you and kei were best friends, until he shut you out. you grow up, and grow apart, but suddenly thrown into each others lives once again. though, like strangers, the relationship needs to be rebuilt, working past the uncovered betrayal, lies, manipulation, emotions, and pain. it makes you both sick. (angst + fluff + nsfw)
o. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix.
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vacay
kei takes a vacation with his former teammates, as they annually do, and meets you. (fluff + nsfw)
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promise
kei made a promise to you when you were kids to be your boyfriend, and you thought he had forgotten as you grew a much bigger crush on him over the years. he only then proves to you he never forgot, and more. (fluff + nsfw)
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tutor
not doing too well in your studies, kei tutors you. you develop a crush on him, and suddenly this alone time with him turns into something much more lewd. (nsfw)
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hide
you’ve struggled for a long time in silence mentally, and fell into physical harm to yourself. not able to hide yourself for long from your best friends, kei is there to comfort you in his own way. (angst + sh tw)
the weather was rapidly fluctuating, temperature rising each day, the season changing fast.
he noticed now just how dense and humid the air started to get, and how the sun felt much harsher against his skin compared to how it did only a couple weeks prior.
so,
why is it you were still wearing long sleeves? and long pants?
were you still actually cold? there was no way.
no, something was off.
he felt it, he had a gut feeling, but kei had always known better than to meddle into other peoples business.
sometimes.
why did he care so much? was it because he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong?
and of course he cared if something was wrong with you.
you sat across from him on the floor, scrolling on your phone nonchalantly, oblivious to his stare.
he carefully observed your body language, how you still tried your best at keeping your body sprawled out, tadashi’s fan blowing right into your face.
if you were that hot, why not remove layers?
he had too many questions, way too many at this point to keep his mouth shut.
he saw how your forehead and neck glistened with sweat, and your breathing would quicken.
he knew you were hot, but something was keeping you from taking off your heavy clothing.
“tadashi, could you get me some water, please?”
tadashi looked up from his phone, giving a nod quickly.
“was gonna grab some anyway, maybe snacks too”
you look up from your phone to watch him leave with a small smile, leaving you and kei.
as soon as the door slides closed behind you, kei sighs, and you face him.
“why are you wearing that? it’s getting hot, you’ll hurt yourself”
kei blurted, golden eyes locking with yours.
you raise an eyebrow, shutting your phone and placing it down.
“why do you care?”
you joke halfheartedly.
“i dont”
he responded quickly, watching as your lift your hand to hold up your hair, letting the back of your neck face the fan.
“i’m fine just like this, thanks”
kei quirks an eyebrow as you do this.
“you don’t look fine, you’re dripping with sweat, it’s disgusting”
he didn’t mean to say anything rude, or hurt your feelings.
kei was never good with words or communicating at all, but he had to figure out…
why?
he had to know if he was right.
for his sake, and more so, yours.
“you’re disgusting, four-eyes”
you retort, letting your hair fall onto your sticky neck.
“roll up your sleeve”
his words shocked you, and more so scared you.
you knew kei wasn’t stupid, yet why did it surprise you he might’ve figured it out?
“what?”
you lean into the table, facing kei with an expression even he wasn’t able to read at the moment.
“let me see your-“
“no”
he was taken back.
your sudden defense made him more curious, convincing him further that there was something you were hiding, and he felt it wasn’t good.
aside from wearing the weird clothes to match the weather, you yourself have been off.
kei didn’t interact much or talk, but he was very observant. especially with you.
he always paid attention to you, analyzing everything you did and listening to everything you’d say, even if you didn’t realize.
he was almost obsessed with the kind of person you were, adoring the traits in you that he felt he’d lost in himself long ago.
admiration instead of envy.
yet slowly, you lost that.
your eyes had seemed to lose its sparkle, your body language became lazy, your smile faded, you didn’t smile and laugh as much as before.
and that was one of the first things he noticed, because whenever you’d smile, he felt his heart twinge just a little.
he hasn’t felt his heart skip a beat like that in a while, ever since he noticed you’d stopped smiling, or at least how you did before.
you still smiled, or tried to, because it wasn’t genuine.
it’s wasn’t you.
something about your glow has dimmed, and he didn’t like that.
“what are you hiding? what’s the big deal?”
kei got frustrated, not that he meant to of course, but he didn’t know how to do this properly.
he just wanted answers.
“wanting me to remove my clothes, what a pervert you are, kei”
you joke, trying to shift the conversation once you felt the air get tense.
“stop acting like everything’s ok, it’s not. i’m not stupid, and neither are you, y/n”
kei shuts it down immediately, turning it right back around and ignoring your hollow joke.
you paused for a second, leaning back off the table, and giving kei the best reassuring smile you could.
“i’m fine”
he didn’t believe you, only he could tell a fake smile from your real one.
“y/n”
his voice cut like a sharp blade.
a feeling you knew all too well, but he couldn’t know.
no one could.
“kei, really”
you said quickly and he sighed heavily.
in one swift movement, he grabbed your phone from the other side of the table, having you reach across to take it back.
“hey-!”
as you did this, he brought his other hand up and pulled back your sleeve, revealing your forearm.
immediately realizing, you frantically pulled back.
but after seeing his eyes widen ever so slightly, and his hand drop back into his lap, you knew it was too late.
he saw enough.
“kei, don’t do that!”
you yell, now backing away as you held yourself more, as if you were trying to hide.
but from who? from what?
“when, y/n? and why?”
in this moment, kei really tried his best not to get angry.
he wasn’t an angry person, he actually hated hot heads, but right now he couldn’t help his boiling blood.
he didn’t really understand people who could get so angry about some things, not being very passionate about anything himself really, left him in the dark with that.
he was too afraid of the burden it would leave on him if he ever got involved in anything so intensely, ultimately protecting himself.
that is, until you.
you’re what made him realize what being passionate about something felt like.
all the feelings that the feeling itself brought upon a person, like intense sadness, anger, jealousy.
passion, a feeling so intense and uncontrollable when feeling it about something,
or someone in this case.
passion, the top of the hierarchy when it comes to emotion.
passion, the sideline suffering that comes from the intense interest of a good thing.
now, he wasn’t mad at you, he was mad you’d even think about hurting yourself.
he sighed gently once he realized your curled position, figuring he must have scared you.
“come here”
you frantically shook your head, pulling yourself back more.
“no”
his stomach flipped.
“i wont ask again”
you knew he was trying to sound serious and stern with saying that, but his voice had softened a bit still, trying to tell you it was ok in the best kei way that he could.
you thought for a moment, and your body relaxed slightly as your hand pushed against the table in front of you, helping yourself stand.
you stood for a moment, looking down at kei while he did the same to you, his golden eyes leaking with worry, sadness, maybe a little anger, but trying to pull you in.
you walk around the table, and his hand quickly grabs the bottom of your sweater, pulling you into him.
you gasp, landing onto his chest, his face burying itself into your neck.
he smelt like fresh laundry, like he has just washed the shirt he was wearing, but still a little bit of his own natural scent that rested on his skin.
a little salty from sweat, but like homey wood, and sweet like honey, a mix of all kinds,
but a concoction that made kei.
your chest swirled, and tears brimmed your eyes.
you tried to hide how you choked up, but you hiccuped and he felt that when his arms tightened around you.
“you’re ok…”
and you cried.
and cried.
tadashi hadn’t come back yet, which you were slightly grateful for, but if kei knew then maybe telling tadashi would be ok too.
“show me”
you buried yourself deeper into his shirt and shook your head, feeling his hands claw at the back of your sweatshirt and his nose press against your cheek.
he landed a soft peck, the slightest kiss ever, could’ve convinced you he didn’t even do it,
but he did.
“y/n”
you paused, and sighed against his neck, feeling him shiver just a little at the feeling.
after a second, you pulled back, hands clinging to his white shirt, now seeing you had left black spots on his shoulder from your running mascara.
you brought a hand up and poked at it.
“oh, sorry”
you hummed with a small smile.
he glanced down and grabbed your hand, pulling it away.
“don’t change the subject”
he said, and your glossy eyes snapped to his.
also glossy.
was he trying not to cry?
your eyebrows furrowed as your stared into them, saying sorry again with your own pupils.
you puffed out your chest and pulled your hand out from his, using each hand to pull at your sleeves, revealing your damage.
he watches intently, staring at your forearms in disbelief.
grabbing at them, he noticed they weren’t that new, but not old enough for this to be no longer a problem.
“this it?”
he says looking up at you, his thumb subtly tracing over your scars.
you shook your head, and nodded your head towards your legs.
“those might be worse”
you admit, feeling an uninvited tear slide down your reddened cheek.
he brought your hands into your lap, and sighed heavily.
“ok”
you let out a shaky breath as you look up at him, him already staring at you.
“too pretty to be hurt like this”
he whispered, tracing up your arm, sending shivers through your whole body.
“m’sorry, kei”
you leaned against his forehead, chest hiccuping again.
“don’t apologize to me”
you tilt your face, just enough for your lips to trace over his nose, and down his cheek.
he slightly moved his head as well, feeling the warm breath from his nose tickle your lips.
“for worrying you, though”
you mumble lowly against the corner of his mouth.
“dumbass”
your lips meet slightly, and you didn’t want to move from this spot, being this close to him.
the door behind you finally slid open suddenly.
“i got snacks and-!”
you and kei faced a giddy tadashi at the door, holding a white plastic bag with goodies.
you smiled at him when his face pulled to worry, and confusion.
“you’ll be ok, y/n”
keis voice rang through your ear, reassuring you for tadashi walking in.
“have to tell you something, tadashi”
-
its mental health awareness month, and i’ve had this draft sitting for a while so i thought id revamp it and share it. it’s important to always remember you are loved and heard. your struggle is not one you’re going through alone, even if it feels that way. don’t ever hesitate to reach out if you’re feeling this way, to anyone.
it’s may, so may everyone be happy, healthy and safe.
au where kei starts losing his hearing in his mid to late 20s. he’s freaking out and panicking about his life, his future, the music he has yet to listen to, and you. he simply assumes you’re going to leave him. he assumes he’s just going to turn into a burden you’re not willing to put up with.
and then he comes into your apartment unexpectedly one night, slipping in after a long day. the lights are off, save for a lamp next to the couch. your head leans on your propped wrist, lazy and accompanied by the telling soft snores. he leaves his bag and jacket on a chair, not willing to put any more energy into this day. as he rounds the couch, ready to gently wake you and bring you to bed, he spots the book that you were reading before you dozed off.
it’s an ASL instructional book— one showing motions and movements much more in depth than the alphabet and random nouns. you were studying intently, effort clear in the notes you’ve put around each graphic.
his stomach drops and he remains still, crouched in front of you as tears fall down his face. he’s silent about it, not wanting to wake you to this. once he’s settled, he snags a tissue off the table, wipes his eyes and nose, and straightens. he turns off the lamp, takes the pen from your limp hand, and slips his arms under you, picking you up and holding you tightly as he tries to calm his beating heart.
the doctors gave him a rough estimate of how much longer they think he’ll have of semi normal hearing. 12-18 months before it will mostly be gone. tsukishima thinks of the box in his sock drawer. the one he thought he’d have to return following his diagnosis.
the one he now plans to bring out this week, with logistics running through his mind as to how he’ll be able to get a spot at your dream venue on less than a years notice.
Your arms are linked around his neck. His big hands glide along your body, trying to grab and feel whatever he could.
His lips and yours meet in a messy kiss. Teeth clashing, saliva exchanging, tongues dancing. His lips were a little chapped but yours were so soft and sweet. Remnants of your flavored chapstick lacing your lips as he kisses it off.
He was so addicted, always chasing back for more. He groans when you move a little to adjust yourself, his hands gripping your hips.
“Shit.” He mumbles.
Then he’s back to it.
Yet with more passion, you’re shuddering under his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours.
His glasses were fogged, slightly lopsided. Occasionally he’d push them up but now.
He rips away from you, confusing you. Both of your lips are plump and red, panting. He grabs his glasses, throwing them on the couch.
“Kei be careful you can break them-” He cuts you off with his lips, his tongue finding its home in your mouth once again. You whine in his mouth and he grins.
“They were in the way.” He says against your lips, biting your bottom lip. A moan leaves you and his tongue swipes along the bite to try and soothe it.
“Just focus on this alright?” He says hushed.
His hand coming up behind your neck, pulling you into him as if you guys could get any closer.
>> sleepy, platonic dry humping with best friend!tsukishima
>> part two
>> here's part one for you!
tags: grinding (dry and wet), a "use" kink (idek what to call this??? is this considered free use????), a wittle bit of fingering, a wottle bit of fuckin, tsukki who begs :'))), 2.1k of straight up NONSENSE
you dont talk about it.
you dont talk about how, when you both wake a few hours later, tsukki just climbs out of bed and reaches into his designated section of your closet, tugging out a fresh pair of boxers and sweats. how he just silently rushes to your bathroom to shower, his ears burning red and his shoulders tense.
you dont talk about how he barely meets your eyes, how every time you look at him as he's leaving (smelling like you, but you cant think about that, too), all you hear is the sound of him grunting and swearing in your ear as he comes in his pants.
you dont talk about the bulge you can see forming in his sweats, even now, as he's grabbing his keys and wallet and muttering 'see you' before all but running from your apartment.
you dont talk about it.
you just go to work and pretend that your brain isnt empty of everything but tsukishima kei bending you in half and rutting against you until he cums. of your best friend using you and of you using him. of how much you'd loved it.
of how badly you want to do it again.
he doesnt come over again for a few days, despite usually stopping by every night to complain about work and watch your show together.
and neither of you texts or calls, despite years of your phone buzzing constantly, because hes a double-triple-quadruple texter and you're just as bad.
by the time that nearly a week has passed, youre a mess of anxiety and the looming dread that your best friend will never speak to you again.
and then he's there, at your door, with a bag of takeout and a shameful blush dusting his cheeks.
you dont know what to say, so you say nothing at all, just letting him in. he sits where he always does and pulls containers of food out — food he always gets, because he's a picky eater and because he knows your orders by heart. and then he turns on the show he always does, giving you the same look he always has when he's waiting for you to join him so he can press play.
you dont talk about it.
you just watch your show, laugh at all the right times, kick your feet up and relax into the cushions in all the right ways. and you do your best not to think about the fact that your panties are soaked, that they have been since he'd shown up at your door looking like he always does, smelling like he always does.
you do your best not to think about the fact that he's hard. that you can see the tent in his pajama pants, that you notice when he shoves a throw pillow over his lap to hide it.
that he's wearing pajamas, which means he plans on staying.
he stays until it's too late to leave — you watch the clock next to the TV, watch as it passes his usual time to pack up and go home — and then he mumbles under his breath.
"want me to sleep on the couch?"
your heart jumps, because you recognize what this is. that he's giving you one last chance to leave things here, without ever moving forward. that it would be okay if you want him to stay here tonight.
your heart jumps, because you know what it means if you say no.
you swallow and stand, stretching in a way that you hope doesn't show how shaky you are, and move down the hall, praying it looks casual.
"no, it's fine. the couch isnt comfortable, anyway."
you dont let him know that you can hear when he breathes out a quiet 'fuck' and moves through the room faster than he usually does.
you dont sleep. you just lie there, facing away from him and staring at the wall. waiting to hear his breath even out, waiting to know that hes asleep.
it never does.
every time you think he might be asleep, he shifts, and your heart flies into your throat. and you know that tricking him into thinking youre asleep wont work, because your breath keeps hitching and your heart keeps pounding so hard that theres no way he cant feel it through the mattress.
you stare at the wall until streaks of sunlight start to fall against it.
thats when his fingers brush against your back, gentle and cautious.
your skin breaks out into goosebumps wherever he touches. he takes it as permission.
when his chest presses against your back, it's with a shaky breath and trembling fingers on your waist. he doesnt ask if this is okay, and you dont tell him that it's so much more than that.
he just presses his hips against the curve of your ass, and you just gasp, because he's still hard, even after all these hours.
but you shouldnt be surprised, because youre still soaked, the desire for him feeling more and more like a craving, a desperate need.
tsukki buries his face in your hair, letting out an uneven sigh when he rolls his hips forward against your ass. you arch your back, pressing into him gently.
"fuck," he whispers, sliding his arm under and around your body and pulling you flush against him. you whimper, pushing back and enjoying the feel of him.
and then you choke out a moan, because he's slipping his other arm over your waist and shoving his hand down your pants.
"o-oh, my, god-" your voice breaks when his fingers — ice cold and trembling with nerves — push past the band of your underwear and land right where you need him, swiping one circle over your clit and then one more.
his hips jerk forward, breath heavy against your neck when he slides his fingers through your folds. "so fucking wet f'me," he groans. "just like last time."
you cant answer, too busy trying to find the breath in your lungs. hes rocking his hips the whole time, always managing to bump you forward against his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyelids whenever he pushes down on your clit.
"tsukki-"
you dont need to say anything else. he understands.
it's no more than a jagged inhale and his hand ripping out of your pants before you find yourself on your back.
your pants and his pants missing.
your underwear soaked and his boxers tented and wet with his own pre-cum.
when he grinds down on you, way less fabric between you than the first time, his moan is low and drawn out, echoing in your ears and forcing you to whimper in response.
he bends you in half again. you mewl embarrassingly loudly, the thought of being used smacking around inside your brain and setting your skin on fire.
he grunts in response. "you liked this last time, too." the shallow rut of his hips makes you bounce, and you hear when he moans in the back of his throat. your shirt is dragged up and over your chest, the hem pushed up to your lips. he doesnt tell you to bite, but you do anyway, the fabric soaked with your drool the moment you piece together that he wants to watch your tits bounce while he grinds against you.
he swears under his breath, both hands coming up to cup your breasts, his hands so big compared to yours. he kneads them under his fingers, calloused and rough, and you whine, your hips wriggling against his in response.
you dont need to tell him what you want — that this feels nice but you need him to refocus. he just gets it, either by the look in your eye or by the way your hands reach down to tug on his boxers.
when his fingers clamp down on the backs of your thighs and your knees end up closer to your face than anyone else has ever been able to get them, the shirt drops from your mouth, because youre letting out an echoing, needy sound that youve never made before.
he slams his hips down against yours, again and again and again, grunting and moaning and biting down on his bottom lip to keep the sound trapped in his throat. and then he huffs out, breath ragged, and takes in the sight of you properly.
"fuck, y/n, whats all this about?" his voice is rough, and hes sweating and flushed, and his hands are gripping your thighs tight but trembling nonetheless. "what is it, huh?"
your answer comes out in broken pieces, matching the rhythm of his hips. "us-ing-me-nngh-"
he stops. you cry out, tears pricking at your eyes. he just stares down at you, eyes wide as he examines the frustrated look on your face and the humiliated burn on your skin.
you start to cry, barely noticing when he uses one hand to brush the tears away, his thumb rough on your cheek.
you barely notice, because he covers it up by reaching down and tearing your panties off of you in one smooth motion.
you gasp when your body jostles against the mattress. you stop breathing entirely when he shoves his boxers down to his thighs.
"want me to use you?" he mutters. "okay. i'll use you."
you dont respond, just staring down at his cock and trying to process that that is never going to fit inside of you.
but he even doesnt try.
he just lines his cock up against your folds and slides through them slowly.
your head falls back and a cracked, broken moan falls past your lips. he doesnt sound much better, his breath sharp and his grunt tense in his throat.
"fuckin'-" he slides against you again, choking. you cant breathe. it's so hot and hard and nothing like anything youve ever felt before. "so fuckin' good," he breathes. "you feel so fucking good-hah-"
and then he leans forward, putting all his weight on the backs of your thighs and folding you in half, just like you like it.
his lips fall on yours like he's in love.
you kiss him back like you are, too.
the pace he finds is brutal, but he doesnt keep it for long. between kissing you and mumbling about how good you feel, his hips are unsteady.
which is exactly how the tip of his cock ends up catching on your entrance, slipping in just far enough for you to feel the stretch.
"oh-fuck-fuck-" he chokes, his eyes flying open and his hands slipping clumsily off your thighs and slamming into the mattress on either side of you. "fuck-y/n-"
your back is arched, chest pressing against his and your breath stuck in your throat. you stare up at him, unseeing, heart pounding in your ears.
"tsukki-"
he hears it again. what youre asking. but for your sake, he pretends it's his idea.
"c-can i-" he stumbles. "just a little?" he still hasnt slipped out, so he feels when you clench around his tip, dragging him in just a little more. he drops his head, groaning low and watching where your bodies meet. "fuck. fuck. i-please, y/n-" he lifts his eyes, staring down at you, his gaze wild and his arms shaking and his face radiating waves of heat. "please?"
there are more tears rolling down your cheeks, burning as they go, and you can only nod frantically. "please, tsukki. need you to-"
-use me.
he breathes out a quiet "oh, fuck," and starts to roll his hips in, soft "fuck, fuck, fuck"s falling past his lips the further in he pushes. the more he stretches you around his cock.
you're letting out embarrassing sounds, ranging from simple moans to humiliating chants of his name and the words "more" and "please" and "yes, fuck", all slurred and babbled together.
you dont even realize he's fucking you into the mattress until you hear the headboard slamming against your wall, over and over and over again. until his voice is right next to your ear, his chest pressed to yours and your thighs gripped tight in his hands.
"thank you," he grunts. "fuck, thank you. thank you."
you feel when it pushes you right over the edge, feel yourself mouth the words "yours" and "take it" and "please" against the shell of his ear, your walls squeezing tight around him as you come.
the noise he makes rumbles low in his chest and feels primal, and suddenly your headboard is hitting twice as fast and youre feeling his cock smack up against a spot you'd never realized was there.
when he comes, it's with your name on his tongue and his cock buried deep inside you, warm and pulsing and filling you just right.
you fall asleep like that, and he does, too. just like last time.
>> sleepy, platonic dry humping with best friend!tsukishima
inspired by this ask sent to @mattsundaes... ive been thinking ab this all day
tags: lazy morning dry humping, thigh riding, truly just 900 words of pure vile filth
part two
there's something wedged between your legs.
you don't want to open your eyes. you don't even want to be awake. but you can feel the sun hitting your eyelids, and you know you won't be able to fall back asleep.
you still don't know what's between your legs, though. you're not conscious enough to check or even care. it's warm and solid, and that feeling continues down your thigh, to your knee and calf. and it's moving slowly, rising and falling softly.
oh, it's him.
memories of him staying too late to finish your movie marathon and complaints that it's cold and dark outside come flooding back.
it's okay, then. it's just him. you've just got your leg thrown over his waist.
you shift your head, the sleep calling you back. if he's still asleep, you're allowed to still be asleep.
he shifts when you do, his shoulder nudging its way under your cheek and his arm slipping under and around your waist. he smells like safety, like home.
you drift off.
and then his hip moves, and you're ripped out of it.
a sigh falls past your lips, because he's pushing right up against that sweet spot that calls out to you. your heart jumps, and your hips roll forward without your permission. without thinking, because you're still half-asleep.
it feels good. really good.
you whimper, nuzzling your face further into his neck, because there's a part of you — more awake, more aware — that's embarrassed. that knows you shouldn't do this, not with a friend, and especially not when he doesn't know.
his hand flexes against your side.
he knows.
you still, your ears ringing and your face burning. you're terrified that he's going to say something, that he's going to call you a freak and push you off and inevitably make fun of you for it.
he presses his palm against your hip. you only realize that he's trying to hold you steady because, at the same time, he pushes his hip against you again.
"oh," you moan, low and immediately bitten back, even though it's far too late.
his other hand, unbearably hot, slides up the leg you have thrown over him, burning across your bare calf and up your thigh. he digs his fingertips into your skin — sears five perfect pressure points into your nerves — and drags you up and over his leg. drops you right on his thigh and kicks his knee up, forcing you down onto him.
when he drives his thigh up against your clit, you mewl loudly in his ear. "tsukki-"
he grunts, both hands gripping your waist and shoving you down on his thigh. he holds tight enough that your hip bones hurt, and you know there will be bruises later.
your hips roll down and across his thigh, and you lose your ability to speak, because he's decided that this is your place now.
every slide of your cunt along his thigh makes you choke, the breath hitting the side of his neck and your face burning against his throat. your thigh bumps against the front of his sweats, and he grunts, the sound rough and husky and surprised, because you're pushing against the bulge that's forming.
you wrap your hands around his neck, hiding in your new spot and trying to focus on helping him out, too. you shuffle, gasping when he drives his leg between your thighs, and slide a hand down to wrap around him.
he huffs out a rough breath, his hand flying to stop you.
you don't even get the chance to ask what's wrong.
he rolls you onto your back and shoves himself into that spot that's quickly becoming his. his body pries your thighs open, and you feel, for just a moment, the cool air that hits your shorts and exposes just how wet you are, soaked through the fabric.
you should be embarrassed.
but he doesn't let you. he's too busy burying his face in your neck and groaning when you open up to let him in. he hooks his hands under your knees, fingers calloused and palms burning the backs of your thighs. you're all but pressed in half, lying there clinging to him when he rolls down against you.
"nngh-" he grunts. "fuck." his voice is whispered, strained.
you're not even sure you can form a single word right now, all of your nerves focused on the slide of his bulge against your folds, wet and sticky and inevitably ruining his sweats.
your bed starts to creak, because he's shoving himself against you without care, clearly chasing his orgasm. you let him, love the realization that you're being used, because you're chasing something, too. he hardens more, leaving you gasping in his ear.
"so f'ckin' wet," he groans, voice vibrating across the shell of your ear and down your throat. "fuck, y/n."
you whine, clinging tight. the knot under your navel starts to twist, pulling tighter and tighter with every shove of his hips. "close-nggh-"
his hips stutter and still, and you feel his cock pulsing through his sweats, feel as that spot between your legs gets wetter and warmer. your breathing is ragged in his ear, and you whisper 'close-" again.
he grits his teeth so hard that you hear it, and then he starts rocking against you again. his cum must be seeping through his pants, because you feel warm, more and more and more, in time with the slam of your headboard against the wall.
he reaches between you, sliding his thumb hard against the mess of sticky fabric and cum, right over your clit.
your vision goes white, and his name falls past your lips, and your back arches so hard that it hurts.
you don't come down for a long time. by the time you do, he's asleep again, body slumped over yours and his heart racing against your chest.
YOU CANT JUST SAY YOU HAVE A TSUKKI FIC THEN LEAVE US STARVING PLEASEEEE
tsukishima loves torturing you
enemies to lovers trope - tsukki x reader
Ი𐑼 pre note. LMFAO i was cooking nonnie!!!! cookin!! this many words takes time lol i hope you like reading as much i liked writing it
warnings. explicit nsfw. minors DNI
content. 5.6k words || rough sex || college au || touch starved!tsukki || overstim || early orgasms || missionary and prone bone || light choking || fem!recieving oral || tsukki is a munch || late communication || sweet!loser has had enough trope || rly good arguments || good girl isn't a saint || mean guy is a loser || enemies to lovers trope || lying and red flag behavior || goofy yams appearance
He fucks his hand to the thought of you for four nights leading up to his game. It isn't the first time he's done it, but the consistency is heavily fueled by recent events. The stuttering, the stumbling, the adorable uncertainty about him, the three consecutive times you check him out after he gives you little more than a handful of words.
You like him. That's a pornographic concept for somebody starved of affection. So, no, he doesn't last longer than a couple minutes.
Seeing you in class again doesn't add or subtract anything from the fantasy-- and that's the weird part. You must have been perfect that day. Maybe it was the little streak of pen on your face, the mark of himself visible on you.
You carry an obvious awareness of what he did to you for the remainder of the week. He's back to being staunchly ignored. He's a menace with that clickity-clackity pen but you're prepared with earbuds. His teasing grants zero reaction beyond some tension in your shoulder blades. You pack your things quicker than he can rise, flying out the door before he can get the satisfaction of watching, for any longer.
That's the beauty of it, though. You don't ask him to apologize.
It's why when he catches you, in the stands, Thursday evening, he sucks his teeth and doesn't acknowledge you right away.
He has the entire game to think about why you might have shown up.
His uniform fits him better than the usual baggy attire he sports to your 8 a.m. It's actually the first thing you notice; his broad shoulders and the way his back fills out the number on his jersey. He moves with ease; quickly, though- with explosive athleticism you wouldn't have been able to imagine him with on your own. In class, he seemed part-snail how little he moved, how slow his swagger was between the desks even when he was late.
Though you stare at him hard, you lose sight of him often because you're never looking at his number. It's 17, you learn, after nearly twenty minutes of studying how his body moves.
Eye-candy aside, the game lasts much longer than you're prepared for. They go to full sets, and everybody clearly knows the rules better than you do. You aren't sitting in a group, you're stuck on the end of the bleachers, holding yourself, and flinching every time the crowd erupts. The thought to leave crosses your mind many times.
And yet, you are steadfast at your post. You don't take the opportunity for one sole reason.
He needs to pay.
You wondered why the invite felt so exclusive for a while. It felt unnatural for that boy to invite anyone anywhere-- let alone just a classmate he liked to tease. You soon found that his kindness, indeed, was too good to be true. Your hopes had been raised and sufficiently smashed back down in a million pieces. You discovered the streak of ink across your face when you stopped by the restroom after your third class.
It took every bone in your body to keep yourself from screaming when you realized you walked around campus like that all morning- and it was his fault.
After sitting on it for a day, muted rage eventually stirred up a sick, unshakable, feeling of responsibility. You had allowed yourself believe he might have been a nice, maybe misunderstood, guy all along- and there you were, suffering for it.
You still are, seated, over it and over him, while everybody else raises to their feet to clap for their Sendai Frogs' victory.
There you remain until the crowd has dwindled to a few stragglers. Some workers with brooms and trash bags pass you, sparing unsure looks. You tap your fingers, legs crossed, chin up. You know that he saw you. You're not going to come groveling to him, beyond entertaining the offer to come here.
It takes far too long. You're tired, it's way past your bedtime, and you cancelled some plans for this, so a storm was ready for when he comes dawdling up the metal stairs.
Tsukishima has his hands in his pockets, a towel draped over his shoulder, and slides on instead of athletic shoes. He's still flushed, but not out of breath. You hate how hot he is-- and hesitate when you notice he's got different glasses on. You look at him. He looks back at you. You squint at him. He squints back at you.
A big, tired sigh-groan makes you tighten.
"Iiii thought you were mad at me-?" He jeers, leaning back on the railing with a nonchalant sniff. He crosses his feet and finds more interest in sliding his shoe on and off than your stiff, unrelenting stare.
"What would I be mad at you for?"
He blinks and tilts his head back at the speed, the efficiency, and clear animosity in your query.
"Jesus."
He clears his throat at your frown, unable to bounce anything off of you, and a little cornered despite the gigantic gymnasium that houses you both. Instead of answering your question, he tries to steer you away from the very reason you tolerated this night.
"Did you like the game?"
Your words are lightning fast. Zippy and hard. His linger, slow, lacking in apology and soaked in sarcasm.
"Why would you do something like that?"
"Hmm-mm-mm... Whyyy would I do something like that...?"
"Yes. Tell me why."
"Tch... Tch... Tch... I don't know? Maybe- ohhh, yeah-! Because it was funny? Christ."
"That kind of thing is funny to you?"
"Hm. What kind of thing are we talking about?"
"Hurting other people is funny to you?"
"Mmmnever said that."
"You hurt me. Many times. Because you thought it was funny."
"I'm so sorry that you feel that way."
The oh-so-done-with-this attitude he has is, truly, bad enough. But the tiny smile he wears through your back-and-forth, like he can't be bothered to even view your anger as real, is worse. You uncross your legs. Your hands grip the edge of the metal bench so tight your knuckles lighten.
"It was just a joke," He swats off your sincerity, all your emotion, like a pesky gnat.
You stand up and snap, really snap at him. You shout, "You made me look like an idiot!"
"Lighten up!" He laughs, exhausted, a hand slipping through his salty, wet locks. Hours after a tough game, days after late-night fantasizing, months of repressing a crush, and years of building destructive emotional habits wracked up to come out in a tired, too-casual confession.
"Damn, (Y/n)-! I was fucking flirting with you!"
A breath of air fills your lungs. You notice it, how breathing makes you pause, and you realize that you're standing pretty close to him. Like you would, or even could, fight him. He finds a similar pause and swallows the lump in his throat. The immediate weight of regret weighs his head down. He would've rather taken the punch than admit that, in hindsight.
He slides a hand down his jaw and sighs. Then, you watch him wipe his face with his towel and readjust against the railing.
It's clearly your turn to speak.
"I didn't... uh," You wipe your sweaty palms on your pant legs- heartbeat feeling a little weak in your chest. "Yeah, I didn't gather that. From, y'know. The way you are."
He doesn't look at you, but snorts, and chortles, at your particular phrasing. His laugh is terribly cute. You can really see how tired he is when you choose to lean on the railing next to him, instead.
"Thank you. Really, thank you for that, Aristotle."
"Fuck you," You chuckle, tired too.
He glances down to you with raised brows. There's almost a smile.
"Oh, yeah?"
It's no effort, really. He doesn't try to make you blush, but it happens anyway.
You don't take the bait because you're better than that.
"They're about to close," Tsukishima sighs.
He motions to the more anxious-looking workers, idling at the exits for the two of you to be done with your lovers' quarrel. You jump, wincing at how inconsiderate such a thing was.
You walk with him, a little behind, because you don't know your way around. You give the employees enough apology nods along the way to make up for his refusal to do the same. He leads you to an offshoot section, near the locker rooms, and close to an exit. You're at ease because you think this might be where you parked your car.
"We can keep talking, if you wanna-," He glances around your face, pausing, so he can savor the reaction for the rest of his offer, "Go back to my place."
You're nothing if not polite.
"Um..."
A little breath fills you up, and you look away as you consider the suggestion. He watches with a smirk as color tinges your features, and your hands don't know where to go. Such a pretty girl, with no idea what to do with yourself. He wants to be your dirty little mistake badly. He wants it to be weird next week.
"Actually-,"
He cuts your thinking, your almost-no maybe-yes off, with a very unconvincing recollection. He jerks his thumb to the locker rooms and says, "I need to shower first. Before we go."
"-Wait for me."
It's not a question because he already knows that you will. Before he abandons you to wait again, alone in the hallway, he leaves you with a quick peck to the temple and a cheeky, "Come join me if you get bored."
Your skin tingles in the aftermath of his kiss. You touch where he held your chin, then where his lips were, and stand still in shock. You look back, but he's already out of sight.
He calls out, a bit echo-y off the locker room tiles, "Or don't! It's whatever."
Of course you don't.
But, when he said 'his place' you thought he wouldn't be in student housing. Not that you could judge; that's what you were used to. He was living in a slightly better accommodations, but still has a bunkmate. It's much like your own dorm room, but a little off, uncanny, and he can tell you aren't digging the threat of an extra person.
"He's working tonight," He throws a nod to the bottom bed.
You lean against a desk, dizzy, and unsure if saying yes was the smart move.
You don't know what to call him. He feels familiar, but just short of comforting, in this foreign room. The scale of its -his- newness weighs on you, multiplied by the fact that you had been in new places all evening. You had been so angry about how he treated you for so long because you cared- but now that's resolved, kind of, so what is there left to address?
He isn't going to guide you. You grasp, desperately, at nothing.
"You..." You feel his pressure right away and know you won't be articulate, "Said... that- you were- um... flirting. This whole time."
His duffel bag thumps onto the floor, across the room.
"Yeah."
A missed beat. You meet his eyes, briefly, but shrink at the thought of his offer at the gym. As he nears you, your heart squeezes in anticipation, "Wh-y-?"
"Because you're cute, sweetheart," A chill whisper ghosts past your cheek. Bordering on condescending. He puts two hands on either side of you.
Bad news. Bad news. Bad news. He's a walking red flag, you remind yourself. You've never met anyone so downright mean in all your years-- but, did his actions signify that he was totally irredeemable?
You couldn't get behind that type of black and white thinking, as you spare a wide-eyed glance at his hungry face. He is deceivingly pretty.
He leans down to keep you pinned into the desk- you hope, but aren't sure, that it belongs to him. You shiver at his words, brace against his hold, and shy away from that sharp gaze. He's so impatient.
It begs the question- one that keeps racing through your mind- Could this be the only way he shows affection?
You have a feeling that if you pull away, he'll never reach for you again. That, if you don't look at him right, it's going to be over.
So, out of curiosity, and in your best attempt to be kind, you relax. Your muscles stop fighting his grip. You press into his front and meet his hard-working expression with a softer, easier one. You trust your gut one last time and pray he doesn't make you regret it.
You whisper back, "You think I'm cute?"
Tsukishima's attention is stolen by the way you feel against him. Skin on skin. Cloth on skin. Cloth on cloth, fingers edged under his shirt collar. The weight, the warmth, of your tummy on his. His palms just keep you there, no longer rushed in his pulling, and his jaw twitches at how you search him so openly.
"Tsk."
His false disinterest might have discouraged you, had he not been sporting a generous erection that he kept firm between your bodies.
You repeat, eyes unwavering, noting his sudden flightiness, "You think I'm cute?"
It cracks his thin confidence. He looks down and away, wincing, at your parting thighs. You're soft- sooo soft.
He's breathing harder than you, holding you firmer, lost for fractions of a snotty response. You're distracting. He can't think beyond how good you feel.
Then, your fingers splay up into his fluffy blond hair. He takes a big, loud inhale through his nose at the sensation and sigh-laughs the breath back out. You bite your lip, captured, by how much he enjoys it, and dip forward to try and look him in the eye.
"Because..." You find his eyes for a fleeting moment, "I think you're a little more than cute."
"Hm-mmn."
He pushes his head into your grasp, seething, at your nails, and the way your thighs squeeze him. So, he was proving to be all talk and zero bite. You enjoy the way he holds you in his gaze, how he ruts against you like he's never had pussy before.
You grip the roots of his hair, and smile, a bit giddy with power, "Why'd you take me back to your place if we're just going to talk?"
He laughs. His eyes roll back to life with a sobered groan, "Ohh, yeah. Y'got me."
His tone freezes you. It weakens your grip. You're shocked by how quick he can shake off your touch. It doesn't happen without effort, but he can. And that makes you a little embarrassed that you believed, even for a second, that he was an amateur.
Because he knows how to touch you. His fingers pry from the desk to find your hips. He wedges strong thumbs into the crease of your thighs and rocks you forward, making you grip onto his shoulders with a startled sound. You have to wrap your legs around him. He takes a breath and envelops you in his arms. His lips meet the side of your neck.
"Mm-ch--, That's better, yeah?"
You sigh at the mark he surely has left and the fact that you fell for another one of his tricks. You're getting pushed off-balance, but held, hugged, closer, where he wants you.
"Or..." He slips the bra strap off of your shoulder and pulls the hem of your shirt down, "Did you like me more when you thought you were in charge?"
The muddy mix of pain and pleasure from his rough kisses confuses your opinion of him. You gasp at his teeth, squirm at his roaming hands.
"I don't know if I even like you."
He's quick to respond. Just like your argument back at the gym.
"We've got all night for you to figure it out."
Now that you're visibly his- he takes your chin between his fingers. You wear a pout he knows wouldn't be as adorable if it wasn't so unmistakably yours.
You lean in first and kiss him, like you're not conflicted. Sweet, gentle, and forgiving; how he knows you to be. You want him to return your patience and understanding.
It's not his style.
He hums against your mouth, deepening, prying open, what little you give him. When he rocks his hips against you, you knock over a cup of pencils in the process of finding a better leveraged place for your palm.
"Shit," His snicker brings you apart for a moment as he cranes to watch a few clatter onto the floor.
"You should pick that up before he gets back."
You scoff at him. So this isn't his desk. His smile would also indicate that he was waiting for something snarky in return.
"I thought you said we had all night."
He seethes, rubs your thighs, and replays the last minute in his head, "Did I?"
"You did."
A rare moment of sincerity raises his brows- a nod, and he remembers aloud, "That's right. I did."
His hands run up to the waistband of your pants and he starts toying with the button, the zipper- his tongue wets his bottom lip.
"I lied."
You don't inch away from his touch or interrupt how he starts to unclothe you. He's testing the waters and you want to show him you can be calm. You can get down.
"He does work tonight," He reaffirms, with a soft peck to your temple, "But he'll be back around midnight."
That was a huge cushion of time. You share a look of understanding first, then a greedier, faster kiss.
He hums at the feeling of your skin as he dives his hands down your clothes to massage at your hips. The way he moves your body for you screams that he's already been fucking you in his mind for a long time.
"Mm," You twist your head away from his bombardment of kisses, so he directs them down the curve of your neck, "We should hurry, then."
Tsukishima pulls his shirt off the second you're done telling him yes. You grin at the sight and join him, rushing a trail of messy kisses and scratches down his body. As he pulls his last pant leg free from his foot, he throws an arm to the ceiling.
The top bunk? You blink.
You crane to take a better look at his bed and strip a little slower. You eye his bulge, but stay thinking about the weight limit on these beds. The rules in your room dictated that the smallest roommate gets the top bunk. It was safer and easier that way.
You summit the thing regardless, grateful that you know the trick of how to get up on your own-- because he doesn't have the ladder attachment that comes with the bed.
"Is your roommate taller than you?"
The way he climbs up after you is practiced, and reminiscent of how well he moved during that game. You want to tell him, somehow, that you thought he was really sexy, how he played tonight-- but you shake the desire off. There's no way he would let you compliment him without tearing you down.
"No."
He doesn't ask why, but you see that he's shuffling through all the possibilities as to why you'd be thinking about his roomie.
"Then-," You shift, hand on the ceiling, and pluck a pillow from under your back, "Why did you take the top bunk?"
"Because I wanted the top bunk." He answers.
His simple phrasing gives you enough insight to how he generally is. A casual bully to not just you, but anyone that can tolerate him. His body takes up so much barely-there space above you. The air gets heavy, sweeter, but thicker- and you hold your breath.
"Don't look at me like that," A hand slips between your closed knees, ultra gentle, but daunting in its bigness.
You shudder and let him part your thighs.
"Like wh-at?"
"Liiiiike," He sinks into the prone, breath hot but his mouth hotter as he licks a stripe up your clothed cunt. His fingertips hook under your panties, "I'm gonna eat you alive."
His cruel sense of humor doesn't make you laugh, but it does turn you on.
"You're-ha-h, not funny-," You struggle and sigh, trembly, as he pushes them to the side instead of wasting time to pull them off.
He's patient and slow for a while. He listens. He adjusts, when you flinch- he learns your body and studies you, like a game.
Long fingers bring you forward into his mouth. You keep your hands on top of his, heart fluttering at the sensation of his knuckles and the strength of grip.
You worry that you're not necessarily fresh- your morning shower was 7? hours ago. You are not shaved. It takes a minute, or ten of them, to relax.
"Mnn-hh," Open-mouthed, dripping with clear from the chin, he orders, "You a robot, or what? Pull my hair. Do something."
He's the most sour you've ever heard him get. You gasp at a bite to the plush of your trembly thigh.
"Ow-! You-h-Ah,"
He groans against your pussy, tongue swirling, messy, around your swollen clit since that's how you like it, apparently. Your expression of discomfort weighs on him, so he repeats slower.
"Gimme somethin' or I'll keep doin' it." Harsh. Muffled. But inarguably enthusiastic.
You've been vocal. He's just greedy and wants you to be his thoroughly broken-in good girl.
The problem is that you aren't. You're no wide-eyed virgin saint. And he's not the secretly-sweet ready-to-be-changed guy you want, either. He likes how mean he is. It's practiced. You're just each other's folly for now, and that has to be enough for the night.
Thankfully, any pretty boy willing to go that hard for you can get it.
You arch into him, hands slipping through his damp locks, a broken giggle on your tongue at the ridiculousness you've both tripped and fallen down into.
He likes biting you. You find this out the hard way. When you don't pull hard enough, or when you fuck his name up.
"Just-," He struggles to get his shins out of the bottom of the wood frame, because what you didn't get to see was half of his legs dangling from the bed. "Call me Tsukki." He's so long and lanky it's impossible to keep the grin off of your face, even more impressive that you manage not to laugh until he's back on top of you.
His glasses are foggy. You chortle at him.
"Tsukki, you- shoul-d-- hahaa-," You giggle at his deadpan expression, and fail to tease him because, again, he looks so silly.
When you're done, he slides them off of his face with one hand. He reaches above you, and tenderly places his glasses on one of the wooden bed posts.
You stare at them for seconds after he's done setting them aside. This might have added to how strong of an effect his new face gives you. Now, that was a volleyball player. He squints at you, amusement twitching up his lips, at how you flex against him. His bare, amber eyes are so severe and you can't seem to catch your breath.
"What?"
"N-othing," You wince at your voice crack.
He laughs at you and frees you both of the last of your clothes. Once again, it cannot be overstated how pretty his laugh is, even when it's at your expense.
He is all-too aware of why your thighs squeeze him harder, why your chest is rising and falling uneven, why your face is getting hotter. He's slow, and drunk on your slickness coating his cock, "Mm... Do I look... different?"
"Just a little bit better?" His teeth make an appearance this time as he slides his arms under the pillow, closer, looking down at you, "Ohh, c'mon, y'can't talk to me? Don't wanna laugh?"
"You're- ah, an asshole," You sigh, shaky, and needy at how he lines himself up with you.
His kisses are rough and ruttish on the side of your face now that there's nothing in the way. He shushes you, too, as if he hasn't dismissed you enough.
"Fu-ck," He's vocal as he buries himself into you, denying you space, denying you air, or humility, "Mmhh-ah,"
His hand takes the whole lower half of your face and twists it up, away, as he soaks up your gasping. He can feel that you're able to take him already, he can hear you love it-- inflating his ego, and of course, he can't let that go unspoken for.
"Feels good, yeah?" He taunts against your ear, cock jammed against your cervix.
He feels like the kind of hook-up you won't ever forget. So heavy as he weighs you down, grabbing you, holding you, needing you despite knowing next to nothing about you. His hands are sampling every inch of your sticky skin. He's rough and not so calculated anymore. You laugh, a breathless version of one, at least, and return what strength you could afford.
"You're- so- h-ah, cute," You admit between gasps, brows squeezed together, fingers buried in his fluffy blond hair.
He tries to roll his eyes, but it just doesn't work. His head is heavy in the crook of your shoulder, his sounds exaggerated because they're immediately in the shell of your ear.
Fullness- real, and slick, and burning hot, fills you: He utters broken and whiny phrases of how perfect you are, every time he bottoms out, and soon he's wrapping his arms around you again.
He never struck you as a hugger, not on the first night, and certainly not a clingy one at that.
"Mnh!" You squeak at his biting, nails digging lines down his broad back.
You think about how good he looked in his jersey again. It was practically foreplay. What was his number? Maybe you could look pictures up online.
"H-ah...Y-our g-ame--,"
Your words fail you again and you can feel his lips turn into that shitty smirk against yours.
You groan, frustrated, and lock your ankles around him. He's deeper, and it's wetter, it's louder. You think about who might live on the other side of the wall.
"Mn-nh!!" He pants, brow furrowed, at the gesture, "Careful...fuck, hah..."
Did 'careful' mean he was close? You don't have time to get proud about it because he's already pulling out and catching his breath, collecting his senses again.
"Turn around."
You breathe in tandem for a moment. At first, you don't move, because there is simply no room for traditional doggy. And, he looks like he belongs in a magazine, all twisted and muscled in the dim light with a bouncy, slick cock.
Then you remember there are variations.
You're stuffed with him already. You gasp and your pussy flexes hard around him as he reaches around to hold your neck.
"This okay?"
"Don't squeeze."
You hesitate before adding an ultra-soft, "Please."
He kisses the back of your head and readjusts his grip, substantially lighter.
Okay, maybe you do want him to squeeze. You don't test it, though - you don't know him. And you can't, because he's fucking all the words out of you again.
"Ah-h-!" You whine into his pillow- legs trembling- full body getting wrecked as he pushes his hips into yours.
You whine his nickname; easy consonants that spill pretty, quieted, against his bedsheets. The bed is not sturdy, you notice, as you egg him on with very little effort.
His lips are on your shoulder as he mutters, mostly to himself, "Yeah. Should've fucked you sooner."
You feel it running down your thighs, the sweat and juice all mixed together - it burns against the bites he left on you. There's one that probably won't heal for weeks, long after he's done with you.
He fucks you until you're a babbling, incoherent mess. He entertains you, too, teasing and picking apart your sounds.
"I know, ohh, I know," His groans and sighs fall over your skin, inspire a deeper arch in your spine, relax you and ease your fussing.
You're not typically so easy, but he's kept you on your toes for more surprising twists than an premature orgasm. You're full of him, crying, whining, and clawing at his sheets that smelled just like him as you cum hard, way too early.
"Fuuck, yeah. Good girl," His eyes are wide with surprise behind you.
You can't see it. You could've maybe deduced it from his tone, but can't hear him through the milky high you're swimming in. "You okay?" Is a bit facetious, at first.
It's for the best.
This was lovely, but you can't help but get lost in the emptiness the refractory period leaves you with.
Salt burns your eyes. He's still a bully. You had been so vulnerable, and for what? He lies, at almost every opportunity, until he's caught. He's insensitive. You weren't looking for one night stands anymore, but he has to make you bring the list back out.
You feel a hand zip off your neck, and all of his weight shifting after he pulls out.
"Hey," Tsukishima cranes to look at you, wetting his pillow with overstimulated tears, and you sniffle, confused, at the panic written all over him, "Are you okay?"
"Mhm," You blink the sting away but remain still, heavy, and a little sad, but you can't remember why.
He lightly strokes some hair from your face, "Was it the choking? Was it too hard?"
"No..."
'No,' Ghosts past his lips, and he's trying to think of what else he could've done to upset you. His shoulders droop a bit when he's got a long list of qualifying actions.
Could it be that he's actually fretting over you? He sells it well, thoroughly disheveled, because his hair has dried oddly and it's obvious he can't see well. You learn that every second you choose to not speak slowly, incrementally, kills him.
He is ultra-weary by the time you have a blanket wrapped around you and a bottle of water in your hand.
You didn't want his compassion to end. You liked holding him in limbo. If this was his punishment for months of torment, it was -overall- a miniscule price to pay.
Sitting on the edge of his mattress, your feet automatically swing back and forth. You take in the volleyball posters on every wall as he gets dressed, fails to find his fallen glasses, and cleans up most of his roommate's pencils you spilled earlier. You have a quiet sip of cold water and smell a fistful of his blanket. You glance to an empty spot on the wooden bedframe.
"I like your room." You break your silence with a hoarse, tiny declaration.
Tsukishima stills. He has to be very intentional about not sounding like a dick, for once. He slowly drops the last pencil in and adjusts the cup to where he thinks it was, "Yeah?"
From this angle, you notice he's still fully hard and struggle not to look a second time.
"Tsukki?"
That tone you take on beckons him toward you. It's honied, and domestic, and makes his guilt feel a like a ton that he drags behind him. He only has himself to blame for getting so attached.
You reach for him and take his face in your palms. He looks up at you, searching as hard as he can with blurry vision.
"I'm okay. I promise."
Absentminded swinging stills at his touch.
"And...sorry you didn't get yours," You're not really sorry, but you desperately want to address his situation downstairs, and overstay your welcome, if you can.
His head rests heavy on your bare thighs with a pained grin.
"I mean," His grip slides up the outside of your thigh, eyes following, as he fights the desire to be truthful. He grimaces through it for you, "I came in the shower before this, so..."
"At the gym?"
"...Yeah."
The two of your share a chuckle; yours is amused, his is late and stilted. His head gets weightier as he nuzzles his face between your thighs, sucking slow kisses on top of the old bitemarks. You sip on your water, lids low, and part your legs for him.
Seething, his hands make quick work of your modesty cover as he starts to lap, apologetic, at you.
There's a loud ch-thunk of a door lock being opened, followed quick by it sliding open.
It shoots a shared flinch through both of you. He only has time to smooth your blanket back down and wipe his chin before his roommate comes in.
"Yo," He announces himself, then looks up, "Ohh, shit."
He puts your little scene together quick by the amount of skin showing and the position. You stiffen with chills and pull the fuzziness tighter. Your stomach sinks with disbelief that it's already midnight.
In one smooth motion, he covers his eyes, catches the door before it even has a chance to close, and turns back into the hallway.
You can both hear him check his phone with a quiet Fuck just outside the door. Tsukishima's phone buzzes in his pocket with a storm of late texts.
He sighs. His face finds your lap again as he thinks about what he wants to do.
"I can go-"
"What? No," He looks up only to cut you off hard, absent-minded, deep in thought.
He's got the plan mapped out in the next few seconds, but is slow to part from your legs, groaning, "You have to get dressed, though. He's a total virgin." He sucks his teeth and adds, "Obviously."
You shift, giddy with excitement, at the invitation to stay.
Ი𐑼 post note. honestly @polodetti major shout out i wouldn't have finished this if you hadn't requested. guys. i didn't know i was capable of doing full fics anymore. also? rarely do i find i have brainrot of one particular character. hope you enjoy the latest tsukki posting!!!
You accidentally send tsukki kinky nudes and he's all like "you want daddys cock that bad princess? come over and ride it like the good little slut you are"
I’m in a bit of a dark mood today so this turned a bit darker than you maybe intended, but I hope you like it still. |_-｡)
There’s a loud chattering that waves over you as you walk toward the lecture hall. Not the excitable kind where people go about their day a few decibels too loud. The one where murmurs of different groups of people build to such an echoing volume that you can’t ignore it if you tried.
You glance at yourself in the window when you walk past it, quickly checking your back and butt in the reflection. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had something stuck in your hair or walked around with your skirt folded over weird because of the breeze. But nothing seems off at all, and you don’t have the time to run all the way to the bathrooms before class to check.
When you get to the right lecture hall, you spot your friend, and rush over. “Hey, let’s get seats in the back.” Your friend looks up with wide eyes at your voice, and grabs onto your hand to pull you closer, keeping her head down.
“I thought you weren’t going to come today. Y’know, with the—” she drags out, giving you a look that would’ve been pointed enough to spike your memory if you had any clue what she was on about, but you don’t. At your clueless expression, she blinks, then opens her mouth wider and looks around the hall. Some people definitely start talking when passing by you, so it must have something to do with you in particular, something everyone but you is in on. Instantly, your heart drops. “You didn’t see yet? Where on earth were you this morning, it was all over the school site,” she hisses, turning your face back to face her.
She takes you by the hand and out of the hall, dragging you along through the sea of people still trying to get to class in time, only stopping when no one is around. Then she gets out her phone, as you take a deep breath. “What the hell is going on? What is so—” She cuts you off by turning the screen toward you, pushing the volume button. The video that plays is you, being fucked in someone else’s bed. You recognize the bed, you recognize the sheets and the person who dips the bed and as soon as you get your breath back, you’re thanking your friend and storming across campus.
You are a mess of angry tears and embarrassment by the time you get to the other main hall, rushing through it and into the side door you’d spent the last two years dipping into after class, slamming it open so hard the window shakes. Three pairs of eyes find yours, but you’re only paying attention to one, as you toss your bag down. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” you hiss, rubbing your tears open on your face as you stare him down. His golden eyes widen. “We broke up fine, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Kuroo blinks up at you from his seat behind the computer, then holds up his hands.
“I swear it wasn’t me, I don’t even know how they got that video.” He runs a hand through the side of his hair, before standing up and walking over to you like he’s cornering a wild animal. He lets out a deep sigh, before going to sit on his heels so he can look you in the eye where you’ve drooped in on yourself in shame and humiliation.
“I would never do that to you, you know that. My phone must’ve got hacked. We’ve been working this whole time to get it back off.” Your eyes flick to find first Akaashi, then Tsukishima. The former looks apologetic at your embarrassment, but nods. So you turn back to your ex-boyfriend and take a deep breath.
“Baby—” he starts, only to fall silent. It still feels weird, you know that too, but still. Kuroo grimaces when you send him another glare, but holds out his arms anyway. “It’s going to be okay.” And despite knowing better, you take a few steps closer, before dropping yourself in his embrace. Kuroo holds you a little tighter, and gently pets your hair as you cry into his shoulder. “Shh, shhh, it’s okay. I— know it’s… bad, but at least the video is gone now.”
“Everyone saw it and probably saved it,” you sob, breathing in his familiar scent for a bit longer. Then you force yourself to pull back, even though Kuroo makes a noise of disagreement at that. “What are we gonna do?” you whisper, looking around the room with heat surging to your cheeks. His friends all work on the university committee for a bit of extra money, which means they also definitely saw the video. “What can we do?”
“I’m going to speak to the rector first, since someone got into the uni’s official site to put it up there. After that… we’ll figure something out.” As you watch him try his very best to comfort you, he looks equally stressed. So you take his hand in yours and squeeze his fingers just a bit tighter.
“Kuroo,” his eyes find yours right away at the call, “thank you for taking care of it so quickly.” Though you’re tearing up again, you know he did everything in his power to get that down as quick as possible. That’s just the type of guy he is. ‘Of course’ he mouths, before looking down at the floor. “I gotta… get back to class or something, but you still have my number, right?”
“Of course, it’s only been half a week since we broke up,” he snorts, looking from you to the doorway just once, before frowning. “You gonna be okay?”
“I’m heading to class too,” the blond softly says, pushing out from his chair and glancing over at you. “We have the same lecture, right?” You nod, so he turns to his long time friend. “I’ll walk her, Kuroo, don’t worry. No one's gonna hurt her or anything.” The dark haired man chews his lip, before nodding. And so you wave them off with your anger now replaced with a strange feeling of dread as you grab your bag and head to class. Is this how you’ll have to finish your school run? The girl who got her sextape leaked. When the blond grabs your forearm gently, you look around, then at him as he pulls you behind him.
He only stops far in between two buildings, hidden from the main part of the campus and shadowed between buildings. “Tsukki? What are we-”
“I put it on the site,” he says, staring you down with a blank expression. You blink a few times as the words process, opening your mouth before he stuffs his fingers into your mouth far enough to get you to gag. “Shut up, whatever you’re gonna say, shut the fuck up. I put it on the site and I’ll do it again with every single other video I have of you unless you are a good girl and stay nice and quiet.”
You’re so focused on trying to pry his long, thick fingers out of your mouth that any common sense leaves you. You choke on them and try to push his hand back out, but he doesn’t budge, just glares down at you. When you don’t respond, he slaps your face with his free hand, and makes you gag again. “Do you fucking understand, stupid girl?”
You give a tiny nod, enough for him to pull out his fingers and let you swallow just once, before he’s yanking your hair back and staring down his nose at your face, the spit dripping down your chin and now neck, and the pretty way you swallow. “You’re going to come with me to the toilets, and I’m gonna fuck you until you never fucking forget who owns your life now. Do you get that too, stupid slut?” You’re unable to do anything but let you nod, pushing his thumb in between your lips with a bored expression. “Suck,” he orders. And all you can do is cry and suck his finger, because you do believe he has what he says he has. That’ll ruin you.
“Can’t believe you’re dumb enough to let your college boyfriend film you. And look at you now—” he snorts, towering over you just because he can. He hovers his lips over yours as he pushes you into the wall, pressing his body into yours. His cock is hard against your stomach, and you have to take a deep breath not to cry out even louder. You don’t want this, you never wanted this. It was just a little thing you wanted to do to feel sexy.
You lower your eyes when he smiles, clearly recognizing the regret in your eyes. “Now you’re gonna take my cock because you just couldn’t keep it to yourselves. Had to make it so fucking easy to find, huh? Stupid whore.” He rolls his hips into yours with a little sigh. “You’re gonna take daddy’s cock so well, I just know it.” Then he motions toward the main campus, and huffs. “Start walking. I’ve been more than patient.”
the four boys unpacked their suitcases, unbelievably more stuffed than they should have been, especially compared to keis.
he only brought essentials and enough clothes to get through a week, toiletries and swimming attire.
while, of course, shoyo being the worst one, brought his whole closet, wanting to give himself any option for the perfect outfit.
on top of that, tobio gave him shit while he unpacked, yelling at him for ‘not leaving enough room for the rest of us’.
kei hated to agree with tobio, but he did, as he shouted for them to shut up.
“you two are animals, it hasn’t even been five minutes that we’re here”
kei turned around from his bed to face them, who deadpanned over at him, tadashi snickering across the room as he unpacked their snacks.
the four of them always tried to make time for vacations together, no matter how busy they got, it still was nice to see each other once in a while when they could.
as loud as shoyo was, and grouchy tobio got, or closed off kei felt, or even tadashi still being somewhat of a timid mother to the whole group, the former teammates still cared for one another, and valued their quality time.
this time they decided to go somewhere much different, choosing a small city along the east coast of the states, desiring to feel like kids again as they’re now in their 20s.
there was a boardwalk along the beach housing stores of overpriced merchandise and hermit crabs, a handful of mini golf courses, and a decent carnival with enough attractions they could visit one of the nights, it was a simple enough vacation, it felt perfect. nothing too complex.
and kei liked that.
they decided to spend the rest of their day unpacking and cleaning their room, and wanted to stay inside or around the hotel later at night, relaxed enough for their first day.
“no! i put that down, you pick up four!”
kei rolled his eyes at the infamous duo and their arguing during a stupid game of uno.
they’ve had a couple of drinks, and decided to keep busy by playing games on the floor of their room.
“i know that, i was just asking a question!”
shoyo yelled back, slamming his hand against the pile of cards in the middle of them to grab his four.
“don’t ask stupid questions if you don’t want to get yelled at”
tobio sighed, placing down his winning card.
“uno out. i win anyway, losers”
kei placed down the rest of his hand, and went to stand up.
“i’m going to sit by the pool. you guys are too much sometimes”
he snickered, and the others waved him goodbye as he grabbed the keycard to his room, and headed out the door.
he took a good look around the hotel, it was pretty decent for the price they got it at.
the outside of the rooms led to a balcony that faced the pool, which was now empty as it was getting too late for kids to be out swimming, the sun almost fully set.
next to it, was a small bar, and he noticed a couple of people down there.
as he went down the stairs and got closer, he saw the bartender working at a drink,
and then, he saw you.
he saw you sitting there, almost empty drink in hand, a simple sheer white coverup over your shoulders, and a bathing suit that complimented your body beautifully.
you looked lonely, disappointed maybe, as you finished your drink.
he dared to wonder why.
your eyes shot up to him as he got closer, and he felt his stomach swirl slightly as his eyes fixed on your beautiful ones.
as down as you looked, your eyes glimmered with so much more.
it made his chest hurt a little.
he picked a stool about two away from yours, and sat down, his eyes darting to the side to look at you again.
he caught you staring too, but he didn’t look away.
“good evening, what can i get you, man?”
keis english was pretty decent, so he turned to the kind bartender and gave a small smile.
“i’ll take what she’s having, thanks”
the bartender nodded and turned around to make his drink.
“a strawberry shortcake, coming right up”
kei heard you give a small laugh, and he looked over again, watching as you placed down your empty glass.
“her next drink on me as well”
kei added as he never parted his eyes from yours, hoping the bartender heard him over the soft american mainstream music that played on the speakers.
“you’re lucky my favorite is strawberry shortcake”
kei spoke, leaning a bit towards you more.
“hey, you took that risk ordering what i had anyway. be grateful it wasn’t a shot of fireball”
you responded with a laugh, and he vaguely had an idea on what fireball was. he’s never tried it, though.
your voice, on the other hand, was angelic. he could listen to you speak all day, hear you laugh again too.
“fireball really that bad, huh?”
he asked, standing from his stool and deciding to sit closer to you.
“well, i like fireball, but it’s never usually a fan favorite”
you laughed again, and the bartender walked over with two of the same drink.
you kindly thanked him with a smile, and looked back over at kei.
he still never looked away from you.
“kei”
he said, finally giving you his name.
“y/n. so, where are you from?”
you asked him, shifting in your seat to face him and sip from your drink.
he watched your lips hug your straw, and your pretty manicured hand hold your glass.
“japan”
kei smirked, and your eyes widened.
“no way, and you chose here of all places to come on vacation? i live about three hours from here”
you laughed, and he shrugged.
“we wanted something different this time around. we purposely chose somewhere a bit smaller and more niche”
you sat up straight and fixed your coverup, a flash of your chest showing to kei as he gulped.
“well, niche or not, it’s a pretty nice spot”
you defend, leaning your arm on the bar.
“and who’s we?”
you add, tilting your head.
from the looks of it, he was much, much taller than you.
even sitting down, you had to look up.
“i’m here with three other people from home. we played volleyball together back in high school”
kei explained, leaning a bit more comfortably in his seat, noticing you had to look up at him.
while doing so, he took a sip from the drink, immediately taking a liking to it.
it was just the right amount of sweet with the alcohol taste, easily becoming a favorite he would be ordering again.
“i’d love to meet them”
you smiled, then continuing your sentence.
“volleyball is really cool too, one of my friends played in high school as well, she taught me a couple of things”
you laugh, and he does just a little too.
“i’m not sure you’d want to meet them, they’re a bit intense sometimes”
he shrugs and you lean closer too him.
“i think you’re underestimating how much i can take”
he couldn’t tell if you were being serious, or flirty and suggestive in some way, or maybe both. he’s always been bad at social innuendos.
a buzz from keis phone breaks him from his thoughts, seeing a message from tadashi.
they wanted to play a game of mario kart, but needed kei to set up the switch dock.
idiots can’t do it themselves.
“speaking of them, i’ve got to head back up to my room. airheads don’t know how to connect my console to the tv in the room”
he said, slipping his phone back in his pant pocket as he stood up.
you smiled up at him and placed your drink down.
“don’t forget your drink”
you say, going to grab it for him but he stops you.
“all yours”
you pout, feeling bad he didn’t get to finish it. also, that he couldn’t spend more time with you.
“but you already drank from it”
you say, and he leans a bit closer.
“i don’t mind, as long as you don’t”
now it was your turn for you to question whether he was being flirty or just friendly.
nonetheless, you smile with a small laugh, and lean on the arm of the stool.
“ok, well, i hope to see you around again soon, then”
you eye him as he walks around your stool, seeing him glide away with long strides.
he was very tall.
“likewise, shortcake”
you hear him say, leaving your cheeks pink and chest bubbling with hope that you’d see him again.
and you did.
again and again, and again.
the next day, him and his friends were at the pool the same time you were.
you weren’t alone this time though, having two of your other friends sun bathe next to you.
you finally realized what he meant about his friends being intense, watching them play a very competitive game of volleyball in the pool.
you laughed though, watching as they jumped and splashed and tackled, while kei sat back on his chair, in army green swim trunks and white t-shirt, being entertained by them as well.
they were lucky no kids were swimming yet, they had the pool all to themselves. for now.
he was sipping the same drink he got last night when you first met, and you knew he saw you sitting by the pool too, the obvious glances he would send your way, but he hadn’t come over yet.
he was incredibly handsome, you could see just how toned of a body he had behind his white shirt, sweat now helping you see through it, how his muscles poked out from the sleeves, and his broad shoulders stood proud as he sipped his drink, or adjusted his glasses.
they must have gone to the beach this morning, you could tell how his cheeks were sunkissed, the tip of his nose a little burnt, and his blonde hair curled, drying in such a way that you knew it was from the east coast salt water.
suddenly ripped from your thoughts, the volleyball slams into the floor next to your chair, and you see one of the boys throwing themselves out from the pool to come and get it.
as he walked over, you felt cold on your chest, and looking down, some of your drink had spilled on your breasts.
“oh, jeez, not again”
“i’m so sorry! are you ok? ill get you another drink!”
you look up to see one of his friends towering next to you, holding the volleyball in his arm.
he had big brown eyes, messy orange hair, his face and chest littering with freckles and arms very toned as you blushed.
“oh, no! don’t worry about it, i’m fine, i promise!”
you see kei walk up behind his friend, towering much higher than him.
“how clumsy are you?”
he snickered to you, and you sat up to give him a teasing scowl.
“hey! it wasn’t my fault, kei!”
oh, the way you said his name.
he wanted to take you back to his room, now.
it was awful how much he’s thought about you since he met you last night, he could barely sleep.
he saw how your chest glisned from the sun, skin now soaking up your fruity drink, strawberry puree dripping down your cleavage.
he wondered how much sweeter you’d taste if he licked you clean right now.
“here”
he offered you a napkin, which you gladly took with a small laugh.
you placed your drink down and moved your bathing suit over a bit just to make sure you were cleaned enough.
“you know her?”
keis friend asked him curiously, pointing to you as you tossed the napkin onto the table next to you.
“we met when i stepped away from our game last night, she was sitting at the bar”
his face lit up as he looked back at you, now leaning comfortably in your chair again.
“oh! well i’m shoyo! it’s nice to meet you!”
he threw his hand into your face to shake it, but you just laughed and grabbed his hand roughly, giving it a tug.
“it’s nice to meet you! i’m y/n”
“what’s the holdup, moron!?”
you heard another yell, and you lean over to see a blue-eyed black-haired male yelling for shoyo.
his arms were big, shoulders surprisingly broad enough to hold them.
his features were genuinely gorgeous, and his hair had the prettiest blue tone to the black as it stuck to his wet face, his eyes complimenting it well.
having an idea, when shoyo looked over at him, you sat up and stole the ball from his grip, giving it a heavy toss towards his friend.
“i’m the holdup, mega moron!”
the ball almost smacked him in the face, but he dodged it with his hand in time as you gave him a smirk.
he leaned over the pool, moving his black hair from being glued to his forehead as he smirked back.
“you’re lucky you’re hot, or else id throw the ball right back! harder!”
later that night, you met up with kei again at the bar, ordering the same couple of drinks, and chatting for a while.
you had exchanged numbers earlier when you were at the pool, and agreed to meet again at the bar, alone.
he apologized for how rowdy they had gotten, but told him there was no need, it was rather fun getting smacked around with a volleyball once you and your friends decided to join their game.
one of your friends thought tobio was smoking, and your other stayed to chat with tadashi for much longer than you expected her to.
“so, why did you want to see me again, don’t you want to spend your vacation with the friends you came with?”
you ask him, feeling your head get a little fuzzy as you’ve had enough to drink.
“i guess i could ask you the same thing, shortcake”
you smirked bashfully at the nickname, becoming greatly fond of it.
“my friends went out to a club tonight on the boardwalk…i wasn’t really in the loud music, watching a fight break out, getting humped on by random men and possibly roofied, kinda mood”
you say with a laugh, and he chuckles a bit too.
“mine are knocked out, actually. i just can’t sleep”
kei said, and you finish your drink.
“why’s that?”
you ask, batting your eyes at him, because you knew why.
you just wanted him to say it.
“thinking about you too much. been keeping me awake”
you roll your eyes and look away, feeling your face get even warmer than it was from drinking.
“is that so?”
you ask, leaning against your palm, staring back up into his hazy honey eyes.
“i say shit how it is”
he responds, and you feel his leg brush up against yours.
“i’ve always wanted to have a cheesy vacation hookup, funny little fantasy of mine”
you admit, your hand reaching down to tap his thigh.
“really?”
he says, starting to get up from his stool.
he grabs your hand and pulls you off yours, pulling you into him.
“well, if it’s that good, maybe ill just have to take you back to japan with me”
your heart thumps against your chest as you and kei hurry to your empty room, friends still out.
he shuts the door behind you both as you text your friends not to come back for a while, just in case, and you tell kei to turn the extra lock so they still couldn’t come in if they tried.
throwing your phone somewhere onto the bed, you turn around to see the towering male already by your side, helping your rid of your clothing.
“fuck, want you s’bad right now”
you whine, and he pushes you back against the bed, your chest now bare.
he leans down, kissing along the valley between your tits and placing a hand against your back.
he was hoping to get a taste of the puree from between your tits earlier, but all he got was a blissful whiff of your designer perfume, and a mouthful of something sweeter than puree, so he wasn’t fucking complaining.
his body pushed against you, feeling his hard cock already teasing you through his basketball shorts.
his big hand came up your chest to grab your tit, the other being smothered in his mouth.
your head lolls against his hair, smelling like sand and saltwater, a little hint of some woody shampoo, and a flash of him at the pool from earlier waves in your head, so your cunt hammered.
his scent, along with the way his teeth and tongue glazed your nipple, made your body throb for more.
“kei…”
you moan, your hand slipping through his messy blonde locks, and he groans against your chest.
“mm, say it again”
he pulled you closer, nipping and sucking the outside of your tit to leave a mark.
you cry out desperately,
“kei…!”
he pulls away, and suddenly lifts you up, making you gasp in surprise.
“s’good, wanna be my little slut tonight, hm?”
he purrs in your ear as he places you down properly onto the mattress, settling himself between your legs.
“please”
your legs gently close around his torso, begging him to stay close.
his slender hands felt up your sides, and hooked onto your bottoms before he pulled them off impatiently.
once he pulled them down, your hand darted to your cunt, now feeling just how much you were drooling for him.
his hand darted up to press against yours, your wetness making such a lewd noise that even surprised kei, but he pulled your hand away to get a good look.
“s’fuckin’ pretty, shortcake”
-
i wrote this wip during last summer when i ordered a drink called strawberry shortcake, and the inspiration just flooded from there. also, i just really miss summer. i love this draft, so im going to post it. i wanna make more kei content for this blog. i’ve been on my second blog way more, and i miss kei.
i just saw this tiktok and this song plus these texts make me think of a new story that i would love to see someone write or even write myself of kei omg ??
i think the idea of yall being close in high school but then breakup bc of the kinda person he is in high school but then meetup later when yall are older somehow maybe at school or a party or because you stayed in contact with yams or hinata, and it gets rekindled between you and kei over time and it’s kinda angsty and smutty and slow burn and omggg
i love kei sm and the idea of writing abt college/present day kei is the best.
the tiktok edit is on this acc btw lol lunarnewbie and it’s to the song heartbeat by childish gambino
i wanna write it but i need the motivation and a plot line for it lol
if i wake up to find my f/o isn't wrapped tight in a bright red ribbon with a comically large bow beneath my christmas tree, what's the point in christmas :(
he didn’t state for what, whether it was a task, a recipe, advice, you weren’t sure.
he just said it was urgent.
so, you head over to the tavern without a second thought, not knowing this meant you’d end up sitting on the counter in the kitchen, panties at your ankles, and reths tongue lapping up you puss like it’s the best recipe he’s ever tried.
ashura was gone for the day, and tavern empty enough for your whines to echo off the walls.
the hand holding you up slipped, and your back slammed against the wall, giving reth deeper exposure to your cunt and his tongue shot inside you.
his big calloused hands forcefully kept your thighs spread just enough for his head to fit between them, squeezing the softness of the back of your thighs as he devoured.
“g’na cum”
he didn’t respond, he just pulled his tongue out and dragged it up your slit, and high enough to latch onto your clit.
his rough hand slipped down, and a finger teased your pussy.
feeling this, your leg hooked around his shoulder, pulling him closer as a finger slipped in.
he curled it upwards, feeling you instantly squeeze around him.
