#twrt!

you knew this time was coming sooner or later, or, in hindsight, you should have. he didn’t just magically change who he was because he met you and he admitted it himself, he only really started hanging out with you because he wanted to fuck you. and you don’t blame him for that. your motives were similar at first.

the shift from strangers to flirting strangers to friends was a bit more difficult than you thought it would be, especially when you haven’t really moved on from the whole flirting bit or the whole wanting to be more than friends but not wanting to ruin the rest of your last college year bit. 

you know him now. maybe not know him, but you know enough, more than nothing, so being here, consciously listening to the first time that atsumu has fucked someone since you moved from nothing to something just isn’t sitting right with you. not that you can even really focus on the noises if you wanted to, not with all of this thinking going on in your head.

your stomach drops. 

this actually probably isn’t the first time that he’s fucking someone since you met. he probably picked back up on this routine the second that volleyball stopped for spring break and the realization is really making your stomach hurt. the thought of him with someone else, texting you before and after, is having too much of an effect on you. 

the only saving grace is that you can’t hear them, not the beds or the impact, but them. you’re not sure you could’ve ever recovered from that, not now. the air of the situation has already changed just from knowing him, but if you had to hear him too, you’re not sure you could have continued down this path of friendship. more than that, it feels like a betrayal, creepy maybe, and, at the very least, weird for you. you feel like a stranger in your own home. you can barely think as you swallow the lump in your throat. there’s so much on your mind, so many feelings swarming around you and you can feel every single one on your skin even if you can’t identify some of them.

and underneath it all, a small but persistent sting.

you can’t be here a second longer.

even as you close your door softly behind you, your chest feels tight. through your entire walk, your chest feels tight. you’re no longer in your room, but you can still feel the rhythm beneath your sternum. you shake your head, arms, all the way out to your hands, trying to get this feeling off of your body, sitting in anticipation as you wait for a response to your knocking.

“not fucking this again, you’re lucky-,” maki says, hushed but forceful, throwing open the door. whatever was about to come out of his mouth dissipates in his throat before it can even reach his tongue. he moves aside from the door, giving you plenty of space to leave the openness of the hallway. his features quickly morph into concern and now you’re feeling bad that you’re making it somebody else’s problem.

he locks the door quickly and pulls you into his room. only when his door is also shut and locked behind the two of you does he speak, “what happened?”

you’re silent for what feels like the better half of an hour, though realistically you’re sure is a handful of minutes. “‘ts stupid,” you mumble, shaking your head. you still feel small, but you’re starting to feel a bit more normal as maki wraps his fingers around your forearm. 

from the second that he saw you, he knew that whatever happened had something to do with your previously shitty turned okay turned shitty again obviously neighbor. he asks anyways, “did atsumu do something?”

you don’t try to, in fact, you actively try not to, but the events are too recent, mind too swarming to have as much control as you’d like; you wince at his name. despite everything you’re feeling, somehow you’re still able to focus on maki as he warms, mouth opening to spout something loud, but shutting to be replaced with a calm exhale. what he really wants to do is go over there at this exact second, but what he needs to do is just be there for you.

you shrug your shoulders a bit, pathetic laugh leaving your chest at the pure familiarity of it all, “lover boy’s at it again.” the confusion that takes on maki’s face is gone just as quickly, waiting for you to explain rather than make assumptions. you continue, “it’s been three weeks with nothing and then -”

maki interrupts you, sitting on his bed and smoothing the space next to him. you sit, back against the wall, legs crossed, head hanging. you explain everything to him and it’s hard to remember that all of this happened just a few hours ago. the lunch, the weird thing atsumu said to you, the hurt that you noticed on his face, the note he left you, the cactus, your feelings every step of the way.

by the end of it your head is on maki’s pillow facing maki whose head is also on his pillow and he has the slightest, feather-like, ghosting touch on your hip and you’re slowly forgetting the distress you were in earlier. maki’s always had that effect on you, really. 

“you’re welcome to stay over until-,” he starts, but you cut him off, shaking your head.

“no, i have to…,” you pause. have to what? “i have to do it, stay over at my own place and stuff. i can’t keep hiding at yours every time something happens,” you reason, and it feels good coming out of your mouth. it feels like progress. “i will take you up on that offer tonight, obviously, because i’m not moving from this very spot.” there isn’t much space between the two of you, but you’re determined for their to be none, scooching closer, forehead resting on his shoulder.

“tomorrow night i’ll sort myself out, wear headphones or something, i don’t know.” as you shrug, your arm moves against his, just another reminder of how close you are to him.

the two of you sit in silence for a minute and it’s nice to be able to not feel like you have to keep talking in an attempt to feel better. you pull back, just a few inches, to look at him, “but it’s nice that you’d let me stay here indefinitely,” you smile, a real smile, a lightness returning again if only for a moment. 

he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead. “unfortunately,” he jokes, “i would do just about anything for you, so.”

“i think that’s pretty fortunate for me,” you laugh softly, and you really do mean it.

/++/

you make true to your promise. the next day you stay in despite how much you want to leave your room and go anywhere else. 

> maki ♡ / 12:32 am > futon/bed is open if tonight’s too much btw

&lt; 12:32 am < should be okay < but ty < will update you tomorrow < wish me luck

> maki ♡ / 12:33 am > nah > you don’t need it

the anticipation is almost worse than it just happening. you wait and wait and wait for the inevitable noise to come, but it doesn’t. by 1 am you’re wondering why you just haven’t gone to sleep yet. by 2 am you know that it’s because you want to know if something is going to happen. by 3 am you can barely keep your eyes open and he’s done it again, inadvertently fucked up your sleep schedule.

two more nights go by and nothing, both peaceful, quiet nights that you would’ve killed for at the beginning of the semester. now even these feel sour. 

it really can’t get any worse than this.

/++/

> miya atsumu / 11:23 am > are you avoiding me?

shit.

in the span of these three anticipatory days, you hadn’t seen atsumu, not in the hallway or around campus. that could potentially have been on account of you not being in your dorm building except to sleep and avoiding common student areas like the plague. potentially. 

you weren’t necessarily avoiding him, just the places where you had the highest chance of running into him. there’s a difference.

&lt; 12:01 pm < lol no

> miya atsumu / 12:03 pm > prove it. let’s go get lunch

shit.

/++/

you get there first, set out a small blanket in the far corner past the busy areas around the student union. of course you agreed to go and of course you felt like you might puke but you couldn’t just avoid him for the rest of the year and the longer you waited, the worse it would get. 

at least you had time to prepare yourself, fiddled with the lunch that you had grabbed, told yourself everything would probably be fine, tried to anticipate whatever his reaction would be to how awkward you were inevitably about to be. you try to keep your head down, like you couldn’t care less about when he’s coming, paying attention to your phone. this, of course, just means that his voice, all the way from across the lawn, scares the shit out of you.

“i can’t believe you tried to ghost me,” he says loudly, voice traveling, catching the attention of a few too many people, completely negating the quietness of the spot you’ve chosen, arm outstretched, pointer finger perfectly in your direction as he closes the distance between the two of you. “after i watched your plants, bought you lunch, got you a cactus?”

shit shit shit shit shit shit.  if it were anyone else, there would be a moment of fear, of terror, like you’ve certainly fucked something up, but with atsumu that wasn’t the case. his tone is light, perfectly airy, really, harboring a teasing nature that means the difference between fake annoyance and real. and there’s laughter bubbling up from your stomach, taking over the pit that has been sitting there since you first got his text message. 

you really try not to let him win, to let him back into your good graces as easily as you’re about to. though, you’re actually not sure he’s done anything wrong in the first place, not when you’re the one that basically turned him down, not vice versa. he’s still here, still trying to be your friend, still making an effort.

“i know where you live,” he shouts.

just like before, you feel all of your resolve slipping away. your lips upturn, smile wide as you let the laughter come in waves, clutching at your stomach when the feeling doesn’t stop for some reason. he takes a seat beside you, “come on, yn, people are staring. it wasn’t that funny,” he smirks.

still throwing tiny flirts and inside jokes in your direction. 

he’s looking gorgeous yet again. you only notice it, unfortunately, when he’s sitting right next to you, shoulder pressed up against yours, stealing a grape from your fruit cup. he’s to blame, really, for looking that good stealing your food. 

“i’m sorry i’ve been absent the past couple of days,” you say, and you mean it too much to care about how genuine it sounds in comparison to your typical taunting. 

you wait for him to keep it up, the poking fun, or at the very least ask you why you were gone, all outcomes that you really didn’t want to deal with. instead, however, he takes another piece of fruit from the plastic cup, “no sweat.” he shrugs, “just don’t do it again.”

you exhale something adjacent to a laugh, “alright, yeah, deal.”

he reaches over once more, hand open and moving towards your fruit cup. you smack his shoulder, “oh my god, get your own.” it’s effortless, the playfulness that comes out of you, and it’s making you feel like the past three days never even happened. he pauses and looks like he’s deep in thought. 

“nah,” he reaches forward again. this time a smack doesn’t do it, because despite you hitting his hand, wrist, forearm, wherever you can reach, multiple times, he just keeps pushing forward. there might be a metaphor somewhere there.

you grab onto his arm, “are you kidding?” it takes more of your strength than you’re willing to admit, wrapping both arms around his bicep and trying to pull him away, but he just keeps on. “i paid 5 whole dollars for that,” you groan, voice strained by the effort of your attempts as you practically crawl on top of him. he pulls his arm back further like it’s nothing at all to counteract the weight of your entire body on his arm, laughing as he does so. you make one final attempt, springing forward. 

“‘tsumu, seriously.”

and then he stops, blush spreading across his nose and cheeks. he clears his throat, doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring at you and you’re 100% certain that his blush is contagious. you don’t know whether to tease him or apologize or just carry on. you let your arms hang around his, knees on either side of his thigh.

eventually, you lean back into the balls of your feet, creating a bit more distance between the two of you slowly. it’s like your movement made the moment real, made it come back to life. he smiles, shakes his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”

all you can do is smile proudly, still frozen in this position and a tiny part of you, the smallest goddamn bit, wishes that there was something off about the interaction, but you can’t find a single bitter feeling anywhere. 

/++/

that night, you hear it. the second that it starts, you’re worried that it’s going to send you back into whatever that was again, but the only worrying that you actually end up doing is worrying about worrying. the thumping is soft. even in your bed, you can barely hear it. most of the time it fades into the background and only once every few minutes are you reminded that it’s even happening.

still, you’re convinced that any minute now all of that is going to change, the pace is going to pick up, the noises are going to get louder, you just know it. 

and then you fall asleep. during the lull between soft reminders, you drift off and in the morning you don’t really know what to feel. you just feel… normal?

you spend all morning worrying, then, that this normal is a false sense of security, that it’s going to start a weird cycle where you ditch atsumu for three days straight again, but while you’re getting ready, atsumu knocks on your door and offers to walk you to class even though his class doesn’t start until 10 and is on the other side of campus just because you mentioned that you get lonely on your 9 am walks in a passing text message during spring break.

the two of you walk to your class and atsumu tells you to meet him for lunch and you’re looking forward to it. you’re not even thinking about last night. maybe that’s because last night wasn’t too disruptive, but even still, you don’t spend the next nights waiting for something to happen. it just feels normal. 

it’s much less frequent than before, still happening every few days, but not nearly as often as before you knew him. though, you traded constancy for knowing him. it didn’t matter how far between those nights were, they were different now. not completely, of course. you still drowned it out with your headphones, still went to go study instead of just sitting around and dealing with it, but it was the times that you didn’t leave that were really different. 

before you used to just get annoyed at every noise that wasn’t a bedpost against your shared wall. the thumping was bad, but at least it was consistent. the squeaking, the moans, the muffled voices, now they weren’t just annoying. now you could see everything so clearly in your head. you had a face, a body, a personality to attribute to these actions.

every time these thoughts would start and your imagination wandered, you curbed it quickly. you didn’t let yourself indulge in them, only got so far as to tilt your head and listen closer one time. it felt like a breach of privacy, like you were betraying trust he didn’t even know he was instilling in you. 

the sounds were easy enough to ignore, sure, but the feeling of the wall against your shoulder? that was a little harder to feign oblivion to. the thumping was sending waves through your entire body and even though you weren’t listening, you could picture it so clearly in your head, not the rhythm, but his rhythm. the abstracts of these actions were becoming so human, so atsumu.

when you close your eyes you can see him, but you don’t see him over his shoulder or like a movie, no. you see him like you’re underneath him, like you’re the one making him shake the wall. you take a deep breath, hands moving on their own as they pull your headphones off, setting them on your side table so gently, like if you were too rough, atsumu would be able to hear you. 

your heart is beating so violently against your chest and there is a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that this is probably a bad idea, but you can hear him now, muffled but still audible, the groans and deliberate small praises. you slide your palm over your neck, squeezing gently, following your body down, digging your own nails into your collarbones, skimming over your chest. if you weren’t so aware that these noises had been going on for some time already, you might have teased yourself a bit more, let you feel yourself a bit more, but his moans are getting more desperate and you can’t hold yourself back.

your hand is slow as it moves between your legs, two fingers slipping between your lips and you’re almost embarrassed at how wet you are already. whoever else is in that room is sobbing, crying out his name and it’s not your voice, but you imagine that it is, like you’re the one he’s turned into this babbling mess. 

you push two fingers inside of yourself and it’s not enough, not big enough, not long enough, but it’ll do for now. you move your fingers in time with the thumping against the wall, getting faster when he does. 

“yeah? is it good?” he says, words punctuated by a faster pace. “tell me how good it is.”

“‘s so good,” you say under your breath, shoving another finger inside of yourself, other hand digging into the fat of your hip just like you’re imagining atsumu would.

“reach down and rub that fucking clit,” he groans through gritted teeth, the banging of the wall getting a bit less consistent. “fuck, that’s good.”

you move your other hand down, rubbing small circles into your clit as you finger yourself as fast as his pace is letting you. a whine is trapped in your throat, coming out in the form of a small, low hum as you roll your hips onto your fingers.

“deeper, atsumu, deeper, please,” you hear someone cry.

you know that you should probably feel jealous, and you do, but more than anything you feel yourself flood, your entire body warm as your sloppy hole quivers around your own fingers, around atsumu’s cock. you feel delusional. 

“not yet. not until ya’ve earn it,” he growls, “tighten that pussy around me. milk my cock.” the moan tears out of you without warning, throaty and taken, barely audible, mouth agape as you tighten around your own fingers. it’s not just what he’s saying, it’s how he sounds while he’s saying it, that fucking accent - thicker and stronger than any other time you’ve heard it. you’re shaking, your own mind deceiving you, telling you that one day you’ll coax it out of him, take him so well that you can barely fucking understand him.

you’re so close, so fucking close, but you don’t want to finish until he has, want to hear him as he comes, pay close attention to what he sounds like so you can play it on repeat everytime you fuck yourself

“good girl,” he says, and it’s like it was made for you. 

you’re whispering thank yous under your breath. you’re convinced he can hear them, that he knows how grateful you are for them. “gonna come,” you warn him.

“‘m almost there, fuck,” he grunts and the wall shakes harder, harsher. “fuck.” his voice is throaty. his breathing is labored, heavy. and then the walls stop shaking. a single strangled moan rips from atsumu, a string of mumbles and obscenities that you can’t really make out follow and you come all over your fingers, fucking yourself through your orgasm as your walls flutter around your all-too-small fingers. 

you pull your hands from between your legs, resting them at your side, chest rising and falling so heavily that you’re surprised you’re still conscious. fuck, you were going to need a minute to recover.

she obviously is not given that luxury. you hear some murmurs and mumbles, hear the bed groan, keys jingle, and a door open and then immediately shut. if you wanted to, you could go over there right now and see exactly what he looks like after something like that, but you can’t really move, couldn’t get up from your bed let alone put proper clothes on and walk over there despite how tempting that sounds.

after everything clears, you’re waiting for the regret to sink in, for the guilt to take its place, but it doesn’t. sure, it feels a bit taboo, but if you really regretted it, you wouldn’t have kept doing it. you wouldn’t have kept listening, kept masturbating to it, wouldn’t have stayed up waiting for it to happen.

and you’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing, how easy it was for you to face him during the day, to ask him how his nights were and to flirt with him in the same way that you used to. your relationship stays the same, good, great even. you continue to hang out just as much as you used to despite the fact that you knew things about him and his sex like that maybe you shouldn’t have known.

you learned things, patterns, kinks, all because atsumu was perfectly inconsiderate, maybe cluelessly oblivious. 

it wasn’t just the one time that she left minutes after everything was said and done, it was every time. in fact, if you really wanted to, you could, without even listening for the click of the door, go over there without catching her just on the basis of how consistent it was.

you knew that he loved to hear his own name during sex, moaned and panted and screamed and whined. he asked for it frequently, for them to call out his name, always seemed to be motivated by it.

you knew that he loved to be deep throated, but that no one could really take him as deep as he wanted to go. you wouldn’t admit to anyone the lengths you’ve gone to attempt it, even bought a new dildo just to open up your throat and to reach deeper and stretch you wider than your fingers could now. it felt so good, reached so deep. you could picture it as atsumu’s, use it whenever he boasted about how deep he was inside of you, how big his cock was, how well you took him.

you knew that his head is sensitive, could tell exactly when someone was paying extra attention to it based on his whimpers alone. you knew that there was one time that he got fingered and you have never heard him react so much to one thing. you knew that he loved to come deep inside, would ask if he could between sweet kisses, and when he got a positive response, he was gone in seconds. 

you knew that he loved dirty talk, though most of his partners usually left that up to him. the stunned silence that dirty talking right back could result in is something that didn’t happen enough, not when he was so fucking good. he deserved it all and thensome. he deserved everything that he wanted all at once, wrapped up in a neat little bow. 

and it just kept happening, this weird cycle of finding out more and more about atsumu’s sex life intercut with the two of you casually hanging out finding out more and more about atsumu’s life life.  

but sometimes the stars would align, sometimes they had a hand in each other in ways that you could have never even dreamed of. 

/++/

“do you have lunch plans, because you do now,” atsumu says in one quick string, jogging to catch up with you when he spots you on campus on his walk back to the dorm. 

“i actually already do have lunch plans,” you say, “but if i didn’t-.”

he cuts you off, face twisting into evident confusion, “just cancel them and come hang out with me instead.”

“no can do,” you say, shaking your head for emphasis, “i’ve bailed on them like three times already i think….” you pause, counting on your fingers, “for you. every time.”

“great, so one more isn’t that big of a deal,” he says, still walking along with you as you walk towards your rendezvous spot.

you laugh, “you know i think your persistence is cute, but it’s just not going to work this time.”

“but i don’t have lunch plans,” he complains.

“you could come have lunch with us,” you offer. you’re not sure if he’s going to go crazy for the idea, but at least it might be better than eating alone. 

“yea, right,” atsumu furrows his eyebrows, “i don’t think so. your friends don’t like me very much.”

“you’ve never even hung out with them,” you reason.

“i met your one friend that one time and i don’t think he likes me,” atsumu replies and despite the fact that you’re still walking towards lunch with your friends and despite the fact that he knows that, he’s still following alongside you. 

“i don’t think you liked him very much,” you retort. 

atsumu’s silence seems like a pretty strong tell, but then he speaks up, “yn, he called me the volleyball guy.”

“that’s a compliment, probably.”

“ha ha,” atsumu fakes.

“come on,” you say, taking his hand in yours and dragging him along, “let’s go have lunch with my friends, tsumu.”

he narrows his eyes at you, mouth about to open to protest, but he just can’t. “i never should have told you how i feel about that nickname.”

“well, then i’d never use it,” you point out.

he’s quiet for a beat. “yea, no, that’s much worse.”

/++/

when you approach the picnic table, atsumu’s hand in yours, oikawa is the first person to notice you, shooting a questioning look your way without notifying the rest of the guys who are arguing over god knows what. be cool, you mouth. the smile on oikawa’s face doesn’t exactly read cool, it reads more mischievous. 

you absolutely made a mistake. 

“yn-chan!” oikawa gets up, yanking iwaizumi up with him and moving around to the other side of the table with matsukawa. 

“what- what are you doing?” iwa asks, very evidently confused as to why oikawa is disrupting him in the middle of a heated argument. “yn can sit by issei, why are-.”

he’s not. 

“no! it’s okay! maki’s saved you a seat,” oikawa explains, waving both you and iwa off. 

the argument ceases, attention turns to you as a broad topic, but the focus is absolutely on the interlocked fingers between you and atsumu. now you have to make the choice to drop his hand or be confident about it and you’re not sure you can do either one. and, on top of that, worry about the fact that you’ve really just brought atsumu into the foxes den without even thinking.

though, atsumu never does leave you hanging. and, like always, he usually does surprise you. 

atsumu tightens his grip on your hand, holding tight as he picks his arm up and throws it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. you know that he’s soaking in the expressions that it’s elicited. slight tinge of anger on one, confusion on another, surprise on another. you just wish that you could somehow warn him about oikawa’s look of confounded vex. 

“atsumu’s going to be joining us for lunch if that’s cool,” you say, not waiting for a response as you sit down next to hanamaki. you assume it’s going to be weird, moving in time with atsumu draped on your shoulder, but he follows your lead. when you’re both sitting on the bench, he withdraws his arm, placing both forearms on the table after offering a small wave.

oikawa, you knew, could infer without even knowing his name, maki’s already met him, but you’re not sure that issei and hajime are completely understanding the extent of what’s happening, why oikawa is on offense right now. 

“so, how do you know yn?” oikawa asks, an iced coffee straw between his teeth. 

“well, we met because we live next to each other, but now we’re best friends,” atsumu explains and you don’t have to look at maki to know he wants to hit him right now. 

but this question wasn’t to provoke maki; it was to silently explain to the other people at the table what exactly was happening. iwa and issei instantly look gobsmacked. you don’t even know if they try to stop it, but if they do, they’re doing a terrible job.

“ah! that’s right!” oikawa chirps, “that neighbor we’ve heard all about.”

everyone is quiet for a second, waiting to see how atsumu will respond, but he doesn’t give oikawa nearly enough of a reaction. “well, i’m oikawa, this is iwa-chan, matsukawa, and you already know maki. of course, you know maki. anyone who knows yn knows maki.”

“yeah, we’ve met,” maki responds, smiling at oikawa’s description of him, “how’s volleyball?”

you shoot oikawa a warning glare as iwaizumi and issei start a conversation with atsumu about volleyball. watch it, you mouth. oikawa just looks confused, but you catch the slight smile that he throws in maki’s direction.

the conversations are split now. atsumu is talking to iwa and issei, conversation shifting from volleyball to iwaizumi’s goals for the future in athletic training. even with all of the shenanigans that oikawa’s already executed, atsumu is deep in thoughtful conversation with half of your friend group and if it isn’t making your heart swell up for some reason.

you lower your voice for only the otherside of the table to hear, “if you don’t knock it off…”

“then what, yn?” oikawa smirks.

“i’m going to bring hajime into this,” you narrow your eyes. it’s always a gamble bringing up hajime with oikawa. sometimes it works like a charm, a perfect pacifier to a fired up oikawa, but sometimes it backfires, just driving oikawa in the exact opposite direction of where you’re trying to get him to go. maybe you shouldn’t have bet on hajime today.

“no one likes a tattletail,” oikawa whispers, “you’ll see.”

the anticipation is back, something that you really didn’t want to return for a while. you’ve had enough of it this semester if you’re being honest. atsumu stays, thankfully, paying attention to his half of the table, laughing along with the two men about whatever they’re talking about while you face maki. 

he’s not necessarily talking to you about anything in particular, just about his day and updating you on the situation with one of his old coworkers, telling jokes and just being maki. when he mentions something stupid, something unreasonably funny, it takes you by surprise, letting your head fall and clash against maki’s shoulder, holding the other one in your hand as laughter bellows from the two of you as if you were alone.

all at once, you’re taken out of the moment as you feel a hand rest on your thigh, long fingers spanning over the fabric of your skirt, curling around the hem. you slowly bring your head up, arm still resting on maki’s other shoulder and maybe this was oikawa’s plan all along, to get you to sit between maki and atsumu and feel it as much as you’re feeling it right now. 

if only that were the case.

oikawa butts in on atsumu, matsukawa, and iwaizumi’s conversation, completely disregarding whatever they’re talking about. “hajime and i are together,” oikawa says, throwing his arm around iwaizumi’s shoulder, pulling him closer in a very familiar way. 

“oh, that’s great,” atsumu says, evidently confused at the relevance and the disruption.

iwaizumi grabs oikawa’s wrist, throwing it off of him, “you’re being weird, kawa. you don’t even put your arm around me, i put my arm around you if anything-”

oikawa ignores him completely, “you know, that reminds me of something!” he points repetitively at atsumu as if he’s remembering something for the first time that he has to blurt out or he’ll never remember it again. he leans forward like he’s telling a secret.

no.

no.

no.

“y’know, maki and yn used to date,” oikawa says in a tone that you would use to tell someone a fun fact. atsumu stills, hand withdrawing from your lap as he turns to face the two of you. your hand is lingering on maki’s shoulder and you don’t want to move it because then it seems suspicious. 

you turn to face atsumu, letting your hand drop from maki’s shoulder. you can’t read the expression on atsumu’s face again. you’re not a fan of that feeling. 

“really?” is all atsumu asks, nothing more.

you clear your throat, “yeah, during freshman and sophomore year when all of us became friends in the first place.”

“hm,” he hums, and everyone is just waiting for something more, a bigger reaction, a scoff, a confrontation.

but atsumu never does leave you hanging. and, like always, he usually does surprise you.

atsumu snakes his arm around your waist, protective grasp punctuated by his fingertips digging into your side, the pads of his fingertips brushing against your skin as he pushes them under your loose shirt. he pulls you closer to him, slides you across the bench, away from maki, your side now pressed up against his. “yeah, but you’re just friends now, so,” atsumu shrugs and continues on with his conversation that oikawa interrupted previously. 

maki and oikawa look more shocked than atsumu did. there’s a slight trace of annoyance on oikawa’s features, but maki’s is just complete shock, not animosity, just shock.

the rest of lunch goes by without another oikawa fueled hitch.

/++/

today could’ve gone a lot differently. 

if oikawa wasn’t oikawa and atsumu wasn’t atsumu then it would’ve gone very differently, you’re sure. one very important difference being that you wouldn’t be here, in bed, about to fall asleep only to be woken up to that familiar sound. or, at the very least, if things would’ve gone much differently you would’ve felt too bad, too awkward, too guilty to pull the dildo from your bedside table even though you really had no intention of fucking yourself tonight.

you liked these nights the most, the ones where you were able to take it all in, tease yourself just like you’re sure he was teasing her. you could listen and be patient and follow along so nicely, but you don’t get that same luxury tonight. it’s all very quick, very fast paced and atsumu is being uncharacteristically quiet. 

when he slips inside of her, you can hear the snag in his breath, and you mimic it, pushing the dildo inside of you. then you feel the vibrations. you really feel the vibrations, harder than you’ve ever felt that. it doesn’t feel like just your wall is shaking, it feels like your whole room is shaking, it’s harsh.

“fuck, is that good?” atsumu asks, the first thing he’s said all night and you can’t believe how much you missed his voice. mmhm, you whine. you can’t make the dildo fuck you as fast and as hard as you know atsumu is going right now. your arm won’t move that fast, not while feeling the stroke of his entire cock. it’s not as good as he is and you know it. 

“tell me,” atsumu huffs, and usually it’s muffled, but you feel like you can hear it clear as day, right in your ear, “tell me i’m the best you’ve ever had.” your hand stops, motions cease. did you hear him correctly? it sounded so clear, you can’t be mistaken. maybe you’re making things up or putting meaning to things that aren’t really like that. you shake it off, hand moving again trying to match his speed.

he’s already out of breath, panting, and you’re realizing that the reason you haven’t been able to really hear her is because she hasn’t stopped making noise this whole time, a low, monotonous crying that hasn’t changed a bit.

“tell me,” he says, voice just as harsh as his movements.

“fuck, atsumu, you’re the best i’ve ever had.” you can’t imagine it’s not the truth. the same sentence falls out of your mouth.

“yeah? i’m better than him?” he asks, groans getting more possessive, pleas getting more desperate. he can’t even wait for her to respond, needs to hear it now. “tell me, fuck, tell me i’m better than him.” you can’t breathe. it’s not a coincidence. it can’t be. you’ve listened to atsumu have sex enough times to know that this isn’t just some kink thing that he likes. this is pointed. this is fueled. and you know exactly by what. 

she listens quickly, which is fair considering that this is probably the best she’s ever felt, despite not really understanding what he’s asking her to say, “you’re so much better than him. fuck, you’re so good, atsumu.”

“yea? ‘m bigger than him, make you feel so much better than him,” atsumu groans, no longer asking, room shaking as he chases his high, “fuck need to fill you, please, fuck.”

“yes, fuck, fill me.”

“gonna fill you so full, make you feel so much fuller than he can, every drop just for you,” he whines. shit, you wanted to hear those whines in your dreams. 

“every drop for me,” you whimper, pumping the cock in and out of you, clenching around the thickness, so fucking close despite the few times you couldn’t help but stop.

“just for you, -” he grunts, pretty little scream hitting him and you’re sure that tonight wasn’t just incredible for whoever he was inside of right now. it’s not the scream that sends you over the edge, but the beginning sounds of your name that fall from his tongue but are quickly cut short. 

you push the dildo out of the way, body and mind exhausted by whatever just fucking happened. you count the seconds until this person is gone from atsumu’s room. the lock clicks, door opens, then slowly shuts. in the quiet of the aftermath, you hear a heavy sigh and a loud, “fuck!” followed by another softer sigh.

maybe you had more of an effect on him than you thought.

taglist: @natriae @simpfully-heartbroken @mobbbb1 @cloud-lyy @mimivinx @kjd55 @url0call1fter @kryzi @slut-for-dabi @katsunarii @unstaaableaf @misfit-megumi @solovolpe @cheezitwh0re @5sausefandom

@phantomremi @ellie111593 @pizzasdeliveries @pebble-did-what @raionmikage @niverine (might have blog finding off because i'm unable to tag!)

“hey, so about my sleep schedule,” you practice aloud, well, aloud was an understatement, more like every few syllables made it past your lips. you shake your head, groaning to yourself as you sit down on the edge of your bed. “funny story, actually,” you say, gesturing with your hands to the thought of tomorrow’s atsumu. “fuck.”

maybe instead you would just focus on saying actual cohesive words this time. maybe that would be enough.

/++/

yesterday, yesterday you were caught off guard. you were tired. you were defeated. you thought you would have to return to a room full of irritatingly repetitive noises. it wasn’t even a thought in your mind that you’d meet him last night. you weren’t going to take the blame for the state you were in or the way that he affected you.

but today? today you were a new person, reinvigorated by the 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep you got, the productiveness of your 9am class, and the will to make sure that you looked like an actual human being when he saw you this time. you wouldn’t admit it, the amount of time and effort and the preparation that you took in your appearance, made sure to sneak around your dorm so as to not hint that you were awake early. 

the entire time that you’re getting ready, there are a million thoughts going through your head. most of them circle around the fear that you’re going to look like an idiot again. some of them about how stupid it was that you were going to lunch with the person who’s made your life the most difficult in these past months. and the most recent one you’ve landed on is that the two of you never settled on a time. what if you spent that much time getting ready, wasted countless hours of pointless thinking about things that just weren’t going to happen? what if he didn’t remember or just blew you off?

knock knock knock. you scramble to your feet from the seated position you resided in on the floor. 12:01pm. you don’t have to peek through your peephole to know who was at your door, but you do anyway. 

and god are you glad that you did. it at least gave you some time to be prepared for the sight that was a dressed up, put together, looking far too good in casual wear atsumu. it’s silly now, in hindsight, that you hadn’t thought of the fact that he would also have time to be put together today rather than you catching him completely off guard on your walk home. 

but you’re smart. you take a step away from the door, take a deep breath, and call out, “grabbing my bag, one sec.” that will buy you a few moments to prepare yourself. you throw on your shoes, grab your bag like you said you were, and you take one last look through the peephole. 

then it hits you. he did also have the ability and time to get ready just like you and, just like you, he obviously utilized every second of it. you smile a bit to yourself, turning the knob and opening your door. “cannot believe my quietness has finally earned me a free lunch.” it comes out of you easily, not forced. you didn’t have to think about it all night or mull over it while you were getting ready. 

he doesn’t say anything back to you as you step outside into the hallway next to him, turning around and locking the door behind you. in fact, all you get in return is a small laugh so you push on, “where are you taking me?”

“oh, yea,” he clears his throat, “what are you in the mood for?”

“you’re going to make your date choose where we go to eat?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows at him before focusing on putting your keys in your bag. besides, you’re not sure that you could keep this up if you kept making eye contact with him. 

“i- well,” he tries, stopping himself and starting again. he gets a bit more traction, regains a bit more of the ground that he lost the second you looked that good standing in your doorway. “a date? i’m not sure i’m dressed up enough for a date-”

“i think you look really nice,” you say, holding eye contact with him as long as you can bare it. you don’t dare look down, don’t allow yourself the pleasure of taking him in, not yet. instead, you place your hand on his chest for just a fraction of a moment, just enough for the flat of your palm to feel a single heartbeat, and then you turn to walk down the hall.

you’re already making your way towards the elevator, nodding your head towards the exit as if he hasn’t also lived there the past 2 months. “hey! you stole my line!” god, he’s not used to this. he stammers as he jogs to catch up to you. guess you’re not the one that looks like an idiot this time.

“gotta be quicker than that,” you say, turning around once you’ve gotten to the elevator, putting your weight into your heels as he takes two long strides to catch up with you. in those two long strides, you let yourself falter, breath catching as you make the mistake of taking him in as he steps right in front of you.

his blonde hair is no longer tangled in the back, but you still find yourself wanting to run your fingers through it, still find yourself wanting to know how easy it is to get as tangled as it was yesterday, still find yourself wanting to hear the sound that comes out of him when you grab a fistful. the neatness of it all is making it even worse. 

he’s wearing a different jacket this time, dark denim, no longer shirtless underneath but wearing a plain white t-shirt that’s loosely tucked into his cuffed -fucking cuffed- tan pants. his bangs are no longer resting against his forehead, instead pushed up and back revealing more of his face, revealing more of this two step behind expression on his face. 

and, fuck, if you couldn’t look at that forever. 

it’s gone too soon, replaced by a devilish smile, hand out in front of him as he steps closer to you, palm upturned as reaches towards you. your eyes widen despite wanting to flutter shut and you’re about to lean into his touch when he continues his motion right past you, clicking the elevator button and letting his hand linger, halfway bracketing you in. “gotta be quicker than that,” he says.  

/++/

you let him choose where the two of you go for lunch, a small little cafe at the very edge of town, away from the business of the campus and the multitude of college students. you had never been there before, this small hidden gem in the vicinity of a crazy college town. 

atsumu also chooses your booth, sliding into a secluded one in the corner of the cafe away from the few patrons on laptops or coffee dates. “so did i do a good job choosing our first date place?” he asks. 

you’re amused, you won’t lie. and you know that you’re the one that brought up the date joke in the first place, but there’s something about the way that he says “first date” that makes it feel a bit too real. still, you play along, tapping your chin, chewing on your bottom lip, swerving your head from side to side. “really great, but i don’t know how you’re going to top it for our second one.”

he smirks. you’ve pulled a smirk from him. he leans forwards, arms crossed over one another on the table. “i’m not usually a second date typa guy,” he admits and there’s absolutely no way that your face isn’t bright fucking red. whatever feelings you were feeling yesterday are nothing compared to this moment. your stomach feels like it’s going to come up your throat and you have to make a quick decision as a whimper threatens to leave along with it. 

ahem. you clear your throat, shaking your head as you do, covering your mouth, hoping that it covers part of the burning in your cheeks. he doesn’t give you any time to recover. “so maybe let’s not call this our first date so that i can actually take you out sometime,” he follows up. it’s not making your situation much better. 

you reach your hand out, wrapping it around his forearm, not expecting it to feel so strong in your grasp, but you suppose that was your misjudgement. you tighten your grip, begging for the attention to be taken off your face and given to the contact you’ve just created. “we’ll see how good of company you are for lunch, first, yeah?” 

he speaks after a second, nodding along, “that seems fair.”

and then it’s quiet, but neither of you seem to mind, not when you have these few moments to just sit there looking at each other, your nails gently scraping against his skin.

you break the silence first, “so, what do you do for fun?”

“oh, hm, well, i-,” he stammers, laughing, obviously not expecting that question. “i play volleyball a bit and i go to parties and i mean, yea, that’s basically how i spend my freetime.” maybe that was a bit easier of an answer than a different girl every night. he’s about to reciprocate the question when an older woman stops by the table.

“the usual, atsumu?” the waitress asks, a light, friendly touch placed on his shoulder.

the question takes you by surprise, repeats in your head as you rattle off your order as politely as you can while you put the pieces together. what are you thinking. what are you thinking. what are you thinking. 

of course he’s been there before. he’s probably taken a handful of his one night stands here. the nights that you’ve spent struggling to fall asleep or at maki’s or in the library probably started right here with a conversation very similar to the one that you’re having now. you weren’t above having a one night stand. you weren’t judging him for having many of them. you weren’t even regretting this lunch because you’ve just been reminded of the fact that you’re not special in the eyes of miya atsumu. 

you’re regretting the fuck-me eyes you’re flashing and the less than clean thoughts that you’re having because you’re not going to fuck your neighbor who is notorious for one night stands are you kidding. 

suddenly the booth seems a bit too warm, shifting in your seat, taking your hands and putting them back on your side of the table. you still smile at him sweetly. you still shoot him a few flirty questions. you still ogle at him from your side of the table, but that’s as far as it’s going to go you decide. 

/++/

he walks you back to your door which isn’t really saying much since he lives right next to it. you’re not sure if he’s going to try to talk to you again after he realizes that you’re not interested in taking this further than what it is right now. maybe he’s holding out hope or thinking that you’ll break in the next 24 hours or by the time he asks you out to dinner inevitably, because you’ve never been extraordinarily great at reading body language, but his is loud and clear. he wants to kiss you or move your hair out of your face or hug you or stroke your cheek or something. 

his body is leaning forward, not actively, just positionally, but he leaves room for you to make the move and as much as you want to close the gap, fumble with his door handle until you can pull him inside, and finally be the one who can enjoy atsumu’s one night stand for once, you motion to your door. “i’ve gotta get ready to meet a few friends, but i’m sure i will see you around.” 

you fish your key out of your bag, unlocking the door, ready to say one final goodbye before entering your own room, but he says, “wait!” you do so. “can i have your number?”

you chuckle, furrowing your eyebrows at the thought. “what do you need my phone number for? you live right next to me?” you prop the door open with your foot, grabbing onto the door frame instead.

“right and how well did that work for us seeing each other all semester?” he asks, “besides, what if i want to bother you when you’re not home?”

with your freehand that isn’t on the frame, you mimic your motion from before, resting the flat of your palm against atsumu’s sternum, patting a few times, “take a number.” and if luck and karma was on your side, the smirk and wink that you throw at him will have him just as stunned outside of his door as you were last night.

/++/

as soon as you’ve closed the door, you let out a breath you’re not even really sure you knew you were holding. what were you thinking? flirting with your neighbor that you know is having one night stand after one night stand? flirting with your neighbor that is super inconsiderate and doesn’t care about the people around him he’s affecting? flirting with your neighbor that is incredibly fucking hot and that you have incredible chemistry with? flirting with your neighbor that you could be fucking right now if you had just played your cards right instead of having to hear him fuck some other girl tonight? shit. what were you thinking?

you shake your head, sitting down at your desk and finally checking your phone.

2 new messages.

> issei / 1:03 pm > can you fucking believe yn blew us off today without so much as a text

> maki <3 /  1:04 pm > maybe she’s sleeping right through lunch.

shit. how did you forget that you were supposed to have lunch with them today instead. well i mean you know why you forgot. but how could you forget to even just text them and let them know. 

< 3:23 pm < shit sorry guys. 

> kawa / 3:32 pm > sorry really isn’t going to get you out of admitting that you didn’t tell lover boy off last night???????????

< 3:32 pm < are u guys at ur dorm??? < i’m coming over

> maki &lt;3 / 3:43 pm > hajime’s at class > the rest of us are 

> hajime / 3:45 pm > i want to know? > and if i get a footnotes version > i will be so mad

> maki <3 / 3:46 pm > then don’t be in class, loser

> maki <3 / 3:48 pm > i’m sorry. it was a joke.

> maki &lt;3 / 3:52 pm > guys please.

&lt; 4:04 pm < omw to save maki’s ass

> maki &lt;3 / 4:04 pm > and that’s why i love u.

/++/

you feel like you’ve been talking for ages, explaining everything, not sparing any little detail (except for the feelings, you definitely left the feelings out). the three men look at you in disbelief. oikawa takes a deep breath and then closes his mouth and then opens it once more, “okay, yn, when we said to confront your neighbor, we didn’t mean…” his voice trails off, but your brain fills in the blanks.

“i know,” you say through your teeth, “i obviously know in theory that i shouldn’t be flirting with my neighbor who is obviously trying to get with me.” all three of them stare back at you, waiting for a but, “...but, i don’t know, he’s just really attractive.”

“hardly an excuse,” maki responds from behind you on the couch.

“that’s because you don’t know what it’s like to have that effect on someone,” issei says, shrugging as if it were just fact. it causes you and oikawa to burst out in laughter, maki’s cheeks tinged with soft red as a result.

catching your breath, you sigh, “no, maki’s right, i know it’s not an excuse and i’m not going to do it,” you pause, blowing out air, “he’s just kinda cool to hang out with. the banter is fun and he’s nice to look at and i’m not sure i know how to hang out with him without excessively flirting with him.”

“i’m sure it’s not that hard, yn,” maki quips, voice evidently joking in a way that actually makes the situation weirdly easier. he is right. you did manage the rest of the day. 

“don’t mind him,” issei rests a hand on your shoulder and you catch his attention just long enough to catch the smirk that comes with it, “maki’s just jealous he’s not your only crush now.”

“yea, yn, maybe i’m just jealous i’m not your only crush now,” maki repeats, arms folded.

“hey, i mean, it doesn’t matter, anyway,” you shake your head, “i don’t think he’s going to be trying to talk to me after he finds out that i’m not planning on having sex with him.” you stand up from the couch, placing your hand softly on maki’s shoulder, “you will soon be my only crush once again.”

“good. that’s how it should be.” maki gives a short nod. 

“sure, behind me and hajime,” issei responds back and you’re already getting a bad feeling about the quizzical look on maki’s face. oikawa scoffs, a rebuttal already coming out of his mouth, but he’s interrupted.

“really? because yn actually said that i was her favorite,” maki says sweetly despite the destruction he’s about to bring to the room.

a volume of protests erupt from the other two men sitting in the room. “oh! look at the time! i’ve gotta head back!” you say, checking your nonexistent watch and backing up towards the door. 

“fine! leave! traitor!” oikawa scowls. you blow the group a small kiss before slipping out of the room. 

/++/

unfortunately for a lot of people, atsumu surprises you. unfortunate for maki, your second crush; your friend group for missing out on your typical presence; your own expectations; and you’re sure, atsumu, who just wanted to have sex with his cute neighbor.

he doesn’t just hang out with you once more and then decide to stop talking to you. he hangs out with you 6(7?) times in the next few days: lunch every day, a walk to the corner store, dinner, and a 45 minute talk in the hallway if you count that as hanging out. brought on either bumping into you or deliberately knocking on your door to coerce you into doing something with him.

by the third hangout, he meets your energy, flirting with you in tiny quantities, no more than he would flirt with a close friend. and it feels almost impossible, but you’re getting the suspicion that he actually wants to be friends with you. he has a million girls to choose from that he doesn’t have to try nearly as hard for, so why else would he continue to hang out with you like this?

he makes it so easy to want to be friends with him. after your initial infatuation wears off, he’s just atsumu, stupid, annoying, really attractive, super funny, ravishingly charming atsumu. and more than any of this, he makes it so easy because his room has been so quiet these past few days. you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep every single day since you started hanging out more regularly. 

there’s a tiny part of you that wants to chalk that up to you and how much you’ve been hanging out, but during one of your lunches he tells you about how rough volleyball is and that, unfortunately, makes more sense than him meeting you caused him to not want to fuck other people.

“i literally don’t have time for anything,” he said, shoving food into his mouth, checking his watch. “it has been nonstop practices, prep, training, matches.” he shook his head. 

“right, but you have time to hang out with me,” you pointed out. 

he laughed, lips spread wide to show his perfect smile, “okay. i have time for one thing and that is you, i guess.” he paused, swallowing his food. you could’ve fill the silence with more teasing and bantering, but you just waited patiently for him to speak again, not because you were trying to impress him, but because you could see that he was about to say something and you didn’t want to miss it. “i love volleyball, of course i do, but i’m ready to slow down just a little bit.” he made a pinching motion with his fingers. “‘m really glad spring break is this week. ready to get back to some routine at least.”

that’s exactly where atsumu is right now, fitting in another practice when he’s supposed to be eating because he gets an entire week off just like everyone else but unlike everyone else, he has to physically prepare for that.  

“god, the first lunch that we’ve had with just the two of us in-” he checks his phone, “5 days.” he shakes his head disapprovingly. “unacceptable.” you set your lunch down on the picnic table. 

“i know, i know, i’m sorry,” you say, swinging your leg over the bench. 

maki shrugs, “sorry isn’t good enough, i need you to make it up to me.”

“what do you want me to-,” you start, throwing your hands up in the air, ready, in the back of your mind, to give him the cookie in your bag that you really got for yourself. 

“yn?” you hear from behind you. you don’t need to look to know who it is, that voice has permanently ingrained in your head this week.

“y’know what, this works. this counts,” maki says as atsumu approaches your table.  

“maki, i swear to go-,” you start again and atsumu unintentionally interrupts you again, walking up close enough to your table. “hey!” 

you notice that jacket from the first time you met and those shorts from the first time you met and those shoulders from the first time you met and that messy hair and crooked smile. you notice all of those, easily enough to recognize when you’ve seen it all before, but there is something there on his face that isn’t as easy to recognize, because you haven’t seen it before. 

“are you just getting back from practice?” you ask.

atsumu runs his fingers through his already messed up hair, combing through the brassy locks before nodding his head, “yeah, i just got done. tomorrow’s the last one until we get back from break.”

“you told me this morning when we left at the same time, yes,” you tease, pointing for emphasis. he would normally play right back, poke fun or just laugh at your observation, but instead his eyes keep flicking over to maki. 

“oh! sorry, i didn’t- yea, this is atsumu,” you nod towards atsumu, “he’s-.”

“you’re yn’s neighbor,” maki fills in all by himself, “the volleyball guy.”

“amongst other things,” atsumu adds on.

“you sure are,” maki smirks, “i’m maki.” he gives a small wave, and you know that he’s purposely omitting a title. 

“maki’s just a friend,” you blurt, trying to slouch your shoulders and lean back to seem more casual, like the statement you just said wasn’t so pointed, like you couldn’t feel the tension. you swear to god you watch atsumu’s shoulders mirror yours.

“well, it’s nice to meet you,” atsumu replies. it’s not as dry as it could be, evidently shaking off whatever it was he was feeling a few moments ago, but the second that he turns to you and talks, it’s warm, “i’ll catch you later, okay?”

“yes! we still have stuff to go over before tomorrow!” you yell towards him even though he’s only taken 3 baby steps backwards.

“alright, alright, quit you’re yellin’,” he smiles, “you know where to find me.”

you watch him turn around and jog away, brisk and perfect form, and you’re not sure if you let out a lovey sigh or if it’s hanamaki mocking you or if you just thought it. anyway you slice it, there was a lovey sigh as he was jogging back. 

“oh my god he absolutely wants to fuck you,” maki laughs, “and we are even for like the next 10 things you do, oh my god that was so worth it.”

you punch his shoulder, narrowing your eyes, “not. cool.”

“9 now. 9 things.”

/++/

true to his word, you knew exactly where to find him.

when he opens his door, you’re expecting him to look irritated or bothered or uninterested for having to do this, but he greets you with a half-smile and steps out into the hallway with you. “okay,” you step into your room. “i’ve color coded them and i’ve included a chart. you literally can’t fuck it up. whatever the color, you refer to the little chart and you check the time slot when you’ve watered them, got it?”

“yn, i’m not going to kill your plants,” atsumu deadpans. “you know where i live.”

you let your giggles escape you, “are you ever going to stop using that joke?”

he pauses for a second, and in that second you realize how close he’s standing to you, how softly he’s looking you in the eyes, “maybe when you stop laughing at it.”

you turn away from him quickly, trying your best to hide the warmth in your cheekbones. “okay. noted,” you only half joke. “just,” you walk over to the chart beside the window sill titled atsumu’s plant checklist (pls dont kill these guys) ♡ “follow the chart and you’re right, you will not kill them.”

“got it,” atsumu nods genuinely. 

you point at him. “and in return,” you turn around and tap on the 10 digits in the bottom corner of the paper. “i am finally giving you my phone number.”

atsumu fakes a gasp, “for bothering you when you’re not home?”

“no! no. you will use this for emergency’s only. i am entrusting you with my dorm key,” you wave it in your hand above your head, “and if anything happens-,” you say, backing up, shaking your head. 

“nothing’s going to happen,” atsumu steps forward with you as you back up, lunging forward and grabbing your wrist, “now what are you so afraid of?” he doesn’t let go of your wrist, not as he cocks his head to the side and lowers your hand, pushing his fingers into your fist to grab the loosely held key. 

“okay then,” you say, quiet, really quiet because he’s pretty close and you don’t need to be screaming into his ear and your stomach is not letting you talk any louder, “i will see you in two weeks.”

he drops your wrist, slowly, not all at once, lets you feel his soft skin on yours until the very last second. “me, and all of your very alive plants, will see you in two weeks.”

unlike most everyone else on campus, you were leaving for two weeks instead of one, split equally between spring break free time and a university sanctioned event. this meant a really cool and fun two weeks away from classes and the mundane. it also meant two weeks away from maki and atsumu and your plants and your bed. 

you grab your duffle bag that you had packed previously, slinging it over your shoulder. both you and atsumu leave your room. atsumu locks the door with your key, checking that the door is properly locked like you’ve never seen him do with his own. “two weeks,” he says, pointing at you as you walk down the hallway. you shake your head, “two weeks.”

bzzzz bzzzz. before you’re even out of the building you get a text.

> unknown / 7:20 pm > about your plants… > have a safe trip 😚

yeah, your trip wouldn’t be so bad. 

/++/

> 12:34 pm > i’m back in 10, pls let’s get foooood

> tsumu / 12:35 pm > for sure. drop ur bags and we’re going > srsly 1 minute and im leaving without u

you did exactly that, opened your door for just a fraction of a second to throw your bag inside and then started banging on atsumu’s door, not stopping until he’s opened it, not even when he yells, “i’m coming, i’m coming, hold on.” when the door flings open, you’re met with maybe too many emotions, namely excitement and a realization of just how much you missed him. “god, so impatient,” is what’s coming out of his mouth before his eyes have settled on you, his face contorted into playful annoyance. the end of the sentence trails off and the playful annoyance is replaced with a smile and an expression similar to the one you’re wearing. 

there is no hesitance, from either of you, as you extend your arms out and wrap them around him. his arms follow suite at the exact same speed as if both of you had the idea at the exact same time, mutually exclusive in this reaction to seeing each other for the first time in two weeks. his arms clasping around your waist tightly, strongly and you try to match the squeeze as much as you can and you’re wondering if he’s feeling as safe as you are right now. 

you don’t even have it in your head to feel off about how closely the two of you are pressed together, not when you’re breathing in his scent, clean and a pinprick dab of soft cologne, not when you can feel his heartbeat against the side of your cheek. and definitely not when he squeezes you just a fraction tighter as he says, “missed ya.” there’s no way he didn’t feel your heart skip a beat.

truthfully, there wasn’t a single day during that 2 weeks that you didn’t text with atsumu. but, the same could be said about maki, so it’s not really that big of a deal, right? though, you suppose, maki wasn’t the first person that you texted the second you stepped foot back on campus. and maki wasn’t the one that you spent a solid minute hugging within the first minute you saw him. and maki wasn’t sitting in front of you eating lunch now, a lingering smile on his face that hasn’t quite left from that moment. and maki didn’t buy you lunch as a welcome back present.

but it’s still not that big of a deal.

“what is that supposed to mean?!” you laugh, leaning forward, eyebrows knit together and, you’re sure, an adorably confused look on your face.

“i meant what i said, i get it,” atsumu tries, putting his hands up in faux defeat.

“you get why this 50 year old man tried to give me a keycard to go back to his room with him?” you repeat, trying to make sure that you’re actually hearing him correctly. 

“game recognize game,” he shrugs.

“you’re fucking ridiculous,” you shake your head, but you’re not even trying to hide the huge grin, laughing as you reach over to atsumu’s plate and pick a french fry off of it. there’s a pause, a beat, that just feels natural as it passes, but as soon as he’s said his next sentence, you know that moment was thoughtful, tactical, maybe even used to muster up some courage, if not just to weigh some pros and cons. 

“i mean, god, i really was trying to fuck you the first time we hung out,” atsumu says, admits, lets escape into such a crowded space, but the statement is gone as quickly as it came, carried away by the volume of the public space that you’re in. you knew this. of course you knew this, but there was still something so taboo about him saying it to your face.

what’s his angle here? you don’t even know how to respond, so you tease him, “yea, well, maybe you shouldn’t have been so insufferable and i would’ve fucked you.” you shrug your shoulders, stealing another fry.

he laughs, then, but it tapers out at the end. was that not the answer that he wanted? what was the answer that he wanted? you look at him, really look, as much as you can without seeming weird, and his smile is still as bright and his shoulders aren’t any more slumped, but there’s something in his eyes, a tiny damper that you might even have mistaken for hurt. 

you wait for something to change in your conversation, but he keeps throwing jokes your way, keeps asking you about your trip, telling you about his week of school without you. the rest of your conversation goes on like normal for the most part, if not just a touch less flirty on atsumu’s end. 

/++/

by the time you make it back to your room, it’s dark outside. between swiping notes from people from various classes and getting dinner with maki and hanging out with oikawa and iwa and issei at their dorm, when you actually make it to your room it’s nearly 2 in the morning. you pat at your pockets, search your tote bag, shit. 

his shitty ass handwriting catches your eye. if you are not yn do not take this key. holy shit he’s a dumb ass. still, you’re grateful that he thought this far ahead at least. what if someone stole it? or just went into your room? you shake your head, moving one door over, ready to both thank him and reprimand him.

you’re about to knock on his door and then you hear it, because it’s really been ingrained in your head since the beginning of the semester, this rhythm, this noise. and you know exactly what it is. you’re looking for it now. it’s faint, but you’re listening for it. and yet, you still end up inside your room, because no matter how confident you were that that is what you were hearing in the hallway, it would be louder in your room and louder meant it was actually happening.

it’s unmistakable, really, but you put your hand on the wall just to make sure. 

it’s been weeks since you’ve dealt with this, weeks since you’ve had to hear this, weeks since you’ve met atsumu and got to know him and flirted with him and got lunch with him every day and let him text you and trusted him to plantsit for you. 

you move away from the wall, stand up from your bed, and walk over to set your tote bag and notes down on your desk, needing to get rid of the things that are weighing you down because you feel heavy enough as it is right now. 

but sitting on your desk instead is the chart that you left atsumu, completely filled out with random smiley faces and check marks and doodles on each day and there is a new color on the bottom with one poorly drawn added box and a large, similarly badly drawn, star inside of it. next to the chart is a small cactus with the coordinated color tab wrapped around its base and a note that reads

??? cactuses are easier to take care of. please get more so next time it’s easier to take care of them. - atsumu  

p.s. you’re welcome for the new plant

p.p.s AND for keeping all of your plants alive. 

p.p.p.s welcome back. i missed havin u around.

p.p.p.p.s. it’s 2 days until you’re back dont hold this against me. been too quiet without u around.

for the few minutes that you’re reading and rereading the note, the sound fades away. but now you’re wishing the note was never ending because it’s back and it’s loud and fuck. fucking miya atsumu.

first, it’s the touch of the grip on your waist; it’s the sensation that stirs you awake. it’s tight around you, strong and tense as if any sort of laxity would cause you to slip out of it. your bare back is pressed up against a beating chest and you’re surrounded by warmth. 

then it’s the smell, that familiarly clean scent that isn’t just in front of you, soft blankets bunched up underneath the side of your head, it’s behind you, it’s under you, it’s above you, weaved within the fabric of the sheets and wafting off of the skin that’s all around you.

the sound is apparent next, introduced softly, gradually, tiny piece by tiny piece like an hourglass that only lets one grain of sand through at a time, and then a constant in your ears, not overwhelming or loud, but there. the inhale and exhale, tiny breaths of air that could barely make a candle flicker. the soft hum of the fan, the faintest chirping of birds, the rustling of the covers.

then it’s taste, an unfamiliar one lingering on your lips, heavy on your tongue. it’s almost jarring at first, this foreign, though not unwelcome, taste that you can’t quite put your finger on. it causes you to stir a bit more than the rest of the realizations, not as steady or recognized or easy. the second that you move to turn over, body already in motion, everything’s already come rushing back. 

you remember every single event from last night and the taste becomes just another sense that you get to file under familiar and comforting. 

your eyes flutter open, blink a few soft times, and then remain half-lidded as you take in the scene in front of you. all of atsumu’s features rendered gentle, peaceful from this blissful sleep he’s found himself in, his bangs covering his eyes in a way that doesn’t really bother him in the state he’s in, lips slightly parted, jaw lax, soft pink on his cheeks from your body heat and the mountain of covers, eyelashes flittering as you let out a surprised exhale at just how incredible he looks right now. 

sure, all five of your senses are important, but you would give up the remaining four if it meant being able to see this every morning. 

part of you is begging to wake him up, to talk about last night, to talk about what it all means, to hear his voice again, to ask if you can kiss him again, to kiss him again, but another part of you thinks… what’s the rush? why not just lay here for a few more minutes? 

you extend your arm out, let it fall against the small dip of his waist, curl your fingers against his lower back, and pull yourself closer. you bow your head into his chest. forehead resting against his heart, you can feel every single beat like a metronome. and then sleep takes you once more, no longer kicking and screaming, but happily submitting this time. 

sight is the last thing that comes to atsumu. 

first, it’s the sound of your muttering, something delicate that he can’t make out, but his brain implores him to be awake for. he answers back on instinct, questioning hum leaving his throat that does not get any real response from you, just another lovingly sweet, definitely unintelligible babble.

then it’s the touch, your hair tickling his bare chest, the pressure that he can feel on his entire body, wherever you are against him. it’s the tiny movements of your skin against his, brushing up and snuggling into, the tiny breeze of his fan, your breath on his chest. 

the taste is apparent next, swallowing gently once he realizes why his mouth tastes like that, a blush rising to his cheeks and a gratitude spreading through his body when it doesn’t go away. he wants to lean down and kiss you again and again, stockpile on the taste of you so he never has to be without it.

then it’s smell, yours, everywhere, head right under his nose, he recognizes it instantly. he wonders how long it will be stained in his sheets, how many times he’ll have to have you around before he, god forbid, gets used to it. it’s fresh and perfumey, not overwhelming, but not too subtle.

he pulls you closer, opens his eyes when you make another adorable noise, looks down at you pressed into his chest, cheek smushed against him, and he curses under his breath, “fuck.” because he wasn’t ready for you to look this good and he doesn’t normally get up this late and he might have disturbed you with how fast his heart is beating at the sight and this has now set an expectation of how he wants to wake up every morning.

he leans down and presses a small kiss onto the top of your head, digs his fingers into your hip as he does so, and he wants to feel bad, really, he does, when you stir awake in his arms, slight confusion immediately dissipating and being replaced with complete comfort, but you reach your fist up to rub the sleep out of your eye and you close one eye because the light peaking through the shitty school blinds is so bright and you run your hand over your hair before looking up at him with groggy eyes, and he refuses to feel bad for anything that has resulted in a sight like this one. 

“good mornin, pretty,” he says, voice rumbling against your palm on his chest. 

it takes a few moments for you to process your surroundings fully and he’s patient as you navigate through these waking senses. atsumu is just watching you, eyes following the changing emotions on your features.

wow, he looks good. 

you have a million thoughts on your mind, all racing to get out of your mouth first, and the one that wins amidst your worries and adorations is, “what time is it?” 

“barely 11,” he answers after looking at the alarm clock on his side table. “but it’s a sunday, you can’t have anywhere to be right now.”

you turn on your back and he leans forward to maintain the closeness he had before, chest and head hovering overtop of you. all you can see is him, that gorgeously genuine, absolutely beaming smile, amber eyes filled with fondness. you pick your head up and press a kiss whenever it lands (the tiniest bit of the corner of his upturned lips and the cheek beside). 

“‘m not asking so i can rush out of here,” you explain, hands reaching up, fingers outstretched as they part his messy hair. you move closer to him, shoulder pressing into his stomach. his hair is velvety, tangled, feels so nice in between your fingers and fist. “i did this,” you mutter under your breath as you smooth out matted clumps on the back of his head. 

even at this angle, hovering above you, shielded from the light, you can see the blush that rises to his cheeks. “you did,” he mumbles, leaning down and pressing his lips into yours. 

you put your hands over top of his, sliding them with yours down your sides, fingers skimming over the purplish marks in the lows of your hips. “and you did this,” you breathe, hips shying away from his touch as he puts a bit of pressure on the bruises. 

he kisses the side of your cheek, down your face, along your jaw. he speaks into your neck, “and you know what else you did?” 

“what’s that?” you ask, letting his fingers play with the maltreated skin as you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers clasped at the base. 

“maybe move your hands a bit lower,” he suggests. he skims his lips over your sensitive skin, breathes coolly over your collarbones. 

you listen, hands migrating down his back and you feel it instantly. the second your fingertips come into contact with the deep scratches, he pulls away to see your reaction. he watches your eyes go wide, face on fire, apology about to leave your lips, but he leans down and kisses it away. 

“holy shit,” you say under your breath, fingers tracing the scratches down, moving left and right to find (very easily) different ones. “oh my god,” you say in disbelief still as you claw your hand, letting your fingernails ghost over the scabbed over scratches. when your nail gets a bit too close to his skin, it reopens the mark and causes atsumu to wince. “m so sorr-.”

“don’t be,” he says, steady in your hands now. “ts a nice reminder that last night actually happened.” he leans down again and kisses your neck. you’re so grateful for the closeness, linking your hands behind his back and pulling him deeper into you. 

“what? do you normally have dreams like that?” you tease. 

he lets out a light laugh. “yea,” he jokes (or maybe not), “so i can’t believe i got to actually fuck you last night.”

oh? you still don't forgive atsumu? you.. you uh? you want to be with maki instead? okay. >:) (otherwise, carry on babes)

you keep one hand on his back, pads of your fingers following the marks you made in fervor last night, and you cup his cheek with the other, guiding him softly down to you, though it doesn’t take much. he chases your touch until his lips collide with yours. you speak against them, “would you believe it if you got to do it again?”

his skin grows warm against your palm as he presses his lips into yours harder, the smallest grunt breathed into your mouth. “now?” he asks, trying, but failing, to hide the excitement in his tone. 

“you said so last night,” you link your arms around his neck, pull him on top of you. his knees are on either side of your upper thigh and his skin, his touch, his warmth is everywhere. “that you would fuck me in the morning when i couldn’t get out of bed.”

his forearms are bracketing either side of your ribs and he pulls away from your kiss begrudgingly. his eyes are glued to your mouth, at whatever words are coming out, at your too-sweet expression as you keep saying things that make him melt. how do you exist? “i’m too sore to be thrown around, but i think you said something about really slow and really hard?” you ask, leaning your head to kiss his forearm, the closest place you can reach.

“you remember that?” he asks, trying to keep his composure for just a little longer.

“how could i forget?” you say, but that alone doesn’t accurately portray how your recollection of last night, “i’m not sure i’ll ever forget last night.”

he has to kiss you. 

atsumu leans back down, kisses you deeper this time, to taste you and to tell you that he won’t either and to show you how he feels about you. 

he pulls away, looking at you once more, joking as he says, “but not the part where you abused my poor back?”

you blush, chewing on your bottom lip thoughtfully. “actually, didn’t you tell me to?”

he laughs. “yea, told ya to go harder if you needed to,” he nudges your jaw to the side with his nose, starts to kiss down your neck, captures your collarbone between his teeth as he mumbles, “and you needed to i guess.”

“did it hurt?” you ask under your breath, just barely above a whisper, hands moving up his back and threading into his hair as he moves quickly to your chest. 

he hums an affirmation against your chest, lips dragging across your tits until he captures one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking the tip against it until it becomes hard in his mouth. he snakes his arm under your lower back, creates a pretty arch bringing your tits deeper into his mouth. you tighten your grip in his hair. it only makes him suckle harder. 

“and when i need to do it again?” you ask.

he talks quickly, away for as little time as possible, but you can hear the smile in his voice, “as hard as ya want, baby.” fuck, okay, yeah, you get it. you pull him back into your tits, nodding, embarrassed, almost, at how wet you can feel yourself getting already.

it doesn’t help that you can feel him against your plush thigh, heavy growing cock resting on top of your supple skin occasionally grinding into the fat. it drags across the inside of your leg, skipping over the soft, unlubricated skin. it only takes a few rolls of his hips to smear the leaking precome from the tip and the dragging turns to gliding. 

atsumu is grunting and whimpering into your chest, barely able to focus on your perfect pretty fucking tits. if he wasn’t so desperate to slip inside of your warm, tight cunt, he’d fuck your thighs until he blew his milky load all over them. his arms shake at the thought, nearly collapsing his entire body weight into you, not that you’d mind.

he moves his hips, slowly grinding closer and closer to your pussy until the underside of his cock slips between your fat lips. it’s instantly coated with your slick, so drenched that he almost slips inside without warning. he can’t see the mess he’s made between your legs, all he can see is the picture in his brain, how slick and wet and- “fuck,” he breathes.

you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers quick to play with the ends of his hair, because you just don’t know where to put all of this anticipation in your body. you slide your hands down his back, palms smoothing over the scratches, the beads of dried blood unpredictable under your soft fingertips. your touch is nearly tremors, head full with need, walls fluttering, too empty. it’s like he can read your mind.

he slides his cock between your folds, hips stuttering because he didn’t even think he’d get to fuck you one time, let alone two, and he’s not sure if this is a good idea because sure, he could’ve gotten over you if he only felt you one time. one time is enough to savor, but two? two is enough to commit to memory. two is uncharted territory. two is the start of a pattern. 

two might mean three and four and five and forever.

he positions his head right against your quivering hole, fluttering so pretty, asking so nicely for him to enter you. he pushes inside, slowly, just as he promised, snapping his hips to be fully sheathed inside of you once his cock is sucked in halfway, hard, just as he promised. 

your nails claw into him, not dragging, but gripping, crescent moon shaped divots adding to the visible displays of passion. you press your forehead against his shoulder, shaky breath leaving you as you shift to accommodate his girth. you feel so full, can feel the dull stretch of your tight walls giving way for his thick length. at first, you don’t remember it being that big, don’t remember feeling as speared as you do right now, but as the sensation settles in, you remember it all too well. the lingering stretch, how deep he is in your fucking guts, how perfectly your walls hug him. 

he’s doing exactly as he said he would, cock pulling out of you slowly, fucking into you at the same pace save for the last few inches. his hips slap against the insides of your thighs and you can feel the sting so quickly, your body recalling all of the abuse it went through last night. he places his palm on your hip, presses the bruises into your bones, and you whimper. he almost stops, moves to pull his hand away, but you place yours on top of his, looking into his eyes, pleading to him that you can take it. 

it takes only a few lazy morning thrusts for you to be crumbling underneath him. he can feel it, too. can feel how tight you’re getting, how hard you’re breathing, how sharp your nails are. “would i be an asshole if i made ya wait to cream all over my cock?” he asks, and your immediate answer is yes, of course, but you look up at him and you can see his resolve fading as well. you know exactly what he wants you to wait for and now you can’t imagine coming before him. 

you shake your head no. “i’ll wait for you, baby,” you breathe like an unbound promise. his hips stutter, eyes squeeze shut, and he almost lets himself give in to the quickness of his orgasm, but he doesn’t. he’s not embarrassed or ashamed, he just wants to fuck you nice and slow for a little while longer. 

the longer that he fucks you, the less he cares about the things coming out of his mouth. if you called him baby nice and sweet, he’d give you his load in a second, but he wants it to keep going, to last for even a minute longer, this wet, squelching, sticky sound that’s coming from between your thighs and the feeling that’s accompanying it, so he just keeps fucking talking, doesn’t give you a single breath to say something that will make this end too soon.

“god, yer so perfect for me” for him “so fucking perfect. swear to god if i could just fuck you forever” forever “i fucking would. if i could just be with ya” be with you “forever i fucking would. ‘ve got no idea what you’ve done to me, how you came into my life and made me fall for you” fall for you “so hard so quickly, even now ‘m still falling” still falling 

the words keep spilling and you can’t breathe, hanging on to every last one, “from the moment i met ya, knew i had to have ya. n then i talked to ya and knew i had to know you, really know ya” know you “couldn’t stop thinking about you” he pauses, but not for enough time for you to reply, not that you even had a reply to give. “spring break, during spring break, couldn’t stop thinking about ya while you were gone, knew i was fucked. didn’t see anyone else, couldn’t.” couldn’t. ba-bump. 

you swallow harshly, hands migrating to his hair, his face, smoothing over his cheeks, combing through his locks. you nod your head. “thank you for knowing me,” you breathe. that would’ve been enough for atsumu, something for him to carry in his heart forever, at the forefront of his mind for days until it sinks in and takes residency for the rest of his life, but you press on, pulling him down into you so he can taste your tongue and your words all at once. “you don’t have to think about anyone else anymore if you don’t want to,” you shake your head desperately, words barely choking out of your tight throat. “and i won’t think about anyone else either, just you, baby.”

he starts nodding the second that you tell him he doesn’t have to think about anyone else and he doesn’t stop as you keep babbling on. by the time baby has left your swollen lips, he’s a puddle, spilling inside of you, hips stilling, pressed flat against the insides of your abused thighs, pumping streams and streams of hot come inside of your perfect fucking pussy. you’re filling and filling and so full and you can’t stop the few tears that fall from the corners of your eyes as you come so forcefully that you wrap your legs around his lower back, pulling him in deeper, your stomach tight, forehead against his, alternating murmurs of baby and atsumu and tsumu as your mind goes numb, blank of anything other than him.

neither of you move. neither of you want to move. neither of you are sure that you even can. he’s still inside of you. you’re still surrounding him. his forehead slumps against your shoulder. your arms instinctually wrap around his back, holding him as close to you as you can. the sounds of the two of you breathing in time are the only thing you can hear until he breaks the constant noise, talking into your skin, “did you mean it?”

you hum a questioning noise, still trying to recover. he leans back to look at you. it takes all of the energy in his body, but he does it. “did you mean it or were you just trying to make me come?” he looks so serious that your heart skips a beat. you reach up and place a soft kiss on his nose, blush spreading from the point of contact almost immediately. 

“i don’t say things i don’t mean,” you state. that’s really the only explanation that he needs.

he smiles, big, doesn’t even try to hide it. “y’know, i can’t believe you never told me that you could hear me.”

you narrow your eyes, “and i can’t believe you never thought, ‘hey, this might be loud!’”

“i can’t believe it’s taken this long for this to happen,” he admits, falling onto his side and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him, snuggling into your shoulder.

“i can’t believe i just slept with you,” you admit back. he laughs at the confession and that’s okay. it’s valid at first. honestly, it comes out as a joke. or, rather, it comes up your throat as joke. the second it’s left your tongue, it feels different, heavy, wrong.

he hasn’t noticed, not yet, but you don’t blame him. you’d give a lot of things to not feel this off. “come on it, couldn’t have been that bad,” he jokes, another one loading up right behind it. 

“no it- it wasn’t i just-,” you say, stuttering through your words, because you’re not trying to make this a big thing, not after the two of you have just had sex twice, but it’s weighing like a big thing. 

you go to move, his arms tighten around you on instinct and you want to stay put because you’re very comfortable pressed up against him, but you’re feeling antsy now. 

“no, i just,” you sit up, “i can’t believe i’ve just become another girl you’ve hooked up with.” you can’t believe that that’s just come out of your mouth, a conglomerate of fears that you’ve had since you’ve met him.

“we were different than that, i thought, closer than that.” you feel like you’re going to cry. the reason you’ve never fucked him after all this time was because you didn’t want it to end, it couldn’t end. there are a million tells in this room alone that are screaming at you that this doesn’t mean the end, but you still can’t shake it.

“you know? i think that day at the cafe was our first date,” he speaks so clearly, but you’re still confused. why is he bringing up your stupid cafe date? “but i think i should take you out properly this time?”

your stomach lurches and you can’t believe this thought is making it past your lips, “you mean like a second date?” he nods, hand bracing your lower back just to let you know that he’s there. you don’t move away. “i thought you weren’t a second date guy,” you say, cautiously.

“i’m also not a guy that usually gets walked out on because he can’t stop thinking about someone else,” he half-jokes. “can i please take you out again?” it pains you how much he’s fucking trying.

you’re quiet, not answering, slowly moving backwards until your back is flat against the bed, mulling over all that’s happened and the words that he’s said, weighing your options so carefully, accounting for any and everything that you could. him, how thoughtful he is, the note he left you when he was plant sitting, the way he steals your food, the people he’s slept with, his track record, his room, the conversation you had with his brother, meeting his friends, spring break, your text messages, the way that he smiles at you when he thinks you’re not looking, his touch, his arms, his thighs, the beat of his heart.

he rolls onto his back, a large puff of air exhaled from his lungs as he does so. he smooths his palms over his face, fingers parting his own hair, eyes squeezed shut as he exhales again into his hands. “god, you make me feel like-,” he takes another breath, sitting up this time. you get a good look at his back from this angle and if the words he were saying weren’t so important, you’d interrupt him by kissing the toned muscle all over. 

“like-,” he pauses, shaking his head, turning his neck, twisting his back to face you, “i don’t even know. i can’t even describe how you make me feel.” he narrows his eyes at you like he’s thinking of the most difficult math problem and trying to solve it in his head. “i know that sounds cheesy, i know it does, but i’m serious, i’ve never felt like this before.”

you sit up with him, his face morphs into realization, a tiny moment in time that you wish you could’ve caught on a camera. it looks effortlessly difficult, a long road to get there, figuring out his feelings in real time, and yet it doesn’t come out like a question. “i love you.”

your stomach drops. you can’t breathe. “you love me?” you ask.

even without instant reciprocation, he doesn’t show an ounce of regret, not a single one. in fact, he replies quickly, even more assured this time, “i do.”

“i can’t believe you just told me that you loved me before we’ve even been on a second date,” you say because it’s the only other thing on your mind other than i’m so scared to tell you that i love you too because i’m terrified that this will all end when we both admit our feelings to one another. he breathes a laugh, nodding, a smile on his face that hasn’t left since he’s admitted it.

“what happens when school ends?” you ask, trying to distract yourself from what’s really happening, from the realization of love glowing throughout your body, “we both graduate in the fall and-”

“i’ll follow you anywhere,” he answers quickly, facing you completely now, all attention on you, eyes scanning your face, just waiting for the okay to kiss you to show you how truthful he’s being. 

you keep coming up with excuses, not because you want him to agree with them, but because you want him to keep disputing them. “but you have volleyball and your own things that you’re doing and-”

he cuts you off. “i’m not doing any of that without you,” he says, pauses, and then adds, “if you’d keep me around.”

“okay,” you say, letting the air settle before reiterating, “second date it is then.” it’s the confirmation he’s been waiting for this entire time and he doesn’t hesitate in leaning forward and kissing you so hard that you fall back into the pillow again, no teeth or tongue, but just as desperate as last night and this morning. 

it’s not just an okay to the date. it’s an okay to the rest of your lives together, the two of you know this. it’s an okay to attending each other’s graduations, him sitting between maki and iwaizumi and cheering just as loud as the two of them, you sitting between osamu and bokuto and making a fool out of yourself as bokuto tries to lift you on his shoulder, and the mixed graduation party that you throw, the first party that you throw as a couple.

it’s an okay to a small apartment near campus after you decide to pursue your graduate degree, decorated with photos from your dorm, all of the plants that atsumu continues to care for, the cactus he got for you senior year and the cactus you got him as a graduation gift, a tiny shelf dedicated to osamu, tiny trinkets from the trips that the two of you went on all summer, floral bedsheets and a sage comforter, even more photos of him and his friends and you and your friends and you and his friends and him and your friends and just the two of you on your dressers, and a mat outside of your front door with strawberries that reads welcome home. 

it’s an okay to the trip that the two of you take to go see osamu, a road trip that consists of an uneven driving division, a playlist with a million genres of music that’s intersected by random half hours of podcasts, and a stop at a stupid roadside attraction that ends in an entire week of you getting to watch atsumu and osamu interact, unhinged and with a love that makes your heart swell no matter how many times you see it, and where osamu lets slip all of the plans that atsumu has for your future and how happy he is that the two of you ended up together, his actual girlfriend. it’s an okay to the handful of trips that you guys take to see osamu after that.

it’s an okay to the huge proposal that seemingly every single person in both of your lives has a hand in planning from the ring to the song to the stupid dance to the setting to the party, not just planning, really, but actually being apart of it too, embarrassment spreading over your cheeks and a stupid pride filling your heart as you enter a rented out building and are “surprised” by too many people to effectively be doing a flash mob proposal and you say yes into a microphone and are hugged by atsumu first and then a million other people and you want to cry but your tear ducts are dry, because it’s also an okay to the actual proposal that atsumu plans all by himself, rents a small apartment in the city that you’re terrified that he bought for you, but that isn’t the surprise here. it’s an okay to the quiet, meaningful, sob-inducing speech that he feeds you and the way that you can barely speak the word yes, you’re crying so hard, crying even harder when he kisses your ring finger before slipping on the ring.

it’s an okay to the wedding that follows, a destination somewhere beautiful that was supposed to just be close friends, but you quickly realize that the two of you foster a lot of relationships that could be filed under close friends, you do it anyways, and you let every single one of those close friends write a speech and you cry a lot and atsumu cries even more and you have your first dance to a stupid song that the two of you became obsessed with on your first road trip and you forgo a father/daughter dance but osamu insists on pulling you to the dance floor and no one dares to join you, all watching in silent awe as atsumu tries to stay stoic but fails miserably and atsumu lets maki steal you every other second because in maki’s speech he refers to atsumu as the shining light in an already beaming life and it’s the best few nights of your shared life, adding a million more photos to your bedroom walls and even more memories to your hearts. 

it’s an okay to midnight drives when you’re feeling down, and coming home from work early just to crawl into his lap, and going out to eat more frequently than you should because neither of you want to do dishes and both of you are craving something, and watching tv shows together before anyone else, and continuously finding out new things about the other, and never not thinking that the other person is the funniest person in the entire world, and sharing food and kissing a lot and an unwavering trust that you didn’t think was possible and the love that comes along with it. 

it’s an okay to everything. 

you say it once more, so you’re certain that he hears it all, so many thoughts, so many promises riding on four little letters, “okay.”

and he says it back, so that you’re certain he’s heard it all, “okay.”

okay so you forgave atsumu and love him but you still wanna read alternate universe maki love? alright. head on over babe.

♡ tori's polls ♡ ( didya go for the maki ending? )

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join my taglist here!! ~~ (all we got left is an epilogue nxt wk) ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

your body feels like it’s drudging through cement, so much resistance as you swing your legs off the side of your bed and when your feet touch the floor, it somehow gets even harder. you’ve got a chain around your ankles and it’s connected to the weight of your relationship, dragging against your carpet, telling you that it’s do or die. 

you’re thinking too much but not about the right things. you make sure that the door doesn’t make a single sound when it closes but you forget to lock it behind you. the hallway is too bright, too cold, an interim of purgatory. and there’s something pulling, pulling, pulling on your wrist, you can’t pick it up high enough to knock. 

everything seems to be halting your movements, so many factors that are begging you to stop, that it’s not until you’re faced with this door, with this unknowing nameplate, that you start to wonder if you even should. you’re still not sure.

you’ve heard so many people leave atsumu’s room, but none like this, and not since you’ve been the one on the other side. before, you could count the steps, knew the timing to a T, but now you could see it. you could see her leaving, the walk from the bed to the door, could feel what it felt like to have to stop out of nowhere in the middle of something like that. 

your fist is loose when it raps against the wood, shaky as it makes contact, and if you had a bit more room in your head for helpful thoughts, you’d be conscious of the fact that he could hear all of these emotions in the three contacts you’ve made with the door. 

with all the time that it’s taken you to get here, you’d think you’d have thought of an entrance line at least by now, but you didn’t have much time to formulate one, mind flooded with one thing: what are you doing what are you doing what are you doing what are you doing. 

but before you can say anything to him, he has to open the door first. you try to come up with something, anything to say to him, but you can only wonder how long you have until he opens the door, if he’s going to open the door at all. as the seconds tick by in time with your heartbeat, you realize that if he doesn’t open the door, you’re going to be standing out here until the end of time. 

fortunately (or not), he doesn’t make you wait quite that long.

when he opens the door, you quickly understand that no amount of preparation and helpful thoughts could have resulted in this sight not taking your breath away. his hair is still perfectly neat, no shirt, an unzipped hoodie, and those fucking athletic shorts. a more perceptive you would’ve laughed at how full circle this feels. 

but it is different from that night. his shoulders are slumped and he looks so conflicted and fuck, if all you wanted to do back then was to kiss him and make all of his cares go away, you don’t know what it is that you’re feeling now.

both of you knew why you were here and for some reason, that didn’t make it any easier. you open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels tight like your body won’t let you make this worse or better, like it’s punishing you for having any feelings at all. so you let out a breath instead, thankful that you’re at least able to do that.

he speaks first. the tone is light, much lighter than when you were standing in the hallway last time, so feathery soft that you almost accept it as an apology. his features have softened, no trace of booze anywhere, and he swallows before speaking, voice wavering only enough for you to catch it. “what do you want?” 

this one’s easy. fuck, he makes it so easy.

“wanted to check on you,” you say, honest, but still as small as a few hours ago. 

it’s quiet again and you’re terrified that this is all it’s going to be, that he’s going to shut the door in your face, but he just steps backwards into the room, leaving just enough room for you to take one step into his room, to cross the barrier. a wordless gesture that is messing with your head and your heart.

you step in.

and for a moment, a small moment before his next step backwards, you’re almost skin to skin with him again, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, and when he does take another step backwards into the room, you follow again.

“are you okay?” you ask.

“are you?” he asks.

“don’t evade my question,” you say back, slight joking nature that fizzles out quickly.

he steps into his room completely, shutting the door, arm swinging over top of you. you stand right by the doorway, body forcing you to stay within arms length of the door just in case things go south again. he walks back into his room, not towards the bed, doesn’t even look in it’s direction, so he ends up standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“i’m fine,” he answers, and then repeats, less convinced, “i’m fine.”

there are a million more questions that you want to ask, but you’re trying to choose your words so carefully, going through branches of dialogue you could end up at, thinking way more than you ever have speaking to him before.

“are you sure?” you ask, arms behind your back, nails skimming over the tops of your fingertips.

he pauses, looks up at you from the floor, “seriously, yn, what are you doing here?”

“i told you, i came to check-,” you start. 

he interrupts you, shaking his head, “no, like,” he lets out a huge sigh, running his fingers through his hair, “why are you here?” you’re silent. that’s what he just asked you, but your answer wasn’t appeasing enough. he’s silent too, because he’s trying to communicate something to you with these questions, but they’re just not coming out right. 

“i fucked up,” he says, stronger now, but not like before, “so why are you here?”

your entire body feels like it’s being pricked with tiny needles, hands numb, throat dry. you’re convinced that you can’t move, but you do, nerves on autopilot as you move to close the gap between you and him, closer to atsumu than the door now. “why wouldn’t i be?” you ask, envy of the strength in his tone.

“because you’re good,” he says, eyes evading, “you’re really great, and i-” he takes a step back, “i was really shitty?” it comes out like a question, not one skeptic of whether or not he was shitty, but still wondering why you stayed. 

“i was shitty too,” you offer back, not really knowing what else to say.

“no, you weren’t,” he says, frustrated huff separating the repetition, “you weren’t.” it’s quiet again and he takes another step back. “you never are. you crack jokes to make me feel better and you expect the best out of me because you always bring it out and even now, you’re standing here after i was the shittiest person in the world, asking me if i’m okay.”

you wait a beat. “are you?”

he lets out a breath, “i’m not sure.”

“that’s fair,” you reason, taking a few steps forward despite how much your body is telling you to stay put and all of the care you’ve taken for the words that you’re saying falls to the wayside, leaving space for these words to come out of your mouth, “i mean, at least it was hot while it was happening, definitely got me going until she left in the middle of it, who does that?”

it’s supposed to be a recollection of what he did to you, but you’re realizing only after the fact that it might just read as something really shitty that you’ve said. too far? 

he laughs, catching your joke in stride because he knows you and because you know him and because of course he does, “yea, idiots, i don’t know.” he waits for you to fill the silence that comes after and when you don’t, he lets his care fall to the wayside as well, “or people that are asked to leave because the person that’s fucking them can’t stop thinking about someone else.”

silence.

“oh,” you say.

“yea,” he says.

silence.

“me?” you ask.

more silence, hesitation here. 

“fuck it,” he says under his breath, but not enough so that you don’t catch it, “i mean, yea. it was basically for you anyway,” he answers.

“for me?” you ask. 

you know all of these questions are redundant, you know them to be true in your heart of hearts, but you can’t stop them. you take a step closer to him.

“of course it was,” he says, “this time, last time, the time before that, when i’m alone, i just…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, passes you and sits down on the edge of his bed, puts his head in his hands, like he’s ruined everything just from this sentence. 

but he certainly hasn’t ruined everything, not yet. 

your heart threatens to leave your chest, knocking harder than your entrance to this conversation, and for once, the bed feels like it’s pulling you closer. you walk, slowly, but assured, until you’re right in front of him. 

“thinking of me?” you ask.

he looks up at you, lips slightly parted, eyes that refuse to just settle on one spot, and you have to physically stop yourself from reaching out and resting your thumb against his throat to feel him swallow. you nudge his legs apart, step between them, both hands on his shoulders as you swing one leg over his knee. 

“haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day we got back from our date,” he says, tone changing, still remorseful, but more confident now, somehow just as syrupy sweet.

you lean down, your lips moving towards his quickly, but he stops you, cups your cheek with his hand, smooths his thumb over your jaw. a million emotions wash over you at once, namely fear and embarrassment and confusion.

“i think i was trying to fill the void of you all this time,” he explains, because he needs you to understand, can’t continue on without you knowing how sorry he is, “ever since i met you i’ve tried to bridge this gap to something more but i didn’t want to push any boundaries, wanted you to set the pace, but didn’t want to make you feel like i was expecting something, didn’t want to expect something, so i just kept on like i was.”

he continues, eye contact unwavering and you can see how hard it is for him to explain all of this to you, all of these feelings he’s been experiencing this entire semester, “flirting with you and being whatever we were while still being my old self? like that would change something or fix something or save me from something because every time i thought you might go along with the things i did, you didn’t.”

he rushes, “and that’s not an excuse,” he shakes his head softly, “i just didn’t want you to feel like i was making you do something you didn’t want to do, and flirting and meeting my friends was what you wanted to do so that’s what we did.”

“but you said that thing in the hallway to me and i was an asshole,” he says, this part evidently a bit harder to explain, much more recent, much harsher and deeper, “a really big asshole, because i didn’t want to explain all of this, didn’t want you to feel like i was expecting something from you, didn’t want to just admit that the reason i hadn’t slept with anyone else was because i was waiting for you, that- that,” he stutters, trying to find the right words.

“that since the moment i met you, all i needed was you,” he breathes, fingers curling against the side of your face softly, gently, and he keeps looking down at your lips. “and i’m really sorry it took me this long to just tell you that.”

you feel weak, knees buckling, grateful for his quick reaction, hands on your hips as you fall against his knee. you’re practically eye level with him now and for the second time in your relationship, he nearly kills you with the same single question, “can i?”

when you nod, there’s no more hesitation, because this is what he’s wanted since that night and you’re finally here in front of him again in a long t-shirt and underwear and nothing else and his fingertips are digging into your hips and they’re so soft even with the barrier of your shirt between your skin and his touch and he’s not going to let anything stop him this time.

he moves his hands so quickly, puts both of them on either side of your face and pulls you into a kiss, your first kiss. his lips are soft, so soft, and his kiss is needy and desperate like you’re the prettiest drop of water in a year long drought. he doesn’t keep his hands on your face for long, trades the pulling for pushing, sitting up into you as his hands move back to your body, to your waist. 

they’re not roaming, not feeling you, just patient, allowing himself the pleasure that he’s wanted for months, just taking in the taste of your lips and the feeling of being close to you like this. he wants to remember everything about this moment, forgets everything he ever thought it was going to be, because it’s so much better than he ever could have imagined.

he tilts his head and you follow suit, and for how desperate this kiss is, he’s being disgustingly soft with you. you know that will change later, you’d stake your life on it, but right now, you can feel his chest rising and falling against yours and his lips are pressed against yours so sweetly, you’re going to get a toothache. 

your hands are clasped behind his neck, fingers creeping to the base of his head, playing with the length of his hair with your fingertips. it’s so soft, the sensations so much. you can feel him between your legs, his hair in your hands, his lips against yours. he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, hasn’t even fully tasted you, and he’s already decided that he will be yours forever if you let him.

when you open your mouth, let your tongue swipe against his bottom lip, he bucks up into you. you can feel his shaky breath against your now wet lips, the shakes perfectly mimicking the shivers that move down to your fingers and toes. your hands move up, into his hair, fingers curling around the locks, and you have to remember not to rush, to pace yourself, because you’re already getting overwhelmed. 

you nip at his bottom lip, silently begging him for more, you want to kiss him more, sloppier, deeper, you want all of him. 

he pulls away, your head following him as if it’s a mistake at first, but then letting him catch his breath. you begrudgingly welcome the time too, chest heaving as you’re apart. you almost scold him, but he speaks, pressing his forehead against yours, pulling you close to him. “i want to fuck you so fucking bad,” he says, and you’re not even embarrassed at the way you start to move to make that happen, but his grip stops you, “god, i want to fuck you so bad, but can i kiss you for a little longer first?”

holy fuck.

you nod vehemently, passionately, swallowing so hard that the mhm can’t even leave your throat. you tighten your grip in your hair, pulling him back towards you, that was enough, but he doesn’t seem to think so. “please, fuck,” he grunts, “if i just kiss you, promise me that i get to fuck you after.”

“i promise, yes,” you pull him into another small kiss and he lets you. you nod against his lips, “fuck, yes, tsumu, please.”

he kisses you again, harsh enough that you can still feel his lips on yours when he pulls away. “i’m not letting anything stop us this time,” he says and then presses his lips to yours before you have a chance to reply. instead, your reply comes as you kiss, nodding desperately, whining all the same. you slide your hands down his arms only for a moment, only long enough to push his hoodie off of his shoulders and throw it to the side, and then they’re back in his hair.

he doesn’t hold back now, diving his tongue into your mouth, running it over your teeth, slipping it against your own. you can taste him, you can breathe him, you can feel him. you grab onto his hairs, onto those pretty, soft strands and tug him backwards just enough so that you can make eye contact with him as he whimpers from the pressure before resuming quickly. 

he leans back, mouth still pressed against yours, pulling you with him. your chest is leaning against his own, and he’s getting so far away from you that you have to crawl on the bed to keep your distance. he guides you up, hand on your ass to coax you along, your knee dipping into the soft mattress beside his hip. he places a strong hand on the back of your thigh, moving you so that your legs wrap around his waist, fully seated in his lap.

now, the only thing between your pussy and him are the thin fabric of your panties and the the thin fabric of his shorts and, fuck, you can feel everything. you can’t sit still, squirming as you try to concentrate on kissing him, on tasting him, on feeling his tongue mash against yours, on his teeth scraping against your lips. 

but you can’t. you can’t focus on anything, not when you can feel how hard he is already. you’re painfully aware of his length, the heft against your clothed cunt, and the warmth radiating from between your legs. you feel like you’re on fire. 

you pull away, using the grip in his hair that hasn’t moved to move him back as well. you look directly into his eyes, pupils blown wide. your gaze follows down his face, the flush on his cheeks, his lips sheened with the mixture of your spit and his. he’s looking up at you too, seeing the exact things. “if i don’t move from this position, i’m going to fuck you completely clothed, right here, right now,” you warn.

“fuck,” he breathes.

“and as hot as that would be,” you say, pushing yourself backwards until your feet can touch the ground again, moving so that both of your legs are situated between his instead of bracketing, “i’ve waited too damn long to not savor every fucking bit of this.”

he swallows harshly, nodding, eyes trained on you as you place both of your hands on the edge of the bed between his thighs. he watches you use them as leverage. his hands slide up your body as you sink down between his legs until they’re gripped into your shoulders. atsumu’s already filling in the next events in his head and you can see his hard length twitch against the constraining fabric of his shorts. 

“besides,” you say, crawling your fingers onto the insides of his thighs until your palms are flat against the toned, flexed muscle. you dig your nails into his skin. “no way am i letting you fuck me without hearing the pretty sounds you make while you’re crammed down my throat.” 

“oh fuck,” atsumu says, whimper following it.

“that’s the one,” you encourage. you push your palm into his thighs, paying close attention to the way his skin molds to your touch. you lean your head down, follow the paths you make with the harsh pressure of your fingertips with gentle kisses up his inner thighs. the further you get up his thighs, the more you’re enveloped by them. you migrate your hands to the outsides of his thighs, pushing them together, surrounding yourself with them.

maybe you weren’t so mad at the shorts anymore.

you push your palms up the muscle until they hook into the waistband, elastic tightly pressing your fingers into his hips. you let your touch linger there, preparing to free his cock, but not moving to do so, not yet. you pull your head up just enough to crawl forwards, stomach pressed flat against the edge of the bed as you nudge your nose against the hard outline of his cock. you look up at him, steal glimpses of how much anticipation is filling his wide eyes, how they follow your every move, how his lips part when you let your jaw drop open and lick up the length of his covered cock, how the sensation makes his eyes flutter shut and another pretty fucking whimper leave his throat.

“spent too long listening to other people try to make you sound like that,” you say, lips sliding up the outline of his hard cock, “‘ts my turn.” he nods at you, silently threading his fingers into your hair. 

you lift your head, taking in how big he is just trapped in his shorts. you’ve thought about this moment repetitively, endlessly, more times than you can count, in more ways than you can count, and none of it could have prepared you for how turned on you get when you pull his cock out of his shorts. 

it’s weighty in your hand, hot to the touch, makes a dull thump when it smacks against his stomach that will inhabit your brain forever, and you’re the one making pretty little whimpers now. one hand on his cock, you use your other hand, and his help, to pull off his shorts. 

you slide your fist up his cock two times, just to get used to the length. your palm is flat against his hip, just the presence of it reminding him not to buck up into you and to let you do exactly what you want to do. your thumb swipes against his head, smears the beads of precome against the sensitive tip.

“don’t think it’s fair that i haven’t heard you make noises just for me,” you pout. and then you take him into your mouth.

the sound that tears from him is nothing like you’ve ever heard before and is something that you will never forget, really pretty, honest to god made for you. his fist gets tight in your hair and his thighs threaten to close, but you place both of your hands on the insides of them once again. you take him with only your mouth, swollen head first as you slip the tip of your tongue against his slit, smear the salty pre against your tongue, soft moan vibrating the tight ring of your lips. 

then you let him sink deeper into your mouth, underside of his throbbing cock sliding against your tongue, taking it inch by inch into your mouth and into your throat. your jaw is starting to ache, he’s so fucking thick. you can feel him hit the back of your throat and you still have so much to take. 

you could move your hands from his thighs, wrap one fist around the base of his cock, move your mouth up and down his cock with the supplement of your palm, but that’s not enough. you know what he wants. you’re going to give him what he wants. you need to be choking on it, gagging, spit drooling down your chin and onto the sheets below you. it has to fill your throat so full that you can see the imprint in your neck. he’s still whimpering, but you need more, need it to fill the room incessantly. you need him to be just as breathless as you.

you press your face down further, forcing his cock down your throat farther. there are tears in your eyes now from the stretch of your jaw and your lips. your body convulses as the fullness of your throat causes you to gag and you can’t catch a good breath to center yourself, but you claw your fingernails into his thighs and swallow around him.

“fuck- holy fuck- you-,” he breathes, sitting up on his forearms, “ya don’t-” he can’t even fucking speak, “yn, fuck, ya don’t-” he shudders, “don’t have to-” he grunts, bucking up into your throat as he finishes the sentence in his head, “take me that deep.”

yes you fucking do.

you push your head down deeper, throat filled with his cock. now you really can’t breathe, can’t think, but you’ve almost taken his huge fucking cock completely down your throat and you’re not stopping until your nose is pressed against his stomach. as soon as the tip of your nose meets some sort of resistance, you pull off of him, gasping for air as you do. he’s about to praise you, to offer some sort of gratitude or awe, but you don’t let him speak, returning right back to where you were before, cramming him down your throat. 

“shit,” he hisses as you take him completely. his hand is shaking in your hair, not that you can really focus on that, though it is easier the second time around. you can feel how open your throat is as you lift your head, tight muscle squeezing his cock so good as you deepthroat him. “fuck, i-,” he says, “can’t take it.”

you look up at him as best you can with how full your throat is and how teary-eyed you are. “christ,” he mutters, “jesus fucking christ can i fuck yer throat please just a few times fuck no one’s ever taken me this deep please” it comes out as basically one string of words. you answer by placing your hands on his hips, stilling your head and then lifting them to meet your lips. “fuck.”

he follows the movements you’ve started for him, lifting his hips to fuck into your throat, going as deep as you managed to go. he slides his cock nearly the entire way out of your mouth, the only thing left is his swollen head, and then he rams back into your throat. your eyes squeeze tight as he repeats his motion a few more times. the sounds that he makes are payment enough, cry after cry of pleasure ripping from his throat as he destroys yours.

when he pulls your head off his cock to the tip for the last time, he doesn’t pull you all the way off. instead, he lets both of his arms drop, falling back onto the soft bed. your hands slide up his thighs, past his hip bones, fingers spanning across his glistening stomach. you finish the motion, feel his abs tense in your hands as you swallow him one last time and then pull off for good. 

from this position, you get to watch his chest rise and fall as you catch your own breath. he sits up in just enough time to watch you wipe the mixture of spit and precome from your chin. it’s enough for him to need to lie back down again, a soft swear falling from his lips as he reaches for you without looking, grabbing at your arm to pull you on top of him. both of your legs are on either side of his hips, a very familiar position except now there are no shorts trapping his cock. 

he sits up, bracing you with one arm as he turns the both of you, spinning until his head is on his pillow. his hands root on your hips, fingers digging into your skin, holding you in place as he drags his cock against the outside of your wet panties. “y’know,” he breathes, not looking up at you, but at the long t-shirt covering his view. “ya owe me a new pillowcase.”

your face burns. you’re way more clothed than he is and yet you feel so exposed. you know that he knew, or, rather, you thought that he knew, but him saying it to you right now makes you feel so fucking filthy. 

he reacts to your change in expression, smirk taking place on his lips and a breathy laugh that comes along with it. he holds you as he lifts off the bed, steady as he flips you over so that you’re underneath him, so that you’re on top of the pillow. “‘ts still dirty,” he nods past you, “just like ya left it.” you whimper. 

he pushes backward, falling between your legs as he asks, “are ya gonna admit it?” you swallow harshly, barely paying attention to his words when he’s getting so close to your pussy. “didya make a mess on my pillow?” he asks. 

atsumu doesn’t wait for an answer, moving your panties to the side, the cool air against your drenched lips evidence of that. when your mind catches back up to you, you nod, constantly, as if to make up for all of the hesitance. “what were ya thinkin bout?” he asks, mouth open, tongue out.

“this,” you profess.

the words barely leave his mouth before they’re muffled by your puffy lips. “good girl.” you can feel his lips curl into a smile as they’re pressed against you, tongue diving into your clenching hole, swirling around the rim. your hands find his hair again, your favorite place to ground yourself. oh my god leaving you a million times in succession. 

he pulls away only enough for you to make out the words, but not far enough so that you can’t feel them on your cunt, “tell me more, pretty.” you don’t have any direction, too much on your mind, you don’t know what he wants or what to say, so you just whimper helplessly as he sucks your swollen clit into his mouth.

“this what ya imagined? the pillow as my face?” he asks into you, tongue licking up your slit over and over and over, curling it at the end to flick against your sensitive clit. 

“yes, just like this,” you groan, hips circling once against his tongue as you remember that night and how desperate you were. 

he pushes his head into your hands, “again.” 

you listen, fists tightening in his soft hair, thrusting your hips up this time to get more pressure against his tongue. you roll your hips slowly, feeling every tiny bit of his tongue against your clit. your cunt is aching, hips getting less and less slow as the tightness in your core builds. “thought,” you huff, “thought about this, came so many times on your pillow just thinking about you sleeping on it.” if you were any less turned on, these words would be nothing but embarrassment right now. 

luckily for you (and for atsumu), you’re never felt hotter. 

“more,” he commands, scraping his teeth against your clit, sucking your lips into his mouth, making a fucking mess of you, and you haven’t even lost an article of clothes yet. 

there are no rests between the movements of your hips now, repeatedly thrusting against his open mouth, “you too,” you breathe, “you made-” huff  “a mess too.” you can see him still for only a moment before resuming. “‘ts still dirty, isn’t it?” you ask.

his mouth is still on your cunt, but he’s looking up at you now, wants to see where you’re going with this when he hums an affirmation. you grab the pillow from behind you, letting your head fall onto the flatter one below. your eyes scan the fabric and you see it, the small stains on top of your big stain and you know that he can feel your pussy fucking throb when you do. 

“shit,” he grunts, thrusting his cock against the mattress, moaning into your cunt as he watches you bite onto the fabric, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you lave your tongue over the dark stain repetitively. it doesn’t taste like much, like fabric softener and a little bitter, but when you close your eyes you can see him coming against the pillowcase and- 

“fuck,” you grunt, pillow thrown to the side as you put your hands back into atsumu’s hair, fists so tight that your knuckles are turning white. your core is tight, face is hot, legs are shaking against his cheeks, “holy fuck. ‘m coming, fuck, fuck,” you announce as you flood against his tongue. he digs out the come with his long tongue, swallows it until there’s nothing left but his spit. 

he doesn’t even give you a second to breathe, doesn’t give you the same luxury that you gave him, a few seconds to recuperate before moving on, but you get it. you understand, because despite the fact that you could close your eyes and fall asleep right now because of how spent you already are, you know what’s coming next. 

he sits up on his knees, allows himself to take in the sight of you for a few seconds, and then moves to the edge of the mattress again. he offers you his hand and you take it. you’re pulled across the span of the bed until you’re at the edge as well. “can ya stand for me, pretty?” he asks. 

you nod, stepping off the side of the bed and facing him again. you’re in the same position that you were before he laid you on the bed, standing with your legs bracketing one of his knees. if you were expected to stand completely on your own, you would have denied your ability, but atsumu is doing most of the work, holding you up. 

in fact, he takes it a step further, leaning back a few inches, grabbing you by the ass and placing one of your knees onto the bed next to his hip. he moves his hips closer to you, grabs the base of his cock and smacks the underside of it against your panties. “yer really fuckin’ dirty, didjya know that?” he asks, leaning in to kiss you again, his accent thick against your tongue.

you nod, “yeah, but it never hurts to be told just how much.”

he scoffs, nudging your chin to the side, exposing your neck and sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. you whine at the contact, pressing your neck into him, wanting to feel it harder. he thrusts his cock up against your clothed cunt again, forearms tense as he holds your hips perfectly still. he kisses down to your collarbones, running his teeth along them, sloppily licking the dips and hills of your chest. 

“gonna fuck ya so fuckin’ good tonight ya won’t be able to fuckin’ walk tomorrow, yea?” he asks, kissing your chest. he pulls your shirt off with one hand in one fluid motion and immediately attacks your tits with his mouth, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth, laving his tongue over the sensitive bud repetitively. 

“you’ll be here with me in the morning and you’ll be so sore ya can’t get out of bed and walk to yer room so i’ll fuck ya again, slowly but even fuckin harder. yer gonna have to limp back to yer room because fuck i just can’t resist pounding ya so fuckin hard.” your mind is spinning, mouth feels dry, because he’s telling you everything you’ve ever wanted to hear and you just nod over and over again, whimpering with plea. 

if he kept talking to you just like this, you could come just from the contact of his hard cock against your panties, because he’s talking to you, telling you exactly what he’s wanted to say and he’s saying it directly to you. the words are low. he’s not screaming like before. they’re quiet and against your skin and you can feel every one. 

they’re meant just for you. 

he hasn’t even started fucking you yet but the fabric between you is so thin and you can feel how much his cock is leaking even with how wet you are and your pussy is still a fucking mess and the friction feels so fucking good and it’s so fucking warm and your hands are in his hair again and you’re grinding down onto him and you’re moaning into his ear and he’s biting and nipping at every place he can reach. 

you circle your hips to meet his grind and you speak so softly that it could’ve brought him to tears, “gonna cum, tsumu.” you close your eyes, let your cheek fall against the top of his head as you stroke his hair, circling your hips gently as you ride this soft high just from this friction and being here with him.

“fuck, good girl,” he praises, looking up and pressing a kiss into the side of your face. you feel his hand move to your panties, his knuckles slipping against your puffy lips as he slips them to the side, lifting his hips until his cock catches against your clit and then pulling them back to follow your slit to your hole.

he slides inside of you without so much as a breath and you fucking see stars. he’s so big. he’s so fucking big. he’ssofuckingbig. so big so big sobigsobigsobig. he’s literally so fucking big, you feel like you’re splitting apart. he didn’t feel this big in your throat. you don’t remember him feeling this big in your throat and he’s biting down on your shoulder and kissing it as he pulls you down, seated perfectly on his cock. 

“fuck, figured i should let ya get adjusted-,” he breathes, voice so fucking shaky, forehead pressed against your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, “‘m not sure ya woulda been able to handle it if i just laid ya down and railed ya right now.”

you shake your head no. you can feel him in your fucking stomach, can feel every inch, every vein, every throb, every twitch against your choking walls, they were made for him, he was made for you. “couldn’t,” is all you can manage to squeak out. 

“‘ts alright, doll, i couldn’t either,” he says, shaking his head against your shoulder, “not when yer this fuckin’ tight, squeezing my cock, fuck.” he stays still for a moment, lets you both get acquainted to this new sensation, at how full you’re feeling and how warm he’s feeling. when he starts moving, it’s slow, so fucking slow. you can feel every massive fucking inch enter you and pull out of you. “swear to god, ‘m not even fuckin’ ya, yer just sucking me in yer so fuckin’ tight.” god, there’s that fucking accent.

he flips you over in one motion, does it without even taking his cock out of you. he’s hovering over top of you now, stood between your legs, cock buried deep inside of you. one hand on your hip, the other hand on your stomach, he pulls almost all the way out. he doesn’t use his hand to guide himself back in, lets the tightness of your cunt keep him from slipping out of your messy hole. the fucks are shallow, just his sensitive head. 

the mushroom tip keeps slipping in and out of you, but it never falls completely out. his grunts and moans and shaky forearms proving how fucking good you feel around him. “deeper, now, tsumu?” you ask, hand on his forearm to get his attention. well, he certainly can’t deny that.

he pushes his hips forward slowly, agonizing seconds until you’re full once again and fuck you missed not being able to breathe. this isn’t him letting you get adjusted again, this is him starting to fuck you. your cunt is quivering around him, walls fluttering, enticing him in deeper every time he slowly pulls out.

and then he gets faster, sliding his cock in and out of you so quickly that you can’t even get a grasp on how big he really is, it feels neverending. you’re nodding, not really sure for what, and your throat is getting tight and you can’t stop swallowing harshly. you’re already so fucking close. 

“closer, please, tsumu, closer,” you say to him, reaching for him, and he listens immediately, pressing his chest against yours. he’s so big that you can’t fucking breathe, can’t control yourself. your nails scratch down his back, clawing at whatever you can reach, not light traces, but breaking skin, tiny beads of blood being smeared by your fingertips pushing back to the top again. “m sorry, fuck, m sorry, can’t.”

“don’t apologize,” he says, shaking his head, and you’re amazed at the fact that he can still speak right now with how fast he’s pistoning into you right now. he’s abusing your pretty little cunt so hard, stomach smacking against your clit, hips slapping the inside of your thighs, whole body already sore, you can tell when you try to adjust your hips to get him inside of your guts deeper. “you can go harder if ya need to.”

you nod against him, tears streaming down your face because you don’t know how else your body is supposed to deal with what’s happening right now, with how much it’s feeling and how good he’s treating it. you listen to him, dragging your fingernails down his back again and again. “gonna come,” you sob, “gonna- fuck.” you can’t stop crying. you stop clawing at his back, wrapping your arms around him, smearing the blood against your forearms and down his back, holding him as close as you can and this somehow doesn’t mess up his harsh rhythm. 

the next words out of your mouth do mess up his rhythm, though. “baby, gonna come, baby, you’re gonna make me come, feel so good, baby, fuck.” his hips stutter, arms shake overtop of you, collapsing and caging you in even more. you don’t mind one bit. it takes every ounce of self control for him not to either blow his load inside of you or pull out. he’s not ready to do either one. 

when you come around him, you get impossibly tighter, gummy walls choking his thick cock, fluttering as you ride out the best orgasm of your life. by the time you come down from your high, cunt relaxing around his cock, atsumu had almost convinced himself that your walls were always that tight, it felt so long. 

atsumu pulls his cock out of you slowly, letting you feel every inch that you clenched around. when he looks down at his cock, he has to applaud himself for his self control again, because, “holy fuck, doll, made my cock so creamy, fuck,” he says, not even trying to hide how much the sight is effecting him. he can’t take his eyes off of it. he reaches down, spreading your lips as best he can so that he can see your tight hole wrapped around his cock and the creamy come you’ve left all down the length.

your legs feel like jelly, mind just the same, but it comes out of your mouth anyway. “over,” you almost slur. you’re not exactly sure if it’s the best idea considering how weak you feel, but you need it, need to see him beneath you.

“hm?” he asks for clarification, not stopping or tearing his eyes away from the mess you made on his cock.

“flip m’ over,” you say more clearly. 

he listens, pulling you on top of him as he lies down on the bed. your knees are on either side of his hips, softly pressed into the mattress below and it feels like you were as deep as you could get before, but there’s more of him to take in this position. you fall onto him, seated completely on his cock in one motion, a tiny moan escaping you.

you place your hands on his chest for leverage as you lift yourself up the tiniest bit on his cock. he lets you take control, lets your fingers curl against his sternum and slide down to his stomach as you move a bit faster. it’s nothing compared to his speed. it’s not as controlled, not as fast, not as harsh, but it’s deeper and it’s you. 

“does it feel good?” you ask, just wanting to hear him sing again.

he nods, whimpering and bucking his hips to meet you on instinct as he hears your voice. you lean your weight into your wrists, he can feel it all on his sternum. the pressure is incredible, like he couldn’t take control if he wanted to right now. you slide up and down his cock at your own pace, his hips barely moving now as he starts to realize how perfect this all is, how perfect you are. 

“what do you want?” you ask.

he knows exactly what he wants and he’s only slightly embarrassed to ask for it. “say it again,” he mumbles. 

“say what?” you cock your head, lifting off of him and slowly taking him all again. 

“called me baby,” he says, out of breath, staring up at you like you’re the only person he’s ever felt truly comfortable with and your stomach is filled with lightness, heart is filled with love. 

you push off of the bed again, your legs exhausted, but you’re going to milk every last drop of come out of him until he can’t give you anything else. as soon as you’ve fallen back down, you lift off again, almost completely, hole tight around the sensitive underside of his head. “fuck, baby,” you say, voice like heaps of sugar, “need you to do one last thing for me.” you push your hand across his chest, palms smoothing over his tits, back arching to meet your touch.

“anything,” he says, and you believe it.

you lean down, forearms resting on his shoulders, hands in his hair, circling your hips quickly now, clenching yourself around him, “can you fill me up, baby,” you ask. 

“oh god,” he says, shaking his head against the pillow. you were about to ruin him. 

you can feel him twitching inside of you, his balls tightening against your ass, but you’re not done. you’re going to wreck him. “drain inside me, baby, need it, need all of it,” you whine, taking him faster, harder, harsher, deeper. “deep inside, need my baby to come deep inside,” you say. you can already feel him pulsing inside of you, his hips lifting off the bed trying to chase his imminent high. “stuff me full of your load, so much until i can taste it,” you whisper into his ear. “make me yours.”

his grip on your hips will leave bruises. honestly, you’re convinced they might already be forming, blooming under his current death grip. his come is forceful, plentiful, ropes of thick come making you feel fuller than you already do, when you look down, you’re half expecting to see him in your stomach, you’re that fucking full. 

you can match each grunt with each release, each stream of hot come that paints the insides of your walls. he’s doing exactly what you asked of him, stuffing you full of his hot fucking load. you reach down, gathering the drooling come that’s already leaking out of you on your fingers and shoving them in your mouth. when atsumu sees this, you can feel another rope of come fill you and then one more until his soft grunts no longer make you feel any fuller. 

you don’t move immediately. you want to be this full for the rest of your life. the time has slowed down, the desires are lowering, each second that ticks by is closer to him throwing you out of his room like all of his other hookups. you close your eyes, count the seconds, know when you should be walking to the door and getting dressed, but every time you surpass a self-proclaimed time limit, nothing happens. 

instead, he wraps his arms around your lower back and sits up with you on his thighs. “can i-,” he says, sheepish, like he’s embarrassed to even ask. his tone is making your stomach fill with butterflies. “can i watch it drool out of you?” your breath gets caught in your throat, but you nod at him regardless. 

he pulls you to the edge of the bed and slowly, so slowly, pulls out. when he does, he sinks to the ground, spreading open your sloppy lips with his thumbs and watches a fat glob of come drip out of you. neither you nor him really know if it’s instinct or need that drives it, but he leans forward and tongue out, and drags the flat of it in between your lips. “fuck, baby,” you say, in awe, because it doesn’t matter what drove him to do it, you want to watch him do it a million times. 

he slips two fingers inside of you, coaxes out more of the mess he’s made, and smears it against your pretty swollen clit. there’s still more of his load inside of you and he watches it drip down your leg and onto his sheets. he can’t stop staring, mesmerized. when he meets your eyes again, he mumbles, a blushing mess, “i’ve never done that before.”

“just figuring out really hot kinks or what?” you ask, finally able to catch your breath. 

he shakes his head. “no, it’s just you,” he says, more confident in this admittance, “needed to see it so i knew it was real and not just a dream or something later.”

maybe you didn’t know when the timer started. maybe it started after that, started now instead. you’re waiting for him to make you leave, you ready yourself, count the seconds once more, but in the midst of your countdown, he smooths his hand over your hair and stands up.

before he even crawls into bed, he helps you get comfortable first. he moves you so that your head is on his remaining pillow. he grabs one of the smaller ones and offers it to you as well. the covers are a mess with the two of you, but thankfully hopefully just on the outside. he pulls the blankets over you and then immediately gets under them with you.

you’ve lost count in your head, but the timer would be over by now, someone else would have been gone by now, but not you. you’re facing him and he’s facing you, and both of you are exhausted, but neither of you want to give up this view right now.

“you should get some sleep,” he offers.

“hey, where did that accent go?” you quirk an eyebrow. 

he shakes his head, “wouldn’t you like to know.” he extends his hand out, wraps it around your waist, pulls you closer to him until your head is resting against his chest. 

“yea, that’s why i asked,” you joke back, letting your eyes close. he tightens his grip around your waist.

“hey,” he says, clearing his throat, “thanks for coming to check on me.”

you hum, nuzzling into him closer. sleep is taking you, dragging you kicking and screaming despite how much you want to stay up and have this conversation. “of course,” you mumble. “we will have this conversation tomorrow, i promise, baby.”

he holds you tighter. “that whole baby thing is dangerous,” he admits to you.

“you shouldn’t have admitted that to me,” you say, shaking your head as you try to get even closer to him. 

“i will accept the consequences if i get to hear it any day,” he admits again. his eyelids are getting impossibly heavy as well now, barely able to keep them open, drifting in and out of consciousness. “goodnight, yn.”

“goodnight, baby,” you reply. you’re surrounded by warmth. you feel like you’re right where you belong.

♡ tori's polls ♡ ( fav super hot disgustingly filth line? ) ( did the smut make up for atsumu's behavior? )

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“i miss you too, maki,” you reciprocate. 

“not so pathetic after all,” he points at you through the phone. 

you purse your lips to the side, thoughtful, “no, still pathetic i think, just from both sides.”

“yea, fair,” he says, flipping over in his bed, lying on his side, messy hair against his pillow in a way that you’ve seen in person a few too many times. he called you this morning before the two of you had even gotten out of bed. “so, what did you even do last night without me?”

“well, i was planning on staying in and spending all weekend by myself,” you start, “but i actually went over to atsumu’s last night.”

“you? hung out with atsumu? on a friday night? what kinda things did you have to do for that to happen?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“nothing,” you sneer at him, “he’s the one that suggested it actually.”

“yea, and how did that go?” he asks, tiny tinge of jealousy hidden behind the sarcasm at the end of the sentence.

“weirdly good. i thought he might try to make a move or something, but we just kinda hung out,” you explain, maybe omitting the parts where you fell asleep on his chest and told him that you think about him all the time. 

“and what are you up to tonight?” all of the questions that he keeps asking about your weekend are making you miss him even more, because the answer is nothing but you wish the answer was hanging out with maki.

you sigh dramatically, “well, you guys left me, so i’m having lunch with atsumu, but i’m on my own tonight. which isn’t bad actually, going to just spend some time alone, get caught up on assignments, whatever.”

“i’d probably be having more fun with you,” he admits.

“what? not going good over there?” you ask.

“no, it’s a blast. i’ve missed these guys and it’s been super fucking fun. last night, hajime convinced oikawa to jump in the lake with him and because oikawa was really drunk, he did it, but hajime didn’t jump with him and oikawa was really pissed. swear to god he almost drowned. it was really great,” maki laughs at the thought and then responds to your concerned look, “he didn’t drown, yn, calm down, it was funny.”

“and i’ve got to catch up with people that i haven’t seen since high school,” maki shrugs, pausing, “but i mean, they’re not you.”

you’re about to react, some form of i get that coming out of your mouth as there is a harsh knock on maki’s door. “come in,” maki answers. 

from off screen, you hear oikawa mumble something. it’s quiet. you’re not sure you could’ve made it out if you hadn’t previously spent so much time with oikawa. “hajime wants to go to the diner to get food, get dressed.” 

“alright, alright, i’m just gonna say bye to yn,” maki says, sitting up in his bed. 

there’s a loud squeak of the mattress as oikawa jumps on the bed, you assume. “yn! how is everything back there? making it by without us?”

“it’s been one day, guys,” you groan, jokingly. “but it’s good. i’m good.”

“yn hung out with atsumu last night,” maki says. it sounds like a tattle. 

oikawa tilts his head to the side, “last night?” he’s sporting a devious smile as he pounces on maki, both hands covering maki’s ears as he says hushed, “and how did it go?”

a blush rises to your cheeks at the whole spectacle. maki is trying to push oikawa off of him and oikawa, surely used to testing iwaizumi in the same ways, is able to hold his ground. “good, it went good!” you reply in a laugh.

“and? did anything happen?” 

“no! stop it!” you say, watching as maki finally throws oikawa off of him. 

“okay! okay!” oikawa has both of his hands up in defeat, sliding off of the bed and walking towards the door. “10 minutes, maki, we’re leaving in 10.” the door closes off screen.

maki shakes his head, slightly out of breath, “i gotta go, but i’ll talk to you later, okay? i’ll text you.”

you nod. “and i’ll see you sunday?” you ask.

he tilts his head, questioning, “it hasn’t even been a full day. kinda pathetic.”

“fine,” you say, calling his bluff.

“no! i’ll see you sunday, loser,” he says quickly, “god, let me make fun of you for being obsessed with me once in a while.”

you can’t stop smiling. “alright, alright. see you sunday, maki. can’t wait.”

“can’t wait,” he repeats and then hangs up.

&lt; 11:21 pm < have a good day ♡

> maki ♡ / 11:21 pm > you too ♡

/++/

you’ve forgone yours and atsumu’s lawn blanket set up as per his request, which you weren’t really expecting. after the events of last night, you assumed he might want to have the space to be close to you. maybe not. 

you didn’t ask questions, just chose a familiar picnic table and sat on the side that you knew you could watch atsumu approach from. 

and you do, eyes on him as he walks towards you. he cuts through the lawn, deviating from the concrete path, throwing a smile your way when he recognizes that you’re watching him. 

“yknow it’s almost getting too cold to keep sitting out here,” you say as he approaches, gesturing to your spot on the lawn. your spot. you cross your arms over one another, shivering slightly. fall is settling in, the semester more over than it is started.

he walks around to your side of the bench and sits beside you. you’re not sure if he’s doing this on purpose, making you feel this flustered. when he takes his jacket off, the same one that you met him in, the same one that was hanging on the back of his chair last night, and presents it in front of you, you know that he must be doing this on purpose. 

“are you really giving me your jacket right now?” you ask, mind screaming at you to just grab it. “we’re not in a cheesy rom-com.”

“are ya cold or not?” he asks, extending it a bit further. 

“yes,” you mutter, grabbing it from him and sliding it on. “thank you, tsumu.” you’re enveloped with him, soft fabric infused with his clean scent, and you’re not sure you’re going to give this back, so you hope it’s not that important to him. “it’s cute that your accent comes out when you’re short,” you point out. 

“shuddup,” he says, shaking his head. you scooch over closer to him, legs pressed together. he throws his arm around your shoulder, picks at your lunch, and you’re very aware at how much of a couple you look like right now. it’s quiet, peaceful.

he breaks the silence with a sentence that you’re confused by how he thought it was a good idea, “don’t be mad.”

you immediately face him, expression contorted into confusion and maybe a bit of anger for no reason other than what else are you supposed to feel when someone prefaces with that?

he explains, “i’ve been thinking about what you said last night and-“

“TSUM TSUM!!” 

you jump at the loud voice and nickname. you can’t locate the source so you swivel your head. you search for whoever is calling for atsumu while he continues to explain, “so maybe i told my friends that i think they could meet you and we were getting lunch today.”

“bo, come on, you said you’d be chill,” another voice, a different voice, says. 

“and maybe they didn’t even let me explain, just said they would be there and maybe were a bit too enthusiastic about it?” he shrugs.

you spot the source now, the same buff man from the selfie smiling at you wide and waving excessively. you offer a small wave back. 

“me? meet your friends?” you ask, shocked. you obviously were about to meet his friends. they were crossing the lawn as you spoke. 

“i meant it last night, i just didn’t know you wanted to meet them,” atsumu says plainly. “and if it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” ba-bump. 

you nod, because you’re certain that if you tried to speak, your words would come out jumbled. 

the two men take a seat across from you. the man with black and white hair beams, “it’s so great to meet you finally. we told him, said she’d probably love to meet us, but i think he’s just been embarrassed about us or something.”

“yn, this is bokuto,” atsumu introduces you. 

“and i’m sakusa,” the man with black hair and curly hair says, introducing himself. 

“it’s really great to meet you both,” you offer.

“hinata is going to be so sad he missed this,” bokuto says, “missing out on finally meeting the girl tsum tsum’s been talking about for weeeeeeks.”

“that’s enough,” atsumu says, shaking his head as he uses his free hand to shake it in front of bokuto. 

“bo’s right,” sakusa reasons, “atsumu does talk about you a lot.”

“guys, see, this is exactly why i didn’t want you to meet her, god,” atsumu says, clearly embarrassed, not used to being on defense around you, not like this. 

bokuto and sakusa are just smiling. 

“she deserves to know,” sakusa reasons, gesturing towards you. 

“yea, i deserve to know,” you speak up. there’s a prideful smile on sakusa’s face.

“never letting you guys interact again,” atsumu shakes his head, scrapes his fingers against your hip in a way that almost makes you jump. you can hear the lightness in his voice and when you turn to look at him, you can see the smallest warm smile. 

“so how do you guys know tsumu?” you ask, nickname slipping out just on instinct. 

neither of them tease you for it explicitly, but they do exchange a knowing look. if you were closer to them you could decipher the hidden meaning of she said it. she said the name. 

“volleyball,” bokuto says, “we all met at volleyball. atsumu is our setter. but also now our best bud.”

“yknow, i don’t think i’ve actually ever asked anything about your volleyball stuff,” you say to atsumu, putting your hand on his knee. you’ve always just talked about it vaguely, no real details. 

“but he's the volleyball guy,” sakusa smirks. 

“no-,” atsumu says.

“yeah! that’s what that guy called you? right?” bokuto asks. atsumu is about to interrupt again, a last-ditch plea on his face, but bokuto doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it, “maki.” your best friend’s name comes out of this stranger’s mouth in a mocking tone and oh my god atsumu talks shit about maki to his teammates/close friends.

there are a million ways you could react to this statement, stammering and stumbling over your words as you land on a sharp laugh. “i- you-,” you can’t stop laughing, “is that? does atsumu-.” you really can’t talk. 

“what?!” atsumu asks as if he has any room to be the one questioning you.

“you just,” tears are forming at the corners of your eyes as you lean into his shoulder, forehead against his jacketless skin, “fuckin- it got to you that badly?” you turn your attention towards bokuto, “is that how he said it?” 

bokuto, ever the betrayer of atsumu, nods his head. 

“quit it,” atsumu says, less shocked and embarrassed now, your laughter infecting him. “that’s how he said it.” there’s a smile behind the words, soft laughter coming along with it. when you don’t stop laughing for another few seconds, and then a few more, atsumu wraps his arms around you, smothering him in his strong arms. “yer being ridiculous.”

you push away from him and in between your fits of simmering down laughter, subsiding for only a few seconds at a time before picking back up again, you catch the smile on sakusa’s face that says so clearly that you can tell without knowing him at all, so this is why he can’t stop talking about you.

once you’ve finally composed yourself, you turn to sakusa and bokuto, “and you guys play?”

“we both play outside hitter,” sakusa explains, looking like he’s about to elaborate a bit further, but atsumu interrupts.

“since i’m the setter, that means that i’m kinda like the brains of the operation.”

“oh, fuck off, miya,” sakusa says, rolling his eyes. 

you laugh, “i know what a setter does.”

“how? we’ve never talked about it?”

“well, no, but i’ve seen maki play plenty of times,” you note, “oikawa’s a setter. maki and iwa play outside hitter. you didn’t know they played too?”

“oh my god, they’re both the volleyball guys,” sakusa comments, leaning back in his seat like he’s just had the biggest epiphany. 

“fuck off, omi,” atsumu sneers and then turns his attention back to you, “you never told me.”

you put your hands up, “i don’t know! i guess it just never came up.”

bokuto reaches out his arm, grabbing your forearm excitedly. “well, one day you’ll have to come watch us play, yn,” he says, smiling brightly at you. 

“i would really love that, actually. tsumu’s never invited me to one of his games before, so,” you say, shrugging. honestly, it had never been a thought on your mind before, a lot of things hadn’t been on your mind before, but now that you’re sitting here with his very fun friends, you really want to be a part of it all. a part of this side of his life, not the one that you’ve created and pulled him into, lunches and tiny meet ups and dragging him to the grocery store and having him babysit your plants, but whatever this is that’s making your chest feel so light. 

“or let you meet us,” sakusa chimes in. 

“yea, for good fuckin’ reason,” atsumu quips back.

“well, consider yourself officially invited to our next game,” bokuto nods, “here, give me your number and we can-.”

“no way,” atsumu interjects. 

you’re already reaching into your bag, pulling out your phone, ready to punch in bokuto’s phone number. 

“i really don’t need you guys to have more ways to talk shit about me,” atsumu says, but there’s no malice in the words. 

“i wasn’t going to talk shit about you, tsum tsum,” bokuto rolls his eyes, offering out his hand for you to drop your phone into. atsumu is skeptical as he lets you give your phone over to bokuto. as soon as his fingers curl around the phone, bokuto finishes his thought, “but there are plenty of cute photos of you that i have that don’t seem very fair for yn not to have.”

atsumu lunges forward to grab the phone out of bokuto’s hand, but bokuto pulls it back quickly. “bokkun, i swear to god,” atsumu says, standing up as best he can while still being inside of the bench. bokuto is already two steps ahead, springing from his seat, nearly hitting sakusa as he does. 

“watch it,” sakusa warns. 

bokuto is gone, running away as he presses buttons on your phone. atsumu is much more careful on his side, makes sure to unravel from you before stepping out of his seat. “i’m not kidding!” despite the head start bokuto acquired, atsumu is already almost on his heels. bokuto is laughing, head thrown back as he messes with your phone. 

sakusa takes this moment of chaos to talk to you directly. his voice pulls you out of this awestruck daze watching atsumu jump on bokuto’s back. “i can see why he talks about you all the time,” sakusa says lowly across the table as bokuto runs in circles with atsumu on his back as if he weighs nothing at all.

you’re feeling a bit more confident at this sentence, a bit more easily yourself, so you let it slip as you turn to face sakusa, joking as you say, “what? i’ve proven how cool i am in this tiny lunch?”

sakusa chuckles, breathy, before nodding affirmingly, “not exactly what i meant, but yes, that too.” he pauses, contemplating if the thing he’s about to say next is pushing a boundary, saying too much, figuring out how to phrase it before it actually comes out of his mouth. “i meant more that i understand why he talks about you all the time.”

you’re quiet, tilting your head curiously. 

he doesn’t let you sit on your thoughts, finishes his sentence right as bokuto and atsumu are running back towards the table, “because he’s really into you.”

you don’t get to respond, interrupted by bokuto hiding on one side of you, finishing whatever he’s doing on his phone before thrusting the phone back into your hands. he sticks his tongue out at atsumu and atsumu narrows his eyes. “atsumu’s just worried that he’s going to fuck up at our game when you’re there.”

this is all so cute, the bantering and the things that bokuto is saying, but you have so many fucking questions. you want them to run back over there for hours so that you can have a long, in-depth conversation with sakusa about what exactly he fucking means. 

you don’t want to seem unresponsive or like you can’t keep up, so you reply, “maybe i’ll bring maki along and he can show off like he always does.” you almost regret it, but sakusa and bokuto start laughing just like you were laughing earlier and bokuto is slamming his fist on the table and atsumu doesn’t look hurt at all, he looks amiable. 

you turn your head towards atsumu, the laughter allowing you cover to speak just for him, “or i’ll just go and cheer you on. if you’ll have me there.” atsumu gives you a short, affectionate nod. 

sakusa and bokuto leave about a half hour (that’s spent mostly making fun of atsumu the entire time) after that, saying that they’ll see you again soon, they’re sure, and waving as they leave. as soon as they’re out of earshot, atsumu lets out a huge breath. 

“i told you,” he says, shaking his head, body finally relaxed in a way that makes you realized he was tense the entire time. “i told you that they were fucking weird.”

“they’re not weird, they’re sweet,” you say back. there is a certain peacefulness now that you assume only exists because of the huge absence of noise. it’s not better, just more familiar. you slot your fingers into atsumu’s, holding onto his forearm with your other hand. 

“yea, if you’re not on the other side of all of their bullshit,” atsumu shakes his head. 

“maybe if you didn’t talk about me so much,” you tease.

“don’t let it go to your head,” he says, lifting his arm that you don’t have a hold of and tapping on your forehead. you press your forehead into him, laughing. 

the two of you sit together for another few hours, pulling work out of your bags that neither of you really focus on. you mostly spend the time cracking jokes at the other’s expense or for the other to laugh at and finding new ways to get tangled into each other on a picnic table bench until it’s time to leave.

“i’ll see you sometime tomorrow, yeah?” you ask, moving around school work and responsibilities and seeing maki in your head to make room for atsumu in your day.

he leans forward, presses the quickest, smallest kiss into the side of your cheek, “obviously.” as he leaves, the warmth stays, on your cheek and down your chest, through your fingers and toes. partially because of the kiss, sure, but mostly because of the hoodie he’s entrusted in your care. 

/++/

you are both so excited for and dreading your night alone.  you are excited because it’s been awhile since you’ve just had some time in your room by yourself. you are welcoming the extra time to catch up on assignments and take a shower and not do anything else that requires thinking. 

you are, however, despite all of this, mostly filled with dread. saturday night is a staple miya atsumu hookup night. last week it was fine, the week before that, sure, whatever, but after last night, the thought of atsumu hooking up with some random girl that he found out at a party is bringing back a familiarly upset stomach. if you hadn’t had spent the night last night as you did, a taboo listening session might even have been in the stars tonight, would have been maybe really welcomed. 

but now you’ve slept in his bed. you’ve been in his arms. you’ve been on the other side of the wall. there are memories attached to this vision of him now. when you close your eyes, you can see his room so clearly. if you had to think about them in his bed, the one that you felt safe cuddled next to him in, the one where he told you about all of his childhood friends, if you had to think of her on his pillow instead of you? 

you take a deep breath, closing your eyes. you will have a great night all by yourself even if that means sleeping on the farside of your room and using your noise canceling headphones at full volume.

the later it gets into the night, the more antsy you’re getting. hours are ticking by and you have never been this productive in your life, assignment after assignment finished just to stop yourself from thinking for longer than a few seconds. you won’t have to worry about school work for the next few weeks. 

it’s nearly 1 am by the time that you’ve finished all of the work that you possibly can, which, in hindsight, was such a horrible idea. finishing all of your work before the 1-3 am time of the night? 

well, maybe if you’re just not in your room when he gets back, you can just put your headphones on and not have to think about it at all tonight. you grab a change of clothes, your towel, all of your bathroom essentials, and make your way to dorm showers at the other end of the hall. 

your shower takes much longer than it should because you make sure that it does, but somewhere along the way you must have pissed someone off, something from your past must be coming back to haunt you because instead of timing it perfectly to miss him completely, you’ve timed it perfectly to catch him completely. 

he’s all dressed up, hair perfectly done in a way that begs to be messed up, stupidly cute outfit, something plain but looks insanely good on him, enough cologne to fill the entire hallway, and, only when he sees you walking down the hallway, a huge smile on his face. 

you feel extremely underdressed, walking up to him. partially on account of the fact that you are wearing a huge tshirt, underwear, and absolutely nothing else. you don’t know if he’s already been drinking, if he doesn’t notice, or if he doesn’t care, but his eyes follow down your body slowly. 

every single moment in your life has happened because of a culmination of things; this is just a fact. everything that has happened in your life up until this moment has built up to this moment, that’s how living works. you knew this. 

but god you wish you could see a chart, could zoom in on every single point that had a hand in this moment and alter them in some sort of way that wouldn’t have caused you to say what comes out of your mouth. 

you look down at your phone screen, checking the time. “woah, you hung out with me on friday and no company tonight?” you ask as you step around him and in front of your door. why would you say that. 

you know why, vaguely, not completely. you’re not completely sure why you chose to essentially divulge the biggest secret you’re harbored of your entire college career in one sentence, but you know that it had something to do with how flustered you were in that moment, how good atsumu looks in front of you, and maybe the fact that it’s all you’ve been able to think about tonight.

it slips out, really, no barrier of judgment. you guys have been friends for too long. the quips and the teasing come so naturally now that you can’t help it. 

this is the first time that you’re admitting this to him. your heart is pounding as you wait for him to respond. he’s not responding quick enough. you hope that he just doesn’t clock it, doesn’t understand the implications of the joke.

he furrows his eyebrows together, stopping completely, “what?”

your body is burning. how do you backtrack from this. where do you go from here.

when you don’t answer immediately, his mind starts filling in the blanks, and he starts asking more questions, “company?”

“yea, like,” you clear your throat, shifting your towel under your arm, “y’know saturday nights and company.”

he turns to face you completely and you feel like this is your first time meeting him. you feel small, tiny, chest aching because of the violence of your heart. even more so when you see the embarrassment creeping onto his face. “how would you know if i have company?”

this is it. the fucking moment. it’s been over 4 months. the two of you have lived next to each other for nearly an entire semester. you went 2 months without even knowing him, 1 month with fixing all of your previously conceived notions, and this past month falling for him and it’s all about to go crashing down because of a stupid joke you’ve made. 

“you weren’t exactly subtle about it,” you answer and you’re amazed at how your voice is actually audible. 

a lot of things click for atsumu in that moment, you can see it on his face. 

“you heard that?” he asks, quietly stunned.

“all of it,” you answer.

it’s quiet for a moment. you can’t even hear the hum of the lights or the beat of your own heart as you wait for his reaction to the admission. 

“fuck,” atsumu says, palm smoothing over his face, “god, i can’t recover from that at all can i? holy shit.” he doesn’t ask why you didn’t tell him. he doesn’t look put off or uncomfortable. “holy shit. okay. well, fuck.”

you’re about to apologize when he shakes his head, fingers pushing through his hair. you can’t exactly read whatever emotion is there, maybe panic? you can’t get a good read because it’s gone soon thereafter. 

“no,” he says slowly, “i don’t have company tonight. was going to go out and drink with some friends, but i left my ID in my room.” he gestures to the keys in his hand, knuckles white around them. “you still alone this weekend?”

you nod, not really knowing what to do, where to go from here still. he’s not being weird. he’s trying to resume conversation with you, but something feels off. you want to say, “yea, i said i’d be alone all weekend, don’t you listen?” but any joke that comes to you feels too harsh, too out of place, terrified that it’ll end up an admission of something else.

“do you want-,” he begins to ask, but you shake your head so hard that you’re convinced you shake water droplets out of your hair and onto him. 

“no, no, are you kidding? i look like this,” you gesture down.

atsumu looks like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. fuck. you’ve really ruined things now. 

“go out with your friends,” you say, nodding your head down to the elevators. 

“we don’t have to go out,” atsumu adds.

“i’m not keeping you in on the weekend again,” you say, shifting your weight. “seriously, i’m okay alone tonight, you go on out.”

“do you want to drink?” he asks, persistent as always.

“tsumu, i told you, i’m not going out tonight,” you say. the nickname is muscle memory at this point and you’re glad that at least you have some sort of remnants of a few minutes ago. 

“just, here, we can drink here,” he gestures to his dorm room. you feel like a fucking freshman again. “if you don’t want to drink, that’s cool. i just-” he hesitates. it looks more difficult than it ever has, but he steps towards you and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “it feels weird for the first time between us and i don’t think i can leave if you’re not feeling okay,” he finishes, overly attentive and completely different than you ever expected him to be, and you feel so horrible.

“tsumu-,” you start, but he isn’t having any of it.

“i’m serious.”

“one drink,” you say, “and then you go out with your friends.”

/++/

the thing about one drink is that nobody really has one drink. 

or, rather, you do at first and then you have another because the guy that you’re really into is in front of you, telling joke after joke trying to make you feel better about your relationship because you’ve just admitted that you’ve heard him having sex all semester.

and unfortunately for you and your self-deprecation, the guy that you’re really into is really good at making you feel better, not just with jokes and compliments, but with soft touches and genuine smiles. 

“i can’t believe you’re staying in with me when you look like that,” you say, shaking your head. you didn’t even have time to change, are still in the same post-shower outfit that you were before. 

“come on, you look better than i do,” he says, shaking his head, taking a sip of his drink and gesturing to you with his cup.

you’re sitting on his floor because the bed was a bit much after the painful conversation you had in the hallway. he’s sitting in front of you, back against his desk, as he sets his drink on the floor beside him. you let yourself flush, accept his compliment if only to fasttrack back to how it felt between the two of you before. 

the thing about more than one drink is that nobody really chooses a stopping point, not when the awkwardness has faded and the guy that you’re really into continues to stay the night with you. and definitely not when said guy has taken root next to you, pressed up against you completely. 

“fuck,” he shakes his head out of nowhere. he doesn’t even give you an opportunity to ask what, just repeats himself, louder, “fuck.”

“what?” you ask, turning to look at him, but not moving a single inch away from him.

“i can’t believe you heard all of that,” he says, shaking his head against the side of the bed. he laughs lightly, unbelievably. “that’s really just so embarrassing.”

for the first time tonight, at the mere mention of it, you don’t want to crawl into your room and cry. you’re not sure what exactly it is (it’s the alcohol), but you laugh with him, light at first, and then growing until you’re shaking your head. it is actually kinda funny. 

“it was funny at first, honestly,” you tell him, “i was like oh my god?? and then it progressively got, yknow, not as funny when i had morning classes and exams.”

“is that why we didn’t meet for the first two months of living next to each other?” he asks, turning his head to look at you. and he does, look at you, stares into your eyes with the amount of focus that someone as drunk as the two of you should not have been able to do.

“not really, more like a gift from god,” you say.

“hey,” he whines.

“yea, that night we met i was coming back from maki’s because i couldn’t take it anymore,” you admit to him. you can see the embarrassment settle in even heavier than before, a remorse coming alongside it. after all this time, you really didn’t mean for him to feel bad about it. “you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“i mean, that’s so- i can’t believe-,” he stammers. you’re not used to seeing him like this and you understand why he had to have at least one drink with you before going out, because right now atsumu is feeling exactly how you felt out in the hallway and all you want to do is fix that.

even if it is at your own expense. 

“it’s fine, really, it’s fine,” you say, “it was funny at first, and then annoying, but i mean, eventually-” don’t you fucking dare “eventually it was good for me too.” stop fucking talking.

now he looks really confused and if you don’t explain no fucking stop he’s going to be even more weirded out. 

“well, i just mean, like,” you shrug, “like eventually i started to enjoy it.” shut the fuck up. 

he chooses his next words carefully, or as carefully as he can when the room is slightly moving. “like how?”

don’t say a fucking word. “like listening,” you admit. even in your drunken state, your stomach does flips. 

his face still has tiny elements of confusion, but most of it morphs into something much needier than that. “to me?”

you nod, movements barely noticeable but they’re making your head spin. the air is still, room quiet save for both of your quickened breathing. then, the only thing you can see is his hand, moving so slowly that you assume he’s afraid he’ll scare you off. he reaches across you, cups your cheek and pulls you to face him. when you’re looking at him, he doesn’t move his hand. 

he leans in towards you and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your body or the fact that an hour ago you were terrified that you would never be able to be in this room again, but you lean forward to meet him. he stops, just shy of your lips, talking so low that you can feel the vibrations against your lips. “and doing what?” he asks.

the whimper comes from your throat, lips tightly shut so it doesn’t have a chance to escape you. you lean forward further, pressing your forehead against his as his hand slides down your cheek to your jaw, fingers spanning your neck, curling softly so that his nails drag against your sensitive skin. you can feel it in your entire body. 

he lowers his head, nudges your chin with his nose, pushing your head further into his hand, exposing your neck. “can i?” he asks, breath tickling as he speaks. you’re not sure if he realistically thought you would deny him right now of anything that he wanted, really. you nod softly, not wanting to break out of his grasp.

the first thing that you feel are his teeth, scraping against the softness of your neck. and then you feel his lips closing around the skin. you close your eyes, no point in keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling, anyway. atsumu licks a strip up your neck before moving down again. he uses his free hand to pull at the neckline of your shirt, exposing your collarbones. he wraps his lips around the bone, sucking repetitively until you’re positive that there’s purplish marks wherever he picks his head up from.

his moves his hand from your jaw, trust you to keep the position that he’s moved you into, and you do. he rewards you for this, both hands smoothing down your body, following your curves, digging into them as he pleases, latheing his tongue over the same spots on your neck and chest. 

“tsumu,” you whine, not really sure for what, but just for more. his hands are on your thighs now, his fingernails pressing harshly into the fats of them before sliding upwards underneath the hem of your shirt. he can feel your skin in his hands now, can’t get enough of it as he moves his hands everywhere and anywhere he can. 

when he gets to your chest, takes both of your perfectly soft tits into his hand, you hear him stifle a grunt. he moves one hand quickly, grabbing at your hip, sliding down from your waist, pulling you towards him, facing towards him so that he can feel you again, so that he can play with your tits better. his touch is harsher this time, more desperate, more purposeful as he goes straight for your tits, no longer ghosting over your skin, but aching for your heavy tits to be in his hands. 

god, he can only imagine what they fucking look like all pretty and bouncing for him. fuck he needs to see them.

he pulls away from you, sits up from against the bed, moves in front of you. he’s on his knees, towering above you in your seated position. you’re looking up into his eyes, whimpers falling from your quivering lips. he cups your face again. you’re ready. you’re completely ready to recall every little thing that you have heard over the past month. you know atsumu, you know exactly what he likes, and you’re going to blow his fucking mind. 

knock knock knock.

just before his lips can touch yours, there’s a pounding knock on his door. 

“no fucking way,” atsumu says under his breath. 

“miya atsumu, get your ass out here now or i’m breaking down the fucking door.” knock knock knock knock knock knock. it's almost scary until you hear laughter from the hallway, snickering at first and then boisterous. 

“come on, i don’t even interrupt,” you say to atsumu, looking towards the door. 

knock knock knock knock knock knock. “we know you’re in there.”

“they’re not going to leave it alone until i answer,” he says, defeated, “i have to answer and then- then i’ll be right back and-.”

“atsumu, you have 10 seconds and i’m gonna start ramming,” the voice says.

atsumu scurries up from the floor, walking quickly over to the door as you adjust yourself, smoothing out your oversized tshirt and patting your hair. “what?” he hisses as he cracks the door open. the person on the other side of the door pushes it open completely. 

“we’re going out,” one voice says.

“another night,” atsumu says, the door already closing.

“i’m not leaving without you,” another voice replies, not pushing the door back open. 

“and i’m not leaving,” atsumu says, and you can tell he’s getting impatient now. 

from your spot on the floor, you recognize one of them as a guy from one of the photos. dark hair, carefree attitude. suna? you can’t remember exactly if you’ve gotten the name right. you’re surprised that you’ve even noticed the person at all. you don’t recognize any of the other two guys that are with him.

one of them, not suna, makes eye contact with you for the tiniest fraction of a second, “you literally have any other day to hookup with some chick.” you wonder if he thinks they’re being quiet. your cheeks burn. you want to be back in your room now. 

“it’s not like that,” ba-bump, he says, trying to quiet them a bit or at least just bringing his own volume down. 

“doesn’t matter,” one of them says.

“i didn’t want to spoil it, but,” suna says, “samu’s here.”

atsumu gets quiet for a second, really mulling over the weight of everything that’s happening, at the two sides that are pulling him in different directions. “samu’s here?”

“yeah, he was supposed to be here earlier, but his train got in super late and so he just got here and he wants to go out because it’s a saturday night. it was supposed to be a surprise or whatever, but you’re not listening to me, your best friend, and just leaving now. so that’s what you get,” suna spews.

“but i-,” atsumu says, instinctively looking back towards you. the look that you’re wearing almost makes him stay. “fuck.” he slams the door on the trio of guys and you are so grateful. you finally feel like you can breathe, can relax just the tiniest bit. he walks back over to you. “i’ve gotta-.”

you push yourself up from off of the ground, stumbling a little bit as atsumu helps you back onto your feet. “you don’t have to explain yourself, tsumu, go hang out with your friends.”

“if samu wasn’t here, i wouldn’t-.”

“i know,” you say. and it’s the truth. you 100% fully believe him with all of your heart. 

“you could go out with us,” he offers.

you’re not sure that you could handle being referred to as some chick all night or atsumu’s side piece or looked at like you’d never be looked at again. you weren’t ready for a miya atsumu night out and definitely not when you’re already feeling it as much as you are. you shake your head. “you go and have fun, see your brother.”

he looks so torn, so frantic as he tries to think out the rest of his night, how to get drunk you back to your dorm without having to expose you to the people in the hallway. “i’m probably going to stay with rin and samu tonight anyway. do you want to just stay here and maybe,” he hesitates, the knocking starts again, “you can meet my brother in the morning?”

“really?” you ask. 

knock knock knock knock. “it’s literally so getting so fucking late. hurry your ass up.”

atsumu helps you into his bed in not exactly the way he wanted to help you into bed tonight. “yes,” he answers, pulling the blankets over you, the softness of them so familiar. “and samu will love you and you will love him unfortunately.” atsumu reaches down and kisses your cheek. somehow it has you more flustered than anything that’s happened tonight. “tomorrow, okay?”

you nod. 

he moves quickly after he’s noticed how content you are, throwing on his shoes, grabbing his ID from his desk, muttering under his breath things that you’re not sure are meant for you. fucking kidding me now? gonna beat the shit out of him for fucking i can’t fucking. 

“goodnight, yn,” he says, reaching for the door, but not opening until you’ve said it back.

“goodnight, tsumu.”

you hear a click of the door, your eyes closing softly. and then you hear the voices. 

“you’re seriously leaving her in there?”

“guys- seriously,” atsumu says, trying to stop the questions about what was happening in the room before they showed up.

“why’re you leavin’ a one night stand in your-”

“i said it wasn’t fucking like that. leave it,” atsumu says through gritted teeth. you hear the lock click.

“no fucking way. that was fucking her wasnt it?” suna asks.

“stop, she can fucking hear you, the walls are thin,” atsumu snaps. 

you listen for the footsteps as they get quieter and quieter until you can’t hear any at all. you know you should be tired. you are tired, but you’re also in atsumu’s bed all alone. your eyelids are heavy and your breathing is slow and-

you reach your hand down between your legs. 

with the scenes that are playing in your mind, you’re almost sure you could make yourself come with one tiny finger. you spread your lips apart with two fingers, sliding your middle finger down your drenched slit. you push the tip of your finger against your hole, head tilting back messily into his pillow. 

he barely did anything to you at all, felt you up and kissed your neck, and you are soaking wet. your mind won’t stop wandering at where the night could have taken you if you weren’t interrupted. how deep he would be inside of you right now if you hadn’t been interrupted. at that thought, you plunge your fingers inside of you, moaning at how good they feel, but they’re not enough.

you’re missing your dildo, your fingers can’t reach deep enough, not even as you shove another finger in and circle your hips on them. you make the mistake of kneading at your tit, but it only leaves you missing the feeling of his huge hands grabbing at them. you’re feeling so fucking needy. it’s not enough that you’re doing this in his bed, you need to be doing it for him. you roll your hips against your fingers.

your clit rubs against the rough texture of the blanket and you almost come on the spot. “fuck,” you say aloud. you take your other hand on the outside of the blanket and push the fabric in between your legs, circling your hips against it. “mm fuck, tsumu.”

the blanket feels so good against you. he’s slept underneath these blankets, has probably jacked off to the thought of you underneath these blankets “fuck!” you say louder. you know exactly how loud you’re being, but you also know that no one that you care about is around to hear them. 

your hands search around the bed. you don’t have time to feel any regret. it feels so good, you’re chasing this high, so fucking close. your skin feels like it’s crawling, aching. you fucking need this. you throw the blanket off of you, take your panties off and throw them across the room somewhere that you’re sure you will regret when you have to get them in the morning, but you need to feel it completely against your swollen lips and pretty clit. 

you take the pillow that’s underneath your head and shove it between your legs. you press down on the soft pillow as hard as you can to get as much friction as you can as you fuck your clit into fabric that smells so fucking much like atsumu. you’re drenched, sloppy against his pillow but you can’t stop. your fingers grip into the cushion, his name falling off of your tongue like an unheard prayer. 

“please, so close, so close,” you say, thrusting your hips against the pillowcase faster. you’re going to come. you’re going to fucking come on the pillow that he’s going to sleep on. “oh my fucking god,” you cry and you let yourself go, flooding as you come against his pillow. you can feel the mess that you’ve made smearing against the textured fabric.you can’t move. your bones feel like they’ve been replaced with bricks, but you need to see it. you pull the pillow up, your eyes instantly drawn to the large wet spot right in the center. fuck. you throb, so painfully empty. “fuck,” you mutter to yourself and put the pillow back between your legs, “not enough.”

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it’s much roomier here than the kitchen in your apartment. the distance between your 180s is much longer than you had the luxury of before. you’re grateful for that, more time to overthink before spinning around. 

you’re grateful for a lot of things in this kitchen compared to the last. the countertops are much nicer, shinier, easier to clean. the cupboards are roomier, don’t slam as loudly. the sink is big, spacious, with a spraying feature that actually gets the food off of the dishes. the stove has gas burners and there are two ovens instead of one really shitty one (though, those were a part of the non negotiable luxuries list you and atsumu came up with months ago). the fridge makes ice without having to fill the trays and the freezer has built-in shelves. 

you’re grateful for the little things scattered around the kitchen too, the things that make it feel like home. the electric kettle is a matte sage and it matches your tea green dishware. the two cacti on the window sill, the hanging flowers to the right of the sink. photos of you and atsumu and friends, stupid lovey notes, oikawa and iwaizumi’s save the date, all attached to the fridge with tasteful souvenir magnets. the notepad on the freezer door where you and atsumu write your meal plan for the week. a dry erase calendar sprinkled with events in both yours and atsumu’s handwriting. 

“hey, c’mon,” he says, walking over to you, reaching out his hand and wrapping it around your wrist gently to stop your repetitive motions. “makin’ me dizzy too.” he lets your hand fall as you stop, walking a few more steps away from him, deeper into the kitchen.

you huff, leaning your lower back against the cool countertop, heels digging into the tile floor as you cross your arms over your chest. “seriously, tsumu, how are you not nervous?”

he leans against the adjacent counter, palms gripping the edge, “what exactly are you worried about?”

“i don’t know,” you mumble, head tilting forward slowly, base leaving your spine, chin coming into soft contact with your chest as you take a deep breath. 

you can’t see atsumu as he moves towards you, too busy looking down at your feet, but his voice is close to you as he speaks, “yea you do.” it’s soft, knowing, but patient. 

“i just…,” you trail off. atsumu waits a few moments, trying to let you articulate whatever you’re feeling and wherever your worries are stemming from, but you look up at him and you’re not making any attempts to explain, so he tries to fill it in. 

“everyone will get along, i promise. i know it’s been awhile, but that doesn’t mean that-,” he starts explaining.

you cut him off, shaking your head, “no it’s not that…”

“then what, baby?” he asks, nudging your legs apart, stepping in between them until the outsides of his thighs are pressed against the insides of yours. he grips onto the counter on either side of your hips.

you speak, small and somewhat under your breath, “we haven’t seen everyone in too long, i just really want everything to go well so i can enjoy the night.”

“come here,” he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, smoothing his hand over your hair as he presses a soft kiss onto the top. you let him move you, embrace you, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally taking a much needed deep breath. 

you’re already feeling so much better, but he keeps explaining, “we get to see friends, some that we haven’t seen in years, all in one place, under this roof, our roof,” he pulls you back gently, kissing your cheek and then your cheekbones, “we own this roof,” he says, kissing you again and you giggle, “and we get to just hang out and play stupid games and catch up with everyone.”

atsumu steps back from you, interlocking his fingers with yours and spinning you around until your back is pressed up against his chest, swaying with you. “and we will play terrible music and feel so weird when two obscure friends talk to each other and we don’t even have to worry about stupid downstairs neighbors,” he says, spinning you back so he can see your adorable face again, watch the worry melt right off of it as he often gets to do because he’s so good at the melting, “and everyone will give us gifts, some really cool and some really bad, and we get to just have a really great night with everyone all in exchange for hours of veggie prep and hundreds of dollars in sliced meats and days of setting up and coming days of cleaning up.”

well, fuck, you can’t even remember why you were so worried a second ago. 

“we still have so much work to do before everyone shows up at 6,” you note, no longer hurriedly anxious but still aware of how quickly time seems to pass when you’re being smothered in kisses by atsumu. your eyes flick to the clock above the stove that reads 10:15 am, but you don’t move an inch. even after all of this time, you’re still painfully aware of how difficult it is to unravel from a comforting atsumu.

bzz bzz. atsumu sits up, kisses your forehead quickly, and then walks back to the living room where his phone is buzzing. well, maybe it’s not so difficult for him. you almost yell out a pout, but realize that this sudden interruption should probably be welcomed, allowing you to actually focus on getting the house perfectly ready. 

“hey,” atsumu says into the phone, muffled by the distance of being two rooms over now. “yea.” … “great!” … “okay.” …. “alright.” …. “okay. see you then.” …. “love you too.”

you scan your list of things to do, open the fridge to truly take in the quantity of vegetables and amount of side prepping you have to do, put the last dishes from the dishwasher away, and make a tiny note to remind atsumu to grab the mini burners from the basement. “who was that?” you call out. 

“god, it’s a good thing we did all the shopping yesterday, or you’d be an even bigger mess today,” atsumu says, popping into the kitchen again, jumping up onto your freshly cleaned counter. 

you throw him a look, eyes narrowed and jaw open in faux shock. “i literally just cleaned that,” you say, gesturing to the counter he is now sitting on, “also, i probably would be a smaller mess if someone was a bit more helpful.” you can’t help your smile as he shrugs his shoulders, playing along. just as you spent the entire morning cleaning the kitchen, atsumu had spent the entire morning cleaning the living room. the two of you both knew this. 

you walk over to him. “can’t believe i’ve had to do everything today,” you shake your head at him, smile even wider as he leans forward and kisses it. “in return, i’d like you to go downstairs and find those stupid burners and also bring up the extra tables so i can set them.” 

even amidst the chaos, clock ticking down with your to-do list still impossibly full, atsumu has a way of pulling you into these small moments. he always has, your entire relationship. it doesn’t matter what you were worried about, how you were feeling, what you were doing, he always creates space for you and him to just enjoy each other. 

most of the time, just like this time, it comes in the form of teasing and poking fun. “y’know,” you tack on, leaning forward and kissing him back, “because you haven’t really done anything,” you explain.  

he wraps his arms around your waist, leans back pulling you with him, kissing the side of your face, “oh is that so?” 

you squirm to get out of his arms, but he holds tight, laughing now as he continues to press kiss after kiss after kiss wherever he can reach. “yes! it is so!!” you yell, laughter making it nearly unintelligible. 

“right, the living room cleaned itself?” he asks.

you can’t stop laughing as you quip back, “magic, maybe.” 

he lets you go completely now and shakes his head at you. “just like the table is going to magically find its way up here?” he asks, tilting his head. 

you place your hands on his knees. “nope. that’s all you,” you tease.

knock knock knock. the fear creeps up on you quickly, all rational thought leaving in an instant as you worry about how much time could have passed, wrong information you could’ve sent out, unexpected people that it could be. 

the crooked smile on atsumu’s face combats it instantly. “it’s a good thing i recruited back up then, huh?” atsumu says, nodding in the vague direction of your front door. your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but atsumu doesn’t say anything else, nods in the same direction again.

you make your way to the front door, tip toeing on perfectly cleaned hardwood floors and over brand new decorative rugs. just a week ago, this place was filled with boxes and disassembled furniture. now, in their places are the trinkets that filled them and the put together pieces.

the front door doesn’t even have a chance to open completely before you’re jumping into his arms, squeak of excitement leaving you, hanging off of his neck. whatever he was holding in his arms is set gently onto the ground so that he’s able to reciprocate the tightness of the hug. 

you pull back, eyes wide and smile even wider before wrapping your arms around him once more and hugging him even tighter. you’re so enveloped in his embrace that you don’t hear atsumu approach behind you, only notice that he’s there when he scoffs loudly.

“what was one of the first things i said when you learned that he existed?” atsumu jokingly scolds. you pull away from your hug, half turning to see atsumu’s smitten smile and teasing head shakes. “i said that you weren’t allowed to like my brother more than me.”

you take a step back from the doorway, allowing osamu to actually step into the house. osamu reaches down to pick up his bags, one neatly packaged reusable kitchen bag and a just as neatly packaged gift bag. “that is somethin’ he usually has to say,” osamu says, looking in your direction, “when people meet atsumu first, it sets the bar pretty low.”

atsumu reaches forward to hit the side of osamu’s head, but osamu ducks out of the way like he’s been anticipating it from the moment the thought popped into his head. “besides, most people can’t help it,” osamu loudly whispers to you, smirking, “i’m just the better twin.”

“never shoulda invited ya,” atsumu shakes his head.

“but i’m so much help,” osamu replies, leaving his shoes neatly to the right of the door. 

“yea, you’re just in time to go get stuff from the basement,” atsumu points out, nodding towards the basement door down the hallway.

“oh, absolutely not,” you step in front of atsumu’s nodding, blocking the view to the basement as if to prove a point. “samu’s gonna help me in the kitchen because duh and also so he can tell me all about the onigiri miya drama,” you explain to atsumu, shifting your weight forward onto the tips of your toes and smiling huge.

“god, i made a mistake inviting you over to help prep, didn’t i?” atsumu asks, but you’re already pulling osamu by the forearm into the kitchen, loudly excited to tell him every little detail about your new kitchen.

“you remember the old kitchen, right?” 

“yea, of course, was kinda shitty.”

“i know, i know, but look! look at this, samu, 2 ovens.”

“gas stove too?”

“yea! works much better with the pans you got tsumu and i last christmas.”

“oh! do ya wanna see the housewarming gift i got ya?”

“now?!”

“why not?”

“then, yea! duh!”

nope. definitely not a mistake.

atsumu peaks his head into the archway with every intention of telling you that he’s heading to the basement and asking you if you could think of anything else that was down there that he needed to bring up. instead, he gets to watch this scene unfold, doesn’t dare to interrupt as you tear the tissue paper out of the bag, throw it onto the floor that you were so worried about moments ago, dig your hand around inside to feel for the contents, and then pull out a wooden box. “no way,” you say under your breath, turning quickly to set it down on the counter with excessive care. “my own?”

“come on, yn, every time you and sumu were at my place when ya came to visit, ya wouldn’t stop talkin’ about it,” osamu says, beaming, watching you closely as you gently pop open the latch. 

“yea but then i went home and tsumu and i looked up how much it was and then we couldn’t stop randomly bringing up how much you spent on a fucking knife for 3 weeks straight,” you explain, shaking your head. you reach down into the box, running your fingers over the engraving on the side and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears as you read it. miya. 

“i heard ya had a lot of veggies to prep,” osamu says, shrugging, “you’ll get enough use out of it today alone, i bet.”

“this is insane, samu, fuck,” you say, turning towards him and hugging him for the third time today already. “thank you so much.”

“of course,” osamu says, hugging you back.

“not really a gift for tsumu, though, huh?” you ask.

“the gift for sumu was how happy it makes you,” he replies without missing a beat, as if he actually thought it all the way through when buying it, saw the price tag, and took into account how happy his brother would be if he bought it for you. you can’t stop smiling.

the food prep flies by, not just because of your incredible new knife, but also because of the company. it’s actually been hours by the time you get everything washed, chopped, prepped, and plated, but the entire time was spent catching up on months worth of onigiri miya drama and the trips that you and atsumu had recently taken.

the second that the door to the basement closes, you lean in close to osamu, “so how is it going with that girl who keeps coming in right before closing?” you don’t have to be as close as you are to osamu to notice how flustered he gets instantly. 

“i’m gonna switch jobs with sumu,” osamu threatens, shaking his head as he brings packages of vegetables to the sink.

you follow right along. “evading the question is just going to make it worse,” you explain.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, evidently evading the question.

“the last you told me, she was still coming in and you were still staying open just to make her food,” you say, turning off the faucet so that he pays attention to you. “is that still happening?” he doesn’t respond. “you have to at least give me that!”

he sighs, turning his attention to you. “the second that atsumu walks up those stairs, you don’t say another word about this,” he says, finger in your face.

“deal! deal deal deal!” you say, nodding along. “is it still happening?”

“and,” he adds, “you let me wash the veggies while we talk about this.” you reach over and turn the faucet on again, smiling. he continues, “yes, it’s still happening.”

“have you told her that you like her?” you ask, not contributing a single bit to the prep that osamu is doing.

“well, i’m not 12, so, no?” he replies.

you hit his shoulder, “you don’t have to be 12 to have a crush on someone, samu. but, seriously, do you get that vibe?”

“probably just hungry after work or something,” osamu mumbles.

“so nothing has happened since we last talked that would make it seem like maybe she’s into you?” you ask, squinting at him despite the fact that his attention is solely on washing the bunches of broccoli.

you hear the sound of ascending steps from the basement, the door knob jiggle open, and you know osamu does too as he quickly says, “i mean, maybe the one time we were chatting until 4 am.” the door squeaks open and osamu raises his eyebrows at you and shakes his head. you will get this information out of him later. 

it’s not long until it’s just a few short hours of everyone arriving. the decorating is mostly done, the food is prepped in the fridge, the tables are mostly set up. you entrust the rest of the prep to the miya twins- which might be a terrible idea, you’ll have to see once you come back downstairs- as you go upstairs to get yourself ready.

“i will keep an eye on him,” osamu says, flinging his arm around atsumu.

atsumu instantly pushes osamu’s arm off of him, shaking his head and reaching to smack the side of his head again. “it’s my house!” atsumu yells, missing once again and then instantly trying to hit him again. when osamu keeps moving out of the way, atsumu jumps at osamu, sending the two of them flying backwards and into one of the tables that needs to be finished setting up. the table bumps against the wall and even from your place on the stairs, you can see the ding in the freshly painted wall.

atsumu and osamu look at the wall and then up at you, waiting to see how you’ll react and how much they should start blaming each other. you just laugh, “the first of many, i suppose.” and then you make your way upstairs. 

/++/

5:39pm and you walk downstairs, breath held because you’re not exactly sure what the state of the house is going to be in, but whatever expectations that you had are surpassed. everything looks exactly how you want it to look.

atsumu and osamu are standing side by side looking down at the large, mostly empty table where, in an hour’s time, your closest friends will be gathered, enjoying food and each other’s company. “i still think we should just set up the broths and vegetables,” atsumu says. 

your torn between pulling out the camera or committing this adorable scene to memory, atsumu and osamu in the same exact pose, arms folded across their chests, posture mimicked, head tilted to the same degree. you opt for the camera. it’s more replicable that way, more provable. 

it’s over all too soon, osamu bumping his shoulder into atsumu’s and shaking his head. “i told ya already, stupid,” osamu jeers, “if people aren’t eatin’ for another hour, there’s no need to bring em out yet. ya don’t even have to do anything, just hafta take the plastic wrap off of em.”

“yeah, but when we’re-,” atsumu starts to argue.

“yer wrong, just be wrong, sumu,” osamu interrupts. 

atsumu moves to hit him again, but you speak up, “we can just bring it out when everyone arrives and settles.” the two of them turn to face you and atsumu can’t help the smitten face that quickly takes over, doesn’t even have the heart to argue with you right now. “seriously, everything looks great, guys, thank you.”

osamu sends back a quick, not a problem that you don’t have a chance to reply to, because atsumu meets you in two quick strides, kissing the side of your cheek. “you look a lot less stressed,” he says against your skin and then moves to pull away. osamu, the most perfect man in the world who can read any room and react with impeccable timing, tells the two of you that he’s going to finish cleaning up the prep mess in the kitchen.

you place both of your hands on either side of atsumu’s face, pulling him to kiss you. “you’re really good to me, y’know that?” you ask.

“ya look really good tonight, y’know that?” he asks back.

you shake your head at his evaded question. you know that he knows that. you kiss him again. “don’t you have to get ready? people are going to walk through that door any minute.”

“yes,” he says quickly, kisses you once more, and is then bounding up the stairs, “i’ll be 10 minutes tops!” he yells from your bedroom. 

/++/

atsumu is the third person that shows up to your party and that’s not including you and osamu. the first person that shows up is maki at 5:58pm because, sure, he could’ve waited for those 2 minutes and shown up right on time, but that would’ve been 2 minutes that he could’ve been spending with you. he earns a hug just as hard as osamu, harder even, longer, despite the fact that you saw maki just last week when he helped you move in. 

“you’re early, y’know that?” you ask when you pull away. maki steps inside of your house as if he’s been there a million times, leaves his shoes right next to osamu’s and nods. 

“2 whole minutes,” maki replies, shrugging, “issei’s on his way and i’m sure oikawa and iwa will be late,” he informs you and you nod along. sure, maki had helped you move in, but he hadn’t gotten to see your house put together like it is now. he takes the liberty of exploring the rooms of the ground floor and you follow him around as you ask him how his drive was. 

when you make it into the kitchen, excited to start rattling off everything about it that you love, osamu is in there casually on his phone. osamu and maki had met before, several times. it was inevitable, really, the most important person in your life other than atsumu and the most important person in his life other than you knowing one another. and you’re grateful for the fact that you don’t need to introduce or entertain the two of them as they instantly start a conversation because someone is already at the door and atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

the second person that shows up at your party is kita at 6:00pm on the dot. you know everyone that’s coming to the party, but you know kita the least and yet, the second that he starts talking, you feel like you’ve known him forever. you’ve only really met one other time, but kita steps inside and tells you how gorgeous the entryway to your house is and hands you a small gift and you understand very quickly why atsumu and osamu have raved about this person for years. 

atsumu makes his way downstairs, quickly and haphazardly and almost falling on his ass, at 6:14pm. he just barely beats out sakusa and hinata who show up together at 6:15pm. in fact, he’s there to greet them at the door with you. they’re the first people that you greet as a couple and it, along with the soft chatter in the kitchen from osamu, maki, and kita, is making the night feel very real. 

sakusa and hinata don’t need any introductions or hand-holding. even though they have never been in your house, they make themselves feel at home, walking in and leaving the two of you in the doorway as they explore. “this is crazy, right?” you ask atsumu, unable to focus on one conversation that’s happening and it’s filling you with a joy that is unmatched. 

he answers by pressing a kiss into your forehead and nodding down the hall where hinata is touching something that he maybe shouldn’t be and sakusa is scolding him, something about how he’s so glad bo isn’t here yet. you can’t help but laugh, taking a single step in their direction before the next person is knocking on the door. 

issei shows up at 6:16pm. he’s the first person to say the word, congratulations! to the two of you and it feels warm on your mind and in your chest. “maki’s already here, right? he said he was coming early to see you,” issei says, peering down your hallway.

“two minutes, issei,” you say, shaking your head, “he was two minutes early and it’s a good thing too, because i haven’t been able to spare anything other than those two minutes.”

“ah, there’s that college you,” issei jokes, pulling you in for a hug, “i knew it was in there somewhere, that interesting mixture of super stressed and in love with atsumu.” you narrow your eyes at him, but can’t get a comeback out as he continues, “where’s kawa and hajime, anyway?”

“come on,” you check your imaginary watch, “it’s still practically six o’clock.”

“true, but iwa did say that he was really going to try to get oikawa here on time,” issei notes as you shut the door behind him.

“and i’m saying that even really trying, there’s no way oikawa shows up before 7pm,” you shoot back and pull issei into the direction of the kitchen. you make quick eye contact with atsumu who gives you a warm smile and gestures towards the living room, making his way over there as soon as you return an affirming nod. 

“i know you’re right, but sometimes i just want to have faith in them, y’know,” issei says, the two of you entering the kitchen. maki immediately (and politely) leaves his current conversation to join you guys when he sees you. 

“who?” maki asks, quickly and very nosy.

“hajime trying to get oikawa here early,” you reply.

“oh, there’s no way that oikawa shows up before 7pm,” maki says matter-of-factly.

you grab onto his shoulder, nodding with your whole body because it’s really nice to have someone in your life who understands you as much as maki does. “that’s what i said!!!!”

the three of you catch up as much as three people who are in four different group chats and who talk to each other every day can catch up with one another. it is different, though. you hadn’t seen issei in months and maki hadn’t seen him in almost as long as you and you feel like you’re back in college in the best way possible and you really wish oikawa and iwaizumi were here.

you’re so immersed in your conversation that you actually don’t hear the door open. instead, you hear the voices traveling from the foyer, through the halls, and to the kitchen at 6:43pm.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to just walk in, rin,” you hear a familiar voice at the front door. 

“well, then, maybe they should lock their door, aran,” you hear a different familiar voice reply.

you excuse yourself, walking to go greet the two people at the door. atsumu beats you to it, practically running down the hallway and pulling aran and then suna into a half hug. “yo, careful, atsumu, geez,” suna pokes, but hugs him right back. “you’re gonna break whatever this gift is.”

“how do you not know what it is?” atsumu asks, grabbing the large bag from him.

“because rin just asked if we could get something together so he wouldn’t have to go shopping,” aran says before suna could offer any sort of bullshit excuse. suna doesn’t deny it then, only lets a knowing, lazy smile creep onto his face. 

“yea, guilty,” suna shrugs, “but to be fair, it was really expensive, whatever it is.”

aran nods, “it was really expensive.”

atsumu shakes his head, “you guys really didn’t hafta get us anything.”

“i mean, if it was just you, we wouldn’t have,” suna explains, looking passed atsumu and walking towards you. “thanks for havin’ us.”

you are pulled into two more hugs. you should have been keeping count of the amount of hugs you’re giving out tonight because the number is definitely getting up there and you’re not sure that it’s going to stop anytime soon.

“of course,” you reply, “thank you for whatever this really expensive gift is.”

“yea, whatever it is,” suna laughs.

you rest your hand on aran’s shoulder, “kita’s already here and osamu’s been here all day.”

“what? where was our all day invite?” suna asks.

“we’re literally here 45 minutes late, rin,” aran says, face unphased but voice questioning.

“yea, and you wouldn’t have helped,” atsumu tacks on.

“alright, yea,” suna says and the four of you walk into the kitchen. you note in your head that another thing you’re very grateful for about this kitchen is how much bigger it is than your last one, the open connection to the dining area granting the ability to fit everyone without having to worry about being too cramped. 

you note the different groups of people forming, the different conversations that are taking place. you’re still playing host right now, walking from group to group and adding a few words or giving a side hug or asking if anyone wants a drink.

“who else is coming?” aran asks when you interrupt his conversation with kita and sakusa.

“oh, my friends, oikawa and iwaizumi, and then bo, i think, right?” you answer and ask atsumu across the room.

“yup,” atsumu nods, returning his attention to the conversation that he’s having with issei and suna. 

“oikawa and iwaizumi are usually this late, but i’m not sure why bo is so late,” you say, thoughtful, but then shrug your shoulders. as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. “oh! that’s probably him.”

you rush over to the door and are very surprised to see oikawa and iwaizumi at 7:02pm. “i’m sorry that we’re late. i really tried this time,” iwaizumi says, looking at oikawa with a death stare rather than you with an apologetic one. you laugh, shaking your head. you hug them both, one arm around each of their necks as you squeeze them tight.

you hadn’t seen them even longer than you hadn’t seen issei, almost an entire year. sure, you kept in contact all the time, but you hadn’t physically been able to hug them and see them in far too long. they had just been much too busy with life and travel and wedding plans and life. “‘ts fine, but you’re staying later to make up for it,” you reply, still not letting go.

“oh, we’re staying in town for a few days, actually,” oikawa smiles, “surprise?”

“oh my god!” you say, indeed surprised. “that’s incredible!”

“yeah, atsumu helped us set the whole thing up the second we even made a mention in passing,” oikawa explains. 

“guess that’s why kawa thought it would be okay to be the last people here?” iwaizumi says, evidently still playfully bitter about the fact that oikawa made them late again.

“actually,” you say, “not the last people to get here. somehow.”

“dammit! no way?” iwaizumi says in disbelief. you’re about to question why that’s such a bad thing, but oikawa’s sweet smile contorts into mischief and told ya so. 

“ha! pay up! i told you, hajime,” oikawa says, poking his finger into the side of iwaizumi’s cheek.

“ridiculous,” iwaizumi shakes his head, “who else?”

“oh, just bokuto. i’m still really not sure why he’s so late. i thought you guys were him,” you reply, shaking your head. “i’ll send him a text-.”

“hajime,” oikawa says monotonously, cutting you off, “pay. up.”

“what? not here?” iwaizumi says, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like oikawa has just asked for something he should not have. knowing oikawa, he probably did exactly that.

“yes, here. pay up!” oikawa says, nodding back in the direction that they came from. you tilt your head curiously, wanting to ask questions, but just letting whatever is happening unfold.

“absolutely not,” iwaizumi refuses.

“no, because i said that-,” oikawa starts, finger in iwaizumi’s face once again.

“okay, okay, fine,” iwaizumi gives in. you’ve known the two of them long enough to know exactly what’s going through iwaizumi’s brain. there were times before that he didn’t give in to oikawa as quickly as this, but all three of you know that when oikawa starts droning on about whatever he said, it never ends in iwaizumi getting his way. 

“it’s in the car,” oikawa smiles.

“i’ll be back,” iwaizumi grumbles, turning around and then he’s gone again. 

you choose not to ask any questions because oikawa is not responding to your very confused face and instead starts asking you about your new home. you only get halfway into a partial conversation when iwaizumi shows back up at the door, shaking his head, sighing heavily with a white t-shirt that reads oikawa was right. “perfect,” oikawa says, placing his palm against the words and patting softly. 

he walks down the hallway on his toes, swaying back and forth proudly, “issei, come look at this stupid fucking shirt that hajime’s wearing!” within seconds, issei appears in the hallway, attacking oikawa with a hug and then pointing at iwaizumi, shaking his head and laughing. maki follows behind with less force, but all of his composure vanishes the second he sees the shirt. 

“god, i can’t believe i get to marry that idiot,” iwaizumi says softly and you know that if anyone else were standing here with him, he wouldn’t have let it slip out into the air, but he knows that you get it more than anyone. 

once everyone is settled, back into small groups conversing, you take out your phone to shoot bokuto a text message to at least ask him where he’s at. he responds in seconds.

> bokkun ♡ /  7:14 pm> SORRY. walking up now ♡♡♡♡♡♡

“well, well, well,” you say, clicking your tongue as you open the door. you’re there before he’s even knocked. “you’re very late, bokuto.” 

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry,” he says, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into an enveloping, warm, tight hug. “but i have a good reason?” he says as he steps back.

emerging from behind him is akaashi with an almost embarrassed, sheepish smile.

“oh my god! i haven’t seen you in so long! ah!” you say, greeting him with a hug as well. it’s less warm, more friendly than bokuto’s, and you can feel how nervous he is. you met akaashi a few times before and really hit it off. he was easily one of your favorite people even though you’ve known him much less than some of the other people at this party. but he didn’t live in the area and neither of you were very good at keeping up with each other.

“i’m sorry i dropped by uninvited, but bokuto said that it would be okay and-,” akaashi smiles apologetically. 

“of course it’s okay!” you say, pulling him inside. 

“well, okay, i didn’t bring kaashi so that you would ignore me,” bokuto says, stepping inside on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

“me? ignore you? come on, you’ve gotta be joking,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck, practically hanging off of him. “tsumu!” you yell excitedly, walking as quickly as you can with bokuto attached to your hip into the living room where everyone has migrated, “bo is here!” you emerge from the hallway. “and look who he brought!”

you’re so excited to start introducing anyone who doesn’t know akaashi to akaashi because everyone loves akaashi, but just as you’re about to start pointing everyone out and giving names to faces, akaashi speaks, soft and timid in this room of so many people, but clear nonetheless. “samu?”

osamu’s head swivels around quickly, following that voice that he evidently knows so well, because the word is already coming out of his mouth, before he’s even made eye contact with him. “keiji?” there are conversations still happening, people still chatting, but a few of them stop, and most importantly you hear it and notice it. 

“you two know each other?” bokuto asks, surprised and excited all in one.

for you, it’s more about figuring out what’s happening than being excited and happy that they already know each other. “you two know each other that well?” you question.

osamu turns away, tilts his head down to the floor and clears his throat, but akaashi isn’t that quick. you watch the blush spread across his nose and cheeks.

“yeah, i work near onigiri miya and i usually stop there after work,” akaashi explains, “samu- er, osamu is usually kind enough to let me stay and eat while he cleans up.” 

it all clicks.

you can’t stop the expression from creeping onto your face. the warning glance that osamu sends your way is just more proof of how heavily it’s showing. you have so many questions, need so many answers, at the very least want some sort of confirmation that you are as right about this as you feel and akaashi gives you just that.

he laughs, light and airy, and you can see the effects that it has on osamu. “just the other day he let me stay until like,” akaashi lowers his head, slightly embarrassed, “i had a really annoying day at work and he let me hang out in the restaurant until like 4 in the morning. and you had to be in at like 9 the next day, didn’t you?” he asks osamu.

“oh, even earlier, actually,” osamu teases back, “like 7 or something ridiculous.”

akaashi shakes his head, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and exhales, “i’m not even going to make any promises that i won’t do it again.”

“well, i would never ask that of ya,” osamu says and you can feel how genuine it is and it’s not even pointed at you. 

atsumu shoots you a questioning look, very aware of the silent exchanges between you and osamu. you shoot him back a wide-eyed, excited expression and mouth the word, later to him. atsumu nods back at you, gives you a quick thumbs up, and then continues talking with hinata, sakusa, aran, and suna. 

osamu and akaashi practically don’t talk to anyone else that night, moving over to the quiet corner of the living room. osamu takes it upon himself to drag him into the kitchen, to grab him a drink, to ask him about work, and to tell him that he looks really nice tonight. 

“it’s just because i’m actually freshened up,” akaashi reasons.

“no way.”

“yes way. you usually see me after an 8 hour shift.”

“or maybe it’s just because i always think it, but we’re finally outside of my restaurant and so i can say things like that.”

a pause. “well, i think you look better in your onigiri miya shirt.”

“oh is that so, keiji?”

“yeah. you look good in black.”

“well, i’ll have to keep that in mind.”

now that everyone is here, you’re leaving host mode. everyone is settled. everyone is having their own conversations. everyone looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. you scan the people, the different groups that everyone is forming and then reforming. it’s weird, but deeply moving, to see every single facet of your life come together like this. people that would have otherwise never have met, all together in the same room. interactions that you never could have predicted, going really well. and all within these walls, your walls. 

everyone eats and everyone laughs and you get to show off your new knife to everyone and halfway through the night, atsumu pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist, and you know that this night was meant to see everyone and mingle, but you’re not sure that you want to move from this very spot for the rest of the night and neither does he. in fact, he orders osamu around from his place at the table, telling osamu to clear the table and to grab the game that’s in the cabinet of the tv stand. 

osamu doesn’t want to listen, really, he doesn’t, but akaashi starts walking towards the tasks before osamu can refuse. akaashi helps clear the dishes and laughs when atsumu starts yelling at osamu for making akaashi do his work and before you know it, everyone is at the table and all of the dishes are in the sink and the food is put away and there is two stacks of cards in the middle of everyone.

“game’s real easy, even samu can play,” atsumu explains, nodding towards the colorful cards. osamu doesn’t even bite back, just seems happy to be sharing a bench with akaashi. “someone draws a question card and they have to answer it or drink unless someone at the table uses their veto card which they can accrue more of by doing the dares in the other card pile, got it?”

everyone nods. “honestly, we’ve never played with this many people or this many veto cards, so it should be interesting,” you say.

“so, basically, no one is getting out of not answering a question,” sakusa replies.

“that is definitely what that means,” aran agrees.

“alright, atsumu should go first,” osamu says, “it’s only fair.”

“fine, fine,” atsumu says, waving his hand, grabbing a card from the pile, “who is the worst dressed person in this room?” he reads. “okay, actually, a lot of them are like this and there are a lot of people here.”

“well, are you going to drink or answer it?” kita asks.

“you gotta answer it,” hinata says.

“well, someone would be stupid to use their veto on this anyway, because it’s obviously iwa,” atsumu answers quickly, shaking his head and throwing the card down. iwaizumi nods in agreement as oikawa stands up in his seat.

“hey! that shirt is the best piece of clothing hajime owns!” oikawa says.

plenty of insults fly across the table as the game continues. atsumu wasn’t lying. a lot of the cards are very similar in nature, just calling out people in the room for various things like being a bad kisser or still being caught up on an ex. no one even has to use a veto card. they’re all harmless enough, poking fun and joking around, or no one cares enough to force someone to answer.

until it’s your turn.

you reach forward, getting out of atsumu’s lap for just a second to draw the card before he’s pulling you back into him. you and atsumu read the question at the same time, but atsumu reacts much quicker than you do, laughing loudly. if he had been drinking something when you pulled the card, he would have made a huge mess.

“what does it say?” maki asks, nosy, trying to peer over your shoulder and at the card before you read it.

you move away from him, cheeks warm, hoping, praying, if there’s a god out there, that no one uses their veto. you move your hand, ready to drink already as you read, “if you could have sex with any of your partner’s friends, who would it be?”

the only people in the room that aren’t laughing are akaashi and kita and even they are giggling and wide eyed at the question. “i’m drinking,” you say, already bringing the cup to your lips.

“not so fast,” oikawa says, slamming his veto card down on the table, “i’m sure i’m not the only person who would have done this anyway. and besides, i can use hajime’s card later if i need it.”

“no, you will not,” iwaizumi scoffs.

“fine, then you want me to take my card back?” oikawa asks.

“no, obviously not, i want to know yn’s answer,” iwaizumi laughs, directing his attention back to you. in fact, everyone’s attention is on you.

“i don’t think this question was designed to be played when every one of my partner’s closest friends are in the same room?” you challenge.

“tough shit, answer the question,” suna says, pointing his finger in your direction.

“right, and to clarify, that doesn’t include people that used to just be your friends like iwa and maki,” issei says, “because then obviously we know your answer would be me.”

you shake your head, ignoring his comment and taking a deep breath, “this is so stupid.”

“come on, ya gotta play the game,” osamu jeers.

atsumu squeezes your waist, pressing a kiss into the back of your shoulder, “yea, babe, you gotta play the game.” you turn your head and narrow your eyes at him. 

“ridiculous that the first thing you two agree on is making me answer this in front of everyone right now,” you scold.

“just get it over with,” atsumu teases, “it’s not hard. even i know it.”

“no you don’t,” you scoff. 

“so there is someone on your mind right now?” maki says, leaning forward as if that will make the answer come faster.

“i-,” you start, but anything that you could think of saying would just dig this hole deeper. “well, i-.”

“come on, just say it,” sakusa pokes.

your eyes flick over to him quickly, face burning, absolutely radiating heat now, you’re sure. and you’re sure that everyone can tell how flustered you’re getting, because there is an obvious answer in your mind, one that’s been in your mind since the moment you met him.

“obviously, it’s bokkun,” you mumble and atsumu, true to his word, does know it. he says the name right alongside you, laughing at how perfectly the syllables align. you and atsumu seem to be the only two people at this table that are expecting this answer because the rest of the table is in an uproar now. symphonies of what?!?!?! and bokuto?!!?! and what about me?!?? arise in stereo. 

“me?” bokuto asks, floored and flustered in a way that affirms your answer perfectly. you’re feeling just as shy as before and everyone is screaming around you and at atsumu and each other and bokuto, but you offer a small nod to bokuto, just to bokuto, and you watch him attempt, and fail, to hide a smile.

after everything calms down, you’re able to play a few more rounds, thankfully not getting any other question that tops that one, not even when you get the question that reads, was your ex good in bed? and you answered a quick yes and then pushed forward. 

the clock is ticking down, the night is getting later and later and as the game is packed up and put back in its safe place beneath the tv, people start to trickle home. hinata and sakusa, issei, kita, aran and suna. you offer goodbyes and thank you for comings and when you walk oikawa, iwaizumi, and maki to the door, you say a very sincere, “i don’t want it to be this long until we do something like this again.”

“come on,” oikawa says, shaking his head, “hajime and i are getting married in less than two months.” oikawa lifts his hand, showing off his dainty ring as if you forgot that they were engaged. 

“shit, it’s already that close?” you ask.

“yea,” oikawa nods along, smiling, “most of those dumbasses are invited too, so, it won’t be long, i promise. it’ll be louder, and i’ll be the happiest i’ve ever been, but it won’t be too long.”

you nod, hugging oikawa tightly and then iwaizumi and then maki. “seriously, thank you guys for coming.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” maki says, smiling, “i’m crashing your guys’ lunch tomorrow, so i’ll see you then.”

“obviously,” you reply, locking the door behind them once they’ve left.

the only people left in your living room that don’t live there are bokuto, akaashi, and osamu. before you can make your way back in there, atsumu grabs your forearm and pulls you into him, kissing you hard, hand cupping your cheek, fingers scratching over your jaw. 

“what was that for?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“because i can,” he shrugs, and you take that as an okay to start to move again, but he holds you in place, “and because look at this house we own together, isn’t that crazy?”

you laugh, “yes, yes it is.” you wait to see if there’s anything else.

there is.

“and because i trust you more than anything in this world.”

you cock your head. “okay…,” you say, hesitant.

“and if you want to have sex with bokuto tonight, i would be okay with that,” atsumu finishes, proudly unpredictable and awestruckenly trusting. 

you physically have to jump back, unable to process that sentence any other way. “what?!” you ask, loudly, and atsumu can’t stop laughing, shushing you and shaking his head. “no! what?! why would you say that?”

“because i’ve known that you’ve wanted to fuck bokuto our entire relationship and if you want to ask him if he wants to spend the night with us, that would be okay with me,” atsumu says, calmly. way too calmly for what’s coming out of his mouth, you have to admit.

you don’t know what to say. you can barely think or understand what he’s saying, let alone how to respond. “with us?” you ask for clarification.

atsumu nods, “i’m sure he will not be difficult to convince if that’s what you want.”

you’re afraid to ask it because you’re afraid that all of this is just some elaborate joke. or, rather, you’re afraid for only a second after thinking it, because atsumu doesn’t surprise you anymore. he squeezes your forearm, looks you directly in the eyes as you ask, “and it’s something you want?”

“i offered, didn’t i?” he asks back and you nod.

“okay,” you say, nodding again. “i’ll ask him.”

it’s easy enough to pull bokuto aside with osamu and akaashi being as involved in their own conversation as they are. you don’t really know how to approach it, not completely. how do you just ask someone that? but the second that you pull him into the kitchen and away from the few people that are still in your house, he exhales and steps close to you. and it’s not anything that you’ve said all night, it’s just how he’s always acted around you. 

you lean against the counter and he follows, shaking his head and standing right in front of you. “you’ve got a lot of cool friends, y’know that?”

“oh, yea,” you nod, punching his shoulder and then poking your finger into the middle of his chest, “the coolest.” he laughs and you can feel it against the tip of your pointer finger. you can hear murmuring in the living room. it fills up the comfortable spaces of silence. you look up at bokuto, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t really know how to ask this,” you say back, softly enough so that the people in the other room can’t hear your murmur.

bokuto tilts his head, “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“no, yea, really great,” you say, nodding and then you take a deep breath. just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it. “would you,” you say, you curl your fingers against his chest, “want to spend the night?”

the first emotion to come to the surface is excitement and then quickly after that confusion hits bokuto’s face much harder, like his mind filled in the blanks, but didn’t let himself get his hopes up. “like…,” he trails off, hoping that you’ll explain further without him having to ask.

you reach forward and tug on his forearm, coaxing him closer to you. “like…,” you say, heart beating violently against your chest. you try to evade his gaze, head down, focusing on the feeling of his soft skin against yours, nails scraping against it eliciting a tiny shiver from bokuto. 

he reaches down, places his finger beneath your chin, and tilts your head upwards. “like?” he asks, eyes evidently flickering down to your lips. it couldn’t be helped, the way your tongue swipes against your lips and your breath catches in your throat. you just nod. 

before his lips meet yours, you both talk at the same time, overlapping one another, but hearing the other perfectly.

“is this okay with atsumu?”

“like, with atsumu too.”

you put both of your hands into bokuto’s hair and he reciprocates quickly, putting both of his hands on either sides of your face and pulling you towards him, lips crashing into his. it’s like he reads your mind, one arm around your waist, one hand bracing the back of your thigh as he props you up on the counter to get closer to you.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper into your lips, leaning forward as if there was any space for you to move into. large hands grip onto the fats of your hips, sliding you to the edge of the counter, stomach pressed up against his, arms sliding down his back, fingernails dragging against the fabric of his shirt. 

bokuto pulls away, laughing softly, “so this is why tsum tsum comes into practice complaining about his back.”

“it actually gets much worse than this,” you say back, low and airy, pressing your forehead against his and kissing him once more, quick.

atsumu appears in the archway, leaning against the wall, not an ounce of jealousy on his face, but rather, a very devilish smile. you feel warm regardless, but you don’t make a move to untangle from bo. “so, are you staying the night, bokkun?”

bokuto almost immediately says yes, but then hesitates. “god, yea, i’d really love that, but i-,” he sighs, “i have to make sure akaashi gets home and-”

“i can take akaashi home,” osamu calls from the living room. 

“oh, you don’t have to do that, i can just get an uber or something-,” akaashi dismisses.

“no way,” osamu says, shaking his head. from where atsumu is standing, he can peer around the corner and see his brother’s hand grasped around the back of akaashi’s elbow. “let me take you home, keiji.”

“whose home, samu?” akaashi says so quietly that if you were not actively listening for whatever akaashi’s response is, you would not have heard. you decide that that’s enough eavesdropping, actually, allowing them their private conversation and turning your attention back to bo, having your own private conversation as you repeat atsumu’s question.

“so, are you staying the night, bokkun?” you mimic exactly.

he nods, about to say something else maybe or try to kiss you again, but it’s interrupted very quickly as osamu calls out, “we’re out of here.” you barely have time for bo to help you hop off the counter before osamu and akaashi appear in the archway behind atsumu hand in hand. 

you look directly at their interlocked fingers and akaashi’s pinkish cheeks and you tilt your head at osamu. osamu looks at bokuto’s hand on your hip and your disheveled hair and he tilts his head at you. you decide to call it even. 

you contemplate letting them walk out on their own because there is nothing else in your mind right now than bokuto, atsumu, and a whole bunch of fantasies coming to realization. you don’t do that. you leave bokuto’s grasp, walking towards the front door with akaashi and osamu. atsumu offers a goodbye to akaashi and osamu, unbothered because he’s sure he’ll see osamu a few more times this weekend before he makes his way back home. atsumu is much more concerned with having a very quiet conversation with bokuto.

you only catch bokuto’s concerned, “are you sure about this?” as his head moving back and forth from you to atsumu. and atsumu’s assured, “i’m the one that brought it up.”

“have a safe drive home,” you say to osamu and akaashi at the doorstep. “and a fun rest of your night.”

“yn,” osamu warns, but you just feign ignorance.

“you also have a fun rest of your night, yn,” akaashi says in the same exact tone, tugging on osamu’s hand, placing the other on his bicep. 

“ha!” osamu laughs, turning around and pulling akaashi to the car. it’s like he can’t get out of here fast enough. “thanks for having us!” osamu calls from the car window and then they’re gone. 

when you shut the door, locking it for the last time, you realize how quiet the house is without the different areas of chatter. in fact, you can’t even hear the conversation that you know is happening in your dining room. 

except, there isn’t a conversation happening in your dining room. instead, there is atsumu, the love of your life, the most important person in the world to you making out with bokuto, your closest friend of atsumu’s, the one person you’ve wanted to fuck other than atsumu in the last 4 years. your voice is small, not because you’re timid or embarrassed, but because you think if you speak any louder, a whimper will come alongside it. “can you take me to bed?”

the whimper escapes you anyway as a tiny string of spit connects atsumu and bokuto’s lips and as atsumu looks like he’s trying to regain composure and as he leans over to bokuto and says, “i get to do it all the time, you go ahead.” your stomach is doing a million flips and as bokuto approaches you, your mind goes blank. not that you need it. 

because bokuto picks you up, same hold as before. his touch feels familiar and his grasp feels strong. “i don’t even know where i’m going,” bokuto admits as he reaches the top of the stairs. you gesture in the direction of your bedroom and open the door as he walks close enough to it. he leaves the door open, lays you down on the bed and as if he’s pictured this in his mind a million times, he quickly and assuredly kisses down your clothed chest, lifting up the bottom of your shirt to press kisses into your stomach before sinking onto the floor. 

everything is happening so fast and you cannot explain how grateful you are because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re finally getting it. bokuto doesn’t waste a second in hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs, and ducking under your skirt. your thighs squeeze the sides of his cheeks as you feel his warm breath between your legs. 

“enjoying yourself, pretty girl?” atsumu asks as he sinks into the bed beside your head, smoothing over your head and lifting your shirt. you can feel both pairs of hands on you independently, but somehow moving in perfect time with each other. it’s overwhelming in the best way. atsumu doesn’t even take your shirt off, just pulls it up far enough for your bra to show and then pulls your bra down enough for your tits to pop out and the way that you are so clothed, but so exposed all at the same time is making you grow warm between your legs. 

you whimper at the question, nodding as atsumu runs his hands down your sides and then back up to your tits and then off of you all at once. without them, you can feel bokuto’s completely, nothing to distract you from how big they feel on the inside of your thighs. with him under your skirt, you can’t see anything at all and you want to watch him, but the fact that you don’t know what’s happening, relying on touch alone, is causing you to flood.

he licks a strip into your panties, harsh enough to cause them to push between your lips, digging his tongue into your hole, slipping past the fabric, thick tongue pushing them out of the way with no help at all. you roll your hips into the sensation. “shit,” you breathe.

so focused on the feeling between your legs, you don’t notice atsumu’s cock until he’s pressing the spongy tip against your slightly parted lips. you turn your head for a better angle, parting your lips further, opening your jaw, and taking him in your mouth. atsumu puts his hands on the back of your head, pulling you onto his cock. you’ve had years and years of practice with this which means atsumu knows your limits and capabilities and he gets to move you however he wants as a result.

bokuto’s hand creeps up your inner thigh as he laps at your clothed pussy, sucking the fabric into his mouth and swallowing all of the accumulated juices before slipping his finger into you. your jaw opens further, moaning around atsumu’s cock involuntarily and atsumu needs to feel that again. “shit, bokkun, ‘m gonna need ya to do whatever ya just did again.”

he laughs against your pussy, adding another finger inside of you and you already feel so full. his fingers are so thick, they’re so fucking thick, like four of your tiny fingers are jammed inside of you in two motions, but they’re longer than your fingers too, can reach so much deeper. you’re squirming on his fingers, moving your hips to fuck yourself on bokuto’s fingers and you can’t help how much your hums and whimpers and whines are effecting atsumu. “holy fuck, don’t stop,” atsumu says, hips pressing forward, hands pulling you onto his cock to meet his thrust. 

the angle is still slightly awkward, hitting the back of your cheek rather than sliding down your perfect, tight throat like he loves so much, so he swings his leg overtop of you, both knees on either side of your head, balls resting on your chin as he lifts your head and places a pillow underneath. “fuck, that’s better, baby,” he says, barely giving you a warning before fucking into your mouth, letting you hollow your cheeks on his head, tiny movements of his hips pulling the tip in and out of your tight lips. 

“she’s close,” bokuto announces into the room, talking about you, not to you, and you tighten around his fingers even more. bokuto pushes his fingers inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, pushes inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, and then he curls them over and over again, and you come so fucking hard that you can’t even imagine the mess underneath your skirt. 

“so fucking wet,” bokuto says, mumbles against your cunt as he moves your panties to the side, pulls his thick fingers out of you and uses the tip of his tongue to coax the come out of your fluttering hole and down his throat. the lewd sounds are filling the room and your ears even more than the sound of atsumu whining and whimpering watching his cock disappear between your lips.

“shit, fuckin’ mouth feels so goddamn good, fuck,” atsumu growls, pulling you by your hair onto his cock and you can barely breathe, spit drooling out the sides of your mouth and down your chin and neck. his strokes are long and slow, relishing the feeling of his length being squeezed by your tight throat. “gonna fuck yer throat all fucking night. won’t even be able to talk tomorrow.”

“fuck,” bokuto says, “gotta- fuck-” all at once you feel even more fucking full. bokuto slips inside of you without a word, stretching your drenched hole around his huge cock. you can feel it in your fucking guts, so fucking deep, speared. you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him in place because you don’t want to not feel him so fucking deep in you. you need to feel him this deep in you forever. 

you feel the breeze on your stomach, on your sloppy clit, as bokuto pushes your skirt up and out of the way, not that you could see anything anyway with atsumu where he is and his cock destroying your throat how it is. bokuto reaches down, rubbing small circles into your sensitive, swollen, pretty clit with his thumb. “so pretty,” bokuto mumbles.

you pull bokuto closer with your legs, moving your hips to meet him and he understands perfectly, pulling his hips back and slamming into you. his moans are lower than atsumu’s, more grunts than whimpers, and the fact that you can hear them both is making your walls flutter around bokuto’s thick length. “god, so fucking tight,” bokuto praises, “shit.”

“i know,” atsumu replies, rolling his hips, sliding the underside of his cock against your tongue. “feels so fuckin’ good.” he presses forward, pulls your head onto him until his head hits the back of your throat and then he holds you there. you can’t breathe, gagging on his thick head in your throat, but the noises that are coming out of him are well worth it. they always are. you swallow around his length and something breaks in him.

bokuto starts fucking into you faster, harder, the inside of your thighs already sore and very reminiscent of another first time you had. his fingers are gripping into your waist and your fingers are gripping onto the sheets, unsure of where else to put this pure need, unable to reach atsumu’s back or arms. atsumu sees you, hands moving across the bed, looking for somewhere to root as you take all of the abuse that’s coming to you. 

he removes his grip from your hair for a moment, reaching over and grabbing your hand. “pretty girl, hey, baby, here,” he guides your hands to his thighs and tears are streaming from the corners of your eyes because your cunt is throbbing and your throat is burning and you can’t breathe and atsumu is still there to take care of you in ways that you don’t even understand. 

you curl your fingers around his toned thighs and everything feels right in the world, everything feels more manageable. it’s something for you to ground yourself on, the feeling of the soft, toned muscle in your hands, against your fingernails, scraping and digging. “shit, doll, feels good, harder, yea?” you nod, effectively shoving atsumu’s cock down your throat even further. you dig your fingernails into the skin harder, harder, not dragging across, but digging into. “fuck, baby.”

bokuto is fucked out of his mind with the feeling of how tight and perfect you are around him and the exchange that’s happening in front of him with you and atsumu. it’s all so fucking much. he can’t stop pounding into you, fucking as deep as he can, slamming the tops of his thighs against the insides of yours, holding you in place with his large hands spanning over your stomach. “fuck, gonna come,” bokuto breathes, stare not pulling away from the way that atsumu and him are making you feel so used, so good. 

atsumu answers for you because you couldn’t be expected to answer with your mouth as full as it is. “you can come inside,” atsumu says, looking down at your tear-pricked eyes and swollen lips as you hum an affirmative plea. “she wants you to come inside,” he corrects himself. 

“fuck,” bokuto says with a shaky exhale, because he wasn’t exactly expecting that, but it’s exactly what he wanted. 

“and where do you want me to come, pretty?” atsumu asks, relentlessly fucking into your throat. the only air that you’ve gotten is in tiny breaths between harsh strokes and inhales from your nose. you feel lightheaded, but the fact that it’s about to be over is much worse than your inability to get a proper breath. 

you can’t speak so you move your hand from his thigh, dragging your finger down your throat and fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest gesture atsumu had ever seen. there’s a lack of pressure on your chest as atsumu changes positions, leaning forward, bracing himself against the wall as he changes angles so that he can get even deeper in your throat, can fuck your throat like a pretty cunt. 

bokuto watches this unfold and he can’t fucking hold it any longer. it’s so much different than atsumu, the way that bokuto unloads inside of you. he doesn’t still, doesn’t stutter. his hips keep moving at an abusive pace, fucking you even harder than before as stream after stream of his thick come coats your gummy walls. you’re coming around his cock, sobs trying to escape you, but failing because of atsumu’s cock crammed down your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin with every quick stroke inside of you. 

bokuto’s come is spilling out of you. it was inevitable with how fast he was still fucking you and how much he was coming inside of you. it feels like it’s never ending, coupled right along with the noises that are leaving bokuto, low and needy. even after he’s finished filling you, he stays completely inside of you, breath catching, not ready to pull out just yet. 

atsumu’s cock is throbbing against your tongue, pulsing, leaking, and he shoves it as far as he can fit it and you’re so sure that he’s going to pump his come directly down your throat, but then he pulls out, opening your mouth with his thumb, letting his tongue fall open in hopes that you mimic it and you do. “needa see it all pretty on yer tongue, baby, open, yea, fuck.”

he doesn’t even stroke himself, comes at the sight of you with your tongue out and messy eyes and swollen lips and gasping for air. his thick come doesn’t spray in ropes against the inside of your mouth, it drools onto your tongue. it leaks out of the tip lazily, pooling and collecting on the dip in your tongue until there’s too much to fit and a part of the fat glob slips down the back of your tongue and he grunts, replacing whatever disappeared down your throat. “all of it, baby, suck,” he directs, tilting your head, placing the tip between your lips and coaxing you to suck whatever’s left from his sensitive slit. you do exactly as you're told and as a reward, you get to hear the sob tear from his throat and watch him wipe away the tiny tears that threaten to fall. 

everything is quiet. no one moves for at least two minutes. it takes the entire time for you to catch your breath.

“fuck, shit, i’m sorry i didn’t savor that more,” bokuto breaks the silence, shaking his head, inhale and exhale heavy as he stands up completely, putting his boxers back on.

atsumu takes this as a cue to move as well, getting off of you maybe as he should’ve from the very beginning to help you recover faster. though, you’re actually certain that lack of immediate movement is what allowed you to feel as okay as you do this quickly.

“next time,” you say, or try to say, because it hurts and it comes out shaky and hoarse. atsumu leans down and presses a kiss into your neck and then the side of your face and then your lips. he would be more phased by this if it wasn’t a weekly occurrence. 

“yea, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu says, confirming. 

“don’t say that,” bokuto says, shaking his head, “because i really will.”

“then, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu repeats, a tiny smirk forming on his lips.

“alright,” boktuo affirms. 

atsumu leans down, places a kiss on your forehead. “c’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” he says, helping you up. you don’t try for a thank you or a yes, just give a small nod and move towards the attached bathroom. 

“do you have a guest room or something in this cool big house?” bokuto asks, clearly feeling like he’s invading. 

“we do, but,” atsumu says, walking out of the bathroom, over to the dresser and pulling out a big t-shirt. he disappears into the bathroom again, water running, clothes shuffling, and emerges with your clothes in hand. he throws them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. “you’re welcome to spend the night here.”

“oh! no, no, i wouldn’t want to-,” bokuto starts, but is interrupted by the sink running again, teeth brushing, and now he really feels like he’s invading. but then you walk out of the bathroom, as fresh and clean as you can be without having taken a shower, and you wrap your arms around bo’s bicep. the feeling of displacement fades pretty quickly then.

“yea,” atsumu says, hand on the back of his neck, “someone gets a bit clingy after sex.” atsumu nods towards you and you playfully scowl back at him even though you know it is very true. “just until she falls asleep though. in the morning, she’s usually like, tsumu, fuck off, i’m trying to sleep. it’s weird, really.”

“i mean, if you- yea, i’ll stay if you want me to,” bokuto says and looks down at you nodding very convincingly. you walk over to the bed, pulling bokuto along by the arm and you crawl under the covers, laying perfectly in the middle of the bed. this wasn’t the exact use that you thought you would get out of your king size bed, but you can add it to the list of splurge items that are turning out to be very worth it. 

“didja need anything before ya go to bed?” atsumu asks because he knows it’s something that you would ask if you weren’t so unable to ask. bokuto shakes his head no. he can’t imagine needing anything at this moment. “cool.” atsumu shuts the light off and the room goes very dark. 

it’s awkward first, weird for only a few moments, figuring out your place in all of this, and then it just kinda works out. 

huh, reminds you of something.

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before you can send a joke back his way, atsumu rolls onto his back, a large puff of air exhaled from his lungs as he does so. he smooths his palms over his face, fingers parting his own hair, eyes squeezed shut as he exhales again into his hands. “god, you make me feel like-,” he takes another breath, sitting up this time. you get a good look at his back from this angle and if the words he were saying weren’t so important, you’d interrupt him by kissing the toned muscle all over. 

“like-,” he pauses, shaking his head, turning his neck, twisting his back to face you, “i don’t even know. i can’t even describe how you make me feel.” he narrows his eyes at you like he’s thinking of the most difficult math problem and trying to solve it in his head. “i know that sounds cheesy, i know it does, but i’m serious, i’ve never felt like this before.”

you sit up with him, his face morphs into realization, a tiny moment in time that causes your heart to start beating ferociously. it looks effortlessly difficult, a long road to get there, figuring out his feelings in real time, and yet it doesn’t come out like a question. “i love you.”

your stomach drops. you can’t breathe. “you love me?” you ask.

even without instant reciprocation, he doesn’t show an ounce of regret, not a single one. in fact, he replies quickly, even more assured this time, “i do.”

you really can’t breathe, can’t catch a good breath, it feels like you’re suffocating. the air is thick, tongue like cotton in your mouth, and he sees your adverse reaction to this and all he wants to do is make it better. “you don’t have to say anything,” he offers back, reaching his arm out and resting his touch on your elbow. he curls his fingers around your skin, but you can’t really feel it amidst the tingling taking over your entire body.

he continues on, “i just wanted to tell you because i’ve never met anyone like you. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and i’m a better person for having known you, so thank you.” you’re still not saying anything back to you, so he just keeps talking, reasoning slowly shifting from confidence to doubt. “i just don’t think i’ve ever met someone who’s gotten along so well with my friends and my brother or someone i’ve ever really even let do those things, because i’ve just been in my own head or maybe because i haven’t found the right person.”

you need him to stop talking, to give you a second, just one second for a thought to pop into your head to communicate what you’re feeling, but he just keeps talking. he’s great. he’s perfect. this is exactly what you were afraid of.

it comes out like vomit. “i think i’m still in love with maki.”

even after it’s left your mouth, you can’t believe you said it. the entire room is silent. you can’t even hear him breathing, can’t hear the fan or the birds or the hum of the fluorescent lights. this entire time, each waking minute you’ve spent in this bed, something’s felt uneasy, there was this underlying confusion that you couldn’t shake, and now that you’ve said this impossibly difficult thing out loud, you no longer feel confused.

instead, it’s transferred over to atsumu, you can see it in his face. you’re expecting betrayal. you can handle a look of treachery, of anger, of mistake, but none of that ever comes. his eyebrows are furrowed and he can’t look you in the eye, only steals glances as often as his body will allow. you should explain, you know you should explain, but how do you explain that the only thing that’s made you realize your feelings for maki were the kiss that you shared and having sex with someone else for the first time. 

“i wish that maybe you would’ve told me that before last night,” he says, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up, grabbing pieces of clothing that are strewn across the room, yours, his, his, his, yours, yours, his. he throws yours onto the bed, puts his on quickly.

“come on,” you say, voice small, “you’ve had plenty of one night stands. i’m just another one of ‘em.” your hands move slowly as you put on your clothes. 

“you know that that’s not all you were to me,” he says, voice cold, breaking at the end, “is that all i was to you?”

“atsumu,” you say, but his name doesn’t feel right on your tongue anymore, not to either of you. his shoulders slump, air expelled from his lungs, fingers comb through his own hair, pausing at the top of his head as he tries to figure out what to do next. “do you want to talk about it?” you ask, wincing at your own question. 

“there’s not really much to say,” he replies, offering nothing more.

it’s silent. you count the seconds, starting over every time you hit 60 until you can’t take it any longer. “should i leave?” you ask. he winces this time, maybe part of him thought you would follow up with something along the lines of but i want to make it work with you or i’m just kidding i love you too. 

“fuck, i can’t believe this,” he says, shaking his head, “oh my god, i can’t believe this.” he puts his head in his hands, leaning on his desk as he rubs the heels of his palm into his eyes. he reaches down and grips the edge of the desk. he couldn’t look at you the entire time, even still it takes everything in him to raise his gaze to you, and fuck, you wish he hadn’t. “i let you meet my fucking brother.” his tone isn’t angry, isn’t pointed. it’s defeated. he inhales, throws his head back, exhales. “you should probably go.”

you know that you’re the one that suggested it just a moment ago, but the thought of it is making you sick, of walking out that door. you know there’s no turning back from it. you will have a few more weeks of sharing a wall and then your life will continue on without atsumu. you stand up, a few painful strides to the door. he walks behind you, reaches past you, opens the door for you. 

“fuck,” he says, much softer this time, soft enough that you might have even regretted the past couple minutes, “why couldn’t i have met you freshman year?” he asks. it’s not a question either of you can answer. he’s not expecting an answer anyway, not sure he would accept one if he was. 

“i don’t know if you would’ve liked me freshman year,” you admit.

“i would’ve liked you,” he says as sure as up is up and down is down, “any time. no matter what. i’m sure of it.” it would have been easier if he wasn’t. you step out into the hallway. 

“i’ll see you around,” you say.

“probably not,” he says.

you take one last look at his door, at the miya atsumu written across it. the name no longer unfamiliar, person no longer unfamiliar, no longer a distinction, no longer a vastly different side of a person you know. no, now not a side at all, but just a part of a person you used to know. this is exactly what you were afraid of. 

/++/

“it’s before noon on a fucking sunday, you better have a good reason-,” the complaining comes before the door is even open. you can hear it clear as day even before there’s a tiny crack letting the sound through. your skin hasn’t stopped tingling, face hasn’t stopped burning. your body has been moving on autopilot since you left atsumu’s room, even through showering, putting on clean clothes, navigating here.

and yet, the second that he opens the door, it’s all you, no automation, direct, meaningful, purposeful movement and thought. 

there’s nothing stopping you, nothing could stop you. you take two steps forward. if it were anybody other than maki, it would have been weird, awkward, clumsy as you collide with him, foot half stepping on his, almost tripping into him, but he holds you steady as if he anticipated this. you push your lips into his, taking another few steps forward and in from the hallway. he lets the door close softly behind you, wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you in deeper. he doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t try to pull away, just kisses you for the second time this week, savors every second of it as if it will be his last. he knows better now. 

you really hope that when you pull away, he won’t ask any questions. you hope that you’re good enough at communicating everything through this kiss and the touch on his hips. his eyes are wide when you eventually do pull away and you know that there’s a question coming. you’re already figuring out an answer in your head.

“what if issei answered the door?” he asks, head tilted, shaky breath the only sign that he was caught off guard. 

“shut up,” you say, quiet smirk forming as you press your smile into his again.

you snake your arms around his neck, clasp them overtop of one another, pulling yourself into him deeper, holding onto him tight, you can’t get close enough. he runs his hands down your sides, leans backwards to signal that he can support you completely. even after all of this time, you know what that means. you jump into his arms, bracing yourself as he walks backwards to his room. he doesn’t have to ask or motion, you open his door, and when he turns around and puts your back against the door to close it, you lock it.  

he pulls away this time. “are you going to tell me what got into you now?” he asks.

you shake your head, leaning forward and closing the gap, eyes closing gently at how soft his lips are, at how comforting it is to be in his familiar arms again. you’ve missed this so much, more than you could have known.

he pulls away once more. you wish he would stop doing that. you don’t want to stop kissing him. you want to kiss him for hours. “do i at least get to know if this is a one time thing?” he asks.

“i hope not,” you reply. it answers a lot more than just that one question. you move to kiss him again, but he starts speaking against your lips, desperate for answers. 

“okay and-,” he starts.

it makes so much sense to you, all laid out in your head. the kisses, the grip, the familiarity, the need. it’s hard to take yourself out of your own head, to realize that he’s been caught so off guard with this and is taking it pretty much in stride. still, you huff because explaining means that you don’t get to kiss maki and it means that you have to admit something very difficult.

you pull back completely, arms still draped around his neck. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss, about what you said, about thinking we’d get back together or just keep going with what we were doing forever; i want that.” the end of your explanation comes out in one long sentence, mashed together just as it was in your head. “‘m still in love with you, maki.” there’s no i think this time. 

he closes the gap this time, doesn’t need to hear another word, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, quickly pulling you away from his door and walking you over to his bed. 

“wait, wait,” you say against his lips as he sits down on the bed, gently letting your knees sink into the mattress.

“god, no, yea, that is annoying,” he says the second your lips are off of his.

you roll your eyes dramatically, shaking your head the tiniest bit, a tiny smile on your face, “are you- is that-,” it’s not coming out right, your chest rising and falling as the question struggles to form in your head, “do you want that? is that okay?”

“are you asking if i’m in love with you?” he asks.

you nod, grateful for his ability to understand you so well even when you’re not making any sense at all, eyes darting back and forth between his trying to find an ounce of an answer before it comes from his lips. “of course i am,” he says plainly, confused that it’s even a question, “i never stopped, you know that.”

you push forward into his chest and he moves back with you until his back collides with the bed. the two of you always moved like this, in time with one another, thoughtless and in sync in a way you only get to if you’ve known each other for years. you clasp your hands at the base of his neck, pulling him into you as you kiss him deeper, parting your lips to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip. 

this time, he doesn’t pull away, accepts the invitation thoughtlessly, tongue entering your mouth, and it’s like something snaps in you. you got to kiss him not long ago, get to touch him and hold his hand and sleep in his bed, but now you get to taste him, for the first time in too long. your fingers close around nothing, scraping against his skin and you know it’ll make him shiver, and it does. you feel the shudder all throughout your body.

you can’t stop, tongue slipping against his, scraping over his teeth and cheeks, you can’t get enough. you never want to stop kissing him. you missed the way he feels in your mouth, his sweet, familiar taste. you smooth your hand around his neck, down his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pressing your lips into his harder. 

his hands are roaming, in your hair, down your back, gripped into your waist, sculpting over your ass, settling on the backs of your thighs, rocking you against him. he grinds up into you, hard against the inside of your leg, evidently just as turned on by this previously forgotten sensation. you’re the first one to pull away, and he lets you, actually welcomes this tiny moment to catch his breath, to just look at you. 

“i,” huff, “really missed you, maki,” you say and then lean back down and give him another quick peck, “like a lot,” kiss, huff, “wish you would’ve just taken me back to your room that night.”

you kiss him again. a smile grows against your lips and then a laugh comes along with it, light at first and then he can’t stop. you pull back. “maybe this was my plan all along.”

“oh, really?” you ask jokingly, tilting your head. 

“nah,” he says, lifting his head up, lips pursed but they don’t meet yours. instead, he places a soft kiss on your nose. “i just wanted to make sure that you really wanted this.” one hand stays on the underside of your thigh, takes your hand in his other, keeps them both pressed against his heart. “not just in the moment, but really wanted this. just as much as me.” ba-bump. 

“and is this proof enough?” you ask, trying to swallow your giddy giggles. he narrows his eyes at you, quirks an eyebrow, he doesn’t even have to say it, you can read it loud and clear. duh, obviously. he pulls you back down. 

“plus, now it’ll be even sweeter,” he says, pressing his nose into your neck, dragging his wet lips against the skin. he runs the flat of his tongue from your chest up your neck and repeats the motion, starting point getting lower and lower every time until he’s met with the fabric of your t-shirt. it’s quickly thrown to the side, one motion, as he sits up, his face situated perfectly between your tits. 

“maki,” you breathe, blushing as he uses his large hands to surround himself with your tits, palms rough against your hardening nipples, placing small kisses against your sternum, right against your heartbeat.

“missed these,” he says, sound muffled like he’s talking into a pillow, vibrations sending a wave of goosebumps across your delicate, now bare skin. 

“maki,” you say again, more embarrassed this time, but he knows you better than to stop at this little fit of self-consciousness. in fact, he doubles down. 

“could sit here like this all night, puppy,” he mumbles, but you can hear it so clearly, rolling your hips, chewing on your lip. 

“maki,” you repeat for the third time, reaching your arm up, hiding behind the crook of your elbow. 

he pulls away, hands continuing to knead into your soft tits as he gets a good look at you. “don’t get all embarrassed on me, now. it’s just me,” he says, reaching up and pulling your arm down from your face, placing both of your hands on his hips. you let him. you take a breath. it’s just him. you nod, keeping your hands on his hips, gripping them into the shallow valley of the bone. “good,” he smirks, runs his hands down your sides, right back to the backs of your thighs, tugging you towards him. 

the pressure builds, grip pulling and pulling until you slide up to his stomach and then his chest, but he just keeps coaxing you forward. you look down at him, questioning, and he throws you back a devilish grin, turning his head to the side to press a kiss into your knee. “are you going to come sit on my face or what?” he asks, nipping at your skin when you jump at the question.

“maki!”

“come on, you’ve made me wait long enough,” he says, turning his head the other way and placing a kiss into the opposite knee. “you know i’ve been thinking about it since you got on top of me.”

“then take it,” you breathe. fuck, he missed that. 

you use the wall to steady yourself as he pulls your shorts and your panties off. he places both of his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushes your legs apart. your stomach refuses to settle, flipping over and over as you stare at him so intently, just waiting for his next move. he moves you forward again by your hips this time, lifting you just high enough for your lips to drag against his hanging tongue. 

“fuck,” you say, nails curling against the drywall, forehead gently resting against the surface. 

he digs his fingertips into you, pulls you harshly onto his tongue, into his face. he loves being suffocated by you, always has. once he nearly passed out, too drunk on your taste and the sounds that you made to care about staying conscious. breathing came second to your pleasure. that’s why he was so fucking good at it. “god, fuck, maki.” the back of your head meets the top of your spine, chin pointed towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut as he presses the tip of his tongue into your hole repeatedly.

his hands pull your cunt into his mouth harder, positioned on your lower back, gripping into your ass as he rocks you back and forth on his tongue, juices flowing down the sides of his cheeks and chin. the sounds are so lewd, squelching and slurping, moaning into your pussy as he devours you.

“gonna- gonna come,” you announce, rolling your hips in time with his tongue. his teeth scrape against your clit, lips close around your folds, tongue prods at your tight hole. his arm has to reach as he presses his palm against your stomach, follows the center of your chest up to your neck and wraps his long fingers around it. the grip is weak, more focused on the repetitive motions to drive you to your orgasm, but just the small amount of pressure is enough to throw you over the edge. you squeeze your thighs together as you come, waves of pleasure rolling over your body, legs shaking. you move your hand instinctively to the top of his, squeezing around your throat, eyes shut tightly.

“holy fuck,” you say, using all of your strength to push yourself up and off of his face, to give him a breather. he gasps for air, taking in a huge breath and exhaling quickly. he repeats this six times. you count it to ground yourself. 

“m not done,” he says, pulling you back down. you almost lose your balance, but he holds you strong. it’s more desperate this time, hungrier, needier, not like he’s got something to prove, but just because he’s enjoying it that much. you're sensitive from your last orgasm, from your clit being attacked again so soon, rolling it between his teeth, capturing it between his wet lips. 

“you should,” huff, “you should not be so fucking good at this,” you say, shaking your head even though he definitely cannot see you. you barely know if he can hear you. 

you’re already putty on his tongue, but that’s not enough for him. he’s got to reduce you to a pile of nothing and you’re surely on your way, circling your hips on his tongue, second orgasm taking you by surprise. you’re not positive that you can even sit up off of him this time, moving to slide back instead. he doesn’t let you, hands securely holding you in place, he doesn’t get to take another breath, like he’s challenging you or himself, you’re not really sure. 

“maki,” you whine, eyes opening for the first time since your last orgasm, looking down between your legs to see his eyes blissfully closed, nose nuzzling against your clit, face sheened and messy. you thread your fingers into his hair, shoving his tongue deeper into your cunt, because he’s not going to stop until he’s made you come again and you’re not sure how much more of this you can take and he hasn’t even been inside of you yet.

your third orgasm ruins you. you can’t even sit upright by yourself, so many forceful orgasms running over you in succession. maki’s hands and your brace on the wall are the only things that are keeping you from forgoing everything and falling onto the bed. if you didn’t say your next words, broken and whimpering, you’re certain he would have kept going. “maki, need you, please,” you say, legs like fucking jello. 

he slides you back, wet cunt dragging across his chest and stomach as he tries to compose himself. his breath is unsteady, heavy, face completely a mess, tongue swiping over his bottom lip trying to get all of your juices in his mouth, down his throat. “you’ll have me,” he breathes, sitting up, flipping you over so that you’re on your back and you’re still amazed at how he has so much strength left after something like that.

“now, please, now,” you say, reaching down and placing your fingertips into the waistband of his boxers. you don’t pull them off completely, already moving your fingers to the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up so that you can see his stomach, hand slipping under it to feel his chest, heartbeat violent against your palm. “hiro, now, please,”

“come on, you know that’s not fair,” he says, shaking his head, following your movements, taking off his shirt, “been years since you’ve called me that.”

you slip your fingers into his waistband again, pulling him towards you, “been years since you called me puppy, think we’re even now.” 

he hooks both arms under your knees, pulling you towards him until the backs of your thighs are resting against the tops of his. he reaches into his boxers, pulls himself out, hissing at his own touch against his painfully hard cock. “you gonna ask for my cock again?” he questions, hips rocking forward just far enough for his head to slip against your clit.

“want you,” you whine, “hiro, please, missed this so much.” 

he presses inside of you, precome leaking against your walls as he stuffs every fucking inch into your sensitive pussy. it’s so much, perfectly thick and long, fits so perfectly inside of you. there’s a dull stretch that you want to feel forever as the tip of his cock hits the back of your walls. “fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter, linking your hands behind his neck and pulling him into you, your shoulder against his chest, nose nuzzled into his collarbone. “shit i missed this.”

he lets you hold him close, lifts his hips to pull out of you and fucks back into you slowly as you cling to him. you speak into his neck, “need you, need this, more, fuck, you’re mine, are you mine, baby? fuck, tell me you’re mine,” you babble.

he pulls away from you, almost regrettably so as he sees the desperation in your eyes, but he rests on his forearm, smoothing his palm over the side of your face, cupping your cheek and stroking your jaw. “i’m yours, i promise. all yours,” he says incessantly, carefully attentive, the same person he’s always been.

you roll your hips, lifting to meet his slow thrusts, circling and shaking arrhythmically. you need more of him, more of him. you run your hands through his hair. he holds you steady. “it’s okay, i know, fuck,” he says, starting to pick up the pace. your eyes shut quickly, already almost there for what feels like the millionth time tonight. 

“gonna come on your cock, you’re gonna make me come all over your cock, maki, please,” you mumble, nodding your head against his shoulder. 

“already puppy?” he asks, snapping his hips into you hard. 

you’re gone, whimpering and whining and crying as you tighten around his cock, fingers digging into his shoulders, lifting your hips off of the bed to fuck yourself on his cock harder, riding through your orgasm, walls clenching around his fat cock as you thank him over and over for making you come again. 

when it subsides, his pace slows back down again, rolling his hips leisurely, just enjoying how pretty your cunt looks sucking him in, how your wetness clings to his cock as it pulls out and how it gathers around your entrance as he pushes in. his breath is shaky, grip the same.

“you are not allowed to make fun of me for not lasting,” he groans, “because fuck this is all i’ve been wanting since the last time we hooked up.”

you laugh, breathy and spent. “when even was that?” you ask, eyes closing as the tip of his cock brushes knowingly against your spot. 

“god, i don’t know,” he presses a kiss into the side of your face, rhythm unwavering, “over a year.”

“why did we stop?” 

“stupid,” he says, breathing labored, “because we’re fucking stupid.” 

he pulls out of you, flips you over, his thick cock slipping between your plush thighs. he uses both hands to spread your ass, breath stuttering, cock throbbing as he sees your puffy lips from between the fats of your thighs. “because we could’ve been doing this the entire time.” he digs his fingers into your ass, watches how your skin ripples when he smacks it so lightly, “could’ve seen this fucking sight,” he smacks it again, “this entire fucking time.”

he slips inside of you again, fucking you from behind, underside of his cock relentless against your spot as he starts to fuck you faster and faster. “you don’t have to hold back, y’know,” you breathe, arching your back, hips lifting just enough to make your cunt that much more snug, the angle making maki see fucking stars. he grips into your ass. “you don’t have to savor it. we have plenty of time for that.”

he tries to hold off as long as he can, really, he does, but he hasn’t been inside of you for over a year and despite how much he’s thought about it, he’s truly forgotten how good you actually feel, how tight you are around him, how thick your thighs are, how well he could make you come, how creamy you made his cock.

“promise?” he asks, slamming into you, cock throbbing, hanging on to your every word.

“i promise,” you say, your voice sweet. “please come for me.”

“shit,” he says, hips stuttering. he wants to give you everything you want and more and he’s already so close, it’s a miracle he didn’t unload inside of you right then. “where?” he asks, closing his eyes for just a second, tearing his eyes away from your sloppy cunt swallowing his cock for just a moment, butterflies filling his stomach, because he knows you and he knows exactly where you want his load.

“inside, maki,” you whine.

he presses his hips full against your ass, shoots his load as deep inside of you as he can, letting your quivering walls massage his cock. all he needs are your pretty, snug walls surrounding him and he’s dumping his load into that perfect pussy, stream after stream coating your insides. 

it takes him longer to recover from this than he did from almost suffocating between your legs. “can i pull out now, puppy?” he asks, curling his fingers against your skin. you nod, so grateful that he’s asked and prepared you for feeling empty. he’s slow to pull out, lets you feel each inch dragging against your creamy walls until they’re clenching around nothing. 

he flops to the side of you, one arm snaking underneath you, one arm overtop. he pulls you closer, kisses your shoulder. you turn to face him and before he can say a single word, you have to admit to him everything that happened with atsumu, how everything went down. your heart is beating wildly and you don’t exactly know how to say it, how you came to this realization. you don’t know what he’s going to say or how he’s going to react, but you have to lay it all out there.  

“atsumu and i-,” you start explaining. 

“doesn’t matter,” maki says, cutting you off, “i don’t need to know. whatever happened between you guys, that was before. but from now on…,” he trails off, let’s you fill in the sentence. 

“it’s us,” you say, quickly.

“kinda always has been, huh?” he asks, but it’s not really a question.

“it was always supposed to be you, maki,” you answer, though it’s not really a question, “from day one.”

“so does this mean you’re my girlfriend again?” he asks, head tilting, inching closer to you until his forehead is resting against yours. you lean forward, pressing a kiss into the side of his cheek. 

“that’s a weird way to ask me to be your girlfriend,” you joke.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, not hesitating for a second.

“do you even have to ask?” you smirk.

he instantly jumps at you, caging you in beneath him and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, all over your face, your chin, your lips. it starts as a giggle, grows to a laugh, and before you know it, you can’t breathe. “maki!” you whine, playfully pushing at his chest as he kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck. 

“i can’t hear you,” he pretends, shaking his head, wrapping his arms under your lower back to bring you closer to his kisses. 

“maki!” you scream again, laughing even harder as you try to squirm out of his grasp. “stop it!”

“then answer me,” he says, not letting up until you give him a real answer for his rhetorical question. 

“yes! yes! yes! okay! yes, of course, i’ll be your girlfriend,” you yell, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and pulling his face to yours, kissing him softly at first and then deep, hard, tangling your fingers into the back of his hair and relaxing into his touch.

there’s a banging on the wall next to the bed so violent that you can feel the mattress shake. “please, shut the fuck up,” you hear issei shout through the wall. your face is instantly burning. this isn’t something that hasn’t happened before. you were aware of how thin the walls were. maki and you used to get into trouble like this plenty of times when you were together. this is just another one of those times, you suppose.

“hopefully when we move into an apartment somewhere, the walls will be a bit thicker, yea?” he asks, voice a bit quieter, not skipping a beat, not feeling embarrassed when the assumption leaves his mouth. why would he? you nod, smiling bright. 

“perfect,” you mumble, kissing him once more, “really perfect.”

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