#makki x reader

your costume was meticulously chosen, a statement that was both alluring and unsettling. patrick bateman, but with a feminine twist that made it undeniably you. the crisp white dress shirt, slightly unbuttoned to hint at the cleavage beneath, tucked into a black mini skirt that barely skimmed your thighs. a sharp black blazer, a blood-red tie loosened around your neck, and those knee-high boots that added inches to your already statuesque frame. the pièce de résistance was the transparent raincoat, artfully splattered with fake blood, giving you the air of a woman who knew how to handle business, even if that business involved an axe and a huey lewis and the news album. you were a walking dichotomy: polished predator, irresistible prey.

pushing through the front door, you were immediately enveloped by the humid, boozy air, thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and something vaguely herbal, definitely not sage. the house was a labyrinth of bodies, pulsating to the beat of a dubstep remix of a pop song. fairy lights, cobwebs, and plastic skeletons adorned every surface, but the real spectacle was the costumes. you spotted a dozen harley quinns, a few generic vampires, and a surprisingly authentic-looking pennywise.

then, you saw them. the four horsemen of the seijoh apocalypse, holding court in the sprawling living room.

hajime iwaizumi, a brooding, muscular tyler durden, leaned against the archway leading to the kitchen. his iconic red leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, a cigarette dangling casually from his lips, the smoke curling around his perpetually intense gaze. he was the kind of handsome that didn't need to try, radiating an effortless, primal magnetism. he caught your eye, a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips, and you felt a familiar flicker of heat in your gut.

beside him, practically glowing under the dim party lights, was toru oikawa. he was ken, but not just any ken. this was the ken, with a perfectly coiffed blonde wig that defied gravity, a pink denim vest, and matching jeans that hugged his toned physique. he was a vision of plastic perfection, utterly ridiculous and utterly captivating. he was holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of girls, his dazzling smile and theatrical gestures drawing all eyes. he spotted you, and his smile widened, a predatory glint in his cerulean eyes that promised mischief. he blew you a kiss, a playful gesture that still managed to make your cheeks flush.

lounging on a beat-up armchair, looking utterly at home amidst the chaos, was issei matsukawa. he was the dude, an almost spiritual embodiment of the big lebowski character. his tattered bathrobe was surprisingly chic, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dim lighting, and a half-smoked joint held loosely between his fingers. he had that languid, cool confidence that made him irresistible. he raised his joint in a silent salute, his eyes, hidden behind the shades, undoubtedly assessing you.

and finally, perched on the armrest of matsukawa's chair, was takahiro hanamaki. captain jack sparrow, a surprisingly good one at that, complete with dreadlocks, smudged eyeliner, and a perpetually tipsy sway. he was laughing at something matsukawa said, his voice a gravelly chuckle that carried over the music. he saw you, and his mischievous grin widened, a twinkle in his eye that promised debauchery. he gave you a wink that was both charming and utterly inappropriate.

you navigated the throng of bodies, accepting a red solo cup filled with something suspiciously strong, and made your way towards them. the air around them felt different, charged with an almost palpable energy.

"well, well, well, if it isn't our very own patrick bateman," oikawa purred, his voice a smooth caress even over the thumping bass. he took your hand, his touch sending a jolt up your arm, and pressed a dramatic kiss to your knuckles. "looking absolutely killer tonight, darling. though i'm not sure if i should be flattered or terrified."

you chuckled, pulling your hand back, a playful glint in your eyes. "why not both, ken? it's halloween, after all." you gestured to his costume. "though i must say, the pink is… bold."

"only for the boldest of kens," he preened, striking a pose.

iwaizumi, ever the stoic one, took a drag from his cigarette. "don't encourage him, y/n. he's already insufferable enough." but there was a hint of affection in his tone. he looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on the bloodstains on your raincoat. "nice touch with the blood. really sells the i just murdered someone vibe."

"thanks, tyler," you replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "it's all in the details, y'know?"

matsukawa, from behind his sunglasses, finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "dig the outfit, man. very… american psycho." he offered you his joint. "care for a hit?"

you took a drag from your drink, the potent mix burning a pleasant path down your throat. "don't mind if i do, dude." you accepted the joint, taking a slow, deep inhale, the familiar burn spreading through your lungs. you held it, then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl around your lips. the world around you seemed to soften at the edges, the music becoming more immersive.

makki, leaning closer, his jack sparrow accent surprisingly convincing, slurred, "careful, lass. that stuff'll make ye see double. or maybe that's just the rum." he winked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

you laughed, handing the joint back to matsukawa. "i think i can handle it, captain." you took another sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol and weed starting to meld into a warm, buzzy haze. the conversation flowed easily, a mix of witty banter, exaggerated party stories, and increasingly flirtatious remarks. you found yourself drawn into their orbit, the undeniable chemistry between the five of you crackling in the air.

hours bled into each other. more drinks were consumed, more joints passed around. the crowd in the living room had thinned slightly, but a core group remained, sprawled on beanbags, couches, and the floor. the music had shifted to something a little more chill, a little more psychedelic. someone suggested a game.

"spin the bottle!" a girl with cat ears shrieked, her voice slightly slurred.

a collective groan went through the group, but it was quickly overridden by a chorus of "why not?" and "let's do it!"

a large, empty liquor bottle was produced, its label long since peeled off. the group formed a loose circle on the floor, you finding yourself nestled between makki and oikawa, with iwaizumi across from you and matsukawa a little further down. the air was thick with anticipation, the scent of cannabis and cheap perfume mingling with something undeniably primal.

the first few rounds were innocuous. a kiss on the cheek, a silly dare. the bottle spun, landed on a guy, then a girl, then back again. laughter, groans, and the occasional awkward peck. the alcohol and weed had lowered inhibitions, making everyone more daring, more open.

then, it was the cat-eared girl's turn again. she giggled, giving the bottle a hefty flick. it spun, a blur of glass and potential, slowly losing momentum. your eyes followed it, a strange sense of inevitability settling over you. it wobbled, teetered, and then, with a soft clink, came to a complete stop.

the neck pointed directly at you.

a hush fell over the group, followed by a ripple of excited whispers. all eyes were on you, then on the cat-eared girl. her grin widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"alright, y/n," she slurred, her voice laced with playful challenge. "truth or dare?"

you met her gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips. "dare." you weren't one to back down from a challenge, especially not tonight.

she giggled, then leaned forward, her eyes darting between you and the four seijoh seniors. a slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "i dare you…" she began, drawing out the words for dramatic effect, "to fuck with all four of them. tonight. right here." she gestured grandly at the four men surrounding you.

a collective gasp went through the group, followed by hoots and whistles. your heart hammered in your chest, a thrill of adrenaline shooting through you. you glanced at the four men. iwaizumi's eyes were sharp, assessing, a faint flush on his cheeks. oikawa's playful smirk had transformed into something darker, more intense, his gaze fixed on you like a predator. matsukawa had pushed his sunglasses up, his eyes wide and unblinking, a look of genuine surprise mixed with something else, something hungry. makki, still leaning close, had a wolfish grin, his eyes practically gleaming in the dim light.

you took a slow sip of your drink, letting the moment hang in the air. the dare was audacious, scandalous, precisely the kind of thing that would become legend. and you? you were exactly the kind of girl to accept it.

you lowered your cup, your eyes sweeping over each of them, a slow, confident smile gracing your lips. "well, boys," you purred, your voice low and husky, "looks like you just won the lottery."

the living room erupted. the cat-eared girl shrieked in delight, high-fiving her friends. the other partygoers started chanting, "do it! do it! do it!"

oikawa was the first to move, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips brushed against his. his eyes, usually so full of playful mischief, were now burning with an unadulterated desire. "oh, darling," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, "you have no idea how long i've been waiting for a dare like this."

iwaizumi pushed himself off the wall, his gaze never leaving yours. the intensity in his eyes was almost palpable. matsukawa slowly took off his sunglasses, his eyes now fully visible, dark and smoldering. makki chuckled, a low, guttural sound, his hand finding your thigh and giving it a possessive squeeze.

you felt a surge of power, an exhilarating rush of control. you were the center of attention, the object of their collective desire, and you were ready to play.

"alright, party's over, folks!" iwaizumi's voice boomed, cutting through the noise. "show's about to begin, and it's a private viewing." his tone left no room for argument. slowly, reluctantly, the other partygoers began to disperse, some still glancing over their shoulders, whispering excitedly. the cat-eared girl gave you a thumbs-up and a triumphant grin before being herded out by her friends.

soon, the living room was empty save for the five of you. the music still played, but it felt like a distant hum, the real soundtrack now the thumping of your heart and the heavy breathing of the men around you. the air was thick with anticipation, a raw, sexual tension that was almost suffocating.

oikawa pulled you to your feet, his hands never leaving your waist. he spun you around gently, his eyes devouring every inch of your costume. "so, patrick bateman," he murmured, his voice a low growl, "ready to unleash your inner psycho?"

you met his gaze, a playful challenge in your eyes. "are you ready to be my victim, ken?"

he chuckled, a dark, throaty sound. "i've been dying to be your victim." he pulled you closer still, his body pressing against yours.

and then his lips were on yours.

it was a kiss that was both sweet and savage, a slow burn that quickly ignited into a raging fire. his lips were soft, yet demanding, tasting of alcohol and desire. his tongue traced the seam of your lips, asking for entry, and you readily granted it. his tongue danced with yours, a sensual tango that left you breathless. his hands moved from your waist, tracing the curve of your spine, pulling you even tighter against him until there was no space left between your bodies.

as oikawa deepened the kiss, his fingers deftly unbuttoned the top buttons of your white dress shirt, sliding inside to caress the soft skin of your cleavage. you whimpered softly into his mouth, your hands tangling in his blonde wig, pulling gently.

then, his fingers, long and elegant, slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, brushing against your bare thigh. a shiver ran through you. he trailed his fingers higher, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you arch into his touch. his thumb brushed against the lace of your panties, sending a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

"you're already so wet for me, aren't you, doll?" he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

you could only nod, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers found your clit, circling it gently through the fabric. your hips instinctively bucked against his hand. he chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, and then, with a practiced ease, he slipped his fingers under the lace, parting your folds and sinking into your slick heat.

a gasp escaped your lips as his fingers began to work their magic. he knew exactly where to touch, how to stroke, how to tease. one finger, then two, plunged inside you, stretching you, filling you with an exquisite pressure. his thumb continued to circle your clit, drawing out whimpers and moans that you couldn't suppress.

"fuck, you feel incredible," he breathed against your neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along your jawline. "so tight, so wet. just like i imagined."

you clutched at his pink denim vest, your nails digging into the fabric as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out, teasing your sweet spot with every thrust. your legs began to tremble, your hips grinding against his hand, desperate for more.

the other three watched, their eyes burning with hunger. iwaizumi's jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with desire. matsukawa had shed his bathrobe, standing in just a t-shirt and boxers, his erection clearly visible. makki was leaning forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hand subtly stroking his growing bulge.

"look at her," oikawa whispered, pulling his lips from your neck just enough for you to hear, his eyes still locked with yours, "so beautiful, so responsive... you're making me so fucking hard, darling." he pushed his fingers deeper, hitting a spot that sent shivers down your spine. your back arched, your head falling back, a guttural moan escaping your lips.

"more… please… more…" you panted, your voice barely a whisper.

he grinned, a wicked, triumphant glint in his eyes. "as you wish, my love." he intensified his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, deeper, his thumb relentlessly teasing your clit. your vision blurred, your body tightening, sensations overwhelming your senses. you were on the brink, teetering on the edge of a precipice.

just as you felt the first tremors of an orgasm building, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping, desperate, and utterly undone.

"no!" you cried out, your voice raw with frustration.

he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "patience, darling. we're just getting started." he looked at iwaizumi, a silent communication passing between them. "i think it's tyler's turn to clean up my mess."

iwaizumi, his eyes still blazing with unfulfilled desire, strode forward, his red leather jacket rustling. he pushed oikawa aside, his strong hands taking your waist. he lowered you to the floor, guiding you to sit on the edge of the large, plush rug. you were still panting, your body humming with unreleased tension.

he knelt before you, his gaze locked on your eyes, a silent question passing between you. you nodded, your breath catching in your throat. he gently pushed your mini skirt higher, revealing your wet, swollen pussy. the sight of it, glistening and exposed, made you gasp.

his eyes devoured you, a primal hunger in their depths. he leaned forward, darting his tongue out to taste the very essence of you. a shiver ran through your entire body as his hot, wet tongue made contact with your clit.

"fuck," you moaned, your hands fisting in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

he began to lap at you, his tongue tracing patterns, swirling around your clit, dipping into your folds, sucking gently. the sensation was exquisite, driving you insane. you arched your back, pressing yourself against his mouth, desperate for more. his lips were soft, yet firm, his tongue a masterful instrument of pleasure. he ate you with a fierce intensity, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"god, haji," you gasped, using the familiar nickname, "you're so good at this."

he groaned, a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat, his tongue never breaking rhythm. he sucked harder, his lips pulling at your clit, making you writhe with pleasure. your legs trembled uncontrollably, your fingers digging into his scalp. you were close, so incredibly close.

"you're so wet, baby," he mumbled against your pussy, his voice muffled but undeniably hot. "so fucking delicious."

with a final, powerful suck, he sent you over the edge. your body convulsed, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over you. you cried out, a loud, uninhibited moan that echoed in the suddenly silent room. your orgasm was intense, a full-body tremor that left you weak and breathless, your muscles spasming.

he pulled away slightly, his face smeared with your juices, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "that was just the warm-up, princess." he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting of you.

but he wasn't done.

as you lie there, still quivering from your first climax, he went back to work. his tongue was relentless, his lips sucking, teasing, devouring you once more. your body, still hypersensitive from the first orgasm, responded instantly. another wave of pleasure built, faster and even more intense than the last. you were a mess of gasps and whimpers, your body arching, your fingers gripping his hair with desperate urgency.

"cum f'me again, baby," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "let me taste every drop."

and you did. with a final, earth-shattering moan, you came again, a torrent of pleasure that left you breathless and utterly spent. your body was still shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

as iwaizumi continued to lap up your juices, a new presence knelt beside you. makki, still in his jack sparrow costume, but now with his shirt unbuttoned, his chest exposed. he took your hand, pulling you gently until you were propped up on your elbows, your legs still spread open for iwaizumi.

"now, lass," makki murmured, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "captain jack sparrow needs his treasure." he pushed a hand through your hair, guiding your head towards his crotch.

you looked up at him, your eyes still hazy with pleasure, and then down at his prominent bulge, straining against his trousers. you grinned, a wicked glint in your eyes. "aye, captain."

he grinned back, unbucling his belt and freeing himself for you.

you took him into your mouth, his scent filling your senses. he was already hard, thick and throbbing. your lips closed around him, your tongue swirling around the tip, tasting him. he groaned, a deep, satisfied sound. you began to suck, slow at first, then with more confidence, your tongue tracing the length of him, your throat working to accommodate his size.

makki gasped, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding your head, setting the pace. "fuck, that's good, pretty. you're a natural."

as you continued to give makki a messy blowjob, iwaizumi remained between your legs, his tongue still teasing your clit, ensuring you stayed on the edge of arousal. the combination was intoxicating, a sensory overload that made your mind swim. you could feel makki growing harder in your mouth, his hips starting to thrust gently.

"take it all," he panted, his voice ragged. "take all of me."

you bobbed your head, your throat working, taking him deeper, trying to swallow as much of him as you could. your lips were slick with his pre-cum, your cheeks bulging with his thickness. you could hear his gasps, his groans, feel the tremors running through his body.

suddenly, he pulled back slightly, his eyes wide with urgency. "i'm gonna cum, babe! all over you!"

you looked up at him, a mischievous grin on your face, and then back down at his shaft. "do it, captain," you whispered, your voice husky. "cum all over me."

with a final, desperate groan, makki spilled his load, a hot, thick gush that erupted from him, coating your face, your chin, and cascading down onto your already glistening breasts. you watched, mesmerized, as his cum streamed down your skin, mingling with your sweat. he shuddered, his body shaking, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"fuck," he breathed, his voice hoarse, "that was incredible." he pulled you up, pressing a cum-smeared kiss to your lips, tasting of his own release. "you're a goddess, lass."

you licked your lips, tasting him, a primal satisfaction settling deep within you. you were covered in cum, glistening and proud.

then, matsukawa stepped forward, his bathrobe now completely discarded, leaving him in just his boxers, which were stretched taut around his impressive erection. he stood over you, a dominant presence, his eyes dark and intense.

"my turn, bateman" he rumbled, his voice low and commanding. "and i like it rough."

he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist, and turned you around, pushing you onto your hands and knees. your ass was now perfectly presented, your wet pussy still glistening from iwaizumi's ministrations. you glanced back at him, a thrill of anticipation shooting through you.

he ripped off his boxers, revealing a thick, dark shaft that made your breath catch in your throat. it was big, very big, and throbbing with a life of its own.

"ready, princess?" he whispered, his voice a low growl.

you nodded, your ass wiggling slightly in anticipation.

he knelt behind you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against his hard cock. the tip brushed against your wet folds, sending shivers through you. he took a deep breath, and then, with a powerful thrust, he pushed inside you.

a gasp tore from your throat as he filled you, stretching you to your limits. he was thick, incredibly thick, and you felt him push deep, deep inside, filling you completely. your body arched, your fingers digging into the rug, trying to brace yourself against the overwhelming sensation.

"fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his voice raw with pleasure. "so fuckin' tight around me."

he began to thrust, slow and deep at first, then picking up the pace, each stroke pushing him deeper, making you gasp and moan. his hips pounded against your ass, a rhythmic beat that matched the thumping of your heart. he pulled your hair, making you arch your neck, exposing your throat.

"that's it, baby," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "let me hear you scream for me."

you did. you screamed, you moaned, you whimpered, lost in the raw, primal pleasure he was delivering. he spanked your ass, a sharp sting that quickly turned into a delicious throb, making you buck your hips even harder against him.

"you're so good at this, baby," he praised, his voice rough with lust. "such a perfect little slut for me." smack. "love that ass." smack. "love how you take me."

he pulled your hair harder, tilting your head back, exposing your neck to the other three, who were now watching, their eyes wide with hunger, their hands already moving to their own burgeoning erections.

"look at her, boys," matsukawa grunted, his voice thick with passion. "she's built for this. a fuckin' goddess." he pounded into you, his thrusts powerful and relentless. you were being fucked senseless, your mind a haze of pleasure and sensation.

you felt the familiar tightening in your core, the build-up of another orgasm. "i'm gonna cum!" you screamed, your voice hoarse.

"yeah? cum for me then, princess," he roared, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. "cum on my cock!"

with a final, earth-shattering thrust, he sent you spiraling into another intense climax. you screamed his name, your body convulsing around his thick cock. he groaned, his own release building rapidly.

"fuck!" he cried out, his body tensing, "i'm cumming, baby! so deep inside you!"

he emptied himself inside you, a hot, thick gush that filled you completely, making you gasp. he shuddered, collapsing against your back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "god, you're amazing." he pulled out slowly, his cum dripping from your pussy, mingling with your own juices.

you panted, your body trembling, feeling utterly spent and incredibly satisfied.

but the night was far from over.

as matsukawa pulled out, you felt two new presences behind you. oikawa and iwaizumi. you were still on your hands and knees, your ass still in the air, wet and glistening.

oikawa laid down beside you on the plush rug, pulling you on top of him, his face flushed with desire, his eyes burning with an almost manic intensity. "my turn, darling," he purred, his voice low and seductive. he reached between your legs, his fingers finding your slick pussy, still dripping with matsukawa's cum. he guided his hard, throbbing cock to your entrance.

at the same time, iwaizumi positioned himself behind you, his own thick erection pressing against your ass. you instinctively tensed, a thrill of fear and excitement shooting through you.

"easy, baby," iwaizumi murmured, his voice rough but reassuring. "just relax for me."

oikawa pushed into you first, his cock sliding into your pussy, stretching you, filling the space matsukawa had just vacated. you gasped, your body already so sensitive, so full. he was long and thick, and he filled you completely.

then, you felt a gentle pressure against your ass. iwaizumi, with a slow, deliberate push, began to enter your other hole. a sharp sting, quickly followed by a stretching sensation, made you cry out.

"shh, baby," oikawa whispered, his lips against your ear, his hips beginning to thrust. "just breathe. you can take it."

iwaizumi continued to push, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until his thick cock was fully buried in your ass. you whimpered, your body trembling, a strange mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure washing over you.

two hard cocks, filling both your holes, stretching you to your absolute limit. oikawa thrusting into your pussy from below, his movements slow and deliberate, while iwaizumi pounded into your ass from behind, his rhythm a steady, powerful beat.

mattsun and makki watched, their eyes wide, their hands already working furiously on their own dicks, jacking off to the spectacle before them. their grunts and moans mingled with your own, creating a symphony of raw, uninhibited lust.

oikawa began to whisper dirty things in your ear, his voice husky with desire. "you're so good, darling. so incredibly tight. i can feel every inch of you." he picked up his pace, his hips grinding against yours. "look at her, taking both of us like a pro! such a greedy little slut."

iwaizumi, his face pressed against your back, grunted with each thrust. "fuckin' incredible," he gasped. "so tight, so hot. i could stay in here forever." he pulled your hair gently, his hips pounding into your ass, driving you forward onto oikawa's cock.

you were a mess of sensations, your body screaming with pleasure, your mind completely overwhelmed. you could feel oikawa's cock sliding in and out of your pussy, hitting your g-spot with every thrust, while iwaizumi's thick cock stretched your ass to its limit, filling you with an almost unbearable pressure.

you were crying out, a continuous stream of moans and gasps, your body bucking and grinding against both of them. matsukawa and hanamaki were a blur in your peripheral vision, their hands moving faster, their faces contorted in pleasure.

"cum for me, darling!" oikawa urged, his voice thick with lust. "cum on my cock!"

"let it all go, baby!" iwaizumi roared, his thrusts becoming even more powerful.

you felt it building again, a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. your muscles tightened, your body convulsed, and you screamed, a raw, primal sound as you came yet again, your pussy clenching around oikawa's cock, your asshole spasming around iwaizumi's.

they both groaned, their bodies tensing, their own releases building rapidly.

"i'm cumming!" oikawa cried out, his body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside your pussy, filling you with his hot, thick cum.

almost simultaneously, iwaizumi let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he shot his load deep inside your ass, filling you to the brim.

you collapsed, spent and utterly sated, your body trembling, still impaled by both of them. their bodies shuddered against yours, their breath coming in ragged gasps. mattsun and makki groaned, their own orgasms erupting, their cum splashing onto the floor and their own hands.

the room was silent save for the heavy breathing and the distant thrum of music. you lie there, pinned between two powerful men, filled with their cum, your body tingling with the aftershocks of multiple orgasms. you were a glorious, cum-covered mess, and you felt utterly, completely alive.

oikawa pulled out slowly, then iwaizumi, leaving you slick and glistening, your holes gaping slightly. you rolled onto your back, looking up at the four men who stood over you, their bodies covered in sweat and their own come, their eyes burning with a mixture of satisfaction and adoration.

"holy fuck," mattsun breathed, his voice hoarse. "you're a fucking legend."

makki, his eyes wide, just shook his head in awe. "never seen anything like it, lass. never."

oikawa knelt beside you, his hand gently stroking your cheek, wiping away a smear of cum. "my beautiful, insatiable girl," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "you truly are a wet dream."

you grinned, a triumphant, satisfied smile. you were covered in cum, your body aching in the best possible way.

iwaizumi, still breathing heavily, just looked at you, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face.

"best damn halloween party ever."

i am SO late this time helppppp so sorry about that! but i rlly hope you guys enjoyed it, cuz i did (a lot) while writing this one :) unlike all the other (song-inspired) one-shots i've written, this is the only one where the song came later and only as inspo for the title (cuz it's a terrible song, i feel miserable listening to it), so i'm not even attaching the link lol if you wanna listen (which i don't recommend), search for 4 big guys by digbar

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#1 oikawa tōru

oikawa was used to being the one stared at. he lived for the gasps and the fan clubs. but then he saw you sitting on the fountain edge, trying to fix a broken strap on your sandal with a look of intense, adorable concentration.

the way a single curl of hair kept falling into your eyes, and the way you puffed out your cheeks in frustration, hit oikawa like a serve to the gut. he stopped mid-stride. his fan girls were talking, but their voices became muffled charlie brown noises. to him, the world had narrowed down to just you and your broken shoe. you looked up, caught him staring, and gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

oikawa didn’t wink. he didn’t give a peace sign. he actually tripped over his own feet approaching you, nearly face-planting in the dirt. he knelt down, his hands shaking—him, the great king!—as he offered his own athletic tape from his bag.

“i think i’ve just retired from being a heartbreaker,” oikawa said, his voice unusually thick with emotion. he looked up at you with wide, sparkling eyes that were dead serious. “because you just took mine and i don’t want it back. i know this sounds like a really cheesy line, but i’m physically aching right now. please, let me take you to get new shoes—and then lunch. give me one chance to be the only guy you look at?”

#2 matsukawa issei

matsukawa was at a convenience store, stone-faced as usual, reaching for the last bag of cheese snacks. at the exact same time, your hand landed on top of his. your fingers were small and warm against his calloused skin.

he looked over, expecting a fight, but found you instead—eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights, with a tiny “oh!” of surprise. you were wearing a soft, oversized hoodie, and you looked so cozy and kind that issei felt his soul leave his body through his ears. he didn’t pull his hand away. in fact, he leaned into the space between you, his heart hammering a rhythm that felt like a drum solo.

you pursed your lip, smiling shyly and telling him he could have them. that smile was his undoing. it was over. he was down bad. he was ready to buy the whole store for you.

“keep the snacks,” matsukawa said, his voice dropping to a low, rumbling hum that made your toes curl. he leaned against the shelf, his sleepy eyes suddenly intense and full of yearning. “but only if you let me walk you home so i can ask for your number properly. i’ve lived eighteen years and i’ve never felt my pulse jump like that. give a guy a chance to show you he’s more than just a guy in a snack aisle?”

#3 hanamaki takahiro

hanamaki was at a local fair, holding a giant stick of pink cotton candy that matched his hair. he was laughing at a joke mattsun made until he saw you standing by the ring-toss game, leaning back as you threw a hoop, your laughter ringing out like literal bells (whether it’s a church bell or a jingle bell, who knows).

the world turned into a high-definition movie. every time you moved, he felt a tug in his chest, like you were holding a string attached to his heart. you missed the shot, pouting just a little, and makki felt a protective surge so strong he almost marched over and bought the whole game booth. when you noticed him watching, you gave a little wave, your eyes crinkling in a way that made him feel like he was floating.

he walked over, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and handed you his giant cotton candy like it was a bouquet of roses.

“i don’t even like sugar that much,” makki blurted out, his face heating up to match his hair. he looked at you with such raw, honest adoration that you actually stopped breathing for a second. “but you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen. i’m usually much cooler than this, i swear. please, let me win you that giant panda—and then let me take you out tomorrow? just one chance?”

#4 iwaizumi hajime

iwaizumi was at the park, practicing his jumps. he was all sweat and muscle and intensity—until you walked by with a golden retriever that was clearly walking you. the dog lunged for a ball, and you stumbled, letting out a surprised “whoops!”

iwaizumi caught you before you hit the grass. one arm was around your waist, holding you steady, and the other was grabbing the dog’s leash. you looked up, breathless, your face inches from his. you saw the intensity in his eyes soften into something so tender it made your heart skip. you murmured a “thank you,” your hands lingering on his biceps, and iwaizumi felt like he’d been hit by a lightning bolt.

he didn’t let go immediately. he couldn’t. he felt like if he let go, you’d vanish like a dream.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but shaking. he looked down at you, his thumb unintentionally stroking the side of your waist. “i... i’ve never seen anyone like you. this is going to sound crazy, but i think i’d follow you and this dog anywhere. please. let me buy you a drink? i’m iwaizumi hajime. and i really, really want a chance to know your name.”

#6 yahaba shigeru

yahaba was the “pretty boy” in training. he was walking through the school gates, checking his reflection in his phone, when he saw you helping a first-year pick up their dropped papers.

you were so gentle, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you spoke to the younger student. yahaba stopped. he forgot he was supposed to be the “next captain.” he forgot his hair was perfectly styled. he just felt this overwhelming, aching need to be near you. you looked up, caught his eye, and gave him a polite, dazzling smile that felt like a physical weight on his chest.

he practically floated over to you. he took the papers from your hand to help, his fingers lingering on yours, his eyes fixed on yours with a desperate, beautiful sincerity.

“you’re the girl everyone warns me about in songs, aren’t you?” yahaba whispered, his voice smooth but frantic. he was yearning, his heart visible in his eyes. “the one who shows up and ruins every other girl for me. please. give me one chance to prove i’m more than just a pretty face. i want to be the guy who makes you smile like that every day.”

#7 watari shinji

watari was at the beach, watching the waves. he liked the peace. then, you ran past him, heading toward the water, laughing as the sea spray hit your skin.

you tripped slightly in the sand and let out a little giggle, shaking your head. watari watched you, and it was like the ocean stopped moving. you were so full of life, so vibrant, and so breathtakingly beautiful in the natural light. you turned around, looking for your friends, and your eyes landed on him. you gave him a small, friendly grin, and watari felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sun.

he walked over, his heart thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“i think the ocean is jealous of you,” watari said, his voice quiet and incredibly sweet. he looked at you with such pure, honest love that you felt your own heart melt. “because i can’t look at it anymore now that you’re here. i know i’m a stranger, but... could i buy you an ice cream? i’d really love a chance to make you laugh.”

#12 kindaichi yūtarō

kindaichi was at a cafe, trying to look cool and mature while reading a sports magazine. you were the barista who called out his order.

when he walked up to the counter, you smiled and told him you liked his height. “you look like a great athlete!” you chirped. kindaichi’s brain turned into mashed potatoes. he took his coffee, but he didn’t move. he just stared at you, his face turning a shade of red that shouldn’t be biologically possible. you were wearing a cute apron, and you had a little smudge of flour on your cheek that he wanted to wipe away so badly it hurt.

he took a big gulp of his coffee, burned his tongue, and then looked at you with watery, determined eyes.

“i play volleyball!” he shouted a little too loudly. he winced, then lowered his voice, leaning over the counter with a desperate look. “and i’m okay at it! but i’d be much better if i knew you were watching. please... give me a chance? can i take you out when your shift ends? i’ll wait here. even if it takes ten hours. please?”

#13 kunimi akira

kunimi was napping under a tree on campus, his usual “don’t bother me” energy in full effect. he woke up because a petal fell on his face. he blinked his eyes open and saw you sitting on the bench nearby, sketching in a notebook.

he watched you for a while, mesmerized by the way you tilted your head and the soft focus in your eyes. he usually found everything “tiresome,” but looking at you felt like the most important thing he’d ever done. you noticed him watching and smiled, closing your book. “sorry, did i wake you?”

kunimi sat up, his eyes wide and unblinkingly fixed on you. he felt a spark of energy he hadn’t felt in years.

“no,” kunimi said, his voice soft but firm. he crawled over the grass toward you, looking up with a vulnerability that was almost painful to see. ​“i’m usually looking for an excuse to nap, but... looking at you makes me feel actually awake for once. it’s annoying how pretty you are. don’t make me go back to sleep yet. come get lunch with me—i think i’d rather stay awake with you.”

#16 kyōtani kentarō

kyōtani was scowling at a vending machine that ate his money. he was about to kick it when you walked up, tapped the side of the machine in a specific spot, and his drink tumbled down.

“it’s a little temperamental,” you said with a soft, melodic giggle.

kyōtani froze. he looked at the drink, then up at you. you were a little shorter compared to him, looking up with big, kind eyes and a playful smirk. he felt a roar in his chest—not of anger, but of a fierce, possessive need to protect you from everything in the world. he felt his face heat up, his scowl deepening even as his heart melted.

he grabbed the drink and held it out to you, his hand shaking.

“take it,” he grunted, then bit his lip, forcing himself to look you in the eye. his gaze was burning with a desperate sort of love. “quit staring and just take my number. i’m not as scary as i look, okay? i’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. just tell me i can see you again. well? what do you say?”

→ the taxi’s next route is to nekoma high, get in!

n: i think i used to diss yahaba before, but i’m a changed woman. i’ve decided to do 2 uploads each time as to not be choked down by the taglist.

aoba johsai’s passengers 1/3

@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @sleepykeijiii @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @tetsurae @rabbitcola @forgottensniper @michexoxo @katzline @asthmaticasma @pelicanpizza @han0vyc @meikstv @babybird-meena @depressinglyobsessed @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @chikuwasushii @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @fiannee @eri0-0 @sh0dor1 @lazyruinsperson @palanggaaa (12) @mitzukita @griffincorn @tsukkislala @starzlytoetsie @nekoffie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin @thinc0ck @jadorejuni @theylovekay @lilith-dear

It almost tells a story of what could have been, or what could be caught up from the time stolen away from the years of tiptoeing, of growing as individuals.

He cradles your cheeks with both hands as his kisses go from your mouth to the edge of your lips, to your jaw, your cheeks, your eyelids, your nose. A single kiss on the lips turns into a thousand all over the canvas of your face, and you’re drowning in his tenderness, like a quiet spoken avowal of how he truly feels about you.

He doesn't let you go after the first kiss—or the thousand he gives you after that. You’re stuck and swaddled perfectly within his embrace, his nose tracing a delicate line on your jaw as he nuzzles deeper. You would have never guessed that the Oikawa is in fact, huge on cuddling, and once he has someone on his mind and now in his arms, you know you’re not escaping him or his reverent touches anytime soon. He tells you that it’s not enough—never enough. Each kiss would hold a purpose, he says.

Every press of lips is tantamount to the distance it takes from his former home to reach Argentina, and he’ll kiss you a hundred times over till it’s time to return back.

But this time, he leaves not with a heavy heart of cabineted longing.

IWAIZUMI

Rugged and robust is what you would describe Iwaizumi Hajime. You’ve met him briefly at the peak of his high school career when he’s nothing but rough-edged and even rougher tones that would leave you awestruck at such an impassioned display. Whenever you would find yourself watching the Aoba Johsai volleyball matches, you would find your heart stirring whenever you see that familiar spiky hair on the court, raw and beguiling.

That was years ago, and although he’s stopped playing the sport that he cherishes, he’s still somewhat the same nine years later—except a little more mellow and wrapped with more solid muscles and steadier body and life. You did not expect him to react the way that he did when you’d kiss him in his own living room. Wine-stained lips and warm-cheeked.

Kissing Iwaizumi is tenderness born in the flesh, despite his rough-hewn looks and sharp eyes—the moment his lips mold with yours, he melts and softens. He allows you to push him into the sofas, to feel his large, calloused hands stationed on your hips as he places you squarely on his lap as the kiss deepens, drowns even. Iwaizumi was always confident in the things that he does, but being here in this small, ethereal peace with you, sharing something so utterly sacred?

He cannot help but let his fingers tremble ever so slightly when he holds you close, closer even.

He’s scared that he’ll hurt you if he goes too far. But you’ve known Iwaizumi long enough to realize this—being a constant person in his life after everyone parted ways in high school, keeping touch through phone calls and text messages and video calls, feeling all of him when he comes back, wrapping his large arms around you so gently it could hardly be called an embrace.

There’s an underlying fear in his heart that he never shows anyone, the little gentle twists and turns he would go through for you that leaves his friends aghast at such a contrasting behavior. He knows it isn’t right to treat you like you’re fragile, but to him, you meant the whole world, something so soft and so unlike him, and he would be damned if he so much as bruised you. You are quick to give him reassurance, the soft press of your lips against the side of his warm neck, mumbling that it’s okay, that he can go farther if he wanted to, that you were okay.

You were always okay when it came to him, and the welcoming invitation allows Iwaizumi to be chest-to-chest with you. His hands crawl up to cup your neck and pull you even closer so he can taste your mouth better.

HANAMAKI

Kissing Makki happened in a spur of the moment between the back and forth banters you two usually share that quickly honeyed the atmosphere with tension thick enough to prick with a blade. One thing led to the other and before you know it, one of you had leaned in to hush the other of their retorts by pressing lips in almost a clumsy manner at first, then came the realization of what had just happened, before diving back in to taste each other’s mouths once again.

There has always been something there when it comes to Hanamaki.

Maybe it was attraction, maybe it was not.

But you know you’re keenly aware of your gaze lingering on him the most during group settings—you did tell him you liked how his hair was the softest shade of pink, unprovocative and pretty. The kind of pink that lingered even as an afterthought at the edge of your vision, making you want to chase the color with your eyes even as he leaves.

His sweet gestures, charming smiles and the way he throws his head back—exposing the clear prominence of his neck does not go unnoticed by you. Though you’ve never actively sought anything romantic with him, he was a friend that you can practically tell anything and everything to. A friend that you can rely on in times of need, though kissing him was never an option that you thought was possible, yes, but even sitting here bathed in his familiar warmth and even familiar scent—there was never a fleeting thought of regret that overcame you at this very moment.

Never with Makki.

In fact, kissing him was sweet but also filled with giggles and grins that he cannot seem to wipe away from his face. It also does not help that Makki is extremely ticklish. Whenever he tries to pull you closer and you let your hands wander beneath his white shirt to touch the bare skin of his torso, he would react. Between pressed-lipped kisses, you would feel his soft mouth stretching into a smile, even a chuckle or two escaping him when you would run your thumbs on his side. It takes a lot within you not to match his energy, to let his giggles and tiny laughters influence you instead of peppering kisses all over him. But the next thing you know, you were both sharing soft laughters on the couch, with Hanamaki clutching his sides and soft, mumbled apologies leave his lips for interrupting the moment between you both.

He managed to make it up to you later by properly kissing you, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and pull you flushed against his warm body once again.

MATSUKAWA

Matsukawa to you has always been so easygoing in terms of mannerisms, with Hanamaki by his side to multiply their humor and teasing tenfold, the two of them were a sensational duo to be reckoned with. The best friends that people cannot help but smile and join along with their silly antics.

But when he’s alone and given the opportunity to finally, finally kiss you—the one that he has been obsessing over quietly for so long, he does not hold back or waste the tiny chance offered up to him on a silver platter. Matsukawa has been a tall person, probably the tallest you know but he’s prone to always leaning forward or bending a little to accompany you whenever you have something to tell him—a juicy gossip or a secret and it makes him look smaller, more inviting like he’s laid out a trap. Standing here now as he roughly pushes you flat against the wall, Matsukawa Issei has never made his height known to you until he’s suddenly towering.

He’s mean and demanding with his kisses, bruising in a way that it’s delicious and he feels all of you, memorizing your shape and warmth and every dip and slope with his large palms that’s riddled in tiny cold rings.

It’s lazy, the way he explores and conquers your curves before settling his hands on the back of your neck so you cannot escape him. Soft noises spill from your lips, and his murmurs between bated breaths rasp so perfectly in your ears—his torch-warmingly low voice that sends a shiver down the column of your spine. He leans back enough to press his forehead against yours and you’re tantalized by the shape and intensity of his sleepy gaze, it sweeps to revel your flush-stained cheeks, the plush of your lips, the flutter of your eyes. Reactions that he pulled from you.

You watch as he watches you, running his tongue along the front rows of his teeth.

“Shut up, Oikawa,” Makki whips his head around before continuing with an angelic smile on his face that only looks a little incongruous with his sly features and obscene t-shirt. Don’t bully me, I’ll cum, it reads. “I’ll get a job. I’ll buy a suit for the wedding. Just give me a chance.”

“At marriage?” Snorts Mattsun.

“Yes,” says Makki seriously. “If you don’t like these guys, I’ll drop them for you. Just say the word. I’ll do anything.”

That much is obvious.

There’s offended squawking all around him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Yamaguchi leaning on the counter with his elbows, his chin propped in his hands. He lives on gossip; this will sustain him for days.

“We’ve only known you forever,” says Oikawa. He puts a fist over his heart, pounding his chest.

“You live with me,” says Mattsun. “Because you’re jobless and broke and not ready to get married. You can’t escape, motherfucker.”

“We’re trying to go on a roadtrip right now,” says the muscleman, sounding aggrieved that the trip is not actually underway.

“Uh-huh,” says Makki, dreamily. “Hey, do you want to come with us? We’re going to Shikoku. My folks have a little place there. You can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You blink. You’d been so caught up in their back-and-forth that you almost don’t realize he’s addressing you directly.

“Um, I have work,” you point at your nametag. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”

“Aw,” he says. “That’s okay. Any verdict on the marriage thing?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. Everyone stares at you for a second.

“…What’s the verdict?” Says the muscleman hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you say, blushing furiously. “You have to get…” You look around. Yamaguchi has stars in his eyes that say I am going to tell everyone I know and their mother about this. His boyfriend Tsukishima, who is always coming in to complain about the temperature in the shop and how badly you do latte art and then fucking him in the breakroom, is definitely first on the list. When they started dating, you made Tsukishima come in and give you a ten-minute presentation on why he was worthy of Yamaguchi’s hand. “His permission first.”

Makki’s friends all groan as Makki shuffles, still on his knees, to the other register.

“What do you even do?” Yamaguchi asks immediately. His tone is clearly trying very hard to be paternal and not cute. You want to squeeze his cheeks and tuck him in for a nap, the baby. “Like, hobbies. Since you don’t have a job.”

“I'm in a recreational volleyball league,” Makki says. He puts a hand to his chin, obviously thinking. He has long, knobby fingers. “I stream playing video games. Sometimes I tattoo people on Mattsun’s dining people when he’s at work.”

“You what,” squawks Mattsun. This goes ignored.

“All of those sound like awful red flags,” says Yamaguchi. “Go for it.”

Makki finally—finally! gets off his knees and comes to stand in front of you.

“You should all order with Yams if you want to get on the road anytime soon,” you say evenly and turn away, looking at his dejected reflection in the espresso machine you’d polished that morning. He sags onto the well-developed arm of the buff guy.

The group of them cluster around him while you pour busily behind the bar, his sad, pale face almost hidden by the puppy pile. Yamaguchi collects their orders and looks at you curiously while you both bustle around making drinks. You walk around the counter instead of calling out a name. You hide a smile before you say, "Excuse me, can I talk to my fiancé, please."

He emerges looking wary. You admire his cheekbones, the full curve of his lower lip for a long moment.

"Double shot with our house energy drink," you say sweetly. "I guessed your order, sorry."

"It's perfect," he says, looking dazed. "How'd you know?"

"True love?" His friends are all exchanging wary looks behind him, like, what kind of prank is this? You've never been so serious in your life. "My number's on the cup. Text me when you get to Shikoku safely. When you get back, we can do matching tattoos on your friend's table."

Makki peers at the drink with watery eyes. There's a lousy heart floating at the top.

"I do!" He vows loudly. "I mean, I will."

You beam at him and press a shy kiss to his cheek, steadying yourself with one hand on his shoulder before you dart back behind the bar. His friends crowd him again, poking at his face, his shoulder, like there might be some mark of your approval left behind.

Oikawa squints at the cup.

Hanamaki Takahiro has always been there.

It just usually took people a while to notice him.

It was well known in high school that Oikawa took the attention. The sparkle, the praise, the constant confessions — those were for Oikawa. In college, it was just the same.

Iwaizumi came next, always. As Oikawa's best friend, some of that praise — that sparkle, that attention — fell off of Oikawa and onto him. "He's so different than Tooru," they would say. "There's something mysterious about him." They liked how scary he could be, how hard it was to get to him. It made him that much more appealing.

Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro were a pair, but Matsukawa had the look. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was the boy that the girls who didn't like Oikawa ended up crushing on.

Except for you.

You're still not sure what it was, a decade later. At the time, you were probably intimidated by Matsukawa's energy. Intimidated by Iwaizumi's scowl and Oikawa's popularity.

But Hanamaki Takahiro… he felt like an old friend, even when he didn't know your name. Even when you'd push through the crowd surrounding the four of them and accidentally make eye contact with him. Even when he was only a few feet away, all of the time, without ever interacting.

He felt like an old friend, and you remember exactly why. Even a decade later.

—

"Oink, oink, oink!"

You sigh, twirling your pencil around your fingers and staring down at your homework. Do your best to ignore the sounds. Ignore the laughter that always follows. Your lunch sits open next to you — a plate of fruit and some carrot sticks — but it's untouched. Any time you reach for your fork, the noises get louder. The laughter gets louder. So you just leave it.

You focus on your work as best as you can, and even when you can't, you force yourself to write something anyway. Just to show them that you're not listening, even though you are.

You don't have the attention span to notice the group of boys passing by the door, joking amongst each other loudly, completely unrelated to you. You don't have the space to hear the squeak of one pair shoes scraping against the linoleum, triggered by the pig noises behind you, or the gentle follow of three more pairs. You don't have the mental capacity to listen as those shoes grow closer, slow and analyzing at first, and then fast and angry all at once.

"Aw, don't you wanna eat, little piggy? Oink, oink, oi-mrrrph!"

You blink, turn, examine.

There's a head of pink hair hovering over the two boys behind you. Two hands, one on each collar, dragging up and away with a deceptive amount of strength, given how lanky he is.

Two bodies, up and away and shoved wordlessly toward his counterpart — the one with the look. Tall, dark, and handsome — scary. Rougher around the edges, hands quick to join this game of push and pull.

"What're these two little piggies doin' here?" Matsukawa drawls, low and lazy. Eyes cold and mean. "Piggies belong in the mud."

The pass-off to Iwaizumi is easy. "Can't have that," the boy says, voice gruff and harsh. His smile is terrifyingly evil. "Out you go," he bites, shoving them to the door, where Oikawa — popular, sparkly, golden — leans against the door, his expression easy, amused.

"I'd be honored," is all he says, sticking a foot out as the bullies stumble toward him. They go flying into the hall, legs kicked out from under them and faces scraping against the floor. "Oops!" Oikawa giggles. "Careful where you're going!"

The classroom is hauntingly silent, groans of pain echoing quietly outside.

You stare, eyes wide, unsure what to make of it. Of them. You meet each of their eyes, knowing they can see the confusion in yours.

Oikawa's the first to move, approaching your lunch at staring down at it.

"Hm," he says, tilting his head to the side and examining. Noticing that it's untouched. "Were you eating this?"

You don't know what to say. What to do. You just shake your head.

"Well, that's good," he laughs softly, picking up the little container. He walks away with it, heading for the pile of limbs outside. "Little piggies left their lunch!" he giggles again. It scares you.

And then he dumps fruit and carrot sticks on their heads.

"Wh-" Your jaw drops, and you start to move. You don't get far. There's a head of pink hair in your way.

"Eh, I wasn't feeling very hungry," he says. You've never heard his voice this close before. It's rough, low, and slides down your spine like the smooth back of a blade.

"What?" you breathe, staring up at him. Grey eyes stare back — calm, easy — and then he reaches toward the shelf behind him. You realize he'd put his lunch down before acting, and he's taking one of the now-empty seats and unwrapping his bento.

"My mom always makes me too much," he says. "Somethin' about needing more food for volleyball. But I'm not a bottomless pit," he chuckles. "I never finish." You watch, shocked, as the other three take the seats around you, each unwrapping their lunches and picking up their conversation from before like nothing ever happened.

You look around.

Your classmates stare back. There's a mixture of disbelief and suspicion, almost like they can't fathom that somehow you managed to become friends with the most popular boys in school.

You're not sure anyone would believe you if you say this is your first time ever speaking to them.

"See? I'm already full."

Your gaze flies back to him.

Hanamaki Takahiro.

He's making a show of pushing his lunch away from himself. "Can't finish on my own."

You know what he's doing. It's not subtle.

He makes it clearer, just in case. "Sit," he says, eyes on you. "Eat."

You sit — unable, for some reason, to resist that voice — but you don't touch his food.

"I'm not gonna eat your lunch," you say softly.

He tilts his head. "But you don't have your own."

You glance at the door. The boys are gone, but the mess is still there. "I did."

Matsukawa snorts quietly, shovelling food in his mouth and continuing to scroll on his phone. "That wasn't a lunch."

"That was for the piggies!" Oikawa adds, snickering and flipping through his magazine. "That's not a good lunch for anyone else. There's no substance."

"Yeah," you mutter. "That's the point." You start to turn around to return to your homework, but Hanamaki is leaning forward, eyes sharp on yours.

"Eat," he says, shoving his bento closer to you with his pinky finger. "Can't use that brain if it's not well-fed."

You stare, not sure why you feel so weird around him. Why the others feel intimidating and odd, but he feels different. He's still a little scary, and he's weirdly firm with you, but he feels… familiar. Like you want to lean into it, because he can't possibly want anything but the best for you.

It's disorienting.

"You don't even know me," you say weakly. "I'm not gonna eat your food when you don't even know my name."

"Y/n," he says simply. "Second year. Top ten in our class." You stare. He stares back. And then he smiles. "You wanna eat on your own, or you want me to do it for you?"

You can't win this, that much is clear.

You snatch his chopsticks out of his hand, quickly picking at a bit of rolled egg and sausage and shoving them in your mouth, careful not to let the chopsticks touch your lips. Even though he's staring at your mouth, even though he lifts a brow when you're careful.

You start to push the chopsticks back into his hand, but his smile is a little evil.

"You don't wanna do that."

You sigh, clearly annoyed, and keep picking at his lunch. His friends laugh, and for a horrible moment, you think they're laughing at you.

But then Oikawa is rolling up his magazine and smacking Hanamaki over the head lightly. "You're fucking awful, Makki."

"Torturing the poor girl," Iwaizumi says through a mouth full of food. "Sick in the head."

Matsukawa just shrugs, "She wasn't gonna eat without a little push. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."

"You're only sayin' that 'cause you're also sick in the head," Iwaizumi grunts. He meets your eyes. "If you don't want it to happen again, start bringing your own lunch."

You start to tell them, again, that you did bring your own lunch, but Hanamaki's tilting his head, almost like he's daring you to say it. Daring you to try to convince them — convince yourself — that that pathetic excuse for a meal was ever going to be enough for you.

"What's all this about?" you question, your voice trembling. "What're you guys talking to me for? Is this gonna end up being a big joke to you?"

A noise leaves Hanamaki's mouth, one that starts low in his chest and sounds like a growl. "I don't like bullies," he bites. "And I don't like it when people don't take care of themselves."

You want to be offended, but that feeling is back. The familiar one that makes you feel safe with him. So you just stare, heart racing.

And then he digs in his pocket, slides his phone across the desk to you.

You give him your number without question. You get the feeling that he's going to keep having that power over you.

When lunch ends, the four of them stand and start to walk away.

"See you tomorrow!" Oikawa says, Iwaizumi waving back toward you as he goes and Matsukawa just following, head buried in his phone. Hanamaki stays for a moment, staring down at you.

You say nothing. He says nothing.

And then he lifts his brows, a little smile peeking out. "I'll text you."

You just stare. He stares back.

"You gonna text me back?"

Your breath cuts short. "Yeah," you whisper. "Sure."

His smile is wider as he turns and leaves, wrapped bento swinging from his fingers.

You can't tell what this feeling is.

—

It turns out to not be one huge joke to them.

Hanamaki — Makki, as he insists over text several times — texts and calls the same night, and he keeps you on the phone until well into the night, laughing and joking and getting to know you. He thanks you for letting him in, and it's only when you hang up, exhausted but grinning from ear to ear, that you realize that's exactly what happened.

The next day, you find yourself surrounded by them at lunch again, Oikawa in your space as he examines your lunch — it's the same as yesterday, because you hadn't actually expected them to show up.

"Try again tomorrow," he just says with a wink, swapping your carrots out for half of his sandwich. Iwaizumi just nods, and Matsukawa is too busy picking on Hanamaki — Makki — to notice.

You do better the next day, and the next, and the next, until your meals return to normal and you grow used to seeing them.

Oikawa Tooru — golden, popular, sparkly — glues himself to you with the fervor of a rabbid animal. He magically forgets about personal space and constantly invades yours, dragging you to coffee and lunch and dinner and to their practices, over and over and over again. You get to know them even better by seeing them on the court, watching how they interact and how they move. You learn about Makki, even though you pretend to look at him the least of all.

You wonder briefly why Oikawa clings to you when he's so good at skillfully avoiding his loyal fangirls. You wonder if it's because you're not a threat, that he can't imagine seeing you as an option. And then he says it one day, in the hush of the walk home, with you squashed between him and Iwaizumi.

"You like him, right?" he says innocently, staring up at the sunset like he hadn't ever said anything.

You blink and stare up at him. "What?"

Iwaizumi chuckles on your other side. When you turn your head to him, he just shoots you a side glance. "It's pretty obvious," he mutters.

"What is?"

Neither of them answers you, Oikawa returning to his sparkly sunset and Iwaizimi focusing on the pebble he's kicking down the road as you walk.

When you start to split up, Oikawa leans into your face, Iwaizumi already a few feet away.

"Can I tell you a secret?" His voice is hushed, conspiratorial. You nod, watching him carefully. He grins wide, eyes searching yours.

"He likes you, too. Never seen him act like this before."

You furrow your brows but don't get a chance to ask. He's already straightening and turning over his shoulder, waving back at you.

"Bye, Y/n," he calls sweetly, chasing Iwaizumi down and leaving you in silence.

You don't fully get what he's saying, not even later that night, when Makki calls and keeps you on the phone until one in the morning again. He's done it every night since the first, talking to you about school and the future and what you want to do with your life. And you let him.

Second year bleeds into third, and suddenly Oikawa and Iwa are constants in your life, calling you up and asking you to hang out over breaks and on weekends. Mattsun remains as he is, Makki's counterpart, and seems more attached to him than the others. But he's firm about his presence in your life, looming and particularly terrifying when people try to comment on your weight.

It continues past graduation. Oikawa leaves for Argentina, and Iwa leaves for California, and you stick around with Mattsun to attend the local college. You half-expect them to disappear, knowing that you would miss them dearly, but they never do. You just get used to 3am phone calls and having to silence your phone when you actually want to sleep. You get used to Mattsun appearing at your dorm at random hours, demanding study time.

You get used to seeing Makki with him, despite his decision that school isn't for him. He works multiple part-time jobs, and he does them well, hard-working and diligent in his own way.

You get used to the antics of the pair, finding that you fit well between them, that they make the perfect amount of space for you.

As graduation looms yet again, Mattsun mentions moving to Tokyo, that the rent is expensive. He mentions that Makki's considering it, too.

You fall into place again, in the perfect amount of space that they'd made for you.

The move to Tokyo should be hard because it's your first time in a big city, but they make it easy. Easy enough that you never think about moving again, years passing just like that.

Iwa returns, settling down not too far from you. Oikawa stays in Argentina, but the 3am calls keeping coming home to you, years and years gone by with your phone lighting up late at night, the three-person group calls long-established.

You turn 25, and then 26, 27, and finally 28.

You don't mention to any of them what you feel so strongly — that you're missing something. That you can feel the tension between Iwa and Oikawa on the phone, unspoken but so very obvious. That you see when Mattsun leaves for the night and doesn't return. That you hear when Makki leads random girls down the hall late at night, hushing them as he goes. That they never do, because you can always hear what goes on in his room. That you can always see the marks on his neck and chest the next day, forcing yourself to pretend you don't care.

You want to say the reason is just that you don't have anything like that. You want to say it has nothing to do with the fact that it's him, that the burn in your gut is mere jealousy about the amount of experience he has. That it's not jealousy over something else.

You try — you do try.

You date here and there, and you let guys take you home. You feel that you should be having fun, but you don't. You struggle.

Maybe it's that you're worried about your looks still. Maybe it's that you can tell none of these guys actually care about you, that they all seem to have an air about them that screams "you're not my first choice". Maybe it's that none of them are him, the thought fluttering by every few months, never long enough to take hold.

Maybe that's why you can never finish. Not even alone.

Twenty-eight years old, and you've never finished. Not a virgin, not inexperienced. But still missing something.

That must be where it comes from, then — that frustration that builds as the years go on, as you watch Makki do the things you wish you could. As you listen and watch and force yourself not to care.

But you do. You do care.

Maybe that's the problem.

—

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, I mean, clearly," you say, shaking your head.

Makki shoots you an admonishing glare from the armchair across the room. "Don't be mean."

You turn away, letting your breath fog the window where you sit. "I just think some rules would be nice."

He laughs under his breath, and you watch in the reflection as he looks to Mattsun for help. The man just sits on the couch between you, watching the argument like a tennis match.

He spoons ice cream into his mouth, shaking his head at Makki. "Don' look a'me," he mumbles around cookies and cream. "I'm th' ref. No opin'n."

Makki rolls his eyes, finding you again when you turn. "I don't think we need rules. Our system works!"

"For you, maybe," you bite, knowing the anger isn't real. Knowing this is coming from somewhere else. "It's hard to sleep with you always bringing girls home."

"You seem okay to me."

"I shouldn't have to sleep with two pillows over my head, Makki," you complain. You're exaggerating. You usually just put music on, because that's less pathetic. But he doesn't need to know that. "Can't you go to their place?"

"I do sometimes!"

Great, so he's actually hooking up with people even more than you'd realized.

He throws his arms out, giving you a look that clearly communicates that he wants this to be over. "What is it, Y/n? What's the problem?"

Your frustration mounts. "I just told you! I'm tired of having to listen to this shit!"

"Okay, I hear you! I get it!" he yells. "You know, you can bring guys home, too! It's not a one-way street."

You bite out a response without thinking. "That won't help!"

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. "Why the hell not? You're perfectly welcome to bring people home — I won't mind the noise, and Mattsun's gone half the time anyway-"

"I probably wouldn't even make any noise," you bark suddenly, a little feral. More than a little annoyed.

Makki blinks. Mattsun blinks. You blink.

"What?" Makki says.

"What?" you say.

"What?" Mattsun says, looking between you almost comically. "What does that even mean?" he laughs, eyes finding you.

"Nothing," you say. "'s just not very fun, that's all."

Makki blinks.

Mattsun blinks, gives an incredulous glance before looking to Makki, like he's trying to check that he heard you right. "What?"

"Nothing!" you say again, starting to get up. "Just forget it."

Makki stands with you, crowding the doorway and refusing to let you through. "No," he says firmly. "What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything-"

"Bullshit," Mattsun comments from the couch.

You whirl around, glaring. "What happened to 'no opinion'?"

He shrugs, scarfing down more ice cream.

"Y/n," Makki says, tugging on your elbow. "What's this about? Why isn't sex fun for you?"

You laugh humorlessly. "Just forget it. Friends don't talk-"

"You don't finish, do you?"

You gasp, reeling back. "Makki!"

Mattsun turns over the back of the couch, gaping up at you. "No fucking way. What kind of life is that?"

You hit him over the head with a throw pillow. He doesn't complain, knowing he deserves it.

"This is private!" you yell, looking between them. "It's none of your business-"

"I think we're well past 'private'," Makki chuckles, shaking his head. "That's what this is about, then."

You point at him, angry and humiliated. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is," Mattsun chimes in.

"You shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come on, Y/n," Makki says, starting to pace. "You're frustrated because you can't finish. I get it. I'd be frustrated, too."

"In more ways than one," Mattsun chimes.

You both cut glares at him. "Shut up, Mattsun."

He just digs a deeper hole in his ice cream.

Makki swallows, turns to you. "Let me help."

The silence in the room is painfully loud.

You hear a shift behind you, finding Mattsun on the other side, staring — deadpan and knowing something you don't — at Makki. His spoon is halfway to his mouth.

You look between them. "This is a joke."

Mattsun lifts his brows and glances at you before looking away, suspiciously interested in the bottom of the pint.

You say it again, directed right at Makki. "This is a joke."

You need it to be a joke.

He doesn't respond, just staring at you. Vulnerable, open. Eyes searching yours, trying to communicate something you don't want to hear.

You don't want to hear it.

You push past him, stomping down the hall and to your room.

The slam of your door drowns out the sound of Mattsun addressing Makki.

"You're an idiot."

—

There's a knock on your door a few hours later, long after the apartment's gone silent. You're slumped low in bed, swallowed up by blankets as you scroll mindlessly through your phone. Trying to forget the conversation that just happened. Trying not to let it overtake your every thought.

"C'm in," you mumble, chewing on the inside of your cheek anxiously, distracted.

The source of your anxiety appears before you, standing in the dark of your bedroom, moonlight gleaming off of pink hair.

"Hey," he breathes. "Can we talk?"

You groan, starting to turn your back to him. "Go away."

"Please," he tries again, closing the door behind him quickly and padding to your bed. He perches on the edge, staring at you with pleading eyes. "Please, Y/n. You know I wouldn't fuck with you. Please just hear me out-"

"No," you laugh. "I don't need you pitying me-"

"It's not that!" he whines, the sound sharp and full of frustration. It echoes off your walls, and you both turn to look at the door, silent. When there's no sign of Mattsun stirring on the other side of the wall, Makki turns to face you again.

"Y/n, you know me. You know me."

You let out a rough breath and toss your phone down on the bedside table. "I'm not even your type, Makki."

He stares for a long moment, eyes flitting between yours. And then he laughs, breathy and full of air.

"The fuck?" he says, disbelief coloring his gaze. "How would you know?"

You blink, stunned, and just raise your brows at him. "Because I see the girls you bring home?"

"So?"

"The fuck do you mean, 'so'?" you laugh. "So, I see the girls you bring home." Your voice takes on a jagged edge, dragging between the two of you painfully. "Stop fucking with me, Makki. I mean it."

He doesn't like the tone in your voice, it seems.

"I'm not," he bites. "I'm telling you straight to your face that I meant every word I said, and you're calling me a liar. Why would I lie to you?"

He wouldn't. You know that he wouldn't. But that scares you more than if he had, because it makes this thing hovering between you two real. Tangible.

He sees it in your eyes — you don't have an answer for him.

His gaze warms, settles. "Oh, I see," he breathes, tilting his head to examine you. His expression opens up, and you can see the fond twinkle in his eye. "You're just scared."

You shoot him a glare. It doesn't land the way you want it to, because he just cracks a soft smile. "Shut up. I'm not scared. I'm angry."

"No, you're not," he says softly, shifting toward you on the bed. "You're scared about what'll happen if you say yes."

You purse your lips, look away. Look back. Chew on your lip. "Well-" You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye. "Aren't you?"

He just shakes his head, that twinkle growing stronger. Fonder. "Nah, not really."

"You don't think things'll get weird?"

"I won't make 'em weird," he whispers, scooting closer, closer. Until he's right next to you, his fingers grazing yours on the mattress. "Will you?"

You might. If that gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach — the one that's always there when he's around — is telling you anything, it's that you might make this weird.

You want to tell him no. You want to assure him that it could be just sex.

But it doesn't feel right to lie to him. It never has.

"I can try," you choke out, your voice cracking. "I'll do my best."

He hears it — 'I'll do my best'.

You're willing to try this out with him.

He leans toward you, head dipping until his nose brushes yours and his hair tickles your forehead.

"This doesn't have to be perfect," he says, his breath warm on your lips. "I just wanna help. Even if it's messy."

He hears your breath hitch, hears it lodge tight in your throat.

He takes it for what it is. Permission.

He tastes like toothpaste. You hope you do, too.

He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to stare down at your mouth. "So," he breathes, eyes blown wide. "Is that a yes?"

You just fist the front of his shirt and drag him in.

It's a little awkward, kissing your best friend of over a decade. You're not bad at this, and neither is he, from what you've always heard through the wall, but there's something new and unfamiliar about being together like this.

His teeth hit yours more than once, and your nose bumps on his more than once. And there's a scramble of limbs, a knock of elbow on skin and knee on thigh and quiet stutters of pain and confusion.

You wonder why. Why is this not sexy and smooth and perfect, even though you know his reputation? Why is this not movie-perfect?

But then you catch the warmth in his cheeks, the shy glance of his gaze down your body. The tremble of his fingers on the mattress, mirroring the weak shake of yours in his shirt. The pant of breath that leaves him every time you break the kiss, desperate and nervous.

He's nervous.

Hanamaki Takahiro is nervous.

Your heart swells at the revelation, and you find yourself melting for him, malleable and easily molded.

When he pushes you down onto your back, you go without question.

When he dips his head down your jaw and neck, you turn your head and curl your fingers around his bicep and through his hair, tugging him toward you. Telling him this is okay.

When he nudges your thighs with his knees, you open up for him, willing and encouraging. He sighs against your skin, shivering slightly, and you wonder if he's noticing it, too. If he likes it, too.

That you're nervous.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally breathes, mouth warm on your throat and hands kneading the soft skin of your tummy almost absent-mindedly. You nod, and he smiles, his laugh betraying how out of breath he is. "What have you tried? What hasn't worked?"

Your nerves clamp up, threatening to shut down. He feels the way your muscles tense, and he moves fast to stop it from happening.

"It's okay," he whispers. "I just want to help." When you still don't relax, he settles down over you, hands running up and down your sides, your thighs. "Please let me help."

You groan quietly, trying to focus on the feeling of his hands sliding over your skin. "Uhm," you swallow. "I guess everything."

He hums against your throat. "Do you get stuck in your head?"

You purse your lips. "Maybe."

"Even alone?"

You sigh, nodding. "I can get closer, but it always takes too long. I start to feel a little stupid."

"You're not stupid," he breathes. His fingers slide along the band of your sleep shorts. "It takes as long as it takes."

"I know," you grumble. "Or… I don't know. I guess I know that."

"Have you only tried the simple stuff?"

You twitch, feeling your face warm considerably. "Meaning?"

His fingertips curl under the band, tugging lightly before letting go. He repeats the motion while he talks.

"Vanilla stuff. Fingering, oral, missionary."

You huff, starting to get shy. He doesn't let you curl up, his body keeping you right here with him. His knuckles brush comfort against your tummy, soft and warm.

"I mean," you swallow. "Sure. I've done things by myself. And I've done oral, but it doesn't really turn me on."

He pauses, and you feel his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"I dunno," you say. "I get why guys like it, but it's always rough and not really romantic at all. It just kinda feels like I'm being used-"

"What?"

He's lifted his head by now, eyes searching yours urgently. When you just stare back, equally confused, he narrows his eyes.

"You've never been eaten out?"

Your face starts to burn. "What-"

"I-" He starts to laugh, but it doesn't feel humorous. "I have so much to say about the other stuff, but we can talk about that later." He sits up, settling back on his knees and staring down at you. "You've never been eaten out?"

You just shake your head.

He squints. "Why?"

"Never asked."

His smile looks dangerous. "You should never ask. He should be begging to do it."

You laugh, but it gets caught in your throat when he just stares. He means that.

And he proves that he means it, because his fingers are curling into the band of your shorts again, stronger than before. His eyes meet yours when you gasp, his gaze burning hot.

"Please?"

"Why?" you whimper. "What do you get out of it?"

"Everything," he breathes. "Can you please let me try? Let me show you."

You want to say no, but he's looking at you with such desperation, like it's paining him to know you've never experienced this.

You just nod, staring up at him anxiously.

His eyes glint with pleasure, and his smile is nervous but laced with excitement. He tugs on your clothes earnestly now, sliding your shorts and underwear over the curve of your ass and down your thighs.

"I-I haven't shaved," you stutter, shocked at how quickly he undresses you.

"Good," he mutters, entirely distracted. "Don't."

Your clothes hit the floor. It's the only warning you get before he's gripping your thighs and parting them, pushing your knees up to your chest.

You squeak, heart jumping at being so suddenly exposed. "Makki!" you whisper furiously, fingers scrambling to find purchase on anything around you.

He's not listening. He's just staring down at you, pupils blown wide. His mouth drops open, and you hear a quiet moan slip past his lips.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Would you look at that? She's perfect."

Your body betrays you.

Makki watches your hole clench around nothing.

The grin that splits across his face is feral, terrifying. You think you may have just woken something in him that you've never seen before.

"Oh," he coos, and you get the distinct feeling he's not talking to you anymore. "I'm gonna be so good to you."

You try to clamp your thighs shut, but his strength has always been deceptive. He just flicks his eyes to meet yours, hands keeping you in place, right where he wants you.

"You're so pretty, Y/n," he says, pushing his lips to the inside of your ankle once, twice. Slides them up your calf, takes his time and nibbles at the plush skin behind your knee.

Watches you carefully as he goes. Watches the way you squirm and pant and flush with warmth.

"Makki," you try.

He just grins. "You're gonna have to be quiet. Don't want Mattsun to wake up, do you?"

You push your lips together tight, shaking your head frantically.

"Good," he giggles, still kissing at the underside of your thigh. When he starts to move, teeth nipping at your skin, you squeeze your eyes shut, your nerves buzzing.

"Don't be scared," he whispers.

You're trying. But this is scary.

"I'm gonna take care of you."

"I know," you breathe, shaky.

"It's okay if you don't come, you know. This isn't a race. I got nowhere else to be."

You relax a little — just a little, but still, it's something. You wonder how he could tell. How he knew that you'd always worried about that, especially with someone else.

"Here," he says quietly. You watch through half-open eyes as he lays your leg down for a moment, just long enough for him to strip out of his t-shirt and hand it to you. "Put that over your eyes."

You do as you're told, because you've always been bad at saying no to him.

It blocks out the light, blocks out any chance you have of seeing him. You feel that it should make your nerves worse, but they're loosening slightly. You don't have to watch him, don't have to search his face and wonder how he feels or if he's enjoying himself.

You get to just lie here and inhale the scent of him, warm and spiced and completely familiar. Comforting.

You jolt when his lips touch your thigh again, kissing softly.

"I'm going to touch you now," he whispers. "I want to make you feel good, but tell me if you want to stop. No matter what, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe.

His hands slide under your shirt, and you tense. "Don't freak out," he says. "Don't think about anything but how it feels."

You chew on your bottom lip. "But what if you don't like it?"

He doesn't say anything, just shifting his weight. Shifting his hips until they press against you.

He's hard. Completely and totally.

You gasp, a molten feeling swirling under your navel.

"Better?" he laughs.

You just pant and throw your arms over your face, pressing his shirt to your nose and breathing hard.

His hands slide over your breasts, palms hot and fingers kneading eagerly. You whimper, and he shushes you quickly.

"Quieter," he says, thumbs rubbing circles over your nipples. You squirm, your hips shifting and a warmth spreading in your gut. "If you wake Mattsun up, he's gonna hear all your pretty sounds." His lips find your thigh again, and he mumbles against it. "I don't want to share this."

You clench around nothing again, rocking your hips forward and panting when you find no relief.

"I got'chu," he says in reponse, dropping down and pressing kisses to your hips, thighs, tummy. "I'll make it good, I promise. Don't think about anything."

You just nod, head cloudy from the smell of him, circling your brain like a toxin.

His lips find your clit, a gentle kiss pressed there, and you jolt, realizing just how effective this drug is.

He slides the flat of his tongue through your folds, searing hot.

Your back arches off the bed.

"Mak-mmrph-"

You thank him silently, because he'd had the foresight to slide one hand up the rest of your shirt and through the collar, palm clamped tight over your mouth.

He slides his tongue through again, circling your clit and then latching on. He suckles gently, testing your reaction and seeming pleased when you start to shake. He drags his tongue against it once, twice, starts to suck properly. You realize far too late — he's holding you down because you won't stop shaking — that the buzzing you feel radiating through your bones and up to your throat is the feeling of him moaning against you.

You groan, open-mouthed and drooling, against his hand, eyes wide open and completely unseeing.

You feel that wave start to form, and the thought that it might actually break and crash for the first time in your life fills you with a desperation you've never experienced before.

You start to rock against his face.

He stops and pulls away.

You're lucky he still has a hand on your mouth, because your cry is angry, frustrated.

"What the fuck-" you whine, muffle.

He just licks at your thighs, out of breath. "I know, baby, I know. I need you to turn over for me."

"What-"

"Please just do it," he begs. "Please. I need you on your knees."

It's a mess of shaky limbs and urgency, but he manages to get you right where he wants you: your face buried in his t-shirt while he drags you down onto his tongue like a man starved.

This position freaks you out a little. "Won't I crush you?" you try, muffled.

"That's the whole point," is all he says, hands tugging you down over and over again until you stop resisting. Until your thighs shake and slide apart, dropping you right down over him.

"Oh, thank god," he mumbles, lips latching onto your clit as his tongue laps desperately at it.

It's noisy and messy and there's a part of you that's worried you're not being quiet enough, but Makki's sliding two fingers into his mouth and then bringing them up to your entrance, and suddenly you don't care at all about the noise.

The sound of him spitting on your cunt is loud and echoes in your ears.

You preen, hips rocking frantically. The wave rises high again, searching for the break.

He pushes his fingers past your entrance and starts to fuck you like this, pushing you against his tongue in a rhythm that has both of you moaning.

He spits again. Curls his fingers. Laves his tongue over your folds and then latches tight to your clit, sucking gently and moaning when you slide your cunt againt his tongue.

"Fuck," he mumbles against you, the vibrations strong. "Please , Y/n. Please. For me, baby."

You know what he's asking for.

You just aren't prepared to actually give it to him.

When the wave breaks and crashes, it comes with the violent jerk of your body and cries of release that you've never felt before, let out into his shirt. He holds you steady, and you can tell by the way he's whispering "that's it, that's it, fuck you feel so good," that he's just watching this happen to you and helping you through it.

Your body trembles, shakes, stutters, and then your limbs go numb. You don't know what happens next, but you end up on your back, panting hard, and Makki exists in the space around you. His mouth finds your hips, your tummy, your thighs, kissing fervently and eagerly.

"So good," he whispers. "Perfect, so fucking perfect." He kisses his way up your body, fingers grabbing you and dragging you this way and that, giving him all the access he wants. "You did so good, baby, you're amazing."

You whimper, exhaustion crashing over you. "Thank you," you whisper weakly. "Thank you, Makki."

You start to fade away, sleep claiming you almost violently. You feel him settle in beside you — you register in the back of your mind that he plans to sleep next to you tonight — and then he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he whispers. "I can't wait."

You don't respond, letting your body fall into slumber.

—

You expect him to be gone in the morning.

When you crack your eyes open, you fully expect to be alone. You know Makki's reputation, and you've heard the sneak of footsteps in the middle of the night, the door open and closed as he kicks girls out. You expect it to be the same.

You aren't expecting to feel his arm curl around your waist, your body dragged closer to his. You aren't expecting his face to press into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and his body warmer.

"Mornin'," he mumbles, kisses pressed to the side of your throat. You don't respond, just staring at the ceiling, unseeing. He doesn't notice, his hands and lips wandering. You think maybe he's trying to start something, that he wants one more hit before he leaves for good.

But it never comes. He never pushes past this, just enjoying the feeling of your body under his fingers. He just kisses along all the skin he can reach. And then he sighs, nuzzling close to you.

"You okay?" he finally asks, forehead pressed to your temple.

You can't help it. "You're still here," you whisper, voice weak.

He lifts his head right away, eyes full of shock. "What? Of course I am."

"I wasn't expecting-"

"What?" he laughs again, watching you carefully. "You thought I'd be gone?" When you don't answer, he gives you a meaningful look. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I just wasn't sure…" You try to turn away, but he's quick to guide your face back to him. "I thought maybe it was a one-time thing. Especially since-" You flush, rolling your eyes when he grins knowingly. "Since it worked."

He just shakes his head, still smiling. "While I am very happy that it worked-" He laughs when you elbow him. "I'm not done with you."

"That's so threatening."

"Yeah, kinda." He dips his head, laying his lips on yours. "You're kind of stuck with me," he mumbles against your lips.

You're about to tell him that that's fine — okay, even.

But your bedroom door is flying open, crashing against the wall and bouncing off.

"Oh, hell no," Mattsun says, talking over your screams of shock. "If you guys are gonna keep fucking, you need to learn to shut the fuck up!"

"Get out, Mattsun-" Makki tries as you scramble to make sure the blankets are all in the right place, but your roommate's not done.

"I get that you're helping her discover what she likes and all that, but I don't need to also discover that!"

"Mattsun!" you yell, throwing your pillow at him. "Go away!"

"Yuck!" he shouts, dramatic and unserious and stomping out of your room like an idiot. "And don't fuck on the couch! I sit there!" he bellows, already halfway down the hall.

You huff, turning to bury your face in the mattress. Makki just laughs under his breath.

"I kinda wanna fuck on the couch now," he says, giggling when you kick him. "Don't tell me you're not tempted."

You are.

—

"Finally!"

"Oh, fuck, this is actually happening?"

"Finally, finally, finally! I told you!"

"Holy shit, he actually made a move."

You listen as Oikawa and Iwa go back and forth, their reactions to the news different but entirely the same.

"God, what am I doing?" you whine, pacing the living room. Makki and Mattsun are both at work, so you're free to freak out on the phone as much as you want. "What if this is a mistake-"

Oikawa butts in quickly, sensing your avoidant nature. "No! Shut up, shut up! Tell the voices to shut up!"

"Shut up, voices," Iwa offers, unhelpful. You can hear him typing, and you figure he must be trapped in his office writing player evals and referrals.

"What if this is a bad idea, guys?" you worry. "What if I fall for him and make it weird? What if I'm not even his type-"

"Hajime, she's not listening," Oikawa whines, high-pitched and obnoxious.

Iwa responds, addressing you. "Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Quiet, voices. Get back. Hiss. Boo." When you just laugh, mumbling 'what the fuck' under your breath, he starts over, his voice betraying his smile. "You're overthinking, Y/n. You like doing that."

"I know," you grumble. "I don't wanna lose him."

"You won't!" Oikawa says. "He wouldn't have offered to help if he thought it would get weird! He cares about you too much."

"If it makes you feel better," Iwa says, still typing. "If you told me you had trouble finishing, I would not have immediately offered to fuck you and fix it. So… Maybe that's a good sign?"

You stay silent, just listening as Oikawa howls on his end of the call, laughing so loud that you have to pull your phone away from your face. "Alright," you eventually say. "Fine. You made your point."

"Good," Iwa says. Oikawa is still laughing. "Also. Just so you know. You are his type. You're just too scared to see it."

When you hang up, it's with Iwa's quiet 'good luck' and Oikawa crying from laughing so hard.

—

[2:04 PM]

Mattsun: youre a fucking idiot

Mattsun: you know that right??

Takahiro stares down at his phone, reads the messages in between boxing cakes.

"Have a good day," he mumbles to the customer, listening to the bell over the bakery door and trying to figure out what to say.

Mattsun texts again a few minutes later.

[2:07 PM]

Mattsun: you better have a plan to tell her this is more than just sex

Mattsun: shes gonna run if you let it drag on too long

He knows. God, he knows. He did this all backwards. But what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say when you admitted that you had trouble? That the guys before him were all assholes and idiots and never treated you right?

[2:10 PM]

Mattsun: makki if u fuck this up i'll kick your teeth in

Mattsun: she likes you, you know

Mattsun: like. a LOT.

Mattsun: you think it's a coincidence that youre magically the only one that can make her come????

Mattsun's always been crude, but Takahiro doesn't even react to it this time. His vision blurs, and he can barely hear what the next customer asks for. His ears are ringing too much, and his heart is beating too loud in his chest.

You like him, too?

For how long?

As long as he has?

[2:11 PM]

Mattsun: im going out tonight. not coming home.

Mattsun: fix it, hiro.

—

There's something different about him right now.

You know that it's only been one night. That you've only experienced this Hanamaki Takahiro once.

But the difference between last night and right now is striking.

Last night, he'd been urgent, eager, nervous.

Right now, he's… something else. Something unfamiliar.

He's desperate.

There's something he's not telling you.

He's just grabbing you like it means something, like this is more than just trying to make you feel good.

"Makki-" you try, managing to pull back from his kiss just long enough to say it. He drags you back right away, lips latched onto yours, magnetic and real.

He's making noises he didn't make last night. Feral, whiny, needy.

He's got you in his lap on the couch, hands pulling and yanking on you until you'd given in and sat your full weight on him. The sound that had passed his lips when you'd done it had been high-pitched and needy.

He's moving like he can't get enough.

Last night had been about you. But something tells you that tonight is about him.

"Makki," you pant, pushing on his chest until he lets you back away. "What's going on? What is this?"

His face is flushed — more nervous than last night, more needy than you've ever seen him — and his pupils are blown wide, his eyes watery as he takes you in.

"Need you," he says, his voice shaky. "'m sorry. I just-" He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. "I need you, Y/n. Been needing you all day."

Your stomach flips, nervous and wild, and you feel yourself warm as you look down at him. "W-What? Me?"

You can't fathom that this isn't just about helping you. That he's not just doing you a favor.

"What'do you mean?" he laughs, the sound weak. "Of course you. Always you."

You back off even more, staring down at him properly. "Makki-"

"Hiro." When you just blink, he purses his lips. "Please."

You stutter through it. "H-Hiro," you try. Something twitches against your thigh, and you know exactly what it is. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"No," he groans, leaning up to try to kiss you again. You don't let him. "Yes. No. I don't know," he sighs. "I just need you. Really bad."

"But-" You frown, look down at yourself. "I mean. Are you sure?"

He stares up at you, gaze unfocusing and then re-focusing, eyebrows furrowing. "Yes," he bites. "I'm sure, Y/n."

He's starting to get mad. You can feel it. "I didn't mean it like that, Makk-"

"Hiro," he strains. And then he moves.

You're on your back. He's bracing himself over you.

You always forget how strong he is.

"You did mean it like that," he says. "You always mean it like that. You've been worrying about that this whole time."

You huff, turning your head away. "Of course I have. No one else really likes the way I-"

"I do," he cuts you off. "I do. I really do, Y/n." You blink rapidly, eyes finding his. He's glaring, still. "I like the way you look. I like the way you feel." He leans back on his heels, hands dancing over your body. Over your sides and thighs and tummy and chest. "I always have," he mutters, distracted by how you look lying under him.

Your heart stops, starts again. "What?"

He doesn't answer. He just tugs on your shirt, maneuvering you out of it and tossing it off to the side. Your bra goes next, a sharp glare cut in your direction when you try to hide yourself, and then your bottoms.

He's completely dressed, and you're completely naked.

You whine, curling up and struggling against him when he unfolds you again, hands and thighs in places that don't let you close in on yourself. "No fair, Hiro," you mumble, reaching for his shirt. "At least gimme this."

He grins, snickers a little. "Got you used to it already, baby?" You just roll your eyes and tug on the hem, and he yields to you easily. "Okay," he whispers. "You can have it for now, but not later."

"Later?" you breathe, holding his shirt to your nose. It calms you, which should probably be embarrassing, but it's not. You don't care enough. It helps. He helps.

He's running his gaze down your body appreciatively, clearly distracted. "Later," he mumbles. "When I fuck you, I want you looking at me."

It's getting humiliating, the amount of times he's caught you clenching around nothing.

His grin is as evil as it was last night. "There she is," he breathes.

His mouth is a flurry of movement, first on your lips and face and neck and then down your chest, one nipple tweaked gently between his teeth, and then the other. Down your torso, canines digging lovingly into your rolls and tongue writing his name on your skin. His fingers follow, pushing and pulling and kneading and pressing you open.

When his lips find your clit, it's with a desperation and urgency that screams — yet again, not for the first time tonight — that this is for him.

Your back arches, one hand digging into his hair, fingers tangled tight. He moans, tongue flat and searing hot against your folds.

"Taste so fucking good," he rumbles, sucking and spitting and moaning against you. "You're fucking perfect, Y/n."

You whine, thighs squeezing around his head. You feel him groan, feel the laugh that comes out, half-insane. "That's it," he whispers. "Just like that."

You let him open you up the way he wants, fingers and tongue and your name, moaned again and again and again. You let him do it, just breathing in his scent and crying out when he builds that wave for you, perfect as the first time.

"H-Hiro," you cry, writhing and twitching, your back arching and your thighs starting to hurt from straining around his head.

"That's it, beautiful," he moans, two fingers curling into you once, twice, his tongue merciless on your clit. "Sing for me."

The wave breaks, crashes, floods. Your head flies back, chest pressed to the sky, his name ripped from your throat just like he wanted.

He laughs through it, deranged and feral, his tongue never stopping. He shakes his head back and forth, moans echoing off the wall as he laps at your folds and nips at the insides of your thighs.

He only stops when you start to push at his head, your senses overwhelmed.

"Good girl," he whispers, marking your thighs over and over. "Such a good girl."

Your breath is lodged somewhere between your throat and your heart, locked tight. You're shivering, twitching, barely held to the cushions by his hands.

"Fuck, Hiro." You crack your eyes open, watching as he leans back on his heels again. "Thank you."

He huffs, reaching over just to yank his t-shirt from your hands. He tosses it behind him. "That was for me, Y/n, not you."

You were right, then.

"This is for you," he mumbles, hands hooking around your thighs and dragging you flush against him.

The slap of his cock on your skin, heavy and hard and wet, makes you jolt, a noise of shock leaving you.

You stare down between you, eyes wide. "Oh, fuck," you mutter, the sound more a moan than anything else.

His gaze is heated in a way you've never seen before. "Good?"

You just flush, your skin burning and radiating heat in humilating waves. "Shut up," you whisper, head falling back against the pillow.

"Always wondered that, you know," he says quietly, reaching behind himself and pulling the other throw pillow around. He lifts you with one hand — that damn strength — and shoves the pillow under your hips. "If you'd like it."

You blink, struggling to process. It calls back what he'd said earlier, about always liking how you look.

"Makki?"

He doesn't scold you for the name this time, because he knows you're saying it outside of everything. Outside of the way he's gripping your thighs, the way his tip, throbbing and leaking, is pressing against your entrance.

You're calling for him outside of everything, just between the two of you.

His gaze is shy, the same way his name sounds nervous on your tongue.

"Did you wonder, too?" he whispers, thumb pushing the head of his cock just past your entrance. "Did you ever wonder about me sometimes?"

You're trapped between the humiliation of the question and the mind-numbing feeling of your body being stretched open around him.

"Y/n?"

He sounds so nervous. He wants this from you.

You nod, biting your lip and barely managing to answer him. "Sometimes."

His exhale is full of relief, laced with nerves. "Did you ever-" He groans, head falling to the side when he feels your walls flutter around him. "Did you ever wish it was me?"

Those other guys. Those other times. Did you ever wish it was me?

You mewl, hands searching desperately for him. He laces your fingers together tight, and you find yourself nodding frantically, your breath ragged.

"Sometimes."

He moans, pants and groans as he bottoms out, his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds them open.

"Me, too," he whispers. "Wished it was you."

Your heart stops in your chest and then starts with a shock. "W-What?"

"E-Every time," he stutters. His words are falling out now, and you get the feeling he's rambling. "Wished it was you every fucking time. Don't remember anything else. Anyone else."

He's found a rhythm now, the couch scraping against the floor as he fucks into you.

"Hiro," you cry. Your mind is racing around his words. "What? Me? Why me-"

"You, always you," he babbles, mouth pressed against your calf and teeth digging into your skin. "It's always been you."

The wave starts to build again, higher than last time. "Hiro, please-"

"I got you, pretty," he pants. "I always got you."

That feeling that's always there when he is — that gnawing ache — swirls and tugs, and you're overcome wtih emotion. Your eyes prick with tears, and you stare up at him through bleary vision. "Hiro, I-" You gulp down as much air as you can, punched out of you with every thrust of his hips. "I love-"

He exhales sharply, a cutting "Ah, fuck-" leaving him when he realizes what you're doing. He moans low and drops down over you, bending you in half. "Fuck, Y/n. I love you, too-"

You whine in response, and he laughs, eyes wild as he searches you.

"I love you," he says, nodding when you start to cry. "I've loved you a long fucking time, pretty."

You repeat it back, low and rambling, every time his cock smacks up against your g-spot. "Love you, love you, love-" The wave peaks, you gasp. "-you, fuck, love you, Hiro-"

It breaks.

You do, too.

You don't notice the stutter of his hips, the way he calls for you when he comes. You don't notice the way he collapses over you, lips all over you as he whispers it again — 'love you' — or the drag of the wet cloth as he cleans you up.

You only come back to him when you're in his bed, his body wrapped tight around you.

"Love you, Hiro," you whisper, your forehead pressed to his chest.

He says it back, soft and sleepy. And then he laughs, delirious.