Can I Request Tsukishima Kei Having A Psychologist S/o? Headcanons Or A Scenario, Whichever Is Okay!

osamu + “we’re fake dating! why did you tell them we were engaged?!” for @amarinthe thanks for requesting this! it's probably one of my favourite prompts

the moment you open your front door, you kind of regret it.

because while your totally hot neighbour is standing in your doorway in his dark jeans and fitted black t-shirt glory, you’re rocking shorts and an unreasonably large sweatshirt.

“osamu,” you blink, tugging the hem of your shirt down a little. “hey.”

“hey,” he replies with a smile that makes your knees weak, holding up a takeout bag. “i brought some onigiri home. wanna share?”

thinking about the instant ramen currently boiling on your stovetop, you couldn’t possibly refuse his offer (especially if it’s from miya osamu, whose very successful restaurant is quite literally across the street).

so you open your door wider, letting him step inside and slip his shoes off while you move into the kitchen, placing two plates on the counter.

“so, how was your day?” he asks, unpacking the setting two onigiri on each plate. “anything interesting happen?”

you slide into the stool next to him, swinging your legs lightly as you munch on happily on the food. “not particularly, you?”

“actually, yeah,” he starts, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair (you think it’s unfair, how good it still looks, even after spending all day smushed under a baseball cap). “my ma called today.”

“your ma?” you hum through a mouthful of salmon and rice. “what’d she say?”

he picks disinterestedly at the seaweed on his onigiri. “she, uh, asked that i visit home for dinner tomorrow night.”

“that’s sounds fun,” you start, pausing when he visibly grimaces. “unless it’s...not?”

“my brother’s bringin’ his girl again,” he shrugs. “and i know that means ma’s gonna be on my ass about why i’m not datin’.”

“yeah, i’ve had that conversation with my parents before,” you shudder, patting his shoulder in understanding. “the future, grandchildren, the passive-aggressive judgement from siblings. you should just call and say you’re sick.”

“can’t,” he sighs heavily. “i already cancelled twice. she may disown me if i skip a third time, or worse, show up at my place.”

it’d probably be funny, you think, seeing mama and brother miya across the hall, bugging osamu. “then maybe you should bring someone,” you suggest off-handedly. “just to keep them off your back a little. when was the last time you went on a date?”

when he doesn’t answer, your happy chewing slows, and you glance over at him. “jeez, that long ago? i thought you had more game than that, miya.”

a slow grin spread across his face when he meets your gaze. “last time i went out with someone was...four months ago, actually.”

“four months ago? that was around when we—” your eyes widen slightly, heat spreading to your cheeks. “oh. that...was not a date. that was a slightly intoxicated but very satisfying sexual exchange between friends.”

osamu chuckles, ducking his head a little and making those eyes at you (the ones that’d lured you into fucking him on your living room floor at two in the morning). “maybe don’t bring that up when ya meet my mom.”

“excuse me?” you laugh. “you cannot bring me home to meet your family.”

“why not?” he questions, looking genuinely confused. “you’re the one who suggested it. it’s just for one night anyway.”

“i just can’t!” you insist, looking at him incredulously. “i’d be nervous even if we were dating. what if they ask questions about--”

“i’ll give you free onigiri for a month.”

_____

“so, how did the two of you meet?” osamu’s mother asks as she pours you a generous glass of wine.

you freeze, blinking a few times. when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

(it’s funny how, on the hour-long drive to hyogo, the two of you hadn’t discussed any basic information about your relationship. instead, you’d spent your time debating the best taylor swift album and making fun of the other tenants in your building.)

you almost flinch when someone places a hand on the small of your back, but relax when osamu’s faint cologne meets your senses. “actually it was the day after she moved in next door,” he says. “i brought some onigiri over because she’d asked me that morning where the closest grocery store was so i figured…”

you smile fondly, recalling the day you’d run into him at the mailboxes, and he’d shown up a few hours later with food. he’d claimed they were just leftovers even though it was mid-afternoon.

“i can’t believe you remember that,” you murmur.

he hums quietly, gaze flicking over your face briefly. “i guess it’s just when i knew.”

you’re sure that your heart stutters in your chest. surely he’d stolen that from some cheesy romance flick?

“how long have you two been together?” his mother follows up with, glancing between the two of you expectantly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“eight months,” you say.

“almost a year,” osamu answers at the same time.

across from you, atsumu hides a smile behind his glass of water.

“i mean, who’s counting?” you laugh, quick to recover, reaching over to your ‘boyfriend’ blindly, meaning to pat his shoulder but instead catching him on the cheek. “time flies when you’re in love.”

you turn to stare at osamu when you feel him clasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, lips curling against them.

your stomach flutters a little at the gesture.

“‘tsumu,” he continues, redirecting the conversation. he rests your clasped hands on the table, thumb brushing the back of yours gently. “i thought you were bringing your girlfriend.”

“oh, she’s at her place doin’ some packing,” he answers easily. “she’s movin’ in next week.”

“that’s great news!” their mother beams, osamu’s hand tightening around yours as he blurts,

“yeah, well, we’re engaged!”

this time, you choke on your bite of chicken, almost hacking up a lung as you whip your head towards your neighbour/friend/fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé.

he shoots you a pleading gaze as he rubs firm circles on your back, and when you finally dislodge that traitorous piece of meat, you draw a slow breath and sigh. “babe, i thought we were going to wait until you made it official.” you lift your left hand, pointing at your empty ring finger before turning back to his mother and brother. “do you mind if we step away for a second?”

they both wave you off, and you snatch osamu’s wrist, dragging him out the back door, making sure it’s shut tight before you whisper-shout,

“we are fake dating! why would you tell them that we were engaged?”

he rubs his hands down his face, groaning. “i’m sorry, i panicked! it’s just that when atsumu mentioned moving in i got weirdly competitive because we’re twins—”

“so naturally you told your mother we were getting married? what’s next, atsumu mentions a joint bank account and you tell them that i’m pregnant?”

osamu lowers his hands to peek at you. “can i actually do that?”

“no! this is so not worth the free onigiri!” you growl, smacking him on the shoulder a few times, osamu yelling in protest.

(inside, atsumu and their mother peek out the kitchen window to watch the both of you, the latter murmuring, ‘definitely engaged.’)

_____

“you cannot tell that story in your toast,” you laugh, three years later with a very real engagement ring on your finger.

“why not?” osamu whines, completely invading your side of the bed to wrap his arms around you. “it’s how we got together, isn’t it?”

“by lying to your family.”

“soon to be your family,” he reminds you happily. “and i didn’t have to tell them you were pregnant.”

notes: based on my kuroo post from yesterday, apologies if this doesn’t make the most sense

warnings: cockwarming, creampie, unprotected sex, mild grinding

kuroo thinks he's dying.

actually, he doesn't think—he knows. he knows he's dying.

and it's all because of you.

you, who sits pretty on his lap, cockwarming him.

his skin is scalding hot right now. he's trying everything in his mind to not think of anything with or about you, so that he doesn't cum.

make no mistake — he does have good stamina. but there are days like today where his neediness isn’t apparent to him until it’s too late.

you'd probably think he's pathetic, because well, let's face it—he is when it comes to you. but that's not the point here. the point is, is that you drive him insane and he can't concentrate on anything else. anything of less substance.

it's impossible when you're literally right in front of him. only a mad man would tell you to get up and get off. you feel incredible wrapped around his cock, cunt enveloping him in the best hug possible. his muscles and body are shaking slightly at the feeling. he wonders if you can feel his heart racing with your tits and bare nipples pressed up against him.

this is why he considers you dangerous. you're pretty. so unbelievably pretty, and beautiful and so is your laugh. that's why it will be the very death of him.

he doesn't know if he's touch starved or if it's just his regular male hormones in overdrive, but the sound of your voice sends waves straight to his cock.

he was talking to you about something that happened at work, his fingers tracing your waist and sides, touching every part of you affectionately. no indecent thoughts had crossed his mind (a small lie—there were maybe a few, but not many) yet.

he doesn't remember what he said, but it must've been something really funny because you giggled. it was so cute, kuroo thought he would pass out.

because the problem is that you'd laugh, and your entire body would vibrate. you'd squeeze up on him and he felt like he could barely live, let alone breathe in that moment.

your tits would bounce a little when you laughed, and you would throw your head back, exposing the smooth column of your neck. every part and curve of your body looks so regal while you sit on your throne, his lap—his cock. he has to control every fiber being in his body to not fold you over and rut into you. to not reach over and mark up your neck with his teeth.

and to top it all off, your smile is the greatest thing he's ever seen. you would smile at him and a warm, elated feeling would root itself in his chest. never mind the pervert thoughts crossing his mind of you kneeling in front of him, smiling with a load of his cum on your face.

his balls ache and dick throbs painfully. the position of you on his lap is intimate, but not lewd. but one 'wrong' move could make it so. would make him burst.

and that ‘wrong’ move just happened to be you laughing again. you had grinded back on him unintentionally, but it snapped something in him.

he can’t keep up his poker face anymore, and just hides his face in your neck, grunting into your skin. his hands squeeze your hips hard.

the air is still and the silence between both of you could be cut with a knife. he feels a hand move up to his cheek and you push him back to look at him, bewildered.

“…tetsu, did you just cum?”

“m’sorry,” he says, cheeks pink.

but you both know he’s not sorry.

and it’s okay, because he’ll ‘apologize’ later when he eats you out and has you pass out after multiple rounds.

Urgent update my little brother is dying 😭

Today we took our little brother to the hospital because he suffers from an infection that affects his breathing and causes him pain. I hope that every living conscience will help us save our young son’s life and donate any amount you can.

Unfortunately, there is no treatment in the hospital for my little. Help us before it is too late.

megumi hair ???

飛魚

iwaizumi shouldn’t have drank last night.

he knows that, you know that, and now, as you walk into your class full of freshmen, you’re pretty sure that they all know that too. if it weren’t obvious by the way he squinted and groaned at the fluorescent lights as you crossed into the classroom, you’re sure that the venti cold brew coffee (no milk, no sugar, just cold brew), the slightly oversized, gray uci volleyball sweatshirt, and the scowl on his face would certainly give it away.

about half the class is there, and they quickly devolve into little whispers as you follow after him, your own set of little giveaways to the fact that neither of you should’ve been drinking last night—knowing damn well that every friday you have an 11am to teach.

you both sit at the front of the classroom, and iwaizumi presses his head into his hands, letting a little groan slip out as you take another sip of your own coffee, trying to let your eyes adjust to the lights.

another gaggle of students walks into the room, laughter piercing the air as well as your ears. you watch as iwaizumi scrunches his eyes together, takes a sip of his coffee, and then goes back to his head in his hands.

there’s a little whisper of is he okay? from somewhere in the back of the classroom, and if you had been a little more sober last night, you’d probably respond with a teasing no. when you woke up this morning to the sound of your alarm, he’d tossed and turned until he found your phone, turning it off before stuffing his head back into your pillows, one arm lazily wrapped around your waist.

and then he did it again. and again. and then once more, until it was 10:15 and if you didn’t leave in the next ten minutes, there was no way you’d be able to make it to starbucks before class. and good lord, you were not going to allow that to happen.

so no, the short answer is that iwaizumi is not at all okay. so you stand up from where you sit at the desk and, despite how dizzy you are, get up to turn off the lights.

“we’re trying something new today, guys,” you start, feeling a little better now that those damn lights aren’t pressing into your skull. “i read somewhere that overhead lights aren’t conducive to learning or- something,” you wave your hand in front of you as you speak, slowly making your way back to your seat, “so, just say that if anyone asks.”

iwaizumi huffs out a little laughter from beside you, hardly more than a rush of air through his hands and the sudden movement of his chest. the rest of the class walks into the room, each one gesturing vaguely at the lights above before the other students shrug and rattle off some poor repetition of your own explanation.

you settle back into your chair, your cheek resting in one of your palms while the other hand swirls your coffee. iwaizumi gives you a look at the sound of the ice rattling, and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a sip rather indignantly to remind him that he’s the one who dragged the two of you to that damn party.

one of your freshman, the one who sits at the front and was always the least intimidated by the tattoo that crawled up iwaizumi’s arm and the scar that rested in his brow, laughs, and then raises a hand. you nod, and then he smirks, leaned back in that freshly-eighteen kind of confidence.

“you guys enjoy the sigep party last night?”

iwaizumi coughs, which sends you into a little fit of quiet laughter, and he nudges your leg with his own in an attempt to get you to shut up.

“no,” iwaizumi replies, all furrowed brows and drawn in breaths. everyone that knows him would know that he’s lying, and these freshman aren’t exactly an exception to that. “no, we don’t go to those.”

he takes another sip of his coffee, winces at the sudden movement, and then fixes his face while the class once again devolves into whispers—only this time mixed with quiet laughter. part of you is praying that none of them were at the sigep party. though most of last night is a bit of a haze, you know well enough that your lovely boyfriend gets terribly touchy after a few drinks, and you’re not exactly one to stop him past that point. so should any of your lovely, annoying, and terribly stupid freshman choose to witness that-

well, you’re not exactly sure you’ll ever gain back the respect you had at the beginning of the semester, that’s for sure.

“so,” you begin after another sip of your coffee, “get out your discussion questions.”

there’s a little collective groan from the class, and iwaizumi brings up a hand with narrowed eyes, bringing a finger to his lips to tell them all to be a little quieter.

if everything else hadn’t given it away, you think that was the nail in the coffin. but then he leans closer to you, tempting a whisper past his lips while they all rustle around in their backpacks for their notebooks and a pen.

“think they know?” he asks, and you know it’s all teasing—there’s a lilt in his voice that wasn’t there this morning (which, you’ll thank the half a cold brew he’s already drank for), and a smile pricks at his lips that makes you want to kiss him right there.

you don’t, because dear god these freshmen are ruthless, and if you give them one more thing to bully you for, you think you’ll both end up dead.

“no,” you reply, “they’re clueless.”

reblogs and interaction are super appreciated! ❤︎

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