Latest Posts by whorefornoodles - Page 6

hockey au sero …… you’ve poisoned my brain.

after his game, he takes you on the ice, after he showers ofc. he’s exhausted and tired but he wants to spend a little time with you so he teaches you how to skate ….. he’s holding your hands and skating backwards meanwhile you’re terrified of falling, but in his words, he’d “never let that happen”. it’s going pretty well, you’re starting to feel pretty graceful, then all of a sudden, he stops. and you crash into his chest. but do you fall ? ofc not ! bc hes holding your waist and the next thing you know he’s cupping your face and asking for a kiss and you nod and fuck you’re kissing and wait omg was this was his plan all along ?? holy shit.

ive been sighing over this all day.

the idea he lures you on to the ice, saying he's still wound up from the game, but really he just wants to spend time with you sharing his passion--

and he slowly gets touchy, more flirty, until he tricks you into crashing with him.... and he's dipping you, about to kiss you on the ice when the speaker system crackles to life.

"No sexual contact on my ice," Aizawa's voice booms. Sero is already sheepishly separating, waving to the announcer box with an apologetic grin, "Go home, Sixteen,"

Jude Law and Ewan McGregor, Lorenzo Agius (2003) / Aaron Paul and Bryan Cranston, Max Barsness (2022)

on a morning just like any other, miri goes looking for rei in the bathtub to wake him up. but this time, unlike any other morning, she finds that he's not there.

she stares, perplexed, at the basin where her papa normally sleeps, blinking down at the empty space in confusion. she makes her way back upstairs with the same confused expression on her face all the while.

the sound of the bedroom door opening at the end of the hall on the second level takes her by surprise.

"rei papa," she says, almost like she can hardly believe her eyes, "did you sleep in your bed last night?"

the aforementioned papa pauses in the doorway to his bedroom with one foot across the threshold, as though he's frozen mid-step.

"ah," he grunts, struggling to meet the little girl's inquisitive gaze. "hm."

not even his affirmative hum is enough to satiate miri's need for details.

"why?" she asks, her head cocking to the side. she eyes him, and rei is suddenly uncomfortably reminded of the training he's endured to withstand his composure under unimaginable torture and violence. somehow this is worse. "is rei papa sick?"

"no," he murmurs.

"then why is rei papa so red?" she steps towards him tentatively, intent to get to the bottom of her papa's strange behaviour and very pink face.

"miri!" the little girl is suddenly swept up from her feet, wooshing through the air as kazuki scoops her up into his arms while he sing-songs her name. he holds her up in front of his cheerful face. "your breakfast is getting cold, miri-chan!"

miri blinks into the grinning face of her blonde-haired papa. her gaze slides to the side to peek at rei, and the goes back to the man in front of her. she holds up a hand to cover her mouth from view (though it's on the wrong side to actually hide it from the brunette at the end of the hall.) "kazuki papa, rei papa sleeped in his bed," she mutters from the corner of her mouth, her little lips pursing.

kazuki looks at the man at the other end of the hall, completely still and looking at him with uncharacteristically startled eyes, and then back to the little girl in his arms.

"hmm," kazuki hums, "is that so?"

miri leans closer, and kazuki dips down too.

"maybe," she whispers, her tone even quieter and notably more conspiratorial, "he had... an accident."

kazuki relies on every modicum of self restraint and rigorous training he's endured not to outrightly laugh. instead, he hums thoughtfully with a solemn nod.

"we should be nice to him if he did," miri adds, "he might feel embarrassed."

the laughter kazuki feels welling up inside of him is as real of a threat as any gun that's ever been pointed his way.

kazuki sets miri down and she shuffles over to her other papa, who closes his bedroom door behind him just as she stops at his feet. she stares up at him, with a look that might be considered sympathetic if it weren't on the face of a four year old. she pats him comfortingly on the leg.

"it's okay, rei papa," she says pensively, something almost wistful in her tone. "it happens to the best of us."

and on that note, she spins on her heel and skips towards the stairs, heading to the breakfast that kazuki had promised.

"hold onto the railing!" the blonde calls after her as she sets off down the staircase, and she chirps back affirmatively before humming a little song as she goes.

the two men listen to her footsteps retreat, then the sound of her chair at the table downstairs being dragged across the floor, and eventually the sound of cutlery scraping across her plate.

kazuki turns, peeking at rei over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face.

"did you have an accident? rei-pa-pa?"

"shut up," rei mutters, his shoulders slumping as he finally relaxes.

behind him, his bedroom door creaks open, and you poke your head out from inside.

"that was close," you say breathily, brushing your hair back from your face, and the two men watch as you slip through the door into the hallway. you have one of kazuki's hoodies on your frame, and a pair of cozy slippers on your feet.

rei looks at you, and you avoid his eyes, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to laugh. he pouts.

"you two are mean," he complains.

"rei," you laugh, reaching for him, but he shies away from you woundedly. the act only last for a few seconds before he's allowing you to slip your arms around his waist from behind, leaning against his frame while you embrace him.

"who are you calling mean?" kazuki sniffs, "i just expertly diverted miri's attention because you wouldn't get out of bed in time to get in the tub before she woke up."

rei and kazuki glower at each other for a moment, but there's no real animosity behind either gaze.

"no fighting," you pipe in from behind rei, peeking out from around his shoulder.

"this is your fault too, you know," kazuki points accusatorially in your direction and you gape.

"me?" you ask, offended. you slip out from behind rei's frame and stalk towards kazuki. "if i remember correctly you're the one who was begging me to stay over last night, and you're the reason why my clothes needed to be washed before i could leave." you poke him harshly in the chest, and he winces–though there's virtually no way it did any real harm.

kazuki chuckles, a breathy little heh, looking away guiltily with your fingertip still prodding his chest.

"speaking of," you look around the hallway, "where are my clothes?"

kazuki perks up, shuffling over to the laundry basket he'd dropped at the top of the stairs and fishing out your freshly-laundered clothes from underneath a pile of miri's. he brings them over to you and places them in your outstretched hands.

"thanks," you say, a little smile pulling at your lips. kazuki offers you his cheek expectantly, and you roll your eyes but crane up on your tiptoes anyway. he turns his face at the last minute, just like he always does, stealing a proper kiss.

you giggle as you pull away, kazuki's greedy hands reaching for you to pull you back, and you let him man-handle you into his hold while you sift through the clothing in your hands. you quickly notice something's missing.

"where are my panties?" you ask, tipping your head to peer up at kazuki who's draped over your back. his brow furrows in confusion, looking at the articles in your hands and then back to the laundry basket.

"there weren't any," he says in confusion, certain that he would have noticed something like that in the load of laundry he'd risen to do at dawn.

rei slips past the two of you quietly, heading towards the stairs.

it occurs to you just a second too late.

"rei," you hiss, careful not to make too much noise and draw attention to yourself. "rei!"

he glances at you over his shoulder, pulling his hand out of the pocket of his sweatpants to reveal a familiar ball of lace in his grip. he shoots you a smug little look, and then continues to descend the stairs, muttering something as he goes that sounds suspiciously like 'it happens to the best of us.'

theyre heading out!

hold my heart (its beating for u anyway)

texting fwb!suna 'happy father's day' and then ignoring his texts and calls just to make him sweat a bit

notes: based on my kuroo post from yesterday, apologies if this doesn’t make the most sense

warnings: cockwarming, creampie, unprotected sex, mild grinding

kuroo thinks he's dying.

actually, he doesn't think—he knows. he knows he's dying.

and it's all because of you.

you, who sits pretty on his lap, cockwarming him.

his skin is scalding hot right now. he's trying everything in his mind to not think of anything with or about you, so that he doesn't cum.

make no mistake — he does have good stamina. but there are days like today where his neediness isn’t apparent to him until it’s too late.

you'd probably think he's pathetic, because well, let's face it—he is when it comes to you. but that's not the point here. the point is, is that you drive him insane and he can't concentrate on anything else. anything of less substance.

it's impossible when you're literally right in front of him. only a mad man would tell you to get up and get off. you feel incredible wrapped around his cock, cunt enveloping him in the best hug possible. his muscles and body are shaking slightly at the feeling. he wonders if you can feel his heart racing with your tits and bare nipples pressed up against him.

this is why he considers you dangerous. you're pretty. so unbelievably pretty, and beautiful and so is your laugh. that's why it will be the very death of him.

he doesn't know if he's touch starved or if it's just his regular male hormones in overdrive, but the sound of your voice sends waves straight to his cock.

he was talking to you about something that happened at work, his fingers tracing your waist and sides, touching every part of you affectionately. no indecent thoughts had crossed his mind (a small lie—there were maybe a few, but not many) yet.

he doesn't remember what he said, but it must've been something really funny because you giggled. it was so cute, kuroo thought he would pass out.

because the problem is that you'd laugh, and your entire body would vibrate. you'd squeeze up on him and he felt like he could barely live, let alone breathe in that moment.

your tits would bounce a little when you laughed, and you would throw your head back, exposing the smooth column of your neck. every part and curve of your body looks so regal while you sit on your throne, his lap—his cock. he has to control every fiber being in his body to not fold you over and rut into you. to not reach over and mark up your neck with his teeth.

and to top it all off, your smile is the greatest thing he's ever seen. you would smile at him and a warm, elated feeling would root itself in his chest. never mind the pervert thoughts crossing his mind of you kneeling in front of him, smiling with a load of his cum on your face.

his balls ache and dick throbs painfully. the position of you on his lap is intimate, but not lewd. but one 'wrong' move could make it so. would make him burst.

and that ‘wrong’ move just happened to be you laughing again. you had grinded back on him unintentionally, but it snapped something in him.

he can’t keep up his poker face anymore, and just hides his face in your neck, grunting into your skin. his hands squeeze your hips hard.

the air is still and the silence between both of you could be cut with a knife. he feels a hand move up to his cheek and you push him back to look at him, bewildered.

“…tetsu, did you just cum?”

“m’sorry,” he says, cheeks pink.

but you both know he’s not sorry.

and it’s okay, because he’ll ‘apologize’ later when he eats you out and has you pass out after multiple rounds.

kita tries to be so normal about learning he's going to be a dad, but the next morning he's feeding the chickens and he's suddenly in tears because God one day soon he's going to be teaching his child how to do this -

leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness. 

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him. 

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances. 

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.” 

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you… felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself. 

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod. 

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

worlds quietest blunt rotation. or something

Impending, part 1

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~1.1k

Tags & warnings: a bit of drinking, eventual smut (in the next part)

Note: Oops, this was supposed to be 500 words of porn without plot but now it’s going to be a multi-part porn with feelings. I’m the only one who didn’t see that coming. Here you go mica :* @princesskazuya

“Thought I’d find you down here. Mom and dad want you to make an appearance before grandma has to leave.”

Hiro grunts, eyes glued to the television where Princess Peach is gaining on Wario.

“Oh. Hey Issei.”

Unlike Hiro, he greets you in response, sidelong glance lingering for just a moment before returning to the tv.

You make your way down the rest of the basement stairs to flop onto the ratty old couch behind them, beer swishing at the movement. The boys lay side-by-side, splayed out on their stomachs on the carpeted floor. They’re both so tall now that they barely fit between the couch and the tv all stretched out like this. It makes it hard not to think about the last time you saw them together. They used to be the same height as you and so scrawny, bony limbs poking out of baggy t-shirts and gym shorts. You could’ve taken them both in a fight, easy — and more than once you did.

But if you thought Hiro’s grown … Somehow Issei got even taller than your brother. Bigger too.

In the lead now, Princess Peach rounds the bend for the last lap. Wario is slowly closing in after an unlucky shell shot sent him tumbling off a cliff.

You tuck one leg under the other and sip your beer. Their bottles sit forgotten on the table as they jostle for the lead. What’s happening on screen is not much different from what’s in front of you as they try to knock the controller out of the other’s hands, shit-talking and shoving each other aggressively.

By the time they’ve reached the last quarter of the track, they’re just full-on wrestling. You hurriedly pull your other leg up out of harm’s way and snatch up their beers so they don’t get knocked off the table. The other racers pass by as they grapple in earnest — Hiro’s laid out on top trying to put Issei in a headlock but Issei hunches over, arms bulging as he grabs Hiro’s thigh and flips him onto his back with a thud.

You just roll your eyes.

They’ve always been like this — rowdy and obnoxious. You’d think more boys would make things more chaotic, but their other friends somehow kept them in line when they all hung out together. When it was just the two of them, they were a way bigger pain in the ass.

“Takahiro, get up here!” A muffled yell comes from upstairs.

“Dad’s calling for you.”

When they don’t stop fighting, you kick Hiro hard in the ass. “Hey!”

“Ow! What the fuck?” Hiro kicks back, missing you by a mile.

“Dad’s calling for you,” you repeat.

“Ugh,” he grumbles and pushes himself up off the floor, still catching his breath. He grabs his half-finished beer out of your hand and flips you off before heading upstairs. “Don’t touch my game.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to win for you,” you call after him.

“I said don’t touch it!”

“No promises!”

When you turn back, Issei is already holding up Hiro’s controller, one thick eyebrow raised and a wicked grin on his face. You mirror his grin.

A whiff of something clean and citrusy tickles your nose when you lean forward. It freezes you in place for a split second before your brain kicks back into gear, trading his beer for the controller and settling back comfortably cross-legged.

“Ready to get wrecked?”

It used to be so easy to rile them up. Issei just chuckles at your taunt now. Sitting up, he pulls down the shirt that’s ridden up his stomach in the tussle, covering the churn of muscle underneath. His shoulder brushes against your knee as he leans back against the couch. His hair has gotten longer, resting in easy waves atop his head. From this angle, the light catches the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck where a few curls lay plastered against his nape. This close, you can smell the salty tang of sweat sneaking through the cologne.

“You remember how to play?” The bass of his voice rumbles through you. That’s new too.

You startle when he twists around to look up at you through hooded eyes.

It’s cool down in the basement, perfect for escaping the heat of the afternoon, but you’re out of the frying pan and into the fire it seems because he’s practically laying his sweaty torso in your lap, one elbow draped over your thigh, his heavy bicep propped on you…

“Yeah, I remember.” Your voice comes out like a purr instead of a sting and he smirks.

You straighten up, shoving his arm off you. “Just hurry up.”

His eyes dart down to your chest with a hum and he scrutinizes you one last time before turning around. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else before he starts the race.

Hiro clomps back downstairs just as you cross the finish line. You’d eked out a win, barely. Mostly because you got lucky with the items. Without a word, Hiro plucks the controller out of your hands and resumes his earlier position on his stomach. Issei makes no move to join him. Instead, he plants a palm on your knee to push himself up off the floor and sinks down next to you on the couch.

You keep your eyes trained on the tv, not on him, and not on his hands. Not on his long fingers or the size of his palms.

Your senses become distinctly attuned to his proximity and the itch of his leg hair against your skin with every slight shift. You swipe through your phone wondering if it’s a distraction for him too.

“Anything catch your interest?”

A breathy murmur against your neck makes you jolt. The last race has already ended and they’re waiting for the next to start. When you turn, he’s only a hair’s breadth away, expression hesitant but goading.

Hiro yawns and you’re suddenly reminded of where you are.

You push Issei off and spring to your feet.

“I’m going to grab another beer.”

Matsukawa lets out a low groan as you scurry toward the stairs.

“What?” Makki twists around to look at him, then follows Mattsun’s line of sight up the steps until his eyeline hits the back of your thighs. “Gross, dude. Stop that.”

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

Praying to angels but only the devils hear

me with kuroo omg

i was dating vash in my dream why did i wake up

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 [ miya atsumu x f!reader ]

word count : 2k // notes: no warnings just me having a crush on atsumu <3

“Are you still single?”

It was an overused taunt between the both of you.

Miya Atsumu, the nation’s bachelor’s twin brother had recently proposed to his girlfriend and so he and his bride had hired you to ensure their wedding day would be perfect.

“And who are you to say that, Miya-san?” You smile, swiping your journal with all of your plans away from his sweaty hold.

He sticks his tongue out when you laugh in triumph.

Each of his friends had fallen into the curse of matrimony—as Atsumu would call it.

His teammates from Inarizaki, from MSBY, down to the national team, and even his rivals have all settled down and some of them even had the “privilege” of having children.

He had attended the majority of the weddings as the best man—being the constant single friend; and you had attended all as their wedding planner and that was how you met the ever so charming Miya Atsumu.

“What’s the excuse this time? Commitment issues? You know... you should probably be planning your own wedding soon, Y/N.” He smiles, playing with the nameplate on your desk. “We’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t really see the need to get married. Commitment isn’t a joke, Miya-san—“

“Miya-san is my father, just call me Atsumu.”

“I like my job, Miya-san.” You flip through the demands of the couple. They wanted fancy but simple, memorable but special, a garden theme sounded nice but having the reception at a beach wouldn’t hurt, Elegant but hints of youth would be nice.

That was as far as their requests went. The rest was up to the both of you.

Being a good friend of the bride and as the wedding planner, you had the duty of making their day perfect to suit both of their interests.

As the brother of the groom, Atsumu was left in your care to help you out—a request from the engaged couple.

Their special day rested in both of your hands.

Atsumu fumbles with his phone. “I’m just saying, most girls at our age tend to worry about settling down. And we’ve had at least seventeen weddings together in the last six years, right? Seven of them, I was the best man—not that I’m counting or anything.”

He miscounted.

The both of you had seen each other at nineteen weddings total and at every wedding since the third, you would taunt each other regarding your relationship status.

He charmed a bridesmaid or cousin from two of those events but declined their company, danced on one of the tables two weddings ago and Osamu had to bring him down. He cried five weddings prior to this one because that wedding was where his first love married someone else that wasn’t him.

Rumors said he had been sleeping around since then—Atsumu would leave an indefinite and open response but his brother, Osamu, would oppose to say that Atsumu wasn’t the type to do so; and who better to believe than his own twin?

Despite all those times you mentioned you hated seeing his face at all those weddings, the fondness in your eyes reserved for him (and only him) would say otherwise.

When you’re about to lose your mind, he was always there to rescue you and take you away for a bit. Whenever one of the plans goes wrong, he somehow helps you come up with an alternative thanks to his connections.

He was spontaneous yet reliable and you loved having him around.

And his signature cocky grin just made you just want to kiss the corners of his lips.

With a lazy yet cocky smile, Atsumu pocketed his phone. “Why don’t we get married next? That way you can finally plan the wedding of your dreams.”

“No thank you, do you have any idea how expensive weddings are?” You answered rather too fast.

“Money won’t be a concern with me.”

“It’s still a no.”

“Suit yourself.”

Five weddings ago—the same one where he cried his heart out, you slept with Atsumu Miya. The moment his warm hands pressed themselves onto your hips almost like a cry for help, you foolishly allowed him to have his way with you. He wreaked of tears, chardonnay and red wine, cologne from Ralph Lauren, and caramel tarts that night.

There was something about the way he whispered your name instead of hers like a prayer, how he carefully undressed you and looked at you like you were everything he wanted, how his feverish yet impatient touch burned on your skin, how his tongue felt and tasted like caramel against yours, or how he kissed you and said that he loved you.

You left immediately after he passed out on the pale white sheets of the hotel bed.

“Are you still single?” Atsumu’s habitual greeting came as he swung the door to your office open.

“As are you.” You click the pen in your hand while you try to imagine a layout for the ceremony. “The groom wanted something traditional and his bride wanted something modern… I’m thinking of gray satin—“

“This isn’t the first time we worked together, right?” He immediately plops himself down on the couch of your office. From where he sat, he could see fabric samples scattered and pinned on a desk, three whiteboards that blocked the windows full of table arrangements for the reception at a garden, contact numbers listed and posted all over your window.

It was messy—but you had a system.

“No it isn’t.” You look back at him. Miya Atsumu looked so unbelievably handsome you couldn’t help but stare. He was dressed in a white tee and jeans, it was a simple outfit yet his top accentuated his broad chest and shoulders and the jeans around his thighs—

“The first was at Oikawa’s wedding or was it at Bokuto’s or Hinata’s?”

“No it was at Bokuto’s and then at Hinata’s, then it was at Oikawa’s”

He laughed, remembering how stressed you were handling all those events in a span of a year.

( He wonders if you ever took breaks. You rarely asked for help and never brought your personal life onto the table—Atsumu knew so little about you. )

You wave your hand in front of his face and mention that he was aggressively staring off into the void—too intense for your liking. It was like he was plotting a murder or something.

He then ponders about a life with you.

The nation’s best wedding planner and the nation’s eligible and most desired bachelor? That would certainly be a headline or a cover for a magazine.

Would you soon be wearing that navy blue dress from five weddings ago? The very dress he had given you as a gift as a thank you for making his friends happy?

A smile pulled at his lips, remembering how you teared up in gratitude when he managed to pull some strings and hired another media crew to document the wedding when the one you hired decided to back out on you six hours before the event.

They owed him a favor and he wanted to help you.

When you called him your hero and embraced him so tightly that day, he swore his heart stopped.

He wanted you to look at him like that again; seeing as how exhausted you tend to be when planning these events, you most probably needed a partner to help you out. If he had to stop volleyball, perhaps he could run this business with you—if you would allow it.

“Miya and Miya’s Wedding Planning Service.” Atsumu grins to himself and locks eyes with you. “How does that sound to you?”

“If you and your brother are planning to buy my business from me, it’s not happening.”

“Oh, I was thinking of Miya,” Atsumu’s palm rests on top of his chest. “And Miya.” He then gestures over to you—fingers in your direction and palm facing upward.

A proposal.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion with a tinge of shock, feeling your cheeks burning. “What are you talking about—“

“Just painting a picture.” He leaned into the cushions of your couch. “It looks… less lonely and I see two happy people. What do you see?” There was a sound of an object breaking—or rather, crunching, behind him.

“Not a lot without my glasses.”

The professional athlete fished said object from the cushions and promised to buy you a new pair.

You waved it off.

One minute your face was so close to shriveling like a pathetic raisin within the walls of your office from stress, the next it was relishing in the soft breeze of the beach.

“What do you think?” Atsumu rolls the cuffs of his jeans above his ankles. “They loved driving to this spot every summer. This was where my brother and his girlfriend had their last date.”

He passes you the umbrella and dashes into the water, laughing like a child’s first time on the beach.

“Before he proposed?” The sand crunches under your toes, tailing after him.

The resort nearby was owned by one of your cousins—it would make a great location for the reception.

“I think so.” He splashes the seawater your way and invites you to join him in the water. ( You didn’t have the energy to scold him for dampening the cover of your planner. )

You’ve seen him play on the court before. The way the lights would give him some sort of halo, his sweat glistening on his skin, the triumphant grin on his lips, the way his muscles tensed, his sharp eyes...

But to see him underneath the bright afternoon sun—it was different. Atsumu and the beach were a terrific mix. He was beautiful.

Atsumu was reliable, gentle when he wanted to be, a little crass and informal at times, judges characters without hesitation, inviting, endearing, warm, smelled like autumn, safe and whatnot. There was just something alluring about him.

Setting your shoes and planner next to his, you roll up your slacks just below your knees.

The setter beams and cheers when you step into the waters and approach him. His hand was outstretched for you to take which you timidly did.

“We could have the wedding here.” He glances at the waves foaming on the sand. ( It takes him a moment to remember he was there for his brother’s wedding and not his future one. ) “The bride really loves beaches so I believe we’d get plus points for having it here.“ He continues to ramble on about the possible arrangements.

And then it finally settles in you—you like him... a lot.

“I didn’t think wedding planning with you was going to be entertaining.” He squeezes your hands and softly places his lips on the curves of your knuckles. “You know, my offer for Miya and Miya’s Wedding Planning Service is still open.”

And it honestly doesn’t sound so bad...

Thirty hours until the wedding.

Everything was in place, all toxic invited guests were eliminated, never went above the budget, the bride is excited to officially wear her gown and change her surname, the groom is shaking in anxiety and finally got the acceptance of his father-in-law-to-be, none of the hired staff and crew looked like they were going to back out anytime soon...

Both parties were planning to celebrate the day before the wedding and you were planning to get some rest before you were going to be overwhelmed with pressure and stress that will come in the next couple of hours.

Seven months of stressing over the pressure, planning, calls, negotiations, and connections finally paid off.

Atsumu had other plans though—he wasn’t interested drowning in blinding lights and beer that day. Leaving his brother with his peers, the setter had asked you if it was alright to see you.

How could you ever oppose?

The same taunting greeting came as soon as you both locked eyes but this time, there was a hint of hope in his tone. “Are you still single?”

“Who’s asking?” You lean on your doorframe.

“Me.” He shoves his hands in his pockets—his eyes admiring every inch of your face. “So... will you be wearing the same navy blue dress you wore five weddings ago? That pretty velvet one... the one I gave you.”

“Are we going to keep asking questions—wait what?” Your stomach twists in shock. Navy blue dress? Five weddings ago? Does he actually remember what happened?

“I wasn’t drunk that night and neither were you.” Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, processing the mixed emotions on your face. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Atsumu, were you planning to match with me tomorrow?” You could not help but smile at the way the tips of his ears burned red.

“I was.”

“Navy blue is not part of the palette, remember?”

“It should have been.”

His lips tasted like cherries that afternoon.

Would you give this little osamu an onigiri ? 🍙

so everyone understands the concept of having a type as in ‘type of person im attacted to’ but whats your type as in ‘type of person attracted to me’

mines trainwrecks and repressed nerds

i just saw the most disgusting thing … it was like hq guys who would get turned on if their girl made out w another girl MF THATS CHEATING

pretending to get married to your best friend so you can schedule free cake tasting with shops all over town and slowly falling in love along the way

cool kids

summary: Kunimi x Reader. "reader's the one simping hard for kunimi and kunimi's just like "😑😑😑" but secretly likes them too" as requested by an anon!

word count: 2k

cw: uhhh two swear words

a/n: tysm for the request!! hope i did your boy justice

You just think Kunimi is nice to look at.

His hair is straight and natural and never greasy or obviously gelled; it looks soft and shiny. He probably rinses with cold water. You like how dreamy his eyes are— they’re deepset and often narrowed into a lazy smirk, but they have a faraway quality to them that makes the gray-brown shade reminiscent of the misty moors you’ve read about in books and seen in movies. You like the lean muscle on his thin frame, the way you can feel how deceptively strong he is whenever he decides that you’re his makeshift pillow at school.

“Is this comfortable?” He asks, slumping over you, forcing you to wilt over your desk beneath him.

“Not at all,” you answer honestly. “Your elbows are pointy, ow ow ow—” you wriggle until it no longer feels like he’s pressing directly on a pressure point— “but by all means, keep crushing me.”

“Hmm, thanks,” he hums into your back. “Class was so boring today.”

“The teacher is still in the classroom, Kunimi,” you say, voice muffled as he tries his best to become dead weight. “He can hear you, because we’re still in the classroom, missing lunch.”

“Nah,” he says, but graciously gets off, standing next to your desk while you gather your things, then holds out a hand to help you up. You take it, and it’s more the feeling of his skin on yours that makes you wobble on your feet than anything else. Your heart beats fast in your chest as you follow him, although he’s already let go.

“Where are we going?” You say into his ear, over his shoulder. He gives no indication that he heard you, so you do it again, speeding up your pace so you’re walking in stride with him.

“Gotta get a spot on the rooftop before everyone else shows up,” he says offhandedly, dodging a group of people standing still in the hallway. Obnoxious, you know he’s probably thinking.

“Ooh, the rooftop?” You tease. “Planning a confession?” There’s a saying about how all the best jokes have a grain of truth in them. In this case, you’re joking with a silo of hope.

“Too corny,” he wrinkles his face up, casting a disgusted glare towards the students who walk by in pairs, joined hands swinging between them. “PDA is gross, you know.”

You grab his hand again, his lack of protest reassuring you.

“You’re just jealous because you’re single.”

“Not for too long, I hope,” he says, eyes sliding to your face. You blink and drop his hand.

“What? Who? What?”

Your questions go unanswered, his volleyball seniors choosing that moment to swarm him. You wait on the edges of the group, mind spinning as you consider who your friend— your crush— would be interested in. You’re pretty sure that the only person he spends more time with than you is Yūtarō, and from the way Kunimi speaks about his teammate, you know it’s not him. You hope that it’s you, considering that you’ve been flirting overtly with him since the festival last summer, since you’d developed feelings for him. He’s never rejected you directly, after all, only made general comments on the futility of love and romance and relationships. You blow out a breath.

“Hi, sorry,” a face you recognize as a girl in another first-year class bows her way through the group of volley-boys. She’s biting her lip, clearly nervous, clearly clutching a letter behind her back. She has the locker next to Kunimi’s, you recall. A sick feeling rises in your stomach while all the others make a path for her straight to Oikawa. She makes a turn just before she reaches the third-year. “Um, hi, Kunimi, do you, ah, have a moment?”

You can’t look. You pay attention instead to the third years, watching Iwaizumi clamp a hand over Oikawa’s mouth before he can coo over his junior’s first confession. While they struggle, you bite your lip hard, shoving your hands in your pockets, feeling suddenly too hot and too cold all over. You’re probably allergic to watching people you like get confessed to or something, and now you have a fever.

Unwillingly, your gaze slides back to Kunimi, who, for once, looks wide-eyed and surprised. The girl appears to have finished her part, and he looks frozen as his eyes dart to the other people around, then back to her, then away again. Finally, he lands on Oikawa, who appears to have escaped his friend’s grip and has a disturbingly wide smile on his face.

“...Fine,” Kunimi says, and you watch him walk behind her to the stairs.

“Ah, so cute,” Oikawa says, leaning on the wall and sticking his nose up, an air of great wisdom and experience surrounding him. “Young love is in bloom today!”

You don’t want to wait for Kunimi to get back, so you adjust your bag and start to walk away, blinking rapidly.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hear behind you, and then Iwaizumi is running up behind you, grabbing your shoulder. “Are you okay?” He sounds hesitant, and a little like he’s choking as he speaks.

“Yeah, of course I am,” your own voice sounds far off and too quiet for your words to be true. “Thank you for asking, Iwaizumi-san, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re crying,” he notes, and your eyes widen in alarm as your hands fly up to pat your cheeks, checking for wetness. “Well, not quite crying, but when Oikawa said that, your face, it kinda,” he gestures to his own. You look at him quizzically, unsure what he’s trying to mime. “...Crumpled?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah.” Both of you seem at a loss for words, then, but he walks with you all the way to the lunch stand and then he follows you to the back of the gym, where you sit with your knees curled up to your chest.

“Sorry you wasted your lunch period with me,” you mumble after twenty minutes of picking at your food.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone to wallow,” he says, mouth full of melon bun. “It’s bad for you.”

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” Your voice is watery, but you can feel the corners of your mouth lifting.

“For sure,” he tells you. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I guess,” you sigh, and look down. “I just really, really like him.”

“I get that,” Iwaizumi has a reputation for being loud and kind of rough, but his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you for staying with me, Iwaizumi-san,” you say, standing.

“No problem,” he smiles sympathetically at you. If Kunimi were here, he’d call it pity. You’d rather call it kindness.

The bell rings, and Iwaizumi bounds off around the corner.

“Sorry,” you hear him apologize to someone before his footsteps echo away. When you turn the corner yourself, you see— shiny hair, dark eyes, and a tall, narrow frame. One plus one plus one equals heartbreak.

“Y/N!” He says in greeting, then tilts his head upwards, seemingly searching for something to say.

You pause in front of him. “So?”

“So what?” He looks confused.

“The confession,” you say.

“Oh,” he says, straightening a little. “It was whatever. Look, I just wanted to tell you, uh…”

“Yes?” You say. You’re late for class. You’re not sure why you’re still standing here, face hot, waiting to hear whatever he has to say.

“Wait for me?” He asks, and you blink. You weren’t expecting that, of all things.

“Why?”

“I don’t,” he tucks his chin into his jacket collar, dark eyes resting on you warily, and despite yourself, you smile a little. “I don’t want to rush things, and I’m not— I don’t wanna mess up something I know’ll be good, okay? So just wait a little longer for me.”

“What about the, uh,” you swallow. “The girl who you were talking to earlier? I’m not waiting if you’re not.”

“Her?” He makes a grossed-out noise. “I rejected her. Why would I want anyone but you?”

The ‘12-’13 Seijoh VBC ten-year reunion is nothing short of chaotic.

You’re there because you joined (in the form of management) shortly after Iwaizumi sat with you during that fateful lunch period, and everyone else is there because playing volleyball with Oikawa apparently results in some kind of gravitational effect that keeps one circling him loosely forever. You, Kindaichi, and Kunimi huddle in a sort of commiserating bunch, even though the three of you have more than kept in touch over the years; where Oikawa is an Argentinian celebrity and Iwaizumi is well compensated for his career in athletic training, the former first years are barely out of undergrad, still working and suffering beneath the weight of recent student loans.

It’s Hanamaki who opens up the conversation, complaining about his recent bout of failed interviews, while Watari pats him on the back and Yahaba lists off places he could begin networking.

“What have you been doing?” You address Matsukawa, who is slumped on his elbows on the table, a slight smile on his features as he watches Hanamaki talk, formally.

“Me? Oh, I’m a mortician, or working towards it, anyway.”

“Of course you ask Mattsun first,” laughs Kindaichi. “You still think he’s ‘tall, dark, and handsome?’”

“No,” you groan, while the others at the table perk up considerably. “Don’t bring that up, please, I’m begging.”

“You had a crush on Mattsun?” Smirks Hanamaki, laying an arm across his shoulders.

“Not really!” You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “He was only the best looking of the third years, anyway.”

Oikawa makes a wounded noise, and Mattsun sticks his tongue out at him. Next to you, Kunimi lifts his glass and takes a long sip.

“Only the third years?” Asks Yahaba, raising his brows. Kindaichi grins. In your peripheral vision, you can see Kunimi drawing a line across his neck and mouthing shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Everyone knows that Y/N only had eyes for Kunimi, really,” Turnip-Head says anyway, and every head at the table swings toward your seatmate, who drops his hand and shuts his jaw with a click. "You were obvious!" He says in response to your embarrassed expression. He's not wrong, but you're still covering your eyes with your hands, peeking through the gaps.

“Do you have eyes? Why haven’t you changed your haircut?” Kunimi says, his voice bored. “Don’t you get tired of being called names because of it?”

Undeterred, Kindaichi takes another swig of beer and continues, nudging Kunimi hard, which only has the effect of pushing him into your side as he tries to escape his friend.

“He used to get jealous, after Y/N called Matsukawa-san hot, anyway,” Kindaichi adds. “He’d try harder in practice and everything.” There’s a chorus of oooohs around the table. Kunimi groans and drops his head onto your shoulder. You pat him reassuringly. His hair is soft.

“Kunimi has a crush,” Shido grins.

“It was a decade ago,” you feel the need to defend him.

“Yeah,” Kunimi says, sitting upright. There’s a scowl on his face, but his ears are subtly red.

“You should’ve said yes to dating back then,” Hanamaki butts in. “Then you wouldn’t be single now.”

“What do you mean I’m single now?” Kunimi arches an eyebrow. “That’s news to me.”

“Why didn’t you bring them, then?” Mattsun points at him. “That’s bad etiquette, you know.”

“Yeah, Akira,” you murmur affectionately, tucking his hair behind his ear. “You have bad etiquette.”

There’s a moment of silence as your former classmates look at you, then at Kunimi, then back at you. Then at both of you, holding hands under the table.

“You’re dating?” Yells Yahaba, standing up and swaying a little. General clamor ensues as you laugh and Kunimi brings your hands up to rest on the table, his eyes narrowly focused on Matsukawa, who seems happily oblivious as he knocks back more of his drink and attempts to rouse Makki into a thumb-wrestling match.

“He’s rubbed off on you,” Kindaichi tells you later, as you exit the restaurant. Kunimi drapes his jacket over you and rests his chin on your shoulder, putting his hands in your pants pockets.

“I hope so,” you smile softly. “Almost ten years together will do that to a person.”

On the way home, Akira asks you, almost sardonic (but you know he’s being genuine), "Was the wait worth it?"

You beam and kiss him, pulling him close by his shirt collar.

"Of course it was."

tagging: @crystal-lilac , @kohi-zeri

idk how to explain but kirishima would be the kid w like a full ass griddle making pancakes in the back of the class if he went to an american highschool

situationship sero who u go to a carnival with and he wins u a big ass plushie and thinks ur his girlfriend right then and there

I like to think he's horrendously love sick immediately. you light up and he's done for-- he's thinking about introducing you to his mom, bringing you on vacation, telling you that he loves you-

tobio sitting with his (absurdly round) baby in his lap, carefully using those little baby nail clippers to trim their finger and toenails. so so careful. so gentle. so diligent. holds their tiny hand up realllllly close to his face to make sure he did a good job. baby just sits there and gurgles happily the whole time, chewing on the strings of his hoodie.

we love to see what your faves put as their contact name for you, but what do you put as the contact name for your faves??

the rain hitting the windows makes you even less excited to take the trash out than you already are.

you slip on the closest shoes and head down the steps of your apartment complex. the rain continues, splattering your t shirt almost tie dye. by the time you reach the community dumpster, you realize you aren’t alone.

“h-hey! here, let me hold that for you,” suna holds the lid open for you, allowing you to swing the bag right in.

“thank you,” you say with a small smile, squinting at the headlights that reflect the wet asphalt in the parking lot. you’ve seen suna plenty of times, considering you live right above him. “bummer about the rain huh?”

“nah,” suna grunts as he swings the lid shut, shaking the water off of his hands with a sour face. “we need it, but i think it’s soothing. you know, when it hits the roof when you go to sleep.”

you snicker, and he gives you a confused look. “what?”

“how do you hear it if i live right above you?”

too bad it’s dark outside, or you would be able to see how red suna’s cheeks are.

“w-well, normally it’s-nevermind,” he scratches the back of his head while the two of you walk far too slowly for people walking in the rain. but, you reach your stairwell soon enough.

“have a good night, neighbor!” he waves at you while you head up the stairs.

“goodnight,” you return his gesture.

when suna enters his apartment, he wonders if he can figure out a new excuse to see you again.

slow sex thats just as dirty as fast, rough fucking

In which Mattsun eats you out on the couch

[10:49pm]

It was getting late, and you knew you should be heading home by now. But currently you were pinned underneath your boyfriend on his couch in his shared apartment. His roommate was out, so the two of you had decided to have a quiet night in and watch some movies.

But of course one thing led to another, because Issei was never known for keeping his hands to himself.

“Sei...” You whine when he gropes a handful of your breast and rocks his hips harder into yours.

He pays you no mind as he keeps kissing your neck, grabbing and reaching and just eating up every part of you in a way that he knows makes your head spin. In front of others he was usually upright and mild with his mischief, but that all went out the window when the two of you were alone.

“Hmm?” He hums against your throat without stopping his movements. If anything the sweet sounds you were making only made him more excited, and you can feel as much when his cock pulses beneath his sweats against your inner thigh.

“M-Makki could—" An involuntary moan cuts you off as you feel his cock press closer to your core. “We should… go to your room.”

You feel Issei’s lips curl against your skin. “He won’t be home for hours baby, just relax.”

And you do, finding yourself sinking farther into the plush cushions of the couch and pulling back to look up at him with blown pupils and puffy lips. “Then please fuck me already.”

You notice a glint in his eye as he hurriedly kisses you again. There’s urgency in his movement now as he begins to ground himself harder against your hips. It earns another moan from you, feeling his cock pressing against your folds.

His hands were already underneath your shirt, but now they were starting to travel down into the sweatpants you were wearing. His sweatpants, the ones that were way too big for you but were so soft and so fuzzy that you always insisted on wearing them whenever you came over. It was almost too easy for him to slip a finger beneath the waist band of your panties and start rubbing small circles around your clit.

“Sei.” You breathe. “Please.”

“You’re so wet.” He whispers in your ear before nibbling on the lobe. “I’ll take care of you baby, just be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You gasp and begin to squirm when his fingers skim past your clit. “Mhmm. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Good.” He kisses your cheek and sits up on his knees to pull both your pants and your panties off before diving in to give your cunt a swipe of his tongue.

You let out a loud gasp and knot your fingers into his curly hair. “Issei!”

This only eggs him on further and you can feel his nose nudging against your clit for a mere moment before his lips find it and start to suck. Your leg kicks out off the couch, sending your bottoms flying to the floor and allowing more room for Issei to work with. His hands grip your thighs to anchor himself as he ventures further, determined to hear you sing his name at least once before he buries his cock inside you.

And sing you do.

With your orgasm so close to erupting you hitch your heel into his ass and push him further into your cunt. “Issei! Issei! Oh my god Issei I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—"

Your back arches off the couch as you come hard with your nails digging into his scalp.

Issei eagerly laps up all of your juices and eventually glances up at you with the cheesiest smirk on his face.

“Oh my god.” You pant, sinking back into the couch. “Fuck.”

“Mhmm, we’re getting there sweetheart.” He chuckles as he climbs up to give you a salty kiss, littered with the taste of you. “If you’re still up for it of course?”

You roll your eyes and smirk back at him. “Like you even need to ask.”

He grins and kisses you again, pulling his sweatpants off with one hand. “I’m a gentleman at heart, yenno.”

You can’t help but giggle and kiss him again, eager as ever to feel his cock inside you.

Suddenly the sound of the front door opening stops both of you dead in your tracks.

You let out a gasp as Issei’s eyes stare back down at you, wide with terror. “Fuck.”

As fast as you can you reach for the blanket on the back of the couch and do your best to cover you both with it. Issei settles between your legs, his cock pressing into your folds with enough pressure to make you whimper, but you hold it in as the door closes and footsteps make their way into the living room.

Makki’s staring down at his phone as he walks, and only glances up at the two of you for a moment before returning to it. “Hey guys, whatcha watching?”

“Just whatevers on.” Issei speaks as casually as possible while you’re trying to get your heartbeat to settle down.

“Hmm, cool. Night.” Makki tosses a wave over his shoulder and heads down the hall.

After hearing his bedroom door shut you let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

“No, he definitely knows.” Issei sighs into your collarbone. “Your panties are still on the floor.”

@kuroosdarling

You guys remember frat boy!osamu?

Well, you guys broke up.

It was stupid. You spent maybe half an hour yelling at each other. Just because Osamu wasn't like his frat brothers didn't mean he wasn't a frat brother, and fuck, you just wish he would say something to the dozens of girls who threw themselves at him daily. It hurts! How doesn't he get that?!?

After a couple of months, Atsumu begs to you come back around the house. Just because you and his brother stopped dating doesn't mean that Atsumu had to lose someone he now considered his best friend.

After the blonde twin blows up your phone with invites to a party at the frat house, you decided to say fuck it.

You show up in some tight jeans and a lace-up cami. You don't necessarily want to impress anyone; all you're going to be doing is talking to Atsumu and drinking a couple of beers, but it's nice to dress up sometimes.

You expect to see Osamu in his room like he usually would be. Even before you dated, he never participated in a party, but 20 minutes after you arrive, you see him walk into the house from the backyard with a girl on his arm. Atsumu tries to place himself in front of you to act as a human shield, but it's already too late, and you're making your way out of the house as he yells for you.

Once back at your dorm, you check your phone and see a snapchat from Suna, but you don't bother to open it. Instead, you wash off your makeup and cry yourself to sleep.

You don't get to sleep very long though. A loud knock at your door wakes you, and you check the time to see that it had been an hour since you'd left the party. You assume it's Atsumu trying to make you feel better, so you open the door.

"'Tsumu, I appreciate your efforts but-" You stop talking when you see who it really is.

"Wrong twin," Osamu says, running a hand through his gray hair. He holds out his hands. "I, uh, the store didn't have yer favorite flowers, but I thought ya'd like these ones..."

You only stare at the flowers. "What do you want, Miya?"

"Can I come in?" He asks. "I just want to talk, and if afterwards, ya never want to see me again, I understand."

You let him in, and he thanks you. After he sets the flowers on your desk, you flick on the lights. You gasp as you see a bloody nose and bruised eye. "'S-Samu..."

He chuckles. "It's okay," he reassures you. "It was just 'Tsumu. No big deal." He waits for you to calm down a bit before speaking again. "I miss ya," he tells you. "And I'm so fucking sorry for what I did to ya. I love ya, and I can't believe I ever allowed myself to let ya feel insecure. I should have just told all those girls to back off. If the situation were reversed, I'd want the same."

Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "I don't get it 'Samu," you say. "Why did it take you months to get it? The girl you were with tonight was one of the girls who I asked you to tell to back off!"

He puts his head down in shame. "I know," he admits. "And I..." He takes a deep breath. "I overheard 'Tsumu and Hinata talking before the party, and 'Tsumu said he invited you, and Hinata said he was excited to see you again, and I just... I guess I got upset that ya were hanging out with my dumb brother, and I wanted to make ya jealous."

"You're a fucking idiot," you tell him.

"I know, but I do love ya and miss ya," he says. He walks over to you and holds your face in his hands. "And I promise to be better for ya. Just give me one more chance."

You look up at him, your gaze softening as your hands reach up to brush under his bruised eye. It'll need to be iced in the morning. "You really promise? I can't let you in just to get shattered again, 'Samu. You're the only man I've ever loved."

He nods in response. "And if I break my promise, which I won't, I'll let ya beat me up with 'Tsumu next time."

You laugh at his words and lean up to kiss him. "Okay," you whisper. "One more chance."

Osamu grins like a kid on Christmas and picks you up to spin you around before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. "Ya won't regret it."

He sleeps in your dorm room that night. You lay on top of him with your head on his chest as he plays with the ends of your hair, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

...

...

...

BONUS:

The next morning, Osamu sits on your bed, holding a bag of ice up against his eye. He's got a childish pout on his face.

"Ya can stop watching it now!" He grumbles.

Meanwhile, you're standing across from him, gawking at your phone. "Damn, baby, 'Tsumu really got you this time," you tell him. You wince as you watch Atsumu's fist makes contact with Osamu's nose. "Suna's a great camera man."

Copyright © 2022 oooobokuto.tumblr.com - do not copy, modify, repost, or translate any of my works. any action to do so will be considered plagiarism.

Top 10 anime men who will lay pipe expeditiously. Haikyuu Edition. *Reupload*

cw: piv, dirty talk, general adult themes. minors do not interact

Akaashi |Run Time: Within the first month| Not exactly a prude, just believes that being more intuned with your partner is necessary to satisfying sex. Plus he likes the build up between general interest and sexual tension. If we’re being honest, he’s probably been thinking of putting his hands all over you since the second date. But he’s courteous enough to let you know that he actually wants to get to know you first. Likes to call you after work during the talking stage just to ask you about your day. Invites you over on his off days to make sure you’re comfortable around him. But again, he’s been holding himself back for a while. And he’s not too coy for a little phone sex in the meantime. - But, boy does he completely lose it when you crawl into his lap during one of your hangout sessions. Your friends still don’t believe you when you introduce them to the guy that “fucked you within an inch of your life” before you officially started dating.

Iwaizumi |Run Time: Within the first few weeks| He likes to believe that the reason he doesn’t rush it is because he’s “old fashioned” and that he’s mature enough to understand that “it takes time for these kinds of things.” Whole time he’s just busy. Trust me, deep down he knows if he had it his way he’d have you folded over three ways to Sunday after the third date. But he has the physical health of like twelve overgrown toddlers to manage and the team moves around pretty often. So, it’s just quick coffee dates and video calls for a while. But trust me, the moment he has time on his hands you’re done for. I suggest clearing your schedule before you meet up! You’re gonna need some time to recover.

Oikawa |Run Time: Within two weeks| First week down though and you can see it physically hurts him that he’s not fucking you as soon as he wants to. Only reason he’s holding out though is because he actually likes you, so he doesn’t want you to think that’s the only thing he’s seeking out. - But you know that meme of that guy who looks like he’s this 🤏 close to having a stroke with all those veins on his face? Yeah. Soon as he knows you’re on the same page though he’s slutting himself out to you like his life depends on it. And he talks the nastiest shit. Will tell you everything he’s been wanting to do to you and then show you in frankly exemplary detail.

Hinata |Run Time: Within a week| To his credit, he’s the most unafraid to let you know how smitten he is with you from the jump. Gave you your phone back after putting his number in with his info under “Shoyo 💕❤️” and told you to call him if you’re looking for someone to treat you right. Literally told you the night you actually hooked up that you were only doing missionary to start off, and when you asked why he replied that you were “Too pretty to fuck in anything but,” With all the sweet talk he uses in the week leading up, you’re not wrong for being completely out of your depth when he fucks you like he hates your guts. But don’t worry, the love’s still there! You’re even prettier when he’s fucked the brains outta you <3

Kuroo |Run Time: Within the first couple of dates| Class traitor often forgets the line between courting a significant other and a sugar baby. Thought the best way to charm your pants off was to buy out the restaurant you’d have your first date at and surprise you with a birkin bag. Isn’t ashamed to let you know he gets off on watching you spend his money and when he’s booking a pent-suite for your third date it takes a very necessary pause during dinner to establish that 1.) Yes, he wants to be your boyfriend. No, he didn’t know that this wasn't the right way to do it. And 2.) He’s only been spending this much money because it’s the only thing stopping him from cumming in his pants the moment he gets within a foot of you. Weird guy. Rearranges your guts like no one’s business.

Bokuto |Run Time: The date after the first| He tries…so hard to hold out, he really does! It’s just god you’re so fucking sexy. Everything you do has his brain short circuiting and he’s starting to want you so bad that it’s making him itch. Your thighs are so squishy and your lips look so plump. Everything about you looks soft to the touch and since meeting you he hasn’t been able to blow a decent load without imagining it’s you squeezing him so tight. Really, the only reason he made it this far is ‘cause first date jitters are a bitch and at the very least he has the decency to let you know he likes you first. - But then you show up in this cute little dress that keeps riding up your thighs when you walk, and the way you pout as you try to pull it down has his head feeling all fuzzy. He tries to stay cordial as he opens the door for you to slide into his car, but the way you smile up at him as he closes it behind you has his resolve breaking into pieces. Lucky for him you’re perceptive enough to notice the literal dick print in his pants the moment he climbs in; and he lights up like a Christmas tree when you suggest a quickie before dinner. Spoiler alert: It won’t be a quickie. Get your refund back on that reservation, sis.

Atsumu |Run Time: The first date| You can’t blame the guy for being shamelessly attracted to you, can you? Who cares about old fashioned courting! It ain’t worth the money if you ain’t walking funny? - All jokes aside though, he’s a firm believer in if two consenting adults like each other enough, they should be able to fuck whenever and however they want. Doesn’t find you any less respectable for letting him put your legs behind your ears on the first date. Although that was after he’d already bent you over in his car, folded you over his kitchen counter, and had you leaving drool stains on his hallway area rug. Eh, you’ll plan your next date in the shower - little hard to talk though with your face pressed against the glass.

Matsukawa |Run Time: Scheduled a time and place for you to link before hand| Hey, if you wanna turn this thing into a relationship then he’s up for that too. But he’s not gonna stress himself trying to hold back from fucking your pretty little brains out. Soon as he gets the O.K. he’s picking a time and place and hightailing it over with no stops in between. And he’s not bullshiting when he says he’s gonna fuck you stupid. The guy digs you out like he’s trying to ruin you for anybody else. But it’s not entirely his fault! He gets sick of carrying that meat missle around too 😔

Hanamaki |Run Time: Straight up just asked if you’d let him| Hedonist to the max. And no shame either. The moment he gets the feeling that you might be sexually interested in him, he’s diving in with no goggles. I mean, obviously he cares about your interests and your pursuits in life; might even think you’re nice enough to take home to mom’s one day. But that’s not what his mind’s set on right now. Only thing in his head is if he should start with collapsed doggy or drill you in from the side just to get you drooling for him that much quicker. But hey, dick was so good you forgot he don’t got a job!

Honorable Mentions!

Sakusa (Surprisingly)| Comes off as a prude because he apparently has “High standards.” Can’t admit that if he finds you attractive enough, he’ll just straight up fuck you. |

Terushima |Likes to “Do you like my tongue ring?” Himself into some pussy.|

Sugawara | Plays the part of a good loving school teacher just looking for a companionship. Gives it up as soon as he sees you’re into him.|

Osamu | “m’not a scrub like my brother.” No, baby, you’re a whore.|

And finally number one…

Suna! |Run Time: Text him at 3:00am and he’ll be there by 3:05am| Standing at 6’3.2 and 176lbs, you have caught the affection of a man who truly believes that “a hole is a hole” once he’s found himself physically attracted to someone. That’s not to say that he’s particularly loose with what he’s got but if you’ll take it? Once hiked to your place in the middle of January with basketball shorts on ‘cause you sent him a “U up?” Text in the middle of the night. Woke up the next morning with a fever but god was that pussy worth it. Fucks like he’s trying to prove something so you’re in remission for the next couple of days afterwards. And then will have the nerve to wanna be the little spoon after the fact. - Tries not to look as elated as he is when you finally tie him down but with the way he turns your insides into mush the night following, you can tell he’s pretty excited to finally call himself your boyfriend.

reblogs are appreciated 💕 ps, tumblr pls suck my balls? 🥺