dream of you

[lale-txt]

writer's archive for @sodaneko

[sodaneko]

RATE MY BENTO ; Osamu x f!reader

surely your brother won't mind that you're dating his kōhai!

contains: socmed au oneshot, most of the slides not sfw (mdni), reader is kita shinsuke's older sister, workplace romance, neighbor au, osamu is in his late 20s & reader is in her 30s, miwa kageyama is a lesbian & bff, suna mention (because there can't be an osamu fic without a suna mention); this is really very silly and unserious for the funsies <3

a/n: i missed him so bad

[sodaneko]

it makes me sick to my stomach thinking about what a loverboy nagumo is. how he doesn’t do casual, no, you’re imprinted on his soul for the rest of his life actually. how he’d rather be haunted by the memory of you than ever forget what your laugh sounded like and the way your lips moved when you called him by his first name. how the ring box (now useless) is still sitting in the drawer of his bedside table, heavy with the weight of his regrets. nagumo never stops loving you. there’s no beginning and no end to it, just how you were once tangled into another. you left your marks on him and he’ll spend a lifetime displaying them in a walking exhibition of heartbreak.

[sodaneko]

atsumu was always under the impression that you liked his brother more than you liked him. after all it was osamu who you shared your bento with, it was osamu who always gave you a ride home on the back of his bike, it was osamu you cheered for louder than anyone else during their games.

as perceptive as atsumu is, he never quite caught your stolen glances or the way your pupils dilated when you snarled at him or how you'd defend him so boldly when he wasn't in the room.

it's not that atsumu is hard to love–it's how scared you were of doing so. so easy to burn in his light when he smiles at you, snaggleteeth on display, arms held out for you. an inevitable pull; your lips on his, the reflection of you in his warm brown eyes, calloused hands dragging you closer by your belt hoops. you're not falling for atsumu, you're sinking; to your knees in devotion, head in his lap in worship.

say you love me, he murmurs between heated kisses and you think you could get addicted to hearing him beg.

[sodaneko]

kita shinsuke is a dreamboat. kita shinsuke also wants to fuck miya osamu's wife–you, his greatest, most obscene what if.

it doesn't help that you still call him senpai even though more than a decade has passed, or that you touch him so casually, slipping a finger under the sleeve of his shirt to inspect how much he has tanned. your perfume still lingers on him after your hugs, and on the days you're not wearing a bra kita doesn't even make it back home before he unzips himself and fists his cock violently to the thought of you in his parked truck.

occasionally kita invites osamu and you to his farm for the weekend; tells you it's good for you get out from time to time, especially when money is tight. you always have a room with him, you're like family, merely paperthin walls separating you. it's cute how you try and muffle your moans (are you biting down on a pillow or does osamu have his hand clasped over your mouth while he pounds into you?), even though kita wishes you wouldn't. when he closes his eyes he can imagine you in his lap, calling him senpai while he buries every inch of his cock in you. he has seen osamu, he knows how much you can take.

kita loves when your needy whines and moans next door slowly die down and he can hear your feet pat across the hallway towards the bathroom. he imagines you full and dripping with cum, aching, leaking (it should have been him). if he gets lucky he'll find your worn panties on the bathroom floor in the mornings.

he doesn't want to be the third to osamu and you; he wants the fantasy of what he can't have, the blurred lines, the dirty secrets. kita shinsuke wants to fuck you so badly, it makes him come undone in his pants. he wouldn't want it any other way.

[sodaneko]

osamu is such a teach me guy. teach me how to make that childhood dish of yours. teach me how your name is written. teach me that term of endearment in your language. teach me all those little habits of yours. teach me how to kiss you so your mouth will know no other name than mine. teach me where to touch you to make you feel so good. teach me where your body and your heart aches. teach me, teach me, teach me.

[sodaneko]

and when he did well? oh, he's basking in your praise. sometimes shy, with his cap pulled deeper in his face to hide the smile tugging on the corner of his mouth and the blush dusting the tip of his ears; sometimes unabashed, coming up for air from between your still shaking thighs, his eyes gleaming with an insatiable hunger–for your sweet words and flattery, for everything you offer him so willingly, for you.

[sodaneko]

suna and you made a promise in high school. if you're both still single by the age of 30, you're gonna get married. back then, being 30 felt incredibly far away, like your life is almost over; something absurd that happened to other people but certainly not you.

marrying my best friend who i love practicing kissing with doesn't sound too bad, you thought at that time. holy fuck, no way someone like them is gonna stay single, i better ask osamu the same, just to be sure, suna thought at that time.

you drifted apart after graduation to chase dreams of your own; suna left osaka, osamu and you stayed.

now you're all 30, and suna (still single) sits across from you both at the class reunion, unable to take his eyes off you. when osamu presses a fleeting kiss to your temples, his hand playing absentmindedly with the engagement ring on on your finger, it dawns on suna that he fumbled, not once but twice.

it's not like he expexted you to wait for him, but he also certainly didn't consider both of his backup plans to get married to another.

you nudge him under the table the same way you used to, back when you wanted to skip class to make out on the rooftop. even your glance is unmistakeable the same as it once was. suna looks back and forth between osamu and you in a mixture of mild panic and arousal when you both grin at him, basking in the reaction you're getting out of him.

"kissing lessons, at our place? for old times sake?"

[sodaneko]

a love so grand and so violent in its last breaths, you come back wrong. a love peeled away from your blood-stained hands, erasing every memory of tenderness before that. a love built on unspoken vows which are now broken echoes in your heart chambers.

who were you before they took away the light of your eyes? you remember, remember, remember everything; you're not granted the relief of forgetting. you're the archivist of a love that ceased to exist.

[sodaneko]

bruised knuckles and a fresh manicure. hands that have only known violence engulfing yours with all the gentleness of the world, a kiss pressed to your palm before they turn it over. a bottle of nail polish in the color of their eyes (because you mentioned it a while ago and they remembered). the small furrow of their brow as they focus, smoothened out only when you lean in to kiss them. big calloused hands holding your hands to stop you from fidgeting until the nail polish dries up (but really they just want to be close to you at all times). a thumb brushing absentmindedly over the empty spot on your ring finger. a stolen moment of peace, so fragile they can only hold on to you tighter.

[sodaneko]

+18 ; lactation kink

something between worship and devotion when they latch at you through the fabric of your shirt; the two damp stains too damn enticing to resist. your chest has gotten heavier, plumper, like ripe fruit ready for picking. a warm tongue tracing the shape of your perked nipple, the other rolled between their thumb and index finger, coaxing out more of that sweet, sweet milk.

your hands tangle in their hair and pull them back, just enough to see their pupils dilate at the sight of you. a gaze of unspoken longing and hunger. calloused hands bunch up your shirt and push it up until your chest bounces free, small beads of milk dripping down the curve of your tits. they can tell that you're aching for relief, something only they can offer you.

the deep animalistic groan when their lips wraps around you once more, lapping up every drop they can coax out of you. you taste like ambrosia; saccharine nectar on their tongue. it's dizzying, like a charm cast on them, their mouth and their hands working in unison to spell out their love for you against your leaking chest–the closest to where your heart sits.

[sodaneko]

having dinner at a fancy restaurant and pressing your heel against his crotch under the table, feeling his big hand wrap around your ankle to keep your mischief at bay, followed by a small squeeze as a warning (or a promise) (most likely both)

[sodaneko]

getting your hair washed by big, calloused hands that are so damn gentle with you. working through every knot and every bit of tension sitting in your scalp after a long day. making sure don't get any shampoo in your eyes. forehead kisses and a hand in your nape to coax you out of the shower. getting bundled up in a big towel while also getting the side of your neck kissed. sitting on the bathroom floor between spread legs and having your hair dried with so much patience and care by someone who, no matter how tired, will never get tired of you–of taking care of you.

[sodaneko]

falling asleep on the couch but instead of carrying you to bed, they get a few more pillows and a warmer blanket to make sure you're comfortable. gently taking off your glasses and making sure to put your bookmark in your book before putting it aside. they know you'll come crawling back to bed once you wake up in the early morning hours, so for now they don't want to risk disturbing your slumber. featherlight brush of their knuckles against your cheek before they turn off the light, a gentle kiss against your temple to find you in your sleep. you're the peace they found in all their chaos; the slow rise and fall of your chest reminding them that their love still has a home. you, with your wishes on your eyelashes and your bleeding heart, sighing their name in your sleep, longing, longing, longing.

[sodaneko]

kisses that leave you in shambles, dazed and aching for more with your heart on a silver platter. kisses that were never meant to be–and yet. kisses that unravel you until you don't know where you end, where you begin, where you can exist in the absence of them. kisses that are left against the hollow of your throat, an echo of a love long lost. kisses that are supposed to be the last of their kind, with your heart slamming against your ribcage like a wounded animal and your bloodstained hands tangled in their hair, the only devotion you have ever known.

[sodaneko]

"babe can we have normal sex for once?" "no. get in the fucking mecha"

[sodaneko]

mecha pilot x mechanic!reader……….. but you’re more interested in fucking the mecha, not the pilot. all these late night hours doing 'maintenance' with no one around to witness just how debauched you get with it, using it like an oversized toy to get off until you can barely walk. knowing only the pilot can tell once they connect to the mecha’s systems the next day, making them relive every movement like secondhand muscle memory. until just reliving isn’t enough and they get to control the mecha to help you to get off, remembering just how you like it, how you need it. both of you getting sick pleasure out your shared secret yet no one could tell from the outside. you act like strangers around another, barely stealing glances yet alone touches. however, after dark…

[sodaneko]

something so special about someone who takes their time to make you come. not edging you, but showing you patience and eagerness in learning how to unravel you. mumbled sweet words to coax your attention back on them when you're getting into your head about 'taking too long'. if anything they just scoff, maybe getting angry on your behalf for whoever made you feel this way in the past. as if getting to taste and feel and worship you for hours isn't the best thing that ever happened to them. their intention is not to push you over the edge in record time but to get to know you inside out, no matter how long it takes. they rather come untouched in their pants than to stop giving you everything you deserve and more. your pleasure is their pleasure.

[sodaneko]

exes but they still say your name with utter tenderness between all too familiar kisses and you said you wouldn't stay the night. exes but they still keep a hand on the small of your back when you're out in public, like muscle memory of a heart that was yours once. exes but they're still the emergency contact in your phone. exes but they still hold their hand out for you to fix the cufflink of their shirt. exes but you both still wear your wedding bands. exes but you have played through every what if together and yet there is still only you, like two sides of the moon, at home in a loneliness only the other can ease.