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teamatsumu · 6 months

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kinktober 2023 -> day 31

breeding kink - miya osamu x reader

word count: 1512

A/N: so this is it! thank you so much for everyone who stuck around for this kinktober event. 31 fics in 31 days, its the biggest project i have ever done. thank u for all the love and support ❤️

kinktober masterlist

What is stopping you?

Your mind repeated the question in your head every day, and it felt like your brain was yelling at you in frustration and confusion, wanting to know why exactly you were tongue tied in this situation. It made no sense to wait anymore. The time was ideal.

Truly, there couldn't be a better time to bring it up. You were happy with your job, Osamu’s business was flourishing; he had just opened another Onigiri Miya in Tokyo. He had a good staff now, an organized system on how to manage it all. He didn’t have to be the only person worrying for the business anymore, since he had hired experienced managers. It allowed him enough breathing room to come home early, cook a nice, hearty dinner for you both that you enjoyed while sprawled on the couch in front of the TV. Money wasn’t a worry anymore.

So really, what was stopping you from bringing up the topic of kids?

You seemed to have become lost in the same thoughts again because you only came to when Osamu nudged you, making you blink and tear your eyes away from the TV screen. He was looking at you questioningly, and you could see a hint of worry behind his dark eyes.

“What’s on yer mind, doll?”

You shook your head and smiled, shrugging a bit. “It’s no big deal ‘Samu. Just a project at work.”

He hummed a little, shoving more noodles into his mouth and sparing you little glances as he did so. You knew he didn’t believe you. Your husband knew you too well to fall for such an obvious lie. But you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out how to broach the topic that was itching in the back of your mind for the last few days.

What do I even say? Put a baby in me?

You swallowed down the little knot that formed in your throat at the thought. Fuck. Was this turning you on? You grit your teeth tight enough that it hurt your jaw, scolding the little voice in your head to not do anything stupid.

When has your brain and lack of filter ever listened to you, though?

The next night, when Osamu had you sprawled on his lap, your back against his front, two fingers buried knuckles deep inside you and having pulled an orgasm out of you already, you babbled out the thought that had been plaguing you for many, many days.

“‘Sa- Samu,” you whined, long and desperate, dragging out his name. “Need your cock. Need your cum. Please.”

Osamu groaned in reply, pulling out his drenched fingers from your core and laying you on the bed. You pulled your legs up on instinct, spreading them wide, knees brought up to your sides. Osamu’s responding moan was sinful.

“S-shit, baby,” he breathed, clumsy hands quickly discarding his shirt and sweatpants. “Ya want it that bad? So ready to take me?”

You nodded your head frantically, back arching when he finally sunk his big, throbbing cock into you. The slide was comfortable and easy, considering how long you had spent spread apart on his fingers. Osamu wasted no time in immediately picking up speed, knowing exactly what spots to hit that had you reduced to a weepy mess.

You fumbled around until you had grabbed Osamu’s hands, hooking both of them under your knees and applying pressure. Osamu stared at you in realization before he shifted a bit and used his weight to hold your legs apart. You wanted him to put you in a mating press.

“This what ya want, sweetheart?” His voice was so hoarse you felt like you could cum just at the sound of it. “Fuck, ya look so sexy. All spread out fer me.”

Osamu was big on dirty talk, you knew. He loved speaking during sex and he loved when you spoke during sex. Over the years, you two had tried any and every thing in the bedroom that you possibly could, and you had lost all shame when it came to voicing your desires. The filthier, the better actually. Osamu could easily cum if you talked him through it.

Pair that with your days-old ruminating thoughts, and everything spilled out of you like word vomit.

“‘Samu,” you gasped. “Fuck me hard and deep, please. Please. Need to- need to be filled up with your cum, daddy. Need it.”

Osamu’s thrusts sped up and he cursed under his breath. “You’ll get it, babygirl. You’ll get daddy’s cum. Every last drop.”

You nodded frantically, crying out at a particularly well aimed thrust. “Yes! I- Osamu!” You wailed when his thumb made contact with your clit. Your nails dug into his back as you scrambled to pull him close. “Gimme. ‘Samu, gimme.”

Osamu was moaning into the skin of your neck, your legs over his shoulders and your body bent in half. “What’s gotten into ya today, baby? So greedy.”

You wound a hand through his hair, feeling the knot in your stomach pull tighter and tighter. You were seconds away from an orgasm. You pulled his head up by the hair until he was looking into your eyes. Your tears-coated, weepy eyes.

“Get me pregnant, Osamu. I want your kids.”

You didn’t have the time or the mental coherence to look at his reaction, because your orgasm washed over you like a freight train. Osamu’s movements stuttered, as a result of your words or you reaching your peak, you didn’t know. All you could do was feel the waves of electricity wash over you as you tried to breathe through the overwhelming feeling.

It was only when Osamu slowed to a stop in you, still twitching and throbbing, that you opened your wet eyes. He was looking down at you with mouth slightly open in shock, breathing still labored from his previous exertion. His dark hair was messy, stuck to the sweat on his forehead. All was silent between you.

“Are you serious?” He breathed, trying to see through your post-orgasm face. You nodded slowly.

“Thought about it a lot.” You admitted, tightening your legs around his waist a bit. “I’m ready if you are.”

A few more seconds, before Osamu bit his bottom lip and groaned, eyes falling to half mast again. He breathed deep, shaking his head. The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit.

“Do ya know how long I’ve waited fer this?” His voice was husky. He pulled himself up and unwound your legs from his waist. Then he bent you in half again, before setting a fast, bruising, brutal pace.

You gasped and threw your head back at the sudden change, pussy still sensitive from your orgasm, jaw going slack. His cock pounded into you with all the ferocity he could summon, one of the roughest sessions you two had had for a while, burning through you like embers crawling under your skin.

“Thought ‘bout it so much.” He continued choking out words, not slowing in the slightest. “The thought of ya all fat an’ swollen with ma kids. Fuck. Yer gonna look radiant.”

You moaned with him, picturing your pregnant belly, glowing face. Picturing a little human that you will birth. A human that Osamu could potentially put in you now.

“Daddy,” you whined. “Need…. I need- please.”

“Need what, baby?” Osamu had a little smirk on his face. His skin was flushed and damp, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out his pupils. He looked feral.

“Need my load in ya? That it? Need ta take every last drop, yeah? Can’t risk wastin’ it.”

His hand came up, winding into your hair and tugging hard until you yelped.

“Take it, doll. Take it-”

His voice broke into a long moan as his hips stuttered and you felt warmth flood your insides, his bulging biceps trembling as he tried to hold his weight up through his orgasm. He was loud through it, coaxing you with rough words and even rougher fingers pinching your clit until you came one last time with a heaving cry, eyes rolling up into your head.

You had barely caught your breath when Osamu reached up to grip your face tightly with one hand, your cheeks squishing together. You stared at him with zoned out, misty eyes.

“Don’t ya dare waste a single drop.” He whispered so close that his lips brushed your puckered ones. “Keep it inside yer pussy like a grateful slut, ya hear me?”

You moaned in response, nodding weakly against his grip. He pulled out then and you clenched tightly, but you could feel it as a little bit trailed down your crack. Osamu hummed in disappointment, holding your legs open and watching as his cum leaked out.

“Poor baby. Couldn’t do it, could ya?” You felt him lean forward and brush a surprisingly soft kiss below your ear.

“I guess I’ll just have ta keep goin’ until I know yer pregnant fer sure.”

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy y @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu smut #osamu smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu fanfiction #miya osamu fic #haikyuu fic #hq fic #hq imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfiction

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lunamochii · 1 month

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you're the blue text ; they're the gray/grey text

bokuto, atsumu, osamu, kuroo, oikawa, suna, sugawara, sachiro

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lovingache · 9 days

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐭. 𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 summary: “𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝. 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.” warnings: 18+ only, minors do not interact! | aged up!haikyu verse (karasuno is a university), no y/n, raw piv sex, d/s dynamics (dom!kageyama, sub!reader), teasing, he spanks you like once, hair pulling, praise— he talks a lot in this lol, possessiveness, porn with a hint of plot names used: angel, good girl, precious girl, baby, tutor, word count: 2.2k a/n: oh boy, this one really got away from me in a lot of ways. i had the idea that we’d just follow tobio and reader on their first tutoring session and it’d be some sort of hot, sweet encounter but the idea of immediately jumping into things was too fun to let go. plus, it gave me an excuse to skip the whole "getting to know tobio" bit and save some time. i still may do the first encounter if people are interested but yeah— have fun!

You whine as he thrusts deep inside you again, the loud squelch filling the small study room obscenely as he bends you over the table. “T-Tobio, fuck.” The table creaks in time with his thrusts, and you feel your cheeks heat as you hear the noise.

He grunts as he hears the sweet noises you make and grips your hips so hard you know there’ll be bruises the next day. “I know, angel. I know I’m big. Just, fuck— just take it, okay?” He mutters, voice husky and dripping with his evident arousal. He groans as he feels you twitch around him, your already tight heat gripping him even more, and has to bite a knuckle to make sure he doesn’t fucking cum instantly.

He loves this moment, when you go from the strict tutor making sure he’s on top of his essays for this goddamn course, to his sweet toy. If he knew tutoring with you would be like this, he would’ve begged you long ago.

He leans forward, taking your hair in one hand and circling your neck with his other, and yanks you up to whisper into your ear, “Christ, you are just so reactive, aren’t you? So good at taking my cock. You’re such a good girl for me, for letting me have this. Fuck,” His voice is laced with a mix of adoration and hunger as he watches you with a keen eye, drawing back to fuck into you with deep, hard strokes. "So sweet for letting me fuck this tight, wet pussy," he drawls as he times his thrusts to punctuate his words.

He knew you well enough to realize that you rarely let yourself be vulnerable with anyone, let alone this exposed, gasping and moaning as he drives his cock in and out of you. It’s what attracted him to you to begin with and called him to sit beside you the first day he walked into that lecture hall. He knew the feeling too well and, ever since you agreed to be his tutor, he was determined to wring out every last aching drop of vulnerability from you.

Another whine escapes you as he runs his teeth over the shell of your ear. He’s fucking you in earnest now, the room feeling impossibly hot as the only sounds that you can register are of skin slapping on skin, his growled words, and your whimpers. You tighten around him as he hits a particular spot relentlessly, forcing out needy moans from you, and he chuckles.

"You're gonna cum, aren't you?" He grunts, his voice low and rough as he keeps his pace. "You're so, fuck," He's cut off as you clench around him again, his voice drawing out the reaction from your body almost instinctively. "So fucking cute. Such a good tutor. Such a good fucking girl," He mutters, the pleased undertone clear as he grips your hips again and watches you claw at the table as you careen toward your orgasm.

"Want you moaning my fucking name when you cum," He says, slow and deliberate, as he hits the same spot repeatedly. "Want the people outside this building to know my name by the time I'm done with you, angel," He rasps as he slaps your ass, the sharp sting only bringing you closer to the edge.

"Fuck, fuck— Tobio," You mewl, your voice ragged and pathetic, and it makes him chuckle. "Tobio, 'm gonna cum, fuck. Tobio, please!" You beg, and he smiles, pleased with your desperation.

"Aw, asking for permission? That's so sweet. We haven't even talked about that yet. I guess you just love it when I use you like this, huh?" He coos, his voice dripping with condescension, and he doesn't let up his pace as you stay on the edge— so close to teetering over.

He hums. "I guess you have been a good girl and helped me get my grades up. Tell me, princess, do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?" He asks, leaning into the control you've so effortlessly given him. It pisses you off how put together he still sounds.

"Y-Yes, please," You cry, babbling nonsense as he keeps you still. "Please, please, Tobio," you beg, desperate and aching for release as he circles your clit with one hand. Your body's on fire, and your legs start to shake from holding back. "Please," you whisper.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, angel," He says, his satisfaction leaking from his words. "It's okay." He lowers himself down, chest flush with your back, "You can cum. Go ahead. You can do that for me, right?" He whispers as he sucks a mark into your neck.

Your legs nearly give out from the relief you feel hearing him permit you to cum, gasping as your eyes flutter and your orgasm tears through you, "Fuck! Oh my fucking god."

He groans as he feels you clench around him, muttering your name as he fucks you through your orgasm steadily. He turns your head so he can kiss you; the feel of his tongue searing into you is intoxicating even in the state you're in, and you sigh. He pulls away only slightly and chuckles, "Not god, angel. Tobio. You know the rules. You need to say my name, or I'll stop fucking you."

You repeat his name as the aftershocks of the orgasm ripple through you, and he responds with a pleased hum. You whine as he pulls out of you before flipping you over onto the table, his eyes raking over your body as if it were the first and last time he'd ever get to see you like this. He strokes himself in front of you, a cocky smirk tracing its way across his face as he lines himself up with you again, the head of his cock teasing your throbbing clit. "Aw, it's okay, angel. Here, I'll put it back in since you're so needy for it," he grunts as he shoves himself inside you again, savouring the mewl you let out as he hits an even deeper spot inside you.

It’s been a few weeks of this since Tobio begged you to tutor him. At first, you weren’t too sure about helping him since you only knew him as your constantly late-for-class desk mate, but the way his voice sounded, the set of his eyebrows, and the intensity of his gaze on you as he asked convinced you otherwise.

It started innocently enough with the two of you meeting for late-night sessions to accommodate his hectic volleyball schedule. It took a lot of work to convince the library to let you book a room so late when no other staff would be present to supervise, but your reputation as a stellar student helped secure a study room.

For the first few weeks, it was standard tutoring, all above board (and above the belt), but you could tell he was getting bored doing the same routine over and over: readings, summary, thesis development, and essay writing. You felt bad for him, knowing he was already outside his comfort zone, and wanted to find a way to make things more exciting.

“Tobio, I was thinking,” You propose one night. “Maybe we should integrate some sort of reward system. You’ve been keeping up the past few weeks, but I want to help you do well in this class— not just scrape by. What do you think would motivate you?” You ask, cocking your head to the side as you sit beside him.

You knew you were in trouble when his face went from his usual stern expression to a sly grin. “Well, now that you mention it…” He starts, gauging your expressions as he proposes a kiss each time he gets above 80% on his essays. He relishes how your eyes widen slightly, noting the immediate blush on your cheeks as you stutter beneath his gaze.

“I-I don’t—” You start to say, but he cuts you off.

“You don’t think I notice the way you look at me? How you stare at my hands when I’m writing something?” He taunts, a smirk resting on his face.

He leans in closer, your breaths mingling from your proximity, and you can smell his cologne mixed with the scent of his skin—warm and inviting, unlike his calculating image. “You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed how I look at you?” he whispers, his eyes challenging you to deny the simple fact that you were both attracted to each other.

He brushes a stray strand of your hair, and you shiver as he says your name, low and steady. “You can’t lie to me. I can read you like a book,” he murmurs, his eyes filled with equal parts desire and adoration.

That’s how you ended up in this situation week after week, gasping and groaning underneath him. His grades, to your absolute delight and his sly satisfaction, have taken a sharp turn and improved—so much that even your professor commended the two of you for your “steadfast partnership.”

He holds your face with one hand while keeping your legs spread with the other, calling you back to the moment. “Is my baby already fucked out of her mind? C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, eyeing the blooming mark on your neck as he thrusts into you even deeper as if punctuating his statement. “Can’t get cockdrunk already, precious girl. I’m not nearly done with you yet," he says as he leans in close and sucks another mark on your neck above the first one, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction as you roll your head to the side to give him better access.

He pulls back with a muttered "Good girl," as he trails the hand that was on your face down to your chest, palming at the soft flesh there and pinching your hardened nipples before snaking his hand underneath your shirt, hissing as he grabs handfuls of you. “Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good in my hands.”

He pushes the shirt up and over you, throwing it to the side where he threw your skirt earlier, as he undresses you completely. "So pretty, angel. Such a pretty girl. All for me, right?" He asks though it doesn't sound like a question as his eyes flutter.

You nod, "Y-Yes, Tobio. All for you, only for you," and, fuck, if that doesn't just get him so fucking close. The way you're lying down, spread open for him, repeating that you're only his and his alone, makes him fold your legs up to your chest as he plows into you even deeper.

"Fuck, yes. Only for me, always," he grunts, his cock moving in and out of you mercilessly as he chases his own high. "Tell me again, angel, fuck— tell me you want me to cum inside of you," he says, voice hoarse with need as his hips start to stutter.

"Yes, please, Tobio. Want you, only you. Want you to cum inside of me, please? I need it deep inside of me so bad," You whine helplessly as he circles your clit again, the overstimulation causing you to shake beneath him as he forces you to the edge with him.

"Such a good girl," he whispers, and you can tell he's close. "Such a good fucking girl. You're gonna cum for me again," he says, demanding another orgasm from you. "You're gonna cum then I'm gonna pump you full of my cum, you understand me?" he asks as his thrusts become more erratic, fingers circling you even faster.

You nod, breathless, as you feel yourself get close again, and you grip onto him as you cum, back arching off of the table as you hear him groan your name from above. He thrusts one last time, deep and hard as he cums, holding you still and open as you shiver feeling his warmth seep into you.

He kisses you softly then, his hand cradling your face like it's the most precious thing in the world and your heart flutters despite your blissed-out state. He takes a deep breath before pulling away, touching your forehead with his, "You did so well. Such a good girl for me for taking that so well. Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

You hum as you run your hand through his hair, the afterglow hitting you hard. "'m great, Tobio, don't worry. You didn't go too hard or anything. I told you, I'd tell you if it was too much," you reply, watching as his eyes relax with relief.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, placing soft kisses on your lips. "Just.. I can get carried away. I can be too intense sometimes," he admits as he pulls out of you and helps you get dressed, his hands so gentle and delicate with you now.

You snort, "Sometimes? Try all the time, Kageyama." You tease him, and he can't help but laugh with you.

"Alright, alright, all the time," he concedes, picking up the scattered pens, pencils, and notebooks on the ground before placing them on the table.

He watches you keenly as you sit beside him, shivering still from what's just happened, and smiles as he puts an arm over your shoulders and hugs you close to him. He kisses your forehead with a satisfied hum.

"So that's my reward for getting 100%, huh?"

likes and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

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eggyrocks · 23 days

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nail polish: k. bokuto

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bokuto’s hair is down, pushed out of his forehead with a wide headband, and the skin on his face is covered with a thick, wet green that he’s been told is a vitamin c mask.

“it’ll help clean the oil out of your pours,” is what she told him as she stood on the tips of her toes, biting down on her tongue as she spread the slime all over his face.

now, his fingers are spread out over her knee, his giant palm resting over the top of her thigh. slowly and deliberately, she drags the brush of blue polish over his nails. it’s the second coat now. “-and it was quite frankly just fucking rude. because like, it’s her birthday and you’re gonna text her, ask her for a favor, ask her to go out drinking with you to get over your lame breakup, and then only say happy birthday after you saw my post? like you don’t care about her let’s be real.”

bokuto nods solemnly. “that's kinda bitchy. like, oh, your birthday's just an afterthought to me, i don't really care."

"yes, exactly!"

"how long have they been friends now?”

“like fifteen years!” she exclaims, excitement making her halt her hand and look up at bokuto for some sort of reaction.

he shakes his head. "that's long enough to remember your friend's birthday."

“definitely long enough to know when her birthday is! she just bothers me because, like, she’s the type of person who cares more about whatever ugly boyfriend-of-the-month she has than her actual long-time best friends.”

bokuto exaggerates a pout. “is this how your friends talk about me? do they call me your ugly boyfriend-of-the-month?”

she snickers, returning her focus to his nails once more. “we’ve been dating for three years.”

“still.”

“all my friends love you,” she assures him. “you’re their favorite uber driver.”

he laughs, and in doing so, he moves his pinkie. it’s just a bit, not that much at all, but it’s enough to earn him a gentle flick to his bicep. “stop moving! you’re messing up my work!”

“i think they look pretty,” bokuto assures her, and lifts his other hand up in the air, wiggling his fingers and examining the way the shiny blue reflects the light. “hinata’s gonna be so fucking jealous.”

she bites down on the inside of her cheek. “i just know they’re gonna be chipped to high hell after one practice.”

“then you’ll just have to paint them again,” he tells her. “next time paint them gold so they match my uniform.”

“aye, aye,” she nods, bright grin accompanied by a red tinge to her cheeks.

bokuto leans forward and places a kiss on the crown of her head. “can you put your initials on them?"

she quirks an eyebrow at him. "why do you want my initials on them?"

he grins. "you gotta mark your property, babe."

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an: i wanna gossip with him so bad

#bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #haikyuu bokuto #hq bokuto #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto fluff #msby bokuto #bokuto x you #eggyrocks does slice of life #hq x you #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq fanfic #hq fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu x y/n

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rewh0re · 1 year

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A TANGLED MESS

Kiyoomi hates it when people touch his hair but when it's you, he hates it a little less.

Ft. : sakusa kiyoomi

This is a repost from my old blog so if you've read this before, it was me. But, it is my first post in this blog so pls be a bit kind also reblogs + feedbacks r appreciated!!

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"It's already been around half an hour y/n," kiyoomi grumbled.

He sat with his back against the bed and you sat on the bed, behind him, keeping him locked in his spot with your legs.

"But omi your hair is soft and you just washed it. It's extra soft!" You continued ruffling his hair, picking out sections and crossing them over one another, making a tangled mess.

"You are tangling it," he whined, trying to stop your hands.

"Oh! Oh! Wait here!" You got up from your previous position and ran to the vanity, grabbing a comb and looking frantically for something in your drawer.

"Ugh why can't I find them when I need them," you whined and kiyoomi sighed at that.

"What are you planning?" He leaned back on his palms, smiling a bit at your almsot stressed out self.

"Found it!" Not answering his question, you ran towards him with a box of hair ties.

"Now sit still for me okay?" And how could he ever say no to that radiant smile of yours. So he sighed and let out a chuckle.

"Incorrigible..." He closed his eyes and smiled as he felt the comb against his scalp.

"Shhh. I'm braiding your hair now," you left a small kiss on his cheek from the back and he hummed.

He felt you taking sections and crossing them, and then tying the little braid with a hair tie. He felt happy at that moment, it felt like where he was meant to be. He realised then that he was meant to be with you. He realised that he loved you so much that if he ever let that smile of yours go, he'd go absolutely insane. He realised that you were the only one he allowed to touch his hair and he remembers the time he had thrashed Atsumu when he tried to pat kiyoomi's head.

Meian always used to say that Sakusa Kiyoomi is, what was the term again? Ah, whipped yes. He was a whipped man for you. If one told him to remember the last time he felt the way he felt about you, he'd have no memory of it because for him, it was always you and he hopes that it'll last forever. He might whine a little when you play with his hair or hug him suddenly from behind, shocking him but he himself along with you knows, that it's exactly what he craves.

"There there. All done. Ah wait here, I'll bring the hand mirror," and when you brought the little mirror and he saw the current state of his hair, he couldn't help but laugh. Braids were sticking out from random direction and strands of messy hair too.

Was his hair a total tangled mess? Yes. Would he probably wake up with knots that would take him several hours to untagle? Also yes. But he couldn't bring himself to care because it made you happy and maybe the knots were worth it if he saw you flash him that sweet smile of yours.

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gardenofnoah · 9 months

Text

there are reasons why a body stays in motion

summary: you work too hard—kita knows it the second he meets you. he’s not expecting you to take him up on his offer. you don’t either, until you end up on his farm.

tags: shinsuke kita x reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut (oral, reader receiving), afab reader (no pronouns used, terms for body parts used("clit")), reader is a first responder, kita is a mother hen wc: 4.7k

the farmer’s market is quiet. mostly because it hasn’t opened yet.

you walk between stalls as the owners of them set up, smiling softly at those who greet you. it’s still a little dark out—the grass under your feet still a little dewy without a sun to warm it. if you were anyone else, you might still be in bed.

but you never made it to bed. in fact, you’ve been up for more hours than you care to count. that much is obvious by the way you sway slightly on your feet in front of Hanaka’s tomatoes.

“hey, you,” she murmurs, affectionate and maternal—reaching beneath the wood top to grab the coffee she’s brought you, as is your weekly tradition. “long night?”

“mm,” you hum around the plastic lid, tipping your head back. the coffee is a little bitter and a little grainy, but it doesn’t matter. truthfully, you’ve been up for so long that things are starting to lose their taste. in this case, that might be for the best. “on call. the phone just kept ringing.”

she nods, sympathy apparent on her face, and you know she understands. Hanaka is retired now—blissfully so, she says—but when you met, she was your coworker. she’d adopted you as some sort of pseudo-child, teaching you and looking out for you. it was a loss when she left, but you were happy she finally was getting to rest. when you found out she’d reserved a stall at the market, you made the effort to be there. even if it meant losing out on your rest.

“silly of you to come straight here,” she admonishes you sweetly, in the way that only she can. it makes you smile.

“and let the coffee get cold? never.”

she rolls her eyes, turning to busy herself with stacking deep green cucumbers into weaved baskets. you let your eyes roam the spread in front of you, reaching to brush a fingertip over the waxy skin of a tomato. your stomach growls—abrupt, and loud.

Hanaka snorts, shaking her head as she calibrates the scale. “head down the row,” she says, pointing in front of her without looking, “there’s a stand that does rice.”

you feel a bit like a zombie as you move among the crowd—still mostly vendors, until you can smell someone cooking. your feet bring you to a halt in front of a grey-haired man, shaping neat triangles of rice around what appears to be pickled cabbage and bean curd. your mouth waters.

"we're not quite open yet—oh." he pauses when he looks up at you, concern immediate and all over his face, "you need to sit down, darlin'?"

it makes you laugh. "is it that bad?"

he smiles at you, directing the man to his left to bring you a folding chair. you thank him, plopping unceremoniously into the seat. when you look up, there's an expertly assembled onigiri in your face.

"ah." it's warm in your fingers and you fight the urge to unhinge your jaw and shove the entire thing in your mouth. "thank you...?"

"Kita," he says, and his smile is kind in a way that feels a little disarming this early in the morning, "don't mention it. can't have you passin' out in front of my stall—s'bad for business."

you chuckle around a mouth full of rice—and holy shit, is it good. you try to tell him that, but to stop eating does not feel like an option. it makes him laugh.

"glad to hear it. can't take credit for the recipe—but the rice is from me."

"you're a farmer?"

"mm. have been for more than a few years now. just started comin' to the market though."

you nod, shoving the last of the onigiri in your mouth and greatly suppressing the urge to lick the stray bits of grain off your fingers.

he goes back to work, packing and shaping in a way that feels casual, but you have a hunch that the motions are some that he's practiced greatly. your lack of sleep emboldens you to let your eyes wander—his hands are calloused and careful, and it's obvious what he does just by the look of them. corded muscle flexes under sun tanned forearms as he shapes each onigiri with great focus, and you find yourself fascinated by the repetition.

"y'think you're closer to livin' now?"

you look up and find his eyes already on you, mirth all over his face. you grin, caught, warmth spreading up your neck.

"think so. what do i owe you?"

"nothin'," he waves you off, brown eyes crinkling. "just go take a nap."

you smile—warmed by his generosity. you get up and leave of rough estimate of coins on top of his register anyway. "see you later then, Kita."

later comes quicker than you thought. the very next week, as it turns out. you're a little more rested when you see him again, and it's the first thing he notices.

"y'look like you slept." he says by way of a greeting, handing you another perfectly formed onigiri—this time with pickled plum and what you suspect is salmon. it falls apart decadently in your mouth, the flavors complimentary and not overpowering against the rice. it's good.

"i did," you tell him around a mouth full, "wasn't on call last night."

he smiles, gentle around his eyes, as he watches you. "work?"

you nod. "social work—kids, mostly."

he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter. he considers you for a moment before he speaks again.

"so not sleepin' is normal for ya."

you shrug, avoiding his gaze. it's a little too early in the day to feel chastised by a man you only just met last week, even if he is admittedly a little handsome and insists on feeding you. he sighs, reaching for a stray piece of register paper.

"you like ducks?"

"like, the bird?" you look up at him, eyebrows arched in confusion. "yeah, i suppose i do."

he smiles down at the paper, scribbling a few lines down on it and handing it to you. "have a few babies that just hatched in the paddies. come by and see 'em if you ever feel like y'need a rest."

he waves you off, turning back to his work, and leaves you a little shellshocked as you look down at the paper. it has an address on it—for what you assume is his farm. you fold it neatly and push it down into the pocket of your jeans with the mental reminder of taking it out before you wash them. you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you turn and head back down the lane, dodging a few folks that are entering the market. you have a few hours before work—just enough time to knock out on the couch.

a few weeks later, you find yourself bouncing down a rocky lane, rice paddies on either side of the thin road. you figure you have to be in the right place, but feel a little nervous until you arrive to a little cabin at the end of the gravel, the numbers on your paper painted neatly on the side of the mailbox.

it's late—probably too late to be stopping by unannounced—but Kita didn't give you a phone number, and the day had been long. the thought of baby ducks and looking at anything that wasn't the blue light of your laptop felt like a lifeline.

he's leaning against the doorframe as you shut the car door behind you. you smile when you see him—maybe sneaking a little peak at the way his white t-shirt stretches around the biceps he has crossed over his chest. he doesn't say anything until you clear the porch steps.

"y'alright?" he asks quietly. it's a little startling—you're always careful not to let the effects of the day show. you feel exposed in front of him, and it has you shifting on your feet.

"i believe i was promised baby ducks."

the corners of his eyes crinkle and you find yourself genuinely charmed. he doesn't acknowledge your lack of an answer, and you're grateful for it.

"sit," he says, gesturing to a wooden rocker on the porch, "i'll grab 'em."

you do as he says, leaning back and taking in the view. the sun simmers a deep red on the horizon, bathing everything in it's hue. the paddies stretch on for what feels like miles. the house itself feels like an island—the one lane road it's only connection to life beyond it.

the rocker creaks as you push your toe against the porch, swaying gently back and forth. it's quiet, save for the chirp of the cicadas and the occasional bloat of a bullfrog. you jump when you feel something furry rub against your shin.

you look down and are greeted by an orange cat with the most round cheeks you've ever seen. old and a little ratty, it chirps at you, headbutting your leg.

"hello there," you smile, bending forward to scratch behind it's ears. "where'd you come from?"

"that's Barn Cat," Kita says, trudging up the wooden steps. "he hangs out in the fields."

you chuckle, looking up at him. "his name is Barn Cat?

"yup," his grin is contagious. you let your eyes roam around him, looking for the ducks he was supposed to get. they stop on the pouch he's created out of his shirt—widening as you hear several little quacks come from inside of it.

"hold out yer hands," he says, standing in front of you now. you do as your told, and a few seconds later, there's a teeny tiny baby in your palms.

"oh my god," you breathe, not quite able to wrap your brain around how something can be so small, "oh my god."

Kita chuckles, smiling when you look up at him. something about it brings you back to this moment—you're suddenly very aware that you've interrupted this man's evening and ordered him around at his own house.

"i'm sorry for showing up like this," you say quietly, running a fingertip over the downy-soft little body that's now nestled in your lap.

"no need. i'm glad yer here."

you can feel that the smile you give him doesn't quite reach your eyes, and you know that he notices.

"long day?"

you hum, watching the tiny duck tail twitch in its sleep. suddenly feeling a little envious of the rest it's able to get, and how simple its life will be. wake up, swim around, eat bugs, go to sleep. it won't ever think about anyone else. its little conscious will always be clear.

"yeah," you murmur. "it was."

he moves to sit down in the rocker next to you, smiling at the little duck that has taken up all of your attention. when you look up, his eyes are gentle and unwavering from yours. you're certain he's looking too deeply, but you know there's nothing you can do.

"i should get going," you say, mostly to convince yourself that it is true. Kita's mouth turns downward for only a moment, and then that soft smile is back again.

"give me yer phone," he murmurs, extending a hand toward you. you shrug, pulling it out and handing it to him. he types something quick and hands it back to you, Shinsuke Kita and a phone number on the screen.

"meant it when i said you can come by anytime," he tells you, hand lingering still in your space. "call me if ya need anything."

you get to texting, after that. it's funny—he's a man of few typed words, so you learn about his days through pictures. a criminally early shot of the rice paddies. the baby ducks that look bigger each day. Barn Cat sprawled out in the sun on the porch. dinner there, too—filleted tuna and rice under a waning sun. sometimes he calls, when your schedule allows it. the low timbre of his voice through the speaker frequently (and embarrassingly) lulls you to sleep. you have a hunch that he does it on purpose.

you've showed up at the farm enough times now that you're unable to use the excuse of the ducks anymore, especially now that they're bigger and far less cuddly, but neither of you acknowledge it. he starts showing you around. walks across narrow paths in the fields become excuses to bring you inside—into his home. the cabin is quaint and cozy, and decorated in a way that surprises you. pictures cover the walls—some of Kita as an adult, but mostly of Kita as a child, which makes him bashful and you smile. you stop at one of him as a chubby toddler, sitting in the lap of a woman he's clearly the spitting image of.

"that's gram," he says quietly, behind you. "this is her place. i moved out here when she got sick, and then i just..."

"stayed," you whisper, tracing the edge of the frame with your fingertip. he hums, closer to you now.

"didn't feel right t'leave."

you think it's admirable, but you don't want to embarrass him, so you keep it you yourself. he leads you down the hall, pointing out rooms as he goes—bathroom (you can't hide your surprise at the massive clawfoot tub in the center of it. he just shrugs, continuing down the hall—flushed up to his neck. it makes you smile.), guest room ("mostly unoccupied," he says, and you wonder if it was intentional). his bedroom is slightly larger than the guest room and considerably less decorated, but still tastefully so—the bed is large and looks temptingly soft, and the dresser adjacent to it is an antique, heavy and well-loved. you both linger in the doorway, coated in warm lamp light and shoulders brushing, not talking much and still saying a lot between you.

"you hungry?" he asks, voice a little gruff. you shrug, following him into the kitchen. you take a seat at the bar stool on the other side of the counter, watching him work.

he doesn't ask what you want and truthfully, you know he doesn't need to. there hasn't been a time yet that you haven't liked something Kita's made you. he moves with the same fluidity and grace he does at the market—he prepares your food with the same care, too. you watch him blatantly, this time. his brow furrows a little as he plates it. it's cute—it makes you ache.

you're expecting it to be good, but this is really good—unagi over rice, soft and chewy when it hits your tongue. you groan audibly, savoring each bite. Kita grins at you across the counter.

"good?" he asks, even though he doesn't need to.

you nod emphatically, not bothering to pause long enough to answer him.

"good." he looks awfully proud of himself. that ache twists in your chest again. "don't make it too often. glad ya like it."

it's quiet between you as you eat—you try to leave a few extra for him because he was nice enough to make you something so luxurious, but it's hard to stop yourself.

you linger in the cabin for the next hour or so, finding every reason to stay until you can't anymore.

"y'know," Kita mutters, looking a little shy, "yer welcome to stay in that guest bedroom. s'not like anyone else uses it."

he goes red immediately and it makes you smile. you fight yourself hard to keep from teasing him.

"i have to work early tomorrow," for the first time, that fact feels disappointing. "but i'd be happy to next time."

the smile he gives you leaves you a little breathless. "be careful gettin' home."

next time comes sooner than you thought it would.

the weekend comes and you shoot him a text, asking him what he's doing tonight. his reply comes immediately—whatever you're doing. come over—i'll cook.

you sit outside to watch the sunset after dinner. it goes down past the hills, extinguishing the light like the flame of a candle. you kick your feet out over the rail in front of you. the cicadas sing from their perches in the trees and the paddies look like an undulating, dark sea from where you sit. the only light is the dim bulb above your head, and the stars don’t pay it any mind. bright and shining, you can’t remember a time that you’ve seen so many.

“do you ever get lonely?”

he’s watching you—you can feel your skin warm where his gaze lingers, but you keep yours in front of you. Kita’s been the picture of hospitality, sweet in the way he’s shown care to you—but he’s seldom talked about himself. you feel vulnerable, toeing the line. he’s silent for a moment, and then it stretches on long enough that you start to regret asking.

“s’hard to, out here with all of this noise.” he says it lightheartedly, but you wonder if he’s deflecting. you have your answer a moment later when he says, quieter, “at night, mostly. y’notice when yer the only person for miles.”

you hum, picking at a splinter in the wooden arm of your chair. you feel the same, somehow. though you have trouble understanding how you can feel lonely being around as many people as you are. you tell him as much.

“they don’t really see you though, right?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. “you help ‘em but it’s one sided. they remember what y'did but they don’t know who you are.”

it never fails to rattle you, his ability to see right through you. your face heats. “that’s the way it should be.”

“sure,” he says, smiling softly. “but it weighs on ya.”

you tuck your knees under your chin and close your eyes—frustrated, knowing that he's right and still wanting to fight him on it. you jump when his knuckles brush against your own.

"i didn't mean to upset ya, darlin'."

"you didn't," you murmur, shaking your head and willing your limbs to relax, "you're right. i just wish you weren't."

he smiles and keeps the back of his hand pressed to yours. it's a sonic interruption to the silence—you're so aware of the warmth of his skin that you feel it in your eardrums. you wonder if he can, too.

it's a while before you speak again—to bid him goodnight, even if you don't want to.

"goodnight, darlin'." his voice is low and soft, nearly a whisper over the cry of cicadas. you still hear it like he screamed it. "extra quilts're in the closet."

it makes you smile, how he can't help but make sure you're comfortable. it would be easy to mistake it for something else—something more.

"goodnight, Kita."

you get in the car and drive on muscle memory alone. eyes burning, you dial the number you now know by heart.

"hey darlin'," Kita's voice comes through the speaker like a warm blanket. it helps to settle you.

"hi," you croak, immediately wishing you'd taken a minute to get it together before you called him.

there's a pause. "you been cryin'?"

"only a little." you don't see a point in lying to him. "you around?"

"yeah, i'm here—where are you? i'll come get ya, don't want ya drivin' out here upset—"

you let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. "i'm alright, Kita. i'm already halfway there. i just wanted to let you know i'd be over."

there's another pause, and you can hear the way he's fighting with himself on the other end of the line.

"alright," he says finally, "be careful."

he's waiting on the porch steps when you pull up to the cabin. you're barely out of the car before he's pulling you into his chest. new tears threaten to spill over into the fabric of his shirt. you can feel the way he softens himself to hold you—like you'll shatter in his arms if he's not careful.

"c'mon," he whispers into your hair, "let's go in."

he takes your coat (and your shoes, and your bag) before he's pulling you closer again—keeping you tucked under his arm like something will swoop down and snatch you up if he's not careful. you'd laugh if you weren't soaking in every second of his affection like a sponge.

"can i run a bath for ya?" he asks, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. the callouses on his fingers brush the curve of it and it makes you shiver. you nod.

he only leaves you for a few moments before he's back, corralling you down the hall and into the bathroom. there's a pile of comfy sweats folded and set on the toilet, and a fluffy towel hanging on the hook.

"holler if ya need anything."

you smile at him, a little more genuine this time, and he leaves you to it. you strip the clothes from your body slowly, hoping that if you do it right, the day will come off with it. you sink down into the warmth of the water and sigh. your eyes start to burn again as you lean your head back on the rim of the tub, this time just at Kita's kindness. you feel guilty for relying on it.

you feel guilty knowing you've been keeping what's in your heart hidden from him.

you use his soap, knowing you'll smell like him—knowing it won't be enough to satiate the longing you feel, but doing it anyway. you're not sure when it started—if it hadn't been there all along—but it's been tearing up your insides for months. he makes it worse with the way he cares for you. it's almost cruel.

you drag yourself out of the tub eventually, drying off in record time just to be swallowed by his clothes , soft and warm and smelling of him. you brush your hair out in the mirror and tie it up on top of your head. you feel a little more like a person now.

Kita's up and hovering at the end of the hallway as soon as you open the bathroom door. you manage a little laugh this time—mostly content and only a little guilty, letting him mother hen over you. you close the distance between you, looping your arms around his middle. you feel him relax, just a little bit.

"you need to talk about it?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you closer. you shake your head. "alright. come lay down."

he penguin walks you down the hall, grinning when you laugh. he moves right past the guest bedroom and into his.

he arranges you on the bed to his liking—cocooned in blankets and reclined against his pillows. he lays down next to you, on top of the comforter. respectful of your space, even if you wish he wasn't.

"thanks for taking care of me," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. "sorry for turning up like this."

his eyebrows knit together like he's never heard a more wrong thing in his life. "i'll have ya any way you turn up."

you blink at him, feeling like you've short circuited. you huff out a laugh, closing your eyes. "how unfair."

"mm?"

you open your eyes and feel stuck, pinned to the bed underneath his stare. there aren't many other options than to spill your guts onto his sheets.

"you make it hard not to love you, Kita."

he freezes, eyes locked on yours. your stomach ties and unties itself, but you can't look away.

it's another agonizing moment before either of you even breathes, and then you blink, and he's hovering over top of you, hands planted on either side of your head.

"say it again."

"i love you." it feels like the easiest thing you've ever said.

"tell me i've got it wrong," he rasps, leaning in to nose along your cheek.

"you don't."

your hand fists around the material of his shirt and you yank him down to your waiting mouth. it feels exactly the way you knew it would—warm and soft, not unlike the feeling you get every time you walk through his door. it’s gentle and unhurried, and you know he knows no other way. you let him break you apart slowly.

he pulls away from your lips, only to press soft kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your brow bone. his mouth brushes against your temple and to your horror, you let out the world’s most pitiful little moan.

his eyes go wide as he looks down at you, flushed and breathing hard beneath him. your fingers still tangled in his shirt, he closes his own around them and brings them to his lips. he keeps his eyes on you when presses them to the sensitive skin of the inside of your wrist.

you feel no control of your reaction—your eyes flutter closed as the rest of you shudders underneath him. it’s so little and it’s almost too much. you know he’s figured you out when you’re able to meet his gaze again—deep brown filled with as much adoration as they are hunger.

“tell me what you need, darlin’.”

"your mouth," you whimper, feeling hot.

"where?" his smile turns a little wicked, still pressed to your skin.

"everywhere."

if you were overwhelmed before, it would pale in comparison to this—his kisses turn hard and heavy, soft lips sucking harsh bruises into your skin. you keen and whine underneath him, writhing both toward and away from his searching mouth. he doesn't take his sweatshirt off of you—he just pushes it up to kiss every inch of skin it exposes. he only pauses to check in with you, only stopping for a second to ask half of a question you'd already started answering before he'd asked it.

he cradles your waist in strong, wide hands and bends down to lap at your navel, nipping sensitive flesh, tongue slipping inside the dip of your belly button.

your hips buck violently, whimpering into the crook of your elbow while you reach down to card your fingers through silver strands. you feel yourself making a mess of his sweatpants.

"please, Kita," you hiccup, nearly slurred in his onslaught. he hums against your skin and you feel it in your belly.

"s'alright sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing gentler kisses between your hipbones, taking the elastic of the sweatpants down with them. "i got ya."

he reduces you to something less than human with the hot slide of his mouth against the inside of your thighs, licking and sucking his way up to where you need him the most and then back down, too far away. it takes a wholly unreasonable amount of begging to get him there, and to get him to stay.

"please, please i just need—oh," your spine bows off the bed and then pulls taut at the feeling of his tongue sliding slowly through your wet heat. he lets out a groan at the taste of you, and you watch through hooded eyes as he grinds his hips into the mattress.

one hand keeps a steeled grip in his hair, and the other one sneaks under his sweatshirt to pull at your nipples. it's sensory overload—the feeling of the pebbled flesh under your fingers and the way Kita suckles gently on your clit has you squealing. he opens his mouth, panting and tongue lolled out, encouraging you to ride it. you don't need to be asked twice.

every snap of your hips against his face pulls a weak moan from him, and a louder one from you. everything is wet and hot and your thighs shake around his head with every drag of your achy clit across his tongue.

"Kita," you whimper, feeling the warmth start to spread, "gonna cum—i'm—"

it damn near melts you into the mattress. every muscle in your body contracts and then releases, leaving you immobile under his tongue. he holds your thighs apart, sucking on your clit while you shake and cry under him. it doesn't stop—every brush of his tongue pulls another dizzying contraction from deep inside you. he only relents when he's licked up every last drop of you.

he kisses his way back up your body and you feel like you're on fire. when he presses his lips to yours again, finally, it douses it. you only smolder underneath him now.

forehead pressed to his, you can't help but let out a little giggle. he grins, his pretty mouth pulled up in the corners, and presses another round of kisses to your jaw.

"i love you," you sigh, pulling him closer. he hums.

"i love you," he nips at the point of your chin, "and you're callin' out sick tomorrow."

there's nothing in your heart that wants to argue with him.

#something possessed me and wrote this today #sad? fuck a rice farmer #shinsuke kita x reader #shinsuke kita x you #shinsuke kita smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #hq fic #bea writes ♡

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heich0e · 8 months

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THE WITCH'S SONG - part one knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

The night air is sweet.

It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.

There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.

On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof.

In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there’s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime.

Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.

Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn.

A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door.

You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.

“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.

“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum.

“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.”

Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut.

The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness.

“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.

“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night.

Behind you, the man sighs.

He follows.

The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.

You wonder if he notices.

“That’s far enough.”

You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.

“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion.

Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.

“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”

The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.

Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.

“Ya know me.”

“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”

Until now.

Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.

“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.

“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”

He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”

“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.

“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness.

“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance.

“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”

“Our king h—“

“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.

“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer.

“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”

Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?”

“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”

You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.

It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.

Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.

Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.

“An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.

You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.

“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.

“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”

Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.

Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”

“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.

“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."

“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.

He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”

“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”

In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.

“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”

Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.

No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.

The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.

Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget.

You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.

The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.

The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.

The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.

A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.

You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.

Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.

Your dying lamp burns out.

“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #hq fic #hq writing #writing #tws

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obliteration-onearth · 9 months

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[ not a romantic; tsukishima kei ]

he most definitely is not a romantic so.. whoever does these sweet little gestures for you is most certainly not your boyfriend.

ANTI ROMANTIC KEI WHO:

- scrolls on pinterest sometimes and suddenly finds something he thinks you'll like

- sends dumb messages with mean petnames like, "hurry up squirt. i'm outside your house"

- bought matching dinosaur onesies because you thought the two of you would look cute wearing it

- doesn't like double texting and needs reassurance that it's cute for him to do it

- eventually learns about all your quirks and grows fond of them despite displaying a mischievous demeanor by teasing you for them

- thinks you're cute when you hug him

- doesn't get flustered easily but bullies you when he does to make it less obvious

- may think some of your favorite foods are gross but buys them regardless when he's picking out snacks to bring to your house

- says that he's busy but helps you study and revise for your exams anyways

- says that he's the reason you passed even though he's mighty proud of you

- doesn't let you win any games at first but when he sees you sad, let's you win at least one to lift your spirits

- sends you the middle finger emoji after saying something so sickening sweet to even out the balance and to keep that reputation he has ( wouldn't wanna go to soft, he thinks )

- gets annoyed and then just turns away while being crimson in the face when you tease him for being soft

- finds it cute when you do romantic gestures for him but sometimes tell yamaguchi like "yeah, i got a cool girlfriend" or some shit

- says you're being weird for toying with/wearing his glasses and finds it hilarious when you say you feel dizzy ( catches you and tells you to be careful if you fall though )

- apologizes when you say you feel offended by something he says, thus making him write a mental note not to do it again in the future

- loves when you lay atop him whilst hugging him, your head nestled into his neck as you scroll on your phone

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a-kaash-me-outside · 3 months

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a bit dirty - ch6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you sure are,” he says, warmly.

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

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

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

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

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout.

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

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

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

and you still don’t feel like a guest.

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

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

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

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“stop that,” you hush him.

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

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

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

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

“you are,” you argue.

/\ /\ /\

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“not possible,” you say back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/\ /\ /\

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“samu,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert.

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it.

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets.

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine.

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will.

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours.

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him.

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them.

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock.

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock.

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.”

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face.

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.”

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you.

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something.

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going.

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod.

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms.

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it.

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer.

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t.

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t.

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you.

“what now?” you mumble, not moving.

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him.

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket.

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs.

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now.

you look happy there.

you look really happy there.

taglist: @miyaluv127 @useless-bicth @mushasstuff @unstaaableaf @mimivinx @tsukiran @kurapika-1999 @hehatesmati @karmakarter @hunny-hotline @bella009888 @um-no-ok @footjib @mon-cherries @privthemis @agashki @renster05 @greeniegreengreen @tokyo-banana @fandomtrash5092 @coyloves @heathsuii @pasta-water @ran-rangasma @ayz-it-they @ellesalzar @dabibreeder @s4m1 @perry-gallifrey @barely-coherent @katsunarii @thisbicc @jaynawayna @levis-wheelchair @sugar-crumbs @miyaslvt @sheeshizzy @i0nlyr343mut @ajbutasimp @snazzyturtles @idontevenknowlolls @nicerthanu @angelgvtzzz @lovely-part-time-whore @lilac-ski3s @dovenu @heirxx @kur0obaby @tetsuswhore @alienvarmint @georgettesand @misfit-megumi @bijuu-naginata @captain-alien-america @ti-mame @buckys-hoeee @whos-curiosity-killed-the-cat @stargazing-girl @whoisgami @zany17 @privthemis @pennylanewrites @buckys-hoeee @avfox24 @reinertiddiejuice @poke-pia @its-simply-me19 @nahcho @sugamonster22 @destinyg237 @msbyomimi

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

#osamu x reader #osamu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #osamu x reader smut #hq x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haiykuu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader smut #osamu x reader fluff #osamu fluff #osamu fic #hq fic #toriwritesshit #abd update!

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bonniepop · 2 months

Text

character: miya atsumu words: 1,800+ tags: the comedy that comes with killing bugs. literally that’s it. notes: i wrote this two years ago and it's still fucking funny. re-wrote it to make it fractionally funnier.

“YO!” atsumu cries, flashing you a panicked glare from over his shoulder. “don’t push me!”

“then move faster!” you snap, pressing yourself close to your boyfriend’s back as he creeps around your apartment in search of the cursed cockroach that you’d spotted on the wall earlier that night. after locking yourself in your room, you made a panicked phone call to atsumu and he came over (after a few minutes of sighing and grumbling).

immediately, you'd pressed a slipper in his hand and nearly kicked him into your living room to deal with the problem. atsumu had grumbled about how much of a little bitch you were being, but when he saw something flash through the air, he nearly steamrolled you in his effort to run away.

you'd wanted to call him a little bitch, too, but you were too focused on the fact that the cockroach was still on the loose to quip.

“i think—AGH! ATSUMU!” you yell, jumping and shaking out your leg when you felt something brush your ankle. frantically, you look at the floor around you, and whimper when there was no bug to be found.

“WHAT?!” atsumu shrieks in a rather high pitch, nearly whacking you in the head with his slipper. "WHAT?!"

“no, sorry, i think it was the edge of the curtain,” you sniff, pushing his arm with the slipper away. "or i think it was just my hair. it was nothing." your relief fades to irritation. "also, if you so much as touch my face with this thing i will make you eat this goddamn slipper.”

atsumu's jaw goes slack. “what the fuck, you asked me to come over and help you—”

“do you know how expensive the skincare i have on my face is?!” you demand, glaring. “there’s no way in hell—”

“wh—you’re so ungrateful!” he cries, just like a little bitch would, throwing his hands up in the air. “i woke up at five a.m., had a terrible day at training, and when i finally relax at home, you ask me to come over to kill a cockroach—”

you gape. “you said you wouldn't take that against me!”

“yeah, before i found out that you're literally just being a little bitch about a bug!” atsumu declares, wildly gesticulating. in his haste, though, he lets go of the slipper and it lands near your armchair. something dark darts up from the ground and flies across the room.

you both shriek (one of you hit a higher pitch, you can't tell who), and run back out into the hallway.

“atsumu,” you shudder, wriggling around as if trying to shake off something invisible. “oh my god, oh my god—”

he panicks, rubbing his arms in nervousness. “fuck, that thing is huge!"

you jump around in anxiety. “oh my god. oh my god, atsumu, get back in there and kill it—”

“what?! like hell i will!” he grabs his other slipper from his foot—he’d been walking around in just one slipper the whole time—and frantically pushes it towards you. “you kill it!”

“wh—” your jaw drops, whacking his hand away. “you little bitch!”

his face looks absolutely offended. “you’re just as little of a bitch as me—”

“what are the point of your muscles if you can’t kill this one bug—”

he’s so mad he flexes his biceps in your face and points at them, slipper flopping around in his fist. “these are for winning v.league championships, not killing a god damn cockroach!”

something black crawls along the wall behind him, and you try not to panic as you grab his hand and turn him around to serve as a human shield. “atsumu, oh my god, atsumu, it’s behind you, kill it, killitkillit—”

he yells and hurls his slipper at the wall, running into the living room. he greatly misses, and the thing is now crawling to your ceiling. in a frantic hurry, you run to your room on the other end of the hallway.

you slam the door and try and hear your racing heart in your ears. there’s a cockroach on the loose in your apartment, and you are trapped in your bedroom.

your boyfriend is out there, but better him than you, really.

your bedside buzzes, and you find your phone screen brightening, device still plugged into the wall.

atsumu 💘: WHAT THE FUCK atsumu 💘: WHY DID U LEAV EME you: I PANICKED I DIND TKNOW WHAT TO DO atsumu 💘: WHERE IS IT you: I DONT KNOW you: HALLWAY??

silence, then a yell, followed by quick, heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. he nearly breaks down your door as he pounds it, so you run from your bedside to let him in. he pushes himself in and locks the door behind him with a swift slam!

“YOU LEFT ME!" he recaps, looking absolutely betrayed.

"i'm sorry, i panicked!" you reasoned. "is it still out there? were you able to get back your shoes?”

“yes, it's still fucking out there,” he snaps, clambering to your dresser. “pack a bag. you’re coming with me.”

“what?" you ask, watching him in confusion, "where?”

“you're moving out,” he says with finality, yanking a backpack from the back of your closet and yanking your sock drawer open. “you're moving out, you're gonna live with me from now on, we're gonna put this place back on the market—"

your jaw drops. “atsumu, it’s one cockroach!”

“if it’s just one cockroach, then you go kill it!” he cries, pointing at you, and that shuts you up.

this is pathetic. you’re thousands of times bigger than that bug and you’re practically let it take over the apartment you pay rent for.

“oh my god, baby, i just remembered,” you say, and he looks back at you. “i have bug spray in the cabinet under the bathroom.”

the blond freezes, your open bag in his hands, stuffed with a dozen pairs of socks. after a beat, he throws it to the floor. “are you serious?! you made me face that thing unarmed when you had bug spray this whole time?!”

“i don’t have time to argue with you,” you snap, opening the door and taking a tentative peek into the hallway. “come on, let’s go get rid of it.”

“i’m gonna—” he grunts. he takes a calming breath before bending over to pick up the bag, and re-stuffing your socks back into your drawer. “fine. fine. let’s go kill the damn thing.”

—

some time later, you finally, finally, manage to kill the cockroach, thanks to around half a can of bug spray haphazardly sprayed that it stunk up the whole room (you) and a lot of screaming (atsumu). the screaming probably didn’t help, but it happened.

atsumu puts on the mask you handed him before he steps into the living room. “i found my slipper. it was next to the door.”

“your other one’s here,” you say from behind your own mask, pointing to the armchair. you open your windows and curtains, airing out the room. “where’d you throw the roach?”

“your kitchen trash bin,” he answers, shaking out his damp hands. “also, i kinda used a lot of soap to wash up, so your sink is bubbly.”

“it’s fine,” you say with an exhausted sigh. that whole exchange tired you out. “i’ll wash it down.”

“okay.” he sniffs. “do you need anything else?”

“i’m good,” you answer, dusting your hands when you tie off the last curtain. you fan your hands in the air in wide, weeping motions. “god, bug spray stinks.”

“you sure you don't wanna spend the night at my place?" he says, fanning the air, too. “it’ll at least smell better.”

“are you sure you’re not inviting me over just so i can clean something up?” wouldn’t be the first time.

"first of all, okay? you made me come here. you owe me. second of all, i take offense to you suggesting that i could be that big of an asshole.” when he sees the blank look on your face, he backtracks. “no, i swear it’s clean. and it smells better than this. samu left for the weekend, too, so it’ll just be you and me.”

“where’d he go?”

“some restaurant owner seminar.”

time to ask the important questions. “did he leave any food?”

“it's samu, so yes. but we can pass by a drive through, in case there isn’t any.” he pads over and wraps a gentle hand around your wrist. “come on, please?”

you let him gently pull you into a loose embrace and say nothing.

“besides, this place’ll smell better when you come back in the morning,” he continues to barter.

you purse your lips.

“you didn’t even thank me for coming to your rescue,” he pouts.

you roll your eyes. "okay, now you're—” you stop mid-sentence when you see something crawl at the corner of your eye. “oh my god. oh my god, atsumu, don’t move.”

“what?” atsumu says, alarmed, his torso stiffening against yours. “what? what is it? what happened?”

you turn your head and find that another cockroach crawling into your living room through the gap in the window.

five minutes later finds you in the passenger seat of atsumu’s car, with nothing but your keys, your phone, and a can of bug spray, as he drives you to his apartment with one slipper on.

(he forgot the other one.)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #haikyuu x you #hq x you #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq fic #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #hq writing #📝 — my writing

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teamatsumu · 6 months

Text

kinktober 2023 -> day 27

hate sex - kuroo tetsuro x reader

word count: 2100

warnings: swearing, nsfw, reader is yaku’s sister, both of them are kinda assholes but not really lol

kinktober masterlist

Kuroo Tetsuro was a very talented individual. Because no one had the capacity to piss you off quite like he did.

You should’ve known the minute you walked into your biochem class that he would become the bane of your existence. You wished you had gotten some sort of warning when you chose your major. A sign. A whisper from the gods. Anything at all to stop you in your tracks. But no, you were here now, and you were stuck seeing him in class every time.

If only that was where it stopped. But then you discovered that he was on the college volleyball team with your brother Morisuke and apparently, they were thick as thieves. The nightmare just kept getting worse.

It’s not even that he was a jerk to you or he bullied you. You just thought he was too cocky and loud and the smirk he supported was stupid. Unfortunately, the moment he found out that you didn't like him, he made it his mission to annoy the crap out of you any chance he got.

He would make jokes about your height, or how uptight you were. He would call you dumb under his breath if you got something wrong in class, or would snicker when the teacher corrected you. He had a taunting lilt to his voice when he talked to you, like his mere words were making fun of you. It was embarrassing, and it stung a bit, but mostly it served to make you angry. Morisuke would always tell you to let it go. That Kuroo was a provocative and inflammatory person by nature, but at this point even his voice annoyed you.

“What kind of pleasure does this bring you?” You gritted out, refusing to look up at his stupid grin.

“It tingles me just right, sweets.” He replied.

“Ugh.” You made a disgusted face, giving him a look that hopefully communicated that.

“You are gross.” You responded, turning back to your book. “Now can you please leave? I have a quiz I need to study for.”

Kuroo hummed, as if contemplating your request. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it precariously on its two back legs. They squeaked in the silence of the library, making your cheek twitch.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m waiting for Yaku, remember?”

“And he told you to meet him here?” You didn’t look up at him.

“No, I told him to meet me here.”

You glared at him. “To purposely annoy me? Is that it? Why can’t you just stay away from me?”

He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweets.”

You turn to him completely this time. “Then what is it, Kuroo? Why the hell are you obsessed with me? How pathetic are you?”

Kuroo stared at you incredulously. “Obsessed with you?”

He leaned forward until his face was inches from yours, eyes narrowed in anger. You nearly reeled back but held yourself in place.

“You’ve got some nerve. Thinking everything is about you. You think I give a single fuck about you? You’re just Yaku’s whiny little sister who thinks the world revolves around her. You’re not worth my time, or anyone else’s. Get your head out of the clouds or you’re going to end up taking a fall you won’t survive.”

You stared at him in shock, watching him gather his bag and water bottle before he stood up and hastily left. You stared at his retreating back, and felt anger burn through you as his words registered in your head.

You ignored the hot tears that stung your eyes.

…………………

The knock on your dorm room door startled you, and you stared at it warily. You contemplated whether you should open it or not. Maybe you could stay quiet and pretend no one was home. You weren't really in any mood to talk to people.

“I know you’re in there. The light is on.”

You nearly groaned, eyes squeezing shut. Anger boiled up in you again, and in a moment of impulse, you rushed to the door, opening it with more force than necessary.

“You've got some nerve.” Your voice shook in anger when you met his golden eyes. “Coming here after the shit you said to me today.”

Kuroo sighed, shoulders slumping. “I came to apologize for that.”

You laughed in disbelief. “What part, Kuroo? Me being whiny or me being pathetic?”

He scowled. “I didn't call you pathetic.”

“You’re getting hung up on the semantics now?!” You shrieked, stepping back to slam the door shut. Kuroo shot his foot out, blocking you from doing so.

“Excuse me? I’m not going to apologize for something I didn't even say!” He stepped inside the room, shutting it behind him so your voices didn't carry into the halls. “In fact, I specifically remember you were the one who called me pathetic. Which you still haven’t apologised for, by the way.”

“Oh my god, I hate you!” You screamed, feeling your face get hot because of how angry you were.

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual!” Kuroo screamed back, stepping forward until he was right in your face. You stiffened at how he was towering over you, his chest heaving and breaths coming heavy and quick. His teeth were clenched, making his jaw tick. Your eyes tracked the movement. You watched a small droplet of sweat run down the side of his face.

You stepped forward until your lips met his.

Kuroo jerked back, looking at you with wide eyes, mouth dropped open in shock. You stared at each other for a few moments, completely silent. Then, the dam broke.

Kuroo grabbed the sides of your face, sealing your lips together in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth, giving him the opening to slide his tongue over yours. You backed up until your legs hit your bed, falling back and Kuroo following you down, not breaking the kiss. Your limbs tangled together in a flurry, attempting to rip each other’s clothes off as quickly as you could.

“Can you hurry?” You broke the kiss, glaring at him as you tugged his shirt off.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” He bit back, pulling your sweatpants off your legs.

His lips met yours in the next moment, effectively silencing you except the little moans leaving your lips. His bare body felt heavenly against yours, and for the first time you thanked the lords that he was an athlete.

He broke the kiss again, making his way down your body with his lips. He bit at your right breast, making your breath stutter.

“Of course you would like that.” He chuckled.

“Shut the fuck up, Kuroo. Don’t ruin this-” You dissolved into a moan when he licked over your nipple, biting at it slightly before sucking. You sighed at the feeling.

His hand groped at your other breast, hips grinding down. His crotch pressed between your legs, and the pressure made you whine.

“Hurry up.” You pushed at his boxers, trying to tug them down.

“Say please~” Kuroo smirked up at you. You nearly slapped him.

“Over my dead body.”

Kuroo sighed and lifted himself off your body. He slid off you slightly, making to stand up. “Well, in that case-”

“No!” You sat up, biting your lip, staring at him. You groaned. “God, I hate you.”

Kuroo chuckled. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your clothed core, before hooking a finger into your panties and pulling them off you. His fingertips dipped into your slit. Your breath stuttered.

“Kuroo.” You stared at him, his eyes dark and pupils dilated. His lips parted, tongue peaking out just a little to run over them. His fingers continued their feather-light touch.

“Please,” you gave in.

“Please what, baby?” You whined at the nickname, feeling your core pulse. God, his voice was so husky. You stared at his lips, eyes wandering to his shoulders, his pecs, his abs, to the bulge in his underwear that was hinting at how big he probably was.

“Touch me, Tetsuro.” You whispered. “Please. Touch me, fuck me. You want me to shut the fuck up? Make it happen, then.”

He was on you the next moment, teeth digging into your skin and fingers burying themselves deep in your pussy. You yelped and moaned, spreading your legs more so he could hit deeper. His fingers were so long and delicious, reaching your spot and rubbing against it just right. Within seconds, he had you seeing stars.

“You’re such a brat.” Kuroo bit out, fingers picking up speed instantly. You could barely breathe. Your body jolted under his movements. He was being so rough. “A spoiled little princess. Greedy girl. You’re even letting me fuck you just so you can get off.”

You cried at Kuroo’s words. Fuck. Why was this turning you on so much? You clenched around his fingers, and were met with the sight of his infamous smirk, except this time, it was so much hotter than any time you had seen it before. Kuroo looked like he was enjoying the crap out of this.

“Oh, you love this, don’t you?” He goaded you, curling his fingers until your back was arching off the bed. “Such a slut. What, you got a humiliation kink or something?”

“I’m gonna cum.” You choked out, tears swimming in your vision as your toes curled.

You should've known. This was Kuroo Tetsuro you were with. There’s no way he would let you have anything good. You nearly wailed when he pulled his fingers out, soaking wet with your juices.

“Kuroo!” You cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Don’t- why?!”

You didn’t even care that he was witnessing you break down over this. You were just about to have what could have been the most intense orgasm of your life and he denied you it.

“You fucking asshole-”

He shushed you, leaning over and shifting slightly. Something hard prodded at your entrance, before sinking into you in one fluid motion. Your mouth dropped open at the feeling, jaw going slack. He was big, long and oh so hard, and he grazed all the right spots as he slid into you.

Kuroo wiped the tears that soaked your cheeks, brushing his nose against yours in a manner that was almost affectionate. You stared up at him, still dizzy from your almost orgasm a few moments ago. His eyes held a glint that told you tonight was going to be brutal in the best way possible.

And you were right. Kuroo fucked you through three orgasms before he even slowed his pace. You were left a blabbering, bumbling mess by the time his hips stuttered and he emptied himself inside you, warm cum washing over your walls, pushing you through one more orgasm as his unrelenting fingers rubbed at your abused, swollen clit. He didn’t care when you whined at him to stop. He was merciless throughout. It was rough and hot and it made you see stars.

You didn’t even register when his body left yours, or when he came back and ran a washcloth over the mess between your legs. You turned on your side, back sore from all the arching. You were still out of breath as he tugged on his clothes, watching him fix his hair. Well, as fixed as his messy hair could get. Aside from the sweat on his face and his slightly heavy breathing, he seemed unfazed. You would think he was out for a run, not rearranging your guts.

You didn’t realize he was staring at you until a few moments later, when he leaned over to brush your hair off your face. His signature smirk spread over his lips.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re the best sex I’ve ever had too.”

You scowled as he straightened up, making his way to the door. “What the hell do you mean ‘too’?

He didn’t answer, humming happily to himself as he tugged his shoes on.

“You aren’t the best sex I’ve ever had.” You sat up, feeling your face turn red. He gave you a look that was so smug it made you stiffen in embarrassment. You knew he didn’t believe a word you just said. You also knew that Kuroo’s already humongous ego was about to shoot through the fucking roof.

“You’re not.” You mumbled. Kuroo pulled the door open, still supporting the insufferable smirk on his face, giving you a teasing wink.

“You’re not, Kuroo!” You called behind him as the door clicked shut. Sighing, you flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and ruminating on everything that had just happened.

Fuck.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

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seroh · 4 months

Text

something blue

suna, f.reader

in which you try to get the courage to divorce your cheating husband.

words: 0.7K

notes: angst; edited and reposted from my other blog

something old | something borrowed | something blue

What is a vow?

The question popped in your head as you stared at your wedding photo. It hung proud and mighty on the wall opposite your bed, so big it had seemed pretentious and self centered when you’d ordered it, but your husband had insisted. He had called it proof of his love and devotion for you. You called it overcompensation and deceit.

If only you hadn’t been so naive, so trusting. If only you had opened your eyes instead of blindly entering the fantasy world Suna had so carefully crafted for you.

“Poor girl. Poor pathetic, stupid girl,” you muttered, words not reaching the ears of the woman frozen in time, living a lie. “You really thought he was perfect, huh?”

And truly, you had. He had once seemed like the most perfect, most idyllic of men. Even months after the wedding, he still played the role of the doting and loving husband. Now, the real face that hid behind the mask plagued your nightmares, kept you up at night. The bitterness of truth wouldn’t leave your mouth, its vile taste made you nauseous just from thinking about it.

If it hadn't been for the getaway trip you had planned just because, you would've still been caught in his webs. It was your prevalent postnuptial bliss what had, in the end, shone the light on his deceit. It almost made you laugh. A cruel, resentful kind of laugh.

Instead, you cried.

‘What is a vow?’ You asked yourself again, spite rising against the pain. Was it a promise born of love? Was it an ode to fidelity? Wishful thinking? Pretty lies?

A vow, you decided, was the purest form of deception.

Even now, having known for so long what he was doing in the shadows, you still thought about his voice, his face, his smile as he declared your love eternal, and saw a man deeply in love. His eyes hadn't seemed anything but adoring, his words nothing but heartfelt. His mask had been so carefully crafted no one would've doubted his heart and soul belonged to you.

Oh, what a fool you must've seemed. You could almost see them, laughing at your expense after your many anniversaries, mocking the love you held for him, your happiness and tears after his proposal. And to think that, at some point, you had come to consider her a friend too.

His best friend. He had kept his lover right by your side, even encouraged you to get closer to her. And you were too in love with him to notice.

Suna hadn't put any effort into his affair and neither, looking back on it, into hiding it. Memories came to you of them in compromising situations, but they were just so affectionate with each other. They had been friends for so long, way before you came into the picture. It was just the way they were with each other, so how could you try to pull them apart? How could you even think he would see her that way? Were you really so insecure that you didn't think a man and a woman could be friends?

It was obvious now, of course, that he was just manipulating you with those words. Realizing it really put into perspective just how long he had been seeing her behind your back. He hadn't woken up one day and realized you weren't enough, that he needed more. She had always, always had him for herself, even back when you were just getting to know him, it was her he belonged to.

You had just borrowed him for a while, and it was time to give him back.

You stood up, wiped the tears off of your face, and grabbed the crumbled envelope beside you. As you left your apartment and went down the stairs, you realized it was for the best. Divorcing him was for the best. He had been gone for weeks now, and you weren't planning on taking him back.

You ignored the pity-filled looks the neighbors gave you, and marched to the front desk. Your hand faltered for just a second before extending the envelope to the receptionist.

"Next time the mailman comes, give this to him. To send urgently."

Your voice quavered and your fingers hesitated to let go when he grabbed it, but the old man just gave you a comforting smile.

It's time to let go, you reassured yourself.

You could only hope Suna had enough compassion to make it easy.

SEROH 2024

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #hq angst #hq x reader #haikyuu fic #hq fic #suna angst #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro angst

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oikawapng · 5 months

Text

“he loves oikawa. and oikawa loves him too.”

guardian's repentance | chapters 1 & 2. illustrated by @flunflun

#oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #iwaoi #hq fic #hq fanfic #my writing #ABOSLUTELY LOSING MY FAWKIN MIND #TORA DREW THE ILLUSTRATIONS FOR CH1 AND 2 PLS LOOK AT THEM

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sunarots · 4 months

Text

under the mistletoe

pairings: osamu miya x fem!reader

summary: you and osamu always dread christmas with his family. they get way too into the holiday and are always asking you both invasive questions about your relationship. and this year, you’re dreading it for a different reason.

warnings: strong language, reader’s pregnant.

christmas masterlist

“Do you think we can pretend we’re sick?” Osamu asks, packing the wrapped presents into the large carrier bag. He looks over at you as you carefully place the strawberries on top of the cake.

You smile, looking over your shoulder at him. “I wish. They’d move the dinner here.”

He sighs, checking the time on his phone as he wanders over to you. “I know,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Just want today to be us.” Osamu’s hands rest on your stomach, his chin on your shoulder.

“I know. Me too.” You look down at the cake, setting the last strawberry on its top and placing your hands on top of his. “At least we can tell them. Two months, yeah? That’s when we can do it?”

He smiles, kissing your cheek. “Yeah. I’m excited. I’m ready. Are you?”

You laugh. “I’m shitting myself, but…yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” You turn around to face him, taking his face in your hands and pulling him towards you for a quick kiss before pulling away. “Sorry, there’s cream on your cheek.”

He shakes his head with a playful roll of his eyes, wiping his cheek with his finger and licking the cream from it. “Can’t take ya anywhere,” he teases, slapping your ass. “Go get ready, love.”

You take off your apron, giving Osamu one last glance over your shoulder to watch him place the cake inside of the cold box. You hang it over the hook on the kitchen door and hurry to the bedroom to quickly change into the dress Osamu had bought for you.

When you return five minutes later, Osamu has already moved everything to the car except from one small box sat on top of the kitchen island beside the ultrasound pictures. It’s wrapped with a delicate red ribbon tied into a small bow. Osamu’s leaning against the counter by the fridge, snacking on the leftover strawberries.

“Don’t fill yourself up before dinner, honey,” you remind him, taking your jacket from his hands.

He smiles down at you in the dress he got you. “You look gorgeous.” He kisses the top of your head, assisting you in pulling on your coat.

“Thanks. I love the dress, ‘Samu. Who’s the box for?”

He picks it up before you can grab it and smiles at you. “Oh, it’s not important. Are you ready, my love?”

You eye him up and down suspiciously, picking up the ultrasound pictures from the table as you lesd him towards the door. “You’re acting very strange today. Are you alright?”

He shrugs his shoulders, locking the house behind him and headed to the car. “I’m great. Just dreading this.”

Though you’re not entirely convinced, you slide into the passenger seat of the car and drop the subject. The drive to his parents’ house is a short one, the silence filled by the Christmas songs on the radio you both sing along to softly. He doesn’t remove his hand from your thigh until he has to, pulling into the driveway and seeing Atsumu’s black sports car already there.

“Are we late?” you ask, looking at the time on your phone. “Why’s he so early?”

Osamu shrugs his shoulder and turns the engine off, looking over to you. He gives you an anxious smile. “Ade you ready?”

You shake your head. “Never. But let’s do this.”

He laughs, giving you a quick peck on the lips before you both climb put of the car. You grab the cake from the backseat as Osamu takes the gifts from the trunk, and you walk in side by side.

“Oh, ma! Don’t get started on me! It’s Christmas!” Atsumu exclaims from the kitchen. “It’s complicated, ya know that!”

Osamu enters first, setting the bag on the floor by the living room before meeting everyone in the kitchen. “Oi, don’t yell at her on Christmas, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu scolds, taking the cake from your hands carrying it over to the fridge. He sets it on an empty shelf and greets his mum with a hug.

“Tell her to stop invadin’ my privacy.” Atsumu pats you on the back as a greeting.

“Only when ya start acting like an adult,” Osamu retorts, removing your jacket for you. “Uh, we have some news for you guys. Is dad around?”

“He’s sleeping, not feeling too great. Everything okay, sweetheart?”

You bite back your smile, wrapping your arm around Osamu’s as he pulls the pictures from your handbag. “We’re having a baby.”

Osamu grins, turning the photos around to show his family on your cue. His mother’s eyes go wide and she immediately breaks out in a smile. Her arms open and she immediately hugs you both with an excited scream.

“Oh, thats amazing! I’m going to have a grandbaby!” She gasps, spinning to look at Atsumu. “You’re going to be an uncle!”

“An…uncle?” He manages to snap himself out of his daze, and grins. “Congratulations!” He laughs and brings you both in for an embrace. “Uh, I just realised I left yer gift at my place, so I’m gonna run and grab it. Congrats on the baby!”

Neither you nor Mrs. Miya linger on Atsumu’s abrupt disappearance, it was Osamu who tried to argue. Unfortunately for him, his brother was already out the door. He sighs, dropping his head and giving a weak agreement to whatever his mother just said.

“‘Samu, what’s the matter?” you ask softly when his mother’s turned her back and carrying on with preparing the dining room for dinner. “Atsumu always runs off on Christmas for an hour or two before we eat.”

Osamu shrugs his shoulders and gives you another smile that doesn’t ease your worries. “It’s… No reason, baby. Here, let’s go help ma.”

He takes your hand and pulls you through his family home towards the dining room, pointing you in the direction of a black box filled with ornaments needing hung on the walls.

You never understood why Osamu’s mother always waited until Christmas day to hang most of the other decorations. You assumed it was so she could spend more quality time with everyone whilst waiting for someone to pick up the order, typically Atsumu or her husband.

You grab a piece of tinsel and drape it above the pictures of the twins when they were younger. A red one goes above the twins when they were babies, cradled in their parents’ arms. A purple one goes above them when they won their first competition in volleyball together. A gold one hangs above them in their high school uniforms, clutching a trophy with proud smiles. You hang a silver one above the first family portrait you were featured in at one of their relative’s weddings. You’re sat at the table with them all, Osamu’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. He’s clearly whispering something in your ear, and you’re laughing at whatever it was he was saying.

“Is that everything?” Osamu asks you, gesturing to the box. You take a glance and pick up the piece of mistletoe sat at the bottom of the box. Its crumbled from the weight of everything on top of it, but it’s still intact. “Oh, hang that here.” He taps the top of the doorframe to the dining room and smiles at you, passing you a tac.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, because I will have much more ease reaching it than you.” Osamu chuckles, watching as you struggle a little to pin it. “There. Happy now?” You spin around to face him, furrowing your eyebrows when he’s not at your eye level.

His mum stands behind where he was with her camera out, recording you. You look down at Osamu, holding out the box with the red ribbon around it. He smiles up at you, holding the box out towards you. “Open it, love.”

You don’t entirely trust what you see before you, using one hand to carefully undo the ribbon keeping it shut. You wait for him to nod his head before opening the box, revealing a delicate diamond ring inside.

“Will you marry me?”

#osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x y/n #osamu miya x you #osamu miya fic #osamu miya x fem!reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x fem!reader #hq fic #hq x y/n #hq osamu #hq christmas fic #underneath the mistletoe ft. osamu miya

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kewpie-aisle · 2 months

Text

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x gn!reader

notes: suggestive language, mental stripping, general horniness, yoga poses, workout talk, minors do NOT interact pls

wc: 1.5 words

AN: I saw this artwork by @akiisks and every neuron in my brain said, Bo had to be the next installment in the series. Mm mm mm I love ONE owl themed gym bro. banners by @cafekitsune my hero you like what you see series other parts: Atsumu

The gym in the early morning hours was always quiet and peaceful. Majority of the MSBY players preferred evening or late night workouts, considering it a cool down for the day. The early morning hours introduced a peace and lull that was necessary for those that start the day with energy to expend. Calming overactive minds and bodies, both gifts held by the outside hitter of the team.

Bokuto needed the cool down early in the morning, to ease down his energy levels to a “normal person”. That’s what Akaashi has always put in his head since they were younger, unsure what it means but the morning workout is now a routine for the man. As he got older it became an anchor to familiar times which helped him navigate unknown feelings and obstacles; riding through any crashing wave in peace. That peace has recently been shaken up.

Pulling out his headphones, he reaches for the gym door, coming to a halt when the sounds of the room touch his ears. There’s someone else in the gym already. He checks his watch to see it’s 4:30 am. Frustration is what he should feel, with a disturbance in his routine, but he could feel anticipation flush across his face and tickle the tips of his ears with heat. It’s not just someone in there, he had high expectations on who beat him to the gym. With a heavy pull, the door swings wide open and his eyes scan the floor, easily finding the source of the noise. Lo and behold, there you were.

The new MSBY athletic trainer, who had joined a month ago. Clad in fitted black workout gear, long sleeves compression shirt and shorts covering each dip and curve of muscle and skin. Edge of the shorts seamlessly meeting the start of skin down your thighs and shins, glistening in sweat. Bokuto gulped down a lump in his throat, slammed by waves of uncertainty uprooting his anchored mind.

With your headphones on, canceling out all noise in the room, you had missed Bokuto entering. You woke up that morning with more energy than usual. Chalking it up to new hire jitters, but that’s not what it was. Surrounded by players with large egos wasn’t new to you, it came with the territory of being an athletic trainer. Hell, even if you’d stayed in personal training, there’s no escaping the egos of gym bros. Everyone lifts more, knows more, trains better than you. With a smaller stature than most, you’d gone your whole life always being underestimated. Working out had always been a safe relief for pent up frustration and anger, letting you maintain a calm for the rest of the day. A godsent gift in your chosen profession. The MSBY Black Jackals’ team reputation was known far and wide in the industry. The most polite and friendliest team, hungry for growth. The “Eternal Rookies”, a moniker agreed upon by journalists and teammates alike in the volleyball world. It had been just the right move for you, but your professionalism had been shaken up from Day 1, when you met the rising star outside hitter, Bokuto Koutaro.

Most guys that looked like that were always wolves in sheep’s clothing, regardless of team reputation. But Bokuto had surprised you in every area, clumsy yet straightforward and honest. Earnest in practice and a trusted leader during games. Strong and smart but humble and kind. And agonizingly good looking. Work days became an every day battle to not ogle the man every second he was in your sight. Coming to the gym in the morning was your refresher, a clean way to start the day to ensure you're energized throughout. But it seems Bokuto also frequented the morning time, so you had been adjusting to come earlier and earlier to try and avoid him. Waking up at 3 am from a particularly delicious dream, was enough reason to head straight to the gym to clear your head. Taking a quick break you glance up to the mirror to ensure proper stance, eyes widening seeing the very devil from your dream getting off the treadmill and preparing for his routine. Head down, completing incline chest rows, your entire backside on display for Bokuto. He had finished his cardio and started his lat exercises, fortunately unfortunately the machine was positioned to maintain the weights area in direct line of sight. He had wanted to power through his routine, crushing on the trainer was a childish distraction and completely unprofessional. Having childlike fun is one thing, but entering frustrated territory was completely unlike him. The heat that sat in his core, rising up, coating his entire torso in a voracious fire with desire he’d never felt before. He hated it. He’s always been in control of all his emotions and desires, but you shook every semblance of proper thought from his head. Failing miserably at keeping a focused mind, he dove into the siren’s song and watched you closely throughout his workout. Wiping down machines, adjusting weights, huffing through his sets, but eyes trained on your body throughout it all. He had watched you wrap up and make your way to the yoga mats for cool down stretches.

With only a nod of acknowledgement, the two of you hadn’t exchanged any words in the past couple hours of working out. Maintaining distance in balanced routines for the day, a dance playing out in the gym. But the tension was palpable, suffocating in the already stuffy gym air. You watched a bead of sweat drip down his chin into the crevices of his pecs. Wondering if it had traveled down his abs and through the defined v-line you could glimpse every time he raised his arms. You licked your lips in hope for a taste, even if in your imagination. The craving for a taste increased, because you had felt his eyes on you the entire time. Watching every movement, eyeing you from top to bottom and back. You could feel the ghost of his hands running over your body. Leaving behind a tantalizing trail of heat everywhere, yet not placing a single finger on you. As you leaned down into downward dog, Bokuto had stopped to take a water break, eyes washing over your body in haste. A smirk playing on your lips as you feel yourself fall over the edge of your self control. “Bokuto-san, could you help me stretch out my back?”

The last gulp of water catches in his throat, coughing as he averts his eyes. Finally breathing air back into his lungs he turns his attention to the voice calling for him. Headphones now out, he hears you repeat your question, as if it hadn’t been bouncing around the walls of his mind already. His throat somehow dry despite finishing off his entire bottle, he makes his way over. Watching as you adjust yourself into pigeon pose, left leg fully stretched out and right leg folded out and tucked in. Opening up your hips to stretch, you motioned him to push down on your back. Palms on your back he leaned down on you, folding you completely over, without any resistance. Your chest flush against the mat and arms spread out forward. With a slight push up off you, he stands up to watch over your form. Drinking in the ease of your stretch, mind running with other ways he could be folding you to take him in completely. A jolt running right to his core when he meets your eyes to see a flush on your face, still pressed against the mat as you watch him.

“Ya like what you see Bokuto-san?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. The heat of the room, the thrum of your heart in your ears, blood rushing to multiple places at once, has all your senses on high after your workout. Bokuto’s weight against you had set your entire back on fire, engulfing you completely and you ached to feel him over you again. “My form, it looks ok?” You tease as a flush comes across his face. With a lick of your lips, you roll over, legs spread open wide. “Can you help stretch out my front too...I can fold into another position if you’d like?” The question crashed over Bokuto, anchor ripped out of the ground, untethered and washing away into the depths of the ocean. He closed the distance in a few short steps before pulling you up into him, lips against his in an instant. Tasting you finally, feeling you with his hands, swallowing you completely. His parched throat slowly soothed as he drank you in, the way he needed.

Relentless moans falling out of your lips, echoing in his mind. He looks down at you ruined, but you reach your hands out to wrap around him to bring him closer for more. He closes his eyes to fall right in, a new anchor rooted in your waves pulling him as close to you as possible.

#kewpie writes #hq fic #haikyuu fic #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto koutaro smut #bokuto smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #bokuto x gender neutral reader #gn reader #hq series

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heich0e · 1 year

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wouldn't it be nice? - suna rintarou/f!reader (haikyuu!): fluff but suggestive at times, established relationship, talk of babies/families/pregnancy, committing to the bit is all fun and games until the bit commits to you, tw: light miscommunication since some of u guys hate that, let the record show this was NOT written for his birthday, i didn't even KNOW it was today ok, i will not be taking questions at this time (or ever)

You know exactly what started it.

The problem.

It was some sappy commercial you saw on TV one lazy Sunday afternoon.

You rarely even watch television—not proper cable television anyway—preferring the simplicity of streaming services in this modern day and age. It's a complete fluke that you happen across it at all while you and Rintarou rest sprawled across his couch in the afternoon sun, your feet tucked underneath his thigh. You wouldn't even go on to remember what the commercial was for; all you remember is the perfect, cherubic little baby at the centre of it, and the way that it made your heart melt.

You let out a long, wistful sigh once the advertisement transitions into the next. "I want to hold a baby."

It piques his interest. That stupid, completely unremarkable comment that you'd come soon to regret.

Rintarou pulls himself a little more upright at his end of the sofa, shooting you a mischievous look. His expression might seem placid to most people, impassive even, but you know it, and him, and all his minute eccentricities too well to be fooled.

"I'll give you a baby," he muses, angling his body over yours on the sofa with his arms caging your waist. You draw your legs back instinctively—hips perpendicular to your thighs and heels to the bottom of your bum—at the first sign of trouble.

Your lip curls, and you lift your sock-clad feet so they press flat against his chest, pushing him back with all the strength you can. He hardly budges, but you expect as much.

"Ew, Rin," you snort, head lolling to the side to idly watch the next useless commercial on TV as it unfolds, “gross."

Suna pauses, a hand loosely circling your ankle, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. There's a look that you don't recognize that flitters across his face. His grip tightens a little, his thumb sweeping down over the round protrusion of your joint and back again.

"Gross?" he asks softly.

"Yeah, gross," you say, pulling your foot out of his hold. It takes a bit of effort, because he doesn’t seem to want to move, but you roll over onto your side and wiggle out from under him to rise up off the sofa. You shuffle into the kitchen for a snack, and you feel his eyes on you as you go.

But that was just the start.

You’re not sure if you just never noticed, or if the universe has a deeply perverse sense of cosmic humour, but after that Sunday afternoon, it seems like there are babies everywhere you go.

And if not actual living, breathing babies, then it's all matter of things that are decidedly baby-adjacent. Itty bitty onesies on display at the store you two are shopping at. Sweet souvenir plushies at the Aquarium that are meant for little ones to hold. Diapers, formula, and various other baby necessities are advertised in the posters mounted on bus stops, on train stations platforms, and on flashing digital billboards.

And every single time, without fail, you see them when you’re with Suna.

And every single time, without fail, he looks at you and waits for you to meet his gaze.

You’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding it, honestly. But then he’ll always make some comment. Point it out. Make it obvious.

“Look at that baby’s tiny hand. I bet our baby will have my hands.”

“Can you believe that babies are really this little? Do you think ours will be this small?”

“If you were buying these for our baby would you get the yellow or the—“

“Trick question,” you cut Suna off, snagging the yellow pair of training chopsticks (complete with a little ducky on top) out from his hands and shoving them back onto the display he’d just plucked them off of. You don’t allow yourself to linger for too long on how cute they really are. “Babies don’t use chopsticks, and also we’re not having a baby.”

You continue down the aisle of the market, a familiar pain throbbing just behind your eyes that Rintarou seems so uniquely skilled at eliciting. Your face is hot too, but that’s probably just from the frustration. After a moment you hear his feet shuffling along after you, and the two of you finish your grocery shopping in relative silence.

You’re used to putting up with all of your boyfriend’s other annoyances and oddities, so this is just another one to add to the ever-growing list. But this time, something feels a bit… different.

The two of you stop at a vending machine for coffee on your walk home since it’s cold out. Suna has the largest of your two reusable grocery bags looped over one of his arms, and somehow while you’re digging for change in your wallet he manages to weasel the other one off of your arm and onto his own, too.

“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner, why are you stopping here?” he asks, watching as you carefully make your selection from the humming machine in front of you. You press the button of your choice, and a can of cafe au lait clunks down into the waiting chute below.

“The metal can keeps my hands warmer,” you explain, sticking a few more yen into the machine and choosing Rintarou’s favourite, too. His choice makes the same descent yours had, and you crouch down to retrieve it for him, holding it out to him in offering as you stand.

He blinks at you.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, shaking his head a little. “Hands are full, anyway.”

You balk at him soundlessly for a moment. “Give the other bag back, then!”

“Nope,” he replies, making a point to enunciate it clearly in a way that you know he knows drives you crazy. He takes a step in the direction of your apartment, and you have no choice but to stick the can of coffee he’d declined into your coat pocket and chase after him.

It does a great job of keeping your hand—tucked into your pocket and wrapped around it—warm as you walk, though.

Nearly back at your apartment, your can of coffee drained and properly disposed of, a little ball of fluff waddles past you on the sidewalk, heading towards the entrance of a nearby park. You and Rintarou both pause, equally confused by what you’ve just spotted.

Behind the amorphous little thing is a couple, maybe a few years older than you two are, trailing not even a metre away. You watch as they coo and fawn over it as is wobbles unsteadily towards the open stretch of grass ahead. They call it pet-names, and try to convince it to turn around for mom and dad so they can take a picture.

Oh.

A baby.

Probably a little older than a baby given the whole… walking thing. But it’s still so tiny, even in its big, puffy coat, so they can’t be very old. The hood is pulled up over the child’s head, and you realize upon closer inspection that it has—

“Teddy-bear ears,” Rintarou says, cupping his fingers over his mouth and blowing warm air into his hands. “That’s so cute.”

“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile, watching as the child toddles along in their fluffy little teddy jacket.

Suna must have put the grocery bags down at his feet at some point when the two of you stopped walking, and when he pulls his hands back from his face, you see how the tip of his nose has gone pink from the cold. He dips down in front of you, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you up-close.

“What?” you ask him nervously, a hand fluttering self consciously to your face.

His breath leaves his mouth in wispy clouds as he tilts his head to the side. He’s so close that the warmth brushes against your lips like an airy, indirect kiss. You wonder if he can taste the coffee that clings to yours.

“What?” you repeat yourself again, a little more insistently this time. You reach up and pinch either of his cheeks between your thumbs and forefingers—stretching the pliable flesh outwards in an attempt to get him to back off a bit. His rosy cheeks are cool under your warm touch.

“Do you think we’d make a cute baby?” Rintarou asks, though the question is a little garbled thanks to your grip, and your stomach clenches involuntarily. His hands, and his frigid fingertips, reach up and rest over your own where you’re still pinching his cheeks—though your vice has eased slightly.

“You can barely even make an omelet,” you huff out as heat rises in your cheeks, pulling your hands out from under his and looking away. “Like I’d ever trust you to make a baby.”

“People make them all the time by accident, you know,” he remarks, rubbing at his stinging cheeks where you’d been pinching him. “I’m sure I could do it on purpose if I really set my mind to it.”

You dip down and grab the grocery bag he’d taken off your hands earlier, hiking it up onto your shoulder.

“Why are you so obsessed with this stupid baby joke?” you ask him exasperatedly, following it with a long, aggrieved sigh that you can see as you breathe it out.

He looks at you for a moment, his brow pinching in the middle. His nose is still so pink, and it makes the green in his eyes stand out more.

You watch how Suna’s lips part, like he’s going to say something, but then they press together in a thin line again without uttering a word. He picks up his grocery bag with one hand and sets off in the direction of home, and this time you feel a little sheepish as you follow after him.

The apartment is quiet when you return home, and it stays that way as the two of you unpack the groceries in your kitchen side by side. You bought more than you usually would on a weekly grocery trip, all because Suna’s been staying over more than he usually does. But there’s a sudden frostiness that seems to have creeped in from outside, as if clinging to your coattails, and the chill has now settled between the two of you.

It makes a strange sort of anxiety prickle under the surface of your skin, tender like a bruise. It makes you wonder if half of these groceries are going to go to waste.

“I’ll shower first,” Rintarou mutters without turning towards you after he puts the last pantry item away and closes the cabinet.

Stress sits heavy in the pit of your stomach when he doesn’t look at you. It’s intentional, you know it is. Suna’s favourite hobby is staring at you—he’s told you that himself many, many times. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance before he shuffles off towards your bedroom.

You stand in silence in the kitchen, as though that weight in your gut keeps you anchored in place. You can hear the rustle of Rintarou’s clothes hitting the hamper. You hear the bathroom door close. You hear the spray of the shower turn on.

You hear your heartbeat. Loud and wet in your ears.

You’re being ridiculous. You know that. You’re all worked up over nothing.

This was all just some stupid joke that he was being annoying about in the first place. That he found every possible opportunity to bring up.

You aren’t even sure what’s upset him so much; uncertain as to why you being annoyed about one of his blatant attempts to annoy you seems to have caused him offence.

You curl up on your sofa as Rintarou showers, picking at the fraying cuff of your hoodie as you similarly pull apart every second of your memory from the walk home from the market in an attempt to identify what could possibly have gone wrong. You’re thinking about the can of coffee—left sitting, unopened and room-temperature now, on your kitchen counter—when you hear the shower turn off.

The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly as you wait for your sullen boyfriend to emerge, but when he does he still seems resolved to avoid you. You wait on the sofa, your fingers stilled in the motion of fiddling with your sleeve, anticipating that he’ll come ask you to blow-dry his hair, just like he always does.

He doesn’t.

The hairdryer clicks on in the other room, and the sound makes you feel sick.

“Rin!” your voice leaves you involuntarily, without an ounce of conscious effort. You sound panicked.

The hairdryer clicks off immediately, and Rintarou appears in the doorway to your bedroom—half-dressed and hair half-dried—in an instant. His eyes are alight with concern.

Your hand had flown to your mouth as soon as you called out for him, too late to actually muffle the sound. But it stays there as you look at him with shocked, notably-guilty eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, eying you suspiciously.

“Nothing,” you murmur, your fingers still resting lightly over your lips, you avert your eyes. “It’s nothing, sorry.”

He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, and then turns to head back to the hairdryer.

“It’s just—“

He pauses when you speak again, one of his hands resting on the doorframe he’s lingering beneath—neither in nor fully out.

“—you’re mad at me.”

You watch his shoulder blades as your words hang in the air between the two of you. The chill in your apartment, unlike it had been outside, is only proverbial—but you half expect to see wisps of vapour slipping out on the edge of your breaths.

“I can’t figure out what I did wrong.”

Suna looks at you over his shoulder, his already vulpine eyes narrowing a little further. Not in irritation, but consideration. For all the strangeness between the two of you today, you can still recognize that much in his expression.

“I’m not mad at you,” he finally says, and you hate how relieved you feel at so few words. Hate even more how him turning back to face you makes the weight in your stomach lessen. That as he approaches you on the sofa you feel the air warm with every step.

Rintarou perches on the edge of your couch, a full cushion between the two of you as you sit there quietly. Both of his feet are on the ground, but yours are drawn up onto the sofa with you, facing him. Slowly your feet creep forward, slipping your toes under his sweat-pant clad thigh.

Suna’s head droops forward, and he lets out a breathy, wry laugh.

“What are your theories so far?” he asks quietly.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion.

He peeks over at you, peering up at you from the corner of his eye.

“What do you think you might have done wrong?”

You hum quietly, pursing your lips slightly.

“Well, I… I thought maybe I got you the wrong coffee. I didn’t ask, but you always choose that one, so I just thought…”

Suna clicks his tongue.

“Nope.”

You huff a bit, staring at your hands in your lap. “Well… there was that baby at the park.”

You feel Suna’s eyes on you, but you’re suddenly too wary to meet them. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong though, so you continue.

“And I said you can’t make an omelet.”

He laughs a bit again, and you know that wasn’t it either.

“Are you upset because I said that I didn’t think you could make a baby?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Rin, I’m borderline militant about taking my birth control. I obviously don’t think you’re impo—“

Rintarou tips his head up a little further, meeting your gaze. Caught in his stare, it’s suddenly like your words die before you can get them off the tip of your tongue. Slowly, he reaches out towards you, taking one of your fidgeting hands and holding it in his. His touch is warm now, in contrast to what it had been at the park. He lifts your hand up to his mouth.

Delicately, he kisses your fingertips. His lips brush against the digits, over your knuckles and up to your palms. He presses your hand to his cheek and looks at you with the most pitiful gaze. It makes your chest ache.

“I don’t like it when you say that,” he says reticently. And for all Rintarou’s height and weight and sheer breadth, he sounds so impossibly small.

“Say what?” you ask him, and your voice is quiet too. Vulnerable.

He leans his flushing cheek into your hand, holding it to his face and closing his eyes as he nuzzles into your touch.

“That you wouldn’t have my baby,” he whispers, “that you don’t want it.”

You resist the urge to pull away. It’s an instinct you can’t explain: a desire to keep him at a distance, to always laugh things off, to make a joke out of very real feelings.

“Because I do.”

You blink.

Suna opens his eyes and looks at you, and for the first time you see the very real, very not joking pain in his eyes.

“I want that with you.”

Your mouth is dry and you’re frozen. You stare at him, completely still, stunned by his sincere confession.

“What?” you manage to squeak out.

Rintarou closes his eyes again, breathing out a little sigh. He pulls your hand from his cheek, folding your fingers down so they’re hooked in a loose fist around his thumb. He brings your hand to his lips, not quite a kiss but close enough to call it that anyway.

“Not right now,” he murmurs into your knuckles, lips brushing against you as he speaks the words. “But someday.”

You’re still so shocked that you don’t know how to respond. He peers at you, hand still held to his lips, his eyes more resolved than they are wounded now.

“And I want you to want that. But I don’t know how to make you want it too.”

Your heartbeat thumps in your chest, resonant and palpable. Heat has crawled all the way up your face now, and you’re fairly certain your hand has gone clammy, but Rintatou passes no comment even if it has.

“Do you think you could?” he asks you quietly. Sheepishly. Earnestly. “Could you want that? With me?”

You pitch yourself forward suddenly, and Rintarou lets out a little grunt of surprise as the two of you topple back into the sofa. You hide your burning face in the crook of his neck, that smells like your body wash and shampoo but somehow so much better, clutching onto him like your life depends on it. Suna seems shocked for a moment as he finds himself flat on his back with your weight on top of him, and his body is stiff as he processes it. After a few beats of your too-loud, too-telling heart pass, he finally eases. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly to him.

“You’re so stupid,” you grumble, your eyes squeezing shut tightly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The genuine laughter that’s hiding just behind the words. He hugs you a little tighter. “Probably.”

You stay like that for a while, basking in the warmth of Rintarou’s body and the rhythm of his breath.

“You love me though,” he says quietly, “so that reflects pretty badly on you.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, and find him barely holding in a laugh. You can’t help but laugh with him. Can’t help but enjoy your favourite sound.

Rintarou scoops you up in his arms again, tugging you into his lap. He presses featherlight kisses to the corner of your jaw, and you fiddle with his long, lithe fingers. He sighs, but this time the sound is at ease. His damp hair tickles your face as he rests his forehead against your temple, nosing at your cheek.

“Hey, Rin?” you murmur as you run your thumb over the space between his first and second knuckle on his ring finger. You think about the kid you saw at the park in the fluffy jacket, and the besotted parents trailing along behind it.

He answers you with a content, if not slightly curious, hum.

You turn your face towards him, and your noses brush. Rintarou’s lashes flutter as his gaze turns a little heavy-lidded. You can feel his breath on your lips, that’s how close he is. You inch forward until the space between you is almost completely gone.

And just before your lips meet, you smile.

“I do think we’ll make a cute baby.”

#suna x you #suna x reader #suna rintarou x you #suna rintarou x reader #suna #suna rintarou #hq fic #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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