"He did nothing wrong" -

you’re a vision. it’s clear that the time spent away did you well. the air around you is completely different now, there’s a certain maturity to you, a glow from within that wasn’t there before, a light in your eyes. leaving this place has allowed you to break free from your cocoon and grow into the person you were always meant to be. ukai feels his chest tighten and he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. he knows you, always did, and yet it’s like he’s meeting you for the first time. your arms wrap around his neck in a clingy hug just the same.

it’s almost unfair how effortless you fit into his life, like a puzzle piece that had been missing. dropping by at the sakanoshita store to grab ingredients for dinner, helping him hang up flyers around town to raise funds for the karasuno volleyball team, picking you up when your car breaks down and your brother doesn’t answer his phone so of course you’d call ukai. he’s making time and space for you in his everyday routine while ignoring the growing remorse he feels towards his brother.

after all, it’s only a matter of time until ukai breaks. 

“your brother can never know about this,” while he kisses you feverishly in a dark corner of the garden at your brother’s wedding. you taste sweeter than anything he ever had a flavor of, drowning out the guilt that coiled in the pits of his stomach. he probably shouldn’t be doing this, you’re his best friend’s little sister damnit, but he knew from the moment you dragged your heels against his leg under the table that he would never be able to resist you. 

“your brother can never know about this,” while he has you pinned underneath him in the backseat of his car, your panties around your ankles and three of his fingers buried in your pussy. the sounds escaping your mouth are nothing but obscene and have him straining his pants, a damp patch forming where he came undone earlier. you’re making a mess out of yourself, leaking all over the seats and the fabric of his pants, trembling and whining while you’re begging him to make you cum one more time. you’re greedy and he’s just the same. 

“your brother can never know about this,” while you’re kneeling between his spread legs, cheeks hollowed out while you suck him off. ukai is on the phone with your brother, discussing something about the upcoming training camp, his knuckles white from the way he’s gripping the back of your head and pushing you down until your nose is nestled against his pubes, your eyes watering slightly. you’re so good at this, barely making a sound except for the small gasp for air when he allows you to pull back, watching you alter between kitten licks and sloppy kisses pressed against his shaft. the guttural moan that leaves him from deep within the moment he hangs up the phone is your cue to take him again, deeper, harder, letting him use your mouth until he’s close, so close, pulling out only so he can cum all over your pretty face.

“your brother can never know about this,” while he sucks on your tits through the fabric of your sundress, making you beg for his cock while you grind against his thigh. it’s summer and the air is as sticky as your dripping cunt, and even though this has been going on for months, ukai still can’t believe sometimes he gets to have you like this, perched in his lap, nimble fingers unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans just enough to make his cock spring free, resting heavy against his stomach. he tilts your head back with a big hand gripping your chin, tapping your cheek with one finger and you open up for him so obediently, letting him spit in your mouth before he kisses you like he wants to devour you. you’re a good girl, you know how to ask if you want something, but more than anything you also know what you want and how to take it. you sink yourself down on his cock and let out an airy laugh, clenching hard around him, and he dreams of having you like this forever. 

“your brother can never know about this,” while he’s impossibly deep inside you, your shaky legs draped over his shoulders, folding you up like origami on his bed. he’s fucking you as if he wants to mold himself inside your being, making you remember the shape of him. ruin you for everyone else, some darker desire bubbles up within him. you chant his name while you’re dancing on the edge of your orgasm; he can tell from the way your eyes get hazy and lose their focus, your kisses getting sloppier, your cunt tightening almost painfully around him as if you want to milk him dry. and oh, how willing he is to give you all of him; harsh thrusts of his hips, whispered sweet and dirty nothings against the shell of your ear, his cock throbbing deep within. where do you want it, and your answer is always the same; inside, not wasting a single drop, stuffing you full until you’re dripping from him the rest of the day. 

ukai is not sure for how much longer you two can keep this a secret or for how much longer you’re staying in town. but he’ll be damned if he lets you get away now that he gets to have you in a way he never dared to dream of. he doesn’t know if it’s love or infatuation, but what he does knows is that he’d sink to his knees to find the answer between your thighs and your parted lips, one open-mouthed kiss at a time, with your fingers tangled in his hair and dripping for him like honey.

“Atsumu’s going to be mad if we’re late,” you chided as the hand on your knee began to migrate higher. 

“It’s my birthday party, too,” Osamu griped, lips turning downward in a pout as you laced your fingers with his and moved them to the outside of your thigh.

The goodwill of Osamu’s precariously balanced patience nearly ran out when you bent over to grab his brother’s gift out of the trunk—and you may very well have never made it inside, if not for the sound of Aran’s voice calling out your names in greeting as he leaned out the front door, the sound of music pouring out onto the sidewalk.

At the very least, the two of you managed to traipse through the house and backyard for hellos and before Osamu eventually caught you on your way back down the stairs from the bathroom.

It’s ironic, in a way—finding yourself pressed up against the inside of Atsumu’s bathroom door again, a breathy, low whine teetering on the edge of your lips as Osamu’s hands push up the skirt of your dress.

“Remember the last time—”

“—we ripped the towel bar right outta the wall.”

(Atsumu bitched about his security deposit for weeks.)

Osamu’s kneeling on the floor between your legs now, eyes sparkling with mischief as he gazes up at you, lips quirked upward in a grin as his hands brush the backs of your thighs. 

It was years ago, back when Osamu’s hair was still an ashy gray, when Onigiri Miya was still a pipedream. Before he got down on one knee in the middle of a busy sidewalk in the snow and choked out a laugh when he told you he couldn’t wait any longer, pulling a small, black box out of his jacket pocket.

This apartment and bathroom are far nicer than the last one, too, courtesy of the blonde twin’s MSBY salary.

But some things haven’t changed—like the way your husband’s staring up at you now, eyes alight with a hunger and fondness that hasn’t faded in the slightest. 

Osamu squeezes your ankle gently, and you lift one foot after the other as he slips your panties off, tucking them into the pocket of his black button down top for safe keeping.

“For someone that kept swattin’ me every time my hand went near yer ass out there, ya sure are wet,” he drawls from underneath your dress, coy as ever. 

Your ability to formulate any sort of response is quickly vanquished by the feeling of his fingers sliding through your slick folds, and you can feel the slick drip of arousal already beginning to slide down the inside of your thighs without your underwear to soak into.

Osamu knows what he’s doing when he slips a finger into your tight entrance, angling his free hand just right so that the cool metal of his wedding band is pressing into your clit.

“‘Samu,” you whine, palm clamped to your mouth.

He shifts his hand, massaging the throbbing bundle of nerves with the ring while he stretches you open further with a second finger, and an amused huff falls from his lips as you drag a shaking hand through his hair.

“That sure ain’t gonna be inconspicuous,” he muses as you tug on the dark strands and muss them even further, biting your bottom lip to stifle the moan crawling up your throat.

“I’m sure Atsumu’s got a brush in here somewhere,” you pant out, readjusting your balance as Osamu lifts your left foot to rest on the edge of the tub.

“‘m gonna pretend ya didn’t just say my brother’s name while I’m between your legs,” he grouses.

“Give me a reason to say yours again, then,” you tease, if only because you know what kind of a reaction that kind of provocation will get out of your husband.

Osamu snorts and rasps under his breath, “Ya love playin’ with fire.”

And it’s the only warning you have before he licks a broad, firm stroke down the length of your slit. 

Your husband is quietly modest about most of his talents, a pride that peeks through in the crinkling of his eyes when a new customer compliments his food. The steady, careful flex of the veins in his forearms as he shapes the rice with a rhythm that’s become muscle memory.

(He says Atsumu uses the Miya name to brag enough for the both of them, after all.)

But he’s different here, with his mouth latched onto your cunt like he’s never known a taste so divine. 

Osamu knows just how good he is at this—making you tremble and whimper beneath the dexterous tease of his tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down his chin as he glances up at your ecstasy-stricken face while he’s knuckle-deep inside of you. 

He might be the one on his knees, but you’re the one ready to fall apart, held aloft on continuous, cresting waves of pleasure only by the sheer precision of Osamu’s control over your orgasm. And he’s more than a little smug about it, too, as you writhe against the wall, tongue slipping into your cunt as he grasps the globes of your ass and works you open like a filthy, sloppy meal. 

“Osamu.”

Sparks of searing, hot pleasure burst through your veins, and your legs feel impossibly weak as the rest of your muscles are fraught with tension. Osamu’s quick to notice the trembling of your thighs, readjusting his grip to hold you steady as your hand slides down the wall.

But it’s all for naught when he thrusts two fingers back into your pussy and starts sucking on your aching clit, the coil of tension deep in your abdomen collapsing in on itself under the weight of your pleasure as an intense climax punches out of you. Your hand scrambles for purchase, fingers closing around something soft as clear liquid sprays from your cunt, and Osamu lets out a deep groan as you squirt all over his face and hand, finger fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his own hand colliding with the wall as he begins to lose his composure as well. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he exhales, voice rough.

There’s a loud snapping noise, and you glance beside you to find the towel bar dangling from the wall, both of your hands fisted in the material.

It’s only after Osamu’s subsequently bent you over the sink, cock plunging deep into your sensitive cunt until he’s filled you to the brim with ropes of hot, sticky cum, that he finally spares a remorseful glance at your joint handiwork.

“Should we try and fix it?” you ask as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before making his way across the curve of your jaw, dubiously eyeing the ruined drywall anchors.

Osamu turns and stares at it for a moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons of doing something nice for his twin.