me and my bf were talking about fluttershy probably being terrible at smoking weed and that evolved into the idea of pinkie pie giving her the worst high in her life
old gold ☆ shinichiro won’t give you a chance ‘cause he doesn’t want you to waste your youth.. but he and his friends have never shared the same values.
takeomi akashi x female!reader x wakasa imaushi
3.7k words. | read on ao3. | minors dni.
cw/tw : spit roast, fingering, unprotected sex/creampie, exhibitionism (heard not seen), pet names, praise, light degradation, slight burn play, age gaps, reader wears a skirt, corruption kink.
“you look so pretty in an apron.”
shinichiro glares playfully at you out of the corner of his eyes, a smile creeping up on his face before he shakes his head.
“you know how they’ll talk to me if i burn this.”
you put on a fake pout, swinging your feet from where you’re sitting on the countertop watching as he finishes preparing dinner for the swarm of young men that were piled in the living room.
“it’s not like you’ve never burned anything before.”
he sucks his teeth at that, a small smile still lingering on his lips. you know you didn’t have much time left alone with him, that mikey would come around the corner looking for you with that chilling expression like he always does when you’ve snuck off to flirt it up with his big brother.
“and they don’t let me live it down until i cook for them agai—“
“shinichiro, let’s get married.” you cut him off and he just laughs. it’s like a broken record the way he brushes you off, treating you as if you have some school kid crush on him. like you’re not someone of legal drinking age with a fully developed brain. “i’m not a little girl.”
“i know you’re not.” he sighs through his nose, eyes leaving the stove top to look over at you and your feet still against the wooden cabinet door. “but you have so much time left to do whatever it is you want.”
“what i want to do is you.”
“you need to have fun.” he raises his eyebrows, he speaks the words softly but you know the intent behind them is firm. “you’re a beautiful girl, you’ve got the world in your palm. don’t let a relationship while you’re young tie you down.”
you want to open your mouth to answer but before you get the chance, you’re interrupted by the sound of mitsuya swinging himself around the corner. “smiley’s in here talkin’ shit about you not finishing the tournament.”
“i’m coming.” you quickly reply, hoping he’ll go away, but he doesn’t. you hop off the counter to follow after him, chewing at the inside of your cheek in frustration.
“two years.” you hear shinichiro speak from behind you and you spin on your heels. “in two years, if you’ve had all the fun you can handle and still want to get married, i’ll be here.”
there’s a smile on your face before you realize it’s there. “you’ll wait for me?”
“i don’t have anything else to do.” he shrugs and you don’t comment on how he doesn’t come off nearly as cool as he probably thought. “just workin’ at the shop.”
you nod, ignoring the calls of your name from the other room. “and cooking meals for us,” you add on, taking another step towards the living room before calling from behind the wall. “like what you’re burning right now.”
“shit—” you wish you could’ve seen his eyes go wide, and you nearly go back to fawn, until another call of your name rings off the walls and your already thin patience dissolves.
“i’m fucking coming!”
/ / /
“is it even unlocked?” you huff, irritated by the summer night’s heat as you walk in front of your two closest friends towards the all too familiar bike shop.
“should be, he said he’s hanging out with his old friends.” mikey answers.
“you should not be saying that.” draken laughs, and you know it’s meant as a shot at you.
“i only have a thing for shin’, not all old men.” you tsk.
“didn’t you tell inupi that he didn’t meet your age requirement?” draken teases but mikey is far from amused.
“my brother is not old, you—“ the shorter one starts.
“oh, it’s open.” you cut him off as you swing the door and to avoid his annoyed expression you rush inside. “shin’!” you sing, practically skipping through the bike shop looking for the man in question.
“slow down!” draken chides from behind you, muttering something about you knocking something over.
“why do you get to be the first one to say hi? he’s my brother.” mikey adds on and all you can do is laugh as you enter the hallway to the office near the back where the light shines under the door.
“‘cause he likes my face better than yours,” you swing the door open, sticking your tongue out at mikey. “obviously.”
it takes you a full minute to process who it is in front of you when you finally look and once you do, your jaw all but drops. through all the time you’ve spent as mikey’s friend, all the years you’ve followed shinichiro around, you’ve only caught glances of the old higher ups from the first generation of the black dragons. and aren’t they a sight to see.
shinichiro pulls you from whatever thoughts were forming as you eyed the other older men with a greeting.
“mikey messed up something on his bike.” you blurt, biting your lip to keep anything else from leaving your mouth. you point with your thumb towards the boys who have come to stand behind you, only to have the one you named slap it down.
“she did it, not me.”
you scoff at his lie, elbowing him to earn a nudge that sends you stumbling forward.
“i’ll look at it.” shinichiro pushes himself from where he’d been leaning against the desk, looking over to his white haired friend. “benkei, come pull the garage open?”
you watch him cross the room with hearts in your eyes, leaning into the door so your shoulder is pressed flat against it. you catch sight of his silver chain glinting in the low light, his black shirt only making it more prominent. you start to back out of his way alongside mikey, but the blonde doesn’t allow you to pass the door frame.
“you’re not gonna talk about how hot my brother is the whole time,” he pushes you back in the room, turning away and telling you from down the hall to, ‘go sit down.’
“my friends don’t bite.” shin’ smiles a promise and it comforts you slightly, especially when you catch his scent as he passes by—but not enough to turn around and face them. not until the door closes in your face and you can feel the burn of stares on your back.
“we really don’t bite,” is spoken from the couch following the sound of a lighter flickering.
“okay,” is all you manage back, awkwardly. you avoid looking at them in favor of staring at the spot where shinichiro had been leaning as you approach it.
“you shin’s girl?” makes you giggle as you hop up on the cold wood, thankful for the contrast to the warmth of your skin. but you still bite your lips, looking up at them as you debate how to reply.
maybe the whole first generation of black dragons were attractive, you think. surely draken couldn’t have been right about you just having a thing for older men. your eyes drag from the long-haired man with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen to the more rugged one with a unique dye job of his own. you surely knew their names… somewhere in your mind.
“nah,” is what you settle on, shrugging. “not yet.”
the longer haired one says your name like something about your response made something click for him. “he said somethin’ about you before.”
you nod slowly, curiosity suddenly eating at you but like always, you’re interrupted before you can pry.
“been havin’ fun?” the one you’re starting to realise is akashi asks another question, and you only shake your head. maybe shinichiro told them about your deal. they were some of his oldest friends, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe. “you smoke?”
“oh no, not tobacco.” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose at the memory of how it’d tasted when you’d taken a hit from hanma shuji’s cigar months back.
“c’mon,” he calls you to the couch with a wave of his hand, watching intently as you hesitate, looking towards the closed door. shinichiro wouldn’t leave you with them if they would hurt you. slowly, you make your way to stand in front of him. he leans his head against his shoulder to blow the smoke away from your face when you stop, giving you a view of his defined jaw and that scar running down his cheek.
“one hit won’t hurt.” he looks back at you and holds the cigarette up for you to grab. with shaking fingers, you take it from his fingers. you can practically taste the smoke off of his scent alone. he reeks like a chainsmoker but somehow it’s not enough to make you repulsed.
“you’re such a pretty lil’ thing,” he mutters, leaning forward and reaching out with rough fingers to skim up the side of your thigh as you take a short drag. “it’d be a shame not to show you a good time while we got ya.” your face burns at the touch, and whatever expression you make from the unexpected words mixed with the sting of nicotine hitting your chest makes him chuckle. “that’s if you can handle it.”
you cough out the smoke, quickly moving the cigarette away from where it pollutes your air. “i can handle a lot,” you say coolly, grimacing at the aftertaste. “cigarette smoke just isn’t on that list.”
he chuckles and reaches to grab the cigarette from your hold. or so you thought, his hand instead wraps around your wrist, pulling you down gently to straddle his lap.
despite his gentle guiding, you manage to be clumsy enough that ashes are dropped on the top of your thigh— the burning cherry falling with it making you suck in a sharp breath, hand twisting into his shirt and eyes fluttering shut all the same. he hums and apologizes under his breath, adjusting you on his thighs as he reaches around you to the coffee table for his lighter— his chest pressing up against yours and free arm wrapping around the small of your back to secure you in the process.
“‘ll be more careful with ya, promise.” his stubble brushes against your neck as he leans back against the cushions, fingers fumbling against the plastic and the other trying to be delicate not to break the paper. you’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but you grab the lighter from his hold and flicker the flame for him, not once breaking eye contact as he places the butt back between his lips and leans in to catch the fire. your hand falls after the flame dies, watching him take a drag as your own breath gets caught in your throat when his free hand starts to dance up the side of your body.
once he finishes inhaling, he licks his lips and you feel something heat in the pit of your stomach at the sight—shinichiro wants you to experience being young and wild, surely he wouldn’t be mad if it was with his friends. smoke is blown across your face and before you have a moment to react, the hand at your side wraps around your jaw and holds it, but doesn’t pull you forward—you move on your own.
you press your lips into his and the taste of his tongue makes you whine before you adjust to it, your hands moving from where they’d fallen limp to wrap around his neck. the hold on your face disappears and then you feel the same rough palm gliding under your skirt, squeezing at the soft give of your ass. his mouth moves from your own, down to your neck where you shiver at the way he seems to find all your most sensitive spots with ease, sucking and licking at them. you’re so lost in the feeling that you don’t even notice when he moves his hand again, not until his thumb is pressing at your clit through your panties making you let out a soft whisper of a curse and you’re bucking your hips into his touch.
so caught up in how akashi consumes your senses, it takes far too long to recognize the other man’s hand— the man you’d completely forgot was still lingering in the room—is tugging at the end of your skirt.
“c’mere.” imaushi speaks low, his gaze dragging from your chest back up to your eyes before trying again to beckon you over with a nod of his head and even as akashi pulls from where he’d likely been putting marks into your skin, you hesitate. “it’ll be fun.” he finally convinces you and with akashi’s help, you’re crawling off his lap only to realize with a flushed face that you’re now stuck between them on your hands and knees.
the long-haired man’s hands are much softer in comparison to those trailing along the backside of your thighs. imaushi wraps his hand under your jaw the same way akashi had done, and you realize that he also waits for you to close the gap between the two of you on your own. low eyes glancing between yours and your likely swollen lips until you reach to connect with his.
his lips are softer than akashi’s, you note, his tongue sweeter. he moans lightly as you suck on the muscle, his grasp loosening in favor of wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you in closer. behind you, akashi thumbs over your slit, pressing the wet fabric deeper into your folds with each pass. you’re sure you make a noise when he starts to circle at your clit, one that imaushi mimics tauntingly before he pulls your shirt up, using the hand not pinning you to him to slide under your bra and tweak at your nipples.
one of akashi’s hands work your underwear to the side, a low “shit, baby” falls from his mouth and he mimics his same movements, teasing your clit and entrance until you’re making an even bigger mess for him, the sound of him gliding through your slit obvious in the otherwise quiet room. the need to have them do something— anything else becomes overbearing.
“stop teasing,” nearly comes out as a whisper when you pull from the kiss. but you know they both hear you because imaushi looks past you to where his friend is sitting and they both laugh shortly at your expense.
“not teasin’, pretty.” the man infront of you turns his hold so his thumb is under the side of your jaw, the rest of his fingers wrapper around your throat. “we don’t rush things like the little boys you run ‘round with.”
and as to prove his point, akashi pushes a single finger into you, taking his time to press it against your softest wall that he didn’t have to guess to find. if not for it being held up, you’re sure your jaw would drop as the high whine vibrates through your throat. another is added and you’ve lost a sense of where you are, your eyes roll back and you’re pushing your hips to try and force his pace but the hand that you know is holding his still lit cigarette grabs the fat of your ass, holding you in place for him to fuck his fingers into you how he sees fit.
you can hear the sound of imaushi undoing his pants below you but you don’t register why until he brings his mouth to your ear. “spit on it for me, princess.”
obediently, you do, moving with shaking arms to pucker your lips and drop spit onto the head of his cock. when akashi adds the third finger, your arms completely give out and imaushi’s hold isn’t as strong as you’d thought because you fall right onto his lap. you can’t complain, not with the pleasure coiling in your stomach, added with the sight of him pumping his length with your spit coating him.
“how you feelin’, lil’ baby?” the words float from the other end of the couch.
“s’good, ‘kashi, fuck.” he curls his fingers and pushes them deeper than before on your last word making you squeal.
“takeomi,” he huffs and you feel the weight by your feet shift. you’re sure you’d be able to pick up the sound of him unzipping his own pants but imaushi’s hand distracts you with a guiding push towards his now fully hard cock.
you’re granted the sight of his lean abdomen when he slides his own shirt up away from where his dick rests against it. “‘nd call me waka, yeah?”
you mumble out an, “‘kay, waka,” but it’s swallowed by the gasp you make when akashi presses the thick head of himself against your entrance. “‘omi, ‘omi fuck—“ he’s easily bigger than anyone you’ve taken, in girth at least.
“s’wet.” he sucks in a breath as he pushes in slowly, holding your skirt out of his way as he pulls back after every inch he sinks in to ease himself into you. “this for us old men, little thing?”
you moan a sweet ‘mhm’ though your face burns in embarrassment. you force yourself onto your forearms and wrap your lips around imaushi’s cock, the taste of salt diminishing the thought. later you’d think about how pretty his dick was, from the pink of the tip to the veins running along the shaft— veins that you now tongue at while you take more into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him when akashi pushes even more of his thick cock into you and you’re starting to wish you would’ve taken the extra prep he’d been trying to do.
“what a mouth.” is grunted from above you and you wouldn’t believe the deepness in his tone if you weren’t hearing it for yourself. akashi chuckles shortly from where he’s kneeled when he feels you clench around him at what one can hardly call praise.
it’s when he finally bottoms out that his ashes fall on your skin once again, this time on your ass and you choke around the tip hitting your throat when the cherry burns you yet again, making you jump from where your hips were pressed to his.
“dirty girl.” akashi shakes his head knowingly at the way you tighten around him again. “‘nd i was so worried ‘bout hurtin’ you.”
“she like that?” imaushi asks with the most amusement you’ve heard from him tonight, which is still closer to none. but you don’t hear if he gets an answer because akashi winds his hips back and starts fucking into you— the pace isn’t brutal, but is far faster than the one he’d used while fingering you.
you try to bob your head but it’s no use when you’re forced down onto imaushi with each push of the clothed thighs behind you until you can’t breathe anymore and you have to pop off of him. your head falls back on his thigh and your nails come to dig into the fabric of his dark jeans.
“you’re good,” imaushi coo’s, grabbing your hand from his lap and using it to jerk himself off as your eyes flutter. “just be good ‘nd feel good for us.”
it’s all too much, the ecstasy they give you that you’ve never even brought yourself to, how they’re fucking you out farther than you’ve ever been, all while still treating you like glass. it makes your head spin, tears welling in your eyes as the knot in your stomach winds so tight it’s starting to fray.
“‘m close, s’close—fuck, fuck—“ you try to reach beneath you with your free hand, but akashi bats it away.
“c’mon baby, don’t insult me like that.” one of his rough hands reaches around your hip, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers and sends you tumbling over the edge.
all you see is white as the hot static flows through your limbs, the curses escaping both the older men lost over the sound of your own broken moans. their names mix together, whined softly like a prayer repeated again and again as akashi fucks you through your high, groaning as his grip tightens into your plush skin at the way your pussy pulses around him.
“feel so damn good,” his own voice sounds worn and you let out a whimper. “‘gonna take it for me?”
you only have a clue at what he could mean but you nod and babble out ‘yes’ and ’please’ before you truly give it any thought. his speed picks up, but somehow still as gentle as he shove his cock so deep its painful and paints your walls white. it sends your eyes rolling back again just from the sensation.
“shiiiit— put your tongue out f’me, princess.”
it’s a heart racing sight to see how imaushi stares at you with parted lips, chest heaving as he throbs in your palm. you loll your tongue out just as he asked and he nearly instantly shoots his load on it with a silent moan, one that only becomes audible when you lick at his slit before swallowing what coats your tongue.
you’re floating as you’re straightened up by sturdy hands, a different set of hands massage soothingly at your thigh when you’re back upright.
“keep tryin’ with shin’.” akashi scoots to closer, letting you fall and lean into his side, one heavy arm resting along the back of the couch as the other put his nearly gone cigarette back between his lips. “he’s bound to give in.”
“”nd if not, just put it on him.” imuashi squeezes the fat of your thigh as he adds on. “he won’t be able to say no.”
all you can do is smile dumbly and nod. you’re so close to drifting off after such an orgasm and the way they speak so lowly from either side of you nearly lulls you to sleep. the only other thing you can remember before you fall into unconsciousness is the music playing from inside the shop— you wonder how long it’s be on, and why it’s so loud.
you miss shinichiro who finally comes back into the room after keeping everyone out of the hallway after he’d caught sound of your moans. miss the small rise of the corner of his mouth when he sees you all tuckered out and disheveled, the way you snuggle into akashi’s chest and push your leg into imaushi’s hand when he stops massaging at it for even a second.
“she have fun?” he asks his friends as he passes behind where you’re sat, palm falling to rub the top of your head.
“‘course she did,” imaushi answers.
“don’t get stingy when you finally put a ring on it.” akashi blows his smoke opposite of you. “even married women should have fun.”
Not when he followed Hiromi Higuruma home, half out of curiosity, half because Higuruma had said, in that flat, exhausted voice of his, “You can meet my wife, if you want.”
Yuji had expected someone serious. Stern. Maybe even a little cold, someone who matched Higuruma’s quiet, heavy presence. A woman who spoke in clipped sentences and stared people down like a judge passing sentence.
The door swung open before Higuruma could even knock properly.
“Oh! You’re finally home—”
What he got instead...was you
Short. Soft. Warm in a way that hit Yuji immediately, like stepping into a heated room after being out in the cold too long. Your sweater sleeves were pushed up, flour dusted faintly across your cheek like you’d been baking, your body plush and soft in a way that made you look safe. Comforting. Your eyes lit up when you saw Higuruma and then your gaze shifted to Yuji.
And widened.
“Oh my goodness—”
Yuji barely had time to react before you were right in front of him, hands gently grabbing his face.
“You’re so skinny. Hiromi, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a child home!! are you eating properly? Do you need food? You look like you need food.”
“Uh—” Yuji blinked, caught completely off guard. “I...I ate earlier—”
“That’s not an answer.”
It wasn’t harsh, wasn’t loud.But it landed.
Yuji froze.
Because somehow, somehow, this adorable, soft, flour-dusted woman had just commanded him like a general.
Behind him, Higuruma sighed, slipping off his coat.
“She’s going to feed you regardless of your answer,” he muttered. “You might as well sit down.”
Yuji nodded immediately. "Okay.”He didn’t even question it.
Five minutes later, Yuji was seated at the table with a full plate of food he did not remember agreeing to, watching as you bustled around the kitchen with alarming efficiency.
“More rice?” you asked.
“I...I’m okay—”
You were already scooping more onto his plate ignoring Yuji's answer.“Yes, you do.”
Yuji stared at the pile. “…okay.”
Across from him, Higuruma sat quietly, sipping tea like this was completely normal.
Yuji leaned toward him slightly.“…Does she always...?"
“Yes.”
“…Okay.”
It wasn’t just the food.
It was the way you hovered, fixing his posture slightly when he slouched, brushing crumbs off his sleeve without even thinking, refilling his drink the moment it dipped below half.
“You’re still growing,” you said firmly at one point, crossing your arms as you looked him over. “You need proper meals. None of that convenience store nonsense Hiromi probably eats.”
“That’s—” Higuruma started.
You turned your head slowly.
He stopped. “…fair.”
Yuji stared between you both, because what just happened.
But then it shifted, just slightly.
Yuji noticed it when Higuruma reached for a second cup of tea without asking.
Your hand caught his wrist mid-air, gently. Your thumb gliding over the skin. “Hiromi.”Your voice was soft.
Higuruma stilled. “…Yes?”
“You’ve had three cups already.”
“…It’s just tea.”
“And you haven’t eaten properly today.”
Yuji blinked.
Oh.
Oh no.
He recognized that tone.
That was the same tone you used on him.Except now....Now it was worse.
Because Higuruma, Hiromi Higuruma, a man who faced curses and courtrooms without flinching actually looked… cornered.
“I’ll eat,” he said.
You smiled. “Good.”
And just like that, the tension vanished. You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you passed him a plate.
Yuji watched, wide-eyed.Because this terrifying, composed lawyer man just got handled.
Later, when you stepped away for a moment, Yuji leaned forward again, whispering urgently.
“…She’s scary.”
Higuruma didn’t even look up from his plate.“Yes.”
“…But like… nice scary.”
“Yes.”
“…Like she could ruin my life but also make me soup.”
Higuruma paused, thinking then nodded his head as he peered at you from the kitchen.“That’s exactly it.”
You came back before Yuji could say anything else, setting down something sweet in front of him.
“Dessert,” you said brightly. “You did well.”
Yuji lit up immediately. “Oh! thank you!”
You beamed at him, soft, warm, proud.Then glanced at Higuruma. “…You too.”
Higuruma nodded once. “…Thank you.”
Yuji nearly choked.Because that was the most obedient he had ever seen that man.
Yuji waited until you disappeared fully into the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes and your soft humming just barely carrying through the apartment.
Then he leaned forward, like he was about to ask something dangerous.
Across from him, Hiromi Higuruma sat with his usual composed posture, tea in hand, completely unbothered.
Yuji lowered his voice anyway. “…How did you meet her?”
Higuruma didn’t answer immediately.Which, to Yuji, was already suspicious.The man always answered immediately.
Finally, Higuruma exhaled softly through his nose.
“She hit me with her bike.”
Yuji blinked.“…What.”
Higuruma took another calm sip of tea. “She hit me with her bike,” he repeated, like this was a normal, everyday sentence. “And then,” he added, just as calmly, “she blamed me for being in the way.”
Yuji stared at him. “…But she’s the one that hit you!!”
“I know.”
“You know?!” Yuji’s voice cracked slightly, hands coming up in disbelief. “You’re telling me she ran you over and then yelled at you for it?!”
Higuruma nodded once. “Yes.”
“And you just...what...stood there??”
“More like I was sitting on the ground but I had to.”
Yuji leaned closer, squinting at him like he was trying to find the missing logic. “You had to?”
Higuruma set his cup down with a soft clink, finally looking at him.And for the first time there was something faintly… human in his expression.Something softer. “…You didn’t see her.”
Yuji frowned. “I’m seeing her now.”
“It’s different,” Higuruma said quietly.
Yuji blinked.“…Different how?”
Higuruma leaned back slightly, gaze drifting, not distant, but remembering as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “She was standing there,” he said, voice low, steady. “Hands on her hips. Short. Absolutely furious....”
Yuji snorted a little. “Yeah, that tracks—”
“She told me I shouldn’t block the sidewalk.”
“…You weren’t blocking the sidewalk.”
“I wasn’t.”
“And she still yelled at you?”
“Yes.”
“And you just let her??”
Higuruma didn’t answer right away.Instead, his gaze softened just a fraction more.
“…She looked beautiful.”
Yuji froze.“…I’m sorry....what.”
Higuruma didn’t even flinch.“She looked beautiful yelling at me.”
Yuji stared at him like he had just said the most insane thing imaginable. “…So you didn’t do anything.”
“No.”
“Because....”
Higuruma met his eyes, completely serious.“Because she looked beautiful, I knew I would marry her.”
Yuji leaned back in his chair slowly, processing what the man had just told him. “…So you didn’t do anything because you simped for her.”
Higuruma paused, he wasn't offended, he wasn't defensive, he was just....thinking. “…If you want to phrase it that way.”
“THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT THAT IS!”
Yuji slapped the table lightly, pointing at him like he’d cracked a case. “You got hit by a bike and fell in love immediately!”
Higuruma picked up his tea again. “It was not immediate.”
“How long did it take?”
“…A few seconds.”
“THAT’S IMMEDIATE!” Yuji groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re a lawyer! You’re supposed to argue! Defend yourself! File charges or something!”
Higuruma took a slow sip. “She was holding the bike.”
“…Okay?”
“She was still yelling.”
“…Yeah?”
“She had a small scratch on her knee.”
Yuji blinked. “…So?”
“I asked if she was hurt.”
Yuji stared at him, long, hard. “…You got hit.”
“Yes.”
“And you asked her if she was okay.”
“Also Yes.”
“…And she was yelling at you.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought—”
A sigh. “She looked beautiful.”
Yuji dropped his head onto the table.A long, suffering groan muffled against the wood.“You’re unbelievable.”
Higuruma said nothing, because he wasn’t denying it.
From the kitchen, your voice floated out. “Yuji, do you want more food?”
Yuji shot upright instantly. “Yes, ma’am!”
Higuruma didn’t even look surprised.
But as Yuji turned toward the kitchen, he leaned just slightly back toward Higuruma, whispering under his breath. “…You got hit by a bike and said ‘yes, this is my wife.’”
Higuruma’s lips twitched. “…Essentially.”
Yuji shook his head, already standing. “Crazy.” Though his gaze lifted to the kitchen. “…She is really pretty though."
Higuruma picked up his tea again, calm as ever.“…I know.”
I hate how songs can just remind me of such specific feelings, that one car ride home after your mom yelled at you, that one day at the fair where you stood and looked at the fireworks and life didn't seem as rough as it did 8 hours ago, everything I've done and lived is going to be buried and stuck in a loop when i listen to these songs again.
geto ran away and kept him from everything he’d become, and gojo let him be.
but eventually all circles close; that’s how closure works. those ten years (and more) are the fruit of their feelings. sometimes not talking and staying away, while not ideal, IS love.
ofc, i’m a romantic, so i imagine in the beginning, gojo tracked him down out of desperation, when the loneliness was all-consuming. maybe he offered all he had and asked him why things turned out the way they did. and i imagine geto would spend a night (in any way) for old times’ sake, disappearing in the morning.
but eventually, that young anger and grief would’ve fizzled away, leaving the bones of what could’ve been, a hollow cavity where the heart should be. a phantom pain that persists, an undercurrent of love.
and towards the better end of that decade, when gojo would catch a glimpse of a shadow of the past, he’d look away, because an alive geto is better than none at all.
Bored and pent up!Sakusa who rifles through the cam rooms on a Friday night, lotion and tissues at the ready on his night stand. He's looking for a slow, relaxing stream to take his mind off of an exhausting week's training.
Pent up, but still remembering his standards!Sakusa who sticks around your stream because he tuned in just as you gave a mini lecture on how important it was to you to keep your pretty toys nice and clean.
Pent up!Sakusa whose breath hitches when you get into position in front of the camera and he gets a look at the perfection of softness and pudge that is your body. He couldn't have lucked out more that you're just his type. Squeezing a bit of lotion into his palm he reaches into his sweats to coat his semi hard cock and begins to tease himself, while you talk to your audience and play with the little straps of your tank top. Since you're not wearing a bra he starts making involuntary little groans the more your nipples start to poke at the thin fabric.
Pent up!Sakusa who very quickly feels a strange sense of jealousy at the thought that the incels in your chat get to see you naked and are donating constantly for you to take off your panties.
Pent up, rich!Sakusa who knows the number of his black card by heart and doesn't think twice about donating enough to get a private show.
Rich, rock-hard!Sakusa who is glued to the screen as he watches you play with yourself just for him. Talk to the camera - to him alone. Delirious from his need, he types his name in the chat when you ask for it and he cums all over his hand and pants as you moan his name, bouncing up and down on your pretty glittery dildo.
Dizzy, post nut!Sakusa who is still in love with you for the next two hours because that was the best orgasm of his life.
Quietly addicted!Sakusa who sets an alarm on the page for your streams now, because whenever you turn on the camera he gets so possessive thinking of all the other men's comments that he immediately buys the private show.
Top doner!Sakusa who feels his dick twitch in his shorts when he sees a DM from you during a break in training. You thank him for his contributions and because you had messaged during the private shows for weeks now, you ask if he'd ever be open to take part in a show himself. For a fee, of course.
Completely unable to think of anything else but you!Sakusa who agrees and so you find yourself on your knees in front of him, wiggling that perfect ass of yours into the camera while you slurp on his dick. He can't even hear the constant dings of donations anymore because his mind is blank. He asked you to keep his face out of the video, but has no problem with the audience seeing the back of his head while he buries his tongue between your impossibly soft thighs.
Minding his own business!Atsumu who has a heart attack mid jerking off when he recognizes the mole pattern on Sakusa's pelvis while you give the audience a close up of you sucking off your new boyfriend.
Bisexually panicked!Atsumu who cums hard for like a minute straight watching his friend fuck you.
a/n: thank you to @samoankpoper21 for letting me ramble about this and adding the toy cleaning lecture 👏🏻✨
— kiyoomi thinks “just friends” means “let me write you forty love confessions and never send them.”
sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader | fluff | request
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there’s a folder in sakusa’s notes app titled drafts.
it looks boring at first glance—just another folder among the other plain, lowercase ones:
practice schedule
laundry list
groceries (motoya stop eating my yogurt)
but click it open and there’s a different kind of disaster.
forty. forty unsent messages to you.
one says,
“i’d die if you smiled at someone else like that.”
another just says,
“you looked nice today.”
and the last one—just your name, like he typed it out just to see what it looked like next to his cursor.
he rereads them every night. deleting nothing. not even the typos.
it’s kind of tragic, if you think about it—how this six-foot wall of volleyball perfection spends his evenings whispering digital love letters to the void (the void being the ‘you’ who keeps replying “ok 👍” to his texts about the practice schedules).
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
komori finds out first, of course. he has eyes everywhere, especially at the mcdonalds discount for chicken nuggets.
“bro, what’s this?” he snorts, leaning over sakusa’s shoulder mid-bus ride home, snatching his phone faster than sakusa can scowl.
“don’t—”
too late. komori’s already giggling like he just found out santa’s real. “oh my god, kiyoomi. forty?”
“give it back.”
“forty drafts? bro. these are—holy crap, these are POEMS. why are you writing like you’re about to drop a heartbreak album?”
sakusa’s ears turn red. “they’re not poems.”
“‘i wish i was the hoodie she’s wearing—
to feel her warmth without asking,
to hold her close without speaking,
to catch her sighs and call it breathing.’”
komori reads out loud. “if this isn’t a poem, i don’t know what is.”
he glares. “motoya.”
but komori just grins, shaking his head in pure disbelief. “no no, you’re in love. like, terminally. i’m calling iizuna.”
and because komori has no sense of self-preservation, ten minutes later iizuna’s reading the same draft with an amused, too-knowing smile.
“you wrote ‘if she ever gets cold i’ll kill the wind.’” iizuna looks up. “kill the wind, kiyoomi?”
“i was tired.”
“you’re dramatic.”
“shut up.”
“you’re in love.”
and sakusa, despite himself, glances out the window. watches the sky blur past like it’s trying to outrun him.
quietly, barely audible, he mumbles, “yeah. i guess i am.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
he didn’t mean to fall for you.
you’re… soft, somehow. in the kind of way that makes him feel like his chest is a too-small box and you’re the light spilling out of it.
you laugh too loud at komori’s jokes. you tuck stray hairs behind your ear without noticing him staring. you smell like something clean and nostalgic—like powdered sugar and early mornings.
you don’t notice him much, not like that.
you text him for notes sometimes.
you thank him after practice when he helps you carry boxes for the team.
you once said “you’re nice when you want to be,” and it made him forget how to breathe for three whole seconds.
and that’s it. that’s all it took.
now he’s the kind of person who types things like,
“you smiled at me today. i pretended not to notice because i think if i did i’d forget how to walk.”
and never sends them.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it happens by accident—how you find out, almost.
it’s late. gym’s empty except for you two. you stayed behind to help tidy up, and he stayed because “i don’t trust motoya with the mop.” (in which, fair.)
he sets his phone on the bench. you’re sweeping when it buzzes, screen lighting up with a notification:
drafts — last edited 1 min ago.
you glance, teasing, “you journaling or something?”
he freezes. visibly.
“no.”
“oh?” you grin. “sounds like a yes.”
“it’s not.”
“so if i look—”
he steps forward so fast you nearly drop the broom.
“don’t.”
his voice isn’t angry—it’s desperate, raw, like you’ve threatened to read his heartbeat aloud.
and that’s when you realize it’s something real. not a joke, not a to-do list. something that could crumble him if you saw too much.
but you soften, smiling a little. “alright, i won’t.”
you don’t.
you go back to sweeping, humming quietly, pretending like the silence isn’t dripping with everything unspoken.
he stares at you like he’s trying to memorize the outline of your shadow.
and later, when you leave, he writes another one:
“she promised not to look. i think that’s the first time someone’s ever protected something of mine without knowing what it was.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, komori is still trying to convince him to just say something.
“dude. you’re dying over there.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not fine. you looked at her for five minutes straight and almost walked into a vending machine.”
“that’s because you distracted me.”
“kiyoomi. please. she’s literally the only person you let talk to you before 9 a.m. that means something.”
“it means i tolerate her.”
“you tolerate her so hard you write essays about her smile.”
sakusa sighs. “motoya, i will—”
“—kill the wind? yeah, i read that one.”
he throws a towel at him. komori dodges, laughing so hard he almost trips over the bench.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you’re walking out of practice together, both holding water bottles, talking about nothing—your favorite way to talk.
you tell him about how your phone storage is full because you keep forgetting to delete old notes.
“me too,” he says, without thinking.
you smile. “really? what kind of notes do you even have?”
and he should lie. he should. but something about the way your eyes meet his—bright, curious, open—makes the truth spill out before he can stop it.
“you.”
you blink. “me?”
“yeah.”
there’s silence. then a small, surprised laugh slips from you. “i—what does that mean?”
“it means…” he exhales, runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “i write about you. things i can’t say out loud.”
you don’t tease. you don’t laugh again. you just tilt your head, smile soft. “that’s actually really sweet, kiyoomi.”
he looks at you like you just told him gravity doesn’t apply to him anymore. “sweet?”
“yeah. i mean—i write about you too. just not in my notes app.”
he freezes. “you… what?”
you grin, walking backward as you talk. “i draw. sometimes. i doodle people i like.”
his brain promptly forgets how to function. “people… you like.”
“yep.” you give him a look so gentle he thinks he might combust. “you’re my favorite one to draw.”
he stands there, completely still, like a computer blue-screening.
and later that night, there’s another draft.
“she said i’m her favorite. i think my heart’s trying to jailbreak out of my chest.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
after that, things change.
not dramatically—no fireworks, no big confessions. just… quiet shifts.
he lets you tie his mask strings when they get tangled.
you save him the last lemon drink from the vending machine.
he starts walking you home without saying he is.
komori catches him once, texting under the table, smirking. “writing her another note?”
“no.”
“then why are you smiling?”
“because she just said goodnight.”
“bro, that’s… wow. you’re gone.”
he doesn’t even deny it. just shrugs, cheeks pink.
and the next morning, a new note appears in drafts:
“if loving her this quietly is all i get,
i’ll let my pulse speak for me—
it already says her name.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you finally see the folder one day—not by accident this time, but because he lets you.
he hands you his phone, careful, shy. “here. you can read them.”
you blink, startled. “are you sure?”
he nods.
and so you do.
one by one.
forty little pieces of him—some silly, some tender, some heartbreakingly sincere.
“her laugh could make a funeral feel like a sunrise—
grief would forget its name,
and even the dead would turn
just to see who made the light sound like that.”
“she borrowed my hoodie today—
it hangs on her like sunlight on silk,
the moon wearing my favorite cloud.”
“i’m trying not to love her too loud—
even echoes feel dangerous,
when her name sounds like home.”
when you’re done, you look up at him. he’s tense, fingers fidgeting.
“kiyoomi,” you say softly, smiling like you can’t help it. “you’re unbelievable.”
his eyes flick to yours. “in a bad way?”
“in the kind of way that makes me want to kiss you.”
the look on his face could make angels jealous.
you laugh, reaching up to cup his cheek. “can i?”
he doesn’t answer—just leans in.
and when your lips meet, soft and warm and unbearably real, he swears the air tastes like the word finally.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
that night, he opens his notes app again.
he doesn’t start a new draft.
instead, he edits the last one.
“you read them all, then kissed me—
every word i never said
found its way to your lips.”
and for the first time ever—
he hits send.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: my shitty relationship is taking a big toll on me 🤞🏻
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