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❤︎ ໋𓈒 he’s clingy when you ride him !

your boyfriend gets pretty clingy when you’re on his lap, bouncing up and down on his cock. he’s unlike those guys who prefer to lean back, arms behind their head as they watch their lover do all the work. instead, he prefers to wrap his arms around your waist, holding your body close against his, just so he can feel the way you’re shaking from how good it feels.

“feels good?” he murmurs. he’s not exactly asking, since he already knows the answer. he can feel it just from the way your body keeps tightening around him, clenching with every slow bounce, alongside that dumb, fucked out expression you have on your face. “so warm around me, baby… keep going, yeah? jus’ like that…”

your thighs are trembling, struggling to keep up with the rhythm, but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he’s whispering things to you right against your ear, causing you to collapse onto his chest as you desperately try to lift yourself up and down. he’s not even thrusting up, just holding you there and letting you use him to your heart’s content.

“mm—‘s too much,” you whimper into his shoulder, burying your face there as your pace falters. but his hands slide to your hips, guiding them again. “no it’s not,” he mumbles, lips brushing your ear. “you can take it. you always do. look how good you’re doing for me.”

when you let out another shaky moan and sink fully onto him, he hugs you tighter, arms locked around you like he needs you to breathe. he loves this position, because he gets to be so close to you, never having to let go.

"stay right here," he sighs, burying his nose in your hair, breath ragged. "don’t go anywhere… not till i finish inside you, ‘kay?"

for this req

satomiu

⎯⎯ A QUICK FIX ❤︎ ׅ ۫ ۫helping uni best-friend satoru destress after accidentally finding his hentai collection . . . ୨୧ ៸៸ ݁⠀⊹ ׅ ۫ 𝒻 reader dry humping handjob subby toru sexual frustration dacryphilia cümshot cuteiful ending ⎯⎯ 𓊆ྀི ❤︎ ⊹ word count 3.3k 𓊇ྀི ࣪ ˖

“satoruuu!” you purred, looking for any signs of life in his dorm. but you were only met with silence, his aura—more miserable than usual—radiating from within.

it was exam season, which meant satoru had likely entered one of his infamous overstudy spirals. the kind where he traded sleep for caffeine & liquid sugar... unfortunately for you, your best friend could be insanely stubborn when he wanted to.

“satoru?” you tried again, softer this time.

a faint clattering came from his bedroom. when you walked in you found him slumped at his desk. his head was down, but one arm remained suspended that you assume was holding the pen that had rolled to your feet. frozen in place like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d probably already passed out a few hours ago..

quiet tension between us

tsukishima kei x bff!reader (ONESHOT AU)

synopsis: after a long, exhausting match, tsukishima finally says what he’s been avoiding for far too long. but what comes after the confession isn’t confidence—it’s uncertainty. because liking you was one thing… but actually having you hear it, stay, and mean it back is something he doesn’t know how to handle. and for someone who always has answers, not knowing what comes next might be the scariest part of all.

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, post-match exhaustion, soft tsukishima kei, emotional unavailability (working on it), reader insecurity, comfort, late-night intimacy, subtle jealousy, accidental closeness, quiet domestic vibes, almost-confessions, “we’re just friends” denial, lingering touches, volleyball au, canon divergence

Now playing :

you can feel it now, but it didn’t start like this. It never does. it started in pieces you didn’t think mattered at the time. like him noticing when you were missing from practice before anyone else did. like the way he’d look at you first when something went wrong, not because he blamed you, but because he was trying to understand your reaction before anyone else could.

like the way tsukishima kei, of all people, started lingering. not in obvious ways. never obvious. just small things that built up over time until you couldn’t ignore them anymore. like standing closer than necessary during drills. like correcting your form twice even though once was enough. like the way his eyes would track you when you moved out of his line of sight, like it bothered him more than it should’ve.

and you—

you were always there.

waiting after matches.

waiting after practice.

waiting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you never made it a question.

never made him feel like he had to earn it.

and maybe that’s what made it dangerous.

because tsukishima kei understands effort.

he understands distance. he understands keeping people exactly where he wants them. but he doesn’t understand someone who stays without asking for anything in return. tonight feels heavier than usual. maybe it’s the exhaustion. maybe it’s the way the gym finally emptied out completely and left only the two of you sitting in the leftover quiet. maybe it’s the fact that neither of you has moved in too long. he sits beside you like he always does, but something about him is off. less sharp. less contained like the edges he usually keeps perfectly in place are slipping just slightly. you notice it in the way his fingers keep tapping against his knee before stopping. in the way he exhales slower than normal.

in the way he looks at you and then immediately looks away like it costs him something to hold it too long.

“you’re quiet,” you say gently.

he scoffs softly. “you’re loud enough for both of us.”

that makes you smile faintly, but it doesn’t last. because there’s something sitting between you both that neither of you is naming. and it’s getting harder to pretend it isn’t there.

“…you always wait,” he says suddenly.

“why.”

it’s not sharp.

not dismissive.

just… genuinely asked.

and that alone makes your chest tighten slightly.

“because i want to,” you say after a second.

he doesn’t like that answer.

you can tell.

not because he says it—but because he looks at you like he’s trying to find the part of that sentence that makes sense in his head.

“…that’s stupid,” he mutters finally.

you laugh quietly. “you say that like you understand people.”

that earns a small huff from him, but it fades quickly.

silence returns.

but it’s not the same silence as before.

this one feels tighter.

closer.

like it’s pressing in on both of you.

you shift slightly, knees almost brushing his now without meaning to.

he notices immediately.

he always does.

but he doesn’t move away.

that’s the part that’s starting to feel like a problem.

“…you’re doing it again,” he says.

“doing what?”

“getting closer.”

you shrug lightly. “there’s space.”

“there doesn’t need to be.”

that makes you look at him properly.

and for a second, he doesn’t look away first.

which is new.

too new.

“…you’re weird today,” you say softly.

“i’m tired,” he replies, but it doesn’t land the way it usually does.

because now you know what he looks like when he’s just tired.

and this isn’t that.

this is something else.

something unraveling slowly.

you swallow slightly. “kei…”

his eyes flick to you immediately at that.

always at that.

your voice drops. “what are we doing?”

that question hangs there longer than anything else tonight.

he doesn’t answer right away.

because he can’t.

because whatever answer exists doesn’t fit neatly into anything he’s used to saying out loud.

his jaw tightens slightly, then relaxes.

“…you’re going to be the end of me,” he mutters finally.

you blink. “that sounds dramatic even for you.”

“don’t joke.”

your expression softens slightly at that tone. “…kei?”

that does it.

something in him shifts—clean, final, like a decision made too late to undo.

he exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

and then—

“i like you.”

not casually. not like a passing thought. not like something softened or shaped to be easier to hear. just blunt. direct. tsukishima kei in the most honest way he’s ever been—because there’s no angle to hide behind, no sarcasm to soften it, no way to make it less real. just him, looking at you like he’s already accepted whatever happens next.

“…i don’t know when it started,” he continues, voice lower now, “but it’s been there for a while.”

a pause.

he clicks his tongue once, like he hates how exposed that sounds.

“…and you make it worse by always staying.”

that’s it.

no perfect timing. no dramatic build. just truth, finally spoken out loud after too long of holding it in.

and then everything goes quiet.

not empty.

not comfortable.

just… suspended.

tsukishima looks away first.

which almost never happens.

his hand drops slightly, fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them now that he’s said it.

“…forget it,” he mutters immediately, like he can still take it back if he says it fast enough.

you don’t move.

you can’t.

because your brain is still catching up.

“…you can’t just say that and undo it,” you say quietly.

he scoffs. “watch me.”

“no.”

that makes him look at you again.

really look.

and there it is—

that rare thing where tsukishima kei doesn’t have control of the situation.

you step slightly closer.

he doesn’t stop you.

“…kei,” you say again, softer.

he exhales, longer this time.

“…this is exactly why i didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

“because i stay?”

“because you don’t leave,” he corrects, quieter. “and i can’t tell if that means something or if you just—”

he stops himself.

you tilt your head slightly. “just what?”

he hesitates.

then, barely audible:

“…kind.”

that word hits harder than anything else tonight.

because it’s not an insult.

it’s not sarcasm.

it’s confusion.

you realize then that this isn’t about whether he likes you.

it’s about whether he thinks he’s allowed to.

you step closer again.

he watches it happen.

“…you didn’t have to hold it in,” you say gently.

“yeah,” he replies immediately. “i did.”

you shake your head slightly. “you didn’t.”

that makes him look at you again—fully now.

like he’s finally stopped pretending he doesn’t see you.

“…what now,” he asks quietly.

and for once—

he sounds unsure.

you exhale softly.

“…i don’t know,” you admit.

a pause.

then, a little softer:

“…we figure it out?”

that earns the smallest shift in his expression.

not relief.

not rejection.

something in between.

“…that’s vague,” he says.

you smile faintly. “you’re vague.”

that gets the smallest exhale from him that almost, almost sounds like a laugh.

almost.

and for the first time tonight—

he doesn’t step back.

and neither do you.

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