Unicorns And Pomegranates

Tension 3 | Matsukawa Issei X Reader (Haikyuu)

Warning: 18+ Alcohol Use, Drug Use, Unprotected Sex, Spanking

Hi, this is a long time coming! Sorry it took so long, something happened to me today that spurred me on to finish this so I can supply you all with (hopefully) a lil bit of serotonin ♡︎ thanks to @thisisthehardestthing and @rat-suki for helping me through this one!

part one || part two

You can finally breathe when you break out of the library doors, wiping at your eyes furiously as you hurry down the stairs and rush down the path towards your dorm. Only, you can’t go back there.

Your roommate is there. Having sex.

“Fuck,” you stifle a sob, head off the path towards the giant oak students study under when the weather is nice, shoes crunching on the grass.

Luckily for you, it’s a Saturday and the weather’s warm, so only a couple of people are lazing beneath it. You head to the other side of the tree— the trunk wide enough to obscure you from view of the library— drop your bag and sit down, resting back against it and pulling your knees into your chest.

Your tears slow, but wiping at them reminds you why you’re so upset, and sets you off again.

God, you’re stupid. Imagine falling for it twice. Twice! It shouldn’t matter that he’s tall, stupidly handsome, intelligent. Shouldn’t matter that his touch set your skin on fire, his words made you feel alive, valued, pretty.

Pretty.

You’ll never be able to have a man call you that, will you? It’ll be forever associated with Matsukawa Issei.

“I’m— don’t get mad,” you startle when his voice rings out gently, tense up when he approaches, hands up in surrender.

Your eyes narrow, your voice a hiss: “go away—”

“I’m just gonna sit here, and if you wanna listen to me, you can, alright? And when I’m done, I’ll go, and I won’t bother you again.” His voice is gentle, steps tentative as he gets within a couple of feet of you, drops to sit, crosses his legs.

Your brain is screaming at you to leave, but for some stupid fucking reason, your traitorous heart won’t give you the power to move.

“I… I wasn’t really with her in the library last week.” He says, voice hushed.

You roll your eyes, a blade of grass longer than the others, far more interesting to look at than him. Liar.

“I wasn’t, I—” he huffs, frustrated. You glare at him when he attempts to stand. “I’m gonna come closer… This is,” he’s struggling to find the words, and you get sick satisfaction from his fumbling.

But what if he knows you will? What if it’s just another act?

“Just say what you wanna say and go.” You whisper, shuffling away from him when he leans against the tree next to you, your fingers threading through the grass beside you.

“Hear me out, just— I didn’t wanna tell you.” He says, getting a little fidgety. “You’re too good, ya know? Too innocent and sweet. Pure.”

That makes you look at him— a glare, really— but you see him, crestfallen, hand digging deep into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a baggy.

Drugs.

Your heart almost stops.

He’s a dealer.

“They’re not adderall, but they might as well be.” He whispers, rolling the little bag between his fingers. When you look up at his face, he’s looking at you. “I was selling, we got caught. We improvised.” He glances around, before shoving them back into his jeans. “I’m not messing with anyone else, I swear.”

There’s a moment in which you just stare at the pocket of his jeans, envisioning the baggy, overthinking every conversation you’ve had with him, every thought you’ve had of him. You feel cheated, lied to; you’re just a naive little honour student with no idea of the great, big, mean world beyond college life. No idea how close to the surface the dirty underbelly really is.

Even when it’s sitting right next to you.

“Just dealing drugs, cool,” you mumble, finally tearing your eyes away from his jeans, tugging the blade of grass from the ground, dropping it amidst the others.

Then it’s quiet. Of course, there’s pride there: he’s not with anyone else, it’s you he wants; but there’s also the deceit. The slither of anxiety that whispers in your ear, that coils around your stomach and tightens until you’re physically ill; scared of what might come from falling for a man like this.

“Like I said, I didn’t want to tell you—”

“It’s fine. You said what you wanted to say, now you can go.” Still, you can’t look at him, can’t afford to get lost in his gaze again; you busy yourself with tugging at more grass, but the air’s heavy.

A sigh, and you see him run a hand through his curls out of your peripherals. “Can I at least give you my number? You can call me when you’ve thought about it.”

“Thought about what?” You mumble.

He’s exasperated. “Oh, come on, you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” you bite back quickly.

“About you and me—”

“Ugh, whatever,” you sigh, digging through your bag for your phone, pulling up the keypad and handing it to him. “Hurry up, I need to study.” You’re trying to sound annoyed and standoffish, but mostly you come off tired.

He takes the phone, and your brain screams at you. This isn’t what you should be doing; you should be cutting ties with him, running away, getting as far from him and his influence as humanely possible.

“Thanks,” he says quietly when he’s done, holding it back out for you to take. “I’m gonna…”

“Bye,” you cut him off, snatching it back. He sighs, hesitates. You can sense he doesn’t want to go, that he probably wants to talk more, but you ignore him, eyes glued where your fingers toy with the blades of grass until he sighs and stands.

“Okay, see ya.” He says quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away.

You briefly make eye-contact when he glances back, but you tear your eyes away from him to stare down at your phone, face feeling hot.

Caught gazing after him like a lovesick puppy.

What a shitty afternoon.

-

“It’s Tuesday,” your roommate laughs, eyes almost bugging when she sees you pull a bottle of tequila from a brown paper bag. “It’s a school night!”

“I don’t have any classes tomorrow,” you uncap it, bring it to your nose for a sniff and recoil at the fumes, unable to mask your disgust at the smell. “Are you coming with me, or not? You don’t have any classes until tomorrow afternoon.”

You need this. You need to let loose, to drink until you black out like you’ve seen your roommate do so many times. You wanna be that girl: the carefree one that dances on tables and makes out with strangers on the dancefloor; that has men ogling her and buying her drinks and drooling all over her. The life of the party.

The cool girl.

Mostly, you need to forget about Matsukawa.

“I… fuck,” she sighs, seeing the hope in your eyes. It’s not long before she’s flashing you her trademark grin. “I can’t let you hit the clubs alone, now, can I?”

A smile grows on your face, “you can, but it probably wouldn’t be all that fun.”

“You just wanna raid my closet.” She raises her brows, slamming her textbook shut and standing up, rounding her chair and pushing it into her desk.

Your face falls, “oh, no—”

“Oh, yes!” She cheers, taking the bottle from you and pushing you onto your bed. “You think I wanna go out out with you dressed like that?”

Honour student. You hear him taunt, see the curve of his grin in your mind’s eye, feel his breath hot and heady against your ear.

She chooses you something ridiculous—cream snake print and tight and entirely too short, with too high heels—but you go along with it, sipping tequila and blasting remixes of old school favourites as she perfects your wings and glosses your pout.

You finally tell her about Mattsun: about his fingers and the party, about his mouth and his strong arms in the library. About his wandering eyes and lips and cock. But as you try and come clean about the drugs, your tongue gets heavy, and you find yourself whining about Rina instead.

-

9pm comes and that bottle is gone.

You’re both drunk, but you manage to skip the club’s queue, giggling and stumbling straight to the dancefloor, hooking up with a group of girls your roommate knew from high school.

Minutes blend into hours and a moment of clarity—if you can call it that—has you alone in the bathroom, taking a raunchy selfie in the full-length mirror and collapsing onto the sofa in the hallway.

As you scrutinise the photo, you realise don’t look like you, not really, and it’s not the alcohol. It’s the hair, the lips, the eyes; the amount of thigh—too much, too much—showing, your provocative pose, the curve of your breasts in the dress.

Honour student, who?

“Come… find me,” you mumble to yourself with a sly smile on your face, scrolling through your contacts until you find it: Matsukawa Issei. You have a giggle at the fact that he’s saved his full name—that’s such a strange thing to do, isn’t it?—but without further ado, you press that little blue arrow, and with a whoosh, the picture’s sent.

You don’t even have time to stand up before your phone is buzzing in your hand. “Hello?” You laugh, bringing the device to your ear.

“Where are you?” He asks, bass pumping through the speaker of your phone. Oh? He’s out too? On a school night?

“Where are you, Mattsun?” Your voice slurs. “Because it doesn’t sound like you’re alone right now.”

“I’m—it doesn’t matter, I’m out, I’m… working. Where are you?”

“Oh,” you purr, leaning back into the sofa’s cushions. “I’m out, too. Not working, obviously.” Then you’re laughing, because he sounds… mad? Agitated?

Are you finally winning the game? Is this all it takes to win a round with big ol’ Mattsun?

“Fuck, are you wasted?” His voice is tight; your smile grows, laughter slows.

“Are you judging me?” A couple move past you, entangled in each other, beelining it for the disabled bathroom.

“Just—I’ll come get you, where are you?” His voice is easier to hear then, the background quieter. The couple tumble into the bathroom and lock the door behind them.

“I… don’t know what it’s called,” you admit, distracted.

“Check—” he’s getting more agitated, and it only makes you giggle. “There should be signage up around the place, what’s it say?”

“Uh,” there are posters on the wall opposite you, but you can’t read them from where you’re sitting. You push away from the sofa and stumble towards the wall, hand out against it for stability. “Oh, uh…” you trace your finger along the club’s logo in the top corner of the promo poster. “The Limelight.”

“I’ll be there soon.” He promises. “Don’t move,” then he’s gone, replaced by a lonely dial tone.

Suddenly, you’re sobering up. The thought of actually seeing him again? Terrifying. What have you done?

“There you are!” A woman—one of your roommate’s friends—grabs you by the arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” She stresses as you watch her fuss. What’s her name? The room is spinning. “There’s a group of guys down there buying drinks—like, top shelf shit. C’mon,” she links her arm with yours and drags you back down to the bar, the music getting louder with each step it takes for you to descend the stairs; all thoughts and worries drowned out by the bass constricting your throat.

She wasn’t kidding. There’s four of them, all in suits, all far older than any of you, and all handsier than they should be.

Two vodka martinis later has one of the guys dragging you to the dancefloor, his hands holding you against him as you sway drunkenly to the music, head spinning, eyes closed to save your corneas from the flashing green strobes attempting to blind you.

His lips are on your shoulder, your neck; a hand pulls your head against his chest and he’s talking to you, but you can’t hear him, his lips at your ear, your cheek, your mouth—

Then your world shifts; you’re pulled sideways, back forced against something hard, and when you begrudgingly open your eyes, Suit Man has his hands up in surrender, giving you one last once-ever, before shaking his head and getting lost in the sea of people.

“I thought I told you not to move, honour student.” He practically growls in your ear. That, you hear.

“Mattsun,” you smile, lifting your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling his head closer to yours, wriggling your ass against him excitedly. Like a puppy, glad her master’s home.

“Issei,” he corrects you, big hands on your hips, holding you against him, fingers almost bruising; not that you care.

A giggle bubbles from your lips and you turn in his embrace, look up at him through your lashes. “Issei.”

Then he’s kissing you and you’re meeting his advances hungrily, pressing against him, pulling him closer, thirsty for him, needy and desperate.

“Why were you dancing with him?” He asks, holding your face in his hands, forehead pressed against yours. You’re surprised you can hear him, breathless from his kiss.

“Who?” You ask dumbly, head full of Issei, body practically vibrating against him. You go in for another kiss and he chuckles, his minty breath fanning your face, hands holding you still.

“You’re real pretty tonight.” He says, mouth going to your ear.

Pretty. Ah, yes, the word that has you falling to pieces in his hands. Even in your altered state, the word has your knees almost buckling, has you pussy fluttering.

“Am I?” You breathe back, lids lolling shut.

“And really drunk,” he points out with a laugh.

You pout, “well you’re… really… tall.”

“Why’d you drink so much?” He asks, thick brows rising. You’re about to answer when you realise he’s swaying you. Then you’re pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, your own hands sliding down his back to rest on his ass.

The question echoes in your brain despite the music thumping, despite the bodies writhing around you, despite the alcohol burning in your veins.

Why’d you drink so much?

Because he’s wrong for you. He’s bad news. He’s a liar. He’s a dealer. The little baggie—

The little baggie.

Nimble hands find the curve of his ass, squeeze his rump. Nothing. You pull away from his embrace and push up on your toes to press your lips to his, tongue running along his lower lip. He accepts you with a groan, pulling you closer, huge hands fondling your ass, fingertips pressing at flesh as your tiny dress rides up.

As your nimble fingers slide into his front pocket.

As they wrap around the little baggie and gently tug it out.

As they lift the front of your dress and tuck it into your underwear.

You pull away, breathless. “Water,” you beg, and he’s got your hand in his, dragging you up to the bar. He orders a water, and a conversation starts with the man behind the bar; they know each other.

You take the opportunity to slip away, woozy brain begging that the two in the disabled bathroom are done with their business so you can… get a proper look at the baggie tucked in the front of your panties.

You’re too good. Too pure. Or whatever he’d said by the tree. You’d show him.

You make it back up the stairs and down the carpeted hall, thankful for the lack of suffocating bass, of writhing bodies. The door’s unlocked, and when you push it open, you find the large bathroom unoccupied and slide in, letting the door close behind you.

The wall to your right is entirely mirrored, the floor covered in glossy, marbled tiles that feel a little more expensive than the ones in the ladies room. Despite the single toilet, there’s a countertop with two sinks—deep and porcelain white—two gold taps and a long mirror, opposite the mirrored wall, allowing you to see the front and back of your outfit with the tilt of your head.

Fancy.

You resist the urge to splash your face, but you cup your hands under the running water and take a drink, the water soothing your dry throat. Then you stumble over to the toilet and drop the lid, taking the baggie from your underwear and plonking your ass on the seat, shaking the bag in the bright, warm light.

Six pills. Would he really miss one?

Shaky fingers open the bag, pull a pill out and look at it. You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; you don’t look like you, so why should you act like you?

That single thought is all you need.

The pill’s on your tongue, and you’re swallowing it dry, anxiety gnawing at your stomach, pride smacking it down. Who cares? It's not like one little pill is going to ruin you! You’ll still be you! Still be his pretty, little honour student, only you’ll be more fun, right?

Everyone likes a fun girl.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and wonder if he’s mad at you. Does he think less of you because you’re drowning your sorrows in booze and avoiding your feelings? Is he upset that he had to leave work to cater to you, despite you not actually asking him to?

Minutes drag, and you wonder if you should go and find him. You lift the little bag up to the light and picture yourself sliding them back into his pocket, like a little spy, or a ninja—

“You know, you’re supposed to pay for those.” Matsukawa says lowly, bottle of water in his hand. He pushes the door closed behind him, locks it with a definite click.

He looks mad, but still composed. Takes one step, two, three—

You drop forward off the toilet to your hands and knees, stopping him in his tracks. Then you’re pushing up to sitting, little bag dangling between your fingers, “can I pay with my mouth?”

He scoffs, but even drunk, you don’t miss the flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes drink in your submissive form. “Get up,” he hisses, snatching the bag, pocketing it, and reaching for your arm to pull you up.

“It’s now or never, pretty boy,” you purr, hands on his belt, eyes pleading with him to let you have your way. He hesitates, clicks his tongue. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? That day in the library? That’s why you followed me to the tree and told me your dirty little secret.”

His brow furrows. “Not like this, fuck,” and your name, your real name leaves his lips in a curse, and you know you’ve got him.

“C’mon, Issei,” you’re begging like a brat, “I’ve only done it a couple’a times, but I swear I’ll do well.” He groans then, hands going to your hair as your fingers loosen his belt, undo his pants and tug them down. You rub your cheek against his cock as it strains in his briefs, and a fleeting thought of ‘fuck, it’s big,’ crosses your mind before you’re nuzzling your nose against it, inhaling his scent and mouthing at him over his Calvins. “’s big, Issei,” you nearly moan, thighs clenching at the thought of this inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans, hands on your face, tilting your head so your eyes meet his. “You sure? You feeling okay?”

You just laugh, twist your head to nip at a finger playfully —which you miss on purpose— then you’re pulling his crisp white underwear down his thighs, marvelling at the cock that springs free and nearly slaps you in the face.

It really is big; by far the biggest you’ve ever seen, something you thought only really appeared in pornos, not real life. He says something about stopping, but you’re too invested, pussy tingling in anticipation, begging and pleading to be filled to the brim by this piece of meat.

It dwarfs your hands when you wrap them around his girth, pumping up and down languidly just to get a feel of him. Strangely enough, he smells clean. There’s a hint of sweat, but you get the feeling he’s not long showered, or he freshened up before coming to get you.

If you weren’t so drunk, maybe you’d be wondering if he was he with someone else? Would you be pulling back from him? Glaring up and him and asking if that was why he washed up? Instead of wrapping your lips around his spongey head and snaking your tongue out along the underside of his cock?

He’s way too big—a thought you numbly recognise is reoccurring—and you take him in too far, crouching down on your knees to get a better angle, so he can slide right down to the opening of your throat. You ignore the gag reflex trying to kick in, instead humming at the welcome gush of saliva into your mouth, the throb in your cunt, staring up at him with tented brows and watering eyes as the extra lubrication helps you up your speed.

“How do you feel?” He asks, voice gravelly, lidded eyes locked on you as you tangle your fingers in the hem of his shirt for balance. His finger strikes like a match down your cheek, lighting you on fire as you hollow out around him and pop off.

“Jealous,” you admit, reaching back down for his cock, feeling it hot and heavy in your hands as you sink down, butt on your heels.

“Jealous?”

“M-my pussy,” you mumble, unable to look at him. Shy. So damn shy. Why are all these butterflies floating around inside you? In your brain, in your stomach, deep in your cunt and tickling the surface.

He tilts your head up, makes you look at him. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

“My pussy,” you say louder, pouting. “Is jealous of my mouth!”

Then you’re being pulled up with a grunt that’s not your own, world almost spinning as you’re picked up off the floor and walked over to the sinks, placed on your ass between them on the cool stone. “I didn’t wanna fuck you here,” he says in your ear, large hands pushing your dress up, looping into the string of your thong at each hip, and pulling them down. “But you’re just too much for me.”

“Issei…” you mewl, wrapping your heavy arms around his neck, nuzzling into his face, kissing at his hairline.

“But you know that, don’t you? You know I can’t help myself around you; can’t help following you around like a lost fucking puppy.” Fingers swipe at your cunt and you moan wantonly, lifting a heel onto the counter to give him better access to you. “Shit,” he hisses, dipping two fingers inside you to pick up your essence, swirling it around your clit.

“Issei, pl—ah,” you cry, holding him tighter, surprised by how close you are to falling apart in his hands, despite him just rubbing your clit. “I’m—Issei, ’m gonna—”

“Cum? You wanna cum?” His voice is tight, naked cock rutting against your thigh slowly as you moan and keen into his neck, holding onto him for dear life, unable to let go.

You want to say yes, you want to beg him to let you cum, to tell him how good he’s making you feel, but all you manage are incoherent slurs and mumbles and moans. He’s too good with his fingers, smells too nice, is too broad and strong, and you can feel his muscles tensing beneath your wandering hands, hear his heaving breaths and feel them as they beat down against your skin.

Before you know it, you’re biting down on his shoulder and holding him impossibly closer, hips bowing off the counter as your orgasm shoots through your body, tears in your eyes.

“God, you’re fucking—” he grits out, trying get some space between the two of you, despite your iron hold on him. But you don’t wanna let go; you feel weird, jittery, too hot, but not warm enough. “Baby, here, I’m— c-can I put it in? Lemme put it in,” he breathes, managing to knock his forehead to yours. “Can I?”

You’ve never heard him sound so needy.

“Mmm, hurry,” you moan, wriggling your hips closer to his, desperate for friction.

“Fuck, c’mere—” he kisses you, hard. You’re kissing him back, feet hooking behind him as he slides himself along your weeping cunt, huge hands gripping your ass and pulling you closer.

You’re about to whine at him to hurry up when you feel the head of him prod at you, feel him start to push in. And he really has to push.

“You’re tight,” he grunts, breath hot and strained at your ear.

“No, you’re just huge,” you moan, wincing a little but leaning into the stretch, yearning for more. “C’mon, Issei, I can take it,” you almost purr, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, pulling him away from you so you can meet his lips in a searing kiss.

Each inch he sinks in feels like it’s supposed to be the last; you’ve never felt so full in your life. It’s dizzying, intoxicating, addictive. Your head falls back and he’s kissing your neck, tiny jerks of his hips pulling out a little, before pushing in some more.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispers against the column of your throat, core clenching at his praise, earning a hiss and a nip in response. “Relax,”

“I’m trying, but your cock’s s’ big,” you pout, dizzy as you pull your head back up to meet his eyes, nose brushing his. “I thought about this alot,” you find yourself admitting, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, before looking down at where the two of you are joined. “I’m glad I’m a little buzzed, I don’t think I could’a taken this sober.”

He scoffs, “next time, you will be taking this sober.”

You chuckle breathily, wince as he bottoms out with a deep sigh. “Next time?”

“Fuck yeah, next time.” He grins that grin that makes you weak in the knees, the one that makes you make bad decisions. “You comfortable?” His voice is quiet then, hushed, and you nod as he closes his eyes, lips meeting yours in something slow and sensual.

Then he’s rocking— out and in, out and in— and your eyes are watering behind closed lids, the euphoria of being fucked the way he’s fucking you overwhelming. Would he always be this tender?

“‘S so good,” he breathes, pulling away from your kiss, fingers bruising on your hips as his speed picks up, moans tearing from your throat at the friction of his pacing, at the fact that his cock seems to hit all of your sensitive places at the same time.

“Issei—”

“More?” He asks darkly, chest heaving. You can only whine and nod frantically, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt to keep you stable. “Use your words!”

“Deeper—” you manage to choke out, tears collecting on your lashes.

“Fuck,” then you’re lifted and flipped, chest hitting the countertop, his cock sliding back into your greedy cunt so fast you’re seeing stars. “See that?” He hisses, tugging at your hair so you can see yourself in the mirror, so you can see him plowing into you from behind. “That’s why I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” his eyes are narrowed, breathing unsteady, other hand full of your skimpy little dress. “I knew you’d fit me well, I fucking knew it.”

Then he’s really driving into you, tearing moans from your throat, sending tears down your face. He drops your hair and his fingers are on your clit, expertly massaging the bundle of nerves as he slams into you, cockhead ramming against your tender cervix, the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“‘Ssei,” you’re slurring, fingers trying and failing to find something to grab onto, as he fucks you better than you’ve ever been fucked. You settle on pressing your hands against the mirror, looking up to catch a glimpse of him with his shirt in his mouth, muscled abs tensing as he stares down at what you can only guess is your pussy sucking on his cock.

“F-Feels s’ good,” he snarls, chesty moan slipping from his lips, hand letting go of your dress to slap it hard against your ass.

You yelp and tense up, teetering on the cusp of another orgasm, the sensation making him groan and repeat the motion, harder.

“Issei!”

“Cum for me,” he’s caging you in, leaning over you and breathing in your ear, sounding like he’s not gonna last long himself. You whimper out something incomprehensible, and he spanks you again, “I said: cum.”

And your body listens; toes curling in your heels, mouth hanging open as your whole body tenses, fingernails scraping along the mirror as you buzz with bliss, orgasm whiting out your vision, your eyes slamming shut.

“Jesus fucking chri—” he hisses, slamming into you a few more times before pulling out, hot cum shooting in ropes over your exposed back and ass, fingernails of the hand still holding your hip piercing into your flesh.

A jittery sigh leaves your lips and your body begins to feel a little heavy, drowsy. Which— even as inebriated as you are— you know should be wrong. The pill should be giving you a second wind, shouldn’t it? Should be masking the effects of the alcohol a little, should be… not making you feel like your bones are made of lead.

He cleans you up, dresses you, sits you back up on the countertop and puts the bottle of water in your hands, “drink this.” it’s not a question, it’s an order; then he kisses your cheek and steps away to wash his hands.

You take a couple of sips and lean back against the mirror, the glass cooling your back, head lolling against it, eyes drifting shut.

“Hey, hey,” he says, surprise in his voice, big hands— warm, so warm, and a little damp— on your face. You pry your eyes open and look at him, smile growing at the sight of how panicked he looks. “What’s wrong?” He frowns, wiping at what you’re sure is smudged mascara under your eyes.

His are brown, so dark they seem black.

“Your eyes are really pretty, Issei.” You whisper, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He smiles then, kissing you back, then holding the bottle up for you to take.

“Drink some more, okay?” He almost begs, brows tenting upwards.

“I can’t,” you whine. “‘s too much.” You pout, wrapping your arms around him instead, sliding your hips closer to do the same with your legs.

He puts the bottle down with a chuckle, indulges you in kisses. Down your neck, across your clavicle, back up your throat to nip at your chin playfully. “I’m taking you home,” his voice is deep, husky, makes you shiver.

“But you don’t know where I live,” you giggle as he licks and sucks at the sensitive spot below your ear.

“My place, pretty girl,” he whispers, lifting you off the countertop. “Can you stand?” Your legs are kinda shaky, but you make it work with a little help from his bicep, and one of his hands on your waist.

By the time you’re at the stairs, you’re walking better. He makes a joke about his cock turning you into a baby deer, and you laugh along, mind feeling a little mushy.

He dwarfs you in his jacket when you’re out of the club, the scent comforting, warmth so soothing your knees buckle a couple of times on the way to his car. But he’s there to help you, to chuckle about your weak knees. He helps you slide onto the tan leather of the passenger seat of his flashy black sedan, clips you in and closes your door, rounding the car to get into the driver's seat.

As he’s driving, you’re lulling in and out of sleep, brain still shocked as to why. “‘Sei,” you mumble, “why’m I so tired?”

“Tired?” He says something else, but you’re closing your eyes again, wrapped in the warmth of him, the smell of him, the comfort of knowing he’s looking after you.

He’s there.

Then you’re gone.

-

You wake up feeling like crap.

No light bleeds into the room, and you have to wait for your eyes to adjust to be reminded you’re not at home. You’re in some modern, flashy apartment, blanketed in something thick and fluffy, unable to move because something—someone heavy and muscled is holding you down.

Spooning you.

Memories from last night come back in waves: the dancing, the drinking, fucking in the toilet, the pill—

You gasp and push his arm off your waist, sitting up best you can, trying to ignore the dizzy spell swallowing you whole.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” his voice is deep, sleepy, a little slurred.

“I— Issei, I took a drug,” spews from your mouth like word vomit, panic igniting your veins. “I took some kind of mind-altering drug, and I’m gonna—”

His little chuckle stops your panic, stokes your confusion. “You took a Xanny, you’re gonna be okay.”

A Xanax? That can’t be right? “A what?”

“A Xanax. It’s why you were so sleepy in the car.” He props his head up on an elbow to look at you, free hand resting lazily on your thigh. “You’re gonna be okay, just sleep a little.”

“But you sell adderall.” You almost gawk, confused beyond measure.

“I sell a lot of things. You pocketed my Xanny stash, not my Addy stash, babe” He sighs, that ever-knowing grin on his stupidly handsome face.

Babe.

“Speaking of which,” he sits up then, cocky air to his voice, hand still on your thigh. “Why’d you do that?”

Fuck, you don’t know.

Shame trickles down your spine, and your mouth starts to feel dry. “I— I was drunk.”

“Hmm, okay,” he nods, dramatically skeptical.

“I was,” you stress, face heating up.

“And you do remember we fucked in the disabled bathroom? Like, at the club?” He asks, cocky grin growing wider on his face.

The shame makes your stomach roll. “I— yes.”

“And you wanted that. I tried to tell you no, and everything.” He chides.

“I remember.” You pout.

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of absolute quiet.

You’re overthinking again, too scared to ask him what you want to, too frightened of what he might say. Of being played again.

Of losing again.

“And how do you feel about those choices now?” He asks, that hand on your thigh squeezing at your flesh. “Hm, honour student?”

“I regret the drug thing, obviously,” you mumble.

“Good, good, we agree on that,” his voice lowers, hand travels up your stomach, under the large shirt he’s dressed you in, to rest over your belly. “And the sex?”

“God, Issei,” you roll you eyes.

“Because I really liked it, and I really like you, and I’d like to make that a regular occurrence.” He admits smoothly, inching closer to you.

Your whole body burns with... something. “What? Me getting angry drunk at you, and then texting you for a booty call in a bathroom?” You ask sarcastically, toying with the hem of the shirt you’re wearing.

“That, or you just watch a movie with me here, and we eat pizza and make love in my bed.” His other arm snakes behind your neck as he draws closer, hand beneath the shirt gripping your hip and pulling you against his naked torso.

“Issei…” you groan as his lips meet your neck, slow, lazy kisses trailing up to your ear. “I can’t— I’m not fuck-buddy material.”

“Fuck buddy?” He laughs incredulously then, head falling back as he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, you honestly think I’m playing with you, huh?” You don’t answer, so he pulls your face up to meet his. “Just give me a chance—“

“I gave you two already—”

“And I’ll prove to you that— see that shirt you’re wearing?” You glance down at it: his shirt. “Yeah, it’s made of boyfri—“

“Oh god, don’t finish that sentence,”

“—end material.” He finishes proudly, still laughing.

“Issei, come on; we’re so different.” You mumble, unable to stop the shy smile growing on your face, the warmth spreading across your chest, neck, and face.

“Yeah? I think we’re smart enough to make it work,” he kisses your hair. “If not, I’ll just tutor you on it; I’m top of my classes, you know?”

“Shut up!” You laugh, trying to push away from him.

But he pulls you back down and kisses you, and it feels good, feels right.

Feels like winning.

i live for awkward/dorky!! kuroo so this is my name suggestion!!! no pressure at all tho choose who u want to write for!!!!

(in response to this prompt)

you manage a shuddery inhale, arm thrown over your eyes as your lover kisses his way down your chest. kuroo’s fingers brush gently against your ticklish sides, making you squirm while a giggle bubbles behind your parted lips.

he sighs against your stomach, warm breath raising goosebumps on your skin, and you shiver at the closeness, the intimacy of it all. on this quiet saturday afternoon where all was still and quiet, save for the soft hum of the AC and the smack of your lover’s lips against your skin, there was nothing more you could want. 

“tetsuro,” you sigh, scraping your nails up his back to tug on his hair impatiently. “hurry up.”

“patience, babe.” he kisses your stomach once, twice, then follows his kisses with a flurry of soft smooches down to where you want him the most…

…making a quick pit stop along the way to lick at your belly button. 

like a strike of lighting, your reflexes quite literally kick in—and before you could even breathe or think, you’re squirming and kneeing kuroo in the gut with all your strength. 

“fuck, sweetheart, ow— could’ve just told me you didn’t like that,” he wheezes breathlessly, curled up in a ball at the end of the bed clutching his middle. 

your jaw dropped the moment you realised what happened. 

“sorry, tetsu!” you cry, crawling forward on all fours to stroke his back. “i wasn’t expecting that, didn’t know i was ticklish there. you okay, baby?”

“no, not at all!” kuroo whined dramatically. “you gotta kiss it better.” he rolls onto his back, the saddest puppy pout you’ve ever seen plastered across his face, and points at his rib where a soft, muted red was starting to bloom across his skin. 

you abide by his request, scooting down to press a kiss to his sore spot. kuroo whines again when you lift your head to look at him, long fingers threading through your hair to push your head back down to his navel. “again,” he orders with a loud, exaggerated sniffle.

“how demanding,” you laugh into his tummy, but appease him anyway with a flurry of soft smooches. “there we go. all good now.” you declare, pulling back to look at kuroo. 

“i dunno, babe. still hurts a little,” he mumbles in a small, hurt voice; his pout now eased into a smug little grin that doesn’t match his words in the slightest. and with his arms crossed above his head, biceps flexing and pecs on full display, you’re finding it incredibly hard to resist him and his peculiar plea for affection.

“tetsuro, you’re just— you’re extorting kisses from me now,” you giggle. you lean down and press a series of quick pecks to his navel once more, pausing to blow a wet raspberry next to his belly button which makes him yelp.

kuroo tugs you up his chest to face you properly, shooting you a dirty look though his cheeks were notably red from laughter. then he kisses the side of your head, all tender and sweet, and you knew you were forgiven.

“sorry i kicked you,” you whisper. “it was an accident.”

“sorry i licked your belly button.” kuroo replies with a laugh. “was just trying to be sexy.”

a/n: and then they fucked, watched animal planet while eating ice cream, and napped the afternoon away. the end thank you for reading

(masterlist)

I wonder if you know how they live in Tokyo

trying to become a wine couple with shouto and the two of you sit on the floor in the living room each with a healthily poured glass in hand while you try (and fail) to describe the tasting notes.

"it's very..." you run your tongue over your lips, as though catching the last drop that clings to them might be a breakthrough. "...dry."

shouto swallows another mouthful, his nose twitching a little at the taste—he doesn't seem to like it, but he's trying (mostly for your sake.) he considers your point, and then adds thoughtfully: "i think it's pretty wet actually."

tw: mentions of alcoholism/sobriety

Sober!Samu coming home from a really really fucking bad week at the shop and just collapsing onto the couch in his apartment in a boneless, dejected heap.

He shuts his eyes, a headache raging between his temples like a storm.

It's not often that Osamu laments being a business owner, or someone's boss, but he had to fire someone this week—a guy who no-called-no-showed one too many times, and that Samu's suspected has been skimming off the till at closing. He'd put the unpleasant task off as long as he possibly could—made an effort to be understanding about what circumstances may have led his employee to that point—but it was starting to impact the other staff members, and Samu has to look out for them, too. And then on top of all of that, the shop's walk-in has been acting up again, and he just got a quote for repairs that's gonna blow his budget for the month. 

He wants a drink.

It doesn't happen often these days, so many years into his sobriety, but occasionally (on the worst days) the desire rears its ugly, inveigling head.

He gives the call more thought than he ought to—the familiar siren song doomed to run him aground growing too loud in that quiet, vulnerable moment. He imagines shuffling to the refrigerator and grabbing a cold can from the bottom shelf where he used to keep them. He can almost hear the crack of the top and the and hiss of carbonation escaping the can as he opens it. Can practically feel the familiar burn of bubbles rushing down his throat, and taste the bitter, tannic flavour of hops on his tongue as he swallows it down. He could repeat the process until the thoughts in his head go quiet. Until everything feels a bit lighter. Until—

“Oh! You're home!"

Osamu opens his eyes and sees you standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Your bedroom now too, since you'd recently moved in—though he still sometimes has trouble believing it, since it feels too good to be true. You’re towelling at your hair, having evidently just washed, and looking at him with a bright, welcoming smile.

He watches your expression shift, sees it drop slightly, as your eyes take in his dispirited form.

“Just got here,” he offers weakly, attempting a smile to try and reassure you.

It doesn’t work.

You pad over to him at the sofa.

“You okay?” you ask him, your mouth curling down at the corners in quiet concern.

Osamu’s learned to read your face so well after all this time together, and he knows you’re the same. He knows that no matter what he says, no matter what lie he tries to offer you so that you won’t worry, you’ll still see the truth.

He shuts his eyes, and lets out a long, pained breath.

“Bad day.”

You crawl into his lap without replying, straddling his waist and resting between his spread thighs. You smell like the shower gel you always use, the one he likes so much, and you’re still warm from the bath. He breathes in deeply as you press yourself against him, using it to ground himself.

“Was just thinkin’ about havin' a drink,” he admits further, cracking one eye open to peer up at you. 

You don’t look surprised, or panicked. Just thoughtful. A pensive pinch between your brows as you smooth your hands along the front of his Onigiri Miya t-shirt.

“Don’t think that’s gonna make the day any better,” you finally offer him, your eyes meeting his.

He snorts. “Yeah, yer right.”

Osamu winds his arms around your waist, pulling you forward against his chest. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” you whisper into his skin, punctuating the sentiment with a featherlight kiss against his pulse point. 

“’S better now,” he says back warmly, holding you a bit tighter than before.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just letting him hold you. You occasionally press another kiss against his skin, and as heat rises in his cheeks, Osamu feels the tension of the day burning off with it. The siren song grows fainter in the mist.

You begin to kiss your way up his throat.

“Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” you ask him in between kisses.

Osamu hums, a deep, needy sound. “Whatcha got in mind?”

“We could watch a movie?” You kiss the edge of his jaw near his ear, skimming along his jawline towards his mouth. “Or we could go for a walk to the park? Bet the swing set’s free. Maybe even the seesaw if you’re lucky.”

Osamu laughs, seeking your lips with his own. Your mouth is sweet and obliging, like it always is, letting him press his way inside of it to taste you. You unconsciously roll your hips against his when he presses one hand down against the small of your back, and it makes his stomach clench when he feels the pressure of you grinding against his lap.

He wastes no time, flipping you over so you’re sprawled on your back against the sofa cushions. He holds himself up over you with a hand pinned beside your head while you stare up at him breathlessly, your eyes glassy and your gaze fond. Your lips are shiny with spit and Osamu’s never wanted to taste anything so bad in all his life, even though it’s something so familiar to him now.

“I am lucky,” he says, and your gaze softens affectionately at his words. He dips down until his lips are just brushing yours, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards slyly. “But think I have a better idea in mind.”

back support

miya osamu x gn!reader. slight suggestive? samu being hot mostly. that’s all.

After hours at Onigiri Miya are always rather quiet.

It’s when all the employees clock out one by one, collect their things and finish up their duties before saying bye to the boss and heading out. And it’s when you always stop by to meet your boyfriend whenever you happen to be in the area during closing time.

(Which, granted, you find an excuse to be pretty frequently. But that’s not the point here).

The bell of the front door jingles as you let yourself in, meeting the last straggler of your boyfriend’s establishment just on their way out. He’s young, working to pay his way through college, Osamu told you. He has kind eyes and a sweet smile, a good kid.

“Hi,” he nods, moves to hold the door open as you finish walking through, points a thumb behind him. “Boss is in the back restocking, he wouldn’t let me stay to help.”

“Figures,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself. “He’s a bit stubborn.”

And the kid chuckles like he doesn’t want to agree because it’s his boss, but the knowing smile speaks volumes anyways. He gives a quick bow of his head, mutters a polite goodnight, then the bell’s jingling again and you’re left alone in the front of your boyfriend’s restaurant.

You toss your keys onto the counter and push past the little waist high door with your hip to venture to the back of the restaurant. It’s pretty clean, save for where Osamu seems to have flung his hat off by the sink and there’s a familiar black apron pooled in the floor that looks to have fallen off its hook. You collect them both and smile to yourself as you clean up after him.

That’s when you hear it, as you swing by his office to put up the overlay part of his uniform—the slight muffled grunts coming from the storage room. Right, he’s restocking. Lucky you.

And if you were anyone else, you might be annoyed. Because the nights where Osamu stays behind by himself to restock can get long—like right now, with the time pushing midnight when he’s normally snuggled up in your bed by eleven—but, you must argue, it does have its perks. Like him bringing home extra leftovers from the day to make it up to you for being late. Or him giving you sweet sleepy kisses as he plops himself on top of you as soon as he walks in.

Or, and this is arguably your favorite one, you getting to witness the sight of him like this.

Your teeth dig into the corner of your lip as you lean against the doorframe of the storage room, the grunts that lead you to him punching through the air again as you watch the muscles of Osamu’s back flex and release as he tosses a bag of rice under one of the shelves. His work shirt hugs him so nicely, tight across the broad expanse of his shoulders and snug around the definition of his arms. It gets a little baggy past the expanse of his chest, a little looser towards his waist, but it bunches up due to the back brace he has strapped on.

You remember when he got it, albeit begrudgingly as he came home one day shy to show you what he picked up on his run to the store. The faint flush to his cheeks as he mumbled about how he can’t move as easily as he used to, that all those years of volleyball aren’t doing him any good now. You’d just kissed his cheek, told him it wasn’t even a big deal, anything that would keep him from hurting himself.

And as you eye the way the brace squeezes around his waist, does well to accentuate the slight cinch there that’s gotten just a bit wider over the years but is still very nice, you can’t even attempt to fight off the slight swirl in your gut.

Oh yes, lucky you indeed.

“Woo,” you whistle as he straightens up to swipe his forehead with the back of his hand, chewing your cheek as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, baby.” And he’s breathless, and it shouldn’t sound so fucking attractive, as he turns to walk towards you. He places his hands on your waist, drops his head for a kiss and hums against your lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. Ya get cranky past eleven.”

“I get even crankier when my boyfriend isn’t in bed with me,” you retort, but there’s no malice in the confinement of the storage room, no tilt to your words. You kiss him again. “But getting to walk in on you like this isn’t so bad.”

Osamu laughs into your mouth, pulling back slightly when you try to loop your arms around his neck. He catches your wrist, kisses your palm.

“Ah, don’t get too close. I’m all sweaty,” he offers up with an apologetic grin, then tips his head with a scrunch of his nose when you roll your eyes. “I just have a few more bags to move, then we can get ya home and in bed.”

“Yeah,” you hum, but you don’t pull away. Instead you trail your hand down his chest, try to bite back your smirk at the way your boyfriend shivers a bit, until your fingertips reach the edge of the tight brace wrapped around his waist. “Guess I’ll just sit back and enjoy the view, hm?”

You give the brace a tug, do your best to swallow the giggle that threatens to slip at Osamu’s over exaggerated groan. His fingers give your waist a squeeze, a signature Miya pout being thrown in your direction.

“Yer evil,” he sulks, stares at you like he’s fighting some terrible inner battle, then grumbles under his breath as he surges forward to kiss you again. “Ya said you won’t pay attention to it.”

“No I said I wouldn’t make fun,” you correct, blow out a light laugh as Osamu pulls you flush against him while peppering kisses down your throat. “Not paying attention to it would be a crime when it makes you look so good.”

His lips pause on your throat. You swear you can feel the flush burning from his cheeks straight into your neck. You thread your fingers into the damp buzz of his undercut, run your nails over his scalp.

“It’s for back support,” he mumbles, low and soft. And maybe you are evil, truly, because the retort is quick from your lips.

“I could use some back support.”

Osamu stops breathing, you press into him a bit more, then suddenly you’re being moved over and pushed back onto the checklist desk by the wall. You can’t help the fit of giggles you fall into as your boyfriend nips at your neck, his fingers squeezing your sides in a mixture to tickle and also to drag you closer all while he berates you.

“Oh you’re gonna need back support by the time I get done with ya,” he chuckles, moves up to kiss you even as his lips curl in a grin and soil the action. He grabs one of your thighs, hooks your leg around his waist playfully. “So mean, comin’ in and distracting me when I’m trying to get work done. I’m busy, yanno. And you just wanna tease and—“

“Sir? Sorry, I think I left my apartment keys by the—“

Both yours and Osamu’s eyes widen, heads snapping to the doorway of the storage room. There stands the sweet, sweet boy from earlier, face going from pale to red to about seven different emotions all at once as he takes in the scene. Then he slaps a hand over his eyes almost comically, turns on his heel to retreat, shouting out sorry’s every step of the way as you and your boyfriend stare after him appalled.

Osamu scrambles after him, you scurry off the desk, and both of you internally curse that damn back brace and the power it holds over your heads.

this is incoherent n idc the point is osamu back brace supremacy goodnight.

on a morning just like any other, miri goes looking for rei in the bathtub to wake him up. but this time, unlike any other morning, she finds that he's not there.

she stares, perplexed, at the basin where her papa normally sleeps, blinking down at the empty space in confusion. she makes her way back upstairs with the same confused expression on her face all the while.

the sound of the bedroom door opening at the end of the hall on the second level takes her by surprise.

"rei papa," she says, almost like she can hardly believe her eyes, "did you sleep in your bed last night?"

the aforementioned papa pauses in the doorway to his bedroom with one foot across the threshold, as though he's frozen mid-step.

"ah," he grunts, struggling to meet the little girl's inquisitive gaze. "hm."

not even his affirmative hum is enough to satiate miri's need for details.

"why?" she asks, her head cocking to the side. she eyes him, and rei is suddenly uncomfortably reminded of the training he's endured to withstand his composure under unimaginable torture and violence. somehow this is worse. "is rei papa sick?"

"no," he murmurs.

"then why is rei papa so red?" she steps towards him tentatively, intent to get to the bottom of her papa's strange behaviour and very pink face.

"miri!" the little girl is suddenly swept up from her feet, wooshing through the air as kazuki scoops her up into his arms while he sing-songs her name. he holds her up in front of his cheerful face. "your breakfast is getting cold, miri-chan!"

miri blinks into the grinning face of her blonde-haired papa. her gaze slides to the side to peek at rei, and the goes back to the man in front of her. she holds up a hand to cover her mouth from view (though it's on the wrong side to actually hide it from the brunette at the end of the hall.) "kazuki papa, rei papa sleeped in his bed," she mutters from the corner of her mouth, her little lips pursing.

kazuki looks at the man at the other end of the hall, completely still and looking at him with uncharacteristically startled eyes, and then back to the little girl in his arms.

"hmm," kazuki hums, "is that so?"

miri leans closer, and kazuki dips down too.

"maybe," she whispers, her tone even quieter and notably more conspiratorial, "he had... an accident."

kazuki relies on every modicum of self restraint and rigorous training he's endured not to outrightly laugh. instead, he hums thoughtfully with a solemn nod.

"we should be nice to him if he did," miri adds, "he might feel embarrassed."

the laughter kazuki feels welling up inside of him is as real of a threat as any gun that's ever been pointed his way.

kazuki sets miri down and she shuffles over to her other papa, who closes his bedroom door behind him just as she stops at his feet. she stares up at him, with a look that might be considered sympathetic if it weren't on the face of a four year old. she pats him comfortingly on the leg.

"it's okay, rei papa," she says pensively, something almost wistful in her tone. "it happens to the best of us."

and on that note, she spins on her heel and skips towards the stairs, heading to the breakfast that kazuki had promised.

"hold onto the railing!" the blonde calls after her as she sets off down the staircase, and she chirps back affirmatively before humming a little song as she goes.

the two men listen to her footsteps retreat, then the sound of her chair at the table downstairs being dragged across the floor, and eventually the sound of cutlery scraping across her plate.

kazuki turns, peeking at rei over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face.

"did you have an accident? rei-pa-pa?"

"shut up," rei mutters, his shoulders slumping as he finally relaxes.

behind him, his bedroom door creaks open, and you poke your head out from inside.

"that was close," you say breathily, brushing your hair back from your face, and the two men watch as you slip through the door into the hallway. you have one of kazuki's hoodies on your frame, and a pair of cozy slippers on your feet.

rei looks at you, and you avoid his eyes, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to laugh. he pouts.

"you two are mean," he complains.

"rei," you laugh, reaching for him, but he shies away from you woundedly. the act only last for a few seconds before he's allowing you to slip your arms around his waist from behind, leaning against his frame while you embrace him.

"who are you calling mean?" kazuki sniffs, "i just expertly diverted miri's attention because you wouldn't get out of bed in time to get in the tub before she woke up."

rei and kazuki glower at each other for a moment, but there's no real animosity behind either gaze.

"no fighting," you pipe in from behind rei, peeking out from around his shoulder.

"this is your fault too, you know," kazuki points accusatorially in your direction and you gape.

"me?" you ask, offended. you slip out from behind rei's frame and stalk towards kazuki. "if i remember correctly you're the one who was begging me to stay over last night, and you're the reason why my clothes needed to be washed before i could leave." you poke him harshly in the chest, and he winces–though there's virtually no way it did any real harm.

kazuki chuckles, a breathy little heh, looking away guiltily with your fingertip still prodding his chest.

"speaking of," you look around the hallway, "where are my clothes?"

kazuki perks up, shuffling over to the laundry basket he'd dropped at the top of the stairs and fishing out your freshly-laundered clothes from underneath a pile of miri's. he brings them over to you and places them in your outstretched hands.

"thanks," you say, a little smile pulling at your lips. kazuki offers you his cheek expectantly, and you roll your eyes but crane up on your tiptoes anyway. he turns his face at the last minute, just like he always does, stealing a proper kiss.

you giggle as you pull away, kazuki's greedy hands reaching for you to pull you back, and you let him man-handle you into his hold while you sift through the clothing in your hands. you quickly notice something's missing.

"where are my panties?" you ask, tipping your head to peer up at kazuki who's draped over your back. his brow furrows in confusion, looking at the articles in your hands and then back to the laundry basket.

"there weren't any," he says in confusion, certain that he would have noticed something like that in the load of laundry he'd risen to do at dawn.

rei slips past the two of you quietly, heading towards the stairs.

it occurs to you just a second too late.

"rei," you hiss, careful not to make too much noise and draw attention to yourself. "rei!"

he glances at you over his shoulder, pulling his hand out of the pocket of his sweatpants to reveal a familiar ball of lace in his grip. he shoots you a smug little look, and then continues to descend the stairs, muttering something as he goes that sounds suspiciously like 'it happens to the best of us.'

@HAIKYUU : MAKE SURE TO GET IT ON FILM, BABY!

a lewd anthology series of haikyuu men filming you and him fucking; after a party, while he’s at work, as you’re making pasta.

one thing is for sure: you’re always, always the star of his film.

nsfw content, minors do not interact ˖  ݁ . ࿓ each part has its own warnings. please be sure to read them all thoroughly < 3 kiss

starring ˖  ݁ . ࿓ miya atsumu, sakusa kiyoomi, oikawa tooru, akaashi keiji, matsukawa issei, kuroo tetsuro, miya osamu — more characters may be added.

reblogs are incredibly appreciated >3<

001. LA SANTA

✩ ˛˚ . miya atsumu is your best friend — you do everything with him. and so, obviously, you’re gonna ask him how you’re supposed to suck dick after attending a halloween party. and maybe he’ll show you other things, too.

002. TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME

✩ ˛˚ . your husband — sakusa kiyoomi — wants to treasure every moment of your honeymoon with photographs and videos. giving you every ounce of his raw heart and stuffing you with his cum as he records is part of that whole ordeal.

003. ME PORTO BONITO

✩ ˛˚ . your boyfriend is shit — doesn’t know the first thing about pleasing you. so, why not let star athlete oikawa tooru wrap his gold medal around your neck as he fucks you dumb? as he records the dirty deed and sends it to your (soon to be ex) boyfriend?

004. EFECTO

✩ ˛˚ . akaashi keiji is convinced you’re a nymph with the way you make him feel. especially as he’s fucking you in his bathroom, in front of the mirror — one hand on your pussy, other holding his phone to record the unfolding events before the two of you.

005. I FALL TO PIECES WHEN I’M WITH YOU

✩ ˛˚ . you’re matsukawa issei’s favorite shot girl. you’re so sweet, so pretty — he wants to absolutely ruin you and record the whole process.

006. A LOVE FILLED LUNCH

✩ ˛˚ . kuroo tetsuro — your beloved and doting husband — loves it when you take time out of your day to make him a love filled bento and adores it when you take it to his office, since you always make sure to stay for dessert.

007. BREAKFAST AT ONIGIRI MIYA’S

✩ ˛˚ . your boss — miya osamu — asks you to come in early on sunday mornings, the busiest day of the week. today, though, he might have to close shop to rearrange your guts in his kitchen.

© kentoangel — do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

CLEAN SHEETS

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. established relationship, suggestive fluff, language, just a lil warm up blurb for the main man !

“babe, babe.. tetsu!” you gasp out, a laugh escaping you as kuroo pins you against the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. he pulled back, a little confused on why you were laughing but the sound of it always brought a smile to his face.

“what is it, pretty girl?” he smirks, his fingers coming up under your chin to pull you closer before what would’ve been a searing kiss. “tell me.”

“i- not here.” you rush out. kuroo recoiled slightly, shock and confusion settling into his features. before he could say or do anything you finish your thought, “i just cleaned the sheets.”

“seriously?” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, like he didn’t know what to do with you.

“do you wanna wash them after, then?” you snap, teasingly. he contemplates for a moment before shrugging and picking you up. “hey! w-where are we going?”

“well if i can’t fuck you in our bed, how about the shower?” he purred, lightly chuckling as he brought your towards the bathroom. “since you’re so worried about making a mess.”

thank you trans women. everyone say thank you trans women. or else