AM I THE ASSHOLE?
pairing: ghostface!osamu miya x f!reader
word count: 2.5k
cw: MDNI 18+ NSFT, dubcon, unintentional cheating on your part, rough sex, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, ghostface!samu, ooc osamu
synopsis: the miya twins have worn the same costume every halloween since they were born — it’d be pretty easy to get them mixed up, right?
note: this is my contribution to @k9nto's reddit collab! find the masterlist for the event here!
“Miss me?”
Atsumu’s hand rests on your shoulder from behind, and he snickers when you jump from his sudden reappearance. He hands you the cup you asked him for. “Ooh, Halloween’s got ya jumpy, has it?”
“Or maybe it’s the guy who never announces himself when he’s coming up behind me?”
“Aw, where’s the fun in that, princess?” he teases, his finger tugging at the fishnets beneath your little dress and belt. “Mm, still hot even with an eyepatch.”
“You got a thing for pirates, ‘Tsumu?”
He pulls you in closer by your lower back, making sure you can hear the lust in his voice where you can’t see it in his eyes. “I’ve got a thing for pretty things in tiny dresses,” he murmurs, “especially when I get to take it off—“
“Woah, slow your roll there,” you giggle, pulling his hand away from where it tried to sneak beneath the hem of your dress skirt. “Remember that we’re in public, Atsumu?”
“So? Half the people here are either waitin’ for a bathroom to fuck in or are already doing it on the couch, we’re nothin’ special.”
You roll your eyes when his hands start to wander again, swatting them away with a glare. Well, as much of a glare as you can show with one eye.
“I thought you wanted to find your brother, hm?”
“Oh, yeah! Gotta get the annual Halloween Twins Pic,” he remembers. He and Osamu always get their routine picture of them in their identical costumes, every single year — they both dread it in their own way, but you think it’s sweet. “Have you seen him?”
“It’s like a needle in a haystack.”
“Okay, not that many people showed up as Ghostface.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Fine, so it’s a popular costume! Whatever — I can recognize my own brother.”
“Good luck, ‘cause I can’t.”
Atsumu says something in reply, but you really don’t hear it under the mask or the music. You follow him around by his back, letting him lead you blindly through the house until you eventually end up in the kitchen.
You hear insults being traded and assume that they’ve found each other well.
“About time I found your ugly ass,” Atsumu grumbles, playfully smacking the back of Osamu’s head. Osamu raises a hand and Atsumu dives away with a yelp.
“Yeah, whatever,” Osamu mutters, before his head turns to you. He’s got the same mask that Atsumu has on. “Hey.”
“Hey!” you greet back with a smile.
“Ain’t her costume cute, ‘Samu?” Atsumu sings. “Pretty.”
Osamu leans on the counter like he’s tired. “That’s a trick question.”
“Ooh, yer gettin’ good at this.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes and holding out your hand, empty palm facing up. “So, whose phone am I taking the photo with?”
“Right! Here,” Atsumu hands you his phone, shoving Osamu into place so they’re back-to-back, arms crossed. They’re clones, all right. “Look spooky?”
“Terrifying,” you laugh, snapping a few pictures and handing the phone back.
Atsumu lifts his mask, giving you a quick kiss on your waiting lips. “Thank you, baby,” he says quietly. Osamu watches you from the side. “Me and ‘Samu are gonna go find an old buddy, wanna come?”
You smile, shaking your head. “I’m okay. I’ll watch our drinks — you won’t be long, will you?”
“Now, how could I stay away from ya? When you’re lookin’ this damn good?” he teases, slipping a finger in through your belt. “Be back in five, baby.”
“Ugh, I’ll be waiting,” you taunt, glancing toward the hallway where the rooms tend to be. You watch as Atsumu’s head tilts; though you can’t see it, you know his face is awestruck.
Osamu groans, grabbing his arm. “I’ll have the freak back ASAP,”
“Hey!”
You snicker with a nod, saluting him. “Good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
They disappear into the pool of people as Atsumu keeps on whining about something, probably you, and Osamu drags him by the bicep to the other room. It’s pretty clear which one of them is more excited to see the friend they’re trying to find.
You sigh to yourself, leaning on the counter as you wait for them to get back.
You’ve always been pretty good friends with Osamu — you haven’t been with Atsumu for that long, but while you have been, you've been on good terms with his brother.
They almost remind you of parallel lines, Atsumu and Osamu; they’re alike but still separate, moving along beside one another. It’s probably why it’s so easy to get along with both of them all the time, despite the fact they get at each other's throats.
It isn't too much longer after they disappear that strong hands come to rest on your waist from behind, making you jump. You turn around to find that it’s just Atsumu’s dumb mask looming over you, his head tilted to one side.
“Jesus, ‘Tsumu,” you grumble, “I just told you to quit it with that.”
Atsumu hums to himself, pulling your hips closer to his. He cages you in between the counter and himself.
“Didn’t we also just talk about this?” you complain, but your brows relax when you feel his hand smooth down your hip from your waist.
“Please,” Atsumu murmurs, playing with your tights. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“About what?”
“About what’s under that fuckin’ dress.”
Your face goes hot; he moves closer.
“Please,” he repeats.
You don’t care about what you talked about earlier — all you’re capable of doing now is nodding and taking his hand, letting him lead you out of the kitchen.
Your eyes train on his back as he knocks on doors, checking rooms and bathrooms until he finds one that opens without resistance. The second you’re both inside, he’s shutting the door blindly, locking it the same way.
The bathroom is cramped, but it’s enough space to get you up on the counter, your legs spread apart as he drops to his knees.
“Holy fuck, Atsumu,” you breathe, goosebumps running across your skin when he looks up at you in that stupid mask. He doesn’t say a word, but you figure he has other plans.
His hand guides one of your legs over his shoulder, and he pulls the mask up on top of his head. It’s long enough that it makes a cover over his face — like the bill of a baseball cap, or something.
You almost complain about it, about the lack of view between the mask and his hood staying up, but you fall short of words when he rips your fishnets apart at the crotch. He tugs your panties down your legs.
“I — you’re so goddamn lucky those were cheap,”
“Uh-huh,” he groans, tugging you closer to the edge by the hips.
You gasp, hands gripping the counter’s edge. “Can you at least warn me before you — oh,”
You come up short for words as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, his hold on your thighs tightening when you arch your back.
Atsumu has always been good at this, but you find yourself at a loss this time; everything you want him to do, he does without request — like he’s tracking where you want his tongue by the way your hips roll alone.
His tongue flicks over your clit, drawing circles before starting over again. “Shit,” you whimper, looking down at his fingers digging into your legs. “So fucking good,”
You can feel his spit running down to your ass, you can hear how messy he is — he sucks on your clit with a low moan, one of his hands slowly moving from your leg to where his tongue was before.
Your deep breath shatters into stutters when he slowly pushes in his spit-soaked finger, kissing your clit as he drags it up against your walls. Everything he does is deliberate.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, your head tilting back against the mirror as you grind against his face and hand, making sure he’s buried himself to the knuckle. “Please, more, please,”
“Fuckin’ begging,” you think you hear him murmur, his finger squelching as it drags out of your cunt. “I'll wanna hear this again,”
You can’t even ask what he means before he’s slipping in his ring finger, too. His lips move to gently kiss your inner thigh as his fingers do the opposite, quickly thrusting in and out of your pussy, feeling it flutter around them.
The pressure in your gut builds quicker than you acknowledge it’s there, but you’re guessing he knows that by the way your breathing gets faster; his fingers drag against the sweet spot he was searching for. You feel him grin against your skin like he knows.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, knuckles turning white from gripping the counter so hard. “Atsumu, I’m gonna cum,”
“Do it, then,” he growls, and it takes you no more than a few more thrusts to clamp down on his fingers.
You cum with a cry, back arching and hips pushed forward. Atsumu doesn’t stop until you’ve rode it out fully, until you reach down and grab his wrist to force him to stop.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, fixing the strap that fell off of your shoulder. Below you, Atsumu slips out his fingers; you can’t see him, but you can hear him suck them off. You think you hear him groan. “Need you, ‘Tsumu.”
He hesitates, pulling his mask back down before standing back up. Your eyes follow him until he’s above you again, and the way his hands drop to the button of his jeans alone makes you lightheaded.
His hands work to tug them loose, unzipping them as you eagerly sit up. You feel him over his boxers, nearly dropping dead at the way he bucks his hips into your palm. He rests a hand on either side of you on the bathroom counter, leaning in on it, rolling his hips as you pump him through the fabric.
“Mm, fuck,” you practically drool, “need you to fuck me good,”
You giggle when his head tips back, your other hand pushing his sweater up so you can watch his abs tense; watch his v-line dip beneath his waistband.
You’re sick of waiting.
Spitting in your hand, you take his cock out of his boxers and pump him up slowly, watching the way his body reacts to your touch. At first, you were a little curious about him keeping the mask on — but now? You’ve never seen anything hotter.
Atsumu grabs your hand the same way you grabbed his, tugging you off the counter. You almost trip over your panties, silly you and your shaky legs, but he’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, nudging you to bend over the counter.
You look back at yourself in the mirror, his frame looming behind you. He holds the hem of his sweater halfway up his body, and the dim light against his glistening skin is enough to make your pussy throb.
“Watch,” he says lowly, his hand straightening your head to look forward again when you try and look back at him. He pushes your dress up your body, his hands smoothing up the dip of your back.
“Fuck,” he groans, the tip of his cock tapping on your ass before it teases your cunt. “Been waitin’ for this.”
Your jaw drops as he slips into you with ease, dragging himself back out just as slow; he builds his pace with every thrust.
Your fingers search to grip something, anything on the counter. His hands grip your hips as his own press flush against your ass, his cock reaching as deep as it can go.
“Fuck, ‘Tsumu,” you whimper. He fucks into you harder, his grip tighter. “Shit!”
His balls slap against your clit as he fucks you up the counter, your breath leaving clouds on the mirror. Your tits spill out of the neckline of your dress and your ass stings where a fleshy handprint starts to form, yet you’re still fucking yourself back on him. “Atsu—“
He grabs the back of your belt that's somehow stayed on and yanks you back with it; you stare at yourself getting fucked in the mirror.
“Who’s fuckin’ you this good?”
“You!” you cry, gasping when he bends and pushes up one of your legs to rest on the counter. Your pussy squelches with every thrust, his cock bullying your cunt until you can’t forget the shape of it. “You are—“
“Damn right,” he grits, reaching a hand around your body to circle your clit. “And I’m the one makin’ you cum, too.”
“Yes! Fuck, yes—“
“Come on, baby,” he asks; his voice sounds like he’s taunting you. It’s deep and unsteady, but the slight rasp nearly makes you cum on the spot. “You know you want it, fuckin’ take it,”
You cry out in rhythm with his thrusts, his pace unrelenting, both of you so fucking close and slowly getting louder — you tighten around him and he’s murmuring next to your ear: “Cum on me, baby, you can do it,”
Atsumu gropes your chest as you let go with a shudder, creaming around him as he makes no effort to slow down; he only stills inside of you once your whole body is filled with a hot tremor, his cum leaking out of your pussy only for him to slowly fuck it back inside.
You slump forward when he finally lets you go, your leg falling off the counter as you look at your disheveled appearance in the mirror.
The familiar sound of his jeans being zipped back up again comes from behind you, and Atsumu hands you your panties from the floor.
You snort. “What a gentleman,”
He shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans up against the door. He shamelessly watches you fix yourself up as best you can — you pull your dress back down, try to make your fishnets look as normal as possible.
“Way to fuck up my costume, though,” you grumble, crossing your legs to try and ignore the way cum soaks your panties. “I have to look somewhat normal, you know.”
“Mm, you should. Better look nice so my brother doesn’t think you fucked me.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Why would Osamu care?”
He breathes out a laugh. “Oh,” he says, lifting his mask up. This time, you see him, and your blood just about runs frigid. “I don’t. ‘Tsumu might, though.”
You blink, shaking your head. “I — you —?”
“I’m not gonna tell him,” Osamu says, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks are flushed red — you just want to disappear. You feel nauseous, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “But, you know. Might happen again.”
“Wh—no, it can’t. It won’t.”
Osamu shrugs. “Okay.”
You stare as he unlocks the door, opening it as the noise from the rest of the party floods your crypt. He leans down towards you, tilting his head.
“Remember how I made you cum,” he says in the quiet, “and then remember how he does.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t help the pit in your chest. Osamu laughs shortly again, “Right.”
“I’ll give you an excuse, buy ya some time.” His eyes flicker from yours down to your open mouth, your glossy lips. “Make sure you’re not still droolin’ over it when you come out, ‘kay?”
And with that, he pulls his mask back down over his face and leaves the bathroom; you only watch him head down the hallway for a second before slamming the door shut, left with the sound of your heart beating in your ears.
Looking back in the mirror, you don’t even know what to do with yourself. So, you wipe off your lips.
