesn’t feel like just your wall is shaking, it feels like your whole room is shaking, it’s harsh.

“fuck, is that good?” atsumu asks, the first thing he’s said all night and you can’t believe how much you missed his voice. mmhm, you whine. you can’t make the dildo fuck you as fast and as hard as you know atsumu is going right now. your arm won’t move that fast, not while feeling the stroke of his entire cock. it’s not as good as he is and you know it. 

“tell me,” atsumu huffs, and usually it’s muffled, but you feel like you can hear it clear as day, right in your ear, “tell me i’m the best you’ve ever had.” your hand stops, motions cease. did you hear him correctly? it sounded so clear, you can’t be mistaken. maybe you’re making things up or putting meaning to things that aren’t really like that. you shake it off, hand moving again trying to match his speed.

he’s already out of breath, panting, and you’re realizing that the reason you haven’t been able to really hear her is because she hasn’t stopped making noise this whole time, a low, monotonous crying that hasn’t changed a bit.

“tell me,” he says, voice just as harsh as his movements.

“fuck, atsumu, you’re the best i’ve ever had.” you can’t imagine it’s not the truth. the same sentence falls out of your mouth.

“yeah? i’m better than him?” he asks, groans getting more possessive, pleas getting more desperate. he can’t even wait for her to respond, needs to hear it now. “tell me, fuck, tell me i’m better than him.” you can’t breathe. it’s not a coincidence. it can’t be. you’ve listened to atsumu have sex enough times to know that this isn’t just some kink thing that he likes. this is pointed. this is fueled. and you know exactly by what. 

she listens quickly, which is fair considering that this is probably the best she’s ever felt, despite not really understanding what he’s asking her to say, “you’re so much better than him. fuck, you’re so good, atsumu.”

“yea? ‘m bigger than him, make you feel so much better than him,” atsumu groans, no longer asking, room shaking as he chases his high, “fuck need to fill you, please, fuck.”

“yes, fuck, fill me.”

“gonna fill you so full, make you feel so much fuller than he can, every drop just for you,” he whines. shit, you wanted to hear those whines in your dreams. 

“every drop for me,” you whimper, pumping the cock in and out of you, clenching around the thickness, so fucking close despite the few times you couldn’t help but stop.

“just for you, -” he grunts, pretty little scream hitting him and you’re sure that tonight wasn’t just incredible for whoever he was inside of right now. it’s not the scream that sends you over the edge, but the beginning sounds of your name that fall from his tongue but are quickly cut short. 

you push the dildo out of the way, body and mind exhausted by whatever just fucking happened. you count the seconds until this person is gone from atsumu’s room. the lock clicks, door opens, then slowly shuts. in the quiet of the aftermath, you hear a heavy sigh and a loud, “fuck!” followed by another softer sigh.

maybe you had more of an effect on him than you thought.

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send an ask and i’ll add ya to the taglist! ~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

#atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #atsumu x reader smut #atsumu x female reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader smut #atsumu x yn #hq fluff #hq fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #eventual smut #toriwritesshit #twrt!

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch6

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch6 [masterlist]

// a really great idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ~ 7392 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, squirting, sex in a bed!!, a lot of feelings and love!!!!, intimacy in more than just the bedroom fr, names names names pet names a million pet names, oral f!receiving, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: oh good god guys we're finally here. thanks to everyone who is going to read this last chapter even though it literally took me over 6 months to write it. i hope you enjoy it and i'm glad it's over and that it happened. ily all. hope u enjoy. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’re not sure you’d admit it to anyone, but walking into osamu’s apartment for the first time feels like coming home after a long day at work. you can see yourself here, more than you can in your own apartment or your childhood home. you feel just a little bit more like yourself, shoulders relaxing in a way that you didn’t think they needed to, breath a tiny fraction steadier. you’re not sure you’ve felt this comfortable in a really long time. 

you don’t have to ask him where to put your shoes or where to hang your jacket, and he doesn’t take them from you either. he doesn’t put them away for you or tell you to hang them on the hangers in the empty closet down the hall. 

when he unlocks his door and pushes inside, you mimic his motions, placing your shoes gingerly on the rack to the right of the closet between his white sneakers and black work shoes, hanging your jacket on the empty hooks above the spot where you've just retired your shoes. 

stepping deeper into his apartment, he offers a small, “so, welcome,” he says, gesturing to the living room, one hand softly wrapped around yours as he tugs you along. stepping past the barrier of the front door, further into osamu’s space, you don’t feel like a guest here. you just feel like you belong.

“oh my god, it’s so clean in here,” you say, a few paces ahead of him now, but he refuses to break contact, to let go of your fingertips so he walks quickly along with you. 

“well, yea, i’m not really ever home,” he explains, shrugging, as you walk around his living room eyes stopping at the neatly organized coffee table with cork coasters and a yellow hard-covered book titled this book will make you kinder, at the photos on his wall of him and his brother and him and his restaurant and him and suna, at the plants in the window sill and the dustless, dirtless ledge beneath them. 

you shake your head, “no, that’s not true. you come home after work and you’re here before you leave for work, and i’m sure you’re super busy leaving in the morning and super tired when you come home at night, so it’s really impressive that it’s really clean.”

he lets out a half-laugh, a breathy light scoff in the place of a real response. you turn around, looking at him directly with a mischievous look on your face, “unless you cleaned your apartment just for me tonight?”

osamu’s quiet, a very telling silence, a wordless admittance. “oh my god!” you say, hands on your hip, and the slight hold that he has on your fingertips isn’t broken yet, his hand now pressed against your side, fingers curling around your hip as he pulls you a little closer.  

“okay!” he admits, “so i am pretty tidy anyways, but there may have been a few dishes in the sink and the bed might not have been made and the couch cushions didn’t look that good before but-”

you shake your head, clicking your tongue, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tease, “how presumptuous of you that i would come back here after our date?” 

“i didn’t think we’d just fuck in the bathroom again, baby, what was i supposed to do, you literally said-” he says, trying to explain himself, unstoppable smile on his face as he pulls you even closer to him.

“do you think i’m that kinda girl? to just fuck you on the first date?” you ask, palm flat against his chest now, the other hand snaking up to lazily drape around his neck.

he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you tight around your arms and shoulders, holding you in place as he laughs so deep that it sends tingles and shivers down your spine and skin. “you’re very funny, y’know that?” he asks, squishing you against his chest as he presses kiss after kiss into the top of your head. 

“you made the bed? fixed the couch cushions? samu, i mean, really, what did you think was going to happen tonight?” you giggle, emphasizing every other word dramatically as you squirm in his tight grasp.

“i mean,” he says, leaning back to look at the warmth on your face, the fluster that lies with it, “you are here, aren’t you? i couldn’t have been that wrong if the cleaning paid off.”

you giggle harder now, leaning up and pressing a kiss into wherever you can reach in his strong hold. “i sure am,” you agree. he loosens his grip, hand falling down your arm to thread his fingers with yours again. he pecks a small kiss against your lips and then your cheek. 

“you sure are,” he says, warmly. 

you really could’ve stayed in the middle of his living room forever surrounded by couches and books on shelves and an impressive entertainment system. you didn’t need any of it either, didn’t need a place to sit or things to keep you busy, you’d be really happy just staring at osamu for the rest of time, at hearing him laugh, at feeling his pulse in your palm.  

“can i getcha a drink?” he asks, pulling you out of this mellow, love-struck state in the name of hospitality. 

“only if i can come with you,” you say, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. your motivation is 70% wanting to stay with osamu and 30% wanting to see what his kitchen looks like: what kind of mugs he has, where he keeps his silverware, if his knives and pans are on display or tucked away in cabinets.

“clingy,” he teases, smile huge because there wasn’t any way that he was leaving you alone for even a second. 

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout. 

he doesn’t respond, only laughs and pulls you by the hand, “come on, pretty.”

you don’t protest anymore, following along happily into the kitchen, forcing yourself to sit on the barstool in front of the bar rather than snoop in his cupboards and drawers. he’s hesitant to let his touch fall from yours, to let go of the contact he has on your hand and your hip, but he does, presses a small kiss into the side of your head, and walks deeper into his kitchen.

from here you can see the kettle on the counter and the knives on a metallic strip above the black countertop. the pans are nowhere to be seen. they must be hidden away somewhere safe. you don’t say anything and neither does he as he pulls wine glasses and mugs and cups out of the cupboard and places them on the countertop in front of you. 

and you still don’t feel like a guest. 

it feels like osamu getting you a drink is because he loves you, like you could get up and get your own if you wanted to, like you already knew where the tea bags were and the spoons and the shelf that the sugar resided, like next time you would return the favor, let him sit down for a minute while you made the two of you tea or poured another glass of wine. 

“what’s it gonna be?” he asks, gesturing to your choices on the bar in front of you.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me that before pulling out all the cups?” you tease, eyes moving from cup to mug to wine glass. 

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

“what are you in the mood for?” you ask, reaching to pick up the mug, black ceramic with a gray stripe along the base. you turn it over in your hand, running your fingers along the matte texture. yeah, this feels like a mug osamu would own. 

“anything, really,” he says, smiling before the rest of the flirt even comes out of his mouth, “as long as i’m drinking it with you on my couch, i will be very happy.”

you roll your eyes. it’s really unfair how predictable, yet how adorable, he is when it comes to things like that. “alright, how about wine now, tea later?” you ask.

he rests both of his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, nodding as he does, removing the cups from the counter and pushing the mugs towards the tea kettle. “sounds like a plan, angel,” he says, disappearing behind the pantry door and coming back with a bottle of wine. 

he doesn’t recork the wine or put the bottle back, leaves it exactly where he sets it on the counter in a rush to just drink wine on his couch with you. he carries your glass for you as he guides you back to the couch. 

sitting on the plush, perfectly set cushions, tucking yourself into the corner against the arm rest, osamu pressed up against you, pulling your legs over the tops of his, his hand resting comfortably on your calf, you’re not sure you’ll ever really be ready to go back to your own cold, lonely apartment. when you close your eyes, you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

your first glass of wine isn’t even finished before he interrupts your current conversation of favorite movies and media with a stupidly cute, nervous question, “so, can i ask you now?” 

you want to be stunned or at least fake it, but you can only lean closer into him, setting your wine glass down on the coaster on the coffee table to wrap both of your arms around his bicep. “ask me what?” you tease.

he shakes his head, “y’know that night i thought you were so out of my league.”

you lean backwards, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “no fucking way.”

“swear,” he laughs, leaning forward to set his glass down next to yours, “and i was out of my depth, had no idea what i was doing, just couldn’t stop staring at you-”

“oh, i know,” you say, recalling his smitten, lingering stare so perfectly that your face feels warm, “every time i would look over in your direction you would be looking at me like this.” you mimic your recollection as best as you can.

he puts his face in his hands. “that’s so embarrassing,” he says, and it’s muffled by his palms. you wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his face and kissing the backs of them.

“no, no, it was cute,” you say, but he still groans. you continue, “samu, i was into it, obviously.”

he explains further, “sumu was like shoving me over there so blatantly that i almost didn’t go over there.” he shakes his head at the memory, at the alternate universe where his stupid brother alone failed to start the best chain of events of his life. “and then omi leaned over to me and was like, ‘i'll distract your dumbass brother, go have a good night, you deserve it.’” 

“remind me to thank him then,” you say, softly, shifting against the couch to lean against his shoulder instead of the armrest. 

“will do,” he says, smile in his voice as he snakes his arm around your waist, hand resting on the side of your thigh. “i’ve thanked him plenty for both of us, but it might mean more coming from a new mouth.”

“you just say the most romantic things like it’s nothing,” you say.

“i don’t try,” he admits, “just hard not to be romantic when i’m with you.” he reaches across you with his other arm, pulls you further into his lap until both of your knees are on either side of his thighs and you’re facing him. “sorry,” he mumbles, “wanted to look at ya.”

“you’ve gotta be doing this on purpose,” you whisper. 

his fingers scrape against the tops of your tights before rooting on your hips. he shakes his head. “it’s all you, really,” he whispers back. “these thoughts just come into my mind and i say them. love you so much, you make it easy.”

you’re very grateful for this position because it’s effortless to lean down and crash your lips into his, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss, to feel his chest lift to kiss you harder. he tastes like expensive wine and a little bit like you still and you might cry, he’s just really perfect. 

he places his hand on your shoulder, holds you in place as he leans back into the couch. the pout is already forming on your lip, so he runs his thumb across it gently. “will you be mine?” he asks, adding before you’ve even answered, “let me love you with labels.”

“oh my god, samu, you’re going to kill me, y’know that?” you say, hands cupping both of his cheeks before kissing him sweetly. “how do you expect me to keep up with this?”

“just say yes,” he says, quickly, “that’s enough for me.”

“of course,” you say, forehead resting gently against his, kiss placed on his nose and then the high of his cheekbone. you repeat it again just in case he missed it the first time, “of course.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t make this happen sooner,” he says, soft sigh accompanying his remorseful tone.

“stop that,” you hush him.

“i mean it,” he says, sitting up into you a bit more, “if i would’ve figured my shit out sooner, we could’ve been doing this for months.”

“yeah, but you don’t know if everything would’ve turned out the same way,” you say, bringing your hands up into his hair, “if that would’ve been too soon or if we needed to go through all we went through to be as strong as we are now, there’s no way to know, really.”

he smiles at you, not opening his mouth to say anything, just soaking in the moment, humming at your astute thought. you continue, “i guess i just mean that, yea, getting more time with you would’ve been great, but we can’t do anything about that. so i’m just really glad to be with you now, here, drinking wine and sitting in your lap and kissing you.”

“and you say i’m the romantic,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

“you are,” you argue. 

/\ /\ /\

neither of you even finish your first glass of wine. even if you had, there was no way the two of you were untangling from each other and making your way into the kitchen for another, not in the middle of unimportance conversations about your thoughts on christmas lights or osamu’s thoughts on the type of pet he’d like to have one day. 

but as the hours tick on, as the clock hands droop lower and lower, osamu knows that you need some sort of transition period to staying the night. “cup of tea before we go to bed?” he asks, head resting against the back cushion of the couch staring into your eyes with as much love as he can.

“are you being presumptuous again, samu?” you tease, but your eyelids are getting heavier and you can’t put a lot of effort into the taunting. 

“i’m sorry, princess, do you want to stay the night?” he asks, gut-wrenchingly sincere. 

“i would really love that, yea,” you say, flustered in the backfiring of your banter, “and tea sounds really nice too.” 

he nods, once, short and happy, ready to move you off of his lap to go get the two of you a final drink before bed, but you get off of him first. “i’ll get it,” you offer, waiting with bated breath for him to fight you on it or to be weirded out by the forwardness of raiding his kitchen to feel the domesticity a little harder.  

he doesn’t protest at all, lets the smitten, lingering stare last for a few moments before saying, “only if i can come with you.”

before you’ve made it to the kitchen with osamu in tow, he stops you, plants in place in front of the hallway to his bedroom, and nods towards it. “but first, can we get you into some comfier clothes?” he asks. “nighttime tea tastes better when you’re in comfy clothes,” he reasons. you can’t disagree. 

you follow him down the hall to his room. you don’t get a good look at his plainly decorated room or the nicely made bed as you wait in the doorway. he returns quickly with a t-shirt of his. “you can change in the bathroom across the hall if you want,” he offers.

“you know you were inside of me in a fancy restaurant bathroom hours ago, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, pushing past him into his room and taking off all of your date clothes. osamu folds them neatly as you set them on the bed. when he picks up your torn tights, he can’t hold back his small laugh. 

“oh yea, so funny,” you joke, “you can probably throw those away.”

“but they’re perfectly good for having sex in public bathrooms,” he jokes back. 

you pull his shirt over your head, soft cotton taking the place of going out clothes and the difference is already lulling you to sleep. you’re determined to make osamu tea, but you can’t promise most of the cup won’t go cold on the counter.

it doesn’t take long for osamu to be on you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands roaming over your body, “you look so good right now.”

“shut up,” you say, pushing him away with the least amount of resolve anyone has ever had, “imagine how i feel looking at you wearing stuff like this.”

“you look better in it than i do,” he says, shaking his head. 

“not possible,” you say back.

he leans down to kiss you once before reluctantly pulling away, walking back over to his dresser to change into comfier clothes as well. if you weren’t so stupidly tired, seeing osamu shirtless and in super casual sweatpants would’ve been the perfect catalyst for your first night together having sex in a bed.

tea. sleep. tea. sleep. tea. sleep. you remind yourself.

“c’mon, angel,” he coaxes, pulling you by your hand back down the hallway and into the kitchen. he leans against the countertop, doesn’t say another word or try to make you tea despite your earlier statement. 

you start the kettle with the push of a button, pull the mugs from across the counter in front of you. you pluck two tea bags from the glass jar where they live. you have to open a few cupboards before finding the spoons, but the sugar is right where you think it will be. 

“i think knowing that you take sugar in your tea is both the most surprising thing and also somehow completely aligns with who you are,” you reason, pouring the gently boiling water over the tea bags. by the time you finish your sentence, you’ve noticed the enamored look on his face, but you don’t have time to comment on it as he replies. 

“that’s because you know me really well,” he says, nodding, loving smile still lingering. you put half of a spoonful of sugar into the cup, stir until it dissolves and then slid it against the countertop to him. he wraps his fingers around the warm cup, brings it to his lips, blows on it gently as if that’s going to do anything at all, and then takes the smallest sip. “perfect.”

you lean against the edge of the counter, holding the mug in your hands, waiting for the air to cool down the steaming beverage. “i think i’d be really okay with ending every single day of my life just like this,” you admit. if his eyes go wide or he recoils even the smallest percentage, you’ll blame it on the eventful day and the exhaustion that’s quickly overcoming you, but they don’t. his features soften, hand reaches across the counter to rub the back of your hand. 

“me too,” he reciprocates. “you’ll have to stay over more often,” he doubles down. 

“what?” you ask, taking a sip of your tea. you can feel the warmth hit your stomach. “have dinner ready for you when you come home and spend your nights off intertwined on the couch?” everything that you’re saying is getting closer and closer to practically asking to move in, but osamu doesn’t seem to mind. 

“exactly that,” he murmurs, “you’ll have to see if you like my bed first, though, before you resign yourself to coming over every night.”

“every night?” you ask, cheeky smile the only form of teasing that you’re giving right now, “maybe we should go check it out then.” you take one more sip of your tea and then set the cup down on the counter. osamu doesn’t even do that, pulls you away from behind the counter and down the hall. 

you climb into his bed, under his covers without asking or another mention. osamu joins you, climbing into the other side, and the two of you don’t waste a single second, curling up against each other, limbs lazily tangling, pressing up against one another as close as you possibly can. 

“the first time we’re in a bed together and we’re not even having sex,” he says, softly, reaching over and turning off his bedside light. it takes a few moments for your eyes to get adjusted, to make out the shapes of his face in the dark. 

“crazy, right?” you ask, smiling as you snuggling into his chest impossibly closer. 

“i like this though,” he admits, traces his fingers up and down your arms, “just being in bed with you, falling asleep with you, means i get to wake up with you.”

you hum at his voice, soft and deep, and the darkness looks the same as it does with shut eyes, but you’re trying your best to not let the sleep take you that fast. “can you keep me awake?” you ask.

“you’re literally falling asleep as we speak,” he says, your eyelids fluttering shut as if to make a point. you shake your head, but you don’t say anything else. “why do you want me to keep you awake, babygirl?”

“cause i wanna be in this moment a little while longer,” you reason, breath taking over your voice as the darkness and warmth pull you into a comforting hug.

“we’ll have plenty of time for moments like this later,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “plenty of time, so go to sleep, angel.”

you’re not even embarrassed at how quickly you listen to him.

/\ /\ /\

if last night wasn’t enough to convince you that you were exactly where you needed to be for the rest of your life, waking up in osamu’s arms definitely was. they’re strong around you, wrapped tightly around your waist, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, legs intertwined with yours. 

you’re incredibly surprised that you’ve woken up first, but the second that you start to stir, osamu’s grip loosens, and his head peaks over your shoulder and he places a small kiss on your cheek. “mornin’,” he says, raspy as he talks off the sleep. 

you turn in his arms, laying flat on your back so you can look at him directly. “good morning,” you say back, lifting your head to kiss him. “very good morning,” you say again. 

“cute,” he murmurs against your lips, “stupidly cute.” you reach your arms up, draping them over his neck loosely to pull him down into you. “do you want breakfast or something?” he asks.

you shake your head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “no,” you say, “well, maybe later? i think right now i just want, y’know, this.” you gesture with a small nod not really towards anything in particular, just to the situation.

he laughs, kissing the side of your face, “alright, this it is.”

you don’t say much else. nor does he. it’s all stolen kisses and roaming touches and silent exchanges. you don’t feel the need to talk, don’t have much to say, you’re communicating just fine without them. 

every touch is getting needier, every kiss is getting longer, sloppier, more desperate, and the only thing that you’ve been able to think about for the last hour is all of the promises that have been made to you about after date things. 

it doesn’t help that he’s on top of you now, tops of his thighs resting between your legs, hands on either side of your waist just looking at you like that. the first thing you say in over an hour is, “what, samu?”  

he laughs, pushing his fingertips up your body, under the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and up until your entire stomach is exposed. “god, you’re so hot,” he says, grabbing onto your waist to pull you closer to him. 

“samu,” you whine. 

“what, doll? it’s true,” he says, pushing your shirt up even further now, tits on display so pretty that you can feel him begin to grow hard against your inner thigh. “so pretty,” he murmurs. he tugs your shirt off, tosses it to the side with no regard for the tidiness of his room anymore. 

you’ve really never been this exposed before when you’ve had sex with osamu, always an article of clothes on, but now the only thing stopping you from being completely naked is the thin fabric of your panties and osamu’s fingers are already hooked in the waistband. you don’t protest as he drags them down your thighs, picks up your legs and rests them on his shoulder as he does. 

he presses a kiss into the side of your leg, slowly drops them back around him. your stomach is in knots, can barely breathe with the way that he’s looking at you, eyes traveling down your body so slowly that you can see each point that they linger a second longer.

“fuck, you look good,” osamu says, leaning down to kiss your shoulders, your collarbones, your chest.

“shut up,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair, scratching against the back of his head as he scrapes his teeth against your sensitive skin.

“no, i’m serious,” he says, leaning back, “you’re so fucking pretty, gorgeous actually.”

“ew, shut up,” you push him away jokingly, gently, “or i’m not going to let you fuck me unless we’re fully clothed ever again,” you joke.

he laughs against your neck, breath and vibrations tickling the wet skin. every single kiss feels personal, hand-crafted and perfectly thought of just for you. the placement is direct and purposeful and you can feel his love in every single one. 

“god, i’m going to take my time with you,” he says, pulling away again. you can feel the blush blooming under your skin, warming up every inch of you, igniting fires in your stomach.

“first time that we have a lot of it,” you joke, coaxing him back up to your lips. “and first time that i don’t have to be situated on a sink or the floor.”

“so you’ll be perfectly comfortable,” he says, kisses trailing between your tits and down your stomach, “while i eat you all morning long.”

“samu,” you say, crook of your elbow rising up to your face to hide behind it. he reaches up, pulls it away from your face. 

“don’t hide from me, doll, look so cute like that,” he says, laying between your thighs, pushing them open with familiar hands. you give in to the gentle pressure so easily that you swear you hear the faintest laugh coming from Osamu, but the light kisses peppering your thighs that follow gain your focus instantly. 

it should feel agonizing, the way he takes his time dragging his lips across every part of the skin between your legs, kissing and biting lightly. but the longer he’s there the more laughter flutters through your chest, the more your cheeks flush, the more loved you feel. you bring your hands to his face as he rests his head against your knee cupping one under his jaw and using the other to push his hair back a little. 

“make me feel so pretty, samu,” you mumble. he makes no attempt to answer, just holds your gaze with loving eyes as he brings himself to ghost near your already soaked pussy, the feeling his breath overwhelming any of your other senses. 

“just want you to see yourself through my eyes, princess.” the end of his sentence comes with a long, slow swipe of his tongue against your hyper sensitive clit and it feels good to finally not worry about who can hear you. 

you dig your head back into the pillow, hair already a mess after a perfectly restful night’s sleep. you can feel his eyes burning into you, even if you can’t see them, even if your focus is really anywhere but the agonizing feather-like touches between your legs.  

it’s a shame, you think, but only for a moment, that his mouth is so busy that you can’t hear him call you pretty names or poke fun at you for whining so much. only for a moment. 

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert. 

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it. 

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets. 

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine. 

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will. 

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours. 

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him. 

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them. 

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock. 

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock. 

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.” 

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face. 

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.” 

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you. 

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something. 

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going. 

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod. 

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms. 

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it. 

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer. 

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t. 

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t. 

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you. 

“what now?” you mumble, not moving. 

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him. 

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket. 

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs. 

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

you look happy there. 

you look really happy there.

taglist: @miyaluv127 @useless-bicth @mushasstuff @unstaaableaf @mimivinx @tsukiran @kurapika-1999 @hehatesmati @karmakarter @hunny-hotline @bella009888 @um-no-ok @footjib @mon-cherries @privthemis @agashki @renster05 @greeniegreengreen @tokyo-banana @fandomtrash5092 @coyloves @heathsuii @pasta-water @ran-rangasma @ayz-it-they @ellesalzar @dabibreeder @s4m1 @perry-gallifrey @barely-coherent @katsunarii @thisbicc @jaynawayna @levis-wheelchair @sugar-crumbs @miyaslvt @sheeshizzy @i0nlyr343mut @ajbutasimp @snazzyturtles @idontevenknowlolls @nicerthanu @angelgvtzzz @lovely-part-time-whore @lilac-ski3s @dovenu @heirxx @kur0obaby @tetsuswhore @alienvarmint @georgettesand @misfit-megumi @bijuu-naginata @captain-alien-america @ti-mame @buckys-hoeee @whos-curiosity-killed-the-cat @stargazing-girl @whoisgami @zany17 @privthemis @pennylanewrites @buckys-hoeee @avfox24 @reinertiddiejuice @poke-pia @its-simply-me19 @nahcho @sugamonster22 @destinyg237 @msbyomimi

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

#osamu x reader #osamu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #osamu x reader smut #hq x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haiykuu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader smut #osamu x reader fluff #osamu fluff #osamu fic #hq fic #toriwritesshit #abd update!

[a-kaash-me-outside]

Would love number 3 “you feel so good” from the prompts with bokuto👉👈💞

bet.

// <3 send me a subtle prompt <3 //

"baby," you whine, hand softly placed on his wrist to coax his attention. he looks up at you, eyes reluctantly pulling away from the sight of his heavy cock rubbing against your sloppy pussy. his hips don't stop, slowly rolling as he pushes the underside of his cock between your lips.

"hm?" he questions and you're positive that he's, at best, half-listening to your mewls and pouts.

"bo," you whine again, tapping two fingers against his forearm. at this movement, he focuses on your lips, your eyebrows furrowed together, your inability to sit still.

"need it inside, don't you?" he asks, thumb pressing down on the top of his cock, the tip prodding at your quivering hole, but not pushing inside just yet. "sorry, puppy, just," he grunts, head tilting back as his cock slips between your puffy lips, struggling to wrap around his thickness as his cock is coated with your wetness. "you feel so good."

you circle your hips, arching your back, trying everything in your power to take him inside. "kou, please," you try one last time, voice nearly cracking at the end. you can barely finish your sentence before bokuto has pushed inside of you, unable to deny you just a second longer.

enveloped by your warmth and tightness, he can barely move, head thrown back, large hands braced on the insides of your thighs, "fuck, you feel so good."

#bokuto x reader #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader smut #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader smut #toriwritesshit #subtle prompts!

[a-kaash-me-outside]

Hi Tori love! Hope you’ve been doing well c: Would love to hear 17 and 24 with Osamu Miya from the subtle smut prompts list if you’re up for it! <3

hi bb. ty for the prompt! srs love all these little subtle prompts. ily.

<3 send me a subtle smut prompt <3

///

“i could come from just lookin’ atcha,” he says, nearly purrs into your ear before pulling away to watch your face morph into the pretty reactive expression.

you place your hand on his chest, pushing him away so gently that both of you can barely feel the pressure. “shut up,” you pant, turning your head to the side to evade his eye contact, forearm finding its way in front of your burning cheeks.

osamu wraps his hand around your wrist, slowly pulling your arm back down to your side. his rhythm doesn’t waiver, repetitively driving inside of you as he stares down at your quivering lip and your furrowed brows.

“m serious, doll,” he presses, “gotta slow down so i can really savor ya.” as the sentence leaves his mouth, his movements do exactly that. his quick, driving thrusts turn to slow rolls of his hips, palms pressing into your waist to hold you perfectly still as he fucks into you.

you mutter his name over and over, swallowing every other call for him in your gasping breaths. “s-samu,” you choke, “s- ts so good, need- need your..”

he shakes his head, smirking, cutting you off, “oh, baby girl, i could, just from looking at you and your pretty gasping face,” he punctuates his cooing with the sound of his hips slapping against the insides of your thighs, “but i need this to make this last, pretty.”

#shut up tori #toriwritesshit #osamu x reader smut #osamu x reader #osamu smut #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #hq x reader smut

[a-kaash-me-outside]

𝕚 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ~ 10k ᴡᴏʀᴅs (exactly) ✧ nsfw ✧ minors dni!! ✧

slight voyuerism, overstim, threesome, super sweet aftercare uwu

truthfully was not a kuroo simp before this and then i wrote this piece and now i’m literally so in love with him absolutely so soft for him so take that as u will

"I have a question for you.”

Before you've even turned over to face him, before you can even see the expression on his face, the one that looks like he's trying so hard to hide the mischief and failing miserably, you know that this question will not be a simple feat. "Kinda ominous that you started out with that and not just asking me the question," you say, flipping over on your side, propping yourself up on your elbow, "but I'll bite. What's up?"

“We’re close enough for me to ask you this question, I think,” he says, matching your position, jaw resting in the palm of his hand as his elbow sinks into the pillow beneath him. 

“Considering you were literally inside of me about 15 minutes ago, it worries me that you only think we’re close enough,” you retort.

"If you would be so willing," he starts, the facade already slipping and the real intent shining through as he ignores your comment. 

You cut him off, squinting at him and trying to pinpoint what emotion exactly is floating to the surface. "Seems less so now, but go on..."

"I need your help with something," he states plainly, innocently, despite the fact that you know whatever else comes out of his mouth won't be.

"You sure are dancing around this question, Kuroo," you reply.

"I have this theory, right," he pauses, giving you just enough time for your brain to start to wander, but not enough time to flesh out the details, "centered around limits and, well, someone exactly like you." The smirk on his face is in full view now, no remorse and no concealing the way that the corner of his lip pulls upward towards his narrowed eyes or the way they scan you, slowly, but not critically. 

“What kind of limits?” you ask, skeptical now and just as equally intrigued.

"Ones that involve you being completely naked and having a lot of trust in me and Tsukishima," he explains, as plainly stated as he possibly could for the words that he just spoke.

There are a million things that want to come out of your mouth, but the only thing that actually does is, "I'm sorry, what?" The shock doesn’t come from the thought of you being naked in front of him. You’ve done it plenty of times before and felt completely comfortable doing so. Honestly, you always have. It’s one of the perks of the fluidity of your relationship, the casualness of it all, more than friends, definitely not partners, some weird blend of best friends and fuck buddies. 

It isn’t about the trust either; you trust both of them completely. It’s the combination of the two. The only time that you hang out with Tsukishima is around Kuroo or in big group settings. There are a handful of names that could’ve come out of Kuroo’s mouth that would have made more sense than Tsukishima, someone that you’ve barely had solo interactions with, let alone shown any sort of romantic or sexual interest, no matter how attractive you thought he was or how much sexual interest was actually there. 

He doesn't respond, just gives you time to soak in what he's said, so you continue, "What do you mean by 'someone exactly like me', like it has to be me or…”

This time he answers straight away, looking directly into your eyes, giving you something to focus on as your head spins around the proposal. "It has to be you, but there's no pressure, is what I mean."

The vague praise makes a heat rise into your cheeks. Has to be you. You push past it, worrying that if you linger for too long, Kuroo will definitely start to notice. "But what kind of limits? You didn't really answer my que-."

“The more you know, the more prepared you'll feel and the less accurate and genuine your reactions will be," he explains, pausing to let you get the full effect of every single one of his words. "But you can trust me and Tsukki," he continues, "We'll take care of you."

You’re silent, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. And then it clicks. "Are you asking me if I'll have a threesome with you and Tsukishima? Is that what you're asking?" you blatantly pose, trying to figure out if this is some weird, convoluted way of approaching a difficult situation.

For the first time tonight, and maybe ever, you've shocked Kuroo, his demeanor faltering until he clears his throat. "Kinda? I guess," he starts, not really looking at you, but thinking, mulling over the question in his head before shaking it and back-pedaling, "I really want to test this theory that I have and Tsukishima agreed to be my assistant and," he turns the palm that’s not supporting his head upward and takes a deep breath, "will you help me?"

"Like, by take care of me, you mean...," you trail off, knowing that he’ll fill in the blanks without you having to reach for it. 

He moves closer to you, smirking at your curiosity. "I mean exactly what you're thinking." He pauses, wondering if he should take it as far as the thoughts in his head, and then he does, “just like I did tonight.”

You rush to respond, to distract yourself from the feeling that’s rising into your core, the one that’s making your heart rate quicken and palms begin to sweat. “Yes, Kuroo, I will have a threesome with you and Tsukishima. All you had to do was ask,” you tease, your voice just as strong as you need it to be.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, short and light, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist gently, extending his fingers against your palm and stroking the soft skin. His entire aura changes in an instant, the cockiness and complex fading away, leaving behind a look of sincerity and concern. “Seriously, though, if you don’t feel comf-.”

Your response is instant, almost instinctual. "I trust you," you say because it's true. 

His smile reappears, more confident now as he presses a quick kiss into the side of your hand, his eyes boring into yours as he does. “Good.”

//

The way that you were envisioning it, you were so absolutely sure that the science aspect of it would be pushed to the side. You knew that Kuroo was a science nerd at heart, sure, but there was no way that that would take priority over the fact that no matter how you sliced it, you were about to have a threesome with two very attractive men. 

Walking into Kuroo's house feels exactly like every other time you've walked into Kuroo's house, nothing ominous or altered about it. You kick off your shoes in the exact same way, you call out Kuroo's name in the exact same way, you throw your things on the side table right next to the door in the exact same way, and yet, Kuroo doesn't greet you in the exact same way. 

Kuroo doesn't greet you at all. 

It's Tsukishima that you see first, and who sees you first, and it's only then that you realize how different tonight has the potential of being. 

Still, you raise your hand in a nonchalant greeting, murmuring some sort of pleasantry that doesn't get returned to you. He only offers a small, "Hey." You can't get a good read on him, on whatever he's feeling, and it's so much different than Kuroo. 

With Kuroo, you could read every emotion that he wore, even if it was only there for half a second. You're not sure if that's the result of who Kuroo is, how long you've known him, or how well you know him. Either way, it was a luxury that you didn't have with Tsukishima, his eyes looking you up and down, but not saying another word or giving way to whatever he was thinking. 

You ignore his lack of reciprocation and ask him directly, "Do you know where Kuroo's at?"

"Sorry!" Kuroo calls from the other room, not letting Tsukishima answer, though you're not certain he would've. "I was finishing setting up. You're early."

"Yeah! Well, I made the first train so I didn't have to wait for the late one," you explain, the small talk feeling so foreign. "I hope that's okay," the courtesy also feeling very foreign. The air feels equally as foreign and you almost feel like you shouldn't be there.

And then Kuroo flashes a smile at you. He takes two quick, lengthy strides towards you, pushing your hair out of your face and leaning in close enough so that only you can hear him say, "Are you nervous?"

The unfamiliarity that was brought along by the possibility of rigidity fades away as soon as you feel Kuroo next to you, instantly feeling at ease again. You pull back from him, only a few inches to play into the question. “Why would I be nervous?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “Should I be nervous?” 

"You don't have any reason to be nervous, no," Kuroo denies. He takes you by the hand and pulls you along with him. "Thanks again for agreeing to help out. Do you want to get started?"

The formality almost makes you laugh, and you're grateful for it. There is plenty about this situation that could have made you spiral, but just being around Kuroo is making you feel so much more at ease. "Absolutely," you confirm. 

You follow him down the hall, your hand still in his despite the fact that you're pretty sure that you know his house layout better than your own. In fact, you're sure that if you were blindfolded, you could find your way to Kuroo's bedroom. The bedroom that you just passed. 

You're about to open your mouth, to poke fun at him for missing his own bedroom or to wonder aloud why you were walking so far, but then he stops abruptly in front of a door. 

"Your office?" you ask.

He nods, looking down at you and explaining, "Repurposed for testing."

His response surprises you, given the fact that up until this point you were still convinced that this was just a strangely-veiled setup for a normal threesome. The surprise doesn't have the chance to settle before more sets in.

He pushes open the door to his office, but it's not the same as it was the few times you've been in here before. The furniture is all pushed against the walls, making way for a long, steel table in the center of a perfectly white sheet on the floor. Beside it stood a matching, but significantly smaller, table holding a variety of neatly placed, and equally distanced toys. Your gaze doesn't remain on the table long, far more intrigued by the hinged lamp that was positioned next to it, pointed directly at the table, but turned off. 

The scene in front of you is like nothing you expected. You outstretch your arm, fingers spanning until they make contact with the table. It's so much colder than you think it's going to be, the chill sending shivers up your arms and throughout your body.

Kuroo can see the overwhelm in your movements and reactions, so he reaches out his hand and places it on top of yours, combatting the feeling of cold that's transferring to your body so easily. "Is this okay?" he asks. 

He's not talking about the hand placement, you know that. He's talking about the place that you're in, the company that's downstairs, what he's going to ask of you, to do to you, what the future holds. He curls his fingers around your own and withdrawals them from the table, fast enough for you to forget what the metal feels like against your skin, but not too fast as to startle you. 

You remember back to the conversation that you had with him, how much he cared about you feeling comfortable and not pressured. You remember back to how Kuroo's been the entire time you've known him. And then he solidifies it. 

"I meant what I said," he mutters into your shoulder, "We'll take care of you. You can trust us. I promise."

He places his hands on your hips, kissing up your shoulder gently and pulling you into him, your entire body weight resting on him. "Okay," you reply, letting yourself relax. "Yeah. I trust you." 

You can feel the kisses against your skin turn to smiles before he turns you around to face him, the small of your back resting against the edge of the table. "Can I let Tsukishima undress you?" he asks, your body turning rigid at the unfamiliarity of the concept. "Please." 

You don't reply, not fast enough at least, because Kuroo runs his hand up your body and places it under your chin, pinching it gently between his fingers. "What happened to trusting us, to letting us take care of you?" he asks, "Give up control, okay?"

“Okay,” you respond, maybe too quickly as you exhale the breath out of your lungs. 

“Okay, what?” Kuroo asks, lowering himself so that he can look into your eyes more easily. 

“Okay, I’ll give up control,” you explain. You wait for Kuroo’s response, but it doesn’t come. He stands there, eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he waits for you to continue. “Okay, I’ll let Tsukishima undress me.” Your cheeks feel warm as the words come out of your mouth. 

Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge you, just turns his head towards the entrance, immediately calling out of the room for Tsukishima who appears in the doorway in an instant. “We’re ready.” Tsukishima replaces Kuroo in front of you so seamlessly as Kuroo moves to the smaller table, pushing things around ever so slightly.

“Turn around,” he says, quietly. The words aren’t nearly as loud and commanding as Kuroo’s, but you still want to follow every direction he says. His slender fingers grab the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards as his fingers scrape against your stomach, his hips pressed firmly against the back of you.  

Despite how much of your skin that he’s touching and the goosebumps that it’s leaving behind, it all feels so precise, so scientific. You lift your arms, allowing Tsukishima to pull it over your head. You know that if it was Kuroo, your shirt would have been in a heap on the floor 15 seconds ago, but Tsukishima is taking his time, to tease you or not to make any mistakes, you’re not exactly sure. He straightens out your shirt, folding it in half, tucking the sleeves, and then folding it in half again, before setting it down gently onto the corner of the smaller table. 

His fingers are moving with so much care, each tiny movement planned and meticulous, and it’s affecting you far more than it should be. He snakes his arms around your waist, unbuttoning your pants, pulling down the zipper, navigating through touch alone. The contact brings you a comfort you didn’t expect, relaxing into Tsukishima’s arms and resting yourself against his chest. You feel him tense, lose his poise, if only for a beat. He slides your pants off, hooking his thumbs into your underwear and dragging them down in the same motion. 

His hands don’t linger longer than they need to, but God, do you want them to, wish they would hover over every inch of you just light enough so that you could feel their presence. He doesn’t even need to touch you. You just want him to be there. “On the table,” he directs, breaking you out of your escalating thoughts. He folds your pants with the same amount of care, in half, matching the hems, and then in half two more times, setting them on top of your shirt. 

You listen without acknowledging, climbing onto the table. “On your back,” Tsukishima specifies. You nod this time, hands bracing the table as you lower yourself slowly until your back is flat against it.

You’re not sure what shocks you more, how cold the metal is or how hard it is. There’s no forgiveness in the solid sheet you’re lying on top of. You arch ever so slightly in reaction to the sudden change. Tsukishima’s hand lies gently on your stomach, pushing, not harshly, to counter your movement, until you’re flat on the table again, embracing the uncomfortability of the material.

It’s Kuroo, now, that towers over top of you, looking down at you with a look so void of lust and filled with authority and inquiry. You feel so exposed. You’ve been naked in front of Kuroo so many times before, but this feels like an entirely new experience. “I’ll explain,” Kuroo says, distracting you, if only for a moment, from how on display you feel.

“It all started with an observation,” he kneels down right next to your face. You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still, concentrating on yours as he speaks. “Sex with you is incredible.” And now you know why he keeps his eyes trained on yours, the effect showing so strong within them. 

“So I was thinking, why is that? There are some obvious reasons,” he says, smiling as he pulls a reaction out of you once again, “but more than anything else, I think it’s because of how determined you are to hold off on your first orgasm.”

You blush at this, at the fact that he notices it in the first place and the fact that he’s saying it aloud with such pride. It doesn’t make complete sense, though, in your brain, why that would equate to the sex being incredible. He answers your unspoken question. 

He stands up, no longer worrying about how affected you are by what he says. “You focus so hard, so intently, on not coming for as long as you can so that your first orgasm is unsurmountable. Am I wrong? That would be really awkward if I was wrong.”

You shake your head, because, of course, he’s not wrong. You’ve always loved holding it, thought it made the pay off so much sweeter, and it definitely did. He knew it too. 

“So, then, I had a theory,” he says, walking to the foot of the table, placing both of his hands on each of your ankles, pulling them apart. “that you would stay so strong in the beginning, but then, as time goes on, you would crumble away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left.”

Your jaw falls open so subtly, but Kuroo notices, doesn’t try to hide his smirk as he does. “All you have to do,” he starts, “is wait to come for as long as you possibly can.” He runs his hands up your calves, massaging into them, and pushing up until he gets to the insides of your thighs. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod, slowly at first, because you’re not even sure that the movements are conscious, but then you feel his thumb digging into your thigh, rubbing pressured circles into the muscle, and a verbal confirmation following a breathy whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Great. Tsukishima, tell her the spiel,” Kuroo says, lifting his grip from off of your thighs so suddenly that another whimper breaks from your lips. Kuroo doesn’t even acknowledge it as he starts picking things up from the table beside you. 

“We’re working on a colored system. If at any time you’re feeling like something is moving into a place where it’s too much to handle, say yellow. We’ll stop, make sure you’re okay, slow down, adjust. If at any time, it’s too much and you need to stop for good, say red. We’ll stop, help you however you need to feel okay again,” Tsukishima explains, his hand resting on your arm the entire time, the touch helping you focus on every word. 

“If you can’t speak, three firm taps, squeezes, contact of any kind, whatever you can manage. Just three, repetitive motions, okay?” he asks. 

“Okay. Yellow, red, three touches. I got it,” you repeat, nodding along, and then tacking on a, “Thank you, Tsukishima.”

You’re so focused on Tsukishima’s words and the grasp that he has on your arm that you only notice Kuroo lowering himself next to you when he’s already there. He’s rubbing his thumb against the pads of his two fingers, pulling them apart meticulously as a string of liquid connects them together. 

He reaches his hand down, careful not to get the liquid on anything other than where he’s aiming. His fingers hover between your legs, not making any contact yet, just lingering. He speaks at the exact moment that he dips his fingers between your lips, the coolness of the lube rivaling the metal on your back when you first came into contact with it, “I’m going to let Tsukishima fuck you first, okay?”

Air draws into your lungs quickly, a small, sharp inhale both from the words and the feeling. “Okay,” you reply.

Kuroo rubs the lube between your lips. He lets his fingertips graze over your hole, teasing it, gently prodding, but not inserting them, not yet. “More lube,” he says, pulling his fingers away from your hole, but still between your lips. He rubs your clit with the length of his digits, letting the bundle of nerves slide between the creases of his fingers as you watch them intently. 

Tsukishima uncaps the bottle, letting a generous stream of lube pour onto your pussy, the excess dripping between your legs and onto the table. Kuroo adds another finger, rubbing the pads of them over top of your lips, repetitively moving them up and down until he slips the middle one inside of you.

“I’m going to stretch you out first,” he tells you, as he pushes as deep as he can go, his other fingers resting against your ass. Both Kuroo and Tsukishima are watching you so closely, your body language and your facial expressions and the way you move when Kuroo adds another finger and then another until his three fingers are slowly stretching you. 

He slides his fingers in and out of you, reaching down with his other hand to rub your clit. You hum at the additional contact, feeling your own wetness add to the lubrication between your legs. Kuroo’s fingers feel so good, but they’re not deep enough. “Tsukishima’s going to fuck you now,” Kuroo says, no confirmation at the end of it this time. Still, you nod. 

“Move to the end of the table,” Kuroo says as he removes his fingers from you. You listen immediately, scooching to the edge, legs dangling off of the side as Tsukishima positions himself between them. 

Tsukishima has his fist around his cock, stroking the length steadily, rubbing lube over the top of his head as he moves closer to you. The unfamiliarity of it all is setting in, your breath quickening as Tsukishima places one hand on your knee, spreading your legs open even further. He rubs his head between your lips, letting your wetness spread over the tip before pushing inside of you.

He grabs the undersides of both of your knees, holding your legs up and pushing them into your chest as he gets deeper inside of you. He’s not as thick as Kuroo, but he’s so long. You let your head tilt back into the hard surface, gazing up at the ceiling as you concentrate on each inch being inserted inside of you. 

He’s so deep and he just keeps getting deeper, pushing into you until his hips are directly against your thighs. You can barely catch a good breath, looking up at him, seeing the bliss in his eyes before he starts moving, pulling out slowly and pushing back in even slower. 

You can feel it building up in your stomach as he continues the repetitive motions, but it’s nothing you can’t manage. You look directly up at Tsukishima, staring into his eyes as he thrusts in and out of you. You want to tell him to move faster, but you know that you should pace yourself, know that Tsukishima is probably giving you exactly what you need for how early it is in the night. 

“Tell me, how long do you think you can hold it when you can’t breathe? When you’re concentrating on staying conscious instead of holding your orgasm?” Kuroo questions, positioned directly next to your face, pumping his fist around his cock. “Open.”

It’s like they’ve planned it. The second that Kuroo finishes the word open, Tsukishima starts fucking into you faster, holding you in place by your hips as he thrusts so deep inside of you. He lets you feel his entire length slide in and out of your hole, not sacrificing anything for how fast he’s getting. 

You can barely part your lips before Kuroo’s head is between them. He pushes his hips forward, spreading your lips with his girth and your mouth feels so full so quickly. You weren’t a stranger to Kuroo fucking your throat. You both loved it. But there was something so different about it when you could feel another cock ramming in and out of you. 

He pushes into your mouth slowly, your jaw opening as wide as it needs to compensate for how thick he was. You can feel the underside of his cock slide against your tongue, the head driving into the back of your throat, gently prodding at it before withdrawing. 

It’s harsher this time, the thrust inside of your mouth. You can feel the spit coming from the back of your throat and coating him as he messily fucks your mouth, your lips stretching around him. His head rams against the back wall so rough that you gag violently. You can feel Kuroo stroking the sides of your face, his hands migrating down to your throat as he massages his thumb into your airway. 

He pushes his cock as deep as it can go, your nose against his hip, but he doesn’t pull back this time. He just keeps it there, blocking any air that begs to come through. He reaches down, plugging your nose so that there’s absolutely no chance of you getting any oxygen. You don’t know what to concentrate on as your head feels lighter. 

Tsukishima’s thrusts into you haven’t stopped, have only gotten more ruthless as he watches Kuroo abuse your throat. He’s so deep inside of you that you feel like you can feel him in your stomach, but the longer that Kuroo holds his cock in your mouth, the less you can feel it. Your eyes are shut tightly because you can’t see straight anyways, and your head hurts, and you’re opening and closing your fists because you’re starting to not be able to feel them. 

“Switch with me, Tsukishima,” Kuroo says, pulling out of your mouth right before you would have pushed him off. 

He moves so quickly, Kuroo, to get between your legs, and when he’s positioned there, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He slides inside of you, grunting at how tight you are around him. He’s not as deep as Tsukishima was, but you can feel how much he’s stretching you already. “Fuck, Kuroo, I’m so fucking full, fuck,” you groan. 

He fucks your tight hole faster than your throat, harsher than your throat. He’s being relentless, knowing that he’s the one that wants to make you come for the first time. He wants to be the one to feel you tighten, to ride your high with you. 

But not yet. You focus on your Tsukishima’s cock in front of you, capturing his head between your lips and then sliding them down his length, taking him inside of your mouth and then as deep down your throat as you can manage, your fist stroking anything you can’t reach. You concentrate on how he tastes, the noises that escape him. You do everything in your power to ignore what’s going on between your legs, on the mess that Kuroo’s making of you, because if you thought about it, even for a second, you’d be coming all over him. 

You concentrate on how your tongue swirls around the head and how the tip fits so perfectly in the slit. You concentrate on how your body twists so that you can massage his balls with your other hand while still stroking the rest of his cock steadily, building speed as you feel his balls tighten. You let his head glide against the back of your tongue, swallowing around him, letting your throat massage the length. 

It doesn’t take much more of this meticulous care that you’re giving Tsukishima’s cock or the sight of your entire body bouncing from the force of Kuroo’s thrusts for Tsukishima to come down your throat. He grabs hold of your hair, moving your face at the exact speed that he needs as he uses your mouth just like Kuroo did. 

You feel his cock pulse between your lips, your mouth a tight ring around him. It coats your tongue, bitter and warm, and you know that Kuroo is probably so jealous right now. Tsukishima doesn’t stop moving his hips, pushing the cum deeper into your mouth. “Will you swallow for me?” he asks, the first thing he’s asked of you all night. How could you deny that?

You don’t remove his cock from your mouth, you swallow around his length just like you did before. He groans at the feeling of your throat tightening around his sensitive cock, but he doesn’t move. You hollow your cheeks as you pull off of him, sucking any last drop. 

It all catches up with you the second that Tsukishima’s cock leaves your mouth. You barely have time to swallow the cum that’s left in your mouth before you’re struggling to control your orgasm. You were working so hard to ignore it before, but you can’t now, the feeling of him fucking into you, still stretching you apart somehow. 

Kuroo rests his fingertips on your stomach, his thumb flicking your clit exactly how he knows you like it. You can see how insistent he is on pushing you to your limits and as much as you want to curse at him for testing you, you just don’t have the mind to. It feels so good. He’s making you feel so good, a string of curses and his name flowing from your mouth as you try your hardest to channel the pleasure into something else. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Kuroo says, slamming inside of you harder now. The sentence makes you swallow harshly. You’re so close, so fucking close from the repetitive motions and how thick Kuroo is and how full you feel. He can see it on your face, loves watching you lose control like he has so many times before. It’s his favorite part. He wants to watch you unravel from him, and only him. “Tsukishima, stop touching her,” he commands, so harshly that you feel the dominance of the demand. Tsukishima removes his hand from your shoulder that was lingering there from before.

“You’re so close,” Kuroo breathes, chest heaving as his grip tightens onto your waist, holding you in place as he pounds into you. “I know you’re so close and you’ve been so fucking good for me, waiting, holding off on coming, but I’m going to break you now.” A whimper falls from your lips. You feel so conflicted. You want to just let go, but you know that you have to try harder than you ever have. 

“Try to hold it for me, baby, but I’m going to break you. I’m going to come so deep inside of you, and I’m going to fucking break you,” he spits, a look of determination now on his face. 

His cock is ramming in and out of you, knocking the breath out of your lungs as soon as it enters, the sound echoing around the room and back at you, definitely not helping the vulgarity of the situation or your determination. Your eyelids close tightly, trying to find some sort of grounds, anything to concentrate on instead of how crude and how good Kuroo looks over top of you. 

“Open your eyes, baby, look at me. Look at me,” he coaxes, his hands moving from your hips to your chest, dragging them down your body leisurely, letting you feel the pressure and contact on every part of you. You listen to him, opening your eyes just in time to see him licking his lips. His gaze isn’t on yours, but rather, on you, scanning and staring, and somehow that’s worse. 

“I’m going to come inside you,” he repeats, “so fucking deep. I’m so close.”

“I-,” you start, interrupted by the abrupt slam of his hips against you, “I can’t hold it, Kuroo,” you admit, shaking your head, eyes watering, core tightening. 

“No?” he asks, and you know that he’s patronizing you, and you just can’t bring yourself to care. You shake your head harder, the tears dripping down your cheeks. 

“Can’t,” you mutter. “Feels too good.”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He comes first, draining inside of you so deep that you’re convinced it’ll never come out. You can feel his cock twitching with every stream, can feel him still as he takes in his own orgasm, but then he starts to move again. He’s no longer focused on his own pleasure, on taking the time to savor the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, painting your insides. 

He pulls out of you almost completely and fucks back into you even harsher than before. You were completely ready to come on his cock solely from the depth and the pulsing and how full you were feeling, but he’s regaining the momentum that he lost for only a moment. In fact, it’s faster now, more brutal, intent on doing exactly as he said, breaking you, not just making you orgasm, but absolutely destroying you. 

His name is the only thing on your mind, the only word that you know at this point, and you can’t stop saying it, mushed together in a string of incoherence, getting louder and louder until you’re screaming. 

The orgasm takes you harder than it ever has. Your core cramps, your chest rising off of the table, folding into your knees, your forehead colliding with Kuroo’s chest, resting there for only a moment before you violently fall back into the table. Tsukishima’s there to catch you, his hand placed gently under your head as you crash into it. In any other scenario, you’d feel bad, but you’re quite positive that you couldn’t feel any ounce of bad right now, no matter what happened.

Your body is overcome by pleasure, spreading out your entire being, electrifying everything inside of you and out. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and your hands are closed into fists so tight that you can feel the marks your nails are leaving. Your legs are shaking so violently that even Kuroo’s strong hold can’t stop them. And at some point, your screams for Kuroo turn into high-pitched nonsense and then into silent sobbing. 

You know that you had to have been breathing, it lasted far too long for you to go without air, but when you regain control, when your body starts to calm down, and the feelings all subside, you can’t see straight, can’t breathe right. Your mouth is open, gasping for air and expelling it just as quickly and severely. You don’t know what you look like right now and you’re not sure you want to know. 

You close your eyes, your entire body sensitive to even the tiniest breeze, and even more sensitive to the fingers in your hair, stroking and petting as you regain composure, and the dull nails scraping against the insides of your thighs, but not far enough to make you convulse again. 

You move to sit up. Your core is on fire, but you need to feel some sort of control. You don’t get very far. Kuroo’s hand immediately braces your shoulder, “I’m not done.”

Your mind still feels foggy. You’re barely able to understand exactly what he means. He moves you back to the center of the table, gently, slowly, but the touch still makes your skin feel hot. “That was only the first part, remember?” he asks, spreading your legs apart so slightly, your thighs still touching. “The rest of the theory was about you crumbling away so quickly until you had absolutely no resolve left. That’s the more fun part.”

Even with the pleasure still taking over your brain, you understand. You hear each word and only now do you feel the implications of them for real. Your body already feels exhausted, spent, so tired, and he wants to put you through even more. 

He walks over the table, using tissues to clean himself up before putting his pants back on, letting you recover for a little bit longer. He grasps one of the toys in his hand, the wand, and you’re already feeling your resolve slip away. 

He spreads your lips apart. “Can I trust you not to move or should I strap it in place?” he asks before pushing the head directly into your clit, a gasp escaping you as your back rises off of the table. It’s not on, but the pressure of something against your sensitive clit makes you flinch. 

“Understood,” he replies to your reaction. “Tsukishima, the belt,” he motions his head towards the table behind him. Tsukishima moves quickly, grabbing the leather strap from the table and snaking it under your thighs. Kuroo moves the wand carefully, lying it in between your closed thighs, your lips wrapped around the head which is pushed into your clit, covering the entirety of it. “Tighten it,” Kuroo commands. 

You’ve never seen Tsukishima listen so well without a fight to anyone, especially Kuroo, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, an emotion floating between eagerness and inquisition. Your stare is trained on his fingers as they position the belt over the top of the handle and tighten the strap so that neither your thighs nor the wand can move at all. 

“Are you ready to test my theory?” Kuroo asks, standing next to your head, stroking your hair gently as he waits for your reply, a low, confident, hum. “Great. Turn it on, Tsukishima, slow.”

The wand presses into your clit harder as Tsukishima pushes the dial forward. You feel the click first, the signifier that it’s on, and then you feel the vibration. It’s low and weak, but enough to make you jolt at the feeling. If it wasn’t strapped to your thighs, the wand would already be out of place. 

“How does that feel? Can you hold it?” Kuroo asks, his hands moving from your hair, grasping onto your shoulders. You hum again, but it’s not in affirmation or denial this time. It’s just a sound, a reply without intent, because honestly, you’re not sure. The vibration is weak against your clit and yet as the seconds tick by, despite the fact that Tsukishima hasn’t touched it at all, it feels like it’s getting stronger, like it’s affecting you more. 

Kuroo’s hands move, sliding down your neck and over your collarbones as he rubs them over your chest. His thumbs brush over your nipples, purposefully. The pleasure from your chest spreads throughout you, overlapping the pleasure of the vibrations and you feel almost pathetic from how close you already are. 

Kuroo rubs your nipples between his fingers, harshly, rolling them in between the pads repetitively. You arch your back as much as you can, pushing your chest into Kuroo’s grasp, showing him how desperate you’re feeling without saying anything. He listens to your physical beg, uses his whole hand to massage your chest, thumbs still skimming over your hard nipples as his fingers dig into your skin. 

The vibrations don’t get stronger, but the pressure does. Tsukishima pushes the head of the wand into your clit harder and it’s getting almost impossible to stay still or to stay quiet. “Kuroo, I- I’m close,” you mumble through half-closed lips. 

“Already? That’s great,” he says, stopping just short of a laugh. He continues, “I’m not going to turn it up. I’m just going to let you come from the lowest setting.” 

The orgasm reaches you so much softer this time. The build-up is so slow, so gradual, and so are the effects that it has on you. You can feel yourself flood. You roll your hips into the vibrations as much as you can. It’s not breath-taking or life-changing like the one you had witnessed just minutes ago, but your body feels warm. 

It only takes you a few beats to catch your breath again, but the wand is still on, moving against your sensitive clit, and Tsukishima reaches down and rolls the dial. The vibrations intensify and the embarrassment of how little it took you to come last time is nothing in comparison to now. 

It takes so little for your chest to rise and fall dramatically, the airflow matching the quickening of your pulse and the closeness of another orgasm. “More,” Kuroo says, but it’s not to you. He’s looking directly at Tsukishima. He watches how far he pushes the dial, how much stronger the vibrations come. “Good.”

“I’m- I’m-,” you stutter, not able to say anything else as your eyes close quickly. The orgasm hitting you again, faster and more abrupt this time. 

“Fuck,” you whine. You don’t have to tell him. He knows. He can see the way he’s wrecking you with each continuous orgasm. He strokes your jaw, pushes the hair out of your face, wipes the sweat off of your forehead. 

“I know, baby, I know. It’s okay,” he coos. 

It pushes you over the edge, the extra touch and his words. It’s more intense this time, the feeling that washes over you. It’s not as extreme as your first one, but it’s getting there. You lift your knees off of the table, the wand pressing harder between your legs as you rock against it. 

“Look at you,” Kuroo gushes, watching in awe, “Even strapped together, you’re still squirming to make yourself come.” He shakes his head, standing up straight. “Well then, do it. Make yourself come again,” he orders. 

You don’t move at first, not exactly sure if he’s serious or just taunting you, but then you see the look of expectancy in his eyes. You slowly bring your knees into your chest again, circling your hips so that the head moves against your clit in a repetitive path. It doesn’t take long for that, coupled with the continuous, almost abusive vibrations to bring you there. 

“That’s it. Make yourself come. Move your hips just like that,” he mutters, staring down at your every move. He acts like it’s completely up to you, as if the wand between your legs wasn’t put there by his hands, as if the way you’re moving and grinding isn’t specifically for his eyes, because of his words. “Come for me, again.”

And you listen, not intentionally, just because your body wants to do whatever he wants it to do. You hug your legs, arch your back, driving the wand as harshly against your clit as it can be. You rest your forehead against your knees, moaning into the small space you’ve created, muffled by your own skin and limbs. 

As soon as it’s finished, you slowly relax, letting your legs uncurl, the backs of them lying flat against the table once again. You brace yourself on your elbows first before lowering your back as well until you’ve returned to your original position. The vibrations aren’t stopping. You don’t even have time to catch your breath. 

Kuroo moves to your side, standing directly across from Tsukishima, and places both of his hands on your legs, holding them down, thighs pushed roughly against the table so that you can’t move at all. You can’t spread your legs or lift them. Any amount of small control you had seconds ago is now completely gone. The only thing you can do is lie there and submit. 

It’s Kuroo, this time, that pushes the dial, stretching his finger while keeping his hold on you in place. He lets his finger rest against the wand, feeling the muted vibrations that are coming from the handle. For some reason, knowing that Kuroo’s the one in control again, that he’s the one towering over you and watching you convulse under his touch, brings you closer than the vibrations do. 

“Kuroo,” you whimper, his name falling off of your tongue so easily considering that it’s the only thing on your mind. You don’t know whether to beg for more or to concede, welcoming defeat. “Kuroo,” you repeat, begging, but still not sure for what.

“What, baby? Do you want it higher?” he asks, finger moving to the dial again, but not pushing it until he sees your reaction. 

You’re nodding, on instinct, with pure need, or just to make him proud, you’re not sure. He smiles at you, “Good girl.” And now you’re sure. 

He pushes the dial until the vibrations are so strong that it almost hurts, and yet, the dial doesn’t click again or hit a barrier. Your stomach is in knots just from the contact of the head against you. You regret asking him to turn it up. It barely feels good anymore, the constant, intense buzzing between your legs, but the stimulation is still pushing you towards an orgasm that you’re not sure you can handle anymore. 

When you come, the good is good. It might have even felt better than the first time. Though, it doesn’t matter much, because it lasts for mere seconds. Settling in behind it is just the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it definitely didn’t feel good. It almost felt like your entire body was cramping. You wanted to convulse with the motions, feel each wave as it barrelled through you, but you couldn’t move, held down by strong hands. And when it finally fled, the only thing you could feel was how sensitive you were. 

But the vibration didn’t stop. No one moved to turn it off, not even with your whining and whimpering, so you opened your mouth, letting your pleas fall out. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sensitive, Kuroo. I can’t,” you ramble, shaking your head against the table. 

“You can, you can. You know the system, right? You know what you have to say for me to stop, right?” Kuroo asks.

You nod, eyes shut tightly. You didn’t need him to stop. You could handle it, but the words still pour from you. “I know. I know, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“Tell me. Tell me you know what you have to say, okay?” he tries again. You can’t see the look in his eyes or the concern on his face, barely pick up on the tone of his voice and how serious it sounds. He knows that this is the first time you’ve done something like this and wants to make sure you’re safe.

“Yes, fuck, I know what I have to say, yes. I know. I don’t need you to stop,” you say and then correct yourself, “I don’t want you to stop. I just, I���m so sensitive. I can feel everything so much and I’m so sensitive, Kuroo,” you babble. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good,” Kuroo says to you, and then he talks over top of you, directed at Tsukishima, “Turn it up.” The confirmation gives him what he needs to push you even further. 

You’re so focused on the imminent, unbearable sensation, that you don’t even see Kuroo turn on the light. You feel it before anything else, the warmth that the light creates and how quickly it becomes excruciating. Sweat drips down your forehead, glides past your temples, forms on your stomach, and under your thighs, letting you slide against the table. It just makes everything so much more intense. 

And then you feel the click of the dial, the signifier that it’s up as high as it goes, and you’re cursing so many things that have played a hand in this. You’re cursing the company that made the wand and Kuroo for being so sadistic and Tsukishima for helping him and yourself for agreeing to this. You’re trying to move your mind anywhere other than how hard the wand is vibrating against you. 

You know that you’re talking, you think that you’re talking. Your mouth is open and it feels like words are coming out, but you don’t know what you’re saying and you can’t hear them. Tears are streaming down your face, steadily, not overwhelmingly. Someone’s, you’re not sure whose, and it doesn’t really matter at this point, touches you, moves to stroke your arm. You can hear yourself now as you bark, “Don’t touch me,” regaining enough control of yourself and your voice to add a softer, “please” onto the end. 

You lay there on the table, your body feeling excessively hot in every facet, with a buzzing between your legs that if it was any lower wouldn’t even be affecting you right now because you feel so numb. Everything is heightened. You can feel everything. The light, the air, the warmth, the breath on either side of you, the way that the breath is cool against your skin, the way that the breath is moving, slowly, blowing onto your shoulder and neck and stomach. The contrast of the stimuli makes you feel some sort of balance, some sort of ground. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You could feel everything at once, but you couldn’t feel the sensation approaching. You’re positive that you’re screaming because there’s no way you can’t be. Your throat feels sore and the tears haven’t stopped and you reach your arm out, grabbing onto whatever you find first, squeezing into it so hard, your fingernails digging, digging, digging until your hand is shaking so hard that you can’t manage to control it anymore. 

It’s so much. It’s so much. It’s almost too much. The second that you’re off of this short high, you know that the sobbing will come. You can feel the tears and the tightness in your throat. You can see yellow flashing in your head. You’re not at your limit. You’re not hurt, but if they don’t slow down, you’re going to be very quickly. The word is traveling up your throat, graces your tongue, but doesn’t get the chance to leave your lips. 

The vibration stops. 

“You’re done” is the first thing that you hear when you regain awareness. Kuroo repeats it again, “You’re done, baby, you’re done. Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

You nod because, despite the fact that you’re trembling, that every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire, that’s really all you want right now. The flinch still comes when he touches you, rests his hand on your cheek, so he hesitates. If you had more energy, you’d lift your own and put it on top of his. 

“You did so well. You did so well,” he repeats, leaning in closer to you and rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone. “God, you did so good.” You can’t respond, but you hope that he knows how much that means to you. 

He lets you lay there, not moving you or rushing you, but just letting you recuperate as long as you need to. The second that you’re able, you talk, “Tsukishima, can you unstrap my thighs?” It’s more of a mumble than a strong sentence, but he gets the point, working just as slow and methodical as before, perhaps more so now. You can barely feel him when he brushes against your skin, numb now from the consistent vibrations. 

Without the constraint on your thighs and the object between your legs, you automatically feel like you can breathe easier now. “And the light,” you mumble. It’s not a question, but it doesn’t need to be. The light is turned off in a second, the heat fading quickly without the intensive brightness. You hum, now, content with the environment you’re in and the company you’re with. 

“I know you probably want to fall asleep right here, but we should get you into bed,” Kuroo mentions, his hand still in the same place against your skin. 

“Kuroo, I don’t think I could move right now if I tried. My legs are completely numb,” you say, “Literally if the house caught on fire, I would die here. There’s no way I could even stand right now.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “You most certainly would not. I would save you.”

Your eyes are closed softly, but you still roll them, and you hope he notices. “My hero.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you. You can’t recover correctly from all of that if you’re in this room on this table, okay?” he asks.

There aren’t many things you would deny Kuroo of right now, with his voice as sweet as it is and his touch as soft as it is, and carrying you into his room to be more comfortable is definitely not one of them. Your eyelids flutter open and you’re finally able to see Kuroo looking down at you and Tsukishima watching the two of you. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

“Can you put your arms around my neck?” he asks, leaning down and snaking his arms under your knees and your back. 

“Fire, Kuroo, remember, fire,” you reiterate, “No, I could not crawl myself out of this building.”

“You won’t have to bear any weight. It’s just for support.”

You oblige, using all of your energy to lift your arms and lock them around his neck. They hang lazily and you know that if he so much as moves you in the wrong way, they will fall heavily by your sides. His steps are careful, making sure that they’re not too fast or too harsh and you’re so grateful for it. 

Tsukishima pushes open the door to his room and Kuroo carefully steps inside, careful not to bump you into the doorway. He lays you down in the center of his bed so softly that you can barely differentiate being in the air and surrounded by mattress. “There’s water on the bedside table that you definitely need to drink,” Kuroo mentions. “And do you want the TV on or the fan?”

“No, I’m okay. This is nice, I think. I do want a t-shirt, though,” you say, not wanting to be this exposed anymore. 

“Yours or mine?” he asks, already halfway to his dresser. 

“Yours,” you call out, “something really baggy.”

He grabs a shirt from his drawer, walking back over, and handing it to you. You accept it graciously, putting it on over your head slowly, the clean fabric against your skin one of the only sensations that feel acceptable at the moment. “Thank you.”

“Well, you should get some rest, okay?” he says, leaning over and kissing your forehead. “Hydrate first, though. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything at all.”

You nod, finally relaxing. The bed is so comfortable compared to the harshness of the metal that you were lying on before. It melds against your body so perfectly, conforms to every curve, but you can’t even think about falling asleep. Your mind is still racing, wandering, active, despite the exhaustion you’re feeling so heavily. 

“Wait,” you say with the last ounce of strength you have. Both of them stop in place, Tsukishima already halfway out the door. They’re looking at you expectantly, waiting for whatever you have to say or request, but you can’t get it out. It feels weird, almost, that after everything that just happened you would feel uncomfortable saying anything at all to them. 

“Do you need something?” Kuroo asks, already moving back towards you. 

“I-,” you start, face feeling hot at such a silly request, “I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You’re not sure if you’re imagining it or if Kuroo really does ease when you say it. 

“You want us to lay with you?” Kuroo asks, closing the gap, already by your side again. 

“I don’t have to if you guys want to be alone,” Tsukishima says, his voice so small it almost goes unnoticed. 

You shake your head, “I’d like if you’d stay.”

You’re positive that Tsukishima doesn’t mean to show the look of shock on his face, but he does. You feel the bed sink on one side as Tsukishima walks back into the room and by your side. You flip over towards Kuroo who holds the glass of water out in front of him. “Water first,” he says. You listen, taking it in your hands as well as you can for how spent your muscles still are. The bed behind you shifts, a hesitant hand rubbing the small of your back. 

It takes a few moments for you all to get comfortable, to get into positions that fit, to meld together as perfectly as you do, but when you do, you never want to move again. Tsukishima’s pressed up against your back, his hand gently on your hip. Your head is pressed against Kuroo’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and timing your breathing with it. 

The room is quiet and your mind is still racing, but with the company in the room, you feel so content. “Thanks for taking care of me,” you say to both of them. 

“I said we would, didn’t I?” Kuroo responds, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. 

“I mean, that’s not exactly what I thought you meant,” you murmured. 

Tsukishima doesn’t reply, just rubs the bit of skin he has contact with. That’s enough for you. The three of you lie there in silence, syncing your breathing, only ever disturbing the peace with rustling of the sheets and clothes until Kuroo speaks again. 

“You know, the scientific theory is based on the fact that your hypothesis is retestable and comparing the results to make sure that they’re in accordance with each other,” Kuroo says into the darkness. 

“Tsukki, please hit him for me,” you say, knowing full well that if you weren’t the most exhausted you’ve ever been, you would have done it much more justice. 

Tsukishima reaches over you and hits Kuroo’s shoulder so hard that you can feel the effects of it in his chest. You can’t help but laugh, and Kuroo does too, so lightly, and yet, you can feel it against your ear. You feel the safest you’ve ever felt in this moment alone.

“Give me a week,” you mutter. 

Kuroo responds far too quickly and eagerly, “Yeah, I mean, of course, whatever you need.”

Part of you thinks that come a week, you’ll regret the words that just came out of your mouth. Another part of you realizes the exact place you’re in, the way Tsukishima is still softly rubbing your hip, and the way Kuroo’s laughter is still taking over your mind. That part of you feels the fabric of their clothing and your own and the sheets beneath you. That part of you knows that even when you were as pushed as you were, you felt safe. That part of you knows that they know you better than you know yourself. 

That part of you knows that you could never pass up an opportunity to give up control, to listen to these men and trust them completely. You could never regret that. 

#hq smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x tsukishima x reader #toriwritesshit

[a-kaash-me-outside]

𝕒 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝 — 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚

ᴀᴋᴀᴀsʜɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ ~ 5787 ᴡᴏʀᴅs ~

✧ nsfw ✧ minors dni!! ✧

size kink, threesome, praise kink, bokuto fucks akaashi yw, afab reader she/her pronouns

a continuation of a packaged deal (x) truthfully i wrote this part just so i could write the next part lmk if u wanna be on a taglist

It took longer than you had maybe hoped for the three of you to get back into this situation. There were a few weeks spent in a weird state of “will they, won’t they” and you were absolutely sick of it. There were plenty of opportunities missed, too much hesitancy and no one bold enough to just ask for what you all so desperately wanted.

It shouldn’t have taken this long to end up in this position again. It shouldn’t have taken a precariously open door that you know Akaashi saw, louder than normal noises at the slightest touches, and a concrete knowledge of Bokuto’s schedule.

It shouldn’t have fallen on your shoulders yet again.

Akaashi knew what you were doing when you meticulously left the door cracked instead of hearing the small click and turning the lock. It’s not like it was a secret, anyway.

He doesn’t question you, not as you crawl onto the bed, gently shut his laptop, and set it on his side table. Not as you press your forehead against his, run your hands up his chest, and gently massage your thumbs into his collarbones. Not as you place small kisses down his jawline and play with the hem of his shirt.

When you pull back, you notice his gaze fixed on the door and pause for a beat, waiting for him to ask why you haven’t shut it or ask you to shut it or just mention that it’s open when he knows what’s going to happen next. He’s working through it; you can see the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind. His bottom lip nearly drops enough for words to slip out and your heart is beating faster, silent plans falling by the wayside.

And then he kisses you, cups both sides of your face with his soft palms, and crashes his lips into yours. It’s so abrupt that you lose your balance, falling into his chest with a small, shocked laugh. The laughter doesn’t bounce back the way it normally does and you’re acutely aware that every sound you make isn’t just yours and Akaashi’s anymore. Your plans are unfolding exactly as they worked in your mind, and yes, you’ve already done this before, but it is not any less scary than you anticipated it being.

You wonder if Akaashi is thinking about this as much as you are, if he’s purposely biting your neck and running his tongue as far down your chest as your tank top allows it to elicit joyful giggles and sharp inhales or if he’s just focused on making you feel good as if the door were shut.

He sits up to meet you, raises his chest until yours is pressed against his. You’re sitting straight up, seated in his lap with each of your legs bracketing his hips. He doesn’t make you strain, not one bit, meets you as you are, brings his lips to yours, drags them down your neck. He doesn’t make you lift a finger, slowly peels your tank top off and tosses it to the side, places your hands on your thighs as soon as it hits the floor.

The two of you have had sex a number of times without Bokuto since that night. The absence of Bokuto didn’t ruin your sex life; there wasn’t some missing element now. It was just as perfect as it was before. But tonight is different. Tonight there is a connotation that Bokuto will be joining you and every second that there is only one set of hands on your body, the more frustrated you’re getting.

Your whimpers are growing needier and your movements are getting whinier and you have a mind about how loud you’re being and this time it’s on purpose, but it’s not enough. Bokuto wouldn’t just barge in or even knock just at the sound. It wasn’t enough of an invitation.

Akaashi wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly in his lap. His lips against your ear, he speaks very softly at first, so low that he’s certain you’re the only one that could hear it. “Is the bedroom feeling a little empty tonight?” He’s considerate like that, knowing so well what you want, but double-checking just in case he’s the one that misread something. The sentence barely has time to settle before you’re nodding, a small verbal agreement following suit. “Let’s fix that, then, huh?”

He nudges your head to the side, kisses down your shoulders, rolls his hips up into you gently as he starts to tease you. He repeats himself, louder now, no longer just for you. “Is the bedroom feeling a little empty tonight?” Neither of you know for certain where Bokuto is in your shared apartment. You knew his schedule well enough, knew that he would be home somewhere, probably eating a snack in the kitchen or watching tv in the living room. Bokuto rarely spent time in his room save for sleeping and if one of you were hanging out there with him. Still, the uncertainty was enough to make you realize just how much you wanted this.

You nod at the question, just like last time, but if Bokuto were in the living room he couldn’t exactly hear a nod; the motion wasn’t enough this time. Akaashi gave you a look, opened his mouth to reprimand you. If this were any other scenario, you’d let him, would enjoy hearing him use a strong voice rather than his normal sweet one, but right now you weren’t in the mood to wait around for stern commands or explanations.

“Too empty, need him too, Kaashi.” It rolls off your tongue, no hesitation or embarrassment present despite how open that admittance is. Akaashi nips at your collarbone, murmuring against your soft skin, “Who, baby?”

“Bokuto, need Bokuto too,” you respond quickly, loudly. You were loud before, but with the direct call of his name, you’re worried that you’re maybe being a bit too forward. You can feel your body flush, warmth spreading against Akaashi’s cool skin. You reach your hands down, tugging at his shirt. You need to feel more of him.

“Probably going to have to say it a bit louder if you really want him to join us,” Akaashi smirks, resting his fingers over yours and helping you strip his t-shirt off. He’s just as loud as you, perhaps even louder as he says, “If you want Bokuto to come and join us, you’re going to have to speak up.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself harder into Akaashi’s lap. There’s pressure on your hips, fingertips digging into you as he steadies your movements. “Speak up,” he repeats.

It comes out as a mixture of a pout and a whimper, but it’s definitely louder than before, “Bokuto, want Bokuto.” Akaashi’s smirk grows bigger, eyebrows raised slightly as he shifts his hands to your ass, moving your hips to meet his own motions.

“Just a little louder,” Akaashi breathes, chest rising and falling as he lifts his hips into you again. With his soft pants and your constant whimpering, he almost misses the sound of soft footsteps approaching, almost. “I know you really want Bokuto to join us, so you should be extra loud just in case.”

Akaashi doesn’t know what to focus on, the shadow approaching under the door or the desperation on your face. His gaze keeps shifting back and forth, but you definitely don’t catch it. “Want Bokuto here,” you say, and then louder, “Bokuto.” His name trails off with a small moan.

The door opens slowly, cautiously, as if to make sure that at any moment the motion could be undone without a trace. You don’t notice the slight creak or the light from the hallway pouring into yours and Akaashi’s dimly lit room. The only thing that pulls you out of this whiney state is Bokuto’s voice.

“Did you call my name?” Bokuto asks, and you’re trying to place the tone. It’s purposeful, knowing. If he wasn’t positive he was supposed to be there, he would have shut the door so fast upon coming onto this scene. Still, despite how purposeful his tone, there is a slight quiver that you catch. You can’t see him from where you’re sitting on Akaashi’s lap, can’t see the look on his face as he waits for a response, but Akaashi can.

Akaashi made eye contact with him first. He watched Bokuto open the door, saw the courage building up on his face before the words left him. Bokuto’s eyes follow your shoulders, down your curves, to Akaashi’s hands on you and the rocking motion he’s creating and suddenly Bokuto doesn’t feel like he’s intruding.

“Well, did you?” Bokuto asks once more, no quiver this time, voice getting louder as he steps closer to the bed, though not passing the barrier to your guys’ bed. You slowly turn your head around, eye contact falling in line with Bokuto’s, and you give a small mhm accompanied by a soft nod. And that was enough for him.

You turn your attention back towards Akaashi, but you can feel the weight shift on the bed behind you getting closer and closer until there’s another set of hands on you just like you wanted, larger hands, rougher hands. Bokuto’s chest is pressed against your back and it’s so strong, so sturdy, that you let your weight melt right into him.

So maybe it didn’t fall on your shoulders again. You suppose, actually, that this time is much like last time in the sense that, sure, you may have prompted it, but it took just as much follow through from Bokuto and Akaashi. In fact, you nudged it in the right direction, but they were the ones that did most of the work, just like last time.

It feels effortless all in a single moment as if there were no previous “will they, won’t they”s, as if this is the only way it’s ever been, as if last time had been just seconds prior. Bokuto falls right into place, placing sloppy kisses into your neck as Akaashi moves down to your tits. Both of their hands are all over you, never really stopping, but rather just migrating and feeling all over your body. Your eyes are blissfully closed and at any moment you can tell exactly whose hands are whose.

It doesn’t take long for slender fingers to start playing with the hem of your panties, rolling them between his fingers, bunching them up with his fists. Akaashi speaks up from beneath you, “You’re going to have to get off so I can take these off, you know that?” You nod, slowly swinging your leg over him and sitting yourself on the other side of the bed. Despite Akaashi prompting it, Bokuto is between your legs in seconds, finishing the job.

Bokuto’s hand splays out on your stomach, gently pressing you into the mattress as he pulls your panties off. “How long were you playing with her before you called me in here?” Bokuto asks, hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you closer to him. “Because she’s fucking soaked.”

“It’s because she’s been planning this all night,” Akaashi comments, moving next to Bokuto, stroking his hand up and down your leg. You feel completely on display in a way that floods you even more. Akaashi continues to move closer to Bokuto, arm around his shoulder, resting his entire body weight on Bokuto as Akaashi hangs off of him.

Bokuto is completely unphased, tilts his head to one side, and steadily spreads you open with his thumbs. “Just as pretty as I remember,” Bokuto breathes and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him remembering. He slips his finger between your slit, wetting it slightly before dipping inside of you. Bokuto grunts as you take his thick finger, “Just as tight as I remember, too.”

A whimper escapes you, back arches towards him as you try to take his finger deeper. “Mmm, another, miss being this full,” you plead, head pushing back into the pillow beneath you. Bokuto just listens, doesn’t tease you or ask you to repeat yourself, he adds another finger. You almost regret asking for it, you already feel so full. You have to reach out, wrapping it around his forearm as you try to regain your composure. You try to set your own pace, but now, that… he’s not having any of that.

Bokuto fucks his fingers into you quickly. There’s only two fingers inside of you, but the burn of the stretch is enough to really feel it as his fingertips scrape against your walls, up against your spongy spot. You get a small break when Akaashi pulls off Bokuto’s shirt; you take those few seconds to regain your composure, regulate your breathing. You get another small break when Akaashi pulls Bokuto’s face towards him, smashing his lips into his and curling his fingers against Bokuto’s abs. Bokuto’s movements stutter for only a few seconds before he finds his rhythm again as Akaashi’s hands bracket his face and he can’t get a very good breath with how hard Akaashi is kissing him.

There’s one more stutter in Bokuto’s motions. It’s the only one that you get to witness in its entirety, eyes wide watching the scene unfold of Akaashi boldly fumbling with Bokuto’s waistband and reaching his hand inside of his shorts and stroking Bokuto’s half hard cock. Bokuto doesn’t just stutter in fucking his fingers into you, his breath stills too, hips pressing forward into Akaashi’s hand. There’s a gleam in Bokuto’s eye, a smirk that comes across his face. It’s one look and you realize that maybe you won’t be the focus of the night this time.

Not that you mind one bit.

The second that Akaashi pulls Bokuto’s cock out of his shorts, using both hands to stroke his thick length, you lose it. You’re tightening around Bokuto’s fingers, chest rising as you come around his fingers. They both stop for just a second, taking in the sight of you rolling your hips into Bokuto’s hand. They only stop for a second though, quickly returning to focusing on each other.

Bokuto’s fingers are on auto-pilot now, his head turned completely towards Akaashi’s, other hand resting on Akaashi’s cheek lovingly, gratefully, a perfect replacement for the many thank yous that Bokuto wants to be saying, but can’t because he can’t really catch his breath. Akaashi’s fists are closed around Bokuto’s girth, stroking him fully from the tip to the base, long, fluid motions.

You have a feeling that the things you mentioned for “next time” wouldn’t necessarily happen tonight at this rate. Again, not that you mind. There’s always next next time.

It feels a bit weird to see this side of Akaashi from the outside. You know he can take control, he’s done it many times with you, but seeing it all as an outsider rather than a recipient was different, was good.

Bokuto’s voice breaks the silence. “Think you would look just as pretty as y/n all fucked out on my fingers, Akaashi.” It somehow stuns you more than it stuns Akaashi, or at least, the stun is more noticeable. Akaashi looks almost unphased, the only indication his harsh swallowing and stunted breath. For you, it’s much more audible, a sharp inhale and strangled whimper. It’s much more visible, leaning forward at the mention, eager to move it along.

Bokuto, of course, picks this up immediately, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips as he turns towards you. “Don’t you think so?”

You nod helplessly as if there were any other answer than an overwhelming yes please.

“Kaashi, can I?” Bokuto asks, already pushing his hand up Akaashi’s chest. The second that he agrees, a small nod and an eager expression, Bokuto positions him exactly how he wants him, back flat against the bed, boxers off, legs spread, heels pushed into the bed. Bokuto doesn’t even have to ask you, looks your way, barely opens his mouth and you’re fishing the lube out of your bedside table.

It takes an even shorter amount of time to watch Akaashi unravel before you. The calm, collected, unphased man who was in front of you before completely disappears, vanishes the moment that Bokuto leans down and runs his tongue gently around Akaashi’s rim. The gentleness only lasts a few moments before Bokuto has his large hands spanning across Akaashi’s stomach, holding him in place and lapping at his hole desperately.

Akaashi is reduced to incoherence, only small groans and head nods, fists curling around the sheets and you can’t help but stare. Bokuto hasn’t even begun to finger him and he’s already just as pretty as Bokuto promised he would be.

You know exactly what that tongue feels like, what those fingers feel like. Akaashi is not being dramatic in his reaction. It’s completely warranted, the way Akaashi’s breath is quickening rapidly, the way his back is arching in an attempt for Bokuto to go deeper. Bokuto keeps one of his hands planted on Akaashi’s stomach. With the other, he gently runs the pad of one of his fingers around Akaashi’s rim.

When Bokuto presses his finger past Akaashi’s tight rim, pushing his finger inside up to his first knuckle, Akaashi lets out a moan so guttural, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his cock up into nothing. “Kaashi, not even halfway in yet, calm down,” Bokuto teases, sliding his long, thick finger slowly inside of Akaashi.

You’re in awe at the sight in front of you. If Bokuto hadn’t guided your hand along, moving his hand from Akaashi’s stomach just long enough to wrap it loosely around his own painfully hard cock, you would’ve probably been stuck there, transfixed on the scene in front of you, squeezing your legs together tightly as your pussy drooled down the inside of your thigh. You listen to the wordless command, trying your best to please Bo with the half-grip you have on his length. He doesn’t look like he seems to mind, too fixated on how well Akaashi’s tight hole is swallowing another one of his fingers.

Bokuto’s hips follow the motions of his fingers, pressing forward whenever he sinks his fingers into Akaashi, bottoming out whenever his fingers are buried completely inside of Akaashi. You can feel the effect that Akaashi is having on Bokuto, watching the way his lips curve into a smile and how quickly his thrusts get rougher, adding another finger, and then one more before Akaashi is even completely ready. Bokuto is throbbing against your palm and it’s been a bit since anyone has said anything, too focused on how perfect Akaashi looks right now, on how he feels right now.

Akaashi must’ve had it in his head for a while, the thought had to have been circulating, cumulating for a bit now, because it leaves his mouth so easily, but so convicted like it’s been on his mind since he first met Bokuto.

“Bo, want you.” It’s sandwiched between huffs and moans, but neither you nor Bo miss it. He doesn’t have to repeat himself or explain any further. Those three words are perfectly clear. Akaashi doesn’t look any bit regretful, eyes quickly darting around Bokuto’s face, reaching down to grip onto Bokuto’s forearm. “Please.”

The only word you have to describe what you’re feeling is butterflies. Your stomach feels light, face feels flush. It’s an intimate moment, but you still feel included. It feels special. “I don’t know, Kaashi, can you take him?” you ask. It’s half teasing, half genuine.

Akaashi only nods, but it’s convincingly desperate. And you’re so busy watching Akaashi squirm that you only get to see the aftermath of the effects of Akaashi’s breathy plea on Bokuto’s face, not nearly as in control as he thought, in awe of Akaashi’s willingness to ask for exactly what he wants, like it’s been on his mind since he first met Akaashi.

The two of them stunned to a much slower pace than you want this to be progressing, you swipe the lube from the mattress, opening the cap and squeezing it onto Bokuto. The coolness brings Bokuto out of this intense moment briefly, drawing back slightly, fingers tightening around where they’ve rooted on Akaashi’s hips. But then you’ve situated yourself a bit better, have a better angle, tighter grip, more confident stroke, and Bokuto’s eyes flutter closed. His fingertips dig into Akaashi’s hip bones harder now, not as a reaction, but to show some ounce of control.

Bokuto’s hips are thrusting in shallow motions, meeting your fists as they slide up his lubricated cock, and his eyes shut tighter, pulling Akaashi towards him just inches. Akaashi’s cock lightly smacks against his own stomach as Bokuto continues the motions, a string of precome from his angry head pooling onto his abs. Akaashi’s breath is picking up as if Bokuto is actually inside of him, and you swear you can see him salivating as he’s looking up at this sight above him.

And you completely get it. You were this much in awe when Bokuto was fucking you, can recall it perfectly, the feeling of fullness that Akaashi isn’t even experiencing yet. But it wasn’t just the fullness, it was the strong arms and the secure grip and how powerful, but gentle and caring Bokuto was, and Akaashi’s throaty whimpers are entirely justified.

You lean your head on Bokuto’s shoulder. “I think he’s ready,” you whisper, trying to hide the selfishness behind the statement, hoping that he doesn’t hear your own anguish in the quiver. You don’t wait for a response from Bokuto, using your grip on his massive cock to position his head at Akaashi’s entrance.

Bokuto doesn’t stop his shallow thrusting, but lessens it. It’s not enough to slip past Akaashi’s tight rim, just barely rests against his hole as Bokuto pushes his hips forward slightly. Akaashi doesn’t know where to put his hands, settles on an eager grip on your wrist and Bokuto’s. “Please,” Akaashi whimpers, knowingly or not, tensing his grip on both of you.

You use one hand to guide Bokuto’s cock and the other to soothe Akaashi, a lovingly subtle touch on his shoulder. “I don’t think you should tease Kaashi anymore, Bo,” you murmur softly, and with a voice that sweet, it’s not like he can deny you.

Bokuto presses his hips forwards slowly and you can see how much it’s already affecting Akaashi. His whines turn to breathy pants as Bokuto continues to push past Akaashi’s tight rim. The head is barely inside and Akaashi’s head is pressing into the pillow harshly. “So big,” Akaashi whines.

“I know, I know, but you’re taking it so good, Kaashi, so fucking good,” you admire, “And it’s going to be so worth it, I promise.”

Akaashi nods along, eyes shut tightly as Bokuto pushes his head inside completely. You’re not sure if Akaashi notices the way that Bokuto’s forearms are shaking, but you do. You notice just how wrecked Bokuto looks, stunned to silence, not making a single noise, focused on slowly coaxing his cock inside of Akaashi. Bokuto stops for only a moment, letting Akaashi adjust to the feeling of his head before pushing his length inside of him inch by inch.

Akaashi’s breaths are more shallow now, squeaking out profanities and soft doubts, “Fuck, I- I don’t know if I can take it. ‘m so full.”

“I know, Kaashi, he’s almost halfway, baby, you can take him. Doesn’t it feel so good to be so full?” you ask, trying to distract him as Bokuto continues to get Akaashi adjusted. You know that Akaashi can’t really focus on how good it feels yet, too overwhelmed by the stretch and the fullness to appreciate the stretch and the fullness. He nods anyway. “You know what to say if you really can’t take it, don’t you?” you ask and he nods again.

The moments drag on and Bokuto is so painfully slow, muttering things under his breath that neither of you catch. Akaashi doesn’t stop speaking, mumbling, small tears falling from the corners of his eyes and your stomach is in knots from how fucking pretty he is. You smooth his hair, run your palm down the side of his cheek, his chest, and wrap your fist loosely around his previously untouched cock.

It’s instinctive, really, the way that Akaashi thrusts up into your hand and, in turn, onto Bokuto’s cock when he returns his position. You can hear Bokuto now, clear as day, but so soft, just as instinctive as Akaashi’s movement, “Fuck, so tight, holy shit.”

This lack of one-way motion, this new sensation changes something for Akaashi, no longer focused on the burn of the stretch, but now on the fullness, the fullness. “Again,” Akaashi begs despite the fact that he’s actually the one that created the first motion. Bokuto listens immediately, pulling out of Akaashi the slightest bit and moving back into him slowly. Akaashi arches his back, both hands wrapped around Bokuto’s grip on his waist. “Again, please, again,” Akaashi pleads.

You can hear the smile on Bokuto’s face when he replies, “Fuck, I’m going to wreck you, Kaashi.” If you were standing, you’d be on the floor, can feel how weak that sentence made you and you weren’t even the recipient. Your lazy grip on Akaashi’s cock feels secondary, but you don’t remove it. You pump him with your fist slowly, trying your best to match the leisurely pace that Bokuto has set and following suit when Bokuto quickens that pace.

“He makes you so full, doesn’t he, Kaashi?” you say into Akaashi’s ear. “So pretty and so full.”

Akaashi can barely react, just gives a small hum in the midst of all of his moans and whimpers. You’re incredibly grateful for the grip that you have on Akaashi’s cock, can feel him throbbing against your palm every time that Bokuto thrusts his thick cock inside of him. “More, want more,” Akaashi mumbles and it only takes a second to register in Bokuto’s brain.

Bokuto lifts Akaashi up to meet his thrusts, pulls him onto his cock completely to meet his harsh thrust and even more tears are falling from Akaashi’s eyes, a symphony of oh my gods and fucks filling the room as Bokuto continues to hammer into Akaashi with this plea to give him more more more.

“Meant it,” Bokuto pants, “Want to see Akaashi fuck you.” The words sink in and Akaashi is about to start protesting, absolutely fucked out on Bokuto’s huge cock, and you’re about to start protesting right along with him. The bliss that is on Akaashi’s face is not one that you want to see him rid of any time soon.

But Bokuto doesn’t show any signs of stopping, continues to fuck in and out of Akaashi’s tight hole as he leans back and flicks his eyes towards Akaashi’s cock in your hands. You can’t help the moan that comes from your chest at just the mere thought. You feel clumsy trying to position yourself correctly, throwing your leg overtop of Akaashi’s hips once again. Bokuto stills for a second, supporting you and moving his grip to your waist.

Your ass is pressed up against Bokuto’s hips and it feels like there’s barely any room for you to do what you want to do, chest pressed against Akaashi’s stomach, staring into his wide eyes as he’s waiting for Bokuto to start moving again and for you to surround him. Bokuto takes the lead again, pulling you away from Akaashi’s face, sitting you straight up instead, your shoulders flush with Bokuto’s chest. Bokuto lifts you up just slightly as you line yourself up with Akaashi’s cock.

And in one motion, you feel absolutely complete. You sink onto Akaashi’s cock as Bokuto starts moving and you have the most perfect view of Akaashi’s pretty face as you see the bliss take over completely. Bokuto presses soft kisses into your shoulder and neck, moves you up and down on Akaashi’s cock as you put your entire weight on him.

The thrusts are conflicting at first, the rhythm stunted by the amount of clashing motions. It’s new and slightly awkward, but it slowly gets more comfortable, less contradicting movements and more working in time movements. You feel completely supported, perfectly filled. Akaashi is throbbing inside of you and Bokuto’s hips are slamming into your ass with every harsh thrust and you can’t get enough, can’t take much more. Your stomach is clenching, breath becoming more shallow, weight becoming too much.

You lower yourself down onto Akaashi’s chest, only slightly worried that it will mess with everyone’s rhythms again, but wanting to be even closer to Akaashi. You press your nose into his neck, rapid breaths tickling his sensitive skin. “Gonna, gonna come,” you mumble against Akaashi’s shoulder.

It happens so quickly, Akaashi’s cock pulling out of you and being replaced by Bokuto’s girth, like they coordinated it wordlessly. Bokuto doesn’t give you the same courtesy as before and you’re grateful. There’s no slow movements as he grips your waist, holds you in place as he fucks into you hard. You can’t help how instantaneous your orgasm is. Bokuto is barely inside of you for seconds and you’re coming all over his cock, warm walls tightening around his massive cock and you barely register that you’re screaming until you’re coming down from your incredible high.

You’re also grateful for how quickly they switch back. Akaashi’s cock slipping back into you immediately after Bokuto pulls out, you don’t have to feel empty for a second.

You were so fixated on this new position, new sensation, your own high, that you haven’t even noticed the telltale signs of Akaashi being so close until now. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, can feel how fast his heart is racing. Your cunt is still quivering, wet walls clenching around Akaashi as Bokuto continues his relentless pace. You’re honestly surprised at how long Akaashi’s lasted. Though, you know he won’t last much longer.

“So full,” Akaashi whimpers, “So tight.”

“You look so pretty, Kaashi, can feel your hole tightening around me,” Bokuto smirks. “You’re gonna come so deep inside her while I’m fucking you, aren’t you?”

Akaashi nods as Bokuto pulls you back up, peers over your shoulder down at the mess he’s made of Akaashi, at how absolutely wrecked he is. “Come for me, Kaashi, please,” you say softly, smoothing your hand down Akaashi’s stomach, curling your fingers against his skin.

“Wanna- wanna feel Bo fill me up first,” Akaashi asks, and with a voice that sweet, it’s not like Bokuto can deny him. He barely needs to speed up, already on the edge just from how pretty Akaashi looks and remembering that he was inside of your tight cunt seconds ago.

“Tell me again, Kaashi,” Bokuto says, grip tighter, thrusts sloppier.

“Come inside me, please, wanna come so bad, but need to feel so full with your come,” Akaashi stumbles over the words as if they can’t get out of his mouth fast enough and he’s trying to hopelessly meet Bokuto’s thrusts, pushing against the weight of you and interrupting Bokuto’s steady rhythm and somehow Bokuto is the one that’s getting wrecked, hand in his hair, chest rising and falling rapidly and a small please falls from Akaashi’s lips and Bokuto is putty.

He stills, hips flush with Akaashi’s skin as he unloads inside of him just like Akaashi wanted. Bokuto doesn't know where best to put his hands, keeps moving them from you to Akaashi to himself, squeezing and spanning his grip wherever he feels best at the time. He’s not moving anymore, just dumping his come as deep as he can inside of Akaashi and even with the lack of movement, Akaashi can’t help himself.

Akaashi’s balls twitch against you, fingernails creating seemingly permanent crescent moon shape indents into the fat of your hips. Unlike Bokuto, he can’t help himself but to move. He’s squirming, bucking his hips up into you, trying to chase the high that he’s feeling as best he can and you feel as full as when Bokuto was inside of you with every stream of come that coats your walls.

And then it’s all over. No more thrusting, no more rocking, no more movement. Akaashi stills, only indication that he’s not passed out is his soft muttering and the miniscule shake of his head. You slowly collide with Akaashi’s chest, pressing kisses into wherever you can reach and no one says anything. The room is filled with everyone’s huffs and recuperating inhales and the only drastic motion anyone makes is when Bokuto falls onto the bed next to you and Akaashi pressed against one another.

Other than that, you all move so slowly brought on by the sheer exhaustion that has overcome the three of you. Bokuto’s arm draped over your lower back. Akaashi reaching down to hold Bokuto’s hand. You slipping off of Akaashi and making contact with the soft covers. You and Bokuto inching closer to Akaashi. Arms entangled. Breathing synched.

You break the silence begrudgingly, but it has to be said, “Can we get better at communicating when we want this?” You’re even surprised at how hoarse and jarring your voice is in comparison to the previous quiet, but you push on. “Because I don’t want to have to make a meticulous plan every time I want this.”

Akaashi laughs, soft and airy, “So sneaky.” You don’t have the energy to react or scoff so you just place a soft bite into his shoulder. He just laughs again.

“I mean, you just have to ask,” Bokuto says, and you can hear the smile from the other side of Akaashi.

“You can ask too,” you say back.

“It feels more like yours and Akaashi’s thing that I’m just invited into,” Bokuto admits and despite how exhausted you are, you lift your head, peering over Akaashi.

“No way,” you say quickly, “I don’t see it like that.” You shake your head, “It’s our thing, all of our thing. That’s the whole point.”

A small smile finds its way onto Akaashi’s face and he doesn’t chime in, but you’re certain that Bokuto can see the sincerity and agreement in the way the corner of Akaashi’s lips upturn sweetly. You’re certain that it prompts the confidence in Bokuto’s next sentence.

“Well, then, next time I will just ask then,” Bokuto says.

And it’s your turn to smile, bold and bright right alongside the warmth in your chest. Next time.

#akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x bokuto x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #akaashi smut #bokuto smut #bokuto x akaashi #toriwritesshit #yes i’m reposting this bc it did bad

[a-kaash-me-outside]

the walls are thin - ch2

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | ch2 | next [masterlist]

// stupid, annoying, really attractive, super funny, ravishingly charming atsumu ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6214 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ suggestive bits (& eventual smut), cafe date, incessant flirting, self-indulgent flirtationship with hanamaki, seijoh4 group chat, jealous, relentless, adorable, plantsitter atsumu, afab reader she/her pronouns

send an ask and i’ll add ya to the taglist! ~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

the second that you close your door, you can’t help but speak aloud to yourself, “what the fuck was that?” you run both of your hands through your hair, leaning against the other side of the door “what the fuck was that?” you say, louder this time accompanied by a harsh scoff and only the start of another sentence, “i- fucking-.”

it’s nearly 2 in the morning. you left your dorm room over half an hour ago tired and annoyed and now you can’t fucking imagine sleeping. you know that you won’t have to deal with any banging, that time has come and gone. and it figures that the one night you know you’re guaranteed no more noises, you’re shocked awake by one stupid fucking interaction.

your dorm room isn’t big by any means. there really isn’t enough room to pace the floor and yet here you are, walking the length repetitively, turning on your heel when you couldn’t walk forwards any longer. when atsumu wasn’t in front of you, it was easy enough to maintain your annoyance or, at the bare minimum, not instantly forgive him for being so inconsiderate. it was easy enough to pretend that at some point tomorrow you were going to bring up this fact. 

“hey, so about my sleep schedule,” you practice aloud, well, aloud was an understatement, more like every few syllables made it past your lips. you shake your head, groaning to yourself as you sit down on the edge of your bed. “funny story, actually,” you say, gesturing with your hands to the thought of tomorrow’s atsumu. “fuck.”

maybe instead you would just focus on saying actual cohesive words this time. maybe that would be enough.

/++/

yesterday, yesterday you were caught off guard. you were tired. you were defeated. you thought you would have to return to a room full of irritatingly repetitive noises. it wasn’t even a thought in your mind that you’d meet him last night. you weren’t going to take the blame for the state you were in or the way that he affected you.

but today? today you were a new person, reinvigorated by the 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep you got, the productiveness of your 9am class, and the will to make sure that you looked like an actual human being when he saw you this time. you wouldn’t admit it, the amount of time and effort and the preparation that you took in your appearance, made sure to sneak around your dorm so as to not hint that you were awake early. 

the entire time that you’re getting ready, there are a million thoughts going through your head. most of them circle around the fear that you’re going to look like an idiot again. some of them about how stupid it was that you were going to lunch with the person who’s made your life the most difficult in these past months. and the most recent one you’ve landed on is that the two of you never settled on a time. what if you spent that much time getting ready, wasted countless hours of pointless thinking about things that just weren’t going to happen? what if he didn’t remember or just blew you off?

knock knock knock. you scramble to your feet from the seated position you resided in on the floor. 12:01pm. you don’t have to peek through your peephole to know who was at your door, but you do anyway. 

and god are you glad that you did. it at least gave you some time to be prepared for the sight that was a dressed up, put together, looking far too good in casual wear atsumu. it’s silly now, in hindsight, that you hadn’t thought of the fact that he would also have time to be put together today rather than you catching him completely off guard on your walk home. 

but you’re smart. you take a step away from the door, take a deep breath, and call out, “grabbing my bag, one sec.” that will buy you a few moments to prepare yourself. you throw on your shoes, grab your bag like you said you were, and you take one last look through the peephole. 

then it hits you. he did also have the ability and time to get ready just like you and, just like you, he obviously utilized every second of it. you smile a bit to yourself, turning the knob and opening your door. “cannot believe my quietness has finally earned me a free lunch.” it comes out of you easily, not forced. you didn’t have to think about it all night or mull over it while you were getting ready. 

he doesn’t say anything back to you as you step outside into the hallway next to him, turning around and locking the door behind you. in fact, all you get in return is a small laugh so you push on, “where are you taking me?”

“oh, yea,” he clears his throat, “what are you in the mood for?”

“you’re going to make your date choose where we go to eat?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows at him before focusing on putting your keys in your bag. besides, you’re not sure that you could keep this up if you kept making eye contact with him. 

“i- well,” he tries, stopping himself and starting again. he gets a bit more traction, regains a bit more of the ground that he lost the second you looked that good standing in your doorway. “a date? i’m not sure i’m dressed up enough for a date-”

“i think you look really nice,” you say, holding eye contact with him as long as you can bare it. you don’t dare look down, don’t allow yourself the pleasure of taking him in, not yet. instead, you place your hand on his chest for just a fraction of a moment, just enough for the flat of your palm to feel a single heartbeat, and then you turn to walk down the hall.

you’re already making your way towards the elevator, nodding your head towards the exit as if he hasn’t also lived there the past 2 months. “hey! you stole my line!” god, he’s not used to this. he stammers as he jogs to catch up to you. guess you’re not the one that looks like an idiot this time.

“gotta be quicker than that,” you say, turning around once you’ve gotten to the elevator, putting your weight into your heels as he takes two long strides to catch up with you. in those two long strides, you let yourself falter, breath catching as you make the mistake of taking him in as he steps right in front of you.

his blonde hair is no longer tangled in the back, but you still find yourself wanting to run your fingers through it, still find yourself wanting to know how easy it is to get as tangled as it was yesterday, still find yourself wanting to hear the sound that comes out of him when you grab a fistful. the neatness of it all is making it even worse. 

he’s wearing a different jacket this time, dark denim, no longer shirtless underneath but wearing a plain white t-shirt that’s loosely tucked into his cuffed -fucking cuffed- tan pants. his bangs are no longer resting against his forehead, instead pushed up and back revealing more of his face, revealing more of this two step behind expression on his face. 

and, fuck, if you couldn’t look at that forever. 

it’s gone too soon, replaced by a devilish smile, hand out in front of him as he steps closer to you, palm upturned as reaches towards you. your eyes widen despite wanting to flutter shut and you’re about to lean into his touch when he continues his motion right past you, clicking the elevator button and letting his hand linger, halfway bracketing you in. “gotta be quicker than that,” he says.  

/++/

you let him choose where the two of you go for lunch, a small little cafe at the very edge of town, away from the business of the campus and the multitude of college students. you had never been there before, this small hidden gem in the vicinity of a crazy college town. 

atsumu also chooses your booth, sliding into a secluded one in the corner of the cafe away from the few patrons on laptops or coffee dates. “so did i do a good job choosing our first date place?” he asks. 

you’re amused, you won’t lie. and you know that you’re the one that brought up the date joke in the first place, but there’s something about the way that he says “first date” that makes it feel a bit too real. still, you play along, tapping your chin, chewing on your bottom lip, swerving your head from side to side. “really great, but i don’t know how you’re going to top it for our second one.”

he smirks. you’ve pulled a smirk from him. he leans forwards, arms crossed over one another on the table. “i’m not usually a second date typa guy,” he admits and there’s absolutely no way that your face isn’t bright fucking red. whatever feelings you were feeling yesterday are nothing compared to this moment. your stomach feels like it’s going to come up your throat and you have to make a quick decision as a whimper threatens to leave along with it. 

ahem. you clear your throat, shaking your head as you do, covering your mouth, hoping that it covers part of the burning in your cheeks. he doesn’t give you any time to recover. “so maybe let’s not call this our first date so that i can actually take you out sometime,” he follows up. it’s not making your situation much better. 

you reach your hand out, wrapping it around his forearm, not expecting it to feel so strong in your grasp, but you suppose that was your misjudgement. you tighten your grip, begging for the attention to be taken off your face and given to the contact you’ve just created. “we’ll see how good of company you are for lunch, first, yeah?” 

he speaks after a second, nodding along, “that seems fair.”

and then it’s quiet, but neither of you seem to mind, not when you have these few moments to just sit there looking at each other, your nails gently scraping against his skin.

you break the silence first, “so, what do you do for fun?”

“oh, hm, well, i-,” he stammers, laughing, obviously not expecting that question. “i play volleyball a bit and i go to parties and i mean, yea, that’s basically how i spend my freetime.” maybe that was a bit easier of an answer than a different girl every night. he’s about to reciprocate the question when an older woman stops by the table.

“the usual, atsumu?” the waitress asks, a light, friendly touch placed on his shoulder.

the question takes you by surprise, repeats in your head as you rattle off your order as politely as you can while you put the pieces together. what are you thinking. what are you thinking. what are you thinking. 

of course he’s been there before. he’s probably taken a handful of his one night stands here. the nights that you’ve spent struggling to fall asleep or at maki’s or in the library probably started right here with a conversation very similar to the one that you’re having now. you weren’t above having a one night stand. you weren’t judging him for having many of them. you weren’t even regretting this lunch because you’ve just been reminded of the fact that you’re not special in the eyes of miya atsumu. 

you’re regretting the fuck-me eyes you’re flashing and the less than clean thoughts that you’re having because you’re not going to fuck your neighbor who is notorious for one night stands are you kidding. 

suddenly the booth seems a bit too warm, shifting in your seat, taking your hands and putting them back on your side of the table. you still smile at him sweetly. you still shoot him a few flirty questions. you still ogle at him from your side of the table, but that’s as far as it’s going to go you decide. 

/++/

he walks you back to your door which isn’t really saying much since he lives right next to it. you’re not sure if he’s going to try to talk to you again after he realizes that you’re not interested in taking this further than what it is right now. maybe he’s holding out hope or thinking that you’ll break in the next 24 hours or by the time he asks you out to dinner inevitably, because you’ve never been extraordinarily great at reading body language, but his is loud and clear. he wants to kiss you or move your hair out of your face or hug you or stroke your cheek or something. 

his body is leaning forward, not actively, just positionally, but he leaves room for you to make the move and as much as you want to close the gap, fumble with his door handle until you can pull him inside, and finally be the one who can enjoy atsumu’s one night stand for once, you motion to your door. “i’ve gotta get ready to meet a few friends, but i’m sure i will see you around.” 

you fish your key out of your bag, unlocking the door, ready to say one final goodbye before entering your own room, but he says, “wait!” you do so. “can i have your number?”

you chuckle, furrowing your eyebrows at the thought. “what do you need my phone number for? you live right next to me?” you prop the door open with your foot, grabbing onto the door frame instead.

“right and how well did that work for us seeing each other all semester?” he asks, “besides, what if i want to bother you when you’re not home?”

with your freehand that isn’t on the frame, you mimic your motion from before, resting the flat of your palm against atsumu’s sternum, patting a few times, “take a number.” and if luck and karma was on your side, the smirk and wink that you throw at him will have him just as stunned outside of his door as you were last night.

/++/

as soon as you’ve closed the door, you let out a breath you’re not even really sure you knew you were holding. what were you thinking? flirting with your neighbor that you know is having one night stand after one night stand? flirting with your neighbor that is super inconsiderate and doesn’t care about the people around him he’s affecting? flirting with your neighbor that is incredibly fucking hot and that you have incredible chemistry with? flirting with your neighbor that you could be fucking right now if you had just played your cards right instead of having to hear him fuck some other girl tonight? shit. what were you thinking?

you shake your head, sitting down at your desk and finally checking your phone.

2 new messages.

> issei / 1:03 pm > can you fucking believe yn blew us off today without so much as a text

> maki <3 /  1:04 pm > maybe she’s sleeping right through lunch.

shit. how did you forget that you were supposed to have lunch with them today instead. well i mean you know why you forgot. but how could you forget to even just text them and let them know. 

< 3:23 pm < shit sorry guys. 

> kawa / 3:32 pm > sorry really isn’t going to get you out of admitting that you didn’t tell lover boy off last night???????????

< 3:32 pm < are u guys at ur dorm??? < i’m coming over

> maki &lt;3 / 3:43 pm > hajime’s at class > the rest of us are 

> hajime / 3:45 pm > i want to know? > and if i get a footnotes version > i will be so mad

> maki <3 / 3:46 pm > then don’t be in class, loser

> maki <3 / 3:48 pm > i’m sorry. it was a joke.

> maki &lt;3 / 3:52 pm > guys please.

&lt; 4:04 pm < omw to save maki’s ass

> maki &lt;3 / 4:04 pm > and that’s why i love u.

/++/

you feel like you’ve been talking for ages, explaining everything, not sparing any little detail (except for the feelings, you definitely left the feelings out). the three men look at you in disbelief. oikawa takes a deep breath and then closes his mouth and then opens it once more, “okay, yn, when we said to confront your neighbor, we didn’t mean…” his voice trails off, but your brain fills in the blanks.

“i know,” you say through your teeth, “i obviously know in theory that i shouldn’t be flirting with my neighbor who is obviously trying to get with me.” all three of them stare back at you, waiting for a but, “...but, i don’t know, he’s just really attractive.”

“hardly an excuse,” maki responds from behind you on the couch.

“that’s because you don’t know what it’s like to have that effect on someone,” issei says, shrugging as if it were just fact. it causes you and oikawa to burst out in laughter, maki’s cheeks tinged with soft red as a result.

catching your breath, you sigh, “no, maki’s right, i know it’s not an excuse and i’m not going to do it,” you pause, blowing out air, “he’s just kinda cool to hang out with. the banter is fun and he’s nice to look at and i’m not sure i know how to hang out with him without excessively flirting with him.”

“i’m sure it’s not that hard, yn,” maki quips, voice evidently joking in a way that actually makes the situation weirdly easier. he is right. you did manage the rest of the day. 

“don’t mind him,” issei rests a hand on your shoulder and you catch his attention just long enough to catch the smirk that comes with it, “maki’s just jealous he’s not your only crush now.”

“yea, yn, maybe i’m just jealous i’m not your only crush now,” maki repeats, arms folded.

“hey, i mean, it doesn’t matter, anyway,” you shake your head, “i don’t think he’s going to be trying to talk to me after he finds out that i’m not planning on having sex with him.” you stand up from the couch, placing your hand softly on maki’s shoulder, “you will soon be my only crush once again.”

“good. that’s how it should be.” maki gives a short nod. 

“sure, behind me and hajime,” issei responds back and you’re already getting a bad feeling about the quizzical look on maki’s face. oikawa scoffs, a rebuttal already coming out of his mouth, but he’s interrupted.

“really? because yn actually said that i was her favorite,” maki says sweetly despite the destruction he’s about to bring to the room.

a volume of protests erupt from the other two men sitting in the room. “oh! look at the time! i’ve gotta head back!” you say, checking your nonexistent watch and backing up towards the door. 

“fine! leave! traitor!” oikawa scowls. you blow the group a small kiss before slipping out of the room. 

/++/

unfortunately for a lot of people, atsumu surprises you. unfortunate for maki, your second crush; your friend group for missing out on your typical presence; your own expectations; and you’re sure, atsumu, who just wanted to have sex with his cute neighbor.

he doesn’t just hang out with you once more and then decide to stop talking to you. he hangs out with you 6(7?) times in the next few days: lunch every day, a walk to the corner store, dinner, and a 45 minute talk in the hallway if you count that as hanging out. brought on either bumping into you or deliberately knocking on your door to coerce you into doing something with him.

by the third hangout, he meets your energy, flirting with you in tiny quantities, no more than he would flirt with a close friend. and it feels almost impossible, but you’re getting the suspicion that he actually wants to be friends with you. he has a million girls to choose from that he doesn’t have to try nearly as hard for, so why else would he continue to hang out with you like this?

he makes it so easy to want to be friends with him. after your initial infatuation wears off, he’s just atsumu, stupid, annoying, really attractive, super funny, ravishingly charming atsumu. and more than any of this, he makes it so easy because his room has been so quiet these past few days. you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep every single day since you started hanging out more regularly. 

there’s a tiny part of you that wants to chalk that up to you and how much you’ve been hanging out, but during one of your lunches he tells you about how rough volleyball is and that, unfortunately, makes more sense than him meeting you caused him to not want to fuck other people.

“i literally don’t have time for anything,” he said, shoving food into his mouth, checking his watch. “it has been nonstop practices, prep, training, matches.” he shook his head. 

“right, but you have time to hang out with me,” you pointed out. 

he laughed, lips spread wide to show his perfect smile, “okay. i have time for one thing and that is you, i guess.” he paused, swallowing his food. you could’ve fill the silence with more teasing and bantering, but you just waited patiently for him to speak again, not because you were trying to impress him, but because you could see that he was about to say something and you didn’t want to miss it. “i love volleyball, of course i do, but i’m ready to slow down just a little bit.” he made a pinching motion with his fingers. “‘m really glad spring break is this week. ready to get back to some routine at least.”

that’s exactly where atsumu is right now, fitting in another practice when he’s supposed to be eating because he gets an entire week off just like everyone else but unlike everyone else, he has to physically prepare for that.  

“god, the first lunch that we’ve had with just the two of us in-” he checks his phone, “5 days.” he shakes his head disapprovingly. “unacceptable.” you set your lunch down on the picnic table. 

“i know, i know, i’m sorry,” you say, swinging your leg over the bench. 

maki shrugs, “sorry isn’t good enough, i need you to make it up to me.”

“what do you want me to-,” you start, throwing your hands up in the air, ready, in the back of your mind, to give him the cookie in your bag that you really got for yourself. 

“yn?” you hear from behind you. you don’t need to look to know who it is, that voice has permanently ingrained in your head this week.

“y’know what, this works. this counts,” maki says as atsumu approaches your table.  

“maki, i swear to go-,” you start again and atsumu unintentionally interrupts you again, walking up close enough to your table. “hey!” 

you notice that jacket from the first time you met and those shorts from the first time you met and those shoulders from the first time you met and that messy hair and crooked smile. you notice all of those, easily enough to recognize when you’ve seen it all before, but there is something there on his face that isn’t as easy to recognize, because you haven’t seen it before. 

“are you just getting back from practice?” you ask.

atsumu runs his fingers through his already messed up hair, combing through the brassy locks before nodding his head, “yeah, i just got done. tomorrow’s the last one until we get back from break.”

“you told me this morning when we left at the same time, yes,” you tease, pointing for emphasis. he would normally play right back, poke fun or just laugh at your observation, but instead his eyes keep flicking over to maki. 

“oh! sorry, i didn’t- yea, this is atsumu,” you nod towards atsumu, “he’s-.”

“you’re yn’s neighbor,” maki fills in all by himself, “the volleyball guy.”

“amongst other things,” atsumu adds on.

“you sure are,” maki smirks, “i’m maki.” he gives a small wave, and you know that he’s purposely omitting a title. 

“maki’s just a friend,” you blurt, trying to slouch your shoulders and lean back to seem more casual, like the statement you just said wasn’t so pointed, like you couldn’t feel the tension. you swear to god you watch atsumu’s shoulders mirror yours.

“well, it’s nice to meet you,” atsumu replies. it’s not as dry as it could be, evidently shaking off whatever it was he was feeling a few moments ago, but the second that he turns to you and talks, it’s warm, “i’ll catch you later, okay?”

“yes! we still have stuff to go over before tomorrow!” you yell towards him even though he’s only taken 3 baby steps backwards.

“alright, alright, quit you’re yellin’,” he smiles, “you know where to find me.”

you watch him turn around and jog away, brisk and perfect form, and you’re not sure if you let out a lovey sigh or if it’s hanamaki mocking you or if you just thought it. anyway you slice it, there was a lovey sigh as he was jogging back. 

“oh my god he absolutely wants to fuck you,” maki laughs, “and we are even for like the next 10 things you do, oh my god that was so worth it.”

you punch his shoulder, narrowing your eyes, “not. cool.”

“9 now. 9 things.”

/++/

true to his word, you knew exactly where to find him.

when he opens his door, you’re expecting him to look irritated or bothered or uninterested for having to do this, but he greets you with a half-smile and steps out into the hallway with you. “okay,” you step into your room. “i’ve color coded them and i’ve included a chart. you literally can’t fuck it up. whatever the color, you refer to the little chart and you check the time slot when you’ve watered them, got it?”

“yn, i’m not going to kill your plants,” atsumu deadpans. “you know where i live.”

you let your giggles escape you, “are you ever going to stop using that joke?”

he pauses for a second, and in that second you realize how close he’s standing to you, how softly he’s looking you in the eyes, “maybe when you stop laughing at it.”

you turn away from him quickly, trying your best to hide the warmth in your cheekbones. “okay. noted,” you only half joke. “just,” you walk over to the chart beside the window sill titled atsumu’s plant checklist (pls dont kill these guys) ♡ “follow the chart and you’re right, you will not kill them.”

“got it,” atsumu nods genuinely. 

you point at him. “and in return,” you turn around and tap on the 10 digits in the bottom corner of the paper. “i am finally giving you my phone number.”

atsumu fakes a gasp, “for bothering you when you’re not home?”

“no! no. you will use this for emergency’s only. i am entrusting you with my dorm key,” you wave it in your hand above your head, “and if anything happens-,” you say, backing up, shaking your head. 

“nothing’s going to happen,” atsumu steps forward with you as you back up, lunging forward and grabbing your wrist, “now what are you so afraid of?” he doesn’t let go of your wrist, not as he cocks his head to the side and lowers your hand, pushing his fingers into your fist to grab the loosely held key. 

“okay then,” you say, quiet, really quiet because he’s pretty close and you don’t need to be screaming into his ear and your stomach is not letting you talk any louder, “i will see you in two weeks.”

he drops your wrist, slowly, not all at once, lets you feel his soft skin on yours until the very last second. “me, and all of your very alive plants, will see you in two weeks.”

unlike most everyone else on campus, you were leaving for two weeks instead of one, split equally between spring break free time and a university sanctioned event. this meant a really cool and fun two weeks away from classes and the mundane. it also meant two weeks away from maki and atsumu and your plants and your bed. 

you grab your duffle bag that you had packed previously, slinging it over your shoulder. both you and atsumu leave your room. atsumu locks the door with your key, checking that the door is properly locked like you’ve never seen him do with his own. “two weeks,” he says, pointing at you as you walk down the hallway. you shake your head, “two weeks.”

bzzzz bzzzz. before you’re even out of the building you get a text.

> unknown / 7:20 pm > about your plants… > have a safe trip 😚

yeah, your trip wouldn’t be so bad. 

/++/

> 12:34 pm > i’m back in 10, pls let’s get foooood

> tsumu / 12:35 pm > for sure. drop ur bags and we’re going > srsly 1 minute and im leaving without u

you did exactly that, opened your door for just a fraction of a second to throw your bag inside and then started banging on atsumu’s door, not stopping until he’s opened it, not even when he yells, “i’m coming, i’m coming, hold on.” when the door flings open, you’re met with maybe too many emotions, namely excitement and a realization of just how much you missed him. “god, so impatient,” is what’s coming out of his mouth before his eyes have settled on you, his face contorted into playful annoyance. the end of the sentence trails off and the playful annoyance is replaced with a smile and an expression similar to the one you’re wearing. 

there is no hesitance, from either of you, as you extend your arms out and wrap them around him. his arms follow suite at the exact same speed as if both of you had the idea at the exact same time, mutually exclusive in this reaction to seeing each other for the first time in two weeks. his arms clasping around your waist tightly, strongly and you try to match the squeeze as much as you can and you’re wondering if he’s feeling as safe as you are right now. 

you don’t even have it in your head to feel off about how closely the two of you are pressed together, not when you’re breathing in his scent, clean and a pinprick dab of soft cologne, not when you can feel his heartbeat against the side of your cheek. and definitely not when he squeezes you just a fraction tighter as he says, “missed ya.” there’s no way he didn’t feel your heart skip a beat.

truthfully, there wasn’t a single day during that 2 weeks that you didn’t text with atsumu. but, the same could be said about maki, so it’s not really that big of a deal, right? though, you suppose, maki wasn’t the first person that you texted the second you stepped foot back on campus. and maki wasn’t the one that you spent a solid minute hugging within the first minute you saw him. and maki wasn’t sitting in front of you eating lunch now, a lingering smile on his face that hasn’t quite left from that moment. and maki didn’t buy you lunch as a welcome back present.

but it’s still not that big of a deal.

“what is that supposed to mean?!” you laugh, leaning forward, eyebrows knit together and, you’re sure, an adorably confused look on your face.

“i meant what i said, i get it,” atsumu tries, putting his hands up in faux defeat.

“you get why this 50 year old man tried to give me a keycard to go back to his room with him?” you repeat, trying to make sure that you’re actually hearing him correctly. 

“game recognize game,” he shrugs.

“you’re fucking ridiculous,” you shake your head, but you’re not even trying to hide the huge grin, laughing as you reach over to atsumu’s plate and pick a french fry off of it. there’s a pause, a beat, that just feels natural as it passes, but as soon as he’s said his next sentence, you know that moment was thoughtful, tactical, maybe even used to muster up some courage, if not just to weigh some pros and cons. 

“i mean, god, i really was trying to fuck you the first time we hung out,” atsumu says, admits, lets escape into such a crowded space, but the statement is gone as quickly as it came, carried away by the volume of the public space that you’re in. you knew this. of course you knew this, but there was still something so taboo about him saying it to your face.

what’s his angle here? you don’t even know how to respond, so you tease him, “yea, well, maybe you shouldn’t have been so insufferable and i would’ve fucked you.” you shrug your shoulders, stealing another fry.

he laughs, then, but it tapers out at the end. was that not the answer that he wanted? what was the answer that he wanted? you look at him, really look, as much as you can without seeming weird, and his smile is still as bright and his shoulders aren’t any more slumped, but there’s something in his eyes, a tiny damper that you might even have mistaken for hurt. 

you wait for something to change in your conversation, but he keeps throwing jokes your way, keeps asking you about your trip, telling you about his week of school without you. the rest of your conversation goes on like normal for the most part, if not just a touch less flirty on atsumu’s end. 

/++/

by the time you make it back to your room, it’s dark outside. between swiping notes from people from various classes and getting dinner with maki and hanging out with oikawa and iwa and issei at their dorm, when you actually make it to your room it’s nearly 2 in the morning. you pat at your pockets, search your tote bag, shit. 

his shitty ass handwriting catches your eye. if you are not yn do not take this key. holy shit he’s a dumb ass. still, you’re grateful that he thought this far ahead at least. what if someone stole it? or just went into your room? you shake your head, moving one door over, ready to both thank him and reprimand him.

you’re about to knock on his door and then you hear it, because it’s really been ingrained in your head since the beginning of the semester, this rhythm, this noise. and you know exactly what it is. you’re looking for it now. it’s faint, but you’re listening for it. and yet, you still end up inside your room, because no matter how confident you were that that is what you were hearing in the hallway, it would be louder in your room and louder meant it was actually happening.

it’s unmistakable, really, but you put your hand on the wall just to make sure. 

it’s been weeks since you’ve dealt with this, weeks since you’ve had to hear this, weeks since you’ve met atsumu and got to know him and flirted with him and got lunch with him every day and let him text you and trusted him to plantsit for you. 

you move away from the wall, stand up from your bed, and walk over to set your tote bag and notes down on your desk, needing to get rid of the things that are weighing you down because you feel heavy enough as it is right now. 

but sitting on your desk instead is the chart that you left atsumu, completely filled out with random smiley faces and check marks and doodles on each day and there is a new color on the bottom with one poorly drawn added box and a large, similarly badly drawn, star inside of it. next to the chart is a small cactus with the coordinated color tab wrapped around its base and a note that reads

??? cactuses are easier to take care of. please get more so next time it’s easier to take care of them. - atsumu  

p.s. you’re welcome for the new plant

p.p.s AND for keeping all of your plants alive. 

p.p.p.s welcome back. i missed havin u around.

p.p.p.p.s. it’s 2 days until you’re back dont hold this against me. been too quiet without u around.

for the few minutes that you’re reading and rereading the note, the sound fades away. but now you’re wishing the note was never ending because it’s back and it’s loud and fuck. fucking miya atsumu.

taglist: @natriae @simpfully-heartbroken @niverine @mobbbb1 @cloud-lyy @mimivinx @kjd55 @phantomremi @url0call1fter @kryzi @katsunarii @slut-for-dabi @ellie111593

#atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu x reader #atsumuxreader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader #eventual smut #toriwritesshit #twrt!

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch1

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. ch1 | next [masterlist]

// maybe a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6683 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, cute flirting before, drinking but not drunk sex, unprotected sex (NO PREGNANCY TROPE I PROMISE I SWEAR FOREVER), thigh fucking, slight missed connection trope, names names names pet names a million pet names, minimal foreplay (unless you count flirting as foreplay), afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you are completely aware that you should not be out right now.

but you are.

and you could chalk that up to your horribly persuasive friends and their constant nagging and pleading for you to tag along with them tonight or your distaste for saying no to people and disappointing them or even a mild fear of missing the played out events of a really great night in your head.

the truth is, it doesn't matter the reason that you’re out despite how kinda stupid it is. the fact is, you know that it’s a bad idea to be entering a club at 12am when the alarm in your pocket is set to 6am, but you’re doing it anyway. sure, you were lightly bullied and, sure, you keep offering deprecating and pity-me sentences about how you really shouldn’t be out, but you’re still there. you’re still out. 

you’re still hovering over a high-top table in the corner of the club a few steps from the bar screaming over loud music, “i told you guys that i didn’t really want to drink tonight.” yet, a drink is, indeed, thrusted into your hand. the glass bottle is cool against your palm, fingers smudging the condensation on the label as you hold it tight.

“if you don’t want it, i’ll drink it,” your friend offers, red jacket bunched around his wrist as he extends his hand towards you, palm shaped so the bottle would fit perfectly against it. you shake your head, bringing it to your lips, taking a sip, and then another, and then another. 

“this is such a bad idea, kuroo,” you drone, exhaling as you take another sip.

“yn,” kuroo says abruptly, one hand placed on your shoulder, fingers squeezing to call you to look at him, “we know.”

“do you want to go home?” akaashi asks, calling your bluff or genuinely concerned, you’re not completely sure. he turns to another member of your friend group for confirmation and a bit of support, “bo, should we just take her home?”

you stick your hand out in between them as if this would stop the conversation from progressing or any decisions from being made. you shake your head, “no. no, i don’t want to go home.”

“then maybe loosen up and act like it,” bokuto implores, hands on your shoulders, leaning his definitely not a tiny bit of weight against you, bouncing along with the beat of the song. 

“i just feel like if i keep saying it’s a bad idea,” you reason, narrowing your eyes as the sentences finishes in your head and you know that you’re going to get flamed when it actually comes out of your mouth, “that it makes up for the fact that i’m out because i feel bad for it?”

definitely not.

yeah, i don’t think so.

nice try.

bad logic, yn, really bad. 

you groan, “okay, okay. fine. actually having fun. because i’m out,” you point at akaashi and he nods back at you, “and so why not just enjoy it instead of making myself miserable for being out?”

“and us,” tsukishima notes, “don’t forget us. you’re also making us miserable.”

kuroo throws his arm around tsukishima, runs the tops of his knuckles over his hair as he laughs, “you’re always miserable. you don’t count.”

“tch, knock it off,” tsukishima swats at kuroo’s fist so violently that he almost falls over.

“yea,” you say in an attempt to convince yourself, “just have a fun time and don’t think about the fact that i should probably be on my way home right now.” 

akaashi bumps his shoulder into yours, the one that bokuto’s fingers are still tightly grasped around. “you know how to have fun, yn,” he reminds you, “laughing at those dumbasses is usually a good start.” akaashi nods towards tsukishima and kuroo trying, and failing, to contain their back and forth, bumping into the table and spilling bokuto’s drink. 

it is a good start, you suppose. you can’t help but laugh, actually, as they start yelling at each other, blame spewing and insults flown. “and then,” akaashi says, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to your drink. he raises his own, waits for you to do the same and then lightly taps the neck against yours. you raise the bottle to your lips, tilt it upwards, and don’t bring it back down until the only weight in your hand is the empty glass.

“c’mon, idiots, you owe bo a new drink,” akaashi shouts over the already loud club and added bickering, “and we need a refill also.”

they either don’t hear him or choose to ignore him. neither tsukishima nor kuroo even bat an eye to akaashi waving his hands to get their attention or the dramatic sigh that he forces. bokuto notices, though, nods to the bar as he says, “c’mon, we will go get new drinks. they won’t even notice we’re gone!”

your tiny nod is confirmation enough. bokuto grabs your wrist, gently pulls you through the mass amounts of people to the bar, moving through the crowd much easier than you would’ve on your own. sure, you could maneuver in and out of people, but bokuto could barrel right through them, polite enough to offer small sorrys and excuse mes, but assertive enough to keep moving the entire time. 

bokuto presses up against the counter, leans over the top to order whatever drinks he’s ordering, and then waits patiently while the bartender grabs said drinks. you stand next to him, akaashi on the other side of bo, a bit of space between you resting with your lower back on the edge of the countertop and the horde of people dancing in the vicinity. 

the bar is a bit of an oasis, somewhat more organized than the conglomerate of different groups that occupied the rest of the venue. there is a patience here that you don’t get in other parts of the club, a knowing restraint that you welcome like a breath of fresh air. you scan the length of the bar, the groups of people inhabiting the same space that you are for the same reason that you are and among them, a man with gray hair and a tight black t-shirt who keeps looking over in your direction. 

everytime you try to sneak a private glance, he’s already looking at you, eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second before pretending that he was looking somewhere else. you’re suddenly feeling much warmer than before, perhaps it has something to do with the club lights or the large gathering of people or the way the two guys that are with him keep nudging him in your direction. 

“that guy keeps looking at you,” bokuto notes, pointing very blatantly at the man across the bar. “you should go talk to him.”

“no way!” you instantly reject the thought. 

akaashi leans forward, peeking out from the other side of bo. “step three of having a fun night out? getting railed by a mystery guy who keeps throwing you looks,” akaashi explains, head nodding, no inclination of sarcasm. 

“you said talk to him,” you say, glance thrown over your shoulder just in case he’s already gone. that would solve a lot of your inner turmoil right now. but when you do look, he’s looking right back. this time, he keeps eye contact with you for an entire second before pulling away.

“right, well, and then fuck him,” akaashi says, mischevious smile, shrugging his shoulders as if it were obvious.

“i don’t do that,” you explain. 

“you haven’t done that,” bokuto says, “there’s a difference.” 

“look, you’re out, you’re trying to have a good time, that hot fuckin’ guy is staring you down?” akaashi says, naming all of the reasons that he believes this is a great idea, “and the four of us are here if something is weird. this is the perfect opportunity.”

“no, no,” you shake your head, “besides, i’ve gotta finish this drink and tsukishima and kuroo are probably-”

bokuto taps his card against the machine as you babble on excuses and grabs the drinks from the counter in the middle of your sentence, handing one to akaashi and holding the other two. “oh nooo,” bokuto whines, “turns out these drinks are for me. better find someone else to buy you a drink.” he makes eye contact with akaashi, nods towards the direction of where you all came from and starts moving that way.

you move to follow them, but your feet don’t move, heart beating against your chest as your core tells you that if you hesitate for only a moment, they will be out of reach and it’ll actually be easier to just sit here at the bar. and if something were to happen while you were abandoned by your friends, if the buff looking tall guy a few feet down the bar decides to talk to you, then it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have ever happened to you. 

it’s not just that you don’t move, it’s that you make the very conscious choice not to move. you take a deep breath and check one more time that he’s still there, that he’s still looking at you, and he is. you let your stare linger this time, you have no other obligations or people to talk with. it’s you, all alone at this bar, waiting for one particularly attractive man to make his way over to you and talk to you, you might as well make it obvious. 

with him are two other guys, one that looks eerily like him but with brassy dyed hair and a louder personality and another one with a black mask on and dark, curly hair. the blonde one nods in your direction, pushes him with his shoulder once and then twice and then a third time. you think that this will cause a reaction, but it doesn’t. 

you’re almost ready to concede, make your way back to the high top and have a good night without going out of your comfort zone, but the other guy leans over and says something in his ear, points at you with his chin, and then pulls the blonde guy away and leaves the gray haired guy alone just like you. 

for someone who didn’t make his way over to you the first three times someone shoved him in your direction, it doesn’t take him long to walk over to you once he’s alone. you wonder if you’ll have to say something first, what will you say first, what should you say first?

“did your friends leave ya too?” he asks, and if you hadn’t downed your first drink and you weren’t as nervous as you were, you might’ve noticed how out of place he sounded as well. 

you laugh, offer a short nod as he takes place next to you, leaning against the bar the same way you are. you’re rooting through your brain to concoct an adequate response, one that will entice him to stay, continue a conversation, let him know that you’re very interested while also not telling him that outright, but all of that thinking is rendering you currently silent.

still, he tries again, asks something much easier, “can i buy ya a drink?” 

you nod again, turning towards him this time, but not before catching a glimpse of his profile, his chest, his forearms tense with his fingers gripping the edge of the counter. tonight was definitely not a mistake. you don’t care how early you have to be up tomorrow. “only if you stick around for a dance too,” you say, hand ghosting on said tense forearm, testing the waters, voice projecting so that you’re sure he hears you.

he laughs this time, gorgeously genuine smirk appearing along with it. “i don’t really dance,” he admits, “but to talk to ya a bit longer? i’d be stupid not to.” his eyes flicker down to your lips, the way your tongue peeks out for just a second and your teeth scrape against the bottom, and then back up to your eyes, wider than before but just as lust-stricken. 

he turns, flags down a bartender. on their way over to the two of you, he leans down, “what can i getcha?”

“i’m not picky,” you respond, “i’m pretty adventurous, actually. i like trying new things. i feel like you can learn a lot about someone from drinking their go-to drink.” you feel like you’re rambling, but he’s looking at you like you’re the cutest thing on earth. 

he leans over the bar, orders whatever he orders, and then quickly returns back to your side. “so what did you order?” you ask. “what will i be drinking?”

“spiced rum and coke,” he calls back, “what does that say about me?”

“hm?” you question, tilting your head.

“ya said that ya can learn a lot about someone from their go-to drink. what does that say about me?” he asks, smiling.

you purse your lips, mulling it over for a second. “i think it says that you like the classics, but with a more exciting twist,” you say back. “like-” 

he wraps his arm around your waist, cutting you off as he pulls you closer to him, moving you out of the way of some far too drunk couple that was knocked in your direction, drink sloshing right where you were just standing. “sorry,” he says, very slow to remove his hand from your waist, but you lean back into it. 

“don’t apologize,” you say, staying pressed up against his side. “practically saved my life,” you joke. “if the roles were reversed, you’d be drenched right now. i’m not that fast.” he raises his eyebrows at your sentence, but you don’t correct yourself, just avert his gaze and laugh at yourself. “did you have that all planned or?” you ask.

“nope,” he says, arm still around your waist as he pulls his card out of his pocket to pay. he hands you one of the drinks. “just the stars aligning or somethin.” 

the spice of the rum is nice, warming, a bit more flavorful, an unexpectedly fun twist to a classic. you smile up at him. “now you owe me a dance,” you say, nodding towards the dance floor full of people. 

he doesn’t hesitate, slides his hand down your side, digs his fingers into the fat of your hip, and nods in the same direction as you. “lead the way,” he says. he follows you as you weave through groups of friends and drunk couples until you find a somewhat less crowded corner. the music isn’t as loud here, a bit further away from the speakers and the action, but it feels perfect for the two of you. 

dancing is a generous word for what the two of you are doing. it starts more like swaying, his hand still on your hip, your hand now on his shoulder. you’re both still chained with mostly empty drinks in one hand, taking small sips here and there in between half-lidded eye contact and half-steps closer to the other. 

“is it bad that i want to get rid of this ridiculously over-charged drink so that i can put both of my hands on you?” he asks, leaning down to place his lips against your ear despite the fact that the music isn’t necessarily loud enough to warrant that. you shake your head, his lips brushing against the side of your cheek as you do, and then you let it fall onto his shoulder. 

you reach out, feel alone guiding you as you set your half-drank cup on a random table. you clasp your hands around his neck, allowing yourself to lean backwards to take him all in, pretty gray eyes, hungry look in the depths of them. you tangle your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. you really want to kiss him.

the hand that just held his drink is colder, shocking almost as it smooths down your lower back, fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt, toying with the fabric and the zipper on the side. now you really want to kiss him.

he’s staring directly into your eyes as his fingers ghost over the lace of your underwear. he doesn’t pull away at the feeling, doesn’t stutter or retreat or dive deeper, but pushes his fingers underneath the band, dull nails scraping against the soft skin of your hip. you really want to kiss him right now. 

he’s so focused on touching you, on teasing you, on watching your adorable expression as you try to keep yourself composed, that you decide to take matters into your own hands, pulling him down into you and pushing up into him, lips smashing against his, fingers threading into his hair. 

you talk in the same instances that you breathe, in between long, sloppy kisses and roaming touches. “i don’t normally do this,” you admit. “am i supposed to say that?” 

“i wouldn’t know,” he says back, out of breath before pressing a kiss into your lips again, speaking against them, “i don’t either.”

“looking like that?” you ask, just as out of breath as he is, “your hands confident as that? yea fuckin right.”

he pulls away for a real breath, chest rising and falling a bit heavier than usual, tongue swiping over his lip to swallow the spit you’ve left there. “honest,” he replies.

you shake your head. you still don’t necessarily believe him, “i suppose i don’t have to trust you to go fuck you in the bathroom.”

he tilts his head, a huge smile on his face now. “oh?” he questions, “is that how far this is goin? ya thinking that far out?”

you blush, instantly warm against his touch. “well, no, i- i didn’t mean-,” you stutter.

“i mean, i suppose it doesn’t have to be that far out,” he says, low, as he brings one hand up and places your chin between his fingers, demanding your eye contact. “it could be in the next thirty seconds if ya want.”

all you can do is nod, but that’s enough for him. he’s dragging you by the waist to the other corner of the club, nodding towards the only single-room, open bathroom and you nod even more dramatically, following him inside. 

he locks the door behind you and his hands are instantly back on your body, gripped around each of your hips, both pressing you against the door and holding you in place as you pull his face down into you harder. he slides his hands to your lower back, down your ass, pushing up your skirt so he can feel your soft skin directly on his large hands. 

he uses this grip to lift you, back sliding against the bathroom door as he pulls you closer to him. he doesn’t have to lean down as far to kiss you now, doesn’t have to worry about using his hands to press you into the door. your legs are wrapped around him, his hips pressed between them. 

he kisses down your neck. “do i get to know your name?” he asks into your collarbones.

“do you need to?” you ask, cheek against the top of his head. 

when he laughs, you can feel the vibrations dance across your chest, “guess not.” he licks a strip up your neck, grinding his hips against you, “what do you want me to call you tonight then?”

“something cute,” you offer. 

he laughs again, “alright, doll, i’ll get creative then.” he holds you tight, both hands on the undersides of your thighs as he moves you to the sink, sets you on the edge of the porcelain fixture. his hands move to the tops of your thighs, sliding up and up until the hem of your skirt is at the top of your hips, exposing the lacey panties he was toying with moments ago.

surprisingly, this weird grip that he has on the tops of your thighs is not doing a horrible job at keeping you up right, but the longer that he feels your skin, drags his nails against the fats of your thighs, nudges open your legs with his knee, the less his focus is on keeping you steady. your core is tight, engaged to not fall backwards into the faucet, but perched right on the edge. 

“fuck, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs against your neck, hooks both of his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulls them down your thighs, over your knees, and lets them rest around your ankles and the fact that he’s being this mindful, doesn’t let your panties touch the gross bathroom floor, either means that he has, indeed, done this before or, the much worse option, he’s just that considerate and thoughtful.

he wraps one arm around your lower back, places one large hand on the inside of your thigh and slides it further between your legs until the tip of his thumb rubs against your already messy clit. you reach out on instinct, fingers wrapping around his forearm, eyes begging to stare into his, but he can’t pull away from the way that you’re teetering on the edge of the sink, thighs quivering to keep yourself upright as he begins to tease you, so you force it, slide your grip up his arm and shoulder and tilt his head to look you in the eyes and now he’s convinced he can’t ever pull away from this sight. 

your eyebrows are knit together but always moving, lip jutted out, chin tilted upwards, breathing already unsteady and he can feel the heat radiating from your entire body. he watches your jaw fall open as he drags the tips of two fingers between your puffy lips, circling the pads against your hole once before your tiny, but insistent nods convince him to push inside. your eyes close lazily and then open half-lidded, corners of your lip upturn into a blissful smile, and the prettiest hum leaves your throat as his fingers fill you.

with your position on the sink it’s not easy, but you move your hips forward the smallest bit. it barely pushes his fingers deeper, but the miniscule movements are better than nothing. he could give you everything you wanted right now, could curl his fingers and move so fast that his arm’ll be sore tomorrow, but there’ll be time for that in a second. right now, you’re whimpering so needy for him, soft walls clenching around two fingers, juices dripping into his palm and down to his wrist, a slow, sticky squelching louder than the music and chatter behind the closed door. 

“more?” you ask, quiet and sweet. you could’ve told him politely or demanded it, however you wanted to communicate your need would’ve been good enough for him, but you ask him so nicely and he knows exactly how the rest of the night will go, knows exactly what you need from him. 

“oh, sweetheart,” he says and the butterflies in your stomach are getting restless now. he nudges your legs open wider with his knee, steps in between them to get a better angle, chest against your shoulder as he starts fingering you faster, driving his two thick, long fingers deeper inside of you, curling as he pulls his arm back towards himself. “give ya anything ya want when ya ask that nicely.”

you can’t think of any other words, the only thing leaving your mouth over and over again is, “fuck fuck fuck” as he fucks you so pretty with his fingers. you’re so wet around him, so easy for his fingers to slip in and out of you and you’re having a hard time keeping your legs spread. if he weren’t standing between them, they’d be closed around his hand right now. it’s all so much. 

your forehead falls into his bicep, nodding against the muscle, fingers grip around the edge of the sink as you babble, “gonna come, please, gonna make me come.”

“then come, bunny,” he says, presses a soft kiss into your hair, and you’re gone. you listen to him so well, he can’t help but smile as he continues the motions, fingering you through your orgasm, walls fluttering around him, flooding even more. the grip on your waist gets tighter as you lose control, taking care of you as nearly every thought leaves your head. if he were any less in control, less thoughtful, you’d be on the floor right now. 

“and what do i call you?” you pant the second that you’re able to think again, hands not really sure where to root as they move from his chest to his shoulder to his forearm. 

“s’pose you might need something to call out when i wreck ya, huh?” he asks, kissing the side of your jaw because it’s the closest thing he can reach, thankful for your tiny recovery as he reaches down with one hand to undo his belt and jeans. 

fuck. you swallow harshly, not caring for even a second how much the effect of these words is showing on your face. this confidence might look tacky or awkward on somebody else, but his beaming genuine smile and equally as strong grip on your waist is driving you insane already and you know he’s not lying, he’s going to ruin you. you nod. 

“don’t matter to me, princess,” he says, smearing the juices on his fingers down the length of his cock, swirling around his tip, but you don’t dare look down, eyes on his as he finishes his sentence, “as long as it’s coming out of your pretty mouth, you can call me whatever you want.”

“and you say you haven’t done this before,” you breathe, voice very unsteady for how confident that sentence could’ve been.

“i really haven’t,” he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you. “honest. just something about you that’s driving me crazy,” he says, wet fingers digging into your hip under your skirt, and for some dumb fucking reason you believe him, nodding stupid like he needed confirmation to a plain statement and you hope he understands that this means that you want him right now.

you press your forehead against his shoulder, catching only a glimpse of him lining himself up, finally having a scene to match the sensations as he drags his thick head between your sloppy lips, grids the underside against your clit, pushes the tip against your slightly stretched hole. 

“nuhhuh,” he says, picking your chin up, shaking his head, talking so soft that you accept it all as gospel, “look at me, dove. you can watch later, but right now, i need to see your pretty expression as i spear ya, okay?”

all you can do is nod, all you can say is, “okay.”

he smirks, kisses the side of your jaw so quickly before pulling away, eyes scanning every facial feature so he can notice the change in every single one, and then he pushes inside of you. the moan that rips from you is so loud that you’re convinced every person in the building can hear it. it breaks off at the end, so forceful that your vocal chords can’t support it, and you can’t see how entranced he’s looking at you because you can’t focus on anything.

you’re so fucking full. 

he’s pressed completely up against you, hips resting on the insides of your thighs, arm around your lower back to pull you into him, your chest against his, and his face is so close to yours, but not close enough that he can’t see how hard he’s already wrecking you just by being inside of you.

his hips pull back slowly. you can feel every inch leaving you and you’re already squirming at not being filled to the brim, circling your hips as best you can on the edge of the sink. he pushes forward again, harsher this time. your head falls against his shoulder and from this position, you can finally see it, the sheen of your slick on his cock as he pulls out and fucks back into you, how thick he is as he disappears inside of you. your walls clench around him at the sight, his hips stutter at the feeling, he needs more. 

every thrust inside of you, the fronts of his thighs slam against the side of the sink. you feel like the entire room is shaking with how forceful he’s being, but he can’t help himself, not when you’re sucking him in so tight. “shit, so fuckin’ perfect for me, fuck, so wet, ‘s it feel good, pumpkin?”

you nod vehemently, can barely talk amongst your whimpers and whines, can’t even really form a thought it feels so fucking good. “mmm,” you whine, “feels mm- feel- s- so good, baby, fuck, so so s- so good.”

“can’t even talk, you’re so cock drunk, huh, pretty?” he asks, moving both of his hands to your hips, rocking you back and forth to meet his thrusts and you just let him.

“please don’t stop, please, gonna come,” you say, the only string of words you’ve managed since he’s started fucking you, but you need him to know how close you are. 

“lemme feel it, babygirl, lemme feel how tight ya get when you’re comin’ on my cock, yea?” he coaxes, rhythmic pace unwavering, harder now even as he pushes you over the edge. before you even make a noise, he knows that you’re coming, can feel you gush, dripping down the underside of his cock as you squeeze him impossibly tighter and he’s throbbing now, doesn’t know how much longer he can take it when you’re making such adorable noises and looking at him like that between bouts of inabilities to focus and panting that heavily. 

he lets you ride through your orgasm completely as he hammers into you, lets you recover fully before even thinking about asking, “can i come on your thighs, angel?”

“oh, fuck,” you breathe, gummy walls fluttering at the thought.

you’re so drenched, juices running down your thighs and the inside of your legs, that it’s easy for him to press your legs together and fuck into them to finish. your plush thighs aren’t as tight as your cunt, but they’re softer, fuller, kinder, and he can’t get enough of the feeling and the sight, skin rippling as his thick cock slides against the sheened skin, disappearing into the fats of them repeatedly. you can’t stop looking either, forehead pressed against his as you both watch this sight in awe. 

“gonna paint your thighs white, puppy, fuck,” he announces, his own breath getting heavier, thrusts getting less rhythmic, more messy as he gives in, heavy cock resting between your thighs as he releases.

the throb is violent against the inside of your thighs and you can feel every single pulse as stream after stream of his sticky load coats your thighs. as the last bit of come drools out of the tip, he presses your legs together harder and pushes his hips forward one more time, hissing as his sensitive cock slides through the mess of come he’s created on your legs. 

“holy shit,” he breathes after a silent second. or, well, as silent as it can be with an entire world of people and happenings just a door away.

you nod, finally catching your own as you cup his cheek with your hand, guiding him down to meet your lips one last time, not because you’re desperate or needing, but something that you hope he takes with him as he leaves the bathroom and the club, a wordless thank you.

in the aftermath of lust and infatuation, you smile at him. he holds you in place, but leans away from you to grab some form of tissue to clean you up. he helps you down from the edge of the sink, helps you stand up right when your feet touch the floor, backs of your thighs aching from being pushed into the edge of a cheap sink all night. 

“well,” you shyly bend over to pull your panties up from around your ankles, “really great night,” you say, voice still weak even after you clear your throat. 

“yea,” he breathes a light chuckle, “a really great night,” he agrees.

you wait a beat, patient to see if he’s going to add anything else, a prying question or longing statement. the longer that you stay in this bathroom, the louder the noises of the confines get, the outside fading away momentarily as you hear the occasional drip of the faucet and the hum of fluorescent lights.

“do you think i could-,” he starts.

“i should probably get back to-,” you start at the same time.

“what?” you ask quickly, rushing to get him to finish the sentence he started, but there’s a soft pink on his cheeks and he’s quiet for another couple of seconds, and then he shakes his head.

“nothing,” he says, “i should get back to my friends too.” you only notice the sigh, the gulp, the hesitance and the regret because you’re looking for it, because you’re feeling it too. 

his hand is on the door handle and for a single second you’re sure that he’s going to say something else, finish his other sentence or start a new, but he doesn’t. he opens the door, the loudness of the music unwelcomed in comparison to the privacy and seclusion of your bathroom hookup.

“well,” you repeat, “maybe i’ll see you some other time and you can fuck me in the bathroom again.” his hand is still on your waist as he smiles huge and his laughter takes residency in your chest seemingly until the end of time.

“or, maybe you could-,” he starts, but perhaps the stars have unaligned themselves now, because he can’t seem to catch a break.

“HEY!” kuroo screams from across the bar the second that he makes eye contact with you. akaashi hits him once and then a second time for good measure, leaning in and overtly pointing to the person next to you. kuroo raises his arm, taps on his wrist with the other hand, and oh god you don’t even want to know what time it is. still, you shake your head and turn your attention back to your fling that you hope asks for a number and turns into at the very least a longer-term fling. 

“sorry about him,” you shake your head, and you swear he looks like he’s going to try one more time, pushing past all of the things that are refusing to let him ask you a simple question, but the blonde from earlier catches his attention, making a similar motion with wide eyes, chest forward like he’s going to walk over here any minute and your well it was really great while it lasted fling is removing his hand from your lower back. 

“i hope so, yea,” he replies, a smaller smile now as he turns his body towards the two people he was with before that are heading to the exit. “i really hope so.” 

the second that he starts to move so do you, both making your way through the dwindling crowd to the respective groups that you came here with, throwing a look over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure that, yes, he is indeed stealing the same obsessive glances that you are as he leaves.

“i can’t fucking believe you,” you say, hitting kuroo on the same shoulder that akaashi did, “he was about to give me his number, and now he’s gone forever.”

“you’d think that you’d get his number before you left the bathroom, yn, god,” kuroo says, shifting blame. “besides, maybe you’ll come out with us more now instead of being a buzzkill all the time, instead of being all guys, it’s not a good idea and i literally have work in the morning and-”

“kuroo is… oddly right,” akaashi says, interrupting him and shrugging, “in some weird way. he probably comes here from time to time, i’m sure you’ll run into him again. what was his name?”

your eyes go wide and you try to hide the fact that you fucked this guy without ever learning his name, but tsukishima catches it instantly and starts cackling. “wow, who even are you?”

“we’ll come back next friday, yea? you’ll probably find him again and you guys can have a fun mystery hookup in the bathroom again,” akaashi half-reason, half-pokes fun and you nod. you hope he comes back too. maybe you’ll at least learn his name next time.

/\ /\ /\

despite the fact that you do not regret anything from last night (well, maybe the part where you didn’t get the number of an incredibly hot guy who fucked you in the bathroom of a club, but nothing else), the morning is still not well-recieved for you. you didn’t even drink that much last night, but the small amounts of alcohol and the severe lack of sleep have you waking up feeling like your bones are made of bricks and your head is filled with them.

you didn’t get home until nearly 3 in the morning and you didn’t pass out until well past 3. you can’t brush your teeth enough times and the water in the shower can’t be hot enough and no matter how much concealer you layer on, the bags under your eyes are still at least somewhat visible.

regret isn’t the right word per se, because you definitely don’t regret going out the night (morning?) before or staying out as long as you did, but you definitely are feeling the effects of your bad decisions come to life. 

and on top of everything, you have to be presentable enough to go into work? that’s ridiculous. 

** bffs + tsukishima **

&lt; delivered / 8:04 am < alright who tf did this to me

> kuroo / 8:15 am > that guy last night lmao

&lt; delivered / 8:25 am < i wish akaashi was up instead of u

> kuroo / 8:29 am > what time do you   have to be in anyway?

&lt; delivered / 8:30 am < omw now.

a deep breath is not enough to prepare you for a full day of work, but it has to do something, right? and taking six of them outside of the front doors of not only your job, but your first day at your new job is probably enough to compensate for the exhaustion and physical garbage that you’re feeling.

you push open the doors, fake smile plastered on your very tired face, apron draped over your forearm. “good morning,” you offer over the chime of the entrance bell. before you even step fully inside, you’re greeted with the same tired-veiled enthusiasm, voice so familiarly soft that his morning welcome sounds more like an opening hymn. 

you walk towards the voice, but you don’t see anyone fully yet, only the top of a moving black cap behind the counter accompanied by shuffling papers and clanging pots. “just a sec, sorry,” he calls before standing up straight, rice cooker in his arms and he realizes it in the same immediate instant that you do.

gray eyes, still pretty but surprised now; gray hair no longer casually messy but neat under an onigiri embroidered dad cap; tight black shirt against his chest long-sleeved now; and he laughs, not because anything is funny, but because he doesn’t know how else to react at how impossible this situation is and yea it’s the exact same laugh that’s still living in your chest. 

you’re sure you look like a deer in the headlight right now, because it’s certainly how you feel. you can’t really breathe, don’t know what to say, because, yes, this is, indeed, the man that you had sex with in a dirty club bathroom less than 8 hours ago. 

you look down at his name tag, miya osamu. well, fuck, if only you’d have learned his name last night.

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[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch3

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch3 | next [masterlist]

// probably a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6874 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, hotel, disgustingly sweet, needy as fuck, kissing during sex, fucking your boss, names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, afab she/her pronouns

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you’d think that seeing osamu nearly every single day after the night that you fucked him in your place of work, in his restaurant, would ruin something between the two of you. 

and sure, yes, there was always, and still is, ruminating under your skin, simmering in the depths of your stomach, resting at the forefront of your mind: the memory of that night, not even the act or the desperation, but the succeeding moment where he held you in his arms, kissed the back of your neck, the point in time before you told him it was a bad idea, the one where he didn’t regret a thing and neither did you.

even the morning after that night in onigiri miya, you two joke like it never happened. well, sorta like it never happened, because when you got there a bit early, osamu was already there. he was leaving the bathroom, wiping sweat off of his forehead, mop in hand, and both of you knew exactly what he was doing. neither of you said it, but the sheepish smile that you wore and the embarrassed adjustment of his cap as he put away the cleaning supplies spoke loud enough.

and that day you moved in sync, just like always. it was busy, really busy actually, but with the two of you working together, people were sat and fed and paid and gone all with a smile on their face. it’s wordless, the way that you compliment each other. you remember the things that he forgets and he knows exactly when you need a bit of extra support. 

there’s always been an inkling of synchrony ever since you started working there, but as you learned the ropes a bit more, as you memorized the menu and fully understood the ordering system, the two of you got even more dynamic. 

part of it, maybe most of it, was the fact that you genuinely cared about this place, about osamu’s well being and success and the way that his reputation was perceived. you wanted every customer that came in to leave happy, to tell their friends about the nice girl that worked at onigiri miya and the delicious food that they had.

you became indispensable, really. 

some days it was just the two of you. on busy saturday nights that used to easily need 3 or 4 workers plus osamu running around and taking orders and clearing dishes and packing to-gos in the tiny kitchen, your team of two got along just fine. help was nice and always welcomed, but when it came down to it, osamu knew he could count on you, on just you, no matter what. 

so when he asks you if you’ll work a catering gig with him a few hours out of town over the weekend, you probably shouldn’t be surprised, but you are, not because of anything work-related or because you feel like he should ask someone more capable, but because it’s only been a few short weeks since that night in onigiri miya and despite the fact that in your work environment nothing has changed, you still find yourself terrified that you’re going to revoke your treaty of no more. 

“me?” you ask, bag on your shoulder, no longer on the clock, and a few steps from the door. he’s caught you on your way out, a casual invitation in the empty restaurant that draws you back towards the bar where he’s standing. 

“c’mon, yea, of course, who else?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. then he explains further, “travel and stay will be paid for obviously. we’ll drive up the day before, stay the night, work the event, and then drive back that night,” he explains, leaning on the counter top, one arm over the other. he points at you to make his final sell, “and it’s overtime pay because it’s a catering event.”

truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the money, aren’t thinking about it even after he’s mentioned it, you have much more on your mind like, why me why me why me why me?

“why me?” you ask, unsure why it’s made it past the barrier of your brain and lips. it was supposed to stay trapped in your mind. you’re grateful it’s only those two words and not the full string of when we’ve literally had sex two times and it’s hard enough for me to keep my hands and mind off of you when we’re in this fucking restaurant let alone a roadtrip to another city. 

he laughs, “if i bring anyone else, i’ll actually have to bring two or three instead of just you, and then everyone needs their own hotel room, and then i have to make sure i have enough room in my car.” he waves his hand at the thought of the hassle. “easier to bring the best person than a few good people, y’know?”

their own hotel room. and now you can’t get the idea out of your head, of osamu inviting you into his hotel room, of him slipping you an extra key and asking you to spend the night with him, how he wouldn’t even have to ask for you to go back on your word so quickly, how different it would be to have sex with him in an actual bed and not on top of a sink or up against a bathroom wall.

you know it shouldn’t, but it’s only making you lean in the direction of yes even more (as if you weren’t already going to say yes just because he asked). it probably won’t even happen, isn’t even a thought on his mind. he said it himself, it was just easier to bring you.

“plus,” he tacks on, “i’d enjoy your company maybe a bit more,” he adds, “might be a bit selfish.” his smile says it all, contagious and bright as he asks, “so, whaddya say?”

“of course,” you nod, no hesitancy. 

/\ /\ /\

in the aftermath of the busyness of your last shift before you leave for the catering event, you’re smoothing out all of the details that you might need to know for the weekend. 

what the event is, anyway: some corporate business meeting something or other, he doesn’t really remember the name, he just knows how much they’re paying and what they’re paying for

the plan on how osamu is picking you up: if you just give him your address, he can just pick you up so you don’t have to make your way to him or the restaurant

what time you’re leaving: at noon, the hotel that you’re staying in is also the place that the catering event takes place in. it’s about a 4 hour drive or so.

you’re making note of all of these things in your head, nodding along to the information that he’s giving you. “so, you’ll be able to sleep in?” you ask in response to the late start time.

he stops what he’s doing, rag left on the countertop as he laughs, throws his head back and shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. if he weren’t as kind and considerate as you know he is, this could’ve come off very differently. “absolutely not,” he shakes his head, “i’ll be coming in to prep for the morning here, making sure that everything is in order for sumu to be in charge while i’m gone.” he says the last part with a shiver. 

“what? he doesn’t do a good job?” you ask, tilting your head, but you can’t hold the joke for that long, so you laugh right along with him. 

“thought you were serious for a second,” osamu says, still laughing, “shouldn’t be too bad this time ‘cause we’re not even gone for a full day, really. i’ll prep for him the morning of and close for him the night we’re back. won’t be that bad.”

“he doesn’t know how to close?” you ask, reaching out to grab the rag that osamu left on the counter while he laughed at the thought of sleeping in for once. you take over for him, wiping down the counters carefully, thoroughly. 

osamu recovers, smiles at this tiny gesture and then moves to restocking the fridge. “nuhhuh. don’t trust him with numbers and receipts, just have him throw everything in a paper bag for me to take care of when i’m back,” he calls from his crouched position on the floor. 

“y’know, i know it wouldn’t help you now, but you could probably teach me how to close if you wanted,” you offer, and he’s really grateful for the fact that you’re not able to see how much this affects him, “or open or both,” you plop the rag back into the clean water before finishing the few bar glasses in the adjacent sink, “that way you could sleep in once in awhile or not have to worry about closing all by yourself sometimes.”

he’s quiet for a second because he’s feeling a lot of feelings that have nothing to do with training you to open or to close and he’s trying his best to sort through them quickly to offer you a reply. to you, however, the silence feels like contemplation on how to tell you he doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so you add quickly, “if- if you wanted? y’know, or if you don’t think i’m ready, i completely understand-”

“that would be really great, actually,” he cuts you off, soft and polite, “i really appreciate that.”

you’re warm now, trying to sort through a lot of feelings that are arising into your chest and your cheeks, so you just hum in response. the two of you finish your closing duties together and as you’re clocking out, you ask him one last question, “oh! last question,” you say, turning to him after you punch the buttons into the computer, “since we’re not at the restaurant, should i still wear my uniform?” 

“it’s a bit nicer of a catering event, actually,” he notes, “you could wear your uniform if you want but probably should wear something else, something a bit more professional, maybe? black pants, maybe a skir-”

“a dress?” you cut him off. 

if he says his words too fast, he’s worried that he’ll seem woefully unprofessional, but if he waits too long he’s worried that you might mistake hesitancy for reluctance. “yea,” he says, nodding, “that would be- that would be perfect,” he adds on, trying to be a bit more casual, a bit less flustered, “or whatever you wanted to wear.”

“great,” you say, nodding, “i still haven’t packed yet, so that is very helpful.” you wait a pause to see if he’ll continue the conversation, if he has anything else to say, because if he said a single other word, you’d sit right down and talk with him all night. you wait long enough and you’re somewhat grateful for his lack of response, because you need a good night’s sleep to be sharp enough for this weekend. “do you need anything else?” you ask, apron in your bag, bag on your shoulder, body towards the door.

he shakes his head, a smile on his face, “see ya tomorrow.”

“see ya tomorrow, samu,” you say, a small wave thrown as you leave the restaurant, unnecessarily giddy and very light.

/\ /\ /\

when he picks you up, you’re not prepared for how casual osamu looks, sunglasses and baggy black t-shirt as he walks around the front of his car to grab your bag. your tiny bag, your backpack. you were only going to be away for a night, you fit everything in a small black bag that you most definitely could carry, but he asks if he can put it in the back for you anyway. 

he opens the passenger door for you too, doesn’t linger around, just props it open for you to climb inside and you’re really not sure how you’re supposed to get through this car ride, let alone the better half of a weekend with just the two of you.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu teaches you all about how catering events differ from the regular restaurant. “they’re actually easier, honestly, ‘cause we’ve only gotta worry about the people in front of us, not seating or packing orders or answering the phone, just one at a time,” he says. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu tells you all about his favorite songs, cycling through playlists and telling you why they mean so much to him. he learns about yours, not because you offer them blindly even, but because he asks, hands you his phone and tells you to play your favorite album cover to cover, we’ve got time. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu explains the reason that he and his brother are so close, highlights moments from his childhood that he thinks contributed to who they are today, asks about your family and where you grew up, and is surprisingly good at driving while looking over at you with admiration in his eyes every other second.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu takes you to one of his favorite places to eat, hidden in a small town with a shitty parking lot, and he asks if he can order for you, recalls the time that you told him you were adventurous and not picky, but still asks you to trust him and you answer back a bit too quickly that you do. the food is simple but incredible and osamu listens to every word you have to say about it even though they maybe aren’t as concise as his and when the bill comes, he pays it in full, doesn’t listen to a single complaint that you have about splitting it or paying for your own.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu brakes a little bit too hard, reaches over and puts his hand on your thigh to warn you and your stomach has not stopped doing flips since. you have to fight yourself so hard to not put your own hand on top of it, to spread your legs a bit wider, to lean over and kiss him so hard that you cause an accident. 

on the drive to the hotel, you realize that there’s no way you make it through this weekend without doing something you should maybe regret, but don’t.

/\ /\ /\

but when you get to the hotel, osamu only asks for one key, no secret second one that he can slip you as a knowing gesture. your rooms are on opposite sides of the huge hotel, no running into each other late at night or being one wall away, and even though the two of you get dinner together after you’ve freshened up a bit, it wraps up pretty quickly.

as the two of you get up from the table, osamu reasons, “should probably call it an early night. we’re on at like 6 or something,” he says, “i’ll meet you at the bottom of the elevators at 5:55 to walk over there together?”

it’s the perfect opportunity for him to be bold or you to be outward, but you know that he’s just respecting exactly what you told him. he’s not going against your hesitant advice for last time to be the last time. he’s being perfectly attentive and a much better person than you probably would’ve been if the roles were reversed. 

“that sounds great,” you say, whining a soft question about why the conference has to start so early and he throws back a teasing quip of how you agreed to this and how business people need good breakfasts too. you walk back with him to the elevators, but you enter different ones.

and the two of you go up to your separate rooms alone.

/\ /\ /\

given that the night had to go as it did, vis-a-vi you not spending it with osamu, you’re grateful for how early you went to bed. waking up before sunrise is never fun, but you feel almost ready to accomplish a full day because you had a pretty good night’s sleep. 

you meet osamu at the bottom of the elevator promptly at 5:55am in the black dress that you mentioned in passing and your onigiri miya embroidered apron in your arms and you’re cursing yourself for not expecting this. 

all the signs were there, all of his mentions of a nicer event and nicer clothes and how of course it didn’t just apply to you. when you round the corner, you see him. hair combed neat, bangs pushed back, black collared long-sleeve button-up, and tan pleated dress pants, and you feel like you need a do-over of this morning, because how are you supposed to just not tell him how good he looks this morning and walk to work like the only thought in your head isn’t how badly you want him.

“morning,” you call out, soft so that you don’t startle osamu who is looking down at his phone, scrolling to pass the time. “have you been waiting long?” you ask.

“only a few minutes, my fault for wak-,” he starts, clicking his phone off and putting it in his pocket, and then he sees you… and then he takes a few moments to really see you, trying to cover up his wandering eyes with the rest of his stumbling sentence, “for- uh, for waking up on time, or- er- early.”

“how did you sleep?” you ask, breezing over his reaction, because if you focus on it too long you will sound the exact same way.

“good,” he nods, short response because he’s learned his lesson, “you?” he gestures towards the direction that you’re heading and starts to move, slow steps until you’re right next to him.

“not bad, pretty good,” you say, hesitating a bit because you know the connotation of your next words, but he’s looking at you patiently, genuinely listening and caring about how you slept last night and his collar is neat against his neck and if you don’t say something, he’ll never understand how sorry you are for wanting that last time to be the last time. “king bed was a bit big just for me,” you say as you approach the stand of tables and warmers and portable burners.

you step behind them, pausing to see how he’ll respond. you’re hoping for a sorry or a flirty is that so or we don’t have to check out until 3, but instead he just asks, “do you want me to do up your apron?” it’s the only time he’s asked this since your first week and you’re slightly confused until you nod yes slowly and he steps behind you, hands on your waist as he holds you still.

he pulls the apron out of your arms, smooths it over your stomach, tugs on the strings, sending you softly back into his chest. “sorry, doll,” he says against your ear, making no move to separate this contact. your eyes dart around the open hall that the stand is occupying. there isn’t a single other person here, but your heart is beating like you’re on full display. 

he runs his hands down your sides and your hips, holds the strings of your apron with one hand as the other ghosts over the tight fabric of your dress, palm kneading into your ass, sliding down the tops of the backs of your thighs. when he moves his hands, his hips replace them, pressed taut against you as he makes a pretty bow against your lower back. 

osamu pulls away from you slowly and when you turn around to face him, you can see his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before, a look on his face asking for confirmation. you put your hand on his chest, on the dull thumping beneath his sternum, “thank you, samu.”

“mornin’ rush starts at 7, so we should probably prep,” he mentions, bending over to pick up the rice cooker from under the table, conversation back to normal no matter how much you wish it wasn’t, “should be done after the lunch rush at 1:30,” he says, turning his attention to you, looking you straight in the eyes, “and i think check-out’s at 3.”

if you were trying to play coy right now, the whimper that leaves you ruins the entire facade, but you aren’t. you unabashedly need him right now, or at 1:30 whatever, and you want him to know that. “okay,” you nod, “1:30,” you repeat.

the second that you start working the morning shift, you’re moving nonstop, a constant line for most of the day. you have a few steady hours of non-stop work, and osamu is right, it is much easier. you only have to focus on one person at a time and you and osamu work just as well here under high, ballroom ceilings, serving onigiri to people in suits and blazers as you do in the small walls of onigiri miya.  

when you’re busy, it’s hard not to think only about the task at hand, at taking orders and making onigiri and politely conversing with customers. but when it slows down, when the tiny break right before 11 hits, when the late risers have finished their breakfast and the lunch cravings haven’t quite hit yet and not a single person shows up at the booth or even in the surrounding area, it’s much harder not letting your mind wander.

it’s only you and osamu, only the two of you, pressed up against each other, leaning on the back table, not saying anything, but a million things on your mind, not a single one not about him. you look over at the clock on the wall. it’s been 10 minutes since you’ve seen one other person.

“does it usually get this slow during catering events?” you ask.

“nah, but i think everyone is gone for meetings and whatever for another few hours,” he says, gesturing to the large floor sign with the schedule plastered on the front. “it’ll pick up once everything lets out at noon, but we’ve got like an hour until then.”

your eyes are up on the clock again, seconds tick, tick, ticking by, but not fast enough. 1:30 is too far away, isn’t close enough, not when there’s no one around and osamu’s side is pressed up against yours and his hand has just moved to rest against your other hip, arm across your lower back because he just wants to touch you. 

“i don’t think i can wait until 1:30,” he says, quietly and only to you, as if there were anyone else around to hear if he talked normally. you turn to him, chest against his side now and his hand moves to pull you closer, fingers spanning over your ass, gripping into the fat. 

you look up at him and you don’t even have to say it, don’t have to verbally reciprocate this impatience, he can see it on your face. you want to kiss him. he needs to kiss you. you can’t kiss here in the openness of the hall and it’s making everything have to happen much quicker. if you could kiss him now, feel his lips against yours and his hands against your body, you could’ve waited a few minutes to start undressing him, to walk back to your hotel room or find somewhere a bit more private, but without his lips on yours, you needed to get out of here right now. 

your eyes flicker to the sign, employee bathroom, and osamu follows your gaze, chest forward, immediately ready to follow you. he roots around the stand, finds a sign that says something about stepping away for a minute and puts it at the forefront of the booth and then you’re gone. he’s following you so closely, hand in your hand, rioting pulse against your own.

he barely has time to lock the door before you’re on him, pulling him, grabbing him, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt in a hurry to feel his skin in your hands, lips smashed against his as you do so and the second that they meet, all feels right in the world.

it feels like everything slows down and you let it. your heart beats a bit slower, more regular, you’re more careful with this buttons against his chest, your kiss is sweeter, softer. he’s holding your face in the palm of his hands, no tongue or teeth, just a deep kiss that has your stomach in knots, that could make you break down in tears, that could give you a toothache.

“m sorry i said,” you say against his lips and he moves to pull away but you push right back. you don’t care if he can barely hear you, you need to kiss him. you don’t want to stop kissing him. if you spent the entire hour in this bathroom just kissing him that might be satisfying enough. “sorry i said we shouldn't do this again, was really dumb,” you murmur.

he tries harder this time, pulls your face away from his, wipes the gathering tear in the outer corner of your eye, gives you a tiny peck, and then says, loud for you to hear it, “it’s alright, sweetheart, just glad to kiss ya again.” he has to wipe more tears now as they start falling down the side of your face, dripping off of your chin before he can catch them, and you don’t really know why you’re crying, you just don’t want to stop kissing him, don’t want to be without his touch or out of his grasp.

the second that his lips are back on yours, the tears cease, happy to feel him again and taste him again and you’re so slow to unbutton his shirt, but you don’t pull away until each one is open. you place both of your palms on his bare chest, slide them down the toned muscle and his abs, push your fingertips around his sides, and clasp them behind his lower back, pulling him with you until your lower back meets the counter.

he leans down, forehead against the top of your head, speaking into the tiny confines he’s created with the two of you pressed together and the boundaries of your chests. his breath is warm and his words shake you, “think i can properly taste ya now, pretty?” your knees are weak as you nod against him, whimpers plentiful as he helps you jump onto the counter and sinks onto his, perfectly level with your squeezed together thighs.

osamu places his large hands on top of your thighs, thumbs digging down against the insides to pry them open, dress riding up to your hips as he spreads your legs wide. you’re already drenched, soaking wet just from kissing him and listening to his voice and you aren’t the least bit embarrassed. he moves your panties to the side with one hand, pushes his other up your thigh, thumb following the inside until it brushes up against your cute little clit, flicking it with the pad gently. 

at the first touch, you recoil slightly, jumping at the sensation. osamu reaches up, places one hand on your hip, a tender reminder to stay put, and then he can’t help it. he leans forward quickly, tongue hanging out of his mouth, running the flat of it between your slick folds, curling his tongue to gather your juices, to taste them as they run down his throat.

the second that he tastes you, really tastes you, finally tastes you, he can’t control himself. he hooks both arms under your knees, pulling you closer, knocking you off balance slightly, back colliding with the mirror as he pulls your cunt into his mouth deeper. he’s using everything he can to taste you, to get you off, his teeth and tongue and nose and lips and you can feel every single little detail.

the noises coming from between your legs are so lewd, so vulgar, the wet slurping and heavy panting breaths every time he comes up for air. he squeezes your plush thighs against his cheeks, can’t get enough of your delicate skin and your sweet taste. he’s murmuring things into your soft pussy now and you can’t hear him, but you can feel the vibrations and if you weren’t so close to coming all over his tongue, you’d care more about messing up his hair as you thread your fingers into it, grabbing tightly onto his locks as you pull him in deeper. 

“samu,” you cry, tears starting again because the way that the tip of his tongue is prodding against your tight hole, circling around the rim, teeth scraping against your throbbing clit, mouth rubbing against your puffy lips, your core is on fire, so tight, and you’re coming all over his face, flooding and gushing, and the noises don’t stop, they get worse.

they get wetter and more intense and you’ve already come on his pretty face, but he looks up at you, mascara smudged against your cheekbones from crying two times already, and he decides that he needs to taste your come again. you’re so sensitive and he’s so good, it doesn’t take very long at all for you to be creaming all over his perfect tongue again.

“taste so fucking good, puppy,” he practically growls, low and breathless, standing up, chest sliding between your legs, “need-,” he breathes, “need to feel you all sloppy on my cock again, babygirl, yea?” you nod, reaching a hand up to rest on his chest and he leans forward for you to reach. your other hand stays gripped around the edge of the counter, bracing yourself for his thick, fat cock to split you open. 

you don’t need to watch him undo his dress pants or take himself out of his boxers. you keep your eyes on his, lift your chin up slightly because you can’t find the right words for if you don’t kiss me right now i’ll cry again. you don’t have to. he leans down, leaking cock pressed against the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips to yours, sweet and soft, back of his fingertips falling down the side of your jaw, palm resting on your collarbone as he pulls away. 

before he slips inside of you, he leans back, squeezes your legs together and rests them on one of his shoulders. he uses his hand to guide himself, rubs the underside of his head against your sloppy lips, grunting softly at how good you feel against his sensitive tip. this grunt only gets louder, deeper, more guttural as he sinks inside of you, thick cock pushing through your puffy lips and slick folds, and he turns his head, kissing the side of your calf.

he’s all the way inside of you, hips pressed against the backs of your thighs, kisses your leg again, shaky and ruined as he shudders, “fuck, bunny, missed ya, missed ya so much.” you don’t know what’s fluttering more, your tight, gummy walls around him or your flipping, empty stomach, and you don’t know how to communicate how much you missed him too. 

when you try, it comes out as, “deeper, samu, please.” it’s whiney and desperate and skips out of your tight throat, but he hears it. he understands what you mean more than you even do, spreading your legs again, letting them fall against the edge of the cold counter as he wraps his arms around your back, scooches you closer to him. your chest is pressed against his, forehead against his shoulder, his hand is on the back of your head, holding you close. he pulls you closer to him, deeper onto his cock, one hand on the small of your back, hips pressing forward to meet you. 

his hand migrates to the back of your neck, fingers twirling around locks of your hair as he stays buried deep inside of you, not moving, just feeling you surrounding him. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face deeper into the crook of yours, aching to have him impossibly closer. 

when he finally starts moving, his strokes are long and slow, pulling out so that his swollen head is the only thing inside of you and pushing back in until his hips are pressed flush against the insides of your thighs. “‘s that better, baby?” he asks into your soft skin.

“‘smuch better, thank you, samu,” you say in between soft moans and tiny sobs. “thank you,” you repeat, circling your hips, disrupting his steady rhythm because you just can’t sit still. he doesn’t mind, pulls away to watch you squirm as his cock disappears between your sticky folds.

“c’mere, doll,” he coaxes, helps you down and holds you close as he switches positions with you, his lower back on the edge of the counter, lifting one of your legs and resting your knee beside his hip and the top of the sink. “lemme fuck ya harder, okay, dove?” you whimper, nodding so hard that you make yourself dizzy, forehead falling against his shoulder again, kisses placed into his collarbones because you need your lips against some part of him. 

every time he pulls his hips back, slides his cock out of you to fuck into you again, gravity has you falling back onto his cock, harsh and sudden, filling you full every time his hips move away from you like you’re magnets. he wraps one arm around the small of your back, the other bracing the weight of the two of you with his fist gripped around the edge of the counter. 

he holds you against him and thrusting up into you is less like his cock driving up into you and more like moving you up. he can’t feel the drag of his cock parting your tight walls, but he can feel the pressure of your thighs weighing on his hips as he fucks upwards and he can hear the cute little noises you make as you fall back on his cock and he decides that he has to get you back into this position again, it’s like air to him.

“princess,” he whines, and you hum.

“babygirl,” he coos, and you hum louder this time in case he hasn’t heard you over the clapping of your sticky skin against his.

“my pretty angel,” he adores, and this time you pick your head up off of his shoulder, thread your fingers into his hair to force his attention, to show you that you’re listening really good, 

“samu, baby, what?” you ask, voice like flowing honey. you repeat yourself because it feels good leaving your lips and the smitten, blushy look that arises on osamu’s face needs to stick around a little longer, “samu, what can i do for you, baby?”

the answer is just this. he doesn’t say anything and he hopes that you understand, the only thing that he needs right now is you, is this, this slow, intimate moment where he’s looking at you and you’re looking back at him and he can hear every single time that your thighs slap against his and he can feel how warm you are and watch how pretty you are, and there’s only one thing that could make this better. you lean forward, press your lips onto his, exhale a breath against them. okay, there are two things that could make this moment better. “pretty girl, can you come for me?” he says, but that’s not quite right, so he corrects himself, “can i make you come?”

you swallow harshly before you nod, bracing yourself for the pick up in speed and force, and you’re glad that you do. when he starts to fuck into you harder, faster, not letting you fully fall back onto his cock before picking you up again. you almost fall to the floor. you’re balancing on one leg, but it’s nearly worthless, rendered jelly at this point, so you hang off of osamu’s neck. 

he doesn’t slow down with this extra weight, of your arms around his neck and of being completely responsible for you right now. really, the responsibility he’s feeling and the trust that you’re putting in him only makes him want you more. “come, puppy, lemme feel it, make a mess for me, yea?” 

the whimpers that tear from your throat fill his head so full that there isn’t much room for anything else up there, only the responsibility to hold you and the need to fuck you through it. you’re trying to get his name out of your mouth, but you can only give him broken syllables, though that’s enough for him. “s-a sa s- sam- amu-”

“i know, babygirl, i know,” he whispers, and he feels bad that he can’t give you another or wreck you even harder, god knows you’d come undone so much faster a fourth time, but he’s so close, so fucking close hearing you so ruined, feeling you dripping down his cock. 

“angel,” he says like a question, “don’t wanna make a mess on your nice black dress, doll. can i come on your pretty tongue, pumpkin?” he asks. 

“will you let me kiss you after?” you worry, the only thought that’s making you hesitate even the slightest amount. 

“oh, sweetheart, nothing could stop me,” he says, pressing a kiss into your temple before helping you to the floor. 

the tile is cold on your knees, but you only feel it for a second, the sensation lost to your brain as the only one that inhabits it now is osamu’s heavy cock on your tongue. his fingers are softly pinching your chin, thumb rubbing against your bottom lip as he pumps his fist around his cock once, a second time, and on the third stroke, his load is spilling onto your tongue. it doesn’t take him long at all, looking down at you looking up at him, heavy lashes and smeared mascara, kind eyes and swollen lips, pretty wet tongue and heaving chest.

he’s come between your thighs enough times for you to know how his release feels, slow and thick and plentiful, and on your tongue it’s no different, but you can taste it, bitter and salty but addicting, and it slides down your throat so nice that you barely have to swallow. you wrap your lips around his head, flick the tip of your tongue against his slit as one last rope coats the inside of your cheek. 

the second that he’s done, before he’s even caught his breath again, he helps you to your feet, picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist and kisses you as hard as he can. he can taste himself on your lips and it’s driving him fucking crazy because he knows you can taste yourself on his lips and he never wants either to fade. 

he can’t stop kissing you, can’t pull away from you, but neither of you can breathe. it was already hard enough recovering from something like that when you were able to catch your breath. when he finally does pull away, you can’t stop smiling. you place your palm on his cheek, gently, softly, run your thumb over his bottom lip because you know you can’t kiss him right now and this will just have to do for the moment. 

when your breathes return to normal, when the room isn’t filled with harsh claps and lewd noises and desperate moans, when even the sounds of tissues being discarded and clothes being smoothed fade, you can hear a voice outside.

“does anyone know where miya-san is? it’s nearly noon and he’s still not back.” 

the bliss dissipates quickly, bubbles of whatever feelings are floating around between the two of you are popped. the neediness has come down, your one-track minds now have more, and the moment you so badly wanted to capture in your heart forever now has a horribly tainted ending. 

there’s no mention of we shouldn't do this again as he leaves first, and maybe it's wordless, maybe it's gone unsaid, because it doesn’t need to be said. the ramifications of your actions are laid out in front of you. you have the entirety of the 5 minutes that you wait alone in the bathroom to count every single consequence of this stupid lust-driven endeavor. 

or maybe neither of you have the strength to try to stop yourself anymore. maybe it goes unsaid, because you both know that you shouldn't do it, but neither one of you is going to follow that. you already tried it once and you couldn’t even make it a few weeks, wouldn’t even have lasted this long if you were alone together like this sooner.

so why try?

you’re not exactly sure which one it is, which reason of unsaid caution you should follow the path of, but you do know that you’re going to spend every single day until then trying. you open the door to the bathroom. maybe one day you’ll figure it out.

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[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch2

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch2 | next [masterlist]

// most likely a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 5608 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more exposition in this one, osamu being a caring adorable little bitch oh my god, fucking your boss, names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, afab she/her pronouns

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you can’t take your eyes off of him.

you can’t stop staring at miya osamu for a number of varying reasons, each one maybe a bit worse than the last starting with oh he’s looking at you and ending with he’s your boss and also your most recent hookup with a bit of wow he’s so attractive sprinkled in the middle. 

neither of you are saying anything. the tension is palpable, evident, buzzing in the air, and you just keep strong eye-contact with him because you don’t know what else to do. what do you say to him? do you instantly address it? let him bring it up? just walk out of here right now and leave in embarrassment?

osamu is about to open his mouth, save you from this repetitive torture in your head, but he’s interrupted by another voice.

“hey,” a voice calls from the kitchen, getting louder as the swinging door is pushed open and the blonde guy from last night emerges. “unless you need me to stick around and run front of house while you train today, i’m headin’ out, kay, samu?” his voice trails off at the end as he notices osamu just standing there, confused only until he sees you and remembers you right away. 

“holy shit,” he says, “what? did ya track him down or somethin? thought you didn’t know each other’s na-” the end of his sentence trails off again as he notices the apron in your arms and the signature onigiri miya black t-shirt that you’re wearing. “holy shit.”

“atsumu, kitchen, now,” osamu says, low and commanding and despite how joking and mischievous this atsumu seems, he knows not to push it any further than he already has. he pushes the swinging door open with his shoulder and walks back inside of the kitchen. 

it’s quiet again, but he’s already spoken now, the air of his voice still lingering as you wait for him to talk once more, to you this time. you take a few more steps inside towards the counter and when you’re close enough, you let your hands rest on the edge. “sorry, let me just,” osamu says, turning around and setting the rice cooker down on the counter by the kitchen door. he wipes his hands on his white apron and then walks back over to you. 

“we should probably talk about…,” he says, not finishing his sentence because both of you know exactly what you need to probably talk about. you don’t just know this man, he’s been inside of you. you nod in agreement, pushing the thought from your mind before you get yourself all flustered, setting your apron on the counter and tapping your fingers against the fabric.

osamu takes a deep breath very similar to the one you took right outside of the restaurant, “if you’re uncomfortable at all, i would be happy to ask around to my restaurant buddies to find you a new position or write you a letter of recommendation or-”

you cut him off, shaking your head curtly, “that won’t be necessary, really.”

“are you sure?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, “i want to make sure that-”

“miya-san,” you interrupt, eyes flickering down to his name tag, “i’m not uncomfortable, i swear. i’m okay. i’m good. i wasn’t even working here when it happened. and it really isn’t a big deal, we don’t have to make it a big thing. it happened. it’s over. it’s a new morning,” kinda, you think, “and it’s in the past. i’m great to just move on from it.”

osamu is quiet, thinking over everything you’ve said, but not saying anything in return. 

“if- if that’s okay with you,” you tack on.

“yea, of course,” he responds quickly, “i just wanted to make sure that ya have a comfortable work environment and that,” he clears his throat, “last night doesn’t hinder that fact for ya.”

you shake your head back and forth. the thought of going through the process of finding another job, even with a recommendation letter and networking, is already giving you a headache. besides, you’d probably end up working for someone osamu knows anyway and then what? they know about what happened or they don’t and you have to guess whether they do or not? you shake your head harder. you can get over this. 

“‘m sorry i didn’t notice. if i’d’ve known your name or somethin’, i would’ve maybe put the pieces together, but i only saw your resume, didn’t talk to ya or meet with ya, y’know?” he says, hand on the back of his neck, eyes on the floor for just a moment. 

“no worries, i get it,” you say, tiny laugh, but you’re really thinking, wasn’t expecting my boss to be out at a club 6 hours before my shift. 

he hums, a knowing smile on his lips as if he read your mind and shot right back, wasn’t expecting my new employee to be out at a club 6 hours before her shift. 

“it won’t happen again,” you say, “already out of my mind,” you lie. 

“right,” he says, smiling, and you’re not sure if you’re reading into it or if it’s real, that same regret and hesitancy that you saw last night as he left without your number. he shakes whatever it is quickly, “lemme teach ya how to make the onigiri.” he nods towards the kitchen, pushes the door open for you and you walk under his arm, sliding past him, shoulder brushing up against his chest in passing. 

already out of your mind, yea fuckin’ right.

/\ /\ /\

if there was a chart of the relationship between the time you’ve spent working at onigiri miya and the tension between you and osamu, it wouldn’t be linear or exponential or constant in any sort of way, it would be disruptive, an arrhythmic pattern of ups and downs. 

even if the two of you hadn’t mentioned it a single other time, it lives in both of your heads, the events of that night. well, you know that it lives in your head, you suppose you can’t speak for osamu completely, but you can’t imagine the things that remind you of that night don’t remind him as well.

there are spans of time when you don’t think about it for weeks, usually the times that you aren’t scheduled as frequently or the back to back shifts that you spend busy out of your mind, no room in your head for anything other than work work work work work. you’re not sure if you welcome or rebuke these bouts.

in fact, between these mindless interim periods and the many instances that filled your head with reminiscing thoughts, you’ve survived over four months at onigiri miya without a single incident. rather, without a single explicit incident.

there were plenty of times that the chart spiked, that the chaotic pattern between your timeline and the tension skyrocketed only to fall back down to a normal level shortly thereafter, no follow up, no mention. 

it was as simple as his strong hands on your hips, exceedingly busy as he rushed from one side of the bar to the other, sliding behind you, but not wanting to bump you out of the way, unwavering grip, fingers digging into the fabric of your apron and your soft hips beneath it, a low sorry under his breath ghosting over the skin of your exposed neck. the butterflies that accompanied it and the bewildered look you threw him and the one he threw back as he approached the other side of the bar.

it was as quick as him reaching over your shoulder for something in the kitchen, fast-paced and thoughtless as his chest pressed up against your side, pushing you into the counter the slightest bit, hips pressing against your lower back, hand on your shoulder to steady you as he withdrew.

it was as innate as asking to tie your apron on one of your first days, hands smoothing over your stomach to find the strings without sight, pulling them a bit too taut as you step backwards into his hips, the way that he stayed put for a few moments before creating a bit of distance to tie it behind your back, one hand holding both loose strings as he adjusted it correctly against your waist, the carefulness of his fingers as they made a neat bow against your back and pulled it tight.

it was as effortless as a question, walking past the open door of the walk-in, “can i help you with that?” asking, arms already reaching up to support the heavy cardboard box that you were pulling down from the top shelf, not grabbing on until you nodded yes, and the second that you did, placing his hands on top of yours and guiding it down with you, soft hand on the back of your elbow, making sure, “got it?”

tonight is just another one of those nights, a night home to instances of incline and tension. you haven’t had one in a while. you enjoy living in these moments, drinking in the tiny amounts of callback to a really great night you once had. 

“shit, we were so busy tonight,” you say, throwing your bag over your shoulder, undoing your apron and stuffing it in said bag. you remove the clip that’s containing your hair, punch your employee number into the computer, clocking out and exhaling a breath without the weight of your work day resting on your shoulders. you are no longer on the clock, no longer responsible for people’s order and the restaurant's reputation. 

“yea, can’t believe you’re better than sumu and it’s only been a few months,” osamu laughs and you shrug with a false smugness. 

“what can i say?” you ask, tilting your head into your shoulder as you hold your shrug, a very genuine and prideful smile replacing your joking cocky one. “i had a really great teacher.”

“ha! so did sumu,” osamu says, pointing at you, “promise it’s not me makin’ the difference.”

ba-bump.

osamu clears his throat in the small bout of silence, shaking his head as if to reset. “anyway, seriously,” he starts, “thanks for stickin’ around and all your great work.”

“no sweat,” you say, fiddling with the strap of your bag to distract yourself from the praise he keeps sending your way. “i’ll see you tomorrow? i switched shifts with aran, so i think you and i are opening together, yay.”

he laughs, dipping his clean rag into the clean sink filled with soapy water, ringing it out tightly before wiping it along the bartop. “i do enjoy opening with you,” he admits, “ya know what you’re doing and i don’t have to babysit you.”

“i’m telling aran,” you quip, smiling.

“i mean, i don’t have to babysit aran either,” osamu points out.

“then what’s the difference?” you tease, but it’s not really supposed to be a tease, not like this. the two of you often joked around with each other, but typically in larger groups where there were more people to witness it and the words held less weight than they do now. 

osamu ignores your question, shaking his head as he throws a different one to you instead, “hey, didya even eat?” what was maybe meant to be distracting turns into straight concern, his eyebrows furrowed as he pauses his cleaning motions.

you tilt your head back. “shit, no,” you groan, “ugh, i was so busy i didn’t even remember to eat dinner.” you pull out your phone, opening your maps to try and find somewhere decent that’s open this late, somewhere fast and easy to get to. you let out another groan. “i could probably make it to-”

“i can whip ya up somethin real fast,” osamu says, cutting you off.

“no, no, you have to get home,” you wave your hand at him, eyes still on your phone as you scroll past all of the quick places on your way home that say closed closed closed closed. you point at him, “i know what time you’re in tomorrow, it’s far too late to make food.”

“i was gonna make myself dinner, anyway,” he says, hands up in surrender. you squint your eyes at him, skeptical. “honest,” he says and your words and breath get caught in your throat. you’re not sure he clocks the parallels and the way that that word has stuck around in the back of your mind for four months, but that coupled with his enticing smile is coaxing you back to the barstool. you set your bag on one of the seats. 

“fine,” you say, finger tapping on the wooden bartop before grabbing your apron back from your bag and reclipping your hair. “but i’m helping you in the kitchen so it goes even faster.”

“alright, alright, deal,” osamu says. his laughter is already buried in your chest and now his smile is burned into the backs of your eyelids and soon enough his entire memory will be with you no matter where you go.

you follow his instructions in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and stirring the food on the stove and grabbing ingredients from the pantry and every so often when you’re not deadset focused on something and when he’s just casually moving around food in a pan, you watch him watch you with a very familiar look in his pretty gray eyes.

he’s behind the bar, standing as he’s about to take a bite of the dinner the two of you have quickly made and you’re sitting on the barstool in front of him. “do you ever sit?” you ask, spoonful shoved in your mouth as you realize how hungry you actually are now that you have food in front of you. 

“usually, no,” he laughs, watching your lips close around the spoon and smiling only once your food-caused smile arises. 

“well, come sit,” you say, gesturing to the seat beside you, “makin’ me feel like a customer or something, gonna start talking to you about the weather and how business is going if you don’t hurry.”

he doesn’t say anything, only offers a teasing eye roll as he pushes the bowl in front of the seat next to you and makes his way beside you, leaning down to pluck two beers from the fridge before joining you on the other side of the counter. he sits down, a soft grunt falling from his lips as he realizes that, huh, he really hasn’t sat down all day and, huh, it does feel nice, but maybe that’s not entirely due to the fact that he’s sitting. in fact, most of it is probably due to who he’s sitting with. 

“see? isn’t that better?” you ask, reaching in front of him and taking one of the beers. you stand up in your seat, reaching over the counter and grabbing the bottle opener because you know exactly where it is without even having to look. he hums in agreement.

by the time your bowls are finished, so are a handful of beers, 2 for you, 3 for him, and long after your dinner is over, each of you are nursing one more. you have been for the better half of an hour. you haven’t mentioned the time and he hasn’t either and there isn’t any plan to.

“thanks for dinner,” you say, a bit quieter now because you’re facing him, knee up clashing against his as you swivel in your chair, but neither of you say anything about it and you don’t go to move it. you rest your head in your hand, chin on your palm as you smile up at him, warm from the alcohol and the fact that you’ve been dying to have a moment like this with osamu since the moment you were hired.

“wasn’t gonna let you go home hungry, doll,” he says, lets it slip in the lateness of the night and the laziness of the conversation and it takes him a few half-seconds to clock it. when he does, his mouth is open, back straighter, instantly about to apologize, but you reach out, desperate for him not to regret it, and you rest your hand on his upper thigh.

“i know,” you say, low and viscous, tip of your tongue swiping against your bottom lip, teeth biting down, slow blinks and fingers curling against his toned thigh, “you’re thoughtful like that, samu.”

you swear you can hear his heart skip a beat as he tries to take in everything that’s happening, tries to make a rational decision, but any rationality is quickly leaving his mind as you stand up, supporting yourself on his thigh, now standing between his chair and yours, little room to move, pressed up against the sides of his knees. 

your movements are slow, giving him plenty of time to object or stop you, but he doesn’t. his lips part as your palm rests against his jaw, thumb under his chin to tilt his head up towards you and if you could hear his heart skip a beat earlier, you know he can hear how furiously yours is beating right now. 

you lower your head, guide his lips to yours and kiss him again, finally. he tastes like beer and dinner, but somehow just like you remember him tasting that night. it takes him only a second to move, for his brain to catch up to the events that are happening, but when he does, it’s like something snaps. 

hand on your lower back, standing up to meet you, to pull you closer to him, other hand on the side of your neck, fingers spanning the skin, massaging your throat, curling around the back, fingers grabbing onto strands of your hair, his touch is desperate. 

his kiss is even worse, teeth dragging against your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, tongue mashing over yours, he can’t taste you enough. and you get it. you understand more than anyone because you’ve had to work with osamu for the last four months, see him every week, be reminded of his strong arms and tight chest and pretty eyes and soft voice and you need him very quickly, embarrassingly quickly. 

you want to take your time, more time than you were given in the club, more time than you could ask for. you want to kiss down his chest and feel his heavy cock on your tongue and have his head between your thighs, but your mind is filling in all of the blanks, telling you exactly how the rest of the night is going to go and it doesn’t matter how much you want hours and hours of teasing foreplay and drawn-out intimacy, you’ve been empty since he came all over your thighs.

you let him hold your face, move you to kiss him exactly how he wants to be kissed, and you snake your hands down to his belt and his zipper. you need him now. you murmur it into his mouth, down his throat, “need you now, osamu, please, been so long, please.”

he hears you, every whiney syllable, every desperate word, and he’s not going to deny you, no matter how badly he wants to taste you like he didn’t get to taste you before. “okay,” he breathes, “not here, though, puppy, okay?” 

he cycles through acceptable places for him to fuck you in his restaurant and the very open floor plan of the main dining area definitely isn’t it. absolutely not the kitchen either. his office is locked, would take an entire code, a 2 minute waiting period, and, at worst, a call to his security company. he looks down at you, eyes darting all around your whimpering face and you know what he’s going to say before he’s even said it. 

you laugh first, and then nod. “guess i was right,” you say, “that you’re gonna fuck me in the bathroom again.”

he doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes again or shake his head jokingly or laugh along with you, so he doesn’t do any. “thank god,” he groans, pulling you through the restaurant into the single-room women’s restroom. 

he shuts the door behind him and locks it as if anyone was even able to get inside of the restaurant right now. still, being trapped in these confines is reminiscent in the best way. it’s cleaner here, quieter. you’re able to focus on osamu instead of worrying about touching wet spots and if people can hear you.

you’re in front of the mirror staring back at yourself and osamu behind you. you go to turn around, to face him, but you watch his hands root onto your hips, fingers digging in to hold you still, and then you watch them slip under your shirt, the shape under the fabric moving from your tits to your stomach up to your neck and back down to the button of your jeans. 

all the while, he’s grinding into you, hard cock confined in his jeans thrusting into your ass and all you can do- all you want to do is watch it happen. he’s not paying any attention to the mirror, but he makes sure that you are, moving your chin to stare directly back at yourself every time you turn your head.

he kisses the side of your neck as he quickly undoes your jeans, zipper, hooks his fingers into the waistband of both and pulls them down to your ankles, nudging them apart while he’s down there to spread them as far as they can. you can’t see him fiddling with his own, but you can hear it and you can see his arms moving in the mirror, head down, and you can hear his jeans fall onto the floor as well.

“can- can i ask?” you preface your question with a question, timid and sweet, and he looks up into the mirror, meets your eyes and there’s no way that he can turn you down.

“anything,” he says, hand on the base of your neck, heel of his palm pushing as it slides down your spine. your chest falls towards the sink slowly, both of your hands gripping the sides of it as your face gets closer to the mirror and the faucet. 

“did-,” the question is circling in your head, but the embarrassment is rising to your cheeks, trapping it in your throat, you can’t get it out. you look at him through the mirror. 

“what is it, doll? anything,” he reminds you, three fingers gingerly touching your clit, following up between your lips, scooping some of the mess that he’s already of you onto his fingertips to circle around his leaking head. 

“did you- were you thinking about this? have- have you thought about this?” you ask, because you’re dying, burning, aching to know. 

“that’s hardly appropriate, bunny,” he says, shaking his head. 

you feel so warm, insanely warm, impossibly hot, but he leans down and kisses the back of your shoulder, replacing his lips with his grip as he pulls you backwards onto his cock, not using his hand to guide himself inside, but the tightness of your cunt sucking him in again. he grunts as he enters you, fingers like a vice on your shoulder so hard that if you weren’t so drunk off the feeling of being so full again, it might even have hurt. 

he lets out a soft laugh, a tiny chuckle, “every fucking night, angel.”

you don’t get to watch it disappear inside of you, but you get to watch osamu’s expression as he does, eyes screwed shut, chin tilted upwards as a moan rises from his chest and leaves his throat. the stretch is so much better than last time, no prep from his thick fingers, just his fat cock slipping inside of you, hips driving it deeper until they’re right against your ass. 

he pushes the back of your shirt up, places the heels of both of his palms in the small of your back, soft against your skin, and then he moves you back and forth on his cock. he moves his hips to match the pace, fucking into you repeatedly, eyes trained on your movements in the mirror, of your facial expressions melting as his cock drags against your fluttering walls. 

“o-,” you whimper, “s- samu, fuck.” your fingers grip into the sink harder, trying to brace yourself as best you can, pushing back onto his cock as he continues to fuck you because you can’t get enough. you need him deeper, harder, more. 

“should’ve told you my name that night,” he says, clicking his tongue. he reaches down, grabs you by the inside of your thigh to spread your legs even wider, and then rubs small circles into your swollen clit. your arms are shaking against the sink at the feeling. you’re unraveling very quickly, eyes closing, unable to focus on the sights in front of you and now it’s him that can’t take his eyes off your reflection. you look fucked out, gorgeous, adorable, eyes rolling back, trying so hard to stay strong as your first orgasm approaches.

“what?” you breathe at his last sentence, eyebrows furrowed, so much on your mind. he could mean a million things. you can barely focus on not crashing your face into the faucet let alone understanding whatever he’s saying.

“sounds so good coming out of your mouth,” he huffs, picking up the pace, balls brushing against the inside of your thighs as he fucks into you harder, “need to hear it forever, pretty girl.”

you don’t even say it to show off or to make him happy, barely register what he’s asking for, just need to repeat it over and over again because how else are you going to prove that the noises you’re making are just for him, are because of him. “s- samu, please, gon’ come, please make m’ come, samu,” you cry.

“can’t say no to you, dove,” he whispers into your skin, kissing the back of your shoulder softly as he rubs his messy fingers against your throbbing clit. 

a symphony of thank yous and osamus leave your tongue as you come around him, walls choking his fat cock, gushing all over him as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. when you’ve come down from your high, when the immense pleasure has faded, you feel weak, drunk, so fucked out that you can barely stand, arms wobbling against the edges of the sink. osamu notices it in an instant, leans back, takes care of you, pulls you up with him, walking backwards, holding you in place on his cock as he pushes his back up against the bathroom wall. you can still see yourself perfectly in the mirror when you recover enough to fully open your eyes. 

you can’t imagine that the way that he’s holding you now is a walk in the park, supporting all of your weight on his thighs and in his hands, but he’s acting like it’s nothing, or maybe it is nothing to him. regardless, you feel completely supported as he thrusts up into you and you fall back down onto his cock. you’re not moving a muscle, not expending a single bit of energy other than to keep yourself from falling from side to side and even that is helped by osamu’s hold on you. 

you’re moving like a doll on top of him, bouncing up and down. he can barely get a good look, view obstructed by you, but he can see the ripples in the fat of your ass as you slam down against his hips. he can hear the sharp inhale every time his head dives as deep as it can go. he can feel how tight you are around him, how your walls hug him perfectly. he can remember how much he’s missed this feeling, how he’s tried to replicate this snugness with his fist and failed miserably.

“fuck, angel, gonna come,” he exhales.

“gonna fuck m’ thighs again, samu?” you ask, sweet and thick like syrup and he grunts at the tone, hips skipping just from the sound of your voice.

“yea, puppy, been thinkin’ bout this since that night,” he says, kissing the side of your neck, pulling out of you quickly as he feels the tightness in his balls. he slips between your thighs, soft and plush and messy. he fucks up into them the same way he fucked into your cunt. you squeeze your thighs around his hard length as tight as you can and he almost falls to the ground, a growl leaving his throat as he fucks your thighs even faster. you reach down, wrapping your fist around his head, swiping your thumb over the slit, tightening your grip as he fucks into it.

his release is unannounced, ropes of come spilling over your fist and onto your thighs, running down the insides of them gathering around the base of his cock as he slips through the mess he’s made, come leaking from the tip, drooling down the sides, between your legs and onto him. 

he presses his back completely against the wall, slides onto the floor breathless, arm instantly wrapping around your stomach to hold you in place and you don’t mind one bit, leaning back into him, feeling his heartbeat against your back and his cheek nuzzling into your neck, small kisses being placed at the base. 

you could’ve fallen asleep here, right here, in osamu’s arms.

you really could’ve fallen asleep here.

right here.

in osamu’s arms.

in the bathroom of onigiri miya.

where you work.

where someone could’ve found you in the morning. 

a customer or a coworker or someone much worse. 

fuck.

you’re too far down on the floor to see your reflection in the mirror still and you’re so grateful for it. you don’t want him to see the pained expression on your face and you don’t want to know what his looks like either. “we-,” you hesitate because you really don’t want to say what you’re about to say, “we probably shouldn’t- do this anymore-,” you whisper.

his response is instant, remorseful, embarrassed, “fuck, shit- yea, no, i’m so sorry-”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “i don’t- i don’t regret it,” you say, strong, “don’t regret the first time, definitely don’t regret this one, fuck actually, i really needed that, but i think maybe that should just be our last time.” if he can hear your voice break and crack a bit at the end, he doesn’t mention it as you push on, “‘ts a fine line we’re walking, fucking in the bathroom at work.”

“neither of us on the clock,” he notes and you suppose that does make it somewhat better, though, you’re not sure he’s ever really on the clock, “but you’re completely right.” he lets go of your waist. you’re slow to move to your feet, terrified that this whole act of cleaning up and going home will be weird and awkward, but the second that you’re off of him, he rushes to his feet, pulls you up gently, one hand on your waist to steady to you as you stand up straight. 

he hands you tissues and fixes himself up, brushes your hair out of your eyes and looks at your lips as he does and the atmosphere of the bathroom isn’t awkward or weird, it’s impossibly hard. you don’t want to leave, suddenly feeling very guilty about telling him that you should probably stop these impromptu sessions because you’re not sure how you’re going to keep up with your side of the bargain at the very least.  

“should we-,” you motion to the floor, to the wet marks and the fingerprints on the sink. he shakes his head.

“i’ll get it in the mornin’, okay? you head home,” he gestures to the front door. 

“are you sure?” you ask, smoothing out your shirt, swallowing gently as you look into his soft gray eyes. 

he nods, quick and assured. “i’ll see ya in the morning.” he hesitates before adding, “unless you want me to call aran and see if he won’t switch back with ya-”

you shake your head, “no way. you prefer opening with me anyway,” you tease, “i’ll see you in the morning, samu.” you offer a small wave as you leave the bathroom. 

he doesn’t move until he hears the front door open and then close again and then he lets out a huge sigh, puts his face in his hands and lets out another along with a small, but audible, “fuck. fuck, how does she this to me?”

he doesn’t hear the door open and close the second time, the time that you actually leave after hearing his exacerbated private sentence with your forgotten bag in tow and a sinking feeling in your stomach.

the guilt is biting at your heels as you walk down the street to your bus stop, screaming at you to turn around and run back and kiss him very hard and very confidently, god knows you could’ve, but you don’t. 

each step is heavy, dragging, and your bus shows up at the exact second that you make it to the stop, no time to overthink decisions or even look back in the direction whence you came. 

and yet, despite everything, no regret is harbored in your heart or your veins, just an underlying fear that you won’t be able to follow your own rules very well or very long.

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