ball is life, meat is god

25 // 18+ // This is kind of my own little collection of stuff, but if you happen to come here, hi and hello!

[karasunowo]

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Niko // 27 // she/they

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Rules:

1.) This blog is 18+. This is due to the fact that there will be 18+ content. Please do not interact with me about nsfw stuff if you are not 18+.

With that in mind, I should also note that characters featured in NSFW content featured on this blog are implied to be be of age! I try my best to tag as “timeskip” and “aged up”, but I am human and I’ll forget from time to time. Just know that whenever I feature NSFW content, characters are of age.

Browse the blog with caution, please. Thank you in advance for being understanding and respectful!

2.) Be kind and be sensible.

That’s it. Those are my rules. They may be subject to change, but here they are [jazz hands] Enjoy your stay here!

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[chimielie]

inspired by a post i saw that said “gen z’s aversion to being problematic is going to stop them from ever finding true love” and a comment that said “my dad told my mom to break up with her boyfriend and date him instead and it worked”

“i’m sorry,” you say, resting your cheek between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades, your arms loosely circling him from behind, “i didn’t mean to make you upset. let’s just enjoy today, okay?”

“huh?” says the guy, decidedly not in your boyfriend’s voice.

you jump back, nearly slipping on your heel in your haste. the man who you’d just felt up in the middle of the museum turns; from the front, he looks nothing like masahiro, with startlingly intense eyes and bone structure that looked like it had been cut by the gods. how many men with spiky black hair and puffer jackets were just hanging around, trying to trick you?

now that you see it, though, you see the differences—this guy has broad shoulders where masahiro’s clothes hang off him like they would a model and his jeans are distressed all the way down the front. your boyfriend has a distinct distaste for styles like that. he thinks they look trashy.

“oh,” you stutter around your dumbfounded tongue, heartbeat still rabbit-fast from alarm. “i’m so sorry. you looked like—i thought you were someone else from behind. i’m so, so sorry.”

“don’t worry about it,” the guy grins. the smile softens the features of his face, making him look miles less scary. “pretty girl like you, i don’t mind at all. i thought you were one of my friends at first, you’re lucky i didn’t suplex you.”

you bluescreen. suplex me! the stupid, disloyal braincells running around inside your skull shriek.

“i have a boyfriend,” you say instead, sensibly.

“sucks,” the guy shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets and kind of turning back to the art piece in front of him, his body still just angled toward you so you can see those olive-orchard eyes flickering between the oil paintings and your face. “you didn’t sound very happy with him. you should break up and date me instead.”

no! you should shout and go find masahiro, probably lurking around somewhere trying to think of new and creative ways to get mad at you.

“you’re forward,” you breathe instead, which probably totally gives this stranger the wrong impression.

“i know what i want,” he says. it’s annoying how casual he is about it. “my name’s hajime, by the way. you live around here?”

“the east part of the city, near the cultural center.” you clearly don’t have any caution at all.

“oh, cool! so do i,” he says. “they opened an ethiopian restaurant a couple blocks from the train station recently. we could walk around by the river afterwards if you decide you like me.”

“i have a boyfriend,” you say again, weaker this time.

“sure, for now,” hajime says. “if that changes, here.” he tears off a piece of his program and procures one of the tiny pencils museums provide to scribble some digits on it. “my number. i live with roommates, so if it sounds like a girl picking up, it’s my friend oikawa trying to scare you away.”

“i’m not easily scared off,” you say as you tuck the paper into your pocket. you’ll definitely throw it out right away.

“good,” he turns the full force of that smile back on you again, boyish despite his manly frame and strong personality. “we’ll get along great.”

you snort.

“no, you’re definitely forward. you don’t need to remember it,” you lean a little closer to him, noting the way his face flushes a bit under his deep tan. “because i have a boyfriend, but my name is y/n.”

—

after walking in circles for a bit, you locate masahiro at the museum cafe, flirting with a girl in an apron.

“there you are,” you say cautiously.

“and another thing—” he starts right away without any preamble. you groan out loud by accident. “do you have a problem?”

—

predictably, you leave the museum shortly afterwards. you wander around the city a little by yourself, hands shoved deep in your pockets, hyperaware of a tiny piece of paper against your fingertips.

it’s so crinkled up you have to squint to read the numbers when you get home. the phone rings a few times before anyone picks up—

“—hello?” crackles a high voice over the line. “i’m not pregnant yet, but what are you wearing?”

“hi, oikawa-san,” you say, hoping you’re remembering the name correctly. “can i talk to hajime, please?”

“oh, you’re real?” the voice is suddenly octaves lower, the melodic voice of a young man. “wow, i didn’t know he had it in him. please don’t break his heart, i’ll have you know i have a very strong serving arm—”

there’s a brief interlude of thunking and screaming. a now-familiar voice picks up the phone.

“hey, pretty,” hajime says. “let me guess: you have a boyfriend.”

“not at all,” you say steadily. “are you going to be like this forever?”

“that’s what my mother says,” he answers. “are you up for ethiopian tonight? my weekend is pretty open, too.”

“i’m already dressed,” you tease, “it’d be a waste of a good outfit not to go out tonight.”

“i can’t wait to see it,” he says, and a little frisson of warmth runs through you, like you can see those eyes burning through you again.

“i was thinking, though,” you start, nervously winding the cord of the phone around your finger. “it’s a little cold to walk by the river this time of year. if we like each other, i think we should just go back to my apartment.”

“that sounds,” his voice cracks. “i mean, that sounds great. but i think you should know, um, i’m not really a casual kind of guy.”

“i could tell you that from the way you said dump your boyfriend and go out with me,” you roll your eyes. “look, hajime. i just broke up with my boyfriend for you. we better fucking get married.”

there’s a pause where you worry that you’ve said too much, come on too strong to this strange, direct man.

“like i said,” you can hear the broad smile in his voice. “we’re gonna get along great.”

and you do.

[sugarwarachan]

horny brainrot: haikyuu

andy's notes: good morning to all who need some smutty musings to start the day

characters: time-skip!, wakatoshi ushijima, kiyoomi sakusa, daichi sawamura, oikawa toruu, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei, kuroo tetsurou, suna rintaro, kenma kozume

content warnings: p in v sex, reader referred to as "girl" as in "pretty girl", caregiver kink, breeding kink, creampie, thigh riding, virginity kink, corruption kink, praise kink, d/s elements, impact play, titty sucking, guided masturbation

ushijima gets painfully hard taking care of you. he loves how dependent you become for every little thing - how your eyes get so sweet and gentle when you thank him for all he does for you. when he's cooking soup for you, his brain is a million miles away, off fantasizing about you fluttering around his fingers, your voice a hoarse whimper against the thick column of his neck. he doesn't care if you can feed yourself - he wants to see you willingly open your mouth when he tells you to, wants to make sure you have a belly full of nutrients before he parts your legs and noses between your folds. "it's good to have an orgasm when you're not feeling well. everyone knows that, my love."

sakusa has a breeding kink because of the ownership, the mess, the sheer fucking risk. you had a pregnancy scare once and it bricked him up instantly. now every time he's fucking you, he's promising to knock you up, smiling to himself when you clench and groan around him. he stuffs you full of cum and then fingers it back into you, fingertips expertly rubbing along the walls he's just coated white with his seed. you're a mess of his making, painted in his cum and soon to be swollen with his child.

daichi isn't stupid—he sees the way you look at him, virgin eyes all sweet and trusting when you tell him that you want him to be your first, that you trust him. he wishes he could ignore the possessive desire to take your virginity, to corrupt you so completely that no other man can ever lay claim to you in the way that he has. but he can't, not when you're whimpering in his lap, legs draped on other side of his thigh, swollen pussy beating in time with his heartbeat as he bounces you up and down. "i know, i know," he soothes. "feels real good, doesn't it, angel?"

oikawa is the sloppiest pussydrunk simp to ever exist. the second he's inside of you, he's moaning and whimpering, barely able to stop himself from praising you. "oh fuck baby -- my pretty baby, you feel so good. you're mine, right honey? all fucking mine?" he can barely control himself; the velvety suck of your walls along his cock feels unreal. "wish you knew how good you feel -- it's impossible not to fuck you full, sweet girl." he buries his face in your neck, hips erratic in rhythm, thighs flexing with every thrust. "please let me cum inside you, baby, please." his fingers dig into your skin when he feels you tighten around him. "oh fuck, right there? is that where you need me?"

kageyama lets you use him like a dildo - legs tied apart and your panties stuffed in his mouth. he's uncharacteristically noisy in his pleasure, grunting and groaning every time you shift your hips. "you like being used like this, don't you?" you smirk down at him. "mr. big strong volleyball player just wants his pretty dick wet." but all he's thinking about is the sheer athleticism of your thighs, how beautiful you look with sweat dripping down your face and in between your tits, and how desperately, violently, he needs you to let him cum.

tsukishima loves to fight and fuck. nothing gets this man harder than someone who goes toe to toe with him. what he didn't expect was how much he wants you to smack him across the mouth when he finally slides inside of you, how much he wants you to tell him he's not fucking you well enough. "slap me," he says. you flash the nastiest smirk before your palm rings across the side of his face. his cock twitches. "yeah. do that shit again, baby."

kuroo loves how smart you are; one of his favorite things to do is lay between your thighs and listen to you read to him, his face squished into your tummy and his arms wrapped around your hips. he loves it so much that your reading sessions often turn into him lazily licking between your folds for hours. a command for you to keep reading rumbles from his throat whenever your focus wavers, when the swirl of his tongue through your wet heat bucks your hips off the bed. "who said you could stop?" he pulls away from your clit. "i'm really interested in learning more about mycology, baby."

best friend!suna takes your "getting your tits sucked on can't feel that good" personally. he tells you it's a shame that no one's ever made you feel good like that, that you should make sure you don't like it before you entirely discard the practice. "plenty of people have sucked on my tits," you tell him. "none of them were me," he replies, all serious calm mixed with arrogant intent. you know you're fucked when he squeezes the heft of a breast in his palm, teeth scraping over your nipple. you arch into his touch. "see? the little princess just needed special treatment."

kenma is amazing at guided masturbation. he doesn't have the best game in person, but behind a keyboard, he's a master. his instructions for you are always slow and methodical, a careful exploration of the erogenous zones he knows drive you wild. you're so obedient, too, sending him voice clips when he tells you to, your pretty voice on display as you finger yourself slowly. his final message reads: please show me how pretty you look rn, along with a picture of his flushed face, leaking cock in his hand.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls <3

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira, @straows, @thatoneawkwardfeeling

[mintmatcha]

Please. Make. Atsumu. SUFFER.

(preferably after it’s too late and reader realises her self-worth and finds a fulfilling relationship with Bokuto or someone else who isn’t a Miya Twin)

Atsumu seeing you outside of a practice and assuming you stopped by to grab drinks with him, just like you always do. it worries the little bit of distress that been building up in the back of his mind about you- the feeling that you've been slipping away. he doesnt rush his shower, makes sure to dry his hair and spritz on cologne-

but just as he's about to leave, he hears you giggle.

"Koutaro!" your voice goes breathy. Atsumu peaks around the corner and finds his teammate's face buried into your neck, tongue rolling up the column of your throat. your hands are placed on Bokuto's chest like you're about to push him away, but then you don't. No, instead you close your hands around his sweaty shirt and curve your body closer- "Kou-"

Atsumu didn't know you could make these noises, these guttural things that make the bottom of his stomach throb. Bokuto is so wide that the hand he's placed on your cheek nearly holds your entire face.

You say his name again, sighing, breathing, living- and atsumu feels sick. when did this happen? how did this happen?

the next day, its the first thing thing that comes out of his mouth when he sees bo.

"hey, slugger-" atsumu croons, tone somehow saccharine and bitter. "how was your date last night?"

He expects embarrassment from Bokuto, but the man just smiles.

"yeah!" he says. "It was really nice."

"you get lucky?" Atsumu says, even though he doesn't want to know the answer. he thinks.

[mintmatcha]

"i'm always lucky to have a date," bokuto laughs. Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth. thats a lie- bo's a handsome guy; he could pull anybody, even maybe hotter than Atsumu's girlfriend-

"Oh!" something hits Bo. "You meant did I have sex? Yeah!"

"You fucked my best friend?"

(best friend is an extremely exaggeration, and yet somehow the truth)

bokuto tilts his head, concerned. "Why is it weird for me to sleep with my girlfriend?"

[animentality]

[irisintheafterglow]

you had a creep-sized problem, and you spot your solution sitting on a bench next to a pretzel cart. he doesn't have time to brush you off before you're hurriedly making your case.

"hi there," you begin with a shaking voice. "i'm so sorry, but would you mind walking me just a little bit that way?" you point past the arena's third-floor gift shop toward a hidden walkway designated for volunteers and staff only. his surgical mask covers half his face, but his abrasive nature is clear in his body language.

"ask someone else," he replies dryly and shifts away from you, but your sound of panic makes him pause, slightly irritated why you continued to bother him. "what?"

"i just need to get over there, past that," you elaborate, pointing in the same direction but lingering your hand over a figure stalking you in the distance. he clocks the guy pacing a few yards away to block your path, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. the guy is holding his phone in a way that allows him to quickly point it and take a photo before the victim is none the wiser, and you'd caught him following you through the glass reflection of a soda fridge. with only a few minutes left until you had to start your shift, you needed a way to bypass him without drawing too much attention to yourself, so you roped in the nearest strong-looking guy to hopefully escort you to check-in. "please. i work the merch stands, i can get you a free shirt or something."

for a moment, you think he's going to refuse again and you're on the verge of apologizing before he mutters a barely perceptible "fine." he stands to his full height, and it makes your mouth go dry. he could be one of the olympians, all broad-shouldered and strong-calved. his figure was relatively lean, but you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled under the tight fabric of his track jacket. without another word, he positions himself on your left side between you and the creep and begins walking.

"i like your jacket," you offer. if he was going out of his way to help you, the least you could do was make polite conversation. you hurry behind him and miss the way the crowd of game spectators stop in their tracks to look at your escort. "first time at the olympics?"

"been here before," he answers and you're surprised by the way annoyance has disappeared from his voice.

"oh, really? do you have a favorite event?"

"volleyball," the stranger replies without hesitation.

"that's mine too. all the teams are really talented this year, but i think japan is in it to win," you agree and he hums in what you can only consider as amusement. you don't notice the way the crowd pulls out their phones and whispers among each other, pointing at his mask-clad face and the two moles above his eyebrow barely covered by a perfect black curl.

"you think they'll get gold?"

"i'd be shocked if they didn't, what with the new guys they just signed and all. that striker from the private school in tokyo is supposed to be super good." you accidentally bump his shoulder as a marker and poster are shoved in his direction, but think nothing more of it.

"mmm, the germaphobe with the mask," he deadpans. "people think he's a freak."

"i think the mask makes him cooler, the mystery of it all," you argue obliviously, and he glances at you and your endearingly clueless nature. your eyes sparkle. his cheeks feel warm under the fabric of his mask.

a few minutes later, he deposits you at the staff check-in and nods a curt goodbye.

"i'll be coming to collect that free shirt," he concludes with the barest hint of humor in his voice. at ease, you finally crack a smile and thank him profusely before he turns to leave. you've just finished signing your initials when you finally notice your supervisor staring at you. her eyes dart between you and the receding silhouette of your bodyguard down the hall; specifically, the words printed on the back of his jacket you were so busy admiring earlier.

men's volleyball team - sakusa kiyoomi.

bear with me i haven't written in a long time but i miss my silly little volleyball player grump of a bf so badly

[mintmatcha]

accidentally fucking Osamu AND THEN atsumu a couple weeks later because you thought they were the same guy

[mintmatcha]

you go on a date with Osamu and end up stumbling back into his bed with him. the night is good-- good enough that you're a bit surprised when you don't hear from him to following week.

so when you spot him in the same bar a couple weeks later, with freshly dyed hear and a shit eating grin, you march yourself up to him and slide right into the seat beside him.

"hey," you almost demand, "are you coming home with me tonight?"

The blonde pricks up at that, eyes bugged for a second.

"Fuck, you're bold," he says as he reaches for his keys. "Let's get out of here."

[mintmatcha]

"Hate to ask, but-" He asks the next morning, as he shimmies on his pants. "What's your name?"

You deadpan for a long, long time, waiting for either an apology or a laugh.

"You know my name."

"Uh, we didn't really talk before you jumped my bones."

"Samu, come on."

Osamu's spine goes straight. He blinks, then blinks again, mouth flapping open and closed.

"Mm. Ah." He hunches over, hands on his knees as if he's taken a physical punch. His skin almost goes green- "Ah. Aaaahhhh."

Your date jams his eyes closed and dry heaves.

"What the fuck? Osamu?" You jolts out of bed.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck, I'm not Osamu." The non-Osamu keels over again. "You fucked my brother?"

Your own stomach drops. "Brother? Oh my god-"

"You thought I was Osamu?!" he says. "You didn't know he had a twin?"

Everything makes more sense. The sex last night was fucking spectacular-- but it was wild and rough in a very un-Osamu way.

"We had one date a month ago, I-"

The brother stops. He stands up, eyes comically wide. "Whoa. A month ago? I'm gonna barf."

"What. What happened?"

"What happened?" Uh--" he cocks his head likes it's obvious. "He's fucking married."

[mintmatcha]

ennoshita x reader

warnings: +18 mdni, cisfem reader, mutual masturbation, ‘just the tip’…. unbeta-ed: this is an unedited cluster fuck im sorry

Minors DNI banner by @benkeibear

The springs of the couch shift as Ennoshita shimmies his pants down, leaving him in just his black boxer briefs. He watches you from the corner of his eye, biting back a smile as he settles in, trying to hide his clear excitement at being with you. His thighs, thick with muscle and fat, twitch nervously as you do the same, stripping down your underwear wordlessly and then sitting on the opposite side. With one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other tracing over the elastic band of his underwear, he already looks throughly fucked just at the sight of you.

“Like what you see?” you ask, closer to teasing than serious. Your foot is wedged behind the couch cushion and the other is on the floor, giving Ennoshita a perfect angle to watch you as you trace lazy circles over your clit through the fabric.

“Always.” he breathes. He’s palming himself at the show, bucking up against the heel of his palm with slow rolls of his hips. The way he watches is so intense; his gaze flickers between your fingers, captivated by the way they glisten with your excitement, and your eyes.

When Ennoshita first told you his “no sex” rule, you were a little disappointed. Sure, you didn’t date him just to fuck, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Isn’t that natural? To want to touch and be touched? Previous experiences had left a sour taste in Ennoshita’s mouth and you were more than happy to take your physical relationship at his speed.

‘I want it to mean something when I touch you.’ he had insisted, ‘I want sex to be special.’

Luckily for you, there were a couple loopholes in Ennoshita’s no sex rule.

Touching yourselves was more than okay.

Keep reading

[mintmatcha]

one, two, and....

Hanamaki x reader x Matsukawa

cw: cisfem reader, threesome, PIV sex, squirting

a/n: I've been working on this forever and I think it's time to release it into the world. Originally it was supposed to have three different endings to choose from, so maybe one day I'll release the Snyder Cut With all three lol!

"I've been thinking of starting an OnlyFans."

You and Makki turn to your friend, sharing identical blank expressions. Mattsun doesn't crack a smile, eyes never leaving the television screen. With a few swipes of his thumbs, the dark-haired man has knocked your video game character off of the map with absolutely no mercy, forcing you to half heartedly return to playing.

"You kinda gotta be hot for that," Makki chides. He's been dead for a while now, so he just tosses his controller to the side. He's on the other side of his friend, leaning back away from the arm of the couch with a half-cocked smile.

"I am hot. Like, really hot," Mattsun replies, "And I have a pornstar cock."

A heat washes over your face and drains down your whole body. You can't deny it: Matsukawa Issei is hot. Like, really hot. Even in the low light, with only the neon flickering of the television illuminating the sharp angles of his face, he's beautiful. Heavy lidded eyes and thin lips that break into a troublesome grin-- it's almost tragic how beautiful he is.

You'd give your right leg for either of them to think of you as anything other than a 'bro'.

"Shut the fuck up." You're jamming the controller too hard and the plastic whines under the pressure, " 'Pornstar cock.' As if. You're such an asshole."

"Nah, that's true. He does have a massive cock." Makki nods, sticking his tongue through the gap between his canine and molar. He's cuter than his dark haired friend, with round cheeks that dimple when he laughs and round eyes that almost disappear when he smiles. It's a different type of hot-- an imperfect one that you crave all the same.

"Oh, you've seen his dick?" you ask, a bit sarcastically. They did play sports in high school; it's possible a penis popped out in the changing rooms.

"Duh." Makki puffs his chest, "We've had a threeway."

That's news. A sticky, dark feeling clings to your chest. It's wrong of you to want either of them, and yet you want both-- the idea that someone else beat you to it makes your stomach flip.

“It was a good one too.” Mattsun says. He doesn't even bawk, clearly more concerned with the game than this.

“Aww, it’s always good with you, babe.” Makki blows a kiss, with a flourish of his wrist, "That hand job? Phenomenal."

Your character dies in a blaze of color and lights, it's sad little noise soon drowned out by victory music. Mattsun tosses his controller to the side, pumping his fist in a rather calm victory. You quickly exit out of the game and let the opening screen loop, your mood soured.

"You guys are just fucking with me,” you grumble.

“Like I’d ever joke about sex.” Makki sends you a wink and you hate that it makes your cheeks a little hot.

“It’s the only thing he takes seriously," Mattsun agrees. They both elbow each other conspiratorially, sharing a laugh that might be at your expense. Mattsun’s dark eyes flicker to you and his wolfish smile grows toothier as he draws his gaze down, raking over every inch of your body. Oh, they are definitely lying. Your jealousy immediately drains from your body.

“Are you -?”

You interrupt Mattsun before he can even finish.

“Prove it then."

Both men turn in unison, Makki’s eyes wide and Mattsun’s narrowed.

“Prove you’re had a threesome,” you clarify with a shrug. Your voice is dripping with victory and you can barely keep the grin from your face.

“How can we prove that?” Mattsun laughs, “I didn’t take pictures.”

You pretend to think about it for a moment. “Kiss each other.”

“What?” It's Makki's turn to laugh.

“Kiss each other,” you repeat, making a jerk off motion in the air, “You guys rubbed cocks, but you won’t kiss? Really?”

They share a quick glance, communicating silently between themselves with fleeting expressions and pointing chins. Mattsun suddenly scoffs, turning back to you with a raised brow. Neither of them say anything and you know you’re won.

“‘I’m going to start an OnlyFans,’” you taunt, “‘I have a huge cock.’ ‘I’ve had so many threesomes.’ You’re such bad liars.”

Makki moves first. He presses forward on to his hands, gripping his friend’s thigh as he leans in head first. He lingers in the lack of space he's created, nose brushing up against his friends. They share a couple of unheard words before Mattsun closes the gap between them with a lazy tilt of his head, lips just barely touching the others in the faintest of kisses. Before you can claim that a kiss that chaste doesn’t count, Makki moves again, swinging a leg over to straddle Mattsun in a practiced move. You gasp out loud as they meet again, mouths parted and tongue sliding against each other.

Then, it’s a tangle. Mattsun’s fingers are woven into strawberry blonde hair, dragging him closer to catch Makki’s lip in between his teeth. He seems to enjoy the pain; Makki’s hums of approval rumble so deep you can feel it resonate in your chest, filling the space between your ribs with a burning desire. Hands wander, gripping shirts and hips and the back of each other's necks, barely giving them space to pull in a breath. It’s pornographic, the way they grind into each other, rutting like dogs. If it's an act- it’s a good one. Through the thick fabric of his jeans, you swear you can see the outline of Makki’s cock against his thigh, waiting for attention.

You want attention too-- you're dripping for it. You push back into the arm of the couch and clamp your legs together, hoping to smother the want that's built there. Part of you wonders if they’d ever notice if your hand slipped down the front of your pants; they’re so lost in the moment that you think they’ve forgotten you exist.

Just as you debate it, hand on the buckle of your belt, Makki’s head snaps your way knowingly. The dark haired man doesn't stop though; Mattsun's lips immediately latch onto the base of his neck, sucking a hickey on to freckled skin.

“C’mere.” There’s a pitch to Makki's voice as teeth sink in right before his Adam's apple. "C'mere."

There’s no time to hesitate. Makki’s hand clamps around your ankle and tugs, sliding you closer and trapping your legs between the men’s bodies. You barely manage to remain sitting up and you almost immediately regret not falling over. Makki is too close, watching you with a hazed over expression that makes your stomach twist tight.

Somehow, Mattsun is unphased, eyes so heavily lidded that you can barely make out how they flicker to you. At least, you think he’s unaffected, until one of his fingers catches under one of your belt loops. They pull you closer together, folding you until you're angled awkwardly beside them, legs still trapped.

"I-" you start, a pant to your voice. Sometimes you forget how tall they both are, but right now you are very aware; they both tower over you, a hunger in their eyes you barely recognize. "You guys-"

"Dude," Makki's breath tickles against your cheek, "Shut up."

"Yeah." Mattsun agrees into the soft of your neck, sarcastic as always, "Read the room."

The chaos of both of them slowly envelops you. Makki's lips meet yours as Mattsun's teeth nip and all you can do is gasp as every nerve in your body flares. It's overwhelming to be the center of both of their desires, being tugged and pulled back and forth, someone's hands digging into the soft of your stomach, someone else unbuttoning your pants.

When you break away to breathe, Mattsun is there, catching you right where Makki left off. He kisses differently- lazier, slower. His counterpart kissed you so roughly your lips burn where his teeth once were; Mattsun approaches with a feather touch, barely enough to satiate your need for him.

Hands snake across your back and around to your tits, greedily cupping them through your shirt. Somehow, you've migrated, now straddling Mattsun's lap with Makki at your back. Your bra gaps and gives and Makki grumbles in annoyance.

“Issei,” You’ve never heard Makki use his first name before, “Unhook her bra.”

Mattsun finishes the kiss, lingering, savoring, watching with his deep, dreamy eyes.

“Do it yourself.” His voice is practically a sigh. You want to melt into him, sinking into him to slot your mouths together.

"You know, last week Issei over here told me how bad he wants to suck your tits," Makki whispers into the shell of your ear. A warm touch slips under your shirt and your bra suddenly feels loose. You lean back enough to give the blonde enough space to go back to kneading your breasts and this time his long fingers roll your nipple between them, "He's been hard for you for a while now.'

A twitch has started in your legs, trembling tight as the hot feeling inside you screws tighter and tighter. The way your jeans sit gives you nothing to grind against, not even the rock hard cock that's pressed into your thigh. It's thick -- much thicker than you expected.

"I wanna suck them too, obviously," Makki continues, "I wanna put my mouth everywhere."

He pecks your earlobe. "Wanna suck your clit while you struggle to take Issei's cock."

Mattsun hums in approval as he grabs your hips, tugging your hips impossibly closer, "If she can even take it."

That turns your core molten. They want you-- they want you the way you want them. You wish they'd keep talking and blab about all of their dirty whims and wants-

"Yeah," you breathe, "Yeah, I can take it."

Mattsun slips his hand from your legs and ghosts them up to your waistband. The open button of your jeans makes it easy for him to slide in, dipping down under your panties. His fingers are wide, brushing against the cleft of your pussy delicately.

"She isn't shaved." He talks like you aren't there, looking over your shoulder to his friend.

"Oh, I like that," Makki chirps. The ministrations haven't stopped; he's still rolling and squeezing and pinching, watching for what makes you wiggle and gasp. He finds a good motion just as the heel of Mattsun's palm grinds against your clit. Those massive fingers waste no time, forcing their way inside you. The suddenness stretches you tender.

All three sensations combine and suddenly your brain is fuzzy-- your eyes can even stay focused. It's too much, it's not enough; you squirm and you can't tell if you're trying to get away or get more.

"Oh shit," Mattsun chuckles, scissoring his fingers side to side. This time you yelp-- mostly out of surprise -- and that spurs him on further. "There's no way you're fitting me. Fuck, I don't know if you'd fit Hiro."

"You're making me sound shrimpy."

"Shrimpier than me."

"I'm not shrimpy! Dude's like, inches longer than the national average. I've checked."

"You named your cock Dude?"

"Oi, it's a good-"

You cut in, voice flat. You love them both, but the quips just aren't that sexy when you're those horny, "Please stop doing-- that--" Oh, your voice is broken/, "You're killing my orgasm."

"Oh shit, you gonna cum?" Mattsun realizes, grinding back down again. That sparks something in you again, but not quite as bright, but your body cramps at the thought of not chasing it. "You that sensitive?"

"Love an easy girl," Makki chirps.

"I was going to-" You shook a glance between them, both sheepish and grinning- "until you guys opened your mouths."

"Aw, does that mean the threesome is off?" Makki says that as he's lifting your shirt up. You help, letting him strip your top bare.

"No," you admit in a low voice, "I wanna keep going.”

They exchange a look and you swear they are mentally high fiving each other. You wriggle off your pants and they both sudden spring into action, afraid of this moment passing by.

"You should ask Hiro to fuck you first." Mattsun pulls his own shirt off, "Let him stretch you out nice and good for me."

"Nah, fuck Issei first," Makki is quick to say, "I like sloppy seconds."

You don't have to think about it.

"Mattsun."

You're too greedy to wait.

Mattsun dips his thumbs under your panties and gently lowers them as he dips his face into the crook of your neck. There’s a surprising amount of stubble on his face- more than you’ve ever noticed before- tickling the softest softs of you. “These are really cute by the way.”

You clearly weren’t expecting to get dick today; you’re in your full coverage, full butt panties, the ones that hang out in the back of your drawer and digs a bit too much into your hips. “Really?”

He tries to bite back his smile, tongue poked deep in his cheek as he helps you off of the couch and onto the floor. You can’t help but wonder the last time these guys vacuumed as you watch the brunette lay down, urging you on to this lap with gentle hands. You end up on his thighs, just low enough that the lump in his pants is right above you.

"Yeah. They’re like, I dunno, homey. Comfortable. " He runs his hand up your sides. The other man doesn’t join; Makki just scooches the coffee table over with his foot to clear a space for him to watch. His palm is pressing into the noticeable swell on his pants as he watches, eyes flickering between the two of you. Suddenly, your least favorite pair of underwear is your favorite. You can't help but preen and pose, arching your back and cupping a tit coyishly.

"You just gonna sit there and watch?" you tease, even though your heart is racing, “It’s not really a three way without you.”

"Hey, this is free OnlyFans content! I’m gonna enjoy it!” He jerks his chin towards his friend, "Plus, I wanna see your reaction.”

Your eyes roll themselves at that. You turn back to Mattsun, waiting for him to laugh or tease, but he just watches you back, an overly cocky smile smeared across his lips.

“Are we really going to pretend your cock is that big?” You let your fingers trail down his bare chest and hope he can’t feel like them tremble. God, you can see it kick through the denim. It’s getting harder and harder to tease him now that they both know you want this.

“You’re so right,” Mattsun’s voice drips with sarcasm, “I’m tiny.”

He finally pops the top to his jeans and snakes them down. The light blue pattern of his briefs does nothing to conceal the growing sticky stain that's formed on the front. Most of his length is still hidden under the denim, but the bit you can see is….

Fuck, that that cannot be a cock. Maybe a fucking TV remote.

“So fucking small, huh?” You realize you’re making a face when he starts laughing.

“What a shame,” he continues as he frees the rest, “Hot guy with a micro-- you should pity fuck me or something.”

It’s pretty. That’s the fucked up part about it. The head is a soft pink, glazed wet with precum, fading into a surprising tan color. It’s thicker than your wrist, with a single vein down the underside and would be perfect to drag your tongue across. Mattsun gives himself a single, slow pump, pulling a perfect droplet of clear liquid from his slit. With the other hand, he takes your wrist and pulls your touch to his, letting you grip his length. Your thumb and middle finger barely connect.

“Hey, Issei?”

“Yeah?”

Your fingers pulse, testing the firmness. There’s some give-- he’s not even fully hard.

“You were right, this is a pornstar cock.”

Mattsun rolls his eyes and gives you another toothy grin. His legs spread wider, therefore spreading yours too- so far that your labia slips free from the short fabric of your panties. The damp skin feels cold against the air, but the heat of anticipation is making you sweat.

“I told you.” Makki chimes in. You hadn’t realized that he had moved until his voice was rumbling against the fat of your ass. He’s the one who’s spread Mattsun’s legs, crawling in between them on hands and knees to press kisses against your back. “You gonna take it?”

You’re not sure you can. It’s a comical amount of dick, but your pride won’t let you back out. “I’ve taken bigger.”

“Oh yeah?” Your underwear digs further into your skin as Makki tugs it to the side and completely frees your cunt. “‘cause it looks pretty small back here.”

With a squelch, two fingers slip easily into you, reaching and curling deep. A moan hits you like a punch, crumpling you at the waist. Hands on Mattsun’s shoulders, you just brace yourself as Makki eases out and pushes back in, this time a bit slower.

“Are you sure you aren’t a virgin?” He wriggles for effect and your body clenches around him in response.

“Oi, lemme feel.” Mattsun’s hand pushes through the petals of you. Just as you think Makki’s going to pull away to give Mattsun space, the stretch grows more intense; two sets of hands are crammed into you, knuckles brushing against each other, and it makes your vision starred.

“Oh-” Your voice hollows out on you, “My god--”

It’s all you can do to take it, letting them squelch and move and prod asynchronistically. It’s clumsy and strange and honestly a bit weird, but your body seems to disagree; excitement is literally dripping from you, running down your thighs and smearing across their hands, popping and slicking and practically leaking. They’re treating you like a toy, you realize, exploring instead of trying to please you.

Someone's talking. Your brain tries to fight through the fog of pleasure to figure out what's being said, but the pulses and twitches of pleasure running through every muscle in your body are simply louder. Everything inside you is teetering towards the brink in a way you're never felt before. It's not like any other pleasure you've ever felt-- it's internal, it's uncomfortable, it's----

And everything lets go. You're cumming, you think. You realized your eyes have been closed this whole time, too absorbed in what's happening inside you.

"Ohmygodohmygod." It's been your voice this whole time. When you finally come down, you realize the two have gone still, just watching you.

"Damn." Makki whistles low."Do you always squirt?"

Oh, you burn with embarrassment. You tey to close your legs but there's two men in between them. "I've never done that before."

"That's so hot."

“Fuck,” Mattsun is trying to angle your hips with one hand and adjust his cock with the other, angling for your hole, “I’m gonna cum so quick, it’s gonna be embarrassing.”

Trepidation turns your stomach. You're wet all the way down your thighs, but Mattsun is a monster-- it's going to ache no matter what.

"Go slow, okay?"

"Aw, you'll take what I give you." Mattsun rolls his eyes with a smile, running his cock head through your folds. His cock slips and misses a couple times, prodding where it shouldn't be.

"You're embarrassing me," Makki whines, "Let me fucking do it."

Two fingers spread your pussy lips open wide. You can't see, but the strawberry blonde must be holding his friend's cock now because it immediately finds where it wants to be; the head catches against your opening and sinks in ever so slightly. You have to will yourself to relax and not fight the intrusion-- even though the stretch is wild//.

"Hey," Makki taps your thigh and you realize you're shaking. The pleasure and the discomfort are different sides to the same coin- both make your toes curl and your breath hitch as Mattsun sinks deeper and deeper.

"You have a pornstar pussy, baby." A finger runs over where your body meets cock and you can feel how taut you're stretched. Your body pulses at that realization and it rips a groan from the man under you. "It's so sexy to see you get ruined like that."

"Oh, it feels so fucking good too," Mattsun gasps. He looks so good like this, with pink cheeks and sweat touched hair. His pretty lips are pressed together with effort, trying to hold himself steady and he carefully gives you more and more.

Fuck, you swear you can feel him in your guts and he's not even halfway in. Your toes are curling from the pressure alone, but you refuse to make any noise about it; you’re not going to stroke his ego anymore. You can handle him putting it in-

"I'm gonna eat your ass-- is that cool?"

Makki doesn't wait for a reply. The sloppy wet prod of his tongue against your skin is the breaking point. It feels strange and wrong in the most delightful ways and your body absolutely betrays you again; your head is absolutely swimming as you bump and grind into both men, taking more cock than you can handle as Makki defiles you-

“Yeah, squeeze tight,” Mattsun is jerking his hips up, driving into you with short strokes, “Holy shit, girl, you’re gonna make me look fucking stupid-- squeeze, that’s it--”

“I'm going to fuck you the second Issei is done with you, I swear to god--”

That sounds good to you. That sounds very good. You hum a little agreement, and Makki just laughs.

Hands are pressing down on your hips and you swat at the brunette in panic-- only to realize it’s not his hands that are rushing you. Makki, as he sucks and slobbers, is urging you down faster and faster, trying to get your hips against his friend’s. You try and obey, letting him greedily force you down, but a sharp twist of a cramp slowly starts to twist inside you.

“Hiro--” Mattsun sucks air through his teeth, eyes screwed tight, “Hiro, youch, she’s full. I’m touching her cervix.”

Your hips feel like they are miles away from Issei’s. Holy shit. Holy shit. It should be illegal to be that long. It hurts, it makes your insides twist--

But, damn, you kind of like it.

You press up on to your knees and sink down again, locking into the gentlest of rhythms. The aching slow movement is enough to make your body spark, electricity thrumming through your core and up your spine. The man under you can only watch, those puppy dog eyes wider and wetter with every stroke. Eventually he starts moving with you, bucking up into your cunt hesitantly.

The two loudest, most annoying men in your life are now silent, too focused on you to do anything else. All three of you just sort of click into a groove, grinding and bucking and loving and squeezing, your body coiling tighter and tighter, every muscle twitching and tense with need-

Somehow, you don’t cum first. Mattsun’s hands are suddenly everywhere, gripping your ass and rolling your nipple under his thumb. He fucks up into you hard and that sharp cramp returns, followed by a familiar pooling, wet warmth right against your deepest parts. You can feel the throb of his cock as he unloads, giving you every fucking drop he can. Issei’s lips are parts with effort, teeth marks imprinted on his lower vermillion. There’s almost a haze to his eyes, caught in his pleasure and still looking for you.

“Oh, shit-” he hisses mindlessly, “Oh, fuck, shit--”

It’s dripping from you and down Makki’s chin.

“You on birth control?” Issei asks weakly, all tension drained from his body.

“It’s a bit late to ask that,” Makki chimes in. The thinner man pushes you forward, shifting your weight onto your hands. Like this, Issei’s softening cock can’t stay in- it slides out with a dribble. Mattsun is now so much closer now, his face nearly nuzzling yours. Your eyes meet his, dark and tired, and you’re struck by the urge to kiss him properly.

You’re then struck by the sudden sensation of being stuffed.

Despite their teasing earlier, Hanamaki is //not// small. He's not inhumanely big like Mattsun, but you're aware of every inch, pressing almost as deep as before. The squelch of cum being displaced from you is loud and disgusting, but all three of you reveal in the sound.

“God, I love a fresh fucked pussy,” he coos. “You’re gaping and messy, baby.”

Where Mattsun moved slow, Makki does not. He's rutting into you hard, pushing you into Mattsun's chest. The man below you kisses your cheek with a laugh, clearly enjoying the faces you're making. You're wet down to your knees, smeared with a mixture of bodily fluids, and it offers no resistance for Makki as he enjoys himself.

It's like you're a toy, being used just for him pleasure, and you're body can't get enough.

“You gonna cum?” Mattsun asks mockingly. He just enjoy the sight, watching your tits hang against his chest. You almost say no, even though you're dangerously close to the edge again. “Ah, don't rush yourself. Hiro can last all night if you need it.”

“Hm, I'm just trying to give you some time to recover before round two,” Oh, you hate that he doesn't even sound phased, “I'm pacing myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Mattsun says.

Makki thrusts even harder, accenting his words. “How else are we supposed to go all night?

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

[emmyrosee]

“I didn’t know you had moles down your back.”

Kiyoomi pauses briefly to look at you over his shoulder, post shower body care being interrupted with your statement.

“We’ve been together for how long and you never knew that I had more moles on my body?” He asks, going back to applying his moisturizer. “Do you even look at my body?”

“Only the important parts,” you say, shrugging as you let your eyes wander slightly. There are more than a few freckles and moles on the broad space of his back, tracing like a constellation against the paleness of his skin. They lean along the right side of him, a few scattering on the left for an intricate design-

“Holy shit, stop staring at me,” he snickers, his eyes looking at you in the mirror. “I have moles. You kiss the ones on my forehead every morning. Chill.”

You get up and stalk over to him, arms wrapping lowly around his waist and face nuzzling into the dip of his back, “gonna have to kiss these ones too; they’ve been neglected too long.” You plant a few pecks to the bigger ones along his shoulder, and you smirk at the goosebumps that raise from your affection. “Ticklish?”

“I’ll knock you out with this lotion bottle,” he snarls, continuing his routine with you merely an add on to his body.

“Whatever.” You let your nails rake up the dip of his hips, only letting him go when he hisses and bumps his back against you to get you off. You kiss his warm skin one last time before making your way back to the perch on your shared bed, watching as his muscles and moles contort with every shift of his broad body as he applies his deodorant.

“What else are you hiding from me?”

“I’m having an affair,” he says simply.

“With who? Meian?”

“Yes.”

“You could never score Meian.”

“You’re just mad because Meian saw and admired my moles before you.”

You let out a few snorty laughters while he smirks to himself in the mirror, the night settling down into nothing uncommon or surprising, but perfect all the same.

God, you adore him.

“You’re ugly.”

“I love you too.”

[saetyrn9]

staycation

hirugami sachiro x cisfem!reader

summary: it’s the first day of your staycation with your fiancee, and Sachiro is ready to start things off right.

WC: 2.2k

tags: NSFW, MDNI, pwp, playful teasing, oral (reader receiving), Sachirou eats it from the back uwu, lots of biting, ass worship (no anal or anal play), sex in the kitchen, vaginal fingering

A/N: a piece for @mydiluc! thank you gray for commissioning me so long ago, and i’m sorry for the wait! your patience did wonders for my anxiety, you’re literally the sweetest person on the planet and i hope you really enjoy this piece!

mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

Bumping the door open with your hip, a grocery bag in each hand and purse swinging precariously on your shoulder, you’re pleasantly surprised to nearly trip over Sachiro’s big tennis shoes where they’re lined cleanly next to your house slippers in the tiny genkan of your shared apartment.

Normally, you would have grumbled over how huge his feet are while kicking off your own shoes, but knowing he’s home earlier than usual on the day that marks the first of your planned couple’s stay-cation has you rushing quickly into the apartment, gleeful that he’ll be home for dinner instead of staying late at work.

Keep reading

[bakvrue]

After Katsuki breaks up with you the city feels like a coffin. The tall buildings box you in, the anonymity they gave you now feels like a crushing weight on chest that's only amplified by the broken pieces of your shattered heart that stab into tissue and muscle with each step. Soon you feel like you'll be able to pull the fragments out of your chests and look inside the hole it left to see an empty cavity where you're heart should be.

You decide to leave the city that night, booking a flight home. Home is a funny word, considering it's been years since you've last been there. You know every street sign, every field. Most of the people are different. Your friends and family decided to move out after you did. "City life is better," they all said. And maybe there's some truth to that, but it's also so lonely and confining, and it doesn't have the one thing you desperately wanted to see.

You drop your bags off at the small bed and breakfast in town and then set off again. You walk past your old school, past the 7-11 where you would get snacks with your friends, the old bridge where that black cat always used to lay was replaced, the giant willow tree next to the river is nothing but a stump now, but the roads stay the same. You vear off your path as the sun starts to set, making your way through brush and trees to the spot you used to know so well.

The large clearing in the trees is just how you remember it. The grass grows tall enough to reach your knees in some places, green and full of memories you've forgotten. The orange and pinks of the sky fade into purples and blues just as you find the old metal bench that someone left here long before you ever found this place. You wonder if this was their favorite place in the world too.

Little blips of green light catch your eye, the lightning bugs slowing starting their dance through the field. Crickets and frogs add their symphony to the rustling with, and the little bugs begin their unchoreographed dance across the stage. The bursts of light sparkle through the grass, and you hate that even your favorite things are tainted with memories of him.

The last time you were here was with him, and even then, the way the bugs sparkled, small little explosions of color sprinkled through the field, reminded you of him and his quirk. Your chest aches again as the fragmented piece gets closer to the surface. Why can't you even have this moment of piece without thinking about him. Of that last fight and of the last words he said to you. Tears stream down your face as you remember the way the door slammed on his way out.

The symphony of crickets gets louder, rushing through your ears as you double over, tears falling from your face, making the world around you blurry. The dark blue tint of grass and trees are a soundboard for your wails as you add to the symphony of the forest; the lighting bugs continue their dance.

[stelleum-deactivated20240208]

eta ;

boys be always lying

800+

"hi," osamu says, sliding into view.

you catch yourself before you can smile, your mouth freezing into some sort of weird grimace.

"hi," you grit out before turning away.

there's a room full of people around you and about a dozen different threads of conversation, you just need to find one—

"can we talk?" even though his tone is soft, it still cuts through the din of the party. you feel him lean over you, his mouth now level with your ear. there's no physical contact but still, you recoil.

"umm," the back of your socked heel nudges up against the wall. "no, that's—no, i don't think... i have to..."

you duck past him, the lukewarm remnants of a cup of rosé sloshing in your hand as you make a beeline towards the kitchen.

"who the hell brings rosé to a party," suna had snorted earlier that evening.

you did. you brought rosé to a party and now you were glad everyone else was drinking the harder stuff instead because there was no way you could partake in that tonight.

"i just need you to hear me out," his voice follows you down the hall.

you shake your head but he catches up with you anyway. even in the unflattering cool light of the kitchen fluorescents, one look at him is enough to make your hands feel uncomfortably clammy.

"i don't need to do anything," you say, with just not enough resolve to sell it.

"okay no, i'm sorry. you don't need to do anything, i just, i wanted to tell you myself, but—"

"so then why'd you tell half the student body first?"

all the chatter around you comes to a startlingly abrupt halt and you feel the gaze of everyone within a ten foot radius shift towards you.

fuck this, you think. because you're so over it. so over the embarrassment and confusion, the late night phone calls, and the blank stares the next morning in class. plus you're so over how stupidly fucking hot it was in this house.

but instead of storming out and telling him to fuck off once and for all, you walk over to the sink, pour out the rest of your drink and place the cup in the nearest trash bag.

by now, people have started to drift back into their own conversations and are polite enough to avoid looking at you when you pass directly by them to get to the door.

shoving your feet into your sneakers, you rush to pull open the door and escape the personal hell that this party was metamorphizing into.

you speed walk past the throng of people smoking outside, your heels not even in your shoes and you pull up the maps app on your phone in an attempt to gain your bearings on the endless sprawl of suburbia around you.

"can i at least call you a ride?"

that voice again.

there's a heavy dose of exasperation in his tone and a touch of what you can only describe as...hurt? but you know better.

at least, you think you do.

you slow down, soles scuffing on the pavement as you squint down at your phone screen.

"why do you keep following me," your voice betraying your own exhaustion.

"and why do you keep telling everyone that you like me," you continue. "a-and that you want to date me and that you can't stop thinking about me." your face burns as you recall what you've only heard secondhand.

"like seriously, why do you lie about these things," you press. "is it fucking funny to embarrass me like that? that shit's like pathological."

"you think 'm lying?" he asks incredulously, like you'd just proved to him that the moon was made out of cheese.

"well, yeah," you say. "because i know what you did with haruka and miho and wakaba—"

"did you see me with anyone else tonight?"

the question is simple enough but you still struggle to answer, your tongue heavy in your mouth. you hadn't seen him with anyone else that night, but you've heard so many things from so many people...

"i like you," he says, with so much gravity that it draws your gaze to his. "i like you a lot 'nd honestly, you're making me kinda anxious right now and i'm worried that i won't be able to say this right."

"but i'm being real when i say that i like you 'nd only you."

"and..." a warm hand cups your jaw, tilting your chin up towards him. "if you'd let me, i'll do anything to prove it. just say the word and i'm yours."

but it's probably you that's his now as any doubt you had crumbles away.

this feels good, you think, as he leans in; as you're captured in his orbit.

this feels right.

inside his pocket and out of your sight, his phone buzzes and the screen lights up with a notification:

from: miho 😘 (1) new message

[suguwu]

thinkin' about being ushijima's neighbor who waters his (surprisingly numerous) houseplants when he's traveling for away games

[suguwu]

you barely keep from dropping the watering can when the door to the apartment swings open.

ushijima steps inside, his bag slung over one broad shoulder. he blinks at you and then inclines his head in greeting. he says your name and it rumbles through you like summer thunder.

"you scared me," you tell him.

"it's my apartment," he says. his olive eyes are fixed on you, as intense as the summer sun's unforgiving rays, but you're used to it by now.

"obviously," you say, tilting the watering can until the water starts to cascade into the monstera that's almost as big as you are. the soil starts to darken and the scent of it rises, the pungent, rich smell of damp earth. it billows through the air like lingering perfume.

ushijima grunts, dropping his bag onto a nearby chair.

"i'm almost done," you say.

"i can do the rest."

"trying to get rid of me?"

"no."

"could have fooled me," you tease.

he frowns, brows drawing together into something thunderous. "i appreciate your presence."

you blink, heat trickling into your cheeks.

"you—" you start. you cut yourself off before you can say something you'll regret.

he tilts his head. it exposes the column of his thick neck. you watch his muscles cord.

you shake your head. "nevermind," you say, toying with a thick, shiny leaf. it's waxy beneath your fingertips. "i'm sure you're tired, so i'll head out. i've watered everything but the fiddle leaf and the others around it."

"alright."

you put the watering can—sunshine yellow with a trail of ladybugs painted along the spout, a gift you hadn't expected him to keep—down and dust off your hands.

"was it a good trip?" you ask as you join him at the front door, slipping off your house slippers and into your regular shoes.

"yes. we won."

"good," you say, beaming at him.

his smile is slight, the softest upturn of his lips. it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. your stomach flutters.

"oh," you say, reaching into your pocket and fishing out a key. "before i forget. here's your key."

you hold it out to him. he studies you for a moment.

"ushijima?" you say, trying not to fidget in place.

he reaches out and cups your hand, folding your fingers back over the silver gleam of the key. your hand feels small as he closes his around it, his thick fingers gentle, the barest kiss of rough calluses dragging over your skin.

when you glance at him, he's already watching you, his eyes darkened in the softening light of the afternoon sun. he keeps hold of your hand for a breath, and then one more, his furrowed brow easing into something more gentle. his thumb grazes against the thin, delicate skin of your inner wrist.

"keep it."

[vagabondingsarchiived]

cw - ANGST, hurt no comfort, kuroo x reader, cw infidelity

Kuroo bounces his knee, sensing the miles of distance between you as you sit across from him in the cafe.

"How're things?" He asks awkwardly, usually able to make music out of silence, he finds that around you today his performative social graces are out of reach.

"Fine." You say softly, mouth pressed into a hard line. "Why did you want to see me so badly?" He bounces his knee harder, he knew this would hurt, but hadn't imagined your edges to be so jagged so many months later.

"Obviously to apologize." He says, and then regrets his choice of words almost immediately. You nod a couple of times, the tension in your mouth spreading to your jaw, you look down at his hands, folded on the table next to his coffee, black with cinnamon, no sugar, like some kind of sociopath, you'd used to joke with him about it.

"So apologize." You manage, and he looks past you, still as handsome as the day you'd met him, the crisp collar of his shirt, his sharp cheekbones, his amber eyes light and alive.

"I am sorry for cheating on you." He says, and surprises himself even with how hard the words are to get out. "I can't imagine what finding that out would have been like for you."

"No you can't." The words are bitter even in your own mouth. "No you can't imagine." He nods.

"Of course. Of course not." He glances at his coffee, wondering if he sips will it burn his tongue. "I thought it would be good, to say it to you."

"Good for whom?" You ask, eyebrows raised. "Do you feel better? Lighter?" He swallows.

"In my head, this was for you, and not for me." He explains, and the noise of the cafe is deafening as the blood rushes in your ears. "I'm realizing in this moment that this might have been a selfish endeavor." You take a long slow breath in, and then blow it out. The pastry he'd purchased for you sits untouched on it's little blue plate.

"Can I know?" Your voice gets tight and pinched and fuck it you hate it you hate him, you hate crying and you're not going to- "Can I know why?"

"There's no why," He blurts, practiced, ready for this question. "There isn't, she didn't have anything you didn't, and uh," he laughs nervously, "It's not like the sex was better, it was just there, and I just,"

"Just fucked her?" You say, a little too loud, drawing stares from a few onlookers. "It was just there, so you just-"

"Please." Kuroo says, maintaining his pleasant smile, "We can go, do you want to go on a walk, or something we could-"

"Oh because god fucking forbid someone stare," You snap, the volume of your voice rising as you stand, the screech of your metal chair against the tile floor is deafening. He chases you out of the cafe, palming a few bills to the waitress.

"Come on," He catches up to you, taking your arm gently and you whirl around on him as people pass by, eyes volcanic. "I just-"

"She was just fucking there," You snarl, "You expect me to believe-"

"She was there and it was easy," He says, anger in his voice, some of his mask finally fucking slipping, "She was there and it wasn't a production, and she wasn't sad and tired, and broken, and it was fucking easy, okay, alright, is that what you wanted to hear!" He looks down at you, your eyes wide, expecting you to shout back, for you to fight, but instead, you wilt, melting as a light spring rain starts to fall. "Wait," he says, as you turn from him again, walking slowing away, "Wait, wait, wait, this was, this was supposed to be-"

"Go away." You mutter.

"I didn't mean-"

"You did." You turn back to him one last time, the rain is dappling the shoulders of his shirt. "You did. You did mean it. Do me the favor of being fucking honest for once you meant it." The two of you stand there as the storm picks up, as you watch him struggle with something you couldn't understand.

"I thought I could fix you." He says, eyes finally finding yours. The tears you've been holding back finally start to flow.

"Well," Your voice is lighter than you think it will be as thunder rolls in the distance. "You couldn't."

[serotorin]

more

semi eita x f!reader

585, angst

“babe, can you imagine? an arena full of people,” he says as he jumps onto a park bench, arms spreading wide above him, “and they’re all singing my songs. the songs i wrote.”

you giggle at semi’s sudden outburst and he continues even as strangers passing by stare at him with questioning looks.

there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from the drinks you had at dinner, although the last bottle of beer may be the cause of your boyfriend playing the air guitar and singing into his imaginary mic on your walk home.

he sings in earnest, without a care of who’s watching or listening, and you can’t help but smile. semi’s always been passionate, whether it was volleyball or music, but you’ve always thought he was the most radiant when he was performing. it’s as if he belongs on the stage, even if his stage is just a bench in your neighborhood park at that moment.

“encore!” you clap as semi finishes, taking a seat on the bench opposite of him. you fish your phone out of your pocket, and the flash from your phone lights up the dimly lit path. semi breaks out into a laugh as you sway back and forth, with hands in the air, cheering his faux park concert on.

he takes a leap off the bench, rushing over to pluck the phone out of your hands, pulling you into a kiss. “hey!” you laugh in-between each peck, “i was recording the show!”

“you’ll have plenty of other chances—” he chuckles, “—when you’re sitting front row at my actual shows.”

“oh, really? i get to be front row for every show?”

“of course, who else is gonna catch the panties girls try to throw at me?” you shove semi away, although he barely moves.

“who says i won’t be one of the girls throwing their panties at you?” you huff.

“then yours are going to be the only ones i catch,” he grins. you playfully roll your eyes, giving semi your cute annoyed face he adores so much.

“come on.” a quick kiss to the forehead soothes you, your lips curving into a soft smile as he slips his hand in yours. “gotta take my number one fan home with me.”

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