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In truth it had started as a joke. You could even go as far as to say it was an odd game of chicken, an attempt at pushing each other’s boundaries and seeing where the lines were after all your years of friendship.

“Isn’t this a little weird?”

“It’s as weird as you make it,” he sniffs as if he were saying something enigmatic. It’s a front, you could tell in the way his eyes determinedly never strayed from the screen of his iPad, pupils blown and nervously flickering over each video title.

“You better not make me watch any twin stuff,” you mutter as you settle back into the sofa cushions that had been piled up on the floor in an odd little nest. Atsumu always hated sitting like a normal person, and he felt that sofas were not wide or long enough for his legs, so you’d gotten used to sitting on the floor beside him.

He’s fighting a grin at your words, clearly amused and considering it, thus you regret saying anything at all.

“Don’t worry yer pretty little head,” he smirks, unfolding the case to his iPad out into a stand and setting it up on the coffee table, “m’not into twin stuff. The only thing I’ll ever share with ‘Samu is the womb”.

The lewd, wet sounds of two people kissing abruptly reverberates through the room and interrupts him, the video cut and edited in an inexperienced manner. Atsumu atleast has the decency to look abashed, his cheeks flushing as he quickly turns the volume down to a level that is less piercing.

“Fucking my hot roommate's my creamy pussy until she can’t take it,” you snort as you recite the title out loud, “nice”.

“Glad ya think so,” he replies with an air of nonchalance that is so poorly maintained you could laugh, if it weren’t for the hot lead settling in your own stomach.

The pair on the screen continue to grope each other, their heavy panting tinny as it leaves the speakers. With a soft groan the man pulls down his ‘roommates’ vest, exposing her breasts to the camera, and her nipples quickly perk up against the cool air.

It feels amateur, even though it is so clearly filmed on a professional set.

He cups her tits and you watch as she arches up into the touch, the lower half of their faces briefly coming into frame to show as she sucks his tongue onto her mouth.

The atmosphere shifts, and you can feel Atsumu’s stare heavily from where he sits beside you. “You’re s’posed to be watching the porn, not me,” you murmur.

“Try’na figure out what yer thinkin’” he says as he shifts in your peripheral, readjusting his sweatpants subtly.

You’re relieved for the opportunity to look at the scene critically, ignoring the urge to press your thighs together and quell the ache.

“I guess I’m surprised it’s so… tame,” as if prompted, the woman moans into her partner's mouth and the man responds in a language you can’t understand, rough and low, maybe Russian.

“I do think she’s faking it a bit. Exaggerating might be a better word,” you shrug. Atsumu clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“Maybe she’s just sensitive, d’ya ever think of that?”

Her spine curves beautifully, like the limb of a bow. Sensitive. The thought of being with someone so responsive and affected by you is nothing short of a dream. He’d sounded offended, almost. Defensive.

“Are you?” You find yourself asking, but his eyes are back on the iPad observing as more clothes are pulled off, and he hums questioningly as if the words didn’t register.

“Are you sensitive?” You ask again, and he turns his head to look at you, lips parted in disbelief and throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Odd question, don’cha think?”

“We are literally watching porn together,” you huff, admittedly a little embarrassed by your own curiosity, watching as he curls and uncurls his fist where it sits atop his thigh. He's an open book — always had been. And the sweatpants he’s wearing don’t hide much either.

The video cuts again, changing to a different angle and showing the perspective of the man as he sinks into his partner's pussy. Your eyes do not stray as she takes him, his cock on the thicker side, her thighs falling open instinctively to make room for him. It’s louder, the camera much closer, close enough to pick up the wet gasp between bodies as he rocks his hips.

Your heart throbs notably, in your chest, in your throat and in your pussy. You find that you’re mirroring Atsumu’s actions, clenching your fist to distract from the need to touch yourself, and then you wonder if he was doing it for that same reason.

“You can… if you need to…” you mumble, entirely aware of what it was you were suggesting and the weight of the consequences that might follow.

Judging by his expression, he was thinking something similar.

“Yer sayin’ I can touch myself?” He asks, the question coloured with incredulity and amusement as he sucks in his left cheek and bites down softly to fight the smile making it's way onto his face.

“I’m saying if you need to then I don’t care!”

“So can you,” his throat bobs as he swallows, the pink of his tongue swiping across his lower lip, “if ya need to”.

But neither of you move to do so and the anticipation left your body rigid, thighs clenching to savour the small flutters of friction in your shorts. With nothing to say nor do but wait and watch, the room fills with a cacophony of pitched moans and foreign curses.

The tension builds more and more until it’s almost tangible, like you could reach out and strum it between your fingers, and you’re ashamed by the relief that comes with Atsumu’s next tentative question.

“S’it really ok?”

“Yes,” you rasp, and you see in your periphery as his hand moves cautiously across his lap until he’s pushing the heel against his cock. His upper body slumps with his breathless exhale while his hips push up into the touch.

“You too,” he says, low and bordering a whine.

Whatever hesitation you had is gone at the first stroke of your fingers over your clothed pussy. The touch is muted, unintentionally teasing, and the thin material of your sleep shorts slowly begins to dampen.

“Fuck,” a voice groans, the word rough and drawn out into a hiss. It takes you a few moments to realise that it came from Atsumu and not the man on the screen, who is currently flipping his partner onto her knees.

The woman’s hips run from the returning stretch of his cock, crying out in sensitivity from her previous orgasm and sinking into the mattress. You press your fingers against your clit, the seam of your pants relieving some of the ache, pulsing in response to another of Atsumu’s breathy gasps.

He starts to shift his weight, the sofa cushions moving beneath him, and he hooks his thumbs into the waist of his sweatpants to begin shuffling them off. Your stare catches onto the gradual reveal of the trail of hair leading to his cock and you quickly look away.

Your shorts are wetter now, sliding easily against your skin and defining every fold. It feels good but it’s not enough to calm your need to be full, pussy clenching pitifully around nothing.

You're beginning to think Atsumu might’ve had the right idea. Pushing aside your own cowardice you follow his lead, lifting your hips from the floor to slide your shorts over the curve of your ass.

With the waistband of his sweats strained around the thick of his thighs, leant back against the frame of the sofa with his head tilted onto his shoulder and eyes hung half lidded, he watches you with unabashed hunger. He seems enchanted in a way, your gaze drawn to the lazy stroke of his fist around his cock, lacking in rhythm and languid as he pauses to squeeze himself.

“You’re supposed to be watching the porn,” you tell him again, too aroused to care about the hoarseness of your own voice nor the hypocrisy of your statement.

“This is better,” he murmurs, and his pupils dilate at the perverse sound of you sliding two fingers into yourself. Warmth begins to blanket you under his heated gaze, wondering if he was imagining himself sinking into you.

You track the movement of his chest as it rises and falls in mild exertion, his mouth agape and cheeks flushed, entirely debauched just at the sight of you touching yourself.

Whatever line had been between the two of you, it was already crossed and miles away.

“Wanna see?” You quietly ask.

“Yes,” he rasps as he reaches for you, turning his body to face you. You shift positions until you’re splayed on your back with your hips in his lap, legs loosely resting either side of his waist, completely on display for him.

“So fuckin’ wet”.

One of his hands remains curled into the fat of your thigh, honest in his reactions as his fingers twitch at the sight of you pulling back the hood of your clit. He strokes his cock again, thumbing the head, eyes flitting from your pussy to your face like he couldn’t bear to miss a thing.

As if waiting to give you a chance to stop him, he cautiously rocks his hips forward to rub the tip through your folds. You keen, a pleased hum reverberating in your chest like a purr when he rolls over your clit and soaks himself with your sex. It feels good, your body slowly being coaxed into warm bliss, pulse jumping in time with your breathing.

And he looks good, too. His brows drawn up and together in concentration, lips parted and jaw slacked with inundated pleasure. “Such a pretty pussy,” he slurs as he peeks at you from beneath heavy lidded eyes, “fuck. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this”.

You exhale a laugh and hush him, undulating your hips up to meet his growing rhythm. While the woman in the video cums once more you feel the head of his swollen cock catch against your entrance and he groans, chin tucking to his chest as he curls his body over you, dragging you further into his lap.

“‘Tsumu,” you mumble as he nuzzles his cheek into your chest and bunches up the material of your shirt, pressing his face against your breasts. Slowly he makes his way up your torso, ghosting his lips along the curve of your neck and bracing himself upon his forearms either side of you.

“I know we’re doin’ this a little backwards but—” he leans his forehead to yours, soft breaths felt against your skin as you wind your arms around his neck “—can I kiss ya?”

Tension rests heavily in your stomach. You look back at him, taking in the desire written so plainly all over his face, and you nod.

His hand cups around your jaw as he trusts his body weight to his other arm, tilting his head and lowering further until your mouths finally meet.

The first kiss is chaste, tender, and then comes the second, and the third. Atsumu kisses you with ever growing hunger, like he’ll never get the chance to again, tongue pushing between your parting lips to taste you.

He swallows every gasp, every moan. His hips continue to rock into yours, the wet sound of his cock passing through your slit barely heard over his speakers, and the fabric of his sweats rub against the back of your thighs with every movement. He’s vocal, insatiable, accent thickening with need as he groans into your mouth.

“Want you,” you pant between breaths, fingers threading into his hair for leverage as you rut up against him desperately.

“Yeah?” He says, hand leaving your jaw to slide along your thigh, the indents from his nails still carved into your skin, “y’got any idea how long I’ve wanted you?”

“You have me,” you murmur in response, “you can have me”.

Finally he reaches between your bodies, lightly teasing his fingers through your folds and gathering your slick to smoothly massage your clit.

You sigh as he toys with you, hips twitching while you squirm beneath him. He returns to your lips, slow and languid as he kisses you, feeling his mouth pull into a grin as you whimper.

“That good?” He asks hazily, “y’gonna cum?”

Your grip tightens in his hair, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar tightening of your abdomen. And then, with a simple shift of his knees, you feel the head of his cock kiss your entrance. Unforgiving as he rubs tight circles into your clit, he sinks into you slowly, and everything spills over.

Gasping, you cum on his cock, pussy contracting with each wave that washes over you. He moans breathlessly against the swell of your cheek, as if he were feeling it alongside you, hips held still against your own and riding you through it with just his fingers.

“So gorgeous,” he says softly, “got no idea what y'do to me, do ya?”

“I think I can guess,” you say, teasing and returning to yourself. His cock twitches inside of you, still straining with the effort of trying not to move, and you ease up your grip in his hair to gently scratch your nails against his scalp. He shudders.

“Fuck me, ‘Tsumu”.

You both moan softly as he lifts his hips, slowly dragging his cock out of you, your pussy clenching around the emptiness it leaves behind. With only the tip left he pauses and pulls back just enough to watch as he fills you up again.

“God,” he hisses.

Despite your impatience you find yourself grateful for his pace, still sensitive and reeling from your first orgasm. It gives you time to watch the subtle shifts in his expression, the fluttering of his lashes, how his mouth shapes around a silent ‘O’, how his ears flush red.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he pants feverishly as he fucks his cock into you over and over, “wanna see ya cum again”.

And when he adjusts his hips just right, your feet lock tight around the small of his back.

“There,” you plead breathily, “jus’ like that”.

The room is hot, suffocating, the weight of his body blanketing you and the smell of sex overwhelming in the best way. Tension accumulates once again throughout your body, a string pulled taut and fragile, teetering over the edge and feeling that breathtaking swoop through your stomach.

His cock pushes the air from your lungs, and then he kisses you again, tempting your tongue into his mouth and gently sucking on it. You whimper, muffled, sinking further into the sofa cushions piled beneath your bodies.

“Baby,” he says desperately, “m’gonna cum. Want ya to cum with me—”

He leans his body away from you just enough to slip a hand between you, warm fingers quickly finding your swollen clit and flickering back and forth over it.

“Fuck, ‘Tsumu,” you begin to pulse around him, “cumming, I’m cumming—”

Your body stills for a moment as the air catches in your throat and your orgasm washes over you. You moan breathlessly once you break the surface, the steady rock of his hips coaxing you through it until all the rigidity is pulled from your body.

Through the haze you graze your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling and satiated, and you tell him to cum.

With disjointed curses and a wounded sob, Atsumu’s hips jerk forward forcefully against the back of your thighs for a final time, your body rocking with the movement as he cums.

He grinds his hips into you lazily, prolonging the sensation and seemingly relishing the sensitivity. You cradle his head against your collar as his arms give way and his entire weight swaddles you, enjoying the afterglow.

The content atmosphere is shortly cut through by an exaggerated moan from the iPad speakers.

“Fuck,” he rasps into the dip of your throat before pushing himself back up on to his forearms, glancing over his shoulder at the video that is still playing.

“How the fuck are they still goin’?”

You laugh fondly at his disdain, slipping your hand up the curve of his arm to squeeze his bicep in amused reassurance.

“They take breaks between takes you know, drink water and stuff,” you murmur, “it’s not real”.

He hums in thought, pupils still tracking the movement of the male actor's hips, then leans back onto the heels of his feet to stand. You wince as he slips out of you, his release now dripping onto the cushions.

“Where are you going?” You panic, and he crouches again only to press his lips to yours tenderly, once and then twice.

“M’goin’ to get water and stuff,” he grins, “y’gotta show me yours now”.

For the first time, you dreamt about him. The night before, in no uncertain terms, he was the main subject of your dream. There was a little bit of symbolism, like there always was, but never had a dream been so clear. The weight of that implication was suffocating. What if it was wrong? You’d feel so stupid for making that assumption. You feel a little stupid when his wise voice cuts through your thoughts, telling you you’re being overdramatic (again).

With a sigh, you hit send.

07:02 am - Hey, I was thinking about you. Wanna meet up for coffee later?

You get lost in your swirling anxieties staring at the message, wondering what he’s up to. The three dots that jump up on the screen derail your train of thought and make your heart skip.

Funny, I was thinking about you, too. Coffee sounds great. What time? - 07:04am

He was thinking about you, too? You quickly swallow down the hopeful butterflies that emerge, responding to him with a time and place, and he confirms with a thumbs up emoji.

He was thinking about you, too.

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Your morning is spent pulling out old journals, pouring over the years and years of dreams you had compiled. You wanted, hoped for a sign in one of these dreams that confirmed your suspicions.

Soulmates share dreams most nights, sometimes one person seeing through the others’ eyes, sometimes both people being the subject for each other. This only starts after both people meet; you assumed for so long that because you couldn't make sense of the dreams it meant you hadn’t met your soulmate yet. Of course, you sometimes worried that you simply didn’t have a soulmate. Really, it depended on the day and how abstract the prior night’s dream had been.

The familiar smell of paper and ink hits you as you leaf through well-worn pages, searching for signs.

You start with one entry, from the summer you turned 12. A pair of twin demons chases you through a dark tunnel, sometimes bickering with each other but mostly chasing you. You wrote that you woke up that morning feeling more annoyed than scared of the demons. Another entry from a few years later, in another journal. Maybe around 15? You have a conversation with a silvery figure with piercing gold eyes that is both an adult and a child at the same time, though it speaks in a child’s voice. It says very wise and cryptic things that feel much too pessimistic. There are more from the end of your high school career, less physical figures and more feelings.

The entry that scared you the most at the time comes around as you flip through the pages; again, two figures tower over you (omens usually come in pairs). One is made of bright orange flames, darting around like lightning. The other is made of swirling dark blue storm clouds, moving behind the fiery figure like a shadow, sometimes anticipating and controlling the movement of the flames. When you look at them you feel your feet frozen to the ground, weighed down by crushing expectations. When the weight lifts, the feeling becomes bittersweet, almost as if you experienced some kind of loss. Not the kind of loss when you lose someone or something concrete, but the kind of melancholic yet hopeful feeling of time passing, growing up. It didn’t make any sense to you back then and still doesn’t make a lot of sense now.

You find some of your own dreams, too. It’s hard to place exactly how you know which dreams are yours and which ones the universe is showing you, but you chalk it up to the symbolism itself. Your dreams always reflected how you felt at the time, and it felt pretty natural to recognize those feelings as you recorded them.

Many of yours were simple; pets, recent events in your life, things a person would normally dream about. Then there were the more emotional dreams; one in particular sets you on the edge of a long dock, in the middle of a vast lake. You can’t see the shore at all, instead water stretches to the horizon as it curves around you. The sounds of nature are faint as you feel the coolness of the water on your feet, eyes trained upwards at the stars. In your entry, you describe the way your heart feels squeezed as the vast emptiness of space bears down on you. You know the answer isn’t up there, so you look down. As your gaze lowers, the sun rapidly begins to rise and the sounds of nature get louder and louder, until you’re looking down at your blurred reflection. The light becomes blinding and the noises deafening and you wake up with your own face very squarely in your mind.

It never dawned on you at the time, but as far as you can remember that was the first dream where you saw yourself so clearly. Were you seeing the dream through your own eyes, or someone else’s?

You skim through a few more pages, and then through another, slightly newer-looking book. So many entries, so many opportunities to receive an answer, yet nothing pointed it out with any certainty for so long.

Longing was a recurring theme. As much as you hated to admit it through the years, you wanted to know. You longed for an answer, to know that you weren’t destined to be alone. As Aran would tell you, overdramatic. The thought of him makes you feel warm, a smile creeping onto your lips and pushing your eyes to crinkle at the corners. You would always laugh and roll your eyes at him when he said that to you, telling him he should be more dramatic. He told you everyone around him was dramatic enough, and he was probably right.

Would he think you were being dramatic when you tell him about last night’s dream? You really, really hope not.

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The familiar ambience of the coffee shop does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves.

You sit at the most secluded table that you could find in the bustling cafe, hoping to keep your conversation at least a little bit private. Anxiety brought you there much earlier than you planned, gracing you with the opportunity to find a good seat, but also cursing you with too much time alone to think.

To distract yourself, you read over your most recent journal entry a few times, cementing the details into your short-term memory.

You’re laying in a field of wildflowers and tall grass, eyes closed and feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun on your skin. It’s so peaceful, so calm and comfortable. You’re holding someone’s hand, fingers interlaced gently. A faint breeze drifts past, rustling the grasses and your hair. Your eyes flutter open to see the sky painted a hazy blue, edges tinted with the telltale oranges and pinks of an impending sunset.

You draw your gaze down to where your hand lays against the soft earth, and you follow along the smooth line of his arm to his face. It’s blurry at first, the shape of him keeps shifting until it finally settles, and an all-encompassing warmth settles with it as you determine that it’s him. It’s Aran, your childhood best friend, your teenage confidant, the person who you’ve known and trusted longer than anyone else. He’s next to you, holding your hand and reflecting your peaceful expression. His lips stretch into a handsome smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he says in the gentlest tone, “finally.”

That’s where you wake up, his familiar voice echoing in your hazy mind.

With a huff, you not-so-gently shut the journal, the lingering thoughts of that emotionally intimate moment in your subconscious now feeling a little too intimate to be reading in public. Maybe it wouldn’t seem that way to someone else, but the weight the dream carries makes you feel too vulnerable, too exposed.

“Miss me?”

Speaking of exposed, Aran’s voice cutting through the din of the cafe and your own thoughts nearly has you jumping out of your skin. You stand to face him, heart still thudding in your ears from the surprise, and you’re met with a very welcome sight. He’s filled out even more since the last time you had a chance to meet up, he looks so grown up compared to before, and as handsome as always. You roll your eyes as you greet him with a hug and a lighthearted, “obviously-” your pulse jumping not from the shock anymore, but from the way his strong arms pull you in and squeeze.

Your greeting is brief as he apologizes for being late, eyeing the worn journal that you attempt to block from his view. After a moment he heads to the counter with your coffee order, leaving you at the table to continue worrying. You know that it’s unavoidable, he saw the journal, and if your hunch is correct he already knows what’s up. Overdramatic, you think. Calm down.

He returns to the table and carefully sets your mug in front of you, and the sweet aroma of your coffee helps to level your ignited nerves. After another inhale, you attempt to start the conversation.

“Thanks for coming, it’s been too long,” you say, nervously rapping your fingertips against the scalding mug. You have trouble meeting his eyes, instead flitting from your drink, to him, to the journal, and back to your drink again.

“It has,” he says, and his eyes never leave you. He’s reading you, you just know it. He’s probably having fun watching you squirm like this.

“So...how’s volleyball?” You already know the answer, you’ve been following the Falcons on all their social media, and you’ve seen him prepare to go even further.

“It’s going well,” he chuckles, “thanks for asking. But you can’t skirt around the real reason you asked me here for much longer.”

You groan audibly as he takes a satisfied sip of his drink, letting your head fall toward your chest in a show of dramatics. You were silly to think he’d let you dilly-dally.

“Aran, please at least give me a chance to work myself into a full-blown panic attack before you talk me down!” Your words hold no edge, soft like the way his eyes watch you make an endearing fool of yourself.

“Is it about whatever’s in that book?”

Pursing your lips, you nod as you tentatively flip it open to the most recent entry.

“I had an...interesting dream last night,” you say, fingers ghosting over the indents of your scribbled-down words. “If you- if you want to, um, read it, I wrote it down.” You don’t pass the book over to him right away, and he watches you carefully - you swear you notice a flash of recognition in his eyes.

“May I?”

With a sigh of, “okay”, you finally pass it over to him, again fidgeting with your mug as his eyes scan the page. Your frazzled nerves continue to fray, wiggling your toes in your shoes in an attempt to work out the frenetic energy. His face doesn’t change as he reads, and your mind fills the gaps of his unknown reaction with more worry. What if you completely misunderstood the dream? Logically, the fairly standard rules of the whole “soulmates” thing would tell you, no, you certainly didn’t, but anxiety wins out against logic in the moment.

You jerk slightly as he snaps the journal shut and slides it back to you, heartbeat in your throat as you retrieve the book with shaky hands. His eyes focus on you, watching your face intently as you fidget. Even averting your gaze, you know he’s playing with you, pausing to take a long sip of his drink before bothering to respond. Just as your nervous heart feels like it’s about to explode, as you’re ready to shout at him- “just let me down already!”, his stoic expression cracks into a dazzling grin.

“It took you long enough.”

The space that anxiety took up in your mind is suddenly empty, and like a runner after finishing a marathon your brain is sluggish and fails to immediately process his words. Instead, you gape at him like a fish, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to form words.

“What-” you stutter, “when- how long have you known?”

“Since I saw your face in that dream with the lake,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer. “A few years, now.” His eyes shine with a subtle mirth as he watches you process.

“It was just after graduation, right?” He nods, and you flip back to that journal entry to confirm; late April of the year you and Aran graduated. Finally stepping into adulthood, savoring the first real taste of independence- and the first time that longing made itself so vividly present in your mind.

“We had just gone off on different paths, and I didn’t hear anything from you so I let it be,” he smiles, shaking his head, “I just didn’t think it would take you this long to catch up.”

You let out an exasperated groan as you make a show of slumping forward in your chair, sure that he’s enjoying finding a new thing to tease you about. The way he laughs at your overdramatic reaction sparks butterflies in your chest that threaten to swell and burst through your ribcage. The anxiety that had plagued you recently was quickly transforming into a different kind of excitement, tingling through your bones and muscles and nerves like static electricity.

“You know-” he starts, tone a little more soft than before, “I’m really glad it’s you.” His words melt you in such a pleasant way, and you wonder if that feeling will ever fade. You really hope it won’t.

“Yeah.” You pause for a moment when he reaches his hand across the table, palm open and inviting you to take it. “Me, too.”

It’s not the first time that you’ve ever held his hand- you’d held hands often as children in the innocent way that children do. This time, though, it really feels different. The electric feeling begins to settle into a comfortable hum, as if somehow you’re both vibrating on the same frequency. His thumb gently traces over your knuckles as your conversation carries on, sharing stories and flipping through the journal to laugh about some of the sillier dreams.

You stay there at the cafe with him until it closes, completely unaware of the time, and he offers to walk you home. His hand never leaves yours for the entire trip, and he drops you off with a lingering hug and a promise to meet up again tomorrow. You want to pull him inside, to spend all night reveling in the feeling of his strong arms around you, but for once you aren’t swayed by a persisting sense of urgency. After all, you’ve got the rest of your lives, right?

The thought feels warm and mildly euphoric, a relief from the way you always spent so much time worrying. You worried about being alone, you worried about being some kind of anomaly in the universe, destined to drift forever. Lost time was a recurring theme, and you might sometimes still mourn for some of that time spent apart, but now you could reassure yourself that it was time well-spent. You had time to grow and develop individually, to become someone you could be proud of - and now you had time to share all that with him.

That night, for the first time in a very long time, you don’t dream at all. You don’t need to.

They bickered into the evening, well after their beers were finished and the pretty bartender was more than done with their usual banter. But long after that night, the idea had stuck with him, creeping in during his most vulnerable moments. Was he jealous of Sakusa? The idea seemed absurd at first. There was nothing about Sakusa that Atsumu found enviable, other than his latent volleyball talent and his impeccable hair. The guy was a recluse, preferring the company of his couch to people, barely wanting to take off his mask in front of teammates he’d known for years. He never dabbled in sleeping around, hated to do pressers, was prickly and blunt with everyone. He didn’t care to find a mate until one dropped in his lap—nearly literally, with the way her heat made her tremble and fall at his feet at the banquet a few months ago.

Watching them part now and seeing the little smile Sakusa tries to hide, Atsumu finally gets it.

He’s not exactly jealous of Sakusa himself, but everything he has: Love. Stability. Someone to go home to. Atsumu has tried to find someone compatible, sleeping around to find an omega match, enjoying his youth before it disappeared. But lately it’s felt so boring and stale, and looking at Sakusa’s omega walking out of the gym, he understands. He wants what Sakusa had no effort in finding.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sakusa asks as he comes back, delicious smelling bento in his hands and an arch in his eyebrow. “You look stupid.”

“I need a drink,” Atsumu mutters before going to practice his spikes, pretending his target is Sakusa’s dumb face.

As soon as practice is over and he’s showered, Atsumu heads to his favorite bar, throwing open the door and greeting the bartender with a salute. Only it’s not the usual beta who rolls her eyes at his antics.

Standing behind the bar is someone even prettier: you.

Your made-up eyes blink at him and his still hovering hand, head tilting as a smile comes to your lips. You’re the only one at the bar top, though Atsumu sees the owner in the back, talking with a regular customer. Two men sit close to you at the bar, but you ignore them to focus on him as Atsumu slides up to his usual seat at the end of the countertop.

“Never seen ya before,” he says when you wander closer. “What’s yer name?”

You lean on a hand as you answer, then explain. “It’s my first day solo. I’ve been training in the mornings before opening.” You look down at the bar t-shirt you’ve got on before you look back at him, grinning. “Miya Atsumu, right?”

“Huh?” How do you know him? He raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face. “Ya know me from games or somethin’?”

“No, but Mie told me to watch out for you. Said you and your brother are ‘obnoxious when drunk.’”

Atsumu guffaws as you laugh, passing him a glass with his usual rum and coke in it. “She also said that you like these.”

“Yeah, yeah, next time I see Mie, I’ll—”

When Atsumu reaches out to take the glass from you, two things happen at once: his fingers brush over yours, and you give a little gasp that he barely registers because heat flares through his veins until you jerk away. His senses move into overdrive and he can smell you, the sweet perfume you must have sprayed on you before coming to work, the peppermint in your chapstick, and something else that’s muskier. Deeper. Growing stronger the longer you stare at him, your chest heaving.

“You’ll…?” You ask, your voice wavering. You lick your lips and stand a bit further away from him, shifting on your feet.

If Atsumu didn’t know any better, he would think you were rubbing your thighs together. The musky scent is growing stronger, filling his nostrils and making him exhale to keep calm. His entire body is hot, sweat beading underneath his styled bangs and around his t-shirt collar. Is he going into a rut? Here and now? He can’t remember when the last time was. Looking at you—how your cheeks are starting to flush, how you’re fighting for breath and trembling on your feet—it looks like he isn’t the only one.

“Tell ‘er to mind her own business,” Atsumu manages to growl out, voice husky and strained from how he’s trying to control himself. You’re so pretty—pretty, pretty, pretty, and you smell so good, overtaking his senses and making his cock twitch in his pants. He has to have you. Has to take you here and now, make you whine his name, see if you still find him obnoxious as you’re digging your heels into his back and creaming around his—

“‘Ey bartender,” one of the men across the bar calls. Atsumu can see it in his narrowed eyes: he isn’t the only one affected. This man is an alpha, his sickening scent rolling off him in waves, his fingers tapping the counter like he expects you to come to his beck and call. “What’s a pretty little omega like you doin’ here? Get over here.”

Omega. Oh fuck, you’re an omega, and based on the way you’re trembling and continuously shifting on your feet, you’re going into a heat. Atsumu takes a deep breath so he doesn’t lose his mind completely. You smell so fucking good, and he can only imagine what you’d taste like, your slick dripping onto his waiting tongue as you ride his face. No, now is not the time, not when the man slaps his hand against the counter, his scent more pronounced.

“I said get over here. Are you deaf?”

“She’s not deaf, she’s just got standards,” Atsumu barks angrily. Why is he so angry? The thought of you sitting in the lap of that man pisses him off so much that he’s on his feet, the stool he was sitting on knocked to the floor with his jerky movement. He hears the bar owner yell something from behind him, but Atsumu is too annoyed to care. “So fuck off. She ain’t comin’, got it?”

“The fuck’s it mean to you?” The man says as he stands. He’s much shorter than Atsumu, but he’s got enough brawn that he thinks he can win. It nearly makes Atsumu laugh when the man takes a step forward and points his thumb in your direction. “This is between me and her.”

“Not when yer failin’ to impress in front of the whole bar.” Atsumu sarcastically grins at the pinched look on the alpha’s face, glancing back at you. You’re staring at him wide-eyed, clinging to the counter as your lips tremble, eyes glossy as you try to focus. Fuck. He’s got to have you, got to have his omega—

—His omega?

“Atsumu,” you whisper, making the hairs on his neck stand up. You sound so good saying his name, that he has to hear it again and again, no matter what.

“You youngsters don’t know manners anymore,” the alpha spits and swings one arm back.

Atsumu sees red.

—————

You had only gotten this job because of your old friend, Mie. You knew omegas were still looked down upon in society, something your old boss reminded you of over and over every time he saw you. A liability is what he called you. “It won’t be my fault if you go into heat and attract alpha attention,” he had said with a grin on his face that told you he was talking about himself.

You quit on the spot.

Drunkenly lamenting to your neighbor about another failed job and the difficulties of being an omega in the workforce, Mie had patted your back.

“Let me talk to my boss. He’s a nice guy, maybe he can help you.”

The boss was willing to give you a chance as long as you religiously took your medicine, and you became the newest bartender at The Black Pond the next day. Mie taught you everything you needed to know over a two-week training period, grilling you on drinks, filling you in on regulars and their preferred orders. It got to the point you probably could recite them in your sleep, names, descriptions, and orders floating through your mind before going to bed.

Tonight was your first night alone.

You’re going to do great! Mie had texted earlier, just as you were about to open. It was fine for a few hours, easy orders that required you to barely talk. You made sure to take your medicine, have emergency medicine just in case, and applied scent blockers so you could prove you were worth giving a chance to.

It all came crumbling down when Miya Atsumu stepped into the building.

Mie had told you about him. The tall, fit, very attractive setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, whose equally attractive twin owned a place called Onigiri Miya. You didn’t believe her until you looked up some pictures and videos, in awe of his talent and power. Mie had said he could get obnoxious, but he seemed harmless as he sat down, his grin sending flutters down your stomach until you were taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

It was when you touched his hand that you realized he wasn’t just giving you flutters in your stomach. It was your cunt too, your body spiking so hot that you lost the ability to think for a moment. His touch was electric, zapping down your veins and making you nearly whimper at how your cunt spasmed around nothing. Oh God, your heat. Your heat was coming, hard and fast, more quickly than it ever had before.

This can’t be happening, you thought, tearing your fingers away from his. Breathe. Just breathe. Go to the bathroom, take your medicine—

Only you couldn’t sort out your thoughts, not when Atsumu’s gravelly answer to your question made you shiver. You wanted him, right here, right now. Splayed over the bar top, bent over a stool, it didn’t matter. You wanted to feel his cock drilling inside you, making a mess of your wet cunt until you were begging him to give you his knot, begging him to bite down on your neck and make you his omega.

Excuse me. It was on the tip of your tongue, the needy words ready to spill from your lips, but the man sitting a few seats away beat you to it.

“Get over here,” he ordered, but you didn’t move because you didn’t want him. No, you wanted the bleach blond in front of you, the one whose jaw clenched harder, the one who stood up in a hurry and looked ready to swing to defend you.

You don’t know what came over you. They were arguing, both tense because of your pheromones, you knew.

“Atsumu,” you whispered, and saw the man inhale sharply at the neediness in your tone.

Then the other alpha swung, and chaos erupted.

You aren’t sure who is yelling—you, Atsumu, the other two alphas, or the bar owner. Either way, Atsumu takes down the pervert easily, landing a punch right on the man’s cheek before following him to the ground. You want to move but you’re stuck, your body thrumming as you watch the two alphas roll around on the ground. It’s a mess of limbs and punches and spit, until your boss pulls Atsumu off, and the alpha’s friend drags him away.

There’s blood on Atsumu’s knuckles, and a cut above his right eyebrow, his cheek fleshy pink from where the other alpha’s ring cut his cheek. But the other man looks way worse, one of his eyes nearly swollen shut and blood dripping from his cut lip. You should be angry at them for starting a fight in your bar on your first night—but when Atsumu glances over at you with worry in his brown eyes, you can’t. It fills you with a strange sense of pride that Atsumu fought for you, and it’s your heat’s fault anyway, so all you can do is try to run for it, back to the employee break room so you can get your emergency medicine and stop the heat rushing through your entire body.

You’re halfway there when there’s an arm around your waist and a warm voice in your ear.

“I got ya,” Atsumu mumbles, and you curl into him easily, whimpering as you cling to his shirt and inhale his scent. He smells spicy, a mix of the alcohol he drank and his heavy cologne, and you let him lead you to an empty room as you grind against him, burrowing as close as you can get so you don’t have to break apart from him.

“You’re an idiot,” you chide breathlessly, fussing with the beginnings of the bruise on his cheek and the cut above his eyebrow as you both stumble back. “You’re hurt, we have to clean you up.”

“M’fine. I cleaned his blood off me.” The moment he grabs your wrist and his skin is on yours again, it feels like fire rages through your body. You shuffle back as best you can without seeing where you’re going, your hot breath hitting his even hotter cheek. “Worry about yerself.”

You don’t realize that it’s not the break room until you’re gently set against thick red cushions of the VIP room. Atsumu stands in front of you, watching you with hooded eyes as he huffs for breath, evidence of his arousal pressed up against his jeans. You fare no better, hands already running down your throbbing body for some kind of friction, the light touches making you whimper when you reach your inner thighs.

“Atsumu,” you gasp, trying to retain the last bit of your sanity even though it’s so difficult when the alpha you want is right there. “My… my medicine, it’s…”

“I know somethin’ better,” he tells you quietly as he leans forward, and every huff of his heavy breath makes your cunt throb. You know what he means without him saying it, and there’s nothing you want more than to grab him and pull him between your legs to make sure you get every piece of him. “Can I?”

“Please,” you whimper, writhing on the large cushions as you bite your lip. “Alpha, please.”

—————

It’s as if something short circuits in his brain the minute you whimper, Alpha. He’s heard other omegas say it before, but nothing has made his body so hot and his cock so hard than that one word slipping past your lips.

Atsumu is on you in a second, elbows next to your head so he can kiss you, lips hard and insistent from the beginning. You respond earnestly, fingers burying into his t-shirt near the collar and keeping him firmly against your writhing body. His senses are overloaded with you—your strong musky scent, the taste of the sweet drink you must have had earlier, your quiet whine the moment his tongue pries open your lips and you touch tongues for the first time. Your hips grind against his, his hard length pressed up against his tight jeans and ready to burst the second it slips between your parted legs.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he nips at your lower lip, tugging until you’re whimpering. Then he dives back in, his tongue swirling around yours greedily, a hand pushing under your shirt and cupping a breast through your bra.

You keen, fingers disappearing into his hair so you can tug at his bleached locks, keeping his mouth on yours as he kneads your breast. Atsumu pushes into your bra, running his fingers over your nipple until it’s hard. He tugs on it as he kisses you, until he gets too impatient and pulls away from your mouth so he can tug your shirt over your head. You grab at his shoulders and try to force him back down, wanting his body heat back on you, but he doesn’t oblige until your bra is thrown off to the side and his shirt is flung on top of it.

The sound you make when his bare chest is against yours goes straight to his cock, your lips moving all over his cheek and jaw as your hands explore him. You trail fire down his back when you drag your fingers down the lean muscle, and he has to rock against you for some friction before he loses his mind. Atsumu wants to take it slow—well, as slow as he can with your boss outside and your job at risk—but you make it so hard when he can smell your arousal and feel the heat of your body as it calls for him.

“Atsumu,” you whine as he mouths at your collarbones, down to the tops of your breasts where he bites and licks all over your flesh, trying to make marks. Trying to prove you’re his. Your hands try to push him down further, your chest arching so he gets the hint, but he doesn’t. Atsumu takes his time, coating your flesh with marks and saliva until you’re huffing impatiently. “Alpha.”

Atsumu groans into your skin, eyes sharp as he looks up. “Calm down, ya needy thing,” he jokingly chastises, but he’s the one rocking his hard cock against you, and he’s the one who wraps his mouth around your nipple without another word.

He sucks and licks until they’re stiff, biting and tugging until you’re moaning. His fingers unbutton your jeans and tug them down as he works, nails dragging along your hot flesh as he savors your heat. God, you smell divine, and he can’t stop himself from ghosting his lips down your stomach until he’s situated right over your cunt. Atsumu inhales, nose pressed up against the crotch of your panties as he lets the scent of your slick invade his entire senses.

He doesn’t realize he’s biting and licking at the wet fabric until you gasp and squirm a little bit closer. The wet spot on your panties is large now, a mix of his saliva and your slick that has his chest rumbling with his growl. The offending fabric is jerked away from you in record time, a ripping sound accompanying your whimpered sound as the tatters fall to the floor.

You’re absolutely beautiful lying there for his taking, your folds covered in your slick, your chest covered in his work. You bat your eyes up at him, shivering under the intense way he stares at you, eyes hooded and chest heaving. Atsumu is frozen in time for a moment, letting him drink you in—but it’s only a second before your shoe taps his side to bring him back and he’s on you.

His hands are around your thighs immediately, keeping them apart as he kneels down and puts his mouth on you. You taste even better than you smell, his tongue lapping up the slick on your folds before he parts you and worms his tongue inside. His nails dig into your doughy thighs as he keeps your cunt on his face, tonguing around your hole until you’re grinding into him and scratching at the fabric of the red couch.

When Atsumu’s tongue drags over your clit, you keen, head falling back as he circles and sucks at your pulsing nub. He glances up as he works, his groan muffled into your pussy when he sees you desperately tugging at your hard nipples. Your eyes are glossy as you stare at him, your face flushed and slick with sweat, and Atsumu has to take a deep breath to keep himself sane. He feels like he’s about to burst, his entire body on edge. He has to make you feel good—make his omega feel good—and he gets back to work with enough vigor to make you mewl his name.

His fingers draw along the slick coating your folds behind pushing inside, his tongue continuing to assault your clit as his fingers move. He stretches, scissors, and curls until your walls clamp down hard and you gush around him. You’re practicing humping his face now in your desperation, fingers digging into his hair to keep his face as close to you as possible. Atsumu can feel you start to cum before you whimper that you’re close—your walls squeeze harder, your breath hitches with a keen, and fuck, your taste. He can’t get over how good your slick tastes on his tongue, dripping down onto the couch as you tug at his locks.

“Alpha, ah—”

Atsumu isn’t sure whose moan is louder, yours or his. He keeps your cunt close to his face as he drinks in everything you give him, ripping his wet fingers from you to clasp onto your ass. Even as you grind and squirm with your pleasure, he keeps you close to him, even lifting you up as you shudder and smack your feet against his side. Atsumu keeps his eyes on you, watching your breasts rise and fall with your quick breaths, watching as you wiggle to be put down again, your body sticking to the material of the couch.

He only breaks away when he has to breathe, and even then, Atsumu has to fight not to eat you out again. It’s purely animalistic how he wants to ravage you—and you must feel the same because you kick off your shoes and lift your legs straight up in the air, wrapping your arms around the back of your knees. It gives him the perfect look at your messy cunt, how wet you are, how much you drip for him, how badly you want him.

“Yer gonna kill me,” he groans and he hurries to strip himself until he’s just as naked as you are.

His cock bobs against his stomach as he throws his pants off haphazardly to the side. The couch creaks when Atsumu slips behind you, firm hands putting both of your legs on his shoulder so he can smirk down at you. You both gasp when his cock slides over your slick folds, rutting over your core like he was doing earlier. Only this time, your hot flesh against his is electric, running down his spine until he’s panting for breath and pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Atsumu,” you whine when he pushes the head into your core then pulls back out, slapping his cock against your folds until you’re squirming to get closer. “Please.”

“Ya want it?” It’s meant to be teasing but he’s breathless, about to snap if you just say the word.

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, running your nails down his thick thighs and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Alpha, fuck me.”

Atsumu doesn’t need any more permission. He parts your folds and slams into you, bottoming out easily thanks to how wet you are. You suck him in, tight, hot, and made just for him, like he was meant to be between your legs all along. He takes a few slow strokes to fix his positioning, but then he’s holding your hip down with one hand, the other gripping onto your upper thigh as he fucks you. You hold onto his thighs as he moves, body pushing up slightly with every quick and sharp thrust of his hips. The needy sounds you make fill the room and his ears, drilling into his skull and making his body tingle.

He practically bends you in half as he fucks you, keeping your body still with a firm hand on your stomach. You cling to him, nails digging into his thighs as you hang on, your walls squeezing him so tightly as he hits deeper thanks to the new angle. The backs of your feet dig into his shoulder as you try to match his pace, pushing back against him as much as you can though he’s holding you still.

The drags of his cock along your walls feel dizzying, and he knows you’re the same with how you whine and moan for him, eyes rolling back as he continues to pound into you. Atsumu knows he won’t last much longer, not with the way you’re clamping down around him, so he trails his hand down to your cunt and gropes around to find your clit. When he does, you gasp, eyes popping back open to stare up at him. Your eyes are lidded, pupils blown with pleasure, face and body sticky with your sweat—and Atsumu thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful sight.

He chokes out a groan when you clench around him, and by the pleased look on your face, Atsumu knows it wasn’t an accident.

“Give it to me,” you beg, scratching so hard at his arms that he’s sure there will be marks there tomorrow, just like there are marks still on your chest. “I want your knot, alpha, please, give it to me.”

You sound so good begging for him, pleading with him to make you his, that he can’t say no. A few more thrusts and he’s pushing his knot into you, filling you up to the brim as he orgasms with a loud grunt. You pull your legs from his shoulder and set them on either side of him, tugging him down by the back of the neck so you can kiss him, full of tongue and teeth as he keeps himself snugly inside your pussy. A few more rubs of your clit, and you’re tumbling over for a second time, debauched sounds muffled into his mouth as he kisses you breathless.

Slowly your kisses turn lighter, slower, drags of tongue and lips against each other like a whisper in the wind. It takes a moment for him to realize that you aren’t purring, he is. He’s never felt like this with anyone, never felt the urge to tuck someone into his embrace and never let go. But that’s what he does, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as you nuzzle impossibly closer, your purr loud and matching his.

“I’m going to get fired,” you mumble, the sound resonating in his heated skin. “On my first day, no less.”

“I’ll take care of ya,” he promises. You pull back enough to look at him but he only curls into your sweaty shoulder, teeth nipping along your flesh until he gets to your neck. “Ya won’t have to work.”

“You’re talking like—”

When you catch each other’s eyes, there’s nothing else that needs to be said. Atsumu can feel it in the way his chest clenches at the thought of pulling from you, at the thought of giving you to another. He knows you can feel it too, because you cling to him a little harder, biting at your bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“You’ll have to mark me,” you say instead, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I can right now.”

“No!” You squeak when he nuzzles his nose into your neck, laughing when he starts playfully biting at your flesh. “A date first, Atsumu!”

“A date first, huh?” He mumbles as he drops his forehead to your shoulder. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

“Hmm… maybe an amusement park? Or the movies, or shopping—”

“You can start by getting out of my VIP room,” a loud, pissed off voice barks from the doorway. Atsumu doesn’t need to look to know your boss is standing there—your horrified expression tells him everything he needs to know. “Clean up, would you? Someone’s coming to use this place.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you meekly answer, pushing at Atsumu’s shoulders to try and make him move as the boss’s footsteps recede. “Atsumu, oh my God, get up!”

“No.”

“We have to get up or else—”

“Can’t,” Atsumu shrugs and buries his face into your shoulder again with a grin. “Five more minutes.”

“We don’t—Miya Atsumu!”

Even without her face on camera Hanamaki thinks she's cute. Her tits are the size he likes, his eyes glued to the pixelated screen as they jiggle with each movement. Her moans are a little exaggerated but he can't blame her, especially when he can see the donations rolling in on the left side of the screen with each breathy, pitched syllable. 

"Fuck—I wish this dick was yours. Wanna be full of you!"

Hanamaki emits a stuttered groan as the words make his dick throb, Issei picking up on it and gripping him tighter.

"She has you all riled up," Issei chuckles, speeding up his hand. The extra friction makes Hanamaki pant, his gut tightening as he watches the bright pink dildo disappear into her pretty little cunt again and again, reappearing with more juices each time. Her audio is really good, picking up on every obscene squelch. He can almost pretend that's what his dick would sound like, pounding into her.

"I'm gonna cum!" She squeals and rubs her clit, and Hanamaki can't look away from how soaked and puffy her folds are. "Oh fuck, fuck—cumming!" Her body twitches and so does, groaning as he creams all over Issei's fist, some of it spurting through and coating his stomach. 

"God, your sister always sounds so hot when she cums," Matsukawa groans, palming his cock as it strains against his sweats. "I'd love it if she'd show her face more often though."

It takes several moments for Hanamaki to come down from the haze of his orgasm, heavy limbs sprawled uselessly as his friend shifts on the bed, pushing his sweats down his thighs and smearing Hanamaki's cum across his cock. Matsukawa pumps the impressive length a few times before reaching back and swiping more of it from where the rest had streaked across his abdomen. 

And then it hits.

"What're you—W-why the hell would you—What the fuck, dude?" Hanamaki swats his friend's hands away. "Th-thats not—there's no way... Oh my god. Why'd you show me that? And I—oh my god."

Matsukawa shrugs, following after him until he's between the other man's legs. "You didn’t know? I figured you'd recognize the bedroom at least. Thought you were into it, my bad."

A retort was buzzing on the tip of his tongue but at that, Hanamaki's mouth snaps shut. He hadn't even bothered to look at the surroundings on camera, too captivated by the alluring body on screen. The phone is still next to him on the bed, paused and he snatches it up, staring. Now that he's not blinded by lust it's painfully obvious. That's definitely your bedspread, the color of your walls is the same, and as he scrolls back to an earlier part of the video he even recognizes your dresser with the vanity mirror where you grab the dildo from. 

A crushing wave of guilt crashes over him and the phone slips from Hanamaki’s grasp, bouncing harmlessly off of Matsukawa’d bed onto the floor. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning under his breath.  I just came watching my step-sister’s camshow. What is this some kind of porno?

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Hanamaki mumbles, running a hand through his hair in agitation. 

“I mean it’s not all that bad,” Matsukawa grunts, slowly working his cock. “It’s not like you’re related by blood.”

“It’s the principal, you asshole,” Hanamaki snaps, but there’s not enough heat in it. He’s too full of shock to be as mad as he should. “She’s not gonna see it that way if she ever finds out about this.”

“If she ever finds out. I mean, she kind of signed up for it, didn’t she? Anyone could click on her stuff, that’s just how the internet works.” Matsukawa shrugs. 

Hanamaki hesitates. There’s logic to that, but he’s more hung up on the depravity of his own actions. But when did you even start putting videos like this online? And why? He’s seen you with boyfriends before. Is it an attention thing? A money thing? That can't be it, the parents give you whatever you ask for.

“Hey, do you wanna?” Matsukawa gestures between the two of them. “‘S been awhile since you let me fuck you, hasn’t it?”

“How are you not even phased?” Hanamaki grumbles, not answering the request but not turning it down either. It’s been awhile for a reason; with some prep and lots of lube he can take it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. He weirdly feels like he needs to be punished right now. 

Matsukawa, sensing that his friend isn’t wholly opposed, shifts closer. He reaches for the side table drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Hanamaki doesn’t shove him away, listening quietly as he rumbles on. “She’s not my sister. Anyways, ‘s not like you knew it was her when you came, so what’s the big deal? You didn’t mean it, so just forget about it.”

As Matsukawa presses hot kisses up his throat, grazing him with his teeth, Hanamaki considers his words. Just forget about it.

Would it really be that easy?

When Hanamaki gets home, he didn’t expect you to corner him in the living room on his way to his bedroom rambling about watching some kind of horror film.

"I have to watch this for a class I'm taking, but I hate scary movies." 

The way you pout at him sends the strangest assortment of feelings flooding through his gut. Lust, guilt, anticipation, apprehension. He hadn’t been ready to face you right away. It's not your fault he saw your video and got off to it, hell it's not even his fault. Hanamaki just can't stop staring at your lips and imagining them in that cute little 'o' right before you came. He inhales sharply through his nose and tries to banish all the lewd thoughts that are circling his mind. Just forget about it. Forget it.

"I don't know. It's kinda late and I'm pretty tired..." He finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. He can already feel his cock stirring to life in his shorts and he doesn't want you to notice. He would die of shame if you found out. 

"Please," you whine, drawing out the syllable. "I don't care if you fall asleep, I just don't wanna watch it alone. Since when do you not wanna watch TV with me?" 

Since I've seen you naked and liked it. 

"Alright, alright. Fine. Don't be such a crybaby about it." Normalcy. Hanamaki just needs some normalcy. 

Almost as if answering his unspoken prayer, his muttered comment is rewarded with a throw pillow to the face as you huff and flounce up from the couch, bare feet padding on the floor as you stalk into the kitchen for some snacks. 

Normalcy. 

Except... jesus, have you always dressed like this at home? Or is he only just noticing now because of… Hanamaki shakes his head. Stop.

You're clad in the thinnest tank top Hanamaki has ever seen, thankfully mostly covered by an unzipped oversized hoodie that he's pretty sure you stole from his closet. He wants to believe you're wearing a pair of shorts, but he honestly can't tell from behind, and Hanamaki doesn't trust himself to look too closely. 

He’s grateful when you settle back onto the couch. He follows, plopping down onto the cushions a safe distance away without making it too obvious that he’s avoiding you. However, you’re barely ten minutes into the movie when you scoot closer, throwing your legs over his lap and propping the rest of you onto a pillow, your eyes glued to the screen.

It’s not the first time you’ve done something like this, but it still makes Hanamaki stiffen, heat flooding his cheeks. 

“What?” You’re looking at him as you throw a blanket over your legs. “This is more comfortable.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Hanamaki’s heart pounds so heavily in his chest that he’s surprised you can’t hear it. He can deal with this. This is barely anything, just a little contact. He can’t even feel your skin from this position. He hesitantly rests one of his hands down on your legs like he’s done so many times before. It’s not any different than normal.

Except it quickly gets sweltering hot under the blanket, but he’s too caught up in his guilt to remove it, and what’s mortifyingly worse is you keep moving your left leg in a way that his body is responding to. All you’re doing is absentmindedly bouncing your foot, but it’s making you rub on him. He can feel the hot weight of your thigh right on his crotch and all the blood starting to rush south.

"Will you sit still?" Hanamaki snaps, panicking internally.  

Immediately your thighs stop shifting. "Sorry. God, you're moody today," you mutter quietly, a hurt expression crossing your face. 

The look on your face makes him want to apologize but he wouldn't be able to explain himself, so Hanamaki just remains silent. At least you've stopped rubbing on him. 

Just when he thinks everything is going to be fine, halfway through the movie one of the character's deaths gets this little gasp out of you that keeps looping through his mind and Hanamaki has to escape. He pushes at your legs until you move enough for him to stand up and heads down the hall to the bathroom. 

He gets the bathroom door closed behind him and locks the door before fumbling with his jeans, staring down at his traitorous cock as it stands straight against his abdomen. For fuck’s sake. He’s already cum twice today, this is ridiculous.

Hanamaki wraps his fist around his cock. You’re just getting rid of it so you can finish the movie. That’s it. 

That’s what he tells himself on repeat, but it loses its vehemence when the coil winding in his gut suddenly snaps as his mind is flooded with memory echoes of your moans. He grunts as he spills into his hand, biting his lip to muffle that moans threatening to slip through. His head thuds against the bathroom door as he stands there, his hand and heart coated in shame. 

Just forget it, huh? Yeah, right. 

The next few weeks are hell on earth. The first couple of days after his moment of shame in the bathroom Hanamaki actually sent out so many applications that he finally got a callback, leaping at the offer for a shitty grocer job as long as it got him out of the house and away from you.

Even being next to you had his mind going in the darkest, most delicious direction now. It's like he's lost control of his body. If you so much as even brushed against him as you scoot around him in the kitchen or hallway, he felt his cock swell to half chub. It's driving him to madness. He's even avoided texting Matsukawa back because it only reminds him of your video.

His only relief was in the bustle of the grocery aisles and stocking shelves, ringing up and bagging people's items. It wasn't exactly easy; the manager really seemed to have it out for him, yelling at him for pulling out his phone for even a moment, tasking him with extra work whenever she got the chance—she even referenced him to another newbie as an example of a "suboptimal employee", whatever that means. It's not like he cares about the job itself, all he cared about now was getting out of the house. And if he got really lucky, you would be asleep by the time he finally got home for the night. 

His reprieve is short-lived. It’s his third week into the job when a frazzled customer bumps into him as he’s stocking the produce, sending him and the crates of vegetables beside him sprawling. Despite the numerous apologies from him and the customer, by the end of the day his manager had Hanamaki turning in his uniform. Something like this was just the opportunity they needed to get rid of him. 

When it comes up at dinner, his dad claps a hand on his shoulder and gives the generic “there’s something better out there” that he’s heard enough times already, but your mother gives him those bright eyes that has Hanamaki bracing himself for disaster. 

“Your father and I are planning on going on a small vacation next week, but unfortunately it lines up with Y/N’s winter break. She’s an adult now but I still don’t like leaving her alone for so long. Could you please keep an eye on her since you won’t be busy?”

She asks him so hopefully that he can’t find it in him to refuse, even as his heart sinks into his stomach. “Yeah, no problem.”

Two days. Two days after your parents took off and Hanamaki already regrets everything. You’re so much clingier with them gone. He barely escaped your clutches for another movie night on the first night, pretending that he’d planned to play online with his friends that night. But he wasn’t so lucky on the second night.

He’s just coming down the stairs, inwardly musing to himself if he wants to order takeout tonight when he finds you in the living room with a bottle he recognizes from his dad’s booze stash. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m bored.” You’re already slurring. Hanamaki pads closer, sighing. He didn’t think he’d have to actually babysit you with mom and dad gone. “Come drink with me.” 

“You shouldn’t touch dad’s stash.” He reaches for the bottle to take it from you but you pull it out of his reach. “Oi.”

“I’ll just replace it before he comes back,” you grumble, pouring yourself another shot and tipping it back. “Since when are you Mr. Responsible?”

Hanamaki sighs again. Honestly that’s a fair question. He throws himself into the armchair closest to your seat on the couch. He startles as you bump his arm with the glass, a little of it sloshing over the side. “Have some?”

“Nah, that’s not a good idea,” he mutters, looking away. 

"You haven't hung out with me in ages. Please? We don’t have to talk if that’s it." Your pout does him in, sighing he accepts the shot. He’s not trying to make you feel like shit, it’s just better this way.

You beam at him, and he has to admit it makes him feel better to see you smiling. Lately all you’ve been doing is pouting. He lets shot after shot of the burning liquid slip down his throat, a deep-seated warmth filling his chest and stomach. 

After a bit you stumble into the kitchen with the empty bottle to throw it away, and you’re swaying as you come back down the hall.

“You good?” Hanamaki chuckles as you flip him off and stick your tongue out. “You look like Tooru when you do that.”

“Oh my god, don’t say that shit,” you groan exaggeratedly, getting a full laugh out of him. You’re fiddling around by the entertainment center, but with the way his vision sways he can’t make out what you’re doing.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Just plugging my phone in.”

He doesn’t notice the slight lilt to your tone, chalking it up to the alcohol. The pleasant buzz is keeping his mood light and Hanamaki finally finds himself relaxing, sinking deeper into the armchair. He's just thinking to himself that maybe he's had a little too much when you clumsily climb into his lap. 

His first warning should be that he doesn't flinch. His second should be that he doesn't pull away when you cuddle up to his chest. All Hanamaki can really think about is how good you smell. It's warm and … floral? Maybe fruity, like strawberries. Or is it watermelon? Curious, his head drops on your shoulder, burying his nose into your neck and inhaling deeply. God, it's making his head swim in the best way. 

"'Hiro?" 

"Mmm?" 

"What're you doin'?" 

"Trying to figure out what the smell is," he mumbles. "You smell really nice right now." 

You giggle drunkenly. "That's my lotion, it's cherry blossom." 

"Don't wear it out of the house," he mumbles suddenly.

"What, why?" 

Hanamaki groans low in his throat when you sit up, your hips pressing firmly into his. Shit, when did he get this hard? He can feel the warmth of your core through his shorts, your weight so comfortable and good on his dick. Every little shift you make gives him just a little friction that makes his already spinning head spin a little more. 

Shakily, he places a hand on your hip, dragging you closer. I know this is wrong. I know this is wrong. But just a little bit won't hurt, right? Just a little and then maybe I can stop whatever this is.

"Takahiro," fuck, when did you lean so close— "a little bit of what? How drunk are you?" 

"Uh..." He said that out loud? Hanamaki's heart is beating wildly in his chest. He can feel your breath hot on his cheeks and lips from how close you are, forcibly restraining himself from wetting his own in case he were to accidentally touch you. 

You shift again and giggle, your own words slurring as you tease him for drinking too much. There's no way you can't feel how hard he is, so why aren't you saying anything? Why aren't you calling him a perv and storming off? Why are you still straddling him? Have you simply not noticed or are you just as drunk as he is? He pulls you down harder, expelling a shaky exhale as the friction makes his cock twitch. Fuck, there is something so fucked about this. He could stop, blame this on the alcohol and forget it ever happened, but this stupid, burning, aching want that he's been ignoring for weeks is just proof that he's not the best at forgetting anything. If he had never seen that video, none of this ever would have happened.

"Takahiro—" Stop it. Stop saying my name like that. "Hello? Are you—" 

Your breath smells like strawberries and the even sweeter burn of alcohol and something in Hanamaki's brain just shuts off. He doesn't even have to lean forward, just barely tipping his head up and suddenly his lips are on yours. Your lips are so soft and warm and you don't immediately pull away, either from shock or slow reflexes he doesn't care, so he surges forward, his hand on the back of your neck as he desperately traces the seam of your lips with tongue. 

Your gasp is all he needs to slip his tongue inside, tracing every corner of your mouth that he can until the inevitable moment that you shove him away. He can feel your hands fisted in his shirt, frozen and unmoving. He kisses you until his chest is burning and he has to break away for air. 

You're staring at him, chest heaving like his own, but you don't look pissed like he expects. Your lips are just a bit swollen, slightly parted as you touch your fingers to them like you... like... Hanamaki shakes his head. Now he's just giving into fantasy. Your head swivels to look behind you before turning back to him.

You look like you're about to say something, but he doesn't want to give you the chance to yell at him. "Can I do that again?" 

"You want to do that again?" You sound so breathless. You glance behind you again. 

"I want to touch you, too." His fingers dig into your hips, slipping higher as if to prove his point. "Just a little bit. I swear I'll stop if you say to just—please?" 

"I—I don't know..." You chew your lip, looking uncertain, but there's a strange glow to your eyes. "Isn't this wrong? What if mom finds out?" 

Yes. Yes, it's wrong, but Hanamaki is past the point of caring. He’s already crossed that line by kissing you. "I won't tell if you won't. I can make it feel good." No job meant plenty of time for other things. He may not have been with a lot of girls, but he played around enough in college to know what to do. 

“Just—Just a little bit.”

Hanamaki doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a low moan he pushes up the hem of your shirt until he can pull it over your head until your bra clad chest comes into view. “You always wear stuff like this?”

Your breath hitches as he cups your tits through the thin fabric, thumbing your rapidly hardening peaks as he mouths at your neck. “Sh-shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he draws his tongue up your neck, whispering in your ear. “Pink looks real cute on you.”

“H-hiro—” 

You gasp as his hand slips up your back, unclasping your bra. He tosses it aside, sighing as he finally has your bare skin in his palms. A loud moan is torn from your lips when he lowers his head to suck one of your tits into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud. Hearing it in person is a million times better than listening to it through a speaker and he’s determined to pull even more sounds from you. He has to know what other sounds you can make. Your body reacts instinctively under his touch, bowing into him as he grazes your nipple lightly with his teeth before switching to the other. Hanamaki’s head is swimming as he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to his chest as he grinds his hips into you. Your body feels like a furnace, lighting up the more he touches you. You’ve even started to rock into him, finding a rhythm that synchronizes with his own movements, tearing a groan from his lips. “S-shit, look at you. You’re so hot.” 

“Can I—” your hands fumble with his shirt.

“You wanna touch? Hell yeah.” Hanamaki releases your for a moment to help you pull it off. He might not be ripped like Iwaizumi, but he’s kept his muscle definition over the years, not quite able to shake his somewhat active lifestyle after high school ended. The noise he makes when your burning palms press against his chest conveys only a fraction of the desire threatening to consume him whole. “Fuck, c’mere.”

He pulls you down, your lips crashing into his again. One of his hands remains on the back of your head to hold you close as he ravages your mouth, the other guides your hand to his chest, trying to urge you to touch him more before he curls it around your waist. He makes a low sound in his throat as your nails trail down his chest, sending a delicious shudder throughout his body, winding the coil in his stomach tighter. 

You’re panting heavily when he pushes you back a little, undoing his jeans, just enough to pull his aching cock free. “Just a little bit more, okay? Just a little bit.” He hisses at the cool air, gripping it at the base to relieve the pressure. Beads of precum are already weeping from the crown of his cock, dribbling against his stomach when he teases the head. Hanamaki is watching you closely, blinking through a drunken haze of lust. You’re staring down at his cock, entranced. He’s short and thick, the hefty girth smooth except for the one thick vein lining the underside of his cock. His balls are heavy and swollen, and the base of his cock is surrounded by only slightly overgrown strawberry curls. Had he known this would be happening tonight, he would’ve trimmed up, but it doesn’t look like you care. In fact, you look hungry for it, the look in your eyes sending a dark thrill through him. His fingers trace up your thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts as he tries to get your attention. “Take these off for me?”

“O-okay.”

“Don’t get all shy on me now,” he murmurs, still playing with your shorts. “I can see the way you’re looking at me.” 

You give a shuddering exhale before climbing out of his lap. His body follows you almost subconsciously as you find your footing, hooking your thumbs in the band of your shorts and letting them fall to the ground. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer, his fingers slipping between your thighs and pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. “...these too. Please? God, you’re soaked. I just wanna—” his sentence tapers off in a groan as he slips a finger past the thin barrier, stroking along your slick folds. “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

A small squeak reaches his ears as he does it again, your hands flying to his shoulders when he twists his finger deeper beneath the band to get a better angle so he can brush against your clit. “W-wait, wait. I’ll take them off. I wanna feel—”

“You do?” Hanamaki's words are breathed out, saturated in amazement. His movements freeze for just a moment. “You really want it?” When you nod, he backs off, giving you the room to shimmy your panties down your thighs before pulling you back to him. “Just gonna touch a little, then I’m gonna have you do something for me.”

“Please,” you whisper, walls fluttering as he reaches for you again, his fingers dancing through your folds before pressing on your entrance. A shaky moan spills from your lips as one long finger slides easily in to the last knuckle thanks to how wet you are. It’s followed quickly by a second, curling and prodding curiously as it searches for— “Oh, th-there.”

“Yeah? That feel good?” Hanamaki watches you closely as he curls his fingers again, making sure he has it. Your resulting gasp is the confirmation he needs. He groans as your walls clamp down on his fingers, his forehead resting against your stomach as his head drops forward. You're so warm and wet, dripping down his wrist as he continues to bully that spot, thrusting and curling his fingers inside you.

He does it until your thighs are shaking, holding you in place as he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin on your hips, alternating between finger-fucking you and playing with your throbbing clit. Each sound spilling from your lips has him delirious with want, and it's when your hands tangle in his hair that Hanamaki can't take in anymore. 

"C'mere, gotta feel you," he pants, ripping his fingers from your heat and settling back into the armchair. He ignores your whine of protest, holding a hand out to you. 

You take it and allow him to pull you back into his lap. Your eyes are bleary and unfocused, looking broken at your denied release. 

“I don’t have a condom, so just grind on me, okay? I'll help you.” Hanamaki's head falls back with a groan as you wiggle close enough for him to feel your soaking cunt right up against his cock, grinding down on him experimentally. It's so hot, practically melting his cock, your juices making it so easy for him to slide between your folds. "Fuuck. You're that wet for me?"

In the beginning your movements are surprisingly jerky, a little awkward, so his hands fall to your hips to help guide you. In no time at all you find the rhythm that works best for both of you. Your hands are grabbing at his shoulders, continual mewls of his name spilling into the air as his lips envelop your nipples. They're pressed right against his face and he can't give up that opportunity. 

His cock is completely coated in your juices, the warm slick soaked into his curls and jeans, and he can hear it, each click every time your hips slide back and forth. He could cum just like this, but he doesn't want it to end, making sure you move slow enough for him to savor it. There's no way he'll ever get away with this again and he needs to burn it into memory. 

"Feel good? Tell me how you're feeling," Hanamaki breathes out. "Need to hear you say it." 

"I'm gonna cum," you whisper, your voice breaking. The head of his cock keeps catching on your swollen clit, sending you higher with each grind. "It feels so good."

"Show me." 

You whimper at his breathless command, your hips jerking as the crown of his cock catches on your entrance, threatening to push inside. "Mnh—f-fuck."

"Oh god, did you do that on purpose?" Hanamaki groans, unsure if he's jerking away or trying to get closer. It was just for a second, but it felt like you were about to suck him in. 

“Wait—that felt good, do that again.” Your pleading reaches his ears and he nearly short circuits.

“Do you even have any idea what you’re asking me?” He demands, sitting up sharply. You squeak and clutch at his shoulders as the change in position threatens to have you tumbling from his lap. “A-are you serious?” He stares with wide eyes as you shift higher on your knees, spreading them wider and still moving your hips. The tip of his cock kisses your entrance again and you don’t shy away from it, chasing it. Hanamaki grabs your hips as you swivel them in search for the right angle, starting to sink down on him. A choked noise claws its way up his throat as he feels you. Barely his head has slipped into you and fuck it’s so soft. “O-Oi, what’re you d-doing—”

“Just the tip, Hiro.” Jesus christ. What the hell is happening? Why the hell is he complaining? “I just need a little more. F-feels so good, I just wanna cum.”

“Just the tip,” Hanamaki echoes after a moment, trying to sound like he’s still in control, like he’s allowing you instead of begging you to. He sinks back into the armchair with a broken groan as you eagerly take advantage of his permission. You start slow, just the head of his cock popping in and out, just barely remaining inside you before you rise up again. You’re so wet that it moves so easily, and the vice grip of your pussy on that first inch is making Hanamaki much greedier than he was when this whole thing started out. 

The little ah ah ah's you keep moaning right into his ear are what do him in. You sound so frustrated and desperate. Just the sound of it has him ready to blow his load but he needs you to finish first so he can pull out. 

“Still haven’t cum? I can tell you’re right there, just let go baby girl.”

“I’m trying. It’s so close, ‘s just not—” you break off in a choked whimper. “I n-need more.”

“Fuck it,” Hanamaki groans, at his wit’s end. Every can't and shouldn't are notions of the past. He’s not in the right headspace to play this little denial game any longer—it’s clear you’re both after the same thing. He thinks he hears you stutter out something but it’s lost to the roar of the pulse in his ears as he leans forward and grabs your hips, swiftly seating you fully on his cock, burying himself in you to the hilt. You cry out at the sudden intrusion but then you’re melting into his chest and all Hanamaki can think about now is how warm and wet you are, silken walls clinging to his cock. He can feel how you’re clenching and spasming and it damn near ends it for him right there. “Oh shit—you feel so fucking good.” Gritting his teeth as his cock throbs inside you, he slips a hand between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb as he starts to bounce you on his lap. “S-so fucking good.”

“H-hiro!”

“C’mon, just let go. Lemme feel you cum, I’ve got you. This is what you wanted right? You wanted to be full, you wanted more,” Hanamaki pants, his thighs and abdomen quivering from the force of restraining his impending orgasm. “Christ, I’ll give you whatever you want—just cum for me.”

You unravel right before his eyes, emitting stuttering moans and creaming on him as your back arches, pressing your body further into his and practically knocking his hand out of the way as you crowd closer. You clamp down on him so hard that it feels like the air is suspended in his lungs, and your hips jerk and shake as you ride out your orgasm. 

“Shit shit shit—” Hanamaki grits out as his end slams into him, unable to hold on any longer. He doesn’t react fast enough, alcohol dulling his response time, so the first couple of spurts stake their claim inside your still fluttering cunt before he manages to grab you and pull you off of him. You sink back down immediately, grinding your soaking core on his still throbbing and kicking cock like before, the rest of his mess slicking up your folds and spilling out onto his lower stomach. 

“Did you…” You sound so out of breath against his chest.

“Y-yeah. Damn it, I didn’t mean to do that.” Hanamaki panics a little as he helps you stand up. He stumbles down the hall to the bathroom and comes back with a couple of hand towels. “Please tell me you’re on some kind of birth control.”

“Yeah, I am. Don’t worry about that,” you murmur, legs shaking as he wipes you off as best as he can.

“Thank god.” He doesn’t see you grab your phone as he stops to clean himself as well before tucking himself away, but when he looks up you have a mildly guilty expression on your face as you lock it and toss it on the couch. Hanamaki is sure his expression mirrors that guilt tenfold. Post-nut clarity is a bitch and the full brunt of what he did hits him like a truck. “L-listen, we can’t do that again. I shouldn’t have started it in the first place, alright?”

“Takahiro—”

“I’m gonna go shower. You should too,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. His feet carry him quickly in the direction of escape, but he pauses in the doorway, both fighting and berating himself. “Sorry if you felt forced or pressured or anything. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

He’s too ashamed to wait around for your response, and he disappears upstairs. Hanamaki showers in a daze, barely paying attention to what he’s doing as he gets out and brushes his teeth. He fumbles in the dark of his room for a pair of shorts and tosses the towel in a random corner before falling into bed and letting sleep take him.

You sneak downstairs. You heard Hanamaki talking to Matsukawa before the shower started across the hall a little bit ago. 

Matsukawa is lounging on the couch when you walk into the living room, waiting for Hanamaki to get out of the shower, so you plop down beside him with a triumphant smile on your face.

He takes one look at you and gives a tiny, incredulous little huff. “So you did it then, that shit actually worked?”

“Mhm, and it was even better than I hoped.” It’s been a few days since that night, and you and Hanamaki have yet to actually talk about what happened. You’ve caught him staring at you more than once though, so you’re confident that things will go smoother next time. You’re determined to get a next time.

“You’re so nasty,” Matsukawa drawls. “You’re lucky I’m into that.”

“It’s all your fault anyways.” You grin. “I never would’ve thought about him that way if I didn’t have to constantly listen to you guys fucking in his room through my bedroom wall.”

“You could’ve used headphones. Or you know, fallen for me instead.”

“Headphones didn’t exactly cut it,” you retort drily, passing him the usb you fish out of your pocket. “And in your dreams.”

"What's this?" Matsukawa ignores your last comment. 

"I said I'd let you watch if you helped me," you shrug. "Didn't say I'd let you watch in person."

“Damn, for real?” He murmurs mostly to himself, a crooked, disappointed grin spreading across his face. “I thought I'd convince you to let me join for sure.”

“You’re not bringing that horse dick anywhere near me, thanks,” you laugh. “Hiro can have it.”

Matsukawa is staring at the usb in his hand. It looks as if he didn’t even hear you. His grin gets just a little wider, and his dark eyes meet yours, filled with mischief.

“Hey, what if I watched this one with him too? Would you let me join then?”

Your face remains thoughtful, but you don’t get the chance to say anything as Hanamaki pads into the living room, his hair still wet. You hadn't heard him finish in the bathroom. Matsukawa casually stuffs the usb in his pocket before heaving himself up from the couch. “You ready? I’m starving.”

Your step-brother keeps an even expression as he glances in your direction, but even from here you can see the tips of his ears turn red.  “Yeah, let’s go,” he mutters. 

You call out to them before they go, locking eyes with Matsukawa briefly. “Buy me dinner and I'll think about it.”

Networks: @hqintheclub @anime-central

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He pauses, and nods, holding his hand out for you to take. And you do take it, not really sure of what else to do. His hands are calloused, and he pulls you up from the ground with almost terrifying ease. When you get on your feet, he makes sure you’re still by placing a hand on your shoulder.

If you had to describe Hinata Shoyo in one word, you’re sure you’d use the word magnetic. You think it describes better than any other word in the world. Magnetic.

You let him guide you through the hallways without another word. In the months you’ve been here, you’ve never felt this many eyes on you as you pass through the hallways. Hinata has you in tow, making conversation as you awkwardly trail behind him. Every few steps, he’s greeting some underclassmen boy or waving to some group of girls who clearly have eyes for him - all of which he seems a little oblivious too. You know it’s not really you they’re staring at, but him, so starstruck by his presence. He asks you questions and you answer them quietly, not forcing you to elaborate but always giving you a little smile over his shoulder.

He seems used to all of the attention, and for the most part - he doesn’t stray too far from talking to you. He walks you all the way to your classroom and pulls the door open with startling confidence, ushering you into view. An entire classroom has their eyes on you, and you swallow. Hinata puts his hands on your shoulders with a grin, and you look over at him, borderline mortified.

“Sensei, your student needs to go see the nurse today!”

Your teacher is one of the youngest in the building, rarely ever perturbed. Mr. Nakamura’s eyes go wide, meeting yours for a brief moment. He chuckles at your terrified state, the quietest student in his class being paraded by the world's loudest decoy is quite the sight to see. He hums.

“Is that so?” he asks you. You’re about to tell him no, that it’s fine and you just need 5 minutes to compose yourself, but Hinata steps in before you can even open your mouth.

“Of course it is! You wouldn’t want them injured in your classroom would you?” he asks, scandalized. You want to say something to him but your mouth is dropped open in shock. Mr. Nakamura has something against you, you think, because all he does is laugh, write down a note on a scrap paper and walking it over to you. He gives you a little encouraging smile, like he knows something you don’t.

“Get some rest, Y/N. Hinata-kun, don’t you have a class to be in?”

He scratches his head.

“Ah.. maybe?”

The whole class laughs at that , even your teacher, and you can’t help but be flabbergasted by the absurdity. You want to protest, but he’s already dragging you by the wrist. The hallways are now empty, so it’s just the two of you. He slides the door shut and turns around to look at you. For the first time, you’re present enough to look at him clearly. You notice for the first time that he’s the perfect mix of handsome and pretty, a boyish look to him. You feel yourself swallowed up in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asks you, head cocked to one side. You step back, too close, and nod absently.

“I’m.. I’m fine. You didn’t need to do all that,” you say, gesturing at your classroom. His face drops briefly, before he gives you a cheeky smile.

“Yeah, but it’s better than being in class, right?”

You’re surprised by him, again. You mirror his actions, laughing a bit.

“I guess so. Thanks for that, but I might just head back to class, I don’t really have anything to do,”

“Oh! Well, you wanna watch me play volleyball?”

__

You learn quickly that Hinata Shoyo is just as magnetic on the court as he is off of it.

You’d argue even more so.

He walks you to the gym, asking you what you know about volleyball. He seems delighted when you reply that you know nothing. He explains the basics to you, how the game works first and then the roles people play on the court. He tells you that he has the coolest role, a right-wing spiker, and explains the specifics with sound effects and overly excited hand-gestures. The way he talks makes you comfortable, it’s easy to understand and he seems so genuinely passionate it rubs off on you. For the first time, you’ve taken bare minimum interest in the sport.

When you get there, Hinata introduces you briefly to his classmates. Two intimidating tall dudes named Tsukishima and Kageyama, their captain - Yamaguchi, and a pretty third year girl named Yachi Hitoka. Hinata explains the whole story to them and Yamaguchi apologizes to you for getting dragged here. Before you know it, their manager tells you where you should sit if you want to see the best game and that the fun is about to begin. She’s intimidatingly pretty, enough that talking to her makes you nervous, but you try your best to get through it anyway. She invites you to her spot on the floor, and you settle yourself in.

It happens quickly and slowly, all at once. The game starts, and the ball gets served. It’s upperclassmen against lowerclassmen. Yachi watches you through the corner of your eyes, and smiles when she sees it. That expression when people see Karasuno play for the first time.

The movement of everyone is insanely fluid, your eyes wide as you just barely catch the speed of each play. The difference in skill between each team is like nothing you’ve ever seen before, the older teammates moving through each other with ease. The ball is never in place for long. You feel like all you’d have to do is blink to miss what’s coming next. Yachi explains things to you as they happen, the spike, the receive, the set - all of it gets explained to you in real time.

And then, you see it for the first time. Your eyes land on Hinata playing. Everything else in the world becomes white noise, drowned out, as you see him run and jump so high it almost looks like he’s flying. You see the shape of his whole body, the muscles in his legs and abdomen, and that intense look in his eyes all at once. He jumps and jumps and jumps like it’ll never stop and it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen.

“He looks like he’s flying,” you say, just a whisper. Yachi laughs.

“Wait for it,”

In a moment, you see his hand fly up and connect with the ball. The hard plastic material looks snug in his palms as he slams it down with all the force he can - cutting through the court like a hot knife through butter. It shocks you, the force and speed in just that one hit, so seamless. A move that only someone strong could achieve, it has your stomach tied in knots.

“Holy fucking shit,”

Yachi laughs again, smiling softly.

“I know right?”

__

In the months following your encounter with Hinata Shouyou, you can’t really get him off of your mind.

You try though, with everything available in your arsenal - you try and push through your pesky feelings. After all, you’re not the hopeless romantic type. You already have an aversion to dating in highschool. Aside from that, there’s the obvious conclusion that Hinata is very popular and you are very not.

You don’t think Hinata is shallow enough to actually care about stuff like that, but you know better. You know that every single girl in your grade seems to have the same hopeless crush on him and you also know that in terms of his type, you harbor doubt that you are his. You actually have no clue, but you assume. You think of the situation as practically as you can. For starters, he’s a third year and set to graduate and go off to pursue his dreams of volleyball.

It won’t work out long term, plus you should focus on school - and who knows if he even likes you back? You tell yourself not to read into his weekly invite to practice, the almost constant stream of texts, the way he walks you from classes when you can. You try to distance yourself, and ignore the almost painful feelings in your chest when you tell him you can’t attend games or something else trivial. You swallow it down until he graduates, inevitably, at the end of the year. You wish there was more to it, but after that - it simply fizzles out. Not that your feelings go away like you hope they will - but you tell yourself that it’s just because he’s the only guy you had a crush on in highschool. You force yourself to move on.

And it works, for the most part. Your third year, you make yourself so busy preparing for university that you don’t have any time to think about anything but school and work. You study, eat, and work part-time. Some weekends you hang out with friends but you spend most of your time cooped up in all of your responsibilities. You bust your ass and get into your University with a scholarship, and at the end of the year - you graduate from Karasuno High with good grades and hope for the future.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think about Hinata at all. You follow him on social media, so you see small glimpses of his life in Brazil. Going out to drink and party, playing volleyball on the beach - every time he posts, you can’t help but clench your thighs about how much more handsome he’s gotten in only the last year. He’s so much broader, thighs thicker and smile somehow brighter. He really is like a ray of sunshine.

You’re careful not to dwell, not to linger. If you think about it for too long, you get kinda itchy and hot.

You enter university and go about your life in the same way you did in highschool, but now you drink sometimes on weekends. You’ve kissed some strangers now and again. You lost your virginity to a dude you stopped talking to almost two weeks after it happened. Now that you’re in college - the whole idea of dating is much less daunting, but it’s harder to find people you connect with. This time it comes with consequences and questions about futures and a whole truckload of other things you need to think about. Like if it’s worth it to hook-up with a disappointing stranger or if you should just masturbate in your single dorm and call it a night? So many fun choices, really. Your first year of college passes like most of your highschool experience - boring. Not bad but not all that interesting either. Pretty typical for a college experience but overwhelmingly mild in general.

It’s nice though. College is a good experience, overall. You like it better than highschool, and you get to study what you love. You made some really good friends instead of just some okay ones. You’ve got a little more control on your life at least. There’s the terrifying reality of being responsible for yourself - but on average you’re happier. It’s always a growing pain. That’s reason alone for you to try and move on with your life - and away from Hinata Shoyo.

During your first year, you think you did a pretty good job forgetting about him. After all, it’s been a few years now - you’re about to enter your sophomore year of college and you’ve been half-way sorta seeing this guy. Is he anywhere close to your silly little highschool crush? Not really. You’re not sure if you like him, exactly, but he’s decent. You just try not to think about it. You try not to think about Hinata Shouyou, either.

You push on anyway, right into your sophomore year. Hinata Shoyo is just some silly highschool crush, and it’ll stay that way.

It should stay that way.

__

The building that hosts your Ethics class is about all the way across the campus, a terrible distance to track since all the paths there are full of foot traffic. You’re hauling ass and fighting for your life, headphones blasting music and eyes looking down on your phone. You’re just checking your bank info, trying to make sure there’s nothing you need this week that’ll make you spend more money than you really want too.

You’re not paying attention to the things right in front of you, so when you bump into someone - your first instinct is a clumsy apology. You blink a little as you get knocked back, shocked by the force of the other person.

“Oh shit, sorry,” you mumble.

You step back and everything in the world stops. There you see it, mouth dropped open in shock There is no fucking way you’re hearing what you’re hearing. Seeing what you’re seeing

It’s Hinata Shoyo. In flesh and blood, standing only inches from you. A little taller, a little tanner, and more handsome than you could possibly remember. Your mouth drops open, gaping like a fish out of water as the two of you stand in front of each other. Part of you believes he wont recognize you - you hope for it, maybe a little naively.

“Oh, it’s you!”

You press your mouth into a thin, tight-lipped smile.

Hinata looks like he’s excited to see you. You wish you could return to feeling, but the dread in your chest takes a whole nother life in your stomach. It feels like your heart is gonna fall out of your ass, and you’ve got a million and one questions. Like why the hell is he at your campus? And when did he get back to Japan? And why does his chest look so much bigger than you remember?

“H-hey,” you say awkwardly, palms sweating “What are you…? When did you…?”

Hinata laughs a bit at your confusion, securing his thumbs underneath the straps of his bookbag.

“Ah.. there’s a lot to catch up on. I was just about to go eat, did ya wanna join me?”

“I uhm.. I have a class,” you say awkwardly.

“Aw, c’mon - can’t skip for an old friend? I’ll pay for it, too,” he offers, magnetic and horrible for your heart in the same way he was 2 years ago. This is your chance to leave - still a semblance of your sanity intact. All you have to do is turn around and go on your way.

“Uhm.. I guess it should be fine,”

He grins, big and bright.

“Great! Follow me,”

__

Hinata takes you to a cafe not far from your Ethics building, a short 5 or 10 minute walk where he updates you about his life in great detail. As expected from someone like him, you find yourself engaged in every word that comes out of his mouth. He came back a few months ago, and joined MSBY - and decided to take a few classes at the local university so he could learn more Spanish and pick up some English too. He learned he really enjoys traveling a lot, and he’s hoping to do more of it. Plus, he misses playing volleyball on beaches.

You sit at a table, and when the waiter comes - Hinata orders for you with a wink. He remembers what you like apparently, and that fact alone is enough to make you spiral into a fit of despair. You feel like you’re being held together with strings as the reality just barely seeps in. You’re alone with the boy you pined for for years - now a grown man, strong and handsome and much more charming And he ordered for you, which definitely seems like something people do on dates, but you know he’s pretty oblivious, so maybe not. Maybe you’re just reading into it.

After all, he’s only gained more notoriety, but he still feels the exact same. A little mischievous - beaming like the sun on tin roofs. Everything about him still glows marvelously bright, it hurts your eyes to look too long. He crosses his arms on the table and your eyes go to the sheer size of his arms, so big for his frame. You force your gaze away, drinking a sip of water to keep yourself busy.

“How’s my favorite underclassmen been lately? It’s been a while!”

You almost choke on your spit, and Hinata’s eyes get crinkly in the corners. You’re still just as shy as he remembers, so incredibly endearing.

“D-did you mean me?”

“Who else?”

You blink at him, a rush of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. You’re really not sure what to say or do in this situation, absently tracing shapes in the wood table.

“I’ve been uh.. been pretty good, I guess. Nothing super interesting to talk about,”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Catch me up, I thought we were friends! What are you studying, what's your living situation - whatever's on your mind,”

He’s always been good at talking, it comes so naturally to him in a way you can’t understand. It makes you wanna talk back, but it’s hard to convince yourself he cares. Or rather, it’s hard to let yourself believe he does even when it’s so obvious. You squirm in your seat, restless as hazel eyes watch you with great interest.

He’s travelled across the globe and there’s still no one who does it for him quite like you.

“Ah.. well - I got lucky and got myself a single dorm so I live on campus. I work part-time uhm.. in the library,” you say, shaking your head “Nothing super interesting. It’s been good though, I like it,”

Fuck, you’re so cute. Hinata takes a sharp breath in, trying to compose himself.

“It’s interesting to me, no worries. Do you still study what you planned to study in highschool?”

You blink again, nodding.

“Uh.. yeah, I do. It’s good. I’m glad I get to do it,”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time. You were always diligent in highschool. It’s good to let loose now and again,”

You pout a little at that, but can’t deny it either.

“I try my best. I party on the weekends if I feel like it, but I dunno. Depends on how busy my life is,”

“I get that. You been seein’ anyone lately?”

The question comes out of his mouth so naturally, you almost miss it. Your eyes widen as it registers. When you look up at him, he’s got a cheek resting on his palm and a borderline shit-eating grin on his face. You pause, reeling, and just like every other time you’ve spoken to him - you talk before thinking twice.

“Uhm. Kinda sorta?,”

“That so? You like him a lot?”

Something in you stirs, molten, in the pit of your stomach. Almost like dread but not quite. You shift in your chair.

“Uh.. not really? I mean he’s.. he’s a nice guy but I don’t know. I’m not super interested in him. We’re not dating or anything,”

“Ah.. that’s good,”

You immediately look at him again, and he’s smiling, giving you questioning eyes - like he’s daring you to ask. You both know you won’t, you’re not even sure if you can. You clear your throat, and somehow it feels like you’ve lost.

“There’s a party tonight, just a little get together. If you’re not too busy, you should come,” Hinata prompts.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Why would I invite you if I wasn’t?”

“I.. guess I can’t argue with that”

“I’m pretty convincing right?”

You give him a smile when he says that, eyes full of mirth and life.

“Yeah, you really are,”

__

You think accepting Hinata’s invitation was one of the worst decisions you could’ve made in your whole entire life.

The longer you think about the logistics of the situation, the more depressed you become. Firstly, you probably won’t know a lot of people there. Hinata is nothing if not popular, so you know you’ll probably lose sight of him only minutes after you get there. On top of that, you think seeing him flirt with other girls will absolutely crush your spirit and your frail stability is not looking forward to the experience. You can’t help but think of all the ways things might go wrong, and maybe you’re overthinking it (read: you definitely are) but you’d rather not run the risk if you can help it.

You decide the best thing to do is attend late, maybe just show up in the last hour and head home with as much of your dignity as you can. Sure, you spend those spare hours absolutely grieving over what might happen when you get there and sure, but hey. It is what it is.

You start getting dressed at 10, and leave the house at 10:30. You're dressed in your nice going-out clothes, humiliatingly, and your makeup is much nicer than you’d ever normally do it. Maybe you wanted to impress, at the very least if Hinata doesn’t show interest - someone else might.

You get to the spot around 11, right when the parties start to settle down and people are just hanging out instead of actively getting shitfaced. It’s a little chilly, late October air settling around the frat-house. It’s already dark out, midnight painted along the sky. You can feel goosebumps forming on your skin. All the lights are lowlights and people outside on the grass look faded. He wasn’t lying about it being a small kickback, only a handful of people seemingly both inside and out.

He comes outside looking with two drinks in hand and a pretty smile. He looks like someone straight out of The Godfather, but for whatever reason - he pulls it off well. He’s wearing a hawaiian print shirt tucked into a pair of brown slacks, chest open to reveal a little hair on his lower abdomen and abs that look like they were carved from marble. He looks pretty sober, all things considered. You wave at him meekly when he steps outside.

He’s all too happy to greet you, almost bouncing as he makes his way to you.

“Hey! Look who finally made it. I thought you were gonna bail on me for a second there,”

You flush a little at the implication.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you insist.

“Oh? I must be pretty special then,”

You don’t reply to that, simply tugging your sleeves over your palms with that frazzled expression that Hinata adores. He grins a little, handing you a cold solo cup full of a foreign liquid. You stare down at it, before looking at him.

“I uh, can’t get super shit faced. I have quiz tomorrow,”

“I figured, it’s mostly juice, promise. Take a sip,”

You do, and he’s right - you don’t think there’s anything in it at all. It loosens your nerves so the ratio must be great. You relax a little, taking a longer drink of it the second time around.

“That’s perfect, thank you,” you say, huffing a little breath. Hinata gives you a little grin and reaches his hand out for you.

“C’mon, I’ve got people I wanna introduce you too,”

You look down at his hand, and much to your dismay, put yours in it. His palms are so big, wrapping around your hands as he tucks you inside.

__

He drags you inside. The smell of sweat and bodies and alcohol permeates the air - even with all the windows open and everyone spaced out. Music is blaring through the house, only loud enough to fill in empty gaps between conversation but not enough to blow your ears out. It's hot and a little sweaty, but nothing over the top. You recognize a lot of the people as friends from campus but a big majority of these people are unfamiliar - and seemingly older than you too. Your brows are furrowed together as you try and take inventory of your surroundings.

“A lot of the people here are my teammates and other Japanese pros,” Hinata explains to you. You give him a look of concern.

“...Who am I going to meet?”

He grins.

“My teammates!”

He says it so nonchalantly, you damn near choke on your drink. Before you can protest, he drags you into the kitchen where a group of tall and intimidating men stand around drinking beer and conversing. You’ve never felt so out of your element before, feeling an urge to stand up straight as all of them stop their conversation to give you a grin.

“Hey guys, the guest of honor is here,”

You look at him, exasperated. All of his teammates seem to laugh at your expression. These men are massive - most of them seem to double you in size but they’ve got polite expressions. Hinata ushers you to the first group, pointing at his members in order.

“This is our captain, Meian. These guys are Inunaki, Thomas, Oliver - they’re our senior teammates,”

Each of the men give you a polite nice to meet you, but Meian, their captain - holds his hand out for you with a warm smile.

“You must be Y/N” ― he says. You nod, taking his hand and shaking it. His grip is firm and he seems trustworthy.― “Hinata talks about you a lot,”

You seem surprised by the info, and when you look over - Hinata gives his captain a flushed expression. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” you greet politely. All of them return to the nicety which you appreciate, they seem like they’re trying to make you comfortable.

After everythings said and done, you wave goodbye to the first group. Hinata drags you outside this time, where 3 large and intimidating men are also standing. They seem younger though, and more familiar. It’s confirmed by the way they call Hinata.

“These are my other teammates and people I played with in highschool. Atsumu, Bokuto, and Sakusa,”

The first one to greet you is Bokuto. He’s broad - so wide he looks he would stretch across the ocean and still cover it. He’s got salt-and-peppered hair and smile lines like he never stops grinning.

“Oh! Our guest of honor, huh? Nice to meet you!”

You give him a smile, letting him shake your hand with a hard grip. He proceeds to pat your head a little bit, and you’re not exactly sure what to make of the gesture.

Next is the blonde one, a little skinnier than the rest. At first glance he seems mean, but when he smiles it goes away. He holds his hand out for you to shake and you do. His grip is a little softer, and his hands are the most taken care of in the entire group. His smile defaults to a toothy smirk.

“Atsumu Miya, nice to meet ya,” he greets, an accented drawl thick on his tongue. The kansai dialect is distinct in his tone, but it suits him well. You bow a little and he smiles at you.

Lastly is the most intimidating of the bunch, black curly hair and pale skin. He’s both tall and broad, enough to make you swallow. He pulls his mask down to give you a glance - but he bows his head first, deeper than the rest. You mirror him, and when he shakes your hand his grip isn’t too firm or too soft. He speaks the softest of the group.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi. Nice to meet you,”

Atsumu speaks up again after you’ve made your rounds, leaning back on the railing on the patio. He takes a sip of his beer, chuckling a little.

“We’ve heard so much about you from Shoyo, we couldn’t believe you guys met by chance,” Atsumu comments, amused. Bokuto hums in agreement as you give them all a confused look.

“...About me?”

Hinata shoots his teammates, all of which just laugh instead of answering questions. The ginger clears his throat, grabbing your wrist until you’re next to him.

“Hinata talks about you a lot. He seems very fond of you,”

Hinata glares at Sakusa, betrayal written all of his face. His deadpan friend doesn’t pay attention, just takes another sip of his drink and stares off into space. Hinata gives them a flustered sigh, getting ready to defend himself.

“Ah.. it’s been a long time. I’m glad you didn’t go and forget about me”

“No way I would forget about you!” he corrects in a panic, like you’ve said something borderline offensive. You pause a bit before falling into laughter, the sound doing something bad to his heart, as he stares at you. He can confirm that he still likes you just as much as he thought he did, wonders if he always will.

After your laughter settles down, you give him a grin.

“I didn’t forget about you either, no worries. That means we’re even right?”

Before the obvious tension in the air can get any thicker, Atsumu decides to intervene. He’s not sure how much of his single ass can take of this.

“Hinata, you should show your friend around the rest of the place and maybe have her meet some other players,” Atsumu suggests, just a bit bitter. It falls on deaf and oblivious ears, as Hinata perks up. He immediately grabs your hand again, making you flush before promptly dragging you away from his teammates.

“Oh! That’s a good idea, ‘tsumu - thank you. I’ll see you guys later,”

Before you know it, you’re getting dragged in the house again. You wave briefly to his teammates before Hinata makes you turn your attention back to him. With that you’re off, and you get the feeling it’s gonna be a long night.

__

You’re at the party for about an hour and a half. Most of which, you spend touring around the big house and talking to some of Hinata’s friends. Incidentally, you realize that a lot of these people must be famous. They all seem to know each other, but for the most part - everyones incredibly friendly. You’re most known to be that person that Hinata seems to talk about a lot, the theme of the night. That information ends up being too much for you to handle, so you decide to ignore it in favor of having a good time and not over-thinking.

You decide you should get back to your dorm soon, and Hinata insists on walking you back to your dorm on campus. You don’t find that you have any choice, not being willing to say no.

It’s around 1am, maybe a little later. The area around your dorm tends to be barren, so there’s not many people on the path at all. Drunk or otherwise.

It’s just you, and Hinata - alone for the first time. You’re worried your nerves are gonna kill you, your heartbeat in your throat as Hinata steps in tandem with you. It’s silent, a little awkward but not unbearable.

You decide against your better judgement to cut the tension by talking. You clear your throat a little, hands in your jacket pockets, as you try to find your voice.

“..I had a fun time tonight,”

Hinata perks up immediately at the sound of your voice. His back straightens, and he chuckles - warm breath making smoke in the cold air. He glances at you, smiling.

“Really? I was worried you weren’t enjoying yourself. I know this isn’t really your scene,” He tells you, relieved. You shake your head, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

“I mean.. it isn’t my scene, but it was nice. All of your.. fellow players are really nice. Super intimidating,”

He laughs again, boisterous. The sound takes up space in your chest, making it tight.

“I’ve had some time to get over the fear, so I forget sometimes. All of them are really nice though, right?”

You hum in agreement.

“Sakusa.. he scared me the most but he was really polite,”

“He’s nice to anyone he thinks of as smart,” ― Hinata says abruptly, laughing sheepishly ― “So Bokuto, Atsumu, and I don’t really see him be nice,”

This makes you laugh too, and before you know it - you’re having fun with him just like you had been before. The feeling makes your stomach curl.

The laughter settles and it goes quiet again, so silent that you’re sure you could hear even the softest sounds. Of leaves landing and pins dropping, it’s almost scary. It’s not unpleasant though, or even uncomfortable. It makes you think, or rather - this brief moment of peace allows you the space to wonder. You can’t quell your curiosity, and it’s Hinata so it’s safe. It’s safe to wonder and ask questions, and you still feel fragile - but it’s fine, because it’s him.

“So uhm,” you start, shortly - words staggered in your mouth “What uhm.. what did your friends mean earlier? When they said you uh… talk about me?”

Hinata goes stiff, and for a second, you prepare yourself for the worst. You ready an apology, clumsily thinking of a way to tell him it’s fine. He doesn’t need to tell you if he doesn’t want to and -

“I uh.. I talk about you a lot, I guess,” he answers, voice gone soft. It’s unusually small for him. It’s not that he’s nervous, but he’s not as confident as you’re used to. Either way it makes you take a sharp inhale.

“...What about me?”

His laughs under his breath.

“Ah.. just about how much I've been wanting to see you since I got back to Japan. I was surprised when you said to lunch that day, but I’m glad,”

“You wanted to see me?”

“You sound surprised by that,” he replies, awfully amused. You flush.

“I mean.. I am surprised. You went half-way across the world and we didn’t see each other for two years.. I’m sure you had better things to think about,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. He laughs again, more breathlessly.

“Nah, not really. It was.. it was pretty much just you and volleyball, I think,”

You freeze, and your heart races. It’s going so fast and so loud you can barely breathe, and you stutter. You turn your head slowly, to look at him - but he’s not even fazed. He’s just smiling softly, the corners of his eyes crinkled playfully.

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I like you, obviously. Thought that was pretty clear already,”

Every semblance of stability shatters in a blink of an eye. What was remaining of your fortitude, crumbles to pieces in the briefest of sentences. You stop your movement. It almost feels like your ears are ringing. Your head spins as you blink and stumble back a few times.

“You what?”

He stops now, turns his whole body to look at you. He looks confused.

“..I like you? Wasn’t that obvious?”

You pause, throat closed up. A cocktail of emotions spins through you like a cyclone, suffocating. Your head feels heavy, at a loss for words. You aren’t sure what to do, or what to say - what the appropriate course of action is.

“No. I..I didn’t know. I thought.. I just assumed?”

It’s his turn to be shocked.

“You thought I didn’t like you?”

You nod, dumbly. His face contorts into what you can only describe as utter confusion.

“Why did you think that? I mean.. I guess I was kinda shy in highschool but I thought I made it pretty obvious,”

You stare at him, swallowing.

“I thought.. I thought maybe you were just being nice. And you were really.. like a lot of.. I don’t know - a lot of the girls in our grade had a crush on you. I just kinda assumed you were just being nice,”

“You..thought I just invited every girl to my games? And walked them to class. really?” he asks, voice light. He sounds amused mostly, giggling at the idea. You fluster, feeling just how ridiculous the sentiment is looking back.

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“This is so embarrassing,” you whine, sighing. He chuckles.

“I thought you hated me in highschool,” he admits to you. You immediately go to correct him.

“I didn’t hate you at all,”

“I realize that now. But I thought you like.. really didn’t like me. You always used to dodge me, so I thought you didn’t wanna hurt me feelings or something,”

“No, I always.. I never disliked you, ever. You just always had a lot of attention on you, so I figured it was better to keep my distance or something. Plus you were an upperclassmen and graduating,”

“But.. did you like me?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, voice just barely above a whisper. Overwhelming, so so overwhelming.

“I uhm.. yeah. A lot, I just.. I don’t know. I tried to get over it but I just kind of.. couldn’t,”

You can barely look at his face, but you catch a glimpse. All you can see is the ochre of his eyes, gone glassy - that intense gaze that feels like it could drown you alive. Your stomach flutters, fingers curling in your jacket pockets. You sway, shifting weight from one foot to another. You’re so nervous, you’re almost sick.

“You tried? Does that mean you still like me?”,”

You think for a second, what the right thing to do is. What you should do vs. what you want to do. You think about everything that’s happened and steel your nerves - everything feels so risky. It feels surreal.

“Yeah..I still.. I still like you,” you say, unconfident.

A grin breaks across his features, and he runs a hand through his hair. His shoulders drop, practically folding himself in half.

“I still like you too.. shit. I wasn’t expecting that,” He bends down, laughing.

The sound is airy, truly and utterly relieved and you can’t help but let the good feelings resonate through you. You’ll probably go back to being in your head about it in the morning, you’re sure of it - but for now, you bask in the knowing. The reality that the guy you’ve pined after since highschool likes you back. It’s almost two in the morning and the world feels like it’s spinning, and you’re staring at Hinata Shoyo with a dopey smile, utterly infatuated.

You feel lovesick, and now that everything is out of the way - all you can do is stare. Let yourself admire the face you’ve been seeing through screens for 2 full years. You’re still uneasy, restless as you compose yourself. But for the first time in a long time, you feel.. warm in that way you can only be with someone you like. It helps that it’s Hinata Shoyo, all broad shoulders and tan skin and round eyes. He glimmers, still, just like he did when you were teenagers.

He picks himself back up and shakes his head like he’s trying to realign himself. He steps towards you, much closer than you’re prepared for - and lets his take in all of your features. When his hands reach out tentatively towards your waist, you take in a deep breath.

But you don’t tell him to stop, and when you manage some courage, you look at him too. It’s entirely too intimate for you, too much. He’s too much. Always has been, but you think that’s why you like him so much.

He leans into you, just a little. Your noses bump and your face scrunches up. You’re still so terribly, miserably endearing - so shy. He sighs.

“Hey,”

You giggle a little bit.

“..Hi,”

“If I asked to kiss you, would you say yes?”

Your heart leaps into your mouth, and your hands tremble a little as the rest of his chest. He watches your expression as it twists, hands turning to fists before weakly flattening down to how they were before.

“Yes, I would,”

He breathes, gets closer, too close - like always.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod this time, no words coming out of your mouth. Instead, you close your eyes and lean in. You press your mouth to his, a soft sound leaving as you feel his hands on either side of your face - cradling you like you’re something precious. His kiss is gentle to start with - not harsh or invasive but this comfortable basking warmth. It’s icy, a frigid night in October but your skin still burns anyway. You go weak against him, knees only barely holding you up. You feel like you’re barely holding on as he kisses you deeper and deeper.

You feel like you’re turning into a puddle when Hinata pulls away from you, making you frown. You’re embarrassed by the brief way you chase his lips, only pulling back and opening your eyes when you hear his voice.

“Hey,” he hums, nudging you

“Hm?”

“D’you.. wanna go back to your dorm?”

You flush, but nod.

__

You’ve never found your dorm room particularly cramped.

For a single dorm, you actually find it to be pretty good. It’s 7x7, and big enough to house an entire closet, desk, and a few other necessities. The walls are decorated with hobby stuff - mostly animanga, and everything is a bit messy but mostly well-organized. You’ve never felt like you didn’t have enough space. For just one person in a dorm room, you actually consider it pretty sizable. You even have a full size mattress instead of a twin size.

It’s never made you feel suffocated - so you get the sneaking suspicion that feeling in your lungs has more to do with Hinata than it does to do with your dorm. You find it hard to breathe when he’s around in the first place, but like this? You’re not sure you ever stood a chance.

All you can do is stare as he hovers above you, eyes heavy as you watch him peel off his jacket leaving him in only the button up shirt he had before and the nice dress-pants. You’re in that tight top and shorts, jacket on a hanger in your closet. You can’t breathe, cant think as you watch him tower over you. In the years he’s been out of Japan - he’s gotten substantial. His shoulders and chest are enough to cover you completely. All you can do is admire the muscle that shows even with his shirt still mostly on. You fidget as you wait, unsure. It’s not like you have no experience, but it’s him. It makes you flounder like a virgin, helpless in the palms of his hands.

He takes a deep breath as he leans back over you. All in your space again, his arms on either side of you. You can feel the way his body hovers above you, close but not close enough. His hands slide up to either side of your neck again. He cradles his face in his palms, his thumb dragging across your cheek as he smiles down at you in the dim light of your dorm. Everything about him is truly suffocating. He’s as a part of you as the air you breathe, sticks to the back of your eyelids with this stickiness you can’t clean off. Even without his physical body, he’s got you pinned helplessly to your bed. You can’t help but whine a bit, his lips brushing against yours.

“Hinata,” you whisper, blinking. He looks at you through lidded eyes, humming.

“Yeah?”

You give him a look, innocent and wanting. He gives you a cheeky grin.

“I know you’re bad at saying how you feel, but you gotta tell me if you want something, yanno?”

Your eyes grow wide at the mischievous comment, the little shit-eating grin that makes you flush. Whatever happened in Brazil has made him even more intrepid, less worried about the consequences and worst case scenarios. More plainly, he’s confident- too confident and a little cocky. You squirm.

“Hinata,” you whisper, half-way to a cry “Want you to kiss me,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

“Mmkay. I’ll kiss you,”― and he does, like always - he keeps his promises ―“What else do you want?”

Your eyes widen when he pulls aways, staring at him in shock. His grin is shining, innocent - he cocks his head to one side as if to question you and not the other way around. You aren’t sure what to do with his prompting, why you have to say it. You get a sneaking suspicion he just likes to tease you.

But you can’t help but be desperate, can’t help but want to touch him so bad it aches. You wrap your arms around his neck and drag him down to your level, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You know the next words you can only come out as whispers, too embarrassing for you to say aloud.

“Want you to.. want you to touch me,”

He kisses you, again - a little deeper this time. It’s a reward for your bravery, an unspoken teasing gesture that you accept with open arms. This time it’s followed with a sweet grind, the weight of his bulge between your thighs that makes you shake.

“That so? Where do you want me to touch you?”

You whine, another thrust. It sends electricity through your spine. Goosebumps appear on your skin as you hold onto his strong forearms.

“Hinata,” you whine this time, shaking. He chuckles a little.

“Shoyo, baby,” ― he coos at you, gentle and easy ― “Call me Shoyo, try again,”

You’re out of your league here, you realize only then. You try to push back the intimacy of calling him his first name, the emotion attached - but you fail miserably. Your mouth curls around the syllables, and you flush. Skin burning, you managed to get the words out, despite how heavy they sit in your mouth.

“Sh..shoyo,” you say, unsure. You shake your head, giving it more effort the second time “Shoyo,”

He kisses you again, and this time - he doesn’t pull away. He’s grinning between each press of mouth. It’s smothering, the weight of his tongue in your mouth - tracing the insides, making your body feel weak against your sheets. He kisses you like that for a long while, enough to make you lose your head.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he presses. You whine at the lack of contact, shamelessly trying to get him to kiss you again.

“Everywhere. Please, Shoyo,”

The way you call for him makes blood rush to his cock, frenzied. He groans against the warmth of your mouth, and finally gives into you. He’d been dreaming about this for too long to hold out like he wants too. He’ll have to save it for another day. Instead, he lets his hands roam over your body swiftly. Strong, calloused palms that stroke up your thighs, to your waist, stopping only to squeeze your tits with a rough grope. A gasp gets strangled in your throat. He feels so good, his hands and his body - everything makes you feel good.

“Aah,” you struggle to form words out but Hinata understands without having to try. He distracts you by pressing himself sloppily to your mouth before letting his fingers hook into the waistband of your bottoms. He untucks your top and without a second of thought - grabs the ends of your shirt and pulls it up right over your chest. Your bra is a sweet and pale color - clearly tattered. You look shy over it, realization hitting as you go to cover your chest.

You’re fast but he’s faster, as he pins your hands with one hand.

“Don’t be rude,” he tsks. You squirm, trying to get out of his grip.

“I didn’t think anything was happening tonight so I’m wearing whatever,” you explain, clearly dismayed. He laughs, dipping his head down to bite the valley between your breasts, his hands letting yours go just to hold your waist. You whimper at the feeling of his tongue running over the wound.

“It’s cute,” ― he hums, voice heavy ― “You’re so cute. Super cute,”

You giggle.

“Really?”

He pecks you, trailing kisses down your jaw. They’re sloppy and open mouth. He helps you shimmy out of your top, unclasping your bra and taking that off too. All your clothes get thrown somewhere to the floor and before you know it - Shoyo is above you again. He grabs your tits in the palms of his hands, kneading the soft flesh with interest. He pushes them together, fondling you with a certain look in his eyes. Half-way between curious and lustful. It makes you wonder.

“Shoyo? You okay?”

He blinks at you, clicking back into reality as he meets your gaze. He nods, deep in thought.

“Yeah. I’ve just wanted you for a long time, you know? Doesn’t feel real,”

“Oh?”

His mouth closes around one of your tits, and he hums in response. You feel his tongue flatten and circle around the hardened nub. Your spine arches, clit fluttering. Hinata pays special attention to all the ticks of your body. Each of your waxing and waning desires are carefully taken care of. Hinata has always been excessively good at reading people, like he looks at someone and knows the right way to approach. For how hard-headed and brave he is, you think he’d be more misinformed on reading others.

But he does it, easily, without fail. And he touches you like he’s read your mind, listened to all of your nasty fantasies in the years he was gone. He touches you like he’s reaching into you somehow, the soft pacing mixed with harsher grips. It’s just enough to leave you wanting, enough sucking on your tits to make you restless. Enough groping touches and ruts against your clit to make your pussy soak. This lust that’d been festering for years suddenly takes new shape, and in no small part with how well Hinata just seems to get you.

You lay there and he plays with your body. His fingers tweak your nipples, rubbing them with his thumb as you squirm. He lifts his head to look at you.

“Mhm. I thought about touching you everyday,”

You can’t contain your shock, a gasp leaving your lips as Hinata continues to wind you up. His words add fuel to the fire, always been good at getting people to hear him out even if he has nothing to say. You find yourself replying half-heartedly. Your eyes are pressed shut, fingers threading through his hair.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought about how pretty and nice you were and how much I liked you. I wanted to make you feel good.. still do,”

You whimper.

“I wanna make you feel really good. Can I? Please,”

He asks you the question with innocent eyes. Somehow he’s even more concentrated than before as he stares up at you. Your eyes widen. You nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth with a deep sigh. Hinata smiles at you before ducking his head down. He trails kisses down your navel, and when he gets to your bottoms - he leans to one side. Lifting your legs up, he slides them over you until you’re in nothing but printed cotton panties. They’re unsexy just like your bra, torn on the waistband. The light color highlights the damp spot. You want to hide but he coos at you, endeared by it.

He crawls up next to you, slotting himself by your side while sliding his hands down your stomach until he’s hovering above your clothed core. His knuckles drags between your soft folding, and he gasps. He does it over and over, listening to ragged breaths.

‘You’re so wet,” ― his voice is thick as he lets his knuckle drag against your swollen clit ― “Is this for me?”

It’s nothing but a ridiculous question, but you’re nothing if not weak to his whims. You throw your head to the other side, trying to face away from him as you answer with a simple “mhm,”

Hinata isn’t having it. He uses his free hand to point your face to his, and you kiss him over the shoulder. He holds your face so that you have to keep kissing him, even as he slides his free hand into your panties. Every gasp or moan you make, he swallows greedily. Your breathing goes shallow as he circles your clit, throbbing with each of his touches. You know deep down, he’s just rubbing the little sensitive bundle of nerves - nothing more and nothing less. It’s just that Hinata does it so carefully. So lovingly, adoringly playing with your pretty pussy with none of his usual impatience. Hinata is so much all the time, but he takes it so slow with you. His big fingers overshadow you, but it feels so fucking good anyway. The way he rubs on your pussy is enough to make you wetter than wet. Enough to slowly unravel that heavy tension you’ve had in your body for him so long. You’re tongue kissing him, practically drooling. Just soft and empty babbles as he rubs your clit for all it’s worth.

When the pleasure suddenly comes to a tide, you can’t do anything but gasp. With your mind filled with lead and body tight, you cum so hard you feel like you might go blind. The pleasure is nothing like you’ve ever felt, an orgasm you can feel with your whole body - a result from the way Hinata has worked you out. You’ve never had anyone go so far

“Haah..! Holy shit,” are the only tangible things you can think to say. Hinata doesn’t seem fazed by the orgasm, instead keeping his movement steady until you’re done pulsing so harshly. Your first orgasm of the night is a quick fall, it hits you and then it keeps going. Your pussy flutters around the feeling of nothing as you throw your head back, almost crushing Hinata’s wrist in the process.

When you come down from it, you blink your eyes open to see Hinata’s smiling face. You blink at him, sluggish from the sudden rush before pushing yourself to kiss him.

“Thank you,” you mumble, almost out of habit. This makes him laugh.

“For what?”

“Makin’ me cum. Normally, I have to do it myself,” you explain. Hinata groans, laughing.

“You’re really gonna kill me, you know?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. He laughs at how worn out you are.

“Do you wanna keep going?,” he asks, concerned. You give him wide, worried eyes.

“Please,” you almost beg. He laughs a little at you, kissing the corner of your mouth as he moves away from you. This time he slides himself down between your legs. You watch him, the way presses soft kisses all over your skin until his face is inches away from your cunt. His big hands go underneath your thighs before pushing them apart. He kisses up those too, taking his time with each peck - pausing to leave little hickies in all the places above the knee. It’s teasing and purposeful, too much for you to handle.

Finally, finally - his mouth hovers above your clit. Sticky and wet, dripping from your first orgasm. It won’t take much effort to get you going again, but Hinata starts slow anyways. The long stroke of his tongue against your sex makes your whole body convulse. You shudder, shake like a leaf in a storm. Hinata drags it once, then twice, until he’s pressed flat against the nerves. You’re already reeling, overstimulated, and the hotness of his mouth secure around your clit only makes you fall further into delirium. You fall deeply into the web of pleasure, secured and sacrificial as Hinata spreads you open and lays you out in a way that feels unreal.

He sucks on your clit with a soft hum, gazing up at you just to check your reaction. When he sees your chest start to get erratic again, he doesn’t hesitate to bring his hands. He pushes your legs out further. You think he gets off on the way your legs spread out. You feel his finger against your folds, the calloused pads of his fingers as they push softly against your hole. You fail at being still or silent, soft whimpers pulled at every move. Hinata is good at being consistent, he touches you in a way that feels even and steady. You gasp at the initial stretch of his two fingers, pussy feeling tight as he scissors them out.

Your second orgasm comes to you much slower, softer. Hinata’s fingers and the heat of his mouth make you feel like your mind is melting, the way he seems to massage your pussy so gently. You can feel the way your body loses itself to pleasure, the strange sense of urgency deep in your gut as Hinata sucks your soul through your clit. His fingers are putting pressure on your gspot, only laughing when he hears you gasp. You’ve got your fingers clawed in the bedsheets, spine arched beautifully as you cry out for him.

Hinata only slows when he hears your voice give out. He pulls his fingers out and you watch with lidded eyes as he sucks on them to clean them off. A small whimper leaves the back of your throat as Hinata pulls himself up and off of you just to kiss you.

You reach down and squeeze the weight of his cock, tucked into his slacks making him choke out a sound. He laughs a little at how innocently you do it, like you seem surprised that it’s even there. The air is still sticky with this tension, no chances of it mellowing out soon.

“It’s…big,” you comment. Hinata quickly unbuttons his pants, letting his pants fall just at his thighs. His cock springs free, enough gravity that it bounces. You watch it in a gasp, it’s thick. Fat and heavy with a hard curve up. The tip is pink and pretty. It makes your throat close up, mouth watering as your hand wraps around the shaft tentatively. Hinata lets out a soft gasp as you stroke it, just enough to make it feel good. He pants in your ear shamelessly, eager to fuck into your soft hands.

“Fuck, baby - that feels good,” Hinata groans. The sound makes you shake a little, and you nod - going harder as you drink down his reactions. Expression creased, breathing shaky. You can’t help but want more. The space is limited and the air is hot - and your eyes are glazed over as you stroke his cock softly. You let your fingertips touch, almost like you’re not sure what to do.

“Shoyo,”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna.. I want you inside. Please,”

Hinata blinks at you and then laughs good-naturedly. It feels like torture, you’re so sweet on him. He doesn’t give a verbal reply, instead pressing his lips to your forehead with a soft hum. He can’t help but dote on you, just a little. Everything about you makes Hinata Shoyo exceptionally restless, so he can’t help but want to kiss you. He can’t help himself but press kisses all along your face until you let out that warm giggle and sigh.

“Yeah.. me too. Wanna be inside you too, but I don't have any condoms,” he says, strained, like it hurts him. You shrug.

“That’s..okay,”

His eyes widen.

“It is?”

You shift, letting your legs fall back as your skin goes warm.

“It is. I’m.. yeah. Don’t worry about it,”

Hinata stares at you like you’ve hung the moon but opts to bite his tongue. Either way, he isn’t sure he would be able to say anything coherent. Instead, he shifts himself to slide his cock between your folds with a deep sigh. The palms of his hands graze against the back of your thighs, falling underneath your knees as he folds you slowly, until there’s no way to move or thrash. Hinata Shoyo knows it’s merciless to fuck you like this, deep enough that his feet fall flat on your little twin size mattress and there’s no where for you to go. You let out a soft squeak at the position, the feeling of his strong form body towering over you makes you feel strange. There’s nowhere to run to, not with the way his thick thighs hold you down, the weight of his body comfortable but heavy over you.

You know it’ll burn tomorrow, but all you can think about is the feeling of his hard dick sliding, nudging your clit softly with each movement. You’re moments away from pleading. Starry-eyed with lust and in a mild stupor, you just need him to fuck you

“Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You do as he says then you feel it, the thick head of his cock pressing forward. He stretches your pussy out incredibly, molds the shape of your insides to his cock with almost seamless effort. It feels like it never ends. You can’t help but whimper, grasping for him aimless as he pins you down. He goes painfully slow, and each inch makes it hard for you to think. The wind gets knocked out of you as you feel him push and push and push, the slow stretch that makes your walls ache and your mouth water. You can feel spill as he fucks into you, unable to do anything but babble his name in a plea. You’re stupefied, dizzy - so wet every shift lets out a lewd and wet sound. You feel like your brain might fry,

“S-Shoyo.. hnggh - Shoyo,”

“I got you baby, haah, I got you,”

He bottoms out, a guttural moan - the kind that can only come from his chest as he feels you. You feel like silk, hot pressed and slick around his cock. The sensation has him gritting his teeth and grunting. Nothing could’ve prepared him for how fucking good you feel around his cock, pussy gripping onto him for life - it’s begging for something to be inside of it. He can’t help but wonder how he’ll ever tear himself away from something so warm, so pleasurable. Everytime he so much as shifts, you throb and tear up and Hinata has to stop himself from fucking you before your ready.

“Fuck you feel so good. I never wanna stop fucking you,”

You whimper and clench, hard and Hinata gasps. A choked sigh leaves his mouth as he ruts his hips. You’ve gone into a delirium - head swimming and forbade of anything but Hinata fucking you raw and deep.

“Shoyo, Shoyo, Shoyo,” you gasp, fingernails tearing the skin in his back “Please move,”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. In one fluid movement, he’s pulling out and fucking you deep. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before, when his eyes get a little glassy when he focuses on something before conquering it. You can’t help but feel it weigh down on your chest as Hinata fucks you for all of his worth. His cock spears you over and over, raw and so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach. Everything feels like it’s on fire, your calves dangling pathetically up as he fucks into you with force. He fucks how he spikes, hard and so fast you can’t keep up. His balls slap against your ass with a heavy sound as he moans into your ear.

It feels like the mattress might break as Hinata overwhelms you. You’re so wet each thrust almost makes him slip out but he never does, cock snugly inside of you as he fucks you so deep. Deep enough to make your mind feel static.

The way he has you folded makes your clit grind into his navel with a soft bump. You can feel the way the pleasure builds, staccatos slowly. It comes quickly, like a crack of lightning, impossible to predict. It doesn’t feel like anything you’ve ever felt before - hard and fast. His cock knocks into you like it’s bullying you, harsh against your pretty pussy but not painful. Just too much, enough to make you crazy,

“Gonna cum for me?”

“Oh, god. Oh god, ohgodohgod,”

You cling to him, voice aching in your throat as you cry out - as you cum, a third time, right on his cock. It feels so good your brain melts and your throat collapses in on itself and Hinata is quick to gasp into your ear as your whole body convulses and the string inside of your belly snaps with no hesitance or resistance. You’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your toes curling as your body aches - thrashing against the bed. Hinata chuckles when he watches you lose your mind over it, but he finds that he’s not far off either. You mewl as he keeps fucking into you - reaching forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Cum inside of me, Shoyo. Missed you,” you tell him, dazed. Hinata’s eyes go wide and before you know it - his hips stutter. Hearing that was apparently all he needed to finish and he cums, right inside of you, without a moment of hesitation. He groans as he finishes - thick, hot, white cum spilling deep inside of you.

He lets himself stay inside you as he pulls back and unfurls you. He presses kisses all over your cheeks and face in his post-sex haze, mumbling about how pretty you are as you fall away into nothing-ness.

“I’m glad you came back to Japan,” you hum, soft - sated.

Hinata smiles, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m glad too,”

A pair of sharp eyes watch you from the top of one of the trees, unswaying even as the breeze blows around them. Is it an owl? Maybe another animal? You narrow your eyes to look more closely, but then you blink and they’re gone, lost in the foliage. You play it up to a trick of the moonlight, turning back to the party house, when a shadow moves into your peripheral vision.

The man’s appearance is so sudden that it makes you yelp. You place a hand to your chest, trying to calm your beating heart as you laugh awkwardly.

“You scared me!”

“Did I?” His voice is rich, deep, and slightly familiar.

You take a moment to study him. He’s dressed like a tengu, baggy black pants cuffed into red socks near his shins, his red top tied at his waist, open in the back to allow for his black wings to sprout. On his face sits a half-mask in the shape of a bird, the eyes hollow so you can see his yellow orbs. He looks amazingly realistic, and you can’t stop yourself from taking a step forward to look more closely.

“Your costume is amazing,” you breathe as you drink him in. “It’s so lifelike!”

“You’ve seen a tengu before?” He jokes as his wings flutter behind him at the compliment. How did he do that? There has to be a mechanism or wire to pull them in his top.

“Well, in my history books and stuff,” you shrug as you take a step forward to examine his wings a little more closely. “Can I touch them? They look so soft!”

The yellow eyes under the mask regard you before he shrugs and arches them up a little so you can touch them. You’re careful when you reach around his arms to run your fingers over the top of his wings. They feel so real, like swans wings, and you’re so dazed with how realistic it all is that you miss the way he shudders as your fingers dance along the feathers underneath.

You only realize how close you are to him when you feel his hot breath hit your cheek, slightly harder and more labored than just a minute ago. You swivel your head to look at him and—oh God, he’s pretty, even with half of his face covered by the bird mask. His hair is slicked back, as dark as the night which only makes his eyes stand out more. This is dangerous, you chide yourself as you pull your head away. You’re not one to press yourself close to strangers you don’t know; in fact, you’ve only slept with one person, the man your mother set you up with last year before he broke up with you for someone better.

“Oh, sorry,” you whisper as you try to step back, but he doesn’t let you go far.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, sends your mind in a tizzy when he grabs onto your wrist and tugs you back. You can feel his solid body against yours, feel something even harder near your thigh. His fingers dig into your back, nails awkwardly sharp against your flesh as he holds onto you.

“I-I… I should get back inside,” you stutter as he begins to nudge at your cheek and jaw with his nose, warm breath fanning against your skin as he moves down your neck.

“Why?” He asks into your skin, sharp nails dragging down the back of your dress. You think you hear something rip but you can only focus on the way his tongue darts out to taste your flesh. “No one’s waiting for you in there.”

“How do you know that?” Your question is breathless as he cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. His hard cock is even more prominent now, pressing against your barely covered cunt, thanks to the way your dress rides up as he pushes at the hem.

“Just do,” he answers as he grinds into you, your cunt clenching around nothing as you gyrate your hips into his. His teeth nip at your exposed shoulder, and you feel a pinprick of pain as he drags your dress strap down. He even got fake sharp teeth for this? God, he should win an award at the costume contest later. “Give yourself to me, sweetheart.”

His voice is bewitching; his fingers on your flesh like a drug. It makes you forget where you are, makes you forget that he’s a stranger. It feels like you’ve known him forever, that he’ll take care of you if you just let him.

But.

“No, I—” You struggle to hold in a moan when his fingers push into your undies, squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he holds your hips against his. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Call me Kei,” he says as his fingers wander further up toward your pulsing cunt, as his cock ruts against your mound one more time. ”Is that good enough for you?”

You don’t have time to answer. You yelp as he lifts you with frightening ease, making you cling to his shoulders as he shuffles back to one of the picnic tables you passed earlier. He sets you on the top of it and captures your lips in a heated kiss, frantically pushing up the ends of your dress to expose your panties to the chilly night air. Quick twirls of his tongue against yours make you lightheaded, and you shrug out of your fake angel wings, letting them fall uselessly to the grass.

As soon as his fingers find your panties, you hear a ripping sound, and you gasp as they fall uselessly to the table.

“Hey, w-wait, we shouldn’t—”

He growls and shuts you up with another kiss, grip on the back of your head nearly bruising. He doesn’t let you budge, sharp teeth running over your lips until you taste the iron pang of your blood, until he’s imprinting the taste on your tongue as he tangles with it. His push to your chest makes you gasp, your back hitting the table so hard it makes you lose breath momentarily. Even through his mask, his eyes hold a hunger that makes you press your thighs together with a whine.

“I… inside, let’s go inside,” you plead, fingers wrapping around his red shirt and tugging. “Everyone can see us out here.”

“Let ‘em,” he huffs before dropping to his knees.

You yelp when he pries your legs apart, wet cunt on perfect display for him. You shift when he drags his fingers up your folds, and you almost give in, but the music thumps behind you and reminds you where you are.

“Kei, stop,” you breathe out but it’s half-hearted; your hips grind into the press of his fingers, your legs parting even further when he dips inside and brushes your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he says matter-of-factly, a smug smile on his face as one of his fingers presses into you. “Look how wet you are, sweetheart.”

“Kei,” you whimper in embarrassment, nails digging into the wood of the table.

“Should I?”

There’s a beat that passes between you both; the music roars on in the background and you hear people laughing from inside the house. It feels like slow motion, the grin growing on his face the moment you shake your head.

“...No,” you murmur. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

He barks out a laugh before leaning forward, tongue immediately disappearing between your folds. It makes you squeal, fingers disappearing into his inky black strands and tugging when his nose bumps your clit. Your head falls over the side of the table, giving you a perfect view inside the sliding glass doors that lead to the dance floor. People linger around, drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces, but not one of them looks at the man between your legs, licking you up like your pussy is water on a hot day.

You groan when he finds your clit, tongue circling and pressing as his fingers push into your walls. He’s careful with them, a contrast to the quick way his tongue flicks across your clit, and you realize why as soon as he digs into your hip with his other hand. His nails are sharp, ripping a surprised gasp from you that morphs into a whine when he begins sucking on your clit. Your body feels like it’s on fire, sticky with sweat even though a cold wind blows around you. You hold him closer, push him into your cunt by the hair as your orgasm begins to rise.

“Kei,” you whine as your body starts to shake violently, the table wobbling with you. “Kei, please, a little…. Ah, a little—”

The man moans into your cunt, fingers pushing deeper and faster into you, and one harsh suck makes the coil in your stomach snap. Kei has to hold you down on the table because you begin thrashing, the pleasure overwhelming as it washes over you. Your moans are loud, a constant stream of pleasured sounds falling from your open lips as he licks everything up.

It’s hard to catch your breath, dazed eyes focused on him as he stands up. His mouth shines with your slick, but his eyes shine ever brighter—like blazing supernovas in the night, pulling you further and further into their hot depths. You reach out for him, and he easily falls into you, nearly crushing your body as he captures your lips. It’s suffocating, like he’s pouring every bit of himself into you, flooding every single bit of you with heat and desire.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants against your jaw as he nips down, your thighs aching with how far he keeps your legs spread apart. You can feel a stinging as he moves down your neck, making a mess of your shoulders and collarbones as he grips your waist. His hard cock ruts against your cunt, practically humping you in his desperation.

A sound from the house makes him look up, and his actual growl raises the hair on your arms. You try to look back but he forces your head into his chest, and you cling to his shirt as he shifts you into his embrace. Wind whips against your lower body for barely a moment before you’re dropped onto a small grassy area, your dress barely hanging on by a thread. The woods surround you, the tall trees making you dizzy, the shadow of the man lingering in front of you making you even dizzier.

“Kei?”

“Nobody gets to see you like this but me,” he grounds out as he fumbles with his pants. Your eyes widen when his cock springs out of the fabric, long, thick, red and angry at the top. How is that supposed to fit inside of you?

It’s like a whirlwind with how fast he’s on his knees, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes into your cunt. There’s no time for the multitude of questions on your tongue, the words disappearing as he stretches you out. Even with your orgasm, it burns slightly and you have to catch your breath as he fills you up completely. His cock drags along your walls as he pulls out and thrusts back in, and you cry out when he already hits so deep with barely a motion. As soon as he begins rocking, you cling to him, fingernails digging into his covered arms as you stare up at him.

You know you should be embarrassed, spread out and gasping for a man you just met, for a man who still wears his tengu mask and wings. Your mother would be so angry with you—and maybe that’s why you spur him on, matching his quick thrusts with hips raises of your own, whimpering when he squeezes your tits through your dress. A hand moves under you, pushing on your back and forcing you into an arch so he can rip at your dress with his teeth. You don’t pay it any mind, not when his cock stretches you so well, not when his tongue and teeth all over your tits make you gasp for more.

Heat rises through your body with his quick pace and the way he marks you like he’s claiming you. His gaze flicks up to yours and there’s so much heat in it that it makes you gasp. His nails dig into your back, his teeth tugging at your nipple harshly as he fucks into you. You can’t do anything but whine and cling to him, body trembling as he hits that spot in you that makes you moan over and over and over.

Your second orgasm is sudden, his name spilling from your lips as you shudder into him, eyes squeezed shut in your pleasure. He’s whispering something in your skin but you can’t make it out, ears ringing with the overwhelming sensations as he keeps pistoning his cock in and out of your messy cunt. He only stops for a second, and you haven’t caught your breath when he pulls you up into him. His tongue pushes into your mouth as he grabs onto your hips, helping you ride him as he whispers into your skin.

“Gonna fill you up. Make your tight little cunt drip for me. Fuck you until you can’t walk.”

The absolute filth and promise in his words makes you shiver and paw at his shoulders. “Kei!”

“You want it, don’t you?” His laugh is dark and muffled into your jaw. “Want me to make you so fucking messy. Want my cum, yeah?”

Your walls spasm at his words, your body tired but mind still buzzing with the need to feel him pistoning you on his cock.

“Give it to me,” you babble as you scratch down his covered back, lungs burning with the inability to catch your breath. “Give it to me, please, want to feel you.”

“That means you’re mine, sweetheart.” The condescending way he says it makes you tremble, your mind hazy with the way he keeps lifting and dropping you while you cling to him. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, ah, fuck— yours, Kei!”

His growl is loud and you’re unceremoniously dropped to the grass again, held down with a strong hand on your chest. Kei moves impossibly faster, his skin slapping against yours, nails digging into your already marked chest as he nearly splits you in half. His other hand finds your clit again, and though you squeal that it’s too sensitive, that you can’t again, his fingers rub so fast that white-hot pleasure spikes in every nerve in your body.

Tears spring to your eyes with the intensity, and you swear you black out for a moment, vision going dark as you hit your high one more time. With a few last choppy strokes, Kei leans forward and clamps down on your shoulder hard enough to make you scream. He spills into you, stuffing your cunt full of his seed, enough that you feel it leaking and dripping from your folds even though his cock still impales you. He keeps a hold on your shoulder even after he stops moving but it doesn’t hurt anymore—if anything, it feels comforting, his presence wafting over you like a blanket.

The grass feels cool against your burning body, and you’re too tired to open your eyes when he pulls his cock from you and lets your shoulder go. The last thing you feel before the darkness hits is the gentle press of his lips against your stomach.

When you jolt awake, you’re back in your apartment, encased in your fluffy comforter. If it weren’t for the soreness in your lower body and the fatigue still lingering in your limbs, you would have chalked it up to a very realistic dream. When you finally make it to the bathroom, you gasp at your reflection. There’s red marks everywhere, little nibbles and lines of broken blood vessels littering your flesh. Even worse is the teeth imprint in your shoulder, perfectly outlined like an animal bit into you and made its presence known.

The heat in your body doesn’t subside for days, and the marks linger even longer. You try to forget about the mystery of ‘Kei’—it’s not like you got more than his name and you didn’t even see his full face, just his yellow eyes and his strong chin.

There’s really no reason for you to see him again, nothing that connects him to you more than a good lay—and therein lies the problem.

Because the two pink lines of the test on the counter are impossible to ignore.

No matter how many you buy, no matter how many you take, they’re all the same.

Pregnant.

With no clue who the father is and with no way to find out either.

Reality presses down on you like a vice, squeezing your lungs until you’re hyperventilating, until you’re vomiting again and again, like you’re trying to expel the seed-sized baby currently snuggled into your uterus.

This can’t be happening.

No matter what you think to do, no matter what plans you try to come up with, your mind is blank. The truth smacks twice, two little pink strikes to your heart as you stare at the plethora of positive tests before you.

The little kids that visit their little pop-up store over the June weekend are so cute. The event is a bigger hit than he anticipated and there are so many families that come to write little notes, draw their family pictures, and buy cute stationery sets.

Akiteru doesn’t notice you walk into the store at first, your hand tight in a little boy’s hand. He’s too busy ringing up another family and wowing their daughter by “magically” pulling a piece of candy from behind his ear. He doesn’t look up when you sit down at the table in front of him and help the little boy pick the perfect piece of stationery for his letter, too busy organizing some papers behind the cash register. He finally turns his attention to you when you huff at a guy who stands by your side, looking extremely sheepish.

“It’s Father’s Day, you know. He wanted you to pick him up, not me,” you grumble so only the two of you (and Akiteru) can hear it, before you turn to the little boy who is trying to write ‘I love you dad!’ on the card by himself. “Wow! Look at you! Your handwriting is so cute!”

“I got held up at work,” your friend murmurs back as he takes a seat next to his son. “Sorry I’m late, buddy.”

“That’s okay, dad. Auntie bought me some candy on the way here!”

“Did she now?” The dad deadpans, looking annoyed with your satisfied grin.

Auntie, huh? Akiteru thinks, eyes flicking between the two of you. You’re both pretty attractive. The man is a bit older, his black hair slicked back and his grey suit fitted. A corporate worker, just like him. You, on the other hand, wear a cute little spring dress, a loose cardigan over your shoulders. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you lean down to admire the card the boy is nearly finished with. He can see himself asking out either of you, if he’s honest. He’s been single for far too long and he can’t say he’s not looking.

You smile up at him, and that’s when Akiteru realizes he’s been staring at you both.

“The card looks really great,” he ventures with his best salesman smile. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so,” you hum in response, before your eyes flick between your friend and him. Akiteru glances over and realizes your friend is staring at him. Is there something on his face? “Oh wait, actually, could you help me choose a gift for a friend?”

You point to the small stationery set-up he has against the other wall and he nods, gesturing that way before he leads you over. When you both stand in front of the display, you suddenly turn to him with a wide smile.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

The question is so sudden that all he can say is, “Huh?”

“I’d like your number if you aren’t.”

You certainly are forward. Akiteru looks around, checking to see that his co-workers aren’t paying attention, before he grabs a piece of paper from a tester notebook on the shelf.

What the hell, why not?

He can appreciate the fact that you had the gall to ask him first. It saves him the trouble of awkwardly flirting in front of others later.

“My name is Akiteru,” he tells you as he quickly scribbles down his number and slides the paper your way. “Akiteru Tsukishima.”

You tell him your name and then point your thumb at your friend and his son. “His name is Taka.”

Why are you suddenly telling him your friend’s name? He nods along as you leave his side, promising to text him before you go back to the table. Taka listens to whatever you have to say before his eyes widen and he shakes his head adamantly. You ignore him, punching his shoulder and reaching out for Taka’s son. The little boy proudly boasts the card he made as your group slips out the door of the pop-up shop.

There’s a brewing in his gut that tells him something is weird about the situation. Akiteru ignores the itching in his brain and gets back to work, phone heavy in his back pocket.

He really should listen to his gut a little bit more.

It doesn’t take long to meet up again. You both decide to grab a coffee on your off-day, and he sits waiting for you in the flower cafe he picked on purpose. After careful deliberation, he’s traded his usual hoodie for a nice shirt (and jeans. Old habits die hard.) When you walk into the cafe a few minutes later, your face lights up as soon as you see him. His heart does a little skip when he sees you look even cuter than you did at the pop-up store. Thank God you actually messaged him first, because he was a fool for not getting your number as well.

Akiteru buys your drink and you both sit at the table in the back, hidden behind two large sunflowers. It’s easy to talk to you. You’re kind, friendly, playful. Time passes by too quickly, and it isn’t long before your drinks are empty even though your conversation isn’t.

“Actually, Taka is single too,” you suddenly say after you mention being single for a while.

Yeah, and? It’s on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it back, not wanting to sound like Kei. Don’t be rude, Akiteru. “It must be difficult to date as a single parent.”

“It is! I’ve known him since university. He’s a great guy, he just has… bad luck with partners.”

Yeah, get in line.

“I’m sure he’ll find someone good for him soon.”

There’s a flash in your eye when you regard him, and even though you change the subject to something else, Akiteru can’t forget that look. What the hell did it mean?

The question lingers on his mind the more you text and the more Taka’s name gets brought up in conversation. Do you have a crush on him or something? He wants to ask but doesn’t. How awkward would it be to find out the girl he likes has a thing for her old college buddy? So he lets you tell him all about how nice Taka is and how you wish you could do something for him.

“We should invite him out,” you tell him over your dinner date. (Wait, it’s a date, right? At least Akiteru thinks so.) “The Sumidagawa fireworks festival is next week! We can go together if you’d like.”

Go together. He tries not to show how excited the idea makes him by nodding a few times. “Yeah, I think I have an old yukata I can wear.”

You gasp and sit up straighter in your chair. “What color is it? Matching would be so fun!”

Matching yukatas. He takes a deep breath to calm his heart down. Holy shit, he’s in deep.

“It’s dark blue with leaves on it. My brother’s looks similar though, so I could be mistaken. What about yours?”

“Oh, you know,” you flutter your hand with a laugh. “The usual.”

Something is clearly up. Akiteru narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t elaborate. Instead, you move onto planning where to meet up and what you can do at the festival, your head buried in your phone as you look up places nearby that you can sight-see at before you head for the fireworks.

The same nagging feeling he first had when he met you is back in full force as he ties his yukata belt. He’s been thinking about it all week and he can only come to one conclusion—you’re trying to set him up with your friend Taka. That doesn’t even make sense, because he hasn’t shown any interest in Taka, but he’s shown plenty in you. Asking you out for dinner or coffee, sending loaded questions to get to know you, avoiding topics like single dads and their kids. You can’t be oblivious to his budding feelings, right? They’re still in their infancy, but they’re there, plain as day in the text messages he sends.

When he arrives at Sensoji Temple to meet you, it’s packed to the brim with others in their yukatas wandering up and down the pathways to eat food or pray at the temple before the fireworks start in a few hours. He waits by the front gate for a few minutes before you eventually come into view, waving and smiling at him. You certainly look pretty in your pink and white yukata, your hair done up in an elaborate bun, a little dark blue pouch hanging off your wrist that matches the color of his clothes.

Maybe he’s mistaken. Maybe you do understand his feelings—

“Taka is on his way too, but he said to give him thirty minutes.”

—or not.

“Let’s walk around for a little bit then,” Akiteru offers. He’s determined to get some time alone with you before your friend and his son show up.

He buys you a snack on the way up the path, and you take pictures together in front of the temple, with smiles and peace signs galore. After praying, you head back down to check if Taka has arrived yet, much to his chagrin. He doesn’t want your time alone to end yet. While you wait at the front gate for him, Akiteru doesn’t miss the small sigh that escapes your mouth.

“What's up?”

“Oh, I just—” The pout on your lips is so cute. “I was just thinking. When will I be someone’s first choice?”

Huh? Surely you can’t be this dense.

“What do you mean?”

“Looking at the couples reminds me how single I am,” you lament with another sigh. “I’ve never had someone put me first.”

Maybe that’s because you try to set them up with your friends, his brain nags in a voice that sounds much too much like Kei. The thought makes him laugh out loud and you turn to him indignantly.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m serious! Tell me, when?”

Akiteru blows out air through his nose. Fine. If all of his texts, his date requests, and his flirtatious words aren’t getting through to you, maybe actions will. He’ll just have to show you.

Your eyes widen when he sets his hands on your shoulders, and you let out the faintest squeak as he leans down. He presses his lips to yours faintly, but you don’t respond by the time he pulls away. You’re staring at him like he’s stolen your wallet from right under your nose.

“You’re trying to set me up with Taka, aren’t you?” He bluntly asks. His hands are still on your shoulders so you can’t run away.

“W-well, I was trying to, but I… well, I—”

“Well, don’t, because I like you.”

“You do?!”

Okay, maybe you really are that dense.

He nods a few times, running a hand through his blonde hair. “I thought you liked me too. Am I wrong?”

You’re quiet for a moment and Akiteru thinks he messed up by confessing so suddenly, but then you let out the quietest, “No.”

“No?”

“You’re... not wrong.”

“But you were going to set me up with your friend anyway?”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was trying to be a good friend. It’s not my fault you’re so likable!”

Akiteru laughs loudly, covering his mouth to contain his chuckles. You whine next to him, tugging on his sleeve with another ‘Don’t laugh at me!’ as he calms down. Instead of saying anything in return, he leans down again and brushes his lips against yours, his fingers lightly holding your chin. This time, he feels you timidly kiss him back, and when he pulls away, your cheeks are burning redder than the sunset around him.

“Let me put you first,” he promises and holds out his hand.

“I’d like that,” you whisper back as you take it.

You’re warmer than he expects when you lace your fingers with his, but he’ll sweat through seven yukatas before he lets go. Akiteru can see you shyly biting your lip as you try and pretend you aren’t looking at him—but you are. You’re finally looking at him.

That’s better than any damn fireworks festival in his book.

Legs spread and your fingers on either side of your clit, you smile as you watch the plush softness of the pillow under him swallow up his cock with each thrust, “You wanna be fucking me don’t you baby~”

“Y-Yes-” Motoya moaned.

“Wanna be rubbing your cock between my cunt lips. Feel my clit against your tip...pump me full of cum~”

“Y-Yes!”

His plea made your cunt flutter around nothing. Wishing it was his cock inside you thrusting and stirring up your insides. But not this time.

Fingers dancing along your clit. Hard bud that sent shivers up your spine with your own attention to detail. Your wetness could be seen as you spread your lips even further. Giving Motoya a wonderful view of your juices coating your entrance. Untouched. Begging to be filled with his cock of all things.

He was left to the pillow. Just a pillow. His cock resting against the cool fabric. The rest of the pillow bunched up between his well toned thighs. Giving him the most friction as Motoya caged the thing between his arms and didn’t hesitate to thrust into it. Dragging his cock against its silkiness as his length twitched and throbbed at the site of your clit so perfect between your fingers.

“Wanna- God I wanna fuck you-” Motoya licked his lips watching your fingers rubbed feverishly around your clit. So hard. Begging to be sucked. All he wanted was a taste. Anything to give him more than just a pillow.

You scooted down on your back. Spreading your legs as far as possible. Giving Motoya the best view as you could, “Mmm watch me cum, I wanna watch you cum all over that pillow to the sight of my cunt baby.”

“S-Shit-” He felt like loosing it just from your lewd words. Worse now as he watched your pace quicken. Every intention of cumming right in front of him.

Enough so he could smell you. Sweet muskiness he wanted to dive his face into. Gazing at the way your fingers worked over your clit and your hips rutted and ground against your own hand. Moving faster. More erratic. That only meant one thing.

“M-Motoya! Fuck Motoya I’m cumming!”

Right in front of him he watched you writhe and twist. Cunt tightening around nothing as juices glistened in a sudden flood as your orgasm hit. Clit throbbing and begging to be sucked as he watched you helplessly cum inches from him. 

So caught up that he didn’t even realize it until his own orgasm stole his voice from him. Motoya shuddered and slammed his hips into the pillow. Cum spilling across the surface of the said pillow. Ropes of it shooting out like it desperately sought your cunt. Falling short though as Motoya had to keep moving his hips to milk his own orgasm. Milked into there was nothing left and he was panting staring at you. Fucking his cock through his own cum stained on the pillow. Hunched over with a hungry stare on your body. 

♡ atsumu pulls osamu aside before he can leave and tells him that he'll take you home. he's tired anyway, not wanting to be there, might as well get you home, crash at your place so osamu didn’t have to go home early

♡ it takes a bit of time, and several attempts to turn him down, but osamu eventually agrees. atsumu is, after all, the one single person that he would ever trust to get you home safely and put you to bed without having to worry so avidly that he wouldn't enjoy the night anyway

♡ osamu kisses you quickly and says something you don't quite catch, but the room is spinning so you don't stick around to ask for clarification. you just want some fresh air.

♡ you're walking home, swaying from side to side, hopping over the small cracks in the sidewalk with atsumu's hand hovering over your arm just in case you lose balance completely

♡ he doesn't want to cross any lines, push through any barriers for both you and osamu. it doesn't matter how infatuated or obsessed atsumu is with you or how much he thinks about you, his brother's unobtainable, but incredibly gorgeous girlfriend, atsumu would never betray his brother, not like this.

♡ but his fingers skim over your arm and you don't move an inch, don't even acknowledge that he's there. his touch flows, so soft that it's tickling the pads of his fingers, and the flat of his hand is resting on your lower back.

♡ you're so out of it that you don't notice or you don't care or you just don't mention it, but... you're not saying anything, so it can't be crossing any line then, right? at least, not ones important enough for you to remember when you're inebriated.

♡ the hand on your lower back becomes stronger, more assertive, more confident in it's placement and in return, you're more lovey, moulding to the warmth and then leaning, on purpose or otherwise, into atsumu's shoulder with a delighted hum.

♡ "mmm, samu, thank you for walking me home, can't wait to get in bed with youuu" ~~

♡ hearing his brother's name come out of your mouth in reference to him makes atsumu recoil, cringing so viscerally that he almost immediately reprimands you, but the correction doesn't dare fall off his tongue.

♡ he couldn't force it if he tried, because you reach up, arm stretching to cusp his face in your hands, so soft against his jaw, and he loses every single train of thought he had.

♡ but that's not enough, because you turn your head and place a kiss wherever your lips land, not wanting to strain yourself. your lips purse against the base of atsumu's neck and they linger, but are gone too soon regardless.

♡ you're giggling because you're warm and your boyfriend is walking you home and you're drunk and happy and what's there not to be smiling and laughing about? you are a perfect state of absolute bliss with a syrupy sweet adoration that atsumu has to pretend is actually for him and he can't help himself-

♡ the instant that you stop walking, both feet planted on the ground for no reason other than the fact that you didn't want to take another step, atsumu kisses you. he takes your face in his hands, lifts your view towards him, looks you directly in the eyes just in case something'll click, and then he kissed you, hard and breathlessly, because he's always wanted to.

♡ god, it would have been so much easier if you just recognized. if you recognized it was the wrong twin in that moment, the rest of the night would have been so much easier.

♡ but you don't recognize him, not when he touches you or looks at you or kisses you. you kiss back, no hesitation in the way you match his intensity, murmuring osamu's name against his lips and, fuck, he's going to have fun tonight.

♡ because you keep calling him osamu the entire walk home, laughing and not registering when an answer comes back that feels a bit more cocky than you're used to, but it's fine. it has to be fine because he's about to get everything he's ever wanted.

♡ when you walk through the door, kicking your shoes off right in the middle of the entrance so that atsumu has to step over top of them, you’re already whining about wanting to be in bed, not straying far enough to be out of atsumu's sight, but enough to coerce him along

♡ you push through the door into your's and osamu's shared bedroom, stepping through the threshold like it's nothing, because it is nothing. this is your room, your private place of residence. you enter easily and without a second thought, and you expect him to do the same.

♡ but this wasn't atsumu's room. he had only been inside on a handful of occasions, frequently spending time in other rooms of the house, but never having a reason to be in your personal space.

♡ atsumu's thankful that you're drunk for many reasons and one of them is the fact that you won't notice the small amount of hesitance that runs through his mind as he steps past the doorframe.

♡ and you don't notice, much too busy with the shirt that's too much work to lift over your head and the pants that are much too tight, buttoned too neatly for your current lack of dexterity

♡ "want this off, samu, help."

♡ this time, atsumu doesn't hesitate, stepping forward in 2 large strides to meet you at the edge of the bed. he takes his time despite how whiny you are to get the articles off of you, but your fussy discomfort can wait.

♡ he wants to revel in it, the fickle impatience you're experiencing and how it makes your eyebrows knit together in the middle of your face and your bottom lip jut out. he leans down, pressing a kiss against it, because he can, and because your pout dissolves momentarily as you giggle at the contact

♡ atsumu's fingers skim against your stomach, migrating back and forth between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your pants. so many options laid out in front of him and all he has to do is choose.

♡ when you murmur out osamu's name, egging him to move on, he listens, lifting up your shirt, palms sculpting to your sides as he pushes up the fabric.

♡ once he catches sight of your perfect skin, exposed only for him, he starts to lose himself, much too urgent to teasingly strip you. your shirt’s in a heap on the floor and his fingers are fumbling with the clasps to your bra, impatient in his own endeavor to see your perfect body

♡ “need help with this too, baby?” he asks, but it’s already undone, straps sliding down your arms with atsumu’s guiding push.

♡ he bends down, forehead against your shoulder, nose nuzzled right into you, inhaling your scent so deeply that it almost makes him dizzy. your perfume has worn off, subtle hints lingering, but ultimately the only thing he can smell is you.

♡ if it weren’t for his overwhelming need to kiss you, to gawk at you, to taste you, to feel you, he could sit right here, pressed against your skin, breathing you deep for the rest of his life. he can feel the blood rushing from his head, cock growing harder in his jeans as he inhales you

♡ lips press wherever he can reach, licking his lips between each one so you can feel the cool air where his lips used to be whenever he reluctantly pulls away.

♡ wet marks trail down your body, caress roaming briskly so he feel more of you, as much as he can get his hands on, he can't stop, you feel just like he's imagined

♡ he lowers to the ground, lips dragging against your stomach until he's eye-level with your waist. the button's much easier for him to undo, no difficulty unfastening and tugging down your pants for you to step out of them.

♡ your panties are so tight, taut against your puffy lips, a tiny dark spot drawing him in like a man dying of thirst.

♡ fuck, he needs to taste you. he knows that there's an unofficial timer counting down in his head, one that runs out with his brother coming home and all of his dreams coming to an end, but he has to get between your legs, shove his face so deep in your cunt that he'll be tasting it forever

♡ "pretty girl, lay down, let me take care of ya, okay?"

♡ you don't object, but he's not sure that with the state you're in right now, you completely understand the implications of that sentence. your movements don't have nearly as much control as they normally do, back falling against the bed almost instantaneously with your hips.

♡ he wants to continue to take his time with you, but he's getting restless, skin crawling with an overwhelming need, stomach empty, hungry for you and only you. he rolls your panties down your thighs, calves, throws them to the side, and, in a moment, nudges your legs apart

♡ his arms snake beneath the undersides of your knees, hands clasping together under your lower back. he pulls you close, leans in closer, salivating because your folds are glistening. if he didn't have such a hold on you, he'd drag a single digit between them just to test the waters

♡ he'll just have to use his tongue instead

♡ the second his tongue dips into your heat, there's no going back. whatever ounce of reluctance that was buried deep inside has evaporated, gone with all self-control.

♡ it's all teeth and tongue, lips, nose, and chin, any bit of his face that he can rub against your slippery cunt. he can't breathe, too excited, too smothered. he'd rather die than give this up for a second.

♡ you're startled at first, confusion leaving your lips, evident on your face if he looked up for a quarter of a second, but he couldn't, he doesn't, stays buried between your legs, surrounded by you, thighs pressed against his ears so when you tell him...

♡ "stop for second, samu, wait, what? baby, hold on, what's happenin?"

♡ he can't hear a thing, not that he would've stopped if he'd heard you crystal clear.

♡ you taste just as sweet as he thought, maybe even sweeter, hints of salt and thicker than he imagined, swallowing whatever was too much for his mouth. you coat his tongue, prodding at your hole because every time he does, you gush for him even more.

♡ when you give in, not quite understanding, but knowing that warmth is spreading to every inch of your skin and your throat is getting dry, your body relaxes, melts into the bed, hands parting his natural roots. you're far too lethargic to fight it anyway, so you might as well enjoy it.

♡ atsumu could stay here forever, gracious and happy as he sloppily worked his tongue between your lips. if he wasn't so pussy-drunk, he'd be more meticulous, care more about the shape of his tongue and the placement, but he's so hard, cock straining against the insides of his jeans, and his tongue feels so good flicking over and jabbing into your hole, but he needs to be inside you.

♡ he pulls away, watching a thin string connect his lips to yours, cock throbbing at the thought of being surrounded by it, and he whimpers, unapologetically because you won't remember it in the morning and he's been waiting so fucking long to take you

♡ "samu, you came home early for me, lemme repay you, know you love it, baby."

♡ you sit up and before he knows it, you're already crawling towards him, hands out towards his belt, innocent pleas in your eyes that he couldn't deny even if the plea wasn't for something he's fisted his cock to on many occasions.

♡ atsumu places his hands over yours, helping you along as you try to undo his belt and button. you're fumbling even with his guidance, rushing to get it off as you scooch closer and closer with each passing second.

♡ you don't waste any time once his cock is released from it's confines, breath hitching for a moment as you sit back into your heels and just look at him. it makes atsumu's heart flutter in a way that it shouldn't, the admiration in your eyes as you look up at him.

♡ your mind is racing, not all there, and you don't remember osamu's cock perfectly, but this feels different in a way. it feels different against your palm, longer and thicker, slightly more curved, purplish head with precome beading at the slit. you have to open your mouth wider, you think, maybe, jaw aching as you take him into your mouth.

♡ oh my god, your mouth is so warm, hot wrapped around his length, head immediately bobbing so fast that he has no idea how you’re not dizzy. you don't give him any time to think or react, your fingers digging into his thighs, pushing down his jeans further as he slides down your throat deeper

♡ you're choking, gagging on his length, eyes screwed shut, throat sore, speed slowing, but that won't do. his cock sliding against your tongue, mouth so wet and warm, lips tight like a perfect little hole, he can't get enough.

♡ it felt good when you were in control, but when he grabs a fistful of your hair, it gets so much better. he's setting the pace now, no regard for the spit he's fucking out of your mouth or his balls slapping against your chin, just enjoying how willingly your throat accepts every inch.

♡ your nails are digging into his thighs, arms weak, but trying, as they push against him, protests garbled because your mouth is so full. he can't understand you, so he keeps fucking your throat harder, harder, harder, harder until his grip on your head is shaking

♡ it takes you far too long to feel okay again, out of breath, coughing to regain composure and to get more air in your lungs and because there's finally nothing in your throat, blinking away tear after fat tear, wiping them with the backs of your hands.

♡ "samu, fuck, baby, that hurt a lot."

♡ your tone is hoarse, eyes evading from shyness or fear, it didn't really matter. he was moving you in the midst of it all, positioning you on your back again, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist, but they keep sliding so he places them on his shoulders.

♡ and it should be a warning sign, a cautionary tale, something to deter him from going too far again, but fuck, if you don't look so pretty trying to feel better. fuck, if it doesn't make his cock twitch when you sniffle from the tears. fuck, if he wouldn't be lying if he said your voice didn't sound even sweeter just like this.

♡ "sorry, doll, just felt too good."

♡ he can hear how disingenuous it sounds, just the apology, not the rest, but you don't catch it. you nod along, no verbal acceptance, nothing to tell him it's okay, but humming anyway.

♡ but he doesn't wait for a reply or an okay to move on from what had just happened, it doesn't even enter his mind as a possibility. he's so close. if he pressed his hips forward the tiniest bit, he could feel you. his cock won't stop leaking, dripping precome against the sheets, going to waste.

♡ so he rests his cock between your legs, rubbing against you slowly, just feeling the drag of your skin against his, leaking onto your stomach.

♡ his head slips between your lips, no hand to guide it, moving with gravity and the push of his hips. when he feels the warmth, the wetness coating his spongy head, his hips buck on instinct, rutting again in an attempt to replicate the feeling again

♡ he rubs the tip between your folds, hips canting forwards to feel even more of you, exhaling all of the air out of his lungs when you envelope the head

♡ youre so wet, so fucking wet, pussy drooling onto the sheets below you, and atsumu is staring in awe, swallowing thickly at how involuntary your need is for him

♡ “want me fuck this slutty pussy, dontcha?”

♡ he mumbles it under his breath, not giving you even a moment to think about it before sinking into you, burning hot walls choking his cock almost immediately

♡ he had only used his tongue, hadn’t stuck a single finger inside you to prepare your tight hole for his girth. he didn’t let you adjust either, slid right inside you, pulling you onto him and pressing his hips to meet you until they were flush against your thighs

♡ he wasn’t regretting it. not even as the size took your breath away or the subtle protests left your throat, wasn’t pulling out or slowing down, either, only offered an unapologetic apology as he kept a steady pace

♡ “baby, samu, canyou slow down m please, cant take it, hurts.”

♡ “sorry, pretty, i know, sorry.”

♡ he couldn’t regret it, not when your fleshy walls hugged his cock so tight, squeezed every inch, arousal slicking him with every thrust, the most lewd noises bouncing off the walls right back to his ears only encouraging him to fuck into you harder

♡ once you get used to it, the pain of the stretch subsiding, you won’t stop squirming, moving, whimpering and moaning with every drive of his hips, muttering words too incoherently to make out

♡ you look so cute beneath him. your hair is a mess, head pressed so far into the mattress, unable to stay still as atsumu fucks you harder. you’re not looking at him, can’t focus on one thing for too long, but he can’t stop looking at you

♡ he couldnt if he tried, eyes glued to you as you convulse, clenching around him, walls fluttering as you cum from penetration alone

♡ and, well, atsumu's obviously better for you anyway, right? because you're fucked out beneath him, recovering from your orgasm, already being driven to another one, eyes rolled back so far that you can feel the strain, tears streaming down your cheeks, sobbing so pretty, begging him for more

♡ "please, please, please, it's so good, more please, feels so good, samu, fuck, oh my god, please don't stop, baby, please."

♡ you won't stop asking for more, praising his every motion, slurring gratitudes, and sobbing out osamu's name, telling him that he's never fucked you this good before, because he hasn't

♡ osamu has never fucked you this good before, with such urgency and desperation. atsumu's fucking you as if this is the last time he'll ever get to, because it will be. he's savoring it, committing to memory how your gummy walls massage his length, how perfectly tight your hole is, how eagerly you're sucking him.

♡ your hole is so snug around his fat cock, it feels like he has to force his way inside with every slam of his hips, like he’s splitting you open, your cunt molding around every vein, every curve, clenching around every throb.

♡ it's like you were made for him.

♡ you were made for him.

♡ you were made for h i m.

♡ he knows from praises tumbling from your lips that he’s pleasing you in ways that osamu just isn’t capable of, that’s not atsumu’s fault. every single one of your reactions is pushing him further, harder.

♡ on your walk back, he had some sort of resolve, could separate his wants from reality, from what could actually happen, but now the line was blurred. no, not blurred, it was completely gone. he was getting exactly what he wanted, he could have whatever he wanted, nothing to stop him, nothing to hold him back

♡ and you just kept solidifying it in his mind, kept proving him right time and time again with your noises and your involuntary jerks, how you would cum around his cock without even announcing it, so absolutely wrecked that it wasn’t even a thought in your mind

♡ he slinks deeper and deeper into this power-hungry state, never wanting the feeling to stop, your orgasms a necessity for him, for his pleasure. his regret and remorse are slipping through a shallow grip that he has no intent on retaking, justifications as useless as your warnings of discomfort

♡ it’s not enough. not enough. need more. he needs more. needs it harder. has one arm wrapped around your thighs, tight together against his chest, one digging into your hip, slamming his cock inside of you.

♡ he’s savored it for too long. it’s burned into his mind, the way your folds part for his head, the image of your hole sucking him in as he pulled back on repeat every time he closed his eyes. he didn’t need to savor it any longer. he needed everything you were capable of giving and more.

♡ the uncomfortable groans turn to winces. the winces turn to soft mutters of osamu’s name. the soft mutters turn to audible wait, wait… waits. the waits turn to stops followed by pleases. your hands are on him, no strength behind your pushes as you try to ground yourself

♡ “wait, stop, please, it’s too much, fuck, it hurts, stop for a second, please.”

♡ but it’s okay. it’s fine. ♡ who cares?

♡ atsumu doesn’t have to worry about that. atsumu doesn’t have to listen to you. atsumu doesn’t care. because… why would he?

♡ atsumu isn’t fucking you so relentlessly, so deep that the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix, pain shooting through your lower body, spreading through your chest, eyes closing harshly so tears don’t come spilling, breath taken from your lungs.

♡ atsumu isn’t choking you so brutally that your fingernails are drawing blood from his wrists, grip like it’s life or death as you claw at whatever part of his arm you can reach. each thrust somehow cutting off even more of your airway

♡ atsumu isn’t throwing you around the bed, manhandling and forcing you into positions so violently that in your drunken, wobbly state, you fall off the bed, crashing and colliding with the floor. the humiliation almost worse than the pain.

♡ atsumu isn’t the one that gets onto the floor, onto his knees, and lifts your lower half up to him, ass against his thighs as he slides back into you, fucking you mercilessly, subtle burns forming on your back from the rough carpet.

♡ atsumu isn’t muttering praises, your name, whatever actually comes to his mind as you grip onto him continually, orgasms like rolling waves, growing in intensity and subsiding, but never truly leaving.

♡ you’re sobbing, snot and tears and spit sloppy all over your face, quiet attempts to stop him still spilling despite his active ignorance. and it should turn him off, but it makes it so much better, so much more real, the effects he has on you.

♡ and it pushes him over the edge, your strangled, weak pleas and contrasting bodily reactions, and just how perfectly made for him you are.

♡ “gonna cum, pretty girl, gonna cum, doll, deep inside ya, pretty.”

♡ it’s not a request, but you seem to think it is, eyes blown wide for the first time tonight, panic instantly taking over your features, your limbs.

♡ “no. don’t. please, i can’t- i’m not- you can’t. don’t. please, samu, don’t. seriously.”

♡ he almost wishes that you didn’t protest, not because he needs you to want it, but for your sake. it’s so easy, so much more satisfying to press his hips against your flesh, balls twitching against your ass as he unloads deep inside you, cock pulsing so powerfully that you can feel each one, can match it to each thick rope that paints you

♡ you want it to stop. you wait for it to stop. every stream feels like it’s the last one, like any more would spill out of your hole, no matter how tightly clenched it was around him. it doesn’t spill out, atsumu makes sure of that. and it’s not the last one, there’s still more, so much you can taste it, so much that you’re not sure how it’s all stuffed inside of you.

♡ “perfect, so perfect for me, baby, just for me, all mine, marked ya so yer all mine.”

♡ he’s half-tempted to leave it inside of you, let it drip out through the night, stain your sheets dark with his cum, and let you find it in the morning when you stand up and feel it drool onto your thigh.

♡ but he can’t do that. he knows that he can’t, pulls out slowly, chest heaving as he reaches down, two fingers to catch whatever milky seed drips out of you, pushing it back into your gaping hole, fluttering so tenuously from being so empty.

♡ he rubs the thick, sticky substance over your puffy, red lips, over your swollen, sensitive clit, and you’re crying again, trying so hard to squeeze your legs together without squeezing the rest of the cum out of your ruined cunt

♡ “yer so messy, baby”

♡ he couldn’t keep it inside you, he would’ve missed this pretty fucking sight.

♡ and he couldn’t keep it inside you, because osamu would never do that. and the person fucking you right now isn’t atsumu. the person who came so fucking deep inside of you isn’t atsumu.

♡ it’s osamu.

♡ osamu is the name falling from your lips and osamu is, in your mind, the person who is fucking you so rough that your orgasms are coming, repeatedly, constantly, from force, not enjoyment, the person who, against your very verbal and phsyical nonconsent, came inside of you.

♡ but you won’t remember in the morning how horrible “your boyfriend” was to you, anyway, no. you’ll wake up with some bruises from the fall, a soreness in the depths of your throat, some burns you’ll never be able to find, and a foggy recollection that… that.. someone?? something happened last night, but the details will be sparse

♡ the details will be so sparse and the memory will be a grain of sand compared to the mountain that is the actuality of the situation. you probably won’t remember this moment, despite the time that’s ticked by and how badly he wishes that you will.

♡ he doesn’t harp on it for too long, is too busy soaking in the aftermath that he’s created.

♡ fuck, you look so perfect with his cum pouring out of you that it pains him to clean it, hesitantly diving his fingers into you so he can coax the mess out. eyes fixated on how empty you’re starting to look as more and more leaks out of you and he refuses to let it go to waste

♡ he coats his fingers with it, scoops as much as he can with his fingertips and places them against your lips.

♡ “open. don’t waste it.”

♡ it’s not as sweet as the rest of his words, but you don’t seem to notice, parting your lips slowly as he slips his digits between them, cum glossy on your lips and dribbling down your chin. he’s fast to catch the mess, shoving his fingers down your throat as soon as he wipes it away

♡ he doesn’t stop until his fingers come out clean, the only thing left a thin sheen of slick and cum against your thighs that he kisses away

♡ he hopes that if nothing else you remember his cum against your tongue, the texture and the slightly salty taste. he hopes it lingers until the morning when you’re sober and aware and that a heaviness sits in your stomach that you can’t quite place.

♡ you’ve gone silent now, no longer pleading for him to stop or asking questions, lips a quivering line as he helps you into bed. his touch is ghostly now, so soft that you can barely feel it in comparison to his previously painful hold.

♡ he dresses you in one of osamu’s shirts, carefully rolling the fabric over your sensitive skin. and then he tucks you in, pulling the blanket up to your chest, pushing the hair out of your face, wiping your sweaty forehead, and he kisses you.

♡ leans down and presses his lips onto yours, hands clasping together on the base of your head to bring you deeper to offset your flinch, savoring the last of his moments with you, and then pulling away.

♡ he says it from the doorframe, hand hovering over the light switch

♡ “goodnight, yn, i love you.”

♡ and then he leaves, shutting off the light and closing the door leaving you all alone

♡ in the morning, you’ll wake up next to a passed out osamu who was also disgustingly drunk and atsumu will knock on the door lightly because he can’t not have a control on the the first conversation hat you and osamu have

♡ because osamu is smart and you’re smart and you’ll both connect the dots

♡ so atsumu knocks on the door and you shuffle to the door and he motions into the kitchen, and this is where he sees how good your memory actually is, waiting with hitched breath to see if you object and slam the door on him

♡ but you don’t. you follow, still a bit dazed and groggy, but dragging your feet against the floor as you make your way into the kitchen a few steps behind him. he’s already made you breakfast, is brewing you a cup of coffee and you don’t look apprehensive, you look elated

♡ the conversation at the table is small, you’re mostly focused on eating and he’s mostly focused on trying not to think too hard about last night.

♡ did you taste him when you woke up?

♡ osamu eventually makes his way into the kitchen as well and you are all over him, dumbly soft hanging onto his shoulders, leaning your body weight against him and atsumu is gazing at your body, slowly undressing you in his head, relishing in the picture he’s painting himself because you’re too in love to notice

♡ and you’re breathy moans are filling his head along with the plush fat of your thighs in his hands and the sting of his hips from pounding into you too hard and he’s trying, but not hard enough, to not get hard at breakfast

♡ yours and osamu’s conversation is a back and forth of recollections of the previous night, smiles and gratitudes and “did you have fun?”s and atsumu’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

♡ then it does.

♡ “god, samu, baby, i’m so sore from last night. you were so rough with me, i mean- it was really fucking good, but i just feel it everywhere this morning.”

♡ osamu goes to answers, narrows his eyes and titles his head and wracks his brain for the memory of fucking you. he was really drunk last night… did he? when he got home? no… right?

♡ atsumu sees the wheels turning in his head and cuts it off before it can progress any further.

♡ “no, i took ya home last night. got ya in bed safe and sound. well, i mean, ya did fall off the bed because ya didn’t want to go to sleep and were tryin to get up and tripped over yer blankets, but no, ya got home and went straight to bed.”

♡ “i don’t know, maybe some weird dream?? or?? i don’t know. i’m not sure what happened after osamu got home.”

♡ but, god, fuck, he knows. of course, he knows. he’s been thinking about it all morning. he’s thinking about it right now. he’s remembering you around him, you screaming out for him, you fucked out beneath him, and he’s trying to hide how much it’s effecting him under the table.

♡ he’s remembering every single detail that you can’t fucking remember, running through his head like he video tapped the entire thing (and now he’s cursing himself for not filming the entire thing)

♡ maybe next time.

♡ there has to be a next time.

♡ he couldn’t live with the thought of never being able to fuck you again.

♡ he has to excuse himself, muttering some excuse about feeling dirty after being in the club all last night, and it’s somewhat true, but not really the reason he needed to leave, why he needed to sneak off to the shower

♡ he can’t get you out of his head, how could he. and he’s so fucking hard, throbbing against his thin shorts, palming himself through his boxers as he waits for the water to heat up.

♡ fisting his cock as the hot water drips down his body, steam filling his lungs with every quick inhale as he tries to replicate how snug your cunt was, thinking, coming up with any scenario in his head to fuck you again.

♡ he has to have you again, whatever it takes.

♡ it doesn’t matter if he has to get you drunk again, drug you, fuck you while you’re sleeping, it doesn’t matter how unwilling or how incoherent you were, he was going to be inside of you again.

//

♡ except..

♡ except…. being drunk again implies that you were drunk in the first place

♡ but you hadn’t had a drink for hours before atsumu had taken you home. you had dumped your drinks or swapped them for water or forget them on barstools and tables. you hadn’t drank for hours, but no one knew that. only you knew that.

♡ because you watched atsumu watch you all night, sure, but more than that, you’ve watched atsumu watch you for years. you’ve seen him stare at osamu with an envy so familiar that it hurt and you’ve seen him stick around with you in situation he normally wouldn’t just to walk close to you

♡ but you had osamu and you loved osamu and would never cheat on osamu, but if you could create a scenario… well, maybe you wouldn’t have to be the bad guy.

♡ maybe you would commit osamu’s name to memory, staring at his brother with that stupid fucking smirk on his face. they were twins, yes, but they didn’t look the same, no, not when you really looked.

♡ atsumu always looked smug, like he was hiding a secret from the world that no one else was good enough to share it with, and he always looked happy, like his life was so incredible that he didn’t have any choice in the matter, and atsumu looked like he could destroy you without even trying.

♡ and maybe you would bat your eyes at atsumu like you always did at osamu so that he couldn’t tell the difference and you would hang off of him your entire walk home so that he knew you were depending on him

♡ you didn’t know at the time that you had bitten off a bit more than you could chew, but that didn’t matter, because you were living out an all too familiar fantasy in your head

♡ if your plan was to let atsumu get exactly what he wanted while you got exactly what you wanted, then, is that so bad? and, well, if osamu ever found out.. well.. you were the victim.. you were so drunk

♡ “samu, i- i thought it was you, baby… i didn’t know.. he was.. he was so rough, i should’ve known you would never treat me like that, but i didn’t… i was so.. he..”

♡ if osamu found out, he would never blame you.

♡ he’d know that it’s not your fault. it wasn’t your fault that you had been taken advantage of so horribly by someone you and him both trusted so much.

♡ that’s… that’s not cheating ♡

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