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narumi-gens · 8 months

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Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional?

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional.

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside.

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife.

But you know that traditional really just means boring.

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita.

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child.

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options.

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west.

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person.

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed.

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza.

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull.

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense.

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them.

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows.

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste.

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes.

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life.

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively.

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it.

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads.

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades.

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts.

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza.

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with.

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers.

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed.

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants.

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff.

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look.

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call.

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible.

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya.

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier.

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body.

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy.

“Enough.”

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt.

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space.

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy.

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common.

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again.

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter.

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter.

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out.

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep.

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess.

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point.

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well.

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show.

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response.

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees.

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten.

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place.

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea.

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.”

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more.

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you.

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste.

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger.

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you.

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.”

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states.

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much.

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors.

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita.

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards.

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name.

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin.

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles.

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely.

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs.

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively.

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh.

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness.

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled.

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun.

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you.

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum.

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him.

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know.

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him.

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like.

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?”

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give.

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees.

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips.

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before.

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface.

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously.

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze.

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke fanfic #kita shinsuke fic #kita fic #kita fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fic #mel writes #traditional values

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teamatsumu · 6 months

Note

Can I please request rekindling a relationship with ex-boyfriend Atsumu who is a total ass man? (He can't stop touching, fondling reader 's ass.)

one day. (miya atsumu x fem!reader)

word count: 755

warnings: post-break up. sexual language but no explicit smut. swearing. osamu is there. slight angst if you squint. nsfw. mdni.

Taglist: @keiva1000

Atsumu should have known that even after breaking up with you, your presence in his life would be inevitable. After all, you had been childhood friends, and while your relationship had soured and fizzled months ago, you were still very, very close to Osamu, and no beef with Atsumu could stop you from seeing his twin.

So Atsumu had gotten used to walking into Onigiri Miya and seeing you perched on a stool at the counter, deep in conversation with Osamu who was carefully shaping onigiri for you. You were just as much a fan of his brother’s food as he was, maybe an even more enthusiastic supporter. Osamu often called you his little “taste tester”, and Atsumu would make a sleazy joke in your ear about how he was your taste tester, in that he would bury his head between your thighs to taste y-

You would always smack him before he could finish.

Ah well, those days were long gone. You weren’t interested in anything he had to say anymore, which Atsumu thought was karma for the last few weeks of your relationship, when he had started missing all your calls, messages, dates. After the fight that led to your breakup, which was filled with your teary complaints about how he had no time for you at all, Atsumu wondered if his volleyball career just left no room for him to date. But then he would look at Meian, who had a whole wife, and think that maybe it was just him. He just didn’t know how to maintain a relationship.

That didn’t stop him from hesitating now, catching sight of you in conversation with his brother, your arms folded on the counter before you with your torso leaning forward, and Atsumu’s gaze was immediately beckoned down to your-

Fuck.

Those were his favorite pair of jeans on you.

You had gotten them when he took you birthday shopping, and Atsumu had been enamored with them the minute you tried them on. High waisted and tight, they hugged your ass deliciously, so much that Atsumu had insisted he buy them for you, later using that as an excuse to bend you over the nearest surface any time you wore them and having his way with you. This couldn’t be a coincidence now, why would you wear them today? To come to Onigiri Miya? Where you knew you would likely run into him? Atsumu’s jaw clenched at the thought and he stepped further into the shop, finally catching your and his brother’s attention.

“Finally. What’s the point of making ya fresh onigiri if ya won’t show up on time?” Osamu scowled at him, but Atsumu paid him no mind, catching your eye and giving you a smirk.

“Nice ass.” He quipped, making you roll your eyes and turn back to your own plate, but Atsumu caught the tips of your ears turning red, making him grin. Victory.

“You’re disgusting, Miya.” You replied, voice low before you took another bite. Atsumu settled into the stool next to you.

“Ya never minded that when we were datin’. In fact, I still remember the sweet sounds ya made-”

“Shut up.” You glared at him, while Osamu made a disgusted face, saying something along the lines of ‘not in front of the food’. Neither of you reacted too viscerally though. Atsumu’s foul language was nothing new. You might have broken up with him, but you both knew he still liked you, and he would never stop flirting. That was his way of saying he wasn’t giving up on you.

Deep down, Atsumu knew you liked it. So when Osamu turned his back to search for something behind him, Atsumu leaned close to you, lips brushing your ear.

“Why’d ya wear those jeans, doll? Temptin’ me to bend ya over this counter?”

You dug your elbow into his side to push him away a bit. “In your dreams.”

Atsumu hummed, no longer resisting the urge to reach down and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. You jumped a bit, turning to glare at him. “Ya really don’t wanna know what goes on in my dreams, sweetcheeks.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, but Atsumu caught the corners of your lips, fighting to hold back a smile. He sighed as Osamu placed a plate of food in front of him, not bothering to bite back his own smile. You still loved him, deep down, Atsumu was sure, and he was determined to make you his again one day.

One day.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu fanfiction #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic

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leti666bigboss · 1 year

Text

featuring: the majority of karasuno

genre: crack ?

warnings: none

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utahimeow · 7 months

Note

ushi is so chew toy coded

he comes home from a run one day and he’s in a black compression shirt that you urged him to buy and god are you glad you did. your eyes lock onto his biceps, of course, which almost look like they’re bulging out of the sleeves.

“toshi, that shirt looks so good on you,” you tell him. you can almost see the outline of his six pack, and the way his pectorals stretch out the shirt a little.

“well, you did suggest i buy it, love, so i would hope so,” he replies, smiling softly as you stride towards him.

“like i literally just wanna…”

he doesn’t expect the way you take his arm, and bring his bicep to your mouth, and sink your teeth into it. you don’t do it hard or anything, just enough until you’re satisfied.

he’s puzzled, and he doesn’t hide that in his facial expression whatsoever. however he doesn’t have the heart to question you out loud. perhaps, he thinks, it’s equivalent to you kissing him. then again, why not just kiss him?

when you’ve had your fill, you blink up at him with an face he wants to keep in his mind forever.

“sorry, your arms look so biteable,” you explain.

“did you have fun?” he asks.

“i did, thank you,” you tell him, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing your lips to his.

it happens again when he gets out of the shower one evening. he walks into the living room where you’re watching some drama series, and he’s in sweats and nothing else. the tips of his hair are wet. he settles onto the couch next to you and in the corner of your eye, you see his pecs. plump. squishy.

“these look bigger,” you tell him, reaching over to squeeze one of them in your hand. “is that why you’ve been in the gym so much?”

“i’ve been going a normal amount i think,” he replies, unfazed by your groping.

“hmm,” you say, like you’re genuinely musing, and then with that you lean in to take his pec in your mouth.

this time wakatoshi chuckles with surprise, a short, deep rumble of laughter at the sensation of you nibbling at his skin.

“is this your… thing now?” he asks.

you sit back, smiling, a cat that got the cream. “mhm.”

after that he’s never safe from you ever again. his forearms, cheeks, neck, collarbones, thighs are all chewed on. he doesn’t complain though. he would never.

wakatoshi has struggled with intimacy and affection his entire life—it wasn’t something he came face to face with often. you, however, are showing him everything he’s missed out on. so now, every time you bite him, his heart flutters and he feels grateful.

#felt silly nd soft for him ok #wakatoshi ushijima x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima fanfic #ushijima imagine #ushijima x you #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #꒰ love letters. ꒱#꒰ secret admirers. ꒱#꒰ lovers. ꒱ — ushijima

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byunbqbes · 1 year

Text

WHEN THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON THEIR DESKMATE

ft. kageyama, atsumu, iwaizumi

Kageyama

the little milk packets start appearing on an unsuspecting tuesday afternoon, after school

you've been nodding off the whole day in school so you went to the toilet to rinse your face and freshen up

but when you return, a packet of milk sits at the corner of your desk

you're even more confused when a packet of milk appears again the day after, and the day after that, AND all the days after that

one day, you decide to confide in your (cute) deskmate kageyama and ask him if he has seen anybody entering your classroom to secretly give you milk these days

kageyama is IMMEDIATELY blushing and spluttering, "err, m-maybe you have a secret admirer?"

he's internally screaming - is he giving away too much? what if you find out? he's definitely not ready -

turns out he has nothing to worry about. you have hired him for your brand new mission: CATCHING YOUR SECRET ADMIRER !!

not your brightest moment 😭😭

not that kageyama has anything against that! he gets to spend significantly more time with you and he's slowly learning about your favourite snacks

so instead of one packet of milk, you're starting to receive one pack of milk AND your favourite bar of chocolate

the bar of chocolate is coincidentally the brand that you mentioned to kageyama before

now you have growing suspicions of kageyama tobio, your fellow detective in mission

your suspicions are confirmed on an unsuspecting tuesday afternoon, after school

you're returning from the toilet quickly, rushing off for extracurriculars, then you're seeing this familiar figure with a mop of black hair outside your classroom

this boy is gripping onto homemade cookies a little too hard and breathing a bit too hard

you narrow your eyes and rush up to him, "kageyama? don't you have volleyball right now?"

kageyama quickly hides the cookies behind his back and stutters out, "i - practice hasn't started..."

you're about to leave it at that but something made you wink at him, teasing, "oh, and by the way, did i mention that i like cookies? especially homemade chocolate chip ones"

then he's blurting out, "ilikeyoualot"

you: "what did you say?"

Atsumu

when Atsumu has a crush on you, the WHOLE world AND their mothers will know

well,,, the whole world,,,except you apparently

he can literally ask, "go out with me?" while leaning into you and tucking stray pieces of your hair behind your ear

and you'd just be scoffing, "ha. that's funny, atsumu."

does the thing where he ignores all his fangirls - he ONLY has eyes for you

he's literally ALWAYS staring openly at you

on one of the days, he notices you scrambling around for your history book

he immediately puts his textbook on your table

Atsumu gets scolded by your teacher for you

he definitely nudges you in the middle of class and make you play tic tac toe with him

or draws the worst renditions of your teachers and makes you snicker in class

you're so used to his presence and the smell of his laundry when he leans in too close that on days he's absent from volleyball competitions, you feel...weirdly sad.

and then he's suddenly back and begging you to tutor him

Atsumu gets to be tutored by the smartest girl in class while he takes this opportunity to stare at you - it's a win for him

when he sees the way you furrow your brows and stick your tongue out in concentration, reality is suddenly hitting him HARD

he really has to ask you out properly some time very soon.

can't risk losing you to some other mf lol

Iwaizumi

your shy little desk neighbour

has the cutest blush on his cheeks when you steal his stationery

the 3rd years know about his little crush on you

"SO WHEN IS OUR IWA-CHAN GOING TO ASK HIS DESKIE OUT --" Oikawa hollers while he gives you a wink

let's just say Oikawa got put in an immediate headlock

you're sick and absent from school one day

Iwaizumi needs to bring your homework to your house

he swears he's going to throw up from all the nerves

just imagining you in your cute teddy pjs makes his heart stutter

he literally bounces around the front of your house and takes dramatic deep breaths before he rings the doorbell

when you answer the door, Iwa is blinking helplessly at your oversized shirt and shorts

you need to clear your throat multiple times before he snaps out and stutters, "I-I'm here to pass you your work"

you give him the most breathtaking smile and ask him about his day at school

he elaborates about how boring school was and eventually holds up some vitamin gummies, saying, "these aren't much...i just saw these on the way here and -"

and your mom is interrupting Iwaizumi as her gaze jumps from you to him, "Y/N! How dare you hide your boyfriend from your family! C'mon in!"

as she beckons him over, you and Iwaizumi are left blinking at each other

🌷 reblogs are very appreciated!!

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a-kaash-me-outside · 1 year

Text

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

< 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.

< 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.

“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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revasserium · 8 months

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LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT WITH OMI OMI PLSSSSSS I LOVE YOU

@swaggerpear replied to your post “at first sight ft. kageyama, daichi, sugawara,...”:

BOKUTOOO PLEASEEE

at first sight, pt 2

ft. sakusa, bokuto, iwaizumi, oikawa

sakusa.

the first time he sees you, he knows you’re the one. he breathes easier, the air sitting better, sitting sweeter in his lungs — the persistent itch beneath his skin fades to a dull buzz, and when you turn your eyes onto him amidst the flash of cameras and the clamor of reporters, the whole world goes silent. when was the last time that’s happened for him? he can’t remember. you smile, and world is beautiful, irresistible white noise. he smiles back. later, when he manages to find you in the swell of people clamoring to interview him, he asks if you’re new to this — he hasn’t seen you on the press circuit before, and you tell him that you are. that once, you’d dreamed of taking pictures of beautiful things; he cocks his head and smirks, his mask for once pulled down to his chin — the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, “so you must be glad you found me, then.” he doesn’t have time to feel mortified because then, you’re laughing, the sound trickling over his skin like rose water, like piano music, and he shivers beneath it’s touch. you nod, blushing, the color so darling against your cheeks he want to lean in and kiss you. he does do that — but not till much later, and when he does, he finds you smiling. he finds that he likes the taste of your smile, too. and that of all the things he’d thought about kissing before now — of how unsanitary it might be, of how awkward, he finds that he really doesn’t mind because, well… it’s you.

bokuto.

the first time he sees you, he know you’re the one. he knows with the certainty of a rising sun. he knows like the receding tide, like the changing of seasons — he knows with the self-assuredness of weathermen forecasting the coming of monsoon season, just along the coast, where the beaches are wide and the sands are hot. he knows, he knows, he knows. he chases down the entire length of corridor at the sports clinic, trips over his own feet, faceplants before picking himself up, asks for your name, your number, what you’re specializing in, feels his stomach leap out of his mouth when you tell him that it’s sports medicine, can’t help but notice the way you’re blushing, the pink kissing across the tops of your cheeks the way he wishes he could. and he does — about a week and a half later, cupping your face in his rough-hewn hands, all thick skin and calluses from spike-practice, but you trace them over with your soft fingers later and tell him that you love them — love the way they feel against your skin, love the stories they tell, the strength they hold, the hours and hours of determination they are a mark of. three weeks in, he tells akaashi he thinks he’s going to marry you. three months in, he pops the question. you’re laughing and crying, both, when you say yes. later, he’d proudly brag to all his teammates that he’d caught an angel in the palms of his hands, brag that it took less than a second for him to literally fall for you, because hey, it must’ve hurt for you to fall from heaven, so he should have to hurt a little too.

iwaizumi.

the first time he sees you, he’s sure he’s misunderstood — surely the universe could not have been conspiring the way it did, surely manifest destiny would not play out the way he thought, the statistics line up the numbers just so. surely — it can’t be this perfect. but it can — so he learns, when he bumps into you again, in another country no less, so far from the confines of a japanese seven-eleven, all the way across the world in argentina, where he’s supposed to be meeting up with oikawa but the jerk is late and now he’s here, his eyes caught in yours in this coffee shop not three blocks away from the olympic training stadium. you both try to ask for each others names, and then, you both fall into awkward, knowing laughter. because if it’s not destiny, he doesn’t know what it is. if it’s not fate, then you don’t know what to call it — what are the chances of two people running into each other time and time again, halfway around the entire world? he asks you out for dinner, and you don’t say no. oikawa teases him mercilessly about it later, but he doesn’t care. he never fancied himself someone to be lovesick, but when oikawa floats out the term, he doesn’t negate him. it’s a slow-going thing, but iwaizumi finds that he doesn’t mind — he likes taking his time with you, knows implicitly that he has all the time in the world — because if you’d found each other across the entire world, then what’s there to be afraid of? what more is there to worry about? you have all the time in the world — after all, isn’t that what it means to be meant to each other?

oikawa.

the first time he sees you, he does double take, and then a triple take. and later, he’d do anything to claim that it was you who chased after him, but those closest to him all know the truth — that he’d run down four flights of stairs and searched through the entire olympic arena to find you, mulling over musubi of all things — him, breathless and panting, and really, really wondering what the hell he as doing. he’s got a game later, but — well, he couldn’t really help himself. call him a skirt chaser, call him a womanizer, call him the playboy to end all playboys, but oikawa tooru has always known what he wanted. and he knew, in the blink of an eye, that he wanted you. so he’d chased after you, he’d found you, he’d turned up his charm and ramped up his smolder and you… well, you’d shaken your head and brushed him off. it’d stung, of course it had. he’d been inconsolable for weeks, but after he found out that you’re related to the famous sportscaster, he finds himself rejuvenated. he tells your dad that he’s in love with you before he ever asks you out on a date. years later, long after he’d managed to convince you out for one date, which turned into two, and then five, and then ten, and then… who’s keeping count any more, right? he stands across from you with your hands in his and tears in his eyes, he tells you — he says, y’know… the first time i saw you, in that crowd, i knew you were the one for me.

requests are open :)

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mik0rin · 2 months

Text

are we still friends? status: yes, but only friends...

kuroo tetsuro x black fem reader genre: college au, smut, childhood best friends to strangers to best friends to lovers warnings: cussing, men hitting on you, alcohol consumption, NSFW 18+ MDNI, there's a plot, slight begging, nipple play, oral (f. receiving), kuroo is like a soft dom (?), penetration, overstimulation, whiny kuroo, praise, slight size kink, good girl/angel/pretty girl is used word count: 5,388

<- prev m.list next -> taglist open sign up -> here !! a/n: this is my first time writing smut pls be nice 🧍🏿‍♀️

Condensation drips onto the table and the sound of other’s conversation carries into your booth. You sip on your drink, half-listening to the conversation of three men at your table.

“Are you single, y/n?”

“Why?” You tilt your head, a flirty smile on your face, “Are you finally gonna confess your love to me, Kotaro?”

“Actually, he has a crush right now.” Akaashi chimes in.

Your spine instantly straightens and your eyes narrow in on him. Bokuto refuses to look at anyone, instead, he turns his head to the side and you get a good view of his ears which are now flaming a bright red.

“Who?” Both you and Kuroo question.

“A figure skater that practices in the rink below their gym.”

“Akaashi….” Bokuto whines.

“You have to show me a picture.”

Akaashi mouths a “later” and you nod in understanding.

The pro-athlete clears his throat, “Moving on, are you single or not?”

“Of course she’s single,” Kuroo answers for you.

You glare at him, “You’re acting like I didn’t have a boyfriend two months ago.”

Tetsuro snorts, “That loser?”

His tone is one you’re familiar with, it’s how he says something without actually saying it.

“I just feel like you’re trying to say I'm a loser by association.”

“Why would I go through all that trouble? If I wanted to call you a loser, I would just call you one, loser.”

You flick him in the forehead and the boy lets out a high-pitched “ow” and you turn your attention back to your other friend.

“I am Taro, but why?”

“Atsumu likes you and won’t stop begging me to set you guys up.”

You’ve met Atsumu on several occasions and you get along with him well enough, but you only ever saw him as Kotaro’s teammate. When you were around him, you couldn’t fathom having anything other than platonic feelings for him and if you were being honest: sometimes he gave you a headache.

“Oh. Then I’m not single.”

The three boys erupt into loud laughter and you wait for them to calm down before continuing.

“He’s incredibly fine, don't get me wrong, but Atsumu is so….”

“Atsumu.” Everyone fills in the blank, knowing smiles on their faces.

“Yeah, exactly. Whoever ends up dealing with that personality of his, bless their heart.”

The conversation shifts from love interests to something else, and a small smile bends your lips. You were so happy that you could hang out like this again; that you and Kuroo are back to what you used to be and you’ll make sure it never ends up any different.

The talking dies down a bit, everyone's focus is on the food in front of them, that’s until Bokuto and Akaashi share a look before leaning towards you.

“We want to know more about your ex-boyfriend.”

Men are so incredibly nosy and will never admit it.

“There’s nothing to really say. We were together and now we’re not.” You shrug.

Kuroo waves around his skewer like a gavel, “I never liked him.”

You roll your eyes, “You never like anyone I date.”

“They aren’t likable people.”

“But I like them?”

“And there’s something wrong with you, I keep telling you.” He puts a hand on your shoulder in fake pity, and you slap it off.

Akaashi sighs, knowing that the two of you will be at this back and forth for a while.

You point at yourself, “Something wrong with me?” and then you poke him in the chest “Yet I’m not the one who is perpetually single or when I do date, I don’t get dumped.”

Bokuto laughs and Kuroo shoots him a hard look. Since high school, everyone has quickly learned that trying to argue with you was futile, but Kuroo was the only one who could kind of keep up with you.

Kotaro’s eyes light up and he first points at you, “If Tetsuro doesn’t like anyone you date,” he then uses his other hand to point to the boy next to you “and you always get dumped.”

“Hey!”

“Why don’t you date each other?” Bokuto looks so pleased with himself like he found the answer to everything wrong in the world. But you two? You almost knock a drink over in shock and Kuroo chokes on the piece of chicken he’s chewing on.

“Excuse me?” You say, incredulously. You really cannot believe your ears, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve heard this before, but it is surprising to hear it from someone that you were both close with.

Keiji’s eyes widen a fraction and he looks at the two of you in slight disbelief, “Wait, the thought has never crossed your minds?”

You look at each other, mutual agreement in your eyes as you both shake your heads and go, “No.”

“Tetsuu has always been just my best friend.” You add.

The man’s voice is a bit hoarse due to his previous choking spell, but he coughs out a “Yeah, same.”

The blue-eyed man raises an eyebrow at you, “You’ve never had feelings for each other?”

You put a hand over your heart, “I haven’t. As for Testuu…. I don’t know, we all know he’s weak to a pretty girl. Poor thing is so easily swayed.”

Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, “And who told you were pretty?”

“Your father.”

This descends into another argument between the two of you; and Bokuto counts the amount of times Kuroo makes an indication he’s offended and Akaashi counts how many times you tell him to “Shut up talking to me.” It’s a little game the two of them play when they know they can't stop you from verbally attacking each other. You finally calm down and dismiss Tetsuro with a “Whatever, don’t talk to me.”

“Are you guys coming to my friend’s pre-grad party? It’s next next Friday.”

Akasshi and Bokuto look at you with sorry expressions, telling you that they have important tests or a game that weekend. Your lips start to fall into a pout and your eyes begin to widen, and they immediately look away because they’ll crack at your puppy-dog expression and you weaponize it so well.

Kuroo raises his hand, “I’m going.”

“Well, you’re not important.” You wave him off.

“Oh, really? Have fun going by yourself.”

Your arms wrap around him and he tries to escape, “You know I love you the most. I was just playing.”

The music is so loud you can feel the bass in your bones. You readjust your mini skirt and touch up your lipgloss before the door swings open and Mika pulls you into a tight hug. The words exchanged between you two are so fast, and Kuroo can only catch a few compliments on each other’s outfits and asking if that person is here. You turn to the man next to you and introduce him, explaining that Mika was your best friend in Osaka and you’re so excited that you finally get to meet each other.

The three of you talk a little bit more before you send Kuroo to the kitchen to grab drinks. Your curly-haired friend instantly hooks her arm with yours and looks at you with a proud smile.

“This is the best-looking boyfriend you’ve had,” She tells you.

“What?”

Mika lists the attributes she thinks are working in Kuroo’s favor, “He’s tall, has a nice voice, and knows how to listen.”

You wave your hands and shake your head, “Mika, wait. He’s my best friend.”

“Sure..” She puts her hands up, making air quotations as she speaks, “Best friend.”

“Why are you doing that? I’m dead serious right now.’” You lean into your right hip, your arms crossing over your chest.

Your friend mirrors your pose, “Okay, so how come I haven’t heard about him before?”

“Well, we fought and then didn’t talk for two years. And you have, remember when I said I made up with my friend a few months back?”

“Oh, that’s him? Ahh, I see what’s going on here.” Mika has a dreamy look in her eyes and she brings her clasped hands up to her cheek, “You decided to take your relationship to the next level because you’re scared to lose each other again.”

Your friend is such a hopeless romantic, you both are, but she’s one in a fairytale way.

“What? No, we’re just friends.”

She looks at you with a sly smile, “Okay~”

You sigh, what is up with everyone lately? “Mika, seriously.”

Kuroo returns, placing the ice-cold bottle on your exposed midsection and you yelp in surprise. He laughs, eyes sparkling with mischief as he hands your friend her drink. She looks at the two of you with a knowing smile, and you give her a light slap on the arm with a warning: “Behave.”

The three of you move to the dancefloor and dance for what feels like hours, there’s a thin layer of sweat that coats your body and your limbs start to ache from the constant movement. Mika was whisked away by someone she’s been talking to. You and Kuroo continue on in her absence, screaming lyrics to one of your favorite songs and as it ends, he tells you that he has to piss and you scold him for being so vulgar.

You exit the crowd and Kuroo makes his way to the bathroom, you take this as an opportunity to lean against the cool wall. Your eyes flutter close as your breath starts to even out and then suddenly, you feel someone stand directly in front of you. Your eyes open and you’re met with a man you’ve never seen before.

You don’t let him get one word in and hit him with, “I have a boyfriend, he’s in the bathroom.”

He puts his hands up, “I haven’t even said anything.”

“And? I’m letting you know.”

“Let your boyfriend know that he shouldn’t be leaving such a beautiful girl on her own.”

You roll your eyes at him, men never know when to quit. You don’t say anything else and wait for him to leave but when he doesn’t, you let out an annoyed sigh.

“I’m waiting for your boyfriend, making sure you’re safe. Plus I know how you girls are, playing hard to get by saying you're taken.”

You scoff and your head starts to pound from his stupidity. You glance over your shoulder, praying Tetsuro comes back soon. You spot his tall frame and almost yell out in relief. When he makes his way over to you, he doesn’t even acknowledge the man who is hellbent on lingering.

Your hand curls around his bicep, “Babe, you took too long.” You pout and Kuroo feels his heart begin to speed up. Why are you looking at him like that?

And why did he like it?

His face is clouded with confusion and the other man can tell, and you really hope you can put on a convincing show. Your eyes dart between your best friend and the unidentified man who is a few steps away. Tetsuro catches on and presses a quick apology kiss to your temple like a real boyfriend would do. It’s a routine he’s used to; always fending off men who couldn’t get the hint and usually, they would run off after one look at his tall stature and hard gaze that borders murderous. But this one is particularly stubborn.

“Sorry, angel. There was a long line.” The raven-haired man finally turns his attention to the other boy, “Can I help you?” Kuroo’s voice is harsh and he steps in front of you protectively.

“Do you really think I’m going to believe this lie? He didn’t even seem sure you were talking to him.” His words are aimed towards you but you don’t offer him the luxury of a reply.

Tetsuro’s jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists- he looks so angry. And your brain is going haywire because why does he look so sexy? His voice drops an octave and your heart speeds up, “I don’t give a fuck what you think. We don’t have to prove anything to you.”

The other man says something but you’re getting tired of this fast. You grab Tetsuro by the collar of his shirt, your faces level with each other and your lips at his ear, “We’re gonna kiss. Is that okay?”

His voice is too quiet for anyone other than you to hear, “Okay.”

Then you smash your lips against his, and you forget all about whoever was bothering you. Kuroo is an amazing kisser, his lips are soft against yours and you can taste the berry chapstick you lent him. He kisses you like a prayer desperate to be answered and his body is pressing you flush against the wall, while his arms are caging you in.

Tetsuro knows this is for show, he knows this is to prove that asshole wrong but the way your plush lips are moving in perfect sync with his is enough to send him to an early grave. You taste like bubblegum and the best time of his life. He wants to devour you with each kiss, he wants to hear what sounds you make, and when he bites your bottom lip; he gets a preview of the sweetest moan he has ever heard.

When your lungs can no longer survive without a new breath, you pull away for air. The stupid man had left with an angry grumble the second your lips touched.

“Thanks.” You breathe out.

Kuroo’s cheeks are a soft pink, “No problem.”

The two of you separate and you tell him you’re going to look for Mika, skipping off like nothing ever happened. But his hands touch his swollen lips as he watches the way your hips sway as you walk away.

You push your apartment door open and when Kuroo steps in, you let it slam behind you with a loud bam. You’re glad your roommate took a couple’s trip with her girlfriend because the amount of noise you’re making right now is disrespectful. You’re beyond tired and not physically, mentally. The kiss still has your head spinning and as for the rest of the night? You spent it putting a considerable distance between you and Tetsu, and you hope he didn’t take offense to it but even being able to feel his body heat or catch a whiff of his cologne was driving you insane.

You walk into your room, turning on the lamp and it envelopes the room in warm light. With your back towards him you ask, “Do you want to shower first?”

Kuroo sighs quietly, his heart racing at the thought of mustering up the courage to take this step. “We’re still friends, right?”

You turn around so fast, thinking that your actions during the latter half of the night hurt his feelings.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

The man’s eyes meet yours in the dim lighting, his pupils are dilated and his gaze flickers to your lips.

“I want to kiss you again but as friends…”

You want to ask him to repeat it but you hear him loud and clear, and your response rings even clearer in your mind.

“If it’s as friends then that should be fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then his hands on your waist pulling you in and his lips on yours, kissing you like a man starved. Your arms wrap around his neck and somehow you feel like he’s kissing you even better than before. Your fingers toy with hair at the nape of his neck; Kuroo moans into the kiss and you smile, and he just about loses it.

He needs to touch you more.

Tetsuro’s hands climb up your waist, passing over your chest, and grazing your hardened nipples before they settle on your face. The action causes you to gasp and he takes it as a chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. He groans at the feeling of being even closer to you; his knee slips in between your thighs, pressing against your clothed core.

You pull away for air and a soft “fuck” falls from your swollen lips. Kuroo doesn’t stop, he just moves on to your neck, sucking and biting. You tilt your head to give him more access and he’s whispering your name into the marks he leaves behind and you’re damn near melting in his arms.

And right now you’re not thinking about the implications of kissing your best friend.

No.

You’re thinking about fucking him.

Tetsuro knows you’re crossing over into dangerous territory, and he knows himself. If he kept going like this he wouldn’t stop and he doesn’t want to push towards a boundary you might not want to cross. So, he pulls away and you whimper at the loss of contact. You try to pull him back in by his belt loops but he takes a small step back, and your hands lightly dust over the tent in his pants and he hisses at the contact.

He’s about to give in to your silent demand for more but he wants to mess with you, he couldn’t help it. It was the dynamic the two of you have and it’s hard not to give into it.

“You know I always tell you to use your words. So, tell me what you want, angel.”

He’s just teasing, he’s always just teasing.

But, your brain is foggy with lust and need, and you need him in ways you never thought possible.

“I want you to fuck me, please Tetsuu.”

Never in a million years did you think you would be begging for Kuroo Tetsuro but here you are, eyes boring into his and your heart hammering against your ribcage.

Tetsuro’s face flushes a bright red and his cock strains against his pants; he didn’t expect this. He wants to tear his gaze away but your eyes are sinful and you’re looking at him like he's the only man in the world. And god, you don’t know what it does to him. Kuroo wants to ruin you, he wants to make you feel like you’re the only girl in the world, he wants you to be so lost in the pleasure he brings you- all you ever think about is him.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

The first thing to go is his shirt and your hand trails down chest and stomach, the muscles flexing under your fingers. Kuroo wants to comment on how you’ve seen it before but a few open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone steals the words right out of his mouth. His hands drop down to your mini skirt but they falter and you give him a nod to tell him it’s okay but his hands still don’t move.

“What’s wrong?” Your tone is a bit impatient but still concerned nonetheless.

He smirks, “Kinda wanna fuck you in it.” You want to tell him to do it but he’s already yanking it down with a “But it’s too pretty to ruin, just wear it for me another time.”

Another time?

He’s getting caught up in the act, don’t think too much of it.

The rest of your clothes follow and Kuroo leads you to the bed with a kiss as he expertly removes your bra. Your back is now flat against the mattress and he takes no time to leave a trail of kisses from your lips to your sternum. Your breath is heavy and everywhere he touches feels like it’s on fire. And when his mouth wraps around your nipple, his name tumbles from your lips in a whine.

Kuroo looks up at you, his tongue swirling around the bud and his fingers playing with the other one. You're a mess- he’s making you a mess, and he’s loving every second of it. His dick is painfully hard but you have to get off first before he even thinks about himself.

“So pretty.” He mumbles against your skin, his mouth switching over to the other side. You clench around nothing and you can feel your arousal slide down your thigh, you’re aching for him in one place and you’re growing impatient.

“Tetsuro,” You grab one of his hands and trail it down your body until it’s right where you want it. “Here, need you here.”

A string of curses leaves his mouth, you’re going to kill him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He uses his thumb to rub slow circles on your clit and pleasure shoots through your every nerve. Your eyes flutter close and you don’t even see him move down, but you do feel his tongue lick one languid stripe along your slit.

“Oh god.” You moan out and your hands fly to his hair, tugging at the ends. The boy continues his ministrations, switching between slowly licking your folds and sucking your clit. Cries, moans, and curses fall from your lips and they only egg him on. You taste so good and he only wishes he could’ve done this sooner, he could eat you out until daybreak or until his last breath: whichever came first.

“Need you to cum on my tongue, pretty girl. Can you do that?” His voice vibrates throughout your core and your hips grind against his face on their accord.

You nod furiously and Tetsuro chuckles at your enthusiasm, the vibration pulls another sweet sound out of you and it sets him off. His mouth is moving like its one purpose is to help you reach bliss and he’s doing a damn good job.

Kuroo’s long fingers prod your entrance and when your eyes open again, you find him staring at you, the question burning in his gaze and you don’t trust yourself to form a coherent answer, so you nod and he pushes them in.

He pumps his digits at a slow pace, making sure you can feel all of it and you feel the familiar knot start to tighten in the pit of your stomach. And Kuroo can feel it, in the way your walls clench around him. So, he speeds up and curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

“So close, Tetsuu. I’m so close, please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for but Kuroo’s tongue applies just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bud and it sends you over the edge.

Your vision goes white and euphoria takes over every single one of your senses, your body shakes and your best friend’s face is drenched in your juices. Tetsuro doesn’t stop, he helps you ride it out, enjoying the view of you coming completely undone at his hand.

“You look so pretty when you cum on my face.” He’s lapping up all evidence of your orgasm and you start to push him away, the feeling is overwhelming.

“Too much,” You whine.

“Give me one more, please? You taste so good, angel. I don’t wanna stop.”

Your mind is fuzzy with pleasure and though the overstimulation is a bit painful, it hurts so good.

“Okay.” And his tongue is on you once more, and it doesn’t take much for you to hit that high again and you do it with a scream of his name.

Tetsuro comes up and meets you with a kiss, and you can taste yourself on his lips. The kiss is messy, full of wanton need that puts the sin, Lust, to shame. And you can feel Kuroo’s hard cock in between your thighs and it brushes against your wet slit, he whimpers into your mouth and you realize he’s been holding back the whole time.

You pull away and sit up on your elbows, there’s a sex-drunk smile on your face and Kuroo almost cums on the spot at the sight.

“Are you gonna make me wait all night?”

That’s all he needs to hear and he’s pulling open your nightstand drawer and grabbing a condom. He rips open the foil packaging with his teeth and slides it on, his eyes never leave your frame even when yours drop down and widen at the size.

You can never tease him again.

Kuroo hooks one of your legs around his waist and places the other on his shoulder. He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly starts to push in. Your moans mix together like a forbidden melody as his tip makes it past.

The stretch burns and tears prick the back of your eyes, the pain is burning pleasure but god, you don’t know if you can take all of him. Tetsuro is trying his hardest not to lose control, but you feel so good around him, your walls soft and fluttering against him as they try to adjust.

“F-fuck, you feel like h-heaven.” His words come out in a whine and you love the way he sounds.

He’s barely halfway and you’re already feeling so full. “Tetsuu, it’s so big. I don’t thin-”

He cuts you off, “I know, I know but you’re taking me so well, pretty girl. Just relax.”

And you do as he says, and he bottoms out with a hiss and you cry out.

He moves with slow strokes and soft moans fall from your lips. His dark eyes are full of passion and his voice is breathy, “Such a good girl when you listen to me. Where is this usually, hmm?”

You turn your head in embarrassment, you’re usually quick to say something smart and shut him down. But, right now? You’re hanging on to his every word and doing as he says.

Kuroo stops moving and you mewl out, “Keep going.” Your head is still turned and your eyes are closed.

“Look at me.”

You refuse, still trying to get him to continue fucking you without giving in to his demand. He starts to pull out and you sob at the feeling of emptiness.

“Look at me or I won’t do anything.”

Your head turns and your eyes open, and he smirks like he’s won a gold prize. “Good girl.”

And he’s slamming back into you, his pace is fast and unforgiving. Sweat gives his skin a light sheen and the sound of skin hitting skin and how wet you are, echo throughout the room. You can’t even form words because Tetsuro is fucking them out of you and every time he compliments you, you clench around him and he groans.

“You feel so good, baby.” He pulls you even closer to him, angling himself and he hits that sweet spot that has your walls spasming around him.

“Tetsuu” You whimper out.

“You like when I fuck you like this, angel?” You’re so full of him, you can feel him in your stomach. He’s relentless, hitting that spot over and over again. You can’t even answer him because he’s slowly pulling out and then reentering just as slowly, making you feel every inch of him.

Your pussy is so warm around him and he stutters, you’re milking him and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep going.

“C-can’t answer? Am I- fuck.”

Kuroo can’t even finish his own sentences, the way your face expresses pure bliss and how you squeeze around him, is driving him insane.

“S’good.” You slur, “You’re so good to me.”

“Yeah? You treat me even better, pretty girl.” That name makes you tighten around him and his strokes start to turn sloppy, “Letting me taste you, letting me inside you.”

He’s so close and you are too, and his hand snakes its way in between your bodies. He rubs your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Tetsu, gonna cum if you-” The combination of his thumb and his cock hitting that spongy spot has your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

You pulse around him, and Kuroo lets out a whiny, “Shit, I’m cumming,” and he’s spilling into the condom.

And just like earlier he doesn’t stop, he continues drilling into you even if he’s sensitive to the point it hurts. He’s repeating your name over and over again in the form of whimpers and you’re clawing at his back; your fourth orgasm of the night taking over your entire body until you’re seeing stars and Tetsuro follows right behind you, filling up the rubber once more.

The man gently places your legs back on the bed and his head falls onto your shoulder, your breaths are heavy and uneven. He pulls out and you make a quiet noise at the feeling.

“Sorry.” He mutters, placing a soft kiss on your collarbone. Kuroo gets up, takes off the condom, and ties it before dumping it in the trash. He also picks up his boxers, putting them on as he walks over to your bathroom. You hear the sound of the shower and while your body is spent, the thought of a hot shower gives you just enough energy. Your best friend comes back out and picks you up bridal-style, helping you get to the bathroom. He sets you down and your feet come in contact with the cold tile.

“Can you stand? Or do I need to help you shower?” His voice conveys his concern but his eyes also tell you he’s being cheeky.

You shoot him a look, “I think I’ll be fine, thank you.” You brush past him, legs a bit wobbly and you hear him stifle laughter. You throw him a glare over your shoulder and he only smiles.

Tetsuro exits the bathroom after you step into the shower, he picks up all of your abandoned clothing and tosses it into the hamper. He changes your sheets and collects his thoughts; this isn’t very platonic of you and he starts to worry that it’s gonna change everything between you two.

And he can’t handle it if your friendship is ruined, again. But, he quells his negative thoughts and tells himself you’ll cross that bridge when you get there, even though you’re only a few steps away from it. For now, he won’t act as if nothing happened but he won't let it change anything either.

Even if there is a tiny voice in his heart hoping that it will.

You step out of the bathroom, your pajamas hanging loosely on your body and your face fresh and glowy. You look around your bedroom, admiring the new sheets and clean floor. Kuroo looks at you, his face full of emotions you can’t name and you desperately want to know what he’s thinking. But, you couldn’t even figure out what was going on in your own mind. You only stare right back at him, and you wonder if the two of you are communicating with your expressions. Assuring the other that it was okay and the conversation would be had at another time.

Tetsuro breaks eye contact first and walks into the bathroom, smiling at the scent of your body wash that still lingers in the air. He steps into the shower, letting the water carry away his worries and relax his muscles. His mind is replaying how you looked at him earlier, he couldn’t decipher what emotions your eyes held but he knows that everything is okay.

Sleep is starting to tempt his senses and he knows you’re probably making your way to dreamland. He steps out of the shower and quickly finishes up, and to his surprise, you’re still up. Your phone is shining on your face and when you feel the bed dip on the opposite side, you look at him and place your phone down. Kuroo lays right next to you, wrapping his arms around you and it’s not like you’ve never slept like this before, but it feels much more intimate this time. But you find comfort in his warmth and the smell of his skin, and your eyelids start to feel heavy.

You tell Tetsuro to turn off the lamp and soon the room is completely dark. You can already feel the dull throb in your muscles and you mumble to yourself, “I’m going to be so fucking sore.”

Tetsuro lets out an airy chuckle, “I told you it was big.”

You kick him and he grunts in pain, your voice is quiet but still as sharp as ever,

“Shut the hell up and go to sleep.”

a/n: this is my first time writing out a full smut like PLS give me constructive criticism because i would like to write more in the future but i also wanna be better and more comfortable,,, okay hope you enjoyed !! <333 (also someone wanted to be tagged but i wont tag u if you're an ageless blog !!)

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