I need more issei please 😔😔🙏
matsukawa’s phone vibrates insistently from the pocket of his jeans for the third time since you’ve found yourselves in this position, leaving your upper thigh to tingle with the sensation as you remain pressed flush against him while he ignores the call. again.
“should you—“ your lips separate for a moment as you hastily breathe out the beginning of the question, a slick trail of saliva hanging between your mouth and his.
his calloused fingers slide up from where they’re curled around the nape of your neck and into your hair, caressing your scalp and cupping the back of your head.
his voice is low and rough, no apparent sense of urgency to be found between the vowels and consonants. the words slide down your spine with a thick, syrupy texture that has you sinking even deeper into the plush cushions as he shifts, caging you in beneath him.
dark brown eyes flick downward, taking in the state that nearly twenty minutes of lazily making out on the couch has left your kiss-swollen, spit-soaked lips in—not that he’s faring much better, his hair left mussed beyond repair from the grasp of your fingers (it’s his fault for groaning roughly when you did it, only spurring you on further).
the corner of his mouth quirks upward, and your heart flutters in your chest far harder than it should as you gaze up at your best friend’s handsome face.
and this is a bad idea for so many reasons, more than you can begin to count—
but he’s kissing you again and running his tongue along your bottom lip. he’s stroking his thumb over your chin and trailing his fingers down the side of your neck. he’s leaving you reckless and wanting as the stubble on his jaw finds tender contrast against your soft cheeks, as his tongue parts the seam of your lips and slides in hot and warm and eager against your own.
he’s clutching your hip and kissing you deep and leaving you drunk and dizzy on the taste of his saliva and heat of his breath and the smell of his cologne.
and you’re fairly certain you’re fucked now that you know how this feels—kissing him until you can hardly breathe, until your stupid, restless heart has nearly escaped the confines of your ribcage to settle against the heat of the palm of his hand as it slides over your breast.
—but you can’t bring yourself to care.
origamiaround
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